Date: 2018-06-22 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Humour; Science Fiction; Humor
Description: Genetically Engineered. Physically enhanced. Mentally conditioned. Master Chief Sergeant Major Max Rage was the top dog in an elite fighting force that no one in the galaxy could stop. Until, one day, someone did. The lone survivor, Rage was blamed for the mission failure and court-martialed. With a serious chip on his shoulder, Rage finds himself as a bouncer at the top dive bar in Greenville, South Carolina. And, man, is he bored with his job. At least until he gets a job offer he can't refuse. Now, Rage is headed halfway across the galaxy to the den of corruption known as Horloc Station. Wi
Publisher: SEVERED Press

Max Rage: Intergalactic Badass!

In:

Twelve Punches To Mars!

by

JAKE BIBLE

www.severedpress.com

Copyright 2018 by Jake Bible

One

“Junior! You moron! MOVE!”

Junior did not move.

Rage stood there, fuming, his dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle held in one hand, the butt resting on his hip, as he waited for the idiot to get out of the line of fire.

“I swear to every alien god, you little shit, I’ll fucking shoot you in the ass if you don’t move!” Rage roared.

Max Rage.

Built like someone had carved the man straight from a hunk of granite, Rage stood over six feet tall with muscles upon his muscles. Genetically engineered to be a superior physical specimen over normal space-faring humans, Rage’s physique was barely contained within his black T-shirt and jeans.

If it wasn’t for modern space-age polymers, he would have torn that T-shirt to shreds. Not that replacing it would be a problem. He had plenty in his apartment. An apartment that was situated above Crater Ray’s Hot Spot and Bar Place, the hottest dive bar in all of Greenville, South Carolina. Where Rage worked as a bouncer.

At the moment, he was trying to complete a side gig for his boss, Mascholine, the owner of Crater Ray’s and his casual, more than part-time lover. Completing the side gig would be so much easier if Mascholine’s idiot of a son would just get out of Rage’s way.

“I can’t move, Rage!” Junior cried, his entire body wrapped in tentacles except for his eyes, a tuft of green hair, and one hand that was busy waving frantically at Rage. “This thing has me in its grip! Do something, Rage! That’s what you’re paid for!”

“I’m being paid to clear this nest of diggle squids, so some rich fuck doesn’t have to bother with the approval paperwork to move a protected species!” Rage shouted. “Just bite the damn thing and it’ll let you go!”

Diggle squids. All tentacles, all the time. Nasty bastards. Rage really wanted to shoot the damn thing, but Junior was not making it easy for him.

“We,” a woman’s voice echoed in the comms unit in Rage’s ear. “We are being paid, Rage.”

“To-mato, to-fucking don’t care, Mascholine,” Rage replied. “You just watch the radar so no more of these bastards come for us.”

“Oh, they’re coming, Rage,” Mascholine said. “Which is something I’d like to enjoy later with a bottle of whiskey, so how about we get a move on?”

“Tell your son to stop fucking around,” Rage snapped, so bored with it all.

He’d once been a part of Earth Corp’s elite fighting forces. Heavy-grav combat armor. All the weapons he could want. All the aliens he could kill. It was the life.

Then some bureaucratic jackholes decided that air support was too expensive and let Rage’s entire squad die at the hands, well, claws, of the giant cockroach alien scum race known as the Scritch. Rage, being Rage, killed the Scritch, then took the drop ship back up to the Earth Corp fleet ship Hanskui and murdered the entire command crew. Because the bastards had it coming.

Did he receive a court-martial? You betcha. But, someone pulled strings and Rage was only sentenced to five years of hard labor, which he served without killing too many of the other laborers, then he was set free to become Crater Ray’s bouncer.

It wasn’t a bad gig. Three shots and Mascholine’s twat were all he needed.

After the Great Flattening of 2271, when an alien race that no one could describe suddenly laid waste to every major city on Earth then just as suddenly left without even saying why they came or sorry for the mess, the smaller bergs grew in importance and influence.

Suddenly on the intergalactic radar, Earth was swarmed by curious alien races. Only a couple of races were antagonistic, but the other aliens kept the troublemakers in check. For one reason: Earth had a knack for creating dive bars that both attracted and repulsed their customers. Apparently, dive bars were a uniquely Earth phenomenon. And the aliens loved them!

Now it was 2502 and Greenville had become the Mecca for those humans and aliens that wanted watered-down well drinks, flat beer made from questionable ingredients (urine, mostly urine), and bowls of peanuts from last century (still in their shells). And of the many dive bars that littered the cityscape, Crater Ray’s Hot Spot and Bar Place was the sanitarily challenged hole in the wall that topped them all.

So why was Rage currently clearing a nest of diggle squids from a small island on some backwater planet instead of scanning IDs and taking cover charges from frat boys and six-headed monstrosities?

Mascholine thought it’d be a good idea to branch out and take jobs that put Rage’s combat skills to use. Plus, she loved watching him work. It made her yellow skin glow with desire. And Rage wasn’t going to argue with anything that made Mascholine glow like that. Not to mention it broke up the monotony of scanning IDs and taking cover charges from frat boys and six-headed monstrosities. Even putting an end to the ubiquitous bar fights had become routine.

So, side gig…

And an idiot still in the clutches of a diggle squid.

“Hold still,” Rage said, putting the butt of his dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle to his shoulder. “Don’t fucking move, Junior.”

“You just got done shouting at me to move, Rage!” Junior shrieked. “Make up your muscle-bound mind!”

“My mind doesn’t have muscles, Junior,” Rage said, taking careful aim. “It is muscle!”

“I… I don’t know what that means!” Junior shouted just as Rage squeezed the trigger.

Diggle squid went everywhere.

Junior collapsed to the ground, intact and unharmed, but coated in neon orange diggle squid blood. His terrified eyes blinked up at Rage.

“You’re welcome,” Rage said.

“Got a dozen incoming, Rage,” Mascholine called over the comm. “Right behind you.”

“On my six,” Rage corrected. “When you have something behind you, it’s on your six.”

“I’ll be having you on my six later, tough guy,” Mascholine cooed.

“Ugh! I can hear you, Mom!” Junior complained as he fruitlessly tried to wipe the diggle squid blood from his body. The more he wiped, the more blood seemed to coat him. “Is there more? Why is there more? Where is it coming from?”

“Diggle squid blood pulls the moisture from your body,” Rage said. “You’re gonna be a dry husk in about thirty minutes.”

“What?” Junior screeched. “MOM!”

“Is that true, Rage?” Mascholine asked.

“Nah, I’m fucking with the twerp,” Rage replied. “The blood isn’t increasing, Junior’s just smearing it over his eyes. Idiot.”

“Junior!” Mascholine shouted. “Stop smearing the blood!”

“But it’s icky, Mom!” Junior whined. “Get it off! Get it off!”

“I’ll let you two deal with that. I’ll deal with the reason we’re here,” Rage said.

Rage turned around and closed his left eye, bringing up a targeting vid pushed straight from his rifle’s scope. He zoomed in until he could see the incoming diggle squid posse. So many tentacles.

The targeting protocol in his implant went to work, zeroing in on the weak points of each squid. Rage waited, watching the squid posse get closer and closer.

“Rage? Cutting it a little close there,” Mascholine said. “This rental ship doesn’t have weapons. I can’t cover you from up here.”

“What about me, huh?” Junior screeched.

“You’re already covered,” Rage said. “In diggle squid gunk. Deal, you little shit.”

Rage squeezed the trigger and held it in place as his rifle powered up and opened fire on the diggle squid posse. Neon orange blood exploded everywhere. Like water balloons popping mid-air, the squids’ bodies burst wide, coating the surroundings for meters.

The wind shifted and Rage caught a couple of droplets across his cheek. He let go of the trigger, lowered the rifle, and wiped the droplets away. He slowly walked over to the deflated corpses and nudged one with his toe.

“Calamari, anyone?” Rage asked. He put the barrel of the rifle to a still-squirming squid and fired. It shuddered and went still. “It’s already fried.”

“No time for puns, Rage,” Mascholine said. “We have six more nests to hit. We need to hurry before the planet’s authorities arrive.”

“I thought the client bribed them,” Rage said.

“The client did,” Mascholine said. “You ever know someone that can be bribed not wanting more?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Rage replied. He walked over to Junior and grabbed the guy by his orange-colored shoulder. “Come on, bait. We got work to do.”

“What? Mom!” Junior cried

“Oh, shut up and go with Rage, boy. We all have our parts to play in this job,” Mascholine replied.

“And your part is idiot,” Rage said to Junior. “How’s it feel to be typecast?”

“Mom! You always let him call me an idiot!” Junior complained.

“Stop being one and I’ll stop letting Rage call you one,” Mascholine replied.

The comms channel switched to private and Rage groaned.

“What?” he asked.

“Maybe lay off the kid for the rest of the job?” Mascholine suggested. “He is still my son.”

“Idiot son,” Rage said.

“Still…”

Rage growled then nodded. “Fine. But no promises if he does something really stupid.”

“Uh, Rage?” Junior said.

Rage turned to look at Junior and sighed. Junior was up to his neck in swamp water with several floppy black fins circling him.

“Like right now,” Rage said. “Son of a bitch…”

Two

“What the hell happened to my bar?” Mascholine shouted as she, Rage, and Junior walked into Crater Ray’s. “Grup! What did you do?”

“Oh, hey there, guys,” Grup replied from on top of the bar.

Where he was tied into about a dozen knots.

Grup was a Clickelack, a race of stick-like aliens from halfway across the galaxy. They found Earth back in 2353 and took such a liking that they systematically moved half their species to the planet within a century, making Clickelacks close to humans in population.

Purple with five arms and three legs. That was Grup.

“Could I get a little help?” Grup asked, his eyes blinking with panic and pain. “I think the circulation is gone in my fourth arm. I hope it doesn’t fall off.”

“I’m going to have Rage rip it off if you don’t tell me what happened,” Mascholine snarled.

She stood in the center of her bar, turning in a slow circle, her eyes taking in the destruction. The booths were scorched and melted piles of vinyl and steel. Every table and every chair, including the bar stools, were nothing but splinters. The dance floor was carved up like a gigantic cat had sharpened its claws right there. The stage where some of the best worst bands in the country played was nothing but debris.

“No, really, guys, I can’t feel my fourth arm. Or my second arm,” Grup whined. “Or my third leg.”

Rage took a deep breath in through his nose and grimaced.

“I smell douchebags,” Rage said. “You catch that?”

“No,” Mascholine said. “All I smell is a huge repair bill.”

“That’s not douchebags, Rage,” Junior said. He’d already climbed into his usual corner booth and was slumped low so only the top of his head and his eyes could be seen. Somehow, that booth was almost unharmed. “That’s Wirez body spray.”

“Exactly,” Rage said “Douchebags.”

Rage crossed to Grup, lifted the knotted alien up off the bar, sorted out his many limbs, then let him fall into a puddle of what was obviously vomit. Human vomit, by the look. Being a professional bouncer, Rage knew his vomits.

“Talk, Grup,” Rage said. He rounded the end of the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, pouring hefty shots into two tumblers. He held one out and Mascholine grabbed it without taking her eyes off the destruction. “Grup? Five seconds to spill or I throw you across Highway 25.”

“Come on, Rage, we’re pals,” Grup said, getting up onto his three shaky legs. He was coated in vomit and one arm hung limp at his side, a very wrong color of purple. A color that did not match Grup’s normal purple hue. “Look at me, man. I’m the injured one here. Last time you threw me across the highway, I was stuck in one of the trash dumpsters behind Joan’s Carpet Haven and Taxidermy Spa for like a week.”

“It was only three days,” Rage said.

“No, that was the time before that,” Grup said. “Last time was a week because of the long holiday and Joan was gone on vacation to visit her brother in—”

Grup’s voice was cut off as Mascholine whirled around and grabbed him by the neck, lifting the alien up off his feet. She pulled him in close, turned her head from the smell, then extended him at arm’s length.

“Talk. Now,” she snapped.

Rage downed his whiskey and poured more, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Best do what the woman says, Grup,” Rage said. “She left you in charge to watch over the place.”

Grup gasped and coughed.

“Mascholine?” Rage said. “Hard to understand him when you’re choking the shit out of the guy.”

Mascholine let the alien drop back into the vomit. She skirted the puddle and hopped up onto the bar, grabbing the bottle of whiskey as she crossed her legs and glared down at Grup.

“Junior,” she said without taking her eyes off the alien. “Get the bot and start cleaning up.”

“Me? Have Rage do it,” Junior complained. “He’s the hired help.”

“I may need Rage to tear this fucking Clickelack limb from limb,” Mascholine replied. “So get the bot and start cleaning up.”

A sad beeping and booping came from the back of the bar.

“Is that the bot?” Mascholine asked.

“Yes…?” Grup replied. He scooted across the floor, putting as much space between himself and Mascholine as possible.

“Bot!” Mascholine called then let out a loud whistle. More beeping and booping, but the bot didn’t appear. “Where is it?”

“In a bucket,” Grup said. “Well, three buckets. They broke him when he tried to help me. It was really sad, guys. Like really sad. He cried as they tore him up into little bot parts.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rage said. He downed a shot then gave Mascholine’s hip a squeeze. “I’ll go check on him while you get the story out of Grup.”

Rage walked off into the back of the bar, shoving open a door into a hallway that was for employees only. There, sitting in three buckets, were the remains of Crater Ray’s bot that was used for everything from maintenance to fry cook. The only identifiable piece of the bot was its head which was missing one eye while the other sparked and rolled over and over and over in its head.

“Damn,” Rage said. “They fucked you up, boy.”

The bot let out a sad little trill of a beep.

“I hear ya, pal,” Rage said. He grabbed up the buckets and hauled them back out into the main room of the bar. “Add this to the repair cost.”

Rage set the buckets on the bar then noticed that Grup was no longer in the bar.

“Where’s stickman?” Rage asked.

“Tossed him across the highway,” Mascholine said.

“You did? Didn’t think you had the strength to do that,” Rage said.

“I didn’t throw him far. He slammed into a hover car in the fourth lane,” Mascholine said.

“He still out there?”

“Yep.”

Rage shrugged. “Street cleaner will suck him up in the morning. He tell you what happened?”

“Frat boys,” Mascholine said.

“Of course.”

“Came in here last night drunk and kept drinking.”

“Sounds like frat boys. Human?”

“Yeah. They were looking for someone, but were so drunk they couldn’t tell Grup the guy’s name. They destroyed the place when Grup wouldn’t tell them if the guy was here or not.”

“Even though they weren’t able to give him a name. That’s so frat boy.” Rage grimaced. “So, why’d you toss Grup across the highway? Or try to, at least.”

“Because he served the fuckers,” Mascholine snapped. “You don’t serve drunk frat boys, you bounce them.”

“But the bouncer wasn’t on duty!” Junior yelled from his booth. A phone rang. “Gotta take this.”

“What you gotta do is clean this mess up,” Mascholine shouted. Junior held up a finger with one hand and pressed a finger to his ear with the other. “Little shit…”

“I’ll call bot repair then get started on the mess,” Rage said.

“You will?” Mascholine responded. “That’s uncharacteristically nice.”

“Oh, there’s a price,” Rage said with a smile.

“What’s the price?”

“You know that thing you won’t do except for holidays?”

“That’s the price?”

“That’s the price. Every night for a week.”

“Done.”

Rage frowned. “That was too easy.”

“I like doing that thing. I only make you wait for holidays because it’s fun to watch your face when I tell you it’s gonna happen.”

“We could be doing that every night? Damn…”

“Get to cleaning and I’ll go take a shower and a nap,” Mascholine said. “How long will you be?”

“Four or five hours,” Rage said.

“Perfect. Gotta rest up. And stretch. A lot of stretching.”

Mascholine leaned across the bar and grabbed Rage by the back of the head. She kissed him hard then pulled back and took a deep breath.

“Yeah. Gonna fuck this mess right out of my mind tonight,” she said and started to leave.

“Hey, Mom!” Junior called.

“Yes, my little buzzkill?” Mascholine replied.

“Guess who that was?”

“I don’t want to guess, Junior. Just fucking tell me.”

“Jeff! You know, from college?”

“No. I don’t remember a Jeff,” Mascholine said. “Can this wait, Junior?”

“Oh, you remember him,” Junior continued. “We were in our fraternity’s a cappella mime troupe together.”

“Did he say a cappella mime troupe?” Rage asked.

“Don’t think about it. You’ll only hurt yourself,” Mascholine said.

“He and the other guys are in town and they were looking for me last night,” Junior said. “What a coincidence, right?”

Rage looked at Mascholine. Mascholine looked at Rage. They both looked at the destroyed bar.

“Where would these old pals of yours be now?” Rage asked.

“They’re totally on their way here again,” Junior said. “Small world, right?”

“It’s about to get smaller,” Rage said as he cracked his knuckles.

Three

“Holy Terbelian slime! It really is the Killer of Kascor 9!”

“Dude! DUDE! Look at the guy!”

“How many aliens have you killed? Like a hundred?”

“Bruh, he’s killed like tens of thousands! There were like, six hundred thousand corpses left on Kascor 9 alone!”

“And he’s the Butcher of Bumbletown!”

“Slaughterer of Sojax too, bruh!”

“Bruh… So fucking cool…”

“We need shots!”

“Shots!”

“Shots! Shots! Shots!”

“I’m gonna shoot your fucking faces off if you goddamn douchebruhs don’t shut the fuck up,” Rage said.

He pulled two sawed-off, double-barreled shotguns out from behind the bar. He aimed them in the general direction of the eleven idiots that stood across the bar from him. General direction was all he needed.

“Now, which of you fucks is gonna pay for this damage?” Rage asked, moving the shotguns back and forth from one douchebruh to the other. “Or is this a process of elimination situation where last fuckhead left alive foots the bill?”

“Whoa… He is totally insane like you said, Junior,” one of the douchebruhs said. The guy puffed out his chest. “Those things even loaded, bruh?”

“Rage…” Mascholine warned just as Rage was about to squeeze the trigger.

“Seriously?” Rage snapped, glancing at her. “All I need to do is call a couple Tamblerands to take care of these little bitches and no one will know.”

“We’d know,” Mascholine said.

She pointed at one of the douchebruhs then paused and pointed at a different one. Mascholine hesitated then went back to the first one she’d pointed at. They were so fucking hard to tell apart. All were dressed in khaki shorts (with crisp pleats down the front), bright pink or blue or yellow or green button-up short-sleeved shirts, and boat shoes (no socks, thank you very much). Some wore sunglasses on top of their perfectly quaffed hair.

“That one’s mother is an Earth senator. That one there… No, wait, there, his father is the owner of the largest beer distributor in our solar system. That guy there is the heir to a karaoke fortune. And that one’s step-father is a talk show host.”

“Good Morning, Jupiter!” the douchebruh crowed cheerfully. “It’s syndicated in seven galaxies.”

“Good Morning, Jupiter, huh?” Rage asked.

“Yeah, bruh,” the douchebruh replied. “I can totally get you tix if you want to see the show live.”

“Totally worth it,” another douchebruh said.

“For sure,” a third agreed. “Best swag bags in the galaxy.”

“No way, bruh,” a fourth piped up. “Nicky Dong’s Murder Party and Boat Cavalcade is the best.”

“Oooo, he’s got ya there, bruh,” a fifth agreed.

The rest nodded their heads.

“I don’t know about that, bruh,” the one with the step-father host responded. “Nicky Dong has gotten so clichéd. I mean, yeah, the boats are great, but the murders have gotten stale.”

“So have your step-dad’s guests, bruh,” the fifth douchebruh replied.

“I’m not talking about the shows, dillnerds,” the fourth said. “I’m talking about the swag bags.”

“Whoa!’

“Hold on there, bruh!”

“Who you calling a dillnerd?”

“Over the line, bruh.”

“Yeah, bruh.”

“Totally, bruh.”

“Hold up, bruhs. Bruh is right,” step-dad douchebruh said. “Not cool calling us dillnerds, but I get what he’s saying. Yeah, the swag bags are better with Nicky Dong. I told my step-dad last month and he agreed. Sure, the guy slapped me until I was unconscious first, but he agreed when I woke up. And gave me a new hover car so I wouldn’t tell my mom.”

“Stop talking,” Rage muttered.

“Junior! Bruh! We should totally all stay over tonight!” a sixth douchebruh said. “We could turn it into a cleaning party!”

“Yeah! With strippers!” a seventh said.

“I mean it,” Rage said quietly. “Stop.”

“Alien strippers so we don’t know what’s under the clothes when they take them off!” an eighth added.

“Bruh, they wouldn’t be stripping while cleaning,” a ninth said. “They’d be naked the whole time. No surprise there.”

“I got a hookup,” a tenth said. “I can get them wholesale. And there’s no deposit if any of them die, which they will.”

“Oh, for sure, some will die,” sixth said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rage snarled, his teeth gritted.

“Strippers always be dying, bruh,” fifth said.

“Yeah, so if any die, then we don’t have to pay for them,” tenth continued.

“All of you shut up!” Rage shouted then fired twice up into the air.

A good-sized chunk of ceiling fell on his head.

The douchebruhs burst out laughing, all talking over each other, as they pointed and hopped from foot to foot like they all had to pee.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” Rage said.

“How about you and I head upstairs to your apartment and let the boys start cleaning on their own?” Mascholine suggested.

Rage was shaking with pure…rage.

“How about I kill them all like I want to do?” Rage replied.

“Calm down, Rage,” Junior scoffed. “We’ll clean it all up. Right, bruhs?”

“Can we have strippers?”

“Will there be pancakes in the morning?”

“I want whipped cream!”

“On the strippers or the pancakes?”

“Strippers, bruh. I don’t eat pancakes. Waffle guy here.”

“Can they stay over, Mom?” Junior asked. “Can they? Huh?”

“If all this shit is cleaned up by the morning and your friends pay for any leftover damage,” Mascholine said.

“Yes!” Junior said and pumped a fist in the air. “You get to stay over, bruhs! And we get to have strippers clean up for us!”

“I’m not paying for the strippers,” Mascholine said.

“No way we’d let you, Mrs. Junior,” first douchebruh said. “That’s not classy.”

“I appreciate that,” Mascholine said, tugging at Rage’s arm. She couldn’t budge him even a millimeter. “Rage? Coming?”

“No,” Rage said.

“You will be in a few minutes if you go upstairs with me,” Mascholine said.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOO!” all the douchebruhs called in unison.

Except Junior. He frowned and lowered the fist he still had raised.

“Rage is gonna get laid!’

“Getting him some of that fine MILF ass!”

“Yellow tail, am I right?”

“Because she’s yellow!”

“Totally, bruh!”

“Not cool, bruhs,” Junior said.

“Jesus Christ,” Rage growled. “Mascholine? You’re gonna leave these idiots down here unsupervised?”

“Not like they can break the place any more than they already have,” Mascholine replied as the douchebruhs continued to comment on Rage and Mascholine’s sex life. “Speaking of…”

Mascholine picked up one of the buckets containing the bot.

“Bot repair should be here any minute,” Mascholine said. “You are paying for it. Understood?”

“You’re repairing that thing?”

“Why not buy a new one?”

“Yeah, my uncle can get you a sweet deal, Mrs. Junior.”

“That bot was older than my grandma and she was here during the Long Flight of the Sky Crabs.”

“Bruh! I watched a doc on that last week!”

“Sky crabs, bruh. They give me the heebies.”

“And the jeebies, bruh.”

“Totally the jeebies too, bruh.”

“I could shoot them all and we could just burn the place to the ground,” Rage suggested.

“No, Rage,” Mascholine said.

“Hey, where’s the Clickelack dude?” the fifth douchebruh asked. “That guy was awesome! He totally knew how to party!”

“Yeah! Where is that purple bruh, bruh?”

“We didn’t kill him, did we?”

“Bruh, that’d be like the third Clickelack we killed this month if that’s true.”

“Bummer, bruh.”

“Clickelacks are supposed to be more resilient, bruh.”

Mascholine pulled Rage to the stairwell and dragged him up to the apartment as the douchebruhs continued to go on about their unfortunate Clickelack homicides.

“I really think we should kill them all,” Rage insisted as they reached his apartment door. “I’m telling you, Mascholine, I know some very efficient Tamblerands.”

“No flesh-eating beetles, Rage,” Mascholine said. “The only flesh getting eaten is between my legs by you. Right fucking now.”

Mascholine kicked open Rage’s door. He picked her up, carried her inside, and tossed her onto the bed, slamming the door shut behind them and blocking out the faint sounds of douchebruh babble from below.

Four

The sweat was dripping off of Mascholine’s body as she stretched and stood up, heading to the small kitchenette area of Rage’s studio apartment. Her very firm ass swung back and forth playfully as Rage lay upon his bed and watched her walk away.

“You watching closely?” Mascholine asked as she reached the fridge, opened the door, and bent over.

“You know I can’t take my eyes off that,” Rage said with a laugh.

There was a crash from below and he growled.

“And I had taken my mind off that shit down there, but now I think I should go check on the little shits,” Rage said.

He started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but Mascholine turned and cocked a hip. She held a can of beer in one hand and rubbed the cold can against her breasts.

“Or I can check on them later,” Rage said and lay back down. “Get over here.”

Mascholine strutted her way back to the bed, placing the cold can in and on various places of her body as she put one foot slowly in front of the other, drawing out the antici—

“Hey, Mom!” Junior yelled from the other side of Rage’s door. “Can I go to Mars with the guys?”

Rage rolled his eyes then looked at his crotch. The deflation was instant and immediate.

“No, you don’t,” Mascholine whispered as she threw the beer to Rage. “You keep him happy and ready.” She threw on a short robe and walked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Mascholine yanked open the apartment door as Rage popped open the can of beer. She closed the door behind her and Rage didn’t bother trying to eavesdrop even though he could have ratcheted up his genetically superior hearing and listened to every word they said. He finished the beer, belched, crushed the can into a flat disc with one hand, tossed the disc across the room, then stood up to go get more beer.

The apartment door opened as Rage finished another beer and was grabbing a third out of the fridge.

“Shower,” Mascholine said and dropped her robe as she walked to the small bathroom. “Now.”

Rage brought the beer with him. Mascholine already had the water running hot and the bathroom was steaming up by the time Rage hopped in the shower with her. He opened the beer and gave it to Mascholine. She downed it in three gulps then got to her knees and gulped something else.

When she was finished, Rage switched positions and went to work until Mascholine was screaming and pounding her fists against the shower walls.

She yanked him up onto his feet and he in turn lifted her into the air. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they went at it for a good thirty minutes until a few of the shower tiles began to crack and fall onto the drain.

Then they actually showered, got out, struggled to dry off in the cramped space, and went back into the kitchenette for more beers.

“So,” Mascholine said. “You’re probably wondering about Junior going to Mars.”

“Nope,” Rage said, leaning against the counter, his eyes locked onto Mascholine’s glowing yellow skin.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he blinked, smiled, then looked her in the eyes.

“You should be wondering,” Mascholine said. “Because you’re going with them.”

Rage froze, the beer can that was about to meet his lips stopping midair. Beer dribbled from the can’s mouth until Mascholine reached out and took it from Rage’s hand.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Mascholine said. “It’s a paying gig.”

“No way,” Rage said. “There is nothing you can do or say to get me to agree to this. No fucking way.”

“Nothing I can do?” Mascholine said, a sly smile on her lips.

“Nothing,” Rage said. “Not even sex stuff.”

“You know, Rage, I am your boss,” Mascholine said. “I could fire you if you don’t do this.”

“And I’d sue your ass,” Rage said.

Mascholine laughed. Hard.

“Shut up,” Rage said and held out a hand. “Give me another beer.”

