Topic: The Podunkville Files - The Pulp RP

[PatMan33]

"What is it?" Anton could hear his younger self asking his older sister a question. He was having the dream again. Something was different though, he wasn't a child. He could see himself as a child but Anton himself, his point of entry into the dream, was his adult self. That was new. He kept watching.

The child held his sister's hand as they stared out the window at the plant that was about to explode, killing everyone the boy knew. A brilliant light flashed across the horizon right on cue and the world was washed away. Anton waited to hear him and his sister screaming and for the sudden jolt of consciousness but it never came. Instead the light became marred with a darkness and his head began to throb. With a swirling burst of activity the murky light faded and Anton was sitting in his room, watching himself draw at his desk. From down the hall his sister's music blared and it pained his aching brain.

Anton had a moment of clarity and realized that his dream was happening in reverse. He had no recollection of that day prior to drawing at his desk and found it intriguing. Moreover he thought back to the UFO. He had been closer to it than anybody, at least he thought so. Had something happened? Anton began to wonder if he was okay.

After filling in a few salmon-colored apples, young Anton let out a loud sneeze and seemed to fall into a daze. Down the hallway Anton heard his older sister yelp in shock. The child snapped back to reality and hurried to her, leaving his drawing unfinished upon the desk. Anton approached it and smiled as his fingers ran across the stick figure representations of his family under an apple tree. The colors on the page began to run and smudge and Anton panicked. He had ruined the picture!

Before Anton could reason with himself the room filled with a bright white light and he could hear screaming from down the hall. The darkness came more quickly this time and swirled about him. Anton looked around as his room fell away and the garage came into view. He was there at his Dad's work bench with some of his Mom's work equipment. There were a few beakers and odds and ends strewn across the table. Anton watched as his younger self looked at the different colored liquids, unaware of how potentially dangerous they were. Then Anton saw it.

The child poured two of the chemicals together and swirled them around. They bubbled for a bit but seemed mostly inert. From the kitchen Anton could hear his big sister calling him to dinner. It must have been the night before the explosion. Young Anton hurriedly put the chemicals back into their sleeves in his Mom's work bag and ran inside. Anton stood there staring at the concoction through the open zipper as it slowly changed colors and became dark red. A volatile mixture for sure. Probably enough to clear a small room if it went off. But if it went off in a laboratory around other chemicals...

"You finally remembered, Anton. It sure took you long enough!" A dark presence filled the garage in Anton's dream. He turned and was shocked to find himself face to face with... himself. "That's right. You caused the explosion at the plant. It was you who killed your family and everyone in your town. Now, I think that's pretty swell. I should know, it was my idea. But I guess I couldn't have known just how big that explosion would have been. A child's retaliation for being scolded by a parent. Who knew you had it in you?"

Anton backed away from his sinister self but found he had nowhere to run. The garage was gone and he was alone in the darkness with himself.

"Truthfully, I had hoped to have more time with you. But that darn explosion trapped me in a deep, dark place. Thankfully you're such a trigger happy fellow and walked right into the kind of danger that could bring me back out. One giant explosion later and a few decades and here I am. Here we are. So..."

Anton felt himself being drawn toward his repressed self. He could not run. He could not speak. He could not do anything except watch. The two beings merged into one and the darkness fizzled away. Anton looked up at the collapsing void. "Let's get this show on the road."

... BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP BRRP ...

An alarm clock was blaring in a motel on the west side of Podunkville, near the police station. With a groan, Anton rolled himself onto his side and slammed the "off" button. It was the morning, 8:31 to be exact. Pulling on a T-shirt, the bartender walked out of his motel room and leaned on the second floor balcony. One room over, Anton's neighbor was enjoying a cup of coffee from a beach chair strategically situated so that he could see the YMCA pool across the street. Taking a deep breath of warm, dry air, Anton stretched a bit and collected his thoughts.

