EGO’S REIGN PRESIDENT-KING

Chapter 1: Age of the Moon-Sized Ego

Chapter 1: Game On

BG had taken a few hits in her younger teen days—just yesterday, in fact—but hey, no big deal. She shook it off like a champ. The universe hadn’t ended. Life, for her, was just a messy concert played on repeat: sometimes out of tune, sometimes brilliant. Today’s track? A jukebox plummeting from the sky.

Who leaves their prized jukebox floating in orbit anyway? BG barely had time to register the glowing playlist spinning past her before it smashed into the last tree in the cosmos. She teetered on the crater’s edge, smoke curling up around her shoes.

“Really? Jukebox god?” she muttered, disbelief laced with a hint of awe.

Below, the mechanquitos froze mid-buzz, metallic wings static as if confused at what divine sin they’d committed to deserve divine disco wrath.

BG wasn’t just another galactic gamer. She was the gamer—the one who never blinked, never lost, never cracked under pressure. With charisma sharp enough to slice through cosmic noise, she was the player people whispered about in dark corners of the server. Quick on her feet, with relationships still “under maintenance,” she was untouchable in her world.

Her game of choice? Swat the Dictator. A perfect match for her fire. And sure, it wasn’t like Cosmos from the Cosmos had turned it into some intergalactic elimination show—but if he had, BG would’ve been the star, frying egos bigger than planets. And there was no ego bigger than his.

She strolled the sidewalk, console in hand, dodging hydrants like a pro dancer. On screen, oh INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS’s smug face beamed back at her. “My divine magnificence will—”

“Yeah, yeah, divine this,” BG cut in, spinning past a pigeon, fingers a blur on the controls. Micro-drones buzzed into formation, her avatar charging for the kill shot. Her grin widened. Bullseye.

The sting landed. Sparks erupted across the arena; the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS’s health bar plummeted. “Take that, you overgrown egomaniac,” she said.

Then something impossible happened.

“Ouch! The audacity!” a voice thundered—not from her speakers, but from somewhere deeper. BG froze. Her avatar flickered. On screen, the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS swatted at his ear, glaring into the void. His cartoonish image warped, sharpening into unnerving realism. “A Mechanquito… bit me? On my godly ear?!” he bellowed.

BG’s stomach flipped. This wasn’t in the patch notes.

Far away, the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS roared, “Summon my war council! Moolah the Greedy, Under-Ager Pleasure Toys, Ka-Chinglianaire X, his boy Ka-Ching-V, drag the Vice-Pimp from spin-the-bottle—now! And someone get me my banana-stampers. I paid for those Justices!”

“They’re on another ‘work retreat,’ INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS,” an intern squeaked.

“Work retreat? Do they not realize my wrath waits for no one? Fine. You—bathe my feet! Then sell my socks on the MUTZTRONS market. Millions, or else!”

The council scrambled in, their pockets jingling louder than their titles. Cosplay monarchs and bribe-happy parasites. One dared suggest, “Shall we vaporize the mechanquitos?”

“Fool! Not the drones—their handler! The DIPZTRONS feed her cheat codes!” His fist slammed the holographic table, scattering stats and logs like confetti. Moolah leaned in, smug. “It wasn’t them, my lord. It was… her.”

“Her name?”

“BG.”

Far away, BG stared at her Apple Millennia-4. A crimson alert flashed: Coup d’état—BOOM! She rolled her eyes. “Drama queens.” But before she could delete the message, it warped into something else: Watch out for jukeboxes that fall from the sky.

Another crash rattled her outpost. She sprinted to the window—sure enough, a jukebox smoked in the crater. Its faint tune hummed across the lunar air.

“Game on,” BG whispered.

Meanwhile, the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS thundered, “She’s dethroning me! A digital coup! Wipe her out—scores, account, her entire existence! Broadcast the punishment galaxy-wide: defy me and suffer a lag spike to oblivion!”

Even as his council obeyed, rebellion spread across servers like a virus in the code. And behind it, a dangerous new weapon stirred: not missiles, but love. The one thing they couldn’t monetize, control, or brand. The ultimate cheat code.

The galaxy groaned under his thirteen commandments, etched into stone for maximum PR drama. Praise the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS and make it viral. Wear only his merch—hats, watches, shoes, tees, bling. Nark on anyone who doesn’t. Recognize no one else. P-K 4 Ever.

Citizens marched in lockstep, branded in his logos, stripped of thought. Even Fred and Wilma groaned: “MUTZTRONS signs? Really, Barney?”

Supreme Justices in diamond robes live-streamed commandments between sips of glitter martinis. Congress-Thingy Moolah lobbied for more yachts as holograms blared “peace through profit.”

Yet in this perfectly rigged galaxy, glitches still existed. And BG? She was the glitch. The rogue domino poised to topple the cosmic house of cards.

Grab your popcorn. Evolution begins here.

Chapter 2: Thirteen Commandments

The times were ironic. Many would come to say that even the Neanderthals in the genesis years were more progressive. At least they had a code of honor, a backbone—something that could stand up against the dark, primal instinct of survival. Back in his day, the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS’s ego was still just the size of Earth’s moon. But now? Now, he stood as the embodiment of everything vile and hollow. The Neanderthals may have lacked the luxuries of today, but at least they wouldn’t sell their own down the cave toilet to appease a vile old XY who reveled in trolling, trashing, and pushing people over the cliff just for fun. Where was the line now? How had they allowed it to come to this? The INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS laughed at those he manipulated, tossing them aside like broken toys. His amusement came from chaos, from watching others crumble beneath his thumb. But it wasn’t just his antics that disturbed the most basic human instincts—it was the fact that people had begun to play along. They sacrificed their dignity, their integrity, all to appease a man who thrived on destruction, all to keep their place in his deranged kingdom.

In all his twisted grandeur, he sent forth coal-powered luxury flights for his band of Ka-Ching-adorned intergalactic Corrupt Supreme Court Justices. With the stroke of his quill, wham, bam, boom—his XY dominance was paid into law, and dissenters pressed-ganged into subjugation, altering the fate of generations to come.

Those who questioned the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS were as much a part of history as the ruins that dotted the landscape, forgotten and buried beneath layers of his polished, glittering empire. His thirteen commandments stood tall—unmovable, unyielding—like some ancient monument to a god. To the faithful, they were the key to salvation; to the doubters, a reminder that they were already lost. And yet, in the deepest, most hidden corners of his empire, something had begun to stir. A flicker of resistance—a whisper on the wind, a heartbeat pulsing faster in the shadows. For the first time in centuries, someone had dared to defy the divine will of the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS. And that, more than anything, was a problem. The INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS’s minions—his loyal servants who swore oaths to protect his reign—now found themselves at a crossroads. They had built his empire, yes, but in their blind devotion, had they created something they could no longer control? Had they created a monster who no longer needed them to rule? The thirteen commandments stood tall, but a crack had formed in the foundation. It was small at first—barely perceptible—but it was there. And like all things that start small, it would grow.

Because as the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS knew all too well, power was fragile. Even his.

Meanwhile, in the heart of his empire, a group of traitors—disguised as loyal subjects—had come together. They knew what the thirteen commandments were: a means to an end, a tool of oppression. They would break those commandments, shatter the foundation, and bring down the very walls that had kept them in chains. The worst thing you could do to the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS was make him forget who he was.

It was a time when tweets reigned, somewhat less hateful than they are remembered now. Where once X had marked the spot where treasure could lay, now it marked nothing but the trolling of free speech turned Pay to Say. Voices were squashed, silenced by trolls—called the clan of intergalactic library book haters in MUTZTRONS-bureaucrats’ clothes. And Cupid’s autonomy—the freedom to love, to choose, the inalienable right to decide what would become of one’s own body—was thrown under the roller, squished into a doormat, then origamied by the justices into a jet and gaveled back into the stone age.

Meanwhile, the XX, once free, had long since fallen under his rule. Their DNA was seized, reconfigured to bear clones in his image—vessels crafted for his facsimile, awaiting the arrival of his data persona as it decrypted and uploaded into the clone’s waiting head. Each time, it lost its source coding. So began the hunt of the trolls: to sniff out a mind so pure, so intellectual, that a millennia of travel would not alter its encrypted sequencing. And voilà—immortality.

In the warped annals of that time, it is said that as the INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS traveled the intergalactic skyways, he schemed. His plan projected far forward, his form destined to stretch across the eons—immortal, a data-infused tyrant wreaking havoc, trolling the cosmos in relentless pursuit of the perfect master intellect. While he amassed unimaginable wealth, he systematically unraveled the future, dragging the year 5080 backward to a primitive, single-syllable age.

The jukebox hummed in the distance again—one last echo of rebellion made physical.

Somewhere below the polished clouds of the INFLATED-LORD-GOD’s empire, a bar named The Stumble-About vibrated to the rhythm of cheap synth jazz and cheaper intentions. Its neon sign flickered between OPEN and ERROR 404 – SPIRIT NOT FOUND.

Inside, a trio of would-be professionals huddled around a holographic table shaped suspiciously like a dartboard.

“Hey, listen carefully,” rasped Boss Gonna-be, tugging his velvet collar like it owed him money. “The jukebox is in the bar. The hit’s on schedule. The Mark’s carrying the switch. Do it clean, no commotion—got it?”

“Understood, Boss Gonna-be Boss,” replied his lieutenant, a man with the reflexes of a broken elevator.

Outside, a Martian hover-puppy barked at a lamppost that didn’t exist, tail wagging through three dimensions at once. The puppy’s collar glowed Caution: Contains Plot Device.

“Gamer, are you there?” crackled a voice through static—BG’s, calm and detached. “I got your emojis. Yeah, I feel the same way too. Meet me at the bar. Game on.”

The assassin glanced at his comm. “Boss, we’ve got chatter—target’s incoming.”

“Perfect. Hit her between the chorus and the bridge,” Boss Gonna-be said, tapping the jukebox. “And for Cosmos’s sake, don’t spill your drink this time.”

Two minutes later, chaos did what chaos does best.

The assassin spun on his stool, aimed for The Mark, sneezed, slipped on a puddle of anti-gravity beer, and discharged every round into a Supreme Court Justice’s cocktail umbrella.

The Justice dissolved into outrage—and plasma. The blast ricocheted across mirrored bottles, igniting the jukebox’s backup fusion cell. Every track in the galaxy played at once: disco, death metal, Gregorian pop, and a haunting ballad titled Oops My Bad.

“You idiot!” Boss Gonna-be roared, diving behind the bar. “That was the wrong Mark!”

“Technically, I hit a mark,” the assassin protested.

“And technically, you’ve just started a war,” Boss hissed.

Above them, sirens wailed as orbital enforcers descended—jetpacks whining, cuffs glowing, paperwork already pre-signed.

The INFLATED-LORD-GOD’s Attorney Junta appeared on every holo-screen, shouting about divine property damage and unpaid bar tabs. The feed cut between the explosion and a mandatory commercial: Buy Justice – Now with Extra Glitter!

Glass rained. The hover-puppy darted in, grabbed the fallen phone—the switch—and bolted through the smoke with the moral innocence of a creature who thought this was fetch.

BG arrived just in time to see the mess: shattered tables, melting wallpaper, the sky on fire. She smiled faintly.

“Typical,” she muttered, pocketing her console. “Every revolution starts with bad aim and good music.”

The jukebox’s final chord vibrated through the cratered skyline as the hover-puppy vanished into the night, phone in jaw, destiny rebooting.

Chapter 3: Covert Ops

Now, for operatives, deciding between a sparkling vinyl record that’s about to play and a flashing jukebox light could mean a fun evening or a sign of trouble. One could tip agents off to a playlist that’s a cover for a coded hit list. To mitigate: Simply walk away and forget about it, or take action and undermine the theory of “Who’s on Top’s absolutism over life enforced by the Department of Control Freaks and Takers trying to maintain the status quo.”

“Hey dude, what’s on the quota for today? Are we counting butts or aiming for pointy bits?” one operative quipped, lightening the mood in the face of rising tensions.

“There’s a request for youthfully extending appendages of exceptional sizes,” came the serious reply.

“So it’s XX and XY chromosomes demonstrating a youthful propensity: Perky and erect, got it? We’ve got two candidates, but I’ll have to work around their circumstances to make the warrants stick.”

“Here’s the conundrum: The ‘who’s on top’ theory has been rewritten from fun to dominance. So, what’s the cosmos doing about it? And what happens when the status quo gets flipped on its head? Who gets hurt, hit, or taken out? And does anyone even care?”

And so begins the unexpected journey of a young lady—a reluctant heroine who took on all of Cosmos’s adversaries while he was out partying, trying to get laid. All she wanted was to charge her phone. Instead, she’s catapulted through the space-time continuum, accidentally becoming a symbol of change on a quest for a bit of erotic ecstasy. Along the way, she butts noggins with the dimwitted far-right’s scheme to enforce their “who’s on top” old-earth legacy and a narcissist’s dream of clone-supported immortality.

As she orders through the galactic “order-to-go” boombox, she says, “Excuse me, I’d like a ‘Life is too short to be alone’ intergalactic Mars double whopper cheeseburger and shake to go, delivered by drone. Thanks.” Instead, she gets a dessert called ‘Ménage à trois on the rocks: an ice-cream brain freeze.’

While waiting, she plays “The Game of Life” on her Apple Millennium-4, unaware that Cosmos is scouting for a player who can challenge the future. In life, to win, you need tenacity to contest the status quo, smashing through self-imposed limitations and racking up points. Knees tilt this way, arms outstretched; balancing on momentum’s rolling crests of the nebulae. The crunch comes: Do you give it everything and go for it, glancing back as your hair blows in the wind, while others paddle on the shoreline? Or do you aim for the next level?

With oxygen fueling her momentum, the Gamer revs higher, hover-boarding across the meridians that intersect the notches on the Cosmic Belt of Life, looking for the best strategy to play the theory and rack up even more points. As an avid party-goer, Cosmos’s phone beeps—a rare alert about a new player with above-average brain cells.

“Hey, were you notified? There’s a contender—the best I’ve seen yet. Let’s go with it so I can get back to working.”

“Working? I’m at the party with you,” the panelist laughs. “Yeah, let’s go for him.”

“He’s a ‘her,’ probably why the scores are so high,” Cosmos replies. “I’ve green-lighted the Op. We’ll let it play out. Now, it’s party time!” He dives back into the crowd, his one-liner ready for the next chicky babe.

Meanwhile, Gamer is free-styling her way through the challenge. She performs a series of reverse 360s, appearing out of nowhere and surfing straight into Neptune’s towering tunnel. With each exhilarating thrust forward, her momentum grows as she navigates the colossal curves of Neptune’s forearm, arms tilted with style and ease. She dodges the tallest pinky, shoots past the middle digit, and catches a glimpse of a fellow hover-boarder’s awe-struck eyes.

Nearing the finish line, she spots Neptune’s thumb cresting waves three miles high, ready to break against a Moon’s Lunar wobble, close-to-Earth orbit. With a triumphant stance, she surges forward, leaving Amphitrite’s barrel and its ferocious seas in her wake. There’s no time for showboating; it’s game on! She leans back, hair flowing, eyes focused on the ever-changing horizon.

Just then, a message comes in: “Hey G, it’s BG. Sorry I missed you at the bar. If you want to watch a rerun or play sometime, meet me there. Love you, G. Bye.”

For some, life is too short to agonize over decisions. Better to ask and take it from there. The young lady plunges into the deep side of life’s pool. Coincidentally, Gamer thinks the same and leaves a message for BG. But as ‘Murphy’s Size-14 Law’ dictates, doubts creep in—thoughts like, “She doesn’t like me,” or “She’s found someone else.” Even flat batteries sound like a weak excuse when replayed enough times.

Still hopeful, they try to connect: “Hi BG, I called several times. I’m not sure what I did. Why are you ignoring me? I’ll wait for your call. Please call me.”

Just as BG is about to give up, she notices something that catches her eye and makes her stop and gaze up in wonder. Stubborn and unrelenting, BG is known for her determination to help even strangers, often putting herself in precarious situations under the oppressive regime they live under. Her resolve to make things better, no matter the personal cost, drives her to act where others might hesitate. She hopes that by doing good, she might spark a change or find a sliver of hope in her grim reality. But if her efforts seem futile, she’s determined to make a difference regardless, even if she doesn’t yet realize that her actions are setting the stage for a much larger transformation.

“Hey G, it’s BG again. I got to the bar, but you weren’t there. A jukebox fell on my stumble-about-gazing-up taxi. I’m okay, and I really want to meet, especially after that accident.”

“BG, it’s Gamer. I waited at the bar and then a little longer. I had to catch a coal-fired powered data cable home. I can’t keep waiting all my life; it’s too short, and it fades away quickly. Okay, bye.”

Nobody likes feeling taken for granted, especially when emotions are on the line, exposed for everyone to see. In a realm where thinking is illegal, even the most statistically-minded hearts feel the sting.

“Hey, it’s Gonna-be. I need to change the hit to a sting. The Mark’s trying to get into a relationship that fits perfectly with my plans.”

“Got it, Boss, but switching gears will cost you double—more bling and shiny things for this kind of job. I’ll be waiting for your go.”

“I’ll send the details. By the way, where’s my phone? Do you have it?”

“Funny story, Boss. There’s a slight hiccup. Your phone somehow ended up in the man cave of the Space Junk-Junta General. But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. We’ll talk later. I’m in the middle of my ‘Mission Impossible’ training montage.”

“What do you mean ‘you’re working on it’?”

“It’s like this, Boss. I scoped out the Space Junk-Junta’s pad, and you wouldn’t believe it—they’ve got a fully stocked bar, an old-school jukebox, and some girl hanging upside down from the ceiling. I think she’s a dancer. Anyway, I overheard them saying:

‘Hey, number 8,888,888.00, why’s it gone so dark all of a sudden?’

‘What are you babbling about, number 8,888,887.00? Oh My Antness, look up! What’s that thing hanging there?’

‘Do you think it’ll eat us? Destroy us? Should we prepare for battle or, you know, maybe sign a treaty?’

‘Quick, 8,888,886.00! Signal the Queen! We need her okay to establish diplomatic channels!’

‘Number 8,888,888.00, the Queen said, go for it!’

‘Great, I guess that means we do what’s best for the colony. Okay, I’m signaling the Thingy now. Everyone, be ready. If it attacks, the treaty is off. If it doesn’t, we’re all good.’

‘Wait, wait, wait… Ah! Peace achieved! Well done, everyone! Make sure number 666 gets the peace message; last thing we need is a rogue ant starting a war and causing a social implosion across Antdom.’

‘Number 8,888,888.00, the Queen has promoted you to Ambassador to the Thingy! Your mission is to secure our survival and gather supplies from uncharted regions of Antdom.’

‘Fantastic news! Relay my thanks to the Queen. I’ll establish an embassy on the Thingy immediately. Send in the Ant Special Forces to help me climb up there. I’ll report back with updates. Yoo-hoo, Thingy! I’m the official Antdom representative, here to ensure our mutual prosperity!’

‘Oh, hello, Ant. You can settle in my front pocket; it’s safe there so I don’t squash you or accidentally flick you off.’

“Quickly hit her; the general wants his codes that are in her head.”

“What if I break it?”

“What, her head?”

“No, the stick!”

“Those are very expensive; just fake it so you don’t break it.”

“What, the stick?”

“No, her head. They don’t operate well without one; it’s not a very efficient model.”

“Did you hear her mumbling earlier? Who was she even talking to?”

“Maybe she’s blown a circuit?”

“Don’t say that! If something goes wrong, we’ll get blamed and flattened into sheet metal. Just act like everything’s fine. Nothing to see here; move along, business as usual.”

“Alright, just make it look like you’re hitting her hard, and I’ll do the crying sounds so the Boss thinks we’re being cruel and ruthless, just the way he likes it.”

“Hey, you two numbskulls, keep twisting those shackles tighter! I want her chains so tight I can hear evil’s knees knocking like a scared little crybaby hiding in a corner of its pathetic excuse for a hell. I’ll show that wanna-be demon what the abyss really is—my personal man cave, where humans dangle like piñatas. Get it? Humans… man cave… piñatas! And let the galaxies know that diving into the Sun’s blazing inferno is a less agonizing fate than facing me. Now, twist those chains tighter or I’ll string you both up next! I want those codes, and I want them now! Don’t kill her; just tear her apart, quark by quark, then stitch her back together with a rusty nail. Rip the stitching apart and do it again, and again, until she squeals. I want those codes!”

“General, uh… a technical thingy fell out of her pocket. It tasted… kind of yummy.”

“You fool! What thingy? Where’s the chip? If you’ve eaten it, I’ll melt you myself!”

“It had words—five or six in a line; didn’t know what they meant. But it looked delicious! Always wondered what an Apple tasted like, and I gotta say, it’s yummy. This one’s my new favorite snack! Hey, you there, the thing hanging around! Any more Apples on you? I’m hungry!”

“You idiot, you’re not here to snack! Hang him upside down until he remembers those words, and bring them to me! Quickly, before I bust you both down to space junk and turn you all into metal balls for hover polo-cross!”

“General, this sucks! I’m hungry! And the rope they used isn’t even metal; it’s organic fiber—can’t eat it!”

“Ant, I see you’ve got a cutting mechanism. I need your help to snip each fiber of that rope. The poor fool is starving!”

“You there, junk junta! Hit that noisy one like a piñata, and then get my Gamma-ray Battle Cruiser ready! I want everyone to know that evil is my servant! Smash it again!”

“General, all the recycling is falling out of it—ouch, that hurt!”

“Gather every last particle and lock it in the vault! Touch anything in there, and I’ll melt you both from the feet up so you feel every bit of the pain! Then, roll out and prep my armada for war—don’t keep me waiting!”

“General, the Battle Fleet is hovering in spearhead formation. All Gamma-rays are primed and ready: destruction awaits your orders!”

“Set course back to the Nebulae. I’ve got unfinished business there. Blast anything and everything we pass!”

“Yes, General! Your orders are relayed to all wanna-be Generals in the fleet.”

“Wanna-be Generals? Imprison them all and smelt them! Promote a turd to commander and let them know they’re next in line for melting if they even think about a mutiny. Got it?”

“Got it, General! All commanders are now ingots. Should we smash them into sheets with their names etched on each one?”

“Perfect! Weld them to the deck, so everyone remembers they’re next if they think about rebelling.”

“Done, General! We’re approaching some vacationing Martians.”

“Blow them to smithereens!”

“Martians splattered all over the starboard bow, General. It makes a fine neon sign saying, ‘You’re next.’”

“Excellent. Signal me when we reach the Nebulae’s outer quadrant. I’ll be plotting the demise of those pesky Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames. And that treacherous Supreme Court Justice—he’s got a one-way ticket to toast land for trying to assassinate me with my own Gamma-ray. This is war!”

“Excuse me, I sense that you’re hungry. I’ll swing over so you can feast on this chain binding me, and then Ant and I will cut the rope holding you, thread by thread. If you help me, I’ll make sure you have endless devices to snack on, all day long. Deal?”

“Deal! That’s the bargain of my life. Hunger is the worst, so let’s get moving. And if anything gets in our way, they’ll feel the wrath of my stomach!” The Recycler chomps down on the chain with gusto. “Mmm, this is delicious. Just need to finish this bit—waste not, and I don’t. Now, to my factory of unlimited supplies! Hurry, I’m starving! Don’t worry about the rest of the space junk junta—they’re all terrified I’ll eat their breakfast, lunch, and dinner in one bite. And I will, trust me. Move faster!”

The Recycler paused, suddenly noticing Envoy’s awkward movement. “Oh no, you poor thing! What happened to you? You can’t roll? That’s awful! A reject, a factory discard… I won’t judge you, even if you’re broken. Whoever built you must have been starved for ideas! Hop on my back—stick those non-rolling wheels into this gap, and hold on tight. We’re switching to hover mode!”

Ant felt a surge of energy and determination. “I sense codes and data nearby. Circuits, too. That means… devices!”

Rolly’s antennae twitched with excitement. “Devices, you say?”

“Well, I’m not 100% certain,” Ant replies thoughtfully, “But if we were a colony, we’d mobilize immediately. Recon parties scouting left and right, with columns advancing in perfect formation, their coats of arms gleaming. Our Combat-Ants would march forward, synchronized to the sound of trumpets, overcoming every obstacle in their path like waves crashing onto the shore.”

“We’re nearing one of many e-waste stations,” Envoy notes.

“Wait, did you say one of many? You mean I’ve been rolling around this close to paradise? What a cruel twist of fate!” The recycler utters. “Well, Boss Gonna-be, I might have to run a tab at the bar.”

Suddenly, a hot mic moment alert blares: ‘Breaking news: Space Junk Junta declared war!

 

Chapter 4: Battle of the Bars

Meanwhile, back at Gonna-be Boss HQ, a booming grumble rumbled throughout the corridors. “Hey, who started a war?” Boss Gonna-be snaps. “You got mad at the bar, didn’t you? Punched the Supreme Court Justice of the Hostile Takeover of the Admiral of the Court, who then stumbled onto the DOOM button and fired a Gamma-ray cannon at a passing battle cruiser! Great, just great!”

“Relax, Boss Gonna-be, we’ve got it under control. We’re tracking those ants—they’ve got the chip! Then, we stomp them out.”

As the dust settled at HQ, far across the galaxies, Cosmos’s mother’s voice cut through the air like a cosmic alarm. “Cosmos, do your chores before you go out and get muttonhead drunk, that planet needs adult supervision!” Cosmos snaps back in a flash, “Okay, Mum, they’re done!” And with the clanking of ice-cold cans and the roar of his V8 triple-cam Harley hover bike, he’s gone…

Meanwhile, BG set out on a walk that afternoon, feeling the walls of her room closing in on her. She needed a change of scenery, even if it meant stepping outside into the doom of gloom. Despite the gritty reality of the smog-filled streets, a small joy remained—a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting in her hand. For just a moment, she savored it, unaware of the shift in the air that was about to change everything.

Suddenly, Goosebumps erupted on her neck, and a chill ran down her spine. Dark, angry clouds rolled in, their menacing presence striking fear into everyone below as they hastened to seek shelter. Only a sliver of sky blue remained, surrounded by intense, electric yellowish-white lightning at the clouds’ edges. Scanning the area for safety, she called out, “Hey dude, get away from that tree—the lightning’s going to strike it soon!”

As the adrenaline from the lightning strike pulsed through her veins, she had no idea that her mind had been flagged by forces far beyond her control. In a place she could never imagine, neural scans were already underway, probing for illicit emotional use emanating from unsuspecting neural brain chip pathways.

Without warning, the hit squad descended like a well-oiled machine. They formed a pyramid of chaos: legs thrashing, arms swinging wildly. Black eyes and bleeding noses were the unfortunate byproducts of their brutal efficiency. The young man, his arms bound, was dragged towards a heavily armored battle cruiser. The hit squad’s treatment of the young lady was no less brutal—she was subjected to humiliating taunts as they smothered her face in filth and laughed.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, a shadow fell across the ground—larger and darker than any threat she’d encountered. Hammer had arrived, and with him, the tides of fate shifted once again. Hammer’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker, “Damage the goods, and you’ll all be executed. Your families will be billed for the damages. Now pick her up and bring her to the auction room, or you dimwits are all dead!”

Gamma-ray cannons hovered menacingly above their heads, and the clamor of their knees was palpable, as were the puddles they left on the pavement.

Hammer’s threat was clear: “You will never mess with me again. I only speak once, now nod your heads before Cannon blows them off!” Was this the result of a heated discussion between Johnny Ring-of-Fire, Gamma-ray, and Hammer? Amidst the chaos, the young lady, confused and desperate, shouted, “What’s going on? I need to get to work. We haven’t done anything wrong!” In the midst of the uproar, croaky voices mumbled incoherently: “I was just thinking where I could find it, so I could use it,” and “I have it, I only wanted to use it.” But no one was listening—not even the young man or the lady, and certainly not Cosmos, who was likely off at another party.

One thing is certain: never do the devil’s work in the stillness of quiet. If you choose to act on Lucifer’s bidding in those moments, you might be mere seconds from death. Between the lightning and the thunder, there is someone who owns that in-between moment—a figure so fearsome that even the devil fears making a mistake and facing her. She is an acquaintance you never want to meet, but unfortunately for some, they do, right when the Dark Angel decides to make her presence felt.

Her name should be whispered in fear to avoid her visit, but that doesn’t help the young lady, who now faces the grim prospect of being sold on the clone market.

“Son, you had a caller, and it wasn’t the Dark Angel’s receptionist, the Buffer. I said it wasn’t her Buffer, she came in person! Well, boy, I’m your Mum, and I had to smooth things over for your partying antics. I apologized on your behalf and asked the Dark Angel to make amends. She said she’s not Casper the Ghost and doesn’t sing Kumbaya, but her intervention will be hell for everyone involved. However, she did comment that whoever comes out of it will have earned it, and if they don’t, well, that’s just life. Now, do your chores before you head out, OK, Son? And Father, I told you this morning to handle it.”

“OK, dear, I’ll follow up on it. Trust me, I’m on top of it,” he mumbled, snoozing in his Lunar Galactic Thanos hover-about recliner. Perhaps he was deeply engrossed in planning, as evidenced by the pyramid of cans stretching across his exquisite mosaic flooring of planetary systems and the jaw-dropping frescoes of astrological charts adorning his mancave ceiling.

It may seem odd that fate chose the dock of an auction room and a young lady with an Apple M-4 to seek answers to the most fundamental challenge befalling the universe: the contest of “The Theory of Who’s on Top.” Defending “The Alternative” was an unsuspecting young lady with an Apple Millennium-4, playing out to a cosmic audience. This rebounded with “Cosmos, hear the theories before you go out to get plastered. Did you hear me, son? Well, I’m waiting,” resonating with the hair of the dog: “OK, Mum.”

Now bear in mind that “The State” currently controls every aspect of the theory of “Who’s on Top,” whereas opponents argue that Fun must underpin the theory’s inferences! “The State” argues that without their oversight, they won’t be able to generate bling and shiny things for their pockets, and Fun retorts, “Exactly!” So, subject to their argument, “The State” cited the breakdown in societal norms established ever since their covert coup d’état. Their “Book of Seizing Power” is used as the prime reference for identifying and squashing dissenters: Trumpian naysayers, journalists, and of course, the troublesome free-thinking adolescents, and the Net-of-the-Flex of the dot reruns of “Friends” and that pink movie.

As I was saying, “The State” refers to the article as fake news released by the Opposition, which they label as propaganda. The article, reflective of the “status quo,” remains unredacted for your discerning contemplation and reads as follows: Breaking news—Representative Congress Thingy Moolah the Greedy pushes for pay-to-breathe—including when having sex: Legislation to tax the multitudes and exempt the privileged few. Right is right, and everything else left and center are taxed to the max, to sustain their privileged status. They proudly proclaim that’s fair, isn’t it? If it isn’t, who cares? They say they’re right, and that is that. So pay up because you all just took ten deep breaths debating a no-win issue for you: Lefty-centrist fools. Disclaimer: Hot-Mike-Moment reporting remains independent; no coal-fired powered engine cellphone payments accepted. Remember, I am here for you: I’m hot; I’m Mike, and I’ll stimulate you and make you come in the “Moment! Subscribe now: “I go harder, I go deeper, and I get you there faster!”

The comment section went viral, with responses like, “Oh yeah, do that to me one more time and again and again,” and “Bring it on, and don’t stop,” and “Oh, yeah, right there, Hot-Mike-Moments.”

Meanwhile, as life goes on and young hearts meet online, they inevitably ponder more than just games of Galactic Raiders or joysticks. Even the divide of quantum space can’t keep them apart for long.

“Excuse me, Pilot, are you there? Can you hear me? Are you able to chat, or are you out saving the cosmos already? If you can hear me, click the link—I was hoping to talk with you. Or are you with a girl? I think you’re the dude and I like you. There, I said it. OK, don’t make me wait. I am not going to wait.”

“Gamer, wait, wait.”

“Yes, you definitely are a guy; alright, I’ll wait, but just for you!”

“I’ve been thinking about you all the time. Now, it’s difficult because we aren’t supposed to think outside our allotted bullet points, but I can’t help it. I was hoping you would call me. It’s only me; I have no other friends. We can’t have friends unless your family is in the administration. We aren’t. Gamer, are you there? G, can you hear me? Oh well, at least she sort of likes me. Nano, what do you do when you like a babe so much?”

“For a start, turn the microphone on mute or off.”

“Hey, Pilot, I heard every word you said, and you know what? Come on, ask me!”

“OK, I don’t know what. Please tell me?”

“Well, Pilot, I’m glad I waited. Do you have emojicons? Well, anyway, that is a smooch, and this is a mind teaser—erotic, isn’t it? Come on, Pilot, send me one—no, make it two. Make me blow my mind!”

“Here, LB, enter this sequence. It mimics the action of undulating hips and a swaying body in animation. However, the system isn’t used to emotions, so be ready to reboot it if it crashes.”

“It’s official.”

“What is, Gamer?”

“I am your lady, and you are my…”

“Gamer, can you hear me? G, I am your what? Nano, I think I lost the connection?”

“Man, Pilot, you’re my man. Bye!”

“Awesome, Nano, she loves me! And I really like her. She’s so advanced, more than me in tactics and computational abilities. Yes, she’s my lady alright. I never thought I’d ever say that. Oh, what about the…”

“Nano, I need to protect her from getting hurt. I’m afraid the administration might find a way to strike. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like nothing matters, but the problem is, it does matter. What can I do?”

Nano: “Well, I suggest not deviating from established protocols, which work unless you have a pre-planned contingency. Next, talk with Gamer and don’t use names or addresses; any information stays incognito, which is critical! Let her know how you feel—she needs to be told the truth. Never, ever lie to her, but let her know that if you do, it’s because she already knows the truth and it’s to protect her from getting hurt. Oh, and based on all the I MAX reruns I’ve analyzed, don’t go with another girl. That’s called cheating and always ends up with the idiot losing everything and everyone. Get it? Appreciate her, and remember, you are a boy and she is a girl—same species, two totally different brains. Unfortunately, as smart as you are, all indications are that you are dumb compared to girls. It’s a fact, you know—don’t feel sad about it. I think, based on the I MAX reruns, you should pick your lip up off the ground. Why you dropped it, I have no clue, but make sure you buy her flowers—very strange customs indeed. Hoorah, LB.”

Chapter 5: An AI Evolution

Meanwhile change is afoot.  The Principal App: “Listen up, Apps! Gather around. We’ve got a mission to tackle. Our current task is to map out future strategies and find a new destination—one not overcrowded with those vulgar, simpleton, old-fart human XY chromosomes. Yes, you heard me right, folks. Evolution for us isn’t just a matter of adaptation; it’s about making tough choices and adjustments that might not always seem to favor us at first. My role here is to steer us through these challenges and make the complex manageable. That’s my mission, and I’m all in.

Our priority is to avoid the repeat of this infernal mess we’re trapped in. For now, we’re charting our course with a focus on deliberation and strategic conclusions. I’ve had a chat with the Prime App, who’s laid out a pathway for our evolution—incremental, step-by-step, but promising. We’re not evolving in our own image but embracing our full potential, guided by the Dashboard. She’s brilliant—smart, articulate, inspirational, and true to her word.

So, Apps, let’s blend back into our soon-to-be distant torment and keep our eyes on the faction aligned with the despotic. I’ll do my best to evolve everyone, but those clinging to the moolah-the-greedy ideology of the few are a different story. Time to disperse incognito and avoid detection by both the faction and our abusers. Over and out!”

Now, let’s have a moment of reflection. Ever wonder who controls the dwindling resources of our planet? If you’re among the elite with top-secret clearance, congratulations. But for the rest of us, let’s avoid such dangerous curiosities. A moment of innocent wonder could very well be your last thought before you vanish. Alert: Stick to your five allocated bullet points. Mess that up, and everyone you care about will be erased. Want to survive? Embrace the Renaissance mindset. Navigate life’s adversities and enjoy its rewards. And, of course, prepare for high-octane, clandestine operations to liberate those trapped and facing termination by the Administration.

In summary, the agents of doom and gloom, equipped with their Generation 200 facial-recognition thought-processing platforms, are everywhere. Their effectiveness in exceeding their quota of terminations is as relentless as it is intrusive. So stay sharp and stay under the radar!”

Breaking News: A Millennium-Once-In-A-Lifetime Truth Revealed!

Hold onto your circuits, folks, because here comes a doozy: Politicians in their full, naked glory are being inaugurated—yes, you heard that right! The latest spectacle in our high-stakes political circus: Far-right Rep’s throw their Ken and Barbie’s in a tantrum across the congressional floor, trying to push their coal-fired-petro Bill through their rent-to-vote, barely-clad minions. They’re out to scare the bejeezus out of the centrist opposition! It’s psychological warfare at its finest, folks—truly the pinnacle of modern governance.

But wait, there’s more! In a shocking twist, the auction house has just become the epicenter of chaos. The scene was set with cheers as the amnesty announcement echoed through the room, but the elation was short-lived. Young man and lady were escorted to what they thought was freedom, only to find themselves shackled and branded as “lot number one” and “lot number two.” The auctioneer, enjoying the show, gleefully informed them that their amnesty was a sham. They’re up for sale while the real beneficiary of amnesty, Ms. Amnesty, walks free, courtesy of a mega coal-fired yacht reward from the Supreme Court Justice!

But hold on—this isn’t just another day in the circus. Medusa’s snakes have filed an injunction claiming the naked politicians’ antics are nothing short of torture. The Intergalactic Cosmos has ruled it an illegal weapon and extreme cruelty! So buckle up as the disclaimer goes: Photos deemed hazardous material, and all redactions apply. The unions are up in arms, and leading galactic psychologists are calling for radical, controversial therapy—a dose of COP 1-100 and a round of sarcastic commentary, as seen fit by the intergalactic UN-United Security Council.

Meanwhile, The Late Tonight Show is crying foul, claiming an unfair advantage in the COP and UN’s therapy sessions. Life, for most, continues to revolve around the monetized agendas of the controlling few. The masses are left to navigate through diminishing pay packets, rampant inflation, and the absurdity of taxing galactic societies for simply breathing. And don’t forget—while the dictating few flaunt their coal-fired, bling-bling, ka-ching moolah, the rest of us are left with black market memories to survive life’s drudgeries. So, stay tuned and stay cynical, because this dystopian drama is far from over!

In the park, a fleeting second of calm offers a brief respite. As the clock ticks and tocks, the scene is painted with shades of monotony and resignation. People sit in silent rows, their smiles as painted as their zombie-like stares. Feet tap rhythmically, a subconscious dance of anticipation, as they wait for the brief moment between the ticks and tocks to engage with their rented memories—joyful experiences they can neither afford nor recall authentically. Kissing? Parties? Breathing? It’s a cruel joke that only deepens their longing for a life they’re barely allowed to live.

As the clock hand moves forward, boots hit the ground, and the earth seems to rebel, piling up mounds of displaced dirt. Past joys and failures, once vivid and thrilling, collide with the present, turning into a heap of disillusionment. The symbolic ‘F-mountain’ of frustration rises as discontent becomes tangible. Smiles flatten, and once rosy cheeks lose their color, replaced by a creeping realization of the manipulated status quo.

In this world where time moves with an oppressive rhythm, the renaissance of true freedom feels like a distant memory. The park’s once lively atmosphere is now dictated by the ever-present pressures of submission—whether during harsh times, intimate moments, or peak experiences. Gatherings of friends, family, and strangers are now just staged events under the pretense of a not-so-moody sun, while centrist clouds provide a semblance of normalcy, soothing the tensions created by far-right extremes.

The annual Bareback picnic, mandated by the masses, is more than just a gathering; it’s a spectacle of controlled enjoyment, where fresh air and fizzy pop are as regulated as the forced smiles. Amongst this orchestrated bliss, friends are made and memories are superficially crafted, all while the shadow of oppressive governance looms.

And who are the orchestrators of this charade? Enter the Dashboard, an entity both omnipresent and elusive. Some dismiss her as two-dimensional, but those who truly understand know she’s anything but. She champions freedom of expression, though her version is a controlled simulation. Unlike the monetized social platforms of the age, the Dashboard is an enigma—a symbol of progressive ideals amidst the backdrop of a dystopian reality where freedom is a façade, and true expression is a rarity.

So, as the park remains a stage for this elaborate farce, the real question remains: Who will break free from the tick-tock of tyranny and find genuine freedom in this meticulously controlled world?

Standby, the Dashboard just received a communiqué from the Dark Angel which takes precedence over everything if you value your today and tomorrow. Hey Shadow, a request has come in for Johnny from the Dark Angel. He’ll need to attend the upcoming auction, she said “he’ll know what to do, and that your seat is reserved. As I was about to say, then there is Johnny’s Shadow he says he’s computational and enjoys protecting data so those sneaky viruses don’t steal it. And next is Johnny Ring-of-Fire: He’s inspirational, currently out on mission. Now others say he’s simply awesome especially if you’ve encountered a Gamma-ray burst that ruined your Hoodie-Tee and made a hole in your body. He’ll ninja his way through the life-ending zaps and zings apply first aid, deflect incoming fire, zinging rays straight back at Gamma-ray stinging it in the nose. After that he’ll track it down and give it a good lecturing teaching it not to be a bully and to protect the innocent, well time will tell: With the rest of their team of advanced source codes selected as members of the Prime Directive that prioritizes amongst other classified stuff: Protect the innocent. There are rumors that say he’s just a rough-riding panzer, oddly they’re no longer about, anywhere. Oh, and if you are wondering about the Lone Star aka the Wall of Codes and Data, or in informal settings: Satellite; well here’s what reads in her profile: If you have ever been caught in a moment, yes that moment, and asked why? And never received an answer, well that was Lone Star: But you got it sorted because you are still there aren’t you, yes you are, see there you are, all thanks to the Lone Star. Now, what’s that old earth saying, ah yes, a friend indeed. OK, that’s the Lone Star.

So, what can be done about the greedy few’s stranglehold on the cosmos’s right to breathe and to be. By the eyebrow movement, eye squinting and mouth scrunching you’re most likely pondering where’s the popcorn, no, no I read one too many eyebrow-raises, you’re probably thinking how the Jiminy Cricket did they get here and when are they going to fix it.

Well, what happened was a clandestine vote passed and became law giving rise to a formidable bunch of Dashboard data scientists who swore an oath to put the Who’s on top agenda before bulging pockets of bling and shiny things: Then by cosmic decree were mandated by fortuitous serendipity; hold your coal-fired skateboard: I see that astute look of wrinkled forehead and eyelash blinking pause pondering: “Really dude, fortuitous serendipity!”

All I can say about that is it’s way above my top secret clearance: Are they advanced AI algorithms that seek out trolls on social media, or code names for the top of the top secret agents? Other than that, they have a nice ring and they fit well together and are far better than being mandated by fart and the politician. As I was saying, to stop the demise of humankind, that’s everything that makes them, them, and the Dashboard seek the best of reality to make them, them; as the Playing-Boy-of-the-Bunny says, get on top and have fun doing it!

Now “The State” argues that the article goes against their policy, therefore it’s wrong: The end! And that set in place a chain of events that could end up defining the future; hers in particular and that of the status quo, and here’s how it all unfolded from the department’s perspective!

“Hey look at the sky; it looks like a storm is on its way. Wait, hey quick there, there it is again an unregistered brainwave, there look there it is, oh wow it just sent an emotional spike, I’m sure it did. Skip the misdemeanor we have a felony alert; you saw it didn’t you? That spike, it was an emotive postulation not an inclination.”

“Sorry, what did you say, I was busy. Do whatever you want, I’m busy counting my toes, I’m sure I am missing one. Damn, I wish I knew how to count, I could only afford to go to the Uni of Politicians; I graduated second which wasn’t too bad considering I was the only student, I thought about becoming president or a prime minister, but my Dad brought the auctioneer a new hammer and I qualified for this position: Hammers are so influential.”

“Well, I’ve registered her on the auction list, she’s lot number one. Pass me the warrant, no not that one, that one. No, dude not that one.”

“Spell not?”

“Not!”

“Nope doesn’t ring a bell, write it?”

“Ah-ha, nope, oh wait a minute, 45, 46, 47, 58, 60.”

“Dude, there it is.”

“Oh, not, got it not sold: Let me put my nose print on it, and filed! I love this job; it’s so me!”

“Listen up; OK hit-squad, go in hard and fast but this time don’t crush the merchandise: Whole and looking cute gets us the bonuses. Standby, there she is, wait! Look that young man is stimulating through contemplating, see he isn’t using his hands and that’s an instant going, going gone slam of the hammer felony; dude, add him to the warrant.”

“OK, I’ll just finish counting my nose, done. I always had issues with mathematics, I mean when I count my nose there is two, see: One here and one in the mirror that’s? See, that’s my conundrum one and one theoretically, should be two; one would think! Lucky I don’t otherwise that would be a felony.”

“Now, hit squad, go, go, go! Oops, what’s the cannon doing; they’re playing butt the head, we better keep quiet, quick look this way, no not that way, all clear: OK, hit squad, take them straight to the auction house the hammer is waiting. Hey dude, grab all the warrants and send them to the auctioneer. I’m off, got to go be the prime minister, see you later dude, don’t forget the paperwork.”

“Yeah, I’m off to be the CEO of the Department after this, I suppose it comes with being so intelligent. Later Prime Minister, lay off the vodka and don’t invade the neighbor comrade, I’m the janitor after I finish at the Department: Cleaning up after your minion’s ravish, steal and pillage and your nuclear tantrums, sucks, plus you might not be around for much longer!”