Mascholine managed to grab him another beer and hand it to him without dropping it, despite her continued laughter.

“You can stop now,” Rage said. “Seriously.”

“You’re unemployable, Rage,” Mascholine said once she’d calmed down. “Earth Corp has made you persona non grata. And the Greenville PD has put out the word that you aren’t to be hired by anyone within a thirty-thousand-mile radius because of that crap with Lisha Peem.”

“Greenville PD and Earth Corp just want me to do their dirty work for them when they come knocking at the door,” Rage said. “There are plenty of dive bars in town that’d hire me in a second.”

“Nope,” Mascholine said with perfect confidence.

“Uh, yep,” Rage insisted.

“Nope,” Mascholine said. “Anyone else hires you and they lose their dive bar license. Greenville City Council passed a resolution last month.”

“They what? Like fuck they did.”

“It’s true. They were going to run you out of town, but I convinced them to let you stay as long as I kept tabs on you.”

“Why the fuck did they want to run me out of town?”

“You keep breaking billboards when you throw patrons out the front door. It’s getting expensive to repair.”

“Then they need to make stronger billboards.”

“Or you can throw a little softer.”

“What’s the fucking point in that? No one learns a lesson that way.”

“Your job isn’t to teach lessons, your job is… Doesn’t matter. You’re taking Junior and his fraternity brothers to Mars. End of story.”

“Not end of story. Mars? The entire planet is one big Scorching Dude festival. That’s all that’s left of the colonies. There is no way I’m going to Mars with a bunch of douchebruhs just to watch them get more fucked up than they are now. They can stay on Earth and be drunken idiots.”

“It’s not Scorching Dude they’re going for. Well, yeah, it is, but it’s a sub-festival of Scorching Dude.”

“Sub-festival? What is a sub-festival? They have those?”

“They do. This one is the Intergalactic A Cappella Mime Troupe Festival. Junior and those guys were Earth champions three years running. They put all the other frats to shame. They’re kind of a legend at Omicron Omicron Omicron. Apparently, the fraternity is renting an entire section of the boulevard for current and former members. They want to represent this year hard.”

Rage’s jaw dropped. Mascholine had to reach out and shut it for him before drool spilled out over his lower lip.

He cleared his throat, shook his head to get his mind right, then asked, “I’m sorry… But, a cappella mime troupes are real? That’s a real thing? An a cappella mime troupe??”

“Yes.”

“A cappella?”

“Yes.”

“Mime troupe?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes, Rage. A cappella mime troupe. They’re a huge deal. How do you not know this?”

“Because I don’t have my head jammed up my ass. What do you mean how can I not know this? How would I know this? I’m the guy that’s wiped out entire alien races. Why would I possibly be interested in the goings on of frats? Let alone one called Omicron Omicron Omicron. And mimes are fucking silent! How can they be a cappella too?”

“A cappella means without accompaniment. They don’t use a soundtrack like other mime troupes do when interpreting songs.”

Rage’s jaw began to open again, but Mascholine got to it in time and closed it before it could fully drop.

“You’re fucking with me,” Rage said. “You’re all fucking with me.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“Nope.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

“Sounds like they leave in two days,” Mascholine said.

“You’re coming with, right?” Rage asked.

“Can’t. Gotta run the bar. Can’t leave Grup in charge ever again.”

“But why me? Why? What’d I do to deserve this?”

“You gained my trust. And as much of a pain in the ass Junior is, he’s my only child, Rage. I need him safe.”

“But you’re talking about a fraternity a cappella mime troupe! What danger can he possibly be in?”

“There have been two thousand, six hundred, and fifty-three murders over a cappella mime troupe competitions in the last decade alone.”

“Uh… That’s a lot,” Rage said, stunned. “I mean, a lot lot.”

“The competitive a cappella mime troupe scene is not for the weak of heart or body,” Mascholine said. “I was glad when Junior was finally out. That’s why I need you to go with him.”

“Fuck me…”

“And the families of the other members of the troupe are paying three hundred thousand apiece.”

That perked Rage up.

“I thought that might get your attention,” Mascholine said.

“That’s years’ worth of side gigs,” Rage said.

“Exactly.”

“I do this and we don’t have to do any more jobs for a while,” Rage said and glanced at the bed. “We could stay right here for a year, at least.”

“At least.”

“You’d still have the bar to run and I’d be at the door bouncing…”

“After we take a long, relaxing vacation. With the bar closed the whole time. No worries about Grup fucking things up…”

Rage caught the tone in here voice.

“What?” Rage asked. “There’s a shoe about to drop. Drop it.”

“The douchebruhs really like Grup,” Mascholine said.

“They can fucking have him,” Rage replied.

“They think he’d make a great mascot.”

“I don’t know about great, but mascot is all that Clickelack is qualified for.”

Rage paused.

“Wait… Mascot for what?”

“For their a cappella mime troupe…”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes, Rage. Yes.”

“Son of a fucking bitch…”

Five

“Hey, Rage, guess what I just found out?” Grup asked. He plopped into the seat next to Rage as the shuttle prepared for take-off to Mars. “Can you guess?”

“Find another seat,” Rage snarled. He rubbed his temples. The constant throbbing beat of the EDM playing from the shuttle’s speakers was killing him. “I mean it, Grup. Move.”

“There are no other seats. Not even up front with the guys. Hey, why aren’t we flying first class with them?”

“Because we can’t afford it.”

“But the guys are all up in first class.”

“They can afford it.”

“Junior is up there.”

“The douchebruhs bought his ticket ahead of time.”

“But I know a guy that—”

“Because it was booked and Mascholine would have had to mortgage Crater Rays’ to afford scalped shuttle tix,” Rage snapped.

“Oh, no, that’d be bad,” Grup said. He struggled to get his safety harness buckled. “I hate these things. They are the WORST!”

Rage reached across and snapped the buckles closed then cinched the harness to internal organ crushing tightness before Grup could finish his sentence.

“Thanks…” Grup gasped.

“Oh, sir, that is way too tight,” a flight attendant said, approaching Grup with a smile on their face. “Here, let me help you with that.”

The flight attendant, a generic beigey-purpley, androgynous, humanoid being that was impossible to describe (except for the beigey-purpley part), reached down and loosened the harness.

“Thank you,” Grup gasped.

“Sir? Could you put your harness on, please?” the attendant asked Rage.

Rage slowly swiveled his head and glared at the attendant. The being gulped and gave Rage a broad, terrified smile.

“Never mind. Enjoy your flight.”

The attendant hurried off, pretending someone was calling for them.

“Don’t you have to get special permission to leave Earth?” Grup asked.

The two Snorpas—one of the hairiest alien races to take up on Earth; seven feet tall with razor-sharp cat claws—sat across the aisle from Rage and Grup. They swiveled their heads to stare at Rage.

“What?” Rage snapped. “You got a question on those hairy-ass lips.”

“Asses don’t have lips, man,” Grup said and chuckled. “Ass lips.”

The Snorpas growled then returned their attention to the hologram movie playing on the backs of the seats in front of them.

“But don’t you have—” Grup began.

“No,” Rage said. “How could I do the side gigs with Mascholine if I needed permission to leave Earth?”

“Oh, right,” Grup said. “That must be why Greenville PD is on the shuttle too. They let you leave, but keep tabs on you.”

“What?” Rage asked and glared at Grup. “What are you babbling about?”

“Huh?”

“You said Greenville PD is on this shuttle.”

“Yeah.”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“Who is it? Where are they?”

“Right here, Rage,” a voice said from the aisle as Detective Labous approached Rage and Grup’s seats. “What a coincidence.”

The detective was tall, fat, and had a head like a sideways watermelon with ears stuck on it. His suit was bright pink with blue piping. The man made a point of sweeping his suit jacket back so everyone could see his badge and his gun.

“Jesus Christ,” Rage said with an agonized sigh. “What the fuck are you doing here, Labous?”

“Can’t a man take a vacation to Mars without being questioned?” Detective Labous responded.

“No,” Rage said. “You’re not the Scorching Dude type. And I highly doubt you like a cappella mime troupes.”

“Because no one likes a cappella mime troupes, right, Rage?” Grup asked. “Right?”

“Right…” Rage rubbed his temples again. “Can someone turn that goddamn electronic bullshit for music off!”

There were several hisses, a few verbal jabs, and a shit-ton of boos directed Rage’s way.

“Making friends like always, I see,” Detective Labous said.

“What do you want?” Rage snarled. “And don’t feed me no vacation bullshit.”

“Earth Corp is not thrilled with you going to Mars,” Detective Labous said. “They don’t want you anywhere near Scorching Dude. The event is too lucrative to risk having Max Rage screw it up.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” Rage said. “You want to take my place and watch the douchebruhs for me?”

“Then there’s that,” Detective Labous said. “Some of those young men have very influential families. While the idea of the Sol System Slasher protecting their precious heirs sounds good in a novelty way, but the reality is you get people killed, Rage.”

“Sol System Slasher? What the fuck name is that?” Rage asked. “Do people think I’m a fucking serial killer now?”

“Oh, cereal sounds great!” Grup said and raised three of his five hands. “Excuse me? Attendant? Can I get some cereal?”

Rage punched Grup across the jaw and the alien’s face nearly imploded then popped back into place.

“Nebber mine,” Grup said, waving off the approaching attendant. “Gubbe be har tuh chuh fo uh bid.”

“Earth Corp sent your favorite detectives to watch you and I figured I’d tag along to keep an eye on all three of you since I don’t trust them not screwing this up and getting themselves killed in some orgy tent on Mars,” Detective Labous said.

“My favorite detectives…? Goddamnit,” Rage said and pushed up in his seat so he could look at the rows behind his.

About six rows back were possibly the most generic human beings nature could provide. Bland tan skin with bland brown eyes and bland brown hair. They stared at Rage with bland expressions. They were so bland they made the androgynous attendant look like a neon sign filled with angry bees and fireworks.

“Fuck me,” Rage said. “I used to destroy planets and crush empires. With my fists. Now I have to deal with this shit? Someone shoot me. And fuck this music!”

Rage punched the speaker above his seat and sparks rained down upon him. A hundred micro-bots appeared out of nowhere and repaired the speaker before he was back sitting in his seat. Rage closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

“Sir! Please don’t punch things!” the attendant called out from down the aisle.

Rage lifted a hand and raised his middle finger.

“You wish, muscle boy!” someone shouted. The shuttle passengers all laughed.

“Seriously, though, Rage,” Detective Labous said. “We should chat when we land.”

“You’re still here?” Rage asked without opening his eyes.

“I’m not kidding, Rage,” Detective Labous said and leaned across Grup to get in close to Rage. “These competitions can be deadly. Nearly a third of the troupes are murdered before they can even perform in the first round.”

That got Rage to open his eyes. He furrowed his brow and squinted at Detective Labous.

“Are you fucking with me?” Rage asked. “Why do you know that people get murdered over an a cappella competition?”

“A cappella mime troupe competition,” Detective Labous said. “And I, uh, did some research. Maybe you should have too.”

Detective Labous patted Rage on the shoulder, turned, and left.

“Should have what? Research? What are you talking about?” Labous was gone. “I didn’t agree to take this job,” Rage called after him. “I was told to take… Oh, fucking never mind.”

“You never guessed what I found out, Rage?” Grup said, his jaw back in line with the rest of his face.

“No, Grup,” Rage replied. He brought up the hologram interface on the back of the seat in front of him.

“Thank you for your interest in Earth Corp Interactive,” a mechanical voice chimed. “Please note that there will be a small service charge of five hundred intergalactic credits per minute of use. You are welcome.”

Rage closed the interface without punching it, which he thought of as quite the achievement in self-restraint.

“Don’t you want to know what—?”

“No, Grup, I don’t,” Rage interrupted.

“But—”

“No.”

“But I know the name—”

“No!”

“Punching Air,” Grup said quickly.

Rage turned and glared. “What?”

“Punching Air. That’s the guys’ a cappella mime troupe name. Punching Air.”

“Dear God…”

“You know, the guys have free interface access up in first class,” Grup said. “Maybe you should go up there and do some research after the shuttle takes off.”

“Maybe I should do that right now,” Rage said and stood up.

“Sir? Sir! Please remain seated!” the attendant shouted. “We are about to lift off! Anyone not secured by their harness could receive serious bodily injury!”

“I orbit jumped into the Xermilion Ocean with only a pair of swimming trunks and a knife carved from a Donkerpils’ thigh bone! I think I’ll be fine,” Rage said.

“Sir, I will not ask you again,” the attendant said, a smile spreading across his beigey-purpley face.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Rage asked. “Stop grinning like—SON OF A BITCH!”

Two hundred micro-bots leapt onto Rage and shocked him until he collapsed into his seat. The attendant arrived a second later and buckled Rage into his safety harness.

“Safety first, asshole,” the attendant said then walked away.

Rage twitched. Grup grimaced.

“Uh, Rage I think you peed yourself,” Grup said.

“Fuck… Off…”

Six

After the shuttle had lifted off, and Rage had regained motor control again, he stood up on shaky legs and made his way up to first class.

“May I help you, sir?” a Milgo asked as it stood in front of the bulkhead separating first class from the plebes.

Milgos were humanoid aliens with rocky skin and lava eyes. Large and intimidating, most folks wouldn’t even approach them, let alone try to step past them. Rage attempted both, but the Milgo placed a craggy hand on Rage’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“I asked if I could help you, sir,” the Milgo said.

“No,” Rage said and grabbed the Milgo’s wrist, bending the hand back until the being was down on his rocky knees. “Just going to see a friend.”

“Sir! Do not make me sic the bots on you again!” the attendant shouted as they handed out a single peanut and drinks the size of thimbles to each passenger. “Sir!”

Rage let go of the Milgo and the alien was up and in Rage’s face in the blink of an eye.

“I can have you ejected from this shuttle for that,” the Milgo said.

“I need to talk to someone in first class,” Rage said. “His name is Junior. He’s with the a cappella mime troupe.” Rage shuddered after uttering the words.

“You are going to have to narrow it down, sir,” the Milgo said. “There are several a cappella mime troupes in first class. Do you know the name of the troupe?”

Rage took a deep breath. “Punching Air.”

“Oh, of course,” the Milgo said. “A fine troupe.”

Rage and the alien stood there facing off for several awkward, silent seconds.

“Yeah, so I need to go talk to Junior,” Rage said.

“Do you have an invitation?” the Milgo asked.

“An invitation? No, I don’t have a fucking invitation,” Rage snarled.

“Hey! Watch the language!” a passenger snapped. “There’s a child present!”

Rage turned and looked down at the passenger and the child seated next to him. Rage had no idea what alien race they were. But they had a lot of teeth. Too many teeth. Teeth sprouting from places where teeth shouldn’t sprout.

“If you think me saying fuck is gonna be what harms that kid’s future, then it’s nothing but downhill from here on out, pal,” Rage said and returned his attention to the Milgo.

“Invitation,” the Milgo said.

Rage rolled his eyes and pressed a finger to his ear.

“Thank you for engaging the Earth Corp Intercomms system,” a voice chirped in his ear. “Please note there will be a charge of three hundred intergalactic credits per minute of use. Enjoy your flight!”

Rage growled the entire time it took the system to connect him to Junior.

“Rage! What’s up, bruh?” Junior shouted, obviously intoxicated. “You having fun back there with the boring people?”

“I need to use your hologram interface,” Rage said. “Invite me into first class.”

“No can do, Rage,” Junior replied then laughed hysterically. “Oh, damn! It came out of both nostrils!”

“Junior!” Rage roared. The Milgo cocked his head. Rage took a slow breath. “Junior. Invite me in.”

“Like I said, Rage, no can do,” Junior replied. “We’re having a great time up here and getting psyched for the competition. You’d only bring the vibe down. Sorry not sorry.”

The comms went dead, then, “Thank you for using Earth Corps Intercomms system. You have been charged three thousand intergalactic credits for that call.”

“What? That was barely a minute!” Rage snapped.

“Please note that all charges must be settled before you are allowed to disembark from the shuttle,” the voice continued. “Credit will not be extended and debtors will be expected to work off all charges not settled. Would you care for a list of approved tasks that may be performed to pay off your Earth Corp Intercomms debt in the event you cannot pay promptly?”

“No,” Rage said.

“Excellent. The list includes, but is not limited to, the cleaning and sanitizing of first-class pimple removal receptacles; lavatory tongue baths; pus identification; emptying of flatulence traps; and so many more! Please return to your seat and engage the Earth Corp Interface to choose your task or to pay your debt in full. Thank you!”

“Not getting that invitation, are you, sir?” the Milgo asked, grinning.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Rage said.

“Then perhaps it would be wise to return to your seat, sir,” the Milgo suggested. “I would hate for you to incur any loitering charges.”

“Loitering charges? How the hell can I be loitering on a goddamn fucking shuttle?” Rage shouted.

“Sir!” the attendant cried. “I will not warn you again!”

“About what?” Rage yelled as he spun about and aimed a muscular finger at the attendant. “Huh? What are you not going to warn me about again?”

Four hundred micro-bots fell from the shuttle’s ceiling and covered Rage from head to toe.

When Rage came to, he was strapped, chained, bolted, and shackled to his seat. Grup was smiling at him.

“We’re about to land,” Grup said. “You probably want to take care of that.”

Grup pointed at the spinning, flashing, bright red hologram coming from the back of the seat in front of Rage. The words “seventeen thousand, two hundred, and four intergalactic credits owed,” plus buttons asking if he was going to pay now or work off his debt, hung in front of Rage’s face.

“Seventeen thousand?” Rage exclaimed.

“And two hundred and four,” Grup added in a helpful voice.

“How the fuck did it get so high?” rage asked.

“Oh, I think there were some fines added for disturbing the other passengers,” Grup said. “And you peed yourself again, so some of that is steam cleaning the carpet.”

“The floor is plastic,” Rage said. “There’s no fucking carpet.”

Grup shrugged his many shoulders. “Just telling you what I heard.”

The tally on the debt grew by a hundred credits.

“What the fuck?” Rage exclaimed. The tally grew by another hundred. “Motherfucker! Stop that!”

Another hundred was added.

“Potty mouth fines,” the attendant said as they walked by without even glancing at Rage.

“Son of a…” The fine increased by ten credits. “…gun.”

Klaxons blared and the cabin was filled with flashing red lights.

“WEAPONS ALERT! WEAPONS ALERT!”

“No, I didn’t mean a real gun!” Rage exclaimed.

Six hundred micro-bots fell from the ceiling.

Rage came to on the hard floor of what he had to assume was an interrogation room.

He assumed that because Detectives Labous, Nast, and Zell were leaning against a wall and staring down at him. There was a table in the center of the room. Rage reached up and pulled himself into an empty chair. Once he was situated, he focused on the person sitting across the table.

A person he knew very well.

“Hello, Rage,” the person said. “It’s been a while.”

Rage blinked a few times then bolted out of his chair and backed away from the table.

“No fucking way. You’re dead. I watched you fucking die,” Rage exclaimed.

“That you did, Max,” the person, a woman with short white hair, deep black skin, and dressed in a nice suit, agreed. She was not huge. She did not look imposing or intimidating. And she wore very dark sunglasses. “Unfortunately for both of us, I had a contractual obligation to Earth Corp not to die. So they brought me back.”

“How does Rage know this woman?” Detective Nast or Zell asked. Rage could never keep track of which was which due to the intense blandness of both.

“That’s his ex-wife,” Detective Labous said. “Scutter Slang.”

“Oh, this should be fun,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

“Gentlemen? Do you mind if I speak to my ex-husband alone for a minute?” Scutter asked.

“Uh, I don’t believe we can allow that,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

“No way,” Detective Zell or Nast added.

“Probably not a good idea for our careers,” Detective Labous said. “Sorry. The reunion will have to be supervised.”

Scutter swiveled in her seat and focused her sunglassed gaze on the three detectives.

“You do know why I am here, yes?” she asked.

“We know,” Detective Labous said and shrugged. “But we’re here to keep an eye on him. Can’t do that if we leave the room.”

“The reunion will have to be supervised,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

“I already said that,” Detective Labous grumbled.

“Yeah, but we’re Earth Corp and you’re only Greenville PD, so when we say it, it counts,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

“Ignore them,” Rage said and sat down again. “How the fuck are you alive?”

“It’s an interesting story,” Scutter began. “We’re going to need lunch.”

Seven

“So, this here, isn’t you?” Rage asked around a mouthful of what he assumed was chicken salad. They were in an Earth Corp facility, so best not to ask too many questions about one’s meal ingredients. “Or not the original you, at least.”

“No, Max, not the original me,” Scutter said, wiping her mouth after pushing her empty soup bowl away. “The original me had her head punched through by that Qitnit friend of yours.”

“Not a friend,” Rage said. “Work associate.”

“Like I said,” Scutter continued. “Earth Corp wasn’t done with me and they had my body cloned and the scans of my brain uploaded from the Memory Banks and into the new body after they retrieved my DNA from what was left of Horloc Station.”

“And they did that because why?” Rage asked.

“You gonna eat those chips, Rage?” Detective Nast or Zell asked, pointing at Rage’s plate.

Rage grabbed up all the chips on his plate and shoved them into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed then turned and said, “No.”

“Cute,” Scutter said. “I was contracted by Earth Corp to keep tabs on Roger Morlaw. That was why I was really on Horloc Station. You screwed that all up. Earth Corp felt they had not gotten their credits worth, so they resurrected me, added a couple years to my term for breach of contract, and here I am.”

“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” Rage said. “I know the how, but not the why.”

“There will be an assassination attempt on Lord Sahndle,” Scutter said. “And I’m here to prevent that.”

“Lord Sahndle? He a Ghej?” Rage asked.

Ghej were an alien race that looked like blobs of jelly with tentacles whipping about everywhere. Rage never did know why, but they were considered galactic royalty by all races.

“He’s not only Ghej, but the biggest Ghej celebrity in all the galaxies,” Scutter said. “How do you not know that?”

“What the fuck do I care about Ghej celebrities?” Rage scoffed. “I didn’t even know there were a cappella mime troupes until a couple days ago.”

“Really?” Detectives Nast and Zell asked at the same time.

“If Lord Sahndle is killed, it will plunge this galaxy, and all neighboring galaxies, into a millennia-long war that Earth Corp would like to avoid,” Scutter said. “Which makes your arrival perfect timing.”

“How?” Rage asked.

“I need a security team. You know how to lead a team better than I do,” Scutter admitted. “If you agree, then Earth Corp will wipe away the debt from all those fines you got on the shuttle.”

“I’d rather work off the seventeen thousand credits some other way,” Rage replied.

“Seventeen thousand?” Scutter laughed. “Rage, you owe two million credits. You peed yourself that last time and shorted out half the micro-bots. Those little guys aren’t cheap, Max.”

“Two million?” Rage asked. “You have to be shitting me…”

“I wouldn’t waste my shit on you, Max,” Scutter said. “Not now, not ever.”

“Two million?” Rage asked.

“Plus interest,” Scutter said. “Thirty-six percent per day.”

“Per day?” Rage shouted. “Earth day or Mars day?”

“Intergalactic standard day,” Scutter replied. “So you have that going for you, Max. But you’ll never catch up if you try to work off the debt.”

“Unless the work is for you,” Rage said.

“Exactly,” Scutter said.

“They aren’t on the team, are they?” Rage asked, hooking a thumb at the detectives.

“Don’t insult me, Max,” Scutter replied. “I’d rather be two million credits in debt to Earth Corp than work with schlubs like these assholes.”

“Hey!” Detectives Nast and Zell said.

“Fair enough,” Detective Labous said.

“The problem is,” Rage said and leaned forward, “I have a job. I’m supposed to be keeping my…lady friend’s son and his a cappella mime troupe safe.”

Rage shook his head.

“At no point in my life did I think I’d ever be saying something like that out loud,” Rage admitted. “Maybe you should just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“If you die owing Earth Corp, then they’ll only resurrect you and make you do some other shitty job,” Scutter said.

“Fucking sons of bitches,” Rage muttered.

“You know we work for Earth Corp, right, Rage?” Detective Nast or Zell said.

“Best not to talk about Earth Corp like that in front of us,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

“Don’t care,” Rage said and focused on Scutter. “So what do I do about Junior?”

“He’s on his own. So is his a cappella mime troupe,” Scutter said.

“Punching Air,” Rage said.

“Excuse me?”

“Punching Air is what they call themselves. I’d let them die just for the name, but I like Mascholine and she’s my boss, so I’d rather keep the little shit alive.”

“Punching Air? You know Punching Air?” Detective Labous asked.

All eyes fell on him.

“What?” He shrugged. “Okay, you got me. I like a cappella mime troupes. Punching Air is one of the better ones. You think you can introduce me to the Punches, Rage?”

Rage blinked, opened and closed his mouth several times, before he could form the word,
“What?”

“The Punches. Can you maybe let me meet them in person?” Detective Labous asked.

“Punches?”

“Yeah.”

“Punches?”

“Yeah.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Rage said.

“That’s what they’re called,” Detective Labous explained. “Each member of Punching Air is called a Punch. Lenny Punch is my favorite, but Darfur Punch is pretty high on the list.”

“These guys are all a bunch of douchebruhs,” Rage said. “Frat boy douchebruhs. That’s all they are.”

“Well, yes, the culture may be a little problematic, but oh, the performances,” Detective Labous said. “I could watch them for hours.”

“You know what? I don’t care,” Rage said. “Good on you, Labous. Dig whatever the fuck you want to dig. I still have no idea how in the fuck a cappella mime even works, so who the fuck am I to tell you what to like and not like, right?”

“That’s rather open-minded of you, Max,” Scutter said. “What’s the angle?”

“Labous is gonna watch over Junior and the other… Punches,” Rage said. “If I’m gonna lead a team for Earth Corp to keep some Ghej royal asshole safe, then that’s the deal. Labous keeps Punching Air safe for me.”

“Nast? Zell?” Scutter asked the two bland detectives. “You have a problem with this?”

“We’ll still be watching Rage,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

“Labous can do whatever he wants,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

“Labous?” Scutter asked.

“Are you serious?” Detective Labous looked like he was about to faint. “I get to be security for Punching Air?”

“You may want to pick up a couple extra security guards to supplement the fact you aren’t me, but yeah,” Rage said. “Knock yourself the fuck out.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Detective Labous said.

“You and me both, Detective,” Rage said. “You in?”

“I’m in!” Detective Labous exclaimed.

“Are you in, Max?” Scutter asked.

“Not much of a choice,” Rage said. “But I do have one condition.”

“You are in no position to ask for conditions, Rage,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

“Yeah, Rage, just feel lucky you aren’t being shipped to a labor colony,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

“Feeling so lucky,” Rage said and rolled his eyes.

“What’s the condition?” Scutter asked.

“It’s an easy one,” Rage said. “I get to pick my weapons.”

“That’s the condition?” Scutter asked.

“Yep.”

“I thought you’d want to pick your own team.”

“I have a feeling you already have the team picked.”

“I do.”

“Then I want to pick my own weapons. Any weapons I want for the job, I get to have. Deal?”

“Deal,” Scutter responded and extended her hand.

Rage took it, shook it, and grinned. Everyone except for Scutter shrank back as the grin grew.

“When do I get to meet this team?” Rage asked.

“How about right now?” Scutter replied. “Best to yank the bandage off quick.”

“Exactly,” Rage said.

“Punching Air,” Detective Labous whispered. “I am so blessed.”

Eight

“There ya are, baby,” Rage said as he clutched the dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle in both hands, admiring the sheer beauty of its killing efficiency. “It may not be the most expensive or dangerous weapon in all the galaxies, but in my hands, it will be.”

“Wow. He really likes Axis combat rifles,” someone said.

