Spooks in Space


PART I: Squad Goals

"Come on, Ray. Don't be such a pussy," chortled Rob, like a stupid fucking asshole.

Déjà vu. Visions of sharks and skeletons dancing underwater suddenly flew through Ray’s mind. He didn’t know why.

Rob had been attempting to convince Ray to become a Space Marine of the U.S. Space Force with him for several days. Ray remained unwavering in his decision to not be killed by aliens. But Rob didn't believe in the very real dangers of outer-space.

"Aliens only exist in movies, Ray," he reasoned.

"Yeah, and Space Marines only exist in movies too, Rob," Ray retorted like a genius. Ray was an amateur astronomer, so he knew what he was bullshitting about. Aliens were definitely real. As per usual, Rob was out of his depth on the matter. But the appeal of being a hero and adventuring in outer-space was something extremely primal and powerful inside men. Like a beautiful woman, it could not be denied. And with the recent mysteriously desperate recruitment drives of the Space Force, it was easier than ever to get that silky sweet adventure puss.

"SO, YOU BOYS WANT TO DEFEND YOUR COUNTRY, EH?" howled Sergeant Thomson McMann, an absolutely massive juicy beast of a man, stepping out from behind the sign-up desk.

"No, I don't want to do that," replied Ray.

"Well here in the Space Force, we've got all kinds of career paths besides heroes! What do you want to be, a scientist? An engineer?"

"A writer, sir," Ray responded timidly, already embarrassed before the answer left his lips. Should that have been a sign? Perhaps.

"Ah! Maybe military history and tactics? Nothing wrong with that boy!"

"N-no sir… I want to write comedic science fiction…"

Sergeant Thomas McMann, an example of how a man should actually be, looked at him without betraying his immense disappointment in the absolute state of modern men. In fact, he betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

"He’s also an amateur astronomer," offered Rob, unable to bear seeing his friend humiliated and whimpering over his own life-choices.

McMann brightened up a little. "Well that’s great! We’ve got a real need for astronomers right now, boys."

"I- I still don’t want to..."

"Sir, he's just afraid of aliens," said Rob.

Thomas McMann's face suddenly turned very grim. Very grim indeed.

"Aliens don't exist, boys. If they did, don't you think they would have visited us and put a mind-control slug into my brain by now?"

"That's what I keep telling him!" said Rob. "But he just won't listen."

"That's alright, boy. Because in the Space Marines, you get to sign up your buddies against their will!" said McMann as he smiled and handed Rob the pen that would seal their fate.

And so Rob signed away both of their lives in service of the United Space of America, a subsidiary of the Grueber Corporation.

"Cool, thanks Rob. You've killed me. You've killed us both," said Ray.

"And because you signed up a buddy, you automatically become a SQUAD LEADER!" McMann powerfully informed him. "Congratulations, SIR."

"Gee Ray," said Rob. "I guess that means I outrank you. That means you’ve got to follow my orders like a robot. I say ‘jump,’ you say ‘How high Mister Rob sir?’"

"Fuck you Rob, I'm not following your orders."

Just then, Space Judge, the Judge of Space, appeared in a flash of judicial might. He looked like the Grim Reaper.

"I hereby charge you with mutiny and sentence you to 10 years behind bars!" declared Space Judge, slamming his titanium gavel-sledgehammer against the wall.

"This is bullshit," sobbed Ray.


PART II: Der Außerirdische

Ray was dishonorably discharged and led off to prison while Rob was given a bigass gun and a medal. The gun was a laser rifle that fired bullets; bleeding-edge new killtech from the killforges of the Neo-Afrikkan Chinese gunsmiths. The medal, for Real Heroes, was shaped like a triumphant Eagle swallowing the entire Sun.

"How's it feel to be a hero?" asked Sergeant McMann.

Rob glowed with pride.

"It feels right," he said, like a pompous jackass.

Suddenly, a bunch of goddamn aliens erupted through the wall. They shrieked in a horrifying alien language.

"Die Herrenrasse ist zurückgekehrt, um zu beenden, was wir begonnen, außer wir schloss er im Weltraum!"

"OH MY GOD, ALIENS!" cried Rob, suddenly the pussy.

The United Space of America was under attack.

Aliens flooded the galaxy from all sides and crushed the Space Marine battleships like rock crushes scissors.

But Sergeant McMann had a plan to make scissors cover rock.

"I'm sending you on a suicide mission," he told Rob bravely.

"Hold on, I'll get someone else to do it," Rob replied bravely.

"Be quick, son. If they take this station, they'll have a direct path to Planet America," McMann said grimly, holding Rob by his shoulders. The weight of the world was on them now.

Rob ran like the wind through the cold sterile corridors of the Tiberius Rises Station to find Space Judge, stopping only once to admire a cute brunette's ass—not too big, not too small. Just right.

"Space Judge!" he cried, "Space Judge! Where are you when I need you the most?"

Space Judge appeared in a flash of blinding light, looking very judicious.

"What is it, my child?"

"Space Judge, I need you to release Ray because I need to send him on a suicide mission right away! He's the ONLY ONE who can do it!"

"I cannot do that. Ray cannot be released until his 10 years are up."

"Space Judge, please! The fate of Planet America is at stake!"

"I don't make the laws, kiddo. I just sentence people to jail for breaking them."

Rob fell to his knees and cried. Without Ray’s sacrifice, was this the end of Planet America?


PART III: A Desperant Escape


"Hey, what's that behind you?" Ray asked Convict 675, who was about to rape him.

"What are you talking about?" questioned Convict 675 suspiciously as he turned around like a goddamn idiot.

Ray slammed his foot into the convict's testicles as hard as he possibly could. He fell over in agony and Ray proceeded to stomp his face until a guard rushed in and threw him against the wall.

"LET GO OF ME!" shouted Ray, as the convict rose to his feet.

The guard opened the visor on his helmet revealing none other than Rob. That asshole.

"Calm down candyass, it's me."

"What the fuck Rob! You were going to let him give me the business!"

"No, look."

Convict 675 pulled off his face and bodysuit, and revealed that he was actually a giant Ant.

"Oh shit, an Ant!" cried Ray, overjoyed.

I was never going to rape you, Ray," the Ant said. "It was just a practical joke."

Ray hugged the Ant and wept.

"Good one."

Rob handed Ray an assault rifle, significantly less long, girthy, and cool than his own—he’d made sure of that.

"We're here to bust you out and stop the aliens from destroying everything we love so dearly."

"There's aliens?" questioned Ray. "Ah! So I was right!"

"Let’s not get carried away," said Rob. "Let’s just get out of here."

"But how will we ever escape from here though? It's guarded by 100 guards!"

The Ant looked smug as shit.

"I can lift 100 times my own body weight. So I lifted them all and threw them into a trash compactor."

"We did it!" cheered Ray, "We escaped from prison!"

"Not so fast, bitch. Your time has not been served."

Space Judge appeared in a flash of crushed hope and pointed a rocket launcher at them.

"Now step the fuck back in that cell, or taste my justice."


PART IV: Mandatory Minimum Death

Space Judge wasn’t backing down. He fixed his rocket launcher—a GAV3L, the shining pride of Neo-American Justicution—on the band of would-be escapees, judgely finger on the trigger.

"Back in your cell, Ray."

"Yeah, okay," agreed Ray, who’d always been fond of not being blown up by rocket launchers. He dropped his rifle, backed up into his cell and dragged the massive steel door to a close.

Outside, Rob and Antbro still had a rocket-launcher pointing at them.

"Come on, Space Judge," pleaded Rob, dropping his weapon. "Don’t be a dick."

"Robert, I’m sorry that you think enforcing The Law, the very foundation of our civilization, makes me a ‘dick,’ but I cannot allow this. Ray will serve out his sentence, with added time now for attempted escape."

"However..." he added spookily, "The penalty for treason, such as throwing security guards into trash compactors, is DEATH BY ROCKET-LAUNCHER."

"Oh come on! We didn't even turn it on!" protested Rob.

"But I did!" said Space Judge. "For you see, the penalty for slacking on the job and allowing yourself to be vulnerable to being thrown in a trash compactor is DEATH BY TRASH COMPACTOR."

"Then we were just following the law!" cried Antbro.

"WRONG!" roared Space Judge. "Neither of you two possess a license to execute!"

"Not so fast, Space Judge! As a Squad Leader in the Space Force. I have a license to kill! I was fully within my rights!" argued Rob.

"WRONG AGAIN!" Space Judge retorted, obviously delighted to refute Rob’s hopes of not being blown up. A license to kill is not the same as a license to execute!"

"Well what's the difference?!" asked Antbro.

"The difference, Ant, is a nuance that a non-judge like you could never hope to understand!"

Frustrated and angered, Rob began to yell in a hopeless final gambit, hoping Space Judge would overlook the fatal, dooming flaw in his argument.


Space Judge met his volume and intensity with ease and was not for even for a moment caught off guard or fooled.


