Stirgeman’s Call to Action
The Bigger Ben clock tower pitched as Stirgeman raced across its roof. He was almost there, almost to the tower’s edge. Tiles buckled under his left foot, but Stirgeman was quick. He jumped, throwing all of his might into one powerful leap.
He soared through the air like a robust eagle, his manly belly jiggling with fire, and hit the platform hard. The ground moaned as it shook once more. Stirgeman steadied himself and pulled out his telescopic Stirge-noculars.
The mayor, Icebyrd Slimm, was organizing the masses. Jack Masque, the miscreant masked crusader, was helping a group of shaken old ladies. Lita Lawless was yelling orders to her deputies. Stirgeman’s ever-loyal sidekick, Rob, was...running full-speed out of town?!
“Rob!” he yelled, “My paragon of friendship! Where are you going in our town’s time of need?!”
His most trusted ally was taking the coward’s way out! Stirgeman’s heart tore in two. To protect the city he loved more than any gourmet hamburger in Maple World or to follow after his dearest friend?
“Why, cruel fate?!” Stirgeman thrust his fists into the air. “Will the trials of Stirgeman never end?!”
“That chubby guy in the cape is yelling at the tower!” yelled a hooligan from the street below.
“He must be causing this! Let’s throw rocks at him!” yelled another.
Stirgeman’s decision was made. He ducked and weaved as a hail of pebbles rained over him.
The earthquakes were subsiding. Stirgeman would return when the criminals came out to prey on the weak. New Leaf City would never understand how much it needed him, its guardian, but he would never stop protecting it.
He bounded toward the Masteria fields, where he had seen Rob moments before.
Rob’s Time to Shine
I shoulda called Stirgeman to help me! Rob thought as he peered out at the strange worksite below him. I’m not ready to take on a bunch of aliens!
The gangly figures that walked amidst the site had large, glassy eyes that made it hard to tell where they were looking, and their strange, squeaky language sent a shiver down his spine.
Rob pressed himself against the ground. The aliens might see him if he tried to leave, but sitting here was a surefire way to get caught up by their patrols. He was so swept away by the strangeness of it all that he didn’t even notice when Stirgeman trampled up the trail behind him.
“Rob! The city is in danger and I find you here practicing your fauna identification?!”
“That’s not what I was doing, Stirgeman! Get down or they’re gonna—“
Sirens drowned out the rest of his words. Rob and Stirgeman stood dumbstruck as the spotlights swung toward them and a horde of beanpole beasts from beyond the stars merged on their position.
They were trapped with only one route left...
“We’ll win this day together, Stirgeman,” Rob said.
“We will indeed, my forever-friend.” Stirgeman replied, “And it shall be the greatest battle in the history of Maple World.”
The Greatest Battle in the History of Maple World
Space Memo Number: 0094488503-30-04
Subject: New Prisoner Report
We’ve made first contact with the bizarre beings of this planet. We now have two in custody. For the time being, we’re calling them “Maplings,” but we will soon reach consensus on a name that’s more descriptive, like “Headmonkeys” or “Goblinfaces.”
There was some minor surface damage to the Galacto-Drill during their capture. The Goblinfaces proceeded to throw pebbles and twigs at it for approximately three minutes, resulting in a dented fender. Gleebor, the Galacto-Drill mechanic, assured me he would have it fixed within the hour.
I stuck them in the Cell of Everlasting Itch earlier this evening after our mining operations caused minor seismographic anomalies in a nearby city. The Headmonkeys were dressed strangely, in masks and capes that we assumed to be symbols of shameful surrender but are now believed to be outfits of war.
I’ve been watching them for the better part of an hour and I’ve discovered some interesting things. Their odd grunting is a form of rudimentary speech, which I’ve programmed into the universal translator.
The two Maplings call themselves “Stirgemanandrob.” They seem to identify themselves as a sort of collective organism. Perhaps these Maplings are a hive-mind race similar to the Buggonian Brood of Roachikon VI? I’ll begin dissection as soon as I get my lab privileges back (and that “How to Dissect Foreign Species” guide I was promised when I signed up for this job).
I believe we have nothing to fear from these Maplings. Their oversized heads seem to have no bearing on their intelligence, and their technology is primitive at best. We will take their precious Lianium Ore and leave their planet a hollowed-out shell!
I would also like to use this space as a reminder of my request for transfer away from guard duty. I am tremendously sorry for missing little Gloopglop Bleeperson’s Ceremony of Great Largening, but I feel my talents are being wasted on guarding deformed Maple Goblinfaces. I would be much better suited to piloting a Deathbot or being a movie star.
Reporter: Glorp the Guard
Galactic ID Number: 24601
Bookmarks