“Max? You want to meet the team or what?” Scutter asked.

“Whoa, she calls him Max. Not Rage, but Max,” another voice said. “Cool…”

“On a scale of one to ten, how likely will everyone survive?” Rage asked, his eyes still locked onto the dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle.

“Max…” Scutter snarled. “Don’t fuck around.”

Rage finally turned to regard the three other members of the security team.

“Let me guess,” Rage said, slinging the rifle across his back. Then he began pointing at the three. “You. Tech. You. Overwatch. You. Muscle.”

The first member of the team Rage pointed to was a rather boring-looking human. Except that the skin was obviously synthetic and the being made a clicking noise every time he blinked.

“I am Rasco,” the being said.

“Starsch, right?” Rage asked. “Android race.”

“Don’t call me an android, dude,” Rasco said. “The Starsch are biological beings of synthetic origin. Get it right.”

“That makes no sense,” Rage said. “Don’t really care. You.” He pointed to the next being. “Kalanip.”

“Yeah!” the alien responded with considerable enthusiasm. She was a multi-eyed, single-armed, four-legged alien that looked like a small horse, but with scales instead of hair. And she had two wings folded across her back. “The name’s Choosper. Such an honor, Mr. Rage. I mean it. I’ve like been a fan since I was a little foal. Working with you is a dream come true.”

“That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard,” Rage said and turned his attention to the behemoth standing to the side of everyone. “Jamba, yeah?”

The being was easily over eight feet tall. Six arms and two massive legs which looked even more massive since the guy was wearing what looked like five pairs of pants. And at least four shirts. His face, which was uncovered, was deep black and slick with oil that dripped from his eyebrows.

“Bill,” the Jamba said, extending a gloved hand. Even with the glove, oil was seeping through. “What’s with the rifle love, man?”

Rage thought for a moment then shook the guy’s hand. He wiped the oil slick from his palm onto Rasco’s shirt.

“Really, dude?” Rasco asked. “I mean, really?”

“Had to wipe it somewhere,” Rage said with a shrug. “Okay, this is how it’s gonna go, people. You will—”

“No you don’t, Max,” Scutter said. “This is my team. You won’t be giving orders. I will.”

“If I’m not giving orders, then what am I here for?” Rage asked.

“I lied. I’m team lead. And as you already guessed, Rasco is tech, Choosper is overwatch, and Bill is muscle.”

“Crowd control,” Bill said.

“Crowd control,” Scutter echoed. “You are the bodyguard, Max. While Rasco is constantly scanning every bit of data for possible threats, Choosper will be above, covering our asses with her rifle—”

“It’s a dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle, too! Isn’t that cool!” Choosper said. “Twinsies!”

“Yay…” Rage scowled.

“And Bill will make sure the path is clear once you’re on the boulevard,” Scutter continued. “You’ll be right by Lord Sahndle’s side at all times, Max. At all times. If he has to take a wicked shit or wants to get frisky with a guy or gal, you’ll be standing there, watching. You never, for absolutely no reason, will ever let him out of your sight or arm’s reach. Not fucking around, Max. You will need to be within—”

“Got it,” Rage said and held out his arms. “If I can’t kill him myself, then he’s gotten too far away.”

“Whoa,” Choosper said. “He went straight for kill instead of hug. I’d have said hug because, I mean, that’s where my mind goes first. But he went for kill. So cool.”

“She’s gonna be a problem,” Rage said and hooked a thumb at Choosper. “I don’t do sycophants. Worship me silently, horsey.”

“Kalanips aren’t horses, dude,” Rasco said. “Get some education, m’kay? Fucking Earthlings. Ignorant bunch of organ bags.”

“He’s growing on me,” Rage said, his thumb shifting to take aim at Rasco. “You shitty to everyone you meet?”

“Just musclebound tough guys with overinflated senses of importance,” Rasco said.

“Good,” Rage said. “You stay you. Bill?”

“What?” Bill responded.

“Should I tolerate or hate you?” Rage asked.

“Are those the only options?”

“Please say kill you, please say kill you, please say kill you,” Choosper muttered.

“Yes. Those are the only two options,” Rage said, shooting a death glare at Choosper.

The Kalanip pretty much melted on the spot from the attention, the murderous intent ignored completely.

“Tolerate if you want. Hate if you want,” Bill said. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m here to do a job and I plan on doing it to the best of my ability, man.”

“You get to live,” Rage said.

“He has our lives and our deaths in his hand,” Choosper said.

“You want to be turned into glue there, horsey?” Rage asked. “Because I can arrange that. I got a glue guy back on Earth.”

Choosper’s cheek twitched.

“What’s that? What’s going on with your face?” Rage asked. He turned to Scutter. “Is she gonna cry? Is the fucking horse alien you hired for overwatch gonna cry?”

“I’m just so happy,” Choosper said and wrapped her one arm around Rage. “So damn happy.”

“Scutter…” Rage snarled.

“Okay, Choosper, that’s enough,” Scutter said, prying the Kalanip’s arm off of Rage. “He will kill you if you push too far.”

“It’d be an honor to die at his hands,” Choosper said between sniffles.

“The honor’d be all mine,” Rage responded. “So, Scutter?”

“Yeah?”

“If we’re hired to keep Lord Dingleberry alive, then who’s watching him now?”

“Don’t call him dingleberry,” Scutter said, an accusatory finger jammed up under Rage’s nose. “You fucking with the team is unavoidable, I know that. But, fucking with the client? Unacceptable. You address him as ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord Sahndle,’ got it?”

“Can I call him Baron von Flip-Flop?”

“No!”

“Duke Thong?”

“Thong?” Bill asked. “Like underwear?”

“Nah, some folks call flip-flop sandals thongs,” Rage said. “You ever been to California?”

“Nope,” Bill said. “But if they wear underwear on their feet, then maybe I should visit.”

“Maybe you should,” Rage said and returned his attention to Scutter. “Prince Birkenstock?”

“They’ll never find your body, Max,” Scutter said.

“Fair enough,” Rage replied. “But you still haven’t answered my question? Who’s watching him now?”

“He’s occupied,” Scutter replied.

“Occupied? How?” Rage asked.

“He’s getting autographs,” Scutter said.

“What does this guy do that makes him so famous that people want his autograph?” Rage asked. “And who’s watching his ass?”

“No, he is collecting autographs,” Scutter said. “From the Scorchers.”

“Really? Why?” Rage asked.

“It’s his thing, dude,” Rasco said.

“Come on,” Scutter said. “We’re taking over from the Earth Corp guards in an hour. We should hurry.”

“Hurry? We have an hour,” Rage said.

“Have you ever tried to navigate the boulevard on Mars, dude?” Rasco asked. “It’s hell during Scorching Dude’s off-season. Now? With the troupes here? We’ll be lucky if we get there in time.”

“Then I should grab another of these,” Rage said and snagged a second dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle.

“How will that get us there faster?” Rasco asked.

“It won’t,” Rage said. “I just want two.”

“Oh my God, this is so awesome!” Choosper exclaimed. “Someone pinch me!”

“No!” Scutter snapped at Rage as he was about to slam a fist into the Kalanip’s face. “She said pinch, not punch.”

“Easy mistake,” Rage said and shrugged.

Nine

Once upon a time, on a planet much like Earth…

Okay, it was Earth.

Anyhoo, once upon a time, a bunch of folks decided to set up camp in the middle of the desert, in the state of Nevada.

The folks had a great time at camp and wanted to do it again the next year. Flash forward several decades and some of those same folks, now joined by a lot more folks, turned glow stick bikinis and the barter system into high art.

They also burned a big wooden man at the end of the festival. Scratch that. At the end of the event.

There was considerably more to it, including a lot of casual sex and various hallucinogens, but in the end, the event became so big that it needed its own planet.

How could it get its own planet?

In stepped Earth Corp. They wanted to buy the event and fully fund it.

But it could not be sold since it was not owned.

Being a highly successful, galactic corporation with zero soul and no taste whatsoever, Earth Corp decided to copy the event.

Scorching Dude was born.

Then Scorching Dude died because no one from the original event wanted to attend an event on a whole other fucking planet that was corporately owned. Screw that shit, right?

So, about to lose a few trillion credits, Earth Corp slyly removed their name from all documents, wiped their hands of the entire planet-wide event, and walked away. Then they nuked the desert where the original event was held and forced all those nice folks to find a new venue.

How nice of them…

It sure was lucky that a new venue existed, even though it was on a whole other planet, and that venue had just been abandoned by Earth Corp, right? RIGHT?

Folks felt like they were sticking it to the Man. Power to the people…

Of course, as soon as Scorching Dude became a massive hit amongst the culturally intelligent beings of the galaxies, and the event was so far along, not to mention now all year long, Earth Corp popped its snake head up out of the sand and shouted, “Surprise! We still own this! Aren’t we cool?”

No one thought they were cool, but no one was willing to admit they had been duped, so everyone played along like they had always known and were only ironically enjoying Scorching Dude. Which, to be honest, wasn’t any different than before because, let’s face it, there’re only like six or seven beings that really, truly enjoy Scorching Dude and the rest are all fronting.

Rage could smell the fronting, as well as the various bodily fluids that were just randomly sprayed and scattered everywhere, as soon as he set foot on the boulevard.

“Jesus Christ,” Rage said and jammed two fingers inside his nostrils. “That spunk has gone off. Can someone call a fucking janitor and clean this shit up?”

“There are no janitors!”

“Janitors are the new CEOs!”

“Clean it up yourself!”

“Look out! Fresh load comin’ at ya!”

“Ha! Fresh load!”

“The pun was comin’, man!”

“Not yet! Wait a second!”

Scutter snatched the rifle out of Rage’s hands before he could fire on the jabbering crowd. She snatched the second rifle just as quickly.

“No shooting the Scorchers,” Scutter said. “Unless you can justify… Unless you can legally, without a doubt, justify the shooting, then let the beings party and enjoy themselves no matter how annoyed you get.”

“You realize what you’re asking?” Rage replied.

“You realize you don’t have a choice?” Scutter snapped.

“I always have a choice,” Rage said.

“Max…”

“Fine. All killings must be legally, without a doubt, justified,” Rage said with an exaggerated pout. “Happy?”

“If I hand you your weapons, are you going to just ignore what I said and start shooting?”

“No…?”

“Max!”

“Fine! No! I will not start shooting. Fucking A…”

Scutter handed Rage one of his rifles. He waited patiently until she handed him the second one. Then he slammed the butts of both into the closest, most annoying Scorchers he could reach. They dropped like sacks of wet cement.

“Didn’t shoot them,” Rage snapped before Scutter could yell at him.

The crowd around Rage and the others booed for a few seconds, but moved on quickly. There was just too much to do at Scorching Dude and no one wanted to miss out on any of it.

“Max?” Scutter asked.

“What?” Rage replied, glaring at Scutter, daring her to go for him.

“You know that guy?” Scutter asked and pointed down the boulevard.

A Clickelack was jumping up and down and waving excitedly at Rage.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rage mumbled, not in the mood for Grup’s crap.

Then a stabbing pain ripped through Rage’s neck.

“Ow! What the fuck?” Rage whipped about and Scutter stood there with an injector gun in her hand and a very satisfied smile on her face. “You did not just plant an inhibitor in my neck. No you fucking didn’t.”

“This is Earth Corp property,” Scutter said, gesturing to everything in sight. “Even some of these beings are owned and planted by Earth Corp in order to make this the best, most profitable experience, possible. If you fuck this up, then Earth Corp will end my contract. Do you know what happens to resurrected beings when their contracts are ended?”

“They get a puppy?” Rage asked.

“Oh, what kind of puppy?” Choosper asked from up high, her voice a chirpy bit of good cheer over the comms.

“Dead fucking puppy,” Rage replied.

“Oh,” Choosper said, the cheer gone. “They aren’t fun to play with at all.”

Rage paused and glanced up at the alien. Something about her tone made him wonder if she had first-hand knowledge about playing with dead puppies. Then his eyes went wide. Choosper was nowhere to be seen.

“They return the resurrected beings to dust,” Scutter continued. She hefted the injector and waved it at Rage. “And if I die, you’re coming with me. Pulse locked.”

“Where’s the horse?” Rage asked, scanning the air above the boulevard.

“Did you hear me, Max?” Scutter snapped. “That’s not an inhibitor in your neck, that’s a detonator. Even your ability to heal instantly won’t save you when your head is blown off.”

“Seriously,” Rage said, turning in circles, his eyes hunting for the Kalanip. “Where the hell is the one-armed freak?”

“Sometimes I think you mean to be hurtful,” Choosper replied over the comms.

“MAX!” Scutter roared.

“Whoa!”

“Harshing the vibes, lady!”

“Shrill much!”

“Who’s Max? Does he have any drugs? I’m out of drugs. I’m sad.”

“What?” Rage asked, returning his attention to Scutter.

“Did you hear anything I said?” Scutter asked.

“Yeah. My head blows up if you die. So don’t die,” Rage replied then went back to looking up. “Is she wearing a cloaking suit?”

“Kalanips can become invisible,” Bill said. “It’s the scales. Basically same as cloaking tech on ships, but biological.”

“You think Kalanips would have survived this long as a race otherwise?” Rasco asked. “You’ve met Choosper. They’re all like that.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Rage said. “Good skill for overwatch. I’m not impressed, but I want to kill her less now.”

“Oh. My. God,” Choosper said. “My heart…”

“Well, that’s enough of that shit,” Rage said and slung one rifle while gripping the other tight in both hands. “Talk to me about this shithole place. What is going on?”

“How do you know so little about Scorching Dude?” Rasco asked. “It’s taken over an entire planet.”

“I was busy wiping out alien races and conquering planets,” Rage said. “Didn’t get much vacation time.”

“We need to hustle,” Bill said. “I’ll clear a path. Rasco, you inform Rage about the scene. That cool, Scutter?”

“That’s cool. Move out,” Scutter replied. “Everyone watch their gear. This place breeds pickpockets and petty thieves.”

“Pickpocket is racist!”

“Who you calling thieves?”

“Earth Corp is the real thief!”

“Hey! Someone stole my dick!”

“Patience?” Rage announced. “Thin. Very thin.”

“Walk and talk, people! Walk and talk!” Scutter ordered.

They moved out through the crowd.

“Everything works on the barter system here,” Rasco explained as the team followed in Bill’s wake.

And he made quite a wake. The boulevard was always jam-packed with beings moving shoulder to shoulder in all directions. But Bill cut a path that kept a nice half-meter margin around the team. Rage admired the way the Jamba worked. Efficient at all times and brutal when needed.

An unlucky Snorpa did not move in time and went sailing through the air to crash land on a shop’s awning. Rage smiled.

“Barter system?” Rage asked Rasco. “I’m seeing credits change hands everywhere.”

“Yeah. Because Earth Corp had the definition of barter changed officially in the dictionary to include the use of currency,” Rasco said.

“That’s just called capitalism,” Rage said.

“Pretty much, dude,” Rasco said. “That’s Earth Corp for ya.”

There were a few hisses from the crowd at the mention of the mega-conglomerate.

“So, fake barter system. Got it,” Rage said. “What’s with all the…glitter? I bounce at a bar and I never see this much glitter. Or booty shorts. Or goggles.” Rage glanced down at his trademark black t-shirt and jeans. “Is there a dress code I don’t know about?”

“It’s tradition carried over from the late 20th century/early 21st century,” Rasco explained.

“Jesus, why would anyone want to carry anything over from then?” Rage asked.

“At least it’s not from the mid-21st century,” Rasco responded.

“Thank God for small fucking miracles,” Rage said. He pointed his chin at a group of especially goggled Scorchers. “Velpoohians wear goggles like that. This a space pirate den too?”

“RACIST!”

“How dare you, sir?”

“Velpoohians? Never, uh, heard of them…”

Rage whipped his rifle around to try to find the being that uttered the last phrase, but it was a useless movement. The crowd was just too thick and too chaotic. Rage realized that his skills maybe weren’t overkill for the job. The place was an assassin’s dream.

“Velpoohians enjoy Scorching Dude as much as everyone else,” Rasco said. “Everyone needs some R&R, dude.”

“But those fucking goggles,” Rage complained. “Always with the goggles.”

“That’s Velpoohians,” Rasco said.

“What else?” Rage asked.

“You ready to go deep?”

“Might as well. Can’t move any faster than we are now. Got plenty of time to kill,” Rage said.

“Time has rights too, asshole!”

“Time killer!”

“Hey! That dick stole my watch!”

“That watch stole my dick!”

“Okay, get started and distract me from wanting to shoot every last moron here,” Rage growled.

Ten

Scorching Dude is planet-wide. Try to picture that, if you can.

Spanning the equator of Mars, is the boulevard. No capital B because Scorchers don’t go for pretension, even though everything about them is the absolute height of pretension, dude.

Follow? Good.

So, off the boulevard are the plazas. They’re every five kilometers. Each plaza is about one-kilometer square. And every plaza has its own personality.

You have Orgy Plaza, Beer Plaza, Wine Plaza, Zima Plaza, White Drugs Plaza, Black Tar Plaza, Rehab Plaza, Sober Plaza, Back In Rehab Plaza, Poetry Plaza, Body Paint Plaza, Improv Plaza, A Cappella Mime Troupe Plaza, 2nd Orgy Plaza, Asexual Orgy Plaza, Startorian Syphilis Plaza, Pomeranian Plaza (best not to ask), LARP Plaza, Punching Faces Plaza (you’d love that one, dude), Dating Plaza, Social Media Plaza, Anti-Social Media Plaza, Goat Plaza, GOAT (all caps) Plaza, Laser Lawn Dart Plaza, Funniest Home Holograms Plaza, Knitting Plaza, and so on and so on.

All told, I believe there are like four thousand plazas, dude. You’ll never visit all of them in your lifetime. Some try, all fail. It’s sad watching the lifers push themselves knowing they don’t stand a chance.

In between the plazas are these stalls and tents and carved out-caves in the natural rock. People that don’t fit in the plazas or are offering services for the Scorchers moving from plaza to plaza.

Like that guy there. See him? No, the armadillo-looking dude. Right. The Donkerpils. He’s selling extra oxygen for those that need it. Nice service since even with the planetary shielding installed, the air can get thin for those that need their oxygen. You can survive for a while in a vacuum, I looked it up, so you’re good. But most don’t have a genetically engineered body.

Except for me. I do. The perk of being a Starsch, dude.

To continue. Boulevard. Plazas. Tents and stalls. Now come the living areas. Every few meters you’ll see spaces between the stalls and tents. Slip through there and you’re on a living area path. Follow the path and you’ll come to the tent cities and apartment containers. Nothing is over three stories and each area has a population cap. Otherwise, the toilets get really gross. Like really gross.

Now, everything I’ve described is open to the public. All Scorchers are free to roam without being hassled or stopped by authorities. But, as we all know, the elite class hates rubbing elbows, tentacles, boobs, and butts, with the plebes. That means some of these stalls are fronts for hidden entrances to areas that only the rich, super rich, mega rich, God rich, and the Bezos, can access. Two clicks up is our stall. That’s how we get to Lord Sahndle.

From there, we escort him to the A Cappella Mime Troupe Plaza. Simple enough if we had vehicles.

Oh, why don’t we have vehicles? Why haven’t we seen a single hover car or ship pass by overhead? You can thank the early days of Scorching Dude for that. Long ago, when this was a strictly Earth-based event, decking out one’s vehicle with the most elaborate and insane decorations was considered a goal to hit. Day and night, it was a parade of artistry meets mechanics.

But those were rollers. Vehicles with wheels. If someone was too high, and it happens, dude, but if they were, worst-case scenario was they slammed into a few tents and killed maybe two or three people. Now? A ship or hover car falls from the sky and depending on how well their engines are maintained, they take out two, three, twenty dozen Scorchers.

Safety worries killed the vehicle parade.

Except, this is now an Earth Corp-owned enterprise. Take a look up. Go ahead. Notice anything about the sky? Yeah, you see it, dude. Parts don’t quite fit, do they? That’s because you’re looking at the undersides of retrofitted grav tugs that have been turned into party barges. The hulls mimic the sky, so the wide openness aesthetic isn’t broken.

If you have enough credits, and few do, you can buy your way onto a party barge and get your Scorch on high above the dirty masses. Or, if you don’t want to live the party barge life, you can buy a temp ticket and use them to get you across the planet.

We will not be using one of those. Can’t trust them. Party barges disappear all the time. It used to be only barges that traveled over danger zones like the Meridian Bay Circle or the Lockyer Land Quadrangle disappeared. But now the party barges have been disappearing randomly all over the place. Earth Corp has no comment and denies any disappearances happen, but we know that’s bullshit.

Lesson is that you stay off the party barges, dude.

Okay, what else? Oh, right.

Infrastructure.

All administrative offices, utilities, and waste facilities exist below ground. The topside terrain is too valuable to waste on bureaucrats and water filtration systems. So, subterranean complexes are everywhere. Again, fake stalls are the access points. If you ever go down there, you better know where you’re going or you will be lost forever. Tens of thousands have gotten lost and only a couple hundred are ever found alive. Go below, have a map, dude.

In addition, the greenhouses are down below the administrative offices and utilities. Too expensive to ship food here in the quantities needed. So the planet is divided by nutritional needs. Let’s see… Where are we? Right. Okay, so under us, several hundred meters down, are worm farms for the insect, ichthyological, and ornithological races that need constant fresh protein to survive. I believe after that we come to the kumquat region. Nothing but kumquats for as far as the eye can see.

That’s the geography. Lost yet, dude? Good.

How about we get into the cultural hierarchy?

Everyone is equal. That’s how Scorching Dude is set up. But some are more equal than others, just like in that old Earth book, Inside Bachelor Nation.

Quick rundown goes like this, starting at the bottom and moving to the upper strata:

Plebes.

Scorching Dude volunteer staff.

Scorching Dude paid staff (they have their own hierarchy within that, but we don’t have ten years to go over it all).

Merchies (vendors).

Owners (they own the stalls/shops the merchies run).

Clubbers (he or she that rules the clubs, rules the plazas).

Celebrities.

Royalty.

The Bezos.

Let’s talk about the Bezos. Odds are we may run into one or two since we’re dealing with royalty. Bezos and royalty go hand in hand most of the time. They’re very similar except royalty is by blood and Bezos are by inheritance. Technically, very technically, a being could be royalty but be broke as fuck, dude. There’s shame, but royalty can’t be outcast for being broke. Shit happens when you inbreed like they do.

But Bezos must be so rich that computers cannot calculate their worth. They cannot possibly spend all of their wealth because they have so much that the compound interest is exponential on a level that they cannot mortally keep up with. The Bezos’ fortunes cannot be stopped or depleted. Ever.

Here’s the trick about Bezos: it’s nearly impossible to tell you’re with one unless they introduce themselves as a Bezos. And none do. Most are known because they all own a piece of every galaxy in existence. But the majority are nameless inheritors that go about life without ever once even thinking about what the concept of money even means.

That’s how you spot one. If you mention credits and they blink for half a second before responding, you have a Bezos in front of you. Or they could just be a moron, but you’ll tell the difference, dude. Trust me.

And that’s Scorching Dude.

Eleven

Rage gave Rasco a long, determined look then nodded.

“I’m gonna assume there is a lot more to this place than what you just told me,” Rage said.

“That was tip of the iceberg shit,” Rasco replied. “You’d have to live here full time to get close to the reality of Scorching Dude. But that should be enough intel to keep you from fucking this job up too bad.”

“Too bad? You think I’m going to fuck it up no matter what?” Rage asked.

“Have you ever not fucked up a job, Rage?” Rasco responded. “I’ve heard things. I’ve read things. I know things. People that work with you get killed. All of them. That’s a big fuck up.”

“Not all get killed,” Rage said. “Only eighty percent.”

“That’s four out of five, asshole,” Rasco said. “Which means all of us are going to die except for you.”

“Why you gotta be a dick and throw mortal math at me?” Rage said. “I was just starting to tolerate you after all the intel. Now I hope you get shot in the head.”

“Right back at ya, prick,” Rasco said.

“Look alive, people,” Scutter interrupted. “We’re here.”

Rage looked about, but all he saw was more of the same. Idiots dressed like carnival freaks and tents and stalls selling plastic crap made on Uranus by kindergarteners.

“Rage!”

“Christ. I forgot about him,” Rage muttered and turned to see Grup sprinting at the team. “Go away, Grup! I’m on a job!’

“I know! I need to talk to you about the job!” Grup shouted.

The crowd was not being kind to the Clickelack. But, in all fairness, no one was kind to Clickelacks. They just rubbed beings the wrong way.

“Max! We’re in here,” Scutter shouted as she stood at the entrance of a tent. Rasco and Bill were already inside, waiting. Rage assumed Choosper was hovering above as overwatch. “Move that denim ass!”

“You are supposed to be with Junior!” Rage shouted at Grup who had somehow managed to get tangled up on the shoulders of a Boopernit, which was confusing to Rage since Boopernits weren’t exactly the most social, or intelligent, of creatures. “Go back and watch over the Punches like I told you to!”

“Yeah, but—!”

“GO, GRUP!” Rage said then ducked inside the tent. He rolled his eyes. “I know him from the bar I work at. He’s an unfortunate regular.”

“The more you talk about your life, the sadder I feel for you, dude,” Rasco said.

“Where to now, boss?” Bill asked Scutter.

“We each buy a piña colada and go below,” Scutter said and held up four fingers.

The merchie running the tent was a human from one of the many multi-colored lineages. His skin was a bright pink with faint stripes of magenta and yellow running every which way. The man poured four blazingly white piña coladas into four different twisting, turning, constantly swirling novelty mugs, plopped a straw in each one, and set them on the bar.

“What ya got to trade?” the merchie asked.

“These are on the house,” Scutter said. “We’re here for Lord Sahndle.”

The merchie nodded up and down and smiled wide. Then he shook his head back and forth. But still smiled wide.

“You must trade,” the merchie said.

“No,” Scutter insisted. “These are on the house. Call down below and someone will tell you what’s going on.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” the merchie responded. “But what are you going to trade?”

“Christ,” Rage said and lifted his rifle.

“NO, Max!” Scutter snapped, slapping the barrel down. “Entrances are biometrically locked. Kill him and we can’t get down below.”

“Then trade with the guy,” Rage said.

“What’s the trade?” Scutter asked.

“A kiss from the ugly one,” the merchie said.

“Looks like you need to pucker up,” Rage said to Bill.

“No. He’s pretty,” the merchie said. “I want a kiss from you. Four kisses for four entries.”

Rage lifted his rifle again and Scutter yanked it from his grasp. She placed a very large pistol to Rage’s temple.

“Do not go for your other rifle,” she warned.

“Me? Never even thought about it,” Rage replied. “Do you mind?”

“Kiss the guy, dude,” Rasco said.

“Yeah, Rage, come on,” Bill said. “We don’t have all day.”

Rage glared at each of them in turn then stared hard at the merchie. The man smiled, revealing his complete lack of teeth. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had one way in the back if you looked really hard.

“Four quick kisses,” Rage said, forcing himself not to gag.

“With tongue,” the merchie said.

Rage drew his rifle and fired twice, obliterating the man’s head.

“Fuck!” Scutter shouted. She pressed the pistol against Rage’s temple even harder then let it fall and walked a few paces away. “FUCK!”

A new merchie popped up from behind the bar.

“Bit of a mess there,” the merchie said. He was an exact duplicate of the one Rage had murdered.

“I knew it,” Rage said and tapped his nose. “He stank like clone. You gonna force us to trade, too?”

“What? Trade?” the merchie laughed. “No way, Jose. Drinks are on the house. Have fun below!”