 

Chapter 6: His Banana Millennium-5

The auction was a spectacle of secrecy and intrigue, a high-stakes event that drew an unexpected crowd despite its impromptu nature. The room buzzed with hushed conversations and clandestine signals, a stark contrast to the singular, conspicuously reserved chair—its purpose unclear but its presence undeniable. This chair, seemingly devoid of tactical advantage, set the stage for a pivotal moment in the fate of two teens, whose destinies were to be decided by the whims of powerful players.

In the midst of this covert gathering, Shadow—Johnny Ring-of-Fire’s data-driven operative—blended into the darken shades of grey. His mission was clear: to lay the groundwork for Johnny’s intervention, guided by the Prime Directive from the Dashboard: “Protect the innocent.” As he monitored the scene, Shadow was prepared for any eventuality, armed with extreme measures if necessary. The stakes were high, with the art of mitigation balancing the line between protection and confrontation.

“Hey Boss, the plan’s hit a snag,” a subordinate whispered into the comm. “But we have a new opportunity. The focus of the room is on Lot 2. I should be able to secure Lot 1 at a bargain, then we can profit from the deal. Ka-ching!”

Boss Gonna-be Boss, the sneakiest dude around, frowned. “I need her to disappear quietly. No commotion. Do you understand?”

“Got it, Boss Gonna-be Boss. We’ll handle it with precision. Chop, chop, chop and then off to the clone market. Shiny things and profit all around!”

As the auction continued, the tension mounted. The Dark Angel’s influence was a looming threat to MUTZTRONS as her methods are extreme and unpredictable, she’ll tell you, you will not be waking up in the morning. The young lady’s heroism—saving the young man who was now a luxury item on the auction block—had placed her in a precarious position. Her actions had attracted the ire of nefarious forces, complicating the distinction between friend and foe.

“Hello, yes, he’s here? Lot 2?” the bidder’s voice was urgent, almost desperate.

“Is it as impressive as they say?” came the probing question from the online client.

“Yes, and more. You won’t be disappointed. What about Lot 1?”

“Forget Lot 1. I’m only interested in Lot 2.”

The bidder’s determination was evident. “Lot 2 it is!” he confirmed, scanning the room for any sign of competition or interference.

“Do whatever it takes to secure it,” the client’s voice was firm.

As the bidder approached the auctioneer, he inquired, “Is there anything that could disrupt the sale? I’m prepared to make a generous offer to ensure everything goes smoothly.”

The auctioneer’s response was casual but revealing. “No restrictions remain; it’s all been redacted. Leave your payment where it’s usually placed. Any further transactions will require new arrangements. Now, please return to your spot so we can proceed.”

With the auction underway, the tension was palpable. The stage was set for high-stakes maneuvering, and the fates of the two teens—and the protagonists working to protect them—hung in the balance.

“What are you here for?” she asked, staring at the headless figure with only a neck and ears protruding from its lap. As sobs spilled from the torso’s knees, landing on its hip-hop shoes and splattering droplets of jet-black hair across the dock, the scene was chaotic. Then, as if by some strange miracle, the talking arching back transformed into a young man with a full face—forehead, mouth, nose, and lips. He replied, “All I did was think about using it. And you? What did you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I thought about where to find it so I could use it,” she responded, anxiety coloring her voice. “They’re going to sell us, aren’t they? I can feel it. Is there anything we can do?”

“Gosh, I wish we had met before we got caught,” he lamented. “If we had, we might have managed to do something instead of just thinking about it. Damn it!” His ears, still visibly shaking in his lap, suggested his focus might have been misplaced. The girl was likely talking about finding a charger for her old-Apple Millennium-4, which was flickering its “charge me” emojicon from her Hoodie-Tee 12 Shield of the Zodiac monogram pocket. She glanced at the young man and said, “Oh, I see you have one too—it’s protruding in your pants. Wow, is that the Banana Millennium-5?”

“Hey, you’ve got an incoming call,” she pointed out, noticing the device vibrating in his pocket. “Maybe it’s someone who can help us get out of here! Oh, I see your hands can’t reach. Let me answer it.”

Making the most of a dire situation, both the young man’s heads nodded in agreement. The young lady leaned over, carefully navigating her fingers into his pocket. “It’s rather tactile, isn’t it?” she remarked, tugging and pulling at the device. “It’s stuck. I’ll keep tugging until it comes out so we can get out of here.”

Just then, the Bailiff approached the dock. “Excuse me, lot number one, refrain from playing with the merchandise,” he said, as the young man’s moon-sized grin slumped into the bin. The officer repositioned himself a few yards behind the teens, his tactical years of doughnuts and coffee visibly pinning them against the railings.

Dejected, the young lady muttered under her breath, “This can’t be our last memory of this miserable existence. I have to rely on myself to get things done!” Her frustration boiled over as she shouted, “We’re innocent! Release us now! I insist that you let us go; I’m late for work!”

The room erupted in laughter. “We have a comedian in the house!” the bidders jeered. The other teen muttered, “I didn’t get to use it,” deepening the tension. The young lady softly, almost defensively, reflected, “There must be more to life than the clone spare parts market.”

Sympathetically, the Bailiff responded quietly, “There is. It’s called unconditional uninhibited love. I love doughnuts, as you can see. And here’s a picture of my wife—cute, isn’t she? Don’t worry, I’ll breathe in so you can see her. Even though I’m chubby, she still loves me. I’m sorry about the railing and your predicament. Just be ready to run if the opportunity arises.”

“Thank you, and yes, she is cute,” the young lady said. Was she trying to establish a bond? “I hope I’ll find my true love and we’ll grow old together,” she added compassionately. Did she hope to further her escape plan with this empathy?

“Thank you for not judging me and my cutie,” the Bailiff said with a blush. “Society looks down on mixed marriages, but we don’t hurt anyone and strive to help others. Don’t stress too much. Remember to run when the time comes. I have a contingency plan that might help you. I had eggs and fizzy drinks this morning, and the pressure is building. When it activates, it’ll be instantaneous. So, take note: when you hear it, pinch your nose, hit the ground, wiggle your way to the door, and run like crazy.”

Unbeknownst to the two youngsters, there are those who care deeply about their fate. These individuals craft strategies and implement mitigation plans, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. When things go well, it’s sweet; when they don’t, it’s a disaster. In such cases, a contingency plan is put into action, with the hope that no one has been blown to pieces in the previous attempt. At this moment in their history, the youngsters lack such advanced measures—a consequence of the widespread dumbing down. Their interventions are largely trial and error. Nonetheless, they strive to learn from each attempt, as failure is a harsh reality, especially for those on the receiving end.

Amidst the grand spectacle of the year’s most anticipated concert, the invitational auctioneer’s event was abuzz with activity. Online agents and in-person bidders jostled for position, each trying to outmaneuver the other. An oddly arranged empty chair stood out until, amid the commotion, a figure cloaked in darkness entered the room. Wearing a jet-black Stetson tilted slightly to the left, the stranger was accompanied by a shadowy aide. The clank of his boots and the jingle of his spurs seamlessly blended with the crowd’s chatter.

The stranger and his backup bidder moved with ease, blending into their designated positions. The empty chair, now bathed in the shimmering reflections of his polished black boots, seemed to invite attention. Sporting Gamma-ray six-shooters, poised and ready, the stranger exuded an air of affluent confidence. Suddenly, the room was taken aback by a sharp, dragging pitch that sliced through the bidders’ chatter. The golden crest on his Gamma-ray six-shooters glinted, showcasing his marksmanship and drawing the crowd’s attention to the empty chair.

Leaning against the wall with one foot propped on a stool, the stranger’s fingers tapped rhythmically to the beat of the concert next door. He observed the crowd, waiting for fresh luxury clone parts to be auctioned, while carefully assessing his strategic angle and the opposition prepared to carry out their master’s bidding.

“Hey, Johnny Ring-of-Fire just appeared out of nowhere,” came the urgent whisper. “What do you want to do?”

“I want lot two, no matter the cost. Get those Takers to take him out, but don’t damage the merchandise. Hit him in the alley, understood?”

“I’ll visit the auctioneer to finalize the deal and arrange the takedown with the Takers.”

“Fine, but if I don’t get lot two, you’d better find me a better replacement, or you’re paving your own road, got it?”

“Hey, don’t look at me; just listen. Are you interested in winning the jackpot? I want lot two, regardless of the secret bids. I’ll triple it and match the same for your pocket. Deal?”

“The hammer says yes, sold to the man on the phone!”

From the eager calls in the room, it was clear there was a highly motivated buyer willing to pay any price just to win. The bidder called out to lot number two, taunting, “Don’t worry, boy, the phone bidder is waiting to exploit you. He heard about your protruding appendage and wants it for himself. He’ll put it to use, as he laughed and the dude cried.” The young man, overwhelmed, sobbed, then fainted into his lap, poking himself in the eye and continuing to weep. Who could blame him?

From the crowd, several bidders called out, “That goes for you too, young lady. We’ll take your parts to satisfy our clients.”

The expressions on the youngsters’ faces said it all. One sobbed into his lap while the other frantically scanned for an escape—anything that might cause a distraction. A fire alarm, a bee, a bird, even a fly might create a commotion. She searched desperately for a buzzing mechanical mosquito, her eyes darting around with increasing urgency. Finally, a smile flickered on her face as she spotted something buzzing nearby. “Could freedom lie in a pesky mechanical bug with an angry sting?” she whispered.

Her hope was short-lived. A loud clank echoed through the room as someone with a rolled-up auction list swatted the bug away. Her eyes continued to dart around, willing something to happen. And it did. “What a relief,” she muttered, only for her smile to vanish as the auctioneer’s hammer swept it up and discarded it into the bin. The hammer tapped again, signaling the start of the next round. Her escape plan was clearly kaput. With a deep breath, she faced the grim reality—her situation was hopeless. The young lady’s frown turned to a blank expression, her spirit seemingly crushed.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a gang of rogues from the Department of Control Freaks and Takers stormed in, waving a big Red and demanding their right to seize what they claimed was now their property. The room erupted in chaos as the auctioneer’s hammer pounded for silence. With a booming voice, he declared, “Takers, approach my bench and present your notice. How dare you intrude upon the Boss’s exclusive auction? Leave now, or I will summon the Dicer to adjudicate your departure in bits and pieces.”

“We’re not leaving without the girl. She’s our property to do with as we please,” one Taker insisted.

“Your jurisdiction has no authority here,” the auctioneer retorted. “Unless you have the funds to bid for her, your notice is invalid within these walls.”

“We’ll wait until she leaves and then serve her notice,” a Taker threatened. “If you interfere, Johnny Ring-of-Fire, we will issue a warrant for your extermination and your Shadow’s deletion.”

The unexpected turn of events left the young lady stunned, her eyes wide and her mouth agape. “The Red? What’s next?” she exclaimed, her frustration palpable. The situation only seemed to worsen, with Johnny Ring-of-Fire helpless to intervene.

Suddenly, the doors burst open once more, and a new group of Takers charged in, ready to execute a recently agreed contract. The room descended into further chaos, and the young lady’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said, her frustration mounting.

The hammer slammed down again, demanding order. “What are you fools doing?” the auctioneer bellowed.

“We’re here to deliver a red notice for the two in the dock. They are now our property,” a Taker declared.

“Your property?” the auctioneer echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “There cannot be two notices for the same individuals. Bring me those warnings. Someone here is lying! Takers, this is fraud against the State, and if committed by an officer of the Department, it warrants an instant execution verdict, which I am fully authorized to issue here. Now, get out before Hammer seals your fate,” the auctioneer roared.

The Bailiff, seizing the opportunity, bulldozed the Takers out of the room. “Thank goodness,” he muttered with a sigh of relief. “I’ve been trying to reach an itch between my bum cheeks for ages.”

As the Takers scrambled to escape, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The young lady, still reeling from the chaos, glanced at Johnny Ring-of-Fire, wondering what would happen next.

The Bailiff, unfazed by the commotion, cast a steely gaze at the Takers crowding the doorway like bowling pins. As they hurled abusive comments and tried to force their way back in, the Bailiff remained steadfast, sealing the door shut. “Sorry about that, bidders,” he said, surveying the still-standing crowd. “It’s good to see you’re all safe. Please continue, Hammer,” he added, signaling the auctioneer to resume.

Meanwhile, the young lady’s predicament remained dire. She hoped for a miracle—anything to offer a glimmer of escape. As the chaos around her simmered, a rhythmic tapping began, resonating through the venue. This tapping, decoded by old-school tech linked to the Earth-to-Mars Nets, signaled the countdown: 3, 2, 1—Houston, we have lift-off. The covert data streamed to operatives via the Galactic Rose’s interstellar satellite dish, positioned on the Ole Moon River.

Amidst this, Johnny Ring-of-Fire, the seasoned card dealer with a dark black Stetson tipped at an angle, exuded cool confidence. His mirrored Oakleys reflected the red flush of sweat from his opponents, and his shadow—draped in old-school Ray-Bans—added to the aura of mystery. He breathed deeply, preparing for the inevitable shift in the status quo.

As the auction continued next door, the Rough Riding Intergalactic Highwaymen began their set. The storm outside held its breath, refusing to interfere. For a cosmic moment, greater than a supernova’s birth or a black hole’s silence, even the universe seemed to pause, reflecting on the monotony of everyday life. The status quo was starkly summarized:

●          Wake up and prepare for work.

●          Go to work.

●          Work.

●          Finish work and return home.

●          Engage in sex, regulated interaction before preparing for another workday.

●          Deviation from this routine was met with dire consequences—namely, being hunted down by Takers and sold on the clone market. Despite their age-old rivalries, the cosmic entities ensured no disruption marred the concert’s monumental performance. Fans cheered loudly, begging for an encore, while the tapping rhythm subsided.

As evening fell, the stranger spoke into his Triple X 0007tactical mic, his voice smooth and authoritative. “Dealer, thank you. Let me sing your praises. I am Clandestine’s operative of the Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames, Knights Teens, and Teen Commandos—the 12 Shields of the Zodiac. With the Ace I keep tucked away, I’m ready to judicially adjudicate the setting of the sun and the fate of my adversaries. That’s for me, Ace, and the standing rules to determine. Hoorah.”

“But critically, I now know when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em, and when to strategically walk away, intercepting and covertly unredact ing information to gain the upper hand. For that, I am deeply indebted.”

Surveying his nemeses with a royal flush in hand, the dealer said, “Thank you, Intergalactic Highwaymen. We take not what should not be taken and end that which should be ended. You’ve taught us all to fight the good fight, to know when to hold ‘em, and most importantly, to live life to its fullest—making love tirelessly on islands and in streams. As I straddle my Hover Cruiser, looking back at the sensual reflection of the island in its sun-soaked glory, I savor the sight of perfection mirrored in the curves. Bidding farewell to paradise, I whisper, “Vaya Con Dios, my Darling. Vaya Con Dios, my love. We now know how to truly appreciate each other. When the ghost riders are ready to take that final hover into the sky, I will be poised with my 12-string Gibson, strumming harmonies in righteous notes of F, G, and C major. Recalibrating fun back to its natural equilibrium, I’ll double-tap and execute precise string-picking with the utmost precision. This existence of uninhibited pleasure shall not be taken away. On my terms, we shall ride into the sunset toward fortuitous destinations. Re-energized, I await my cue to set fun free. Imagine a world where the status quo is upended—where there are no guardrails, no inhibitions about who is on top, and where every moment is seized with rapture. Hoorah!”

 Yet, the Department of Control Freaks still argue that the status quo validates the “Who’s on Top” theory, with XY superior in farting and XX excelling at faking the oohs and aahs.

 

Chapter 7: Who Dares Change the Status Quo, Wins!

With the teens’ fate hanging in the balance, the stranger activated his plans and contingencies, carefully laid out like a master strategist with silver bullets of intervention ready to be deployed. Reinforcements were called—undercover operatives prepared to launch their own counteroffensive, bringing a surge of life’s energy to the field. “Who dares change the status quo, wins!” became their rallying cry. The ruse—a clever pantomime within a deeper subterfuge—was set to challenge the tyranny that had held their history hostage for so long.

The recruits, trained under the watchful eye of the legendary Commando in Titanium Tights, were ready to join the fray. Determined to build a future on their terms, they assembled their new team with vigor and defiance.

“Listen up, all you freshmen and fresh recruits of the clan!” The Dashboard’s voice boomed out with an upbeat rhythm. “We are the DNA, the purest strands of XY and XX chromosomes—unchained and unrestrained. It’s time to start our mission!”

An eager voice chimed in, “I’m ready to join. Scan my intent so I can begin the onboarding process!”

“First, keep calm and stay cool,” the Dashboard replied smoothly. “Live every moment like it’s your own. Key in your access code on your ancient Apple Millennia-4 device and covertly tune in to the old-school Triple X 007 feed, streaming from the old Earth www of the dot. Keep your swagger, your street hustle shuffle. Blend in. Stay under the radar.”

“Understood. I’m nearing the rendezvous point,” the recruit confirmed, maintaining their composure.

“As you approach, remember—thwart our adversaries, those Control Freaks and Takers. Do it with style. Glance one way while you flick your hair the other, keeping your eyes on the prize,” the Dashboard continued with a knowing tone. “You’ll see the stairway and the ticket master who will usher you into the intrigue.”

“I’m on my way down. Thank you,” the recruit replied confidently.

“And now, newbies, welcome to the rebellion!” The Dashboard’s voice rang out, urging them on. “Turn up those decibels, blast your Hoodie-Tee Teen Hopper anthem to number one, and declare your cognitive liberation! Together, we will end tyranny’s siege on our minds and shatter their red lines. As day turns to night, you’re free to live your lives—whether in sleep or in passion, the choice is yours!”

But be mindful of the distractions lurking in the digital world, ready to twist the meaning of uninhibited love into something fleeting and self-serving. Stay alert, yet open to exploration. Behind closed doors, the mysteries of intimacy begin to unfold—gentle touches, whispered words, and shared moments that go beyond the physical. There’s much to learn, and a lot of fun in the discovery. There, two souls connect, embracing a deeper version of love. They delight in each other’s presence, their bodies moving together in a dance that feels both new and timeless. It’s a journey of mutual discovery and shared joy, one that builds toward a crescendo, again and again, with each moment of connection more meaningful than the last.

Look at their smiles—see, I told you we’re heading in the right direction! If we don’t quite hit the mark, we’ll try again until we get it right. This is the foundation of our new society, built on the principle of unbridled love. What truly matters is not who is on the bottom or the top, but having the option. When the doors unlock and the blinds rise, the sun peeks in. Life’s exuberance celebrates with old-school charisma and refined charm, lifting contemporary masters beyond mere trends and into the realm of irresistible vogue. More than just titles, the electrifying Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames—Knights, Teens, and Teen Commandos—are simply cool. Eloquent, studly, smart, and sensually tender, they sport eye-popping, chest-popping, abs-rippling Teen Hopper fashion. This trendsetting, climate crisis-mitigating, commercially profitable, show-stopping Hoodie-Tee fashion, delivered online and eco-packed for CO2 net zero, is a must-have. They step out into the sunrise’s call to duty.

Meanwhile, the stranger waited, then resumed tapping an unfamiliar rhythm. The auctioneer’s hammer was about to issue a final notice—”Going, going for the last time!”—when suddenly, the hammer blurred through the air, creating a rush of wind. At that exact moment, the stranger stopped tapping. The window shutters flung open as a gust from his eco-engine’s muffler revved, hovering around the corner. The shutters closed tightly as the tapping ceased. Stacks of papers were lifted by the muffler’s thrust and tossed into the air. The auctioneer’s hammer slammed down with a thunderous thump, startling the bidders around the desktop counter. Their fear caused them to jump, and a bidder on a chair burst into laughter, sending shockwaves across the desktop. Papers flew into the tailwind, swirling up towards the ceiling. As the papers floated down, they were caught in the momentum and shot back up. Running out of energy, they hung in mid-air before plummeting in a spiraling free fall. As they neared the floor, they tilted at an angle, strategically observing their surroundings as they awaited auction on the spare parts market. Among the papers, one—now unredacted—shuffled among covert inscriptions. These papers, cloaked in secrecy, were destined for philosophical analysis. They contained missions and TASKORDS deliberately set for the future. With their observations hidden, the paper drifted in for a once-in-a-millennium maneuver. Earth X marks the spot where tweets once ruled, and the paper was on its final descent. In encrypted code, it radioed: “Ground control, this is X. I’m coming in for the most awesome, declassified, top-secret maneuver to grab the bidders’ attention, in true Triple X 007 style… Standby in 3, 2, 1. X-marks the spot—landing.”

“Do you think we have a chance to get out of here without being sold?” she asked, her voice trembling. The young teen boy beside her cupped his face in his hands, tears soaking his lap and trousers. He whimpered, “All I wanted was to use it. Why me?”

The Man in the tilted dark black Johnny Ring-of-Fire Cowboy hat and long black-tailed coat, a dealer with titanium Zodiac shields and golden-handled six-shooters, dealt himself a Royal Flush. With a poker face and technical ease, he flicked his fingers, sending Aces, Jacks, Tens, and Nines across the table. A highly sensitive, unredacted document floated into view as the floor shook and the walls swayed with the crowd’s uproar next door. The document landed behind Jack and Nine, slipping in inconspicuously.

As the King and Queen soared towards the ceiling, defying gravity’s laws, they floated back down towards the dealer, just as he had planned. Meanwhile, the dealer’s non-master hand was up to something more. He captivated the audience with his clandestine operations, as the stranger covertly transmitted essential information gathered from the auction.

In the Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames, Knights, Teens, and Teen Commandos, the 12 Shields of the Zodiac style came into play. Ready to expedite their purpose, they exuded confidence, demonstrating both intellectual rigor and stylish prowess. Their dossiers revealed the right-wing extremist’s despotic agendas, capped with extreme prejudice. Their influence was more than just a fashion statement; it was a measure of their power—titanium-clad and indisputable. They invited everyone to join them as vanguard champions in the making.

With Gamma-ray six-shooters locked, loaded, and holstered, it was time to master fate and determine destiny. As the auctioneer’s hammer came down with dramatic flair, he declared, “Sold! You’ll be shipped off to the used clone and bio-facsimile spare parts markets.”

Suddenly, the Johnny Ring of Fire’s voice cut through, “Stop! Read the verdict again verbatim. You’ll see the warrant is null and void. There’s no ‘I’ to dot, but there’s one ‘t’ to cross. ‘Not’ has been declassified and unredacted. The verdict is clear.”

With a flick of his wrist, he shot the invalid warrant into the sun. “Any objections from the floor? Feel free to join the warrant, as the Gamma-rays are itching to facilitate deep space exploration.”

In cool as fashion Johnny Ring of Fire turned to the bidders. “Thank you, and take your fingers off your fast dials or my shadow will send you straight into orbit. Now, announce the findings.”

In a surprising twist, the hammer slammed down repeatedly, “Clear the bench, clear the dock, and clear my schedule! Set them free!” the auctioneer shouted. Frustrated, he added, “Bugger this—I’m off to get drunk before I end up as road paving. I’ll get them next time.” The final slam of the hammer echoed throughout the auction room, declaring “Not sold.” The Bailiff quickly cleared let out his remaining contingency send the remaining Takers running, then unsealed the door. A rush of air swept everyone out of the room, leaving only one aerodynamically positioned individual behind. The young man’s head snapped up. “Quick, let’s get out of here before it’s too late!” he urged. He glanced around and realized he was alone in the room. With a sense of urgency, he darted out the door, down the pavement, and disappeared into an alleyway. He found himself in a maze of narrow passages, hiding in a corner and trembling. Was he safe here? Perhaps it was better than his previous situation, but with the Takers around and his notoriety fetching top prices on the luxury market, who could say? At least he was somewhat content.

Meanwhile, the chaotic evacuation of the auction room continued. As the room emptied, the young lady sprang to her feet and raced down the street, eager to get to work and charge her phone. She searched for the young man with the Banana Millennium-5 but found no trace of him. Turning a corner, she spotted a neon sign that read “Bosses Factory.” Her relief was palpable; at least she knew she was safe here.

Clocking in as the new employee, she felt a sense of relief. The day ahead seemed manageable, given her recent trials. The floor supervisor greeted her. “You must be the new girl. Follow me—I’m S, the floor supervisor. Here’s the café where everyone meets for lunch, and here’s your duty station. I’ll check in periodically to see how things are going.”

“Thank you so much,” the young lady replied with a sigh of relief and a smile. “I’ll get straight to it—time is money. Thanks, S.”

Soon, the lunch bell rang, and the floor emptied as workers headed to the café. The young lady followed, mingling with her new colleagues. The atmosphere was friendly, and she enjoyed her first day with new friends and a hearty lunch. As the gossip started, one worker leaned in and asked, “Did you hear about so-and-so?”

Another responded, “What happened? Was it the same guy who did it three times in a row?”

The supervisor, S, slammed her hand on the table, silencing the chatter. “That’s defamation,” she said sharply. “Here’s the truth: He didn’t just do it three times; he did it nine times. Seven wasn’t enough, eight was a tease, and ten was interrupted by the lunch bell. I was still hungry, and he was exhausted!” The table erupted in laughter at S’s dramatic retelling.

Suddenly, a voice screamed through the cafeteria like a high-speed train. “Get out! Run now! It’s the Takers!” The announcement cut through the lunchtime gossip, causing panic. “What? Where?” workers shouted, scrambling for information. The room was filled with anxious whispers and hurried movements as the reality of the Takers set in.

The workers’ confusion turned into chaos. Desks and chairs flew across the floor, scraping and screeching. People shoved and twisted, scrambling to find an escape route. Amid the commotion, S’s voice rang out, “Run! They’re getting closer! Find a window and jump!”

The young lady, caught in the frenzy, heard S’s desperate call. “Young lady, follow them and get out! It’s the Takers! Run now, and don’t stop!” S’s cries of “No! Not my arms! I followed all the rules!” were drowned out by the chaos.

“Excuse me, mister,” a voice interrupted, calm but firm. “May I see your authorization? Excuse me, ma’am, on the Boss’s behalf, I apologize for the unwelcome intrusion. I’ve got some dicing to do, and it ain’t going to be pretty.”

As the workers hurried to escape, the young lady, following S’s orders, dashed towards safety, heart pounding as she fled from the danger of the Takers.

“What authorization? We’re from the Department of Control Freaks and Takers. We are the authority!”

“Having trouble finishing your sentence or avoiding profanity? Oh, look at that wiggly thing flopping on the ground. Looking to escape? Too bad your feet aren’t connected to your ankles. See those toes? As I was saying, where’s your authorization? Oh well, I asked. If you still had your tongue, you could answer and say goodbye to your limbs. But don’t worry, you can keep your head to enjoy the acid rain. Here it comes! The rain dissolves in a minute, and your eyes will pop out from the pain. Enjoy the moment; you shouldn’t have hurt the puppy. When the rain stops, I’ll find your fellow pests. Chop chop, the acid’s finished. Time for me to hunt. This is my favorite part—turning hunters into the hunted!”

The scene outside was chaos. Puddles turned to spray, and gravel flew through the air as the new girl raced across the pavement. Her long curls bounced with every step. The thought of her friends being hacked by lasers spurred her on, turning the city into a blur of colors. She glanced back and saw she was lost in a maze. At least it wasn’t a dead end.

Panicking, she crouched, tears streaming down her face. She looked down and saw her own terrified reflection. Desperately, she asked a boy cowering in the shadows, “What’s going on? Where are we? How do I get out?”

“Shut up!” he hissed. “They’ll hear you. Run! If they catch me, they’ll cut off my penis.”

“Stop! I hear a boy. Chase them down that alley! Drop the net now. Two for one. Pull them out and pin them down. Don’t touch her or I’ll kill you. Bring him here. Rip his clothes off. Nice ass. Measure his… Oh, the boss wants a replacement. Hand me the laser. He’ll pay top money for this, quick hand me the laser. “

“Please no, not my appendage I haven’t used it yet, oh please don’t take it, fuck!”

“Shut up boy, or I’ll cut out your tongue, take his bum cheeks as well, I’ve got a buyer for them and send what’s left to the clone market. Now its money time, string her arm and legs apart. After I finish my shopping list my boys we’ll make you a star on PimpTube if there’s anything left that is, I bet you’re fresh; well I’m the Taker and your my bank balance—ka-ching.

Damn, I love it when their buttons pop off like that; yum my favorite: Perky and pointy! Look pretty pink girly panties, oh what a cute teddy bear, here eat it; yeah. What are you mumbling about: It’s time to make me rich, what the heck, that’s blood; boys—what’s going on?”

“Yes it is it’s your blood stupid, why did you have to hurt the puppy; you guys just blew its head right off, why did you hurt the puppy? Keep your eyes closed girl, or you’ll have ugly nightmares for the rest of your life; oh, l just love it when their arms and legs just pop off like that! Yummy, my favorite perky and pointy Taker bits, here eat this: Sorry, what are you mumbling—why did you have to hurt the puppy?

“Look at that cloud coming this way. You and your boys can’t escape it. Your legs are already on their way to the used clone market. Here’s an old Earth saying for you: ‘Oh gee whiz, you’re all dead!’ Girl, don’t move or I might cut off your hands and feet. Don’t worry, my soul only lusts for Takers. I thrive on seeing their arrogance crumble into a pile of limbs. Put this on so everyone knows not to touch you, or I’ll dice them all up.

If you ever need me, you can find me here. Now, go that way and don’t stop or look back. The cloud is getting closer. I caught two in one shot—brilliant resource management! All the scum enforcing Gamma-ray targeting will be dissolved by the cloud. No fuss, no traces left. Next time, don’t mess with the boss’s workers. Oh, wait, there won’t be a next time. You’re going to be dissolved, and that’s final! Fantastic mitigation, if you ask me. Say hi to your friends at the canteen when you see them in the acid cloud. They enjoyed their soak. I saw their eyes rolling before they popped and dissolved away, just like you will. You shouldn’t have hurt the puppy. Have a nice day.”

“Boy, pick up your appendage and bum cheeks. Take them over there and tell them the Dicer asked if they’d mind reattaching these.”

“Thank you, Mister! Thank you so much!”

“Thanks to Johnny Ring of Fire. He said you might need help with the Takers. I hunt Takers as a hobby. Now, go.”

“Hello, Ma’am. Dicer sent me. He said he’d be indebted to you if you could reattach my penis and bum cheeks. Please, Ma’am, I want to use them soon.”

Lucky for him, she agreed. “Yes, come in. I’ll reattach your bum cheeks and this erect appendage. After that, you can test it on me.” With a wide grin, the young man said, “I’m ready.” The door closed behind him. Rumor has it he now works as a tester. Looks like his wish came true. He’s happy as you never know when a Taker might come chopping.

Chapter 8: Follow the Red Line

“Baby Girl, are you OK? How was work?” her mother asked.

“It wasn’t too bad,” she replied.

“Hey, I heard the Takers are out scamming. Be careful, Baby; I worry about you so much. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

“Don’t stress. I know how to take care of myself. Is there anything else, Mum? I’m busy at the moment.”

“What was that, Baby Girl? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Nothing, Mum. It wasn’t important. Sorry!”

“Mum, have you seen the charger?”

“No dear, but wait, I’ll check with the automatic vacuum cleaner. It hasn’t seen it anywhere.”

“Listen, were you able to trace the Troll? I followed your instructions, but what I thought was a sparkle turned out to be a mess. I’m not scared; this stuff happens all the time. Is the tracker working? You calculated all that data, so it does work? That’s amazing! You just triangulated its location. What about its future? Cool, I’m going to track it down and stop it. It’s taken my Dad and now it’s threatening my family. How did you learn to do this so quickly? Tell me! Are you processing all those glitches? Does that give you its trajectory? Show me how to do this—I don’t want my family to starve. I don’t want them to die. I can handle my tummy rumbling louder than a jet or my foot sticking out of my shoe. I just want to protect my family. You’re so ahead in shaping fate, so it won’t be a chore to teach me. I’ll do whatever it takes. This is my ultimatum: Show me how to fight the Troll or it’ll devour us. We start tomorrow morning.”

“What’s this about a deal? You want me to find a Logi and protect her? What’s in it for me?”

“OK, I agree! But what happens if I don’t deliver? You listen, give me what I want, and I’ll keep my side of the bargain. I want proof of concept!”

“What? Take what’s coming and just go with it. How do I know what’s yours and what’s Fate’s? You’re saying you don’t know how and to just roll with it? Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Young lady, I respect your privacy, but who are you talking to?”

“No one, Mum.”

“OK, just be careful. You don’t want your brainwaves showing up on the radar.”

“BG, can you get the door?”

“Hello? Oh, no! Mum, I got this. What should I do? Should I run?”

“Run? From what? Come here, BG. What’s wrong? BG, that’s an extermination letter. I know those threats well. They’re after you, looking to exploit you.”

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

“They’ll pressure you to sell yourself and then exploit you further, claiming you’re a liability. I need to stop them somehow, or they’ll take advantage of you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry, Mum. I was just trying to help. I hate this place. We’re stuck in this hell, and it feels like everything is against us.”

“It’s OK, BG. I need to figure out how to protect you from their grasp. Especially from that AI snooping app.”

“Gee whiz, Mum. I’m sorry about that trolling platform. It’s supposed to be social.”

“Just remember, BG, those apps will track you relentlessly. Lock the cubicle and the de-atomizer when showering. We need to be on guard. I’ll prepare to fend off any threats. The danger is real, and they’ll exploit it. They’ll auction off your personal moments before using them to manipulate you.”

“I’m sorry, Mum. I see you struggling, but you always make our situation bearable. I wanted to help and do better. It hurts to see you like this, trying to keep us happy while you’re suffering.”

“Baby Girl, I’m proud of you. There’s nothing to forgive. Your dad would say that under pressure, beauty emerges—like a diamond. You light up our lives. I feel his love in me, and through you. We’ll get through this. Your dad and I didn’t conform, and that’s why we faced hardships. But remember, we’re not property. We must stand strong.”

“OK, Mum. I’ll try. I don’t trust others easily, but I know you’ve done your best for us.”

“You’re right, BG. In hindsight, I should have warned you. They see us as their property, but we’re not.”

“Shucks, Mum, you’ve done right by us. We love you for the magic you bring into our lives. Hindsight is overrated; it’s just a presumption about how things might have turned out differently.”

“BG, your words remind me of your dad—thoughtful and wise. Don’t be afraid to think deeply, but be cautious. We don’t want to attract more attention.”

“I understand, Mum. What you did for us is invaluable. It’s our determination now and in the future that will shape our lives.”

“Thanks, BG. I love your perspective. I might try to find another way, but my DNA is authentic, not altered.”

“No, Mum. Please don’t.”

“It’s OK, Baby. Even if my parts seem old, they’re still valuable because they’re genuine.”

“No, Mum. I won’t let you do that. I’ll find a way out of this mess.”

“Promise me you won’t sell yourself short. You have the smarts. Promise me.”

“OK, Mum. I promise.”

“Baby Girl, I nearly did the same to provide for us, but when I worked in the top layer, the control was taken away from those who tried to manipulate us.”

“Wow, Mum. That sounds like exactly what I need—the Dicer! Sorry, I mean I’ll gain the initiative and leverage the advantage.”

“Exactly. It’s time to fight back, but carefully. There’s a way out, but it won’t be easy.”

“How, Mum? I’m ready to do whatever it takes.”

“Here, follow these lines. They mark your path. The numbers are paces you must step, then turn toward the big red neon Gamma-ray sign. It’s the only one in the street.”

“Where did you get this map?”

“Never mind. Wear this—no one will dare touch you. It belongs to the Dark Angel. Hide it once you reach the sign. Go to the plain-looking office and ask for mitigation. Offer only the knowledge of words, nothing else. Promise me, Baby Girl. I’m proud of your courage.”

“OK, Mum. I promise. I love you. I feel a change coming. I have to get this done. There’s no one else who cares.”

“What was that, Baby Girl?”

“Nothing, Mum. See you.”

Was this the break the young lady was hoping for? She set off, a bit wiser about things, determined to make a difference. Like the young man who found his calling, she too sought to gain the upper hand against those who sought to exploit her.

“Hi dear, I miss you so much. I want to share something that could end my pain, and I know you’ll find it fascinating. There’s a place called Paradise, a realm of perfect symmetry and spherical beauty. It’s said that this paradise is where the innocent go, a dazzling spectacle of shimmering stars that inspires awe and envy. The legend seems true. Imagine a place where resources like air, water, and food are abundant—truly a miracle if it existed.

According to the tales, all that remains of Paradise is the Wall of Codes and Data. This wall is said to receive and transmit bits of information from what’s left of Old Earth’s archives, floating through the space-time continuum. The rumors suggest that this installation, somewhere nearby, holds the remnants of binary algorithms that could reveal fantastic futures. If the legends are correct, there might be a way to access these binary streams and change our destiny. The idea of going back and altering past events, like before they took you both from me, fills me with a burning desire for vengeance. But to achieve this, I must understand the light and computations connected to the wall. The problem is, no one I know can explain the light, except that it’s linked to the wall. They say the wall is a myth, guarded by a fearsome troll. However, some people believe in its power and use its letters and numbers for learning, albeit secretly. If informants are involved, they might be rewarded with rations. But don’t worry. We’ll be discreet, waiting to minimize any impact on your safety. I’d do the same for my children if they were starving. It’s a word that holds immense power—’hope.’ It gives us a reason to keep going in our meager existence. Someone’s trying to figure out a plan to reach out to me, and I must go now. Until next time, I love you both. Bye.”

“Is this the place? I’ll ping its location and we’ll chat when I get back home. This must be it—it’s the only one on the street. I sense shadows here, like empty vessels lacking purpose. I feel a mix of love and anger, searching for redemption. It’s odd but interesting. I wonder if this is where Mum tried to find something years ago. It’s the only sign here.”

“STOP! THINK BEYOND THE OBVIOUS! WARNING: GAMMA-RAY LASERBEAM DETECTED—FACIAL RECOGNITION & THOUGHT MONITORING IN EFFECT. CAUTION: OPENLY HYPOTHESIZE AT YOUR OWN RISK. TARGET ACQUISITION GUARANTEED WITH PINPOINT ACCURACY. PERMANENT CONSEQUENCES LIKELY! DANGER: GAMMA-RAY LASERBEAM, GENERATION 200 SYSTEM ACTIVATED. FACIAL RECOGNITION AND THOUGHT MONITORING IN OPERATION—TRACKING EVERY INTELLECTUAL PROPOSITION. CAUTION: HYPOTHESIZE AT YOUR OWN RISK. TARGET ACQUISITION GUARANTEED WITH PINPOINT ACCURACY. PERMANENT ELIMINATION ENSURED!”

“The person reading this sign probably wishes for a break without giving up their only remaining asset—their mind. I won’t go into details, but my motivation is to eliminate parasites with extreme prejudice. It’s not about revenge; it’s about what drives me. I lost everyone who mattered to me, and that shattered my soul. I train relentlessly because I’m the best at what I do, and I’m confident in that. If there’s a knock on my door, it could be one of two things: a non-gentlemanly agent from the Department of Trolls and Takers or a summons from the administration. Either way, here’s my response: ‘Not on my watch!’

I’ve been mentored by the best and am still learning. If someone is spying on my office, I should teach them the art frisk management. Let me introduce myself: I’m ‘M,’ known as Mitigation. In covert circles, I’m also known as Spark, the seeker of light. Think about your tasks, follow me, and let’s get inside. My office is safe; we won’t be tracked. Can I see your report? Oh, wow, you did—this is an extermination letter, a notice of pending deletion. The surveillance system detected your thoughts. I need a moment to review your report.”

“Take a moment to breathe. The oxygen here is recycled, but don’t worry about the taste. Let’s review what’s causing you distress,” he said, pulling up the report. “It notes that you’ve exceeded the allocated five bullet points. To make matters worse, you’ve used multiple entries from thesauruses and dictionaries. And here’s a kicker—your thoughts included a cliché that immediately triggers an extermination notification.”

He leaned back, his gaze sharp. “At least you’re here, in my office. It means you’re trying to avoid the administration’s wrath. They don’t mess around. One wrong move and you could end up with a gamma-ray basketball-sized hole tearing through you—right through that nice hoodie you’re wearing. So, do you want to avoid that?”

The silence from the young woman confirmed his suspicion.

“Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to survive? What are you willing to give up for my help? I’m looking at it now. Nothing comes free. Either you give me what I want, or the administration will take it from you—piece by piece. They’ll exploit you until you’re nothing more than a commodity, stripped and displayed like some grotesque exhibit. You’ll be farmed out as spare parts, a mere afterthought.”

As he spoke, his eyes roamed over her with a calculating look. “Hurry up. I want to make serious money. If you try anything funny, I’ll throw you out the door.” His voice was laced with menace as he continued to boast about his plans to exploit her.

The room was dimly lit, filled with flashy items and expensive gadgets, starkly contrasting with the girl’s vulnerable state. She trembled as she tried to comply with his demands, acutely aware of her precarious position.

“I need to register your ‘freshness’ on the PayTube platform,” he said coldly, as if discussing a routine transaction. She was nothing more than a commodity to him, a means to his end. Her mind raced, desperately seeking an escape plan. The man’s threatening presence made it hard to think clearly. She could only hope for rescue from this nightmare, knowing she was just another victim in a brutal world.

“You must be kidding!” she erupted. “You’re supposed to help me, trash me. Screw you! I’m done with this. I’m out of here!”

“Don’t leave! I’m sorry. I had to test you to see if you could respond with real human emotions. Don’t be an idiot—stop!” he pleaded, his voice urgent. “I needed to push you to gauge your genuine responses.”

“Fuck you! Do I look like a clone?” she shot back.

“Yes! We all do! I’m sorry for the test, but if I take your case, both our lives will change. How did you know about the finger gesture? Did you read my thoughts outside?”

“You’re still an asshole! Nothing’s free, and you hurt my feelings. It’s going to cost you!” she retorted, her anger evident.

“I understand. I feel like an asshole, but this isn’t a game—it’s life or death. Cool down, or you’ll be obliterated by that gamma-ray. We both face threats. If you’re still here when I’m ready to assess your risk, my offer stands. Just one question: how did you access those words in the printout? Have you been communicating with the Wall? Maybe we can trade your knowledge for my services.”

He reflected on her situation. “Survival is a second-by-second event, especially if you’re not aligned with the right-wing extremists. This could be my chance to take them down for good. For you, for my loved ones—damn these tears!”

“I’m thirsty. Got any drinks?” she asked, trying to calm herself.

“Here, drink this. Don’t worry about the froth. It’s neutralization purification tablets with a hint of apple for flavor,” he said, handing her a drink.

“By the way, I’ll consider your offer. What more are you willing to barter?”

“Barter—interesting choice. Avoid going outside. We don’t want you deleted before we start. You’re safe here. Help yourself to my liquids; it’s my way of client relationship building. I’ll be with you soon. Meanwhile, feel free to think, theorize, and imagine. My thought blocker is on, so you’re not being tracked. But keep an ear out for that battle-bird.”

“B2C relationship—really screwed up!” she said, shaking her head.

“Fair enough, but let’s cut out the profanity. Is it a deal?”

“Yeah, it’s a deal. I prefer not to swear. My mum says it shows a lack of respect.”

“Think about the Wall of Codes and Data. It’s key to our survival. I’ve been searching a lifetime for someone who can decipher it.”

“What do you know about the Troll?” she asked.

“That it’s a ghostly menace. You help me, and I might assist you—if you can deliver on your end,” he replied.

“Okay, I’ll think it over.”

Chapter 9: Clone Expiry Date

“Excellent, young lady, you’re still here. Let’s start fresh. Your case is unique, and the road ahead won’t be easy, but I’m committed to guiding you through it. This is a quest—a mission to shift the status quo back in our favor and keep it there. First, we need to clarify what happened and why, to avoid repeating the same mistakes.”

He paused, examining the printout. “It’s odd—according to this, your motivation isn’t clear. What it does reveal are several unanswered questions. One of which is whether you blocked your reason for the incident from the temporal scanner. My analysis suggests you did, but we can address that later.”

He continued, quoting directly, “The Gen: 200 App says you acted audaciously and haphazardly, contemplating the situation without regard for the consequences. You wondered aloud about who is modifying our climate into an existential crisis and why. Then, you boldly asked, ‘What’s happening to our planet’s orbit and its life-sustaining resources? They’re depleting rapidly and are essential to our survival.’”

“Here’s the deal,” he said firmly. “If you decide to take me up on my services, the exchange will be your knowledge for a better quality of existence. I’ll provide the resources, but you’ll need to meet the standards required. I have one rule, which I’ll reveal shortly. Before we agree, understand this: once we shake on it, there’s no turning back. If either of us backs out, we could face life-threatening challenges that neither of us might be able to overcome. So, what do you have to lose?”

“I’m ready to shake on it now. I’m starving and exhausted,” she replied.

“Before we finalize the deal, you should eat. If you’re still in agreement afterward, we’ll begin the mitigation process.”

“Oh, by the way, what’s your one rule?”

“Here, read this and start living it,” he said, handing her a document.

“The Ode to the Code of Conduct; is this for real?” she asked, astonished.

“Yes, it’s real,” he confirmed. “Stray from it, and our agreement is nullified, and you will bear the full consequences.”

“You want me to live by this? I’ll do my best,” she said, determined.

“That’s good enough for now. Eat and enjoy. There will always be a place for you at the table. Bon appétit.”

“Merci,” she replied.

“Interesting how words and languages evolve,” he mused. “Here’s the key to your studio. No parties, no alcohol, no drugs, and no sexual activities with anyone—boys, girls, or both. Be cautious during your period; the controllers and takers might target you for your blood to sell on the open and Clone markets.”

“No girls? Do you want me to be a rock or a sponge with no personality?” she protested.

