Seemingly unrelated to all that was going on to the penguin event that had rocked the Universes understanding of its self, was a small, fairly useless planet known as Earth. Earth was peculiar, in that it was one of the few planets on which the Humans that had crashed there millennia before during a strange catastrophe, in which a fleet of Human Imperial Ships were swallowed by a large space whale. However, resistant to the whales digestive juices, but unable to penetrate the beasts thick hide, they had to wait the several generations in which it would take for them to pass through the behemoths giant gut. One at a time, over a period of a hundred years, the whale defecated out each of the ships, some being able to contact other imperial fleets, but some, like the one that crashed on earth, lost all outside contact.
Most had developed sufficiently to climb back into space, and eventually into Imperial space. The crew of the Earth-Crashed ship however, didn’t. Why this happened is often questioned, however it’s just presumed they all died out in the crash. In fact, until the burning shape of the S.S Wafflehausen came crashing down when it did, everyone in the galaxy presumed them long dead.
---------------------
Skwizzal continued hold against the possible siege of whatever vile, alien race that inhabited this vile, alien planet. Protected by the wreck of the ship, which had survived the crash with relatively little structural damage, he was sure to be able to live out the rest of his days, and await rescue, which of course would never come for him, but it couldn’t hurt to try. Unfortunately for him however, so far his siege had lasted a total of seven minutes, and with each passing second his attention span slowly drifted away. Still, he had no wish to face a hoard of alien species alone, and so with no other option, he had to trust the most mighty power he knew, which held tenfold the power of his special mug, his Magic 8-Ball.The ball held such mysterious powers, to know what to do in all situations, even though it had no eyes or ears to witness the events with, and so it could only logically be suggested in Skwizzal's mind that indeed the ball held some magic quality, as the name did describe to it. Shaking the ball tentatively, hesitating at the risk of having to accept to go out onto the planetary surface of this deeply inhospitable and presumably dangerous planet in search for someway of getting himself out of this mess. Much to his disgust, when he asked "Oh magic ball of the power of 8, do I go out onto this planet in search for help", remembering of course that if he asked politely maybe the ball would treat him more kindly out of friendship to the niceties shown, but of course the ball held no way to ever process that, for the answer fundamentally was random in selection, so the answer merely read out "You may rely on it."
Skwizzal sighed, the prospect of the coming adventure, something Skwizzal was ironically rather against for a galaxy renowned adventurer of the stars, was not a pleasant one. For one, outside of his ship was insanely devoid of cake, nor was there any other ship in the entire galaxy that was almost specifically designed to have cake within a few steps from any part of the ship. Additionally, it would mean going for a walk with Cyberfreak, and frankly that robot gave him more creeps then a thousand Soul-Destroying-Mind-Flaying-Multi-Breasted-Swans eating on his cranium. Cyberfreak was like many proto-Ais of his time, completely batshit insane due to a long list of impossible to fix wiring errors, broken fragments of data in the morality and personality cores in their systems and several general screw ups of a colossal scale. As such, Cyberfreak was left with what would appear in humans’ terms to be a severe case of Schizophrenia. Skwizzal loathed the robot, but was too cheap to really ever get a replacement, which would mean a cutback on his cake budget, and he'd be damned before that happened. As one might expect from Skwizzal, cake formed the main part of his diet, other candy and a variety of sandwiches forming the other parts. While one would think that this would be a diet no body could take, Skwizzal had the unusual ability to live off this diet and still manage to be more fit then most humans, though he was so lazy almost 90% of the time he never really found a reason to do much. However on the rare occasion he decided to get up, he was always found in the sparring cages to be a rather agreeable sort of entertainment to occupy himself with, mixing various fighting style into a cluster fuck type style.
But he rarely had to physically confront many people. Despite the tales his adventures had spun, very little of what wrote about him totally matched with the accounts of heroism accounted onto his person. Often it was relatively little things that ended up going in his favour, little glimpses of incredible good luck, for example once he fought an entire legion of Vicious Stabby Death Bugs, and in his panic fired a shot into the air with a dropped plasma pistol from one of the Marines who had been escorting to him. Little did he know, that at that exact moment, the Vicious Stabby Death Bug Death Leaper, a variation to the common rank and file of the standard Vicious Stabby Death Bugs legions, which just happened to pass on the pheromones from the Vicious Stabby Death Bug Hive Queen, and the moment the shot passed through the chitinous body of the Stabby Death Bug Death Leaper, all of the Stabby Death Bug Soldiers that chased after him flipped the fuck out, recognising everyone of their own kind as enemies, and spent the next few moments killing themselves before another pheromone carrier could reach them. However, the official record of this incident had Skwizzal down for cleverly causing the enemies to turn upon one another using their obvious genetic flaw of Pheromone dependency to communicate and fight as one.
Monumental misunderstandings like this had made Skwizzal one of the most requested explorers in the human race, something which he snubbed rather quickly by hiking up his prices to magnificently high prices. Of course, this also brought the problem that when he DID get commissioned, he was stuck with some serious business. For one, it usually meant danger, death and cakelessness, something which was about as absurd to Skwizzal as you or I trying to go without oxygen. Still, it was money, and it usually meant he could buy something fancy every now and then.
Finally deciding he had no choice, as the ball had spoken, Skwizzal moaned deeply, and got up out of his chest. He went round and looked for the few things he’d want to keep if he was to never return to his beloved ship. He holstered his Sonic Cakefork in his belt, and packed a small side bag, finding his undamaged mug, a few pieces of cake and a laser pistol, which he didn’t really want to take because that would mean accepting that in the near future he would probably have to use it.
He called over Cyberfreak, was at that moment murmuring to a ice cream dispenser about how good puppies tasted with it’s delicious body cream, before shrugging and following Skwizzal. When they both reached the door, Skwizzal donned his long coat and top hat, which contained an atmospherical field generator that gave a small breathable space around Skwizzal in case this planet wasn’t inhabitable. Fingering the hatch codes into the door, he took a deep breath, and recoiled as a blaze of light entered the opening door. As his eyes adjusted light, he began to notice the smell of smoke and the sound of noise outside.
There were only three words that he could think of
“Holy, fucking, shit”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment