webnovel

Aliens VS Robots (Original)

Lonely Island: The last place on Earth you will want yourself to be in. A doomed place where nowhere is safe, nothing is sacred, and nothing, not even a monkey, is what it seems. This is a nightmarish tale of group of teenagers and seemingly teenagers, battling against a mysterious dark entity that wants to wipe an entire island off the face of the planet by means of unholy destruction and terror. ◼◼◼◼◼ Started: August, 2017 Ended: ---- Genre: Science fiction Subgenres: Robot fiction/ Gothic science fiction/ Apocalyptic science fiction/ zombie fiction Status: On-going Language: Taglish (Mixed Tagalog and english

Titanic_King · Sci-fi
Not enough ratings
11 Chs

Chapter 4

The school bell rings for the last time that day.

There are several whoops of joy and yells of excitement as waves of students tread there way out of their rooms to the newly-opened school gate, most of them laughing and throwing good-natured cat-calls at each other. It is the end of the long weekdays, and the happiness on those students' smiling faces are too obvious to go unnoticed.

Meanwhile, they are in the dimly-lit parking lot, silently sitting over the asphalted sidewalk besides the red bricked wall, the large, almost empty compound of Purvil High behind them. They are like four lazy clams half-submerged over the seashore happily watching the sunset, admiring its glory and beauty. Although there are no longer any sunset to enjoy because the sun is already gone over the horizon and the chill air is almost intolerable and unbearable despite the thick dresses they wear.

Occasional forks of lightnings slash across the purple sky shortly follow by deep rumblings and cracklings.

They watch as the five brothers, that oh, so hateful blood-sucker vampires who think that they own the world, aboard the yellow school bus. After a while, they are gone, leaving only a trail of dissipating white puffs of smokes on the concrete road.

"So, what's the plan?" the boy with a livid scar on his left cheek asks, seemingly bored. He is gripping a silver switchblade in one callous hand, playfully swinging it in the air. Its shiny blade flashing yellow as it reflects the light coming from the tall street lamp towering above them. He looks over his shoulder at the other boy wearing black shade.

"I thought you already figured it out, Kirk?" The boy grins, revealing two sets of crooked teeth. "You're the brain of the gang, ain't you? You are supposed to know. Now tell us the plan."

"Well, you're right but-" Kirk mutter, stumbling for words. He scoffs. "Okay, let me think about it, Deepak. I'll come up with a nice plan."

"We're counting on you, Kirk, my buddy old friend," Deepak whispers in an almost playful tone. "The Ducks are counting on you."

"There you go again." Kirk's voice is somehow weak and too meek to be regarded as anger but he is angry, all right. Deepak always put the burden of planning on him. Always. He believes Deepak does that on purpose just to spite him.

Kirk is one of the Top students in their class. Top Four, to be exact. Behind the triplets. And damn if Kirk doesn't feel Deepak's sizzling hate towards him. The same level of hatred that they feel toward the Catacutan brothers.

Insecurity is real. Even to your best of friends. A famous Indian film arguably had it right: if one of your friend went lower than you, you feel bad. But if they went higher, you feel worse.

But getting angry at Deepak is not a good idea. In fact, it will be unwise to do so. Kirk may be the brain of the gang, but Deepak is the soul of the gang. Without Deepak, Dead Duck Squad is nothing. The same way that a dead brain is rendered useless without some sort of consciousness operating it. Kirk can't really argue with Deepak. He always loses the argument. Sometimes, Kirk thinks Deepak is way smarter than him and just playing it cool.

Another boy, a red-headed one with a lot of piercings on the face, snickers (wearing piercings inside Purvil High is allowed. In this time of modern society and age of enlightenment, almost everybody already regard body piercings now as a form of true body art together with tattoes).

"Hey! Wipe that smirk off your face, ass-wipe," Kirk snaps. He points the switchblade at Nathan who quickly steps back and cringes while still cackling. "Want me to gut you like a pig? Huh? Want me to rip you apart using this?"

"Damn you, Kirk. That's Chucky's line, you twerp," Nathan snaps back in a hoarse voice, still grinning. "At least be decent enough to make your own, you freaking plagiarist!"

"Your face and my ass, Nathan."

"I thought it's the other way around, Kirk."

"Yeah, sure. Convince yourself."

"Are you two finished? Enough with the bromancing, will you?" Another boy with a shoulder-length hair snaps at Kirk and Nathan, jaws moving in rhythm as he chews a bubble gum. "Quarrel more and you might end up screwing each other the same way those two silly cowboys screwed each other on the film I just watched last night."

"What the fuck?! No way, Cody!" Kirk glowers at Cody and then shifts his gaze back at Nathan who is already lying on the ground bursting with hysterical laughter. His face turns pale at the dreadful and graphic vision of himself screwing Nathan in the ass. His lower lip quivers a little. "That's disgusting! Gross!"

"Yeah. Gross. And a horror. You've been warned, fools." Cody blows, inflating a pink bubble the size of a watermelon. After a few seconds it pops up.

"Fix yourselves, dudes," Deepak hisses urgently at them. "Kirk, your knife!" Then in a casual tone that is almost comical and very unnatural of him he greets, "Hello, Mrs. Jumao-as. Goin' home now?"

"Oh, hello, Deepak," the fat lady greets back at the boy, smiling. She is riding on her cute yellow scooter and is moving in a slow pace. One duffle bag is slunging precariously over her shoulder. Her wheels look as though they are about to blow up any time sooner. It is a miracle that a scooter that small could carry a burden as heavy as Mrs. Jumao-as. "Be careful on your way home, boys. Have a nice weekends."

"You too, Mrs. Jumao-as," Deepak raises his hand. "Goodbye. See you on Monday."

"Have a nice weekend too, Mrs. Jumao-as," Kirk, Nathan and Cody say in chorus.

"And be careful too," Deepak adds in a very low voice that is almost a whisper. He smiles slyly.

"Goodbye, good boys." The professor waves her free hand at them without looking back and after a while she is gone.

The four boys glance at each other.

And laugh.

"Good boys?" Kirk giggles wildly, spits flying from his mouth. "Did you heard what that stupid pig just said?"

"She said we're good boys, Kirk." Nathan stifled a laugh. "Dig the freaking wax outta your ear."

"Goodbye, good boys. That's cute," Deepak murmurs softly, more to himself. The image of the Catacutan brothers lying face down on the ground, bleeding and screaming and pleading for help, crosses his mind. "Goodbye, good boys." A grin crooks his lips, eyes narrow behind his dark shades.

Cody looks heavenward. "Full dark, no stars. It's gonna rain. I think we should go now, dimwits."

"Yeah, Cody, but first thing's first." Deepak cocks his head from side to side. The school's outside premise is already clear. No more silly students nor stupid professors in sight. Even Mr. Smith the school guard is nowhere in sight, probably jerking off somewhere in one of the girl's bathroom. The place is as dead as a ghost town, at least at this late hour. A deep antagonistic smile curves Deepak's lips.

Kirk and Nathan look at each other. Both of them grinning nervously. Cody crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow.

They all stand up.

Kirk unchains his old and rusty bicycle from the post.

Deepak walks toward his old motorcycle and opens up the U-box. For a moment, he just stands there looking at the thing inside it. Moments later he is holding a big can of paint in both hands. The label says ACRYLIC in big bold letters. He looks over his shoulder.

"Let's forget about those geeky vampires for awhile, shall we? For the time being, let's paint the town red," Deepak murmurs conversationally, grinning. He carefully opens up the circular tin lid. The acrid smell of wet paint surrounds them, corrupting the night chill air.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