From: William Daniel Tist (tgeier2@fn3.freenet.tlh.fl.us)
 Subject: Original Story:"An Introduction Into Chaos." 
 Newsgroups: alt.barney.dinosaur.die.die.die
 Date: 1996/11/20 


This is a story that I wrote over the past couple of weeks, it is
a introduction to where my character came from and how and why he joined
TRES Corps and MAUL.  Enjoy....

The Demented Mind of Sir Timothy presents

An original short story by Tim R. Geier

An Introduction into Chaos


Chapter 1:Upon Meeting

Music - "Capriccio Italien", Tchaikovsky


        It was the beginning of winter in northern Indiana.
The clouds had begun to bring forth the slight flurries that
are the surest indicator of the change of seasons.  The
trees were now bereft of their leaves, and the ground was
slowly yet steadily freezing.  While the men of South
Bend still talked Notre Dame football, more and more
discussed the upcoming high school basketball season and
the coming of March Madness.   The regulars at the bars
sipped their drinks and laughed at the latest jokes,
most paying only marginal attention to the television
in the corner, displaying the news of the day.  They hardly
noticed that a house had been burned down and most of its
occupants killed.  Nothing new, they shrugged and went on
with their business.  To one person at least, however, this
news was the one thing in their thoughts.  And the one thing
they wished to God wasn't.

        A young man sat in the police station, his face
the portrait of grief.  He had on a thick black sweater
with a tan pair of slacks and black tennis shoes.
His dark green eyes stared into nothing, as he held his
head in his hands and looked down.  An approaching foot-
step caused him to glance upward.  A policeman had come,
his arms folded behind his back, walking with a slow
and steady cadence.  He sat down beside the young man.

        "Mr. Geier," the policeman began.  "I have just
received news from the hospital that your father....
didn't make it.  I am truly sorry for your loss."

        Tim Geier looked at the policeman, his face
contorting with fresh grief.  As his upper lip trembled,
tears began to flow down his face with increasing
rapidness.  The officer put a friendly arm around
Tim's shoulder.  "If there's anything I can get you.."

        "Just...just leave me alone, Officer," Tim
sobbed.

        Nodding, the officer got up and left.  After
another round of tears, Tim was finally ready to assess
the situation.  Being a minor, he could not live on his
own legally, of course, so he surmised that he would
be sent to live with his uncle in Michigan until he
was 18.  His family had been quite wealthy, but lived
humbly, not wishing to flaunt their fortune.  Tim's
father had been a generous and good man, contributing
often to charities and helping out his neighbors in
any way he could.  But now that was moot.  The
fortune now belonged to Tim's paternal uncle Joel, his
father's senior by 15 years. He was a slightly eccentric
man, who lived alone nestled in a large home in the hills
of Michigan.  Tim wouldn't mind living there at all, there
was a lot of room and privacy.  [A good escape....] he
thought as his mind turned towards the events he was
trying so hard to forget.  His face slowly darkened
as he began the painful reminisence.


Music - "Moonlight Sonata" L.V. Beethoven

        He had come back from his friend's house where he had
stayed the night before in his used black Mercury sedan, which
he had earned the money for,not purchased by his parents, as
many thought.  He had first noticed something was wrong when a
saw a line of purple cars headed the other way.  What he saw
next was horrible.

        His parent's home was smoldering on the ground, the
bodies of his family laid out in grotesque positions.  He
had rushed up, sobbing, trying without success to absorb
what he saw.  A motion caught his eye, and he saw a man
clad in a purple and green who was lying on the sidewalk.
He appeared to have had twisted his ankle, although he
appeared to be in no pain.  In fact, he had had a glassy,
far-away look in his eyes which seemed to denote that he
had been on narcotics of some kind. Tim had gone to him
and helped him up, assuming that he was a bystander.  He
had asked the man if he knew who had done this.  "Barney.
Barney did this," replied the man.  "Are you Barney?!" Tim
had demanded.  "I only wish I was," responded the man dreamily.

        At that point, Tim had lost control.

        Two minutes later, the man was lying on the ground
with a broken neck.  The fire department then arrived,
too late to save much of anything.

