This is my first draft of a first chapter of a first Futurama fic, so I'm looking for feedback. Even if said feedback is "your fanfic is bad and you should feel bad!".
Does the dialouge & narrative work, does the plot keep interest, do I need to be beaten with sticks for the end of the first chapter, yadda yadda.
So, for your approval: Fun And War Games, chapter 1!
FUN AND WAR GAMES: PART 1
“Good news, everyone! The court’s attempt to force rudimentary safety regulations on the company fell through, so there’s no need for me to spend money on repairing those seatbelts!”
“But what if we crash the ship?” asked Fry.
“Then just try and not crash headfirst into the windscreen! Brain splatter never comes off…”
The crew of Planet Express tuned it all out and went back to their usual activity at company meetings- thinking of other stuff (and in Bender’s case, pick-pocketing). They hadn’t had any deliveries to make for a while, not since word got out about their accidentally destroying the package of xenomorph eggs for delivery to Acheron. Zoidberg had eaten well that
“Well, that concludes the company meeting, so get off my property you punk kids, I’m sick at looking at you!”
“How long do you think we should give it before going back inside?” asked Fry.
“Give it another two minutes,” said Leela. “The Professor will have gone back to testing all his doomsday devices by then, so ready the tasers.”
“All charged, cap’n!” yelled Bender, whipping out a wickedly pointed bazooka-cum-javelin construction from his chest opening.
Fry blinked. “Aren’t tasers smaller than that?”
“Not tasers that work right through brick walls!” Bender stroked it fondly. “Ah, good old surplus from the INS…”
The crew waited another minute, nodded, re-entered the building and were blown backwards by a sudden rip in space-time. The rip spewed out a cracked and slightly singed holographic recording device before disappearing, leaving only the smell of purple.
The crew blinked.
“That’s… never happened before,” said Fry.
“Yeah, great contribution there, meatbag. What’s this piece of crap meant to be anyway?”
“That was a rip in space-time! Whatever it is, it was something important the future wanted us to get!” Fry paused. “Hey, let’s poke it and see what happens!”
A swift poke led the device to play its message- it was full of static, something that had been recorded in a hurry, and the hologram was of a panicked Cubert. “You may all have the braincells of week-old milk, but we don’t have a cho--- otal chaos, end of all things---- Invasion starts soon, you need to know this! Things can’t---”
The hologram flickered out mid-sentence, being replaced with complex and hastily scribbled equations. The crew looked at each other, confused.
“What’s going on? How did Cubert get the ability to send things back in time? And why?” whispered Leela.
Fry groaned. “Invasion? Awww, we had an alien invasion just last week! I just hope this
one doesn’t stop me getting to the laundrette and washing my underwear…”
New New York. One month in the future. The future of the
future. The… Oh, forget it.
A small group of four humanoids make their way down the street, cautiously, trying to stay quiet. To be noticed would be fatal. The slightest noise could give them away.
For the city was a dead ruin and any noise stood out.
The great skyscrapers had been torn down, reduced to gutted husks and smoking tombs. Debris both human and inanimate littered the streets.
Like the whole planet.
Dr Zoidberg scuttled carefully into a half-destroyed shop, searching for food. Behind him came the rest of the crew- Amy Wong, psychotic droid Roberto, arm-headed mutant Raoul. Their clothing was tattered, their bodies were bruised and it was obvious they hadn’t been eating well. They carried a few firearms, with Zoidberg bearing a rifle with little remaining ammo. The four were surviving, barely.
The lobster bent down to inspect the corpse lying in the middle of the ruin’s floor. He prodded it once, sniffed, checked the wound. Finally he turned to the others.
“It’s still half-fresh and contains organs! Tonight we feast!”
“Dibs on the pancreas!” called out Amy.
The nomads decided to remain in the shop until tomorrow- it seemed relatively safe. The organics had eaten and the robot had drunk from surviving beer bottles, and was now stabbing the chewed-up corpse to keep in practise.
“Well, that should keep us going for a few more days,” said Raoul. “As long as we can tough out the food poisoning we’re undoubtedly getting, we can probably last two more months before we come down with something infectious.”
Amy sighed. “Hey, Raoul? You ever miss living in the sewers?”
“Oh no. Zoidberg’s odour replicates the experience.”
Amy stiffened. “Was that-”
The mutant motioned to be quiet, and listened.
Crunch crunch crunch.
A small group were walking towards them. Directly
“To hell with running!” snarled Roberto, leaping up from his work. “You run like babies- Daddy’s gonna sort these jokers out!”
The organics fled, motivated by sheer instinct, while Roberto charged out of the ruins, his trusty knife out and ready to stab and slash and tear-
And he got promptly gunned down.
“Th-that’s never happened be- before…”
The squad caught sight of the fleeing nomads and gave chase.
“Wob wob wob wob!”
They ran and scuttled their way through the decaying, burnt-out wrecks of Earth tanks, hoping it’d provide cover. Raoul went down screaming as a laser tore through his gut. The others kept on running, fleeing into an old office block.
Amy let the first enemy get close and then opened fire, two shots to the head with a hand-held laser. It’d serve as a deterrent.
“What do we do?!”
“I dunno, why are you asking me?! When did Zoidberg become leader?! I’m a doctor, not an intelligent man!”
“Th-this-” Amy sniffled and wiped a tear from her eyes. Fatigue and the shock of her dead friends were catching up. “We can’t stay here, we have to reach the next building along! They’ll get in-”
From below came the sound of rockets firing. Both nomads looked at each other, at the rockets coming in through the window, at the resulting fireball, then at each other again.
And finally their brains regained control and they legged it.
The fireball should have flash-fried them instantly but they outran it as all science-fiction heroes should. They ran towards a nearby hole, always one second ahead of the fireball, ready to jump, going to make it, going to make it
She died quick.
Zoidberg managed to escape the building but couldn’t reach the next along, falling down to the alleyway below. His shell cracked around the leg, crippling him. Already the enemy were charging to his position to finish him off. Just like everyone else.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he remembered the dead. All his friends and co-workers. His uncle. Every fellow survivor he’d met after the End. All wiped out by the hordes clad in featureless black-metal armour, bland and interchangeable, all marked by the insignia on their chests and the guns in their hands that never stopped firing.
Snarling in rage, he swung the rifle up and fired three shots before it ran out and even then he kept squeezing the trigger until he collapsed. He couldn’t move and he was going to die.
“So, the last one. You’ve been a pain in the ass for a long time.”
The Decapodian jerked up at the sound of him
, that hated butchering monster.
“YOU!” he roared. “You killed all my friends! Come any closer and I’ll cut out your damn giblets!”
The monster fired once, blasting off his claws. The lobster screamed in pain and rage and humiliation until he was silenced by the gun being forced into his mouth.
“Friends? Oh please. Your co-workers were freaks and wastes, and they didn’t like you. You were just delusional. Hell, you should be thanking
me for killing them.” He smiled at the muffled snarl of outrage. “Yeah, yeah. Well, let’s get this sterilisation over with.”
Uncle Zoid. Bender. Leela. Amy. The Professor. Fry. Kif. Raoul and Roberto. Here I come, friends.
“…oh, ick. Is this meant to be blood? Hrrr… Soldier, get me a wipe.”
The planet’s original inhabitants were all dead now. Total success.
And General Fry smiled at the thought of another mission complete.
TO BE CONTINUED