“The SWAT Kats Anthology” by Nicholas ‘Tom’ Ball and Thomas ‘Nick’ Murtagh
Introduction: Well. There are questions that must be answered for all TV shows, and SWAT Kats is no exception. Let’s face it, FAQ Kats sucked. Hey! Shut up, Nick, I’m typing. kuvfcysfdjkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
Nick here. The excellent work of FAQ Kats (and FAQ Kats II, and ‘FAQ Kats III: This Time I’ve Got Too Much Free Time’) weren’t truly appreciated to the full potential of their genius by *SOME* Philestine, and there has not been alot of work to explain why the SWAT Kats are the way they arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkjh
Tom back. Head hurt. Pills now. Why do they never go outside MegaKat City? Where do they get their uniforms from? When Jake puts the chile in the pocket of his garage attendant uniform, how does it turn up in the pocket of his SWAT Kat uniform? And why does everyone try to make their writer’s name ‘Razor’, and no-one ‘T-Bone’? All questions that *MUST* be answered. Okay Nick, you can get up now. The SWAT Kats Anthology is a deep insight into the quasi-mysterious past of the two vigilantes that we all know, love, and try to be when we’re sure that nobody’s looking. Oh yeah, like you’ve never put your red hat on backwards and said “Aw, Chance!” even though there’s no-one you know called Chance, I mean, what kind of name is Chance anyway? And like you’d say ‘Krud!’ instead of the ‘f’ word. In fact, I feel like saying it now. Why don’t you all fffffffffffffffff Nick’s resting again, so I’d better finish this before he regains both motor and sensory capabilities. This is an authorative SWAT Kats history, and it’s correct in every single way. Yes. Even the 37 Zone references. Oh, did we mention we have a site? It happens to be called 37 Zone. Fancy that. The URL is subliminally hidden somewhere in the text of this document. Prize goes to the first person who finds it, as long as it’s not Hackle. Good luck, and f*** you all. Oops.
“The SWAT Kats Anthology”
“Man,” said Chance, sitting back on the sofa, resting his arm on an end, and thus competing the cliche, “we sure have been busy lately”
“Aw, Chance” Jake said, completing his own cliche, “everyone’s been busy. It’s what to be expected – it’s the end of the Fiscal Year!”
“The Fiscal what-a-what?”
“Basically, it just means that everyone is in a hurry to try and make ends meet before audit time. Of course, then the ends are moved, and the tax people audit you anyway..”
“Hey, wait up..say that word again, Jake”
“What – ‘audit’?”
“No..that other one”
“Oh, you mean ‘tax’. Why?”
“I don’t know..it’s just somehow seems familiar..”
“Maybe you’re just remembering one of our past professions. Maybe you remember when we were-”
SWAT Tax ———–
A siren sounds.
A flash of black.
A heavily-engineered and laboured engine revs into action.
Two smartly-dressed figures appear out of nowhere and into the front seats of a black wood-panelled stationwagon.
“Let’s do it!”
In a blink, the car screeches into action and out onto the street, in search of a law-breaker.
They are the SWAT Tax-kats, defenders of those who pay tax. Enforcers of rate payment. And sole owners of the much sought-after left-handed ledger pad. In search of another tax-cheat.
The Taxwagon sped along Megakat Highway.
Chance straightened up his tie with one paw, keeping the other on the steering wheel. “Do we have a location on the offender, Jake?”
Jake looked at the monochrome-green screen of the tracker and nodded. “Looks like we’re headed for Megakat Falls. Eastern sector.”
“One caucasian male-kat aged in his mid forties. Failed to lodge form #SOB370042 slash B-nine-two by the appointed date. House is currently surrounded by Enforcer team. Offender is unarmed, but possibly dangerous.”
Jake cleared his throat professionally and brushed a molecule of dust from a heavily-padded shoulder. “He has been arrested on two previous occasions on suspicion of possessing a … Meatloaf album.”
Throughout the whole conversation, Chance had kept his eyes on the road straight ahead. The moment he heard the singer’s name, however, he turned to face Jake.
“That’s crazy.” He turned back to the road as if he had never flinched, then changed his mind and shook his head. “Woah. We should have earplugs.”
A brief period of silence interrupted only by the sound of tyres on road and the clicking of Jake’s combination briefcase as he thrust it open.
“Ledgers. Biros. Calculators. Form #SOB370042/B92 in triplicate. Carbon paper. All there. And this is our turn.”
Chance swung the wheel fiercely to the right and the car skidded neatly and precisely into Megankatun Road. The German part of town. The stationwagon followed the exact contour of the windy road until two lefts, a roundabout and a bridge later, it pulled up neatly outside the building in Megakat Falls. A swarm of Enforcer helicopters blockaded the street. Commander Feral looked up as the two suave and immaculately dressed kats simultaneously stepped out of the car, briefcases in hand, slamming the doors as one. Jake took control.
“Gentlemen, we’re glad you’re here …”
“Is he in there?”