Bill grabbed the drinks in four of his hands as the ground started to slowly lower.

“What about horsey?” Rage asked.

“She’ll make sure we have a clear exit,” Scutter said, her body shaking with anger. “You got lucky, Max.”

“I’m luck on two legs, baby,” Rage said and held out his hand. “Can I have my other rifle back?”

Scutter shook harder.

“Please?” Rage added.

Scutter gave him the rifle then turned her back on him as the ground continued to descend into the depths of Mars.

Everything stopped suddenly and the wall before them split open to reveal a party in full swing. EDM was blaring from a quarter of a million speakers while gyrating dancers of all alien races filled a dance floor the size of Connecticut. Flashing strobe lights, intermittent black lights, smoke machines on steroids.

It was Rage’s Hell.

“Want me to shoot them all to clear a path?” Rage asked Scutter.

Scutter shook her head and pointed at her ears. Rage nodded and activated focus mode on his comms. The noise of the dance party disappeared and only the voices of the teams could be heard on his comms implant.

“Phew,” Rage said. “What I said was—”

“I heard you,” Scutter replied. “The answer is no. The answer will always be no. Bill is crowd control, not you, Max.”

“Whatever,” Rage said.

“I see Lord Sahndle,” Bill said. “Eleven o’clock. Back booth. He’s tentacles deep in three human females.”

“So he is,” Scutter said. “Let’s move, people.”

“Autographs, huh?” Rage said.

Bill led the way, easily clearing a path across the massive dance floor for the others to follow. There were some pointed shouts and angry words thrown the team’s way, but Rage couldn’t hear any of them so he only smirked and gave everyone a thumbs up as they glared.

When they reached Lord Sahndle’s booth, the humans were gone and only the Ghej remained.

The blob of jelly whipped his tentacles about, his mouth moving rapidly as he tried to communicate with the team. Scutter pointed to her ear and Lord Sahndle rolled his eyes then pressed his tentacles to what Rage assumed were the alien’s earholes. He never quite knew what holes were what when it came to Ghejs. He’d always tried to avoid interactions with the alien race since their inborn pretension usually drove him to the brink of homicide.

“You must be Scutter Slang,” Lord Sahndle said once he’d adjusted his own comms implant to the team’s channel. “A pleasure. You are much more beautiful than I was expecting.”

“My lord,” Scutter said and gave the Ghej a quick bow. “It is my honor to lead the team that will escort you to your judging duties at the A Cappella Mime Troupe competition. May I introduce my team to you?”

“Oh, this one here needs no introduction,” Lord Sahndle said as he aimed all of his tentacles at Rage. “The Murderer of Melborne 5 needs no introduction! The honor is truly mine!”

“Murderer of Melborne 5? I’ve never been to…” Rage began then stopped. “Oh, wait, yeah, it’s coming back to me. That I did, for sure. Whew. Barely got out of that one alive.”

“Be still my beating heart,” Lord Sahndle said.

“He’s a fan too!” Choosper’s voice echoed over the comms. “We’ll have so much to talk about!”

Lord Sahndle looked at the team and frowned. “That sounded like a Kalanip, but I do not see the majestic being amongst your team, Ms. Slang?”

“Please, call me Scutter,” Scutter said. “And our Kalanip teammate is above on overwatch. She’ll make sure the coast is clear when we leave.”

“Leave? Through the tent above?” Lord Sahndle drew back. “Oh, no, I could never. Too common. Much too common. Call a party barge and have it land at these coordinates. We can get to that point through the females only restroom. Third stall in has a quantum toilet that will flush out right onto the barge.”

“My lord, I am afraid I have been instructed to escort you via the boulevard,” Scutter said. “I can assure you that—”

“No. That simply won’t do,” Lord Sahndle said. He waved several tentacles at Scutter then swiveled his blob body. “Begone, Ms. Scutter Slang. You have insulted me and I refuse to allow you in my presence any longer.”

“My lord, you must understand that—”

“How dare you!” Lord Sahndle shouted.

The music came to a screeching halt. All eyes turned on the team and Lord Sahndle. The Ghej puffed up and faced the dance floor.

“These…beings have insulted me! They have treated me like a common plebe!”

The crowd gasped. Rage guessed there weren’t any plebes invited to Lord Sahndle’s dance party.

“I have asked for a party barge to transport me to the A Cappella Mime Troupe competition, for which I am an honored judge, but they insist I walk amongst the refuse on the…gasp.” He literally said gasp. “To walk amongst the refuse on the boulevard!”

The crowd responded with feigned indignation, many taunts aimed at the team, a few screams of horror, a couple of mortal threats, and at least one, possibly two, very loud, very wet raspberries.

“Good day to you, Ms. Scutter Slang,” Lord Sahndle said. “I said good day!”

“Buddy, you’re supposed to say that last part when you interrupt someone responding to the first part,” Rage said, shoving past Scutter so he could lean across the table and get as close to Lord Sahndle’s face-place as possible. “If you’re gonna be a royal jackhole twat, then at least do it right, okay? Now, you’ve had your privileged temper tantrum. How about you pull your fat jelly blob ass out of that booth and get to stepping on those stick-thin tentacles of yours, huh? We got a timetable to keep and I’d like to get this gig over and done with as soon as possible.”

“Oh, my,” Lord Sahndle said. He fanned himself with several of his tentacles. “So much raw power barely contained within a black t-shirt and jeans. I guess I should do as I’m told and come along with you, Mr. Rage.”

“Rage is fine,” Rage said. “I don’t need a mister in front.”

“Are you sure? I will gladly volunteer to be the mister in front of you,” Lord Sahndle responded.

“I don’t know what that means,” Rage said.

“He wants you to bend him over and do him in the—” Rasco started, but Scutter punched him in the shoulder and he shut up.

“Lord Sahndle, I am sorry if the means of travel are offensive, but Earth Corp cannot guarantee your safety if you take a party barge,” Scutter said. “However, this team is made up of experts in their fields. I know we can get you to your destination safely. Once there, Max here will be by your side at all times to ensure that no one harms you while you’re judging the a cappella mime troupe competition.”

“Do you have to say the whole thing every fucking time?” Rage asked. “Can’t you just say competition? We all know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Lord Sahndle said. “There are so many competitions happening at once at Scorching Dude. Do you think the a cappella mime troupe competition is the only a cappella competition? Or the only mime troupe competition?”

“If you can’t figure out what we’re talking about, then you’re a fucking idiot,” Rage said. “And I’ll only say this once. Nobody tell me about the other competitions, a cappella or mime troupe. I don’t need more of that shit in my head.”

Scutter sighed and put a hand over her eyes.

“Oh, you are cheeky. So cheeky!” Lord Sahndle said then turned back to the crowd. “Carry on without, my loves! Lord Sahndle will return after completing his civic duty! I love you all! Dance until you die!”

The crowd whooped and cheered and the head-splitting music started back up.

“This will help,” Scutter said and clamped two metal bracelets on one of Lord Sahndle’s tentacles. “Personal shielding. It’ll stop all projectiles and most explosive devices. Lasers won’t kill you, but they will sting. Plasma is useless against the shields. A plasma blast charges the shield batteries.”

“I know what else will charge my batteries.” Lord Sahndle winked and held out several tentacles to Rage. “I am in your hands, Mr. Rage. Please, be gentle.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rage said and helped Lord Sahndle out of the booth. “Bill? Get us the fuck out of this place, will ya?”

“Gladly, man,” Bill said, one hand to the side of his head. “Getting a damn migraine from this basic-as-hell EDM.” He cleared his throat and shouted, “How about switching it up to emo trap or something interesting like that?”

Twelve

Grup was waiting on the boulevard for Rage and the team.

“I said to go,” Rage snapped as soon as he saw the Clickelack.

“Oh, you consort with one of these?” Lord Sahndle asked. “How disappointing…”

“Been trying to tell you, Rage,” Grup said, all of his arms crossed over his stick chest. “Junior and the Punches are missing.”

“Did you say the Punches? As in Punching Air?” Lord Sahndle asked. He turned to Rage. “You know Punching Air?”

“Wish I didn’t,” Rage replied and faced Grup. “What do you mean they are missing?”

“Missing, man,” Grup said. “We made it to the competition venue in the plaza. Everything was going fine. Your detective friend showed up and said he’d been sent to help keep the bruhs secure. I didn’t believe him but then he did this great impression of you. It was all like—”

“Don’t need to hear it,” Rage said.

“I’d love to hear it,” Choosper called over the comms.

“Yeah, man, let’s see it,” Bill said.

“We already have the real one here. Who cares about a Rage impression, dude?” Rasco said.

“What he said,” Rage agreed. “We need to move. Keep up and talk or go away. Bill?”

“Scutter?” Bill asked.

“Listen to Rage,” Scutter said. “Clear us a path.”

Bill moved into the center of the boulevard and quickly made a path for the team to follow. There were a few Scorchers that disagreed with being lifted into the air and tossed out of the way when they refused to move, but they were in the minority. The majority realized that getting in Bill’s way was going to really be a bummer and that moving fast was a much better life choice.

“So, your detective friend showed up—”

“You said that, Grup,” Rage interrupted, his eyes watching the crowd on each side of the team. “And he’s not my friend.”

Rage kept Lord Sahndle within in arm’s reach, which wasn’t easy since the Ghej kept trying to move as far away from Grup as possible. Rage was constantly having to grab a tentacle and yank the guy back to his side.

“Get on with the story,” Rage said.

“Okay, right, yeah. So Labous got there. We shared some pleasantries because we know each other from Greenville and all,” Grup said. “Did you know he has a sister that—”

“GRUP!” Rage roared.

“Right. Sorry. So he’s there and Junior tells me to get the Punches some water. At first, I’m like hell no, my job is to watch over you guys, but Junior is Junior and he goes into full whiny dick mode. Labous says he’s got the bruhs covered and I can go fetch water.”

“Were there no servants to fetch the water for you?” Lord Sahndle asked. “Please tell me there were at least indentured interns. I must say, if there are not indentured interns at this venue, then I will be highly put out. Who will wipe my waste hole for me later after my fifty-three minutes of defecation?”

“Not it!” Rasco, Bill, and Choosper shouted.

“Motherfucker…” Rage sighed. He glanced at Grup then glanced past Grup. “Horsey? Check our three. Velpoohians.”

“I see them, Rage,” Choosper replied, her voice all business. “They’re browsing stalls right now. I’ll let you know if they look like they’re making a move.”

“Cut to the chase, Grup,” Rage ordered.

“I came back with a whole bunch of waters,” Grup continued. “Good thing I have so many arms.”

“Pshaw. You call that many?” Lord Sahndle said. “Clickelacks and their delusions of grandeur.”

“Junior and the Punches were gone, man!” Grup exclaimed. “So was Detective Labous!”

“Where’d they go?” Rage asked.

“Huh?” Grup replied.

“Where. Did. They. Go?”

“I don’t know. I asked everyone around and they had no idea. Then I asked the competition organizers and get this.” Grup grabbed Rage’s arm. “They don’t have Punching Air in their system. They weren’t invited and aren’t scheduled to compete!”

“What? Preposterous!” Lord Sahndle said. “Punching Air are legends in the a cappella mime troupe circuit. They are invited to all competitions!”

“I know!” Grup said. “Okay, I didn’t really know, but you sound very convincing, man.”

Grup smiled at Lord Sahndle then at Rage.

“Who’s this guy again?” he asked, hooking three thumbs at the Ghej.

“Lord Birkenstock,” Rage said. “He’s one of the judges for the douchebruhs’ competition thingy.”

“I’d appreciate if you did not call me that,” Lord Sahndle said. “Despite the Birkenstocks being a prominent family, it is disrespectful to address me by a name other than my own.”

Grup smiled and nodded at the lord then looked back at Rage.

“I bet you two are having all kinds of fun together,” Grup said.

“Keep talking about the Punches being missing,” Rage said. “Horsey? What’s the update on the Velpoohians?”

“Still shopping, Rage.”

“Bill?”

“Clearing the way. Nothing suspicious.”

“Rasco?”

“No out of the ordinary signals or transmissions. If an attack is coming, it won’t be via tech.”

“Scutter?”

“Fuck you, Max. I should be asking all of those questions.”

“But you didn’t,” Rage replied.

“You did tell me to listen to him,” Bill said.

“See?” Rage responded. “Grup? Keep talking.” He sighed. “I never thought I’d say that ever in my life.”

“Talking? I’m done. The Punches are gone, Rage, and there’s no record of them being there,” Grup said.

“Rasco? Check the venue’s logs to see if there’s vid of the Punches. Specifically, look for a yellow-skinned, green-haired douchebag. I could care less about the other douchebruhs, but my lady friend will really be pissed if I lose her kid.”

“No way, dude,” Rasco replied. “I’m not wasting time checking vids to find your girlfriend’s brat.”

“The vid will be of the venue we are currently escorting Lord Chaco too,” Rage said. “Might be a good idea to know if there’s some group snatching people and wiping their presence clean. Don’t you think that could be relevant a little to our current job?”

“Once again, despite the Chaco family being a—”

“Shut up, jelly boy,” Rage snapped at Lord Sahndle.

“Goddamnit, Rage,” Scutter snarled as she shoved up next to Rage. “Show respect or you are off this job and you lose your one chance at wiping your debt clean.”

“You’re supposed to have our six, Scutter,” Rage said. “We get shot in the back, Earth Corp will be looking at you, not me.”

“Be. Fucking. Nice.” Scutter spat.

“Fine. Lord Sahndle, I apologize for making light of your name and your family’s prominence within the intergalactic community. I hope you do not harbor any ill will toward…” Rage took a deep breath. “I hope you do not harbor… Oh, for fuck’s sake, I can’t do this. Everyone fucking stop!”

Rage jammed a finger in Lord Sahndle’s blob body.

“You. I’m gonna fuck with you all I want because I despise galactic royalty and the entire class system that you stand for. You all can go fuck yourselves, which you do anyway since you’re all a bunch of inbred, spoiled fucknuts.”

His finger turned on the team, one by one.

“From now on, I call the shots. Scutter can pretend she’s the team lead, but the real reason I’m here is because I’m better at this than she is. If I say jump, you fucking jump. Only way this works.”

The finger landed on Scutter.

“If you have a problem, then let’s throw down now. You and me. Fists. Rifles. Blades. Whatever you want. You want to beat the shit out of each other with those Velpoohians’ goggles, then that’s what we do. If you don’t want to throw down right now, then that means I am running this show one hundred and ten percent.”

“There can only be one hundred percent,” Lord Sahndle said. “I was very good at maths in my academy days.”

“Good for you, but I doubt you can count higher than the amount of tentacles you have,” Rage replied.

“Oh, you,” Lord Sahndle said. “Crude and rude, but so entertaining. I accept the threat of your taunts only because it will be a joy to watch you work, Mr. Rage.”

“Scutter? What’s the call?” Rage asked.

“You should shoot him,” Rasco said and held up his hands. “Am I wrong, dude? Wouldn’t you shoot someone trying to usurp your authority?”

“Fair enough,” Rage said.

“Fine, Max,” Scutter said through gritted teeth. “You want to call all the shots then you get to call all the shots. Good luck with that.”

“Don’t need luck,” Rage said and patted his dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifles.

“Rage? So what do we do?” Grup asked.

“Rasco? You see anything?” Rage asked.

“Give me a second,” Rasco snapped. “The signal is shit right now.”

There was some grumbling from the crowd. Rage stiffened and slowly raised one of his rifles to his shoulder.

“Grup, you fucked up with Junior, but I’ll give you a second chance,” Rage said. “You stick to Lord Teva here like stink on shit, hear me?”

“What? Why?” Grup asked.

“Signal is down! We’re being jammed!” Rasco announced as the entire crowd groaned and complained about their signals being down.

Then all hell broke loose.

Thirteen

The Velpoohians weren’t the ones that attacked the team.

Rage was surprised to watch three of the space pirates get torn apart by plasma fire before their eyebrows even had a chance to rise in surprise over their goggles.

“Six bogies in stealth suits!” Choosper called from above. “Two at ten! One at two! Two at five! And one at seven!”

“Get your ass down!” Rage yelled and shoved Lord Sahndle onto the ground.

“Oh, how rough!” Lord Sahndle shrieked. “I love it!”

“What do I do? What do I do?” Grup screeched as he ran around in a circle.

“Cover him!” Rage yelled and spun to fire at the team’s five o’clock position.

Grup leapt into the air and landed on Lord Sahndle in a full body slam, wrapping his five arms across the alien’s shaking and shivering body.

“That works too!” Rage said, his rifle barking plasma at the barely discernible forms of two of the attackers.

“I got the seven!” Choosper yelled.

Holy hellfire rained down from the Kalanip’s rifle. Whatever or whoever had been standing in that exact position no longer existed. All that was left was a good-sized crater and a couple pieces of black material that slowly floated down into the crater.

“Fuck me,” Rage said. “New respect earned, Choosper.”

“Rage!” Bill yelled. “They can transport!”

Something slammed into Rage’s back and he fell face forward onto the ground. But, being Rage, he managed to twist and open fire before he was fully laid out. There was a scream, a flicker of light, then a poof of smoke and a spray of gunk that coated Rage from head to toe.

“Charbeshuns!” Rage announced. “We got smokies, people!”

“Smokies! They fight for shit!” Bill yelled.

“Do they look like they’re fighting for shit?” Rage asked. “They obviously have tech suits helping them fight for more than shit!”

“Right!” Bill agreed. “Sorry, man!”

“Smokies. Fucking hate smokies,” Rasco muttered as he drew two pistols and began firing indiscriminately. “Smokies get inside you, dude. Always trying to get inside you.”

“Uh, folks, I think we have found Rasco’s trigger,” Rage said. “Anyone got a sedative we can give the guy?”

“Sedatives don’t work on the Starsch,” Scutter shouted. “Rasco! Pull your shit together!”

A shimmering shadow appeared in front of Rage and he instinctively shot it. It died. It died horribly. The tech suit split wide open and the smoke being inside exploded out everywhere, sending gray threads of sticky, dead smoke in all directions.

But mostly all over Rage.

Charbeshuns were an alien shadow race. Made of sentient smoke, they could become dense as iron when they needed to, making them very dangerous opponents. They weren’t usually a violent race. Unless threatened, then they’d fight to the death without a second thought.

“Damnit!” Rage yelled as he fruitlessly tried to wipe the remains of the alien off his body. All he managed to do was smear it everywhere and get the sticky strands stuck between the fingers of his gloves. “Every damn time!”

Another volley of hellfire rained down from above and three more attackers were turned to craters.

“Aaaaaaaaaa!” Grup screamed.

Rage spun around and saw a no longer stealth-hidden Charbeshun trying to pry the alien’s five hands away from Lord Sahndle’s body. Rage stuck the barrel of his rifle against where he figured the top of the alien’s skull was.

“You might want to rethink that,” Rage said. “Let go and get off the Clickelack. Surrender and you get to live.”

“We will never surre—” was all Rage allowed the being to say.

He squeezed the trigger and the tech suit the alien wore popped like a balloon. Rage managed to miss most of the smoke threads, but Grup and Lord Sahndle weren’t so lucky.

“Oh, it’s so sticky,” Lord Sahndle said. “And not the good sticky.”

“Fucking Charbeshuns,” Rasco muttered from off to the side. “Gonna nuke that planet, dude. Gonna nuke it good.”

“Uh, okay… You do that,” Rage said and yanked Grup off the Ghej. “You hurt, Lord Keen?”

“Keen? I am unfamiliar with that family? Do they live on the north coast?” Lord Sahndle asked as Scutter helped the alien up onto his tentacles. “No, no, it must be the south coast. I know all the families on the north coast.”

“No you don’t,” Rage said and looked the Ghej up and down. “You good?”

“Well, that is quite the question to ask, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle responded. “While I do not appear to be injured, I must say that my anxiety level is no longer Xanax approved. I will need a Klonopin cocktail enema post haste, please. Here, let me bend over so you can—”

“Nope to that,” Rage said. “You’re good.”

Rage surveyed the scene. It wasn’t pretty.

“Choosper? We clear?” he asked.

“We are clear, Rage,” Choosper responded. “Security is incoming, though. We staying put or moving out?”

“Scutter? You want to stay and chat with the Earth Corp security bozos or do we keep moving?” Rage asked.

“You’re in charge, Max,” Scutter replied with a sneer.

“I figured you’d say that,” Rage said. “Grup? Gonna need you to stall the bozos.”

“Do what now? I have no idea what a bozo is, man,” Grup said.

“Stay and stall the Earth Corp security guards,” Rage clarified.

“How am I going to do that? They have stun batons. I know they do. They always have stun batons,” Grup said.

“Just be you. You can stall and waste anyone’s time,” Rage said.

“But the stun batons…”

“How many times have I stunned you since you’ve been coming to Crater Ray’s?” Rage asked.

“Six hundred and ninety-five,” Grup answered.

“That’s pretty specific,” Bill said.

“And a lot of voltage,” Rasco added.

“Clickelacks are very resilient,” Grup stated proudly.

“Which is why you’re the member of the team that’s staying behind,” Rage said and patted Grup on one of his shoulders. He tried to pull his hand away, but the Charbeshun gunk was like glue and he ended up lifting Grup into the air. “Damnit.”

Rage slid his hand from the glove and left it where it was stuck.

“Did you say…? Did you say I’m part of the team?” Grup asked. He puffed out his stick chest and tried to look tough, but the tears welling in his eyes kinda killed the faux bravado. “Oh, Rage…”

“Hey! No crying on the job!” Rage snapped.

“No, sir!” Grup yelled and gave Rage a three-handed salute. Two of the hands stuck to the Clickelack’s forehead. “Uh…”

“You think this is a good idea?” Scutter asked, moving in close so only Rage could hear.

“Fuck no,” Rage replied. “But it’ll stall the guards and get Grup out of my hair for a bit.”

“Okay. You’re in charge, Max,” Scutter said and stepped back. She reloaded her weapons and waited.

“Check yourselves,” Rage said to the team. “Bill? Find us a side route.”

“On it,” Bill said and turned to the closest tent. “You! You got a back way out?”

The tent owner just stood there, terror in his eyes, his body shaking with pure fear.

“Better answer me!” Bill yelled.

The tent owner nodded.

“Good. Open it, we’re coming through,” Bill said then marched right at the guy.

The owner scurried fast to get the back way open. A slice of ground slid apart and stairs descended down into the darkness.

“Am I coming too?” Choosper asked.

“No,” Rage said. “I need your eyes when we exit.”

“Copy that!”

“Bill? Lead on,” Rage said.

Rage’s arm snapped out and he grabbed Rasco by the shoulder, pulling the Starsch in close.

“You got your shit stowed?” Rage growled. “Or am I going to have to worry about you again?”

“Shit’s stowed, dude,” Rasco said. “Won’t happen again.”

“Better not or I shoot you myself next time,” Rage said. “Now get your ass down there after Bill. I want you scanning everything as we move. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Let’s go, team!”

Fourteen

“Well… This was a bad idea,” Bill said.

There was a certain, rather pungent aroma to the subterranean corridor the team was currently walking.

Earthy? Yes.

Sour? Perhaps.

Fecal? For sure.

In the general vernacular, it would be called smelling like ass.

“Is this a sewage tunnel?” Rage asked. “Because it sure smells like a fucking sewage tunnel.”

“No,” Bill said. “Sewage tunnels cannot be accessed by living beings. Only bots.”

“So, and I’m spitballing here, this is just a tunnel where beings come to take a lot of shits in then,” Rage said. “An artisanal sewage tunnel.”

“That’s not a thing,” Scutter said.

“My nose argues that it is,” Rage replied. “And it makes a very fucking good argument.”

“There is no sewage,” Rasco said. “I’m scanning on all spectrums and I can find zero evidence of fecal matter from any race.”

“Then what’s up with the ass smell?” Rage asked.

“Butt party!” Lord Sahndle shouted and shot all tentacles up in the air.

The Ghej started to run down the corridor, but Rage grabbed one of the waving tentacles and yanked him back.

“Did you shout butt party?” Rage asked

“Oh, my, yes I did,” Lord Sahndle responded, bouncing with glee.

“Why would you yell butt party?” Rage asked.

“Because that is the distinctive smell of a butt party,” Lord Sahndle replied matter-of-factly. “Have you truly never been invited to a butt party?”

“No,” Rage stated.

“None of you?” Lord Sahndle asked, looking from one member of the team to the other. “Not a one? Well, all of you are in for a treat.”

“I don’t believe I am, dude,” Rasco said.

“Lord Sahndle, could you please explain to us what a butt party is?” Scutter asked.

“Nothing is going in my butt,” Bill said. “Gonna make that clear, man.”

“Oh, no no no,” Lord Sahndle said. “It is not an insertion event.”

“No, of course not,” Rage said. “Why would we even think that?”

“As if, right?” Lord Sahndle laughed. “Surely, Mr. Rage, being an intergalactic man of mystery, you were jesting when you said you did not know what a butt party is.”

“Surely,” Rage said. “Now, since you are way better with the words, despite my intergalactic mysteriousness, how about you take charge and explain it to these losers.”

“It would be my honor, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle said.

He cleared what approximated as a throat for a blob.

“A butt party is a time-honored tradition at Scorching Dude,” Lord Sahndle explained. “Since showering and bathing is, of course, optional, one’s rectal area or waste hole can become quite fragrant. Now, in the beginning of Scorching Dude, which I was lucky to be a part of—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, how old are you?” Rage asked.

“A gentleman never asks, Mr. Rage, and a Ghej never tells.” Lord Sahndle snickered. “As I was saying, due to the powerful aromas, many Scorchers were either told to bathe, as if, or were sent below to subterranean levels such as this so others would not be tortured by their lack of anal washing. Again, as if.”

The team stared. The team waited. Finally, Rage nodded.

“So, what you are saying, is the people at this butt party we’re smelling have been banished down here until they decide to bathe?” rage asked.

“Banished? I said no such thing,” Lord Sahndle said. “A butt party is a time-honored tradition.”

“Yep, you said that. That’s about all you said. Maybe you should spell it out for us. If these folks ain’t been banished, then why are they down here?”

“Oh, Mr. Rage, have you learned nothing at Scorching Dude?”

“Nothing butt party related, no.”

“It’s all about the hierarchy. A hierarchy amongst all races, classes, sub-classes, sub-races, clothing tastes, taste tastes, height, weight, glitter capacity within one’s pelvic region, and…?”

“And butt smell,” Rage said. “Please tell me a butt party isn’t a bunch of nasty ass folks sniffing each other’s nasty asses.”

“Uh, well… That is precisely what a butt party is,” Lord Sahndle said, looking very confused. “You are all such strange folk. Very macho and butch, but strange. Perhaps you should consider lightening up a bit and letting yourselves go for your duration of our journey?”

“No offense, Lord Sahndle,” Scutter said. “But the second we loosen up is the second you die. We just survived an attack and we were fully tightened. You do not want us loose.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Rage said. “Rasco? Find us a way around this butt party.”

“A way around? A WAY AROUND?” Lord Sahndle exclaimed. “There will be no finding of ways around the butt party! They are highly exclusive and rare to stumble upon! I myself have only attended two hundred and forty-one butt parties, which is considered a low number amongst my class. One does not go around a butt party at Scorching Dude, Mr. Rage. That would be unacceptable.”

“I advise you start figuring out how to accept it,” Rage replied. “We’re skipping the butt party.”

Lord Sahndle shook with anger. Then began to whistle. The whistle turned into a wail.

And his blob body started to glow a bright, bright, really, really bright puce. Like really bright.

“Fucking A! Make him stop with the screeching!” Rage shouted. “And what’s with the glowing, too? Is that normal?”