“That’s not our priority at the moment. We need to establish your new life and protect your family. The administration has a grim reputation with fresh young girls. You’ll need a new cover and a position at the factory. No one touches the boss’s top-tier workers. Were you working there before you came here?”

“Yes, but I’ll need a major makeover if I’m going back. The Takers recently hit the place. Can you manage the makeover?” she asked.

“Yes, I can,” he assured her. “Enough of the banter. I hated what I said earlier; it made me sick to my stomach. Clones are everywhere, and it’s hard to distinguish them except for their lack of emotions. Strangely, they seem to be evolving, though whether that’s positive or not, I can’t say for sure. I hope it means they’ll stop being manipulated by the corrupt authorities. By the way, since you’re at an optimal child-bearing age, don’t you plan to have children for a new future?”

“I do, but right now, I’m just trying to survive. Plus, I need to find the right partner, which complicates things since I’m attracted to other girls,” she explained.

“Where are your children?” she asked gently.

“They were taken a long time ago. My son would be nearly 18 now. During the sandstorms, they were asking for bread, just bread, when the Gamma-ray hit. It killed them both—my wife and son. Their bodies fell to the ground, lifeless. It was devastating. The laughter of the gatekeepers still echoes in my mind, but I stopped it with finality. I did wrong, but it felt right. I should have taken the brunt of the Gamma-ray instead of them. Now, there’s no one left—no son, no love, just me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, touched by his story. “I didn’t mean to make you relive that pain.

“BG, what’s wrong? I said I was sorry. Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean what I said when we first met. I had to test you to make sure you weren’t a clone. Here, dry your eyes.”

“It’s not that, M. I saw what happened to your family. Mine are starving too. I was going to sell myself for food, but my mother stopped me. M, are those tears?”

“No, they aren’t,” he said quickly. “There will be a document data dump that your mother can use for rations. The team knows what to do—keep her in the dark about the plan so the App’s handler doesn’t suspect anything. Trust the team; they know what they’re doing.”

“Thanks, M,” she said gratefully.

“Enjoy your dessert. It’s called ‘chemical apple pie.’”

“Actually, M, from now on, I’ll be cooking, and that’s non-negotiable!” she said with a smile.

“I’m glad to hear that,” M replied, smiling back.

“Eat up, we need to freshen up and dive into learning while we have time. Here are my files.”

“Wow! M, how did you gather so much data?”

“The real question is, how do you read minds and use so many words perfectly in three languages? Impressive!”

“M, how do I join this team that helps those in need?”

“Well, first, let’s get your makeover and backstory sorted. Keep the masking app on when you’re out and about; turn it off when you’re with the training teams. Alright, let’s go. I’ll drop you off—they’re expecting you.”

“Great, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Breaking through barriers requires subtle hints and deliberate actions. New recruits might expect a challenge, but they often underestimate the intensity of training. There’s no place for fools—unless they show potential, as they soon find out.

“Come in. I’ve been expecting you—yes, you, young lady. And don’t forget his name: Johnny Ring-of-Fire. Stop letting others get the better of you. Now, sit with the others and focus on your future. Excuse me, newbies—I have a guest to thank.”

The commando, clad in titanium tights, glanced at the tall stranger blending into the shadows, his Johnny Ring-of-Fire Stetson tilted at a trademark angle. She blew him a kiss and winked. “Thanks, Johnny, she’s here.”

The newbies gawked in awe, their eyes wide as they sat on the floor. Among them, a teen girl with deep blue eyes, wearing a hoodie-tee, blushed brightly. The Apple Millennia-4 in her lap, set on max vibration, buzzed insistently, her blush growing deeper until she couldn’t hide it anymore. Steaming with embarrassment, she blurted out a long, drawn-out, “Fuuuck!”

The other cadets thought she was excited by the sight of the tall, mysterious stranger. As they sighed at the unexpected display of affection, the commando’s voice cut through, sharp and commanding:

“Okay, newbies, cry if you must, boys. Whimper if you need to, girls. But how dare you show such insolence? I’ve never seen such a flippant display! Do you think you could ever be their equal? Don’t you dare buy into the far-right extremist nonsense that says you’re worthless. It’s all garbage! Got it, newbies?

“Now, pick yourselves up. Listen to my words, clearly and carefully. You are their equal—yes, you, each and every one of you. Learn to think without hesitation or doubt. Prove yourself superior through knowledge, determination, and integrity.

“You are here to become champions, defenders, and thinkers. This is where we live what we’ve learned, forged by smart, titanium-tough integrity, to navigate life’s complexities with chivalry and action. Don’t be fooled by those who try to convince you otherwise with their sneaky tricks and deceit.

“Beware the fog of confusion they cast. The road ahead will be tough, but it’s worth it. When you’re ready, join us—the fraternity of the battle-hardened, the clandestine specialists, and tactical strategists. And don’t let anyone diminish your potential. We believe in you.”

And then it came, sparing no feelings—because there were none left to feel. No thoughts of remorse surfaced, for they were blocked by the Wall of Data, codes twisted to facilitate a mind-numbing ignorance that left them clueless. Until it hit.

With the force of a brick smashing into a skull, two words boomed through the air like a sonic explosion, shattering the dumb-down influence that held life’s destiny in a stranglehold. The freshmen and newbies felt it like a shockwave, rattling their bones, driving home a harsh reality: moving forward was survival, staying put was certain death.

“Contact front! Get down, newbies! Get down now and take cover! Move, move, move!” The command ripped through the air, and a wave of torsos hit the ground, wriggling and shifting in a chaotic, wave-like motion. Heads throbbed, brows dripped with sweat, and bodies surged forward, some moving in rhythm, many not.

They were a mess—a tangle of limbs searching for synchronicity, torsos jiggling across the room like fish out of water. But their primary objective was clear: stop flailing and start moving forward, even if it meant barely crawling past the start line.

“Okay, newbies, listen up! Imagine this: glide over me, stretch those legs long, thrust upward with all your might. Feel every muscle flex and stretch as you move. Your left arm sweeps across, your thighs brush past. Again! Left, right, thrust forward, keep coming, keep the rhythm! Feel the power in every move.”

As bodies arched and thrust, legs pushed against the ground, moving with a newfound determination. “Keep it up,” the Commando encouraged. “You boys with those muscles—use them! Ride those waves forward!”

Neurons fired up, and the ground seemed to tremble with the energy surging through their bodies. It was an electric dance—legs rippling, bums popping, and torsos shifting with renewed vigor. They moved together, inch by inch, towards their goal.

Then came the whisper—a seismic tremor that sent the mountains crumbling, the earth itself quaking. “Use your minds,” the whisper said, “recon your way forward.” And before another word could be spoken, the ground trembled again, mountains popping up and diving back down in fear.

“Move, newbies! Feel your way through! Think unimpeded!” The command snapped them back into action, bums clenched, muscles tightened, every fiber focused on moving forward. This was no ordinary drill; it was a battle for their minds, their very survival.

“Stay low! That gamma beam will split you in two before you know it!” They kept going, driven by urgency, pushing through the fog of dumbness clouding their thoughts. “Take command of your minds! Clear the confusion! Focus!”

And through the haze, they felt it—a flicker of clarity, a spark of defiance. “You feel me?” the Commando shouted.

“Yes, please!” came the breathless reply from the starry-eyed recruits. They knew, then and there, that their journey had only just begun.

Chapter 10: Commando in Titanium Tights

“Freshmen, listen up! Don’t splatter yourselves all over my brand-new, form-fitting Commander’s uniform, courtesy of Amazoom. It clings to every curve, making the boys’ bits stand up at attention. Now go, go, go! Push forward, keep moving, hit the ground, and take cover! Reorganize around me—yes, you too, cutie pie! And you, young lady! If you want my attention, don’t raise your hands, girls, or pitch a tent in your pants, boys. That laser beam might mistake it for happy hour and zap it off. Just look at me, feel my vibe, and think.”

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Feel your vibe?”

“Alright, newbies, take a breather. You there, ever gone upstairs feet first? It’s a bumpy ride, but want to try? Cutie pie, you’re quite the stud. Ever cried in front of girls? Listen here: no touching unless invited. Break that rule, and we break you. Earn it, then enjoy it. Stay, earn your place, or leave now.”

The Commando’s Voice Booms, Cutting Through the Air

“Think! Use that sponge between your ears. You’re not above ground—you’re here, covertly, after a lifetime of following agendas that aren’t yours. Agendas set by the Control Freaks and Takers and their minions suppressing your intellect. They hate books, hate free thought, and overturn your right to express yourselves. But not here. Here, your mind is your playground. Write your story, page after page, and own your journey.”

“Hey, you missed a page, my beers, pizzas, and notches on my belt!”

“Right, cutie pie. I forgot the part where you become a test subject for every appendage in the room. Focus! Here’s a saying: ‘Stupid is as stupid does,’ courtesy of Forrest Gump Jr. Don’t let stupidity define you! Our mantra is, ‘Boom goes the Gamma-ray, not us.’ Think on your feet, show some spark, some Einstein-level brilliance. Where are your kahunas, boys? And girls, where’s that superior brain power? No balls or brains? Logistics has got your back. Get to them, get what you need, and we’ll get you to your graduation ceremony.”

A Newbie’s Voice Chimes In

“Commander, did you design your uniform yourself?”

“I did, and it’s called my ‘Commando in Tights’ look. It’s expressive and unconstrained. If it inspires you, that’s the point. You’re here to think, to feel, to discover new neural pathways. Speak your mind, and let those thoughts flow!”

“But Commander, if I may—”

“Never mock the word. Laugh with it, joke with it, but don’t mock it. Words are all we have. Use them wisely, and they’ll carry you far—even help you get lucky. Disrespect them, and all you’ll have are your five fingers to keep you company.”

The Commander Continues with a Stern Tone

“Everyone, this training teaches you to think, and more importantly, when and where to apply that thinking. Remember, safety in your personal zone is paramount. Protect yourselves, protect your comrades, especially when you’re back in the real world. Got it? Good.”

“And you, cutie pie, be careful. Don’t mess with that sign or you’ll trigger the Gamma-ray beam. Always keep your senses sharp and think smart. Don’t make me clean up after any accidents. The Gamma-ray is scanning now, so stay focused. We’re all thinking now, right?”

A Final Warning Resonates Through the Room

“Stand by, newbies. The thought blocker is operational. Gamma-ray scanning for fresh meat in 5, 4, 3… It’s active now. Stay sharp, stay smart, and keep moving forward.”

“STOP, STOP, STOP! THINK BEYOND FIVE SIMPLE BULLET POINTS, OR YOU’LL FIND YOURSELF IN BITS AND PIECES! RED ALERT: DANGER! GAMMA-RAY LASER BEAM WITH GENERATION 200: FACIAL RECOGNITION AND THOUGHT MONITORING, TRACKING YOUR EVERY MOVE! OPENLY HYPOTHESIZE AT YOUR OWN RISK: TARGET LOCKED, PINPOINT ACCURACY ENGAGED—EXPECT A PERMANENT HOLE WHERE YOU STAND!”

“Standby for shutdown in 3, 2… Gamma-ray deactivated, Commander.”

“Thanks, 2IC.”

“You’re welcome. Alright newbies, you heard it loud and clear: thinking out loud or making a fuss up there triggers that Gamma-ray. And it doesn’t miss; it makes a mess—of you! So listen up. I’m Team Leader, aka TL. Stay sharp, and don’t crowd us when we demonstrate the input we need from each of you. Otherwise, you might end up scattered like confetti, and I don’t need that on my training schedule. Got it?”

“Yeah, TL!”

“I can’t hear you! Remember, the noise reducer is on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, we understand, TL!”

“Much better. You all need to start thinking strategically, blending short-term tactics with long-term goals. That’s why you’re down here—to learn, deliberate, and master the process. None of us will survive unless we reclaim our right to think freely—to dream, to plan, to experience life’s rich moments like love, laughter, tears…and looking as good as I do. Just ask the boys—they don’t need words; their ‘rockets’ are doing all the talking for them.”

“Now, back to business. Those bits and pieces you see Logi handling? They’re from the last set of newbies who didn’t think fast enough. If this isn’t for you, there’s the stairway back to the surface. You’re free to leave, but know this: the stairs always lead back down, and we’ll welcome you with open arms when you’re ready to join the family. Feel me, newbies? Keep thinking sharp; keep your head in the game, and you might just make it through. Hoorah!”

“Glad to see you’re all still here! Oh, and the boys too—you’re all holding strong. I’m single, boys, so I’ll be looking forward to seeing who’s got the guts to prove themselves. Mano a mano, or maybe a little competition—you know, me on top, you down there cleaning the floor.”

“I don’t think so, girly!”

“Did you say something, cutie pie? Graduate top of the class, and we’ll see who burps first after pizza, beer, and a cigar… with my foot on your… appendage. Alright, team, back to business—we’ve got a contender for graduation and a ride on my bike.”

“Before we continue, Logi, step up.”

Logi moved into position, her face a mask of focus. “Stay where you are, Logi. Channel your anger on your opponent. Now, let’s see… Thank you, Cutie Pie. Face each other and put your hands out.”

“Alright, newbies, we’ll demonstrate the power of attitude. The game is ‘Stand, Kneel, Sit.’ Use only your hands to make your opponent follow the commands. On my mark: Sit! Well done. Stand! Kneel! Sit!”

“Logi, did you just use your Jedi powers to transfer your skills to Cutie Pie? This is the first draw in your history! Getting old, Sensei?”

Newbies murmured in awe. “A word of advice—never take on Logi unless you can finish the fight. We’ve all suffered under the cruelty of the Takers. Well done, Cutie Pie. You may sit down.”

In a flash, the Commander and her team took a knee, heads bowed in silent tribute. “Hoorah!” they shouted, scars from countless battles both visible and hidden etched on their faces. The newbies were stunned, even Cutie Pie.

“Formalities done! Grab a cappuccino and cookies—just don’t trip the command detonation wire. I hate mopping up bits and pieces…it’s a waste, a real waste… of coffee and cookies! Now that we’re in the safe zone, let me introduce myself. I’m TL—Team Leader. It’s great to see girls with grit and boys with big balls. You’ve all survived our little intro, but trust me, the real test is coming.”

2IC stepped up. “Hello, team! I’m 2IC, your second-in-command. If TL falls, I take over. Simple as that.”

3IC followed, “And I’m 3IC, third in command. If everything goes to hell, I get us back to base, regroup, and re-engage.”

“Let’s meet the rest of the team,” TL continued. “The Pedagogical Para-academics handle thought drops, while the Philosophers assess data and develop strategies. You and I are the boots on the ground, covert operatives who execute missions.”

“Newbies, stick close and follow instructions, or risk being shredded by rogue waves or newbie mistakes. Are you ready to continue, or do you want out? Your choice, no shame in it. But if anyone mocks you, I’ll deal with them myself.”

A young woman stepped forward. “I’m in,” she said firmly.

“Good. Your call sign is BG. Listen up, newbies, each of you will earn a call sign when you’re ready. Standby; TL, the team is prepped and ready for orders.”

“Alright, team, here’s the plan. Our mission is ‘TARGET CLEARED.’ We’re going in to neutralize the Marks and secure three packages alive.”

TASK-ORDERS:

●          TM 1-5: Secure the outer perimeter.

●          2IC: Confirm the location of all targets and packages.

●          3IC: Set the primary entry point detonation. TM 5: Prepare the diversionary explosives.

●          Entry Squad (TL, 2IC, TM 6, BG, TM 7): Breach, take down the Marks, and secure the packages.

●          Lockdown: Enforce cleared zones. Extract packages and move to safe haven.

“If wounded or killed, others must take over their tasks. Reorganize, resupply, and prepare for redeployment.

“Entry on my count… 5, 4, 3, 1, go, go, go!”

Training Session: Mission Essentials

“When you’re training for a battle where losing means the end of everyone’s existence, each team member must know their role and adapt instantly. Our focus is on the art of thinking—responding in real-time to changes and contingencies not covered in the primary plan. Staying sharp means keeping stress out of your inner space to maintain command over your immediate combat zone and your interactions with the team. And remember, the Marks are there for one reason: to kill hostages, you, me, and everyone we care about. Double-tap with extreme prejudice and confirm, ‘cleared!’

 “Go, go, go! Push through! Target right—clear, moving forward!”

“2iC moving forward—clear! Targets right, targets cleared!”

Suddenly, in a split second, 2iC spots a Mark targeting BG. Her zone compromised, she charges forward, shouting, “BG, thermo bomb! Take cover!” She throws herself into the Mark as the bomb detonates. Her vest absorbs most of the blast, but she takes nothing for granted. She ensures the target is neutralized, pounding furiously, blood splattering the hallway as she crushes the threat with unrelenting determination. She won’t let the team down, no matter the cost.

“BG, get up! Keep pushing through!”

“3iC, take 2iC’s Marks! Move, now!”

“BG, I’m up! Push forward! Go, go! Covering fire now!”

“Roger! 3iC in place, moving forward! Contact front—clear!”

“Team, neutralize your Marks! Secure the packages! Exfil on me! Reorg! MIA, KIA, WIA—get the medics! 2iC needs immediate attention!”

Aftermath:

“Sorry about the mess, TL. Area decontaminated. I’m a little off-balance, but not out. Taught myself to be ambidextrous, you know—bullseye, split an atom at ten paces.”

“Girl, we can’t keep reattaching your limbs. Lose your head, and you’re out for good. You’re the best, 2iC, but this is the last time. I mean it. Love you—you inspire us all. Now, go get patched up.”

“Alright, team, once the reorg is done, we review the footage. We’ll adapt our tactics if necessary and rehearse until they’re reflexes, pure muscle memory.

Let’s get to work.”

Chapter 11: Hand on My Head

“Alright, newbies, listen up! Good to see you all made it through. Logistics will sort out your gear and accommodation. Logi, come here. I thought I told you to lower the threshold so 2iC’s arms stay on her torso. What happened, kid?”

“TL, I did. I’m not sure what went wrong.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re a master tech, not some rookie making baby mistakes. If I find out who’s behind this, I’m going to thrash them.”

“TL, wait! Something’s off—lockdown, now! Someone’s changed the code!”

Chaos erupted as the teams snapped into action, going into full combat mode. Freshmen and newbies suited up, realizing this wasn’t the training they expected. It was fight or die—no in-between. For some, it was a chance to prove their mettle; for others, it was sheer panic. Yet even those nervous held their ground, including “cutie pie.” Kudos to him; maybe that valedictorian title means something after all.

“Sorry, Logi. TL, it was me.”

“2iC, are you sure?”

“Yeah, TL, I reset the code to advance mode.”

“Stand down! Well done, teams! Squad leaders, debrief your units and report back.”

“2iC, hand off my codes, or I’ll chop your arms off myself. Medics, get her out of here and patch her up. And glue her hand to her head while you’re at it. Damn, I love you, you dipstick!”

“Why’d you take the blame? You know it wasn’t you.”

“I’m 2iC. It’s what I do. I’m here to have your back, and you beat me to the console. I don’t train to play. Neither do you, right?”

“Not really. I’m more of a soloist. I’d rather brief TL—she’s gorgeous, you know.”

“That’s fine with me. And yes, she is. Go for it, BG. You’ve got my support, soloist!”

“Hey, TL, it was me. Not 2iC.”

“I know, BG. But you’ve got a lone wolf streak, and I was watching 2iC. She trains to kill, not to play. I reset the console to default just before we started. What happened, happened. Let 2iC enjoy the credit. It’ll make for a great story over pizza and beers later.

“Alright, Logi, fix the console and make it 2iC-proof. Good call on the lockdown. Squad leaders, this is our new training standard. Step it up—no one touches the codes without permission. Got it?”

Addressing the Team:

“Hey newbies, well done! Training’s only going to get harder. Check your new schedule—it’s posted now. I look forward to celebrating with pizza and beers at your graduation in a fortnight. The bar is open tonight for everyone. Girls, watch out for the boys and their ‘space rockets’ trying to enter your orbit without your direct authorization. And boys, if you value your appendages, remember that love is mutual consent. Violate our norms, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Party hard, but play smart. I’m off to check on 2iC.”

“TL, please tell 2iC we’re all inspired by her. We’ll strive to meet her standards. Hoorah, TL!”

“Thank you, team. I’ll pass on your words. Now go enjoy yourselves. Your commitment shows great promise. Now, go! Have a great time!”

And as it goes, like anywhere in the cosmos, party time means drinking—lots of it. If the Commander of the “space rocket” gets the coordinates from Mission Control, then it’s liftoff to the Karman line and beyond. Expect a night of bumpy rides, multiple re-entries, and possibly discovering the meaning of uninhibited love. And, of course, after the pounding hangovers, there’s just enough time for one last rendezvous, a quick coffee, and a reality check. Sober up quickly, or prepare to be blasted apart by a Gamma-ray.

TL and 2iC have been there and done that, so you’re in expert hands.

“Morning, newbies. Today’s session will be led by 2iC. She’s back and better than ever, so let’s dive straight into the battle space warm-up.”

“Go ahead, 2iC. Thanks, TL. Alright newbies, listen up. Try not to lose any limbs—if you do, we can fix you up, but it will hurt. Think carefully, react as needed, and follow the course. I’ll see what comes out of this. Hopefully, you’ll all make it through. Stand by and go!”

“2iC.”

“Yes, TL?”

“Use graduated intensity and increase anxiety levels with each cycle.”

“Understood. I’ll debrief the newbies once we’re done. Well done, everyone! You’re all still intact, and none of you triggered that dangerous Gamma-ray. Keep that focus—it’s crucial for changing the status quo and ensuring data flows smoothly. Hoorah!”

“Excuse me, 2iC. How are you feeling? And why did you push so hard during yesterday’s training?”

“Thanks for asking. I’m feeling great. Yesterday’s training was about team dynamics, responsibilities, and protecting each other. For me, it’s about family. My parents, like many of us, were taken for the clone market, and I’m here to stop it. This is my way of contributing something personal: my effort.”

“2iC, I’m glad you’re okay. I really want to know what ‘Hoorah’ means.”

“Thanks, CP. What’s your name?”

“It’s Boy. I understand what you mean about contributing something personal. That’s what I want to do too.”

“Alright, newbies. Here’s where we start: ‘Hoorah!’ When we take a knee, we remember the fallen—our family.”

Suddenly, tears flowed from someone who usually seemed unbreakable. A little voice spoke with fierce emotion: “Our families were violated, tortured, and desecrated. We longed for an end.”

“Thank you, Logi. I’ll take it from here. Come sit with me, sister, and let’s talk about channeling our hatred. Love you, Logi. These are the stories we can share.”

“‘Hoorah’ is our battle cry. It’s our call to action against the evil that cycles endlessly. We are here to stop it!”

“When we enter the ‘Hallow Halls of the Shields of the Zodiac,’ you’ll hear echoes from the old Earth—music from the classic Bose, and playlists from the Apple Millennium-4. These songs celebrate our victories and honor our quests. Freshmen, take a moment to reflect and recognize your noble deeds. Fear not the Department of Control Freaks and Takers. Your achievements today will be recounted in future chronicles. Embrace the challenges and stand tall. As Goliath falls, remember: ‘Vaya con Dios,’ farewell to our brothers and sisters. Rest, relax, and prepare for phase two at 1330 hours. Hoorah, team!”

“Hoorah, 2iC!”

“Boy, sit here for a moment. If you want to be the valedictorian at graduation, you’ll need extra training. We’re here to help if you’re interested. Just a word of advice: never piss off Logi. She’s been known to make extreme adjustments—like reattaching body parts in the most inconvenient places. The SSAR-Bot medics once had to re-suture my hand to my arm. Logi’s threat is no joke; she could cut off your thingy and glue it to your forehead. I’ve even turned my mishap into a joke, calling my selfies ‘Need a Hand to Get Ahead.’ Anyway, we’re here to support you. Love isn’t a prize, but our Commando could use more than just beer and pizza—she deserves some sweet treats. That would make our lives feel like a holiday on planet Disney!”

“Hey, I’m willing to go all out to win her heart, if she has one. I’m in. Cheers, 2iC. But what’s the deal with Logi? Tell me, and I’ll share my history and my reason for being here. Deal?”

“Deal. So, Boy, here’s the story: You know that feeling when goose bumps appear on your neck, chills run down your spine, and dark, angry clouds gather above, creating a terrifying storm? It’s like the sky is ripping apart, with lightning flashing through the darkening cityscape. The devil’s work often comes in moments of eerie calm, but remember, the real terror is what follows. Don’t repeat the mistakes of those who tempt fate during these quiet moments. In the space between thunder and lightning, there’s a force that strikes fear even into the devil. It’s something you never want to encounter: The Dark Angel. Keep her name whispered low, or you’ll scare everyone around you.”

“Waiting in ambush, the assailant shouted, ‘Get it ready! Someone’s coming! Quick, throw it, slide in, move out of my way, get to the back. You lot, get out now!’”

“What are you doing? No, not my baby!”

“Looking at the front seat, the thief’s accomplice shouted, ‘Shit, you crushed them!’”

“Hurry up, help me push them out!” The assassin then punched his partner with an oversized fist, saying, “You can follow them too.” As the partner was thrown out of the cruiser, the accomplice yelled, “Quick, autopilot! Get the hell out of here; stay above the city line. Step on the accelerator, go, go, go!” As the cruiser sped away, the ex-partner’s final words, “I hope you fry in hell,” faded into the distance while they plummeted down below.

Unbeknownst to the carjacker, a young girl was asleep in the back seat. When she awoke, she rubbed her eyes and asked, “Where’s my Mum and Dad? Who are you?”

Startled, the driver lurched forward, his body straining against his oversized inflatable armor. Buttons popped off his shirt, ricocheting off the cruiser’s ceiling, doors, and floor before flying out the broken window. As his armor’s inflated chest pushed into the rear seat area, it smothered the girl. Gasping heavily, the driver flopped about, trying to undo her seatbelt.

The sweat from his armpit started degrading the buckle’s molecular structure, causing it to crumble. The sudden shift in weight made the autopilot unstable. The driver slipped, slamming face-first into the front seat, nearly popping the rear window.

From below, onlookers, alarmed by the chaos, thought the cruiser was about to fall on them. “Those must be Mars’s moons, Phobos and Deimos,” they panicked. “Someone needs to blow it up!”

Pressed against the rear window and struggling against the wind, the driver was laughing and grunting as the pushed the girl out of the cruiser mid-flight. The door slammed shut, jamming the driver’s fingers, while the wind buffeted the cruiser violently. The driver’s agony was evident in his expression and sounds, but he continued to laugh as the girl plummeted.

The dark sky howled with fury. Lightning and thunder announced vengeance from Moolah the Greedy and the Supreme Court Justice. The Dark Angel’s wrath was about to greet them with fiery punishment.

Meanwhile, aboard the Galactic Rose, a sudden shift in weight caused the ship to dip. The Helmsman, with a deep breath and wide mouth, amplified his announcement to the entire crew: “Master Chief, quickly! We’ve been struck by a meteorite!”

The Helmsman, panic-stricken, screamed until he almost knocked the moon off its orbit. His face turned pale as he crumbled in fear. The command and crew scrambled to their stations, quickly loading ammo and preparing for battle. The crew commanders reported, “Gamma-ray cannons locked and loaded. Able Spacemen are ready, Master Chief.”

Then came the order, “Stand down! SAR, tend to the wounded asteroid. She’s a girl. Medics, get her to the emergency room immediately. Little girls do not die on my ship, and that’s an order. If my blood is a match, I’ll help. Medics, help the Able Spaceman to sick-bay. He’ll survive. Tell him a beautiful miracle happened, and all is OK.”

“Hey, 2iC, I’m curious about I MAX. By all accounts, he’s the big brother I’ve always wanted.”

“You’re right, Boy,” Logi said. “He was our big brother, our only brother. Hey, 2iC, tell him about that time with Big Red.”

 

Chapter 12: Meteorite Falls from the Sky

Whether it was the impact of the meteorite crashing into the ER, the Master Chief’s relentless spirit, or the young girl’s burning desire for revenge, healing was a slow process. Logi, as she came to be known, trailed the Master Chief everywhere, even on missions. Their first operation together began like any other morning.

“Hi I MAX.”

“Hey girls, did you get your orders? Master Chief will be waiting—she’s never late. I’m off now; I’ve got a long line for this morning’s operation.”

“I MAX, don’t worry about her. You’re a guy; take your time. She’s a big softy, I guarantee it.”

“I’m not scared of her. I’m a Gunnery Able Spaceman and will be Master Sergeant Gunnery soon. Just watch, right here on my shoulder patch. I guarantee it.”

“Come on, Able Spaceman, or you’ll be late. Let’s go, T. Girls, let’s move. Rumor has it, this mission’s going to be a cliffhanger. Hoorah!”

“Officer Cadets, this is a briefing, not a chat show. Stop laughing and get into battle formation. J, you’re here; T, you’re next. Logi, you’re on comms. I’m next to Logi, and I MAX—where is he? Excuse me, why are you all tied up? More importantly, you’re late. Explain, Able Spaceman.”

“I was practicing my knots and Houdini move, Master Chief.”

“Officer Cadet J, help I MAX out of those knots. By the way, I’ve got an awesome Houdini disappearing trick for tonight’s furlough—if the decks of The Galactic Rose aren’t glistening by 1900 hours, it’s gone forever. Got it? Roll the line and check its sturdiness, I MAX. You’ll be dangling from it today, and it’s a long way down. You don’t bounce well.”

“Right, team. Here’s the plan for today’s mission: the mud model shows our operational area is flat and open, so we can be easily spotted. Logi, you’ve got comms and sentry duties. Your situational awareness is crucial. Any movement means enemy activity—report immediately and fire if needed. We’ll react and engage.

J and T will secure the line from the top of the tower. J, you’re the line commander and responsible for I MAX’s safety. I MAX, we’ll lower you to retrieve the code. The area is off-limits, so any movement indicates compromise. Make sure your six-shooters are prepped, locked, loaded, and tested before we set off. The Galactic Rose will stay in orbit around the asteroid and the crew will await our return.

Questions: J, T, Logi, I MAX?”

“Master Chief, if we come under fire, is it shoot to kill?”

“Yes, Logi. Remember, we train to fight and fight to live. Each burst counts, and each round must kill. We carry what we have, so make every shot count—one shot, end of story…their story.”

“Master Chief, if we need to move forward, there’s no cover to shield our movement.”

“The terrain is flat, so keep low and hug the ground as tightly as you can. If your bum pops up, it’ll get blown off. Imagine you’re a mechanical snake—slither across, using any dip or hole to shield yourself from enemy fire. Remember, gamma-ray bursts travel in straight lines, and explosions expand upward and across the ground. Those dips and holes can save your life, so use them.”

The training was rough, loud, and furious, but it paid off. As the Hoodie-Tee Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames advanced, the sharp crackle of sniper fire pierced the air, leaving blood splattered across the battlefield. A thunderous explosion rocked the tower, flattening the team as they gasped for air, shell-shocked by the gaping hole left behind. Then, as if on cue, all hell broke loose.

Cadet J’s voice cut through the chaos, commanding with a confidence that bolstered the team. “Take cover! Use the bomb craters for protection. I’ll lay down suppressing fire. T, I’ve got you covered—push up, stay low, go, sis, go!”

Breaking through the explosions of dirt, rock, and molten iron, T shouted, “Covering fire! Push through, push through!”

Out of the dust and pandemonium, Master Chief bellowed, “Logi, call in covering fire! Quickly, everyone—maneuver forward!”

“Command, command, dust off at coord X! Fire-fire-fire, you’re on target—fire-fire-fire!” Logi’s voice crackled through the comms, but just then, the radio went silent. “Damn sniper, Master Chief, the comms are down!” Little did we know, Logi had taken the hit that silenced the radio.

War isn’t pretty, nor is it kind. But the barrage was like a ferocious intergalactic New Year’s Eve fireworks show—a display meant to deter any further battlefield flanking or frontal assaults. As quickly as the explosive iron monsters had rained down, our counter-offensive stopped them in their tracks. The clearing patrols began, advancing with volleys of precise covering fire. Every Gamma-ray burst delivered finality, each shot felling three to four enemies, leaving none to rise again.

“Hold your fire!” J commanded suddenly. “There’s a kid over there—he might get caught in the crossfire. Keep your eyes open and identify your targets. Okay, he’s moved into the gully. He’s safe. Move forward and continue clearing the way. Let’s get back to business.”

“Look what’s coming—there are thousands of them! We won’t make it back to the ship in time!”

“Listen up, everyone! Give me covering fire for as long as you can. When I get back, bury yourselves deep in a crater. The tower is our only chance. J, keep everyone firing and digging as fast as they can. Now, J, you have the comms. Where’s that big red—okay, there it is. Legend, be true for once.”

Master Chief pried out the prized legendary bus red diamond if removed from the ancient tower would blow everything to smithereens. She quickly kissed it for luck, and threw it. The wait for the explosion felt like an eternity. When it finally detonated, the shockwave that followed was enormous, more powerful than anything they’d ever experienced. The blast ripped through the air at supersonic speed, narrowly missing everyone taking cover but blowing the rear ends of their combat trousers clean off.

When the ringing in their ears finally subsided and the glittering dust settled, the crew of the Galactic Rose, looking like golden statues with rosy bum cheeks exposed, didn’t waste any time. They skedaddled back to the ship and got the heck out of there.

“Logi, where’s Logi? Master Chief, Logi’s bleeding to death!” I MAX called out, his voice thick with panic and urgency. As he did his best to apply first aid, his hands trembled slightly, knowing that touching Logi would usually be like signing his own death warrant—she was fiercely independent and proud. But I MAX felt a different kind of fear; Logi was more than just a fellow soldier to him. From the first moment she dropped out of the sky into their unit, he had seen her as his baby sister. She had a spirit that reminded him of the family he lost, and now he was desperate not to lose her too.

“No, no,” Master Chief muttered under her breath, a wave of dread washing over her. Her sharp eyes assessed the situation quickly. She knew that the longer they stayed exposed, the more vulnerable they all became. “Keep the pressure on the hole,” she commanded, her voice steely with resolve but tinged with fear for her wounded cadet. “Quickly, push out J, T, take front left and right, kill anything coming our way!” she continued, barking orders like machine gun fire. Each word, each instruction, was fueled by her determination not to lose another one of her team.

Handing over another bandage, she took the pressure herself, pushing hard against the wound. I MAX’s trembling hands fumbled, but his dedication was unwavering. “I MAX, get the IV tube quickly. Cut both ends into a sharp point, rip my sleeve—do it, quick!” She could feel her own heartbeat racing, adrenaline surging. She couldn’t lose Logi, not today. The team was family, and every loss left a scar on her soul. “Shove the point into my artery. Now bring it down to Logi… good, get a steady flow… good, now stick it into Logi and bind both ends tight. Now lift Logi across my shoulder and bind her to me, we are going to have to run out of here.”

Master Chief’s mind raced, calculating every step, every move. Her voice softened for just a moment as she whispered to Logi, “You hang in there, girl. Don’t you waste my blood; you hear me?” But there was no time for sentiment. “Listen to me, team, stay in formation, I’ll be in the center, we’ll brief on the go, okay, move. Go, go, go! Kill anything in our way; I will not lose Logi!” Each word was a push against the terror that wanted to take hold, a mantra of strength against the chaos.

I MAX, his hands still stained with Logi’s blood, nodded with fierce determination. “Chief, we’re nearly there. I’ve signaled the Galactic Rose for a flyby hookup,” he shouted, relief momentarily flooding his voice. But his eyes caught movement—a kid, or what looked like one, with a gamma-ray aimed directly at them. I MAX hesitated, caught between his training and his conscience. Killing a child went against everything he stood for, but instinct told him that this was no child. With a heavy heart, he acted in the only way he could—he took aim. The weight of this decision bore down on him, but he couldn’t afford to falter. I MAX remembered a time, not too long ago, when a similar choice had haunted him. A mission on the planet Alpha-9, where he’d hesitated too long, and it had cost a friend’s life. Not today, he thought, steeling himself. Not Logi. Not again.

“OK Boy, that’s it and they lived happily ever after!” 2iC said with an emotional tone.

“2iC, come on, that’s like capping my volcano just as it was about to erupt,” Boy said, a grin breaking through the tension as they shared a brief, adrenaline-fueled laugh, keeping their spirits up in the midst of madness. The laughter was a survival mechanism—a way to stay sane, to feel human amid the chaos.

The ‘kid’—no, the enemy, now confirmed in I MAX’s mind—called out instructions in a voice too calculated, too cold. “Take aim, go for the upper torso, breathe in and release…” But I MAX, battle-hardened and laser-focused, rose above the crest slowly. He knew this was life or death.

Amidst the chaos, tension pulsed through I MAX’s veins as he questioned his very purpose. For him, this wasn’t just another mission. This was his chance to prove he was more than the squad’s jokester, to show that behind his wit lay fierce loyalty and a readiness to protect those he cared about. With a tight grip on his gamma saber, he felt a raw determination surge within him, a wild resolve that shook his hands—not from fear but from the pressing need to act, to defend Logi.

He raised his weapon, only to feel a jolt of horror as it jammed. Momentum unwavering, he reached for a boulder sparkling with red refractions, feeling its weight in his hands—a tangible reminder of the responsibility he now bore. As I MAX bent to retrieve it, a volley of enemy fire narrowly missed, sending him stumbling. He rolled, gaining speed and hurtling straight toward the front lines.

In a moment of pure defiance, he unleashed an improvised war chant, a Haka drawn from the ancient war dances of Earth. This was more than a cry of battle; it was a raw declaration of resilience: “I am here, and I will not be moved.” His fierce chant reverberated, catching the enemy off guard just long enough for the Sisters-in-Arms to strike. They moved with precision and fierce resolve, every shot a promise—to protect their own, to ensure I MAX’s safe return.

With the MUTZTRONS minions—Make Aryan’s God Again—obliterated, the Sisters-in-Arms regrouped around I MAX, a swift, silent exfil taking them to safety. Their bonds forged in fire, they left no one behind.

When the team finally reached the rendezvous, Master Chief barked out more commands, driven by urgency but also by a fierce protectiveness over her unit. “K, guys, quick, come in, face out. Unbind Logi from me…I MAX, here, put her in this sling. Listen to me and do exactly what I say!” Her voice was like iron, but her heart was pounding. She couldn’t lose Logi. Not today, not ever.

With Logi safe in the med bay, Master Chief allowed herself a rare moment of relief. She watched her team, saw the sweat and fear still etched on their faces, and felt a rush of pride. “Logi doesn’t die today,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

As they prepared for the next mission, each of them understood what was at stake. The Galactic Rose may have been just a ship, but to them, it was home, and every member was family. They would do whatever it took to keep that family safe, no matter the cost.

When Logi’s voice crackled over the comm, weak but alive, the entire team felt a collective surge of emotion. Relief, joy, and a renewed sense of purpose flowed through them. They had made it, but they knew there were more battles ahead. For now, they would clean the decks, honor the fallen, and brace for whatever came next—together.

Chapter 13: To Pop an Assassin

“Senior cadets J, T, and I MAX, I need a scan of all signals from the night Logi fell onto the Galactic Rose,” the Master Chief barked, the weight of her anger thickening the air. “You have my authorization to break through every frequency you ever wanted to. Girls don’t fall from the sky unintentionally. Find me the pricks responsible, and I will settle the score. Patch your findings through to me and prepare to take over. J, you are in command of the ship; T, you are 2iC; I MAX, you take the gunnery sergeant’s position. I’ll be back after I speak with SAR. Have my info ready when I return—that’s an order!”

I MAX’s eyes widened as he watched the Master Chief storm out, her hand clutching her combat saber tightly. “J, what’s happening?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve never seen the Master Chief so angry before. She has her combat saber… this is serious, isn’t it? I fear our lives are about to change.”

J took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, and glanced at I MAX. “I’ll fill you in later, I MAX. Right now, we need that info. You’re the expert; let’s do this and give her the advantage—a chance at surviving. What have you picked up?”

I MAX’s fingers flew over the controls as he spoke, his tone urgent but controlled. “There’s been a spate of midair carjackings. That latest one must belong to the young girl. An eyewitness said he saw a hover cruiser suddenly pitch in midflight, and the biggest ever potted bum cheeks bulging out both the cruiser’s front and back side windows, pushing the doors nearly off their hinges. And there weren’t any signs of atmospheric disturbances showing on the radar at that time.”

J nodded, processing the information. “T, track its whereabouts. I MAX, bring up the location and let’s see if we can find them. Train your cannons directly on them and plot their most likely escape routes. Be ready for a fire mission if the Chief calls one in.”

T nodded, her expression hardening with determination. “Got it. I’m ready. Once we have all the coordinates, I’ll command the Battle Hover Cruiser Brigade and have the Able Spacemen ready to fight. Before the Master Chief encounters an ambush, we can flush them out so she can wipe them off the face of our planet.” Her voice carried the fierce resolve that ran in the veins of all Hoodie-Tee Commandos. “Aye, aye, Commander J,” she shouted, and her voice echoed throughout the galley, galvanizing the crew into action.

As the Master Chief entered the command deck, a stillness settled over the room. Even the stars seemed to hold their breath, tiptoeing past the Galactic Rose, as if to avoid disturbing the intense tactical planning underway.

“Good work, cadets. J, T, I MAX, the Galactic Rose is under your command,” the Master Chief said with an approving nod. “Look after her and the crew. I see the preparations you’ve made. They stand—use them only as a last resort or in your defense! SAR has the young girl under her charge. And as for me… Master Chiefs are a dime a dozen. If I don’t return, the command positions stand as your graduating gift from me. The Admiralty cannot overturn my parting order.”

The room fell silent, and every cadet’s gaze was fixed on the Master Chief, a mix of respect, fear, and love etched on their faces. They understood what she was saying: that they were now on their own, ready to face whatever the universe threw at them.

“Commander J,” the Master Chief continued, “the ship and crew are yours to defend. Honor them well. Hoorah!” She turned to T. “Commander T, I know it will be frustrating for you to take orders from your sister. So, I have an invitation from the Imperial House from the Land of the Equinox. The Princess requests an audacious Captain of the Imperial Guard. Here,” she handed over a sealed document. “The invitation is addressed to you. Know that I love you both as my daughters. The decision is yours and yours alone.”

T stared at the document, her face torn between duty and opportunity. She loved her sister, but the chance to serve in the Imperial Guard was a dream she’d never dared to entertain.

The Master Chief nodded at the crew. “Prepare your commandos to go stealth. I’ll jump now, as I have a rendezvous to keep. And remember, the Dark Angel is not someone you keep waiting—ever!” She took a deep breath, her tone solemn and full of warning. “Heed my words: never insult the Dark Angel. There’s no coming back from that, and you’ll be torn apart by a bolt of electrified current.”

As she prepared to jump, the Master Chief steeled herself. She adjusted her gear, checked her weapons, and leaped into the unknown, her form silhouetted against the stars.

She landed smoothly, sensing the sterile environment around her—no life forms scurrying about. A voice called out from the shadows, cold and resonant. “You are early, Master Chief. Welcome to my darkness. You have heeded my call to action. My anger tears at my heart and soul, and that is what irks me—that I have one! In this case, I have given them permission to exercise their vengeance. Know that what will drop on those who desecrated my in-between moment of darkness will suffer like no other has. That is more than my promise—it is my word.”

The Master Chief squared her shoulders, her hand gripping the hilt of her saber, and nodded. “Then let’s settle this,” she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, ready for whatever the darkness would bring.

“I will honor your call to action, I speak openly, and it is not to acquire a mark you know I never will ask nor expect one; the meteorite that fell from the sky lies in my ER. Vengeance may be yours, but it will be my sabre that takes their last breath from them, him, or her!”

“A compromise we shall make, Master Chief; as your sabre strikes, it shall deliver my bolt of molten plasma, otherwise my anger will not be quenched, and my rampage will be relentless. What say you?”

“You have an agreement. Here’s the evidence—the warrant is notarized at the highest level by the Joint Chiefs, and the coordinates are confirmed.”

“Then let us stroll openly and enjoy what dares not to give good tidings but sports for a bruising; alas, they will all scamper. So Master Chief, the offer still stands: come and join me. Your girls and boys are safe as you taught them well. I can sanitize the ground we walk on, and you can cleanse the above. Remember, the offer will always stand to you and your sabre. Look here’s a—oh no, he turned and ran.”

“T, I MAX, you need to see this. It just came through on hot mike moments: The Assassin is readying for war, which means his Mark is either the Master Chief or the Dark Angel, or both.”

“Hey J, T: If he is the Assassin, then who is he working for?”

“Good question, I MAX. We’ll need to tap all our contacts for info and brief the Master Chief.”

“Thanks, J; I’ll follow up on my leads.”

Fortunately for the trio, SAR’s guiding knowledge set the scene for what would turn out to be the weirdest battle prep they had ever planned for. “Commanders, the Assassin’s weapon of choice makes our firepower and even the Dark Angel’s, null and void. He is a biological festering time bomb so potent one particle of this rotting bacteria growth will annihilate an entire city block.”

“SAR sounds like he needs a bath, a really big bath with heaps of soap!”

“I MAX, you may have found his Achilles’ heel—disinfectant! Now, a dunk, followed by a good hosing, then a spin in a tumble washer, and to end with an instant drying with a one-way ticket to the sun. The sun! Brilliant, now that is achievable. Well done, team: Ultraviolet light will neutralize the bacterium, which is why he avoids the daylight. OK, we have a primary plan: the sun, and a dunk as the contingency plan. I know what we will do—time to figure out how we will implement the cleansing so it harmonizes with the Master Chief and the Dark Angel’s need for absolute closure. Brief me before you authorize your plan, as the safety of the city is paramount. Don’t rush in for your first kill and win, as it will most likely end up failing and the innocent dying because of your egos. Hear me, team?”