        And it had been only the other day that Tim had
undergone his families traditional rite of passage to
manhood.  All the men in his family 17 and over had
had "Sir" appended to their names in a ceremony much
like that of a archaic knighting.   With most of the
clan present, his father had taken down the ceremonial
sword that was said to have been in the family for centuries
down from its place over the mantle.  He had said, "Today,
my son, is the day that you have trained so long and so hard
for.  You have learned all that I can teach you.  When your
own son is of age, you will train him.  And when he completes
the training, you will pass him into manhood even as I do so
today.  Kneel, my son."  As Tim had knelt, his father, in
a motion as old as mankind, had touched the sword gently to
each of his shoulders.  "Thou art now forevermore, for good
or for ill, Sir Timothy of Indiana.  When I, Sir Richard,
hath departed from this world, I shalt pass this blade unto
you.  Stand, Sir Knight, and face our family," Tim's father
had solemnly stated. It had been one of the proudest moments
of his life, but it was now ashes in his mouth.  To add
insult to injury, the sword that was Tim's birthright was
not found in the fire.



Chapter 2 - Adjustment

[a few weeks later]

Music - Academic Festival Overture, Brahms

        After going through the tedious court process of transfer
of custody, Tim was finally situated in Uncle Joel's home.  He
had a large room with all the creature comforts a teenager
could ask for.  Expensive stereo, good computer, fairly large TV set,
small fridge stocked with Mt. Dew, N64, the works.  His uncle had
about ten acres of land, on which his slightly large 2-story wooden house
furnished in a pseudo-Bavarian style was surrounded by an acre of lawn,
with a twisting, narrow driveway leading to the outside world.
The entire property was surrounded by a thick forest, teeming
with wildlife, a good variety of trees, and lots of brambles.

        It had been a month since the tragedy, and while
Tim's dreams were occasionally haunted by the horrible memory,
they weren't occurring as often as they used to.  He sat
in front of his computer, playing DOOM II.

        "Ah..oh, I don't think so, Mr. Imp..I think I'd
better introduce you to Mr. Shotgun, I think you'll get
along *very* well..." he dryly noted as he blew an Imp to
bits with the double-barelled shotgun.  "Oh shit..
Pain Elementals!" he groused as a pack of the brown
Lost Soul-spitting blobs came into view.  He drew
the BFG9000.  "Eat it...assholes," he smiled as
he pulled the trigger.

        "Tim!  Get off that computer and help me with the
groceries!"

        "Damn..." Tim muttered.  "Just a sec, Uncle Joel!" he
called out, pausing the game.  He walked out of his room
and walked reluctantly down the stairs, past his uncle who was
strolling into the kitchen with a sackload of groceries.  "What'd
you get?" Tim asked as he threw on his coat and a hat.

        "Oh..." mused his uncle.  "The usual, you know."

        "All right," grinned Tim.  "Doritos, Jolts, and all
kinds of unhealthy food."

        "You got it," returned Uncle Joel.  "Now get
a move on out to that car before I throw you out the door
myself."

        "Oh bite me, it's fun!" retorted Tim as he opened the
door and got the remaining groceries.

        After putting away most of the food, Uncle Joel nuked
a pizza in the microwave while Tim prepared the table.

        They sat down to eat, and Tim immediately started wolfing
down his pizza.  Uncle Joel, wishing to get at least *one*
slice before his voracious nephew ate the whole thing, decided
to distract him by starting a conversation.

        "Funny thing happened to me at the grocery store,"
said Joel, putting his slice down.  "There were a couple
of...I don't know what you would call them...freaks, I guess,
They were dressed in these...really ugly purple and green
coats, and they were standing by the entrance handing out..
can you believe this...B'harnie dolls...and wasn't it.." Joel
hesitated slightly, "a bunch of guys in purple and green
that killed your family?"

        Tim had clenched the tablecloth at the mention
of the dinosaur's name, and his face was locked into
an intense mask of hatred.  "Yeah, they were dressed
in purple and green.  One said he did it on the orders
of "B'harnie" before I...I killed him...Go on."

