Post by Robyn on Oct 21, 2009 21:58:23 GMT -3
Oh boy, here we go. Okay first thing's first: I know the title is retarded. When I think of something better I'll change it. This is an AU, an apocalypse AU, so some stuff might not make sense at first but bear with me. Special thanks to Kat for her ideas and encouragement and to the three and a half people who showed interest in this. MST3K does not belong to me, all credit (and apologies) go to Best Brains.
CHAPTER ONE~
My name is Joel Robinson. If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.
Probably. I mean, okay, I realize that’s kind of a big assumption to make, but you have to understand my situation. As I write this, I can see my goal in the distance, a dark tower sitting on the horizon like some kind of big…evil…thing (sorry, I’m no good with words). On foot, it’ll take me a few days to get there, at least. I honestly don’t know if I’ll survive those days.
Though now that I think about it, maybe I’m alive and you’re reading this journal while I’m in the john or something. In that case, shame on you. It says “PRIVATE” on the cover for a reason, jerk. I turn my back for five minutes and you start rifling through my things who do you think
Okay I’m getting off-subject. I’m writing this because there are plenty of people who still don’t understand what happened. I’m still trying to piece it together myself.
It was 1989 when Dr. Forrester shot me into space for no good reason. Well, there were reasons, but they changed every time I asked him. Because he didn’t like me. He was bored and he had a spare spaceship. To take over the world…with bad movies….somehow. And you know, even after being forced to watch some truly awful movies, the idea was funny to me. I mean, what a silly premise, who would BUY that?
But no one was laughing when Forrester finally made his move.
I was in Australia at the time, having escaped some years before. I was working in some little diner in the middle of nowhere, trying to make enough scratch to get back to the States. One day we heard reports of a giant black tower appearing overnight in the middle of Wisconsin. Which, if you’ve never been, is unusual for the area.
This probably wouldn’t have made the news at all (certainly not global news, maybe a passing mention in The Milwaukee Journal), except that along with the tower, a SPACESHIP had also appeared, hovering some hundred feet over the tower. A very familiar spaceship. That’s when I started to get a bad feeling.
Then the diner’s TV died. Every channel appeared as static. Radio, too. The world wide web was still working, though, and a quick glance revealed that it wasn’t just us, it was happening everywhere, all over the world. This was terrible, of course, because it meant no one was going to get to see the newest episode of Charles in Charge, but I had a feeling something even worse was coming.
Looking back, I guess I should’ve tried to warn others, even if I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but really, what could I have possibly said? When I told people I was shot into space by some mad scientists and forced to watch terrible movies with my robot friends, they thought I was nuts (I can’t imagine why), so I had doubts that I would change any minds. I felt like Noah just before the flood. I had no ark, but I had the company van, so I grabbed two of every Pop Tart and got the hell out of Dodge.
I camped out in the wilderness for about two weeks. I would’ve stayed longer but I ran out of Pringles. But as it turned out, two weeks was all it took. I returned to the diner to find it deserted, left in ruins, as were the surrounding buildings. In fact, the only thing standing was the television, which had been left on. I kept my distance. Somehow, I knew that there was a movie playing on the screen. And I knew if I looked, it would be the last movie I’d ever see. I
Joel Robinson suddenly looked up, snapping his journal shut. He listened. Did he hear someone or something slowly moving through the brush towards him, or was it just his imagination? Suddenly paranoid, he stomped out the small campfire with his boot, now regretting starting it in the first place. Post-Apocalyptic Wisconsin was bitterly cold (okay, you could say that about Pre-Apocalypse Wisconsin too), but it really wasn’t an excuse to risk getting killed…or worse.
He snatched his rifle and slowly stood up, flattening himself against the tree he’d been sitting under. The sun was setting, the trees made dark silhouettes in the fading light. It was quiet. Maybe it WAS just his imagination. Joel sighed, trying to calm himself. He began to quietly whistle:
Whenever I feel afraid,
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune,
So no one will suspect
I’m afraid…
“Oh good, I thought I’d never find you in this dark – “
“AAAAHHH” Joel whipped around, flailing. The point of his gun smacked something hard and he heard a yelp. When he had regained his balance, he could see a man crouched on the ground before him, holding his head in pain.
“Don’t DO that!” Joel snapped, flustered. Then he saw what the man was wearing – a crisp green jumpsuit with a gold “F” emblazoned on the front – and his face became grim. He aimed his gun.
“Owww…” The man looked up. In contrast to his uniform, the man’s face was dirty and scarred. He was unshaven and his hair was wild. When he saw the gun, his eye (he was wearing an eyepatch too) widened and he raised his hands.
“Whoa WHOA WAIT”
“The last guy wearing a uniform like that tried to kill me. I put him in the ground.”
(That last bit was a lie, but it sounded pretty cool in Joel’s head.)
“Yeah okay, first of all, it’s kinda hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing those goggles.”
Joel frowned and pushed said goggles off his face so that they sat above his eyes. “What’s wrong with my goggles?”