Robert at this point realized there was no point in arguing with Space Judge. He had to deescalate if they were going to get out of this alive.

"Fine Space Judge, we submit! However! We are still entitled to a fair trial by a jury of our peers!"

"Not this time you’re not," laughed Space Judge, "The President has declared me Arbiter of Justice. I can literally do whatever I want to and it’s legal. THIS ENTIRE ARGUMENT HAS BEEN YOUR TRIAL. THE VERDICT? GUILTY."

"That’s bullshit!" yelled Antbro as Space Judge began laughing like a complete asshole.

In fact, Space Judge was laughing too hard to focus on blowing them up. He was laughing so hard he was bent over crying. The doomed duo looked around desperately for a route of escape.

Ray peeked the door to his cell open.

"Psst, guys," he whispered. "Just come in here."

There was nowhere else to go. So as Space Judge continued laughing his ass off, doubled over in judicial joy, Rob and Antbro retreated into Ray’s cell, safely behind the strong steel door.

After another few minutes of delighted chortling, Space Judge had composed himself and realized what had happened.

"Oh damn it," he said, walking forward and pounding on the door.

"Hey! Hey, get back out here and face your death!" he demanded.

Rob answered, "No Space Judge, that’s bullshit. You’re bullshit."

Space Judge was not entertained.

"If you don't come out RIGHT NOW, I will DOUBLE your sentence!" he roared.

"You can't kill us more than once!" replied Antbro.

Space Judge pulled on the door in vain. Antbro was holding it shut, and was 100 times stronger than him. They were safe.

"Fine. Stay in there and starve. I'm not leaving this spot," he laughed. "You’re dead either way!"

"Guys, what are we going to do?" asked Ray, "I don’t want to starve."


PART V: The God of War

As Antbro continued to lean against the door in case Space Judge—or anyone else—made an attempt at entering, Ray and Rob sat on the small, uncomfortable bunk and wondered where their lives went wrong. Ray knew exactly where his life went wrong.

"This is all your fault, Rob," he said. "You signed me up for the stupid Space Marines and ruined my life. Now I’m going to starve to death or get blown up by a rocket launcher in a freaking jail in outer-space."

"Yeah, but Ray," Rob replied. "If I hadn’t done that, then we wouldn’t be on this grand adventure."

Suddenly, before Ray could complain any more, the door started pounding open, even with the powerful Antbro pushing against it.

"OPEN UP, MEN!" shouted Sergeant Thomson McMann, "YOUR SPACE-COUNTRY NEEDS YOU!"

Rob and Ray stood up immediately.

"Why’s Sergeant McMann here?" asked Ray.

"I don’t know, let’s ask him," replied Rob. "Hey Sergeant McMann, why are you here?"

"I’m here to free you soldiers so you can do your GOT-DANG JOB and defend our freedom!" he roared loudly.

"Yeah, but Space Judge said—"


"War God? That’s a thing?" asked Antbro.

"You bet your ass that’s a ‘thing,’" answered McMann. "Now come on out, boys. I've sent Space Judge off-planet to perform some combat-judging. You’re free to come back and fight and die for your space-country!"

Antbro looked over at the other two for approval. They all nodded in agreement, and Antbro prepared to open up.

"McMann, go fuck yourself!" announced Ray suddenly. "We're not coming out to fight your war!"

"Wait what?" asked Rob and Antbro.


PART VI: Better Than Human


"Ray, what the living hell?" asked Rob.

"IF I HAVE TO BREAK OPEN THIS DOOR, THERE’LL BE HELL TO PAY, DAMMIT!" yelled McMann, slamming his fist on the solid steel door.

"Good luck, chump," responded Ray, cocky as all hell. "We have a giant ant holding the door shut, and it’s made out of freaking steel. Fuck off and get killed by aliens yourself."

McMann roared and punched his fist through the door, just missing Antbro’s head.

"Hey Ray, look. He has a robot-arm," said Rob. "Now what?"

"Yeah, I regret the last few moments entirely," said Ray, pulling Antbro away from the door.

McMann tore the door open and glared at them.

"The war’s changed, boys. We’re not just losing anymore, we’re being fucking exterminated. Men, women, children. Humanity cannot, and will not become extinct. Not as long as I’m alive. Out there, aliens are fucking our troops raw. But what those lousy sons-o-bitches don’t know, is that my scientists have perfected the augmentation processes necessary for a man to go toe-to-toe with fuckin’ elephant."

McMann spread out his arms, visible in his sleeveless uniform. They were muscular, but they still appeared to be made of flesh. But just moments ago, one of those arms had torn through steel like paper.

"You’re lookin’ at a real-life Superhuman, men. And whether you like it or not, we’ve all got to be upgraded if we’re going to survive. Even you, Ant."

"Even me?"

"Even you."

"I never signed up for any of this," insisted Ray like a punk-bitch. "I don’t want to be a Space Marine!"

"If you don’t want to be a hero, and would prefer to be a pussy, I won’t force you," said McMann. "Even though I easily could, because I’m over a thousand times stronger than you."

"Cool, thanks."

"But you’re still coming with us. You’ll die here alone. The aliens will eat all of your limbs, cauterizing the wounds with their superhot vapor breath. Until you’re nothing but a stump with a dick. Then they’ll use you for breeding until you die from the agony."

"Oh god what the fuck?"

"Yeah, ‘what the fuck’ is right. Now let’s get going, my men are waiting outside. Now Robert, are you prepared to take a needle, go to sleep, and wake up as something better than human?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"What about you, Ant? Your people have always been our dearest allies. Will you undergo the process of becoming a Super-Ant?"

"Lmao, yeah ok."

McMann handed two heavy, solid-gold commemorative hero pistols to Robert and Antbro, and a rape whistle to Ray. The pistols were too beautiful to ever be used and the rape whistle was too useful to ever be beautiful.

"Then let’s get going, boys."

Robert picked up his rifle from the floor and before Ray could pick up his, McMann grabbed it and gave it to Antbro, a real man.


PART VII: Marines in Space!

War God McMann led the band of hooligans out of the prison, where a small detachment of soldiers waited for them. Bulky, armed to the teeth, with heavy body-armor and full-face helmets, they truly looked like generic freakin’ Space Marines.


The Space Marines grunted in acknowledgment of the War God, praise be upon him.

"Alright men, we’ve got two new recruits for the Augmentation Process. The third man here is to be put to work at the hospital," barked McMann.

"Yet another thing I didn’t sign up for," mumbled Ray quietly so no-one would hear him. God, what a bitch.

But McMann heard him. He grasped his shoulder and looked him in the eyes sympathetically.

"Look, boy. I understand that you’re down. But life is a bitch, and everyone has to do shit that we don't want to do. There’s nothing we can do about it, except not be unbearable whiny miserable cunts to the people around us. Do you think you can do that? For America?"

Ray suppressed a sob.

"Y-yes, sir. I think so."

"Good, now let’s move out."

"Sir, what about the suicide mission? Ray's out of prison now, he can sacrifice himself."

"Wait, what was that?" asked Ray.

"The suicide mission was all a ruse," explained McMann. "I wanted to lure out Space Judge so I could give him his orders because he's always lazing around in the Judgment Zone where no one can find him. I knew you'd try to save your own hide by sacrificing Ray instead. A truly shrewd tactical maneuver that shows I was right to make you a Squad Leader. I was able to give Space Judge his new orders and confirm your reliability to make tough decisions in one swoop."

"Ah, of course," said Rob, nodding in understanding. Ray didn’t respond. He didn’t care anymore.

They all boarded the space-helicopter. It’s a helicopter that can fly through space. It was smooth sailing for several minutes before something crashed into them.

"What the hell was that?" shouted Rob.

"Oh GOD, IT’S ANOTHER TROPE!" cried the pilot, called Pilot.

An Alien ship was bombarding them with sticky pellets of obnoxious alien sap, sticking up their jet-engines and slowing them down. Yeah, the space-helicopter has a jet-engine, duh.

"Return fire! Return fire!" barked McMann, as he pulled open the sliding helicopter door and began shooting at the Alien ship with a mini gun not intended to be wielded by mortal men.

The Alien ship looked like a giant grinning shark made out of rubber, and all of the Space Marines’ bullets just bounced off of it. While it continued flying next to them, just grinning like an asshole. So obnoxious.

"Sir, our bullets are having no effect!" cried Robert.

"I know what I have to do…" said Antbro solemnly.

"So do I," said McMann even more solemnly. "You would have made a great Super-Ant."

"Thank you, sir."

With that, Antbro launched himself out of the Space-Helicopter and bit into the Alien ship with his fearsome mandibles. It popped like a stupid fucking balloon and soared away out of control, bringing Antbro with it.

"Godspeed you black empress," Rob said sadly.

"I thought Antbro was a guy?" asked Ray.

"What are you, a fucking idiot? She was clearly a female Ant," remarked a Space Marine.