        Joel had widened his eyes slightly at Tim's
confession, but he continued.  "They were also handing
out all kinds of fruit and milk and stuff...called 'em
'Healthy Snacks,' they also kept blabbering about how
the food that we eat is bad for us and will kill us,
so I went up to them and said, 'We're all gonna
die anyway, so what's the difference?  I'd rather
die drinking a Jolt then live eating tofu!'  They
replied, 'Lord Barney doesn't want you eating that
unhealthy garbage, he luvs you too much for that.'
'Well, I sure as hell don't love him, whoever the
hell he is!' I replied.  'Sure he does,' they
responded, then they started singing this
really disgusting song, I mean, it was Godawful.
They were in some kind of trance or something as they
were chanting it, and I noticed some of the people
walking out of the store all of a sudden ran back in.
I walked in the store, to find out what the heck was
going on.  I find out that these people had bought a
lot of chips and pop, and they were trying to
exchange it for healthy stuff.  I'm wondering,
'Who are these people and how and why are they
changing people with a stupid ol' children's song?'"
Joel sipped from his Jolt, and continued his narrative.
"All of a sudden, I was getting this urge to do what
they were doing, and I didn't like it.  I went and
got our food, paid for it, and directed the bagboy
to the car.  As I gave him his tip, he said, 'Have
a stuuuuuuuupendous day!'  I muttered, 'Yeah, whatever,'
and got in the car.  And now, the feeling was stronger.
I was really getting a cravin' for some carrot sticks.
But I also felt this gut feeling that I should
pop some Jolt or something, so I reached into the back seat
and got a can of it.  The instant I take a sip, I don't
feel like carrot sticks or anything healthy.  Weird, wouldn't
you say?"

        Tim had listened carefully to what his uncle was say-
ing.  "These guys are up to something, and I don't know what it is.
They seem to be able to...influence people to follow what
they're doing," he noted.  "Is there anything else that
happened that was out of the ordinary while you were there?"

        "No, I don't think so...." Joel replied.

        "Hmm..can we talk about this later, I gotta eat!"

        "Go right ahead, I'm not stopping you at all.  I at
least got a piece before your grubbing hands took all the
rest.  Man, you're about 6'7" and you're still trying to grow
some more?  That just doesn't seem right," said Joel, shaking
his head.

        "I gotta eat to live, Uncle," said Tim between
bites.

        "Suit yourself," muttered Joel.  After eating and cleaning
up, the two entered Joel's study.  Tim sat down in a comfortable
leather chair while Joel turned on the local classical music
station.


Chapter 3 - Developments

Music - Winter, _The Four Seasons_ Allegro con molto Vivaldi

        "Vivaldi....Four Seasons...Winter, 1st movement."

        "Very good Tim, I see my teachings have not gone to waste,"
said Joel in a mock Yoda voice.

        "Thank you, Master Yoda," Tim said doing his Luke impression.
"Seriously, though, what do you want to talk about?"

        Joel's mood changed almost in an instant from sardonic
to wistful.  "The future."

        "What about the future?" said Tim.

        "Let's face it, Tim, I'm not going to live that much longer.
I've only got a few good years left in me, and when I go, I want
to make sure you're taken care of.  I'm leaving this house and
your father's fortune to you, but don't even think about speeding
up the process, cause I sleep with a knife in one hand and one
eye open."

        "Wha?" exclaimed a startled Tim.

        "Just kidding, just kidding."

        "Well," began Tim, "I figured I'd get the fortune,
but I wasn't expecting the house, you don't have to, Uncle,
I can find another.."

        "But will you?  Do you really want to live someplace
else?"

        "Well...yeah...yeah I do want to live someplace else."

        "Where?"

        "South Bend, Indianapolis, Chicago, I don't know, just
not around here."

        "And what's so wrong about here?" Joel demanded.

        "This house?  Nothing.  It's the community.  They
are so intolerant of outsiders, it's pathetic.  There's
just no...room, I'm not talking physical room, I'm talking..
mental room here for me.  Creative room.  Spiritual room.
Room to be myself without being ridiculed and scorned by
those who don't understand what it's like to be me,"
Tim replied dramatically.  He stood up, continuing
his monologue.  "These people have been living the
same way for years and years.  And then I come along
and show them a different way of doing things, a
different perspective.  If the world was perfectly
just, they would...at least acknowledge that my
viewpoint exists and give me some respect but
instead, I am a pariah.  The black sheep in the
flock.  The outcast, you know what I'm talking about.
And why?  Because I don't dress the same way, or talk
the same way, or act the same way.  Because I
do theater.  Because I'm the oddball.  Why
shouldn't I conform to their norm for temporary
comfort and peace of mind?   Because then they
will have won.  They will have turned me into
one of them.  And God help me before I become..."
he concluded, raising his arms to the sky, "someone
I'm not."  He sat down and sipped a Jolt, tired
from his speech.

