Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: N/A
“Yeah, like in…” Baron Cimetiére responded to Baron La Croix.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: N/A
“You mean, like in…?” Baron La Croix began to ask Baron Cimetiére.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Brief Graphic Violence, Sexual Content, References to Rape, and Strong Language
His assigned name was Henry Brown, but several universes would know him as “Strange Box Brown”. On Earth 3/12, he was a slave in America until 1849, the year when he would arrange to have himself mailed to freedom. James C. A. Smith, a free Black American man, had been in correspondence with Lord Saïd, an infamous escaped slave who had been successfully initiating revolutions across hundreds of plantations, and requested assistance. Lord Saïd directed him to Samuel A. Smith, an extraterrestrial referred to as a Copyrat because of their facial resemblance and ability to shapeshift into similar species. This Copyrat had morphed into a white shoemaker because on his planet, ‘Ratopia’, he was also a slave who had escaped by sneaking on into an inter-dimensional freight train of small boxes. Samuel and Lord Saïd worked very closely in their attempts to abolish slavery at the time, however, they both knew that the war might become worse before it settled down.
After sabotaging the inter-dimensional freight train, Samuel A. Smith landed on Earth, and only one of the boxes was salvageable enough to be repaired. His. Using technology that Lord Saïd once gathered during his secret travels, they fixed the Copyrat’s box and stored it somewhere that could be uncovered if there needed to be an emergency call for reinforcements. Lord Saïd felt that time coming and told Samuel A. Smith to inform Henry that he would be willing to help if he brought back help from other worlds. Henry did not know exactly what Lord Saïd had meant but nonetheless agreed as he wanted his liberty soon.
Henry climbed inside of the box and Samuel A. Smith typed in the specific multiversal docking port that it would be sent to, on its computer. The universe that Henry would be transported to first was labeled ‘Earth-AMC’, a counterpart world that affects its inhabitants and visitors unlike any other. Samuel A. Smith activated Henry’s box, watched the container as it levitated, and stepped back so that the device’s warp engine could prepare to shoot itself into space. Henry’s box soared upward like a rocket being launched from NASA in the 24th century and caused a minor earthquake in their vicinity. Henry had no idea that he was on a cross-country trip across
the galaxy or that it only took half the day to arrive at his destination.
Earth-AMC has been described as an amalgam of a socially advanced version of the wild west dominated by matriarchal governments and “rejected science-fiction concepts from the mind of a perverted teenager”. While the uniqueness of Earth-AMC rivaled that of Earth-3/12, because civilizations progressed efficiently, Mundïus saw no cause to quarantine it. Despite gender roles being aggressively reversed on the planet, the positions were commonly welcomed by the populace and their cultures because laws were in favor of all different types of people. This alternative Earth often considered the “melting pot of realities”, received many intergalactic foreigners, survivors, and ex-pats because of its hospitality. Pills shaped like penises called “Dictcapsules”, were consumed by those who wanted to be permanent residents because they brought their brains up to speed on the entirety of accumulated knowledge available on the planet. These raised one’s intelligence quotient, however, their emotional quotient stayed the same. Therefore, abhorrent lawlessness is still plentiful and an equal amount of opposition by peace officers was still found necessary.
The most globally revered peace officer went by the codename ‘Violent Pup’. He was a 6’7 Samoan male who notoriously wore a robotic black and white puppyhood while sporting a black sweater vest over the finest white satin dress shirt. His slim black khaki pants weren’t tight enough to keep his 14-inch penis from creating quite the distracting print. Various suspects tasted the heel of his black leather boots and Violent Pup did not hesitate to release rage if their blood spilled on his shoes’ perfect white laces. He trended on social media for months as #MetrosexualDaddy” because the great number of female groupies that the officer spent nights with publicly disclosed his admirable grooming habits. Violent Pup always kept a smartwatch on his right wrist during these sexual encounters because he viewed intimacy in a way that a heavyweight champion of the world might strive to knock out their opponent in less than three rounds.
There has only been a single woman who could last longer than thirty minutes in bed with ‘Violent Pup’ and that is his 4’11 short sadomasochistic Sergeant Eve “Itami” Newman. Eve is a Japanese, Swedish, and South African woman who was conceived at a Build-A-Baby center after mandatory mass chemically male castration legislation was approved. Babies on Earth-AMC are grown in artificial wombs and parents are capable of modifying every detail of their
child per traits shared between them. Sergeant Eve Newman’s birth was evaluated as the program’s first success and she has excelled by matching the simulated predictions of her life’s events based on her genetic makeup. Eve sported a vintage pixie cut and usually wore black sleeveless turtlenecks to match her lipstick. She also loved commuting pantiless underneath a gothic buckle-up skirt and flashing would-be rapists in order to provoke them into a situation where she could kill them with her custom-made gunsword by claiming self-defense in court.
At twenty-eight, Eve discovered Violent Pup when he was a toddler living among dogs in the gutters of Huntington City. His face was violently scarred from fighting them to earn their respect and she adopted the child as her own. Violent Pup is legally recognized as Eve’s pet and Indentured servant because he lacks certification identifying the universe that he originated from. Although he can roam Earth-ACM freely with a specialized collar around his neck, his life purpose is to be Sergeant Eve Newman’s personal enforcer and seek justice for those who cannot by any methods vital to doing so. Violent Pup’s most notable means to acquire information from female suspects is state-sanctioned rape. His abnormally massive schlong falls under allowable use of force, and in Violent Pup’s Precinct’s gym, he trains his tool to withstand an incredible amount of torture while erected.
Sergeants Eve will fluff Violent Pup as he’s on all fours, prior to him lifting up a volunteer cheerleader while standing with his hard cock deep inside of the high school teenager, with his hands tied behind his back. Then, Eve will stack another volunteer cheerleader on top of the first and repeat until Violent Pup’s dick can’t handle the weight while she flogs him from behind with a bullwhip. It has been reported that he can hold up six cheerleaders and rhythmically pump them for thirty minutes to old-school Hip-Hop. It has been reported that Eve rewards Violent Pup at the end of monthly private massage sessions with her by letting him hump the sergeant’s bare oiled and tan legs until he spills his seed. He never fails to imitate the loud howls of a canine-in-heat after releasing his “jing”.
Violent Pup was the first of Earth-AMC to meet Henry because the United Galactic Postal Service noticed that the former slave had an unauthorized tracking number and they alerted the peace officer’s Precinct to their multiversal docking port. Violent Pup entered an emergency password on the box’s computer to open it, since the unlock feature was disabled, turned on his robotic puppy hood’s flashlight because it was midnight, and found Henry sleeping soundly in a
fetal position like a baby. Violent Pup growled fiercely, woke Henry up from his harmonious slumber, and analyzed him using an app in his robotic puppyhood that pinpointed what universe the newcomer was from.
“It seems as though you are the first cocksucker from Earth 3/12…business or pleasure, weirdling?” Violent Pup inquired as he reached into the box and pulled Henry out of it. All of a sudden, Henry felt the urge to vomit and puked on the ground for three minutes straight. Violent Pup backed away so that none would get on his shoes. “Great…more bulimic stowaways to babysit, that’s just what I asked for, Mrs. Claus.” Violent Pup handed him a Dictcapsule to swallow and Henry took it.
“What is…this?” he asked.
“Your annual medication…now take it so I can drop you off somewhere.” Violent Pup answered. Henry struggled to get the Dictcapsule to go down his throat without water but eventually managed to. Violent Pup lifted Henry up, threw him over his shoulder, walked to his hovercycle, and placed Henry on the back of it before getting behind the wheel.
“Your headache will pass.”
Violent Pup drove off to the 88th Precinct and Henry’s brain adjusted to being rapidly updated. Henry’s mind became overwhelmed and he passed out on Violent Pup’s back.
“Am I still dreaming on the plantation or did I really just meet a giant whose face looks like Snoopy’s dipped in tar?” Henry thought as he regained consciousness.
…” Who the fuck is Snoopy and what the fuck does fuck mean…oh!” Henry’s brain finished configuring itself to the Dictcapsule’s downloads and he opened his eyes to see that he was in an all-white painted temporary holding cell with modern clothes on.
“Strange Box Brown!” said a cellmate lying on the top of a bunk bed. “I hear negro blood tastes like Merlot and gives us an instant buzz.” The cellmate climbed down from his mattress, displayed his vicious-looking fangs as they extended, and licked his lips. This cellmate was a Vamparian, from Earth 3/12 as well. These mutants were the result of an event known as “The
Storm” and they had all of the characteristics of vampires, except for transforming into a bat or frying under the sun’s light. Violent Pup walked down their hallway, approached the holding cell that they shared with a claw hammer, and lightly banged on its bars.
“My spooky-ass friend behind you is hungry, Henry, so I suggest that you tell me everything that I want to know and more as a gratuity.” Violent Pup said tossing his claw hammer inside of the holding cell between Henry and the Vamparian prisoner. “The face is wooden, Henry, so you can either use it to bash that abomination’s skull in, or he can snatch it and rip a hole in your neck.”
“Why are you doing this?!” a terrified Henry said as he dove for the claw hammer, grabbed its handle, and pulled the modified construction tool back before the Vamparian prisoner could steal.
“My sergeant recently punished me by changing the password to her Cinemoors account, and a subscription would cut into my wet food budget.” Violent Pup explained as Henry swung at the Vamparian prisoner’s face and knocked him out with the first blow to its cranium.
“Is he dead?!” Henry asked. Violent Pup opened his holding cell, grabbed the claw hammer from Henry, and repeatedly slammed the wooden face of it into the Vamparian until he could see his cerebral matter. Henry’s eyes widened in shock and Violent Pup tucked the claw hammer into his pants and then straightened his clothing. “Now he is, Strange Box Brown.” Violent Pup finally responded. “Based on your universe’s outlined trajectory, slavery in the United States will be ending soon, but if you seek refugee–“
“We seek reinforcements.” Henry cut off Violent Pup. “Lord Saïd sent me to–“
“I know of the immortal.” Violent Pup cut off Henry. “He’s sent you on a
fool’s errand and it would unwise to return to your universe considering the fact that it’s headed toward an oblivion of paradoxes due to his incautious time-traveling.”
“Are you telling me to leave the life that I’ve known behind and just accept that I can’t see my family again?” Henry asked.
“If I were to send you back, while it may feel like no time to you, your family would have been
casualties of Lord Saïd’s war against your oppressors.” Violent Pup said. “The good news is that we can replicate them as holograms automatically constructed by your memories and accurately set them to age up ’til their predestined deaths in a universe where you all survive”.
“How is playing make-believe going to fucking make me feel better, you stupid furry?!” Henry yelled at Violent Pup before having a mental breakdown. “Eat shit then.” Violent Pup cheekily responded and picked Henry in the air by his shirt’s back collar.
“Just send me back to die, man!” Henry cried as a laughing Violent Pup led him through the hall and outside of the precinct.
When all was said and done, Henry a.k.a. “Strange Box Brown” learned to embrace Earth-ACM as his new home planet. Huntington City placed him in a government-funded studio apartment and he was provided a job as a stand-in at a Cocknursing Arena. These facilities contain small-scale rooms with spaced-out holes that men enter their peckers through from the outside of them for competing women to suckle and drain for points. These employed stand-ins are required to remain erect for each hour that they are working to earn a full paycheck. The players are typically former adult actresses or high-end call girls looking to have their talents broadcast to billionaire bidders looking for the best intimate experience. Mason Summers, a Puerto Rican scream queen turned international porn star, remained champion of the sport before her voluptuously-shaped Afro-Italian intern Gianna Cashmere beat the score that she had set.
Henry was trying to save enough so that he could afford the “Deceased Relatives” hologram package that Violent Pup had mentioned. Unfortunately for him, his penis was deemed unappealing by audiences because of its microscopic length and he was fired after two months of working.
Henry’s next job was being a dinosaur wrangler. He quit after almost being killed by a resurrected Appalachiosauru and then chastised by his manager for complaining to Human Resources about the safety hazards that were ignored.
The former slave’s third job had him as a manual rickshaw driver for spoiled actors in Hollywood. Rickshaw drivers were paid very little, however, the benefits outweighed the less-than-stellar wages. Henry would meet Violent Pup again within a week of having the position
because the peace officer would be filming a documentary about him streamed under the title ‘Off the Leash: The Beast of Goddesses’ on Cinemoors’ broadcast multicast service. Violent Pup introduced Henry to the cameras as “Strange Box Brown” and the producers of the film liked the name’s backstory so much that they decided to dedicate a significant portion of the picture’s runtime to Henry’s journey.
This propelled Henry “Strange Box” Brown into stardom. The former slave became a celebrity with a comic book mini-series, an animated show about going on fictional missions to other universes, a live-action loose adaptation starring American actor Willard Gibson III as Henry Brown distributed by the independent entertainment company ‘B35′, and a toy-line that frequently sells out. In less than three years, Henry generated over twenty billion Bitchcoins from his ventures and briefly topped Guus Makuto on Alakijas’ list of biggest philanthropists. Surprisingly, Violent Pup wasn’t envious or jealous, and he was immensely supportive of Henry’s accomplishments.
Sergeant Eve “Itami” Newman wasn’t.
She felt that a former slave should not have been able to amass such a fortune because she believed that propelling victims to fame through entertainment perpetuated the notion that suffering is the only way to prosper on Earth-AMC. Eve devised a plan to have Henry framed for the murder of Gianna Cashmere and her death became the most publicized crime of that century. Gianna’s body was found naked in Henry’s convertible sofa bed, bound by duct tape, with a prosthetic pig nose on her face, and the words “Cum Slut” written in cursive on her size 38F natural breasts with a black marker with a spiked 17-inch horse dildo smothered in cocaine plunged deep inside of her asshole. Gianna Cashmere was identified promptly by the tramp stamp on her lower back showing a tattooed Black Widow spider with a purple-colored hourglass hanging from a line of a web that started from the bottom of her neck. In the eyes of the media and Gianna Cashmere’s friends and family, she was killed as revenge for Henry being fired when he worked as a stand-in at a Cocknursing Arena. Her tombstone read: “The Greatest Dick-Sucking Daughter in the Galaxy”.
In court, Angie D. Lloyd, a telepathic psychiatrist, testified that she could not find evidence that Henry murdered Gianna Cashmere after an extensive mind-reading session, but prosecutors
posed the possibility that his self-admitted heavy alcohol drinking habits could have led to him blacking out and losing memory of the night in question. This tactic would have nearly swayed the jury if it weren’t for the shoddy forensics, lack of witnesses, and Henry’s concrete alibi being brought to their attention by Henry’s lawyer. Still, this did not heal his tarnished reputation and he had all but one of his contracts terminated because of the negative attention that the case begot. The career of “Strange Box Brown” was considered officially over by news outlets, and although he was acquitted, thousands of protesters continually harassed him.
“Justice for Gianna!” they would shout as they marched their cities with picket signs in one hand and 17-inch horse dildos in the other. No peace officer bothered to quell the disturbances, except for Violent Pup, who seldom cared about witch hunts but had a suspicion that the true killer was free, and he or she wasn’t Henry. A few days of investigating himself led to finding a barring resemblance between the spikes that were on the horse dildo that penetrated Gianna Cashmere and the metal of Sergeant Eve “Itami” Newman’s gunsword’s blade. If it had not been for her sword maker confessing on a now-defunct internet forum that she ordered specifically crafted spikes that were virtually untraceable, Violent Pup would not have stumbled upon the revelation of this conspiracy.
