Let's Write A CDC Christmas Story [Complete]

[Guest Gumballthechewy]

Done! Woobwoobwoobwoob

[JHansenFan]

I'll start working on it tomorrow evening. Last exam is tomorrow at noon.

[SkeeterHansen]

My cover

[Guest Gumballthechewy]

My cover

[SkeeterHansen]

Where's Tigs?

[Guest Gumballthechewy]

....hiding.

In reality, didn't know how to represent Tigs. Tried googling an image but...nothing was appropriate enough...

[î мцšт вяздк чфµ]

hey there pilgrim!

[SkeeterHansen]

hey there pilgrim!

[Guest Gumballthechewy]

That was more than a little random...

[Master 112]

hey there pilgrim!

[Newsflash]

k ill start

[SkeeterHansen]

k ill start

[Newsflash]

I think I went overboard guise.

[SkeeterHansen]

I think I went overboard guise.

[Newsflash]

CHAPTER SIX: A PLAN PENETRATED

Gumball begins to use every fibre in his being to try and remain composed. He struggles to swallow a lump in his throat that seems to be the size of an apple. Alex’s mother had taken the special precaution of wrapping each piece of fabric furniture in plastic. This was not making Gumball’s task of resisting the temptation to squirm any easier.

He had to look composed. He could not give away Tig’s position. But whenever Gumball looked out the door and caught a glimpse of Tigs’ hiding in the many thick leaves of the conifer near the door, his hands became faucets. Consequently, Gumball refused to divert his gaze from the bottom left corner of the open door; this was the only place Tigs partially camouflaged form did not enter his peripheral vision.

Seeing Gumball’s fidgety and sweaty body tremble as he refuses to divert his attention from what seems to be the floor would make some people suspicious. But Alex’s mother continued on, unmolested by any queer intuitions that may overcome her. Here came Alex’s mother, or would Mrs. Clause be more appropriate? Whoever the matriarch of this two faced clan was, she approached the doorway holding a tray with two tall glasses of milk.

She came closer, and closer, and closer, until she was only a couple feet from under the tree. Gumball began to relax, and as he saw her shadow approach, he diverted his gaze from his peripheral sanctuary and onto the matriarch.

Tigs was not going to mess this up. Gumball knew him too long and too well for him to believe that – even for a second.

And Gumball firmly believed he had gotten past the point of no return. He had kept his composure. They were going to win. Tigs’ had this. But just as his hopes began to rise, Gumball’s heart sank.

“Stop,” bellowed an imposing baritone voice with a hint of a German accent.

And the matriarch did just that. She stopped.

It was Mash. But it was not at all a sight Tigs or Gumball were used to.

Mash was donned from neck to toe in Nazi attire. The sort of suit’s Nazi generals would wear to form gathering. But not the generals you would expect to find on a battle field. This was a high ranking military personnel of sorts you would find in a concentration camp. A person with one sole purpose: imposing agony.

Mash’s face was considerably wrinkled. But, against skin that appeared to have the tightness and texture of leather, the wrinkles seemed to be of stress more than age.

Mash began to walk towards the door. His boots clacked against the wooden floor at a rate that seemed to be slower than the footsteps he was actually making. As Mash got closer and closer to the door, Gumball’s breathes became shorter and longer in between. And when Mash’s back first became visible to Gumball, it seemed as though he stopped breathing all together. Mash had his hands behind his back as you would expect any normal person to do from time to time. But as he held his hands together, a sledge hammer rose vertically from them.

Mash finally got within striking distance of the tree, and with one large swoop, Tigs was on the ground. His leg was broken. He wailed as a pool of blood surrounded his knee. His legs seemingly glued to the ground at an awkward angle.

“This one has fight in him. We cannot allow his leg to heal until he is assimilated.” exclaimed the CDCer formally known as Mash, in what was now a richer, and slightly less baritone, German accent. “He no longer receives the milk.”

Mash than turned around, and looked at a visibly whiter Gumball. “This one has much less fight in him. But there is no sense in providing him with the milk now either. They both receive the injections.”