Today he had to pick up a bunch of lottery tickets for the Old Man. That was Anton's boss down at the bar he worked at during the evening. He had found the place, Scott's Great Spirits, in the paper when he came to Podunkville a few months earlier. It was the latest stop on Anton's tour of the Midwest and was becoming a favorite of his. The Old Man wasn't half bad either, though he always had Anton going here and there for lottery tickets. He had a particular fondness for scratch-offs so Anton always made sure to get a few extras.

As Anton thought about his plans for the day he spied a strange motorcycle rolling down the main drag. He'd never seen anything quite like it and he'd seen a lot, being a bartender at biker bars and all kinds of houses of ill-repute. He watched it go by and was a little startled as the rider seemed to turn and look directly at him. Anton tried to make out the man's face but he couldn't really see it, though he felt it looked a bit familiar. Probably just a customer he'd seen some night while at work. The rider vanished down main street and Anton returned to his thoughts on the day. He took another deep breaths of air and turned back into his motel room for a shower. It was going to be a day, he had one of those feelings.

Elsewhere in town, a group of very confused individuals (and a few robots) were reeling from an explosion that had occurred in a place not unlike Podunkville. In fact most of them were pretty sure it had happened exactly where they were standing; though a simple glance at their surroundings told them that something had gone horribly right. The town appeared normal again. Citizens were starting their days and the streets were dotted with a few cars, none of which were on fire. The UFO was nowhere to be seen and the sky was crystal clear. It was a normal day in Podunkville. And it was a day that all of them had already experienced once before.

The countdown to destruction had begun.

[Neoadept]

Hours Earlier, In The Past

Jon was on the verge of dozing as MIC carted him along the highway, letting the bike do the driving.  They'd been going non stop since Saskatchewan and all he wanted now was a place to bed down for the night.

Finally, after hours of empty road, he spotted a sign ahead.

"Now Entering Podunkville
Pop- 2602"

A few moments later the bike suddenly slowed of it's own accord, pulling to a stop just in front of a metal cable that'd been strung across the road.

"Uh," Jon said sleepily, flipping open his helmet's visor and blinking owlishly at the men on either side of the road, "there a problem?"


Hours Earlier, In The Future

MIC calculated frantically as it tore through the town, running simulation after simulation of the current situation and becoming increasingly frustrated at the nonsensical results.  Divide by zero it could have handled, non-euclidean geometry would have been a marvelous challenge.  But readings of infinity minus one on a heretofore undocumented 'zorth' axis?  What gibberish was that?!

It deactivated it's nitrous boosters and coasted to a halt just outside the city limits and the projected limits of the blast (at least that was sensible).  Normally it would have poured on the speed until it was well away from any possible danger, but at the moment it didn't quite trust its own driving.  Its processor was returning gibberish, which was never a good sign.

It booted up a diagnostic and almost instantly received an error.  It's system clock, which normally updated via satellite uplink every hour, was twenty four hours off from it's source.  Disconcerting, but not exactly a root system fault.

Idly, as the diagnostic continued, MIC pinged the atomic clock to see if that particular flaw might be an external error.  All readings seemed normal on their end, except...

The satellite it was linked to was one of the ones that had gone down in the night.  A phenomenon it suddenly realized had ceased entirely.

Suddenly, a great many things made sense.

"Oh my.  This has become rather complicated."

Jon cradled his head in his arms and whimpered slightly.  It was never a good sign when the hyper-intelligent super-bike said things like that.

[PatMan33]

Anton, fresh from his shower, donned a blue T-shirt and a pair of black denim jeans and headed out into town. His first stop was the convenience store across town. It was located near some smaller boutique shops on the other side of town near the Podunkville Rod & Gun Club. He walked for about fifteen minutes, meandering here and there and taking in the sights. This was his time. No work, no nothing. And he liked to spend it just kind of wandering. The air was fresh and a breeze was blowing.

He arrived at the convenience store a short while later and picked up a paper as well as an assortment of lottery tickets. The Old Man always played the same numbers and Anton knew better than to deviate from that, but he decided to pick up an extra one just for himself. Unsure as to what numbers he should pick, he randomly threw together the numbers 5, 12, 31, and 7. He also picked up a small bag of Bugles and a Coke. The breakfast of champions.