McMann slid the door shut and looked at his soldiers.

"Men," he said. "I won’t lie to you. Winning this war won’t be easy. It’ll require sacrifice. Blood sacrifice. Voodoo-magic.

"Das where I come in, mahn!" said Rasta Rick, apparating wait why is that marked misspelled- oh, that’s only a thing in Harry Potter? Fuck it, Rasta Rick appeared in a puff of dank 420 magic ganja smoke.

"Men, this is Rasta Rick, a powerful warrior and spellcaster. With his aid, I believe we can deal a significant blow to the Alien chain of command," explained War God McMann.

"Where did he come from?" inquired Ray. Idiot.

"He was here with us all along, Ray," explained McMann. "Rasta Rick’s powers are beyond explanation. But I trust this man with my life."

"How do we know he’s not an ALIEN IN DISGUISE?" asked an unnecessarily skeptical Space Marine.


"What?" asked literally everyone.

"There is an ancient prophecy that foretells of a man who will lead Mankind to domination over the Aliens."

"What?" asked literally everyone.

"And I believe that man is YOU," continued McMann, grabbing Ray’s shoulders.

"Oh. That’s a lot to take in."

"You have to take it all in," McMann said. "With the fighting-force of my Space Marines, Rasta Rick’s dank 420 Noscope Magic, and your Prophecy-Powers, we will win this war."

"What prophecy powers?" asked Ray.

"I don’t know yet. The prophecy is vague. We’ll need to consult our scientists once we get to ZEDEXA IV, one of our last surviving bases."

"Okay, whatever."

The pilot pushed the space-helicopter into MAXIMUM SUPERSPEED and they zoomed across the cosmos, until they came across a planet on fire.

"DEAR GOD," said McMann. "We’re too late…"

The Aliens were launching firebombs all across the planet. Surely everyone on it was deader than fuck.

"Hold on, sir, I’m receiving a transmission from Sector 8," Pilot announced.

"Sector 8? That’s the hospital!" said McMann. "There could still be hope! Patch them through!"

On the screen in the cockpit, an ugly-ass Alien appeared. It had no ears, no nose, and big freakin’ eyes. It pretty much looked like a stereotypical Gray alien. Oh, look, another trope. Dun dun duuuuuun.

"We have your scientists, War God. If you want them alive, you will deliver to us the Chosen One!" it hissed.

"No deal!" said McMann firmly. "We’re not giving this kid up!"

But the second the Aliens had made their demand, Ray made up his mind. He grabbed a jetpack from the cargo bay, and prepared to jump to the planet to turn himself in.

"Ray, you don’t have to do this," said Rob. "We’ll protect you."

"No, Rob. I’m tired of being a punk-bitch. I’m going down there, and I’m saving those scientists. I’m just one guy, those scientists are the key to the production of the Space Marines."

"But Ray, you’re the Chosen One," pleaded Rob.

"Yeah, we still don’t know what the hell that means. Let’s just see how this plays out," said Ray.

"Be careful, Ray."

"I will."

Ray jumped out of the space-helicopter. But, like a complete fucking dumbass, he forgot to bring the jetpack. Way to go.

PART VIII: Rescue Plan

"Hey Ray, you forgot your jetpack!" called Rob.

Ray was falling too quickly to hear him, but he could read his lips. It was information that he’d already realized, and he had already accepted. As he prepared to go splat on the surface of the planet, he instead found himself in the tractor beam of an Alien craft. Aboard the space-helicopter, the Alien Captain was mocking War God McMann.

"Well War God, it appears that we no longer have any use for you. We’ve captured your Chosen One!" he cackled, like a prick. "SHOOT THEM OUT OF THE SKY!"

But War God McMann was too fucking clever, too fucking brilliant, too much of a natural-born tactician to let that be the end of it.

"Rasta Rick! Conceal us with a dank smokescreen!" he ordered.


Rasta Rick took a mighty hit of his magic blunt and let loose a thick, magic fog that covered the entire low-orbit battlefield.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" demanded the Alien Captain. "Where did they go?"

"We cannot find them! EEEEEEEK!" howled the Alien shipman, checking an array of scanners and other useless crap that’ll never hope to catch the King of Kush, Rasta goddamn Rick.

McMann and his space-helicopter had safely retreated to beyond the Alien Ship’s scanning range and were preparing for the counter-attack to end all counter-attacks.

But Rob had other plans.

"We have to save Ray!" he cried, like a bitch.

"We can’t, boy," said McMann sympathetically. "There’s no way for us to board the Alien ship."

Rob slammed his wimpy fist on the planning-table.

"There’s GOT to be a way!"

"There’s only one way on that ship," a Marine spoke up. "Their tractor-beam. They have to WANT you to come on."

"Yes, yes… the only way on that ship is being captured," agreed McMann. "And the only one of us who they’d have any interest in capturing is me… I can allow myself to be captured, in order to ensure Ray’s safety."

He turned to Rasta Rick.

"Rastamon, I’m not worried about myself. I can beat the crap out of anything in this galaxy. But my men… they’re strong, but they need a leader."

"Yew don need worry mon, will keepem safe," assured Rasta Rick, placing his hand firmly on the War God’s shoulder.

"Thank you, Rick. I know I can trust in you," said McMann. "I’ll prepare an escape pod to launch into their range. Pilot, once they’ve brought me on board, I’ll do my best to disable their weapons systems. But you can’t wait for too long. You need to get on to that planet. Save the scientists. Save whoever you can."

"Aye, sir," replied Pilot. Who was also Irish. So imagine him saying "aye" like an Irish man. lmao, I love Irish people. Best accents. The guys are funny, the women are sexy af. It doesn’t matter what their nipple-to-areola-to-breast ratio (or NAB) is, which is normally EXTREMELY IMPORTANT. Their tits always look amazing because the contrast in color isn’t too prominent. Pale Irish girls have the best tits on planet Earth. That’s not to say other tits can’t be perfect, but the specifications are more demanding. When there’s more contrast between the parts, the aforementioned NAB matters a lot more and, objectively and mathematically speaking, the problem can be expressed as (.)(.) > (O)(O) But everyone in the world has their own unique challenges and advantages and there’s no use crying over spilt tits. You think I’m happy having curly hair, a high forehead, and a long Italian nose? Go fuck yourself.

War God McMann loaded himself into an escape pod. Intended for mere humans, it barely could contain the ultra-muscular body gifted to him by his Space Marine augmentations. Still, there was enough room for him to access the controls, and he set a course directly in front of the Alien Ship. Once they scanned the pod’s contents and saw him, they’d pick him up. Then, there’d be hell to pay.

The rest of the Marines loaded up their guns and equipment. If they were lucky enough to dodge any potential fire from the Alien ship and make it planetside, they’d no-doubt be contending not only with ground-troops, but with roaring fires. Their helmets’ air-filtration systems would protect them from smoke, but their body-armor wouldn’t save them from being cooked alive if they fell to the flames.

They took sledgehammers for taking down doors and walls. The Space Marines could wield the heavy tool as easily as an average firefighter would a plastic toy fire axe. They brought NFL1776 Concussive Rifles, the sturdy backbone of the United Space infantry arsenal. With power settings ranging from knocking a man out and giving him permanent, life-altering brain damage, to shattering an alien’s entire skeletal system into the air, the NFL1776 Concussive Rifle was worth every one of the millions of Grueberbucks that the U.S. had borrowed from Grueber Corp. for its secret development, deeply cutting public funding for certain high-impact sports to pay off the debt. Like many of the professional players of said sports, the decision to transfer funds from creating citizen-concussions to creating adversary-concussions was a no-brainer.

There were five Space Marines in all, not counting the Pilot who would remain at the landing zone to guard his baby. And not counting the uninitiated Robert, who was still at least capable of firing a rifle. And not counting Rasta Rick, the extent of whose power was as of yet still a mystery. The Rastamon did not bring a gun, nor a knife. He didn’t have any body armor or a helmet to protect him. But his presence both inspired courage and calmed the nerves, and no one felt worried about his ability to take care of himself, as well as those around him.

McMann blasted off and near the Alien ship. Almost immediately, a red scanning laser ran over his capsule, and within moments, the escape pod was being pulled into the ship.

"Okay, boys," said Irish Pilot. "We’ll give him 10 minutes. After that, we’re rushing on to that planet. Use the bathroom now if you need to, so it doesn't hit the fan later."



War Meets Death

The Aliens tore open the door to the escape pod, but McMann was more than ready for them. Oh God, no one’s ever been as ready for anything as War God McMann was for those Aliens. Jesus Christ, get hype.

Their were no less than a dozen heavily-armored Aliens pointing laser blasters at that escape pod, but none of that mattered when two of them pulled the door off.

McMann clung right to the other side and began charging with it, knocking the first two aside and plowing through the crowd of Alien soldiers as if they were children, sending them crashing to the ground. bunch of fucking little wimps. Humanity’s goddamn unstoppable.

