The Council of Awesomeness
Just like any other blue Wednesday, the extreme exhaustion from a titanic challenge (namely 2 hours of solid and unrelenting badminton) meant that Al literally couldn’t be bothered to do any homework. After arriving at the enormous grounds of the famous Bollington mansion once owned by the famous hero of yore Lord Gaben, he circumnavigated the heavily guarded walls of stone to arrive at his small shack that he had built out of leaves and cardboard in the hope that no-one would find it (however, because the grounds of the vast house were so large, no-one came anywhere near its location anyway) he entered and found that his computer was turned on, and Steam was not responding. Al at this point was suspicious; either some Chinese hacker had broken the store and scammed the gaming lord for $30 million or it was a universal emergency; the second council of awesome must be held to deal with the problem.
Al knew he must be quick and efficient in his next deed, or he would raise the alarm of the people in the mansion and through them, the police. He sprinted outside like a slightly skinny cheetah and proceeded to the red brick wall that towered over the gardens of the manor house, protecting it from intruders and exclaimed ‘open says-a me’ in his very best accent (although when the council was held nobody knew why Al had said this, as of course it is common protocol not to use generic sayings as the password). The wall’s defence system activated and there was a huge rumble. Slowly, the front portion of the 15-foot barricade stared to wobble. Al forgot that the wall had been programmed to squish anyone who tried to gain entrance, but he took a couple of paces backwards and the wall crumbled at his feet. Where the pile of antique Tudor bricks had once stood now lay a gaping entrance to a clean, silver-walled stairwell leading down into the bowels of the earth. Al strode forwards into the well-lit tunnel and smiled to himself when he heard a loud screeching noise, looked back and once again the wall was back in place. This was his creation, the most high-security facility the world has ever seen. The Pentagon? Hah! Those silly Americans are so large that the ground shakes every time someone takes a step inside that ugly fortress. This was far more discreet. After 5 minutes of ambling through the clean silver corridor, he finally reached the atrium, the control centre of the facility. In the centre of the bowl shaped room there was a large mahogany oval table which was primarily designed to serve as a meeting place for the world’s greatest minds. At the end of the table there was a magnificent spectacle – a golden throne, over 10 feet tall and embossed with sculptures that depicted the entire history of the 21st Century (this was of course subject to change). It was a far cry from the other end of the table where prominent public figures like Obama and Jihadi John sat on the sort of plastic chair you might find in a primary school classroom, and even more spectacular than the office chairs of the innermost council.
Al took his place on the adored metal seat and opened a hatch in one of the arms. In it was two buttons of equal size and shape. One was labelled ‘coffee’ and one was labelled ‘launch nuclear weapons’; the first council of awesome had culminated when Ghandi was sacked as head of the council after “accidentally” pressing the ‘nukes’ button instead of ‘coffee’, and the fallout had forces the entirety of Austria to relocate to the Russian cities of Nvogorad and Rastavod. Al made sure to open the console a second time to reveal another button that was labelled ‘national emergency’. He sighed, and after 5 minutes of opening the consoles within the consoles he reached the point that he was reaching – ‘universal emergency’. He clicked the button.
The world shook. At precise locations all over the globe, explosions of sound that would put any annoying rock band to shame boomed out over the land, at only a handful of people knew what it meant. In Washington, D.C. a suited figure moved like a shadow making its way to a private jet in the chaos in the streets. In Chichen Itza, where people thought it was the end of the world, the head of New Inca stepped into the underground chamber of the stone massif where experiments so otherworldly even the Koreans couldn’t comprehend them. In the dense jungles of Papua New Guinea, the head of the ancient tribes escaped this Ewok-like village while the peasants were praying to the godly noise. In the cherry-blossomed pagoda in Japan, an armoured figure’s meditation was interrupted, and the noise was so deafening that even on the moon it could be heard as the entire space station reverberated around one man’s inner sanctum.
Back at ground zero, Al had encountered an unfortunate problem. While reaching down into the depths of his golden throne, his arm had jammed when the console started to close. Sweat poured down his brow as he realised he only had two options – he could either leave it there and be stuck until the entire council arrived, or he could amputate it. He would have to use a bone saw for that however and that would mean damaging his throne, so he decided to wait.
Exactly 127 hours later, there was a flash of light so blinding in the conference room that it was like there had been a strike of lightning. In a puff of smoke (not the smoke from a fire, the dry ice effects kind) a team of 5 people stepped out into the light. Here they were, the council of awesome. There was:
- The head of the entire judicial system of the USA and a good friend of the mafia, Michael Abrahamse
- The lord of the new Incan Order and jungle experimenter, David Jessop
- The intelligent explorer of the Pokémon world who doesn’t stay in hotels, Ben Lynch
- The famous samurai berserker in the red armour of death, Sam Baker
- The mathematical genius who is the first person ever to have a secret moon base on the moon, Alex Welsh
These all had nicknames, of course, but due to the purposes of this story not sounding too cheesy, these characters will be known as Al, Abe, Linkz, Ben, Baker and Kalil.
They took their seats at the council, Kalil and Linkz making sure to have a lap around the room on their office chairs before doing so and giving time for Ben to create the designs for his new aeronautical origami project (which Baker was impressed with, being Japanese).
Then Al noticed something. “Where’s Zee and Berridge?”
Kalil realised what happened to Zee. “He was busy doing… erm…important things with my minions in my moon base on the moon. He may be here in a minute. Or an hour. Or…”
“ENOUGH!” boomed Linkz – Baker nodded in appreciation. Al, shocked by the power of Linkz’s shouts, looked round at him in caution.
“So what happened to Berridge again?” he inquired.
Far away, in the vast plains of Sierra Leone, Berridge, a portly man who enjoyed frolicking among wild animals, was walking through the savannah taking in the isolated atmosphere. There he was, watching some lions lie around near some rocks, when they shook and pounced off like their lives depended on it and scarpered. Berridge was confused until a hulking figure, at least 8 feet tall, rose from behind the outcrop and stared at him. He knew, somehow, that this thing would pursue him. He turned and fled, raced back to his jeep and drove with the speed of a Mercedes Formula 1 car towards the nearest village. He suddenly felt rather ill, and got out of the car immediately to throw up all over the side of the road. His vision faltered and he felt faint, as if he was starved of oxygen. He fell down to the ground and gasped. It had only taken him 3 ½ minutes and he had contracted Ebola and was fighting for his life. The last thing he ever saw was a large figure towering over him… and then all was black.
-=An Alexander Welsh Spin-Off 2014 =-
The above content is no way affiliated with Zee’s Stories, nor is it wholly endorsed, this is all A. Welsh’s work.