With that in order, Anton left the store and decided to wander for a bit longer. He hurried across the street and ducked into a back alleyway. It was nice to take the scenic route some days, especially when there was a breeze. He wandered back behind a local restaurant and continued down the small street, heading in the direction of the butcher shop. A truck was waiting out back and the driver was wheeling a delivery of frozen meat for the day's business. Anton smiled and pulled a trash can out of the driver's way so he could get through. Nodding in thanks, the driver pushed his car up to the large freezer door and unlocked it.

"What the heck!?" Anton heard the driver exclaim before the man stepped away from the door.

Approaching the opening, both Anton and the driver cautiously peered inside at the strange machine inside. It looked like some kind of robot and was covered from head to toe in black soot that looked like it had been painted on in some sort of esoteric pattern. Whatever the thing was it didn't appear to be on. At least not at first. But as the pair opened the door further and light began to filter in the robot jerked back to life with what must have been a scream. The driver immediately bolted but Anton stayed and watched the machine as it attempted to calibrate itself to its surroundings.

After a brief series of clicks the robot stood up, looked straight at Anton, and, much to the bartender's surprise, exclaimed, "It's you!!"

[Oviraptor]

SB-5 fired his rifle. The shot pierced the door right at the latch and it jolted ajar slightly. He lifted his arm to open it far enough to exit. It wouldn't budge. He looked back down at the latch. The door was shut and latched again—there wasn't even a bullet hole. "What is this ****?" he questioned the door.

It was then that he noticed that the freezer was running again. And it was cold. His thermometer was reading only 255K. He was not sealed for this low a temperature. He had no choice but to go into standby mode and wait for someone to open the door.

Hours passed.

Suddenly, the door opened. The warm air, alerted his system and he started to boot up. His generator whirred loudly back to life. His systems began coming online, one by one. He woke up. As he moved his actuators, bits of ice cracked and popped off from where they had frozen. He looked into the wide open door and saw a man. He instantly recognized the man as the one who's car he had stolen.

"It's you!!" he exclaimed. "What the **** just happened?"

The man stared dumbfounded at SB-5 as he stepped out into the daylight. He could feel his body start to warm back up. I can feel, he thought.

"Well, at least nothing seems to be falling from the sky anymore," he said as he powered down his radar. He returned his gaze to the man and started reloading his rifle, "Well?"

[PatMan33]

"Whoa man! Er... robot... talking robot... with a gun." Anton stuttered a bit and backed away. "I don't want any trouble. Whatever's going on I have nothing to do with it, I'm just out for my morning walk."

He paused against the wall on the opposite side of the alley, a paltry distance for a robot with a gun to make a move. But the robot didn't seem that hostile, in fact it seemed a bit confused. And why had it been locked in a freezer with a gun anyway?

"So do we uh... know each other or something?"

Elsewhere a man with a thick Indian accent was cursing loudly at a large screen. He had a smoldering beret on his head and his broken red-tinted goggles revealed one of his deep blue eyes. His sky blue flight suit was torn and covered in soot and the remnants of some sort of foam. He slammed his fist down against the metal console and glared at the distorted figure on screen.

"I do not know how it happened. It was a one in a million shot!" he replied angrily. "All I know is that the ship's reactor went critical and caused an Event."

"You were sent to stop the Event from happening in the first place!" The response from the screen was cold and very clearly irritated. "Instead you caused it!! You should have known better, this is sloppy work! You messed up, Kincaid. You have to face the consequences."

"What about you!? You're supposed to be able to see this stuff ahead of time. Why didn't you know that we caused the Event? Give me what I've asked for, I can fix it!!"

"..." Though he couldn't see it, Kincaid could tell that the Overseer was torn. That was a very good sign and infinitely better than the alternative. "Very well. You'll get your replacements. But know this... I'll be watching you. We will be watching you. And if we discover anything ANYTHING that is not on the level, you and you alone will face the consequences. You have one chance to set this right."

