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[STORY] Tidings of Doom, part 2: The Doomening
Posted by Arcturus from 198.134.89.*, on August 24, 12017 at 22:26:21:


Tidings of Doom, part 2: The Doomening
part 1

***

It wasn't often that the secret emergency telephone rang. But on this day, it did.

When Emperor Fron Auriga had heard it, he wasn't sure what to do. It had been years since the phone had last sounded its tone,and it took some searching on the desk to find the phone. It had been discreetly disguised as a pencil sharpener, located underneath a similarly discreet sign that said "REMEMBER: THE PENCIL SHARPENER IS THE SECRET EMERGENCY PHONE!"

The voice on the phone was unrecognizable, but urgent. "Emperor," the voice had said, "a secret contact wishes to meet with you in secret, to discuss a secret matter of grave importance!"

And that was why Fron now found himself in front of the classiest restaurant in all of Chilliwack, British Columbia: White Spot. The glowing sign above claimed that this place was "Legendary." “Legendary? We shall see," Fron hissed as he strode in through the front doors.

The frumpy woman who attended him asked, "Table for one?" in a world-weary tone.

"No," Fron replied. "I'm meeting somebody here. His name is D. Chrizzle."

"Oh, the guy in the corner," the waitress said, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, he's gone through half of our chicken wings already. Follow me."

As he approached the booth, Fron could see a large man seated with his back toward him. A giant plate of chicken wings lay before him, half consumed, and another plate lay next to it with the bones piling high. He made loud sounds of chicken wing consumption, like a basso profundo Homer Simpson. Fron casually took the seat across from him in the booth, when he finally realized who his mysterious host was."

"Oh hey, Dark Chrono, how's it going?"

"Well, met, Fron," Chrono said, as he finished off the wing he was working on. Fron noticed that he wasn't really eating the wings, just stripping the meat off of them and placing them in a small bag he had tucked away beside him. He was also wearing a comically oversized suit and a pair of Groucho glasses.

"Why are you dressed like that? And why are you doing that to those chicken wings?"

"I cannot eat your food, Fron, as I have no mouth. But I must blend in, so I must pretend to do as you humans do in such establishments as these. I think I'm pulling this off rather well, don't you think? Nobody's said a word to me!"

"Yeah, I can't imagine why they would," Fron mused. "Why didn't you just meet with me in private? Last time I saw you, it was some weird corridor I had never seen before in my office, why didn't you just..."

"We have urgent business to attend to, Fron!" Chrono interrupted. "We cannot dawdle with this petty chit-chat!"

"Well, again, it would have been faster for you to come to Ontario, it's a long flight out to BC..."

"Fron, I must please ask you to be serious," Chrono demanded as he adjusted his Groucho glasses. "This is not the time for nitpicking."

"Fine," Fron relented, "Say what you have to say."

"The last time I approached you," Chrono explained, "there were indeed dire tidings."

"Oh, the burning V in front of Blizzard Headquarters? I guess we were supposed to reconvene CWAL and do something about that," Fron admitted. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, no biggie. We took care of that one. Turned out to be pretty easy," Chrono said, waving a hand dismissively. "But...now is a different matter. And that is why I bring you here to bear you these tidings..."

"Oh, here we go," Fron said.

"Of..."

"Can you please not..."

"DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" Chrono wailed, waving his arms around in the air, each hand clutching onto a chicken wing. Most of the restaurant was glaring in their direction by this point.

Fron waited for him to lower his arms and put down his chicken wings before he turned to the waitress. "Uh, I'll have the chicken pot pie, and my friend will have the deluxe bigger burger."

"Ooh, can I have the quinoa salad instead? It's a lot healthier..." Chrono interrupted.

"But you can't eat anything here!"

"Hey, ixnay on the no outh-may!" Dark Chrono said through whatever the Protoss equivalent of clenched teeth was.

After the waitress had taken their orders, Chrono continued. "Anyway, here's what's going on. Have you heard the latest news out of Blizzard headquarters recently?"

"Come to think of it, no, I haven't," Fron said, without thinking much about it.

"Rather suspicious, do you not agree?"

"Well, not really. When flensers were streaming out their doors, or alien ships were flying over it, or stuff like that, THAT was suspicious. If they're not doing anything, not so much."

Chrono glared at Fron for a few minutes, a look of mild contempt in his glowing eyes. "Anyway, it is indeed suspicious," Chrono finally continued, completely ignoring what Fron had just said. "And I will tell you why: the CEO is no more. Whether he lives or lies dead, I do not know, but after the events of seven years ago, Blizzard was brought to its knees. You really should have been there, by the way. Thrilling battles, edge-of-your-seat suspense, and uproarious comedy. It was an epic for the ages!"

"Oh, I'm sure it was," Fron muttered.

"Blizzard itself lives on, but completely restaffed. They have become a legitimate software company now. No aspirations of world domination, no unethical science experiments, no semi-sentient killing machines, and no receptionists. Well, I mean...they have receptionists, just not evil ones."

"Okay, I get it...so where does the doom begin?"

"Doesn't that all seem a little...too convenient to you, Fron?"

After a moment's thought, Fron confidently answered "Well, no, not really. I mean, do you have any actual evidence of them doing something wrong?"

"Well, not really, but I'm saying they DO have a history of pulling evil stuff off!"

"Not with their current staff, Chrono! None of the people working there were even part of Blizzard back during the heady days of Starcraft and Brood War!"

"Oh, but I also have photographs. Look at this spacecraft, pictured recently in Irvine!"

"That's your ship, Chrono. Look, I recognize your little decal of Calvin peeing on the Sargas Tribe insignia."

"Oh, you're right.”

Dark Chrono looked as sheepish as a Protoss could look, while Fron simply glared at him as the waitress brought them glasses of ice water.

“So, is there any real threat here, or are you just wasting my time?” Fron asked as she left.

“I mean, there probably is?” Dark Chrono replied, getting noticeably flustered. “They just released StarCraft: Remastered, and they could very well be using it to do some of their mind control tricks again, or unleashing Flensers, or deploying an army of hobo clown lumberjacks again.”

From sighed. “Okay, Chrono, I’ll tell you what. I’ll assemble the team for a week and we can get copies of this new StarCraft and stake-out Blizzard HQ and make sure nothing weird is happening. I think we can even occupy our old HQ. Nobody’s leased the space since we moved out. I’m pretty sure Auspex Turmalis is still there, stuck in a cabinet or something.”

“Really? Sweet deal!” Chrono exclaimed, before making a weird psionic throat-clearing sound and saying, “I mean, a tactical triumph of a plan, From Auriga! We shall cross paths again in Irvine, and then we shall find out what fate has in store for us! I shall await you there, where we shall drink coffee! And play StarCraft!”

And so they did.

THE END..?


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