What follows is the true* story of Clear Skies, written in response to the obviously-doctored footage being posted here by capitalist apologists and Bodgist cronies.
*When I say "true", I mean all of the dialogue is false, along with the depictions of the people involved and the time, location, and events therein. I am very very sorry to everyone mentioned below, especially Homer, Wrathz and Lietuvis. Only the Party can decide what actually happened, and they reserve the right to change the reports, memories, hairstyles and sexual orientations of all involved in order to more closely align with the Truth.
Also: Just a reminder to you all that this is Tigershark Awareness Week. Please be aware of where Tigershark and his appendages are at all times. Thank you.
The SPAAG that was all Invisible-like
Once upon a time in the future, there was a glorious kingdom called CSATia. The citizens of CSATia were a proud, confused people, endlessly debating whether they were supposed to be Persian, Chinese, or insect people from the planet Hive-27. Regardless of their heritage, they loved to fight and the symbols of the CSAT military were revered far and wide, from their weird bug-shaped helmets to the mighty Mi-48 Kajman helicopter, which masqueraded as a normal object that was subject to the laws of physics when it was actually an immortal flying beast that ate bullets and souls for breakfast.
And in this glittering kingdom lived a lonely, lonely ZSU-39 Tigris. Although he was just one SPAAG of many in his country, all of the other SPAAGs would refuse to play with him, ignoring his offers of friendship and cookies. Instead, the other SPAAGs preferred to play with their fellow CSAT armoured vehicles, forming convoys for the lulz and massacring poorly-setup FIA ambushes with the maximum of PTSD. Whenever the Loneliest SPAAG would try to join in the fun, all the other vehicles would either drive away or selfishly explode into burning husks. Things were so bad, not even the FIA forces would shoot at him, which was the ultimate insult as the FIA had pretty much no grasp of the concept of fire discipline.
All this made the Loneliest SPAAG sad. One day, after being ignored again by everyone he met, he decided to run away to an olive grove and die. This was a pretty emo thing to do, but when you're a 19-tonne armoured vehicle it's hard to write poetry or find dark clothes that fit you, so you have to take whatever outlet you can.
Unbeknownst to him, at that very moment a force of FIA irregulars were preparing to infiltrate the olive groves, having heard rumours that there was a Tigris in the area that they could shoot at. Their plan was to fire wildly, blow it up, and then run away to the southern beach before the AAF could put their towels on all the sun loungers. The man with this mighty plan was Generalissimo Fer, feared by many of the more inexperienced men under his command. The rest, grizzled veterans all, were also shit-scared of him, but they at least had the intelligence to keep quiet whenever he offered a vacant attack helo position during slotting.
As night fell, Fer calmly advanced up the tallest hill in the area to commence the customary Ritual Sacrifice of the Tigershark, an offering to the Gods of the Party to ensure victory in the oncoming mission. To sacrifice your very own Tigershark, you will need:
1 x Australian deviant
1 x Bush, flammable
1 x RPG-42
(1) Place your Tigershark inside the bush.
(2) Transform your bush into a Holy Burning Bush(tm) by firing your RPG-42 at it at a range of no less than 100m
(3) Repeat step (2) until your Tigershark is of a smooth consistency with no visible lumps
(4) Sit back and enjoy your inevitable victory, comrade!
However, on this one moonlit night, Fer stared into the eyes of his trusty manservant and found he was unable to pull the trigger. Was it compassion that stayed his hand? Or the repeated and insistent threats of blackmail? We will never know (until the upcoming tell-all autobiography, Tigershark: Undressed, hits the bookstore shelves - preorder now!). Instead, Fer trusted in his squad commanders to Get The Job Done. Alpha, show-offs and jocks to a man, were given the easiest job: infiltrate the area by sneaking right by the highest concentration of enemy activity - it's the last place they'll look! Bravo had a slightly tougher challenge; wading through a ditch for several hours until their trench foot-afflicted bodies were so full of tropical diseases and parasites that they could barely see. They would then be launched in primitive catapults towards enemy towns, where they would spread disease and panic.
The BSL was Homercleese, a fine, upstanding gentleman who often refused to accept that he was dead, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. Being a native of Ireland, damp and boggy terrain did not come naturally to him (Ireland being an arid place, populated mostly by camels), but he steeled himself and his team for the challenge. Serving under him were two of the finest FTLs in the whole of the FIA: Lietuvis10, who it was said was often the 2nd sanest man in any given 1 metre radius; and Wrathz, who was famed far and wide for his ability to feel hundreds of emotions at any one time, provided they were all some form of anger. Also with them was Issus, a medic with a reputation for utilising powers of extreme cowardice to ensure his survival at the expense of the mission, his team mates, his honour, and the integrity of his underwear.