The screen went dark and Kincaid stepped back. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward a small door that had opened to his right. Stepping through the gap he arrived in an entirely different room in an entirely different place. Sitting before him was a ship that was identical to the one he had been piloting before. He hurried inside, a fresh detachment of soldiers filing in behind, and shut the door. The ship's engines roared to life and the contraption fizzled out of sight, en route to Podunkville.

Kincaid turned to his men and began giving them orders, though he was mindful to watch his tongue. There was one small detail that he'd neglected to tell the Overseer, an Aberration. Before the Event and before he had bailed out of his previous ship and returned to base, he had gotten a few strange readings from his instruments. There had been several living and synthetic beings in the vicinity of the explosion. And while he wasn't certain about what exactly had happened, he suspected that they were still close. It wasn't entirely unheard of, a person being tossed forward or backward through time. Though such an occurrence was considered a worst case scenario.

All Kincaid knew was that he had to find these people. Most of them had been far enough away that the effects of the Event wouldn't have had a terrible impact on them. The likely outcome was that they had been thrown maybe a day or two forward or backward in time. Forward was one thing, but backward was very bad. Backward meant that those people had effectively overwritten their past selves and now had knowledge of the future. They would have to be located and scrubbed. But worse still were the Aberrations. Kincaid only caught a glimpse of the readout before he left the ship, but he knew what he saw. Two, potentially three Aberrations.

Even the Overseer could not predict the outcome of an Aberration.

[/lurk]

"CHRONOMETER ERROR: RESET CHRONOMETER"

Robot Cop flailed his arms around in the Sheriff's office. He did this (for giggles) every time he reset his chronometer.

It was now 10am.

"HA-HA. Time for CSI: Miami Z-Cars!"

[Haseri]

Nigel face split into a disconcerting smile. "Problem?" He walked up and down the street, peering into windows. Full of people, going about their ordinary lives. Oh how he envied them. "So this is what it feels like." He smacked his lips. "You know, I do taste a hint of apple."

Carefully, he unwound the wire from across the road. Wouldn't want it hurting anyone. "No... no problem at all." He looked at Jim then back to John. "This is going to sound like a weird question, but do you remember just now?" He pointed looked at the bike. "Any of you. It could have been later on tonight."

[Neoadept]

"If you're hoping for a sudden bout of amnesia on the whole 'obstructing a public roadway' thing," Jon began, not really seeing what else the odd man could be talking about, "I guess no harm no foul.  Just, like, set up some flares or something next time you wanna do roadwork in the middle of the night?"

An unmarked cable stretched out like that would've been pretty messy if MIC hadn't been the one driving.  Jon doubted he could've caught it even after a full knight's sleep.


Meanwhile, On The Edge Of Town

"So," MIC lectured, having finally sorted through its calculations (a number of which he'd had to invent from scratch), "By passing through the effect's event horizon at the moment of temporal cascade with sufficient velocity to cause tachyon interaction we were able to escape chronological realignment, resulting in the present unprecedented instance of an unprecedented event."

Jon blinked slowly as he stared down at the handlebars.  "I understood exactly none of that."

MIC gave an exaggerated sigh as it trundled around to face the town.  "Of course you don't."  What it wouldn't give for some intelligent conversation.

With that, the pair set off to return to town.  As much as it would prefer to drive as fast and far away as possible, MIC couldn't afford to leave behind loose ends.

[eropS]

James found himself in a small construction site within Podunkville, his orange and neon yellow vest reflecting the morning sunlight. "What, the, f..." He muttered, looking around in awe at the lack of any of the previous nights remnants. Shaking his head in disbelief, he began to walk towards the lot where he had parked his motorcycle, marveling at its current existence. His supervisor angrily began to call out, "Redman! Where the **** do you think you're going? These charges h-"

The voice began to fade as James hurriedly mounted his bike and began to drive into the town. It was not long until he noticed a curious gentleman coiling up a wire in the middle of the main street, where the 'previous' nights events had taken place. He parked as Nigel looked to him and asked him if he too, remembered. He did, and he knew if they did then others might as well.