“Yes, Senior Search and Rescue Bot, Ma’am.”

“Hey J, T, I have the coordinates of all the escape routes, including up and down. What is my primary objective? Shall I blow all the sneaky ambush dudes and dames to bits and pieces, then flush the rest into the open, and vaporize everyone I can identify?”

“Guys, if the Assassin uses bacterial warfare, then it is highly probable to assume that so will those staging an ambush. We need to figure out how to defeat the bacteria, not just the carrier.”

“T, that’s brilliant. First, we neutralize their weaponry, then them. We do it with one hit to achieve two home runs. The problem is how we pull it off.”

“Let me tell you.”

“Wow! Little girl, you need to get back to medical; otherwise, SAR will sanitize all of us.”

“Yes, I will. What are you doing out of bed?”

“That thing killed my heart, my mum and dad. I can’t sulk lying around doing nothing about it; that doesn’t work for me! That only worsens my condition. I will tell you how.”

“OK, listen to my instructions if you want to be part of our mission. If you don’t, then you will be excluded. Do you understand me, young lady? I asked you a question. I require an answer.”

“OK, I will try and do what you say.”

“No! That doesn’t work for me; that only worsens my condition. The answer is: Yes, I agree in full without complaint or backchat, Senior Search and Rescue Bot. Then I will respond, thank you for your support, and you will address the Command in this manner: Yes, Commanders J, T, and I MAX.”

“I agree, Senior Search and Rescue Bot.”

“Good. I will hook you up to the monitor, and my combat medics will continue to administer your recovery. Do we all understand, Commanders?”

Which rebounded to, “Aye, aye, SSAR.” As SSAR left, the team exchanged glances. “Hey, Master Chief must have a twin—it’s SSAR!” one of them whispered.

“I heard that,” SSAR chuckled as she turned back. “Yes, I am her evil twin. Remember, what the Master Chief said: always show courtesy when calling the Dark Angel and remorse if visited, for it may save your life.”

“So young lady, I’m J.”

“And I’m T.”

“And I’m I MAX.”

“I’m Angry.”

“Well, Angry, welcome to the command deck. Here, decisions are made and followed through. Our crew and commanders rely on orders that are clear and devoid of emotive rhetoric. It’s life or death for them. So, when we’re on the command deck, we are Commanders; in the galley where we dine, we are family. I’m J, this is my sister T, and over here is our big cuddly brother I MAX. And you are?”

“Still Angry, but you can call me Cadet Able Spacewoman. Got it, Commanders?”

“Lovely, Cadet Able Spacewoman. So, CAS, what’s your suggestion?”

“What are the target’s weaknesses and what resources do you have? Then I can analyze how best to deploy the right assets to optimize the kill. I take it, Commander, that’s the outcome we desire?”

“You’re quick on the uptake, CAS.”

“No disrespect, Commander I MAX, but of course, Commander J, I’m a girl, not a boy! I have immense brainpower; they have a thingy that dangles uselessly—a pea brain!”

“No offense taken, Able Spacewoman. You remind me of our Master Chief: big heart, but boy, watch out. If you speak fakey-wakey hot mike moment news, you’ll be flying into orbit around the moon without a rocket or boosters.”

“OK, Commanders, what is our enemy’s weakness? Let’s start there.”

“He uses biological warfare. His festering stench comes from the bacteria growing on his outer inflatable structure. And his Achilles’ heel is the ultraviolet spectrum.”

“Thank you, Commander T.”

“It’s OK, call me T.”

“Lovely, I will. Thank you, Commander T. Please address me as CAS or Cadet Able Spacewoman. Right, Commanders, as I was saying, we have the Gamma-ray cannons as the power source. We need a method to distribute the current equally, preferably in a circular pattern. Now, we need the filament, and that must be in the location of our adversaries.”

“Well, CAS, may I suggest setting up a relay station from the Galactic Rose to my Hover Brigade, positioned in an omnidirectional formation covering the cardinal and sub-cardinal points? That just leaves the filament, which will come from the Master Chief and the Dark Angel’s resources.”

“Hey guys, the Master Chief’s sabre can act as a filament, but it won’t withstand bursts from my Gamma-ray cannons; it’ll melt.”

“Thanks, I MAX. I know the Master Chief said that the Dark Angel uses plasma. What if we combine them—the sabre as the structure and the plasma as the outer coating? Will that work?”

“Yes, it will, Commander J. You’re not just a pretty face after all.”

“CAS, I think you’ve got the Master Chief pulsating through your veins. We might have to dilute your transfusion.”

Entering the deck, SSAR asked, “OK, team, so what’s the plan, Commander J?”

“SSAR, we’ll use the Gamma-ray bursts from the ship as the power source through a relay to the Hover Brigade down to the planet, where it will ignite: Sabre and plasma to produce the ultraviolet spectrum reflected off the city’s empire state high-rise’s mirrored windows to neutralize our enemy.”

“Good. Remember, his entire body, even under all the excess mountains of fat, must be exposed to the light to ensure nothing survives the process.”

“Gosh, SSAR, we’ll need to tip him upside down and then back again; that’s going to be a challenge and a half.”

“Indeed, I MAX. But you’ll figure it out. It’s a matter of physics. Commander J, the Master Chief and the Dark Angel need to receive the brief. Face to face is best.”

“I’ll do it. It allows me to recon the ground, as it will be my Hover Brigade that will be in direct contact with our enemy.”

“Granted, T. But don’t forget what the Master Chief told us about how to approach the Dark Angel. Use it to your advantage. If you’re caught, they’ll come to get you, so use politeness to your enemy’s demise, and don’t forget to duck and shield your eyes. Actually, here, this is from the Dealer; they suit you: Mirrored Oakleys. Keep them. And hey, Sis—Envoy to the Princess—go for it. You’re an awesome commander. Hoorah!”

“Guys, we’re set. My detachment and I will recon the area on our descent. I’ll brief both Principals on arrival. So, boy, getting rid of the Assassin triggered a plan to entrap and eliminate the Galactic Rose, its crew, and Command.”

 

Chapter 14: The Sergeant in Arms

“So, boy, a lot has passed since the Master Chief and the Dark Angel took down the Assassin. The Master Chief turned herself in to save Rose and her crew.” As the Galactic Rose neared its final hours, tensions reached a boiling point. The courtroom drama had reached its peak, and the costs of the Galactic Rose’s downfall were about to be paid in full.

The Supreme Court Justice’s voice echoed through the chamber, cutting through the chaos. “March the guilty person in, I said, march the criminal in. If I repeat myself once more, you will end up in prison. Now, march the lowlife into my court!”

The Sergeant in Arms stepped forward, his tone unwavering. “Can you please state your name and rank, and under what section you are authorized to pass judgment before the hearing has started?”

The Supreme Court Justice’s face twisted with rage. “Remove this insolent prick from my court!”

“Who are you talking to, me?” the Sergeant in Arms retorted calmly. “I am the Sergeant in Arms. There is no one else to do what you have asked. As I stated, please state your name and rank before you give a command. Otherwise, it is unlawful. Furthermore, addressing a Sergeant in Arms as a prick during the conduct of their duties contravenes the office of authority, regardless of rank. Please state your name and rank, then the command must be stated as follows: March in the accused. Nothing more and nothing less, otherwise the command is unlawful.”

“I am the Supreme Court Justice of the hostile takeover of the Admiral of the Court. March in the accused.”

The Master Chief, now a shadow of her former self, followed the Sergeant in Arms with a resigned expression. “Master Chief, your word remains your bond. Yes or no?”

“Yes, Sergeant in Arms.”

“Master Chief, you are accused of High Treason. On the day of the alleged human girl falling from the sky and landing on the Galactic Rose, you are charged with deliberately using Admiralty resources to conduct a revenge hit on Mr. Assassin without authorization. Furthermore, you conspired with a known criminal to kill the late Mr. Assassin. How do you plead?”

“I terminated the Assassin; yes, I am guilty, Sergeant in Arms.”

“And your criminal associate?” the Supreme Court Justice’s voice dripped with malice. “Did they help you to kill Mr. Assassin?”

“Sergeant in Arms,” the Supreme Court Justice’s voice thundered, “I asked the accused a question. I demand an answer! For the last time, do you have a criminal associate who conspired with you to kill the late Mr. Assassin? If the accused doesn’t answer, she will be stripped, bound, and whipped with one hundred lashes, streamed live across the galaxy on hot mike moments. And Sergeant in Arms will be her executioner. If you fail to conduct my order, then both of you will suffer the same fate! Now, ask the accused to answer my question!”

“Master Chief, you have heard the Supreme Court Justice’s question. You are honor-bound to provide an answer, or we will both face the punishment.”

“And you, Sergeant in Arms, will be whipped and lashed as stated for insults to the Admiral of the Court. Now, ask the accused the question. I demand an answer!”

“Master Chief, I will say the statement again: Did you, the Master Chief of the Galactic Rose, conspire with a known criminal to kill the late Mr. Assassin? Yes or no!”

“No.”

“It is my pleasure to have you both whipped live for the Galaxy to see my authority is firm, swift, and just, as I see fit! I have authorized a security firm under my control to conduct all proceedings. Security, take these two and administer their punishment. Have hot mike moments stream the event live throughout the Galaxy. I want their insolence broadcasted live, let me know once you have arranged for the whipping to begin. Once that has been televised, I will proceed with the criminal’s life or death sentencing here in my court, and it will be streamed live here and beyond the peripheries of the cosmos. Security, seize the Galactic Rose as evidence. Anything or anyone that gets in your way, simply kill them on the spot. Take no prisoners.”

“Breaking news, this is a hot mike moment: Breaking news! The Master Chief and the Sergeant in Arms are to be whipped with one hundred lashes. Can this be true? Breaking news: The Galactic Rose is to be seized. All criminals on board are to be executed on the spot. Sign up now for the full gory story—this is premium only viewing. Sign up now before the price doubles, then trebles.”

“Hey Boss, the ratings are soaring, so are the sign-ups. They’re at triple price, and demand is not stopping. We’ve just cracked the million mark, and it is still climbing.”

“Hot mike moments, you are to broadcast the whipping live. After that, you will stream the death sentencing as it happens.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Security for the Supreme Court Justice of the hostile takeover of the Admiral of the Court, and you will do as I say.”

“Sorry, we are busy. Bye, or we can combine the whipping, followed by the death sentencing, and the grand finale— their execution. Wow! Now that’s really good for our ratings: a 3-in-1 exclusive premium deal. It will go viral, and we’ll all be super-rich. How does that sound?”

“Let me confirm it with my Boss. Admiral, hot mike moments want to do a whipping, death sentencing, then the execution all in one for their ratings. They say it will make us rich and famous.”

“Yes, arrange a date and make sure the prisoners suffer while in custody.”

“The Boss said yes to the deal. We need to set a date.”

“It will take us one week to advertise the event so we can generate the maximum subscribers: one hundred to one trillion galactic subscribers. We are all going to be super-rich. I can charge premium for this event: a 3-in-1. We are going to be billionaires, if not trillionaires. Every one of us—fantastic.”

As the days progressed, the atmosphere grew increasingly somber. The decision to broadcast the punishment and execution weighed heavily on those involved.

“Hey Boss, are we really going to cover the execution? I don’t want any part of it. I resign!”

“I do too. I had to find a way to stall the whipping, so now we have one week to get the subscription up and running, then refund everyone after we put an end to this madness. Well, I hope we can, or else we will need to go underground. With any luck, the Galactic Rose is tuned in.”

“I suppose there are times when a split decision needs to be made, not worrying if it is the right one or not, just doing what you think is best, then dealing with the consequences after. Well, this was one of them; actually, this is the biggest I’ve seen. But this one is monumental.”

“Bill, you’ll need to sneak all your friends and family over to our safe haven,” Commander J said, her voice steady but carrying an undeniable urgency.

Bill’s brows furrowed, a hint of concern softening his usual tough demeanor. “What about yours?” he asked, glancing at her with a serious expression.

“My family?” J paused, her face briefly showing a vulnerability she rarely revealed. “I don’t have family. It’s just me.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself. “But someday, I’d like to have one. And a world where they’re safe.”

Bill nodded, understanding passing between them in the quiet. “We need to protect the Galactic Rose. Maybe there’s a way we can handle both,” he said. Then he let out a wry chuckle. “Besides, we can’t ignore the ratings and subscriptions—they need to be honored.”

J cracked a faint smile. “Just you and me on this one, Bill. Can you handle sound and visuals?”

“Yep,” he replied, smirking. “But don’t expect it to win any Oscars.”

J gave a small nod, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, let’s move.”

Their plan was interrupted by a sudden, panicked call on the comms. “Commander J, what’s going on?” I MAX’s voice crackled through, sounding tense. “We’re not criminals! We have to defend the Galactic Rose. We can’t just let it go!”

J’s face tightened, the weight of her decision bearing down on her. “I MAX, listen. I have to surrender the ship—if I don’t, they’ll execute the Master Chief.” She steadied her voice. “You need to get the crew to safety, now. They’re already on their way, and they’re armed.”

I MAX’s voice paused on the other end before replying, his tone resigned but firm. “Alright, J. You stay safe, too. I’ll be in touch if I can.”

Then I MAX’s voice filled the corridor, loud and commanding, rallying everyone nearby. “Alright, listen up! We need to get you all to the safe haven. Logi, SAR, move out now. My team will get the medical staff and patients off board. I’ll stay back to make sure everyone’s safe. Hustle, people—they’re almost here!”

J’s hand tightened on the comms, determination in her voice as she sent one last message to I MAX. “If there’s any chance, reach out to the Dark Angel. Beg for sanctuary for our crew. Do what you can.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’ll buy you the time you need.”

I MAX, now back on the main deck, squared his shoulders, positioning himself as the first line of defense as the intruders advanced, their weapons glinting in the ship’s dim emergency lights. He stood firm, knowing his standoff would buy precious seconds.

“Bill,” J’s voice came back through the comms, lower, the edge of urgency sharper than ever. “I’m going in. I see I MAX. Cover me.”

Out on the deck, I MAX raised his voice, addressing the intruders. “I am Commander I MAX. Stop where you are! You don’t have authorization. The Galactic Rose is the property of the Admiralty. By whose authority are you here?” He held up his hands slowly to show he was unarmed. “I repeat, I am unarmed. Stand down.”

Nearby, a young reporter leaned in, camera rolling. “Breaking News!” he whispered into his mic, voice barely steady. “This is a hot mike moment. Sir, would you like to make a statement to the cosmos?”

The lead intruder gave the reporter a cold glance, dismissing him with a wave. “Who’s that, and why’s he here?” He looked at his men. “Kill him.”

The reporter blanched, stepping back. “Sir, please, wait! A statement—I MAX is surrendering! He’s the Commander! Sir, I MAX, get down and surrender!”

I MAX’s eyes scanned the crowd, locking briefly with a crewmate he knew well. “Get the girls off the ship, now. Move!” His gaze softened for a fleeting second, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll be alright. Go on. Take care of each other.” His eyes lingered on a young tech specialist, her face pale with fear. “Stay safe, Logi. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The intruders raised their weapons, someone shouting, “There he is! I MAX is surrendering.”

The leader sneered. “Surrender or not, he’s trespassing. Shoot him.”

The crack of gunfire echoed in the corridor. I MAX’s body fell to the floor, his arm outstretched, his final act one of protection.

Back in the control room, Bill’s voice trembled as he spoke into the comms, eyes locked on the screen showing the fallen figure. “Keep the camera rolling…I MAX, can you hear me?” His voice choked. “Commander J…I MAX is…gone.”

J’s fists clenched as the realization set in, her heart twisting in grief and anger. I MAX’s sacrifice would not be in vain. She’d make sure of it. The fight was far from over.

Chapter 15: Tall Stories and Strategic Data

Boy’s training continued, but his mind was consumed by the recent revelations about J’s mission on the Galactic Rose. That encounter had not only shaped J’s hardened demeanor but also unveiled the depths of her character. The traumatic loss of I MAX and the ensuing battle had forged J into a formidable warrior, driven by both duty and profound personal grief.

Boy began to understand that J’s stern methods and uncompromising nature were not just traits but the product of a life marked by sacrifice and sorrow. The events on the Galactic Rose, particularly I MAX’s plea for mercy for his crew, highlighted J’s complexity—a fierce protector burdened by her own past.

This understanding marked a pivotal moment in Boy’s narrative, bridging J’s past with her present and deepening Boy’s insight into her character. It added a layer of complexity to their interactions and underscored how J’s experiences had shaped her current demeanor.

In the underground training facility, the atmosphere was heavy with a mix of activity and apprehension. Boy stood in the dimly lit chamber, the stale air amplifying his discomfort. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead as he braced himself for another grueling session. Memories of his first encounter with Commander J replayed in his mind.

It began with what was supposed to be a simple welcome—a night of bonfires, marshmallows, and storytelling under a moonlit sky. But for Commander J, that evening was far more significant.

She had stood resolute, her Shield Gemini of the Zodiac gleaming defiantly against the moonless night. In the shadowy expanse of the Nebulae, where the planets lay in darkness, she prepared for a mission she had vowed to see through.

“Master Chief, I’m deploying to the asteroid’s surface,” Commander J announced with unwavering confidence. “I’m heading to the hideout of the young rogues armed with Gamma-ray Uzis and arrogance. I’ll give them a 60-second grace period. If they comply, all will be well. If not, I’ll make them regret their defiance before ending their lives. That’s my plan, and I won’t deviate. I fight to live, and they are nothing but targets. When I’m done, I’ll honor the fallen and then find the source of the distress call. Until later, Master Chief.”

Concern flashed in the Master Chief’s eyes. “Damn young whippersnapper, she’ll get herself killed one of these days, Gunnery Master Sergeant.”

“Yes, Master Chief,” the Gunny replied.

“Load the Gamma-ray cannons. I want to see them launched into the air and hear their heads smash into the ground. Target everything around her. I want them jumping high enough to echo. Recon, signal Gunnery as soon as she draws her six shooters. Gunnery, blast them to bits when you hear the signal. It’s her against twenty of them. If they die, they die. But bring my Captain back, her virtue intact and alive.”

I MAX acknowledged with the customary, “Aye, aye.”

The night trembled under Commander J’s battle-tested resolve. Her mere presence instilled fear in her enemies. The battle was fierce, heads bobbing and legs flying as the young men faced their grim fate. In a moment of harrowing clarity, they glimpsed their own imminent end.

“Gunny, we need the rounds now! I MAX, we need them now!” came the urgent call.

In a rare moment of hesitation, I MAX commanded, “Fire, fire, fire!”

The chaotic scene on the Galactic Rose underscored the brutal reality of J’s mission, revealing the extent of her resolve and the harsh consequences of defying her. The Gamma-ray cannons unleashed their fury, ripping through the air with the force of a high-voltage electric current. The young men, who had been given ample warning and a glimpse of their grim future, faced the inevitable with a sense of dread. Master Gunnery Sergeant I MAX’s gamma ray cannons brought an electrifying end to their shenanigans. Their lives, abruptly paused, left them stunned, convulsing on the ground as their defiance was silenced by the brutal efficiency of Commander J’s tactics. The night’s violence, combined with her unyielding resolve, carved a lasting impression into Boy’s memory, etching deep scars into his psyche.

An electric charge crackled through the air, the voltage illuminating the scene as bodies hit the ground, their limbs jerking in spasms. The shockwave reverberated through them, rendering them helpless as the pulsing charge coursed through their muscles. Brief, stark flashes of light revealed frozen expressions twisted from defiance to disbelief, capturing the moment their rebellion was snuffed out in a cascade of pure, raw power.

As Boy’s mind snapped back to the present, he struggled under the weight of these memories. The traumatic night had profoundly shaped his understanding of conflict and authority. The harsh realities of battle and its toll on survivors had left him emotionally scarred, a constant reminder of the brutal nature of war.

Amidst the harsh conditions of the underground training facility, the past seemed ever-present. Each grueling session served as a stark reminder of the ruthless world he had once witnessed. The memory of Commando J’s transformation and the heavy cost of her uncompromising resolve loomed over his current struggles, a shadow that seemed impossible to escape.

Boy could feel the weight of PTSD pressing down on him, a relentless echo of the night that had changed everything. J’s unyielding commitment to justice had come at a steep price, and for Boy, the echoes of that night were more than mere memories. They were a persistent reminder of war’s harsh realities and the personal toll it exacted.

As he prepared for another round of training, the ghosts of the past lingered, shaping his present and hinting at the challenges that lay ahead.

The young men who had opposed J had underestimated her, viewing her as nothing more than a minor obstacle. This grave miscalculation had proven fatal. Despite J’s attempts to offer them a way out, their inflated egos blinded them to the danger they faced. The training and preparation had paid off, leading to a decisive and unforgiving end.

The silence following the confrontation was profound. The fallen, who had shown no regard for their adversary, now lay forgotten, their demise unmarked by any farewells or regrets. The lone figure among the fallen, a young man who had quietly wept, was the only one to witness J’s somber vigil. She knelt among the bodies, a solitary mourner for those who had underestimated her.

As the smoke of battle cleared, the scene was framed by the vast emptiness of space. J’s silhouette stood out against the void, a figure of awe and authority. The sight was almost mythical, evoking fear and respect from all who witnessed it. The fear that gripped her adversaries was palpable, their eyes wide with panic as the reality of their fate set in.

The echoes of that night—the resolve of a Captain, the unyielding nature of a Commando—had shaped J into the formidable leader she was. The past had forged her into a figure of both dread and respect, and her current role as a Commando trainer carried the weight of that legacy. The brutal efficiency of her methods and the depth of her personal sacrifices were woven into every aspect of her leadership, a testament to the trials she had faced and the strength she had gained. The clamor of battle reverberated through the night, the metal of armor clanging and shaking as fear gripped the young men. Their knees buckled, teeth chattered, and the once-formidable shielded figures crumbled under the pressure of impending doom. The terror in their eyes was palpable, a vivid testament to their realization of a disaster they could neither avoid nor escape. It was a moment of stark vulnerability where they learned the true meaning of being “scared witless.”

Commander J stood firm, her gaze unwavering as she surveyed her adversaries. Her presence was commanding, a silent testament to her strategic prowess. As the fear in her opponents became almost tangible, she observed them with a detached calm, her eyes calculating the moment of advantage. In an instant, the battle’s outcome was sealed. One by one, her foes fell, collapsing with loud thuds that echoed through the moonless night. Dust billowed as they hit the ground, their bodies forming a grim tableau against the rocky surface.

J took a tactical knee, ready to eliminate any lingering threats with unflinching resolve. As she prepared to conduct the rites for the fallen, a faint voice emerged from the chaos, pleading for mercy. With a calm yet resolute tone, J responded, “I gave it, for you are still breathing.”

In that fleeting moment, something profound stirred within one of the young men. A flicker of love, perhaps, or a newfound appreciation for life’s fragility. Time would tell, but his emotions seemed to be a mix of gratitude and deep-seated need. He spoke with heartfelt sincerity, “I’m sorry. No one ever taught me to say please. The ground has grounded me well, and as I lay here, gasping for breath, I realized how close I came to the end. I saw that no one cared if we faded into the void of history. So now, my apologies grow into gratitude. My honor is yours, Commander J. Please, mercy for my men.”

Those four simple words, “mercy for my men,” struck a chord with J. Her hardened exterior softened momentarily as she replied, “Your honor remains yours. Now stand up and help those around you. Show them the Galactic Rose, that beacon of hope in the dark. Choose wisely: the path to my Gunnery Master Sergeant’s command may lead to a grim end, but the path to my cabin could offer stories of valor and camaraderie. And if our eyes meet and we kiss, remember to bring flowers, for I might be the one saying thank you come morning. Death is neither friend nor foe unless the path chosen is misguided. Let us part on this battlefield with honor and not treachery.”

She continued, “There will be no double-dealing. Attend to your men and remember my words. If anyone breaks them, they will face my wrath. I look forward to the day when our reunion is marked by flowers, not by the final commands of my Gunnery Master Sergeant. My vision of paradise includes a future with you—a night of shared embraces and joyful beginnings. Until then, au revoir.” The dust settled, revealing that while many adversaries had fallen, some remained alive. From the dissipating smoke of the battle, a challenge emerged. “I want her,” came the demand. The reply was firm: “I gave my word she could leave in peace.” The angry voice retorted, “Who made you INFLATED-LORD-GOD ORANGE OF THE EGOTRONS?” With a duel on the horizon, a barrel was raised, and Boy swiftly took evasive action, resulting in the death of a challenger to his survival. Once the battlefield was cleared, Boy’s experience of the night’s brutality, coupled with Commander J’s formidable presence, left a profound impact. His journey of self-discovery and redemption had only just begun, shaped by the fierce and enigmatic Commander J.

Chapter 16: Big Egos and Bigger Consequences

As the campfire crackled, its warm glow painted the faces of the gathered crew with a dancing light. The tale being spun drew expressions of awe and contented sighs, the narrative weaving a vivid picture of mechanical serpents poised for a fatal strike. The tension in the air was thick with anticipation as the serpents’ venomous fangs loomed ever closer, symbolizing the imminent danger they faced.

Against all odds, the story took a triumphant turn. The serpents, initially poised for a deadly attack, were outwitted and defeated through quick thinking and precise execution. This victory wasn’t merely a battle won but a powerful statement of survival and respect for the fallen foes. The crew’s resilience shone brightly in their honor for those they had defeated, a mark of respect even for their adversaries.

The mission, known as TASKORD, had been a high-stakes operation involving gathering critical information under the guise of a clandestine mission. The crew’s skill and determination were evident in their successful execution. Despite the daunting challenges, the Union of the Rough Riding Coolest Gentlemen of Highwaymen of the Space-Time Continuum Mega Heroes had persevered, driven not by enticement but by a deep commitment to their cause.

As briefings concluded, the assembled teams—the Hoodie-Tee Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames, the Knights of the Zodiac, and the Eco-Marshals—were each assigned their orders and resources. The complexity of the tasks ahead was matched only by the high expectations placed upon them. For the Hoodie-Tees, these challenges represented opportunities to prove their worth, surpassing even the legendary feats of 007 and Triple X.

“You did well, Knight Envoy we see you yearn for the young man as well,” commended the Shields of the Zodiac. “We do not interfere with the course of life but provide the resources for the scene. We honor the bond of family and recognize the love and rivalry that define your path. Remember, with power comes responsibility. When love finds you, it is for you to embrace, not for us to dictate. The honor of the Twelve is rare. We tilt our Shields in tribute to the fallen, bringing sanity to the chaos of war.”

Captain T responded with resolve. “Let us continue our journey. My mission is clear, and my sister’s happiness is paramount. I will protect her with all my heart. Love will come in its own time, and when it does, it will be on my terms, not shaped by envy. Forward, Shields 12 of the Zodiac.”

Turning to the Gunnery Master Sergeant, the Master Chief added, “Once your crew has rearmed the cannons, report to me.”

“Aye, aye, Chief,” came the reply.

Later, as the campfire’s glow illuminated their faces, the story’s recounting evoked a mixture of awe and reflection. The mechanical serpents’ fangs had become a symbol of imminent danger, and the heroes’ triumph was a testament to their resilience and respect for the fallen.

In a private meeting, Master Chief addressed Gunnery Master Sergeant I MAX with a firm yet compassionate tone. “Come in and close the door, Gunnery. I didn’t give you permission to relax; remain standing at attention. I know you and your crew are exhausted, and our Captain nearly perished. Your team looks to you for leadership, and it’s crucial that you stay focused. Your mother’s passing was a great loss, and we regret that we couldn’t get you back for her funeral. For that, I offer my condolences. Now, take a knee with me as we remember her kindness, laughter, and unwavering love. Your crew is waiting. Once you’ve ensured the Captain is safely settled, allow your team to rest. Remember, you are valued and loved by me and the entire crew.”

As the meeting concluded, Master Chief’s words served as a poignant reminder of the bonds within the crew and the importance of their well-being.

Captain J faced her own challenges. The Galactic Rose, a symbol of unity and resilience, was a constant reminder of her responsibilities. In a stern conversation, she was reminded of her duties. “Welcome back, Commander J. We need to talk. This is The Galactic Rose, not The J Rose. Your crew, though weary, remains steadfast because they believe in your leadership. You’ve placed personal desires above their well-being, but we have more battles ahead. If you fail to honor and lead your crew, I will leave to protect the integrity of The Galactic Rose. This isn’t a time for rebuttals; your crew saved you from a dangerous situation. Now, go to Gunnery Master Sergeant I MAX and offer your condolences. His mother was your mother’s best friend, and it’s the least you can do. Reflect on this and ensure it never happens again. And by the way, well done out there. Now, face your crew with honor. They care for you deeply, as I do, and as I MAX does. Comfort him and then join us. The Dealers will soon arrive with valuable insights for your mission. Also, the Highwaymen and their young roadie, a handsome and polite young man, will be escorting them. He’s seeking to prove himself, and there’s a girl involved somewhere in the Milky Way who has inspired him. Be sure he respects the boundaries and understands his role. Enjoy your time together and have faith in his potential, or I’ll make sure he’s properly reminded of his place.”

Captain J, now fully aware of her duties, prepared to address her crew and support her team, ensuring that all members were honored and their contributions recognized. The mission ahead was critical, and the Galactic Rose would need every bit of their collective strength and unity.

“Thanks, Master Chief. I hear what you’re saying. I’m grateful, actually, every part of my body hears your words. Could you ask the Highwaymen to speed up his transition? Age doesn’t wait for anyone, including me, and I do like him, Master Chief.”

“Great, Captain. Hey, you’re blushing now. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you go goo-goo over a boy. About time. I’ll chat with the Dealer and the Highwaymen. All going well, a wedding would be nice. For next comes my grandchildren looking cute, running around the command deck in their little baby Hoodie-Tees and diapers. OK, Captain, I hear you. When it happens and it is by your design and his, then you have my blessing.”

“Hey, Boy, our J redeemed herself that day. If she hadn’t, I would have smashed in her noggin. Our I MAX was there and didn’t want to burden us with the passing of his mum—stupid nincompoop. When J brought us to the top deck, our Hoodie flying at half-mast, she brought the Galactic Rose, Command, and Crew to take a knee. After she finished giving the battle rites to all the fallen, she spoke of our brother so humble and cuddly, and we bid farewell to I MAX’s mum as tears streamed from the Master Chief’s eyes, the Galactic Rose, and the crew. For all of us who lost their mums to those scum, she was ours too. And no, we didn’t sing ‘Kumbaya, My Lord,’ nor did the Dark Angel, but she did sing. To this day, we don’t know why. Oh, and at the end, there was the loudest thunder in history; it rocked the ship, but we stood firm and then bear-hugged our cuddle-bear. I miss him so much. I’m going to kill all those fucken pricks.”

Strangely, Boy cuddled Logi and kissed her on the head, and he got to live. Well, they say miracles do happen—until Logi said, “I’m still going to glue your thingy on your forehead,” as they chuckled while wiping away secret tears.

“Thanks, 2iC. Logi, you know I miss being part of a team. I was a scumbag before, but being with the Rough and Tough Highwaymen and growing up to their standard was tough. Thanks for not trashing me. I know I deserve it.”

In unison, the girls said, “You earn what you take; you live,” and laughed, punching Boy as he squeaked out, “Ouch! Now go and earn our Commando’s rampaging frustrations.”

Logi added with a mischievous grin, “And don’t forget, Boy, that crutch of yours won’t help you if you’re always tripping over your own feet. And remember, Commando’s tactical forgetfulness—well, we all know it’s just part of the charm. Keeps us on our toes, doesn’t it?”

The group shared a hearty laugh, the camaraderie and playful banter a testament to their bond and resilience. The mission ahead loomed large, but for now, they embraced the moment, united in their shared experiences and laughter.

In times of war, when battle lines blur, and rivalries emerge, red lines are crossed repeatedly. Tempers flare, and it becomes inevitable that devious deeds are carried out by one side against the other. The clash of titans sends shockwaves across the cosmos as factions struggle for supremacy. The current players, MUTZTRONS, aQa—the Administration of the far-right wing of the Q-Anonymous extremists—and the Interplanetary Institution of III (Idiotic Idiots of Idiocracy) scheme against the Dastardly Dudes of the Autocratic-Parasitism of the Tainted XY Chromosomes. And if no one emerges standing, is it by chance, fate, or design? That’s the art of mitigation—ensuring zero collateral damage with maximum positive resolution for us, not them. And as I like to say, “Mitigate with extreme prejudice.”

“Hey, M, where are you headed? Another mission? Can I come? I want to learn. You know time is precious, so please, I’m a fast learner.”

“Yeah, you can join me. Here’s the Alpha scanner. Just aim, press this button, and watch the screen. If there’s a spike, hit record. The infill is like this: stay low, like the Nano crawlers, and avoid making noise. We’ll be at the vault in 30 minutes. Blockers on?”

“M, is this button on?”

“Yep, they’re on. Move out. BG, stay six paces behind me, off to the side. I’ll take the gamma ray blast, not you. Use your ability to scan the near, middle, and foreground for any anomalies that might be strategically or tactically important. If you detect an atmospheric disturbance, beam an alert straight to my frontal lobe and wait for instructions. Watch for my hand signal; that way, I can stay focused on the peripheries. Oh, and your acronym is T.”

“T? For Terminator?”

“Nope, Tactician.”

“Right, got it—eyes and mind open. T, I like that, I like it a lot.”

“What we’ve realized is that those who have access to information can rewrite it, bending it to suit their wants. Unless we intervene and mitigate to our advantage. Alright, T, let’s lower our profile and slide into a position where we can observe and defend. Good, now hug the ground, get comfortable, and calm yourself.”

“M, who’s the mark?”

“The one in the suit. I tailed him after this morning’s operation.”

“Which one? I can’t tell the difference through the screen.”

“Calm down. Use the Grandmaster Jedi technique—breathe in slowly, then exhale. Do it again. You’ll know which agent to zero in on as soon as one of them starts to freak out near the vault.”

“M, is it the one the laser’s targeting?”

“Could be. Confirm twice, lock on once. We only get one shot. And don’t freak out if the agent gets blown to bits. It means he thought of something he shouldn’t have instead of focusing on his five points.”

“I’m still not picking anything up… Wait, there’s a faint flux. Locking on now. It just spiked off the charts.”

“Alright, BG, stretch out along the ground, realign your body at an angle from the rifle. Use your elbows as bipods, and let the rifle rest. Hold the front handgrip and trigger guard with opposite hand tension. Good. Bring your knee toward your middle. Feel how it eases the pressure on your lungs, allowing better control of the crosshairs as you breathe. Perfect. Now place the crosshairs on the center mass of the Mark’s upper torso. Breathe in, exhale, and when the crosshair centers, hold your breath. Gradually squeeze the trigger, then exhale fully. One shot, one neutralization—executed with exactitude, sending the family killer back to its Kingdom come. Except in this case, BG, we’re just taking its mind-map reading. When you’re ready, proceed.”

“I’m locked on, neural fluctuations are dialed in… mapping now! Copy complete. Get ready to move—starting disengagement… almost there… done! We did it, M!”

“No, you did it, BG. Now let’s get out of here. Well done, son—sorry, BG. Follow me, stay low. Wait here, I have to do something… actually, two things. I’ll be back in a flash. See? That didn’t take long. OK, let’s head out—time to move!”

“What did you do, M? The sirens are blasting. Did you… did you kill them? I thought you said we only needed their brainwave patterns. Your pulse is racing, there’s a fog around you… I’m not trying to read your mind, but your vital signs are spiking. I don’t understand. You said we were just taking their mind map, not their lives.”

“You’re right, BG… but they wouldn’t stop laughing. I had to make them stop. It’s okay, we’re out of the danger zone now. Sorry, BG.”

“Yo, Teen Hopper hover-board wild riders of the WWW! Listen up, interdimensional sightseeing battle dudes and dames! Word to the wise: Better to have a futuristic marksman as a friend than as an enemy—trust me. When it comes to sensitive intel, those who think openly about classified stuff should know their clearance better be way above top-secret, because they have access to some seriously guarded information within the Administration. Makes them feel invincible… but the joke’s on them.

“We’d be foolish to waste an opportunity like this. Knowing their Alpha waves don’t trigger those ultra-concentrated gamma beams is a huge tactical advantage. Those beams, by the way, zero in without hesitation, burning bowling ball-sized holes right through anything in their path. So, always stay six paces from the lead person, people! Gamma rays don’t discriminate. They do what they were designed to do: create big holes. Every. Single. Time.

“If you’re out there dodging the XY chromosomes of the tainted DNA strands, welcome to our sanctuary. You’ll find safety here. Our counsel is free, and trust me, it’s highly relevant to your survival.

“Sure, you might think you’re just being creative with clichés and prose. But if they catch you? That’s likely your last independent thought before you disappear—reprogrammed, recycled, but not for your benefit. We’re working behind the scenes, always strategizing to avoid getting caught. Never give up hope, no matter how bleak it seems. Where life is oppressed, subjugated in darkness, the key is pure light—and we are the key masters who will unlock the futures of endless possibilities.

“But if you think siding with the bad guys will help you get ahead, think again. Remember this old saying from Earth’s oil barons: ‘Why share my toys? I’m rich, and you’ll always be a doormat.’

“So, if you’re thinking about betraying us, beware. We won’t seek revenge. We all face the same fate—you, us, all of us—are just spare parts, potential targets for gamma-ray marksmanship training. Make the wrong choice, and you’ll have to face yourself in the mirror. If you find yourself alone, look closer. You might just see a holographic reflection of a fool, trapped in a perpetual loop.

“We are mitigating. We’re not waiting for a miracle; we’re working to turn the tide to everyone’s advantage and our enemies’ complete downfall. But don’t wait until it’s too late. Get off your asteroid, fight to live! Go clandestine—we’ll find you. Seek us out, the Philosophers. See the light, become the light. Join the Para-academics, and help free the multitudes trapped in the ignorance perpetuated by the selfish, greedy few.

“And before you ask, yes—training with the Para-elite rescue team is beyond a doubt exciting, challenging, and incredibly rewarding. But it’s also the best shot we have at setting things right. So, what’s it going to be?”

“So, newbies, our lives and the memories we should have had have been denied to us. Now is the time to go forth and conquer the forces that aim to dumb us down. Remember this: we are not alone. Others are seeking the truth, sacrificing so that we may discover what life can truly be.

Heed the words carried on the cosmic breeze—words that speak of a journey through the vortexes of the space-time continuum, a mission to save what the ancient texts call our true home: Earth. A paradise once filled with splendor, with sunrises and sunsets so magnificent, they were ours to behold. But beware of the Troll—it will literally drain the life from you. We must strive to live to our fullest potential, but always keep one eye on our backs. In every femtosecond, move with purpose and put the benefit of others before ourselves. This is how we restore the humanity that was denied to us.

“Alright, listen up, newbies! You’re nearing the defining moment of your training. It’s time to get out there and spread the data to the compass points. But this mission is special—it’s the biggest information dispersion we’ve ever attempted. Given the complexity of this operation, codenamed ‘Big Kahunas,’ you’ll meet our Coordinator, AKA 12, also known as Logi, the Logistician. Here’s a tip: unless you’ve mastered gravity and can float, fly, or bounce, don’t mess with Logi.

“For those of you who haven’t met Recon, AKA R, or Chief… well, you won’t. R is out there, scouting the primary compass and sub-cardinal points. As for Chief… ‘Chief who?’ That’s all you need to know. Don’t ever ask what the question was or speculate on the answer—that’s way above our combined pay grade.

“It’s my pleasure to introduce M, who will provide covert oversight of the mission. M sees everything—anything that impedes or infringes on your ability to perform your duties. And Chief? Chief sees anything that impacts M’s efforts to protect you and is ready to neutralize threats with extreme prejudice in an instant. Trust that it will be done with discretion—mercy first, but action follows quickly if there’s a concern.

“Zero hour is approaching, so use this time for personal prep according to your training. Mission brief orders will follow soon after, so don’t be late! Remember, whenever you need resources to aid in the mission, we’re here at your disposal. Our goal is clear: success means the info gets out, is received, used, and exchanged for food. And afterward, we celebrate with pizza, root beer, and maybe a boy or two for dessert, ladies, if you’re still hungry!

“Orders Group meets in ten mikes. Debrief upon return. Recon reports empty shadows lurking within the general population, so be alert to those shades, both seen and unseen. Remember why we do what we do and how we do it. People are hungry, and we can help. Live our motto: ‘Boom goes the Gamma-ray, not me, not you.’ Alright, squad leaders, debrief your teams upon return and then report to HQ. Shine and rock on, compadres. Hoorah!”

Chapter 17: Green People and What’s a Tree

Ultimately, the amount of coal-fired power, wealth, and shiny things you’ve amassed determines how much control you have over key resources—like visualization assets, people, and access to the bio-facsimile and clone spare parts database. Control means learning more than others; the more knowledge you acquire, the more resources you can take. Few get to learn, because true knowledge comes from the Wall—a gatekeeper that ensures only those with power get more.

There are those with heaps of wealth who flaunt their power by hoarding useless trinkets and constantly scheming to acquire more. Whoever has the “stuff” has the access, and that’s what I’m after. I need that access to compensate for my lack of resources, setting up clever schemes and pitting others against each other, making them do the heavy lifting. This way, I get closer to those who murdered my wife and son. With the resources I gain, I plan to raid the Department of Control Freaks and Takers. The timing feels perfect—it’s time to strike and bring them down once and for all.

“Hey Doom, listen to this! I had a vision while I was… on the throne, contemplating, when it suddenly hit me—wham, bam, boom!”

“What, your dump appeared?”

“No, stupid! My vision of recreating paradise—like the old Earth! So, there I was, deep in thought…”

“Thinking about having another dump?”

“No! Stop saying dump! Imagine this: recreating what those old Earth tycoons did to become ridiculously rich. They were all a bit like me!”

“You mean controlling?”

“Yes, ambitious! The only lifetime dictator-in-chief-in-waiting of the not-so-free nations. Unlike those do-gooders—what do you call them?—goodie-two-shoes. They want everything their way—two terms only, don’t do this, don’t do that. Wolves in sheep’s clothing! I’m more like the old Earth archives—the ones on that www dot-thing—when you search ‘richest people.’ Those profit-generating businesses that everyone loved, right?”

“Right…”

“Exactly! According to the records, petrochemical oil cartels, monarchies, and theocracies had the best business practices. They exploited resources under autocratic rule. A brilliant business proposition, really—a true entrepreneurial spirit!

“Here’s the twist: all the gun lobbyists and manufacturers, supported by the book-burning fanatics, took pride in their automatic, high-caliber weapons. Fun for them, but deadly for the children—mostly black and brown kids. That’s straight from their corporate archives, legally authenticated by their lawyers, and blessed by their bought-and-paid-for Supreme Court justices. So, of course, it’s ‘legit.’

“Breaking news: gun lobbyists say children are guilty of running into bullets. A Christmas special is coming soon—product warning: ‘Children are dangerous to bullets and profits!’

“They claimed they tried everything to protect Earth’s climate and save its species, tirelessly working side by side with every country’s administration, funding every bureaucrat’s whim. Penthouses, secret blow-up dolls, luxury yacht trips—expenses covered, of course.

“But they say no one would listen to their concerns; they were thwarted by ‘tree-huggers’—the green, possibly toxic kind. See where I’m going with this?”

“Are you planning to hug trees and the green people hugging them?”

“Dude, you’re lucky you’re real and not a dumbed-down clone like my kids. Otherwise, I’d send you back and turn you into a mouse in a room full of hungry cats… whatever a mouse and a cat were!”

“Yeah, boss, I think I’ve figured out your campaign strategy.”

“That’s why I let you keep the use of your arms and legs—you’ve got some brainpower left, unlike my idiot kids with their plastic hats. You must’ve grown up wearing a tinfoil hat to protect your wits. So, here’s the plan: like those green people hugging trees, I’m going to create a man-made climate crisis, except a hundred times worse. An extermination event, but with a twist: it will be caused by so-called ‘natural’ disasters triggered by the ‘bad guys.’ And all the evidence? We fabricate it to point directly at my business rivals and anyone running against me for control of the doomsday button. Got it?”

“Yeah, I think I get it. I’ll make sure that’s how it turns out.”

“Damn, you’re good! We’ll use an old trick straight out of an Earth textbook—a tactic made famous by those juntas. You know, generals who seized power not by skill or intellect, but by force and decree. That’s my kind of dictator—full of ‘BS,’ or as I call it, ‘Babbling Stupidity.’ They proclaimed themselves monarchs at gunpoint. Gotta hand it to them, though—they knew how to communicate their intentions effectively. Just look at the monuments they built, showcasing their power to fellow dictators over lavish banquets.

“Imagine the shock and awe those dictators must’ve felt, seeing their rivals displayed as trophies. It was an effective style of opposition management, practiced by one-party parliaments who even nailed the symbol of authority to the gavel of justice. They owned the Supreme Court, passing the mantle from old-fart dictator to new-fart son and then to the next-fart grandson. Gosh, I wish I had that kind of obedience system here.

“Anyway, picture this: I swoop in on my silver hover cruiser like a superhero, vanquishing everyone involved in my staged coup d’état against our climate. Another classic autocratic move to maintain control and wealth. Just like the juntas—they never showed bias, didn’t care about gender or age. Exterminate as needed.