“Yes, but …”
“Certainly – but …”
“Hold your men back. We’re in charge.” Jake strode towards the lab. He halted and raised the megaphone.
“PROFESSOR HACKLE. THIS IS THE SPECIALIST SWAT TAX-KATS TEAM. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND AT LEAST 137 POINTS WORTH OF I.D. …”
Callie Briggs stood in the middle of the mayor’s office pretending to be a flag, while Mayor Manx shouted at her.
“I’m telling you, Miss Briggs, they’ve gone too far.” he said, hitting the golf ball towards a specially-drilled hole in the floor between her feet. “They simply have no right to come in here and expect me to fill in some silly form I’ve never heard of.”
The ball bounced against his desk and back to the tee. Her arms began to hurt.
“Well, Mayor, if it’s any consolation, they don’t actually want you to fill in any forms at all,” she corrected. “They just want to bust you for *not* filling in forms. And not paying tax.” she added.
Manx abruptly jerked his carefully aligned putter, sending the ball rolling down the hall. “P – pay tax?” he stuttered “M – Me? The mayor? P – preposterous! They’re obviously mistaken. I have no taxes to pay. Now get my ball.”
Callie carefully strutted out of the office on way-too-high heels and into an anxious Commander Feral. “He’s in there …” she stated obviously, “but he’s not happy.”
The Commander marched into the office. Mayor Manx started to attention and relaxed at the sight of his old friend. “Ferry old kat! How are you? Just- just, uh, doing some paperwork” he lied, hiding the golf-club behind his well-proportioned bulk.
“Manxy! Manky-panky! Spanky-manky good old buddy o’ mine!” smiled Commander Feral cheesily. “How are you! Good to see you! Smashing day, isn’t it!” They glanced out of the window at the massive thunderstorm approaching from the southern shores of Megakat Land.
The mayor sat in his well-worn chair behind his little-used desk, and hid the putter. “What can I do for you, Commander?”
The cheesy smile grew sheepish. “I’m actually in a spot of bother, Mayor. I’ve received a summons -” pulling out an official looking paper “- demanding that I appear in Megakat Court for … (mumble mumble)”.
“Wha – ?”
“….. tax evasion …..”
“Hmmm – ?”
“And I was sort of wondering if – MAYBE – if you could and you didn’t mind too much and it’s not too much trouble, you …”
“You want me to use my political influence to get you out of trouble.”
Feral nodded sheepishly.
“I’d love to help.” Manx sighed “but unfortunately I’m in exactly the same situation. Failure to pay tax. Failure to report tax-file number. Failure to return form #SOB370042/B93 …”
Feral frowned. “Slash B nine three? There’s no such thing.”
“Slash nine two! Whatever! I don’t have time for this! I wish I could help but I can’t. Those blasted SWAT Tax kats are above the law.” He stood up and crushed his favourite five-iron. “And we are not.”
Jake and Chance went from house to house, quickly running out of summonses, biros and forms #SOB370042/B92. It seemed that nobody in Megakat Land ever payed tax at all. The drill remained the same for each house. Routine was good.
Mark appropriate box.
Good morning [ ]
afternoon [ ]
evening [ ]
We are from the specialist SWAT Tax team.
Sir/Madam [circle appropriate], are you aware that our records show that
you have not paid tax for a period of:
[ ] 1 – 5 years [ ] 6 – 10 years [ ] more than ten years
I am afraid that that particular reason does not exempt you from paying
tax. Just because:
[ ] You have no money [ ] Your wife left you
[ ] Your dog ate it [ ] You forgot
[ ] Se non habla Katspeke [ ] You’re an anarchist
[ ] You’re the mayor [ ] You don’t live here
[ ] You never received form #SOB370042/B92
[ ] Other ___________________________________________
is no excuse for breaking the law.
You are hereby required to appear at Megakat court on:
FOR OFFICE USE ONLY:
Date to appear: __/__/____
Thankyou for your cooperation. We look forward to a future of receiving
taxes from you.
“I now call on the case of The State of Megakat Land vs Miss Callie Briggs. The charge is of twenty-two counts of tax fraud, five counts of tax evasion, and two of failing to properly fill in form #SOB370042/B92. Oh, and I see one count of Kicking a Tax Commissioner with an Indecently Pointy Stiletto. How do you plead, Miss Briggs?”
“Guilty, your honour.”
“Twenty years imprisonment. Next.” Judge McGahkat peered through his thick-framed spectacles at the list. “The State of Megakat Land vs Mayor Manx.” At any other time, the judge would have been surprised to see the Mayor in the dock. Up till now, those in positions of high political power had enjoyed relative immunity from the law. But recently, everybody had suffered the wrath of SWAT Tax. It was the mayor’s own fault, really. He should have realised that it was a risky move to appoint Tax Commissioners in a place where virtually nobody ever paid tax.
