Day 25 – The Art of the Camp

So now it seemed I had assembled at last my legions of terror, a real force able to bring the world to its knees… if I knew how to organize them in the slightest. I looked around at the unruly rabble, with absolutely no goals or direction. It was unfortunate, but a good many of them were quite obviously ‘new’ at this life thing as well, and of only minimal use.

“Let’s go kick ass!” someone called out of the rabble. Another spoke up. “No! Let’s go get richer!”

I murmured and looked across to the mass. I had to lay claim to this area of land as my own, and I would need something to occupy them. I needed a speech.

“Alright!” I started, raising a hand to get the crowd calmed. “We need to claim this rest station as our own… We need to show our neighbors that we’re a force to be reckoned with!” I shouted, so that everyone locally could hear.

“So come! Come join my gang, and… we’ll fight…” I paused. I had to think of some kind of villain, someone this new rabble could focus their hostile attentions against, instead of at my complete lack of leadership ability. “Uh… The Russians! Yes, they’re deceitful and they use dishonorable methods of retreat!” I proclaimed.

Things after that became a bit more interesting. Following a great cheer, I was brought out to meet the lucky volunteers who would accompany me on my mission of aggression, to show that I, a mere nobody in a compact automobile, now possessed this region.

Ushered into my Crow, we drove out in a great line across the highway, stopping at each offramp to check for any possible victims. Things were looking poor, when a member of my party had an idea. An idea I approved of.

We would honorably sit upon an offramp, stretching saran wrap across the opening and setting up camp with weapons and missiles aimed at any unfortunate victim. My gang of twelve waited, and waited. The excitement was incredible. The thrill of camping, combined with the joy of waiting.

…so we were bored out of our minds, really. Until we heard something coming, that is Everyone got ready at my whisper across our ‘teamspeak’ radio. I couldn’t even understand what I was saying through the garbled piece of junk, but I think the gang got the picture. Our target emerged, about to get caught in our trap. I watched him closely.

It was a middle school kid, riding along happily with an Impairtor bicycle. He rang his Civilian Bicycle Bell without a care in the world.

That’s when I drove up and broke his knees in with my ‘Prototype Fleeting Front Bumper’. The bike flew away, where three of my mates waited, smashing at it with baseball bats and small cannons. I drove on, watching contently as the gang took our victim, until he dragged himself off, still wearing an ‘Imperial Academy’ backpack. I didn’t feel bad. He was some private school punk, it seemed.

Still. I felt excited. Perhaps it was the thrill of a victory, or the completely incomprehensible garble on the teamspeak line with voices drowning out other voices by speaking such helpful tidbits like ‘Oh my god’ or ‘did you just see that’, but I felt good nonetheless.

At least, until a *slightly* more challenging foe appeared some minutes later after the excitement passed. Still, it was a mere Exequror, a gaudy ugly light truck, with a digusting dark green coloration. It entered our trap and we waited to ambush it again. It however, stopped and saw us. Backing up, it moved onto the freeway to the next exit, escaping. I tried to calm down my troops despite the escape.

“Do NOT chase after it!” I called into the radio. “Stay here!” I shouted.

Private Jenkins went after it, driving in a cloud of smoke up the onramp. My entire gang followed moments later.

I could only watch in horror how things predictably ended.

(to be continued)