        Joel applauded his efforts.  "Very, very good Tim,
your acting skills have not diminished in the slightest," he said.

        "Thanks Uncle," responded Tim.

        "You wouldn't have to live here year-round, you
know," said Joel, sitting down.  "Just during the summer,
winter, one of the seasons."

        Tim nodded.  "That sounds all right to me.  I promise
you I won't let this house go to waste after you're gone."

        Joel replied softly, "Thank you, Tim, that means
a lot to me.  Ulp," he grimaced as the clock struck 9.  "Time
for me to go to bed.  Good night, Sir Tim."

        Tim responded with a pained voice. "Please don't call me
that, Uncle, you know it makes me remember the..."

        "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just a slip of the tounge.  It is
your name, though, I hate to remind you.  You'll use it one
of these days."

        "We'll see...*Sir* Joel," Tim replied with a wan smile.

        Joel laughed.  "I haven't heard that name in years...well,
anyway, good night."

        "Good night, Uncle Joel."

        Tim went and sprawled out on the couch as Joel went to
his bedroom.  He tried to force the horrid memory away, but it
replayed itself at least once before he was able to shake it
completely.  Then he realized that he had left his game of DOOM
II running, and he had forgot to turn on the screen saver.  He
rushed as fast as he could to his room and finished the game,
terminating the final demon.  Feeling a little better, he went
to bed too.

Chapter 4 - Conflict

Music - Johannes Brahms, Symphony No. 1

        The snow had fallen heavily the previous night and
the land was buried under a few inches of white.  The green boughs
of the pine trees in the forest sagged under the weight of it all.
If one looked carefully, one could see about fifty individuals,
clad in purple and green, all carrying weapons of differing
strengths, making their way through the forest.

        "Are you sure this is the right place?" yelled one.

        "I'm pretty sure Lord Barney told us to kill the
people living at a house that had woods around it, but
I don't see a house at all," yelled another.

        "Yes, guys, this is the place," responded the one
who was apparently in charge.  "I don't want to hear
another peep out of you guys until we get out of these
woods, understand?"

        There was no response from the empty-headed men.

        "I said," yelled the leader, "UNDERSTAND?"

        "But sir," said one, "you told us not to make a peep
at all."
        "Yeah, you said..." was generally mumbled throughout
the cluster of troops.

        "Whatever, whatever," groused the leader.  There
was silence from then out, except for the occasional giggle
and yelp from the brambles.  After about a half hour, the
men emerged from the forest, their coats and bodies generally
cut up by the brambles.  "Ok guys, here's the plan," began
the leader, pulling out a brightly colored sheet of paper
out of his pocket.  "We go in, kill anyone we see, then
face them opposite from each other and put guns in their
hands, I don't know why we're doing that, we just are.
Got it?"

        The troops responded with a general "yeah."

        "Let's go, then..."

[at the same time]

        Tim slowly got up out of his bed and stretched.  He
opened his window, which faced the woods.  At first, he thought
he was still half asleep, but then he was sure that
he was seeing a whole slew of men clad in purple and green
making towards his house.   [I don't think they're henchman
of the Joker,] he silently mused.  [What could they...]

        And then it hit him.

        He rushed out of his room, running down the hall to
the room where his uncle Joel was still sound asleep.
"UNCLE JOEL!! GET UP!! GET UP!! THEY'RE HERE!" he bellowed
as he opened the door.

        "Urgh..who's here..." said Joel as he struggled to
wake up.

        "Those purple bastards just came out of the woods!
They're carrying all kinds of guns and crap."

        "Ahhhnn...that's just your father's training going
hyperactive on you...now let me get some sleep..." muttered
a half-asleep Joel.