“They’re pink.”
“Yeah, well…whatever, ‘least I’m not a minion of evil!”
“I’m NOT, okay? I was a prisoner in the tower, I JUST escaped, I got this outfit off a guard!”
The man yanked up his pantleg so Joel could see the large shackle around the man’s right ankle. There was a broken chain hanging off of it.
“Oh, well…” Joel lowered his gun. “Well, that’s cool. How’d you escape?”
“Knocked out a guard, used his raygun to break the chain, took his uniform, that kinda thing.”
“Nice. Did you lure him over with the ‘sick prisoner’ routine?”
“Heh, unfortunately, not even Dr. F’s guys are dumb enough to fall for that.”
Joel chuckled, something, he realized, he hadn’t done in what seemed like forever. “Hey wait…you have a raygun?”
“Ah, well, I did,” the man said, sounding embarrassed, “but I kinda lost it.”
“You lost it?”
“Well, more accurately, it was eaten. By a mutant.”
“Eaten by a what?”
“A mutant. You haven’t seen any yet? You’ll see ‘em if you hang out around here long enough, Dr. F’s always conjuring up all kinds of freaks and setting them loose. You’re not from around here, huh?”
“Well, no. I mean, I used to be. Before, you know…” Joel gestured in the direction of the tower, “that. I was gone for a while.”
“My advice? Go back to wherever you came from.”
“Not yet. I’m looking for some robots.”
The man snorted. “You’ll find plenty of them as you get closer to the tower, though that’s a quick way to get vaporized.”
“Not Forrester’s killer robots, I mean…uh, hang on.” Joel pulled out his wallet. There was little use for cash in Dr. Forrester’s world, but this wallet held something more precious to Joel than money.
He flipped it open so the man could see the photo inside. It was a picture of a younger, sleepier Joel, on the bridge of the Satellite of Love, surrounded by his robot “family," Gypsy, Crow, and Tom Servo. Cambot, of course, was the one who took the picture (Joel always regretted not getting more pictures of Cambot when he had the chance).
“Oh my God,” the man said, staring at the photo, “today really is a day of miracles.”
“Wh-what?”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered, worn photo. It had been folded and unfolded many times. He flattened it out as best he could and held it up to Joel.
It was the same scene, with the same robots. But there was a different man now, a smiling blonde man with bright blue-green eyes. Amazed, Joel looked from the photo to the man’s face to see the same eyes (well, eye) staring back at him.
“Holy cow,” Joel muttered, “you’re – ”
“Mike Nelson,” the man said with a grin, “it’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.”
CHAPTER ONE~
My name is Joel Robinson. If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.
Probably. I mean, okay, I realize that’s kind of a big assumption to make, but you have to understand my situation. As I write this, I can see my goal in the distance, a dark tower sitting on the horizon like some kind of big…evil…thing (sorry, I’m no good with words). On foot, it’ll take me a few days to get there, at least. I honestly don’t know if I’ll survive those days.
Though now that I think about it, maybe I’m alive and you’re reading this journal while I’m in the john or something. In that case, shame on you. It says “PRIVATE” on the cover for a reason, jerk. I turn my back for five minutes and you start rifling through my things who do you think
Okay I’m getting off-subject. I’m writing this because there are plenty of people who still don’t understand what happened. I’m still trying to piece it together myself.
It was 1989 when Dr. Forrester shot me into space for no good reason. Well, there were reasons, but they changed every time I asked him. Because he didn’t like me. He was bored and he had a spare spaceship. To take over the world…with bad movies….somehow. And you know, even after being forced to watch some truly awful movies, the idea was funny to me. I mean, what a silly premise, who would BUY that?
But no one was laughing when Forrester finally made his move.
I was in Australia at the time, having escaped some years before. I was working in some little diner in the middle of nowhere, trying to make enough scratch to get back to the States. One day we heard reports of a giant black tower appearing overnight in the middle of Wisconsin. Which, if you’ve never been, is unusual for the area.
This probably wouldn’t have made the news at all (certainly not global news, maybe a passing mention in The Milwaukee Journal), except that along with the tower, a SPACESHIP had also appeared, hovering some hundred feet over the tower. A very familiar spaceship. That’s when I started to get a bad feeling.
Then the diner’s TV died. Every channel appeared as static. Radio, too. The world wide web was still working, though, and a quick glance revealed that it wasn’t just us, it was happening everywhere, all over the world. This was terrible, of course, because it meant no one was going to get to see the newest episode of Charles in Charge, but I had a feeling something even worse was coming.
Looking back, I guess I should’ve tried to warn others, even if I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but really, what could I have possibly said? When I told people I was shot into space by some mad scientists and forced to watch terrible movies with my robot friends, they thought I was nuts (I can’t imagine why), so I had doubts that I would change any minds. I felt like Noah just before the flood. I had no ark, but I had the company van, so I grabbed two of every Pop Tart and got the hell out of Dodge.
