meanestbear

Dr. Heinrich von Weinerschnitzel wiped the sweat from his brow.  He was a portly man and inclined to sweating, especially so in moments like these.  The dreaded word from the High Command would come any minute, he was sure.  They did not suffer failure lightly.  Yet hardly any of this was his fault.  Some careless handlers had allowed the infected test subject to escape, apparently, which infected the entire Fahrvergnugen Air Base with the experimental virus.

He had acted quickly, sending in a team of werewolves, who apparently were also vulnerable to the virus (who knew?) and were now, by all reports, werewolf zombies, also taking up residence in the abandoned base.  Reports, such as they were, were fairly vague, as there were no unzombified survivors on the base save one pilot found unconscious in a plane on the tarmac, who insisted he had no idea what had happened there.

Dr. Weinerschnitzel had then set his team immediately to work on production of the antivirus, which was fired into the compound from a distance, dispersing in gaseous form.  Unfortunately, they had been in too much of a rush to test the antivirus properly, and it turned out to ironically provide the zombies with super strength, as the follow-up reconnaissance team was able to briefly report before being devoured.

Profusely sweating by this time, the good doctor had waddled down to the Top Secret Advanced Science Division, hoping they would be able to provide him with some kind of solution.  Advanced Armor Technology enthusiastically provided him with prototypes of their latest full-body armor, impervious to bullets, heat, lasers, and impact.  He outfitted a squad of commandos with these and sent them in, discovering at that point that the armor was not resistant to viruses, and that now many of the zombies were outfitted with really good armor.  Advanced Weapons Science then stepped up to volunteer their new energy gun, capable of piercing even the Mark IV armor that the zombies now had.  Soon enough, the zombies also had energy guns.

As a last hope, Dr. Weinerschnitzel turned to the Advanced Genetics Division, whose greatest success had been the now widely used werewolves.  They were hard at work on other abominations, however, and he hoped that one of them might be of some use.  “What are you working on here, Dr. Passat?” he asked the thin, slightly creepy scientist eagerly fiddling with controls on the outside of a tank.

“Ah,” said Dr. Passat, turning to greet his colleague, “this is one of our latest experiments, the wereshark.”  Inside the tank, Dr. Weinerschnitzel saw a freakish creature flailing about somewhat ungracefully in slow motion.  It was the front half of a shark, with the back half being a pair of human legs.  The bottom half also included human genitals, which floated about in a somewhat undignified manner.  The front half was trying to swim with its fins while the legs thrashed around trying to find a surface to push off of.

“Oh,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “Er, um, what can it do?”

“Not very much,” admitted Dr. Passat, his enthusiasm not diminished.  “But what an accomplishment of science!  Come, have a look at our were-tiger.”  He led the other doctor down the hallway a short distance and pointed toward a reinforced steel cage.

Dr. Weinerschnitzel peeked cautiously toward the cage.  There was another odd creature, with the back half of a tiger and the front half a human torso.  The human half seemed distinctly uncomfortable, resting on its elbows and looking down at the ground most of the time so as not to strain its neck.

“And, er, how is that working?”

“Not well,” said Dr. Passat, “but it is a marvel of genetic engineering!  The British haven’t even come close.”

“Are they, er, trying?”

Dr. Passat frowned sternly at his colleague.  “I don’t know.  It’s immaterial.  What the world will remember is that we got there first!”

“I don’t mean to rush you, my dear Dr. Passat,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel, “but I have a very severe emergency to deal with at the moment.  Is there anything you have that can help me?”

“Pah,” said Dr. Passat, contemptuously.  “You must always have your applications.  No one appreciates the value of pure science.  Very well, come this way.”  He led the doctor all the way down to the end of the hall and then pointed inside a final cage.  “This is what we call the were-bull.”

Dr. Weinerschnitzel peered at the creature.  It had the body of a very powerful, muscular man, and the head of a bull.  “That appears to be a minotaur.”

“Nein!” said Dr. Passat.  “It is a were-bull.  We have copyrighted the name.”

“All right,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “So that one, er, works?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Passat.  “And I am aware from what I have read of your research that bovines are one species immune to your experimental virus.”

“Ah, perfect,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “I will have to ask to borrow some of these.  Are they… er… safe?”

“Yes, yes,” said Dr. Passat impatiently.  “We have only had three or four goring incidents this week.  They are normally quite obedient.  Just don’t make any sudden movements.”

A squad of were-bulls was assembled and sent into the infested base, some equipped with remote cameras so that those outside could keep track of the situation.  As one might have expected after giving it some thought, the human half was still quite vulnerable to the virus, and the result was that the bottom half of the were-bulls ended up trying to attack the top half, which was both comical and somewhat grisly at the same time.