        Then they both heard the unmistakable sound of a
bullet shattering glass.

[meanwhile, just outside the woods]

        The leader smacked to the ground a man with a smoking
rifle.  "You idiot!" he shrieked.  "Now you probably woke up
our targets!"

        "I was just cleaning..."

        The leader slapped the man across the face.  "Do that
again, and I'll make-believe you're a Jihaddi.  And you know
what we do to Jihaddi..."

        "*gulp* Y..yes..sir..."

        "Make sure it doesn't happen to you..." the leader said
ominiously...

[back in the house]

         Joel was snapped instantly awake.  "Those bastards!" he
shouted.  "They think they can come in here and trespass and
starting singing that crazy-ass song of theirs? What do you say,
should we take 'em?"

        "Damn straight we take 'em!" cried Tim.

        "That's the spirit!  Now, I'm going to go get my hunting
rifle w
hile you get the .357, I've got enough ammo to take
'em out.  Get out the Lochaber and the daggers as well, just
in case they try something screwy."

        "But where..."  Tim stammered.

        "Did I have all these weapons?  I've had 'em for years, they're
family heirlooms.  They're in my closet, behind the chest of socks."

        Tim didn't waste a second in running to the closet and dragging
out the sock drawer.  He found that there was a semi-secret compartment
built into the wall, which he opened revealing all the weapons his
uncle had named along with ammo for the guns.  They quickly loaded
and primed them.  Joel outlined the battle plan.

        "Ok, Tim, go downstairs and shoot any of 'em who try to come in.
I'll try to snipe 'em from the attic window when they get in range.  If
we can keep 'em out of the house and deplete their ammo, we can kick their
ass in hand-to-hand.  Got it?"

        "I got it," replied Tim.

        "Good...let's rock!"

        "Lock and load...it's KILLING TIME!" Tim crowed as he rushed
downstairs.  He ran around the lower level, locking doors and windows.
He hid himself by the front door, ready to ambush any enemies
who were foolhardy enough to walk in the front door, which he
left unlocked as a trap.  He heard the first concussions of
his uncle's rifle and knew the battle had begun.  He peeked out
a window and saw that Joel was having some success in felling
the troopers.  He counted ten down before the rest had even
realized what was happening.  The rest formed up and returned
fire, the bullets breaking windows and imbedding themselves
into the siding.  Tim ducked and covered as the first volley
stopped.  Then he heard Joel return fire.  Two more troops
fell to the return volley, a few were wounded.  Some of
them had made it through the sniper's field, and were
rapidly advancing on the house.  Tim's pulse quickened
as they marched up to the front door.  "Let's see if it
opens!" one giggled, walking up to it.  He turned the
handle, opening the door to his surprise.  "It does!  Let's
go inside!" squealed another.  [Boy, these assholes are
annoying,] griped Tim mentally.  [There's about 5 of them,
this won't be that easy...]  He waited until they were
inside.  One of them stupidly shut the door behind them.
[Thanks, buddy, you just made my life easier.]  He silently
emerged from behind a table and snuck up on the troops,
who were standing stupidly at the voyeur, wondering where
to begin.  He aimed his .357 at the back of the solider
in the rear.  "Eat it!" he shouted as he pulled the
trigger, hitting the back of the trooper's head, killing
him instantly. Tim then made a break for the kitchen as the
survivors turned around, yelling, "There he is, get him!"
as they ran after him.  Tim waited behind the wooden swinging
kitchen door in ambush.  He glanced to his right to prevent
being surprised from that direction, and as he did,
he noticed the refrigerator, a plan entering his
mind.

        About two minutes later, the troops stumbled upon
a few glasses of milk.  "Wow!  I gotta have some!" they
all yelled in delight as they started drinking them
down.  They never even heard the gunshots that spilled
out their lives.  The empty-headed troops toppled to the floor
with a thud.  Tim stepped over the bodies and searched for the
remaining solider.  After going upstairs, he found him in his room,
trying to break into his computer.  "You asshole,"
he growled, taking the trooper totally by surprise.  He
picked him up out of his chair and defenstrated him.  The
solider hit the ground and bounced, where upon his
chest received a blast from Tim's .357.  [All too
easy...] thought Tim, as he rushed downstairs to see
if any more had penetrated the house.  He looked
out the window and saw, to his chagrin, that more
troops were arriving.  He heard a loud curse
upstairs, Joel had noticed that as well.  Tim
heard another volley of unfriendly fire, so he ducked
and covered again.  After the firing stopped, Tim
popped back up and then heard heavy footsteps on
the stairs.  He took a defensive position as the
man on the steps cried out, "TIM!!!"