I camped out in the wilderness for about two weeks. I would’ve stayed longer but I ran out of Pringles. But as it turned out, two weeks was all it took. I returned to the diner to find it deserted, left in ruins, as were the surrounding buildings. In fact, the only thing standing was the television, which had been left on. I kept my distance. Somehow, I knew that there was a movie playing on the screen. And I knew if I looked, it would be the last movie I’d ever see. I
Joel Robinson suddenly looked up, snapping his journal shut. He listened. Did he hear someone or something slowly moving through the brush towards him, or was it just his imagination? Suddenly paranoid, he stomped out the small campfire with his boot, now regretting starting it in the first place. Post-Apocalyptic Wisconsin was bitterly cold (okay, you could say that about Pre-Apocalypse Wisconsin too), but it really wasn’t an excuse to risk getting killed…or worse.
He snatched his rifle and slowly stood up, flattening himself against the tree he’d been sitting under. The sun was setting, the trees made dark silhouettes in the fading light. It was quiet. Maybe it WAS just his imagination. Joel sighed, trying to calm himself. He began to quietly whistle:
Whenever I feel afraid,
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune,
So no one will suspect
I’m afraid…
“Oh good, I thought I’d never find you in this dark – “
“AAAAHHH” Joel whipped around, flailing. The point of his gun smacked something hard and he heard a yelp. When he had regained his balance, he could see a man crouched on the ground before him, holding his head in pain.
“Don’t DO that!” Joel snapped, flustered. Then he saw what the man was wearing – a crisp green jumpsuit with a gold “F” emblazoned on the front – and his face became grim. He aimed his gun.
“Owww…” The man looked up. In contrast to his uniform, the man’s face was dirty and scarred. He was unshaven and his hair was wild. When he saw the gun, his eye (he was wearing an eyepatch too) widened and he raised his hands.
“Whoa WHOA WAIT”
“The last guy wearing a uniform like that tried to kill me. I put him in the ground.”
(That last bit was a lie, but it sounded pretty cool in Joel’s head.)
“Yeah okay, first of all, it’s kinda hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing those goggles.”
Joel frowned and pushed said goggles off his face so that they sat above his eyes. “What’s wrong with my goggles?”
“They’re pink.”
“Yeah, well…whatever, ‘least I’m not a minion of evil!”
“I’m NOT, okay? I was a prisoner in the tower, I JUST escaped, I got this outfit off a guard!”
The man yanked up his pantleg so Joel could see the large shackle around the man’s right ankle. There was a broken chain hanging off of it.
“Oh, well…” Joel lowered his gun. “Well, that’s cool. How’d you escape?”
“Knocked out a guard, used his raygun to break the chain, took his uniform, that kinda thing.”
“Nice. Did you lure him over with the ‘sick prisoner’ routine?”
“Heh, unfortunately, not even Dr. F’s guys are dumb enough to fall for that.”
Joel chuckled, something, he realized, he hadn’t done in what seemed like forever. “Hey wait…you have a raygun?”
“Ah, well, I did,” the man said, sounding embarrassed, “but I kinda lost it.”
“You lost it?”
“Well, more accurately, it was eaten. By a mutant.”
“Eaten by a what?”
“A mutant. You haven’t seen any yet? You’ll see ‘em if you hang out around here long enough, Dr. F’s always conjuring up all kinds of freaks and setting them loose. You’re not from around here, huh?”
“Well, no. I mean, I used to be. Before, you know…” Joel gestured in the direction of the tower, “that. I was gone for a while.”
“My advice? Go back to wherever you came from.”
“Not yet. I’m looking for some robots.”
The man snorted. “You’ll find plenty of them as you get closer to the tower, though that’s a quick way to get vaporized.”
“Not Forrester’s killer robots, I mean…uh, hang on.” Joel pulled out his wallet. There was little use for cash in Dr. Forrester’s world, but this wallet held something more precious to Joel than money.
He flipped it open so the man could see the photo inside. It was a picture of a younger, sleepier Joel, on the bridge of the Satellite of Love, surrounded by his robot “family," Gypsy, Crow, and Tom Servo. Cambot, of course, was the one who took the picture (Joel always regretted not getting more pictures of Cambot when he had the chance).
“Oh my God,” the man said, staring at the photo, “today really is a day of miracles.”
“Wh-what?”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered, worn photo. It had been folded and unfolded many times. He flattened it out as best he could and held it up to Joel.
It was the same scene, with the same robots. But there was a different man now, a smiling blonde man with bright blue-green eyes. Amazed, Joel looked from the photo to the man’s face to see the same eyes (well, eye) staring back at him.
“Holy cow,” Joel muttered, “you’re – ”
“Mike Nelson,” the man said with a grin, “it’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.”
<
I love this! Very awesome idea! 
) where Joel is written as some kind of brilliant, cool-headed genius and Mike is a big dopey simpleton. Joel is a dope too, okay!?
; Mike is smart too! D8 I don't really think one is smarter than the other, and they are both definitely dopes. XD;