End Game: Pocket D
Title: End Game: Meanwhile in Pocket D
Characters: Grotznot Da Empaff & Zipakna
Word Count: 498
Warnings: None
“Blimey, Oy'm bleedin' toyered.” The green-skinned “empaff” complained.
“Quit whining, Grotz, and get another one!” Zipakna retorted. “Do your job. Get 'em healed and get 'em back in the fight!”
The dance floor in Pocket D was a mad house. There were heroes and villains, bodies and parts of bodies strewn about. DJ Zero hovered in his customary booth above the floor, but instead of spinning tunes and directing dance moves, he was directing the movements of healers and patients.
When the fireballs started falling across Paragon City and the Rogue Isles, people retreated to any refuge they could think of. The traditional moves to homes and office buildings were quickly shown to be fruitless. These invaders rooted out everyone and everything.
DJ Zero soon learned of the attacks when some of the refugees started using his golden tickets to retreat into his pocket party dimension. It became obvious rather quickly that the Rikti tech mediporter system was being over whelmed with casualties, so Zero put out the word that he was opening his party zone as a hospital. He had always maintained a neutral stance between 'heroes' and 'villains' and offered them a place where they could come together and unwind and have fun. It was no longer prudent for him to remain a neutral party any more. This time it was beyond the petty rivalries between people. This time it was a threat to all of his patrons.
Doctors and medics of all kinds quickly gathered with their patients on the dance floors open space. The whir of 'tricorders' mixed with sounds of mumbled chants, while surgeons snapped orders at nurses all in the effort to put injured bodies back together again.
The party club's medical transporters were quickly reprogrammed to respond to requests for medical evacuation from outside of their usual zones. The healing and repair routines were disabled as well, there were just too many casualties for the systems to handle them.
Refugees continued to pour in and noncombatants were put to work carrying, rolling, pushing, and otherwise transporting casualties to the dance floor. Bartenders went to work mixing their 'special' brews to be carried by a myriad of new waiters to the medics and shaman at their life saving work.
Grotznot da Empaff accepted a bubbling blue potion from a wide eyed, frightened girl who could not have been more than twelve years old. At any other time she would never have been allowed in the infamous dance club. He took a deep drink and handed the now empty glass back to the girl. He smacked his lips and wiped them with back of a furry green hand.
“Gor, now that 'it the spot!” he exclaimed with a renewed vigor. “By Gork and Mork, git me anover one over 'ere! Let's git dese boyz back to Waugh!”
“That's the spirit, Grotz.” Zipakna replied as she looked at her newest patient. “I just hope it's enough.”
Characters: Grotznot Da Empaff & Zipakna
Word Count: 498
Warnings: None
“Blimey, Oy'm bleedin' toyered.” The green-skinned “empaff” complained.
“Quit whining, Grotz, and get another one!” Zipakna retorted. “Do your job. Get 'em healed and get 'em back in the fight!”
The dance floor in Pocket D was a mad house. There were heroes and villains, bodies and parts of bodies strewn about. DJ Zero hovered in his customary booth above the floor, but instead of spinning tunes and directing dance moves, he was directing the movements of healers and patients.
When the fireballs started falling across Paragon City and the Rogue Isles, people retreated to any refuge they could think of. The traditional moves to homes and office buildings were quickly shown to be fruitless. These invaders rooted out everyone and everything.
DJ Zero soon learned of the attacks when some of the refugees started using his golden tickets to retreat into his pocket party dimension. It became obvious rather quickly that the Rikti tech mediporter system was being over whelmed with casualties, so Zero put out the word that he was opening his party zone as a hospital. He had always maintained a neutral stance between 'heroes' and 'villains' and offered them a place where they could come together and unwind and have fun. It was no longer prudent for him to remain a neutral party any more. This time it was beyond the petty rivalries between people. This time it was a threat to all of his patrons.
Doctors and medics of all kinds quickly gathered with their patients on the dance floors open space. The whir of 'tricorders' mixed with sounds of mumbled chants, while surgeons snapped orders at nurses all in the effort to put injured bodies back together again.
The party club's medical transporters were quickly reprogrammed to respond to requests for medical evacuation from outside of their usual zones. The healing and repair routines were disabled as well, there were just too many casualties for the systems to handle them.
Refugees continued to pour in and noncombatants were put to work carrying, rolling, pushing, and otherwise transporting casualties to the dance floor. Bartenders went to work mixing their 'special' brews to be carried by a myriad of new waiters to the medics and shaman at their life saving work.
Grotznot da Empaff accepted a bubbling blue potion from a wide eyed, frightened girl who could not have been more than twelve years old. At any other time she would never have been allowed in the infamous dance club. He took a deep drink and handed the now empty glass back to the girl. He smacked his lips and wiped them with back of a furry green hand.
“Gor, now that 'it the spot!” he exclaimed with a renewed vigor. “By Gork and Mork, git me anover one over 'ere! Let's git dese boyz back to Waugh!”
“That's the spirit, Grotz.” Zipakna replied as she looked at her newest patient. “I just hope it's enough.”