        "Uncle?" said Tim, moving up the stairway, to
find a hideous sight.

        His uncle had taken a shot to the stomach
and was bleeding profusely.  He smiled upon seeing Tim, but
then grimaced in pain and was forced to kneel down.

        "Noooooo!!!" cried Tim as he moved to Joel's side.

        "Well......looks like...I'll be...checking out
a lot...sooner...than I...thought.." said Joel weakly.

        "You're going to beat this, Uncle Joel," said Tim,
"You're not going to die..."

        "Here," he said, giving Tim the rifle and the daggers.
"These...are...yours....now...use..them...well..."

        "NO UNCLE, YOU'RE NOT DOING THIS TO ME!"

        "My brother's fortune...will..be...yours...use it...wisely.."

        "I will, I swear, my Uncle, and I shalt make B'harnie suffer
for this..."

        "Always...remember...me...and...your...family......"  With that,
he sank down to the floor and died.


        Tim stood up, the hunting rifle and daggers in his
hands.  He took his uncle's weapons belt and affixed
the weapons to them, Lochaber on the left, .357 on
the right, daggers crossed in the middle.  He took the
rifle in his hands.


Chapter 5 - A Means to an End

Music - "Ty Cobb" Soundgarden _Down on the Upside_

        Tim raced down the stairs, anger personified.  He kicked
the door open to see a mass of troops approaching.  He continued
charging and started opening fire with the rifle, shooting
madly, but somehow taking out a few.  "Is that one of the
targets?" mused the leader, in the back of the host of troops.
"Or is that a Jihaddi?"  "Sir!  Sir!" yelled a breathless troop
running up.  "What is it?" asked the leader.  "TRES Corps, sir.
TRES Corps and MAUL."

        "What?!! Where?!" asked a surprised leader.

        "It's confirmed, sir.  We have about five TRES vans
approaching from the north and MAUL artillery coming from
the south.  We're going to get sandwitched."

        "No duh!  Hold your ground!" muttered the leader.

        "Excuse me?"

        "YOU HEARD ME, YOU WORTHLESS SPONGE, HOLD YOUR GROUND!"

        "If you say so," muttered the sponge.

        Meanwhile, the still-enraged Tim was blasting troops
away with the rifle using guerilla tactics.  As the sponges
depleted their ammo trying to hit this lunatic, Tim used the
cover to his advantage and picked them off one by one.  When they ran
out of ammo, the sponges rushed him with knives and swords,
which was, of course, their biggest mistake, for Tim
then drew his .357 and started blasting the oncoming
sponges with deadly accuracy.

        Not watching his back was Tim's mistake.  As he
dusted off another sponge, he felt a tap at his shoulder.
He turned around, drawing his Lochaber and swinging it
in a lethal arc, cutting deeply into the sponge who
had snuck up behind him.  He was soon surrounded by
spongin however, and he was forced to throw his arms up
in surrender.

        Tim watched on as what appeared to be the leader
of this small army work his way through the circle of
spongin.  "Ahh..Mr. Geier, I must say, you put up
a most heroic effort, but too bad your life ends here."

        "Bite me, motherphucker," spit Tim.  "Blow my
head off now, asshole, and get it over with."

        "Temper, temper...I want to savor your killing,
Mr. Geier, did you know that you and your pathetic
friend upstairs killed almost a quarter of my troops?"

        "Whooptie-shit," snarled Tim.

        "Oh, you really must improve that attitude of yours,
in the 30 seconds or so you have to live.  Tell me, was
it fun, watching your friend die?  Too bad you'll never
live to revenge him.  What a pity..."