Violent Pup confronted Eve in her soundproof office with his claw hammer in hand and told the Sergeant that he knew everything and that the peace officer was arresting her for first-degree murder. Rather than comply with detainment, Eve Newman kneeled before him and performed seppuku.
“Why?” Violent Pup asked as he crouched to hold her in his arms as organs spilled onto the floor while the wound sprayed his upper half with blood.
“It’s in my nature…my programming,” Eve answered Violent Pup before sadly looking him in his eyes and removing his robotic puppyhood. “You know what to do, officer.”
A single tear rolled down Violent Pup’s right eye and he stood up.
“Yes, ma’am.” he quietly said.
Violent Pup proceeded to strike the top of her head with the face of his claw hammer over and
over again. Her head was a disgustingly gory shell of dangling strips of flesh, broken bones, and cerebral matter. Violent Pup then removed her gunsword, wiped every inch of it clean, opened her office door, and calmly walked out with his dead sergeant’s weapon as the man’s fellow peace officers watched in awe, but dared not act.
“Moogle, play ‘Down with the Queen’ by Walk CMD, please,” were Violent Pup’s last words before walking out of the 88th Precinct.
Now hated by the majority of everyone on Earth-AMC, Violent Pup, and Henry “Strange Box” Brown reunited at the same multiversal docking port where they had originally met each other. The two outcasts were both on the same page about finding another parallel Earth to live the rest of their existence on. They agreed that Earth 3/12 was still out of the question and searched on the computer of a stolen inter-dimensional transport box for a decent counterpart. Henry almost accidentally selected Earth-V until Violent Pup smacked his hand away.
“You…don’t get to decide, my naive partner.” Violent Pup said as he continued scrolling through their options.
“Hands in the air, you goddamn mutt!” yelled someone from far away. Violent Pup and Henry turned around and saw undercover peace officers dressed as United Galactic Postal Service employees. This spooked Henry and he bumped into the inter-dimensional transport box’s computer so hard that it started to glitch.
“Fuck it, we’ll figure out where to pick later.” Violent Pup said as he tossed Henry into the box, hit a random counterpart Earth on its computer screen with his finger, and jumped inside of the container before it closed. The space that they shared was cramped but safe, as the box closed and activated its warp engine. The undercover peace officers ran far away to put distance between them and the minor earthquake that was inevitable because the jump pad force fields in the center of the multiversal docking port hadn’t been switched on. The combined weight of Violent Pup and Henry was too heavy for the inter-dimensional transport box to carry so it shook tremendously as they began to scream in agony. It is theorized that time and space tore them apart after the transport box purportedly imploded.
Apparent sightings of them have also been reported on planets in various universes. Spectators
and fans who claimed to have met them all say that they are stuck in an intergalactic teleportation loop that haphazardly re-materializes them on multiversal docking ports. The Satanic Temple speaks of this as truth, but also mentions the likelihood that the constantly-bored deity Lord Cameo is using them to solve problems that it cannot and that the two are trapped in a quantum purgatory since cosmic interference has not been detected by their ‘Orb of Ultimate Vision’. Pictures and video clips that have been supposedly taken of them show blurs of bright light. Recorded sounds of their voices are conveniently either scrambled or inaudible.
What has been established is that the mystery behind Henry “Strange Box” Brown and Violent Pup’s disappearance is the reason why Earth-AMC indefinitely shut down the planet’s United Galactic Postal Service departments. Administrations everywhere feared a hypothetical invasion of their world by way of hacking technology that facilitates inter-dimensional travel and wanted to take precautions to avoid having a devastating World War as well. This decision of theirs was wise, as treacherous and despicable intergalactic bounty hunters would sprout from the trenches of the worst parts of the multiverse. These hunters can be silent bag-and-tag cowboys or deadly assassins who don’t mind being dramatic with their executions.
A new cryptocurrency called “Snipecoins”, developed by William C. Moorcock on Earth 3/12 became worth more than Earth-AMC’s Bitchcoins, and if you aren’t affiliated with “the law” of a planet, you can be wanted dead or alive for anything as long as the complete reward had been deposited in a non-private escrow. Virtual leaderboard glorified the proficient warriors and encouraged them to reach the highest score to become the ‘Number One Killer’. A status they all wished to hold because of the money and notoriety that followed. The loophole of a victim’s bounty raising their killers’ own did not deter participants in the “Omniverse’s Most Dangerous Game”.
The dirty business of bloodshed had reached an unfathomable new height.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Graphic Violence, Aberrant Sexual Content, Rape, Drug Use, Brief Strong Language, Blasphemy, and Incest
It has been agreed upon by scientists that accepting the actuality of a multiverse is less of a struggle for the brains of intelligent species than processing the possibility of being trapped in an automated simulation, especially humans. There are many variations of the latter as a theory and ironically, they have all been implemented by the corporations of deities in controlled environments when programming and engineering the first few handfuls of minds that drive a fresh batch of creatures. Unfortunately, genetic code that’s unstable requires a developer to generate a patch and this has always been done by occasionally introducing newer chemicals that are created with ingredients after scattering them in locations on land that will inevitably be discovered by labs, regardless of the time period, for the advancement of civilizations surrounding the areas.
Humans were the most complicated organic creations of Mundïus. He found them to be extremely creative, yet, very self-destructive in nature and their competitively adaptive A.I. proved incredibly difficult to predict without extensive studies that those continuously working on still claim to be unbearable. This is where the common religious phrase “Born into Sin” is derived from. The “Adam and Eve” trial between the first two humans to ever reach the age of twenty-one is known for being a vital piece of research conducted by Lucas Keifer Sr. in Africa that determined the likelihood that humans will pursue their innate curiosity over the bliss of stability, with the right incentive.
Whether that’s furthering knowledge, pleasure through means that are prohibited, or an abundance of wealth. Acts of aggression outweighed happiness until a karma system was suggested by Mundïus’ youngest brother Eshu and implemented using the latter God’s ‘Morality Grid’. This considerably scaled down the amount of heinous behavior that was committed and
combated the instinct for violence with small rewards conveniently orchestrated as coincidences. The ‘Morality Grid’ received multiple awards across the galaxy for its ingenuity and how simple it was to “install” the bio-widget.
The fear of inevitable death and the uncertainty of a rued existence in some shape or form became a burgeoning fear among the earliest breed of humans after they witnessed their oldest patriarchal figure Methuselah, who lived to be the age of nine hundred and sixty-nine years, unexpectedly passed away before a “hard reset” that’s biblically referred to as ‘The Genesis Flood’. The cause of his departure from life has many recorded interpretations, but the truth is that Mundïus saw that humans under a strict time frame produced resources at a higher rate, and so he ordered a young God of Death named Ogbunabali to capture Methuselah in order to study his genetic makeup to decrease the maximum life span of humans through modifications in diseases developed to control the population of mankind. This tactic, while denounced as unethical by other important deities, would be repeated roughly once every two thousand years until centenarians became a rarity and the overall work rate of humans was consistently high.
The consequences of limiting the maturation that cosmic energy holds after it has taken shape within a sentient being as a soul eventually reared its ugly head when the price to create it skyrocketed due to an increase in demand and the result was many deformities and abnormalities. If not for a suggestion that Mundïus recycled souls instead of letting them wander as spirits to dissipate in a few hundred years, mankind wouldn’t have survived for as long as it has. The transfer of a soul into a fully developed newborn was dubbed reincarnation. This required utilizing both of a human’s internal consciousnesses or “SoulDrives”. One SoulDrive contains a past life that is hidden so its stored memories do not bleed over into the second, which allows a rebooted perspective on reality. When a soul reincarnates, the second SoulDrive is overwritten with the last.
Several personality traits are carried over to maintain a consistent balance of karma under the ‘Morality Grid’ without the mind consciously being aware that there is an ongoing download occurring in the brain before stopping around the age of twenty-five.
The spread of various manufactured religions on planet Earth pacified the preponderance of humans concerned with their own demise, however, deities began to question their own
longevity because none of them had any knowledge on whether or not they were truly immortal because while many have been to war and died fighting against one another, there hasn’t been a reported death caused by natural manners. Much like their creations, they could only theorize why they draw breath. The most commonly shared belief is that the Big Bang’s beginning was a speck of infinite possibilities and thoughts that spiral and it retracts to be reborn. The motto that deities commonly spout to explain the logic behind ‘The Dot’ is “If it can exist, it does or will”. This ideology doesn’t bode well with some of them who feel that ‘The Dot’ may be a never-ending spring that puppeteers their will to live as a network of batteries to expand. A beaucoup of butterfly-winged robots, known as Icadroids, have been sent by Chronos as far into the past as possible to find ‘The Dot’s source but none have ever returned from their journies, except for one, who brought back the heavily encrypted message “Out of Bounds”.
Although taken as a warning by the deities’ colleagues, Mundïus still sought to understand the power that “The Dot” generated and decided to spend millenniums obsessively attempting to replicate it based on the knowledge that had been acquired through studying the surviving Icadroid’s atom scanner. On the brink of killing himself, Mundïus was brought back from the edge by his team of scientists who disclosed they had finally simulated “The Dot” in a virtual and sentient space without memory or programming constraints. This inspired replica pulled its current from uploaded consciousnesses to stabilize the graphics environments and was capable of convincing a soul that it had been transferred to a new host. This artificial control of reincarnation included the ability to implant programmed identities that would flourish as the host aged. Mundïus patented the technology under the trademark ‘Nu-Heaven’ and had it integrated into his company’s massive sixty-kilometer-wide and fifteen-kilometer-long starship. Since he is responsible for the formation of the human race, Mundïus is not interfered with when he beams up souls to import into his simulated heaven and uses the collected cosmic energy to fuel his starship’s warp engine, allowing for close to instant multiverse travel.
The unparalleled success of Mundïus would come to a momentary halt as every Earth’s birthrate started to decrease dramatically by 2035, either due to unstoppable nuclear war, medicine funded by governments that extended the average lifespan, or singular pills that could be taken by any gender and proved extremely effective in preventing pregnancies without any consequential risks. Atheism had also become the default point of view for the majority of civilizations. This prominent absence of God-worshippers had an astonishing impact on bringing
down the death tolls that religious wars significantly rose and his ‘Nu-Heaven’ was unable to sustain the cosmic energy that his warp engine running long-term because souls were dying once they had gone through a handful of lifetimes. Mundïus’ starship needed stronger souls than the human race could offer him and the opportunity to have a couple would soon present itself.
Lucas Keifer Sr. would sire twins with Oshun, Mundïus’ ex-wife who left him prior to the groundbreaking evolution of his company. These twins were given the names Tianna and Obasi. They were inseparable in their mother’s womb and survived at the cost of being in such a rare vegetative state that an operation might shock them into cardiac arrest. Mundïus’ offered to upload their consciousness into his Nu-Heaven so that they may live the rest of their remaining lifetimes as normal residents and Lucas Keifer Sr. accepted his proposal on the condition that he could visit them without disturbing their identities under the guise of an unfamiliar character who would help them find each other in each of their lives. With all parties in a contractual agreement, Tianna and Obasi’s souls were transferred into Nu-Heaven. A profusion of thanks was exchanged between Lucas Keifer Sr. and Mundïus, the former, who was willing to put aside his awareness of the latter’s selfishness for the sake of his children’s well-being.
The current time period that Nu-Heaven had reached was the Paleolithic age, therefore, Tianna and Obasi had to begin their first lives during it as Prehistoric humans who happened to be second cousins. Mundïus noticed that when the twins were in close proximity to one another, the cosmic energy inside the warp engine started to fizzle, and his starship would shake uncontrollably, even more so when they both disturbed the peace beyond the limits that mirroring “The Dot” had set for Nu-Heaven. Mundïus explained this to the twins’ father and Lucas Keifer Sr. gave him permission to separate the two, in fear that the repercussions of not doing so might result in the warp engine spontaneously combusting.
This seemingly proved to be a manageable workaround, albeit short-term because Tianna and Obasi would always seem to find each other through conveniently placed rebirths. Sometime during the 18th century, Obasi saved Tianna from being burned at the stake, only for them to be shot in their heads by a mysterious gunsmith in all-black who wore a bag over his head and wielded a golden pair of miquelet pistols. This deadly encounter and ineluctable fate would repeat whenever the twins would interact long enough to be a problem. This infuriated Oshun when she had heard about how her twins were woven into what she called a murderous cycle
and Mundïus reassured her that not all of their lives faced demise as a safety mechanism. There were more successful separation tactics that didn’t violence or death than vice versa and neither would have been none the wiser if it had not been for a virus disguised as Delta-X edibles that were sold under the brand Outterplex in 2022.
Tianna had been reborn as Asia Reynolds, a half-Black and half-Chinese eighteen-year-old college dropout who lived at home with her ailing father Mr. Reynolds, and British nanny Lisa Wyckoff. She was a shy introvert who enjoyed playing massively multiplayer online games and reading Yaoi manga. Asia also worked at her town’s local library and soup kitchen on the weekends to keep busy. Money wasn’t a concern because her family had plenty of it, however, she suffered from complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and severe anxiety, and occasionally would have panic attacks that her nanny often helped her through. Asia’s psychologist thought her condition stemmed from childhood abuse, but she vehemently denied that such a thing occurred and mental illness was not prevalent in her family.
Obasi was reborn as Jorge Warfield, an Afro-Mexican thirty-year-old former stand-up comedian who was given half of his ex-wife’s lottery earnings after their divorce and retired a billionaire after investing a sizeable portion of his savings into several cryptocurrencies. Jorge was also a notorious womanizer, made frequent visits to high-class brothels, and built a reputation for being a quick-tempered narcissist with an unparalleled bundle of strange fetishes. Jorge was infamously quoted when the playboy stated that he wasn’t “suicidal but homicidal” on an episode of ‘The Oprah Winfrey Show’. Surprisingly, Jorge had never been convicted of assault as his fights always began with everyone agreeing to engage in mutual combat on video, and he has never lost a “bout”, no matter the number of opponents that Jorge had to defeat. Any injuries that they sustained were completely covered by a fund that was set up by Jorge and thus encouraged great quantities of altercations.
How the twins would meet in this lifetime as Jorge Warfield and Asia Reynolds was unexpected, to say the least. Among the bountiful fan mail that Jorge would receive, he had ignored all but one lengthy handwritten letter from Franklin, Kentucky that arrived on the anniversary of his divorce. The letter read as follows:
“I want to belong to a man who sees the world as you do. The mere sight of your presence
enlightens my perception and piques the darkness that lay dormant as I conceal it behind the innocence of a child to entrap the weak. Your words trigger the familiarity of memories that I cannot piece together. I wish to see past the illusion of our free will and synchronize vibration.” – You’re Other Half
Jorge Warfield had his fifty-one-year-old butler Mr. Carratala trace the address, confirm that the secret admirer is a woman, and uncover as much as he could about Asia Reynolds since she did not have any social media accounts, personal blogs, or published work on the internet. Mr. Carratala provided Jorge with sufficient information and Jorge grabbed the key to his black Ford Gran Torino before setting off on a solo road trip from his residence in Chicago, Illinois to Franklin, Kentucky. His butler Mr. Carratala chastising him for yet another impulsive decision did not stop the older man’s adventure, nor did recommending that he fly instead of driving for seven hours. Jorge wore his favorite navy beige check blazer over a white dress shirt, black khaki pants, leather boat shoes, and cut his baby locs.
It took a little less than eight hours for Jorge Warfield to arrive at the duplex that Asia Reynolds lived in with her family, parked outside of the sidewalk in front of their home, and waited until she left her house, alone at night to approach the young woman. Asia was wearing a white long-sleeve t-shirt with a plaid seductive biting-down-on-lower-lip design and oversized vintage pajama pants over black floral platform open-toe sandals. She kept her hair in long pigtails, sported Ray-Ban Clubmaster Square Optics glasses, and an expensive diamond infinity ring that never left the fourth digit that was selected by her to place down on.
The closer the two came to one another, the faster their hearts beat, and the stronger the twins’ auras became intoxicating. Jorge and Asia stared into each other’s red eyes and flashes of their previous encounters from past lives overwhelmed their senses before Asia’s next-door neighbor’s dog interrupted their connection by barking.
“Say it!” Jorge told Asia.
“I feel like I’ve known you for a very long time…” Asia said.
Jorge and Asia’s attraction grew as the two felt all over each others’ faces with their hands. They saw beyond the flesh vessels that covered their skeletons and recognized each other’s fiery
energy as Obasi and Tianna. Obasi’s loving caressed Tianna’s face and she gently pulled on his to make sure that he was real.
“Aren’t you a bit too old to be dressing like a little girl?” Obasi said while smirking.
“Says the self-proclaimed Beast of All Nations who is known for liking them young…perhaps a bit too young.” Tianna sarcastically responded.
Tianna grabbed and held Obasi’s hand, leaning her head on his shoulder as they started calmly walking to the family of Asia’s duplex. They let go of each other’s hands, and walked inside the left and right sides of the duplex, respectively. Chilling screams were heard as every single throat was slashed in the duplex and an arrow loop was carved in the foreheads of each family member, including the children. The twins simultaneously left their sides of the duplex, entered Jorge Warfield’s black Ford Gran Torino, and drove away while sirens blared from a nearby squad car. Inside Obasi and Tianna’s stolen vehicle, while covered in blood, they discussed how their shared experiences of getting on Outterplex’s Delta-X edibles led them to question the fabric of reality.
As Obasi drove, Tianna unfastened her sandals, removed them swiftly, and then placed her long feet and dainty toes on Obasi’s lap. Obasi kept his left hand on the wheel and rubbed her soft feet with the other as she wiggled her piggies. Obasi’s erection enlarged past the point of ignoring the organ, so he unbuttoned his pants and released his nine-inch member from its cotton confinement. Tianna devilishly smiled at the view of his engorged snake, spat into her palms, and twisted the entirety of its impressive length until it shined from top to bottom.
“I was a quantum physicist before I accidentally stumbled upon somethin’ that made someone take my life,” Obasi said.
Tianna’s soles clutched Obasi’s slick and swollen shaft.
“We’re a pair of fuckin’ Double As!” he yelled as Tianna proceeded to use her bottom half to stroke his throbbing penis up and down. Tianna remembered that Obasi was quite fond of them when he served her in a life where she was a queen and he was one of the thousands of slaves who obeyed every command. During her rule as a queen, she would hold a worship session
every year, in which all of her servants were required to masturbate on her feet after licking them clean of the last man’s semen. Obasi was the only slave who didn’t, and she rewarded his bravery with a night of privately worshipping her feet after being freshly bathed.
“I miss being a queen…and whatever made me this fuckin’ dweeb has some goddamn ‘splainin’ to do,” Tianna said tugging on one of Obasi’s testicles with a set of her curled toes as the other curiously bounced his cock’s head back and forth.
“Not only does this mean reincarnation is real, but there are strings being pulled to move certain people away from others,” Obasi said as his dick twitched and dribbled precum. “We don’t have much time now that we’ve met.”
“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind ending it and praying for the best…” Tianna said to herself.
“Other way ’round, baby girl, but whoever, whatever comes for us…does whenever we fuck shit up,” Obasi explained. “You catch more killers with bodies.” he smiled and abruptly released large spurts of cum on her feet. She held up her left foot to his face and flexed it.
“Clean it for me, Daddy?” said Tianna in her best baby voice.
Obasi licked each foot clean of his spunk and as soon as they arrived at their destination, a boutique hotel, they savagely kissed. Their kissing never broke until they reached the room that Obasi had paid for in advance. Tianna requested a gift from Obasi, a sacrifice to her, to show that he truly appreciated her return to him, and the next morning, he showcased the maid tied to a chair with her clothes torn and panties gagging the employee’s mouth.
“The whitest one that I could find, baby girl,” Obasai told Tianna.
“You know what to do then, Daddy,” Tianna said.
Obasi dragged the stuck maid to the bathroom, slit her throat with a utility knife, and drained the worker’s body into the bathtub until it was half-filled. Tianna took off her clothes, walked into the bathroom flaunting a tattoo of an open-mouthed snake with its tongue out, wrapped around her left leg, and hopped into the blood-soaked bathtub to soak for a while. “Old habits die hard, don’t they?” she said while genuinely relaxed.
“Like the geese that you had me run over on our way here?” Obasi retorted.
“You know how much I hate those annoying ugly fuckers, Daddy!” exclaimed Tianna. “Maybe there is a reason why these nimrods keep trying to get me exorcised.”
“You were always fascinating…like watching a giraffe paint,” Obasi said reaching into the bathtub and squeezing Tianna’s C-cup breasts. “I need to pick up a few things before we head back to my place, so try to fend for yourself in the meantime, little one.” Obasi would ironically call her that because most of her past lives, she was noticeably taller than him. He was currently 5’7 and she was 5’10.
“You know how I hate being separated from you…” Tianna pouted.
“Hug the corpse, pet!” said Obasi as he left the hotel room.
Half an hour later, Obasi came back to see Tianna lying in bed naked with another man. Enraged, Obasi yanked the man out of the bed, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his head through the bedroom’s television screen. The man struggled as his hips were grabbed by Obasi and the antagonized lover destructively penetrated him raw from behind. The more the man shook the more cuts the television screen’s glass made until he finally bled out. Obasi climaxed inside of the dead man’s torn rectum, slid his softening bloody tool out, and attended to Tianna.
“Suck it,” Obasi demanded, and Tianna lay on her stomach with her mouth wide open. Obasi grabbed her pigtails and pounded her throat until there were enough tears to clean his slimy rod with. “You keep forgetting why I am a beast…and now I’m going to mark my territory.”
Obasi urinated down Tianna’s throat and forced her to swallow every bit of his bottled stream. Tianna drank his bodily nectar and kissed the tip of his cock as she profoundly apologized to Obasi for her betrayal. Obasi ignored Tianna and overhead a news broadcast announcing that Outterplex’s Delta-X line was discontinued on the television in the living room. Obasi shook himself clean on Tianna’s tongue, walked into the living room, picked up his cell phone on the kitchen table, and called a cleaning crew that helps criminals dispose of bodies along with cleaning up murder scenes.
“Why do you care about whether we’re exposed to blind sheep?” Tianna questioned Obasi.
“I actually loved being Jorge and I plan on living this life for as long as I can, little one.” Obasi casually answered and ended his conversation with the cleaning management.
Tianna rested her head back on a pillow, fell instantly asleep, and rested peacefully until she was disturbed by a panic attack brought on by a random life memory. She had been raped, tortured, experimented on, and abused by so many close to her in multitudinous bodies. One of the perpetrators happened to be Obasi when she was an eighty-year-old concubine of his in Egypt. Her mind was molded to please his every desire as he fiercely ruled over his inherited land and conquered any that stood in his way.
“I’ll behave, please don’t do that…it hurts,” Tianna said under her breath as she cradled herself in her arms, tucked into a fetal position, and jerked when Obasi tried to touch her. Tianna screamed at the top of her lungs and hyperventilated when she was losing breath. Obasi started to sob because he remembered what she had endured at the hands of his wrath and questioned whether his personality was his own or the outcome of roles that he was urged to support. Once she had settled down, he kissed her forehead and left their hotel room to inhale fresh air outside. Obasi had originally thought that the edibles gave him freedom with the knowledge that had carried over from past lives, but he debated on whether they were poisonous to a soul, like pieces of the “forbidden fruit” or another fight that he would have to win to prove a point.
A man draped in a black trench coat and matching color fedora stepped over to Obasi he sat on parking blood.
“It’s been a while…” Obasi said. He didn’t bother to even look up as the suspected mysterious gunsmith pulled out a golden M1911 pistol and disengaged its safety. Two gunshots and a loud thud woke Tianna from her deep sleep, prompting her to put on a robe to search for Obasi.
She left the hotel and saw Obasi limping with a bullet wound on his side, and the mysterious gunsmith lying on the ground after colliding with an unconscious drunk diver’s Jeep Wrangler. Tianna assisted Obasi back to their hotel room and he placed another order at the aforementioned cleaning service.
Obasi stretched out on the living room couch and right as he turned on the television, Tianna climbed on top of him, causing Obasi to yell in agony. Tianna stuck her middle and ring finger inside his bullet wound while kissing him quietly. His blood soaked her hand as she brought her inserted fingers back and forth rhythmically in a come-back motion. Obasi was terrified and his anxiety rose when Tianna unplugged her fingers out of his hole after finding the lead that he took from the mysterious gunsmith and let the blood spray while she reached into her robe to soothe her aching clitoris with the bullet.
“Your second gift to me is so warm, Daddy.” Tianna moaned, bringing herself to an orgasm that only the devil would be proud of.
In the following two weeks, Obasi led a double life as he would partake in psychopathic outings with his twin sister Tianna throughout the night and hide behind the mask of Jose Warfield during the day. He managed to defend himself and Tianna from swarms of progressively dangerous foes by studying from a cautionary guide that he had written based on his encounters with them in past lives. The attackers operated no differently than bots in a first-person shooter match and understanding their preferred methods of placement made them utterly predictable to Obasi. He would become tired of this and the constant earthquakes wherever they stayed, however. Obasi confronted his butler, Mr. Carratala, in their study room with the same golden M1911 pistol that the mysterious gunsmith carried and aimed it at his servant’s head as Mr. Carratala read Alexandre Dumas’ ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’.
“You’re the only figure that I can’t tell who I’ve met in a past life before,” Obasi said. “Tell me why the fuck you’ve been a beacon, Carratala, or I’m going to blow your brains out and then my own!”
Mr. Carratala revealed himself to be Obasi and Tianna’s father, Lucas Keifer Sr. The celestial parent explained the mechanics behind the situation that he and his sister are stuck in and why the twins need to stay a great distance away in order to protect their counterfeit universe because it’s essentially life support for them. The virus was introduced into the program by their mother Oshun, who stole Lucas Keifer Sr.’s code for an apple of Eden, and he was protecting them from swarms of virtual antibodies that eliminated corrupted or oddly malicious entities within Nu-Heaven.
“You and Tianna’s magnetism is the beacon, son.” Lucas Keifer Sr. said. “You’re both north and south poles that insistently track down each others’ ferromagnetic metals because your actual souls are still figuratively conjoined in your mother’s womb.”
“Not that I don’t care about the science, but I’m exhausted, and while I’ll choose ignorance over being cursed with every single mistake that I was compelled to make, I don’t like living as someone who’s destined to die simply because they’ll interact with their own sibling.” Obasi ranted. “If you can’t end this dysfunctional glitch, then permanently delete my consciousness…and give my sister everything she needs in every single one of her remaining lives.”
Lucas Keifer Sr. was saddened, but at the same time proud of his son Obasi for making the courageous choice to forfeit his existence for his sister Tianna’s happiness and partially granted his plea to be taken out of Nu-Heaven. Tianna was institutionalized and committed suicide by unceasingly bashing her into the wall. Her next lives were arranged to be the healthiest and most privileged that a soul could be assigned to. Unbeknownst to Obasi, his consciousness was moved to the body of an Icadroid, as a test for a project labeled “Immortal Transference”. Mundïus was building an army that he classified as Nu-Angels and Obasi would be the first of hundreds that would invade Earth 3/12. An alternate universe so far from any salvation that its conception remained anomalous until Lucas Keifer Jr. tracked the source of its splintered timelines to Lord Saïd, an immortal time-traveling former slave of African descent who chaotically fractured history in a miscalculated effort to manipulate events with the intention of placing Black Americans in a position of economic and political superiority.
This anomaly within an anomaly would learn that he made a grave error in upsetting Mad Gods.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Graphic Violence, Aberrant Sexual Content, Racism, Homophobia, and Brief Strong Language
Every God has demanded a sacrifice for the purpose of showcasing the loyalty and willpower of their followers in order to appease the community of deities. One of the most notable examples is Abraham offering his son Isaac to what many believed to be the God of the Israelites. He, in fact, was not and the story continues to be whitewashed. The deity in question was Goolup, better known as “The God of Cannibals” and he had commanded Abraham to feast upon Isaac during a ritual. Mundïus interrupted the ceremony because the death of Isaac would interfere with his plans and in exchange for the young man’s life, gave Goolup a universe that he could torment as his own. This vile, chaotic, and disorderly world would be labeled Earth-V.
Throughout the 1960s, Lynchburg, Virginia was commonly referred to as the “Negro Suburbanite’s Promised Land” as the city’s population of petty bourgeoisie consisted of primarily upper-middle-class African-Americans and ‘non-coloreds’ were rumored to have been hunted for sport or hung before an “All-Black-Jury” would reach the verdict of “not guilty” if a case was taken to court. The city’s own detectives would bribe the coroner to rule murders as suicide, once clues were convincingly staged. Violent mobs, angry rioters, and opportunistic supremacists from the outside were contended with through the use of well-placed snipers holding M40 rifles covering dressed-up machete-wielding African warriors of the Chop Yu Tribe that had assimilated into corporate culture. As stated in historical documents, they were deputized by city officials to assist in averting massacres.
In return for the tribe’s protection, “devil’s skin” or the white man’s meat was provided by a slaughterhouse run by a former warlord, given to them to be cooked into a delicacy among their people, and prepared at ceremonies. There would soon become a growing demand in wealthy circles, and the criminal underworld capitalized on the hankering for this taboo food that was more expensive to acquire than buying a house in the average ghetto. Anonymous reports began to spread slowly but surely throughout the country and the government announced that they had started investigating, however, nothing significant would be disclosed to the public, heavily suggesting that there were daunting levels of corruption prevalent in elected offices.
The panic that ensued delayed the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which abolished racial segregation, and chaos increased until the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., who was long thought to have been “guiding the white race into jaws of beasts by encouraging blind unification” as white pastors would put it. While the most prominent social activist’s death would quell extreme acts of hatred between ethnic groups, miscegenation remained seriously discouraged and those convicted of being in an interracial marriage were sentenced to death. The most notable example of this was the 1966 case ‘Oyeniyi v. Virginia’, which saw Christina and Kennedy Oyeniyi’s execution in a gas chamber. This white Scottish-American woman and Ghanian man, respectively, left behind a bright brown-eyed, curly redheaded daughter with freckles that they named April Oyeniyi, who her Aunt Trisha strictly raised as a Muslim prior to the legal guardian became bedridden with late-stage multiple sclerosis.
No longer under the surveillance of an overprotective religious parent, April Oyeniyi spent her early teen years in the ’70s famously photographed as a free-spirited tomboy with a pixie cut, in a shoulderless turtleneck, plaid jeans, boots, and a Funtunfunefu Denkyemfunefu Adinkra necklace that symbolized diversity, which was a gift from her uncle, who had a notably successful career as a surgeon. Outside of family, she mostly kept to herself and had no friends as she attended a private school where she was the only student of color, often harassed by fellow classmates for being mistaken as a male in her uniform or mockingly called an “ugly mongrel”. April shared her mother’s skin complexion and her father’s facial features, so although she “passed”, people familiar with her parents knew that she wasn’t exotically Caucasian. Had it not been for Aunt Trisha’s various bribes, April may very well have been ignored by local police officers when she was attacked by bigoted citizens and deranged stalkers that fetishized her.