“Lord Sahndle!” Scutter shouted. “LORD SAHNDLE! WE WILL GO TO THE BUTT PARTY! DO YOU HEAR ME? WE WILL GO TO THE BUTT PARTY!”

Lord Sahndle stopped wailing and the glow died down.

“Lovely,” he said. “Nothing like a proper Sahndle family tantrum to do the trick. My grandmum taught me that particular routine. Did you know that most Ghej families have at least seventeen different tantrums they can utilize when the occasion calls for it? It’s true.”

“I don’t doubt ya,” Rage said.

“Shall we move along?” Lord Sahndle asked. “If we’re lucky, we won’t be too late for hors d’oeuvres.”

“There is no way I am eating anything at a butt party,” Rage said.

“Oh, but you must!” Lord Sahndle said then laughed. “But you must… My wit has no bounds. Come along!”

The Ghej skipped off down the corridor. He was a very fast skipper. Rage and the rest had to jog to keep up.

“Slow down there, Lord Crocs!” Rage shouted as he struggled to keep up.

The Ghej was moving faster and faster. Sure, he was a really great skipper, but Rage began to suspect something else was going on.

“Tractor beam!” Rage yelled. “It’s got a lock on Lord Easy Spirit!”

“Do they make sandals, dude?” Rasco shouted.

“I don’t know!” Rage said. “I’m running out of brands to mock him with!”

Rage took aim with his rifle, flipped a switch on the side marked “tackle net” which was pretty self-explanatory, and fired.

A thin net made of non-slice and dice monofilament raced from the rifle’s barrel and wrapped about Lord Sahndle. A tether was connected to the net and locked securely to Rage’s rifle. He slammed on the brakes, planted his feet, and tugged with all his strength.

He only managed to slow the Ghej, not stop him.

“Oh my!” Lord Sahndle yelled. “I do believe I am in need of assistance!”

“Yeah, we know!” Rage yelled. “Bill! I need your bulk!”

“On it!” Bill replied.

The Jamba snatched the rifle out of Rage’s hands and nodded at the still-moving Ghej.

“I can hold him for a few minutes, but the beam is strong, man!” Bill exclaimed.

“No shit!” Rage replied. “Scutter! Rasco! On me!”

The other two members of the team joined Rage as they sprinted to Lord Sahndle. The Ghej’s eyes were wide with fear.

“You must hurry!” Lord Sahndle said. “I will slip the net easily!”

“How can you slip the net?” Rage asked as he made sure not to stand toward the front of the Ghej. The tractor beam was invisible and Rage had no intention of accidentally getting caught up in it.

“I am an invertebrate, Mr. Rage!” Lord Sahndle responded. “See!”

Part of Lord Sahndle’s jelly blob body squeezed through a portion of the net. Once that happened, it was like an avalanche of Ghej flesh being shoved through a funnel.

“Shit!” Rage yelled.

Lord Sahndle was being sucked through the net faster as Bill pulled back with the tether.

“Give it some play!” Rage yelled. “Bill! Give it some play!”

“I’m trying, but this beam wants to pull the rifle out of my hands, man!” Bill responded.

“You have twelve fucking hands! Use all of them!” Rage roared.

“I am, asshole!”

“Shit,” Rage muttered. He quickly realized they were fighting a losing battle.

“Max! You have one job!” Scutter shouted. “Do not let him out of your sight!”

“Shit!” Rage shouted just as Lord Sahndle was fully sucked out of the net.

Rage dove and grabbed onto two of the Ghej’s tentacles.

Then the ride began.

Fifteen

“Jesus Christ!” Rage yelled as he and Lord Sahndle were dragged down the dank corridor that was getting danker, and stanker, as the seconds passed by.

“This is not a butt party! This is not a butt party!” Lord Sahndle yelled over and over again as the tractor beam refused to relent.

The corridor had been illuminated by string lights set along the ceiling, but those lights were few and far between as the nightmare journey continued. In a matter of seconds, all illumination was behind them and Rage was staring into pitch darkness.

Taking a huge risk, Rage let go of Lord Sahndle with one hand and activated his ocular implant. The corridor lit up as Rage’s night vision protocol kicked in.

After a couple of confused seconds, Rage almost wished he’d stayed blind.

“Butthole!” Rage shouted.

“There is no need for insults, Mr. Rage!” Lord Sahndle shouted back. “I understand that I may be partially to blame for our current circumstances due to my enthusiasm for all things butt party. However, you should know that—”

“No, you idiot, a literal butthole!” Rage interrupted. “Straight ahead! It’s filling the entire corridor and we’re being dragged right at it!”

“Oh, a real butthole,” Lord Sahndle replied. “Well, that is unfortunate.”

“No shit!” Rage yelled. “How the hell is there a giant butthole below Scorching Dude? What is this thing?”

“What? Mr. Rage, how do you not know of the original settlers of Mars?” Lord Sahndle asked. “A man such as—”

“Original settlers? You mean Martians?” Rage interrupted.

“Martians? No, no, no. They became extinct billions and billions of years ago,” Lord Sahndle replied. He coughed and gasped. “Oh, my, that odor is certainly pungent. I cannot believe I didn’t notice before. Certainly too pungent even for a butt party.”

“Original settlers!” Rage shouted.

“Oh, yes, my apologies,” Lord Sahndle said and continued. “The first race to reach Mars was not from Earth, Mr. Rage. It was from Centauri Seventeen.”

“There is no Centauri Seventeen!”

“Not anymore, no. But several hundred thousand years ago there was. Then the dominant race destroyed the planet’s ecosystem and sucked it dry of all water. Greedy water drinkers, they were. Did you know that Mars was once nothing but vast oceans broken up by polar glaciers and rushing rivers that roared down the massive mountain ranges that crisscrossed the planet?”

“Nope. Didn’t know that.”

“Well, it’s true. Until the Sphuncters arrived.”

Rage sighed. He didn’t want to ask, but he really had no choice.

“Sphuncters?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Rage. The Sphuncters. They are a worm race that subsists solely on water. They also have no size limit. The more water they consume, the larger they get. Conversely, if they cannot find water, then they shrink and go dormant.”

“Good for them! That doesn’t explain why I’m staring at one’s butthole right now!”

“Well, the entire race went dormant once they sucked Mars dry of all moisture. Then, when colonization began by Earth, water became available again. But not in the quantities they needed. Then Scorching Dude happened. Tunnels and subterranean levels were created. One of those tunnels allowed the dormant Sphuncters to slowly come back to life as errant moisture from above leaked down below.”

“Still doesn’t explain the giant butthole!”

“So cheeky. So impatient.”

“SAHNDLE!”

“Many Sphuncters tapped into the water supply and grew so large they overtook tunnels like this one! Now there are hundreds of them across the planet that are stuck. Enough moisture reaches them so that they do not shrink, but not enough to sate their incessant thirst. So, they evolved and adapted and figured out that most living beings despite race are made up of majority water. They became predators.”

“How could they develop tractor beams if they are stuck down here?”

“Develop…? No, Mr. Rage, this is not a tractor beam. We are not being pulled toward the massive butthole by technology. Sphuncters are powerful telekinetics. We are being pulled to the creature’s butthole by its mind. By its mind, sir! Its mind!”

“Why do I fucking ask?” Rage mumbled.

Then they reached the massive butthole and Rage made the wise choice to keep his mouth shut.

Lord Sahndle and Rage slammed into the puckered flesh then were yanked deep inside. Rage held his breath as they were squeezed through the folded and wrinkled anal skin of the Sphuncter. Rage was expecting moist since Lord Sahndle had continuously said moisture was what the Sphuncters were all about. But the butt was far from moist.

The Sphuncter sphincter was dry and scratchy. Rage’s T-shirt was scraped off of him until his bare skin was being sanded down layer by layer.

It was a good thing for Rage that he was genetically engineered and physically enhanced. His healing abilities repaired his skin almost as fast as it was sanded away. Pain, relief. Pain, relief. Over and over.

Until they finally popped free of the Sphuncter’s sphincter and were deep inside the lower colon of the alien worm.

Rage’s lungs were ready to burst, but he held his breath. He could survive zero atmosphere for a long while, so an airless intestine wasn’t too much of a stretch. Which was a lie Rage told himself because an airless intestine was a considerable stretch from being tossed out into open space and zero atmosphere. At least in open space there was always a view.

“Ahhhh,” Lord Sahndle sighed. “That was a most unpleasant journey.” He tittered. “Or should I say, a moist unpleasant journey?”

Silence.

“Mr. Rage? You can breathe in here,” Lord Sahndle said. “There is plenty of oxygen.”

Rage fought the urge, but the agony in his lungs soon became more than he wanted to deal with. And if he was going to get them out of the alien worm’s intestines, he was going to have to breathe.

Out went the bad air, in came the even badder air.

“Oh, fuck me running in pink spandex,” Rage said, gasping, coughing, choking, and nearly puking all at the same time from the stench that was worse than anything Rage had experienced.

And he’d experienced rotting corpse mounds for quite a few years when he was a master chief sergeant major for Earth Corp. Rage wished he was buried inside one of those corpse mounds instead right then. It would have been a million times better.

“The Sphuncter uses its butthole to catch prey?” Rage asked.

“What? Oh, well, they only have buttholes. One on each end. That way they can catch food from either direction. Such fast evolution with these Sphuncters. Enviable in a way.”

“No. No, it’s not enviable. It’s fucking disgusting. Two buttholes? Both used to catch and eat people? Nope. That’s not enviable, Sahndle.”

“You have stopped mocking my name with footwear brands.”

“Too busy wanting to slice my nose off to end this torture to bother with the mockery, pal. I need to focus on how to get us out of here. If there are buttholes on each end, and we can breathe inside here, then we should be able to keep going. I still have one dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle on me.”

“Um…no.”

“What do you mean, um…no? Yeah. The rifle is strapped to my back. My shirt is gone, but the rifle stayed.”

“I meant no to the escaping. Telekinesis, Mr. Rage. If we attempt to exit from the opposite end, we will simply be mentally dragged back inside. As I said, their evolution is enviable.”

“Still not gonna agree with that shit. No envy. None.”

Rage sat there in the dark and thought. Even with his ocular implant, the intestine was pitch dark. The sphincter behind them was so tight that not even the least bit of ambient light was allowed through.

“There is one thing I should mention,” Lord Sahndle said, breaking Rage’s concentration.

“Is it a useful thing?” Rage asked. “Or is it just more Sphuncter trivia?”

“Both,” Lord Sahndle replied. “As I am sure you know, all races have their own intestinal biomes that flourish within in order to allow for the proper absorption of nutrients and to fight off foreign microbes and parasites, yes? Humans have…what do you call it?”

“Bacteria,” Rage said, not liking where the conversation was going.

“Bacteria. Yes,” Lord Sahndle continued. “The Sphuncters have a version of that, too.”

“Good for them,” Rage said. “Someone should tell them to eat yogurt to keep the bacteria healthy. That it?”

“No.”

“Then out with it, Sahndle.”

“Askerdons.”

Rage hoped for a split second he had misheard.

Askerdons were perfectly round aliens with four legs and two arms. They looked like beach balls with limbs. And they enjoyed pissing on everything they could to mark their territory. Their piss was nearly impossible to wash off and if a person was unlucky enough to be victim to the urinary marking then it meant a lot of hot showers and several layers of lost skin before the stink went away.

Rage hated Askerdons.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Rage?”

“Trying to pretend I didn’t. Askerdons?”

“Askerdons.”

“How in all the fucks did Askerdons end up inside Sphuncters?” Rage asked then prayed to every intergalactic deity he knew the name of that he’d never, ever have to ask a question like that again.

“No one knows,” Lord Sahndle replied in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I think it was the Notchas. They always try to ruin a good time.”

“Notchas? I know the Notchas and they’re one of the few alien races I don’t hate,” Rage said.

“I’m just saying what I heard, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle responded.

“Telekinetic alien worms that want to suck us dry. Askerdons that will piss on us until we’ll never be clean again. And I still need to get you to the competition or I’m gonna owe a lot more to Earth Corp than I already do.” Rage growled low in his throat. “Only option is to kill this Sphuncter we’re stuck in. How do I do that?”

“Kill it? If you try, it will stop you.”

“Is the fucking thing psychic too?”

“Well, no, not that I know of. But it does feel pain. As soon as you begin with the killing then it will try to kill you. With its mind.”

“Then how do I kill it without it knowing it’s about to die?” Rage paused. “It can’t hear us down here, can it? Does it understand languages?”

“Those are both very good questions,” Lord Sahndle said. “I do not know if anyone has ever asked. Shall I try?”

“Why would I let you try? God, the stink in here is really fucking with my brain! If I can kill it ten times, I’m fucking gonna!”

“For that reason there, Mr. Rage. Diplomacy is not your strong suit. However, as a Ghej, I have been trained in the art since birth. Allow me.”

Lord Sahndle cleared his whatever throat.

“Pardon me. Mr. Sphuncter? Hello? If you can hear me, I would like to introduce myself. I am Lord Cornelius Berger von Hauten De La Paz Sahndle the Fortieth. Might I have a word with you?”

“Those are all Earth names,” Rage said. “Why does your family have Earth names?”

“Closest translation. Your tiny Earth mind would explode if you tried to pronounce my true name. I do not even believe your ears can hear the name being uttered without madness ensuing.”

“Great. Keep talking to the butt worm, Sahndle.”

“Yes, I shall. Mr. Sphuncter? Or would it be Ms. Sphuncter? If you have a prefix preference, please let me know since the last thing I want to do is offend you.”

“You talkin’ to me, bitch?”

The intestinal walls rumbled as the words echoed around Rage and Lord Sahndle.

“I, uh… Yes?” Lord Sahndle responded. “To whom am I speaking?”

“To whom? To whom! Well, la-de-fucking-da. The jelly guy with all the tentacles asks to whom! They call me Grandmaster Scunge, yo. Wassup, bitches?”

“Yeah. This is gonna go great,” Rage muttered.

Sixteen

“Yo, if you be talkin’ at me, then you best hurry because I gots my Asker-dasker-dos headin’ your way, bitches. Got somethin’ to say? Fuckin’ say it, yo. Otherwise get ready for some serious pissin’ comin’ atcha. Those Asker-dasker-dos is gonna hose you down and make ya all tasty and shit. Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“Great. Stuck inside the colon of a douchebruh worm,” Rage said, readying his rifle. “Am I surprised? No. No, I am not surprised.”

“Who you callin’ douchebruh, douchebruh? I’m full street, yo. No douchebruh here. I’m legit hardcore. You put a douchebruh in front of me and I’ll shove that bitch so far up my ass he won’t know what hit him.”

“Anyone that gets mentally sucked up a giant worm’s anus is not going to know what hit them, pal,” Rage said. “Now—”

“Mr. Rage? Please, let me handle the communications,” Lord Sahndle said. “A delicate touch is needed here, I can tell.”

“Delicate touch? Have you been listening to this guy? Delicate isn’t the word that comes to mind.”

“I insist you let me try,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Have at it, my lord,” Rage said.

“Lord? Oh, shit, yo! I got royalty all up in my butt!” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Never sucked dry some royalty before. This gonna be delish, yo!”

“Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle said. “Would it be possible for you to allow us to leave your fine innards? Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement I need to attend. A very important engagement, as a matter of fact. I am sure you can understand the pressures that are put upon important figures such as ourselves. I am a Ghej lord and you are a grandmaster. Very few understand the tensions we are under.”

“True dat, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge responded. “You think it’s easy hangin’ out down here all day and all night waitin’ for my brain to grab up some tasty treats? No fuckin’ way, yo. This is hard ass work. Literally, yo! I got to keep two asses goin’ at once to maintain this rockin’ bod. Shit, sometimes I go weeks before some lost ass bitch falls down a hole and ends up close enough to snag. Weeks, yo. Shit is hard, yo. Hard.”

“Yes, and I hear that for which you are dishing, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle said. “That is why I would like to make you an offer. It is a very lucrative offer. If you allow us to leave, I will guarantee that you receive all the water you can drink. My family is very tight with the Nestles. Do you know the Nestles?”

“Bitch, yeah I know the Nestles!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “That’s the bitch ass family that took control of all the water across the goddamn galaxy! Water stealin’ motherfuckers!”

“Oh, I do agree. One hundred percent, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle said. “So, wouldn’t it be just delish if I was able to provide you water directly from the Nestles’ personal reserves? I can make that happen, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge. Being Ghej, I have that kind of pull.”

“Nestle water? You can get me unlimited Nestle water?” Grandmaster Scunge asked. “How you gonna do that, yo?”

“Well, first we would have to be set free—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course you’d have to be set free. Ain’t no comms service down in this tunnel. Especially no comms service inside my guts, yo. Been tryin’ to get Earth Corp to set up a transmitter near my north anus, but they won’t do it. Cheap motherfuckers, yo. Cheap ass motherfuckers.”

“I’ll agree with you there,” Rage said. “I owe them two million credits and those assholes are charging me thirty-six percent interest. Per day. Per fucking day.”

“What? Thirty-six percent per day? No fuckin’ way, yo.”

“True story.”

“Daaaaaamn! That ain’t right, yo.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, you see, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle continued, “we are all victims here of the corporate hegemony.”

“Corporate hegemony? Bitch, you’re a Ghej lord. You ain’t victim of shit. I’m done talkin’ to you, yo. I’m gonna talk to the bitch with all the debt now. What’s your name, debt bitch?”

“Rage.”

“What’s that now? Rick?”

“No. Rage. Max Rage is my name.”

The colon went still and got very quiet.

“Rage. You say your name is Rage? Max Rage?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

“Yeah. Max Rage.”

“Bullshit! That’s a whole lotta bullshit is what that is. There ain’t no Max Rage all up in my guts. No fuckin’ way.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“Heard of you? Bitch, you a legend! Crossin’ the galaxies and killin’ entire planets full of bitches! You the real fuckin’ deal, yo!”

“Uh…thanks,” Rage said. “So, if you’ve heard of me, then you know what I’m capable of. You know I’ll get us out of here and it won’t be good for you if I do.”

“Oh shit!” Grandmaster Scunge laughed and laughed and laughed. “Listen to this bitch all frontin’ and shit! Damn!”

“I ain’t frontin’,” Rage said. “I heal. Fast. You can do a lot to me and I’ll just keep on fighting. Bring on your Askerdons. I’ll kill every last one of them.”

“Bitch, you ain’t gonna kill no Asker-dasker-dos,” Grandmaster Scunge responded. “Asker-dasker-dos is like indestructible and shit. Don’t live long, but ain’t no one gonna kill them while they are livin’.”

“I’ll kill them,” Rage said.

“Wanna bet, bitch?’ Grandmaster Scunge laughed. “You kill even one of my Asker-dasker-dos and I’ll let you go free. Don’t even need to get me that sweet Nestle water, yo. You kill an Asker-dasker-do and you earn your freedom.”

“How do I know you’ll keep that deal?” Rage asked.

“Whoa…” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “My word is my bond, yo. Sphuncters don’t mess around when it comes to makin’ deals, bitch. We all stuck down here in these stupid, bitch ass tunnels, waitin’ on Scorchers that are high as fuck or just stupid to come wandering along. You think I got the time or energy to fuck around and play you, bitch? Fuuuuuck…”

“I kill an Askerdon and you’ll let us go? You could keep your word by letting us go then sucking us right back in,” Rage said. “I’ve made a thousand deals on a thousand planets with a thousand different races. Wouldn’t be the first time some asshole tries to trick me with word games.”

“Yo, Rage, here’s how it’ll go,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “You kill one of my Asker-dasker-dos and not only will I let you and the lord bitch go, but I’ll give you little bitches a ride to wherever you need to get to.”

“A ride, you say?” Lord Sahndle said. “Can you get us to the A Cappella Mime Troupe Plaza? I am judging the competition there.”

“No fuckin’ way!” Grandmaster Scunge exclaimed. “I love a cappella mime! Love it, yo! That shit is the bomb! I mean, I ain’t never been to a real performance because I’m stuck down here, but like a hundred years ago, I caught a whole fuckin’ troupe, yo. Made them perform in front of my south anus for hours. Then I ate the bitches because I was fuckin’ thirsty as fuck after a show like that. Yo, can you get me in to see the competition?”

“I, well, you are rather large, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Yeah, sure,” Rage interrupted “We can get you in. I know one of the troupes personally and the lord here has all kinds of pull.”

“Yeah he does, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “Fuckin’ goin’ to see the a cappella mime troupe comp! Fuck yeah, bitches!”

“Do you think that perhaps since we are getting you in to see the performances, we could skip the killing of the Askerdon?” Lord Sahndle asked. “We are on a bit of a timetable.”

Rage shook his head and pointed up.

“What? No way, bitch. Deal has been made, yo. Back out now and I’m gonna have to drink you dry for bein’ a backin’ out little bitch, bitch.”

“That,” Rage said and lowered his finger.

He gripped his rifle tight and turned the opposite way they’d come in from.

“Bring on the Askerdon,” Rage said.

“Oh, it’s bein’ brought, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “It’s bein’ brought so hard that you’re gonna break your eyes just seein’ all the bringin’, bitch! Yeah, bitch!”

Rage hadn’t had a ton of experience with Askerdons. The brief bit he had interacted, he was not happy. Stinking like piss for a day or so no matter how much you shower tends to ruin the mood.

But, despite his lack of expertise with the alien race, there was one distinguishing characteristic that Rage was expecting.

“Is that laughing?” Lord Sahndle asked.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Rage replied. “The little fuckers never stop laughing. They think being nearly indestructible and getting to piss on whatever they want is hilarious.”

“Rather rude of them,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Shut the fuck up, snooty bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “If the Asker-dasker-do wants to giggle his tits off, then he gets to giggle his tits off.”

“Right before I blast his tits off,” Rage said.

“Oh, daaaaaaaamn!” Grandmaster Scunge exclaimed.

The laughing grew louder. And louder. And louder. Way too loud. Much, much louder than Rage would have liked.

“That sounds like more than one, Scunge,” Rage said.

“It is, bitch. Deal was for you to kill one, yo. We ain’t made no deal about me sending more than one at ya. Shoulda been payin’ attention, bitch! It’s Asker-dasker-do time!”

“Mother….” Rage sighed. “Fine. Bring it.”

Six Askerdons came bouncing at them from out of the darkness of the Sphuncter’s intestines. The light on Rage’s rifle reflected off their yellow, bouncing bodies and turned everything a nice urine color. Rage thought that was fitting.

He also thought he’d had enough of shit stink, pissy aliens, and giant worm asses. It was time to get to work.

Seventeen

Rage opened fire. He let loose with three hot rockets and an endless stream of plasma fire.

“Yo, bitch! Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “Shit stings, yo!”

“YOU WANT THE RAGE? THEN YOU’RE GONNA FEEL THE RAGE!” Rage roared. “BITCH!”

Rage kept firing and the Askerdons kept laughing. They also kept bouncing straight at Rage and Lord Sahndle. The plasma blast had zero effect on the giggling aliens. The hot rockets slowed them down somewhat, but there was zero damage done. In fact, as Rage kept firing and firing and firing, he almost thought the Askerdons were getting off on the hot rocket explosions.

The Askerdons were only a few meters away. Rage’s rifle was getting hot to the touch. It was going to overheat soon if Rage didn’t kill one of the damn giggling, pissing, bouncing little shits.

“You know what?” Rage said. “I already stink of shit. What’s a little piss?”

He tossed his rifle to the side.

“Motherfucker!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled. “That shit is hot, yo! Get it off my guts, bitch! Get it the fuck off my guts now! Fuck!”

“I’ll pick it up for you, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle said.

“You will fucking not. Leave it there,” Rage ordered as he pulled two blades from his belt, one for each hand. “What’d I tell ya before?”

“Yeah, yeah, gonna feel the rage,” Grandmaster Scunge muttered. “Fuckin’ rage hurts, yo…”

Rage closed with the Askerdons. The bouncing aliens leapt as one and slammed directly into Rage, but he planted his feet, wiggling his boots into the moist folds of the Sphuncter’s intestinal wall. He bent backward, but he didn’t fall.

Both blades slashed back and forth, back and forth, almost too fast for the normal eye to catch. The sharp edges nicked the Askerdons, but did nothing more than that. The giggling increased and Rage had to tuck his shoulder and shove upward to throw a couple of the Askerdons off of him before they brought him down.

The pissing began in earnest after that.

Six geysers of Askerdon urine hit Rage directly in the face. No matter how he tried to duck and turn away, six streams of piss were always in his face.

He clamped his lips shut, but the piss was getting up his nose, in his ears, in his eyes. It stung bad and began to burn his skin. The pain was intense, but Rage’s body compensated and healed him up as fast as he was injured. Piss, burn, heal. Piss, burn, heal. That was the pattern.

Then luck struck hard.

Rage was finally knocked off his feet as all six Askerdons looped their arms together and charged with a single unified, giggling bounce. The impact was too much for even Rage to handle. Down he went, flat on his back, Askerdon yellow all that filled his vision.

Then an Askerdon screamed.

The giggling stopped instantly. The weight was lifted as the Askerdons, confused and alarmed, got off Rage quickly.

There, laying to Rage’s right, was a bleeding, dying, moaning Askerdon. It was impaled on one of Rage’s blades.

Rage wasted no time and pulled the blade out then struck again. The tip bounced off and Rage nearly had his shoulder dislocated. But that didn’t deter him.

“Slow and steady,” Rage muttered.

“What? What was that, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge asked. “What’d you say, bitch?”

“I said,” Rage answered, “slow and steady.”

The Askerdon was still down, still moaning, and the others were a few meters back, so confused by the sight of one of theirs wounded.

Rage eased the blade through the downed Askerdon’s yellow skin and the alien screamed, screamed, screamed, then died.

Unfortunately, Askerdons die by exploding like water balloons filled with urine.

“Oh, dear me,” Lord Sahndle said. “What a waste.”

“Don’t feel bad, Sahndle,” Rage said as he got to his feet. “Had to be done.”

“What? Oh, no, I was mourning the loss of my outfit,” Lord Sahndle said. “My dry cleaner is a miracle worker, but even she cannot get this quantity of Askerdon urine out. I’ll have to let this ensemble go. How truly sad…”

“Bitch, go fuck yourself with your ensemble,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “One of my Asker-dasker-dos is dead. Have some sympathy, yo.”

“Oh, well, my condolences with that as well, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge,” Lord Sahndle said.

“His condolences can suck it,” Rage said as he turned and faced the quivering group of five Askerdons. “Who’s next? I got your number now, you little pissy shits. Come at me. I’ll slowly pop each and every one of you.”

“Bitch, chill the fuck out,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “You killed one. That was the deal. No need to be going all psycho on the rest of my Asker-dasker-dos. You a monster or what, yo?”

“According to half the intergalactic population? Yeah, I’m a fucking monster,” Rage said. He pointed a blade at the Askerdons. “You all. Get gone. Don’t wanna see your yellow asses anywhere near me again. Bounce off into the bowels of this worm’s…bowels.”

The Askerdons didn’t have to be told twice. They bounced off and were lost from sight in a second.

“Alright, Scunge,” Rage said and wiped his blades off on his jeans before returning them to his belt. “Your turn. Take us to the plaza.”

“Okay, so that’s gonna be tricky, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said with a weak little laugh. “I may have been frontin’ some myself there.”

Rage pulled one of his blades back out. “Do I need to go hunt those pissy beach balls down? Because I will hunt those pissy beach balls down if you tell me you can’t take us where we need to be taken. We had a fucking deal, Scunge. You break a deal with Rage and Rage breaks your fucking life.”

“Chill, yo, chill,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “I can get you there, but there might be a couple of handoffs.”

“Handoffs?” Lord Sahndle asked. “What do you mean by handoffs?”

“I mean my tunnel don’t connect directly to that plaza, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “So I’m gonna have to call up some bros and see if they can link up with us. You’ll have to ride with them for most of the way. Hope you’re chill with that, yo. Can’t help the sitch, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Got it,” Rage said and put his blade away again.

“Uh, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge?” Lord Sahndle asked. “After all of this excitement, I’m afraid I need to relieve myself. May I urinate in here?”

“What? No, bitch, you can’t be pissin’ in me!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled. “What the fuck, yo! I ain’t your porta potty, bitch!”

“Yes, but with the excrement smell and the Askerdon urine everywhere, I assumed—”

“Hold it, Sandy,” Rage said.

“Mr. Rage, please do not call me Sandy,” Lord Sahndle said with a huff.

“You want a ride, bitch?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

“Well, yes, I do, but I do not see how that—”

“Then Rage gets to call you Sandy. Fuckin’ deal, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “I got ya, Rage.”

“Thanks,” Rage said and smirked at Lord Sahndle. “Hold. It. Sandy.”

“It shall be uncomfortable, but I am an adult and I will not soil myself no matter how painful it becomes,” Lord Sahndle said, turning away from Rage.

“Scunge? How long is this gonna take?” Rage asked.

“Not long, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “I’ll put some extra wiggle into it and we’ll be at the first junction in like only a few minutes.”

“How are you gonna call your bros?” Rage asked. “You said there’s no comms service down here.”

“Oh, Sphuncters don’t need service to talk to each other,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “But you bitches is gonna want to plug your ears. Shit gonna get loud. I mean off the fuckin’ hook loud, yo.”

“Good to know,” Rage said and jammed his fingers into his ears. “Talk away, Scunge.”

“Well, hold on now. I haven’t—AAAAAAAAAA!” Lord Sahndle screamed until he managed to jam tentacles into his earholes.

Rage would have smiled at the Ghej’s discomfort, but he was too busy wincing from his own pain. Scunge was not wrong. It was getting off the hook loud in there, yo. Rage not only could hear Scunge screeching out some message in his Sphuncter language, but he felt every last syllable all the way up his legs, into his guts, up his spine, into his brain, then back down again. His bones throbbed and ached from the vibrations of the Sphuncter’s speech.

The horrid noise died down for a second, but Rage didn’t remove his fingers.

Lord Sahndle removed his tentacles and regretted it within half a second as Scunge began speaking once again.

“They’re talking back and forth, moron!” Rage shouted at the stunned and dazed-looking Lord Sahndle. “Keep your tentacles in your damn earholes!”

Lord Sahndle complied and slumped down against Scunge’s intestinal wall.

After about ten minutes of communication, the screeching stopped.

Rage waited for a few seconds then took his fingers out of his ears.

“We good, Scunge?” he asked.

“We’re good, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “One of my best buds is gonna meet us at the first junction. He’ll be there when we get there, yo. The guy is like super fuckin’ fast. Bitch slides around under Mars like a damn sprinter, yo.”

“Good to know,” Rage said as he picked up his rifle and checked it over. “How many of your buds are we going to be riding in?”

“Just two, yo. Jumpin’ Jack will get us most of the way then we switch it up and ride with Missy T. You’re gonna love her, yo. Bitch is funny as shit. Gonna be jokes for fuckin’ miles ridin’ with her. I can’t wait, yo.”

Rage cocked his head then glanced at Lord Sahndle.

“Does it sound like he’s riding with us?” Rage asked.

“I believe so, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle replied. “I am curious as to how that will work.”

Eighteen

“Everyone out my ass, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled as he came to a stop. “We’re gettin’ off here!”

Rage and Lord Sahndle had already been instructed to move to the front of Grandmaster Scunge. Or what they assumed was the front. Whatever it was called, they made their way through all of Grandmaster Scunge’s guts until they were at the anus opposite the one they had entered.

Lord Sahndle went first and immediately ran off to relieve himself.

“Hey, Rage?” Grandmaster Scunge said quietly, which wasn’t really quiet at all. “I was totally fuckin’ with the Ghej, yo. The bitch coulda pissed in my guts. Who fuckin’ cares, right?”

“Good one, Scunge,” Rage said.

He turned to regard the new anus they’d be entering. There was something different.

“Um… Is that a tattoo?” rage asked.

“You like it, maaaaaan?” the new Sphuncter, Jumpin’ Jack, asked in a slow, stoner drawl. “Supposed to represent the twelve signs of the Sol System’s zodiac. Pretty groovy, huh? I got blazed to shit one night and was like fuck it, man, I’m getting my north anus tatted up. Gotta say by the time the dude got to Capricorn, I was done. That’s a lotta ink for one anus, man. Lotta ink.”

“Lotta ink,” Rage agreed.

“Yo, Jumpin’ Jack, you ready for us bitches to catch a ride or what, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

“Hop aboard, man. I am your guide and your ride. Gonna get ya where ya need to go in like no time, man,” Jumpin’ Jack replied. “You bringing your Asker-dasker-dos or are they hangin’ back here?”

“You mind if they hang in you while I see the show?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

“No problemo, man,” Jumpin’ Jack replied. “Me bowel es su bowels, man.”

“That’s fire, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “You the worm, Jack. You da fuckin’ worm.”

“I am confused,” Lord Sahndle said as the anus behind them opened up once more and five Askerdons came bouncing out.

They saw Rage, screeched, and hurried through Jumpin’ Jack’s tattooed anus, lost from sight within the new Sphuncter’s intestines.

“Scunge? You keep talking like you’re coming with, but how?” Rage asked.

“Gonna show ya, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Uh, you might want to roll your jeans up.”

“I might want to—?”

Rage didn’t get a chance to finish as a wave of water exploded out of Grandmaster Scunge’s anus. It was butt water and smelled of it as it washed over Rage and Lord Sahndle. In seconds, Grandmaster Scunge was reduced to about the size of a large cucumber, all dried up and wriggling in the foot deep puddle of worm water.

“Had to shrink down, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said, his voice a small squeak of what it had been. “Do me a solid and pick me up, bitch.”

“He’s talking to you, Sandy,” Rage said. “I need to keep my hands free to operate the rifle, if needed. You’re the one with the extra tentacles.”

“Yes, of course,” Lord Sahndle said and gingerly picked up the foot long, shrunken Sphuncter. “Will I be holding you the entire journey, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge?”

“No, bitch, I don’t want your nasty ass tentacles fondling my worm parts the whole damn time,” Grandmaster Scunge snapped. “Just get me in Jumpin’ Jack and I’ll chill on his guts.”

“Yes, of course, silly question to ask,” Lord Sahndle said.

“No shit, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “You gotta think, yo. Use that royal brain and think ahead.”

“I must admit, I’m a little out of my depth at this point in our journey,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Eh, business as usual for me,” Rage said with a shrug. “Total SNAFU.”

“SNAFU?” Lord Sahndle asked.

“Situation normal, bitch, all fucked up, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said.

“What he said, but take out the bitch and yo,” Rage said, seeing the confusion in the Ghej’s eyes. “SNAFU.”

“Oh, I see,” Lord Sahndle said. He gestured at the tattooed anus. “Shall we?”

“Might as well get it over with,” Rage said and walked inside the new butthole.

It took Rage only a few seconds to realize that the aroma inside Jumpin’ Jack was much, much different than inside Grandmaster Scunge.

“Is that…jasmine I smell?” Lord Sahndle asked once inside and had set Grandmaster Scunge down. “It is jasmine.”

“Oh, yeah, man, I get regular colonics from this chick that also makes the fatty burritos in the Jam Band Plaza,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “She, like, really hoses me out. Keeps me regular and smelling fresh, man.”

“I gotta get her digits, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “I ain’t too into colonics, but damn, you are smellin’ dope, yo.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate that,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “You all comfortable? Need some pillows or anything? My Asker-dasker-dos can bring you some pillows. I know this other chick that stitches them by hand out of trash she finds on the boulevard. Got, like, cute little sayings and shit on them, man. You want?”

“No, we’re fine, Jack,” Rage said. “Just need to get moving.”

“Oh, sure, man, no problemo,” Jumpin’ Jack replied. “Let’s get a move on, man. Kick back and relax, Jumpin’ Jack has got ya covered.”

Rage didn’t kick back or relax. He kept his rifle ready and stayed standing. For about three seconds before Jumpin’ Jack really started to accelerate.

“Yeah, bitches! We flyin’ now!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “Go, Jack, go!”

“Oh, my!” Lord Sahndle exclaimed. He plopped down on Jumpin’ Jack’s intestinal floor and steadied himself with all of his tentacles. “Well, isn’t this exhilarating!”

“I’ve gone faster,” Rage said and shrugged as he got back up onto his feet. “Not in a butt worm, though. That part’s new.”

“You guys like the Dead?” Jumpin’ Jack asked. “I got a bootleg from when they played Venus last year. Man, the whole scene has been the best since they resurrected the band. Keeping Jerry off the horse ain’t been easy, but if he ODs they can always resurrect him again.”

“I was told that resurrecting celebrities had been outlawed in the Sol System,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Oh, it has, man, it has,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “But Earth Corp bought up the old contracts of all the band members, even Pigpen, man, and you know all music industry contracts are for eternity, right?”

“No, I was not aware of that,” Lord Sahndle said. “Eternity, you say?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure, man,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “All musicians sold their souls back in that time. When Earth Corp bought out the Devil then they got rights to like a billion musician souls. All they had to do was get the contracts too and they could resurrect anyone they wanted, man.”

“That sucks,” Rage said.

“For some, man, yeah,” Jumpin’ Jack responded. “But you should hear the Dead. They are at their best now. I think they totally dig the 26th century.”

Music started to echo around the intestines. There was the unmistakable guitar of Jerry Garcia backed by the rest of the Grateful Dead. Then Bob Weir’s voice cut in.

“Some folks don’t dig Bobby, but he’s my guy,” Jumpin’ Jack continued. “Man’s gotta have solid chops to be rhythm guitar for a band like the Dead. He catches a lot of shit, but I think he’s like the backbone, man. You ain’t got a band without Bobby.”

“Such strange music,” Lord Sahndle said then perked up as a new song started. “Oh, I know this one! Rolling Thunder performed it at the last competition!”

“Hold the fuck on,” Rage said. “How can you know that?”

“Excuse me?” Lord Sahndle looked confused. “How can I know what, Mr. Rage?”

“That an a cappella mime troupe has performed this song. They’re mimes. You can’t actually hear the music,” Rage said.

“Oh, but you can, Mr. Rage. You can,” Lord Sahndle said. “True a cappella mime troupes can interpret music so masterfully that even without sound, you recognize the song immediately.”

“If you say so, Sandy,” Rage said and grinned as the Ghej bristled.

They stayed silent for the rest of the journey.

Jumpin’ Jack slowed down then came to a stop just as the bootleg recording of the concert ended.

“How’d you play that?” Rage asked.

“Got my guts wired up for sound a few years back, man,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “I met this surgeon on a Hot Tuna message board and he came to Mars to do some work on me. Best choice I ever made, man. Got my tunes with me no matter where I go. Gotta have your tunes, am I right?”

“You’re right,” Rage said. “I bounce at a bar full time and half the reason I stick around is the free shows.”

“Sweet, man,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “Hey, Scunge, man? You mind showing them the way out?”

“You got it, yo,” Scunge said. “Lord bitch, pick me up again. We’re gonna take a walk to the front butt and you bitches get to meet Missy T.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” Rage said.

Nineteen

Missy T was ginormous. Rage hated that word, but it was the first one that came to mind when he walked out of Jumpin’ Jack’s front butt and came face to anus with Missy T.

The Sphuncter was huge.

And, uh, moving around. A lot.

“Scunge?” Rage asked. “What’s she doing?”

“Dancin’, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “Can’t you tell dancin’ when you see it, bitch?”

“You do know I can crush you in my hands now, right, Scunge?” Rage said.

“Bitch, you’d be breakin’ the deal,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “You do not wanna go there, yo. Sphuncters be huntin’ your ass across the galaxies, bitch.”

“How? You barely get around down here without having to hand folks off to other Sphuncters,” Rage said. “You think I’m worried about you flying in ships? Nope.”

“Come on, baby,” a voice boomed. “Don’t be one of those macho muscle guys that thinks he knows everything about everything. Sphuncters got depth, baby. We can fly anywhere. All it takes is willpower, baby, willpower.”

“Hey, Missy T! Wassup?” Grandmaster Scunge called.

“Nothing much, baby. Just grooving to some sweet, sweet a cappella mime troupe tunes right now,” Missy T replied. “You feeling that, baby? Mmmm-hmmmm, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t hear… Never mind,” Rage said and nodded at the giant anus in front of him. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted, baby. Permission granted,” Missy T said.

The Sphuncter’s sphincter dilated open and Rage sighed then walked through into yet another stinky hell. No jasmine smell in Missy T. It was back to pure ass like with Grandmaster Scunge.

“So who you watchin’, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge asked once he, Rage, and Lord Sahndle were inside Missy T and the sphincter had closed behind them.

“Oh, baby, do I have a treat for you or what,” Missy T said and laughed. “You will not believe who I came across down here. You will not believe it, baby!”

“Who is it, yo? Stop twisting my nipples and tell me, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said.

“Oh, no you do not!” Missy T shouted. “What did we talk about last time, Scunge?”

“No callin’ you a bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “But I wasn’t callin’ you that. It’s how I talk, yo. You gotta let Grandmaster Scunge be Grandmaster Scunge.”

“I do not have to do no such thing, baby,” Missy T said. “You want a ride then you show a lady some respect. You hear me, Scunge?”

“I hear ya, I hear ya,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “No more bitch shit.”

“Damn right, baby. Be respectful or my Asker-dasker-dos is gonna be having a good old time peeing on your ass, Scunge.”

“Uh, Ms. Missy T, you mentioned a treat for us? And it sounded as if the treat might be a cappella mime troupe-related,” Lord Sahndle said. “May you enlighten us as to the specifics of this treat? Being a connoisseur of—”

“You can quit talking right there, Lord Sahndle,” Missy T said. “I know who you are. Any fan of the troupes knows who Lord Sahndle is.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Lord Sahndle said and took a bow. “It is my honor to be in the presence of a fan.”

“I never said I was a fan, baby,” Missy T replied. “Not after that judging fiasco on Golgon Six. You gave Lotsa Love a five, Lord Sahndle. Lotsa Love deserved at least a seven. Five? No, sir, you did them wrong.”

“I am sorry you feel that way, Ms. Missy T,” Lord Sahndle responded, sounding very offended. “But I stand by every score I have ever given a troupe. I believe if you were in my shoes, you’d feel different.”

“I doubt that, baby. I highly doubt that,” Missy T said.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be the dick and point out that neither of you wear shoes,” Rage said. “So this argument is stupid as shit.”

“Oh, damn!” Grandmaster Scunge called out. “Rage is bitchin’ both you, yo! You got Raged!”

“That’s not a thing,” Rage said.

“You all want to see the treat or not?” Missy T asked.

“Maybe we should get on the way first,” Rage said.

“Baby, we been moving since my butt closed up,” Missy T said. “Missy T is smooth, baby. Smoooooth.”

“Then let’s see this treat,” Rage said. “Might as well.”

“Don’t do me no favors, Rage,” Missy T said.

“Let our bygones be bygones, Ms. Missy T,” Lord Sahndle said. “What is this treat you are teasing us with?”

“Move on up, baby. Move on up and see for yourself,” Missy T said.

Rage shrugged, made sure he had a firm grip on his rifle, and lead the way. They walked for several meters through Missy T’s intestines before light began to appear. Then Rage stopped short and blinked a few times.

Ahead of him were twelve douchebruhs, all pantomiming in an elaborately choreographed way that Rage had never seen before.

“Jesus Christ it’s worse than I thought,” Rage said then his eyes went wide. He recognized all of the douchebruhs. “What the…? Junior!”

The douchebruhs faltered in their choreography for only a second then continued on as if Rage hadn’t shouted at them.

“Whoa! Time fucking out!” Rage shouted and made a T with his hands. “I said time fucking out! Stop moving, you morons!”

“That was not the response I was expecting,” Missy T said. “You a Punching Air hater, Rage?”

“I’m a Junior and his missing douchebruhs hater,” Rage said. “That kid. The yellow one with the green hair. Well, the short yellow one with the green hair. I know him. I came to Mars with these dipshits. I’m supposed to be protecting them then I got roped into protecting Lord Birkenstock here, instead.”

“I believe that name has been used, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle huffed. “Perhaps you could—”

“Shut the fuck up, Sandy,” Rage snapped. “Junior! What the hell is going on? Grup said you and the Punches went missing.” Rage looked at the troupe. “Where’s Detective Labous? He was going to watch out for you.”

“Here,” Detective Labous called.

The Punches moved so Rage could see Detective Labous sitting on the intestinal floor, a bandage wrapped around his head and a good-sized bruise covering most of the left side of his face.

“Jesus, Labous, what happened to you?” Rage asked.

“We got jumped, Rage,” Junior said, pointing at Detective Labous. “And this guy couldn’t protect us!”

“I saved your asses!” Detective Labous shouted then winced. “Ow. Rage, how have you not killed this little fucker yet?”

“I ask myself that very question every damn day of my life,” Rage said. “But Mascholine would castrate me if I did, so I hope the galaxy kills him for me. Looks like it almost happened.”

“Almost,” Detective Labous said. “What happened was Grup went to fetch us water then one of the other troupes came for us. They were mad, Rage. Like their eyes were swirling circles and their hands were claws.”

“So they were Donbuvites?” Rage asked. “You know those aliens always have swirling eyes and claw hands, right?”

“I know what Donbuvites look like, Rage,” Detective Labous snapped. “They were normal humans. Just another troupe. They came at us fast and would have surrounded and killed us if I hadn’t gotten us into the tunnels. We wandered for over an hour before Missy T found us.”

“I thought it was my lucky day, baby,” Missy T said. “I was gonna suck them all dry then your friend Junior said they were Punching Air and I knew it was my lucky day! Sure, I wasn’t gonna eat, but I was gonna get the sweet, sweet moves of Punching Air all up inside my belly. Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“Who jumped you?” Rage asked.

“It was Rolling Thunder,” one of the Punches said. Rage had no idea which one.

There was no way to tell the douchebruhs apart since they were all wearing matching outfits. Some sort of puffy pants and pinstripe shirt combo that made Rage slightly nauseous and more than a little dizzy.

“Oh, dear me,” Lord Sahndle said. “They must be off their medication. That is a strict violation of A Cappella Mime Troupe competition rules. All troupes are to be properly medicated depending on the severity of their instabilities.”

“That’s a rule?” Rage asked. “How unstable are these troupes?”

“Oh, some of them will murder you dead, Rage,” Junior said. His voice was hushed and wary. “Murder you dead.”

“You said that. Shut up,” Rage snapped.

“Due to the intense mental and emotional strain that performing a cappella mime can have on beings,” Lord Sahndle explained, “many troupes are medicated at all times. Even when not performing in order to head off the PTSD.”

“PTSD?” Rage asked.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Yes, I know what it fucking is, asshole,” Rage snarled. “I know beings that actually have PTSD. These little douchebruhs do not have PTSD from acting out songs that no one can fucking hear!”

“Bruh, I sprained my ankle last year and could barely get myself dressed for weeks,” one of the Punches said.

“Oh, that’s fucking it!” Rage roared and brought his rifle up.

“Rage!” Detective Labous yelled, his pistol drawn and aimed at Rage. “Put the rifle down!”

“Son of a bitch,” Rage muttered after a couple seconds hesitation. “Fine. But the next pussy that equates spraining ankles to the horrors of combat will get a plasma blast between the eyes. You little fuckers hear me?”

Several of the Punches raised their hands.

“Any injury! Not just sprained ankles!” Rage shouted.

All hands went down.

“We’re here, baby,” Missy T said. “We have arrived back below the A Cappella Mime Troupe Plaza. You sure this is where you want to go?”

“I’m sure,” Rage said. “I’m hoping my team is smart enough to know to head directly here.”

“Mr. Rage, I am not sure this is such a good idea,” Lord Sahndle said. “If Rolling Thunder is off their medications, then it could be a bloodbath up there.”

Rage blinked and shook his head.

“What fucking reality am I in?” he whispered.

“The best one you can make for yourself, baby,” Missy T said. “That’s all we can do, right?”

“If you say so,” Rage responded. “Hey! Labous! You able to stand and walk on your own?”

“Yeah, Rage,” Detective Labous said and stood up.

“Then everyone follow me,” Rage said. “I’ll take point and make sure the coast is clear. You cover our six, Labous.”

“Copy that, Rage,” Detective Labous said.

“Let’s move out, Punches!” Rage shouted.

“Yeah, bitches! Time to move out, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled.

Twenty

The scene before Rage was a bloodbath, but the bloodbath wasn’t finished. Murder, mayhem, and brutality were still everywhere.

Rage led the Punches, Lord Sahndle, Grandmaster Scunge, and Detective Labous above ground. They arrived off to the side of the plaza. Everywhere Rage looked, it was nothing but bloody carnage.

It was also the quietest bloody carnage he’d ever witnessed.

Not one of the members of the various warring a cappella mime troupes was breaking character. They killed in silence. They were even dying in silence.

“I must be stuck in some nightmare,” Rage said. “Will someone wake me up, please.”

Rage watched the bloodbath carefully.

“This isn’t lack of medication,” Rage said. “This is something else.”

“How can you tell?” Detective Labous asked.

“Too coordinated,” Rage said.

“I believe you mean choreographed,” Lord Sahndle said. “The choreography is quite impressive, I must say. A little bloody for my taste, but youth these days enjoy the violence, I am told.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sandy,” Rage snarled.

“Yeah, bitch, shut the fuck up,” Grandmaster Scunge said.

“Rage,” a hushed voice called from off to the group’s left. “Rage. Over here. Move slow and keep your voice down.”

Rage glanced to his left and wasn’t surprised to see Grup. Sure, he’d left the guy back with the team in the tunnel, but Grup always showed up no matter how much Rage wished he wouldn’t. The guy was just there every time Rage turned around.

“Where’s everyone else?” Rage asked and tried to activate comms, but the implant wouldn’t respond.

“All comms are out, man,” Grup said.

“Where is my team?” Rage asked.

“They’re around,” Grup said and pointed in different directions with his different arms.

One pointed up and Rage looked into the air. He squinted against the bright light, but could just make out Choosper slowly circling the plaza. Rage then followed Grup’s pointing and saw Rasco across the plaza at ten o’clock, Bill across the plaza at two o’clock, and Scutter at four o’clock. Rage stood at eight o’clock with Grup.

“Alright. This I can deal with,” Rage said and lifted his rifle.

He raised his left fist up into the air then made a series of hand gestures. The hand gestures were answered by Rasco, Bill, and Scutter. Rasco agreed that the whole plaza should be wiped clean of the homicidal mimes. Bill was good either way. Scutter was pretty damn adamant that they not kill all of the a cappella mime troupes.

Rage and Scutter hand argued for a good three or four minutes before Detective Labous cleared his throat and tapped Rage on the shoulder. The interruption caused Rage to make a hand gesture at Scutter that was brutally obscene and would have resulted in execution on many planets. Scutter returned the gesture.

“What?” Rage snapped at Detective Labous.

“Them,” Detective Labous said, nodding at the a cappella mime troupes.

Those still alive were staring straight at Rage and his little posse.

No, that was not quite true.

Rage took several steps to the side, but the focus did not shift with him. All murderous eyes were locked on the Punches. Rage kept moving, making sure the mimes could see his rifle. He even pulled a blade and waved it over his head.

None of the members of the a cappella mime troupes even glanced his way.

“Hey! Mimes!” Rage shouted.

Nope. Eyes were still locked on the Punches.

“Uh, Rage?” Junior called as Rage kept moving to the side. “Where you going, Rage?”

“Testing the boundaries,” Rage said.

“Can you test the boundaries in front of us?” Junior asked. “My mom’s gonna be really pissed if I die! You’re supposed to protect us, Rage! You can’t protect us from over there!”

“Junior. Shut up,” Rage said. “You are not helping the situation.”

“Neither are you, you coward!” Junior shouted. “You’re gonna leave me here! I’m so telling my mom when this is all over!”

The blood-soaked mob of mimes all took a single step. Then a second step. They were in perfect synch.

Then the choreography kicked in.

Shuffle step. Left hand raised. A fist made. Pump the fist, drop the arm. Fall to a knee. A spin move on the knee. Jump up. Land hard then spin and kick the right leg out. Jazz hands, jazz, hands, jazz hands.

“Oh, this is quite something,” Lord Sahndle said. “I never expected such coordination. I have to say that the gentleman that sold me the…”

Lord Sahndle trailed off when Rage whipped his head around to stare at the Ghej.

“No, Sandy, keep talking,” Rage said. He walked quickly back to where everyone was standing. “I really want to hear the rest of that sentence.”

“The rest of what sentence, Mr. Rage?” Lord Sahndle asked. “I was quite finished speaking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Rage said.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure either,” Detective Labous said.

“Sounded damn sketchy to me, too,” Grandmaster Scunge added. “I think the royal bitch is lying, yo.”

“Lying? How dare you, sir!” Lord Sahndle exclaimed. “You are accusing a member of the royal Ghej family of purposefully drugging the entire a cappella mime troupe competition in order to do what? Get out of a very bad wager I may have made last week after a night of drinking, carousing, and cards? How dare you, sir! How dare you!”

“Well, that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” Rage said. “Thinking maybe we should explore all that, don’t you, Sandy?”

“I refuse to respond to that moniker,” Lord Sahndle huffed.

“Fine,” Rage said and stomped over to the Ghej. He placed the barrel of his rifle against one of Lord Sahndle’s eyes. “Hey there, Lord Sahndle. Care to tell me what these idiots are drugged with?”

“Rage,” Detective Labous said. “The idiots are getting closer.”

Rage glanced at the dancing killers and sighed. At some point, props had been added to the routine. Half had top hats and half had multi-colored scarves.

“Christ,” Rage said. “Scutter!”

“We can’t kill them all, Max!” Scutter shouted from her position.

“We can. It’s easy. Just shoot them all,” Rage shouted back.

“No, Max! Earth Corp will execute us if we kill all of the galaxies’ best a cappella mime troupes!”

“We’d be doing the galaxies a favor!”

“MAX!”

“FINE!”

Rage took a deep breath. “Sandy? And, yeah, I’m gonna call you Sandy.”

“Damn right he is, bitch!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled.

“Uh, who’s the worm?” Grup asked. “You guys friends now? Can I just say that I’ve known Rage a long time and we’re really close, so don’t think you’re his sidekick all of a sudden, wormy.”

“Bitch, Grandmaster Scunge ain’t no bitch’s sidekick,” Grandmaster Scunge snapped. “He rides solo, yo.”

“Solo? Well, sounds lonely. Beings need friends, wormy. They need to talk and laugh and share beers and sometimes throw each other across highways and tie all their limbs into knots and constantly shout horrible mean things and—”

“Oh, fuck me,” Rage interrupted. “Grup? Scunge? Close the pie holes. Keep them closed until I say to open them.”

“You’re never gonna say to open them,” Grup said. “See, wormy, since I don’t ride solo, and Rage is my friend, I can say I’ve been through this—”

“GRUP!” Rage roared.

“Shutting pie hole now,” Grup said. He shot Grandmaster Scunge a very harsh glare. Very harsh.

“Sandy?” Rage repeated.

“I am unsure of the contents of the exact formulation,” Lord Sahndle said. “If there was any formulation. I’m not saying there was. I admit nothing.”

