They've gone into what happens on Christmas Eve, bionic reindeer and enslaved elves. They've written on Halloween and alien abduction for candy, death fights over Mars bars, and so on.
But have you ever read a story on what goes on Easter's Eve? This is definitely it.
Enjoy, and watch out for Wyverns.
“Big Yo, this is Good Egg, all units present and in position.”
“Roger that, Good Egg. And I told you, its Big Yoke.”
“Affirmative Big Yoke, all units ready.”
“Move ‘em in.”
From behind the rhodedendron bush, Big Yoke watched as his eggheads appeared from behind other bushes around the park, their black ninja masks encircled by the trademark colored stripes.
Switching off his wockey-tockey, Big Yoke reached up and scratched his furry ear furiously, taking stock of the situation as his unit closed in on the prime zone.
Good Egg bounced slightly ahead, moving faster than his comrades, but measuring his leaps so not to get completely out of formation. He was a new agent, but was one of the best BY had seen yet.
The hopping system had been a branded part of the operations since the seasonal big bang, BY asserted; supposedly even members of their genus relations had copied their breakthrough in movement.
Rubbing his drooping lug contemplatively, BY sat back. He wondered if Whitebeard’s elves also had a system. They were certainly more recognized.
But publicity was definitely not high in his operation, the only thing the people really knew about it was the stealth itself.
Contented that his celeb was suffisciently greater than the fat man’s, BY went back to watching his squad.
The circle had stopped now, having reached the zone, and began taking out equipment. Long cylindrical magazines appeared from their body suits and slotted into each’s specialized rifle.
Some fumbled with their gear, nervous at the job. It wasn’t every year that the Big Yoke oversaw an operation.
Two thirds of the squad split from the idling main circle and set about with their parts, blending almost seamlessly with the dark grass and shady bushes, save for the jouncing beams of their ears weaving through the darkness.
Buckteeth flashing in a grin; BY unclipped his binoculars and set to watching the operation. These eggheads were the primary section of the mission, while the rest would be making the more specialized work.
Winding the binocular lenses to the distance, BY watched as the operatives began shelling the park. Hard Boiler, the head of the down, knelt beside a park bench and shot a brightly colored egg into the cropped grass.
Priming his gun once again, Hard Boiler punched another colorful oval into the space under a bush. Around the park, similar eggs were shooting into their spots from egghead rifles.
After finishing shelling the park, the primary rabbit squad melted back into the main circle, allowing the special force to spread out.
These mammals all carried satchels instead of rifles, with a red egg symbol emblazoned on their shoulders, denoting them as specialist agents.
BY watched as, one by one, they set to work. These were the profesional shellers, prancing across the dark grass, they scaled lampposts, flicking eggs into their chambers, then sliding down and ninja walking through the bushes, twisting them into roots, perchign them in bush crowns, and on, until their satchels were empty.
Raising his paw, BY checked his watch. They were almost out of time. Half an hour was the absolute max for a park shelling operation. Flicking on his wockey-tockey, Big Yoke barked through to his agents.
“Hard Boiler, Good Egg, pull your squads out, we need to move!”
“Roger that, BY,”
Affirmative, Big Yo.”
Strangling Good Egg was not a good idea, BY knew. He decided instead to put him on warren clean up once they were back. Right now, they had too much to do.
Following the dissipating eggheads, BY turned slightly to see the church steeple peeking from behind the trees.
Enjoy yourself kids, He thought. Then turned and bounced after his squad, they still had several thousand parks to equip for the holidays.