At sixteen, April finally found a friend in an ostracized football player known as ‘Duke’ who had come out to her as gay in confidence, and they spent a fair amount of time bonding with each other over their love of skateboarding after classes. The pair would not last long, however, as the two were unknowingly coerced into being locked in a closet together for a game of “Seven Minutes in Heaven” at a midnight Halloween party. Duke, who was dressed as his favorite television star ‘Coyote Punk’, did not recognize April, wearing their team’s football uniform with a helmet on. Both of them were under the influence of alcohol and weed brownies, but Duke was more than just aggressive, assuming April was one of his teammates that he had a crush on, due to hallucinating. April voluntarily pulled down her own pants, faced the opposite direction,
and persuaded Duke to make the next move. Duke then pulled down the zipper of his light-brown cargo pants and released his flaccid penis through the fly.
“I need you inside of me.” April moaned.
Duke recognized her voice and took a step back.
“April? What the fuck?!” Duke responded.
“Time’s up!” someone yelled from outside of the closet, right before the door swung open. The sight of Duke’s exposed pecker was met with laughs from young party-goers who some jokingly brought up his presumed inability to perform and spouted the typical homophobic jeers. An emotionally devastated Duke quickly fixed himself up, fled the house to walk the streets in shame, and subsequently several blocks down, was chatted up by a Haitian-American man in his mid-twenties, driving a Chrysler New Yorker Brougham whose full identity was Liam “Baby Boy” Francois. He had micro locs, a sweater vest over a purple long-sleeve silk t-shirt, and metal-framed tea-shade glasses with smoke lenses on his youthful face. Liam owned the popular gay fetish club ‘Swinging Kings’ and this distinct establishment was touted for its rare exclusivity in Virginia.
“I would love for you to bestow upon me the honor of being my mate for the night.” Liam flirted with Duke.
Duke informed him that he was underage and couldn’t legally drink alcohol yet as his feet came to a halt on the sidewalk to contemplate accepting Liam’s offer. Liam slowed his car to a stop, unlocked the passenger door of his vehicle before gently opening it, and patted the bottom of the passenger’s seat three times.
“What happens behind closed doors is your business, love.”
Duke decided that if he was going to be scolded by his parents for arriving home past his curfew, he might as enjoy the remaining hours available up to the sunrise, and nervously got inside Liam’s car for an exciting mystery to come.
Two weeks later, Robert ‘Duke’ Schillinger was reported missing and an emergency 72-hour
lockdown was ordered with no success in finding the teenager or any valuable leads. His family and April were distraught. To add salt to the latter’s wounds, her mother passed away while she was locked up in a regional jail for trespassing on private property and graffiti vandalism. Judge Malcolm King, who presided over her case, felt sympathetic toward her personal situation and granted probation if she helped the police gain evidence in an operation as a confidential informant. April Oyeniyi reluctantly agreed with Judge Malcolm King’s probation conditions and was paired with undercover police officer Francine Wright, who had been working as a secretary to Liam “Baby Boy” Francois for three years. Officer Wright had never been able to get close to busting a secret invitation-only “dinner” hosted by the man himself.
With the help of applying light makeup, dying her hair blonde, designer clothing, and luxury high heels, April Oyeniyi was able to pose as an international model that Officer Wright would introduce to Liam at his club ‘Swinging Kings’ to be paired with clients into ethnic-based domination known as “Race Play”. The first and only man that April was requested to entertain shocked her when she discovered that he was one of her teachers, Mr. Keysle, a five-foot-nine-foot tall and muscular African-American bodybuilder who had retired to teach coding as a career change. In an emerald-lit V.I.P.-exclusive dungeon, he was positioned on his elbows and knees, suspended from the ground on a piece of bondage furniture with his wrists and ankles bound in powder-coated steel cuffs with nylon straps on its leather pads, securing them tightly. Mr. Keysle’s neck was kept firmly in place by a steel collar attached to a pole on the bench, making sure his head stayed lifted. A VHS camcorder was set up nearby to record everything that occurred between the two.
Mr. Keysle had a kink for being aggressively dominated and anally penetrated by Caucasian females through modern buck-breaking fantasy scenes. These sessions usually involved being flogged, pegged, cock and ball tortured, being muzzled wearing a chrome metal wolf-head-shaped chastity cage that tightly caged his prick, only allowed to make grunting noises or growls like a beast. Mr. Keysle’s perversions disgusted April and she looked the other way to avoid seeing his lubed anus as she stood next to a cart of sex toys and put on a red strap-on dildo. She mentally eased herself into the role of a plantation owner’s wife punishing her husband’s Mandingo fighter in a fleshed-out scenario where slavery never ended and grabbed Mr. Keysle’s hips before pushing the plastic five-inch pole hanging from her waist inside of his puckered hole. Its girth opened up the man’s shaved keister and poked his prostate after being driven pitilessly
into it by a nauseous teenager who wished for it to be over, yet remembered what she was instructed to do.
April fucked her teacher like a narcissistic male rapist punishing an escapee while spewing atrocious epithets such as “mudskinned porch monkey” and “‘gator bait coon” with a southern accent that disguised her natural tone of voice.
“I’m sorry, my pure-blooded goddess!” Mr. Keysle repeated loudly.
April placed her lips near Mr. Keysle’s right ear and whispered into it “You’re not a nigger, but you are a sissy, Mr. Keysle.”
This level of humiliation, bewilderment, and inevitable revelation cause Mr. Keysle to spray his clear white seed onto the black harbor freight puzzle floor mat after one final thrust from April. Her teacher grappled with a wave of emasculation, confusion, and rage, realizing that he was sodomized by an underage female of color who studies under him. April walked out of the playroom holding a tape that documented their encounter, leaving the disgraced educator with a gaping asshole and tears as he begged her not to “say anything to anyone” or he would be ruined.
April and Officer Wright’s original plan was to blackmail Mr. Keysle and compel him to disclose details about the next secret invitation-only “dinner”, but unfortunately, Mr. Keysle complained to Liam “Baby Boy” Francois regarding his experience, referring to her as a “communist brat” who lacked a sense of identity. Liam had a background check done on the alias that April Oyeniyi went by on the passport that Officer Wright gave her, Abigail Goodin, and subsequently spiraled into an out-of-control manic episode once he learned that there were no results in the club’s computer data files. Liam knew that first, he had to deal with Officer Wright and sent over a young miscreant by the name of Guus L. Makuto IV to covertly deliver a message in the form of a bloody pig’s head being left inside of her bed as she slept one night.
Officer Wright’s department extended their 24/7 police protection services to her now that any cover that she had previously established was undeniably blown and they needed a witness alive that could possibly testify against Liam, who was arranging for April to be served as a special platter for a company picnic on ‘Kellita’, a superyacht that solely his shareholders,
comprised of different ethnic groups of Africa were privileged to be a part of. They each wore illustrious garments that represented their respective countries and spoke English as a desired global language to communicate with one another. These savage capitalists grew anxious and irrationally impatient as their hunger for human flesh could not be satiated by the buffet’s breakfast options.
Instead of April immediately going through the entire process of being made into a dish, she was drugged with a low dose of scopolamine, stripped naked, bathed, and laid out on a table for the shareholders to eat sushi off of. A Japanese practice that’s known as nyotaimori, minus the kidnapping, anesthesia, and anthropophagy.
To all but one of these shareholders, April looked like another white girl, even without her makeup on. That particular shareholder was her uncle, Obi Oyeniyi, who noticed skin damage from tan lines on her chest from the Adinkra necklace that he had gifted his niece long ago.
“Are the appetizers not to your liking, my good sir?” Liam “Baby Boy” Francois smugly said as he walked over behind the seat of Obi Oyeniyi, picked up a scrimp on April’s shaved pubic region, and offered it to him.
Obi was repulsed, covered his mouth, and turned his head.
“I’m just a bit seasick, is all, Liam,” Obi replied as he stood up from his seat. “Will you please point me in the direction of the facilities?”
“Nonsense, I’ll take you there myself!” Liam exclaimed as he led the way to the bathroom.
Obi Oyeniyi knew that if he did not act, his niece would possibly be molested and surely be eaten by his colleagues. There was no means by which he could contact anyone outside of the superyacht and no weapons were allowed on it, so his only chance to save April was to take over or bring down the power vessel. After stopping short of walking into a seemingly empty bathroom, Obi took out the fountain pen clipped between the buttons of his dress shirt, jabbed it into Liam’s carotid artery multiple times, dragged him into a stall as blood gushed from his neck’s wound, and drowned the host in an unflushed toilet. Obi proceeded to steal a set of keys from Liam, rushed down the nearest hall, opened a glass display case on the wall, and grabbed
the fire axe from it before hastily backtracking to the shareholders’ lunch.
What ensued was a ruthless onslaught of butchering mostly defenseless old men. Some of them tried to protect themselves with kitchen knives, but Obi had the knowledge of precision on his side and knew exactly where to hack for killing blows or easily dismembering bodies like cutting through butter. Obi was slow in age, so he could not dodge every attack and was ferociously sliced a handful of times, but managed to take the blows he needed to in order to counter with devastating swings. April’s unconscious body was drenched in so much blood and her intestines poured onto the table that she lay on. Liam’s two trusted guards responded to the sounds of the carnage that they heard, saw that the shareholders were grossly obliterated, and frighteningly vacated the area, giving Obi a chance to wake up his niece.
The blaring of fire alarms gradually awakened April Oyeniyi half an hour later and they could smell nearby smoke. Liam’s two trusted guards, Preacher, and Pope, may have been cowards but they remembered the contingency plan that their boss laid out in the case of his untimely demise. The superyacht ‘Kellita’ was to go up in flames and both rescue boats were taken by the small staff along with Liam’s two trusted guards. Obi lifted April off the table, placed her across his shoulders, and carried her up to the gunwale of the superyacht as the blaze broke out further.
“Do you remember when you were a little girl…and I taught you how to swim by pushing you into the deep end of the pool because you were afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of the other kids?” Obi asked April as he sat her down.
April was groggy and nodded her head as she struggled to piece together what was occurring at the moment.
“You’re going to need to swim for as many miles as it takes, ayanfe, and I won’t be joining you this time.”
“Why?” April asked.
“I must atone for my sins and hope there’s a chance that I can get it right in the next life.” Obi remorsefully answered April as he wiped the blood covering her face with his pocket square.
April stood up and looked down at the ocean.
“The cold temperature will wake you up and the goddess Yemaya will guide your travel,” Obi told April as he pushed her off of the ledge and into the ocean.
April survived the three-hundred-foot jump and swam away in the freezing water while Obi waved goodbye to her as he “went down with the ship”.
It’s roughly estimated that it took April Oyeniyi five miles to swim back to shore, where she collapsed due to hypothermia and was eventually rescued thanks to bystanders calling an ambulance. A rape kit was processed at a hospital and luckily no DNA or signs of sexual assault was found. Other than some psychological trauma, a urinary tract infection, and bruising, April was expected to recover from the deranged events that had transpired.
Without suspects to place in custody for detectives to interrogate or any tangible evidence from the superyacht ‘Kellita’s wreckage to support their claims, she and Officer Francine Wright were given new identities as potential witnesses that could be called to the stand if need be. This catastrophically publicized ordeal disrupted the chain of lucrative black markets servicing affluent cannibal patrons and enthusiasts, thus leading to a scarcity of them, caused by plummeting profits. “The God of Cannibals” Goolup became saddened by the temporary decrease in pandemonium and contemplated releasing a contagious psychosomatic disease to create the deadliest pandemic that no universe’s world has dealt with.
According to Goolup’s submitted blueprints to the Divine Council that authorize or decline the incorporation of external forces, his goal would have been to transform Earth-V into a post-apocalyptic wasteland through a leaked synthetic virus originating from a subterranean North Korean bio-lab that develops noxious substances for chemical warfare. They were rejected on the grounds that the threshold of cruelty would be raised past an unmeasurable degree of karma and overcrowd ‘kuzimu’, a relatively calm “hell” assigned to rehabilitate the dead of universes as abominable as Goolup’s.
Unimpeded by Goolup’s unhinged governance, thanks to constantly rejected proposals, Earth-V managed to substantially correct its apathetic nature and align the planet’s path with the conventional Earths of alternate universes. The celestial status that this depraved diety held
predictably lowered to a point where he was unanimously excommunicated and lost the credentials that are required to access tools capable of altering the planes of his universe. Goolup became a laughingstock and vowed vengeance on his fellow Gods, especially Mundïus, who he considers partially responsible for being blacklisted.
Mundïus denied Goolup’s assertions of acting duplicitously in a satirical press release titled “Welcome to the Cookout” and claimed that his former associate’s failed attempt at ruling an infinitesimal branch of reality was the fault of not remaining circumspect in critical phases of its build-out. To add insult to injury, Mundïus announced his acquisition of Earth-V and showcased an exaggerated illustration of an attractive African-American mother wearing nothing but a Black floral apron on, in a stunningly lavish kitchen, holding a cleaver, while smiling devilishly at a small Caucasian child behind her.
Needless to say, the sly provocateur Mundïus had no fear of momentous retaliation.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Strong Language, References to Rape, and Graphic Violence
Even for the emperor who had amassed more wealth than any capitalist in the multiverse could ever hope to acquire, the technological possibilities during his reign were only limited by the progression made of the Earth that he was born. On one particular Earth in the middle of the Mali Empire’s height, a group of inter-dimensional hippie backpackers comprised of several advanced species taught him about the scientific discoveries on their home planets and bartered with him books that they often read throughout their travels in exchange for half of his wealth. The language of these books automatically translated themselves for the reader and the knowledge that would be gained in the course of this time period due to remarkable studies would vastly change the future in ways that Gods did not predict.
This paradisal world that Mansa Musa would be responsible for conceiving is referred to by many as Earth-Eden because it has the lowest crime rate, unemployment, and homelessness in the multiverse. Its security measures are also the highest and foreign visitors, humanoid or extraterrestrial life, from outside of the planet have been banned in order to maintain relatively peaceful relations among classes. Deities have also found the rarity of war and terrorist acts to be notable contrasts to other Earths. Most believe this could be attributed to the millions of artificial trees that produce a synthetic version of Hímoxide-8, a chemical that was extracted from an unknown plant, known to lower the levels of aggression in humans and significantly enhance cognition.
On Mansa Musa’s deathbed, he left plans for a unique mansion to be discretely constructed, not
on land or in the sea, but somewhere in space where only his descendants could access it and Gods could not see. This mansion would ultimately be built over the period of a millennium in a pocket dimension by tricking genies out of their lamps after carefully placing them on a Heaven Mu symbol that was thickly drawn with the blood of chupacabras. This would be orchestrated in a temple with the assistance of an inter-dimensional witch who was cast out for practicing hoodoo from The Book of Alucalb. She would drain them of their energy and use it to fuel a portal machine underground that would allow parallel realities to intersect through entrances of the property above. To pass through these entrances into this mansion would require genetic compatibility with Mansa Musa. Otherwise, all that would be seen is what was physically designed on the surface.