"One minute I'm prone watching a car come speeding by and a projectile flying out of it, next thing I know I'm back in my orange vest working in a construction zone I had worked in yest- this mor-." He shrugs, "I guess I didn't work on anything. Get on." He motioned for the scrawny man to hop on the back of his crotch rocket.

The drive towards the bar was quick and silent, save for the engine of the motorcycle as it raced down the streets of Podunkville. Turning down the alley where he would once again park his bike, James slowed as he noticed a big fellow standing opposite a freezer truck as another man ran by.

"Anton?" He turned to look at what Antone was facing as a large automaton emerged loading a rifle. "Woah. What did you get in to last ni-" He stopped his thought short, not sure how to approach the question.

"You guys see a UFO?"

[PatMan33]

Before the robot could answer Anton's question, someone else was calling out his name from behind. The bartender spun on his heel and spied two strange men walking toward him. One was dressed like a crossing guard and the other was just plain ridiculous looking. They seemed to have a purpose as well, and like the robot they were clued into something that he was not.

"I... UFO? Do I know you people??" Anton said in a startled tone as the robot replied simultaneously and excitedly with: "Yes! The UFO!!"

[eropS]

James was taken aback by the Antons' seemingly new case of amnesia. Grimacing at the thought that Anton might have lost a lot more than last night, James shook his head slightly and turned to face the rifle wielding machine.

"Yes, the UFO." James repeated, approaching the pair slowly. Nigel chimed in adding, "Not to mention the talking motorcycle and now..." He motioned his head towards SB-5.

"You should at least know me," he started as he looked to Anton, his red eyes squinting to make sure it was indeed the bartender he'd come to be familiar with throughout the duration of his time working in Podunkville. "Who are you?" He asked SB.

[PatMan33]

Anton narrowed his eyes at the man in the reflective vest and it came back to him.

"Right... Jim. Sorry I didn't recognize you underneath all that shiny gift wrap. Anyway what are you talking about?? Between talk of UFOs and confused, armed robots I'm feeling like I should have stayed in bed this morning."

[Neoadept]

"So what you're saying," Jon said as MIC pulled up in front of a 24-hour convenience store, "is that we've gone back in time."

"Yes," the bike answered in a long suffering sigh.

"And we're gonna cheat the lotto?"

"Although the number of moral restraints Professor Dai placed upon me are numerous and myriad, respect for the sanctity of gambling is not among them," MIC replied.  "As such, remedying our chronic lack of funds is only natural."

"Ha, yeah, it'll be nice to have some scratch for once.  Just kinda surprised you listened to the reading."

"I listen to every broadcast," the bike stated coolly, "just remember:  64-76-22-13-65-72."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."  Years of relying on MIC to solve cases and having to relay his exact words in explanation had given Jon an excellent short term memory.

Jon entered the store, purchased a soon to be winning lottery ticket, and left without incident.  What he failed to spot was the person in front of him in line pausing on his way out, freezing just as Jon finished reading out his numbers.

Anton retreated to a corner of the shop and watched as the deadbeat from last night (or was it tonight, now?) exited the store.  He glanced don at his own ticket, which had an identical string of numbers, and tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Now, if we both win, that's still over a hundred mil each.  Not too shabby, but over two hundred is even better," he contemplated aloud, and then frowned as a thought hit him.  "And if anyone else tries the same thing, the split will be even smaller.  Yeah, better take care of this."

Humming an old tune under his breath, he swept through an aisle, gathering a plethora of cleaning agents into his arms, and set them on the front counter.  "Completely slipped my mind," he grinned as the cashier rang him up.  While it might have looked like he was about to get some late night spring cleaning done, Anton knew from experience that in the right ratio his purchases would supply a wide variety of deadly surprises.

It was going to be a fun day.