“The charge is of ten-thousand-five-hundred-and-thirty-seven counts of tax fraud,” A gasp went up from the small crowd assembled in the courtroom, most of whom still awaited trial, “five-thousand-and-one counts of tax evasion, and 93 counts of Using Red Pen Instead of Blue or Black when Filling in Form #SOB370042/B92. How do you plead, Mister Mayor?”.
The only problem Judge McGahkat really had with the whole business was the amount of extra work it created for him. There just weren’t enough judges to go around, and Gods-know how the judges were going to undergo trial themselves, whether or not they could try themselves remained a gray area. But in the most part, the cases were quickly resolved: the defendants usually conducted their own defence, pleaded guilty to all charges – there was no defence – and the cases were usually over in less than half a minute. Nobody got out of the courtroom with less than 17 years.
“Not guilty, your Honour.”
Whispers of discomfort went around the courtroom. Could he – ? When would – ? How will – ? I can’t – ? Finish a – ? Sentence properly – ? Judge McGahkat looked up with a jerk. Mayor Manx stood in the dock confidently, with a team of highly-trained legal professionals swarming around him. Oh dear. This could take some time.
“SWAT Tax-kats, we have a problem.”
Chance looked up from the ledger. “Commander Feral. Haven’t you undergone trial yet?”
Feral looked sheepish, a look he was getting used to using. “Not yet. Some damn fool’s disputing the charges. Says you’ve made a mistake. Which, ah, of course you HAVEN’T, of course not.” he corrected. “Silly foolish man.”
“A problem, you say?” reminded Jake. He liked problems. Problems usually meant confusion. Confusion meant a situation that could get out of hand, a situation that could be exploited for all the tax money it was worth.
“Yes, yes. It seems that after all the recent summonses and arrests and convictions … well, we’re running out of jail space.”
The two SWAT Tax kats stood still opposite the imposing bulk of Feral. A cold stormy wind blew between them. A lengthy moment passed, during which only the Commander shifted uneasily.
Finally Chance spoke. “Your point being – ?”
Jake spoke next. “You know, it’s not our problem.”
“We just bring in the tax offenders. Incarceration of convicted felons remains a responsibility of the State, regardless of the crime committed.”
“We don’t have to help you at all.”
” … ”
“But,” said Chance, relishing the moment, “we can always work a deal …”
The trial moved into its third day much as it had every other day – with Mayor Manx talking way too much and being way too boring. The audience had long since left, and Manx’s lawyers had obviously decided that the chance of their being paid was fairly low. The judge and the mayor sat alone in the courtroom.
“… and so, Your Most Honourableness, that is how I was raised by kindly wood-elves, who unfortunately used a political system that banned the use of any currency whatsoever, and hence didn’t have to pay tax.”
From deep within his subconscious, Judge McGahkat stirred from a boredom- induced trance. “Uh huh …”
“Did I mention how I spent fifteen years as a political prisoner in a tiger cage that I was hypnotised to believe was a tax-haven?” The mayor looked up at the judge and stifled a yawn.
The judge did not. “Mayor Manx, these … ANECDOTES … as you call them, are not helping your case at all. Not only is the authenticity of the tales questionable, but they also have absolutely no relevance to the charges at all.”
“I am aware of that.”
The judge glared at him. “Then stop wasting my time. Have you changed your plea? Or do you wish to continue the case in a sensible fashion?”
Please sensible fashion. PLEASE sensible fashion!
“Foolhardy as it may be, Your Honour, I wish to continue with my plea of Not Guilty.”
The mayor took a thoughtful sip of water as he considered the best course of action. “Your Honour, I do not deny that I have failed to pay tax. I do not deny that I, like many, many others in Megakat Land have defrauded the State of money through this failure to pay tax. And I do not deny that I used the wrong colour pen to fill in those forms. Really, I couldn’t help it – the pens leaked and I grabbed the first pen I could find and -” He began to get worked up. “- and I just started writing and I was so worked up over dependents and whether pets counted as dependents and whether I could count Megakat City as one big tax refund and -”
“Mayor Manx -”
“- and I didn’t know what to do about the little blobs of ink that kept collecting on the pen anidontknowwhattodooooo!” he wailed pathetically. “Those stupid Tax kats! Why can’t they leave decent, hard-working kats like me alone and go after the real baddies like Dark Kat!”
“Mister Mayor! Please! Control your emotions or I’ll have you in contempt of court!” Judge McGahkat had always wanted to say that. “The SWAT Tax Bureau haven’t summonsed Dark Kat because he hasn’t actually committed any crime.”
“Dark Kat may look nasty and he may appear to commit crimes and he may yet prove to be a praeternatural evil released from the depths of time with unprincipled and immoral intent to take over the world, but he is one of the few law-abiding citizens who actually pays his taxes. You would do well,” he said, leaning towards Manx, “to follow his example.”
“But …” The Mayor was flabbergasted. He knew the judge was right. “But … he’s so evil! Surely you can see that?” Judge McGahkat ignored him and shuffled some papers busily. “I know you can hear me! I’m the most powerful kat in Megakat Land! You can’t ignore me forever!” The Judge looked at him seriously.