The temple would eventually become a three-story house with a distinctive Taurus Cape buffalo door knocker among many in a suburban neighborhood populated by many upper-middle-class African-American residents, and one day, five counterparts of a man descending from Mansa Musa named Guus L. Makuto IV would find themselves among one another while in its living room following a lengthy ride inside their respective home vacuum elevators once stepping into them alone.
The buff clean-shaven Billionaire wore a black turtleneck with white khaki pants, a modestly thin gold chain, and a magnetic hematite bracelet on his right-hand wrist. A stunningly beautiful Khoisan humanoid female robot with Black pigtails known as Nia shined his dark brown dress shoes while on her knees as he sat on a long curved sofa in the living room, observing the other counterparts through security cameras that his tablet was connected to.
The anxious Vagabond rummaged through the kitchen’s refrigerator in grey sweatpants, a matching color hoodie, and black tactical boots. He also wore a broken leather watch decorated with music note symbols behind its glass screen and wore a cap to cover hair that he had naturally loc’d using a military brush.
The amazed Student browsed the mansion’s library, which was stocked full of thousands of books. Many of them were from the Library of Alexandria and the House of Wisdom. The student had on rectangle glasses, a white dress shirt with a black sweater vest over top of it, dark blue jeans, and knockoff Nike Lebron Soldier 9 IX PRM sneakers. He constantly squeezed
a baseball stress ball in his right hand and at times would loosen up a wedding band on the ring finger.
The Miscreant sported a short rugged goatee and mustache with three diamonds in his right ear, a white studded punk-style leather jacket over his wife-beater, and black cargo pants long enough to cover his ankle before reaching the Dexter Comfort Crosby slip-on loafers on his feet. Holstered on his side was a pair of nunchaku. Unlike the other counterparts, The Miscreant’s hands were covered in tattoos, which The Billionaire noticed when The Miscreant took off the white silk du-rag on his head to moisturize his cornrows with a spray bottle.
The Billionaire placed together then parted both his middle finger and thumb on the section of his touch-screen tablet viewing The Miscreant from a security camera to enlarge the screen. He could now hear that The Miscreant was listening to a documentary on the legacy of Earth-Eden’s Mansa Musa in the Mansion’s museum. The museum itself was filled with priceless artifacts, recovered weapons, statues, and exotic plants from across the galaxy.
“Lucky you to be born in such a luxurious reality.” The Miscreant said after looking directly at the nano security camera on the ceiling.
This briefly spooked The Billionaire before he calmly responded with “You would get bored of mine, my friend” over the intercom. “Too many rules and not enough chaos…”
“Why are we all here?” asked The Vagabond as he sat beside The Billionaire with a cold bottle of Midnite Gulu kombucha in his hand.
“Wait until the others are done taking their tour of the mansion so I can answer that question without the strong probability of repeating myself.” said The Billionaire. “You and I are aware of what this place is, but the one from Capital Earth, may be feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
The Vagabond gulped down his bottle of Midnite Gulu Kombucha before handing it to Nia for her to discard.
“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” said The Vagabond. “The CIA is still looking for me, so what better place to hide than in between somewhere and nowhere.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to pick up where you left off.” The Billionaire said sarcastically. “Our shared abode exploits the confines of time and every hour we spend in this mansion, is a second, outside of it.”
“But you already know this–“
The Miscreant slowly walked behind The Vagabond and put his hands on both of his shoulders.
“You know…I still can’t believe that I would ever be a fucking spook, even with all of the foreign white anorexic-lookin’ pussy you’ve probably gotten.” The Miscreant whispered in The Vagabond’s ear before knocking the cap off of his head and sitting down on the opposite curved sofa in a slumped posture.
“Forgive me if I appear shocked that an embarrassing lowlife counterpart such as yourself is intelligent enough to access files stored openly on this mansion’s computer mainframe.” The Vagabond said, unamused then letting seconds pass of him and The Miscreant staring at one another staring.
A brief smirk then crossed The Vagabond’s face.
“Did following in our former marine father’s footsteps finally make you a man?” The Miscreant tauntingly asked while smiling back.
“Did killing ours make you one?” The Vagabond replied, slightly irritated.
The Student cautiously walked into the living room with a closed book from the library in his hand and kept a safe distance from the three other counterparts on the sofa looking at him.
“Hey, I read about you too!” The Miscreant exclaimed. “You’re the pussy!”
“Don’t mind him.” interrupted The Billionaire. “Have a seat so that we can get started.”
The Miscreant patted a spot near him on the sofa and The Student reluctantly sat down beside The Miscreant with the book laid on his lap.
The Billionaire, while holding a remote control, explained how each one of them is a descendant of Mansa Musa and recounted the history of Earth-Eden’s rise to preeminence by using holographic imagery that a floating cerulean blue sphere presented in the middle of their curved sofas.
The miscreant inappropriately yawned. “Tell us something we don’t know,” he said.
“Like how did we get here?” The Student asked, briefly puzzling everyone with his North American accent as opposed to their distinct African accents, while only The Vagabond spoke with a slight British accent due to often being stationed in Manchester, England U.K.
“I re-activated the Aztec obsidian mirrors that the machine generates portals through after they had been disabled for centuries.” The Billionaire answered. “Then I waited for you all to find the elevator below it and beamed you to the mansion.”
“Fascinating.” The Student thought to himself before asking out loud “But why aren’t there more than four of us?”
“Aside from the discovery of this location being dependent on chance, it was imperative to me that I secure survivors of a serial killer, who seems to be picking us off, one by one.” The Billionaire said.
The Vagabond stood up.
“I suppose this is where I chime in,” he said before The Billionaire handed him the remote control.
The Vagabond switched the holographic visual on display to a device called “The Breacher”.
“On Earth-Bond, I discovered that my government was planning on using this contraption to infiltrate Earth-Eden and recover technology for the purpose of advancing our military by thousands of years.” The Vagabond said. “This was during a mission in Algeria, to assassinate the chief scientific officer who oversaw its invention and survived a poisonous gas leak.”
“Wait, multiverse travel is normal on your guys’ worlds?” The Student perplexingly asked.
“Politicians and the prisoners forced to build infrastructure on uninhabited planets and transport them through dimensions for species on dying worlds are well acquainted with the concept, yes.” The Miscreant said. “Some like mine, yours, and Daddy Warbucks over there have bans.” The Miscreant looked at The Billionaire and gave him a thumbs up.
“As I was saying, I completed my assignment not too long after acquiring this information.” The Vagabond continued.
“Tell us why you were blacklisted!” obnoxiously shouted The Miscreant. The Miscreant then nudged The Student’s shoulder with his elbow. “This is the good part, kid.”
“Apparently, I talk in my sleep, which I learned shortly after having relations with a foreign journalist who I regrettably did not mindwipe.” The Vagabond said. “What followed was a burn notice, however, I fortunately still had millions of dollars worth of SnipeCoin in my crypto wallet that I converted and used to purchase the house that masks this mansion.”
The Miscreant held back laughter and covered his mouth with the back of his hand while looking away.
“What does the Breacher have to do with a serial killer?” The Student asked.
“We believe someone under the orders of their government is using the Breacher to find our ex-spy and is willing to kill several of us until they do.” The Billionaire answered.
The Vagabond switched the holographic imagery of “The Breacher” to a video of the three-story house, riddled with bullets.
“Whoever tried to tie up loose ends in my world is aware of the existence of this mansion and must have reverse-engineered the technology necessary to travel through parallel realities with The Breacher.” The Vagabond said. “Any other scenario would have raised more red flags than an invading army of Martians.”
“You’re joking about that Martian part, right?” The Student curiously asked The Vagabond. The Vagabond, The Miscreant, and The Billionaire stared at The Student.
“So, anyway…what are we going to do about this?”
“Before the infamous Ja’Net Tsujimura was taken care of, she hesitantly provided my company, Makuto Industries, with the algorithm necessary to hack the consciousness of a dreamer, in a trade for secretly funding her now-defunct operation.” The Billionaire said.
“I then had my team of scientists reconfigure an astral projection device with the algorithm and seek me out in other realities so that I could direct who I could here as they slept.”
The Student felt violated after he made sense of it all and visibly seemed disgusted. He wondered how many of his actions were actually manipulated by The Billionaire because he based certain decisions on fears or suggestions that were repeated themes during dreams. Then the thought of it all being a lie occurred. The Billionaire noticed The Student’s facial expressions and was unsurprised by his show of disbelief when eyebrows were skeptically raised.
“1 80-90-35-3, 18-190-35-3, 80-19-35-3.” The Billionaire recited. The Student’s mouth briefly dropped.
These were numbers that The Student had once been told in the exact same sequence during a dream by a stranger who rescued him from a burning house that he could not get a good look at to describe it.
“How do I know that I’m dreaming right now?” asked The Student.
“You would believe him if you were.” The Vagabond answered.
“You think a lot about Marisol more than any of us did.” The Billionaire said. “It was far from challenging to make you codependent enough to get you two engaged with the promise of a three-story house.”
“I saw her burn alive before you saved me.” The Student told The Billionaire.
“I should have thought about that!” The Miscreant said aloud as he smacked his own forehead. “See, I kept the fucking cunt as a pet for the crew after I found out she had cheated on me but
had to put her down with a shotgun to the stomach when she got pregnant.”
“You’re lying…” The Student said, looking at The Miscreant with a serious demeanor.
“That boy Garcia’s not just a friend, friend.” The Miscreant whispered in The Student’s ear. “Hogtie the bitch like the chubby pig she is, then pound that tight little Mexican asshole of hers until your dick’s soaked in blood, and bust the fattest nut you can on her caked-up babyface before taking your balls back, son.”
The Student looked away in an attempt to ignore The Miscreant but found a hand grabbing his crotch. The Miscreant squeezed The Student’s hardened cock until he had his full attention.
“If you don’t fuck life, it’ll fuck you!”
“If you’re going to suck him off too, let me know so that I can leave the room.” The Vagabond chimed in.
The Miscreant let go of The Student’s private parts and stood up.
“Don’t act like you’re above voyeurism now, you fuckin’ spook.” retorted The Miscreant. “The only difference between our tapes is I jus’ beat my meat to mine, while you blackmail bipolar mudsharks married to old-ass senators, like Jocelyn Bloom.”
The Vagabond golf clapped as he stood up and walked over to The Miscreant’s face.
“Once again, your ability to skim through a few paragraphs and retain a line or two of information about my life to distort for the sake of spewing a forgettable comeback tickles me pink.” The Vagabond said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you murdered a family that was living in the house on your world.”
“How close, Lead Investigator Lee!” The Miscreant said.
“My crew and I stumbled upon a couple of spoiled housewives to ravage after getting them lifted, but we had to let ’em go when they figured out who we were.”
The Miscreant went into great detail about carefully dismembering their bodies on durable plastic wrap covering an abandoned hotel room’s floor and selling the two older women’s organs on the black market. The Vagabond remained unphased by the nonchalant attitude that The Miscreant used to discuss the gruesome process of skinning their flesh to be used as cannibal bait and vulgar references to the privileged female victims he had coerced into a gang rape. The Billionaire was mildly annoyed but knew that The Vagabond could restrain himself and didn’t have The Miscreant’s impulsive tendencies. The Student scooted farther away from the two in case a fight were to have broken out.
“Ironically, one of ’em was married to an ex-pat livin’ in a Sundown town that we ransacked not too long after.”
“Cinemoors Studio shot an indie movie about it on your world…” The Billionaire shared with The Student. “The Last Sundown Town Up North.”
“Doesn’t the lead antagonist get his dick ripped off by one of the teenage daughters’ teeth after she seduces him with a blowjob?” asked The Student.
“And then later has his doped-up tattooist girlfriend tug a jackknife in his back until he peaks as they kiss!” The Vagabond chortled.
“How oddly romantic…”
The Miscreant threw a fast cross at The Vagabond which was met with a Wing Chun arm lock and a strong elbow strike to the face that knocked several teeth out of The Miscreant’s mouth. The Vagabond then mercilessly snapped The Miscreant’s arm, causing him to shriek in agony while everyone noticed a bone sticking out of his forearm. The Vagabond ended the fight by front-kicking The Miscreant back on the couch.
“I’ve fought henchmen who have lasted longer than you.”
“You’re just going to let him get away with this?!” shouted The Miscreant at The Billionaire.
“I have no quarrel with any man who speaks even less than I do.” The Billionaire responded while standing up and pointing at The Student.
“I’m more concerned about why out of every single book in this mansion’s library, he is holding The Book of Alucalb.”
The Student was puzzled and told everybody that he had selected the book based on its strangely unique text-less cover art, which showcased a myriad of mythological African creatures at war on a neon-lit post-apocalyptic battlefield full of dismembered human corpses scattered across the ground. While all four of these Guus L. Makuto IVs were atheists, they shared similar upbringings that involved being raised by parents in a religious cult and thus maintained a healthy paranoia concerning what’s generally considered to be supernatural beliefs. The Billionaire insisted that he did not know the mansion’s library was in possession of it, otherwise, he would have securely locked it in a vault.
“While without this grimoire, we would not have met one another today, it is imperative that I place it somewhere safe.”
The Student tremblingly handed The Book of Alucalb to The Billionaire who had Nia take it away. The Miscreant admired her long browned caramel skin legs in black peep-toe cut-out bootie stilettos and lifted up her faux suede lace-up skirt to take a gander at her large pantiless bubble butt as she passed him by.
“You have an eye for design when it comes to fleshlights.” The Miscreant said to The Billionaire. “But I bet you’ve programmed it to make conversation, so can we trust that android with the book?”
“Her…” The Billionaire corrected the pronoun that The Miscreant used to refer to Nia. “And she is an extension of my mind unless I install a specific personality in her programming to break up the monotony of servitude.”
“Since you’re so proficient at pulling strings, why haven’t you located our assassin yet?” The Vagabond questioned The Billionaire.
“If I could triangulate The Breacher’s signal, it wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to pinpoint the primary location where it’s activated and find our man.” The Billionaire said. “That would be the easiest part, and the hardest requires a layout of the area so that an escape
without too much of a fuss is achievable.”
“Obviously, only one of us can go.” stated The Billionaire.
Enough time had passed while the group slept, and The Breacher was tracked down to an underground base in an Algerian Intelligence Headquarters, in The Vagabond’s reality. Nia woke them all up from their quarters and they gathered in the living room one more time. The Student complained about how warm it was where he lay and awkwardly made a joke about how space should be too cold for the type of heat that he endured. No one paid him any mind.
“It would seem America no longer has the Breacher and you can be thankful that your own government is not hunting one of its former employees.”
The Billionaire put his hand on The Vagabond’s shoulder and gave him a special mobile phone.
“The entire map is on there, along with plenty of forged documents for identification, and an account that holds more SnipeCoin than you’ll need to purchase from local arms dealers in the country under the table.”
The Vagabond slipped the phone into his hoodie’s right pocket, began to walk toward the elevator, and stopped.
“You’re coming with me.” The Vagabond said. “You’re under arrest for collaborating with a terrorist organization and if you come peacefully, I won’t have any other charges added for helping us retrieve the Breacher.”
“You were never burned.” The Billionaire said.
The Vagabond turned around, took out the phone that The Billionaire gave him, then placed it on the floor, and crushed it with the heel of his boot.
“As a show of good faith…” The Vagabond said.
“Well, color me fuckin’ mind blown!” The Miscreant exclaimed. His arm was in a cast and the teeth that The Vagabond had knocked out were replaced with gold fillings.