“Well, I don’t understand,” said Dr. Passat, remarkably calm after this latest failure.  “Can’t you just burn down the whole base?  Trap them inside and destroy them all?”

“No, that would be disastrous!” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “The research in there is immensely valuable.  We must recover it at any cost.”

“What is it?” asked Dr. Passat.

“Atom bomb research!” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “We had just completed a working prototype!  And it’s down in that laboratory.”

“Hm,” said Dr. Passat.  “That, if recovered, could completely turn the tide of the war, as the Allies have not finished developing their own atom bomb yet and will not until 1945.”

“That being three years from this year, which is 1942,” agreed Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“I suppose you could reconstruct it from your notes?” said Dr. Passat.

“The notes are down there!” exclaimed Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“Surely your research team has had enough experience to recreate the work?”

“My research team was down there!”

“Well, then,” said Dr. Passat calmly, “I would say you are screwed.”

Wiping sweat away left and right, Dr. Weinerschnitzel hurried back to his office.  He paced back and forth fretfully before coming to a resolution.  He had no choice.  Taking a nearby axe, he broke open the glass window of the emergency case and pulled out the emergency kit.  When he had first been inducted into the Nazi party, he had been given strict instructions not to break this out unless the circumstances were absolutely dire.  He felt this was an appropriate time.  Reaching into the kit, he pulled out an inflatable pentagram, which he pumped up hurriedly and placed on the floor of his office.

After sacrificing an assistant and pouring his blood over the pentagram, a demon appeared.  “What?” it said.

Dr. Weinerschnitzel had been expecting a little more ceremony, but he was in a hurry too so he didn’t really care.  “Please!” he said.  “The zombies!  They’ve taken over the lab.  My prototype and all my notes are in there.  I must recover them.  I don’t care what it takes.”

The demon smiled.  “Ah, good,” it said.  “Zombies, is it?  Angered a necromancer, have you?”

“No, no,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “It’s simply an experimental virus gone horribly wrong.”

“Oh,” said the demon, looking bored.  “Another one of those.  Child’s play.  Let’s talk terms.”

With a poof, a wispy ghost appeared.  “No!” it cried.  “Don’t do it!”

“B-Baron von Count?” sputtered Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “Is that you?”

It was indeed the ghost of Baron von Count, in all his Aryan perfection, floating insubstantially behind the demon.  He seemed to have developed a slightly distressed look to replace his former haughty superiority, but it was hard to tell for sure because half his face was missing.  “I too broke out my emergency pentagram when my zeppelin was boarded by the Allied scum.  He promised me immortality.  And now look what I’ve become!”  He swished his limbs helplessly through the nearest bookshelf.  “Doomed forever to eternity as a ghost.”

“You shut up,” said the demon.  “It could be a lot worse.”

“How could it be worse?” demanded the ghost.  “I can touch nothing - do nothing.  I am more helpless than a child.  Even my handsome visage is forever marred.  And there is no relief from this from now until eternity.  How could it be any worse?”

The demon pointed a finger at the Baron’s ghost and with another poof, it was transformed into the form of a ghostly woman, or possibly drag queen.

“What the hell?” said the Baron, or possibly Baronness.  His voice was higher and slightly screechy.  “Gott in Himmel!”  The ghost floated away, muttering curses.

“Anyway, don’t listen to him,” said the demon.  “This is a pretty tall order, so I’m going to have to ask for your soul, and your dearest child.”

“Anything!  Anything!  Wait.”  Dr. Weinerschnitzel paused and scratched his chin.  “I thought you said this was child’s play.”

“Supply and demand, buddy,” said the demon.

“All right, all right,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  He had pretty much given up on his soul a long time ago, and the demon didn’t seem to know he had no children.  It didn’t seem like such a bad deal.

“Well, hop on,” said the demon.  Dr. Weinerschnitzel hopped on the demon’s back and it loped off, heading towards the doomed base.  Once there, it charged into the zombie-plagued laboratory, knocking the creatures left and right and dodging the energy guns.

“I forgot to mention they had energy guns,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“I probably would have charged extra,” said the demon, but managed not to get hit anyway.  It summoned fire and burned away zombies in its path, illuminating the darkened laboratory for an instant.  “Now where is this lab of yours?”

“To the right,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

The demon bounded to the right.

“Okay, now that door right there.”

They slipped inside what seemed to be a completely ruined laboratory.  Broken glass lay everywhere and sparks from electric wires flared lazily every now and then.

“There!” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel, pointing into a steel chamber with the door pulled half open.  “That’s where the bomb is.”

The demon finished prying open the chamber door with brute strength.  Inside was a large bomb emblazoned with a swastika.