“You know, you’re right.” He smiled a smug smile. “I find the defendant guilty of all charges -” he announced to the empty court “- and hereby sentence him to fifty thousand years imprisonment. No, wait.” Fifty thousand years was an awful long time. He saw the piteous look on Manx’s face. “Oh, very well. Sixty thousand. Next case – the State of Megakat Land vs the Pastmaster.”
Two confused Enforcers suddenly appeared out of nowhere – one wearing an Ancient Egyptian-style headdress and papyrus skirt, the other wearing a futuristic metal suit with fluorescent stripes, and both smouldering gently – with the Pastmaster lurking evilly between them.
The future Enforcer slowly and coolly lifted his visor: “I am the law.”
Judge McGahkat pointed angrily at the Enforcer. “You are not. While you are in this courtroom, *I* am the law. I find you in contempt of court. Twenty years. Next.”
“It’s the only way.”
“It’s certainly a novel approach …”
“I don’t know if …”
Jake snapped. “You have no choice. If you want to imprison every tax offender, then your only option is to convert Megakat City into a jail.”
Feral looked sheepish. He wished he didn’t, but then again, he hadn’t stopped looking sheepish since about 10 a.m. last Friday.
Chance sighed impatiently. “It’s not as if there would be any great cost involved. Just slap up a few signs here and there …”
“… sign a few forms …”
“… everybody can keep working, keep their old jobs, keep it self-contained …”
“You don’t have to handcuff everyone …”
“… just give everyone a security implant – like the ones we had put into the neck of those five-hundred test su-”
Jake slapped Chance on the back of the head. “That’s enough, Chance.”
Feral disagreed. “But – but the cost involved would be tremendous! We’d need 24-hour Enforcer patrols, electrified fences, security helicopters …”
Chance looked at the Commander with a look that would have withered a brick. “You would *not*.”
“But if someone were to escape …”
Jake pshawed loudly. “Escape?” He and Chance shared a look of disbelief. “Escape? Why?” Feral began to object. “As if anyone would bother escaping! What’s there to escape to?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Chance continued, “there isn’t actually anything outside of Megakat City. Well, apart from some pretty exciting deserts …”
Commander Feral considered this at length. It was reasonable enough. Megakat City would be separated from the rest of Megakat Land – those few non-tax-cheats would live in luxury outside the limits; he and the other felons would live on inside the prison, with minimum disruption to the legal and economic systems as a whole.
” … but what if some of the outsiders tried to break in?” asked Feral suddenly, remembering Dark Kat’s ALLEDGED evilness and prompt payment of taxes.
“Oh, don’t you worry. WE’LL figure something out!” said Chance, winking.
Satisfied, the Commander hopped into a nearby helicopter.
“What have you got in store, buddy?” asked Jake as Feral flew off.
He looked at him confusedly. “What?”
“You winked at me. I assumed that you had a plan.”
“I didn’t wink. Are you making fun of my nervous tic?”
“You don’t have a nervous tic.”
“Well ex-CUUUUSE me!”
The two black-suited kats wrestled each other to the ground.
“Don’t make me get nasty!”
“Ooh! Whatcha gonna do? Wink at me?”
Chance pulled out a pen-shaped pistol.
“Don’t be stupid! Put – it – down! Grrr!” They rolled around with arms outstretched. Grabbing Chance’s wrist, Jake attempted to prise open the claws one by one.
“I’m warning you -” The gun discharged. Faster than the speed of sound, a .001 calibre bullet whizzed through the air, the shockwave pushing the two kats apart. They barely noticed the nearby explosion as they lay panting on the ground. Chance was the first to speak.
“You OK, buddy?” Jake gave the thumbs-up signal. “I wonder what we hit …”
A scorched and smouldering Feral clambered out of the crashed helicopter. “You hotshot vigilantes! You’ve really done it now. OH, you’re in big trouble now. I’m going to see you demoted …”
AN UNSPECIFIED AMOUNT OF TIME LATER …
“… and so, it is with a great sense of pride, a great sense of achievement, and, yes, a great sense of shame and humiliation that I begin my 50-thousand-year sentence with my fellow kats in this, the new, user-friendly, and …” The Mayor looked out at the crowd of convicts with a wink. “… tax-free, Megakat City Minimum Security Prison for Petty-but- Repeated Offences.” There was a huge applause as Mayor Manx cut the ribbon while two Enforcers ceremoniously handcuffed him and took him within the City limits. The crowd followed, with the exception of two highly depressed plain-uniformed Enforcers.
“Can you believe it?” said Chance, shaking his head. “Out of the SWAT Tax Team, and into regular, boring-old Enforcer duties. That’s it. I’m never paying tax again.”
“… not that there’s anyone to check up on it anymore, anyway.” commented Jake wryly.
