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Generalissimo’s Great Escape


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In the prison yard Marscurian Siberia’s roughest maximum security prison the country’s toughest prisoners gathered around a particularly intense game of triple-towered-Jenga. One the three players was a bearded man wearing a generic paramilitary jacket over an equally generic prison jumpsuit. . . Generalissimo, former Generalissimo of Procinctia.

This particular Marscurian Siberian maximum security prison only held prisoners for only two types of crime – illegally impersonating Generalissimo or breaking one of the country’s hundreds of turnip-based laws. Generalissimo was jailed for illegally impersonating himself.
Apparently impersonating Generalissimo is serious business in Marscurian Siberia.

[i]Out of Character Information[/i] join in this topic’s Out of Character Thread

Edited by Generalissimo
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With the day getting late, yard time was over. Generalissimo was sentenced back into solitary, seeing as he needed to be separated completely from all guards and other prisoners due to his extreme charm. Four guards showed up in full riot gear, including sunglasses and earplugs to block out Generalissimo's charmingness.




All the shouts were coming from different angles, and unless Generalissimo had learned Russian or Yiddish in his brief time in prison, he wouldn't understand any of them. When one of the prisoners, David Krushnov (in prison for improper disposal of turnip waste) moved his arm to make his move in the Jenga game, he was severely beaten by the fourth guard and had several jenga pieces inserted into various orifices. Generalissimo was then pointed towards the door, a gesture that could be understood in any language.

Back on their army base, Viktor, Dmitri, and Mikhail were reading the newspaper when they heard about a new dangerous foreigner who was admitted on breaking the law of impersonating Generalissimo.

"Wait a second," Dmitri said, "that picture, that uniform..."

"It's all just so, so charming," Mikhail added in.

"Dmitri," Viktor said, "grab your spork. We have work to do!"

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Another prison yard game of Jenga end in disproportionate violence, at least nobody was shanked this time. . .
Impostor? They had no idea who they were dealing with.
A daily escort by four guards in riot gear was demeaning.
Being considered only enough trouble for four guards is humiliation.
With a few more guards Generalissimo might be able to invoke the [url="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ConservationOfNinjutsu"] Law of Conservation of Ninjutsu[/url].
Four guards might prove too few to press any numerical advantage.
Why the sunglasses and earplugs?
That seemed to be somewhat excessive because Generalissimo never considered himself particularly charming.
Maybe it might have something to do the times he cheated various Marscurian authorities like getting an X-box from the guards, massage chair from the chief prosecutor, roulette table form the warden, or a sauna installed in his old cell by the highest court in the land. . . good times.

Alone in his cell, however, Generalissimo was left to his own devices. . .
Solitary wasn’t any different than the isolation of the arctic wasteland – minus the delicious yet deadly polar bears.
He was starting to miss the polar bears.

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Alone in an otherwise unoccupied cell one has nothing but free time, and normally this would be time to blame Martens - but this really wasn’t the Kaiser’s fault. Sitting around constructing wild consperacy theories about Europe’s arguably most Marten-eque (and perhaps Martenist) leader wasn’t particularly productive. Everyone in Procinctia knows that [url="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PrisonsAreGymnasiums"]Prisons Are Gymnasiums[/url] where physical prowess is honed to perfection, yet in weeks of working out in his cell Generalissimo had yet to distinguish any noticable alteration to his physique. With nothing better to do Generalissimo was putting together a Capoeira kata, a special technique intentionally incredibly ridiculous intended to throw off any trained observer of martial arts. . .

Edited by Generalissimo
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[i]47 feet below the prison[/i]:

"You went too deep again," Mikhail said, "you always do this Dmitri!"

"Which do you think will help us rescue Generalissimo," Viktor yelled, "complaining about this tunnel, or digging it?!"

"Heading up," Dmitri said, begining the large helix that would hopefully end at Generalissimo's cell. After hours upon hours of digging, they finally breached the surface into the light.

"What! What is happening Dmitri," Viktor yelled behind him.

"Somebody... somebody dropped the soap," Dmitri said feebly, "I broke through the wrong part. Heading down."

And so it happened that over the course of two days, the trio had managed to release seven prisoners convicted of various turnip crimes, but still no Generalissimo. The solitary confinement cell was simply too small a target. However, with the ground beneath the jail effectively criss-crossed with tunnels, half the work was done. There was one way to make sure Generalissimo got out. The next day, the unjustly imprisoned Generalissimo had three guests for visiting hours. While there, would receive a large cake in the shape of a nail file.


"Pssst," Dmitri whispered to Generalissmo, "there's a spork in the cake."

Edited by KaiserMelech Mikhail
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In two days Generalissimo was finally able to put together a passable Capoeira kata to The !@#$%cat Dolls’ [i]When I Grow Up[/i] by recreating the entire song mentally; hopefully the lyrical dissonance alone would enough of an advantage should the alleged ‘music’ be played during any future battle.
Just another week in jail, nothing unusual until ‘they’ arrived.

As an infamous criminal visitors weren’t usually expected, maybe someone else coming to reiterate how horrible his crime was, unless someone realized who he was. . .
Who actually know he alive? It could be counted on one hand; Sarah Tintagyl, Sarah’s fangirl, Colonel Keating, and Kaiser Martens.
Hopefully it was Sarah as that would be a welcome change of scenery.

Unfortunately for Generalissimo’s daydream turned out to be three rude Marscurian soldiers, “Who are you calling imposter?
[b]Who the hell do you think I am!
I’m Gen[/b]. . . errr. . . not a generalissimo, certainly not the Generalissimo, an obviously non-Generalissimo of Procinctia.

Man, what I look like, a charity case?
Soldiers hand me a cake shaped nail-fail.
What you want me to do with this, eat it?
I aint gonna be part of this system!
I’ll throw it on the ground.

Wait, did you say not-a-spork?
That changes everything, not that anything needed to be changed, everything’s fine here?
I graciously accept this cake that certainly does not contain a spork.”

Edited by Generalissimo
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At his visitors’ departure the prisoner was left with a large cake in shaped like nail file, and in the end the cake wasn’t thrown on the ground. Generalissimo, like many generalissimos, doesn’t even like Andy Samberg yet is a serious fan of useless internet ‘culture’ and wanted to employ the (some might say overrated) lyrics in a serious conversation at least once.

One thing was still bugging Procinctia’s wayward founder father – what was he supposed to do with a spork?
That file shaped cake was probably a clue.
Some agencies have used nail files as torture devices but a threat wouldn’t come with a spork.
Generalissimo was aware of several unfortunates assassinated with nail files- so the spork was a weapon!

[i]“Counterbalance the spork, quickslash, and retract.
Counterbalance the spork, quickslash, and retract
Counterbalance the spork, quickslash, and retract
Counterbalance the spork, quickslash, and retract
Counterbalance the spork, quickslash, and retract”[/i]

Now adequately armed to battle an army of guards Generalissimo spent hours practicing various hybrid cutlery combat, until eventually realizing the spork was supposed to be a digging implement – the means of his escape.

How did they think he was supposed to escape?
Unless the already had a tunnel, leaving him significantly behind schedule.
More more thing, who are those guys and why are they helping him escape?
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Generalissimo sighed and began scraping his fork-spoon combo utensil against the floor. It was going to be a long night.

Edited by Generalissimo
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