        With that, Tim lost all control again.  He grabbed
his Lochaber from off the ground where he had dropped it,
and a few steps later was in front of the leader.  With
a clean swing, he knocked the leader's head off, expecting
oblivion from the spongin troops as he did so.  As the head
went flying, he heard them hit the ground in unision to the
sounds of hundreds of rifle firing.  [This is the end, at
least I partly avenged you, Uncle..] he thought as he hit the
ground.  He checked himself for bullet wounds, but strangely
enough, there were none.  He carefully looked up and saw five
vans spilling out troops that were massacring the spongin.  He got up
and ran out of the line of fire and retrieved his weapons,
opening fire on the followers of B'harnie.  He heard massive
artillery fire from the other direction, and he prayed
that he wouldn't be claimed by an errant shell.  Within
a few minutes, the friendly troops had eliminated
all of the enemy.  Tim put away his weapons and walked
towards the troops.  As he did so, a man with what
appeared to be sergeant's stripes came forward to meet
him.  "Are you Tim Geier?" asked the sergeant as he
intercepted Tim.

        "Yes, I am," replied Tim.  "Who are you?"

        "We are from TRES Corps, and those guys with the tanks
are from MAUL.  TRES and MAUL are both in the Jihad to
Destroy B'harnie the Dinosaur," replied the sergeant.

        "Wait a minute...you guys are part of an army...devoted
to killing B'harnie?"

        "Not just B'harnie but his followers, called sponge minions.
You've killed quite a few of them today."

        "Sponge minions?  Why are they called that?"

        "Let me demonstrate," said the sergeant.  "Use that
axe of yours and cut open one of these spongie's heads."

        Tim did as he was instructed and found that the only
thing inside the dead spongins head was a soft Silly-Putty
like substance.  "I see...well..umm..how did you guys know
that I was in some really deep..."

        "Our intelligence agency informed us that spongin
forces were attacking a house for no apparent reason.  Then
we found out that spongies had attacked and destroyed a house
not far from here, and that there was only one survivor.  We
traced you to here, and then realized that the spongin were
trying to finish their assignment.  We were called here,
along with a contingent of artillery from MAUL," cut in the
sergeant.

        "Hmm....well.." Tim pondered.  "How does one...join
the Jihad?"

        "By applying and qualifying for it.  I think you've got
the right stuff to be one of us, judging from what I just saw
here on the battlefield." responded the sergeant.

        "Where do I sign up?" Tim asked.

        "We can take you directly to Minnesota, where you can
sign up, train, and qualify to join the Corps."

        "I'll do that...let me get my things first."

        "All right, we'll be waiting for you at the end
of your driveway.  Troops, move out!"

        Tim entered the house and used the alternate stairway,
not wishing to see his uncle's body.  He called the police
and an ambulance and merely told them that there was a
dead man here.  After gathering his things, he left out the
back door.  A tear stood in his eye as he walked down the
driveway, not looking back.

Chapter 6 - Genesis

        "Urgh," muttered Tim as he collapsed into his bunk.
"Glad that's over."  He had just completed the qualifying
tests to be a TRES Corps Officer, and it was one of the
hardest things he had ever done.  His mettle on all
aspects, from mental to physical, was tested severely.
After arriving at the TRES Corps Training Center, he
had gone through some of the most rigourous training
he had ever had.  He had wanted to quit at times,
but then the thought of his family hardened his resolve.
As he groaned, his entire body aching like crazy, the
door in his bunkroom opened.  "Geier?" said
a voice.

        "Yes?"

        "You passed our qualifying tests and you are now
one of us.  Your rank is now Ensign Geier, and you have
been assigned to Omega Squadron.  Congratulations," said
the man whom Tim had hated, the Training Instructor who had
put him and his fellow trainees through hell.

        But now it was all worth it.  The T.I. gave Tim
his formal and duty uniforms, with a single dot insignia
on it.  "You have two weeks to report to TRES Corps HQ in Colorado.
You will be given further instructions there.  Under-
stood?"

        "Understood, sir."

        "Good.  Dismissed," said the T.I., as he returned
Tim's salute.  After packing his gear, Tim stepped out
of the bunkroom and left the compound.  He hopped in
his car and sped off.  His destination was not Colorado,
at least not yet.