When McMann had cleared his front, he flipped the door onto his back with one arm, and with his other he pressed a detonator linked to the explosives he’d left inside the escape pod, sending chunks of jagged metal flying into the soldiers who’d just moments ago expected to capture the War God. Now they expected nothing, because the dead can’t expect things.

"This is McMann," the War God barked into the communicator on his wrist. "I’ll have their weapons down in one more minute. Start moving now."

"Aye aye, sir!" laughed Irish Pilot as he pushed the space-helicopter full-space steam ahead.

McMann was familiar with the Alien ships. He’d been captured once previously—against his will. He’d been forced to work on the ship for five long minutes before he’d slammed a pickaxe through the warden’s skull and used his body as a raft to escape through the ship’s sewage line.

He found the weapon control room, which was guarded by a big-ass Alien. Bigger than the rest by three feet.

"Step aside," commanded the War God. "Actually never mind."

And then he just shot him in the face. The Alien juggernaut fell to the ground, shocked at how easily he’d just died.

McMann, an Honors graduate of Grueber Tech's Computer Networking and Security course, put his fist through every single goddamn computer in the room.

"That should do it," he diagnosed.

"That did it, sir!" confirmed Irish Pilot. "They’re not firing at us! We’ll be on the planet in less than five minutes!"

"Good," replied McMann. "I’ll rescue Ray and commandeer this piece of ship. We’ll meet you down there and assist with the rescue."

"Roger that, sir! See you down there!"

McMann ripped a pipe off the wall and prepared to hand out some beat-downs. But suddenly, his body froze. Oh shit. He couldn’t move! His body had been locked down by its nanomachines.

"You’re not going anywhere, sir," said a familiar voice, "It is against the Law to conduct warfare using Alien munitions."

Oh fuck, it was Space Judge, the Arbiter of Justice.

"What are you doing here, Space Judge?!" exclaimed McMann. "You’re supposed to be on Planet Xerfii!"

"I was, for a time," answered Space Judge, "But the President gave me another promotion. I am now the SUPREME WAR JUDGE!"


"YES! AND YOU WILL PAY FOR TAKING MY PRISONERS FROM ME. PREPARE TO MEET JUSTICE!" shrieked the War Judge, and he fired his bazooka directly at McMann’s torso, splattering his body into a thousand heroic chunks.


"Oh fuck that shit," said one Marine.

"We have to listen to him, he’s the War Judge," retorted another.

"He killed the War God, what are we supposed to do?"

"I teel ya what we be doin’ mon," replied Rasta Rick slowly. "Irish-monnn, I promised McMann I’d look afta ya boys, but ya must go on without me. Save de scientists, mon, and don’t give up young Rober’."

"What are you going to do, Rasta Rick?" asked Rob.

"I gon keel de Space Judge," replied the Rastamon gravely, lighting a blunt the size of a broadsword. "And when I’m tru, den real justice will be served."


PART X: Chill Out, Space Judge!

In the span of five minutes, Rasta Rick had propelled himself with his dreadlocks from the Space-Helicopter, and entered the Alien ship by transforming into smoke and entering unnoticed. He’d then followed the trail of Alien bodies to find the remains of McMann, and Space Judge, still gloating.

"Space Judge!" yelled Rasta Rick. "You’ve gone too far dis time, mon!"

Space Judge, excuse me, Supr—wait what was it? Supreme War Judge spun around and growled.

"Rasta Rick! We finally meet! Long have I desired to bring you to justice for smoking violations, despite the President’s insistence that you are above the laws of Men!"

Without another word, the Judge attempted to fire his bazooka at the Rastamon, but to no avail. The Dank Defier could transform into smoke at will, and the rocket passed straight through him. He punched the War Judge right in the dick, and stood tall before him, pointing a bong gun directly at his face.

"Ya know, by Lord, when ya be forgiven’, mon," said Rasta Rick.

Please, hear me out—Time Consumer, time consumemesorry, I’m listening to Coheed.

Space Judge knelt to his knees before the righteous rasta reaper.

"Rastamon, I’m so sorry," begged the cowardly Judge, "Please, have mercy on my pathetic soul!"

"I cahnt be doin’ dat, mon. You been a bad boy, ya broke all de rules. You been a bad boy, you gets yah’s paid in full." sorry, im really sorry, i just love Coheed so much, ill stop now. IRO-bot is such a good song.

"What are you going to do to me?" cried War Judge.

"First off mahn, I be demoting you- because I’M DE NEW PRESIDENT OF EARTH, mon."


"De President’s been assassinated by ahn Alien fleet- da fleet from the battle dat YOU left- because you din’ do yah job and bring de justice to dem, mon. Instead ya sought vengeance ahgainst de Wah God! And now de responsability of leadin’ ‘umanity rests on de shouldas o’ Rasta Rick!"

"Oh shit," wept War Judge, now merely Space Judge again. punk ass bitch.

"Das right. Now, tah bring you back to da side ‘o good, ya gotta take a hit of dis," explained Rasta Rick, putting away his bong gun and pulling his blunt broadsword from his back.

In one smooth, lightning-quick motion, he lit it and smacked Space Judge across the face with it. As the Judge lost consciousness he mumbled What did I do to deserve— (last reference)

"Da blunt be blunt, mahn," he laughed. "An infused with da daaank magick. When you awake, you’ll be a good manh again. We already lost enuff good men, ah say…"

He took a moment to remember the bravery of the War God, before using his rastamagic to communicate with Irish Pilot.

"De Space Judge been takin’ care oh, mon. I gon find Ray now."

"God Speed, Rasta Rick," replied the Irishman. "We’ll see you planetside."

The Marines locked and loaded as they prepared for their rescue mission.

Meanwhile, back on the Alien ship, Rasta Rick took another hit and began searching for the bridge. No doubt the Aliens would be interrogating young Ray, with the Alien Captain heading the interrogation. Rasta Rick had the opportunity to take a peaceful picture of three birds with one stone: kill the Alien Captain, save the Ray, and hijack the Alien ship.

He found the door to the bridge, took a deep hit, and pushed it open. What he saw inside shook him to his bones.


PART XI: Saving Private Science

Meanwhile, the space-helicopter had just landed on the planet. There was fire freakin’ everywhere, man. And annoying Aliens shrieking and shooting laser pistols at everything that moved.

"Yo, fuck this," said Space Marine #1, scoping the scene with a pair of binoculars. "There’s no way inside the facility without running into those gray fucks."

"We can take them," said Space Marine #2. "They’re like 5’10. Absolute manlets. And their guns are bullshit, I don’t even know why we’re losing this war."

Rob took the binoculars and saw for himself. Indeed, the Aliens looked shrimpy and non-threatening. Their laser pistols barely seemed stronger than pellet-guns.

"It’s their sheer numbers," explained Irish Pilot. "There’s like a fucking trillion of them altogether. Any man can single-handedly take a dozen of them. But they just keep fucking coming."

"Also, we can teleport and read minds, faggots," said an Alien who had just appeared before them.

"SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" shouted Space Marine #3, and he open-fired on it, blasting it into a million sloppy pieces.

"KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!" shrieked an Alien, pointing the hoards in direction of the Marines.

"Johnson and Smith, you tropes stay with me," instructed Pilot. "The rest of you, circle around behind them and get into that damn facility! There’s still survivors in there! We’ll hold this position until you return!"

The Marines split up, Rob going with the Rescue Team. They went far around the battle, which the Evac Team seemed to be near-effortlessly winning. The Alien hordes kept pushing at the landing zone, but they were unable to take it from the Marines who had superior… everything.

They made it to the facility door, and Space Marine #2 kicked it open without hesitation.




PART XII: The Skeleton King

Rasta Rick gasped in horror.

Before him stood a room full of skeletons, half-dressed in Alien disguises. The Aliens were Skeletons all along. Of COURSE, IT ALL MADE SENSE. THAT'S HOW THEY COULD STAND IN THE PRESENCE OF THE CHOSEN ONE.

They all turned to him and started shrieking and rattling at a low-volume. Horrifying.

"‘Ow could dis be, mon? Da last ‘o de skellies died yearsss ahgo," he said loudly, so he could be heard over the shrieking.

"Isn’t it obvious, Rasta Rick?" said the King of Skeletons, Skeleton King, appearing from an adjacent room.

"Skel’on King!" gasped Rasta Rick, holding his heart, "Ah saw yew die in da war agains’ Grueber!"

"No, Rasta Rick. You saw what I wanted you to see. I became fed up with humanity’s constant wars. The skeleton people grew tired of being humanity’s protectors. Can’t you see that humanity is the galaxy’s worst cancer? Can’t you see that Rasta Rick? You need to be wiped out, so the rest of us can be free of your oppressive imperialism.

"No mahn, no. Not all humans be like dat. Dey don deserve dis!"

