 Good afternoon. For those of you who are new, my name is Dr. Bedlam. Today we will be discussing MTF Sigma-5 pumpkin punchers. This article contains cartoon violence. Listener discretion advised. The moonlight shone on the open pumpkin field. The farm was the picture of serenity. Until a piercing shout shattered the silence. Move out! yelled Alpha. The four MTF agents spread out across the field, their assault rifles and flashlights casting light onto the fully grown pumpkins. Why are we even here? You haven't told us what we're looking for, Chief. Questioned Beta. Well, I don't rightfully know. But a half dozen people go and miss in here, and every surrounding pumpkin farm being torn apart during their best season don't seem to add up right. Chief responded. Just look for something out of the ordinary. They scavenged the field for hours, looking for anything that could be construed as anomalous. A scarecrow that strongly resembled Delta, an extremely angry coyote, and a pumpkin that looked suspiciously like a basketball, but did not bounce like one, did not apply. There ain't shit here, boss. Gamma finally said after a deep inspection of a vine. Fine, let's turn around and head back to the set. Probably some psycho-x murderer or some shit. Alpha turned around and began to march in the direction of the transport. Be fitting, given the date and all. We might as well catch the tail end of the Halloween party. Cheered Delta. The rest of the team turned to look at the newest member of their team. Fucking hell, kid. Nobody goes to the site parties. Directors always find some way to make it about how we don't do enough work. Like to see them get off their asses and do this shit, Beta grunted. I mean, a party is a party. Damn it! Tossed out Delta, interrupted by his foot stepping on one of the smaller pumpkins. What the fuck? Boss, check this out. Pumpkins like mutated or something. Indeed, the pumpkin had shattered from Delta's steel-toed boot. Spilling out a mixture of various candies and sweets all carried in a rose-colored sludge. The troops were fascinated. Bag up a sample of the Snickers for transport, Alpha ordered, just before a long screech broke across the field. The members were ready in an instant. Even Delta rifles raised and backs against each other. They had been thoroughly trained in high-stakes tactics, which is why they didn't hesitate when the first pumpkin leapt out of the ground and rushed at them on spindly, wooden legs. Three shots later, it was on the ground, dropping a blood-red twizzler rope with it. Is that it? Only two? Asked Delta, puzzled. Good job, kid. Now you've jinxed us. Snarled Gamma. As if to punctuate his words, another shriek rang out and pumpkins began rising from their vines. A few swayed menacingly, while others wasted no time charging the squad. Bullets rang out like rain, each member contributing their own style. Alpha methodically aimed at a lone pumpkin and burst it, then moved to another target. Beta swept his gun side to side, shattering any pumpkin beef that wandered too close and showering the battlefield with enough candy to give an elephant a sugar rush. Gamma was firing like a madman with no want for ammunition or accuracy, reveling in the sugar lust. And Delta tried to help, but whether it was the combination of his first real ambush or the stress or perhaps his gun jamming, for some reason chose to resort to holding his rifle like a bat and crushing anything that came too close. In one instance, Gamma's leg, resulting in a swift and light kick to the chest. The team worked their way through the dozens of small pumpkin monsters, whether by shooting or smashing, until the shots silenced, and they were surrounded by dozens of small fruit-shaped corpses and enough milky ways, twizzlers, nerds, hershey's, sweet-tarts, and pixie sticks to open a store. Not to mention at least enough apples to open a small food cart. What? What the fuck? Yelled Delta, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. The others simply laughed. You'll get used to it kid. Weird shit comes with the job. Advise Beta. His diatribe about reading fine print on contracts was cut off by the ground rumbling. They steadied themselves. As a gigantic version of the pumpkins they had just eviscerated raised itself out of the dirt on spindly legs. Fuck. The team opened fire, but the pumpkin abomination's hide reflected the mass of the bullets. A handful breached its shell, opening boreholes from which copious amounts of candy began to flow. The beast trundled forward, reaching out with one of its legs and driving it directly through Gamma's stomach. Gamma screamed before being lifted up in the air by the six meter tall fruit. The pair looked at each other, the squad still releasing a hail of bullets, and for a moment Gamma stopped screaming. Then he burst into a shower of candy. Jesus. Yelled Alpha as he was pelted with the sugary remains of his soldier. The pumpkin used the opportunity to dive forward and seize Beta within its grip, instantaneously exploding him into sweets. Alpha and Delta backed up as the pumpkin advanced on them, pushing through the various twizzlers and three musketeers that half the team had become. For a moment, all was lost. Then Alpha tore something from his shoulder. Stealing himself, he charged forward and leapt directly into the maw of the monster. The pumpkin, rather pleased with this turn of events, happily swallowed Alpha. For a moment it stopped its advance as it chewed on the chief. Then it violently exploded as the grenade Alpha was holding detonated within its stomach. Delta shielded his eyes as a hail storm of candy fell upon him, but was still thrown back by the force of the blast. He sat in the field as he was showered with enough glucose to give six, eight, two diabetes, and watched the sun rise over the field, surrounded by what may or may not have been the remains of his colleagues. Delta walked through the underground security corridor leading to site 39, the echo of his boots becoming more and more apparent with each step. His wide-eyed face was impassive as he scanned his keycard and pushed open the door. The Halloween party was dying down at this point, a dozen odd researchers mingling and holding cups of some non-alcoholic punch as corny-themed music played over the speaker. The wall across from the door was dominated by a large banner with the words Happy Halloween along with skeletons and pumpkins. The rest of the group finally noticed him. Hey Jeff, you missed the whole party. We had a candy trade. Where are the rest of the guys? Asked Senior Researcher Smiths. Delta simply keeled over and hurled. Thank you for listening. 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