The matriarch, who had stood silent in all of this, now proclaimed, “You are the expert.”

Mash then proceeded to walk slowly towards Gumball. Gumball’s pants were wet. Mash bent over slightly, looked at the accident Gumball had, feigned a moment of disgust, and looked back at Gumball. He stared directly into his eyes, and said in a voice that had returned to his baritone state, “Your friend was right. She wouldn’t have had time pull the trigger on the net launcher. Time does make a fool of us all.”

“Well, except me. I make a fool of time. When you awaken, the search party will have long been called off.”

[SkeeterHansen]

CHAPTER SIX: A PLAN PENETRATED

Gumball begins to use every fibre in his being to try and remain composed. He struggles to swallow a lump in his throat that seems to be the size of an apple. Alex’s mother had taken the special precaution of wrapping each piece of fabric furniture in plastic. This was not making Gumball’s task of resisting the temptation to squirm any easier.

He had to look composed. He could not give away Tig’s position. But whenever Gumball looked out the door and caught a glimpse of Tigs’ hiding in the many thick leaves of the conifer near the door, his hands became faucets. Consequently, Gumball refused to divert his gaze from the bottom left corner of the open door; this was the only place Tigs partially camouflaged form did not enter his peripheral vision.

Seeing Gumball’s fidgety and sweaty body tremble as he refuses to divert his attention from what seems to be the floor would make some people suspicious. But Alex’s mother continued on, unmolested by any queer intuitions that may overcome her. Here came Alex’s mother, or would Mrs. Clause be more appropriate? Whoever the matriarch of this two faced clan was, she approached the doorway holding a tray with two tall glasses of milk.

She came closer, and closer, and closer, until she was only a couple feet from under the tree. Gumball began to relax, and as he saw her shadow approach, he diverted his gaze from his peripheral sanctuary and onto the matriarch.

Tigs was not going to mess this up. Gumball knew him too long and too well for him to believe that – even for a second.

And Gumball firmly believed he had gotten past the point of no return. He had kept his composure. They were going to win. Tigs’ had this. But just as his hopes began to rise, Gumball’s heart sank.

“Stop,” bellowed an imposing baritone voice with a hint of a German accent.

And the matriarch did just that. She stopped.

It was Mash. But it was not at all a sight Tigs or Gumball were used to.

Mash was donned from neck to toe in Nazi attire. The sort of suit’s Nazi generals would wear to form gathering. But not the generals you would expect to find on a battle field. This was a high ranking military personnel of sorts you would find in a concentration camp. A person with one sole purpose: imposing agony.

Mash’s face was considerably wrinkled. But, against skin that appeared to have the tightness and texture of leather, the wrinkles seemed to be of stress more than age.

Mash began to walk towards the door. His boots clacked against the wooden floor at a rate that seemed to be slower than the footsteps he was actually making. As Mash got closer and closer to the door, Gumball’s breathes became shorter and longer in between. And when Mash’s back first became visible to Gumball, it seemed as though he stopped breathing all together. Mash had his hands behind his back as you would expect any normal person to do from time to time. But as he held his hands together, a sledge hammer rose vertically from them.

Mash finally got within striking distance of the tree, and with one large swoop, Tigs was on the ground. His leg was broken. He wailed as a pool of blood surrounded his knee. His legs seemingly glued to the ground at an awkward angle.

“This one has fight in him. We cannot allow his leg to heal until he is assimilated.” exclaimed the CDCer formally known as Mash, in what was now a richer, and slightly less baritone, German accent. “He no longer receives the milk.”

Mash than turned around, and looked at a visibly whiter Gumball. “This one has much less fight in him. But there is no sense in providing him with the milk now either. They both receive the injections.”

The matriarch, who had stood silent in all of this, now proclaimed, “You are the expert.”

Mash then proceeded to walk slowly towards Gumball. Gumball’s pants were wet. Mash bent over slightly, looked at the accident Gumball had, feigned a moment of disgust, and looked back at Gumball. He stared directly into his eyes, and said in a voice that had returned to his baritone state, “Your friend was right. She wouldn’t have had time pull the trigger on the net launcher. Time does make a fool of us all.”