But then the Skeleton King put on a pair of wing-tipped glasses and Tweeted #NotAllHumans ironically to make fun of Rasta Rick for not wanting to be generalized. How dare he not validate Skeleton King’s vague assertions about the nature of all mankind and his violent solution to it?

The blow was devastating.

As Rasta Rick fell on to his back, he looked up at the sky and a tear flew from his eye. He had failed. The only thing he had ever cared about was protecting those weaker than him, which was basically everyone. But now, as he drew his final breaths, he knew that there was no hope for the survival of the human race. He hit the ground hard.

Darkness clouded his vision. It was over.


PART XIII: When Skeletons Live

Meanwhile, on the surface of the planet, Robert and the Space Marines had discovered the scientists and were running toward them.

"I just felt a great pain in my heart," said Space Marine #1, stopping. "I think Rasta—"

"Thank God you’re here!" cried Sexy Scientist Lady #1, interrupting him like a rude bitch.

"Don’t thank God," Space Marine #1 responded, flexing his augmented guns (muscles) and immediately forgetting what he was about to say. "Thank You Scientist." (good band) AND I WON'T BE YOUR HOLY ROLLERRREVEVERYWHERE I GO IT RAINS ON MEEok sorry prog rock is just so FUN.

"We’ve got to get you out of here," said Space Marine #2. "So you can create more Space Marines and we can push the Aliens back."

But then Sexy Scientist Lady #2 pulled off her face mask and revealed that she was actually an Alien all along.

"HAHA SUCKERS, I WAS AN ALIEN ALL ALONG!" it shrieked, and it punched Space Marine #2 through the wall.

"Lord almighty what the fuck," said Space Marine #1 pushing the remaining scientists into a running retreat.

"I thought the Aliens were pussies," said Rob as they bolted through the corridors, the Alien right behind them.

"I’ve never seen one actually get close enough to physically attack someone," answered Space Marine #1. "Apparently, they have super-strength."

The Alien stopped suddenly and put his finger to his ear, as if receiving a message. This was because it was receiving a message.

"Yes, sire," it said, and it looked up at the humans.

"Hey fuckbois," it said. "Get a load of this."

The Alien peeled off its face—yet another mask—revealing his true Skeleton form.

"What the fuck," said Rob.

Space Marine #1 threw a grenade at the Skelly and they continued retreating.

"They’re supposed to be our allies!" said Sexy Scientist Lady #1.

The group made it to the door, and Space Marine #1 quickly placed an explosive charge, which they detonated once they’d exited, blocking the Alie-Skeleton from continuing after them.

The site before them now was the spookiest shit ever witnessed.

The Aliens were no more—now a horde of Skeletons rushed against the landing zone of the space-helicopter. The Irish Pilot and his cohorts were still keeping them at bay, but Jesus Christ it was so spooky. All those bones clicking and clacking. oh lordy lord.

"Aye! They’re back!" said Irish Pilot. "Prepare for launch everyone!"

He fell back into the space-helicopter, and the other Space Marines began backing up as the rescue team made it on board.

"Wait," said Rob. "Where’s Rasta Rick!?

"Oh yeah," said Space Marine #1. "I think he's dead."


PART XIV: The Spirit of the East

Though his consciousness was fading, Rasta Rick heard a vaguely familiar voice.

"Rick, you have to get up. The world needs you, now more than ever."

Eyes shut, Rasta Rick replied weakly.

"Ah can’t dew it, mon… Der’s no hope in me bones."


Rasta Rick’s eyes opened. Standing over him, hand extended, was none other than Asia Bones, the legendary skeleton martial artist.

He grabbed the old master’s hand.

"How are you still alive?" he asked, as the karate-kicking skelly pulled him to his feet.

"I’m a skeleton."

"We lost McMann…"

"And so here I am, to turn the tide."


"No, Skeleton King," replied Asia Bones coolly. "I am a free skeleton. The only true loyalty of a skeleton is to what is spooky. And from where I'm standing, you don’t look very spooky to me."

Skeleton King snarled and tore his crown off his head, and it transformed into a throwing star, which he launched at Asia Bones.

But it was deflected!

Not by Asia Bones, who obviously could have done it easily because nobody can deflect throwing stars like him,

but by Rasta Rick!

"Ay mon, you right. As long as der’s a smokey breath in mah body, der is ALWAHYS HOPE."

He drew his blunt broadsword and crushed a skeleton guard.

Asia Bones did a double front-flip and one-handed clotheslined 2 skeletons at once.

"Sire, they’re kicking out asses!" cried a skeleton guard.

"Yes, yes, I can see that you pussies," spat Skeleton King, "You all stay here and die, I’m going to take Ray and retreat to Planet Bones!"

"NOT PLANET BONES!" exclaimed Asia Bones.

But it was too late. Skeleton King had grabbed Ray’s unconscious body and escaped in a pod designed for escape called an "escape pod."

"What be on Planet Bones?" asked Rasta Rick, as he bludgeoned another group of skellies with his weed weapon.


"SHAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAA!" screeched a skelly as Rasta Rick smashed his hip bone with his boot.

"Ah no, mon. It be sum baaaad juju comin’ from derrr. We need ta regroup wit dah space m’rines, it’s dah only way."

Asia Bones snapped another skeleton guard’s neck.

"Agreed. We’ll pick up your men, and launch an all-out attack on Planet Bones."


PART XV: Planet Bones

Planet Bones was the spookiest thing the Space Marines had ever seen. It had bats flying all around it and it was covered in spiderweb and spiders and it was shaped like a giant skull that was on fire.

"We’ll need our flame-retardant armor," noted Space Marine #1.

"No, human. The fire of Planet Bones is far too spooky. It will burn through your armor like fire through a flammable substance," explained Asia Bones.

"Then what are weh goin’ to do, mate?" asked Irish Pilot.

"Isn’t it obvious?" asked Sexy Scientist Lady #1. "We can turn you into Super Space Marines, and you’ll be fireproof."

"But no one has ever been able to survive that process!" objected Space Marine #3, and he slammed his fist into a table and it broke in half and a piece of splintered wood flew into someone’s eye and they shouted fuck and everyone stopped for a second to make sure they were okay, and they got it out of their eye and went to go lie down. That happened to Space Marine #4 by the way, who is Asian but that’s not important.

"Now what?" asked Rob.

"I believe Rob that you have the potential to become a Super-Space Marine because your body has not yet been through the trauma of becoming a regular Space Marine, so you won’t die probably or something," explained Sexy Scientist Lady #1 scientifically.

"Yes of course, it was so obvious, the answer was right in front of us all along," exclaimed Unattractive Scientist Man and he injected himself with his secret Super Space Marine formula and turned into a big hulking sexy brute.

"Holy shit, take me immediately!" cried Sexy Scientist Lady in a state of uncontrollable lust, and she ripped off her white lab coat, exposing—


Part XXX (Actually XVI): Sex in Space

"—"her supple, milky white breasts near-bursting out of her bra.

She clawed desperately at her bra strap, but Scientist Hulk had already leaped across the space-helicopter at her, and with the force of his jump, pushed her on to the floor, beginning to sensually kiss and bite her neck as he expertly and effortlessly unhooked her bra with one giant hand thanks to his >140 IQ.

In their passion, the two did not realize that Scientist Hulk’s jump had pushed the space-helicopter with such force that it was now spinning through the sky, completely fucking out of control.

In no more than a second, both frantically horny scientists had sufficiently disrobed and as Scientist Hulk thrust his thick super-member into Sexy Scientist Lady #1’s already soaking wet pussy, the rest of the crew ran to their stations, and held on for dear life—like Sexy Scientist Lady #1 holding on to and tearing into Scientist Hulk’s back with her nails as they cried out in complete ecstasy.

After a few moments, the Irish Pilot was able to steady the ship, but Scientist Hulk and Sexy Scientist Lady #1 were still going at it rough enough to simulate a fair amount of turbulence. Every pump Scientist Hulk made was like putting a sledgehammer to the floor.

Rasta Rick praised Pilot over the sounds of the pinned Lady Scientist screaming "FUCK!" as Scientist Hulk pressed her cervix.

"Ayy mon, dat be some good flyin’!" he said, placing his hand on his shoulder as a sign of respectful camaraderie. (FUCK!)

Irish Pilot was proud to receive such praise from Rasta Rick and gave him a thumbs up. (FUCK!)

"Aye sir, there’s no situation I can’t pilot out of. Me ma always told me ‘Son, you’ve got to learn to fly, and you’ve got to learn to fly right, or else there’ll be no potatoes in your future." (An extra-piercing scream from Sexy Scientistady #1 alerted the crew that Scientist Hulk had pulled out slightly and angled his cock up to stimulate her clit. Her scream was quickly muffled by a kiss but the chopper began shaking even more intensely)

Rasta Rick ignored the cries and nodded solemnly at Pilot's words. He knew too well of the old Potato Famine that almost eliminated the Irish people, whose life-force was powered by the blessed root. Thank God for Pilot's piloting-oriented upbringing.