Chance sighed. “It could be worse. At least we can go in and out of the jail as we please.” A highly exciting dead cactus marking a point of interest in the deserts surrounding the City perked up and paid attention. “It might come in handy if we ever do become, you know, ‘hotshot vigilantes’ and have to defend the city against outsiders like, oh, I don’t know, Dark Kat! …”
“You did not say that!” said Jake, fiddling with the remote and seeing if the batteries could be used as potentially deadly missiles. “You’re just adding that to make it sound ironic.”
“I did too …” defended Chance. “You just … weren’t listening. You’re jealous that you didn’t say it.”
“Am not …” whined Jake.
“Are too …” imitated Chance.
“But it’s just as well that we DID pay our taxes. Or,” Jake said shiftily, “covered it up well enough that nobody will ever know. Surprising, really – I wouldn’t have thought that Dark Kat would have paid enough tax to keep the city operational for all those years.”
“Supervillainy must pay well.”
“Uh huh. Well, that’s what happened, anyway”
“Ah, yes” sighed Jake, “I remember those days well”
“I wonder what’s on TV” Chance said, as he turned it on.
“Oh dear God no” he said, as he found out.
SWAT Komedians: The Stand-up Squadron
Set brightens to interior of small comedians’ lounge. Razor stands on stage, doing microphone talk as usual.
Razor: What is the deal with orange juice?
Razor: I mean, do we usually judge fruits – and their juices – based on the colour of their skin alone?
Razor: Are we fruit racists?
Razor: Will we have groups of pomegrant’s appealing to the Civil Liberites’ Board?
Man in audience: Ha! He said a fruit was ‘appealing’ – because fruit has a peel on it!
Razor: And where will this all end – I appeal to you, end fruit apartheid now! Thank you, you’ve been great.
Set dims, show credits run. Fade in on small apartment. T-Bone, wearing bandana/mask and ‘Comic Relief’ T-shirt sits on couch, whilst Razor, similarly dressed, makes himself some cereal in kitchen.
T-Bone: What is the deal with 8 items or less?
Razor: (adding milk) What is the deal with 5 day shampoo?
T-Bone: Have you ever noticed how the little containers of milk for your coffee are impossible to open without spilling everywhere, but the lids for the coffee are so loose that you can’t pick them UP without spilling everywhere? I think it’s a dry-cleaners’ conspiracy.
Razor: And what of the plastic bags they put your suits in? Is that the type of bag you want to have on your suit – I mean, if you forgot to remove the bag, you’d suffocate whilst trying to wear your clothes.
*Laughter* Razor sits down next to T-Bone on the couch.
T-Bone: You think that’s bad – last week I was in the supermarket and someone asked me if I wanted ‘Paper or Plastic’ – I mean, what do you say to that?
*Laughter* Door bursts open and Feral slides in. *Audience cheers*
Feral: Hiyyyya, you hot-shot vigilante’s!
Razor: (with high restraint) Hello, Feral.
Commander Feral darts back out of room, closing door behind him.
T-Bone: I tell ya, we’ve got to get a lock for that door.
*Laughter* Phone rings, answering machine answers it.
Machine: Hello, we’re the SWAT Kats, but we’re not in right now, so leave your message after the beep…I mean, what is the deal with that beep? Is there a beep for when you DON’T want people to speak, and further more-
T-Bone picks up phone, whilst Razor turns machine off.
T-Bone: Yes, Miss Briggs?
Briggs: I thought you guys weren’t at home.
Razor: I told you, T-Bone, I said the machines would turn against us.
T-Bone: Anyway, what do you want, Miss Briggs?
Briggs: Help, SWAT Kats, Dr Viper is down at MegaKat City Reservoir and – aargh! (phone goes dead)
T-Bone: (looks at phone then hangs it up) Obviously not a ‘phone’ kat.
Razor: Let’s go!
SK theme, now jazzed up, starts – Danananana,nananana,nanna,nana…
Cut to Reservoir. Dr Viper stands on the edge of it, with a testtube in his paw, which he holds above the waters. SWAT Kats run in at stage left.
T-Bone: Game’s up, Viper!
Razor: What is the deal with Dr Viper trying to poison the city’s water supply?
T-Bone: What is the deal with our glovatrixes?
Dr Viper: (pours contents of tube into water) Successsssss! Ahahaa! Now no-one can ssstop meeee!!!
Razor: (accidently firing off a mini-matchhead missile as he looks at his glovatrix) What is the deal with DEPLOYing a missile? Don’t you, EMPLOY it? And if not, then what about all the unemployed missiles? Are they on civil services? Are there lines of missiles, all trying to find jobs, so they can feed all thier poor, homeless missile families?
*Laughter*, as we pull back to reveal that both the SK are on fire as a result of Razor’s missile. Dr Viper runs off to a cafe.
T-Bone: What is the deal with my legs catching fire?