“Well, except me. I make a fool of time. When you awaken, the search party will have long been called off.”

[Smashian Kassian]

CHAPTER SIX: A PLAN PENETRATED

Gumball begins to use every fibre in his being to try and remain composed. He struggles to swallow a lump in his throat that seems to be the size of an apple. Alex’s mother had taken the special precaution of wrapping each piece of fabric furniture in plastic. This was not making Gumball’s task of resisting the temptation to squirm any easier.

He had to look composed. He could not give away Tig’s position. But whenever Gumball looked out the door and caught a glimpse of Tigs’ hiding in the many thick leaves of the conifer near the door, his hands became faucets. Consequently, Gumball refused to divert his gaze from the bottom left corner of the open door; this was the only place Tigs partially camouflaged form did not enter his peripheral vision.

Seeing Gumball’s fidgety and sweaty body tremble as he refuses to divert his attention from what seems to be the floor would make some people suspicious. But Alex’s mother continued on, unmolested by any queer intuitions that may overcome her. Here came Alex’s mother, or would Mrs. Clause be more appropriate? Whoever the matriarch of this two faced clan was, she approached the doorway holding a tray with two tall glasses of milk.

She came closer, and closer, and closer, until she was only a couple feet from under the tree. Gumball began to relax, and as he saw her shadow approach, he diverted his gaze from his peripheral sanctuary and onto the matriarch.

Tigs was not going to mess this up. Gumball knew him too long and too well for him to believe that – even for a second.

And Gumball firmly believed he had gotten past the point of no return. He had kept his composure. They were going to win. Tigs’ had this. But just as his hopes began to rise, Gumball’s heart sank.

“Stop,” bellowed an imposing baritone voice with a hint of a German accent.

And the matriarch did just that. She stopped.

It was Mash. But it was not at all a sight Tigs or Gumball were used to.

Mash was donned from neck to toe in Nazi attire. The sort of suit’s Nazi generals would wear to form gathering. But not the generals you would expect to find on a battle field. This was a high ranking military personnel of sorts you would find in a concentration camp. A person with one sole purpose: imposing agony.

Mash’s face was considerably wrinkled. But, against skin that appeared to have the tightness and texture of leather, the wrinkles seemed to be of stress more than age.

Mash began to walk towards the door. His boots clacked against the wooden floor at a rate that seemed to be slower than the footsteps he was actually making. As Mash got closer and closer to the door, Gumball’s breathes became shorter and longer in between. And when Mash’s back first became visible to Gumball, it seemed as though he stopped breathing all together. Mash had his hands behind his back as you would expect any normal person to do from time to time. But as he held his hands together, a sledge hammer rose vertically from them.

Mash finally got within striking distance of the tree, and with one large swoop, Tigs was on the ground. His leg was broken. He wailed as a pool of blood surrounded his knee. His legs seemingly glued to the ground at an awkward angle.

“This one has fight in him. We cannot allow his leg to heal until he is assimilated.” exclaimed the CDCer formally known as Mash, in what was now a richer, and slightly less baritone, German accent. “He no longer receives the milk.”

Mash than turned around, and looked at a visibly whiter Gumball. “This one has much less fight in him. But there is no sense in providing him with the milk now either. They both receive the injections.”

The matriarch, who had stood silent in all of this, now proclaimed, “You are the expert.”

Mash then proceeded to walk slowly towards Gumball. Gumball’s pants were wet. Mash bent over slightly, looked at the accident Gumball had, feigned a moment of disgust, and looked back at Gumball. He stared directly into his eyes, and said in a voice that had returned to his baritone state, “Your friend was right. She wouldn’t have had time pull the trigger on the net launcher. Time does make a fool of us all.”

“Well, except me. I make a fool of time. When you awaken, the search party will have long been called off.”

[Newsflash]

[BananaMash]

Newsflash just made stuff get srs. I like it. So I guess it's Yapierre and I's turn.

[SkeeterHansen]

Newsflash just made stuff get srs. I like it. So I guess it's Yapierre and I's turn.