But they weren't out of the storm just yet, because just like the downfall of Western Civilization, Sexy Scientist Lady #1 was coming.

The space-chopper that's what I'm calling it from now on the space-chopper shook uncontrollably and Scientist Hulk, knowing his mission was complete, could no-longer deny himself—the sight of Sexy Scientist Lady #1 squirming in delight beneath him was too much for his reptile brain to resist. He had to fulfill his evolutionary purpose and so he released his full hulk-load inside of Sexy Scientist Lady #1 with a primal roar. The first few gushing jets were audible and her body simply couldn't contain it ok now we're getting gross and I'm sorry but guess what? Life is gross. You think a superhuman's ejaculate isn't going to be leaking all over the floor of a helicopter? Have YOU ever cum inside a girl without it leaking out? And are you even a superhuman? Probably not, right? So what's she going to do, hold it in? WITH WHAT, MAGIC? NO, SO YES, EVERYONE STARTED SLIPPING AROUND IN SCIENTIST HULK'S CUM AND I'M SORRY IF THAT GROSSES YOU OUT.

"No More Sex At This Point. Welcome back.


Part XVI.5: A Hero is Born

Everyone had just finished rinsing themselves off when suddenly there was a scream. The crew spun to see Scientist Hulk in the throws of a terrible seizure.

"He’s having a seizure," noted Robert.

"Thanks Rob," said Space Marine #1.

"How can we help him?!" asked Space Marine #3.

"We can’t," answered Sexy Scientist Lady #1, once again level-headed. "I was afraid of this happening. His body was not able to tolerate going from a 2 to a 10 in the looks department. He’s dying."

Asia Bones knew what had to be done. He karate-kicked Scientist Hulk in the head with such force that his head exploded. Brain matter spattered across everyone’s face.

"Tank you, Masta Bones, for ‘avin da courage ta do what must be done…" said Rasta Rick, extending his hand.

Asia Bones shook his hand. "There’s nothing that makes these bones of mine sicker than seeing another living being in pain. That is why Skeleton King must be put to rest for all time. To end this nonsense war, and bring back honor to my skeletal people."

"We gun do dat mon, but w’out ah Super-Space Marine, we cahn’t get true da fire an da flames mon," said Rasta Rick sadly.

"No, my Rasta brother. There is a way. We can still turn the Robert into a Super-Space Marine. Unlike the unattractive skinnyfat dork scientist, Robert is quite handsome. He might have what it takes to save us all."

Rob's hero-sense started tingling and he immediately grabbed the syringe from the dead scientist, jammed it into his arm. Rob’s previously unimpressive muscles swelled up and hardened and he grew an extra few inches, no longer a manlet. He then lit a match, and pressed it near his skin. The flame shrieked and died. Rob struck a pose. He was finally tough as nails. A Super-Space Marine: The ultimate living-weapon of the greatest nation to ever exist. And because Rob wasn't a scrawny bitch-nerd, his body would be able to tolerate the change.

"BRUH, you're swol as fuck!" exclaimed Space Marine #3. "The skeletons won’t stand a chance! But how can the rest of us help if we’re not fireproof?"

"Inside a guard station on the planet is a valve that controls all the fire on the planet. If Rob can turn that valve shut, we’ll be able to land!" explained Asia Bones. "And after that, it’ll be a piece of delicious ice cream cake taking the rest of the planet."

"MON IT LOOKS LIKE WE GOTA PLAN, MON!" cheered Rasta Rick. "Irish Pilot, bring us close me brodda!"

"Aye aye, sir!" said Irish Pilot, and he brought the space-chopper in low.

Rob tore the door open and prepared to make his jump.

Asia Bones placed his hand on his shoulder. So much respect.

"How do you feel, my child?"

"I’m ready," said Rob, "I’m ready to finally do something great in one of these stupid stories.


Part XVII: The Most Powerful Soldier in the Universe

Rob dove from the space-chopper like a professional diver, except instead of diving into a pool, he was diving into the atmosphere of a spooky planet shaped like a skull that was on fire.

And unlike a diver, he was no ottermode twink, but a hulking Super-Space Marine, the most powerful soldier known to the Universe.

Suddenly, an even more powerful soldier that would henceforth be known to the Universe intercepted him in midair.

It was an Ultra-Skeleton Marine, with a jetpack! And not just one, but two. They grabbed Rob by his arms and lifted him away from Planet Bones, and back into space.

"NOOOO THIS IS BULLSHIT!" yelled Rob, struggling in vain.

"Foolish pathetic idiot ignorant human, did you really think that you’d ever be able to become stronger than us? We are the ultimate beings in this Universe!" they cackled, and they threw him into a star.

"ROB, NOOOOOOOOOOO!" cried Ray, forced to watch from Skeleton King’s Bone-Palace, through a bony telescope.

"See that, boy?" laughed Skeleton King, "Your only hope of rescue has been flung into a star! Lmao!"

Meanwhile, back on the space-chopper, everyone was horrified to see the only Super- Space Marine so easily thrown into a star, by such horrifying foes as the Ultra-Skeleton Marines, who were now flying straight toward them with their jetpacks.

"We’ve got to get out of here!" cried Space Marine #1. "Irish Pilot, engage the Fucking Leave Drive!"

"Damn those skeletons! Damn them all to hell!" roared Space Marine #3.

Asia Bones shot him a deadly, spooky look, but deep inside, he was even more disappointed in his own bony-people.

"NO! NO! I’m going to try to reason with them!" he announced, and jumped out of the space-chopper.

"Asia Bones, noooooooooooooo!!!" cried Rasta Rick. "Dey’ll trow you into da star like young Rober’!"

But Asia Bones had no fear in his bony heart, and as he was grabbed by the two Ultra-Skeleton Marines, he suddenly got like that power from Shadow of Mordor lmao where he can mind-control them, and he placed his bony hands on the back of their heads and spoke with authority.

"I AM ASIA BONES, THE GREATEST SKELETON-MARTIAL ARTIST IN THE WORLD, AND I DEMAND YOUR COMPLIANCE!" he said sternly, and the Ultra-Skeleton Marines were then under his control.

"Take me to your king!" he demanded, and they began flying him toward the Bone-Palace.

"What the hell did I just see?" asked Irish Pilot, disengaging the FLD.

"It be old juju," said Rasta Rick wisely. "Ahve only seenit ah few times in mah life…

Dah old Masta’s got powa over da spirit’a livin’ tings. Dats how ‘e helped me regain hope aftah I got cyba-bullied by Skelon’ King. Ees truly inspirin’."

"That may be so," said Space Marine #3. "But Skeleton King is a gigantic asshole. I doubt he’ll be so easily swayed."

"If that’s the case, surely Asia could just beat the shit out of him?" asked Space Marine #1. "I mean, he’s the greatest martial-artist who ever lived, right?"

"One ‘a da greatest for sure," said Rasta Rick, looking down solemnly. "But so many skeletons know karate now’days, it be foolish ta takeit for granted."

"We’ve got to get down there and help him, somehow!" said Irish Pilot.

"No mon… if ‘e turns off da fire-valve, we’ll know. But now? All we cahn do now es wait…"


Part XVIII: Regicide in Space

The Ultra-Skeleton Marines used their skeletal force fields to pass themselves and Asia Bones through the fire of Planet Bones.

But suddenly, they were being shot at by a bone minigun that firing a thousand bones per minute at them. 50 caliber bones that could tear a skeleton’s bones right off.

"They’re shooting at us!" cried Ultra-Skeleton Marine #1. "Just because we’re betraying them!"

They got scared and dropped Asia Bones, who landed like a cat on top of the palace, and proceeded to run toward the miniguns like an even bigger cat: a cheetah. Except unlike a cheetah, this was a skeleton martial-artist capable of dodging bullets, so even faster than a cheetah.

He kicked the gunner in the face with his foot, and turned the gun down at the palace, chopping a hole through the roof.

"WHAT THE FUCKK!!!" screamed Skeleton King from down below, shielding himself from the debree. That’s not how you spell debris.

"It’s my friends! They’re here to kill you!" laughed Ray.

Skeleton King screamed in frustration and kicked Ray through the wall, knocking him unconscious, and also the wall had a comical Ray-shaped hole in it.

"GUARDS! Do not let that skeleton near the fire valve! He’ll summon reinforcements!"

The Royal Skeleton Guard consisted of a dozen of the strongest Ultra-Skeleton Marines. Even Asia Bjornes would be hard-pressed to defeat them. They all surrounded a giant red valve next to the King Skeleton’s throne.

Asia Bones flipped down into the throne room, landing gracefully like a cat once again.

"ASIA BONES!" spat the King Skeleton. "Do you really think you’ve got what it takes to defeat my Royal Guard?!"