Razor: What is the deal with my fur burning up, and peeling off my-
“Aww, Chance” said Jake as he looked over the remnants of their smashed television, “you could have just changed channel”
“Grrr..sorry, buddy, but everytime I’m reminded of our brief touch on the comedy business, I feel urged to smash our TV”
“And give all those people who play ‘SWAT Kats: The Drinking Game’ another reason to have another swig. How many TV’s have you smashed now, in total?”
“Twenty-five” Chance conceeded, “exactly twenty-five”
“Whoa,” Jake replied, sitting back down again, “I hope none of them are on Drambuie and Coke…”
There was a pause as Chance considered this.
“I don’t think any of them would be. They’re probably all tee-totallers.”
“You’re probably right.” said Jake. “No fans of TV shows could ever indulge in gluttony and excess consumption of alcohol. They’re much too restrained. Except for trekkies.” A glint appeared in his eye. “Remember .. remember when we controlled the Starship Enterprise for a short period of time?”
“No we didn’t.”
“.. oh yeah! I wonder what I was thinking of.”
The two kats sat on the couch, neither really thinking. Chance looked at Jake, Jake looked at the TV, Chance looked at the TV, Jake looked at the bookshelf. “I’m going to read a book.”
“Ooh! Ooh ooh ohh! Can I choose my favourite!” Chance almost knocked over the couch as he leapt towards the rather skimpy and motheaten bookshelf. It wasn’t really a bookshelf, just a spare kitchen shelf with a cookbook and a diary, but, hey! you make do with what you’ve got. “Hmmm … which is my favourite today …”
“Please the cookbook. Please the cookbook.” thought Jake.
“Hey! How about this! It’s a diary of our past adventures!” Chance bounded back to the couch and slammed Jake on the back. “You remember our past adventures! The ones we had before we were kicked out of the clergy.”
Jake remembered only too well. “Yes. That must have been when we were …”
SWAT Popes: The Evangelical Squadron
“Attention Enforcers! The Metallikats have taken over MegaKat City Mint!”
“Do you think they can handle it?” Jake said, walking through to the vestry.
“I’d sooner trust an altar boy. Come on – we’re needed!” Chance said, running into the secret passage behind the confessional box.
“It’s like this. You make money for the banks -” Mac Mange said.
“And we have to go all over town to get it” his wife, Molly Mange finished. Mac scooped a robotic pawful of gold coins from a nearby cart, and crushed it into a large hunk of ore.
“So, we just want to cut out the middle man. Now tell us, where is the main vault?”
“You’ll never get in!” a kat with a patchwork vest yelled, pointing to the large vault in question, “it’s 25 meters of reinforced titanium on a Tag-Heuer backed-up timelock that won’t open for another 12 hours!”
“Very impressive” Mac said, rubbing his metal chin.
“But we’re in a hurry,” Molly said, walking towards it, “and you’ve left the door open” She walked in, and was followed by Mac, who took out two white bags labelled ‘SWAG’.
“Grab the big bills, Molly” he ordered, handing her a sack.
“Yeah, like I’d only grab ones”
“Didn’t you learn the 6th Commandment in Sunday School, Metallikats? Thou shalt not steal?”
“The SWAT Popes!” Molly said, dropping her bag.
“Eat lead, ya pious Bible bashers!” Mac barked, opening fire with his weapon. ST-Bone leapt backwards to avoid the deadly fire, whilst Reverend Clawson dived behind a counter.
“We’ve got you cornered, Metallikats! Come out now and we’ll give you absolution before we put you behind bars!” the reverend called.
“No way, SWAT Popes! We ain’t coming out for nobody!”
“We’ve already given you the Catholic order of marriage, don’t make us deliver Last Rites also, Molly!” ST-Bone called, as Rev. Clawson reached for a large white disc that hung by his side.
“Come try it, SWAT Popes, we’ll crucify you a new dogma!”
Reverend Clawson leapt up and flung the white disc at the vault.
“Body of Christ – deploy!!”
Eight small circular blades appeared around the perimeter of the weapon, and it spun into Mac’s gun, knocking out of his paw and across the floor of the vault. ST-Bone leapt up, and activated his Delta Pax-Vobiscum. The small burst of speed delivered by his jetpack propelled him into the vault, and Reverend Clawson followed, ready to cover him with his Cross-Bow.
But the vault was empty, or so they thought.
“Enjoy yer thirty pieces of silver, SWAT Popes!” Molly called, throwing a heavy bag of change into them from her hiding place. Reverend Clawson was temporarily winded, and St-Bone was knocked into the wall, as the Metallikats jumped out of the vault, and slammed the heavy door behind them, locking it.
“St-Bone! We’re locked in! And there’s only enough air in this vault for 6 minutes!” the Reverend said, pushing against the door in vain.
“Stand back, l’il buddy” St-Bone said, taking out the Chalice of Malice.
“Chalice of Malice – deploy!!”
The front part of the chalice broke off and spun furiously, as St-Bone brought it closer to the vault door. There was a terrible sound of tearing and shredding metal, and St-bone tossed the damaged weapon aside.