[A few days later]

        After a long drive through Minnesota, Wisconsin,
and Illinois, Tim finally pulled into the driveway of
his home.  The effects of the terrible battle which
had occurred had been erased by new windows and siding.
He entered the home and cleaned up the month or so's
worth of debris.  He was relaxing in the study,
drinking a Jolt, when he heard the sound of a motor-
cycle coming down the driveway.  He got up and went
over to the window, which revealed a long haired
man dressed in black dismounting a Harley-Davidson
motorcycle.  As the doorbell rang, Tim answered
it at once.

        "May I help you?" Tim inquired.

        "Ensign Geier of TRES Corps, I presume?" asked the man.

        "Yes," replied Tim.  "And you are?"

        "Commander in Chief Most Holy of the Midwesterners Against
Ugly Lizards, also known as MAUL."

        "MAUL...you guys helped save my life in the battle here,
didn't you?"

        "Yes," said Most Holy, nodding.  "We did.  I'm here tonight
to talk to you about MAUL, and whether you would be interested in
joining it."

        "Umm..won't you step inside, Mr. Holy?"

        "That's Most Holy.  And yes, I will step inside."

        Tim took Most Holy's coat and hung it on the rack as
he asked him, "Can I get you something to drink?"

        "Anything with caffeine," responded Most Holy.

        "How does Jolt sound?"

        "Perfect."

        Tim went to the kitchen and got Most Holy a cold Jolt.  Giving
it to him, he said, "Let's talk in the study."  MH nodded, and the
two Jihaddi entered the room.

        "So, you want to see if I'm interested in joining MAUL,"
began Tim, sitting down on an easy chair.

        "Yes, pretty much," replied MH, seated in an opposite chair.

        "What's the training like?"

        "Ahh..that's right, you just went through TRES training.  Rest
assured, I can make an exception in your case."

        "Hmm...What is the purpose of MAUL?"
               
        "Allow me to quote from our charter," MH responded, pulling a piece
of paper out of his jacket pocket.  'M.A.U.L. stands for Midwesterners
Against Ugly Lizards and was first commissioned in October of 1993 by Jason
Braunsworth and Daniel Oliver. It exists to battle the forces, ideals, and
dogma of B'harne the Unspeakable Horror.'

        Tim nodded.  "Sounds good so far."

        MH retorted, "It had better, it took me a while to write this
damn thing.  At any rate..."

        MH continued on, mumbling about MAUL's War College and their
primary philosophy.  Tim started nodding as MH concluded.

        "Sounds very good indeed.  I think I will join MAUL, or wait
a minute...is it.." Tim stated.

        "Yes, it is possible to belong to more than one JAO at once,
and we won't interfere with your TRES duties at all, nor they with
your MAUL duties.  It's a very fair system."

        "Ok," Tim said.  "Where do I sign up?"

        "You're signed up right now, Recruit Geier.  Welcome to
MAUL.  Report to our HQ in Indiana when you're done in Colorado."
                                                                 
        "Thank you sir."

        The pair of Jihaddi conversed for an hour or so more
before MH left.  As he roared up the driveway in his Harley,
Tim stood in the doorway.  It was a beautiful winter evening,
the ground and trees perfectly coated in white with a light
snow falling.  [How perfect everything can seem,] Tim pondered.
[And yet be imperfect at the same time.]  "Hear me, B'harnie!"
he cried in a voice of thunder.  "You will DIE!  ALL ELSE
IS IRRELEVANT!!"  That said, he turned back inside the house,
closing the door behind him.


-finis

ST


-Thanks much to my sister, who made this story a lot better
than what it originally was.

-- 
Lieutenant Commander Geier of TRES Corps, Omega Squad
Corporal ST Geier of M.A.U.L.
SirTim on IRC, and also known as ST.....
tgeier2@freenet.tlh.fl.us
ST's Castle is closed until further notice....
"B'harnie must DIE.  All else is irrelevent."
                                                                                                                                
Visit the TRES Corps web pages....
http://www.infinet.com/cybrpyro/Jihad/TRES

Jihad Code Block Version 3.01
B---- SPG---- F++++ R&D++ ND TIJ ODD+++ MAG PSI
IRC+++ JW+++ ABD4+++
MST+++ RPG+++ GF+++ GG+++ GM+++ GMO+++ !VECH