"I don’t have to defeat them, Skeleton King," Asia Bones said. "I just have to TURN THAT VALVE."

And then he charged the throne.

"GUAARDS! KILL HIIIIM!" shrieked the King Skeleton in fear, but what Skeleton King hadn’t realized was that Asia Bones had in fact ORDERED the Ultra-Skeleton Marines to turn the valve, using his skeletal-mind control, and in his cowardice, Skeleton King had lost his own control over the hearts and minds of his soldiers.

But the Ultra-Skeleton Marines were conflicted. They were unable to fire on Asia Bones, but also could not bring themselves to turn the goddamn valve.

Surely this fight would decide where their loyalties lied.

Asia Bones bitch-slapped Skeleton King as a sign of disrespect, and he crumpled over into his throne, letting out an effeminate gasp of pain.

"Not. So. Fast." said a mysterious voice.

Asia Bones turned around and let out his own effeminate gasp.

"It can’t be..." he said, facing a cloaked skeleton, whose identity he already knew and we’ll all know shortly.

"It is," said the cloaked skeleton, lifting his hood.

"Deadly Bones..." said Asia Bones. "The legendary Skeleton-God. What are you doing here?"

"I’m here to fight," said Deadly Bones, and he karate-chopped Skeleton King’s skull off.

He tossed the King Skeleton’s limp bone-body off the throne and sat down, looking bored.

"Fight who? Why?" asked Asia Bones cautiously.

"You, Asia," said Deadly Bones. "You see, I've been away from conflict for far too long. The Spirit of Fighting pulled me here. I knew I'd find a worthy opponent."

"But then what about Skeleton King!?" demanded Asia Bones. "Why did you kill him?"

"I just wanted to sit down for a minute," explained Deadly Bones. "You see, I’ve been standing around here for days, cloaking myself with my invisibility cloak lmao, waiting for you. TO BEAT YOU UP."

"I don’t understand…"

"You don’t understand, Asia? Then let me lay it out for you in excruciating detail."


Part XVIV: A Deadly Tale

Deadly Bones pulled his legs up, abandoning his sitting position for a squat, which is better for your back. So he was like L from Death Note. I honestly hope no-one reading this right now is sitting when they could instead be squatting, or at the very least kneeling or lying down without a pillow.

"The only pillow you need is your own arm," said Deadly Bones.

"What are you talking about, Deadly?" demanded Asia Bones.

But Deadly Bones was no longer paying attention to the old master. He was instead thinking about the importance of good posture, especially for taller people and skeletons.

"DEADLY BONES! ANSWER ME!" roared Asia, assuming a fighting stance. Deadly Bones was roused from his contemplation just in time to meet Master Asia i mean Asia Bones's flurry of fists. After a solid minute of slamming bony fists, they both jumped back. Neither one had actually intended to kill the other, it was merely a sacrament of great fighters. Still, one not versed in martial arts aka a punk bitch could have been beaten to death in the ritual.

"Very well," Deadly Bones said. "Please excuse me. You see, my story is a long and difficult one. Please don’t even think about interrupting me for questions."

Asia Bones nodded.

"My story begins 30 years ago, when I was just an average doctor. There was a series of events which caused me to gain unspeakable powers. I became Deadly Bones. A god among Skeletons.

Now, the family I was serving as a physician was headed by a skeleton named Skeleton Sacramento. This skeleton cucked Satan, and Satan’s wife, Salo… Samon… Sallama—whatever the bitch’s name was, she gave birth to a Crimson Skeleton.

This Crimson Skeleton took over my job as Deadly Bones, because I was tired of being a god. But because he didn’t possess my incredible powers, he was very quickly slain by the forces of darkness.

Before he died though, he laid his skeleton-meat into a human woman, and they had a son. A son, who I believe you know..."

Asia Bones’s eyes widened. A CRIMSON skeleton? Mating with a HUMAN?

"Redmond..." he whispered.

Deadly Bones nodded, and continued squatting on the throne.

"That's right. Your old student Redmond... who himself also had a son... I think it’s preeeeeeeetty obvious where this is going."

Asia Bones’s eyes widened even wider than before. He understood.

"So what do you want with Ray?"

Deadly Bones shrugged.

"Me? Nothing. But Skeleton King believed he possessed unspeakable powers which he inherited from Redmond and the Crimson Skeleton."

"Why did he think that?" questioned Asia Bones.

"Cuz I told him lol. I did it to lure you here, Asia. I knew you'd never accept a direct invitation to my Fight Island. ALL of this insanity with the King has been a CLEVER RUSE. He'd wage war on Humanity if he believed he could win by kidnapping Ray. He'd use the fact that his name just happens to be "Skeleton King" as a way to trick all of the Skeletons into following him and fighting this stupid war. I KNEW that Rasta was aiding the Military, and I KNEW you'd have to come to your Rasta friend's aid if I could convince Skeleton King to not physically fight him and instead be an asshole to him on social media.

I orchestrated all of this so I can fight you and satiate the Spirit of Fighting within me, and prove to the world that I am the Deadliest Bones."

Deadly Bones leaped from the throne and assumed the Flying Lotus-Bones fighting stance.

Asia Bones shook his head.

"I will not fight you, Deadly Bones," he declared. "We are both on the side of Righteousness."

"You don't understand, Asia. This isn't about ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ The Spirit of Fighting compels me. I haven't been fighting for far too long. The Spirit is angry. I must either fight or continue having a slightly annoying headache. I don't have a choice. So neither do you. Were I to do battle anyone else, I would surely destroy them. But Skeleton King was a prick so I didn't mind killing him lol."

Asia looked at him sternly, but also knew Deadly Bones was not lying.

"Not so fast, Skeleton. You want a sparing partner? Try me on for size."

All the skeletons in the room spun around in amazement to see none other than War God McMann standing triumphantly in the doorway.

"War God!" exclaimed Asia Bones. "I was told you were killed!"


Meanwhile, with Skeleton King dead, and Deadly Bones not giving a fuck about ruling, the Ultra-Skeleton Marines recognized Asia Bones as their new master, and turned the fire-valve to "OFF," extinguishing the deadly flames of Planet Bones.

But with Skeleton King dead, the Skeletal-hivemind also no-longer posed a threat to Humanity.

"Wow, this was all really easy," said Asia Bones. The Marines were coming, and the Skeletons weren't even being manipulated into fighting them anymore. The war was over. All they had to do now was give Deadly Bones a satisfying fight and they could all go home.

"NOT SO FAST!" screamed Skeleton King, who had put himself back together, and was wielding a bazooka aimed right at Asia Bones.

"You will not stop my plans to obtain immortality! I will consume the Ray’s soul and then not even DEADLY BONES will be able to defeat me!"

More foolish words had never been spoken.

The idea that Deadly Bones would be unable to kill someone seared in Deadly Bones’s mind like a piece of meat on a mighty fighting grill. It made him extremely angry. He saw red, and began levitating.


"This is bullshit," said Ray, who’d regained consciousness. "I’m not immortal."

"But you’re the Chosen One!" said Skeleton King.

"Oh yeah wait no, I made that whole thing up. It was such a convincing lie that even I forgot about it for a second lmao. Yeah, there’s no way for you to become immortal, Skeleton King," said Deadly Bones.

"That makes me angrier than I’ve ever been!" roared Skeleton King. "Just angry enough to genocide all of humanity with MY PLANETARY SPOOK-LASER."

"What is that!?" asked Asia Bones.

"This very planet is a A SPOOKY ENERGY WEAPON, frightening enough to kill all non-skeletal life in this galaxy!" laughed Skeleton King. "I’m so fucking sick of humans! The only reason I hadn’t pulled the trigger on this already was because you promised me eternal life, Deadly Bones!"

"You pathetic skeleton," growled Asia Bones. "You dare to disrespect our ancestral homeworld by turning it into a weapon of mass destruction? What would Mother Bones say?"


"Fear not, Asia. I will not let this happen," said Deadly Bones seriously.

Skeleton King raised a remote control and slammed down the big red button on it labeled "KILL EVERYONE."

"You're too late, Deadly Bones," he grinned like an asshole. "It's over."


Part XX: What it Means to Be a God

But there was a problem.

"What do you mean there's a problem?!" screamed Skeleton King, jamming the button repeatedly.

"The problem is, I’ve pulled all of us into another dimension, you goddamn fool," announced Deadly Bones. "A DIMENSION WITHOUT HUMANS!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" roared King Skeleton in desperate anger, lunging at Deadly Bones.

Deadly Bones slammed his elbow into Skeleton King’s head, shattering it completely. Surely all of his horses and all of his men would never put him back together again.

The blow was so mighty and awesome that Deadly Bones felt a great weight lifted from his soul. The Spirit of Fighting had been satisfied. For now. The ease of tension was palpable and every skeleton in the room knew that Deadly Bones was feeling better. He brushed off the fragments of skull from his elbow as the Ultra-Skeleton Marines looked on in astonishment and one of them was also horny as hell now even though he wasn't even gay.