“You may have fooled the boy into buying your preposterous tale, but I’m well aware you concocted it to have me fetch the Breacher for you.” The Vagabond said. “The CIA did in fact burn me to lure you into devising a predictable plan that involved an attempt on my life, in this case, by your crony.”
“So we’re not being systematically wiped out?” The Student asked.
“No, we were just being told lies by a tech vulture and a dickless bandit after what’s between your legs.” The Vagabond answered.
“The brilliance of using this mansion’s technology to reacquire what your government stole from another and ultimately implement it in a reconnaissance mission against the wishes of mine was unexpected.” admitted The Billionaire as he walked over to The Vagabond.
The Vagabond whistled with his fingers and The Vagabond turned his head to the right to find Nia with a smoking gun in her hand. The Vagabond then noticed a tranquilizer dart in his neck.
“You’ve been injected with a very high dosage of Midazolam, which I estimate will kick-in, in about thirty seconds or less.”
The Billionaire quickly punched The Vagabond in his gut, then grabbed the back of his head, and kneed him in the face. The Vagabond stumbled, fell on his back, and tried crawling to the elevator before passing out.
When The Vagabond woke up moments later, he was strapped down to an operating table in an infirmary, staring at a holographic surgery screen with the top of his head completely opened as Nia stood over top of him on one side of him. On the other side, was The Miscreant, who took a hit of a blunt that he was smoking and coughed into his arm while sprinkling ashes from it onto The Vagabond’s exposed and wired brain. The Vagabond screamed and struggled frantically while The Miscreant laughed maniacally at his pain. Nia suddenly grabbed The Miscreant’s throat with one of her hands and raised him in the air.
“My apologies for that, hero!” The Billionaire exclaimed over the intercom. “Your suffering will cease when the computer has finished copying your memories and we replace the brain in your
skull with an artificial replication that I can tap into like Nia’s.”
“Let me fucking down, man!” yelled The Miscreant, unintentionally urinating in his pants.
“Your consciousness will be separated and discarded momentarily.” said The Billionaire, ignoring The Miscreant’s pleas. “Consider me truthfully informing you of my plan a professional courtesy.”
“We’re still not on the same wavelength, but I’ll fix that in a second.” The Vagabond said looking at Nia who then crushed The Miscreant’s larynx and tossed him at a wall. Nia then unstrapped The Vagabond from his operation table and disabled the siphoning procedure via the holographic screen in front of The Vagabond.
“It’s hard to detect a virus when the software is familiar with it as an administrator.” The Vagabond said ripping out the wires attached to his brain. Nia closed and sealed the top of The Vagabond’s head by transforming her fingers into medical tools. The Vagabond stumbled off of his operating table with Nia’s help, limped over to The Miscreant, kneeled down beside him, and checked his pulse.
The Vagabond was dead.
“While the implant that the government installed in my cerebral cortex started slowly rewriting code as soon as I entered the mansion, I couldn’t assume control until you shut off your firewall…which I never thought you would be so unwise to do.”
The Billionaire did not say a word and watched as Nia led The Vagabond outside and to the location of The Student, who was passed out from shock on an operating table after clearly having his penis and testicles surgically removed.
“The lunatic didn’t have money.” The Billionaire stated over the intercom. “He went on a rant about needing a do-over with his unmentionables, and while I felt sorry for the boy, his path is nothing special.”
“Why is he still alive?” The Vagabond asked.
“Because I haven’t torched the body and sent it to your government.” The Billionaire answered. “That’s where you would have come in, but I just had to have someone on my IQ level to talk to!”
“I would say don’t flatter yourself, but that’s all we do.” The Vagabond said.
An elevator sound was heard in the background and The Vagabond told Nia to care for The Student when he woke up as he ran into the living room to find that the elevator had been used. The Vagabond scanned its panel and saw that The Billionaire chose to travel to Capital Earth as it required the least amount of charge to generate a portal. When The Vagabond tried to choose it as a destination, he was met with a notification telling him there were insufficient resources and thus was incapable of following him. The Billionaire had sealed the gateway to the elevator on The Student’s world with a spell that he had memorized from the Book of Alucalb under the assumption that his wealth in cryptocurrency would be accessible. However, unbeknownst to The Billionaire, the type of cryptocurrencies that he owned did not exist in The Student’s world, and The Billionaire became furious when he realized that he was stuck with the identity of The Student indefinitely.
The Vagabond knew that he couldn’t return to Earth-Bond and report an unsuccessful mission to his superiors without a solution that would benefit his government, and the castrated Student needed to return home, so The Vagabond proposed an untested swap of minds across dimensions using the algorithm Ja’Net Tsujimura had supposedly provided The Billionaire, counting on a blend of fact and falsehood from his dishonest recollection of transpired events. This unethical exchange between consciousnesses would place The Student and The Billionaire and each other’s bodies as they slept. Allowing The Vagabond’s government to arrest The Billionaire, and The Student to be returned to Capital Earth in an uncastrated figure.
The Vagabond’s government desperately approved and the transfer overnight on Earth-Bond was a success! The Billionaire was now in the custody of Earth-Bond’s American government and awaiting trial for a cornucopia of federal offenses, including galactic violations. The Vagabond was reinstated in the CIA as the Director of National Intelligence and assisted with the allocation of the mansions’ technological resources for his country’s military without disclosing a decision to confiscate The Book of Alucalb for himself. Earth-Eden awaited an invasion that
never occurred.
While The Student had nothing to show for his time in the mansion other than The Billionaire’s muscular physique, mature voice, and clothes, he also gained an astounding eidetic or commonly known as photographic memory, after drinking from the water Fountain of Mnemosyne near an indoor garden during the night that he stayed at the mansion. He spent a month rewriting every single page from the Book of Alucalb and had his younger brother Gordon, who was a comic book illustrator, draw its cover’s exact artwork. Once the book was reproduced, Guus reopened his house’s vacuum elevator’s gateway, traveled in it back to the mansion, and has never been seen again on that Earth since.
Gordon was given the spell to unknowingly re-seal the gateway and Guus made him promise to use it after his departure. Gordon did so in jest…
Whether this particular Guus L. Makuto IV abandoned his Earth to retaliate against The Billionaire, replace his position on Earth-Eden for power, find permanent residence and what he now deemed to be freedom on another world, or simply live out the rest of his life in the Mansion of Mansa Musa is a mystery that has yet to be solved, despite unconfirmed reports suggesting the pursuit of each. The only certainty is that there is at least one pair of eyes in the empyrean always making sure that The Student doesn’t cause uncontrollable anarchy in the multiverse. While they all hold contrasting views from one another, every single counterpart of Guus L. Makuto IV comprehends the likelihood that tampering with forces beyond their physical plane of existence might bring forth a catastrophe worse than an apocalypse, and currently, two of them possess the paranormal text to do so.
To Mundïus, the Mansion of Mansa Musa is the modest equivalent of a flashy treehouse full of expensive toys for children and pales in comparison to the smallest scientific laboratory in his heaven. Although Mundïus was intrigued by how it circumvented security measures on a small scale, he, overall, was unimpressed.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Brief Language, Sexual Content, Some Drug References, and Mild Violence
To us, existence is present tense. We live in the moment and are unable to observe the past without external devices. To the priests guarding the ‘Church of Time’, the universe is much like a VHS tape that can be rewound, paused, or fast-forward, and only they comprehend the mechanics behind “editing the footage”, using technology created by the albino Rastafarian deity Chronos. Although considered a reclusive pothead, he is a well-respected genius by Mundïus, shares similar cynical perspectives regarding life, and has reported to him for millenniums under a rare brotherly dynamic between Gods. Their business partnership led to the first alternate timeline being accidentally generated. Upon trying to mend the situation, more arose and added further complications to the multiverse. Chronos saw a disaster worth prodding as an engineer and Mundïus viewed the chaos erupting in various realities with the glee of an acquisitive capitalist. Ultimately, both decided that it would be best to pursue balance and instruct agencies of trusted humans on Earth to micromanage events that would prove to collapse the faith-based economy.
Predicting what might do so was risky enough, so studies were conducted based on the various outcomes that had already played out in the multiverse, and annotations were left for the ‘Church of Time’ to follow up on. This involved the careful implementation of “Chronos Test Dummies” as they were insultingly referred to. These were individuals plucked out of their own timeline and could be placed in another or any era with proper credentials that wouldn’t cause noticeable changes to history if their mission was compromised. Amusingly, with the capabilities of common digital art software on the planet such as Photoshop, even a man or woman with a piece of attire that had not yet been invented, shown in a photograph, would either go overlooked, briefly disputed without raising alarms, or be lumped in with conspiracy theories that go absolutely nowhere.
What selected temporal members did not realize is that after their tasks were completed, based on the circumstance, they could either return to the Chronos Dispatch Center without drawing
attention to themselves in history or would unknowingly fall victim to an already documented disaster that they were unaware of. The result of these disasters was always death. For instance, near the end of 1911, a female temporal member became pregnant from a one-night stand during her first mission and was sent a message via a coin-operated public telephone to await quantum energy extraction on the Titanic. In 1969, one man chose not to reach his final designated point and instead warned Fred Hampton about the FBI’s plot to assassinate him. Both he and Fred Hampton wound up being murdered by another temporal member originally instructed to monitor them. This temporal member was a strikingly similar-looking descendant of one of the 14-Man SAO (Special Prosecutions Unit) and secretly drugged his ancestor prior to carrying out the hit in his place.
The less surveillance available in the past, the easier it is to achieve a higher success rate that guarantees reemployment. Retiring is not an option because the aging process is halted but wiping memories that are too stressful to bear has been done for senior members. However, if this is done too many times, schizophrenia may be developed and the diseased members are “put down”. This disturbed Yemaya, the Yoruba Goddess of Dreams, who noticed that the ‘Church of Time’ would often train African escapees that were lost at sea during the Atlantic slave trade or Black ‘gator bait and condemn them as expendable. She approached Chronos with a proposition and he accepted on the grounds that she would be his wife. She reluctantly agreed.
Per their contractual arrangement, humans of African descent were exempt from being drafted into temporal service. They were not, however, exempt from virtual temporal service.
Virtual temporal service is when the dreams of subjects are involuntarily manipulated by inserting their consciousness in a virtual reconstruction of an era while they sleep. The subject’s brain is then mapped to a fake persona and they are telekinetically guided by suggestions given by a pet in close range.
Yes, many creatures on Earth are not from the planet that they call home. The Felis catus, in particular, were residents of Myra-8008 before its destruction and survivors of the species repopulated. Abilities were passed down along as they mated within their own breeds. As you can imagine, this would be quite difficult to practice for thousands of years with businesses
based on the forceful coercion of animal sexual behavior. Still, a handful of gifted cats and dogs remain with a life expectancy of over a hundred years. In exchange for protection, they work for ‘The Church of Time’, mainly for reconnaissance. Since humans cannot understand their language, duplicity was not a concern for the priests.
While the Goddess Yemaya was not ethically bothered with using her powers to assist Chronos, she still wanted reassurance that the participants would not suffer any long-term effects, so she supervised an experimental trial on a Black American woman who lived in North Carolina. Her name is Dawn and she is a passionate veterinarian who happens to be an insomniac fighting a dependence on cocaine. Her petite hourglass figure, bubbly face, medium golden skin, 44DD breasts, plump lips, and thick braided dark purple pigtails that matched the color of her lipstick caught the attention of every man. Women envied how she carried herself, often in black floral dresses or a faux-silk white button-down blouse and 6.5-inch cork wedge heels with black elasticated straps on her feet. No one dared to disrespect Dawn because her father owned the veterinary clinic and because she was faithful to her secret admirer.
Dawn referred to her as Madam Mae when she masturbated in bed while speaking on the phone with the woman. Dawn would ask “Mother, may I touch myself?” and Madam Mae would have Dawn profess love for her on some days, and grovel on others. The mysterious mistress’ sultry voice had a strong British accent that made Dawn soak the sheets she lay bare on. It didn’t take long for Dawn to achieve an orgasm after four of her fingers traveled deep inside of the tight wet twat that only one phallus had stretched. “That’s mommy’s little girl…” Madam Mae generally whispered. “Now suck those fingers clean of your juices.” Dawn always did as she was told to do, loud and clear, which Madam Mae moaned excitingly in response to hearing.
The sound of Madam Mae climaxing was immensely soothing to Dawn and helped her rest well. One morning, a package arrived at her doorstep without a return address. Dawn opened it to find a small white jewelry box with a sticky note on top that read: “Love, Madam Mae” in cursive. Inside held a cute sterling silver necklace with a kitten pendant hanging on the chain. Little did she know that the pendant was a beacon and a few days later, it would be tracked by a black Bombay cat who she would come to adopt after finding it on her front porch during a snowy winter. Given the name Alexandre, he soon took to a pampered life and acted as surveillance until it was time to relay dream sequence codes while curled up beside her in bed.
The scenario being simulated was based on an extraterrestrial zombie outbreak in a parallel universe, in which Dawn’s subconscious had been programmed to believe she was a clothing store manager whose responsibility was to lead the lost daughter of an important contact through the mall to safety. Employees and shoppers were being savagely torn apart by the invading hybrid species as she scurried while holding the child in her arms. Armed security guards were overrun by leaping attackers and one of them cornered in terror, fired a bullet through the side of his own head before being devoured. Dawn managed to make her way to the parking lot with the contact’s daughter and discovered an unlocked ’96 Mercury Sable with a dead teenage girl in the driver’s seat. Her throat had been clearly ripped out by monstrously large teeth and one of her eyeballs was dangling from its socket, ready to snap apart.
Luckily for Dawn, the teenage girl’s car key was still in the ignition, so she pulled the poor victim’s body out of the Mercury Sable, told the contact’s daughter to climb into the passenger seat while getting behind the wheel herself, and started up the vehicle. Once the car turned on, obnoxiously repetitive pop music blared from its cheap stereos and alerted creatures from far away to their location. It wasn’t long until hundreds swarmed Dawn’s and she woke up in a pool of sweat. Petrified by her horrific dream and shaking uncontrollably.
“The bitch didn’t even make it out of the goddamn parking lot!” Chronos yelled at Yemaya.
“Calm down, humans freeze, and it was a rookie mistake,” responded Yemaya. “Tomorrow night, we will replay the simulation from a checkpoint and mute the volume of the radio station, somehow.”
“Make it plausible. One agent in the field is dangerous enough. Another shouldn’t be necessary just to pull strings as a shadow.” Chronos said with a stern voice. “We’re leaving annotations. Not planning a date…”
The two made sure that the beginning of Dawn’s next dream continued before the creatures rushed her location. The Mercury Sable started without any sounds from the radio station and she drove out of the parking lot safely without attracting anyone. The contact, Tobias Flood, and U.S. Military soldiers awaited her at a very Air Force secure base. In moments that felt like passing seconds, a thankful Tobias Flood was reunited with his cheerful daughter once she and Dawn followed the mandatory decontamination procedure. Dawn’s primary objective was not
yet completed though. She needed to pickpocket a flash drive containing the portal coordinates of the “UFO crash site” and change the galactic return address so that the CIA could not be able to open a rift to the right planet in the future. Doing so for the sake of starting a war would potentially leave Earth vulnerable to a much deadlier attack.