“You already admitted everything,” Rage said. “Come clean, Sandy, and I won’t tear off your tentacles and shove them up your waste hole.”

“Yeah! He’ll do it, bitch!” Grandmaster Scunge said.

“That’s not a closed pie hole, Scunge,” Rage said. “Last warning.”

“Bitch, you don’t warn Grandmaster Scunge. Grandmaster Scunge warns—Hey! Stop! What are you doooooooooiiiiinnnnnggggg…”

The shrunken Sphuncter flew out across the plaza and over the buildings, lost from sight. Everyone except the encroaching killer mimes watched the worm fly.

“Nice throw,” Detective Labous said.

“Get the Punches out of here, Labous,” Rage responded.

“Where to?” Detective Labous asked.

“Anywhere without mimes,” Rage said.

“This is Scorching Dude, Rage,” Detective Labous said. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“No, of course not. Why would it?” Rage sighed. “Where’s the closest Earth Corp security office?”

“There should be one maybe a kilometer down the boulevard,” Detective Labous said.

“Take them there,” Rage said. “Let them know the situation and to send shock troops to this location. These…mimes have to be contained. They’re focused on the Punches, but who knows what will happen if they leave this plaza? They could start trying to kill non-mimes too.”

“You aren’t coming with us, Rage?” Junior shouted. “Oh, yeah, I’m calling my mom as soon as I get to an interface! She’s gonna fire you and kick you out of your apartment and—”

“And maybe not blow me as often as she does?” Rage interrupted.

Junior made gagging noises as the other Punches began razzing him over the comment.

“Labous?” Rage continued. “You up for this?”

“I can handle getting them to the security office.”

“You sure?”

“I’m on it, Rage,” Detective Labous said. “Punches! Follow me!”

“I’ll stay and…” Grup started to say then gulped hard, nodded, and followed Detective Labous.

Rage watched them all jog out of the plaza then turned to face the incoming mimes. Without looking, his hand shot out and grabbed Lord Sahndle by a tentacle.

“You’re staying here,” Rage said.

“What? But I may be harmed! How dare you put my life in jeopardy, Mr. Rage!”

“How dare I? This is how I dare,” Rage said and lifted Lord Sahndle up into the air.

All of the mime eyes followed and focused on the dangling Ghej.

“That’s what I thought,” Rage said. “It’s not a drug. It’s nanite tech. Nanites that have been programmed to kill each other, but especially the Punches. And you, Sandy.”

“Me? But that’s preposterous!” Lord Sahndle shrieked. “I paid the man to kill the mimes, not to kill me!”

“I swear, you are making this so easy,” Rage said and dropped the Ghej. “Who’d you pay?”

“What? I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sweet bloody Christmas,” Rage snarled. “I will kick you into the middle of that flash mob if you don’t start being straight with me, you little blob of Bascol pus!”

Rage drew his leg back.

“Alright! I will come clean and explain the situation in full detail!” Lord Sahndle said.

“Good.” Rage smiled and twirled a hand in the air. “Stun them!”

“Rage! We don’t know—” Scutter began.

“Nanite tech! Programmed to kill the Punches and Lord Sahndle! They started killing each other when those targets weren’t around. We need to stun their asses until we can deprogram the nanites!”

“How do you know that?” Scutter yelled.

Rage picked Lord Sahndle up by a tentacle again and shook him at the mimes. The choreography intensified and they danced toward the Ghej faster and faster with every step ball change.

“Stun them!” Rage yelled.

“Copy that!” Scutter said.

The team opened fire.

The stun beams had no effect.

“Huh,” Rage said as he stopped firing and frowned down at Lord Sahndle. “Who the hell did you pay to program the nanites?”

“Well, to be honest, I did not know that nanites specifically were to be used, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle explained and waved his tentacles as Rage lifted his leg again. “But, I can tell you the gentleman’s name!”

“Then do that,” Rage said.

“Nargle Boof!” Lord Sahndle shouted. “It was a, well, man isn’t the word. Pig man? His name is Nargle Boof.”

“I know who Nargle Boof is,” Rage said. “He led the porcine revolution of 2344 on Earth. Pigs that mutated into full sentience rose up against Earth Corp. Nargle was the only one to escape alive. He’s an intergalactic outlaw and total scumbag. How in the hell did you come in contact with Nargle Boof?”

“Apparently we have the same acupuncturist,” Lord Sahndle said. “Small universe.”

“Nargle Boof!” Rage yelled to the team.

“Are you kidding me, dude?” Rasco shouted back. “That pig is a scary genius with nanite tech!”

“He’s also a crack shot with a Plip pistol!” Bill yelled. “Even with hoof hands!”

“Scutter?” Rage called. “Only thing we can do is run and let the shock troops contain this mess! That cool with you or do you have a better plan?”

“Regrouping at the security office is our best bet!” Scutter called back. “Let’s move!”

“You heard the lady, Sandy,” Rage said and gave Lord Sahndle a hard shove. “Let’s move.”

Then Rage paused and looked up.

“Where’s Choosper? She’s not covering us anymore,” he yelled.

“She took off after that worm thing you threw, man!” Bill said. “Maybe Kalanips eat worms?”

“Kalanips don’t eat sentient worms!” Rasco shouted. “Don’t be ignorant, dude!”

“She’ll have to catch up!” Rage yelled. “Let’s go!”

Rage waited for the team to skirt the still dancing killer mimes. Once assembled, they turned and ran for the plaza’s exit.

Then they came to a skidding halt as Detective Labous and the Punches ran back into the plaza.

“You get lost, Labous?” Rage snapped.

“The whole boulevard is killing each other!” Detective Labous responded, out of breath and looking like he was gonna throw up or faint or faint and throw up. Some combo of those two options.

The Punches all started shouting at once, but despite the chaos, Rage got the gist.

“Sandy? What was the delivery system for the nanites?” Rage asked.

“I would like to take this chance to stress that I was not aware of nanites being used,” Lord Sahndle said.

“SANDY!”

“Water!” Lord Sahndle replied. “Bottled water!”

“Bottled water,” Rage said. “You paid an intergalactic scumbag to drug bottled water. Did you stop to think that maybe this intergalactic scumbag might get lazy and simply drug all of the bottled water in this region since that was the easy way to ensure delivery to the competition?”

“I have to admit that the possibility of that being a strategy never crossed my mind,” Lord Sahndle said.

“I am sure it didn’t,” Rage said. “Labous? How bad is it out there?”

“A lot worse than in this plaza,” Detective Labous replied.

“Well, shit…” Rage growled low. “Scutter? We’re in a tight spot here. Might have to clip some mimes.”

Rage hooked a thumb at the incoming killers.

“We’ve got only a few seconds before they start silently trying to rip us all apart,” Rage said.

“We could leave the Punches and the Ghej,” Rasco said. He didn’t flinch as he received several death glares. “Just thinking of my own survival here, dudes. Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal?” Junior shouted. “Listen up, you plastic piece of shit…”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the whining of engines being slammed out of drive and into hover mode.

Everyone looked up into the sky as a party barge circled down and around and landed just in front of the mob of killer mimes.

“Get your asses in the party barge, bitches!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled. “Me and the Kalanip is here to save your worthless butts, yo!”

“You heard the talking worm!” Rage yelled. “Get in the fucking barge!”

They all got in the fucking barge.

Twenty-One

Rage had to admit, although he didn’t say it out loud, that the view from the party barge was rather nice. Watching the Scorchers below tear each other apart really added to the enjoyment.

“You can fly a party barge?” Rage asked Choosper, who was busy captaining the barge. “With the one arm?”

“Party barges fly themselves, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said from a barstool at one of the four bars the party barge held. “Don’t you know nothin’ about Scorching Dude life, bitch?”

“Call me bitch again and I toss you overboard,” Rage said.

“Try it, bitch. I fuckin’ dare ya.”

“You asked for it,” Rage said.

He crossed the open barge, grabbed Grandmaster Scunge off the barstool, and hurled the shrunken Sphuncter over the side. Or attempted to. Grandmaster Scunge slammed into an energy shield, whooped loudly, then plopped down onto the barge’s deck.

“Yeah, bitch! How’d that work out for ya, yo? Huh?” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “Uh, little help, yo. Get me back to that bar. I gots a gin and tonic comin’.”

One of the Punches picked up the Sphuncter and tossed him back onto his barstool. A bartender bot finished mixing the drink then set it in front of the alien worm.

“Yo! Gonna need a straw, bot bitch!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. The bartender bot placed a straw in the drink. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, yo.”

“No one can leave the barge unless it lands,” Scutter said, sidling up next to Rage. “Otherwise you’d have people tossed overboard all the time during drunken brawls.”

“Or jumpers,” Grup said, sipping on something bright pink and very frothy. “You know. The suicides.”

“Rage! How are you getting us out of this mess, huh?” Junior shouted from only a couple feet away.

“I’m standing right here, Junior,” Rage said. “No need to yell.”

“Oh, yeah? I’ll yell if I want to—”

Rage’s fist shot out and hit Junior right between the eyes. The punk swayed then collapsed onto the deck, out cold.

“Anyone else have any douchebruh comments to make?” Rage asked the Punches. They all shook their heads and stayed seated in the comfy lounge couches and recliners that were provided for the party barge passengers. “Didn’t think so.”

“Comms are still out,” Rasco said, joining Rage and Scutter.

“And it’s getting worse down there,” Bill added. “It’s spreading up the boulevard.”

“Barge comms work?” Rage asked.

“No comms work,” Rasco said.

“That part of the plan, Sandy?” Rage yelled at Lord Sahndle.

The Ghej was pouting in a plush chair in the corner of the deck. He held several drinks in his tentacles, but wasn’t sipping any of them. He glanced up as his name was mentioned.

“What was that, Mr. Rage?” he asked.

“The lack of comms. Was that part of the plan?” Rage asked.

“Not my plan, no,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Put this on,” Scutter said and tossed a black T-shirt to Rage. “They have boxes of shirts in the hold.”

“Handy,” Rage said and put the T-shirt on. “It’ll do. So, Sandy, the comms?”

“It wasn’t Lord Sahndle’s plan, I’m sure, but part of Nargle Boof’s plans,” Scutter said. “He used Sahndle to get the nanites onto Mars since royal luggage can’t be searched. Then he set everything in motion thinking Sahndle would be killed along with everyone else in the A Cappella Mime Troupe Plaza. His tracks would be covered that way.”

“Except we were late getting Sandy to the plaza because of our little worm butt detour,” Rage said. “What do you think his end goal is?”

“End goal. Ha,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Nice one, bitch.”

“Kill everyone, looks like, dude,” Rasco said, ignoring the alien worm. “It’ll be impossible to stop people from drinking bottled water. And no comms means no warnings or alerts.”

“Maybe we can get ahead of this shit,” Rage said. “Choosper! Push the engines to full and let’s try to warn the other regions!”

“It’s at full, Mr. Rage,” Choosper called back. “Party barges have speed governors on them in case some of the drunken Scorchers mutiny and try to take over. This is as fast as it goes.”

Rage moved to the side and peered over. The chaos was spreading in every direction faster than they were moving. Even if they cut laterally they’d still be behind the violence.

“Okay, so we can’t outrun it,” Rage said, returning to the team. “What else can we do?”

“We head to a link up, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said.

“A link up?” Rage asked.

Scunge sipped his gin and tonic. He smacked his puckered butt lips and said, “Party barge link up. You get like six or seven together and you got yourself a link up, bitch.”

“You really need to stop calling me bitch,” Rage said.

“Or what?” Grandmaster Scunge said. “What’ll you do to me…bitch?”

“I’ll crush you with my bare hands,” Rage said. “You aren’t tunnel-sized anymore, Scunge.”

“That’s only because I choose to be this size,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “All I gotta do is have this bot bitch give me some water and I’ll start swelling up big enough to sink this barge.” He finished his gin and tonic and licked his butt lips. “Bitch.”

“Leave him be, Max,” Scutter said. “He’ll be useful later.”

“How?” Rage asked.

“He can get huge,” Scutter said. “We might need a huge ally if things get worse.”

“They’re getting worse,” Bill said. “Take a look.”

Everyone moved toward Bill and the party barge began to tilt dangerously to one side.

“Split up!” Choosper shouted, frantically struggling to keep the barge from tipping. “It flies itself, but nothing is immune to stupid!”

“She sounds like me,” Rage said then pointed at the Punches. “You idiots can have that side.”

“But it’s a shit view, bruh.”

“Why you always ordering us around, bruh?”

“Bruh…”

“What he said, bruh.”

“We can land and drop you off,” Rage suggested. “Then you can have the best view.”

“We’re good here, bruh.”

“Hey, bruh, no need to get all snotty.”

“Yeah, bruh, keep your snot in your nose.”

“I have a tissue, bruh. You need a tissue?”

Rage started to raise his rifle, but stopped when Grandmaster Scunge laughed.

“Let me guess,” Rage said. “Weapons don’t work on party barges.”

“You go it, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Not after the Party Barge Rave of ‘23. Guts everywhere, yo. Guts everywhere…”

The alien worm spat a little of his fresh gin and tonic onto the deck.

“I’d pour one out, but no hands, yo,” he said.

“You really need to see this,” Bill insisted.

Rage joined the big guy at the rail and stared down at the landscape below. The on-fire-and-out-of-control-blaze landscape.

“Where are the fire crews? The fire suppressant systems? Fire bots? Something,” Rage said. “This planet is drier than Scutter’s cooch. There have to be measures in place to stop that down there from happening.”

“Asshole,” Scutter said.

“Am I wrong?” Rage replied.

“The fire crews are probably fighting along with everyone else. They are volunteer-based at Scorching Dude,” Rasco said. “Nargle Boof must have someone on the inside that turned off the suppressant systems. There are no fire bots on Mars. They proved too expensive and were always getting snagged for orgies because of their large hoses, many spigots, and multiple attachment capabilities.”

“You know a lot about Scorching Dude’s fire bots there, Rasco,” Rage said.

“Shut up, dude,” Rasco replied. “You learn a lot when you can jack into any planet’s tech.”

Rage pointed at him.

“What?” Rasco asked.

“Jacking in to tech,” Rage said. “Why aren’t you doing that right now?”

“No tech jacking on party barges, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Or someone would hijack them, yo.”

“Jesus Christ! You can’t throw people off these things! You can’t shoot people on these things! And you can’t jack into tech on these things!” Rage exclaimed. “What the hell good are these goddamn party barges for?”

“Uh, partying,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Duh.” He took a quick sip of his drink. “Bitch.”

The fires were getting worse down below and spreading faster than the violence. One good thing that Rage noticed was that the fires were at least thinning the numbers of the fighters. He almost said as much, but decided he didn’t need the hassle from those that gave a shit about the lives of the Scorchers. The only lives Rage gave a shit about, albeit begrudgingly, were on the party barge with him.

That truth and reality of that thought hit him like a ton of moon rock.

“Where’s your ship?” Rage asked Scutter.

“What?” Scutter replied, barely able to tear her eyes away from the carnage below.

“Your ship. You have a ship docked here somewhere, right?” Rage asked. “How’d you get here?”

“Earth Corp transport,” Scutter said. “Did you forget that I didn’t take this job willingly, Max? I was dead, you dumbshit. I never wanted to come to Mars in the first place.”

“Labous!” Rage shouted.

The detective glanced Rage’s way, but didn’t exactly look coherent. He was slumped in a recliner, a strange look on his face.

“You good, Labous?” Rage asked.

The detective swiveled his head and stared right at Rage. Or, more like right through Rage.

“He doesn’t look so hot,” Grup said and moved over to Rage’s side. “Kinda has a crazy look in his eyes.”

“Shit,” Rage said and stomped up to Detective Labous. “Labous? Did you drink any of that bottled water when you were down on the ground?”

“Huh?” Detective Labous asked. His eyes were swimming in his head and he couldn’t focus on anything.

“It’s not nanites,” Scutter said and shoved Rage to the side. “Detective?” She snapped her fingers in his face. “Hey! Labous!”

Detective Labous smiled up at Scutter then turned and threw up. There was a lot of blood in the vomit.

“Uh oh,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “He’s got it bad, yo.”

Rage closed his eyes for a second then opened them and turned to face the alien worm.

“What does he have bad?” Rage asked, even though he truly, madly, deeply didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Love bugs, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said and sipped at his gin and tonic. “Missy T is infested with them. She thinks they give her sex appeal. Some worms, right?”

The Sphuncter finished off his gin and tonic and nodded at the bartender bot to fill him up.

“Y’all is probably infected and shit too, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Why you think I’m drinking gin and tonics? Because they taste good? Bitch, these drinks taste like licking the inside of a pine tree’s asshole. And I’m talking pines trees from Nember Four, yo. The ones that have actual asses. And if I’m saying something tastes like ass, then it tastes like ass, bitches.”

The bartender bot handed him a new drink.

“Thanks, bot bitch.”

Twenty-Two

It was a good thing that the vast majority of the intergalactic population did not share the same views regarding gin and tonics as Grandmaster Scunge. The party barge was well-equipped to furnish everyone with large tumblers of the cocktail. They drank three in a row. Just to be sure.

After being plied with his allotment of gin and tonic, Detective Labous came out of his love bug-induced stupor.

“Whoa,” he said. “That was weird. I’d like to never experience that again.”

“Oh, you will, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “You’re human, right, yo?”

“I am,” Detective Labous replied.

“Yeah, that shit’s in ya permanently unless you get a surgical purge. That goes for all you humans, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Me, I’ll be clear after about six more of these. Cheers, bitches.”

“I’m good,” Rage said. “Nothing can live in me.”

“Not much lives near you, either,” Scutter said. “Case in point.”

“Cute,” Rage said then focused on Detective Labous once more. “Labous. Competition is over. Our job getting Sandy there is done. We’ll still protect him, but how about you tell us the closest docking port where we can get an Earth Corp ship off this rock?”

“I can’t do that, Rage,” Detective Labous said.

“Jesus Christ, asshole, now is not the time to play dutiful bureaucrat,” Rage snapped.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Detective Labous said. “I’m just Greenville PD, Rage. I don’t know where to go any more than you do. I was supposed to bring you back to the same docking port we landed at. That’s the only one I know of.”

“Well, you’re fucking useless,” Rage said. “Rasco?”

“Earth Corp transport, dude,” Rasco replied.

“Bill?”

“Same, man.”

“Choosper?”

Choosper didn’t reply.

“Choosper…” Rage pushed. “You didn’t come on the Earth Corp transport with the rest of the team, did you?”

Choosper still didn’t reply.

“Choosper! I’ll go back to calling you horsey if you don’t tell me how you got to Mars!” Rage shouted.

“Why you gotta be yellin’ at the Kalanip like that, bitch?” Grandmaster Scunge asked. “Maybe she’s got a shitty ride and don’t want you loser ass bitches to see it.”

“It’s a great ride,” Choosper said. “Custom built XeneX 323 Deuce. Dual-quad quantum drives with a plasma booster in each valve. Thirty-six sharp guns and a rail of rocket launchers. She’s one of the best ships that credits can buy.”

“Damn, bruh.”

“That’s some blinged out ship and shit, bruh.”

“Does it have rims? Ship like that has to have rims, bruh.”

“Explains why she’s working this job,” Rasco said. “Those are not cheap mods, dude.”

“That’s great,” Rage said. “XeneX ships are large enough for all of us to fit easily. Take us there.”

“I’d rather not,” Choosper said.

“Uh, I’d rather you fucking did,” Rage responded.

“Um…no,” Choosper said.

“Choosper. You really are pissing me the fuck off right now,” Rage said. “Don’t make an enemy out of me.”

“Max, stop,” Scutter said. “You’re upsetting the member of the team that is flying the barge.”

“I thought party barges flew themselves?” Rage snarled. “Choosper!”

“It’s called The Rage!” Choosper yelled. “I named my ship The Rage.”

Everyone was quiet for about three-quarters of a second. Then they erupted into laughter. Except the laughter wasn’t aimed at Choosper, but at Rage.

“You’re named after a ship, bruh!” one of the Punches shouted as he pointed at Rage.

Unfortunately for the Punch, he did not put his finger down in time. Rage closed the distance between them and snapped the finger off before the Punch could even blink.

Laughter turned to screaming as blood geysered out of the stump.

“Don’t waste that shit, bitch!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled. “Get a pitcher, yo! I’ll drink it!’

Scutter got the Punch a bar towel and the rest of the douchebruhs huddled around their wounded bruh, all telling him they’d get Rage back and he had nothing to worry about because at least four of their parents were like the best surgeons in the galaxies.

“Too far, Max,” Scutter said.

“I watched you rip the tits off a woman for batting her eyelashes at me once,” Rage said.

“Totally different situation and you know it,” Scutter said. “She’d weaponized those tits and was going to open fire on us at any second.”

“Still…”

“Let me talk to Choosper,” Scutter said. “I can get to the bottom of this.”

She walked over to the Kalanip and huddled close. Rage was annoyed by being shut out, but if Scutter could get Choosper to take them all to her ship, then he really didn’t give a shit.

Scutter became animated as she talked while Choosper got more and more rigid, her agitation turning into horse-willed stubbornness. Scutter backed off for a second and glanced at Rage. He had no idea what the look she gave him meant, but she gave him a look.

“Bitches, am I right, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge said from down by Rage’s boot.

Right down by Rage’s boot.

Rage’s boot…

Rage thought about it. Oh, how he thought about it, but in the end decided he didn’t want to waste the effort of scraping the worm off his sole. And he had no idea if the stink inside the Sphuncter was concentrated or not. That smell would be impossible to get out and Rage really liked the boots he was wearing.

“What’s up with the Kalanip anyway, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge asked. “She’s like totally obsessed and shit. You ain’t that hot, yo. Kinda ugly, if ya ask me.”

“No one did,” Rage said.

“Sometimes, I give wisdom for free, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said then wriggled off back to the bar.

Rage watched the alien go then turned back to see Scutter heading his way.

“She’ll do it,” Scutter said.

“Goddamn right she will,” Rage snapped.

“But you can’t say a thing when we get to her ship,” Scutter added. “I mean it, Rage. Not one fucking word.”

“Say a thing…? What are you babbling about, woman?” Rage asked.

“You tell her, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted from the bar.

“Shut up!” Rage shouted back. He glanced at Choosper then at Scutter. “Tell me why I can’t say anything. What is there to say? It’s a ship.”

“She’s…decorated it,” Scutter said and shook her head. “That’s the problem.”

“Decorated it? So fucking what? I don’t care what she’s done to the ship,” Rage said. “Does it fly?”

“From what it sounds like, it flies great,” Scutter said.

“And it’s armed, right?”

“Heavily.”

“And she remembers where she parked it, yeah?”

“Of course. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Too late, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled.

“Oh, burn, bruh!”

“He got you, bruh!”

“Gonna need some ice for that…burn…”

“I said burn, bruh.”

“Yeah, I know, bruh, but… Never mind…”

“What’s the problem?” Rage asked.

“You’ll see,” Scutter said. “But only if you promise not to say a fucking word. I mean it, Max. Promise or she won’t fly us off this crap planet.”

“Hey!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “I live on this crap planet!”

“That’s why it’s crap!” Rage yelled.

“Damn, bruh!”

“Burn volley, bruh!”

“Point, set, and burn, bruh!”

“Oh, that was a good one, bruh.”

“Yeah, best use of burn, bruh.”

“SHUT UP!” Rage roared.

He tried to shoot the Punches. He had his rifle up and he was squeezing the trigger over and over, but nothing happened. Rage would never set foot on a party barge again. If he couldn’t shoot and kill what he wanted to shoot and kill, then there was no reason to be on one ever.

He composed himself, slung his rifle, and walked over to Choosper.

“I promise, no matter what I see, not to say a word,” Rage said. “That work for you, Choosper?”

“Yes,” Choosper replied, but wouldn’t look at Rage.

“You know I really don’t care enough about other people for anything they do, no matter how weird, to really matter to me, right?” Rage said. “You could have wallpaper of kittens getting eaten by Grandmaster Scunge there and it wouldn’t bother me.”

“It’d bother me, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge said. “I ain’t no kitten eater, bitch!”

“I think she knows what I mean, asshead,” Rage said. “Choosper? You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get us to your ship so we can get off this crap planet.”

“I heard that, bitch!” Grandmaster Scunge called.

“Don’t fucking care!” Rage replied.

Choosper hesitated then steered the party barge about thirty degrees west. The party barge’s navigation system complained about the course change with some loud beeping, but Rage punched the console until it shut up.

“Don’t think I broke anything important,” Rage said.

“It’s mostly all for show,” Choosper said. “There are really only three working buttons and basic helm controls.”

“How long until we reach your ship?” Rage asked.

“Not long,” Choosper said. “We have to pass over three regions, but that shouldn’t take long. There’s no party barge traffic at all.”

“Hey, Rage!” Bill called. “I think we have a problem!”

“Can you explain it to me or do I have to play twenty questions?” Rage called back.

“Incoming rockets!” Bill yelled. “Everyone grab your asses and kiss them goodbye!”

“Hey, bitch!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled. “You didn’t let him ask a question!”

Then the world around them exploded and the party barge plummeted back down into the chaos of Scorching Dude.

Twenty-Three

Pain. So much goddamn pain.

Rage felt it everywhere. The majority of the pain was because his body was healing from the trauma of being nearly blown apart. That meant he was alive. Rage was happy about that part. Still, it hurt like fucking hell which just flat-out sucked.

His left leg reshaped itself from a strand of wet spaghetti back into a leg. His left arm bent back the way it was supposed to. Half his skull, which had been caved in like a deflated volleyball, snapped, crackled, and popped back into a skull shape. All of his ribs (all of them!) stitched together and once again became a protective cage around his internal organs.

Ah, the internal organs…

His spleen had ruptured, but that little sucker reversed its popped balloon impression. Both kidneys, which were bruised to the point of being easily mistaken for overripe fruit, swelled then shrunk back to original size. Half of his lower intestine started to unravel itself, no longer resembling knots tied by a severely inebriated sailor.

Then there were his lungs.

“Fuuuuuuuck!” Rage roared when he was finally able to not only take a full breath, but then force that breath back out to create the word he had just screamed.

His ears popped and he heard the cries, groans, moans, and whimpers of those around him.

Rage opened his eyes and slowly, carefully got to his knees. Just that movement caused a considerable amount of pain. Life was no bueno.

“Sound off!” Rage called out. No one replied. “Team! Sound off!”

“Breathing,” Bill muttered.

Rage glanced to his left and saw the guy lying on top of the shattered bar portion of the party barge. Oil was everywhere.

“Can you get up?” Rage asked.

“Do I have to, man?” Bill asked.

“Might be a good idea,” Rage said.

The distinct sounds of bloody violence were not too far off in the distance. Rage had no idea where they had crashed, but it was ahead of the hell battle. That wouldn’t last for long.

“Scutter?” Rage called.

“Not dead,” Scutter moaned from somewhere behind Rage.

He looked over his shoulder and saw her squatting on the ground, her hands on her head, blood dripping from between her fingers. He also saw that his rifle was still strapped to his back. God, he loved a good dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle.

“Rasco!” Rage shouted.

“Nope,” Junior said, crawling out from under some of the party barge’s under paneling. “He didn’t make it.”

“How do you know?” Rage asked.

Junior reached back and produced a severed arm. It was distinctly synthetic, but in that way that could have only come from a Starsch.

“Doesn’t mean he’s dead,” Rage said.

Junior reached back again and produced Rasco’s head.

“Okay, he’s dead,” Rage acquiesced.

“Lord Sahndle,” Scutter said.