“Oh, my baby!” cried Dr. Weinerschnitzel, leaping off and embracing the bomb.  “My precious baby!”

“And that’s mine,” said the demon, picking up the bomb.

“But… why…” gasped Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“Your dearest child,” said the demon, tapping the bomb and winking at him.  “As for your soul, I’ll pick it up after the zombies finish you.  Toodles.”

“No!” cried Dr. Weinerschnitzel, but as the demon raced off, he saw the zombies, emboldened, crawling into the ruined laboratory, hungry for delicious, ripe scientist brain.  No one heard his screams.

Meanwhile, Russ was roaring through the countryside on his motorcycle, and took a quick glance at his watch.  Right on time.  He drove right through the gates of the abandoned military base, smashing them to splinters, and came to a halt on the airfield.  He looked up and saw a distant red dot in the sky.  Explodington would be here soon.

Russ glanced about and was surprised to see what appeared to be a demon carrying a large bomb running out of one of the buildings.  He shot at it and heard a distant, “Ow!”

Getting back on the motorcycle, he roared over toward the curious figure, who had put down the bomb and turned toward him.

“Foolish son of darkness,” said the enraged demon.  “You were born of darkness, and you have no power over…”

A jet of fire engulfed the demon from behind, but this only made it laugh.  It turned around, where Lord Explodington was standing calmly, one smoking hand still pointing toward the demon.

“You fool!” said the demon.  “I am a creature of the fiery depths!  I thrive on fire!  Your attacks only feed-  AAAHHH!” The demon broke off into a girlish scream as some holy water splashed it from the side, where Sister Lucretia held two bottles of the stuff and waved them menacingly.

“Good thing I brought a friend,” said Lord Explodington.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!” screamed the demon, running around while the nun chased it.  “What the hell?  Who brings a nun to a fight?  What is wrong with you people?”

Undaunted, Sister Lucretia kept chasing after him and repeating Our Fathers.

“So, what’s that?” said Russ, nodding toward the bomb.

Explodington examined it excitedly.  “Good heavens.  This appears to be… an atomic bomb!”  As he kept examining it, however, his enthusiasm diminshed.  “There are vital parts missing.  With zombie shaped bites.”

“Oh,” said Russ.

“Nevertheless,” said Explodington, “it’s invaluable from a research standpoint.  We should get this into the hands of Allied scientists immediately.”

“You know,” said Russ, “there’s probably some notes down there too.  Let’s go ahead with the original plan and clean out that lab.”

Sister Lucretia returned, breathless.  Some distance away, a puddle of bubbling goo was all that remained of the demon.

“Thank you, Sister Lucretia,” said Lord Explodington with a bow.  “We just have some small business to take care of here, and then I’ll get you to your conference.”

“Ah, yes,” said the nun, beaming.  “I’ll just wait here for you.”

“Now, we’ll want to be very careful here,” said Russ warningly, as they opened the secret entrance and proceeded into the depths.  “The notes and research we’re hoping to recover could be anywhere, so you’ll want to hold back on that firepower until we’re certain we’ve found everything.”

“Of course,” said Explodington.  “Sometimes I think you take me for a fool.”  He clicked a button on his belt, and out of the collar of his armor, a plated head covering emerged, completing his armored protection.  Another button, and the visor came down over his face.

As they entered a room full of files, a swarm of zombies engulfed them.  Russ picked them off one by one as carefully as he could and smashed them against a nearby cabinet-free wall, while Explodington methodically grabbed one at a time, held it in front of him carefully, and burned it to ash.

“Russ, come over here,” he said, when he had finished, seeing that the vampire was still awash in the extremely resilient zombies.  Russ waded slowly over towards Explodington in the center of the room, six or seven zombies clinging to him, and Explodington proceeded to pick off those zombies and carefully incinerate them one by one.  With a jet of carbon dioxide, the armored man put out the few small flames that had escaped and danced on scraps of paper here and there.

They then set to work going through the files, and brought out anything that seemed useful, leaving it in a pile with Sister Lucretia before going back in.  They continued through the laboratory, room by room, for a few hours, with Explodington taking a quick break to drop Sister Lucretia off at her conference, as it was getting late.

In the last room, they found where the bomb prototype must have been kept, and were attacked by a strangely pudgy and not very strong zombie, which sweated a lot.  Explodington put the poor thing out of its misery, they gathered up what atomic bomb notes they could find, and returned to the surface.

Reluctantly, Russ abandoned his stolen motorcycle and stole one of the base’s trucks, piling the bomb and all the files into it.

“All right then,” said Explodington with a slight bow.  “I’ll see you at the rendezvous point then.”

“See ya,” said Russ, and drove off.

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