Alexandre led Dawn by leaving subliminal clues for her mind to instinctually pick up on and she eventually found Command Sergeant Major Brian H. Ramsey eating with his wife at the base’s cafeteria. Glowing scarification tattoos of an ancient language that only she could translate irritatingly grew on her forearms providing her with the choices at her disposal: “Kill, Seduce, or Steal”. Dawn rolled back down her long sleeves, sat down at their table, and contemplated the decision she would make as the three of them made conversation. Mrs. Amanda Ramsey was very flirtatious with Dawn and Command Sergeant Major Brian H. Ramsey didn’t mind. A ménage à trois seemed to be in the making.
“Let’s drink to it,” Dawn said as she stood up, went into the kitchen to find wine, and uncovered an uncorked bottle of chardonnay. Dawn looked into her purse for anything that she could use as poison to no avail since she was thoroughly strip-searched during the decontamination procedure. Determined not to expose herself to two strangers, she continued searching the cabinets and shockingly saw a bottle of quaaludes hidden behind cans of sliced mushrooms. Dawn crushed up several pills, mixed the methaqualone in with two 11.6 oz old-fashioned drinking glasses of chardonnay with ice cubes, and served it to the Ramsey couple. By the time they made it to their quarters, Command Sergeant Major Brian H. Ramsey and Mrs. Amanda Ramsey had passed out.
Dawn retrieved the flash drive after hours of looking in the couple’s messy room, plugged it into a nearby laptop that fortunately had been unlocked in advance because the Ramsey couple often recorded their encounters using its built-in webcam, and hacked the files stored on it. She then altered the data showing the UFO’s tracking history so any attempt to backtrace the landing would result in an unoccupied sector of space as the destination.
“Satisfied?” Yemaya asked, smugly.
“She gets points for improvising, and loses half for hesitating.” Chronos coldly responded. “I decoded what you drew into her skin…but she’s untrained, so it’s not her fault. The human
helped give our researchers an annotation that doesn’t change the desired outcome in the field.”
“At no point did she become lucid, and that’s very important! I don’t need our operating system to crash because someone decided to fly in World War II.”
“That’s not possible. Even Zaphnath-Paaneah was still a slave…but to
his dreams.” Yemaya said while watching Dawn’s dream fade to black from the heavens.
The next week, Dawn spoke to Madam Mae on the phone about how vivid the dreams were and how she could remember them as one long-term memory. Dawn also revealed that she wrote every detail in a journal and thought about sending them to a close male friend who was a successful independent filmmaker in Indiana. This troubled Chronos when he was informed.
“Imagine cinema based on a precognition that we implanted disrupting an operation strategized to fulfill it…” he said, worryingly. “I mistakenly didn’t foresee this paradoxical hazard or take into account that there will come a day when the multiverse will be more than just a theory to their scientists.”
“Is it possible to blacklist the Earth, along with a few deserted planets in that universe from wormhole and interdimensional travel, then treat it as a layer of reality for dreams?” asked Yemaya. “Let them believe that their given fantasies are far-fetched and worthy of publication.”
“You’re suggesting that a fourth wall be built…” Chronos said, pondering the idea as he rubbed his long and grey spade beard. “Their own planetary advancement would be embarrassingly remedial and oblivious to the unknown around them…but production would remain consistent, so I’ll convince Mundïus to sign off on it.”
And Mundïus did put his name on the dotted line, bringing forth a world with an abundance of imagination and primitive desires that would never be actualized by their forcibly isolated scientific ventures. To the sophisticated realms of the multiverse, this world is considered the capital of entertainment, and media from it has been frequently tuned into using interdimensional satellite television or streaming services. This world is mockingly referred to as ‘Capital Earth’ and has garnered social activists residing on pioneering Earths who have collectively formed
groups using the slogan “#BreakTheFourthWall”. One of their leaders, Ja’Net Tsujimura, was a Haitian-Japanese scientist responsible for inventing dreamscape pods that allowed physicians trained in the art of telepathy who were linked inside to project themselves into dreams with a strong enough signal in the multiverse. The physicians were called “Psychodocs” because they often used their abilities to heal patients with mental illnesses and disorders, or were instructed by kratocracies to lobotomize oppressed and unruly citizens.
Unsurprisingly, the technology of these dreamscape pods was brought to the attention of Chronos, Mundïus, and Yemaya. The trio pompously felt a mere human had infringed on the design of deities, even if nothing could be done about it through legal or ethical means without publicizing irrefutable evidence of Gods. This permitted Ja’Net Tsujimura to continue with her next phase, as a divine encounter would not be a tolerated interruption, and she set out to communicate with Dawn herself.
Many years had passed, and Dawn was in her early forties with three children and married to the close friend she had told of her dreams. They had both made billions from a successful film franchise based on them known as ‘Dead in the Snow’ and retired in an off-the-grid home in Atlanta, Georgia. Her feline pet, Alexandre, also retired and lived with the family until he was fatally poisoned by the claws of another that was sent to eliminate him. His death and being reminded of Madam Mae’s disappearance a long time ago caused Dawn to spiral into depression, which was plagued with nightmares about her worst fears. Ja’Net Tsujimura met her visiting the gravesite of her family at midnight in one of them.
“I can bring your loved ones back to life,” Ja’Net spoke calmly behind Dawn who knelt barefoot in front of the tombstone and cried.
“No, you can’t!” a blood-curdling voice responded.
A Southern African incubus demon identified as the Tokoloshe inconspicuous to Dawn walked from behind the tombstone and confronted Ja’Net Tsujimura who crossed her arms.
“Nor can you save Madam Mae’s gift to me!”
Ja’Net Tsujimura recognized this creature as she had met its kind several times in the most
depressed brains and rumored to have been created by an anti-psychodoc company based in China. Ja’Net brandished an unholstered Type 14 Nambu pistol and shot the Tokoloshe between its eyes. The Tokoloshe screamed in agony as it tossed and turned.
“Once you revealed yourself to me, you became my problem as well, and that means you’re vulnerable to the fortitude of my willpower,” said Ja’Net as she fired another bullet into the Tokoloshe’s forehead, ending his life.
This went unnoticed by Dawn whose shoulder Ja’Net then placed her hand on as an overwhelming sense of relief overcame her. Ja’Net Tsujimura asked Dawn if she could recall any specific details about the flash drive from the dreams that her movie franchise was based on.
“Everything…” Dawn responded quietly as she held out a clutched fist and opened it to show the exact same flash drive.
Ja’Net Tsujimura thanked her, took the flash drive, and awakened to fellow scientists materializing it using a special printer. In a matter of days, they would have been able to break into the fourth wall.
Sadly, the final phase did not come to fruition, as their operation was shut down due to a supposed mole tasked with relaying information to the Central Intelligence Agency of her Earth’s United States of America. Those involved were arrested on fraudulent terrorism charges and sentenced to life imprisonment without parole. Ja’Net Tsujimura was secretly lobotomized and labeled insane, for fear that she might incite riots across the multiverse. The flash drive itself was ejected without being safely removed by a careless CIA operative during the raid and its contents were completely lost.
Conspiracy theories surrounding the belief that the CIA had orchestrated everything from the inception of Ja’Net’s operation to its demise under the orders of a shadow government that oversaw conflicts in the multiverse were popular. Historians maintain that there is some truth to this, as a cabinet of various precognitive species would be formally established around the year 2025 and dubbed ‘The Orion Five’.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Graphic Violence, Rape, and Homophobia
Subjective perceptions of immortality have forever been the lifeline of species that require internal motivation to continue evolving their worlds since Gods developed for them a relatively natural sense of intelligence, rather than functioning artificially like machines for the purpose of streamlining. This gave deities a fair market of worshipers to share and they would often trade what we consider to be supernatural resources, or universal hacks, with one another. One of these “hacks” was masks that allowed Gods to assume direct control of their wearers using rare and expensive inter-dimensional symbiotic parasites that were extracted through wormholes as stitching. In order to avoid a species managing to reverse-engineer them, these harvested creatures would be programmed with integrated technology to self-destruct by a remote trigger.
Eventually, these masks would be banned from being sold as suspicions grew that a couple of problematic celestial beings were using them to become disruptive avatars for the competition that they were envious of. While production ceased, there were still some on planets that creators “lost track of”. As millenniums passed, many wound up in museums, lost at sea, or tragically destroyed due to “unforeseen circumstances”, and with Mundïus governing the twenty-first-century circuit of religions, most deities had no reason to impede a unification proving itself to be highly beneficial. Any that had serious objections also held virtually zero necessary power to make impactful changes.
Until Ogbunabali, the retired Igbo personification of Death, had sensed a connection between his forgotten crimson-patterned white Gazelle tribal mask and a male human host. Curiosity had gotten the best of him and Ogbunabali entered a meditative state to access the astral plane that bridged to the mind of the young man. He then saw through the eyes of a Black Filipino-American named Nasir West. It was midnight, and Nasir was moving through busy crowds of fans who were celebrating their Football team’s win. His fingers interlocked with his Haitian
husband’s, Tony Philippe, as he was blissfully led by him forward. Unfortunately, their merriment would be halted by a small squad of five intoxicated off-duty police officers lurking in the alleyway shadows.
Not too long after a period of stalking the couple on foot, an unmarked van blocked Nasir and Tony’s path to the hotel where they had rented a room. Nasir stepped back and lifted up the mask he wore to get a better understanding of the concerning situation. The road vehicle’s left door slid open and two of the squad’s police officers in three-hole face ski masks pulled both lovers inside with chloroform wipes over their mouths before shutting the door, then driving off without alerting security, employees, or guests around the establishment. One of the law enforcement officers laughed as he aggressively spouted slurs and mocked the mask Nasir was wearing before placing it on his own face. A distressed Ogbunabali now saw Nasir and Tony’s wrists being tied behind their backs with zip cuff restraints by other accomplices. The diety struggled with his impulse to take matters into his own hands but feared accidentally harming the kidnappees.
Some time went by and the van was parked inside of an abandoned warehouse where Nasir and Tony were stripped down to their birthday suits prior to being completely sprayed awaken with ice-cold water from a hose, then placed on top of a French Tricolour flag. The squad then proceeded to unzip their pants as punk rock music blasted from a nearby Bluetooth boombox speaker and take turns violently raping them for a couple of hours using black axle grease as lubrication. The Gazelle tribal mask that had been taken from Nasir was put back on him by one of his attackers who disgustingly lashed out during the act. Once the corrupted lawmen finished, Nasir and Tony lay curled up in excruciating agony from the torment that had been inflicted upon them.
“Is this faggot actually hard?” yelled one of the officers as he picked up a pair of pruning shears and walked over to him. Half-conscious, Nasir, laying on his side, defeatedly watched as the officer castrated Tony with the pruning shears and force his severed penis into his mouth. Another officer then pulled out his Glock 19 sidearm and shot Tony through the head. Ogbunabali was sickened by the evil that he had witnessed and failed to prevent. “Why weren’t the Gods doing anything about this discriminatory chaos?” he frustratingly questioned himself. Nasir’s spirit began to fade as his body started to succumb to injuries and Ogbunabali could feel
the connection between the two dissolved. It was only a matter of seconds before Nasir died and Ogbunabali used this opportunity to personally guide his soul into the great beyond. This would give him a trail that he could trace back to his physical form and secretly repair it with the knowledge that he had learned from a friend, Sonzwaphi, the Zulu Goddess of healing.
Once Nasir’s body was functional per operating standards, albeit illegally, Ogbunabali took possession of it through the mask it still wore when daytime had come and the squad of police officers was long gone. The puppeteer of vengeance was born and sought out the peacekeepers responsible for the crimes that they had committed. Luckily for the deity, Nasir served as a special operations sniper for the U.S. military prior to retiring, and using memories in the host’s brain surprisingly discovered a garden shed in his hometown, where the conservative newlyweds stored a staggering arsenal of weapons. Ogbunabali adored the Barrett M82A1 50 BMG and decided that the sniper rifle would be his instrument. Nasir West had ironically nicknamed it “Little Esther” after the African-American singer who influenced the cartoon character ‘Betty Boop’ because he liked the sound that firing it made.
Ogbunabali spent weeks locating the responsible parties, studying their schedules, and habitual patterns, and planning each assassination down to the last detail. The first hit was very simple and unmistakably. Ogbunabali lined up a shot on the tallest rooftop multiple buildings away as Officer Blake kissed his pregnant bride. The large-caliber bullet ripped through Officer Blake’s skull and blood splattered onto the belly of his wife as he collapsed dead on the park’s ground. Punishing him again by killing his unborn child was a fleeting thought, but Ogbunabali decided against doing so and made his escape while shocked wedding guests either ran away or took cover. The city would be placed on lockdown until a “suicidal” activist for police brutality claimed that he did it. According to an official statement released by a Chief of Police, this activist hung himself in a jail cell a few days after his arrest.
The next target’s demise was quite humorous! On Ogbunabali’s way to another at dusk, he coincidentally found himself driving behind an officer on his list and at a traffic light, noticed that the man had become distracted by a phone call. Ogbunabali annoyingly honked his horn and the preoccupied Officer Brett irritatingly floored his sedan into the middle of the four-way intersection. A semi-truck soon struck the officer’s vehicle from the left and it briefly flipped in the air before crushing him as it slammed upside-down on the road. Ogbunabali smiled and whistled
the tune of his people as he felt blessed by his brothers watching over him throughout his journey while reaching into the glove compartment to grab a suppressed FN Five-seveN pistol.
Earth’s full moon appeared to glow as Ogbunabali was preying on his third mark at a convenience store when suddenly two robbers, each armed with 9mm Uzis entered and commanded everyone to get on the ground. Rainer, the police officer that he was following. drew his sidearm and the three of them were in a standoff while panicking shoppers, including Ogbunabali, lay on the floor. Ogbunabali impatiently anticipated the hectic moment to reach a resolution, however, grew bored. So, Ogbunabali crept in the back toward the alcohol section, slowly opened up the glass door, grabbed a wine bottle, and chucked it to the front. The wine bottle shattered as it slammed against a wall, spooking all three in the standoff into shooting at one another.
Officer Rainer and one of the robbers were killed, among several shoppers due to stray bullets or ricochets. The other crook managed to flee and survived being captured up to the point of passing away from infections related to several gunshot wounds.
On the following Saturday morning, Ogbunabali didn’t waste time putting Officer Mooney out of his misery in an empty church as the unsuspecting man murmured with both hands clasped in prayer. Officer Mooney happened to have an intellectual disability and was on the force because he was the brother of a well-respected detective. This did not matter to Ogbunabali, who stealthily sat behind Officer Mooney, pointed the barrel of his pistol at the mentally handicapped lawman’s occipital region, and fired twice. Ogbunabali waited for a little bit, then reached around, and snatched Officer Mooney’s bloodstained cross from his neck. This cross would be delivered to Officer Loehmann in a White mini envelope with a bloody thumbprint then opened up by his twelve-year-old son before the boy’s mother would find out and terrifyingly shriek.
Officer Mooney had the police forensic division compare the thumbprint with those that had been taken in their computer database, and while at a museum, his eyes horrifically widened when an email was sent to him through a text message showing the identity of Nasir West, was undisputedly a one-hundred percent match. While tuning out the shattering of glass in the empty art exhibit and momentarily stunned by the realization that Mooney was being hunted by who he thought was a dead man, Ogbunabali used the hook of a Ngombe Ngulu, otherwise known as a
Congolese executioner’s sword, to rip his throat out from behind, spinning the officer around by the neck as blood sprayed from the massive circular gash, presenting a face-to-face chance to reveal the mask that the lawman formerly ridiculed.