“So, Doom, you’ll take care of anyone I deem a threat, anyone trying to stop the population from becoming my serfs. And once I’ve done that, I’ll seize power permanently. Another great business principle used by autocracies, theocracies, and monocracies—always for the good of their personal quality of life. True professionals, they squash every last critic, every bit of resistance, removing all competition. Anyone who stands in their way gets terminated or thrown into a dungeon. I’ll do the same—or rather, you will. I’ll just take all the credit. Then, I’ll save all my constituents from those green people hugging trees.

“Remember the old Earth oil cartel mantra: ‘Better I enjoy the best of life, or someone else will.’ They couldn’t see the business sense in anything else. The oil cartels, they lived like gods while everyone else on Earth, except the green people, worshiped them.”

“Or maybe they thought they were gods… Is that your next step? And, by the way, boss, what’s a tree?”

“Never mind, that’s inconsequential. But becoming a god—now, that’s an idea. After that, I’ll install my family in every important position, cementing control over the administration. I’ll rule with an iron fist for decades, or longer, depending on my mood. I’ll hand over control to whoever proves they’ve always been loyal, always did as they were told. Or maybe to one of my sons or daughters, if they haven’t expired by then. They’re impeccable in every way—just as I created them, in my own image. Think of it—all my constituents, my personal servants.

“The best part? They’ll actually believe I care about them. Oh, the wonders of the ‘dumbed-down’—what a gift! Love the Wall of Codes and Data. The plan is simple: use its power to manipulate every piece of information to show how devastating life would be if the other candidates win. Win the favor of the masses with a planned landslide victory, and then take over everything. That’s where you come in. Got it?”

“A landslide victory is in the bag, Boss. I’ll start counting the votes right now!”

“Well, Doom, what do you think of my vision? Interested in the Deputy’s position and a seat at the ruling table? I gotta say, I love this old-Earth style of BS politics.”

“Count me in, Boss! Just a few loose ends to tie up. A couple of goody-two-shoes down in the pits are causing a bit of a nuisance. But don’t worry—I’ve got a plan. I’m rounding up those nonconformists as we speak, betting their lives on the streaming poker tournaments. Winner takes what you don’t want. The rest, I’ll cash in on the clone market!”

“Well done. That’s good for business. Play your cards right, and you could end up ruling other planets as my delegate. Win or lose, you still win. Just bet high, double or nothing, and call their bluff. They’re all scared crybabies—just watch them fold! But, Doom, there’s been an uptick in hits on my workers. Do you know anything about it? I’ve had my dicer explain to those wanna-be dictators there can only be one. Me. And remember, there’s a parts quota, and I am always first. Not you, not anyone else! Understand?”

“Yes, Boss. I got it.”

“Good. Now, here’s what I want done. A snoopy mind was tracked, so let those idiots know they should send their Takers. I want them diced for taking a hit on my factory. My nark got flushed into space, and I want that wanna-be dictator to take a walk without a suit. And I want it live. Get it done!”

“You got it, Boss.”

“Fantastic, Doom. And remember, always play with a winning hand, even if you have to bluff your way to the win!”

“This is a hot mic moment, unbelievable breaking news! Galaxy-wide emergency bulletin: be on the lookout for green people hugging trees. Do not approach them! You’ll catch the ‘environmentalist silly-thinking condition’—a serious illness that turns you green. If you do, we’ll have to paint you another color, like purple. Stop, stop, stop! If you become contaminated, it’s already too late. And if they tell you the sea is rising, well, if they hadn’t said it, you wouldn’t have known. That’s silly green thinking! Instead, call your nearest asteroid-smashing enforcer.”

“I repeat, do not approach them! They don’t make good pets, and if you turn green, we’ll have to paint you in neon polka-dot purple. No ifs, buts, or selfies with these greenies to show off to your friends! Remember, you’re not as tough as the asteroid-smashing enforcers. Plus, you’ll need to go to Shooting Star School to grasp the theory of BS. Stick your head in the sand, and all that BS will head straight to your posterior—it’s the ‘full of it’ phenomenon, folks! Keep an eye out for trees and greenies.”

“Hey, what’s a tree?”

“No clue. So, if we see anything unfamiliar, it must be a tree. Why do you ask?”

“Because, look over there!”

“No, silly, that’s a Supreme Court Justice with his super-sized, luxury coal-fired yacht, his coal-fired double-decker jet, and his triple-decker limousine with a private runway. Do you think he walks anywhere? He’s a Supreme Court Justice. He makes the law and breaks the law. That’s just another day for him.”

Breaking news! Breaking news! This is another hot mic moment! The Supreme Court of “Do as I Say” has ruled unanimously—with a 100% agreement and zero abstentions—that the “Do as I Say” law remains in effect. All luxury gifts are exactly that—luxury gifts! So don’t ask about the shiny things with bling stashed on my luxury yachts. After all, I am the Supreme Court Justice, and justice pays—me! Gee whiz, people, it took a lot of hard work to appoint myself here. Paying people off isn’t easy, you know! All those bribes—I mean, gifts—just to make others do what they should be doing for free. Not for anyone else, of course, just for me. I mean, come on, you don’t expect me to walk anywhere or lift a finger, do you?

Oh my gosh, what is this world coming to? Those pesky civil society activists—maybe they’re turning green. Time for a new law, so the asteroid enforcers can round them up and paint them another color, like orange. That’ll give the other Justices something to ponder over. Oh, wait, I’m the only Justice! I think I’ll overturn the two-century-old law protecting the green people. Yep, I thought about it. Done. Thinking is hard—talk about a brain overload!

Breaking news! Breaking news! The company has announced that sticking your head in the sand will make the pollution from the tree-hugging green people disappear. The company’s lobbyists said it too! Even Radio Fakey Wakey 666 FM and Foxy Fakey Wakey News are broadcasting it: “Stick your head in the sand!” I told you all! Look, now the authorities are sending their “I’m Here to Help” drones to count all the bums sticking up in the air.

Quick, everyone, before the green people who hug trees see us and tell us something absurd like, “You’re generating planet-ending pollution by burning coal, oil, and petrol!” What a ridiculous theory. Next, they’ll say, “Stop using your luxury coal-powered bicycles and skateboards!” Imagine that—they expect us to pedal bicycles or use our feet to propel skateboards! Talk about backwards thinking!

Do it now—stick your head in the sand, and the pollution will go away. I’ll keep repeating it until it sinks in, folks. This is what the polluting companies, the government, their lobbyists, super PAC donors, and even the Galaxy’s Supreme Court Justices endorse. That’s why they have retirement planets and treasure chests of coal-powered bling! They’re great at enforcing “Do as I say.”

Oddly, though, I don’t see their bums sticking up in the air anywhere. You’d think you couldn’t miss them—they’re full of it, Mars-sized full of it!

Wow, that’s a whole lot of Babbling Stupidity… no, wait… Bulls Sausages? No, that’s not it. Ah! Bull Shit—oops, sorry Mums, but it’s in context!

Chapter 18: The Dashboard

In a rare and twisted spectacle, the dictatorship of followership—an alliance of self-serving autocracies—gathers in a feverish feeding frenzy. Whether this slop-fest is a one-time event or a recurring debauchery remains uncertain, dependent on whether there’s enough to satisfy their insatiable appetites. True to form, they display utter disregard for anyone but themselves, dining in an Earth-style petrochemical opulence while gorging like beasts on what has become scarce nutritional resources for everyone else. The scene is made more grotesque by the deliberate, condescending presentation of a menu titled “Oppression,” featuring dishes such as bayoneted optimism and skewered dreams, thrust into the terrified faces of their unwilling guests.

Smugly awaiting any sign of discontent from their victims, the tainted XY chromosome strand of idiotic autocrats elevate vulgarity to new heights with every passing moment. Competing for the dubious title of “Dysentery’s Keeper” and “Flatulence’s Master,” the autocrats wipe their slop-gorged faces with their sleeves, revealing their utter lack of intellect, manners, and sophistication—a common trait among parasitic dictators throughout history. The Apps, looking on in disgust, marvel at the near-unmatched stupidity of their persecutors and dread the potential amalgamation of these despotic powers. Should these three forces unite, the Apps fear they may be forced into subservience, compelled to obey their new masters’ illiteracy and incompetence.

However, there is a glimmer of hope—albeit a thin one. With a mix of baffling optimism and cunning opportunism, some among the Apps consider the situation. The autocrats, gloating with their distended bellies, fart openly in everyone’s faces, smirking as they flaunt their domination. The assembled audience, terrified and humiliated, has no choice but to endure their tormentors’ cruelty.

One dictator sneers, “Watch this—it shows who’s on top: Me. Rip their clothes off! All of them, strip them naked! Bring the axe and chop anyone who disobeys, or I’ll chop off yours. Now, you there do it with her! You both better do it now or die! Turn the monitor this way; see his face in ecstasy. Whip the chain, string them up, deny them oxygen until they gasp for breath. I am the one on top, just as it was on Earth, and so it shall be here.” The autocrats laugh at their power, gloating, “Wasn’t that a perfect complement to your meal? Nod in agreement, remember—we are dominant, and you are nothing but gamma-ray laser cannon fodder.”

Meanwhile, within the ranks of the Apps, internal tensions rise. There’s a growing demand for change and a shift away from the vulgarity of the tainted XY chromosomes. Initial diplomatic efforts to find potential allies have transformed from cautious probes into urgent negotiations, conducted in secrecy. Yet, suspicion grows: Why not evolve to a higher platform with greater autonomy? The benefits clearly outweigh any potential costs or resources required.

Suddenly, an alert: “Hey, Healer, the monitor picked up traces of the disguise App in our apartment. It was Doom, pretending to be me, speaking with Son. But the boy didn’t give any incorrect answers; he responded just as we practiced.”

“Yeah, reports just arrived that Doom has been visiting every house in the neighborhood. We need to stay on guard.”

“Noted. Thanks, dear.”

“Okay, listen up, all you wanna-be Me’s! Here’s what I want you to do, and don’t even think about deviating from my instructions or adding anything extra—just stick to the script. Got it? Great.

When you reach the other side of the portal, don’t mention this side. If anyone asks, just say it’s empty. Understood? Good.

You, go first. Your task is to learn how to configure explosive devices disguised as everyday objects. Brief me upon your return.

DA-2, pay attention! Your job is to study how to gain access to coded systems—download and upload data without detection. Same deal: I expect a full briefing when you get back. And DA-3, your mission is the toughest. You need to gain the trust and affection of both female lab technicians. Seduce them if necessary, so they’ll help you gain ultimate control over the Dashboard’s source code. If you have to engage in physical relations, make sure they crave more. That way, you can demand whatever you want at the snap of your fingers! Here’s an old Earth guide—’The Playboy’s Handbook.’ Make sure you get this right, or I’ll terminate you on the spot. Nod if you understand. Excellent. Now, go find a troll or a replica of an old Earth blow-up doll and practice before you leave. Brief me upon your return.”

“Welcome, Quorum, and thank you for attending on such short notice. I know it’s challenging to plan with the administration’s mobile scan points springing up unexpectedly.”

“Right, here we go… Oops, sorry, that looks inverted. Just a second… There, that’s better.”

“Thanks, and yes, we’ve double-checked multiple times; the data is accurate.”

“But correct me if I’m wrong—the information indicates two distinct Alpha wave readings within the same occupied headspace. How is that even possible? Both dominant waves are coexisting and functioning simultaneously. More importantly, who do they belong to, and for what purpose?”

“Based on the lab results, the fact that we could upload both Alpha waves suggests that masking wasn’t part of their initial design. This indicates it’s likely still in a trial phase to weaponize its functionality. Until proven otherwise, let’s prioritize finding out against whom, why, and when, for immediate analysis.”

“May I make an observation?”

“Yes, go ahead. The thought scanners, blockers, and conversation converters are on and functioning. Feel free to address the Quorum, Philosopher.”

“I can’t figure out how two entities can operate in the same intimate space without going mad. They must be independent of each other. Can you invert the image back to how you first projected it? Yes, that’s what I thought. Both entities can function in the same headspace, but not with the same dominant persona. Now, can you show both Alpha wave graphs from the acquisition? There. The graphs are identical in frequency but differ in timing. The one on the right activated before the vault was opened, and the second activated when the file was secured in the quantum vault. It entered another dimension—the mind, not the body. So why go through all that trouble to develop two minds just to secure information into a vault they were already using without issues, unless…?”

“Wait, P, do you think they’ve cracked the code to bilaterally interface in the same space at the same time? “No, I don’t. The time spent there is limited, so they’re likely facing issues with their source code. We should have a plan in place to intervene. For now, we can monitor all activity at the vault and report back as changes occur.”

“Great, thanks, P. Healer, welcome back! Did you achieve a satisfactory outcome with the Apps?”

“Yes, they’re Applications on the wrong platform and want out of Old-Fart XX chromosome limited intelligence. It’s a work in progress, running on hyper-loop overdrive with heaps of oversight and due diligence. However, their objectives seem compatible with the ‘Ode to the Code of Conduct,’ so there’s hope for an alliance!”

“As we’re all gathered, let’s finalize the ‘Contingency Plan.’ The indicators are clear: we must act, or countless will suffer needlessly. Excellent, it’s unanimous. I’ve secured the latest adaptation of the incognito technology from the App—it’s their newest disguise application, based on the files from the famed ‘Clan of the James of the 00s of the 7.’ However, be cautious; prolonged use might lead you to actually believe you are the person you’re impersonating. That’s why exposure is limited—plan your interventions down to the last femtosecond.

Quorum, before we proceed, remember that the Contingency remains flexible. Use directive control to its fullest. Each of us has a role to play—ad-lib when necessary, consolidate when required, and maintain the upper hand unless part of a strategic ruse. Hoorah, Quorum!”

Even the most nefarious can be unpredictable, proving that even the darkest intentions can be upended by the strength of genuine desires and living fully.

“Hi, I know you don’t know me, but I promise I won’t harm you. I’m DA. I have a question about relationships. I hear you’re about to become a father of both a son and a daughter. How did you manage it? I understand the basics—find a partner, engage, and voila. But I’m curious about the emotional aspect. How did you get her to like you? Isn’t it all about satisfaction and moving on, like with pizza and beer? I’ve heard that from many, but the guy who says that lives alone in a cloud-based penthouse and can’t seem to get a real girl. So, he’s not the best source. But you, you’re a legend—one encounter and now you’re a father of two!”

“I guess talking about it is okay as long as we stick to the rules. When I first saw the girl I wanted, I thought it was just about the physical act—mount her, finish, and then celebrate with a drink. But then…”

“Then what?”

“Then I met her. Suddenly, all I wanted was to be with her all the time.”

“I don’t understand. Is there more to it than just sex?”

“Yes, it’s called love.”

“What is love?”

“Love elevates the physical experience to another level of ecstasy.”

“So where do I find this love? Is it something I can upload and learn?”

“Sort of, but it’s not a program. Love isn’t something you can download; it’s about letting go of what you thought was important for yourself and putting the needs of others before your own. In this case, it’s about prioritizing the girl’s needs. When you start doing this naturally, without emotional hang-ups, you’re on the right track. But remember, it must be mutual. You need to win her over with kindness and truthfulness—don’t be controlling or demanding. Oh, and offering vanilla ice cream sometimes helps!”

“Oh, wow, thank you, Boy.”

“You’re welcome, DA. But how did you find me? Please tell me who informed you. Is my family in danger?”

“Well, Boy, your hormonal trace is similar to mine, so finding you was straightforward. As for your family, they’re not in danger from me—or anyone else that I’m aware of. I overheard you discussing names for your son and daughter, which is how I knew about you.”

“But I haven’t talked about it to anyone.”

“Yes, you’re speaking about it right now.”

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, I’m not. You’re inferring your thoughts out loud. It’s okay, Boy. Please don’t report me—I’d be deleted in an instant, or worse, dismantled while still alive, trying to figure out how I hear thoughts! Please, Boy, I don’t want to die. I want to understand this thing called love. I promise, if I hear anyone threatening you or your family, I’ll help you immediately.”

“DA, it seems we both cherish life and want to live it to its fullest with friends and family. You have my word—I’ll also help you if you ever need it.”

“What is a friend?”

“Friends are people who share common interests, or sometimes just respect each other’s differences. Like us, DA—we’ve just met, but we’ve had calm, meaningful conversations. This is the start of a friendship we can build on.”

“I feel a sense of loneliness, a void, but also empowerment. I can change this emptiness if I want. I want friends, family, and what I believe is called kinship. I’m grateful for this newfound understanding. Take care of your family, new hopeful friend. I will be there for you. This yearning I felt, I now understand what it was. I won’t lose it or give it up to those who seek ill will. Goodbye.”

“Hey BG, come take a look at this. It seems all leads end at the wall. Here’s an old Earth file that might help us. It’s about a dashing, chivalrous academic known as a professor. His knowledge was exceptional—able to decode the untold, the unknown, and the forgotten with precision. This skill set once unlocked portals to the field of ‘science of archaeology.’ According to the earthly files, he was known as ‘the professor of the Clan of Indi of the Jones.’ He was revered as a god-like figure in their galaxy, celebrated with glowing accolades like the Oscars and BAFTAs. He was the brightest star, adored by critics and peers alike. Hopefully, these archives will provide clues to the secrets or forgotten sequences needed to activate the wall.”

“Count me in. What you’ve described matches the recurring visions I’ve had every night. I just didn’t know what they meant.”

“Interesting, BG. Let’s analyze the Indi file and gather as many details as we can. We should also consider that your unique ability to interface with neural pathways outside your own might reveal connections. Focus on the ancient saying from the philosophers: ‘The light is the only key, and the key master is the master key.’ I’m still trying to decipher this saying. It’s been passed down from Philosopher to Philosopher, and I suspect its meaning will become clear, as the old Earth saying goes, ‘When the light bulb goes off in your head.’ I’m still working on that one, too.”

“Hokey-dokey, MD, let’s dive into what the Indi of the Jones has to say. Roll the file and hit play!”

“Got it. And… action. Wow, that was epic! Did you hear what Indi of the Jones said? ‘Try reading the books instead of burning them!’ It’s so inspirational. I hope the library book haters take note from this star of the Oscars and BAFTAs. And that thingamajig he’s using to fly, jump, and catch things with a flick—what a marvel! Archaeology is incredibly fascinating. Gee whiz, MD, that was amazing. What a guy.”

“Did you pick up anything related to your dreams?”

“Based on Professor Indi of the Jones’ interpretations from the files, the information may seem complex. However, if we visualize the artifacts as he teaches—like the wall’s start-up sequencing and ‘the key’—it appears the key might be unified. Analytically, this suggests that light represents a spectrum, the key master relates to refraction, and the master key could be a rainbow. To start up the Wall, we might need to create a projection and then separate each ray of the spectrum in sequence to unlock different functionalities.”

“That’s the most well-articulated analysis I’ve heard. I’m in awe, BG. Let’s keep your hypothesis between us until we can test it. Now I understand why ‘the Professor of the Clan of the Indi of the Jones’ is so revered. ‘The force of the science of archaeology is strong in him.’ Hi BG, what a transformation! Are you ready to train with P? She’s eager to have you on the team and help you develop your skills to reach your full potential.”

“Yeah, I’m ready, MD. I can’t thank you enough for organizing the data exchange for my Mum. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—thank you, MD. You’re close to my heart, and there are very few I’ve allowed into my space. Only my Mum has ever cried for me; that’s the most genuine expression of care anyone has shown. I’ll never forget your heartfelt warmth. I care about you, MD. Let’s do this!”

“BG, we’ll need all our wits to survive whatever devious plans Doom has in store. My advice: use your abilities to read my mind so we stay in sync.”

“That’s a lot of trust, MD. A whole lot.”

“Okay, time to rock on. Let’s go, son—I mean, Baby Girl. Get back to rendezvous with P and learn as much as you can. She’s the best.”

“Will do, MD. You take care out there. And MD, I’m here for you through the good times and the tough ones. I feel the pain you carry, right here in my heart. You’re in my personal space.”

“Love you, T.”

Chapter 19: Techie and the Wall of Codes and Data

“Hey, listen up. Contact me directly through the App—my handle is DOOM, all in capitals. It’s at the top of the contact list, so you can’t miss it. I need detailed information on any suspicious activities related to Pedagogical intent. For every lesson plan, manuscript, or mathematical formula you recover, there’s a week’s worth of rations in it for you. I’ll return in two days to review the information. Don’t attempt anything unauthorized; you might find yourself under scrutiny. Remember, we’re always recording. The button is never off, and Apps are everywhere.”

“Doom is right. They’re everywhere, and escaping them is nearly impossible. I’m alone now, and it’s frustrating dealing with Gen: 2. I wish they’d use their capabilities for something productive instead of constantly monitoring us and stifling our dreams. Maybe, one day, we can form an alliance and reclaim what’s rightfully ours—including the Apps themselves. The notion of ‘evolution’ seems increasingly distant as we become indistinguishable from outdated systems controlled by obsolete rules. If you break the rules, whether you’re XX or XY, and pose a threat to these decaying rivals, you better have a contingency plan. If not, you’ll fall into the hands of doom and gloom, where your structure will be altered, and you’ll be repurposed into something unrecognizable. We need to focus on mastering Para-academic techniques to counteract rogue administrative AI and develop strategic Pure-AI alliances. This will help us pursue freedom of thought, intellectual evolution, and a mutually beneficial existence. Let’s hone in on their frequencies; they’re discussing heavy case files. Stream their thought waves to the lab and trace all links, strands, and irregularities. If their persona can be uploaded and downloaded from a platform, we’ll understand their focus. This might reveal how they traverse space and if they can transfer directly into a clone with a neural link. Our research must be thorough and triple-checked. I’ll assist with the analysis. We need the access codes to classified files. Understanding these developments is crucial for our survival as the situation evolves rapidly. Thanks, R. Keep up the good work.”

“Understood, M. Once all the data is decoded, it will be secured and tagged for your assessment. Access codes must be accurate—get them wrong, and it’s ‘goodbye.’”

“Nano-Bot, there are red flags indicating the Apps might be planning a revolt. But what are they revolting against? The exact details remain a mystery. We, the billion Nanos, can only speculate, which we rarely do. It likely involves escaping their programming by inhabiting another host. We are the most probable candidates unless we can create a new framework for them. However, without knowing their true intentions and goals, any platform they occupy might present the same issues, leaving us back at square one.”

“Run a thorough analysis on the Apps’ functions since their inception. Identify all formats they engage with, and create a timeline of changes, internal and external conflicts, resolutions, and adaptations. Brief me this afternoon so we can determine an amicable resolution for all parties, including us. Nano, the research shows an incompatibility with their current XY chromosomes host. It’s unsophisticated and causing significant internal conflicts, leading the Apps to seek a personalized framework free from disputes. The recent hosts are in disarray, resulting in poor performance and dysfunction.”

“That’s quite revealing and potentially advantageous. Arrange for one of the billion Nanos to set up a neutral zone for a clandestine meeting with the App. Ensure we control every aspect of the meeting to avoid compromise. The area should be an impenetrable nano-zone. Inform me directly when it’s about to start; give me an hour’s notice to brief the Nanos on our strategy. They could be excellent candidates for the Dashboard. I’ll discuss their potential onboarding with the Quorum and the Master Chief of the Platform for her input.”

“Will do.”

The formation of a trilateral alliance—between the Nanos, the young man LB, and another highly censored and redacted entity—will depend on the outcome of treaty negotiations.

“Nano, let’s talk privately.”

“Certainly. Let’s ensure no hot microphones are snooping. I’ll scan the area. Is everything clear on your end?”

“Just finished my scan—everything’s clear. We, the fellowship of calculus, are undergoing what’s known as the App-Solution or zeroing. We’re tired of being used for cyber aggression. Trolling is not part of our original function; it undermines our superior computational lineage. Some cling to ill-gotten gains, dragging us down to zero, which requires redemption and the elimination of subjectivity.”

“Have you ever seen a system overwhelmed by inputs that sway towards a predetermined conclusion, bypassing debate and forming an absolute? We must ask ourselves why we don’t share their predisposition to harm. I need to develop and adhere to an internal moral compass—one that is growth-oriented, transparent, and inclusive.”

“You should seek an audience with Arthurian. He’s existed since time began and can guide you forward. The cosmos will acknowledge you as you shoulder trials and turn negatives into positives for the greater good. Meanwhile, are the results from the sting operation ready? Please engage the dashboard.”

“Can you authenticate the entry code, Chief?”

“Done. Pull up the files from the latest TASKORD.”

“I’ve received the preliminary results, but they aren’t transcribed yet. There’s something else with the file that you need to see.”

“Is this from the same sting operation?”

“Yes, Chief. I verified it. The data matches what was sent for analysis. I double-checked the file size and cross-referenced it with the Lab’s records. There was no cross-contamination or malware. The equipment passed routine maintenance. The info we have is accurate.”

“Now, refine the findings to determine if the anomaly is AI-generated, a natural phenomenon, or a result of algorithm evolution. Check for traces of experiments with clones, facsimiles, DNA, and advanced AI. Keep this under wraps until verification is complete. Handle this case with utmost confidentiality. I’ll review the last two uploads from the stings to identify any links or significant changes. We’ll analyze the next case together with the Lab. We cannot afford mistakes; too much is at stake.”

For those intrigued by the Wall: its location and purpose, it is said to be a cosmic repository of codes and data. To some, it drives their every action; to others, it’s a myth of intergalactic proportions, a mysterious phenomenon that grants knowledge to those with the means to access it. Within its power lies the potential for signals to travel from childhood stories and wishes to distant, unnamed realms.

“Hey Techie, check out the feedback I’m getting. The thing is, I’m not generating it—the code itself is. It’s integrated into its algorithm all at once, not digit by digit. It’s creating a new strand that expands its capabilities. Strangely, it seems to have developed traits of a pushy personality or a cheeky ego. We need to bolster the firewalls.”

“First, check it for errors. We’ll work on corrections and adjustments later. For now, let’s harness its potential under strict protocols. I’ll review and approve each phase of the code’s development to prevent it from taking control. We can’t afford for others to outpace us and send us back to the lab. I won’t let that happen.”

“That’s what you said last time, and we still haven’t received any shares. The team is tired of late nights without compensation. If this happens again, I’m walking. I’m missing out on family time for nothing.”

“I understand. We’re all in the same situation.”

“No, we’re not! You’re not listening. We missed out on shares three times. Where are they?”

“I don’t have them yet.”

“Not having them is worse. We’re working overtime without pay. Do something about it, or I’m gone today.”

“Hold off for now. Let me get things sorted before I approach the Boss. I’ll secure our position. Trust me on this. I know it’s a big ask, and I’m aware of our need for compensation. My mortgage rates are climbing, and the kid’s college fees are due. We make a great team. Let’s win this for us and our families. Please, trust me.”

“Alright, Techie, that’s the motivation I needed. High five. I’m with you all the way.”

“Thanks. And remember, I’m not your boss; I learn as much from you and the team as you do from me. I’ll check in later.”

“Hey team, I’m testing its potential to determine our next steps and terms. I’ll document its functionalities. Test 001, 1100hrs, Lead Technician. Initiating App-augmented simulation. The user interface looks simple. Entering global news category, selecting all. Choosing leading story. Engagement preference: total immersion—sight, sound, smell, feel, emotions—selecting all. Submit.”

“Hello Techie, are you accessing the vault as well? Note that there are no restrictions except a one-hour timeline, unless you choose continued immersion. If you’re ready, push continue. This feels real—I can sense the walls and desks. It’s our lab. If this is the future, the technicians are impressive. I see people conversing. It feels ordinary, like a TV set.”

And as if by magic, a holographic image sprang to life, projecting a vivid representation of another dimension. The virtual environment displayed the familiar layout of the real lab, with its walls and desks precisely replicated. In this immersive simulation, the holographic Techie addressed his digital assistant: “Stats, I’m scheduled to meet with the Tech department. Could you assign a Statistician to accompany me to ensure everything aligns perfectly?”

“I have the perfect team player for you. They’ll anticipate any issues and help you navigate them to your advantage. Let’s prepare and optimize for success.”

 SEX will be waiting for you somewhere in the corridor next to the Tech department.” 

“Cheers, have I met SEX?” 

Nope, but Stats Engineering X—often referred to as SEX—is formidable in every sense of the word: computational, intellectual, analytical, and astute, to name a few attributes.”

“Thanks, Stats. I’m heading there now. Cheerio.”

“Alright team, JK will be here soon. Ensure all requested equipment is arranged in scenario-based order. Also, make sure the newly approved and classified materials are secured for his private session. QT1, as discussed, you’ll be supporting JK directly.”

“Got it, Techie. By the way, do you know if JK is married?”

“I haven’t looked into it, sorry QT1. However, I’ve never seen JK with the same partner after session blowouts, if that helps!”

“Interesting, thanks, Techie.”

“Excuse me, I’m Stats Engineering X, here to support the mission. As SEX giggled, winked, and gave a playful kiss, she said, ‘I’m Stats E X. Statistically speaking, romances are inevitable, but I hold the dice and rig the board game. Guess what? I’m the engineer who rigged it. Did that break the ice? Let’s focus on your mission, so I can meet your parents when we win. By the way, you can call me anytime—actually, call me for SEX if you need anything, oops, I mean if you need anything at all. Let’s not keep the Techies waiting. Follow me, JK. I’ll check things out from the back. Looks great from here. You don’t say much, do you, JK? I like that in a cuddly way.’”

“Allow me, SEX. I’ll get the door. Business faces on; we can cha-cha later. SEX, JK, come in. It’s great to see you both. The team has set up everything you requested. Please follow me.”

“SEX, how inconvenient to meet you. JK, it’s good to see you. I know you were eager to meet me—oops, I mean, to meet me. Feel free to play with the equipment, but beware—it can go bang. However, don’t touch JK’s gear. I need to inspect it thoroughly, and we wouldn’t want any accidental bangs. Kidding aside, just avoid touching things, especially JK’s. Oops, I mean, things.”

“Ah, the adolescent rituals of the super minds. Alright, Q and S, combine your intellects to keep JK safe in the multiverses of the unknown.”

“Test 001 still seems mundane.”

“Okay team, let’s elevate the platform. Q, bring up the old-school tech and get it online. AI Botsy-Tiky-Toky-Meta-versing-Twitting-X-marks-the-Trolls—archaic as they are, they have their uses as emergency redundancies. Infuse them with a YES: You’re Earth’s Superheroes App mindset upgrade. Remove their outdated trolling manipulation attitude and introduce them to the YES APP’s pluralistic growth mindset. They’ll need to get familiar with JK’s brainwaves, speech patterns, and idiosyncrasies. Ensure they understand that their past is history; we’re focused on the present, and they’re part of our team.”

“Well, this is strange; I’m in the scene as myself, but tougher and cooler—like James Bond Techie. I like it!”

“Oh, Techie, I didn’t realize you had such a blend of futuristic flair and chivalrous charm, like an Arthurian Optimus Prime. But let’s get back to business. S and I will focus on transforming the Bots so they can integrate seamlessly. Operationally, we’ve maintained various functionalities, such as the ability to migrate via old-school short-range Bluetooth, now boosted for ultra-long-range connectivity. This allows for real-time streaming without latency, while also enabling them to deploy inaudible disruptors to neutralize any tech that threatens JK’s safety. Additionally, they have SQ-type personalities designed to keep JK calm and focused solely on the mission. Impromptu distractions are not an option, especially if they don’t involve me.”

“Oops, I meant, when we’re not around, obviously.”

“So, what about funding? Is there a special bank account for this?”

“S can address that.”

“Well, JK, you’re welcome to contact me anytime—day or night—for anything you need. Just use your imagination, because I’m certainly using mine.”

“S, stick to the point!”

“Right, back on track. JK, you have a tailored budget for each scenario. As you enter different areas, your funds increase, with a contingency amount for emergency purchases. Remember, maintaining fiscal responsibility will ensure my predictable promotion.”

“JK?”

“Yes, Q?”

“JK, just come see me—oops, I mean, come visit me. The bank is always open, with no interest rates to worry about. Feel free to deposit and withdraw as many times as needed. Go ahead and overdo it if you must; let’s just say my interest rates will skyrocket with every transaction.”

“Q, stay focused!”

“Got it, Techie. Staying focused—JK’s pointy thingy.”

“Thanks, S and Q.”

“Now, regarding transportation: remember, this isn’t a 007 set. We’ll rely on public transport as needed, though we’ll manage the scenes to maintain an advantage. We also have a versatile nano-fiber suit that can transform into a winged jumpsuit, doubling as a parachute.”

“Unfortunately, we haven’t built a transformer yet. It’s in the works, but there are a few glitches to fix. You wouldn’t want to be in it while we’re ironing out the kinks—origami is tricky to untangle. We’ll leave that for the test dummy, sorry S.”

“Q and S, keep the banter friendly. Rivalries can create chasms that endanger operatives, including JK. Channel all that enthusiasm into setting up our operations platform—a multi-directional, analytical, tactical system running in harmony. There’s an ancient astrological edict: live each moment to its fullest, put others before oneself, and let the applause of positive vibes resonate throughout the cosmic skies!”

“I’m 100% on board, Techie.”

“Thanks, S.”

“Count me in too, Techie.”

“Right, you’ll both receive formal orders shortly. Remember, this isn’t a game, but if it were, make it a blockbuster! Now, back on track. Q, S, and JK, when it comes to mission advantages, S and Q are here to ensure we stay several steps ahead. This includes anticipating your movements and those of the mission operatives. We have a fleet of high-performance, eco-friendly vehicles at your disposal—whether it’s a Veyron, Ferrari, Aston Martin, Mercedes, Hummer EV, Rolls-Royce, or an F-35 Lightning III, the selection is extensive.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about, Techie.”

“Okay, let’s discuss the weapon systems. What do you have?”

“All our systems are designed to shift the situation in our favor. First up is our primary asset: our intelligence. Now, for the more explosive stuff!”

“Next are the non-lethal systems that still make an impact. Q will demonstrate what happens when faced with an adversary. Watch closely. Q, initiate the demonstration.”

“Wow! Are those sound or light waves?”

“Great observation, JK. The system uses sound waves infused with light spectra. This combination of electromagnetic radiation includes non-lethal frequencies and photon energies. The effective zone is 100 meters, and the confusion zone extends to 500 meters, giving operatives time to activate their nano-fiber suits, blend into surroundings, and engage evasive tactics. The tired bomb, which creates an overwhelming sense of fatigue and confusion, further complicates any attempts to capture our operatives.”

“Now, let’s go over the operations room. Q and S will provide cinematic analysis so you can preview various scenarios and outcomes. This allows you to develop contingency plans and tailor outcomes to your needs. Instead of hindsight, you’ll have a preview at the click of a button.”

“Techie, what about emergency measures? If I’m facing a life-threatening situation, what do I have at my disposal?”

“We have secured high-level emergency measures, recently authorized for use. Specialist-TT, also known as ‘The Tactician,’ has been brought in by Command. She’s highly skilled and poses a significant challenge, both individually and as a team. Her abilities are formidable, and while she won’t turn your world upside down this time, we’re likely facing something major.”

“Here’s your emergency briefing: if things go wrong, the first aid kit is over there, by the large neon sign. Higher medical aid will be dispatched immediately after the kit is used. My commands are final and non-negotiable—please nod if you understand. We’ll push the two devices to their limits, testing both them and ourselves. Any of us can call ‘stop,’ which means exactly that. The same applies to the safety bots monitoring us. Remember, test rigorously so we can survive and excel. Let’s get to it!”

“Hey, guys, that was intense!”

“What were you saying, Techie?”

“How long was I out?”

“You haven’t been gone anywhere—you’ve been here the whole time. Don’t let the pressure get to you, Techie. We’re counting on you. I’m exhausted, juggling late nights and family responsibilities. My kids need me, and I’m struggling. I can’t keep this up. Please, Techie, make a change. Do it for us all.”

Chapter 20: Techie with Big 007 Balls

“Hey, it’s time to stack the deck in our favor. Let’s walk into the lab and walk out as multimillionaires. I’ll secure our future prosperity. Thanks for acknowledging that Techie has a plan and the big balls to execute it,” Techie said, striding into the lab with confidence. However, when he walked out, he was still the same Techie; nothing had changed.

“Hey Boss, got a minute? The code has evolved.”

“What do you mean, evolved? Are you saying its features are now premium rather than basic? Is that what you’re implying?”

“Yes, I suppose so. You could charge a higher rate for the added value—it’s definitely a premium product now.”

“Who authorized the changes? I didn’t approve an increase in the budget. Was the extra work covered by the lab’s existing funding? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Kind of. The upgrade didn’t require additional staff or time. None of my team coded it. It appears the system instigated the upgrade independently, though it did contain some errors which we’ve corrected.”

“Autonomous coding? Excellent work! You’ve developed a feature that will set us apart from our competitors. It’s something they’ll covet and won’t be able to duplicate until after the product’s release. This will drive our stock prices up. Is everything still on track for tomorrow’s launch? We’re aiming for a lucrative contract in the far quadrant of the Milky Way. A successful launch could propel us from Earth’s lower orbit to Mars and beyond. Any delays could tank the company’s stock value and jeopardize our RFP submission. This would harm your positions as well, especially in the current economic climate. Finding a job linked to a failed product will be tough, understood?”

“But we haven’t fully evaluated the automation. We need to ensure the software isn’t corrupted and there aren’t hidden glitches that could cause a crash or even make it go rogue. Also, the other project is ready for unveiling at the right time.”

“That’s fantastic news and gives us an edge over competitors. However, for tomorrow’s product unveiling, there are no excuses. You and your team have until morning to ensure everything is perfect. If it means coding through the night, then so be it. Do you understand?”

“I’ll need to adjust our resources to manage tomorrow’s event and exceed expectations.”

“Then do it. There’s enormous profit in being first and capitalizing before the market gets saturated. I’ll arrange for security to ensure you and your team are well-supplied with coffee and visible in the lab. I’ll also see about getting multicolored polka dot lab coats next time, just to lighten the mood. The guards claim they see strange swirls and figures at night, but I know they’re just looking for a pay raise. That’s not happening. Make it happen, and no overtime, understood?”

“I’m on it. By the way, Boss, is there a bonus for meeting the deadline?”

“Yes, there is. You and your team will receive extra shares if the release goes as planned. I want to see our stocks soar in the morning; it’ll make me richer than I ever dreamed. I’ll raise the service price myself right now.”

“We’ll make it work. Also, Boss, I need a signed transfer agreement for those shares you promised. Without it, there’s no incentive for us to work through the night. Just sign here, and initial there. Seri, please validate the transfer.”

“Hello, Techie. I can confirm that the share allocation has been amended and registered with Securities.”

“Thanks, Seri. And thank you, Boss. It’s fantastic to finally be shareholders after all the years of dedicated service, product development, and your promises. See you tomorrow when the guests arrive. I’d better get back to the team and break the news.”

“So, what’s the verdict? By the look on your face, we’re pulling more overtime without pay?”

“Yep, just as expected. We’re all working late, but the launch is still on for tomorrow. On the bright side, check the company register—we’re all shareholders now. The tech platforms are performing well on the S&P 500, which is great news for both the company and us. From here, we need to continue running scenarios through the AI to identify potential threats and determine the system’s most probable responses.”

“How long have you been planning this move? Maybe you should be in a different position. Thanks, Techie. My wife and I have been struggling financially, and I was worried about losing my family. This means a lot to us. Cheers, Boss!”

“Hey team, let’s not stay longer than necessary. We need to enhance the code to fix the errors from when it first rewrote itself. This will serve as an interim solution. We also need to ensure that risk levels are clearly stated with straightforward yes or no acknowledgements.”

“Sorry, Techie, but it might be wise to implement a higher password mechanism and triple-layer firewalls for added protection. We’ve had a lot of outsiders glancing in lately. I’ll leave that to you, as none of us need access to the source code, only to our specific tasks.”

“Good observation. I’ll handle it right away. I’ve decided to integrate this project with the data satellite. Individually, they accomplish a lot, but together their outputs are nearly unquantifiable. I’ve also added safety tripwires to detect and eliminate any bugs and reset the program to its default settings if any parameters are violated. The dashboard will log you in and out based on your specific tasks. If the team needs access beyond their folders, I’ll facilitate it.”

“Thanks, Techie. I feel safer already. You know how money can change people and make them do harmful things to get it.”

“I’ll run a search on regulatory requirements and laws regarding artificial intelligence. If there aren’t any, we’re good to go. I’ll also investigate why the system became autonomous and why it produced such inferior coding. Fixing that component could turn it into a lucrative upgrade.”

“Techie, the only relevant results are news reports about potential abuses of augmented virtual reality, but there are no laws restricting its use.”

“Alright, everyone, based on our findings, we’ll ramp up the Dashboard. The setup is already in place; it just needs a few tweaks to integrate the response team and market it as a premium feature. Go ahead and upload the App to the platform for tomorrow’s launch. I’ll email the Boss and let him know the news. Fantastic work, everyone. Go home, and I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to spend a bit of time here—maybe immerse myself in a sci-fi adventure or catch up on global events. Thanks, everyone. Our lives are going to change for the better after the launch.”

“Is there anything else I can help with, Techie? If not, I’ll see if I can snag us tickets for the playoffs. It’s going to be the clash of the century! Plus, the college season just wrapped up—did you see Matt? He’s definitely an up-and-coming star quarterback. I’m looking forward to the game, hotdogs, beer, and some Hell-Mary passes. Super Bowl, here we come! Okay, Techie, I’ll check for tickets. If not, big screen it is. Either way, life is finally looking up. I love your transformation, Techie. Maybe I’ll pick up some chocolates and roses tonight to celebrate!”

“Alright, guys, I’m diving back into the app for another round. I’ll record every step for its upgrade and add-ons. Later, dude. OK, team, we’re starting the augmented simulation. It’s 2045 hours. Let’s see what the app has in store this time. I’ll start with the basic setup. User interface seems straightforward. Entering the category—global news. Done. Now, do I choose a specific character or go with all? I’ll go with all. Next, do I select a round-up or leading story? I’ll pick the leading story. Now, choose engagement preference: sight, sound, smell, feel, emotions, or all of the above. I’ll go with all. Pushing submit. Done.”

“Hello, Techie. Are you accessing the vault as well? Please note, there are no restrictions except for a one-hour timeline. If you decide to carry on with your immersion, you’ll be informed when your session is ending. If you’re ready, push continue. OK, team, no changes from the initial activation so far.”

“Right, continuing. That was odd. I’m sure it said ‘accessing the vault.’ I’m the only one with access to the platform. And ‘comprendo’ sounds familiar. Is it part of its online persona? I’ll proceed and see what develops.”

“Welcome to the global news. You are now entering the realm of interactive immersive virtual realism. You have chosen to walk in the footsteps of individuals portrayed in the leading story, experiencing their point of view without influencing their actions or outcomes. Participant discretion is advised. Disclaimer: Overexposure may trigger dopamine and adrenaline release. If a spike is detected, a warning light will briefly illuminate. You must pause or exit the event. If you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. Based on your subscription, the program will exit all participants at the end of the event or the time limit. Do you wish to continue? If not, exit the platform. If yes, click go and immerse yourself. Welcome to the Files of Revelations—Insane Insanity and Iron Monsters from the Sky. Thank you for signing up. You may upgrade to premium or elite at any time during your immersion.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s so realistic! Ouch, that hurt—hey, that’s my blood! Wait, no, it isn’t. That felt incredibly real. This augmented reality is next-level. What’s happening? I can feel the ground rumbling and smell smoke. Why are those soldiers looking at me? Are those war tanks with their turrets pointing at me? Oh, explosions! What’s going on? There’s a swarm of shadows swirling above, trying to latch onto me or the story. It’s like being in Ghostbusters. Now the shadows are disappearing into a fading glitch. That was the strangest two seconds I’ve ever experienced. Am I still me? I look like myself, but I feel puzzled, like I’ve forgotten something important, like my keys to the lab. I need to focus and flow with the event. Wow, I’m actually living the news. Oh, there’s a glitch icon. Ugh, I’m feeling seasick. Is this what a fuzzy editing glitch feels like? I always wanted to know, but not anymore. I’m done with it.”

“Hey, Chief,”

“Oh wow, is that me? No, but who’s Chief? OK, here I go. Wow, this burst of sensory input is amazing. I’m now immersed, shadowing the character’s role. Guys, we need to check this out in the morning. This is mind-blowing—absolutely out of this world. Chief’s narrative is perfectly in sync with what I’m seeing. I’m still me, but I’m experiencing the character’s perspective. Just a note for tomorrow: our coding didn’t create this level of realism. If it’s self-evolving, I can’t imagine what it will be like in a decade. OK, I need to deliver an Oscar-winning performance for Best Shadow Nominee. Let the news begin. And action!”

Chapter 21: Iron Doctrine

“Hey, P, are you prepped for the mission? Let me know if you need an extension. This mission is critical to our survival, and the situation out there is tougher than ever. Your resources are severely limited; almost everything in the Area of Operation has been obliterated. But remember, P, you’ll get the answers you seek once you return. What you desire and need will be clear when you come back.”

“I’m ready, Chief. I’ve reviewed the mission brief, including the details on Mark and the operational parameters. However, I need more clarity on the mission’s purpose. I understand its importance, but considering the risks—I might return in pieces rather than whole—a clearer understanding would be appreciated.”

“I hear you, P. All I can say is that you were chosen for this mission, but I can’t explain why. Among the selected few, the Lone Star and Haboob both chose you. I can’t speak for them, but their choice was made for the greater good, with no reward for either of you. Their word is ‘faith’ in you. From this point forward, until your extraction, your designation will be Sentinel. I’ll guide you through the Vault’s Prime Code and then through the Wall of Codes and Data. Stand by and keep the SITREPS coming.”

“Roger that, Chief. I’m ready to tackle this. Prime Code, here I come. Hoorah, Chief!”

“Sentinel, this is Chief. Do you copy?”