“That vault must be at least 10 meters thick! But don’t worry, I’ve got an idea” Clawson said, reaching for two canisters clipped to his belt.
“Holy Water..” he said, adding the contents to the other canister, “and the Blood of Christ..makes – ONE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE!” he finished, shaking it briefly and tossing it at the door. The blast knocked the vault door off it’s hinges, and the two vigilante’s leapt out through the dim smoke.
“The SWAT Popes! They escaped!” a hostage yelled.
“Prepare to meet thy maker, SWAT Popes!” Molly said, taking precise and deadly aim. She fired 6 times directly at them. The two epistical fighters looked down at themsleves, and up at Molly, oblivious to the bullet holes in the wall behind them.
“You see, the path, of the righteous kat, is beset on all sides, by the-”
“There’ll be time to quote passages from the Bible later, Reverend! They’re getting away!” St-Bone urged.
“Oh no they’re not..Trinity Missile..deploy!”
A large missile shot out of his glovamiracles, and split into three composite parts. The first part lead two white ropes out and to the sides of the fleeing villains.
“Father..” Reverend Clawson muttered.
The second section let put out a thin fishing net on the ground, scooting rapidly up behind the master criminals,
“Son…” St-Bone whispered.
The third section connected the two together, successfully tying the Metallikats up, and depositing them neatly on the ground.
“And Holy Spirit. Amen” they said in unison, making the sign of the Cross…
Chance turned to Jake, who was now in the kitchen, making them both some sandwiches.
“Jake..do remember WHY we were kicked out of being SWAT Popes? I thought we did a pretty good job, actually. We DID apprehend those Metallikats..”
“Yes, and you also used the Shroud of Turin as a gym towel” Jake said, setting down two glasses of milk down on the table.
“Oh yeah…but I washed it well afterwards. I even got rid of that face shaped stain on it…”
“Lunch is ready. Come and get it” Jake said, taking a seat.
“You know, I remeber a time when Mom used to say that to us. Oh yes, Jake, I remember a time when we were -”
“Oh no, not another flashback..”
“When we were –
SWAT Dweebs: The Fanatical Squadron
“This is so un-tubular. Totally. Where ARE they?” Jake complained, tapping a foot.
“Who?” Mac asked, looking up from a Xena video.
“Nick and Tom. They said they’d drop my copy of the Gargoyles soundtrack back”
“Nick and Tom, they’re like your best friends aren’t they?”
“Yeah, we’re their’s. Mind you..we’re make believe. You met them during the Elvira/Vampirella convention. They said you looked like one of those cool Borg from Star Trek: The Next Generation”
“Yes, they did” Nick said, walking in, followed by Tom. “Got your CD here, pal”
“I didn’t hear you come in” Chance said. “Did Dad see you guys?”
“Nah, I used the key you gave me” Tom said. “Is he still upset about the broken microwave?”
“I still think it’s the one they use in the Star Trek/MacGyver crossover” Nick muttered, walking into another room, as Tom took out a white piece of paper.
“Look at this! I found the BEST site on the Internet!”
Jake took the paper and read it. It said:
37 Zone. The FUNNEST place on the Internet. Visit it or die! http://www.geocities.com/southbeach/9767/
“Looks really, really cowabunga-like cool!” he said, handing the paper back to Tom, who pocketed it.
“Chancey! Another of your friends is here!”
Chance blushed and put the dice down next to his character sheet.
“Yeah, mom! Send him down! God I hate it when she calls me that….”
“I think it suits you…Chancey!” Jake teased, as Turmoil entered.
Turmoil looked around the small room briefly, noticing a new bunch of ‘Big Titty Kitties’ and ‘Dr Who’ posters.
“Hey there, guys,” she asked, “how’s the Manga Shrine coming along?”
“Funny you should ask that – today I managed to snare a pair of underwear just like Astroboy’s”
“Speaking of underwear, you remember that episode of Sailor Moon where you got to see Sailor Venus’ panties?” Nick asked, walking back in, holding a copy of ‘Justice League MegaKat City’.
“Who doesn’t?” Chance said.
“Oh, don’t mention Sailor Moon around me. I heard something terrible about that the other day” Jake said, shaking his head.
“What? What??” Mac Metallikat asked, concerned.
“You know how Zoicite appears to a female in the series? She isn’t, or should I say, HE isn’t. He and Malachite are actually homosexuals in the series, and they gave his character a girl’s voice! Can you belive that?!”
“What? That’s bogus, dude” Tom said.
“No, it’s genuine, I only got it off the Internet last night”
“Dammit!,” Chance yelled thumping the table in front of him, scattering some dice, “when will those Americans learn not to meddle with the precious fabric that is our Manga/Anime world?!”
“Hey! I wanna play now!” Molly said, walking into the room, “because I’ve already seen this episode of X-men. It’s the one where you learn of a dark and mysterious past in one of the X-men”
“Molly, you’ll have to wait your turn before you roll the dice, okay? I’m trying to deal with a rock-troll here!” Chance barked.