"Asia, I’m sorry... I know being obsessed with fighting makes me an asshole sometimes. But this is the price I must pay for my power. This is what it means to be a god," said Deadly Bones.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Deadly Bones. You just saved all of Mankind."

Deadly Bones smiled.

"Thank you my friend. Still, I must once again become a hermit. Until I’ve meditated enough to fully control over the Spirit of Fighting instead of only controlling it 99.999%."

Master Asia wait no that’s from G-Gundam, Asia Bones placed his hand on Deadly Bones's shoulder.

"Just so you know, you are stronger than me."

Deadly Bones smiled for the first time in a long time, as he pushed the Bone-Palace back into its normal dimension. Without him.


Part XXI: The Interest of Humanity

The skeletons were embarrassed.

"He called himself King," explained one of the Ultra-Skeleton Marines. "We just kinda went along with it. We don't really have any problems with you guys."

"We've always thought of you as our allies," said McMann. "That's why I never suspected the aliens could be you in disguise."

"For all his miserable personal failings," commented Asia Bones, "he waged a successful war. Humanity almost fell."

"I wouldn't go that far," said a spooky yet pompous voice from the shadows.

Everyone turned and gasped. Stepping out from the shadows was none other than Humanity's benefactor, Benjamin Grueber. He was flanked by two guards shrouded in cloaks. One black, one white. The cloaks, not the guards. The guards were both white.

Benjamin Grueber was a short, stocky man. Not obese, just kinda fat. Think George Costanza. In fact use that as your mental image. But instead of weak and neurotic think confident.

"Grueber!" roared Asia Bones. "Finally we meet again! You killed my student. Now I will snap your spine like a wishbone."

Asia Bones made a lightning-quick move toward the businessman, but the black-cloaked guard, who was holding a tablet, made a smooth motion against it with his other hand, and from it poured snekes upon snekes which constricted Asia Bones. Oh no!

Asia was busy tearing the snakes apart as the white-cloaked guard stomped up to him, ready to deliver a punch. HE NEEDED MORE TIME. Asia used his racial trait of being a spooky skeleton and made one of his spookiest faces to repel the guard. But he didn't even flinch!

However, the black-clad guard apparently did not have the same resistance, and he shielded his eyes from the spookifying visage of Asia Bones. The snakes evaporated into digital ink just in time and Asia was able to block the fierce jab sent by the white-cloaked guard.

"Asia Bones, please," said Grueber. "I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to help you."

Asia Bones shot him a spooky glare but withheld a punch that would have sent whitey though the wall. He jumped back.

"Help me? You are the biggest asshole in the Universe! You don't care about anyone but yourself! You killed Redmond because he was a threat to you!"

"You're WRONG, Asia! And it's time to learned the TRUTH."

"Asia Bones, together we can defeat his guards. We can end Grueber once and for all and save Humanity from his tyrannosaurulmao his tyranny," said McMann.

"If you kill me, you're killing Humanity's only chance of survival," said Grueber plainly. "Please gentlemen, if you'll give me just a few minutes to explain myself, you'll see my only business here is the survival of our species. I act only in the interest of Humanity."

McMann and Asia exchanged looks.

"Talk," said Asia Bones.

"Redmond isn't dead. How's that for starters?"


"That's right. All those years ago, at the battle in your dojo, Redmond wasn't killed. He was sent to another dimension. To train with Deadly Bones. And to help create my Grueber Special Forces, dedicated to the preservation of Mankind. The Redmond, or ‘Deadmond’ you once knew is now Redly Bones, Deadly Bones's greatest pupil and the general of my army."

"I don't believe you!" roared Asia. "Why would Redmond team up with the likes of you!"

"Because," said Grueber, "it turned out, somewhere in the world there was an even bigger asshole than me."

"That's impossible. Who could be a bigger asshole than you?"

Then, Satan burst through the wall.


Part XXII: A Bigger Asshole

"No, who are you talking to? We've never met," said everyone.

"ISN'T DEADLY BONES HERE?" demanded Satan who canonically speaks in all-caps.

"Sorry Stant, but Deadly Bones has banished himself to another dimension to train and become even more unstoppable than he already is," said Grueber. "You've got no beef with anyone here."

"OH I'VE GOT BEEF ALRIGHT YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES. WHERE IS SKELETON SACRAMENTO? AND WHERE IS MY CHILD?" Satan yelled and stomped around in circles flexing and yelling in a roid rage.

"Be careful Asia, this is who I was talking about," said Grueber.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING IGNORE ME YOU FUCKS DON'T YOU FUCKING IGNORE ME!" screamed Satan, and he screamed like a steroid-banshee and flexed even harder and started shaking in anger.

"Calm down, Satane," said Asia Bones. "I'm sure we can resolve this peacefully."

"He can't be reasoned with—" started Grueber.


"He hates skeletons because he got cucked, but why does he hate fleshies?" asked an Ultra-Skeleton Marine.


"Who the hell is Johnny Thunder?" asked a Skeleton Marine. A regular one not an Ultra one.

Grueber had the answer.

"Johnny Thunder… is—"

BUT JUST THEN another wall was burst through and it was Rasta Rick and the Space Marines! Hooray!

Rick, without hesitation, launched himself at Satan.

"RASTA RIIIIIIIIICK!" ROARED sorry roared Satan, and the two began a fistfight more awesome than whatever that movie is where guys are doing MMA fights in prison and the main guy is a black guy and there's a Russian guy and I think the sequel was about him, you know I'll just Google it later.

Anyway as Rasta Rick and Satan were punching each other, the Marines grabbed Ray like a princess and immediately retreated. There was no time to exchange apologies with the skellies. Not now.

"Good job, men! Asia! I don't know what Grueber's up to, but all of you get out of here!" roared War God McMann and he leaped in to help Rasta Rick.

Grueber nodded at his bodyguards and Asia Bones and ran after the Marines. Surprisingly, Grueber was able to keep up.

"It's crucial that I come with you, Asia Bones. I'll explain more in the next chapter. But Stantan has the means to destroy us all and he WILL unless Ray can awaken the power that lies deep within him!"

"So he really is the Chosen One?" asked Asia.

"No I'm just continuing Deadly Bones's dumb joke sorry lmao. I'll explain everything when we're safely away."

"Santan's just one demon! What threat could he possibly pose against the united forces of Man and Skeletonkind?"

And then, Rasta Rick flew by them and onto the floor. He had been defeated.

Everyone spun around to see Satan flexing and looking smug, with the War God on the ground, battered to hell. He gestured for them to come get some, but Asia had already grabbed Rasta Rick and continued the retreat, pulling the Marines along with him.

"We can't leave McMann behind!" argued Ray, still in the arms of Space Marine #7, who was part of a unit that joined up with the original team. So now there's Space Marines #1 through #10. I forgot which one died already, I think #2. It's not that important.

"He's not alone, Ray," assured Asia.

Ray couldn't look back and see past the broad shoulders of the hunk carrying him, but he heard a familiar voice.

"Not so fast, Sataniel. You're breaking the Law."

Part XXIII: The Wheels of Justice

This is the story of a man who wanted Justice. A passionate soul, a proud soul, a loving, soul, a just soul. A reawakened soul, once again on the path of righteousness instead of the path of a gigantic prick.

Satan turned just in time to dodge a rocket launched from the GAV3L, which we all remember is the rocket launcher of a certain judge of space.

Space Judge stood before him looking majestic in his cloak which used to be black but was now gray, signifying his restored dedication to true, blind Justice.


"No, Saturn," said Space Judge. "It's time for you to meet judgment. BRING YOUR CASE BEFORE ME. ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?"

The hallway of the alieI mean the Skeleton ship warped and changed into a courtroom. The Courtroom of Space, Space Judge’s pocket-dimension where his power was absolute.

"I know why you’re here, Sartan," said Space Judge.


Before he could start his hissy fit, Satan was punched in the fucking face by Space Bailiff, the largest black man to ever exist. He collapsed unto a chair before the podium of Space Judge, and everyone took a seat.

"All rise for the honorable Space Judge," said Space Bailiff immediately.

Everyone rose.

"Please be seated," said Space Judge.

Everyone sat.

"Satan, I know why you’ve returned. I know you’ve spent years lifting weights to face me in court today. YET STILL, you remain an unfit father."

"HOW CAN YOU SAY I'M AN UNFIT FATHER," growleded Satan and he started flexing as hard as he could.

"Please state your name for the record. There's been some confusion about your name."

Satan grinned like a smug asshole. "DIAVOLO," he said proudly.

"You stole that from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure."








"And this wasn't at all inspired by DragonBall Z?"


"Okay, so your name is basically Demon Devil. Seems a little redundant."


"The rapper?"


"Satanbolic let’s just cut to the chase, here. You want custody of the skeleton-child from My Father is a Skeleton."