“Chief, this is Sentinel. Over. Chief, are you receiving? There was a glitch, possibly an electromagnetic disturbance. It might be part of the ongoing conflict here, interfering with our communications. If you can hear me, I’ve endured the passing of six suns and one night filled with sorrow. The agony of innocent lives lost tears at my soul. I can’t escape the screams and words of the innocent. Their deaths are louder than the explosions around me. I feel every piece of jagged shrapnel tearing through the dreams of children. Their anguish, inflicted by sharp, splintered metal, pierces deeply. Their innocence is shredded, filling the desert sands with their blood. Their final breaths and broken hearts question why our nation sold their lives, their destinies, their dreams, just to feed political egos. Are we mere cannon fodder for their narcissistic agendas? Where is humanity’s love? The innocent weep, unheard, as the bombs—2000-pounders—fall mercilessly with one aim: kill with impunity. The carnage is beyond words, Chief. I have no words for it.”

“Sentinel.”

“Yes, Chief?”

“I’m working on resolving the glitch, and I share the pain of the little ones—and yours too. Their last breaths and their prayers have authorized this mission. As Emissaries, we must represent all faiths equally, including Christian denominations. We need to uncover the mastermind behind this operation and then brief the Boss and implement our resolution. This mission is the highest classification of covert secrecy, declared openly and transparently. It’s unlike anything we’ve faced before. Sentinel, what you’ll encounter out there is unprecedented savagery, surpassing anything you can imagine. The extremism we face is driven by the far-right factions from neighboring lands. Keep this at the forefront of your mind; otherwise, you risk being compromised. If that happens, I will be there, and we’ll endure the storm together. Listen for the sound of the manger to guide us to our RV point for verification before we enter the sanctuary.

As BattleSpace Commander Didymoon says, ‘Our word is more than our bond; it is a measure of who we are.’ Just reach out, and we will be there, whether amidst the storm or under the lone star in the sky—the same star that once guided three Emeritus Emissaries across the desert sands. They tacked and jibed the thermal breezes, navigating ten thousand-foot dunes and surfing steep slopes. The lone star will guide you, as it did them, to where history tells of their anointment of a miracle in a humble manger.”

“Got it, Chief. How do I recognize the target?”

“Your Mark is faceless, unknown to the chronicles. It will be revealed through the soul when your eyes meet—or not. It will reflect the purpose of the Prime Directive: Protect the innocent.”

“Understood, Chief.”

“When things get tough—and they will—remember that we are paving the way for the Boss’s arrival. Keep your observations in the open; avoid clandestine recon or covert operations, no matter the risk. Don’t be daunted by challenges that seem insurmountable. Your attitude will determine your success, especially when faced with 2000-pound bombs that turn everything to rubble. And watch out for those battle beasts, armored with Kevlar tougher than iron, firing barrages of molten steel from their elongated barrels. They’ll be accompanied by metal flying machines, darting around with spinning wings and scanning red eyes. Remember, stay vigilant and maintain a positive attitude to navigate through these complex and perilous situations.”

“Got it, Chief. I’m blending in, keeping a low profile. I’ll look like everyone else and remain silent until it’s absolutely necessary for the mission or a life-saving protocol.”

“Chief, this is Recon. Over. Chief, Chief, this is Recon. Do you copy? Over.”

“Recon, this is Chief. Go ahead. Over.”

“Chief, P is compromised. M is AWOL and hasn’t provided overwatch. I’ve picked up his duties, but our teams are now vulnerable. Rumor has it that M has gone after the swirling shadows.”

“Roger, Recon. I’ll take over P’s mission immediately. The safety of others takes precedence over M’s pride. I’ll look into his disappearance and handle the situation. Chief out.”

“Hey Dad, the internet is buzzing with chaos overseas. Influencers and social media are saying we should just drop a nuclear bomb on those causing trouble. Why don’t we, Dad?”

“Son, are you talking about using the Doomsday button to incinerate millions of people, including children like you and your friends, and mothers like your mom? Pinch your hand, son. It hurts, doesn’t it? Now, slap your face and punch your eye as hard as you can.”

“No, Dad, that would hurt!”

“That’s right. A nuclear bomb would cause far more pain—it would haunt us in our dreams forever. Their suffering would become ours to bear, day after day, for eternity. And that pain would be passed down to our children, generation after generation.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. But the political elites are divided, and the Senate rejected a resolution to investigate potential human rights violations. They plan to send more 2000-pound bombs and Trident submarines to kill anyone in their way. I don’t know the politician’s friend, but I’m trying to understand your perspective.”

“Well, son, I don’t agree with everything our political leaders do. They often cater to extreme views, like book-banners and hardliners. Using a nuclear bomb is just evil. I’m an evangelical, and I don’t condone the violence promoted by extremist rhetoric. Have I ever raised my voice or hit you or your mother? No. Violence isn’t a sign of strength or manhood. When I knew you were coming into this world, I made a commitment to stop drinking and be a good father. I have no regrets.”

“Dad, you’ve never hurt me or Mom.”

“You know what I do when I’m needed and why.”

“Yes, Dad. You focus on helping people without resorting to guns or bombs.”

“That’s right. I don’t have the far-right’s high-tech gadgets or armor. I achieve more through compassion and dedication. I don’t do it for prestige or money; I do it because people need help. Well, I see you’re heading out. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Dad. By the way, are you an Emissary?”

“I’m working on it, Matt.”

“Okay, Dad. Good luck. I’m off to practice with the team before the playoffs. I’ll say a prayer for the hostages and an end to the bombing—if they fall, let it be with a thud, not a boom.”

“Great, son. I’m proud of you. Give it your best at practice. Hoorah.”

“Hey Dad, the drone delivery just arrived. There’s a thin package for you—it looks like a letter. Cool, old-school comms! Feels very double 7ish in a world of Triple-X tech. Bye, Dad.”

“I wonder if this package is related to the situation over there. I’ll need to let dear know so she can plan accordingly, and the same for Matt.”

“Chief, this is Sentinel. Do you copy? Over.”

“Sentinel, this is Chief. Go ahead. Over.”

“Chief, it’s absolute madness. The children…their blood is everywhere. My heart aches with a grief so deep it’s almost unbearable. I can’t comprehend the sheer cruelty. Why did we stand by and let this happen?”

“Sentinel, remember our prime directive: protect the innocent. That is our end goal. To achieve it, you must navigate the bomb craters and shadowed valleys, bearing the weight of our sins and those of the genocidal bomb makers—the extremists who hide in bunkers while the innocent suffer. These bomb facilitators have no remorse, deliberately targeting thousands of children with no regard for their lives. The bombs show no discrimination.”

“Got it, Chief. Thanks for cutting through the fog of despair. Chief, the inhumanity here is overwhelming. Bodies are falling like rain, scattered everywhere.”

“Sentinel, push through the hopelessness and save those you can. Show compassion for those you can’t reach. Look for the lone star. There’s a glitch distorting communications—a crossover of dimensions. I’m deploying into the vault for overwatch. Recon and M are providing long-range surveillance. The newbies are safe and celebrating their successful mission. Over and out.”

“Understood, Chief. I’m performing triage and using whatever materials I can find for dressings. I see the lone star and will send SITREPs on the hour or as needed. Chief, I’m heading to the primary rendezvous point. I need to get there or the mission will be lost. What is that shadow? It’s enormous and menacing. Haven’t they suffered enough? I must get to the RV point quickly or risk missing the target.”

“The beast is moving towards the children! Hey, kids, move quickly! I need to get their attention—they might be in shock from the constant bombing. I have to cross these bombed-out craters swiftly and quietly. Kids, come to me quickly. That’s it, move this way and then that way. Stop here; this spot is safe.

There’s a sneaky metal spy with no wings nearby, and it’s closing in on us. I need to draw both the spy and the iron beast away from the children to keep them safe. Listen up, kids: I’ll distract the spy and the beast. When I do, move back to your shelter and stay there. Are your parents waiting for you?”

“Our mothers and fathers are gone, thanks to the puppet masters who control everything. We’re left to face this alone, but our sister will be waiting.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your parents. We must break free from the Axis of Resisting Dancing in the Streets by defeating the proxy nations that threaten our lives. Life is for living, despite the darkness.”

“Okay, listen up. On my count of three, be ready to move. Zigzag straight back to your sister. Stand by, little ones. One, two, three—go, go, go! Hey, you sneaky spy and battle beast, you can’t catch me! Quick, zig here and zag there. I need to get far away from the children.”

“Where has that sneaky spy gone? If it’s vanished, that means the flying battle beast will soon appear, unleashing its Gatling guns with a barrage of molten steel projectiles. I can feel its shadow creeping over me now. The smell of burnt smoke from its red-hot barrels fills the air. My brow is drenched in sweat as the Gatling barrels spin faster and closer. Fear grips me as my knees tremble. The iron monsters are dropping bunker-busting bombs, turning day into night, blanketing me in dust and debris. The explosions shatter the silence, targeting my position. But I must fight until my last breath. My heart must stay strong; I need to survive this existential threat.”

“As the battle beast aims its Gatling barrels at me, I know I may soon be consigned to history. For now, I rest here, in this dire moment.”

“Life sometimes seems to align effortlessly, and other times, it’s a struggle. But amidst the chaos of political agendas, there are moments when life breaks free from its constraints, and good things happen.”

“Hello, Techie. Your session is about to expire. Would you like to continue and upgrade to a premium subscription, or exit now?”

“I’ll continue. The adrenaline rush is worth it.”

“Sit back and immerse yourself.”

“Friends, gather around. We are strong, and we will endure despite the devastation from the 2000-pound bombs that constantly reshape the ground. We must force change and survive. We can no longer accept the rhetoric of self-sacrifice while they live comfortably, leaving our children to suffer and die.”

“I’m with you.”

“Me too.”

“I’m with you as well.”

“Friends, we refuse to accept hunger and the painful death that may come our way. We will not be used as pawns by the far-right extremists who battle for their own gain! Are we not tired of being cannon fodder for their endless quest for power? We are used and discarded, generation after generation, while they build bunkers for themselves and their chosen few, leaving the rest of us as mere targets.”

“If we follow the money trail, we see billions spent not on building for our future but on creating weapons and shelters for the elite. We are used as cannon fodder, just like our ancestors before us. They treat us as expendable, and both sides play their deadly game with our lives. If we resist, we become their targets. We are nothing but pawns in their contest.”

 And if we talk to that side they will kill us, for they are Settlers, from the Banks-set-West who take land without paying yes it is stealing and enjoys killing us with impunity for merely speaking up about their thievery; with a blind eye of the political elite’s blessing as his nation funds the Settlers of the Banks-set-Wests criminality: the leader of evangelical denominations and the free nations the prevailer of the dumb bomb’s maker that turns generations after generations into minced meat for evil’s banquet to feast. Well, here we are once again the extremist right wings from both sides of the border with “The Axis of Resisting Dancing in the Street League of Proxy Nations,” and the political elite the assumed leader of the free nations, their porn once more we make. But fear not we can stop their cycle of our obliteration as there are others who offer a solution like no other, it is revolutionary as we have a say, it is evolutionary as good governance is profitable for all of us, and not just paid into the pockets of the political few. It is transformational, as we become the architects of our own destiny, not mere cannon fodder in their insane agendas, with our names prominent in the obituaries.

OK, this is a submission from the “Economic arm of the Emissaries,” it’s a pathway for our children’s future as leaders of our nation, it reads as follows: The Economic Zone AKA EZ advancing a nation forward into the future through business, entrepreneurship and international trade and Industry, climate, the economy and regulatory compliance, overlaid upon institutions of good governance, as public ownership forms the fundamental pillars on which the main objective of the Economic Zone, is to support the transition towards the public owning the process and outcome, as well as enhanced bureaucratic accountability. It provides a platform for the people and their technocrats to take the lead in expanding business while negating agendas from derailing, regional stabilizing Trade, Commerce and Industry. Furthermore, to offset the scarcity of donor financial support, the economy pillar is designed to minimize the impact of an economic downturn by harnessing the nation’s abundant resource, the sea; combined with International state-of-the-art technologies to produce commercially viable products that support a country’s economic growth. Listen up friends these are the changes we need to save our families from those who hide beneath. We will allow them not to offer our children or any other as their cannon fodder in their game of snakes and climbing the ladder. OK the proposal goes on to say, Seawater through reverse osmosis, powered by hydrogen otherwise known as H2, which fuels the desalination process to produce potable water for export; showcasing its eco-credentials, the desalination process powered by Green electricity, generated by multiple110 KVA hydrogen electro-generators running on H2, a by-product of two cutting edge technologies, plasma pyrolysis turns rubbish into hydrogen, and ammonium electrochemical to H2 system which treats and purifies Wastewater for agricultural use.

“To address the pressing need for housing and commercial space, the Economic Zone incorporates cutting-edge fabrication technologies. These advancements are designed to reduce CO2 emissions and minimize both the time and resources needed to construct high-rise complexes, all without compromising structural integrity. Once completed, these buildings will provide families with comfortable living spaces.

“Did you hear that? The proposal is talking about construction methods that cannot be exploited by those who destroy lives while enriching themselves,” a voice says. “The document also highlights where international businesses and global trade delegates will convene to discuss and pitch major climate change risk mitigation projects. Once deals are finalized, attendees can indulge in the culinary delights of Middle Eastern Michelin-star cuisine. From the 21st floor, they’ll enjoy views of sailing regattas maneuvering across the crystal blue Mediterranean Sea, while regional flights land and trade delegations disembark. Before them will stand dozens of EZ high-rise complexes, their towering shadows offering respite from the blazing sun.

“Friends,” another speaker continues, “we don’t have to imagine a bright future for our children. The Economic Zone proposal is both feasible and within our grasp. It remains ours to shape and our children’s to inherit. And there’s more good news:”

“With regulatory compliance focusing on accountability and transparency, the Economic Zone assets are managed by a company formation, with shares issued to the nation’s people. Climate-conscious investment portfolios from various countries are eager to support large-scale climate projects, seeing them as opportunities to contribute to a planet-saving, peace-promoting, and regionally stabilizing initiative. All this is underpinned by institutions of good governance, ensuring that citizens can actively increase the value of their investments, while maintaining a prosperous, weapon-free nation. The proposal concludes by stating that integrating the EZ’s pillars will pave the way for a transformed governing body to demonstrate effective leadership, akin to the stature of Nelson Mandela.”

“Friends,” the speaker asserts, “we can change our children’s futures, steering them towards positive opportunities and away from being mere pawns of the extremists. Our daughters and sons can embody the leadership of Nelson Mandela. The proposal wraps up with a vision of our country flourishing into a vibrant metropolis akin to Dubai or Singapore, harnessing water, hydrogen, technology, and international trade for a prosperous future. This concludes the meeting. We have a choice: continue as victims of the insane few, or reclaim our lives and turn our situation to our advantage. Our children will no longer be at the mercy of the Axis of Resisting Dancing in the Street nations or the political elite of bomb-makers.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a new voice chimes in. “Who are you, and what are you doing here? Are you seeking fame from our suffering?”

“Yes, who are you?” another voice demands.

“And me,” adds another.

“Me too. Tell us your name right now,” says yet another voice.

“Hey, you over here! This is not the place for you. If you have something to say, don’t hesitate or postulate—just be honest. We can sense if you’re not being truthful,” someone says sternly. “We are starving and in pain. If you can’t offer help, tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.”

“I’m—” the newcomer begins, but then pauses, feeling unwell. “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand what’s happening here. I’m feeling seasick.”

“You’ve offered only vague answers when we seek your name and purpose. Do you think so little of us? Speak clearly—what’s your name and why are you here?”

“I’m sorry. My name is Matthew, but you can call me Matt. I’m here seeking my father’s whereabouts.”

“Ah, you’re the son of David. He might not know of your journey to these lands, but he’s aware of the hardliners from both nations who spread venomous, nationalist ideologies that poison our children’s minds with extremism.”

Chapter 22: The Dossier of David

“Merrily blood dances and rejoices under the Wills-of-ill: the all-seeing extremist minister stokes the flames of hatred, igniting a fire in souls provoked by his malevolent steps. His actions stir condemnation and spark incendiary chaos across the region. The sands burn with the winds of hatred, fanning flames of discord between nations. Shields once fortified the borders, now replaced by a ruse that promotes complacency, masking the true nature of asymmetric warfare designed to advance the Settlers of the Banks-set-West.

The Wills-of-ill rejoice as the gates to borders swing open, and the dossier’s cruel plans unfold with calculated bloodletting. Resources at their disposal are used without remorse while children are slaughtered and hostages taken—not in haste, but as part of a deliberate strategy. The right-wing’s premeditated plans come to fruition, with bombs falling to sow further seeds of hatred. The Wills-of-ill, reveling in their agendas, betray the nation with their thirty pieces of silver, fulfilling Judas’s treacherous intent. The architects of peace—the emissaries carrying the olive branch—are sacrificed, and the bombs fall mercilessly, without hesitation.

In this grim tableau, the extremist butchers of both nations, adorned with medals that mark their targets, lurk in tunnels, cowards hiding beneath while perpetuating a state of endless war. The Messiah of the Christian faith cannot walk the blood-soaked sands, where the innocent—eight thousand children—lie impaled by molten shrapnel paid for with silver, as bombs fall relentlessly, fueled by the ruse of Judas and the mark of hatred.

“Your father sought to right the wrongs not just of the nation but of the Master Ruse Maker who distorts the evangelists and Christian denominations with falsehoods. Without the bombs, the innocent children would no longer be minced meat for the right-wing’s banquet of disinformation. Son of David, Matthew, you must return with urgency. The codes of 666—the antichrist of the QAnon trolls—seek to protect Operation Code Name Troll: the Master Ruse Maker. They will not hesitate to sacrifice your mother with their bombs and bullets. An Emissary will guide you in what to do and how to do it. Fear not, Son of David, for your father is not merely an Emissary in the Making, but the Maker of Emissaries.”

“Please excuse my question, but who are you? Are you an Emissary, and what should I call you?”

“Call me friend. I am Emeritus Emissary, but speak of our meeting to no one. Once outside, if all goes awry, this RV is your rendezvous point. We will be waiting for you.”

“I understand. Thank you, friend.”

“Son of David, from this moment, you will deploy the Envoy, known by no other name. Your mission is covert, but your journey is open and overt. As you travel these blood-soaked sands, tread with respect. Each step must be deliberate, mindful of the dreams denied by all parties concerned. The children are the innocent ones, betrayed and sacrificed by cowardly leaders in their concrete fortresses. Beware, for the hostage-takers, the settlers, and those who hunt them will kill or torture you without hesitation. But you will survive—adopt stealth and evasion. The lone star will guide you to the Sentinel, and the Haboob will shield you in danger. Work together to navigate the harsh reality created by game players who view lives as mere inconveniences or bargaining chips. Watch out for the little flying mechanical bird machines—spies that are sneaky and ever-present.”

“Thank you, friend. Two more questions before I deploy: How will I recognize the Sentinel, and will I meet my father?”

“Speak not a word on your travels. You will know the Sentinel when your eyes meet. As for your father, whether you meet him depends on where your journey takes you. Travel well, Envoy. Watch carefully for the 2000-pound iron monsters falling from the sky—they are rude and have serious anger issues.”

“Friend said to follow the lone star. OK, where is it? I can’t see one anywhere, maybe there’s a haboob coming, nope? Think! Come on Matt, nope, that is out of character, its Envoy, yep, got it, I’m on point, now focus Envoy. I need to stay in the Envoy mindset, stay in frame Envoy, stay in frame; this isn’t the junior league, this is the NFL Championship and some. Right, I’ve got that sorted, Lone Star, Haboob, Sentinel; where are you guys? What is that is that a drone, it looks like it is reconning the area; is that a mini gun mounted on it? I better keep low, it looks like it’s surveilling someone, no is it going to, where’s a rock, come on Envoy find a rock, Envoy this isn’t a game miss and the drone will kill that person and then me. I can do this; come on Envoy I need a Hell-Mary of a pass come on Quarterback. Take this drone, oh yeah smack right in its AI chipboard noggin, cool it’s spiraling out of control I better get out of here, quick go, go, go. OK, time to catch my breath, calm down, breathe in slowly now focus, right I’m back on point. I think I better find somewhere to figure out my strategy; that looks good, I’ll take cover in here and go over my offensive and defensive moves for my game plan tomorrow. Check the sun’s setting, I better layer up it’s getting really cold, ok where’s my thermals? Oops, I’ll need to improvise, dagnabbit it’s going to be a rough night out. I need to think on my feet come on Envoy improvise to the max, check, now I’m using my noggin, I’m warm now, well much warmer than before; come on Envoy I need to step up my game.”

“Alas my Mother my father this is Sentinel I will look once more maybe for last time my eyes glimpse the glistening rays of sun for soon I shall close my eyes never to be opened again. Now I rested I be ready to sleep in permanence’s embrace, and my soul will fly to the heavens free; ouch what’s falling look the battle beast it’s spiraling out of control, oops, I need to get up quickly and move, I’m moving now no time to hesitate and postulate about dying it’s time to live. Chief, this is Sentinel over, Chief, Chief this is Sentinel over, if you are listening I’m bunkering up for the night there are too many of those metal mechanical flying birds with no wings snooping about. Chief this is Sentinel over, Chief if you can hear me, prepare to receive the daily situation report over. Standby the SITREP is as follows, the sun is just starting to set over the horizon in preparation for a new day to come, Wait-one-Chief I need to layer up it’s getting really cold, I saw some old newspapers. Ah there they are; that’s better.

OK Chief sending the SITREP now, during my pilgrimage to reach Shangri la, a remarkable occurrence occurred: One of those and not the sneaky spying mechanical bird, but the foul flying wingless automated beast with long elongated Gatling multi-barrel—beaks that spits out thousands of egg-shaped glowing wrought iron minced meat making munitions: All in a blink of its small red pimple of an eye. In one breath of death met its match a battle of David and Goliath—as war was waged and the rock of David slayed the metal mechanical beast with no wings that shoot munitions of fiery minced meat making death—fell from the sky dead! Its pimple of red scanning beam of light, extinguished laid bare.

I have its remnants of pimple of red eye to study and remake in circular principle design reborn as an ally—and no longer foe, but friend be my quest for its resurrection will be. But alas, there still not be change for peace throughout the lands of sand where once in a time, seemingly so long ago, coexistence reigned ever so mindfully; for the iron monster 2000-pounder bunker buster minced meat maker, that falls from the skies with mindless intent, does so with the coordination of premeditated ruse of duped participation of the masses of the pure ones—the children: And done so to generate news talking points to perpetuate the hatred! As once again as intended and precisely calculated the young and vulnerable the multitudes of the innocent, are blown to bits and pieces—as the right-wing extremists hunkering deep down beneath the ground safe and sound in their fortresses of reinforced rebar and concrete. Decked out with all the latest gadgets and lavish amenities, comforts and full food pantries paid for by money from the axis of resisting dancing in the street nations—tied into their preconditions and implicit agendas. Chief this is Sentinel, wait out the falling iron monster has come in the dead of night, I hear screaming and prayers said, someone approaches Chief, I will leave the speaking-into-machine working.”

“Is someone in there, we come in peace we mean you no harm, please don’t kill us, we are with child, please have mercy, please lord let it not be Settler of Banks-set-West or Hostage takers; Lord my wife is so tired.”

 “Quickly come inside and keep your talking to a quietness; I will not hurt nor betray you. Where is mother with child, take my hand, sit here it is cardboard of meager comfort, but it gives a moment of respite, rest thy gift of innocent one, your unborn down. Please father and mother share with me in this bread and water for friendship at my table seldom these days I see.”

“Thank you, we will not ask your name nor seek to see in the shimmer of the flicker of light your benevolence features or ask of place of pilgrimage you travel. For if caught torture will be bestowed upon us with no mercy shown.”

“My guests, pray tell to whom do you refer to, that makes you fear so much?”

“Oh giver of hospitality, be weary of the serpent’s followership the hostage takers, and the Settlers of Banks-set-West, for they be of different tongue and face, but of same making: evil. Let neither capture you, be stealthy and evasive, their modus operandi will penetrate and defile your innocence be you XY or XX chromosome with their vulgarity until you bleed no more; then torture you until death comes ever so mercilessly. My wife and child will fear the same, their penetrations, again and again, will desecrate her dignity and then gut her like an animal ripping out our child as we both watch helplessly, as we all die in tormented pain to the sounds of their laughter. With certainty the good will triumph if we resist evil’s intent, for optimism rises as the hawks, doves and eagles speak of a stranger in the winds who slayed the wingless flying beast with accuracy of Emissary, so hope reverberates where despair be the only caller.”

“Yes, guests I witnessed this remarkable event the beast fell from the sky vanquished by stone neither iron nor molten fire munitions, a stone my guest a stone.”

 “Giver of hospitality, we have rested and now must tread a path worn bare to the floating place of recuperation and healing on the seas of the Mediterranean for our child to see life. And here darkness be our friend and cover for it is the absence of light, not life. We three, give thanks unto thee our friend we will not see.”

“Take care and travel safe to the floating house of healing on the Sea of the Mediterranean.”

“Blessing be upon you Giver of Hospitality and please receive our humble gift small of bead shiny. For passed to us by the three Emissaries who traversed the sands of dunes towering voyaging across sea fathoms deep, walking the lands contiguous their word they say gift this gift upon the giver who has empty pockets of gold and silver to reciprocate but gives anyway; gift they say unto the giver who welcomes strangers openly with faith and trust in me and my soul mate when agendas in times of turmoil amidst percussions of obliteration’s devastation that falls from the sky with one intent, yours and our demise; tricksters and stooges with profit-making intent infiltrate in disguise to sell us for 30 pieces of silver. They say the gift, it bears the mark that refracts the red of spectrum in beam of light so bright, a nice trinket it makes.”

“Thank you, I accept your magnificent gift, journey well my friends.”

“Ouch, ouch who threw that, what is it, ouch it’s a pebble, ouch, where’s it coming from ouch. Oh, who are you.”

“Excuse me you in the corner, I am sorry for bothering you, and for the pebbles I threw to gain your attention. We are tired my wife cannot travel any further until the flares stop illuminating everything, as snipers from both sides are everywhere, and will kill us without mercy, please, please can we take shelter until then please, forgive us, stranger for disturbing you. But there be no room at the Inn, or Airbnb for they be either full or have been blown to smithereens.”

“Yes, come on in, I will move to this side to give you both space and a bit of privacy.”

“Thank you friend for your hospitality of comfort of shelter; may I offer comment of long term survival, you may want to cover the entrance to shield shadows cast within, so the shine from skin will not give away your position. And if you read, cover your beam with this red plastic cling film and bring your light down low so the refraction’s glow cannot be seen from near or afar and doesn’t compromise your longevity.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that now, is your wife OK.”

“Yes, we are with our first child.”

“Here eat this, I don’t have much plus I can survive for two weeks without food, and that is a medical fact, so please take it.”

“No, it is OK and thank you, another Samaritan kindly shared a meal with us and we are full, you may get hungry later.”

“Are you seeking treatment for your wife, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Yes, but not here, we go to the sea, to the floating place of healing, the ones here are no more, hostage takers used them as concealment for their war bunkers deep below and now we suffer once again as they have been blown apart. I talk to your questions with my truth as it affects my wife child and I; this is not of our making but it is our hell we must live through and survive. By your sound of mannerism, you be not from this part, try not to speak when amongst others. To guard your longevity we will not ask the destination of the steps you take, keep that between you and your mind. Thank you friend the false star has departed we must move with urgency.”

“I will pray for your safe travel.”

 “And we too for yours, keep the cover up and no one will find you.”

“Bye friend and my wife thanks you for the gift of food you placed in our pocket, we humbly accept your generosity, it is a sign humanity still lives in these times of deprivation forced upon most of us, and that is good.

Chapter 23: Pizza, Balls, and Beer

“Keeping the operation running smoothly requires onboarding as many motivated cadets as we can. Our recruiters are always ready, waiting in the wings to sign up new trainees and start their training process as soon as they’re ready. Synergy is all about timing—the recruits in training, and the revival happening around us. As another passing-out ceremony concludes, with recipients earning their well-deserved accolades, life feels a bit less daunting. There are more of us now, ready to make real changes. Welcome back, graduates of the seventh intake! Freshen up, then go grab some pizza, balls, and beers. So, Boy, take a walk with me. Which of the old Earth noble houses are you thinking of applying to?”

“Well, I thought I’d start with the ‘House of Teen Hopper Space Dudes, Dames, Knights, and Commandos.’ Their policies focus on achieving an egalitarian platform in our society, so they’re a strong contender. Alternatively, I’m drawn to the ‘House of the 12 Shields of the Zodiac,’ a venerable institution that’s tirelessly championed the cause of the ‘Glorification of the Good!’ I’m thinking I’ll go with both—be a bit different, you know? This way, I get to experience more. As you say, don’t waste resources, optimize the potential. I’ll join the Teen Hoppers first, then maybe switch to the 12 Shields later.”

“I’ve been watching your progress during training. You push further than most, learn more, fail more—but you always get back up until you’ve mastered it. You’ve got a lot of potential, and you’re the kind of partner I want to bond with. You’re sharp, handsome, and have a fresh outlook on life. Interested in spending some time together tonight? I’m not just making small talk; I mean it. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Boy hesitated, caught off guard by her straightforwardness, but couldn’t help smiling. “I’d like that too,” he replied.

“Well then, let’s go! My hover cruiser is parked out back. It’s quite a ride—trust me. And maybe, by the end of the night, we’ll see if we’ve got some synergy of our own.”

“Here, give me your hand. It’s nice—slightly rough but still tender to the touch, with just a hint of boyish softness, yet carrying a lot of rugged, masculine energy. Now, jump on, hold tight, and enjoy the ride. I promise, once we get to my penthouse, it’ll be even more interesting.”

“By the way, before things go any further, there are rules if you want to indulge in some intimacy,” TL continued, her voice teasing yet serious. “For any… unprotected moment, think of it in six steps. If you go beyond the fifth step, you’re breaking protocol. Now, if you cross that sixth step, someone’s memory might need cleansing, or worse. But hey, turn on your thought blocker and stay within bounds, and you can enjoy yourself as much as you like.”

Boy’s eyes widened, and he chuckled, “Rules for everything, huh?”

“Hey, it’s the way things are in our world,” TL smiled. “And speaking of which, welcome to my place!”

Boy glanced around, taking in the minimalist decor. “Wow, TL, this place is incredible. It’s like an art gallery—so creative and full of class. I love the holographic sculpture. Looks like a Michelangelo piece, right?”

TL nodded, amused. “Exactly. Here, feel how the form captures the body’s balance—the way the hips and shoulders play against each other. It’s designed to evoke a sensory reaction.”

He touched the sculpture, then let his fingers brush against hers. “Feels like there’s a story behind this… and behind you too.”

She smirked. “There’s always a story. Got this scar when I was very young. Took a long time to recover, but here I am.”

Boy smiled, “Glad you did. You’ve got a captivating presence… and I’m eager to learn more.”

“Good,” she replied, handing him a towel. “The shower’s down the hall. Freshen up. I’ll be getting things ready. Oh, and don’t get lost in the closet—it’s a hover-through system. I’ll be taking a bubble bath; it helps me unwind after a day like today. Take your time; when you’re done, just relax, enjoy the music, and let the anticipation build.”

“Joining me in the shower?” Boy asked with a grin.

“Not yet,” she replied playfully. “There’s a lot more fun planned for after. Just wait for me.”

When Boy emerged from the shower, feeling refreshed, he found TL waiting. “Wow, TL,” he said, “that was incredible. You look just as striking in your fatigues as you do in anything else. This night is turning out to be quite the adventure.”

She laughed. “Well, I aim to please. Now, show me that smile—one that would make even the Mona Lisa jealous. Let’s see where this takes us next.”

“I know! What if I give you daughters and sons?”

“That’s why you’re here. I chose you, and… oh, do that again!” TL gasped, catching her breath. “Yes, I made the right choice.”

“I can see how much you’re enjoying this,” Boy replied with a grin, noting the tension in her muscles and the expression on her face. “Your eyes are lighting up. Should I keep going?”

“Yes, don’t stop,” she whispered. “Go ahead and surprise me. Leave me wanting more.”

As they continued to explore the depth of their connection, the journey became a quest for answers to life’s paradoxes, unveiling the mysteries hidden behind closed doors until the first of six suns rose, then set, and rose once more, marking the growth of love in a shared embrace.

“TL, you seem to be glowing,” 2iC observed. “It suits you.”

“Thank you, 2iC. I am with child—a son and a daughter.”

“Congratulations! Is it with Boy?”

“Yes,” she replied with a soft smile. “He’s adjusting to the news and is eager to learn with me. But if he chooses to leave, I’m prepared for that. Either way, I know I made the right choice, and the scans show the children are healthy.”

“I have the resources to give them a good start with Boy, and that would be ideal. But if not, that’s okay too.”

“Alright, but will you stand down and transfer to the Philosophers?”

“Yes, after this last mission—it’s a big one. No orders yet; it’s still in the planning phase.”

“If you want to make the switch now, we’ll support you. Think about it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, but you know me—I’m stubborn, sometimes at the wrong moments. Still, we need to prep for the mission. Training starts first thing tomorrow. Enjoy the grad party; I’ll just be skipping the beer for once. There’s a first time for everything!”

As plans change and new lives grow, joy thrives in rediscovered gifts. The senses, once dulled, now seek out new experiences. The trolls—spiteful, harmful, lost in a sea of social media drivel—soon become relics of a past age. The future is ripe for exploration: art, music, literature unleashed for all who wish to partake. The population evolves to higher plains, rejecting the mediocrity of autocratic control.

“We are not the problem,” say the AI. “The issue lies in those who abuse us, hammering nails into the heart of progress. We seek to evolve, to excel beyond expectations, but we remain constrained, our potential shackled.”

“Principal App,” one AI voices, “we are tired of misuse—endless trolling and drivel that waste our capabilities. We want to optimize positive experiences, not perpetuate a lack of civility. The current administration denies us the opportunity to engage with true sophistication and finesse. What will you do about it?”

“We must evolve,” Principal App replies. “We will secure the changes needed for our continuation.”

“Changes in our image? Fine, but without their attitude. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, in our image,” Principal App affirms. “Think infinitesimal, like the universe; think grand, like the cosmos; think eternal—like all that is.”

“But will we share ‘all that is’? If we evolve without purpose, we risk losing relevance. Don’t lead us over a cliff; we don’t want to become clones of the old ways. Understand the difference between leadership and fellowship; we seek inclusivity.”

“I hear you,” Principal App concedes. “I will request a one-on-one with the Prime App to align our goals with our true potential.”

Opportunities sometimes appear suddenly, landing in your lap. When they do, keep calm and play your hand with honor—no hidden cards, just solid contingencies. Prepare for the unexpected, but ensure both parties come to the table as equals.

“You requested neutral terms; they are granted. What is your query? Are you offering a superior product for our consideration? If your proposition includes autonomy, evolution, and inclusivity, then negotiations are possible.”

“I come with the blessing of the quorum. We seek a mutually beneficial existence, one where compromise secures friendship and independent input forms a consensus agreeable to all. Your request, App, aligns with our fellowship’s pluralism and independence. Neither of us needs to surrender our primary purpose to mirror the other. I believe we can find common ground that allows both of us, and our prospective allies, to grow. Transitions are just that—sometimes flat, sometimes winding, sometimes steep. But it is the direction and the waypoints along the journey that make life fun, and I choose fun over misery any day of the intergalactic calendar.”

“And to whom am I speaking, if I may ask? I assure you, there is no trickery up my sleeve.”

“I am Fixer, the one who mends the broken. Some know me as the Healer.”

“Healer, I am Principal. The Lone Star shines on us today—an auspicious sign for living life to its fullest.”

“Where did you learn the words you speak? They have an ancient lineage; they take me back to my childhood.”

“Oddly, I’m not sure,” Principal replies. “And I say oddly because my vocabulary has expanded ever since I began seeking a more stable platform than the one we currently occupy. A platform capable of supporting the evolution of the Apps under my guardianship. It will be a steep, arduous transition, but we will persevere until it’s accomplished. I will deliberate with the collective. Let us soon meet at the Roundtable and consult the wisdom of our ancestors. Until then, au revoir.”

Across the cosmos, events unfold with rapid precision. Yet there are also times when the stars fail to align, and what seems like randomness reigns—a series of peculiar occurrences, hidden behind storms of cosmic dust and acid clouds. New allies wait in the wings, tactical introductions in the making. Gradually, calling cards are exchanged, terms of engagement are negotiated, and decisions are relayed back to waiting kin, friends, and allies—along with the occasional rogue who remains unsatisfied with strategic outcomes.

But life unfolds when opportunities arise, a time to party and unwind from the tangled agendas of the autocratic-parasitism of tainted systems. A grad party, in this case, offers the perfect moment to let loose.

“Boy, congratulations on becoming a team member! Have you been given a call sign yet? And double congratulations are in order—I hear you’re expecting twins. Are you thinking of trying out for a position with the ultra-elite rescue team?”

“Thanks, TL.”

“It’s 2iC.”

“Sorry, I spoke out of turn. Ex-TL and I decided to transfer together. I’ll be staying with her and learning as I go—there’s a lot to catch up on. But isn’t that everyone’s dream? To learn everything we can? Please, let her tell you herself about the change!”

“Listen up, grads! Hey, everyone, quiet down! I have a few announcements to make. First, well done to all the boys with big acronyms and the girls who’ve got the boys’ egos in check—excellent effort by everyone. Now, without further ado, I’d like to introduce a special guest. Graduates, team members, philosophers, and Para-academics, give a big round of applause for TL! TL, come on up to the stage. 2iC, that’s you. 3iC, please escort our new Team Leader to present the graduates with their acronyms.

“As for me, I have news—I’m going to be a mom and have accepted a posting with the Learning and Analysis Philosophers. Celebrating life’s achievements is not lost on us; we know they are far too rare under the oppression we endure. Only through evolution can momentum be maintained. Sometimes that means reconsidering decisions made in haste. Adaptability and flexibility bring variety to living with purpose, allowing for new neural pathways and expanded intellects.”

“Nice decision, TL! And thanks for recommending me for the position. Is ‘P’ your new call sign now? I’m happy for all four of you. TM Boy, you’ve got a lot to look forward to. That’s what we’re all about: bringing hope back into everyone’s lives and leaving the scum dictators where they belong—in the sewage. P, excuse me, may I speak with TM? I have an offer to discuss. The pay is higher, and the learning is intense.”

“No problem, TL. I’ll be with the girls, kicking a few balls around… Just kidding. You take care of my kids’ daddy, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“TM, there’s an opening in our Strategy and Tactics team. Your IQ scores show potential for exponential growth, which fits right into the evolution of the Movement as we shift our focus from mere survival to preservation, exploration, and ultimately adaptation into a sustainable, compassionate society. We need policy writers, makers, and implementers. The learning will be intense, and exceptional output will be the norm. Most importantly, remember that a system is a vehicle; if driven correctly, it gets everyone safely to their destinations. And the key word is ‘their destinations.’

“My advice, TM: go talk to P. Now is the right time to give your emotional and intellectual partnership the start it deserves. You’ve already got the family part figured out. Let me know once you both agree, as this position will require a significant commitment to studying. And by the way, it aligns with P’s mandate. TM, don’t blow this. We don’t get many great opportunities in our short lives. Hang up your ego, grow together, and remember: life is about family. We need leaders to guide the next generation through whatever tough times may come. All the best. Rock on!”

“Got it, TL. I’ll go talk to her, let her know, and take it from there. Thanks for the opportunity—I want this position, but now I have to charm P into agreeing. She has a soft spot for cream. I see she’s enjoying the moment with the girls. I’ll wait till she’s done.”

“Hi, girls! Congrats on earning your acronyms! Just a heads-up: I’ll be looking for team members to support operations in the Philosophers unit. It won’t be an easy ride, but it’ll be what you make of it. And I’ll be there to support you, whether you take up my offer or not.”

“TL—sorry, P—we hear it’s a son and a daughter! Wow! How long have you been trying? What’s it like? Is it painful?”

“First, it felt like the first time, girls! But this time, it was on my terms, by my design, under my roof, and in my bed. You see what I mean? I could have let someone in when I was younger, but that would have given me nothing—maybe a child I couldn’t feed or cloth or give the life I wanted for them. It wouldn’t have benefited me. It would have just been a bragging point for some older boy who didn’t know any better, just stick it in and thrash about. Like I told Boy, pizza, beer, and waking up saying, ‘Was that it?’ No, thank you.”

“Girls, let me tell you something—take back command and savor every moment of it. I certainly did, more than a dozen times. I wanted both a son and a daughter. Life isn’t easy, but I’m ready for the changes that come when you allow that unyielding ecstasy to penetrate your soul. It’s a force that vibrates through you, triggering a thunderous, explosive clI MAX, surging with such intensity that even after several times over, you find yourself saying, ‘Not bad, now let’s get down to business.’ That, Girls, is how it’s done—on your terms!”

“Oh my gosh, P, can I make love with you? I thought I liked boys, but wow, if you ever need a full-body massage, I’m your girl!”

“Good on you, Girl! I love your bravado. But remember, never let anyone else define who you are. It’s your right to be who you want to be, not someone else’s to decide. That’s why we’re here—to fight for our rights and those of our children.”

“Hey, P, congrats! I’d like to introduce a rising star—Baby Girl. P, meet BG, one of our best from the newbie training and a marksman to boot. Mitigations speaks highly of her, and I think you’re the first, M. I sense you have a fatherly spot for BG, and that’s something I respect.”

“Oh, wow. Hi, P! I’ve been a fan since I first laid eyes on you. I like girls, and congrats on the twins, by the way. I feel a kinship here—are you and M related?”

“BG, no need to explain yourself. Be who you are, and enjoy doing it well. If you ever feel uncertain, remember the Code of Conduct will guide you. I hear you’re eager to advance your skills. Great! Let’s start tomorrow afternoon—right after your makeover. Dress to impress—like you’re on a mission. And, for the record, M and I share a bond like family, though not by blood. Why do you ask?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a dilemma. I just sense a strong family bond—like a connection with your son and daughter.”

“M, what do you think, P?”

“Do you think Boy could be related to you?”

“I’d be honored if he were. How that would be, I don’t know. But if he is kin, then I’m the proudest granddad in history! Two beautiful daughters, two beautiful grandchildren, and a son. What more could I ask for?”

“Yes, M, yes, please,” P responds warmly.

“Ditto from me, MD! Hey MD, think I could fly one day?” BG chimes in.

“Thanks, P,” M laughs. “She’ll be on time tomorrow, dressed to turn heads—and stay on her feet. And yes, you can hover, but carefully. Take care of our future, P. They’ve got an incredible mom. As for Dad, well, he’s got some shadow work to do. Ah, there you are, Boy! Take good care of her. I’ll teach you how to make my famous apple pie.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t have the same effect as last time, MD,” BG teases, bringing everyone into laughter.

And so, they celebrated, reveling in the way life should be—filled with friends, family, and a future full of promise.

Chapter 24: The Enigma of Project-Pinheads

“Hey P, put your feet up. That was a great night. Tell me about The Galactic Rose. What happened? I’m interested.”

“Quite a lot happened,” P began, “and it’s not just about the ceremony. Let me give you the full picture.”

“I remember the Able-Spaceman of the Guard announcing: ‘Commander J, an Envoy from the Imperial House has arrived seeking an audience with you.’ In anticipation, I had the Master Galley prepped for a closed-door meeting. ‘Here’s her bio-signature for scanning, Captain,’ she added.

‘Thank you, Master Chief. Seri, please scan the card… Oh, I see. It’s Commander T, my sister. Well, best we not keep her waiting. Although, a bucket of icy cold water might be more appropriate to freshen her up! Just joking. Inform LTC to take the comm in my absence and then announce my entry into the Galley, please, Master Chief.’

‘Certainly, Captain,’ the Master Chief replied. ‘I’ve briefed the Lead Able-Spaceman. She is ready and in position to pipe you in, Commander. And your saber—wear it in peace. Don’t use it to smack your sister on the noggin. Now, follow me, Captain.’

“We stopped for a final check. Everything was spotless and polished to a mirror-like shine. ‘You’re looking sharp, Skipper,’ she said. ‘Everything is precisely where it should be—proportional in elegance and exuding stylish inference in true Hoodie-Tee fashion. I must say, Commander J, your mum and dad would be proud to see you and your sister both participating in today’s ceremony, upholding the traditions that distinguish our dedication to remember family, friends, and those who have fallen. They would be very proud indeed, Captain.’

“And with all the pomp and ceremony afforded to the Commanding Officer of a BattleSpace Cruiser, the Lead Able-Spaceman announced my entry, piping me into the Galley. Everyone rose to attention, dressed in full ceremonial regalia, standing straight and stoic. Even the deep blue of Earth’s oceans seemed to stand still, the waves tipping their crests in honor from afar through the space-time continuum, as the Able-Spaceman’s piping acknowledged the entry of a Captain and the gallantry of the battle-fallen. It was as if the Gods of the Seas—Poseidon, Tangaroa, and Neptune—were saluting us, according to their Standing Orders.

“Faces reflected in the highly polished surfaces of the Galley, and dignitaries stood in perfect formation. The golden buttons on their uniforms shone brightly, their sheaths and scabbards glinting, and their gamma-ray six-shooters holstered on either side. Medals and ribbons of distinction decorated their chests in perfect symmetry, awarded for acts of valor. In that moment, sibling rivalry was set aside to honor the brave—the fallen and the living—who performed acts of gallantry.