Molly punched her metal fist through the wall and cursed. “I want to play as the Unicorn now!!”
“Chance! Tell your noisy friends to keep it down! And if I hear another peep out of them, you’re grounded!”
“Crap! Okay, yes Mom! We’ve gotta get outta here, now. Thanks guys. How’s your place, Jake?”
“Dad said I can’t bring anymore friends home until I get rid of at least 20 Spawn minatures”
“Oh, that SUCKS” Turmoil said, “which ones are you going to ditch?”
“I’m thinking of getting rid of the Bambi spin-off series: Fawn. You wanna buy some?”
“I’ve already got two of them, but I have a friend who may be interested. Speaking of which, I promised her I’d meet her at the Star Trek: DSV conference twenty minutes ago. Gotta dash” she said, leaving.
“Bye Turmoil!” Mac said, “Man, she has naff fashion sense” he muttered as she walked out the door.
“I know. You’d never catch me in Russian jeans” Dr Viper said.
“Why?” Molly asked, picking up a copy of Dungeon magazine.
“Because Chernobyl fall out”
“C’mon guys, let’s GO” Chance said, ushering them out.
*Back at the garage..*
“Chance, I lost the d20 down the back seat of the TurboKat”
“What?? Well, what are we going to do now?” the tomkat complained.
“Perhappsss you could roll two d10’ssss” Dr Viper suggested.
“We haven’t got 2 d10 dice, Viper” Jake said, shaking his head.
“Hey! I know what you can do! Roll a d100, and take it to the nearest 5 or 0! That’ll work!” Tom said excitedly.
“You’re right! d100 – deploy!” Chance said, rolling the dice in question.
“Oh my God!!! It’s a thirty-seven!!” Nick yelled, pointing.
“Hey! He rolled a thirty-seven! Quick – get a photo! I’ll scan it in!” Tom ordered.
“Yeah,” Nick said, after he’d taken two photo’s (one with flash, one without), “we’ll have to go to my place though. Pity we have to use public transport though, seeing as none of us know how to drive”
“Hey! Public transport’s cool; how about those Douglas Winger pictures?”
“Yeah, you’re right! Not to mention that movie Die Hard 3 – did you catch the 37 reference in it?”
“Hey, we’ll have to put it up on the webpage too”
Nick waved briefly and left, followed by Tom, as the kats turned their attentions back to the role-playing game. Mac’s character was currently living in an alternate dimension as the evil Sorceress had created a portal in time to swallow him, so he was free to wander and do as he pleased.
“Oh, wow! It’s that Men In Black gun!” Mac said, running over to it, and pulling the trigger.
“Mac! No!” Jake yelled, diving out of the way as the blast blew the hangar door off.
“Aw, not-bodacious!” Chance said, narrowing his eyes. “Well, I suppose we might as well see what happens to Dr Viper’s dwarf before repairing the damage..”
“It’ssss not a dwarf, it’sss an elf! A dwarf hass reticulan earsss and halfling ssstatus, and elf hasss underling qualitiesss including thossse of ssseing in the dark!”
“Well, it’s a dead elf now. I bet it didn’t see that coming”
“I rolled a ‘5’ Viper. The penultimate death-blow”
“No! There musst be a sssaving throw! Thoran Skulcrusher isn’t dead!”
“Game over, Viper” Jake said, shrugging.
Dr Viper narrowed his eyes and walked over to the Magic: The Gathering table.
“SSsso, ever played 526 pick-up?” he said, wrapping his tail around a table leg. “Viper! No!”
A swift jerk, and the cards were airborn. Jake dived and grabbed one of them from mid-air.
“My Demonslayer! It could have been crimped if I hadn’t taken the precaution of having it laminated twice! That’s it! I think you’d better all go home now…” Jake said, the menace clear in his voice.
“Jerkssss” Viper muttered, as he walked out, followed by a few others.
“You don’t want me to go too, do you buddy?” Chance asked.
“No, Chance, you stay. You can help me pick the cards up. Wash your hands and put these protective gloves on first, though”
“Hey guys! What’s up!” Tom said, walking through the hole in the wall, followed by Nick.
Jake narrowed his eyes.
Chance shook his head at the suddenness of the memory.
“Jake, what DID happen to our geeky stage?”
“We pretty much destroyed all the momento’s of that stage of our lives. We even burnt the Manga Shrine”
“What about Nick and Tom? Why don’t they hang around us anymore?”
“I think we killed them, Chance”
“Did we? Oh right. Man, such memories. And to think of all the many other past careers and jobs we still haven’t mentioned”
“Yeah, buddy, only time will tell. Only time will tell…”
THE END IS THE BEGINNING IS THE END
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Disclaimer: SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron is copyright to Hanna-Barbera Cartoons Inc. All Rights Reserved. © 1995. All other characters and material within this page are the property of their respective creators.