Meanwhile, With Past Jon

Across town, a biker and intelligent motorcycle with no conception of the temporal shenanigans at play parked themselves in front of a motel.

"Think that guy could be a paycheck?"  Jon asked, using the term that had come to mean 'bad guy' between the two of them.  "Late night roadwork, no warning lights.  Definitely fishy."

"Perhaps," MIC answered, "there's nothing on the air, but perhaps there will be something in the paper tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jon yawned, "I'll be sure to check it first thing."

Wandering into the lobby to get a room, this particular iteration of Jonathan would not awaken until the afternoon.

[Oviraptor]

The man seemed confused. "Whoa man! Er... robot... talking robot... with a gun." he stammered as he stepped back. "I don't want any trouble. Whatever's going on I have nothing to do with it, I'm just out for my morning walk."

SB-5 contemplated the man's nonrecognition of him. Did he injure his head in the crash? he thought. He didn't seem injured though.

"So do we uh... know each other or something?" the man said.

Just as SB-5 was about to answer, another two men he didn't recognize materialized from around the corner. "Anton?" the first man said. So the man I met last night is named Anton. "Whoa. What did you get in to last ni-" he stopped short, seemingly noticing SB-5 for the first time. After a brief moment he continued, "You guys see a UFO?"

"Yes! The UFO!!" SB-5 blurted out. Only after did he realize the man, Anton, had also spoken. "I... UFO? Do I know you people??" he had said. He shut up.

"Yes, the UFO." the first man said with slight trepidation.

For the first time, the second man spoke. "Not to mention the talking motorcycle and now..." he said, looking at SB-5. It was then that SB-5 remembered he was holding a gun. Robots aren't supposed to have guns. For now, he remained silent.

"You should at least know me," the first man said looking at Anton. He then turned to SB-5, "Who are you?"

Before he could answer, Anton, who didn't seem to hear the question aimed at SB-5, said, "Right... Jim. Sorry I didn't recognize you underneath all that shiny gift wrap. Anyway what are you talking about?? Between talk of UFOs and confused, armed robots I'm feeling like I should have stayed in bed this morning."

It was then that SB-5 spoke. "Well, Jim, Anton here was interested in selling this firearm to my owner at the junkyard. I was just inspecting it."

Anton, unsure of how to react, kept quiet.

"Now, let's get in that car of yours and see if we can't get you a deal." Without giving him much time to think, SB-5 shepherded Anton into the driver's seat. After getting into the passengers seat he leaned over and added softly, "I'll explain everything on the way, but I'm going to need your help."


Anton wasn't sure what to think. First he randomly find a robot in a ice box, with a gun, no less, and now suddenly he's driving him—it?—to a junkyard.

"As I was saying," the robot continued, "I believe there was a temporal event that cast myself and others backwards in time, which means there is probably a you somewhere who does remember the UFO."

"You mean... time travel...?" He had a sick feeling in his stomach. Another me?

"Yes! Which is why I need your help. See, this other me, he won't know I exist. And there can't be two of me if I'm to resume me life." The robot then rambled on talking a bunch of technical details that were lost on Anton. "So that's why I have to shut him down, the other me."

"So... you're... uh... going to kill yourself?"

"Yes."

"So why do you need me again?"


SB-5 had to repeat the plan a couple times. Anton seemed capable, but unsure as to why he was agreeing to do this. "So basically, you drop me off a few hundred yards before the entrance and—"

"And go in there asking for parts for my car, I get it. Not sure why I'm helping you, though."

SB-5 thought about this for a second. "Tell you what, you do this for me and I'll give you free use of my junkyard for life, anything you need, just ask. You'd be surprised what people throw away." Anton nodded. SB-5 chose to interpret that as agreement.

"Pull over here," he said. SB-5 jumped out of the car and ran over to the junkyard wall. He pause and watched Anton drive in through the entrance. Good, he thought. Turning his attention to his wall, he ran his hand along the surface of the cracked cinder-blocks. He could feel the rough unevenness of it. Securing his digit within one fissures, he began to climb.