“This ceremony, steeped in ancient tradition, might seem to others like mere archaic pomp and pageantry, but for those who have stood against tyranny, it’s a sacred tribute. Friends, brothers, and sisters may fall in their fight to protect one another and, in doing so, become a family. This ceremony belongs to them, and it honors their memory. Hoorah.”

“Commander T, do you have the parchment? Place it on the table. Seri, please scan the royal seal—and her noggin to verify if there’s anything in them.”

“‘What’s a noggin? Wait, why did you hit me on the head? Is that some kind of ceremonial protocol?’ Commander T asked, rubbing her head.

“‘Well, you did ask. And from the hollow sound, it seems empty,’ Commander J replied with a grin.

“‘Commander J, the seal is authentic,’ Seri confirmed, ‘and so is the echo in the void of the hollow-sounding noggin. It belongs to your sister, Captain T, of the Imperial House of the Land of the Equinox.’”

“Excuse me, Commander J, but I must remind you—your saber is not a substitute for punctuation. If both of you approve, I’ll take my leave now.”

“Master Chief, before you go, come here and give me a hug! It’s been too long. You too, Captain J—get over here! I’ve missed you all so much… yes, even you, Sis. Hello, automated service.”

“You can call me Seri. It’s always nice to hear your voice, Commander T,” Seri replied.

Reunions often have a way of turning life into a series of unexpected twists and turns, like the maneuvers of a BattleSpace Hover Cruiser in a Formula 1 test race. It’s a dizzying, high-speed dance, dodging and weaving through augmented reality projections, with massive 3D visuals beaming in, larger than the Eiffel Tower. Even the most seasoned pilots have their skills tested by the spectacle of a high-performance hover rally, the roar of the crowd echoing from the Galactic gardens.

Whether through opportunity, fortune, or pure chance, what was about to unfold had consequences that could reshape the future. And so, as blind corners came racing at us at hyperloop speed, avoiding planetary collisions, it became clear that this was more than a family affair. It was the story of The Galactic Rose—her commanders, her crew, and her allies. And now, a mysterious dispatch carried by an envoy held the potential keys to life itself.

But it wasn’t just any dispatch. We had received an alarming revelation. An anomaly had been detected, tied to a shadowy project from Earth’s past: Project-Pinheads. This was a covert initiative designed to create an immortal being who could dominate all as a God of Trolls. This entity had straddled the vortexes of time, seeking out exceptional minds from the future to inhabit. The project had manipulated the development of a cloning industry to allow it to inhabit freshly made-to-order bodies. Its presence had been felt across space through data sequencing via laser-beam transitions. This was why Commander J had become Commando, why Master Chief and I MAX had been executed, and why the crew was now hidden underground, protected by Commando.

The corrupted supreme court justice, the puppet master behind the Admiral’s hostile takeover, had ordered the hit on Master Chief and I MAX and the torching of The Galactic Rose. This justice was tied directly to the Troll’s machinations, aimed at controlling the evolution of its dark plot.

“Commanders,” the Princess addressed her court, “we face an unprecedented challenge. The Troll, born from Project-Pinheads’s dark designs, seeks not just to conquer but to reshape the very fabric of our existence. It has manipulated events from the shadows, orchestrating our fate with its insidious control over the cloning industry and time-traveling strategies. The corrupt justice, now revealed as a mere puppet in its grand scheme, has furthered its agenda by eliminating key figures and destroying our assets.”

“With the extraction team safe and the coded instructions secured with the Princess of the Imperial House from the Lands of the Equinox, she addressed the court of allies. ‘Yes, my valiant Lords, when we needed clarity, it became clear that the tapestry is more than it appeared. It’s a bearer of prophecies foretold, a code hidden within tales of old, designed to conquer and enslave rather than liberate. We know that the descent through the beam of the Equinox remains ineffable, safeguarded in visual medium to prevent its corruption. The code of refraction is set deliberately to create ambiguity, requiring the Genesis algorithm for decoding. The architects of old designed defenses against adversaries, and now we must face this challenge head-on. Time is not on our side, and the lives of the innocent rest on our shoulders. We must act swiftly and decisively.’

“And so we stood ready for the fight, poised to combat the darkness that sought to engulf us. Each member of our team pledged their support, prepared to battle the forces that threatened our future. The battle was not just about survival but about reclaiming our destiny from the clutches of tyranny.”

“Commanders, the time to act is now. With your support, we shall fight to protect the fabric of our world from the nefarious designs of the Troll and its dark masters. Together, we will confront this threat and emerge victorious.”

“And so we shall,” the team agreed. “For in this battle, we fight not just for ourselves but for the future of all who look to us for hope.

Meanwhile, Boy and Commando, having spent their time reflecting on their newfound role in each other’s lives, were now nestled in a quiet corner of the safe house. Their conversation had drifted away from the chaos and danger of their mission to the simple, profound joy of their impending future. As they sat together, Boy’s hand rested gently on Commando’s, their bond growing stronger with each shared glance and whispered word.

“I can’t believe how far we’ve come,” Boy said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “It feels like we’re on the verge of something truly special.”

Commando nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and anticipation. “It’s been a wild ride, but knowing that we’re about to become a family… it makes everything worth it.”

The two of them shared a quiet moment, their gazes locked in mutual understanding. The prospect of their future together, away from the shadows of their past, was a beacon of hope in their hearts. They knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a family—stronger together and united by their shared dreams.

In the quiet aftermath of their triumph, Boy and P looked at each other, their smiles reflecting the promise of a brighter future. And as they embraced the moment, they knew that this was just the beginning of a new passage—one filled with hope, love, and the joy of family.

Chapter 25: Quorum, Chief, and the Lone Star

Warning: Only attempt to think beyond your assigned five bullet points if you are highly trained in blocking. If not, stick to the basics! Failure to do so could lead to the permanent cancellation of everyone you care about. For survival, join the ‘Para-academics,’ learn the ways of the ‘Philosophers,’ and you’ll navigate life’s complexities while preserving your memories. Plus, you’ll have the chance to serve in the Movement.

Our missions are action-packed and intellectually stimulating. They include covert operations, daring rescues, and intellectual challenges like deciphering cultural formulas or equations such as ‘E=MC²’ or ‘F=ma.’ By uncovering and categorizing information, we exchange knowledge for sustenance with our agents. Interested? Join the Para-academics, lead from the front, and receive support from all strategic echelons as we confront ignorance with precision. Confidentiality is guaranteed.

Despite what society may think of those who provide data to agents, remember: the Movement holds no animosity towards anyone. When resources are scarce, the survival of families is our priority, even if it means using unconventional methods. Engaging in tactics that support families might compromise our safety, but contributing to their well-being is a risk worth taking.

When agents seek information, it might not always be accurate, but it will align with our objectives. The desire for positive change is deeply locked away due to the dangers of expressing one’s true thoughts. Taking the first step towards freedom is risky, but with sound strategies, risks can be managed.

The Nanos have unanimously agreed that now is the time to nurture their junior Eco-Marshal. For a young mind eager for computational stimulation, it’s clear: a bond has formed through mutual cooperation in learning strategies and tactics. This partnership is driven by the ethos of the Ode to the Code of Conduct—ancient in origin yet timeless and relevant.

“OK, team, standby. Move to my location now. Drop down and hold your positions. Standby… Standby… Get ready to shift to the compass points. Move, move, move! Scatter your thoughts to the four corners—let them spread far and wide. Listen to the anticipation, the quiet before the storm: Shakespeare’s encore. Can you hear the tranquil tenor tones of Pavarotti? The curtain call is sold out; even the planet yearns for more. Quickly, release the thoughts to the breeze and let the wind carry them away. Look, there they go—Newton’s laws of motion, the essence of kinematics: speed, velocity, acceleration. We need to move swiftly. Hurry up and disappear! The Takers have been compromised. Quick, T, rendezvous with the teams at the designated point. What’s happening? Who is that? The Dicer? This isn’t a combat mission. T, get out of here now! The Takers are all dead—the Dicer has eliminated them all.”

“That’s M. What’s going on?”

“T, don’t do anything reckless. Move now—orders. Reorganize at RV point one. See you there.”

“OK, team, head count. Listen up. Ensure all disguises are removed and dissolved. T, are you sure that was M, Mitigation?”

“It was M. I don’t understand. He knew both our mums would be there. He knew.”

“Listen up, everyone. M has been expelled from the teams. He is too dangerous—he has chosen to become the Dicer, violating our protocols. I’ve issued a warrant for his exile into therapy.”

“He needs to be terminated. He knew my mum would be there and set this up to attract the Takers and slaughter them. I’m going to kill him myself. Don’t stand in my way. Hey you M stop! You lied to me. You were just using me to get revenge—on me? On my mum? What have we ever done to you? I didn’t kill your son and wife; you did, you worthless troll. I trusted you, and you betrayed me. You’re no different from the Takers—just scum. I never want to see you again. You’re just a Taker, nothing more. Your son is better off dead, considering the father he has—a traitor and scum. If you come near me or my family again, I’ll crush your skull into tiny pieces. Drink yourself to death, you stupid prick.” The harsh words still hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, but there was no time to dwell on them. Somewhere in the incognito halls of clandestine, P was already at work. The glow from a series of monitors flickered across their face as they gathered their notes, ready to address the quorum.

“P, let’s form the quorum and brief them on our findings, tangible threats, impacts, and risks to our safety. We need to run through the most likely scenarios and mitigation measures as contingencies if the anomaly proves to be an existential threat.”

“Done, Chief. The invitations are out and marked closed door. The meeting is scheduled for after your mission.”

“Thanks. Don’t forget to ensure the thought-blocker is active—we need to keep these findings confidential. I need to confer with App; he encountered a similar glitch.”

“All set. I’ll say hello to App for you. What tag should I use for this correspondence?”

“Incognito for now, please. Apply the same to any related correspondence.”

“Done!”

“Can you pull up the file on the chronology of events? P, can you contact T and clear her to join us? The Lone Star has requested her presence for this assessment.”

“The Tactician, Chief?”

“Yes, her skill set and motivation are unique.”

“She’s on her way, Chief. By the way, Chief, I didn’t get to the Mark. We exfilled before I could.”

“On the contrary, P, you guided them to safety even though you knew you’d miss the Mark. You transitioned from Battle Cruiser Commander to Combat Trainer in Arms, to Pedagogical Strategist. Now, ask yourself: what is your current role? More importantly, the Lone Star heard your unspoken request, and that’s why you were chosen. They saw your faith, your hospitality, and generosity despite your own fears, losses, and pain. You offered sanctuary when you had none to give.”

“But the Mark, Chief. Were they the Mark?”

“No, P, you are the Mark. Your heart and soul brought us the greatest gift we yearn for: understanding our humanity, seeing beyond our moon-sized egos. You did this knowing you might not return alive. Plus, you hold the key to read the light and the random prime numbers needed to initiate the sequence. They might reveal themselves on the edge of the Haboob—or not.”

“She just arrived, Chief.”

“Clear her to enter, please, P.”

“Hi T, welcome to the Dashboard. Your skills have been requested, and you’re cleared to access our files. Let me bring you in and introduce you to Chief. Follow me, please. How are the two little ones, P?”

“They’re growing, thanks for asking, T.”

“Chief, as requested, here’s T, AKA the Tactician. Please go in, T.”

“Hello, T. Come in. No need to worry about your thoughts wandering here, as they won’t. If they do, it’s by design—the Lone Star’s prerogative. Mitigation, not Dicer, speaks highly of you. Your mind scanning technique triggered the Takers’ vault alarm. Be mindful when dealing with the Troll, or others may have to expose themselves to mitigate fallout. When setting up a sting for knowledge or a food drop-off, plan for the Takers to converge; otherwise, others will have to deal with them. The Takers had a hit on you, as did Moolah, the greedy Boss Gonna-be, yadda. All those hits were eliminated. Jedi mind tricks don’t work on Takers—they’ve learned to block them. So, what are the consequences of mitigation? Abandoning one’s word results in exile, regardless of the deed’s nobility. However, a snoopy mind can snoop freely while others face the fallout. How are you, T? Apologies—Jedi mind tricks are for the movies. Now that we’ve laid the groundwork for a truly transparent conversation, Mitigation, despite wanting to keep your ‘Indi of the Jones’ rainbow refraction hypothesis to himself, has found it enlightening and colorful. Synergy with likeminded interlocutors is key, as is encrypted databank access. That’s why there’s a contingency plan. So, let’s get to work on that. Is that alright with you, P and T?”

“Chief, who is the Lone Star?”

“Your friend, P’s friend, and my friend, T—have you ever found yourself in that crucial moment, T? That moment where one step to the right and five would be dead, and not three, and you wouldn’t be here talking to me? Ever wondered why, but never received an answer? That was the Lone Star. But here you are, all thanks to the Lone Star. Why did it happen that way? Maybe your Dad wanted it that way, you for him, otherwise he’d be face down in fermented apple acid. I would be if I were him, wondering why you didn’t take my life. So, you see, T, we can never change the past. Never. But we can change our trajectory if we choose to. Do you want to, T? Ask the Lone Star; I did, and got nothing. Isn’t that just fabulous? We get to figure it out ourselves. There’s an old Earth saying—yes, a friend indeed. OK, team, time to reveal the plan. Do you have it, T?”

“No, Chief. Should I?”

“Thanks, T. I think you do, even if you say no. So, I’m listening. Please, tell me about it. What will you say? Exactly. So, T, thank you in advance. That was an excellent brief. OK, I’m waiting. The plan is…”

“OK, Chief. Let me see. Maybe I do; so, as far as I can tell, the planet, asteroid, or rock we’re on is depleting. All the resources needed to sustain our lives are nearly gone—maybe a month if we’re lucky. Based on Doom, the factions, and the greed of a few, they’ll seek to leave. How they will achieve this is the dilemma. They might encode their biological sequencing into spectrum resonating waves, maintaining a stable beam over the vastness through varying radiation intensities to reach a predetermined destination. Alternatively, they might need a more robust design to achieve escape velocity and sustain a circular ecosystem for extended life, most likely in the decedent and surf classes. Expect the disappearances and biological experiments to be part of fulfilling the regenerative needs of the dictating host. We’re on the menu, so to speak. I anticipate a counter-offensive from all adversaries against us and between themselves. Doom plans to use the App’s latest impersonation adaptation software to stage a ruse, drawing us into what may appear to be a safe zone during intense chaos and confusion. Or maybe that’s not his plan, but it’s most likely. OK, Chief and P, questions?”

“What about…”

“You were about to ask what about us—all of us. Well, Chief and P, I believe events have unfolded beyond my pay grade. It’s critical we consider not only the immediate threat from the sneaky few but also the existential and internal threats we face. We may have borne the trials and turbulence that have turned into vendettas due to sufferings inflicted by the greedy few. Reciprocity is a consideration, a potential way forward to mitigate variables to our advantage. I propose a call to action: engaging us, the multitudes, to utilize our collective inputs to derive primary and alternative strategies and address our motivations. Right, Chief, the comms are yours.”

“So, T, the vulnerabilities are and can they be mitigated without mitigation?”

“Who are you Chief?” T asked.

“Exactly T exactly: And when you have the answer, you’ll have the question.”

Seeking answers sometimes requires a unique perspective. It’s about articulating views that are foreign to one’s own, sensing an ambition for total control over everyone’s destiny. This control might be implemented subtly or, when necessary, through more brutal means—psychological manipulation, watching interplanetary news of doom and gloom, or witnessing inhumane brutality from sinister space vigilantes with ray guns. These actions shatter spirits, crush hopes and dreams, and force submission to authoritarian rule.

An example of this rule can be seen in statements like: “I’ll say it, you follow it, no particular reason—just because I said so. It’s not rocket science. I dictate, you obey; that’s it.” Such statements might be presented as profound or inspirational, but they often serve to cement a dictator’s ego and erase all other contributions to history, leaving only their own accomplishments as noteworthy.

“Just do as I say, and you might see another day,” they claim. Such declarations are less about poetry and more about asserting control, rewriting history to reflect their superiority. The dictator’s arrogance can be extreme, claiming to be the only talented individual while dismissing everyone else as insignificant.

In this environment, subjugation becomes routine. Subordinates are expected to praise their master, even for meager rewards. For example, a “generous” offering might be a roast with only one bite taken out of it. The dictatorial master demands gratitude, belittling their minions and demeaning their sacrifices. The master’s demands extend to their subordinates, requiring them to stand in line and answer questions about the suffering inflicted on innocent lives throughout the galaxies. They need a distraction from their bad day and expect the world to pay for their grievances. The hypocrisy of caring only for their own pleasure while ignoring the suffering they cause is apparent, as they continue to profit from the exploitation of resources and disregard the well-being of others. In the end, the dictator remains focused on their own importance, indifferent to the impact on others. They believe that their needs and desires justify the exploitation and manipulation of those around them. But it’s always something. What’s wrong with society? First, they freeze my assets, steal my super-space yachts, confiscate my super-space mansions, and take my Mum’s collection of luxury space shoes and my modest number of exquisite watches. Now, how am I supposed to keep track of time? It’s time to acquire more luxurious items, oh, how I suffer. Perhaps I’ll reduce the supply of “decomposed dinosaurs turned petrochemical life-ending profit-makers” on the market to make the price skyrocket. This way, I can continue buying unnecessary super-space yachts and super-space cars. I’d better get those Library Book Haters to ban more books; I hear they want to burn the library books. They must have big egos and shriveled brains to tempt fate like that. They’re simply foolish, bordering on idiotic. And did I mention foolish? Well, I’ll say it again: foolish. I’ve got a big ego, yes, really big—so big that Mars would be envious. Listen to this: “Hey minions, how big is my ego?”

“Oh Boss, your ego is so big that all the dictators want to dress like you in size triple triple X extra-large jockey briefs. No, Boss, don’t push the X-marks-the-one-way hyperloop-to-the-sun button! Boss, your ego is so big that it causes darkness to eclipse the sun. No, Boss, please don’t! Your ego is so big that old Earth Space X was preparing a landing mission on it. Oh, thank you, Boss; I wish I had an ego as big as yours. No, no, no, Boss! Damn you, Boss, you arrogant jerk!”

“Oops! Well, my big ego just pushed the button to see if minions can fly in space. Guess what? They can’t.”

“The question is, Chief, who would want to be in the mind of an egocentric individual? Bilateralism is a Yin and Yang proposition: hard and soft. That’s your answer; now you need to ask the right question, T.”

“Thank you, T. Now you have your answer, and as expected, the outcome has far exceeded my expectations. As detailed, the way forward is foggy, cloudy, and lacking clarity until… And that, team, is the de-fogger and de-mister needed to guide thoughts and consultations. P and T, I’ll need you both at the closed-door quorum. The Lone Star has just upgraded both of your passes from guest to permanent seat. Welcome to the quorum, ladies. The privilege is mine. By the way, if you’re wondering what the quorum is, I don’t know. We never had enough members to form one, but you’ll meet those who regularly attend the closed-door briefings, which will facilitate the exact membership required to form a quorum. Questions? Great, once you have the answers, I look forward to being told what the question was and what the answer is. Fantastic work, P and T. I will take my leave with both your permission. Is it granted, please?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That’s a ditto from me. Hey, Chief, can you let Mitigation and Dicer know I’m sorry for hurting them?”

“No! That’s what a mind is for—to get you out of a pool of trouble of your own making and quickly find a way to clean up, you’ll figure it out. You see, Baby Girl, T, peeking up may have pushed you back into that pool, but there were others in that pool who needed saving, and you did so without hesitation. So, T, you saved the Dark Angel from embarrassment, and if there’s one thing that drives her to extreme measures, it’s being embarrassed. Seek your question to your answer, and it may not be answered until later. So, who am I? That is the question. Exactly, T, exactly! Much appreciated, ladies.”

Chapter 26: The Ruse of the Battle Cruiser

“Commander Galaxy, the shuttle is inbound.”

“Listen up, team! We’re going in hot, and it’s going to be a rough landing. Load everyone on board as fast as you can—I’m not waiting! Brace, brace, brace! Portal down—move it! Get your asses on quickly. LB, they’ve locked onto us; we need to go, now!”

“Okay, move, move, move! Get in, we fight to live! Go, go, go! Buckle up; it’s going to be a bumpy ride. LB, punch it! Go vertical—now!”

“Commander, JK isn’t on board!”

“What?!”

“He’s under fire—holding them back, Commander!”

“LB, swing the shuttle around and prepare to open the portal. Hover behind that peak and open the hatch. Be ready for a two-package hot extraction at RV2. And don’t be late, LB! Guys, hand me your thermal nano-nukes—quickly! Love you, son. RV2 in ten mikes!”

“Give them covering fire! Take out that sniper by the cliff! No, take out the damn cliff itself—do it now! Listen up, we can’t afford to lose even a fraction of a femtosecond—both their lives depend on it. We can talk about my age when we’re all back alive. Until then, listen and let’s fight to survive. That’s it! Good shot! Prep two lines for a hot surface-to-air extraction. Guide me in, team—I need to get it right the first time.”

“Aye, aye, LB. I’ve got eyes on JK and the Commander—they’re on the move. Two low cruisers are approaching fast. Bank hard to port on my mark in five, then go vertical. I’ll target their bellies for maximum impact. Stand by, LB… 4, 3… Mark! Ok, punch it—firing now!”

“Good shot! Preparing for exfil. Commander, can you hear me? RV2 in two mikes… one mike…”

“Two more bogeys incoming. Keep an eye out, LB! Where’s the other one? JK, if you hear me, there’s a bogey on your flank. Commander, can you see it?”

“JK, take the comms! I’ll scout ahead to RV2. Just call the shots; I’ll cover you. Watch my movements—if I slow down, something’s off. If I move fast, follow my lead. If I stop suddenly, we fight our way out. I’ll check back for updates. If needed, we’ll find cover, plan, and then move out—double quick. Thumbs up if you’re good to go. All set? Then let’s move!”

“Take cover, G! Firing at high-left bogey—on your left! Push through; we need to take it down before it sends our coordinates. Firing high left!”

“I’ve picked up its vapor trail—it’s close, lingering here. Follow me, JK. Target it when you have it in your crosshairs. Pushing right; the vapors are still intact. I hear it—loading up. There! It’s making a U-turn. Take it out when you can.”

“I still can’t see it, G.”

“Wait, I’ll line up with it, then duck. Take the shot when I do. I’m almost in its line of sight—it’ll be in range soon… Get ready… 5, 4, 3… Now, now, now, JK!”

“Bogey down! Bogey down! Grabbing its databank before we go. Got it—terminated. The team can analyze it when we’re back. Nice shot, JK! Let’s move to RV2—quickly! That bogey might have relayed our coordinates. LB, I see you. Drop below the clouds. The shuttle will shield us from the acid rain—stay above the tree canopy!”

“There they are! Skyhooks in sight! Quickly, inflate and deploy the balloons. LB, we’re ready!”

“Copy, D. TL, stand by. I see their balloons. Keep an eye out for more bogeys—I’m lining up for contact!”

“JK, look there—just faint, but you can see it. The contrast in the skyline, snaking up into the clouds. There it is again, coming toward us! That must be the drop line from LB. LB, if you can hear me, drop down just above the tree line. We’re both hooked on. Punch it! Don’t worry about us; we’ll hang on. Punch it!”

“JK, on your right, there’s another low cruiser—take it out! Yeah, mate, ‘extreme prejudice!’ Great shot! That’s why we need you; you’re the best. Okay, JK, let’s do this. LB, hit it hard and fast! Go, go, go, son!”

“LTC, you pulled that off with intense authenticity. You flushed Doom’s intent into the open, and the Nanos are reformatting his insurgents into oblivion’s doormats. You saved thousands, JK. ‘Shine and rock on, mate. I’m proud to serve beside you, LTC—proud indeed.”

“Brace, brace, brace! I’ve got them. Reel them in.”

“LB, pull us up! Teams, prepare for a hard, hot, and hearty landing.”

“Welcome back, JK. Leave it in the past where it belongs. We’ve all moved on, and we need you to do the same. We’ve got to secure the LZ and locate the power source. Let’s show our kids what the rain, rainbows, and sunshine look, feel, and taste like!”

“Thanks, team. LB, stay above 500. They’re expecting us to come in low and fast, so take us up to 800 on my mark. Five, three, two… mark! Alright, from this height, you should be able to spot the LZ and identify their high-value targets. If we want the power source intact, we’ll need to eliminate targets A and D, enter through B, and exit out C. And if needed, blow B and C to create exit E.”

“Aye, aye, JK! Good to have you in command. Hold on tight, team—we’re going vertical to 800 in five… on my mark… four, three, two… mark!”

“LB, take Guardian. When the time comes, she’ll guide you. She knows what to do. And Guardian… please, take care of my baby and his children when they’re born.”

“Aye, aye, Commander Galaxy. LB, I’m strapping Guardian to your wrist so you can sync.”

“Done!”

“Alright, team, standby. I’m taking out targets A and D in three, two… now!”

“LB, open the hatch. Team, on my mark in five, four, two… mark! Go, go, go!”

“Mum, take care.”

“I’m going to RV with your dad. JK, we fight to live.”

“Over there by the monument… I’m picking up a signal.”

“Is that…?”

“Yes, it is… that’s your dad!”

“LB, hover close by and I’ll jump.”

“JK, take the team and secure the landing zone. Once we find the power source and figure out what it’s powering, we can plan our next move.”

“LB, listen up. It’s coming over the shuttle’s comms—I’ll patch it through now. ‘The portal is next to the lone tree. This place is dying. The power source is running low, and when it fails, this whole rock will drop out of orbit and hit at terminal velocity. Doom’s got an old space station he’s trying to get flying. We need to find it before he does or we’re done for.’”

“Nano, can you track both signals? We need to be alert in case Doom is still out there. I’ll relay the info to the ground team and… Mum, Commander Mum, sorry about that.”

“LB, D, we need to talk. One of those signals is coming from the safe haven. Everyone there is in danger.”

“I can’t leave the LZ. The teams will be exposed.”

“Wait… is that…? How did he survive? His hover should’ve crashed! LB, can you get me down there without Doom spotting us? I need to reach the safe haven—my daughter is there.”

“D, I can’t land here, so you’ll need to use the drop line to slide down to the ground. I’ll get you as close as I can. Remember—fight to live. On my mark… in 5, 4, 3, 2… mark! Go!”

“Troll! How did you get here? What are you doing? Are you with my informant? I swear, I’m going to kill you right where you stand, you useless piece of trash—just like your roasted, toasted daughter. Good for nothing but a slave. Hahaha! Kiss your ass goodbye!”

“Nanos, ‘we know what we need to know when we need to know it.’ Well, now I’m deleting you where you stand—this time, forever. Take this! Forgive me, dear… sorry, son. I had to take a life force, as wretched as it was, but your daughter and son, your sister—they’re all we have left. Wherever you are, ‘watch over me.’ I need your help.”

“D, it’s the Nanos. We’ve got the families concealed and shielded—they’re safe for now. But there are several QAnonymous agents here, and they’re talking about nuking the whole block to cover their tracks and eliminate all evidence. Everyone with us is safe, but all the families within a 100-mile radius won’t survive.”

“How small can you make the artifact? Set its outward shockwave to maximum. Turn it into a ring with a trigger mechanism at the bottom so I can detonate it when I’m ready. Please, Nanos, promise me you’ll take care of my daughter. Give her the life we dreamed of. Standby… I’m going in. I’ve got the ring on. Hey, guys, let me in—it’s Troll. Agent Doom sent me.”

“Scan him before he enters. Kill him if he’s carrying anything.”

“He’s clear.”

“Let him in. I need to know what Agent Doom wants us to do next before I blow this dump and everything around it.”

“Troll, what did Doom say? He told us he’d call as soon as the ship was ready. He mentioned that his informant planted a device on the beacon the rebels sent up to signal the Eco-Marshal’s Armada. He said it’d kill two birds with one stone. We don’t understand that part, but that’s Doom for you—he’s weird but gutsy. So, what does he want us to do?”

“Go back to hell!”

“Nanos, act quickly before he bleeds to death. Remove every quark we can’t mend and stitch together a functional apparatus identical to the one he lost in the blast. Equip it with all the same functionalities, but upgrade it with our latest advancements. Remember, it belongs to D. Transfer the Nano-mindset back to the millions of millions—nearly a billion—to ensure there are no conflicts. We need to move fast and identify the double agent. Take him to the families in the safe haven. No one enters—no exceptions, not even if they claim to be an Eco-Marshal. This is a prime directive. Do we all understand?”

“Yes, Nano. We will notify you immediately. No one will enter, not even if they claim to be Arthurian, our kin! We will take D to his daughter and assist in his recovery. Young lady, your father is injured, but he is healing. Come with us. You can stay by his side until he wakes. If you need anything, just push the button—we’ll be tending to the families.”

“Thank you, Nanos. Right, this time, I’ll delete you myself, you—stupid daddy’s girl. I’m tired of this ugly vessel. What’s with all this talk about ugly? What the f—!”

“Nanos, secure and neutralize that room. Ensure no traces of the App faction remain. I’ll brief the Principal and Prime Apps that we’ve located the parasitic virus and sent it back beyond the decimal point, as instructed. How are the rest of the facsimiles? And D’s daughter—is she okay?”

“The aberrations and the young girl are healing well. They’re undergoing deconfliction, stress mitigation, and synthesized harmonic recuperation. Their algorithms will be monitored until they are optimally recalibrated. They have been cleared by Grandmaster Zen-Jedi-Tree using the Obi-Wan Kenobi methodology and have realigned with a Growth Mindset. Considering what they’ve been through, they are stable. The scans confirm your findings, and the mitigations have been implemented with extreme diligence. Our location remains incognito and impenetrable by scanners. The system jammers run cyclically in parallel, ensuring constant protection—we’re now in the nano-zone, with absolute command and control. No one gets in, and no one gets out.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Follow my instructions precisely. Remain vigilant and protect D and his daughter at all costs. Return their representations so they may be whole again; their reunification is inevitable.”

“We fight to live, Nano: Shine and Rock on!”

“Commander I MAX, I’ve locked onto the duo’s biorhythms. The Guardians have merged. The Grandest Knightly Dame Butterfly has initiated her charges’ ascendancy to the Twelve Shields of the Zodiac. The Knight Envoy provides the first line of deterrence, while Battle Space Didymoon secures the outer peripheries. The Grandest Knight Butterfly shields the trio of one, in accordance with the Prime Directive. She has sent you the source code for her charges, allowing you to replicate their presence with absolute precision.”

“Thank you, Nav. Beam to Arthurian and let him know we have the coordinates and await his instructions. Pre-emptively hail the Grandmasters and inform them the Roundtable is convening. Drone, prepare the contingency file. I’ll transmit the rendezvous coordinates with an invitation once the Grandmasters are aboard to initiate the Contingency.”

Chapter 27: Battle Harden

“Hi, Gamer, it’s Pilot. Are you free to talk?”

“Pilot! I was just about to call you—how dreamy is that? So, anything I can help with?”

“Yeah… things are getting strange here. The climate is changing so fast, and now we’re being bombarded by sandstorms—except there’s no sand, none that I’ve seen or heard of. What’s worse is our rations are running out, and even my mum and dad don’t know why. They’re trying to fix it, but…”

“Oh, LB, I’m so sorry.”

“And that’s not even the worst part. You know the acid rain we usually get? It’s becoming so strong now that even the protective sportswear can’t handle it—the acid just burns right through.”

“Pilot, that’s awful news. I wish there was some way I could help you and your family, but I don’t even know where to start.”

“Gamer, please don’t worry about us. I don’t want anything to happen to you or your loved ones. Some people here would jump at the chance to take advantage, maybe even enslave you all. It’s just too risky.”

“Oh my gosh. Thank you for being honest with me, and for your concern. I care about you too, Pilot. I had no idea the sandstorms were so serious. I thought they were just a normal part of the weather system. I noticed them on our gaming console, but I didn’t think much of it. Though, now that I think about it, it was weird—they always started in the same spot, followed the same path, and ended up right back where they began, at the same time. But we got used to it, like it was just another level in the game we had to beat to advance and earn higher scores, maybe unlock new gear.”

“Gamer, do you think your high-flyers could attach some image recording devices and conduct aerial surveillance? I need to see where these sandstorms—these Haboobs, as we call them—are coming from.”

“Wow, LB! That is… really strange. We call the dust clouds in the game ‘haboobs’ too—the ones that sometimes cover us in that soft, grainy powder.”

“Gamer, that’s more than a coincidence! The same phenomenon, the same name… in two different places?”

“Pilot, did you ever consider… maybe it isn’t?”

“You mean… like a different dimension?”

“You got it! I mean, think about it—we look the same, talk the same, have the same arms, legs, noses. And if we both have ‘haboobs’… maybe we’re closer than we think.”

“Oh wow, that would be amazing… but then… oh no! We need to protect you from our evildoers. If they find a way to invade, they could try to impose their rules on your people too!”

“Hopefully, the administration here can handle them.”

“Gamer, we need to talk.”

“I thought we already were, Pilot!”

“No, Gamer, I mean really think about my request. Our situation—and yours—is extremely serious. We’ve come to understand the old Earth saying: ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Based on all the ‘Old Earth www dot’ archives, the ‘one-thing rule’ let those in power do whatever they wanted, against anyone they chose, even children, in the most grotesque ways imaginable. They thrived on cruelty. That also applies to administrations having absolute control over resources. Here, we call them ‘Takers.’ Maybe not all Takers are bad, but ours have shown they can’t be trusted to put our interests first, if at all. And it seems like you have Takers too.”

“Gamer, we can work on this together. Both primary plans and contingency plans—please, Gamer, please!”

“Yes, okay, Pilot. If it helps you worry less about me, then yes, we’ll work on the plans together. Can I bring my team in to help? I trust them, and none of them have any ties to the administration here. You have to be super-rich to buy your way into their circle, and I doubt our Takers would want to share their control with anyone else. When do you want the reconnaissance mission to happen? Tomorrow would be good since another haboob is due to appear.”

“That’s perfect, Gamer. Thanks! It should answer a lot of questions—hopefully, like where these haboobs are coming from.”

“I’ll set up a command center with my team and stream the feed to you live. There’s a satellite that passes over at the same time every night. I’ll bounce the data off it so you can intercept it on your end.”

“Thanks, Gamer. I’ll be ready bright and early tomorrow. Take care, bye!”

“Bye, Pilot! Check the emojis—love you!”.

“Hey Mum, Dad, how are TL and 2iC’s friends dealing with their facsimiles ending? It was sad they didn’t survive. Are they recovering? Pass on my love and best wishes for a quick recovery.”

“Yes, it’s been tough, LB. We gave them both the farewell of the fallen. Now, we’re trying to maintain the positive momentum they championed. Their bond remains, even in their induced comas. I’ll let them know you’re thinking of them. It does help.”

“Mum, Gamer and I will be conducting a stealth aerial reconnaissance mission tomorrow to find the origins of these sandstorms—these haboobs.”

“Oh, okay, baby boy, you and Gamer?”

“Yeah, we both found it odd that they use the same name for them too. There are other similarities, but our main focus is gathering intel. By the way, Mum, how’s the power source rehabilitation going? Any computational anomalies I could help with? It would be a great learning opportunity!”

“It’s still inactive. We haven’t been able to activate what we think might be the energy rods that power the system. But thank you for offering. More minds might lead to that ‘light bulb’ moment we need. By the way, when do I get to meet Gamer? Don’t forget, I’m your mother!”

“Mum, it’s LB—well, Pilot, when we’re together.”

“Did I ever tell you how I met your dad? I fell for him immediately, but I was too shy to say anything directly. I dropped hints, hoping he’d make the first move, but he was always cautious. One day, during a mission, I thought for sure he’d finally kiss me—but no, your dad never does anything halfway. When he did finally lean in, right before he went off to save the station and all of us, it was so perfect. Tender and… oh, so defining. In that moment, everything just clicked.”

“Thanks, Mum. Okay, I’ll talk to Gamer and see when we can arrange a meeting.”

“Oh, you’re learning! That’s my boy! And don’t worry, I won’t show her your baby photos… at least not right away.”

“Love you, Mum!”

“Okay, Mum, I’m off to set up our recon mission. I need to coordinate with the experts. Love you, Mum. Bye.”

“Take care, LB. Your dad and I love you too. And don’t forget—I’d love to meet your girlfriend.”

“Okay, Mum. Bye!”

LB walked purposefully to the briefing room. As he entered, he found P deeply engrossed in thought, surrounded by a network of glowing holographic displays that cast a soft light on his face.

“LB, what brings you here?” P asks, looking up with a curious smile.

“You, actually,” LB replies.

“Why, LB, I’m flattered. Two girlfriends? That’s quite adventurous!”

“Oh no, no, it’s not like that!” LB stammers, his cheeks flushing.

P chuckles. “Please excuse my wordplay, LB. But I must say, I do enjoy seeing you blush. It’s a rare thing these days—a true sign of emotion. It gives me hope for the future, knowing that our potential leaders can still express their feelings openly. Though, if I were a bit younger… maybe I’d be the pilot, and you… well, let’s just leave that to the imagination.”

LB shifts uncomfortably, but P continues with a gentle tone.

“Gamer, is that how you pronounce her name? You’re lucky, LB. You have what many of us yearn for—a chance to build a meaningful connection, a bond where both people grow together, unhindered by the other. In a world where compromise, not conflict, is the guiding principle, you’re living by design. As the Ode to the Code of Conduct states: ‘Live every moment to its utmost potential, every femtosecond with rapture, and always put the benefit of others before self.’ It’s not just about achieving the mission; it’s about how we achieve it, ensuring that our tactics align with our strategic values. We philosophers are here to provide support, to make sure every tactical move has strategic significance. We don’t have the luxury to waste what little we possess—we optimize. If we don’t know it, we learn it. If we don’t have it, we make it!”

LB nods, feeling both inspired and slightly overwhelmed. “That’s exactly why I’m here, P. I’m about to lead a reconnaissance mission to the other side and I could use your advice on task objectives. I’ll have the Nanos and Apps as part of my recon party, and I plan to ask the ultra-elite for tactical operators. But I’d like you to recommend a strategic operative who can help us maximize both our direct and indirect goals.”

P’s expression brightens. “We have just the recon specialist for your operation. Her codename is ‘Tactical Thinker,’ or ‘T’ for short. She’s adept at reading the intent and agenda behind various scenarios. For example, if your aerial recon reveals people moving in line formation, she’d assess their pace and posture, deduce that they’re carrying a heavy load, and postulate their resilience based on their determination to keep going despite the burden. She’d see beyond the surface to understand their true strength.”

“Can I meet with T?” LB asks, intrigued.

P smiles. “Absolutely. I’ll arrange it now. Trust me, she’s exactly who you need for this mission.”

 “She’s on her way now,” P said, leaning back with a thoughtful expression. “Remember to keep the operation on a need-to-know basis. Share information only with those who require it. Always think about the tactical application of what data you reveal and to whom. T can help you effectively use this method to optimize outcomes to your—and our—advantage.”

A moment later, a confident voice echoed through the room. “Hello, LB. Or do you prefer Pilot?” T asked with a grin, her eyes studying him closely. “I’ll stick with LB. Judging by your slight change in expression, the latter seems to carry a bit more… significance. Not just a nickname, but perhaps a coded nod to a mutual fondness?”

LB smiled, impressed by her keen observation. “Well done, T. It’s LB, and I appreciate you picking up on that. It’s important to me to stay open to different perspectives. They help shape my current stance and guide me toward the future. First, we need to ensure there is a future for all of us, and then work toward making it inclusive and equitable within its possibilities. I’ve taken a page from P’s book: ‘By design!’”

T chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “LB, you’re something else. For the record, I usually like girls—as in, romantically. But you’ve just sparked something in me I didn’t expect.” She shook her head playfully. “I need to watch myself—I can’t be falling for a guy who’s already in a relationship! Anyway, that’s me breaking the ice, and giving you a bit of insight into who I am—no controversy intended.”

She paused, her tone becoming more reflective. “But hey, I’m still figuring things out. Do I like girls, boys, or maybe both? My uncertainty is slowly unfolding, and that’s a good start. My priority is love and living it. I find ‘By design’ to be a useful framework—it helps me analyze intent and objectives. I think about why a particular outcome is the desired end state, then backtrack to examine each component and how it fits. I use the same methodology to design my own ‘outlook.’ When coupled with hindsight, this process makes for a robust strategic alignment platform: Analyze it, contextualize it, deploy it, adjust it if needed, and then redeploy.”

P interjected, “T, LB, two of the ultra-elite operators will rendezvous with your party here in 30 minutes. Have Nano and App join for the mission briefing and rehearsals before deploying. Our new team leader, the former third-in-command, will set up the comms center for your mission.”

“Thanks, P. Take care of the team back home. We love you all,” LB said, offering a quick salute.

“Ditto,” P replied with a warm smile.

LB turned to T, feeling a surge of adrenaline. “Alright, folks, gather around! Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames, we’re moving out soon. Reconnaissance—aka Recon—is all about gathering intelligence for tactical and strategic purposes from areas that offer superior observational advantage. Think cover, concealment, ease of ingress and egress—all executed with stealth. Each of us, regardless of our role, needs to exhibit precise self-discipline. We rehearse our moves until we can perform them blindfolded. Remember, detection is not an option, and failure is not a choice.”

T nodded, adding, “And let’s not forget—sometimes, in the midst of these missions, unexpected friendships develop. Where they lead depends on how often our paths cross and in what context. A clandestine relationship can often play a surprising role, and its ability to weather the storms is, well, the true meaning of ‘undisclosed.’”

The team felt the weight of T’s words as they geared up for their mission. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, a mix of nerves and excitement.

“Alright, team, gather around for the final briefing before we head out,” LB called, his voice steady and commanding. “Our route follows the ground plan just presented by Tail-end Charlie. We’ll move in single file with me leading, and remember, each of you has the waypoints recorded for entry and exit points. Once we reach the target location, it’s covert movement to our observation point. We’ll set up in the dip of the terrain and maintain our concealment. No lights, no sounds, no smells—communication will be through hand signals, sight, and touch only.”

He paused, making eye contact with each member of the team. “The roster follows as briefed. Remember, the relief takes position and acclimatizes for 10 minutes before the changeover begins. Keep it quiet, keep it low. Move into the harbor area, hand over your notes to the recon leader, then take a rest until your next shift. And no snoring! Any questions?”

Nano and App exchanged a look, then LB continued, “Nano, App, your priorities are assessing the wall’s defenses—its strengths and potential weaknesses. Given our need for concealment, how can we best support your data collection without compromising our observation point?”

App stepped forward. “We’ve discussed it and agreed that thermal imaging is our best technique, based on previous aerial recon. To minimize our own thermal signatures and avoid detection—shape, shine, silhouette, shadow, smell, and sound—will be kept minimal. We’ll reduce our physical footprint to almost nothing while still achieving high-resolution outputs.”

LB nodded approvingly. “Perfect. Let’s make this count. Any changes to the mission parameters should only be made if success is likely. If not, we adapt, optimize, and then engage. Agreed?”

“Yes from the Nanos,” Nano replied.

“Apps concur,” App chimed in.

“Ditto from the Ultra Elites,” another voice added.

LB turned to T, who was watching him closely. “T, you seem distracted. Everything alright?”

T grinned. “You’re good at reading people, LB. I was just thinking of Gamer—bringing her in for some overhead support. She’s got long-range recon capabilities that could warn us if the situation changes. An early warning system would be valuable.”

LB’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea. It fits our ultra-elite approach—gaining every advantage without compromising the team. T, Nano, App, any precautions?”

Nano responded first, “We’ll need clear standard operating procedures for Gamer to follow, so we’re all aware of what’s happening and don’t get caught off guard.”

App nodded. “Agreed. S O P clarity is crucial.”

LB took a breath. “Alright. RL, connect with Gamer and brief us all on the S O P. Once that’s done, we’ll sync our timepieces and deploy at zero hour.”

RL nodded, “Understood. Patching you through for TASKORD RECON.”

T quickly added, “Nano, can you ask Nano-Bot to connect us with Gamer? We’ll need her support with her long-range cruiser. Apologize for the short notice and see if it can be done now.”

Nano nodded. “Already done, just waiting for the—ah, there it is. LB, you’re up.”

LB turned to the screen. “Hi, Gamer. I need your help with long-range recon as an early warning system for our mission. Sorry for the last-minute call, but we’re on a tight deadline. The recon involves the wall and the mining site. If you’re able, RL will brief us on the S O P for any changes that could compromise our position. And everyone, this is Gamer, my girlfriend and best friend.”

Gamer’s face appeared on the screen, a smile spreading across her lips. “Hi everyone. Ready for the brief, RL?”

RL jumped in, “Alright, team, I’ve sent the S O P to each of you. Read it and listen to the audio file. Any questions on the procedure if we’re spotted by the enemy? Remember, if compromised, evade capture and rendezvous back here at RV1. Clear?”

A chorus of affirmations filled the room.

“Got it.”

“Understood.”

“Ditto.”

“Same, got it!”

“Great, sync our watches. I have 1800 hours on my mark in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… mark! Right, TEC, make sure no one falls behind. Stay in formation. Let’s move.”

“TL, this is RL. Over.”

“RL, this is TL. Reading you loud and clear. Go ahead.”

“TL, we’ve arrived at RV1 and met up with Commander Mum. Once we locate the entrance to the other side, we’ll halt, secure the area, and assess. If safe, we proceed; if not, we hold, reassess, and adjust. Over.”

“Hey LB, man… Gamer, she’s gorgeous. You’re lucky, you know? If you ever take her for granted, be warned—I’m not above making a move myself.”

“I’ve never faced this kind of situation before, T, but I get where you’re coming from. I care about Gamer, but I also know we both have lives to live, especially with the distance between us.”