Ogbunabali then placed his right hand on Officer Mooney’s shoulder, plunged the Ngombe Ngulu’s hook into the shaft of his flaccid cock like it was a fish, and ferociously tore it off, leaving a hole through a disgustingly soaked pair of light-brown khakis. Ogbunabali removed his mask and spoke the African proverb, “Nobody wages war with ghosts.”, activating the symbiotic parasites’ self-destruct mechanism.
Nasir West’s soulless body dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Repercussions were promptly faced following a short universal trial and only one personification of Death is permitted to walk the “land of the living” now under extreme restrictions. As we choose not to disrupt the nature of animals for research and profitable entertainment, Gods overlook the psychotic tendencies of mankind on the same grounds.
Revenge is personal…and also bad for business.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Graphic Violence, Rape, Racism, and Blasphemy
Without immediate conscious access to the knowledge and wisdom of our ancestors, we continue preserving our cruel nature while repeating a cycle that will inevitably doom the universe and force a “Hard Reset”. For this reason, there exists a ‘Church of Time’ on every Earth, and devoted priests who follow the commands of Mundïus in order to influence stability among the inhabitants of the universe. This requires understanding the need for karmic balance and the will to sacrifice morality for the sake of an overall fate that’s just. “The Passover” has been one of many recorded occurrences of divine intervention. An event that is widely considered to be Christian mythology and a needless act of infanticide caused by a petty God, was in fact, a corrupted experiment that has since haunted the land of Egypt.
The ancient deity Ra had taught Ramesses II telekinetic abilities so that he could transfer the soul of his dying son into a first-born Egyptian. During the process of selection, his connection was interrupted by Moses, who had come to assassinate him with a sword that he had transformed his staff from. After being struck through the heart, Ramesses II was healed by a loyal enslaved mage upon his discovery and found that in the morning, not only was his son killed as well, but the souls of every first-born Egyptian were lost as wandering orbs of shrinking energy. Unable to save them all with his power-depleting, he called upon a witch to bless the uterus of young and fertile Egyptian women who desired a child so that the souls would be reborn one day.
This last act would prove futile as the mothers would die of childbirth due to a lack of medical resources during a societal collapse. The witch, however, managed to locate the ‘Church of Time’, and with one last orb, dissipating ever so slowly, sent it into the future to find a woman worthy of carrying the bloodline. Enraged that she was able to hack the technology of Chronos’, the witch found herself executed and the use of magic that wasn’t sectioned by Gods at the
highest level was banned in physical realms. As for the last wandering orb, it traveled throughout time and space before finding a twenty-three-year-old African-American female college student in her sleep at the nick of time. Hailie Sheffield’s DNA was being overwritten by prehistoric nanotech as she snored loudly next to her Dominican boyfriend, Dominic Lopez.
Dominic Lopez was a polyamorous painter who sold his artwork to fund his lifestyle as a cannabis-smoking backpacker who flaunted his success and laid down with hundreds of women. Hailie was his muse, however. A virgin that had not even been kissed once. Dominic considered Hailie his most prized possession and would not dare take her cherry for fear that he would lose his own innocence as a creative. She, on the other hand, wanted to explore her sexuality and decided to seek men through an ancestry dating app named ‘DN@Me’. This software paired its users based on their genetic makeup while omitting family relatives, and Hailie finally matched with an older gentleman who went by the name T.J. Hamad. He was a tall and fit Nigerian man who kept in shape, often running marathons with fellow employees of his company or teaching modern Tahtib classes on the weekends.
Hailie was infatuated by his presence whenever he was around. She wanted more than just a one-night stand with this distinguished creature, but T.J. had an agenda unbeknownst to her and patiently waited until her guard was down to enact his plot. Surprisingly, a wrench was thrown into the works! Dominic had texted Hailie one afternoon that he wanted to make love to her that night and she had accepted his proposal. Making her way inside the apartment she shared with Dominic while at the same time breaking it off with T.J. with a final text, a shadowy figure grabbed her phone and crushed it with a bare hand. Before Hailie could scream, the shadowy figure grabbed her neck, lifted her body from the ground, and applied enough pressure to her larynx to keep any sounds from disturbing the neighbors.
While suspended in mid-air, she could hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down and a belt unfastening. Hailie kicked as hard as she could multiple times to no avail until she fell to the ground, then gasping for any breath that she could find. Slapped onto her face was undoubtedly the biggest flaccid cock imaginable for the size of this figure. Without saying a word, he pinched Hailie’s nose, forcing her mouth to open as wide as it could, and his incredibly long, pulsating, and veiny member pursued the depths of her throat like a train in a tunnel. Unable to take the man’s enormous width and rapidly growing length, she gagged and vomited onto the living room
floor.
“Pathetic akata…” the voice spoke in a familiar accent. Hailie now knew that her assailant was T.J. Hamad.
“Help…” she faintly whispered prior to having her sundress torn off by T.J.’s large hands. It was late at night and the neighbors were asleep. Dominic had not arrived yet either. T.J. grabbed Hailie by her Afro puffs and mushed her face in the puke that stained the shag carpet.
“I don’t have much time before they come for me…” he spoke under his breath while unbuttoning his purple dress shirt and revealing the amount of extensive decorative tribal scarification from his chest down that was unknown to her. “But before I’m taken back, you will be bred and carry on the last of us.” T.J. held Hailie’s arms behind her back and then tied his belt around her wrists as she pleaded with weakly damaged vocal cords.
Beginning to fade, a striking shock of pain was sent throughout her curvaceous body and fully awakened her. T.J. had violently shoved his tool into Hailie’s tight sugar walls and ripped open her hymen. Blood dripped as he started to thrust his hips back and forth with both thumbs on her lower back dimples. The more that she whimpered, the rougher he became, just to hear the agonizing harmony of her groans syncing with the sounds of his savage pounding against involuntary wetness.
It was impossible for Hailie to struggle with his legs pressing hers together and her store arms now numb to the position that they were in. While relentless in the beginning, T.J.’s strength was nearly exhausted and he pulled out of her gaping vagina without hesitation to flip her over. T.J. wanted Hailie to look him in the eyes as he impregnated her. Hailie angrily spat in his face. Slightly amused, he scooped up the gob that she had spewed with his fingers and wiped it on her lips then licked them like a dog. Hailie disgustingly opened her mouth and T.J. returned the favor by spitting a huge wad of saliva into it.
Hailie choked on the repulsive fluids swishing down her tight throat as T.J. slid himself back into the hole that he had previously violated without mercy, and ravaged the hopeless woman until his hairy swollen balls were emptied to completion. Satisfied and relieved, T.J. dressed and kneeled down to Hailie as she dealt with muscle twitching with a devious smile on his face.
“Out of all the women that I’ve had, you are truly the most special one.” T.J. proudly boasted. “Long live the power of Ra!”
Hailie had passed out and the next day, awakened inside of a hospital, lying in bed, with Dominic right sitting beside her. He was holding a box containing an engagement ring. Months passed and T.J. was nowhere to be found by the state’s law enforcement officers and detectives placed on the rape case. As a practicing catholic, Hailie was not on any contraceptives and had a premature birth to a baby boy that Dominic would believe is his because of a night shared between the two of them soon after she was discharged. This newborn would unexpectedly pass away a few nights later and drive Hailie toward having a hysterectomy. The cause of death is still a mystery to mankind.
Some religious zealots say that all the firstborns of Egypt during “The Passover” were destined to perish and that God made sure that any loose ends would be tied up.
Conspiracy theorists believe Hailie Sheffield’s baby was switched-at-birth by members of The Satanic Temple attempting to prevent the likelihood of an abduction by the hands of T.J., whom more female victims had come forward concerning similar predicaments, or ‘The Church of Time’ and that another family may have custody of her son. Either way, tragedies stemming from the desire to worship a new Pharaoh are all for naught. Lords that can be seen are no longer capable of wielding anything beyond the might of their servants, and any lord that needs to be seen should not be permitted to unless a heavenly accord is signed by each principal shareholder of the multiverse.
The probability of this happening remains at 1%.
Disclaimer: The tale that you are about to read has been illegally extracted from the Orion Five’s incomplete galactic archives and therefore any information provided in it should be deemed non-canonical concerning historic databases that document alternate timelines for educational purposes due to the possibility of third-party alterations.
Trigger Warning: Contains Moderate Violence, References to Non-Consensual Sex, and Mild Strong Language
Before the rise of humanity’s inventor, Mundïus, and the monopolization of the multiverse, there existed an entity far superior to his might that wandered throughout the cosmos. Soh-Fua, a loving, yet vengeful celestial goddess worshiped by her devout followers on what scientists from Earth now refer to as planet Myra-8008—a psychedelic paradise of vivid colors and steampunk gadgetry. The appearance of its inhabitants resembled the darkest skin tones of Senegal, differentiating styles of Afro-textured hair, and brown bionic eyes that have been installed in all since birth. Their average lifespan was one hundred and fifty years, and the preferable dietary lifestyle was pills that contained meals providing the advertised nutrients in the package. These pills also gave a “sensory high” that consumers likened to the process of consuming the food. This allowed their government to sell wildlife to neighboring planets that weren’t as technologically advanced as they were.
This civilization was not without its misfortune, however. Incessantly, immigrants would journey from across space to seek refuge from warlords that have ruthlessly conquered with the aid of pirates. The immigrants were given a section of land on the grounds that they would not interfere with the politics set in place or broadcast an off-world signal, in the possibility of invaders. Unfortunately, one of the expatriates was an intelligence agent who had managed to build trust among the natives of Myra-8008 and used them to locate a Deity Code: A large, crystallized sphere that’s capable of recreating a universe from the point of its compression date. Older Gods created Deity Codes in the event that their planets may be decimated by unforeseen circumstances.
Furious that she could not predict this foreigner’s betrayal and unable to physically walk among the society, Soh-Fua confined the immigrants to their homes, then sent the most bloodthirsty warrior in her army to slaughter every single one of them. This violent tenfeet tall golden-brown-
skinned giantess, who wore her hair in a distinguishable dread updo bun and covered her 38GG breasts with metallic armor that hung a fused metal-coated baby mastodon’s skull into her chest plate was the daughter of Soh-Fua, Omadela. Not the one for survivors, she called upon her two pet cardinals and commanded both to spew flames around the villages as she brandished her nimcha sword. The blindsided settlers were not allowed to own weapons deemed too deadly, so none found themselves prepared for the genocide that commenced. Omadela took her time sadistically chopping innocent victims with a blade partially forged using Ricinus poison. Those who fought back were scalped after having all four of their limbs gruesomely severed and stacked outdoors.
The intelligence agent was nowhere to be found, however, his distraught nine-year-old son, Hondo, remained in the area. While Omadela had previously taken pleasure in murdering adolescent children, Hondo reminded her of a childhood sweetheart. Omadela smiled and kneeled down to speak the only words she had that night “You will make a fine slave.” Omadela kidnapped the boy, and he was never seen again by the people of Myra-8008 for years. This secret was unbeknownst to her mother, Soh-Fua, who thought the boy was her son, a child that Omadela had savagely fed to Goolup, “The God of Cannibals”, in exchange for safe infertility. Hondo’s passage throughout his Goddess’ heavens came at a cost. His innocence. Omadela had raised him to mercilessly kill the enemies of Soh-Fua, and sexually please the former as his surrogate mother while practicing coitus reservatus to transmute his carnal energy into fury in combat unless breeding captive servants that they had acquired during their adventures.
At the age of twenty-six, he was an exceptional swordsman and feared based on his reputation as a conqueror alone. Soh-Fua would command rain to cleanse the royal armor that he wore, after a bloody affair. He never allowed his face to be anything other than clean-shaven for public appearances, proudly displaying his battle scars, and sported a white Hi-top fade that was trimmed by golden clippers delivered by the barber of Papa Midas as a gift for saving his life during a coup attempt at his palace. The coup was instigated by corpses in guard uniforms, that a force known as ‘The Obayifo’s Whispers’ had possessed. An uprising against Papa Midas was long anticipated by the planet’s Supernatural Research Council, but attempts were discouraged through division those political leaders had manufactured using hypnosis in radio broadcasts.
After drones of an independent archaeology corporation had discovered ancient ruins emitting a dangerous amount of mystic energy, Omadela, and Hondo were sent on a scavenger mission to retrieve any artifacts that might be of use to their goddess. They gathered as much as they could carry in their sack before having to contend with an army of frantic dagger-wielding skeletons sprouting up from the dirt. Although heavily injured by the number of cuts from their undead opponents, the duo managed to arrive at the extraction zone for medical care in a helicopter that was dispatched by Papa Midas.
Unbeknownst to them, Papa Midas was displeased that they had further provoked ‘The Obayifo’s Whispers’ in search of fortune behind his back and ordered a double execution by firing squad inside of his palace. Unsurprised, Omadela smiled and held up a dusty stone tablet while walking forward to Papa Midas, whose morbidly obese frame pompously slouched in the seat of his exquisite throne awaiting the carnage.
“Normally, I would prefer carving loons in crowns up with my blessed steel, but I’m more intrigued with the sorcery rumored to have been conjured by these treasures,” spoke Omadela before blowing the dust off of the stone tablet and reciting a line in an ancient language. The alien symbols on the stone tablet emitted green light and Papa Midas’ firing squad turned around to target him with their plasma rifles. “How fitting of a witch from space…” Papa Midas uninterestedly said as he rested his face in his hands. “Fuck you…” responded Omadela before holding down an imaginary trigger with her other hand. The firing squad turned on each other and blasted until a mess of flesh, blood, and guts showered the floor! She then ran at Papa Midas with all of her might and her trusted brand raised.
Papa Midas braced himself for a blow that never came. Omadela had been stopped in her tracks by Hondo, who was now holding the stone tablet. She was then deeply impaled by her blade from behind and grotesquely vomited pools of blood all over Papa Midas’ face, covering his body from head to toe. Hondo withdrew and holstered his sword, watching Omadela’s dying body collapse. She looked up at him and weakly asked “Why?” Hondo rabidly stomped on her face with tears running down his own until her skull was dust underneath his boot. He then plucked a shattered piece of bone poking through the skin of her mushed nasal cavity, repeatedly stabbed Papa Midas in his jugular vein, and threw him from his throne.
The man sat down, barbarically admired the outcome of the chaotic scene like a painting, and would emerge a decade later as “Papa Hondo”, the grandson of Soh-Fua and beloved ruler of Myra-8008 once vanquishing opposing nations that challenged his dictatorship. The story told to his grandmother was that Papa Midas had assassinated Omadela and he avenged her death. She was not entirely sure whether this was the truth, however, she accepted that Papa Hondo shared enough of the family’s merciless nature and hindsight to take on his mother’s responsibilities, but first, he had to choose a wife. Papa Hondo picked several.
On his fiftieth birthday, Papa Hondo’s third wife and assassin on-retainer, Mone, presented him with the decapitated head of his father. Papa Hondo held his father’s head, momentarily awestruck, and kissed its forehead.
“I forgive you.” Papa Hondo whispered.
He danced with his father’s head in the living room for quite some time, in front of many party guests, who were either concerned for his well-being or too afraid to leave the palace. Papa Hondo then tossed his father’s head into the furnace and cried into the bosoms of a porky concubine.
The last known coordinates of the Deity Code that his father had stolen remain hidden on an unknown planet to this day. Conspiracy theorists continue to search for it on Earth, as they believe that the properties inside may contain the revelation that Africa is a condensed regeneration of Myra-8008 and the continent’s riches have cursed colonizers, along with those who did not descend from a fabricated ‘Rib of Adam’ tribe for centuries.
Death has yet to quell these “fairy tales”.