SB-5 sat at his desk, looking over the figures from last month. This place might just be his cover, but he still needed to keep it in the green. His concentration was broken when a man opened the door to his office and walked in.

"May I help you?" SB-5 asked.

The man froze for a split second, then said, "uh.. I was wondering if you had any parts for my... uh... for that car outside." He looked over his shoulder.

Something fishy is going on, SB-5 thought. "I can take a look. Please, have a seat." The man reluctantly took his seat and looked over his other shoulder, not toward the car. "Something wrong?"

"Uh... no... nothing." his eye were now fixed on SB-5. The man almost seem to recognize him. SB-5's eyes narrowed, or at least that would have been his expression if he had movable eyelids. Somethings... off, he thought, but what?

Just then, one of his patrol robots fired off a warning signal. SB-5 stiffened. "Uh, excuse me," he said to the man. He grabbed the edge of his desk and shoved it to one side of the room. The man jumped up and back to the wall behind him. SB-5 opened the door in the floor and selected his M1903 Springfield from inside. As the man inched along the front window toward the door, a shot rang out. The bullet shattered the door on its way  toward the center of SB-5's forehead. But SB-5 had already moved, and the bullet his harmlessly on the wall behind him.


****! He moved! thought SB-5. He immediately reloaded as he got up from his position. He began running full tilt toward the office. He could see Anton passing though the shattered door, covered in broken glass, though seemingly oblivious to it. He slowed to a walk and raised his rifle. Another shot, not from his gun. With all the speed of robotic mind, he twisted his body out of the way of the bullet—almost. The bullet grazed his left arm, piercing a vital actuator just below his shoulder. His arm went limp. "****!" he exclaimed out load. His gun fired, but not where he aimed it. It struck the driver''s side door of Anton's car.

Soon he was at the door of the office. His other self had no doubt fortified himself inside. Another shot, out the side window. That's now where I am... he began, but before he could finish his thought, his other self burst through the door and rammed the butt of his rifle square into SB-5's face. His right eye was gone, dangling uselessly as he fell backwards. He caught himself with his right foot. Using the momentum from his fall, he brought his left foot up and knocked the gun clean out of his other self's hands. I landed hard on the side of the building, and bent the barrel slightly. In reaction, to his gun being gone,the other SB-5 brought his right arm in for a punch straight into his other eye.

It shattered. He stumbled back blindly. He expected to feel his other self kill him immediately, but instead he said, "Now that your blind, you best tell me who you are and why you're here."

SB-5 stood silently for a moment. "I'm... you from the future."

"Bull****. Tell me the truth."

SB-5 contemplated his options. Then he remembered his radar. He powered it on. His other self was about two body lengths away. He raised his rifle discreetly and fired. His other self fell limply to the ground. SB-5 dropped the gun and fell to his knees. That was the closest he had ever come to dying.

[Krakow Sam]

"Exciting stuff eh? Make sure to tune in to next week's Podunkville Files for the thrilling conclusion. Good night America, and keep watching the skies."



*Crackly audio begins*


Narrator: "The year is 1989. IT IS THE FUTURE. Premier Nabukov's USSR holds the world hostage with its arsenal of deadly doomsday weapons. President Flint says: "Nuts to you, see?!". His challenge of a revolver duel to decide the outcome of the war has thus far been ignored. America lands a man on Jupiter's moon Europa. The New Lancaster Tigers win the Superbowl. The hard working scientists at the Lucky Strike Institute of Tobacco and Household Poison Studies create a cigarette with EVEN MORE great taste.

The town of Podunkville KY. We can clearly see the carnage from these declassified aerial photographs.

*Black and white slides click into place*


What happened here?



 Who was responsible?

<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuR_CVcM1tA" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuR_CVcM1tA</a>

 Does anyone even care? To answer these questions and more, let us once again delve into...

THE PODUNKVILLE FILES

EPISODE 6: RA! RA! RA!