About This File
:On a visit to the Aubrey Penhew Military Academy, :you were horrified to learn that the entire campus -- faculty, staff, and students -- have been :taken over by those Nefarious Demons From Beyond :Space and Time. You were stripped of your gear, :smacked around, and made to watch twelve straight :hours of "Fantasy Island" re-runs.
:After enduring a half day of your one-time comrades :kneeling on their knees making "'da plane! 'da plane!" :jokes, you were ready saw off your ears with a butter :knife. Just as you were eyeying your plastic utensils, :the Sgt.-in-charge dashed in and announced that :the parade-in-review was about to start.
:You were unceremoniously thrown into a basement storage :room, your only company in the sudden solitude being :the pounding of your heart and the remembered sound of :Ricardo Montobaln spewing platitudes to the half-crazed :Tatoo.
:Around you, the once-dapper cadets could be heard :readying their soiled uniforms for a twisted :version of the weekly pass-in-review. You were about :to turn inward to try to decide if Tatoo and Mr. Rourke's :relationship was a mere working one or somehow something :more, when you realized that the griping of the cadets around :you had a decidedly dark tone to it. That alone was of little :surprise -- after all, they were possessed and all -- but :you'd been in the marines long enough to hear the truth behind :the growling, screeching, pea-soup-spitting words.
:The academy had a serious morale problem.
:Hope jolted your heart. You could use this knowledge. If only...
:That was when your hand touched the smooth barrel of the shotgun.
:You grinned evily. Now it was time to pay those bastards back. :You decided as you strode towards the door that, if there were :enough left alive, you'd make them watch "Starsky and Hutch"... :in German.
:With thoughts of Phillip Michael Glasier spouting :"Du! Kommen Sie hier!", you pressed the door and watched as it :started sliding upwards...