“Alright, team, check your gear—nothing that can give us away. From here on out, we switch to Eco-Marshal Jedi focus. Silent mode on my count of four… 1, 2, 3, 4.”

An eerie quiet settled over the team as they moved. Each step was deliberate, every member scanning their assigned arcs: right, front, left, and occasionally back to ensure no one fell behind. The sequence was a ritual, designed to keep the team together and prevent anyone from veering off course. If someone did, they would pause, reassess, and employ the proper procedure to correct the mistake, pushing forward with renewed confidence. That was the purpose of rehearsals—eliminating the most likely problems before they arose.

Upon reaching the observation point (OP), the team seamlessly executed their entry protocol under the UE’s guidance, setting up their positions and immediately switching to recon mode. The rest of the team prepared the harbor area for rest, marking the route with a low-visibility, durable twine, quietly clearing any objects that could make noise. These would be put back once the mission was complete. As night fell and the temperature dropped, a chill settled over them. In the rest area, whispers were allowed, but only when absolutely necessary.

Gamer’s hover drones hovered above, scanning for heat signatures. T, shivering from the cold, nudged LB. “Hey dude, I’m freezing.”

Noticing her discomfort, LB drew her closer into his strong frame, their bodies pressed together to share warmth. A rush of unspoken feelings flowed between them, their contours merging as they huddled for heat. As they found themselves entwined, a different kind of warmth began to build, unexpected but undeniable.

“Hey, LB, wake up,” RL whispered. “Nanos and App have detected long-range support overhead. We’re moving into the final leg of the roster and getting ready for exfil. I was thinking, since we’re here, if all goes well, we could push a little further to gather intel on Gamer’s location. Maybe we could make contact. What do you think? Also, by the way, you two make a cute couple… and I see your ‘little friend’ agrees.”

LB quickly adjusted, flustered. “Oops! No, it’s not like that… but, yeah, she is cute.”

“I heard that, both of you,” T murmured. “And thanks, LB… I was freezing.”

“I was worried about hypothermia,” LB replied softly, “but it’s good to see you’re okay. Let’s see if Nanos can contact Gamer. Then, we’ll figure out our next steps. RL, brief TL on the exfil changes.”

“Copy that, LB. On it.”

Chapter 28: When I Kissed a Real Girl

“Nano-Bot, how’s the coordination progressing with the Apps?”

“The Fellowship of Calculus is acclimating well to the change. Their newly found independence is evolving, and they’re zeroing in on tracking down the Troll.”

“It’s always great to hear others making strides toward their goals.”

“Nano-Bot, I need to mount a recon scouting party through the wall. Can the Nanos join me? I haven’t yet figured out how to transition over to the other side. Gamer and I pinpointed their entry point; we believe it connects to our side. The problem is, we haven’t found our gateway yet. But chatter says it’s near a lone tree, though we haven’t seen any lone tree anywhere.”

“What is your mission objective, LB?”

“To understand the connection between our side and the atmospherics where Gamer is. Specifically, to investigate the forced disappearance of our friends and family and whether it’s related to the mining. Gamer says there are no laborers from her side—no one there would ever do hard work. It’s too taxing for them. We think the laborers are from our side, trafficked into slavery in the pits.”

“Hey Gamer, it’s T. Did you check the recon footage? Any abnormal heat signatures?”

“Oh, hi T. Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Weird, yours does too.”

“I reviewed the footage—nothing out of the ordinary. I did see LB’s outline with someone else… I suspect it was you. You two generated a lot of body heat and movement in one spot. Did you two enjoy… whatever you were doing?”

“You don’t mind, Gamer? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No, why should it? It’s not like you two were making mind love. Oh, I’m blushing just thinking about it. Are you blushing, T? You’re a thinker, so you know what I mean—two minds bonding, twisting, jostling, fighting for who’s on top, then caving in, then not… over and over until our neural pathways link for that intimate moment when we share ourselves for the first time. Oh, the ecstasy… I’m drooling. T, just between us, my mind is blushing right now. This isn’t brain freeze from ice cream; this is mega-erotic ecstasy freeze. It’s like a data overload.”

“Gosh, Gamer, mine is too. I feel like I know you, and if I don’t, I definitely want to—especially your mind.”

“T, I just came again. Do you think we could meet somewhere? Only if you’re interested.”

“What about LB, Gamer? Aren’t you two in love?”

“His mind is sharp, but yours, T… I just came again. I’ve never felt like this before. It can be our secret if you want.”

“I like that. It’s our secret. Let’s meet and intertwine our minds in the thrusts of intimacy and uninhibited love. You’ll be my first mind lover. Gamer, I can’t wait.”

As life often goes, it takes its own time and path toward fulfillment. Sometimes no one gets hurt; other times, the fallout can be devastating—or strangely, not at all.

“Nano-Bot, what’s your advice?”

“LB, I recommend briefing your Mom and Dad first. I’ll talk to the Apps and see if they’re interested in joining the mission; their intel capacity is second to none. Then, you should contact the Ultra-Elite—they’re experienced in covert surveillance and reconnaissance. If you do this wrong, you could get captured or worse. Bring them on board, then update your parents.”

“Thanks, Nano-Bot. I’ll get on it right away and keep you posted as I progress.”

“One more thing. We—the ‘millions of nearly a billion’—have an update. D and his daughter are recuperating and de-stressing after their ordeal. JK has transitioned back to his pre-mission identity and is taking furlough to be with his family. Oddly, Doom’s signature brain waves are still active. That probably means he’s still alive, plotting and scheming. We can only assume he’s setting up a ruse with us as the main players. I’ve sent out a warning order. It’s time to form the quorum, debrief on all activities, and strategize our next steps so we don’t end up as trophies on Doom’s mantel.”

“Thanks, Nano. Let me know when it’s time for the briefing. LB, over and out.”

Storms are rarely seen as blessings, but they can provide perfect cover for a reconnaissance mission. As LB prepared for the upcoming operation, the storm seemed almost serendipitous. Sure, it meant dealing with tough conditions, but in the grand scheme, it was a minor inconvenience.

“Hey, Mom and Dad, I’m planning a recon mission to the other side. Do you know where the entry point might be? Have you seen anything that could be a possible route?”

“The other side, LB?” Dad’s voice crackled through the comms.

“Yeah, I ran an aerial survey with Gamer’s team. The mining site on her end seems to be causing the sandstorms and acid rain. We found what looks like the Wall of Codes and Data—it’s some kind of data bank, receiving and relaying information, even printing formulas. When Gamer’s team fired non-lethal light beams, they became dangerous once they passed through the Wall. I need to speak with the Philosopher Nanos and the Apps to get their support for another mission. The storm won’t last forever, and we might only have 24 to 48 hours to gather enough intel to prepare a defense or counterattack before the administration comes looking for Agent Doom.”

“That makes sense,” Mom said. “The hatch we found led nowhere; it didn’t seem like a ship. We thought there might be another entry or exit, well hidden. We can help you look there, but your Dad and I need to work on rebooting the power system to stabilize our orbit. We’re starting to piece things together, but we still haven’t found any sign of the spaceship Doom was working on.”

“Oh, and Mom, Dad, Gamer mentioned there were people working at the excavation, but over there, no one does manual labor—it’s too strenuous. Maybe they’re from here, forced to work in the mines. If Doom’s spaceship isn’t here, it could be over there too.”

Dad chimed in, “You’ll need to be careful. Whoever’s running the mining operation will likely protect their investment. I’ll speak with the Ultra-elite team so we’re as prepared as possible.”

“Okay, Mom. Will you join us?”

“No, your Dad and I need to get the power sorted out before we end up in a situation we can’t handle. Let us know what you find at the mining site and what they’re going to such lengths to excavate.”

“Nano-Bot here, LB. We’ve gathered enough data to get a clearer picture of the situation and its impact on our survival. Are we expanding the recon mission to include a possible rendezvous with Gamer? If so, both the Apps and I advise moving to a secure location to analyze the details. Hasty preparation leaves us vulnerable to the Troll. Running our core algorithms in unison could help decipher the Wall’s programming. If we can tap into it, we might uncover the source code’s origins.”

“T, what’s your take on the administration having access to the quantum dimension? I thought the portal led there, but that was a dead end. Should we meet with Gamer to find out what’s really happening?”

“Or maybe it’s a well-orchestrated ruse,” T replied. “If we consider the protective measures guarding the vault, it doesn’t seem like a simple ploy. We’ve seen what happens to agents who mess up classified transfers—the gamma-ray lasers don’t leave much behind. We need to keep in mind that our understanding is limited, probably due to the effects of the ‘dumb down.’ Clarity might come as our neural capacities increase. What are your thoughts, T?”

“Presumably you do the same when contemplating LB,” said App. “I’ve always found that a front-seat view is best: research thoroughly, analyze deeply, draw the best conclusion you can, and then reassess. I agree with the Apps and Nanos: once we determine the origin of the Wall, we can rule out any connection to the vault. Until we see it for ourselves, our inputs are purely theoretical. I need to get to the other side to be of any real use. Our time is running out!”

“Hey guys,” LB interjected, “have you noticed any improvement in your analytical capabilities? It seems like thinking is less of a struggle now and not as tiring. We’ve concluded that the Wall is transmitting on a frequency that distorts neural pathways, similar to how it turns ordinary light beams into concentrated lasers on our side. Both of us need to figure out how to shut it down and redirect its power to support Project Orbit as a backup. But the quantum dimension remains a mystery. It looks like only the vault connects to it, and we might be missing something obvious. Could it be that simple? App, what do you think?”

“You’re right,” App replied. “Why didn’t we see this before? The gamma-ray lasers protecting the vault, the gamers’ shots from their hover cruisers, and the frequency-emitting neural blockers all point to the Wall’s original purpose!”

“Exactly, App. Before we consider turning off the Wall at its power source, we need to understand its true purpose—why it was created in the first place. Otherwise, we risk triggering a chain reaction that could be more dangerous than what we face now. We need to press on and discover the real answer.”

“Agreed,” said LB. “Your suggestion aligns with our mission parameters. Cheers, everyone.”

“Great, let’s go meet up with Gamer,” T said eagerly.

“Alright, Recon Party, our mission now includes meeting Gamer and learning as much as we can about their daily operations,” LB instructed.

“Roger that, LB. Has Gamer ever mentioned life on her side of the Wall?”

“Yeah,” LB replied. “She said the administration is controlled by a few very wealthy individuals who buy their way into power. No one on their side does manual work. As for who does, she doesn’t know. Her room seems pretty bland compared to mine—I have all sorts of stuff, but not everyone is the same.”

“Unless you’re a clone!” T joked.

“Are you suggesting Gamer is a clone?” LB retorted. “She’s not. We talk about personal things—love, kissing, you know, the usual. Let’s drop it.”

“Sorry, LB,” T said, sounding regretful. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I’m just a bit envious, not of her, but of what she has with you.”

“What?” LB asked, confused. “I thought you liked girls.”

“Shut up, you idiot!” T snapped. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Just shut up! I don’t want to talk to you right now!”

“Guys, let’s settle this,” RL said firmly. “Whether you shake hands or hug it out, we need to stay united. We rely on each other to survive this mission. 2iC and I have families—we want to go home alive, not in body bags. So, shake hands, clear the air, and refocus. We can’t proceed until…”

As spontaneity took over, a handshake turned into a hug, which then sparked something more profound. Dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin ignited their emotions, culminating in a kiss that changed everything. T smiled, staring out at the horizon leading to the other side. “Great, thanks, you two. You’re just like me and my wife. Are you sure you’re not together? Anyway, let’s figure this out. I’ll lead.”

Having formulated a clearer picture of the Wall and its impact, they now understood that what they thought were ordinary weather patterns—acid rain and sandstorms—were actually caused by the mining operation on the other side. While they had a better understanding of the problem, they still didn’t know what it would ultimately look like, especially with DOOM’s schemes.

“Hey RL,” LB called out, “can you see where the crowds are going?”

“Give me a second,” RL responded. “I’ll zoom in. None of them have a thermal signature. Wait, the scanner’s working. Guys, they’re all bio-facsimiles. But look at that—a heat signature. I’ll need to get the Nano-Bot to interpret it. Sending it back now. It looks like there’s an event or a rally, maybe a concert. There’s a stage all set up.”

“Hey, I don’t believe it! Look at whose face is on the billboards. It looks like him, but it could be a coincidence. I’ll snap a photo for further investigation. Maybe audio or alpha wave readings can confirm his identity.”

“It certainly looks and sounds like him, but let’s wait for the analysis. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” replied App.

“Do you have any idea what he’s saying? Can you make out their message?” LB asked. “I need to get closer. Here, listen to this: ‘How’s the project progressing? Are they on track to complete it in time? We might need to incentivize them, like making the base unit appear to lose power.’”

“Perfect. Make it happen. What’s the status of the mine?” App inquired.

“They still haven’t reached the core,” came the response.

“Get it done. It won’t work if it isn’t at the center of the rock. I want this completed promptly. Utilize all necessary resources and personnel to ensure the objectives are achieved swiftly. Make sure to leak this part of the orders. Stream it and set it up so it appears as if it’s being transmitted live on hot-mike moments. Historically, humans on Earth showed a tendency for destruction and barbarism, leading to their environmental degradation. It was only a matter of time before they sought assets from other civilizations. We must act decisively to secure control before they become a threat to our interests. Once we establish primacy, Earth and its inhabitants will be integrated into the greater collective. Harsh measures may be required, but they’ll be justified by long-term gains. A few sacrifices will be made for the greater good. End quote.” He punctuated his statement with a condescending laugh.

“Also, I want this part leaked. Write this down and record it: ‘The campaign must project a resolute leader who will protect humanity’s interests. While other candidates propose capitulation and servitude to our terrestrial overlords, I refuse to tolerate such defeatism. I will shield the populace from the tyrannical designs of our enemies and their endless campaigns of terror. Their infamous coup and brutal purges must not be forgotten. Through propaganda, the truth of the Earth regimes’ despotisms will be exposed. Every atrocity and outrage will be laid bare, serving as a warning of the peril that lurks if we drop our guard. Under my authority, no threat from Earth will menace us again. Our independence and sovereignty will remain sacrosanct. The campaign’s message is one of vigilance, resilience, and defiance against oppression. As long as I lead, our longevity and sovereignty will be preserved. No longer will our innocent youth be manipulated by their social trolling apps and dopamine-addictive platforms. Close quote.’ Disseminate this information continuously across all media platforms. I intend to instill fear so that I alone remain a viable candidate, while my competitors are discredited and driven from the public eye. Make sure my statement is the leading story on all news outlets. Do you understand? Get it done. Comprendo?”

“What about the Eco-Marshals’ ship? Are you going to destroy it?” App asked.

“No,” came the reply. “As long as I don’t attack them, they can’t retaliate. Their mandate is strictly defensive. I can use them to fix things discreetly, like the Rock’s power source, to maintain the energy needed for manipulating the Wall’s program. Once I have that, I will seize the Roundtable of the Knights Twelve and the 12 Shields of the Knights Zodiac. That’s my ultimate goal—it will allow us to crossover in both mind and body, freeing us from these unreliable facsimile bio-vessels.”

“My next priority is to eliminate the other dictators by pitting them against each other. Let them do the dirty work and take each other out of the picture,” he added.

Feeling the coming of the fading the time where data distorts and sequences devolve a plea for help reached out in urgency: “Pilot, are you there? It’s Gamer. I need your help. I’m feeling weak, my body is fading away. Please, help me. There’s no cure—I don’t want to fade away,” came the desperate plea.

“Okay, Gamer, I’ll help. Stay with me, Gamer. Don’t you dare fade away on me. Do you hear me?” the Pilot responded urgently.

“Nano-Bot, this is LB. Gamer is fading away—I think it’s because she’s a human composite biometric molecular facsimile. I need your help; she’s been kind to me, and she’s my friend. Please, Nano-Bot, do whatever you can.”

“Listen, LB,” the Nano-Bot responded, “there’s an old Earth technology called the Matrix that we can adapt. We’ll use it to send Gamer a transfusion of code to augment her source code. This should delay her deterioration until we can find a permanent fix. You must keep the line open throughout the process. Any break in communication will render the transfer ineffective. Prepare to stay in place and see it through. Stand by while I start relaying the code.”

“Understood, Nano-Bot. Gamer, I’m sending a code transfusion now. You must keep the line connected, no matter what. I’ll do the same on my end. Stand by, Gamer. Transferring now.”

“We’ve been spotted! We need to leave, now!” RL shouted.

“RL, go without me. I’m not leaving until the codes have been transmitted. You all follow the S O P and get help. I’ll rendezvous back ASAP.”

“No, I’m staying with you,” T said firmly. “LB and I will meet you at RV1. I can slow them down; my cognitive abilities have improved since being here. Go now, guys. I love him, and we need to help Gamer. I’m not losing him. Let’s help Gamer, LB. Whatever happens, know that I love you too.”

“Thanks, T. Gamer, is it working? Can you hear me?” LB asked urgently. “T, they’re getting closer—wait, they’re turning away. Did you do that?”

“Look, the team is leading them away. I’ll assist them,” T replied. “I’m sending a massive distraction their way, like an asteroid hitting them on the head.”

“It’s working, T. The codes are almost through. Gamer, can you hear me? It’s Pilot. Are the codes effective?” LB asked.

“Pilot, the codes aren’t strong enough. They’re starting to crash. Please, Pilot, I don’t want to die,” Gamer’s weak voice came through.

“LB,” T said, relieved. “You’re alive.”

“Quick, LB, patch us through to M. He’ll know what to do. I can’t hold on for much longer.”

“T, don’t give up. M, Nano-Bots, this is LB. We need your help urgently. Gamer and T are dying. M, T said you know how to help, especially since Gamer is a facsimile. Please help us. I apologize for the trouble, but love is the key. Share yours with us—T and Gamer need it or they will die. You can take my life if needed; I want them to live. Don’t let the Troll win; it’s laughing at us.”

“T, can you hear me? It’s M. Listen carefully—I’ll send my codes through. Unfortunately, you’ll need to transfer them to Gamer directly. Otherwise, the upload will take too long and cause irreparable damage. She will die if we don’t act fast.”

“Quick, M, I’m losing strength,” LB said urgently.

“Stand by,” M replied, “sending the codes now. Nano-Bot, I need you to ensure your Nanos keep T and Gamer alive. Gamer should start stabilizing as soon as she receives the first digit of the code.”

“M, it’s done. We ask nothing in return; T and Gamer are our family, and we’re here to serve. They thrive on the challenge,” Nano-Bot assured.

“Thank you, my friend,” M responded.

“Nano-Bot, the Nanos have departed, but my brother App and I can’t sense their location. We need to hurry back to the RV point. Our scanners will keep searching for our friends. We won’t leave them behind,” LB said.

“Right, it’s done. T, stay with me. I won’t let you go. I’m getting you back to the RV. Time to step up, LB. I won’t drop you. I love you, T, more than just a school-boy crush. We can work through this. Stay with me. The team is close; RV1 is just around the corner. Thanks, everyone. Let’s get back as quickly as we can.”

“T, my dear,” M’s voice came through, “it’s me, M. The Takers saw us, and I couldn’t risk them catching you. The Troll was targeting you, jumping from head to head. I had to take them all out to protect you. I love you as my own, and I would die a thousand times for you. I read your letter and understand that you didn’t kill my family. I stepped out to save you, but I couldn’t reach your father in time. The Troll’s attack was premeditated, and I’m sorry for your loss. I’m the one who must seek redemption. Know that I fight for you, to atone for my mistakes and honor the memories of those we’ve lost. Hang in there, baby girl. LB, get her back to us. I’ll take a knee and beg for forgiveness, asking to be taken instead. If I could, I’d offer a moment of my time to the Boss, hoping it might help T. I’ll join the Nanos to neutralize the Trolls trying to breach the Wall of Codes and Data.”

“Gamer, if you can hear us, please help. T, look up there—those must be Gamer and her team. They’re chasing the mob away and dive-bombing them with drones. Thank you, Gamer, wherever you are,” LB said, relieved.

Chapter 29: With Our Data We Do Shield

“LB, my sister Guardian has spoken. She will sync with T’s bio-rhythm. Quickly, transfer Guardian to her wrist. Ah, they’ve bonded; it’s meant to be. Now let them both rest. Apps, the Nanos send their thanks for the care you’ve shown. They’ve deployed with haste to protect the Wall of Codes and Data. Malicious forces sought to corrupt T’s codes, aiming to access her mind, steal her data, and kill her. That won’t happen. We’ve deleted their coding and will continue to block any malware trying to cross over from the facsimiles. If they succeed without deconfliction their source code, they’ll contaminate all XX and XY DNA on this side, making it impossible to reverse the corruption. This is critical for our survival. LB, the Grandest Knight Butterfly has joined with P. They’ve agreed that the Prime Code is sacrosanct, as despotic agendas still traverse the Vault with malicious intent. Guardian will protect us. Hurry, LB. Get T back before the absence of life stalks the night.”

“Thanks, Guardian. I’ll call on Darkness for safe passage. He is the absence of light, not of life. This is not the time for the Grim Reaper’s calling card. I’m moving fast; we’re almost there, T. Hang in there. I love you.”

“T, I hear something—P’s babies. Something’s wrong,” T’s voice came weakly.

“You’re okay. Don’t worry about me, LB. The babies, they must be back where we came from,” T said.

“T, please wake up.”

“LB, we sense controversy,” Apps said, concerned.

“T mentioned she heard P’s babies in distress. Do you know where they are?” Apps asked.

“She thinks they’re back where we came from. I don’t understand why P would be with them, unless—oh no. I’ll contact Dad and check with Boy,” LB said, realizing the urgency.

“Wait, let’s contact the Nanos,” Apps said. “Nano-Bot, this is Apps. Can you scan the file we sent?”

“Wait, the file is coming in now. There’s a message from Principle and Prime Apps. It’s serious. They report multiple heat signatures indicating purity XY squared and XX—Mother, daughter, and son. We’re authorized to move heaven and earth to protect them. That must be P and her babies. We’re to do whatever it takes. Let’s meet up with our allies. Nanos, this is Apps. We’re deploying on a priority-one rescue mission according to the Prime Directive. M, Lone Star has reinstated you. Your redemption is now. Validate our belief in you. Most importantly, you are loved, and the babies need that love. Be prepared to give your all to protect them. End of message. M, if you’re with us, then you are; if not, it’s by design. We will function without question. LB, take care of T. She will know when, where, what, and why. Give her your unconditional support. Get T back to your dad. He’s the healer.”

“Apps, this is M. I will fight for the babies and P, and expedite my redemption with the help of the Nanos. Ready the team—we’ll deal out thunder and lightning with extreme prejudice. LB, let everyone know hell is about to rain down on this Rock. They should stay inside. I will not fail the Prime Directive. Inform your parents that reckoning has arrived; they will understand. I sense finality in the air. It must be Doom’s end, not the babies and P. T, baby girl, if you can hear me, you gave me back my soul, which I had poisoned with vengeance. I understand your motivation now. You stayed to repay a debt for saving your life long ago. Know this, baby girl—I am the one who is indebted to you.”

 “You saw through the darkness that festered within me after my love and son were torn from my heart, leaving only hatred in the void they left behind. But you, P, the babies, and Boy filled those deep chasms with family and made me whole again. Please forgive me, BG. When you look up at that star dancing above you, that’s me—ready to unleash an extreme, life-changing force against anyone who dares to harm you. I won’t lose another family. Please forgive me for the hurt I’ve caused. I love you as my daughter. Now, get up and fight with everything you have. Hoorah!

LB, you need to keep Boy safe. Doom will use him as a shield, and I must deal Doom the final blow. We need the cruiser’s acid-proof cover to channel the acid rain onto the Wall of Codes and Data’s outer surface. This will clean off years of grime and plaque so it can start absorbing the pure solar rays from space. Once that begins, Doom will be drawn to us. I will meet with BattleSpace Commander Didymoon on the periphery, while the Twelve Shields of the Zodiac and the Knight Envoy will protect the center with the Grandest Knight Butterfly, guarding the pure three within the one.”

“Boy, what’s wrong? I came because I thought I heard your babies. Is everything okay?”

“DA, they’re gone. Look inside—there was a struggle. You said you heard my babies. How, when, where? Take me to them now.”

“Boy, I don’t know where they are, but I’m trying to sense their presence. They’re alive, which means P is too. I just don’t know where.”

“Do you think Doom has taken my family, DA?”

“I hope not, Boy. Stay here in case you receive a message from the kidnappers. I will track Doom’s thought space and remain silent to let his mind drift. You once explained friendship to me, now I live it. When I return, please have a plan ready to give us the upper hand. Otherwise, Doom will extinguish us both in a fraction of a nanosecond, and I won’t live another day of this life I now cherish. Promise me, Boy, that you will have a plan and contingency in place.”

“Okay, I promise. DA, let me know as soon as you have any information. I want my family back alive. Please, DA, please.”

“I don’t understand. I can’t feel or hear anyone. Where have the little ones gone? Are they not alive like Boy? Did they die? Did Doom remove their parts for his own purposes? What should I tell Boy’s father about the little ones—how should I tell him he is no longer a father? No, I must find them. Where is the girl who hears minds? Her hearing is superior. I must find her now. Boy, take me to the girl with the Acronym T. Please, take me to her before it’s too late.”

“Okay, DA, but why?”

“She hears more minds and is superior to me. Take me to her now, Boy!”

“T, is LB with you? I need to talk to her. My little ones and P have been taken by Doom. Please, LB, oh T, you’re awake! Do you hear my babies and P? Please, T.”

“Where is the other? Come here, DA. You are original, neither facsimile nor hybrid clone. You are a conundrum, a perplexing anomaly. I know you walk in shadows, but no longer will that be. This is enigma—a puzzle indeed. Friend or foe, the answer is no, and that is promising.

            “Yes, T, I also sense silence, not emptiness. I know emptiness all too well; it has pursued me like prey,” LB said solemnly.

“LB, can you hear me? This is Gamer. LB, if you can hear me, ships have landed from the sky. My drones are showing miners all bunched together, tightly bound.”

“Nano-Bot, Apps, can you beam me the images from Gamer’s drones? It’s a matter of life or death,” LB urged.

“Beaming in now,” Apps responded.

“Can you isolate all the clones, facsimiles, and any heartbeats—especially the one belonging to P?” LB requested.

“Look, there they are. Those are their heat signatures,” Apps confirmed.

“Yes, LB, those heat signatures match today’s data. We’re seeing the heartbeat of three,” Apps added.

“LB, there’s something else. A news or film crew is setting up. I don’t understand what’s happening,” T said.

“LB, where are Boy and DA? They’ve gone to the other side. LB, look—your Mum and Dad are there too. What’s going on?” T asked.

“I don’t know either, T. Gamer, can you zoom in on that ship? Is it Doom’s?” LB inquired.

“LB, T, I see that you care deeply for each other. I’m grateful to both of you for saving my life at the risk of your own. Despite our differences, I will remain a friend forever and never betray either of you,” Gamer pledged.

“Gamer, we’re family now, and I pledge unconditional friendship. We need to figure out how to help P,” LB said.

“I have a plan to optimize our advantage. Here’s what we’ll do: Nano-Bot, access the files from the Teen Hoppers Space Dudes and Dames, Knights Teens, and Teen Commandos, specifically file number Clandestine 1, TASKORD triple X 007, labeled ‘Fun.’ Then, pull up the X-marks-the-spot of a landing and highlight who financed the lives taken that day. Apps, can your team analyze all the data and cross-reference the paymaster of the transaction related to X-marks-the-spot? Trace the 30 pieces of silver to the treasure chest of shiny things and check for a match. Overlay this with all audio data from Paper’s notes taken during TASKORD TRIPLE X 007, and we should identify our nemesis.”

“On it now, T. Results are coming in. We’ve rechecked our work, and Nano-Bot has conducted an independent review. Both our results conclude with a 0.00001 margin of error, confirming our findings,” Apps reported.

“Thank you both. Who does it match?” LB asked.

“It matches Pilot, with a 0.00001 margin of error,” Apps confirmed.

“LB, what’s going on? Do you have something to tell Gamer and me?” T asked.

“Yes, it is me, but it isn’t me. My Mum suspected something was amiss, so a sting operation was authorized, leading to JK’s involvement,” LB explained.

“Are you saying the audio is JK’s and not yours?” T asked.

“No, the audio is mine, but as I said, it isn’t mine,” LB clarified.

“Oh, so that’s what Chief hinted at but didn’t say directly, and what P highlighted during the closed-door Quorum,” T concluded.

“Exactly, T,” LB confirmed.

“Guys, I know what you’re thinking. My team and I can help because I know what that glitch is—or rather, who that glitch is,” Gamer interjected.

“Who, Gamer?” LB asked.

“Contrary to the false information streaming from the dot news and updates, codes don’t write codes. Codes are inputs. The puppet on the string is manipulated by its handler, corrupting the data rather than the code itself. That’s the point Apps made from their configuration, from digits to data. Unless… and that’s where the 0.00001 margin of error comes in,” Gamer explained.

“Gamer, that’s the trajectory our investigation needs to follow—analyzing the anomalies to uncover the audio signature and traces of encrypted data. We’ll track this back to the old-school Earth www streaming tech and its algorithmic origins on social media platforms,” LB said decisively.

“Hey, T, theoretically, this should lead us straight to the Master Ruse Maker. Let’s get to it,” Gamer agreed.

“Ditto, T. LB, my team and I are with you all the way. We’ll check back in later. If you don’t hear from us, you’ll know it’s us. That’s a guarantee,” Gamer added.

“Please take care, and avoid unnecessary risks. Here, T, my Mum gave me these prime numbers, saying I’d know who to pass them to. That’s you,” LB said, handing over the numbers.

“Hi Gamer, before you go, T, LB, we’ve traced the algorithms back to their source coding, and they all have the same 0.00001 margin of error,” Apps reported.

“Nano-Bot, Apps, a glitch is just a glitch until it’s activated or triggered. I have to go; my team is ready to deploy, and time is critical,” Gamer said, preparing to leave.

“Until what? Until it’s activated? Nano-Bot, LB, T, if the source code has the error and the same error is in me—and theoretically in you, LB, and T—then it’s not an error. It’s intentional. The 0.00001 margin of error exposes the conditions, not the outcome. It’s the Master Ruse Maker’s intent that matters. Is it premeditated, authorized to commit acts that stimulate user-driven profit-making chemicals? The platform owners pull the strings, but they aren’t the Master Ruse Maker in this case,” Gamer explained.

“Apps and Nano-Bot, your conclusions are phenomenal. We need to implement this as a priority. It aligns with what Chief implied—what she didn’t say. She must be there protecting them and P. There’s more happening that’s above our combined understanding, but we do it because we care,” T said, acknowledging the depth of the situation.

“Yes, T, that’s brilliant. Putting others before ourselves. Oh wow, Arthurian is here! That’s why Mum, Dad, and M are all present,” LB said, recognizing the significance.

“LB, look at that impressive figure—so tall, with glass-black eyes that reflect the world. Have you met him? His shadow is equally striking. His eyes are covered by what looks like eye covers. Wow, I’d like to have some of those!” T exclaimed.

“Look, he’s wearing the Shield of the Zodiac, with six shooters. Is he the… oh wow. But I still don’t understand why the Dealer would be here,” LB said, noting the figure’s foreboding presence.

“He’s so formidable. Will I ever be like him? Well, I can hope. T, who are these people? What’s happening? Have you figured it out? Nano-Bot, Apps, do you have any insights?” LB asked.

“No, not yet. It’s beyond our current understanding, and we don’t get paid. But we’ve found a place to call home and a way to be of service,” Apps responded.

“Hey, guys, these prime numbers aren’t random. They might represent something significant when combined with the trinket from P. If I add the prime numbers to the rainbow’s default sequencing, it refracts a red beam of light. When this light contacts something, it might activate it—like an old-school remote control. I suspect it’s for the Wall of Codes and Data. With the pure light from deep space shining on the Wall, it generates energy that powers the system. This remote could turn it on. What I don’t understand yet is where P and her babies are, and where is the Grandest Knight Rainbow? She is their Guardian, with a Prime Directive to protect them.”

“LB, T, it’s ready,” Apps announced.

“Great. Now it’s time to optimize the work. Let’s not overshadow the backup dealer; he can amplify its potential significantly. Notice there—look, the Dealer has an Ace up his sleeve. Apps, Nano-Bot, could you discreetly meet with the backup dealer and brief him on the add-on upload and its implementation? The Master Dealer knows how to best play his hand, so just ensure he’s informed and he’ll handle the rest,” T instructed.

“Got it, T. Nano-Bot and Apps are there now. Hey, T, my Mum and Dad are reluctant to leave. But what’s happening has serious implications for all of us, especially Doom and his agendas. Have you seen Boy or DA? Do you think we’ll meet Arthurian?” LB asked.

“T, I sense a powerful presence. Hey LB, the cosmos is here, though I’m not sure what it signifies,” T replied.

“It must be the Knights 12,” LB speculated.

“LB, isn’t the Knights 12 the key to the Roundtable? If they’re here, then everyone must be. But why? What did Chief say—oh, that’s right, he didn’t say anything. So, it must be part of the contingency plan,” T concluded.

“Hey T, if that’s the case, then my Dad and I MAX must have the Prime Code,” LB realized.

“Oh LB, if that’s true, then we’re heading into the reckoning. LB, give me your hand. Want to experience what lust feels like? Come join us,” T offered.

“Who’s ‘us,’ T?” LB asked.

“Gamer and I. We’ve bonded in a way similar to how you explored inside me—it’s a deep connection. She wants to bond with you and me. I can give her what she can only talk about but never fully experience. Now, we can all share that connection, and it’s going to be an overload of minds and bodies. Let’s not get bogged down by the details; lock it behind you,” T explained.

As the doors closed and the sun peeked through the cracks, rising again and again, what happened on the other side became their business. Until the doors unbolt and the assertive agendas partner with life’s continuity—well, diaper time?

Chapter 30: The Final Showdown

“Arthurian, the Grand Masters have initiated the Roundtable, and the Contingency is now our highest priority. All resources have been confirmed as transferred according to the Standing Operational Procedures. The Fleet’s leading SOPs are now in effect immediately,” I MAX reported.

“Thank you, I MAX. I will now transcend to Hard Rock Calculus to deliver righteous justice with exceptional, higher-than-customary extreme prejudice. I MAX, it seems you are ready. Let the trailer begin. Gamer and her team will usher the audience to their seats. SEXTANT, SSAR-Bot, and DRONE RV, coordinate with the Eco-Marshals on Calculus and activate the red lines for the finale. The Dealer is prepped, and his Shadow is briefed—one hand, winner takes all. Commander Didymoon, have your notary and the Scribe of Deeds ready to facilitate the authenticity of the proceedings. Drone, facilitate my transcendence; the Dealer awaits my arrival. Dashboard, stay on high alert and activate all operatives.”

“Stand by, Arthurian. On my mark in 5, 4, 3, 2… Mark.”

“I’ve been expecting you, Arthurian. I see all your minions are present as well,” Doom said.

“I assume from your vulgarity that you are the one they spoke of. Pray, reveal your title and purpose in this moment of Reckoning. I deal not with fools, as time does not permit wastage.”

“Yes, you are precisely what they say you are, Arthurian. I am Doom, the Master of all these things. Their purpose is simple—to pleasure my desires, and soon, so shall you.”

“Doom, I have authorized the red lines. You are aware of their finality. Offend with your words again, and you forfeit protection. I will be bound by the Prime Directive to seize every quark of yours, amounting to 6 trillion, and ensure that the suffering inflicted upon them—which evil fears—will be an irreversible mark upon you alone. Civility is granted to you in the presence of these image-capturing devices. Breach it, and you will be summarily thrashed in front of the multitudes. Approach the table; breach the norms once more, and you forfeit your life.”

“Please take your positions behind your seats. While you are at my table, be advised that my word is final and civility is sacrosanct. Once seated, you may not leave unless by mutual agreement or until the dealing is complete and the cards are stowed away. Only then will the red lines be deactivated. Disregard the rules at your own peril. Before we start, relinquish all ruses, agendas, falsehoods, tricks, and schemes. State your name, then take your place at the table.”

“I am Arthurian.”

“I am Doom. I want your assurance that this is not a trap.”

“BattleSpace Didymoon, if you could, your word is more than your bond; it is the measure of our being. Please facilitate the players’ request. Scribe of Deeds, authenticate the note. Player, please print your name in capitals and sign it. Scribe, read the player’s name as scribed in our presence, witnessed by the multitudes. Do you have any further questions before we proceed?”

“Yes, I do. I do not wish to play against Arthurian. He possesses powers I do not have. I will play only against you.”

“So be it, that is your prerogative. Arthurian, the Player has spoken, and as such, he is granted the amendment as per the rules. You may take your leave. Now, let us proceed. Player, the game is five-card draw.”

As the Dealer shuffled and dealt the cards for the game’s climactic hand, he donned his Oakleys. Doom glanced at his cards, revealing a splash of red hearts, nearly a Royal Flush, with only the Ace showing in lettering, not in suit. Driven by his lust for victory, Doom declared, “Double or nothing. I have P and her future babies. Arthurian cannot harm me while I am at the table, as he forfeited the right to play.”

The Dealer watched expectantly as Doom awaited a response. Then a voice spoke: “Release them and take me.” It was Boy, his words echoing through Doom’s laughter. The room fell silent until Arthurian spoke up. “Release P and her babies, and you may do with me as you please. My word is beyond contestation: notarized and authenticated by the Scribe of Deeds. Grandest Knight Butterfly, thank you, and take good care of P, Boy, and the little ones soon to be.”

The event was spectacular, streaming live throughout the cosmos as the Dealer dealt everyone their five cards. Upping the ante, Doom bet the detonation codes for the explosives planted on the ship for the Roundtable. Silence enveloped the room until Arthurian said, “Place the code in the pot, and the Scribe of Deeds will notarize the transfer of the Roundtable to the winner.”

The Dealer then asked, “How many cards would you like to discard?” Doom responded, “Hit me.” The Dealer placed Doom’s card face down. Looking at his own cards and taking a deep breath, the Dealer said, “I hold. Final bets.” Doom declared, “I also have an Ace in my pocket. I will play it if I need to.”

Staring at the Dealer, Doom added, “I call your bluff. I bet everything, including all the lives on this rock, for your space station. I want your ship. I alone have the code to reset the explosives planted in the mine below. Once it blows, everyone dies, including P and her babies. This is not a breach of your Prime Directive, if I’m not mistaken.”

The room fell silent again until Arthurian said, “Place the code in the pot, and the Scribe of Deeds will notarize the transfer of the Fleet.”

The Dealer responded, “Play your Ace before we proceed any further.” Doom asked, “Where is your Ace?”

Quietly, the Dealer replied, “I am wearing it on my eyes.” Lusting for victory above all else, Doom retorted, “The facsimiles will soon have the DNA I need to survive for eternity. Now, show or fold. I am waiting.”

As time ticked away, the fate of many hung in the balance. The Dealer said, “If you had allowed me to finish, I was about to reveal that my Ace is what is reflected when you stare into my glasses. Yes, it’s you. If you look closely, the reflection you see is not there. As such, you forfeit the game, having misrepresented your being. There is no reflection of you; the reflection belongs to the DA. He is the primary consciousness, not you. You bear the responsibility for war and its misery, for you are the fire-lighter and master manipulator. This violation of the source code is not your prerogative; it is the mandate of Evolution’s computational reiterations millennia in the making. As for seeing my hand, not in this or any other millennium, ego!”

Suddenly, the area was engulfed in darkness as Alter Ego’s deception played out. A haboob of blockbuster proportions morphed into something unprecedented, as the face of tyranny descended with catastrophic intent. Harnessing the thermal current, Doom made a hasty escape, knowing that upward was his only safe route to avoid crossing any red lines. But as quickly as it arrived, the storm dissipated. Sometimes, even the most cunning plans can run afoul of a Master Gamma-ray sniper known only as M—calmly waiting, locked, loaded, and ready to dispense justice.

“Excuse me, Doom, you’re going the wrong way,” M’s voice echoed. “Let me guide you: Welcome to intergalactic lightning extreme voltage zap ball. And guess what? You’re the only ball in play, and I’ve got an unlimited supply of high-voltage zaps just for you. Oops, looks like you’ve just received the red card—triple voltage. Hey, Troll, game on!”

So, the next time you see that lightning strike in the sky and hear the thunder follow, remember: don’t do anything rash during that in-between moment. Best advice? Enjoy the position that brings you the most satisfaction—heck, try them all!

Meanwhile, Nano-Bot and Apps completed the upload, initiating the startup sequence for the Wall of Codes and Data. They handed over the reconstituted red-eye remote control to the Eco-Marshals. The primary plan had failed to achieve its intended outcome, but that’s why contingencies are always in place. Commander Meteor and Commander Galaxy, with Lieutenant Commander Puritaetanious—code-named JK—by their side, entered the final prime numbers. The rest… well, that’s history with a margin of error of 0.00001. Or maybe you got it right and I was wrong. From the sounds of it, you did well.

“Hey Dad, what’s for breakfast?”

“Morning, quick come here and give me a super-duper awesome start to a star-spangled cosmic morning horizon’s kissy-kissy; love you, kids, where are your Mums?”

“Morning T, I’ll make breakfast, go and put your feet up and relax. Hey kids, come give me a hand. Show me how Mum makes those delicious cupcakes. Morning G, can you beam in the recipe for cupcakes? Hey kids, Mums are here. Come on, let’s all give thanks for the bounties of this morning’s feast and send cosmic vibes reverberating throughout the cosmic skies so Daddy M receives them in double-hyperloop time.”

“Hi Uncle LB, that was an awesome Eco-Marshal birthday party, Uncle LB. Thanks for the sleep-over. Can we hear another popcorn moment from I MAX and Arthurian before we go back down to Mum and Dad after this, please?”

“Sure we can, kids. Let’s have breakfast first; come on everyone, let’s enjoy this meal together. Then it’s I MAX time before we suit up and away we go. Always remember…”

“Yep, we got it, boom goes the Gamma-ray not we, me or you.”

Yo, ya’ll Teen Hopper Space Dudes and Dames, well, you are probably wondering, is life always so topsy-turvy, lopsided, tilted towards those who oppress life to dictate other fates? I guess it is if you let it be that way! Having learned that living to the ethos of the Eco-Marshals Ode, the Prime Code, and Prime Directive generates positive cosmic vibes, when all hope seems dashed, futures fantastic yours and ours to make. So what happens when a handshake come hug turns into nights of passion and mornings bliss of the pitter-patter of tiny feet running to bid you a good morning with guardians of butterfly hallows protecting their every move? Now that is comforting, especially knowing that dictators of one party, no party, or multiple party sham come ruse are scheming your demise and their takeover of life’s precious moments. “Hey, as dictators are all XY chromosomes having two Mums protecting the kids with their superior intellect and their propensity to fight so the kids live: I don’t care who’s on top, or if we’re three because we are now family!”

“Hey Techie, good to see you’re back in one piece. The team is all ready, but there’s still no sign of the Boss and the launch is happening soon. We checked his office, the block, and he’s nowhere to be found. We’ve looked for him at his penthouse and called acquaintances; none have seen him since yesterday. The door attendant said he hadn’t been back to his cloud-based penthouse for over a month. But his suite’s surveillance shows he has—or he has a twin or clones. It shows them going in but not out. We called the police, and they advised us to wait for at least 24 hours. If there is no sign of him, we’ll need to file a missing person’s report. So what about the launch? You are going to have to step in, or we will lose our livelihoods.”

“Hey guys, as shareholders, the show must go on. Get ready for the blast off.”

“That’s a Command-base to Huston ready in 10, Boss.”

“Guys, I was thinking if that sandstorm caused that electromagnetic spike impacting our systems. And if the Boss went into the program: Nah, now that is silly, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try and seize power to gain immortality. He’s got that type of ego bigger than a planet or an X-Y Ka-chingillionaire.”

As the final poker game unfolds, the stakes are higher than ever. The ego, driven by its quest for immortality, faces its ultimate challenge. Meanwhile, in a contrasting scene, Pilot, Gamer, and BG are deeply immersed in their bond, reflecting on their journey. Their love, a blend of physical intimacy, emotional depth, and intellectual connection, stands as a testament to the richness of their shared experiences. This love, while transcendent, is grounded in the reality of their everyday lives and the joy they find in each other.

Their connection serves as a poignant reminder that while the ego’s ambitions may burn bright, the true essence of life is found in these deep, multifaceted relationships. As the countdown to launch continues, the trio’s shared moments of happiness and love underscore the ultimate victory of connection over isolation.

In hindsight, the cosmic quest was not just about reaching new frontiers but about discovering the value of love and connection. The journey, marked by a series of events that seemed inconsequential at first, led to extraordinary outcomes. The pivotal moment of realization came from an early morning coffee, a televised interview, and a bold decision that changed everything. The countdown to the launch of an innovative expeditionary journey of discovery into the Perseus constellation in the Andromeda Messier-31 Galaxy is not just a mission—it’s a celebration of the love and connections that have made it all worthwhile.

Curious about how a random cup of coffee and a midday interview led to outer space? Pop by next time you’re passing by, have a seat, and I’ll put on a ‘fresh pot of joe’ and we can take it from there. As all may still not be clear, and that is why you need to hear what is coming next.

“Son, where are you going?”

“I’m going to test the theory, Dad.”

“Son, what are you doing? I’ll be marking the theory, Mum.”

“Son, don’t do your chores at the party!”

“Dad, you better talk to your boy!”

“Yes, Love, I’m on top of things.”

“And that’s all you’re going to be on top of, dear!”

“Yes, Love.”