Homer: Grand, lads, grand. You are required to manoeuvre straight down this trench and skim the surface to this point. The target area is only two metres wide. It's a small thermal exhaust port to the rear of the SPAAG. Hit it, and I guarantee everything will be grand.
Wrathz: ...sooo, it will all be Grand, then?
Homer (wearily): Yes, Wrathz, it will all be Grand. It will also be Lucky Charms and Blarney Stone. Happy now?
Wrathz: Fuckin' A! Although you forgot "potato".
Lietuvis10 (interrupting): I must not shoot the soufflé! I must not shoot the soufflé!
Homer: Lietuvis... what do you mean by "shoot the soufflé"?
Lietuvis10: I said I must NOT shoot the soufflé. God, Homer, do you not know anything about cookery?!
Universal: I reckon you could shoot a crème brûlée. It has that crispy bit on top.
Pickers: True! Although you might need to use an armour-piercing round, depending on the thickness of the crust...
Bravo took this opportunity to have a breather for a few seconds and continue discussing the correct calibre of bullet to use in the kitchen. Seconds became minutes and Alpha became dead. Freed from the prospect of another squad stealing all the glory, Bravo pushed onwards into the reeds.
At this moment, the Loneliest SPAAG was weeping in a stand of trees just to their south. Oh woe, he said bitterly, I can't even be free here. Just over that field, my comrades are busy having fun slaughtering the hapless chumps of Alpha squad. And here I am, awaiting death and covered in olives. But wait, what's that approaching from the north?! The Loneliest SPAAG peered through the branches and spotted Lietuvis, giving Bravo 2 the full benefit of his many years of wisdom and experience.
Lietuvis10: The bees! The bees! Buggrit, millennium hand and shrimp!
This is my chance, thought the Loneliest SPAAG. If I fire at these guys, they'll be sure to RPG me, thus ending my miserable existence! A bowel-shaking rumble and flash signified Lietuvis' bid to be the first Altis citizen to achieve orbit. As he sailed out of view, the remaining members of Bravo scrambled to try and find the source of the fire.
Homer: Wrathz, I order you to find that vehicle, and destroy it with the telekinetic abilities gifted to you by your extreme rage!
Wrathz: I'll try, but we're getting fuckin' destroyed out here!
Universal: The remains of Bravo 2 are proceeding to point GTFO.
Homer: Copy that. Issus, I appear to have more holes in me than normal. I want you to sew up any orifice you can find. Don't bother to try to work out which ones are natural or not -- we'll close them all up and let god sort them out later.
Homer: Excellent, I will now stand up and intimidate the enemy by sheer force of my manliness.
*Homer turns into jam*
*Issus demonstrates his special ability to pee in even the most stressful of circumstances*
While all this was happening, the Loneliest SPAAG was getting more and more frustrated. Why aren't they shooting back, he cried, why aren't they exploderising me?! Am I that unworthy? It was at that moment that the SPAAG looked down to see a lone figure crawling towards him, underneath him! Surely this must be a sabotage attempt? Surely this must be the end! And then, a trembling voice from below:
Issus: Where is the SPAAG? I can't see it?
It suddenly dawned upon the SPAAG. This was the reason why they weren't firing back. This was the reason why he didn't have any friends. This was the reason why he was always ignored.
He. Was. INVISIBLE.
It was the greatest feeling he had ever known! He wasn't the worst Tigris in the CSAT army, he was the most powerful! Happiness surged through his gears as he spun around, sending HE rounds into tree after tree after tree. He had never felt so alive! And yet...
He looked down. The little medic was still there, underneath him. Sobbing. Although he had never seen this man before, he felt he knew him already. He knew those tear-stained cheeks. He knew those terrified, pathetic eyes and that friendless face. He even empathised with his rapidly-dampening underthings. This man was lonely, thought the SPAAG, so I shall be his FRIEND.
The Holy Ghost of Audiox was watching this, and his heart was gladdened by the scene. Declaring the Loneliest SPAAG to be "just like something out of C&C" (the highest praise possible), we made his way to the Great Console in the Sky and made sure this happy ending remained happy, by immediately ending the world and making sure the last thing anyone saw was "FIA DEFEAT" in big letters carved into their eyeballs.