“Here, Ms. Slang,” Lord Sahndle said as he came tottering over to them. “I was thrown clear, took a bad bounce, but appear to have all of my tentacles.”

“Yay you for being a sentient blob of jelly,” Rage said and got to his feet. “Ow.”

He turned in a slow circle and shook his head. The rocket had obliterated the party barge. It was all bits and pieces that had rained down on the tents and stalls of Scorching Dude below it. Rage couldn’t tell what any of the tents and stalls had been selling, offering, or promoting. They were flattened, smoking, ruins.

“The Punches,” Rage said as he continued to turn in a circle. “Oh…”

He found them. All of them.

Rage blinked for three full minutes straight as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. During those minutes, the others, including a semi-aware Detective Labous and a completely unscathed Grandmaster Scunge, joined Rage’s side and stared as well.

“What are the odds of that, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge said.

“Pretty fucking high, Scunge,” Rage said. “Pretty fucking high…”

The Punches had landed one on top of each other. That in of itself defied the odds, as Grandmaster Scunge had expressed. But it wasn’t so much the landing on top of each other, as it was the fact that each one of the Punches had landed so that their heads were jammed up inside the Punch they had landed on.

It was an eleven-person train of nothing but heads up asses.

“That even disturbs me, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “And I’m the guy that swallows people up his two buttholes, so I ain’t exactly anally squeamish and shit, yo.”

“That’s simply nature with you,” Lord Sahndle said. “This…? This is not natural.”

“Oh, man, we’re never gonna win the competition now,” Junior said. Everyone turned to stare at him. “What? I assumed they’d reschedule for a later date.”

“How is he still alive?” Scutter asked.

“My daily question,” Rage said.

“Rage!” Grup came bouncing, scurrying, zipping, and dodging up and around the crash debris until he was right next to Rage. “Phew! Everyone lived!”

“No, dumbass, everyone did not fucking live!” Rage snapped. “Does that look like everyone lived?”

“I really meant you and Junior,” Grup said. “I barely knew those guys, so if they die it’s not like it affects my day-to-day life, man.”

“He’s been hanging out with you too much, Rage,” Scutter said.

“We need to move,” Rage said.

“No, wait, I have something to tell you!” Grup exclaimed.

“Okay, what?” Rage asked.

“Uh, the mob is here,” Grup said. “Right behind me. They have lots of bloody weapons and foam.”

“Foam?” Bill asked.

“Bloody foam,” Grup said, the emphasis on bloody. “Coming out of their, well…everywheres.”

“Sandy?” Rage asked. “Are they supposed to have bloody foam coming out of their everywheres?”

“Do not be insulting,” Lord Sahndle said. “I ordered homicidal, not messy homicidal. I do have taste, Mr. Rage.”

“Right. My bad,” Rage said. He focused back on Grup. “And by weapons you mean…?”

The ground around the group exploded with plasma and laser fire.

“That!” Grup yelled and took off running in the opposite direction.

“Follow the Clickelack!” Rage yelled, yet another phrase he never thought he’d utter in his lifetime.

“Max, no one is in any shape to run,” Scutter said.

“Then get in shape fast!” Rage said.

He debated all of one second then grabbed Junior up under one arm and Lord Sahndle up under the other. Leaving Junior behind meant he’d certainly get killed. Mascholine would hunt him down to the ends of the universe. And leaving Lord Sahndle behind meant he’d never get his debt paid off and have Earth Corp hunting him to the ends of the universe.

Earth Corp’s reach was much bigger, but Mascholine’s anger would for sure trump anything Earth Corp might do to him. The decision to take both was an easy one to make. Well, maybe not easy, but simple…

“My mom is gonna—!”

“Shut up, Junior!” Rage roared.

“Mr. Rage, this is quite an uncomfortable way to travel. Would it be—?”

“Shut your facehole too, Sandy!” Rage snarled. “I can’t drop Junior, no matter how much I want to, but I’ll drop the shit out of you if you make this shit worse than it is!”

“I do not see how my speaking is—?”

“You don’t have to see, assface! I am the only one that has to see!”

Then Rage saw. He turned a corner and was faced with an empty path between several tents and stalls. Except he knew the way was not empty. The shimmering air halfway down told him that he was dealing with more damn stealth suits.

“Really?” Rage growled. “What in the hell did I ever do to the Charbeshuns?”

“You got their goddess killed,” Junior said. “Remember that? I told Mom you’d be trouble after that, but she said…”

“What did she say?” Lord Sahndle asked.

“I’d, uh, rather not say,” Junior replied.

“You cannot start a story about someone killing a goddess and then not finish said story,” Lord Sahndle responded, sounding incredibly put out, thank you very much.

“She said… The dick was worth it,” Junior replied.

“She calls Mr. Rage a dick? Doesn’t sound like they are very affectionate,” Lord Sahndle said.

“Yeah, she meant his dick was worth it,” Junior said and began gagging.

Rage dropped them both and pulled his rifle from his back.

“Hey, Chatty Kathy’s, go gossip inside that stall right there,” Rage ordered as he aimed his rifle at the shimmering air.

“Here?” Junior asked.

Rage risked a glance away from the shimmer. He sighed.

“Junior? Why would I have you hide in a stall selling pillows?” Rage asked. “Especially when the next stall over is filled with huge kettles. Kettles made of steel. Kettles made of steel that are large enough so you can each climb inside one.”

“I have already done as told, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle said, a tentacle waving from inside a large kettle.

“Points to you, Sandy,” Rage said. “Junior, get your fucking ass in a—”

Something slammed into Rage’s back and sent him falling to the ground. He recovered in time to look up and see a headless, one-armed body sprinting right at the shimmering air.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Rage said.

Rasco’s headless, one-armed body crashed directly into the shimmering air. A sound like bowling pins smashing together filled the air then that air stopped shimmering to show a dozen suited Charbeshuns flying in all directions.

The collision didn’t slow Rasco down one bit. The headless, one-armed Starsch kept on running, and running, and running.

“He is quite spry for a being sans head,” Lord Sahndle said, peeking out from his kettle. “Is, as the kids say, the coast clear, Mr. Rage?”

“NO!” Grup shrieked as he came sprinting by.

“Go! Go! Go!” Bill shouted, right behind Grup, Rasco’s arm clutched in one oily hand, Rasco’s head clutched in another.

“Shall I run too, Mr. Rage?” Lord Sahndle asked. “Or would you prefer to carry me again?”

“RUN!” Scutter yelled, dodging around Rage, right on the tails of the others.

Detective Labous was directly behind her, Grandmaster Scunge clutched tight to his chest.

“What the fuck you standin’ there for, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “Get to sprintin’, bitches!”

“Yeah, you should run on your own,” Rage said then turned around to face what was coming for them. “Junior! You’re responsible for Sandy! Sandy! You’re responsible for Junior! Buddy system your shit right outta here now!”

Rage didn’t have time to open fire. The mob of murderous Scorchers was already on him.

Rage let go of his rifle and lifted his fists as the first Scorchers attacked.

“WHO WANTS SOME RAGE?!”

Twenty-Four

“FUCK YEAH!” Rage roared as he threw his fifteenth left hook.

Just like the last fourteen left hooks, his fist found its mark, that mark was a face, and that face was obliterated.

Not to say his right fist was slacking. It held a Scorcher by the throat and was squeezing, squeezing, squeezing…

Squish!

Rage tossed the throatless Scorcher aside and quickly snatched a fresh one out of the mob. The new Scorcher still owned a nice, full throat. For about one second.

Rage’s boots were working overtime too. They sure as shit didn’t want to be left out of the fun.

The left boot had two Snorpas pinned to the ground while the right boot was putting the finishing touches on crushing a Gray’s skull. Grays were the classic aliens that were depicted in every Earth abduction story, the ones with the big heads, oval black eyes, and skinny bodies. Rage was more than happy to crush that little fucker’s skull. He felt it was only right for all the anal probing that race had done to Earthlings over the centuries.

Rage pressed down extra hard.

“Probe this, bitch!” Rage shouted.

For a brief flash, he was not too happy to be sounding like Grandmaster Scunge. But he got over it by stomping on the back of a blue-skinned human trying to crawl by without being noticed. He was noticed by the sole of Rage’s boot.

A barbed tail whipped across Rage’s left cheek and he snarled as he turned to face…he had no idea. The owner of the tail was from a race that Rage didn’t know. About four feet tall with more tail than actual body, the alien was thick in the hips and legs and skinny in the torso. It had three arms and one of those arms was busy wielding its whip tail.

SNAP!

Rage’s right cheek was split open and blood poured down and over his jawline. He sneered at the feel of the warmth as it soaked into his T-shirt.

Keeping his eyes locked on the whip tail, Rage crushed two more alien skulls, broke a human’s back over his knee, then knocked cold a charging Qitnit, which was quite the feat since Qitnits were aliens made from living metal.

Most of the Scorcher mob had streamed by Rage, moving on to find less dangerous prey. Rage had a feeling they could sniff out the trail of his team. What was left of the mob around Rage were the truly insane, which wasn’t exactly a small number, and the whip tail dude smirking at Rage.

“You’re gonna want to reel that tail in and move along, freak!” Rage shouted.

He ducked his shoulder as a Donkerpils leapt at him. The alien flew over Rage’s back, but not before Rage threw his hand in the air and grabbed the edge of the alien’s segmented armor. Plate by plate, the Donkerpils was peeled naked, its agonized screams lost in the chaos of the roaring mob.

Rage tossed the peeled armor plating at the whip tail alien. The whip came out a crackin’ and snapped the plating in half, right down the middle.

“Okay, that’s impressive,” Rage said and pointed at his cheeks which were already healed. “But so is this.”

A few Terbelians, a slug-like race, slithered along past the two combatants. Rage gave them a curious look and one shrugged its slug shoulders. They neither had bloody foam nor a homicidal look in their stalk eyes. What was strange wasn’t that the Terbelians didn’t seem to be afflicted so much as no one liked Terbelians, so how the hell were they not ripped to shreds?

“Might want to get a move on,” Rage said to the Terbelians. “Bit of a mob happening right now.”

The same Terbelian shrugged again and the pair continued slithering past, leaving a nasty slime trail in their wake.

“You’re Max Rage,” whip tail said.

“What gave me away?” Rage asked. “Was it me shouting TASTE THE RAGE? Or was it when I yelled GETTIN’ MY RAGE ON?”

“No, it was when you shouted YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE RAGE,” whip tail said. “That and I’ve memorized your face.”

“You better not have memorized my face for your special alone time sessions,” Rage said. “While I’m flattered if a chick does that, you don’t give off the chick vibe. Dude, right?”

“Yes, you are exactly as they said you’d be,” whip tail responded. “Crass. Disgusting. Brutal. Egotistical. Sarcastic.”

“You forgot toxic,” Rage said. “I get the whole toxically masculine thing thrown at me all the time. Not sure why. I don’t promote any type of behavior, I just live how I live and follow my own rules.”

“I’m not sure you understand what toxic masculinity is,” whip tail said.

“Huh. Really?” Rage said. “You gonna be the one to teach me?”

Whip tail frowned. “Uh, no. I’m not here to teach.”

“What ya here for?” Rage asked. “Sounds to me like you were sent by someone specifically to seek my unbelievably tone ass out. What’s the sitch, whippy?”

“Do not call me that,” whip tail responded.

“Everyone thinks they can tell me what to call them,” Rage said as he slammed his fist into a human that got just a little too close.

His fist got stuck in the guy’s skull and Rage had to spend a few seconds shaking, shaking, shaking to dislodge the corpse.

“There we go,” Rage said. Another human came at him and Rage sighed. He held up a finger. “Give me a sec, whippy.”

The human shrieked and leapt high into the air. Rage nut punched the guy then side-stepped as vomit spewed from the suddenly crotchless man’s mouth.

“Crotch shots always bleed so damn much,” Rage said as the guy hit the ground, gasped, then bled out in less than a second. The nanites in the water had beings’ adrenaline pumping hard, so the blood was a-flowin’ fast.

“Okay, where were we, whippy?” Rage asked.

“I was telling you not to call me whippy,” whip tail said.

“Right. That. Tough shit.”

Rage watched the three-armed weirdo closely. The guy had a rhythm to how he was flipping the whip tail around. Rage assumed it was a he, but being an alien without any obvious external genitalia, there was no way to tell. Unless the tail was its genitalia. Rage cringed and had to keep himself from reaching up to touch his cheeks where he’d been sliced by the possible dick whip.

“That’s a tail, right?” Rage asked.

Whip tail frowned, which was easy to see since the alien had the usual two eyes, one nose, one mouth facial setup.

“Yes, this is a tail,” whip tail replied. “What did you think it was?”

“Never mind,” Rage said and ripped the spine out of an oncoming Clickelack that luckily looked nothing like Grup or that would have been weird. “Alright. Can we get this moving? Why are you after me?”

“Bounty,” whip tail said.

“Really? How much?”

“Two million credits.”

“Jesus Christ! What’s with everyone getting two million credits out of my hide except for me? That’s some bullshit right there, pal!”

“What?” whip tail asked. “I don’t know—”

“Doesn’t matter. Who hired you?” Rage asked.

“Can’t tell you that. Confidential.”

“Oh, come on. You’re taking me head on when you know my rep. You obviously think you’ll live through this. What’s it matter if you tell me? I’m gonna be dead soon anyway, right?”

“Signed a DNTR,” whip tail said.

Rage tried to figure out the acronym, but it had really been a long day.

“DNTR?” he asked.

“Do not tell Rage,” whip tail said and the smirk was back.

“Okay. That’s funny,” Rage said. “So, you’re not going to tell me who put the bounty out on me. Got it. Can you tell me why you think you’ll beat me?”

“Because, despite your superior strength, you’ll never get close enough to touch me,” whip tail said. “I’ll pluck out both of your eyes and slit your throat before you take four steps.”

“What happens if I take two steps?” Rage asked.

“What?”

“What happens if I take two steps?” Rage repeated.

“You’ll probably lose an eye,” whip tail said.

“Which eye?”

“Does it matter? Losing an eye is pretty damn bad, Rage.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll suck, but I’d like to know which eye.”

“Your right eye. From the way you are standing, and the fact you’re shifting your weight to your right foot, I can calculate the angle in which you—”

Rage took one step, hooked his boot under his rifle, flipped it up into the air, caught it, and shot whip tail between the eyes. The alien stood there briefly then collapsed backward, dead. The tail floated lazily to the ground and coiled over whip tail’s corpse.

“Bounty hunters. Always with the fucking talking,” Rage said. “Bunch of jabbering pussies.”

The mob had passed by and Rage was standing with nothing but corpses around him. He started to walk off then reached down and snagged a full water bottle, tucking it into a loop on his belt. Might come in handy later.

Rage surveyed his surroundings, calculated the angle of the mob’s trajectory, then took off running at an angle to see if he could cut them off and get back to his team.

He really hoped Junior wasn’t dead. He also really hoped he never had to have that hope again.

Twenty-Five

Rage’s choice to try to skirt the mob and get back to his team was problematic to say the least. Mainly because all he ended up doing was running directly into a different mob. He’d been so preoccupied trying to figure out who hired whip tail that he didn’t factor in multiple mobs.

Mars was really fucking annoying.

He soon found himself standing atop a massive pile of bodies. Which wasn’t horrible since he got to kill a bunch of assholes and also got a sweet vantage point where he could see over the stalls and tents that separated him from his team. Although, one of the corpses was giving off a stink that was about to make Rage throw up. Probably a hairy Boopernit. Could be tufted, could be not tufted. Rage didn’t care. The thing stank to high heaven and that was all that mattered.

“Jesus,” he said. He covered his nose with the crook of his left arm as he tried to scan the area for signs of his team. “Come on, come on, come on…”

Nothing.

He spotted sixteen more mobs, but no sign of his people. He doubted they’d been taken out. Scutter was too good for that. Grup and Detective Labous were simply too much of a pain in Rage’s ass for the universe to take them out. Bill seemed like a survivor. Rasco was obviously a survivor since he could sprint faster than any one of them even without a head. Nice trick, that. Junior was Junior. Lord Sahndle was probably offended at the prospect of dying. Grandmaster Scunge was just so fucking weird that Rage wasn’t sure the alien worm could die.

Plus, the way the mobs were acting, Rage didn’t think they’d found fresh, non-crazy victims. They looked too chaotic to be doing anything other than ripping each other apart.

Rage activated his ocular implant, closed his opposite eye, and tried to dial in closer, but that wasn’t happening. All his implant did was give him a screaming headache. He switched it off and returned to normal vision.

“Damn it,” Rage snarled.

He put the rifle to his shoulder and zoomed in with the scope. That was a little better, but even that bit of tech was glitchy. Whatever Nargle Boof had done to the comms, he’d done to all surveillance oriented tech too. If Rage zoomed in too close to a Scorcher’s head, the face rec protocol shorted out and he was left with just a blurry image.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

There was movement down below and Rage lowered his rifle. He glanced down to see a mini-mob trying to climb the pile of corpses.

“Go away!” he shouted. “Get now, you ugly sons of bitches!”

The various aliens and humans hissed and screeched at him. Rage put his rifle to work and took care of the distraction. He even managed to kill all thirty-one of the beings with only twenty-six shots. Not his personal best, but pretty darn good for a crap ass day.

Then something caught his eye on the horizon. Rage dialed in the scope once more.

There was a cluster of party barges hovering a few kilometers off. He didn’t know if his people were safely up on any of the barges, but it gave him a destination to start with. That had been the plan before the rocket attack brought down the party barge they’d been on.

“It’s a link up, bitch,” he said out loud then silently chastised himself. He had let way too much Grandmaster Scunge rub off on him.

Rage climbed down the corpse hill and headed off in the direction of the party barge link up. He made it past three tents and one stall before he was tackled by a Charbeshun in a stealth suit. The stealth suit wasn’t working, so Rage got a good look at the Charbeshun before the back of his head hit the hard pack of the Martian soil. Then all he saw for a couple seconds were stars. Not that it mattered since all Charbeshuns looked the same.

“You!” the Charbeshun snarled in that smoke monster way that Charbeshuns spoke. It was like everything they said was an accusation. Or it could have been because every Charbeshun that Rage ever spoke to was pretty much accusing him of doing something awful. There was that.

“Me!” Rage shouted and punched the smoke alien in its smoke alien face.

The thing about Charbeshuns, other than their across-the-board distaste for Rage, was that they could become dense as iron when they wanted to. It made for a very dangerous opponent. One second you punch through smoke, the next second you shatter every bone in your hand, not to mention break your wrist and fracture your ulna and possibly your radius.

That was what happened to Rage.

“Motherfucker!” Rage snarled.

He pulled his hand back and watched it swell to twice its normal size. Then the healing began and the pain turned to irritation as the bone bits became solid bone once more.

“You did not give her the proper burial!” the Charbeshun screeched in Rage’s face. “You left her to rot in open space!”

“Pal, nothing can rot in open space,” Rage said and tried to shove the alien off him, but the Charbeshun was incredibly dense and kept Rage pinned to the ground. “Everything freezes. It’s, you know, how space works.”

“The goddess rots!” the Charbeshun screeched.

So much screeching…

“She is not mortal like you and I! Her remains are out there putrefying! Her atoms are not becoming one with creation as they are supposed to! You! YOU!”

“ME!” Rage said and shoved with all his strength.

The Charbeshun was lifted up just enough for Rage to roll to the side before the smoke alien could land back on him. Instead, the Charbeshun did a serious faceplant.

Rage chuckled then scrambled up onto his feet. His rifle had been knocked from his grip and was only a few feet away. Rage dove, snagged the rifle, and came up onto a knee, ready to fire.

But the Charbeshun was gone.

There was, however, quite the angry Scorcher mob running right at Rage.

“You know what?” Rage shouted as he stood up to face the mob. “Maybe I should see what this crazy juice is all about. My system will short out the nanites in, what? An hour? Two hours? Nanites can’t handle the rage! And maybe Rage needs a little rage juice boost too!”

Rage pulled the water bottle from his belt, considered what he was about to do, knew it was completely insane, and did it anyway.

He downed the water, crushed the bottle against his forehead, tossed the crushed bottle to the side, then ran straight at the mob.

More than a few of the insane Scorchers skidded to a halt as Rage came for them. And a few of those even turned tail and ran in the opposite direction.

Those were the ones that lived.

In the moment before Rage’s mind went completely bonkers with nanite-induced psychosis, he realized that despite all of the stupidity he’d been dealing with, he was actually having fun. Scorching Dude sucked, but it was a good suck. A very good suck, indeed.

Of course, just after that thought, Rage did go completely bonkers. Like full on, holy shit, who set the hornet’s nest on fire, bonkers.

He leapt high into the air, his legs taking him up at least ten meters above the mob, did a quick, midair jig as his body reached its apex, then clapped his hands together, bent in half, and swan dived directly into the center of the mob.

Now, if the remaining Scorchers had had any of their faculties intact, or had the lizard brain foresight to turn tail and run like some already had, they would have given Rage’s landing a very wide birth. But intact faculties were few and far between. Emphasis on the few.

What the mob did instead was to slam into each other, every Scorcher reaching up, hands clawed, bloody, foamy drool spilling from the corners of their mouths, all screaming and shouting to get a piece of the falling madman.

By coming together, they increased their density. This gave Rage’s collision with the mob about ten times the impact it would have had if they’d stayed a little more spread out.

Rage hit and it was like a bomb went off. A RAGE BOMB!

Scorcher limbs went this way and that. The majority no longer attached to their owners.

Heads flew into the air like a grenade had detonated in a children’s ball pit.

Intestines became party streamers and eyeballs were confetti.

Blood geysered high, piss sprayed low, and shit exploded in all the directions.

And Rage was right in the middle of it.

“MOOKA LOOKA BUGGER FUNGA TOOP!” Rage roared.

He shoved his fists deep inside the belly of a hollering Boopernit. If Rage had been cognizant of his surroundings other than EVERYTHING MUST BE KILLED, then he would have noticed that that particular Boopernit was, in fact, tufted. But the Boopernit was no longer living since its guts were being yanked, meter by meter, out of its abdomen by Rage, so being tufted or not did not really matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“OSAK BUM BUM WHUBBA POONTALLA POONTALLA!” Rage bellowed before yanking as many spines as possible free from the backs, or wherever spines were located in some beings, and sending them sailing through the mob like wobbly javelins.

Wobbly or not, the spine javelins did their jobs and pierced Scorcher after Scorcher after Scorcher.

With heads falling all around him, Rage decided he’d learn to juggle. He took to it immediately. If, by took to it, that meant crushing the heads into pulpy gunk every time he grabbed one, then yes, he took to it. Rage was an excellent juggler of head squish gunk. Again, if the definition of juggling was slightly askew and meant not really juggling so much as laughing manically as the gunk ran through his fingers.

“SCOOOOOOOOOOOOP!” Rage shouted so loud that he shattered the massive ears of a rare Narpalian Gormer Bat Guy. That was the alien race’s actual name. Narpalian Gormer Bat Guy. They had big ears. Except that one. His ears were shattered by Rage’s shout.

“My ears!” the alien cried before he shat himself, turned, and ran away crying. “Why? WHY?”

“TOOOK SNULLA POOOOOO!” Rage exclaimed just before a large steel pipe collided with his forehead.

Rage barely felt the impact. The wielder of the pipe stared at the huge dent in the almost indestructible metal while Rage rubbed his forehead and grinned. The wielder of the pipe screamed then turned to run away, but he wasn’t fast enough. Rage grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked his spine straight up out of his body.

Then Rage began beating everything and everyone within arm’s reach with head and spine. Surprisingly, the head on the spine was still screaming. Even without vocal chords, the dude was making quite the racket which only egged Rage on. Also, to the head/spine dude’s genetic credit, said head/spine stayed intact for several minutes, killing about thirty Scorchers.

But, all things homicidal must come to an end and the head finally cracked open and the spine snapped in two. Rage pouted at the loss of the fun weapon. He let the remains fall from his grip and got back to good old-fashioned punching shit.

He punched a Milgo, cracking rocky skin and sending lava spilling everywhere.

He punched two Bascols at once, his fists speeding past their lure hands that were meant to distract him, and connected with the big, fleshy bodies. Rage’s arms sunk elbow deep into the alien flesh and he was almost pulled off balance. But he recovered, wrapped his fingers around fold after fold of skin and pulled, tearing the Bascols apart.

He punched human after human after human after human. They dropped like flies in the face of his superior abilities. Humans just were not built like other races. They broke so easily when a physically enhanced fist slammed into their weak faces.

On and on and on Rage went. He demolished every single Scorcher within reach. He even killed those not in reach by using his oh-so-successful spine javelin trick a few more times.

“CRABBOLA PINE!” Rage roared as he shook bloody flesh and offal over his head, his eyes wide and his teeth stained red from a few well-placed throat bites.

Then he staggered left. Some of the bloody flesh fell to the ground when his fingers began to lose their strength. The offal fell too as the muscles in his arms started twitching. Rage staggered right and tripped over a stray severed head. His arms were no longer cooperating and his forehead met ground with a thickening thunk.

“PUBLOooooooo…,” he grunted.

All of his strength and ferocity was gone. The nanite-spiked water party was coming to an end and fast. Rage felt some of his normal self returning, but his spiked water self wasn’t sure what to do about that.

“Gubbaaaa…” he muttered.

“Mr. Rage?”

“Fooorg?” he replied. He tried to lift and turn his head, but his neck wouldn’t comply. “Daaaaag?”

“Mr. Rage? You don’t look so well. I know a place where you can rest and recuperate.”

“Naaaarrrg…” Rage responded.

“Yes, very true, Mr. Rage, you do have somewhere to be. But I am afraid you are in no shape to go anywhere. Here, let me help you.”

A warm, wet, whiteness encompassed Rage’s face and the world was turned into a gauzy twilight.

“Spoooop,” Rage said and sighed then he let go and all went dark.

Twenty-Six

Rage came to and started swinging. He punched a wall, a small, attractive lamp bolted to the wall, and a good amount of lavender-colored pillows.

“What the fuck?” Rage exclaimed as he tried to roll off the bed, but ended up only rolling into more lavender-colored pillows. There really were a lot of lavender-colored pillows. “HEY!”

Rage stared at the dimly lit room and realized the bed he was on took up the entire space. There was a door in one wall, but it was about half a meter above the top of the bed and only a meter square. Whether you were coming in or out of the room, you were going to have to crawl through that door.

“Sure. Why the fuck not?” Rage said as he crawled toward the door.

In addition to the lavender-colored pillows, there was also a very strong aroma of lavender. And once he got a good look, Rage saw that the walls were painted lavender and the bed’s comforter was even lavender.

Rage made no judgments since he’d gone through a lavender phase once. Who hadn’t, right?

He reached the door and was about to grab the handle when it opened inward and clonked him in the face. He fell back onto the bed and rubbed his nose.

“Oh, sorry about that, Mr. Rage,” a woman’s voice said. “I thought you were still sleeping.”

Rage dropped his hand and looked up at the door. A very attractive female head was peering in at him. She had four eyes, all as dark as the deepest ebony, two nasal slits instead of a nose, and a mouth that was filled with fangs, but her facial structure could only be called beautiful. Rage took a deep breath to calm himself down. The face was stirring some intense feelings.

“How do you feel, Mr. Rage?” the woman asked.

“Confused as fuck,” Rage replied.

The woman blinked all four of her eyes and her fang-filled mouth widened into a gorgeous smile.

“I would think so,” the woman said. “My name is Altra. You are a guest in my home. I hope you don’t mind that I brought you here. You were not well and if I had left you above, then more of the deranged would have found you eventually and possibly done awful, awful things to that incredibly tone and well-built physique of yours.”

Yeah, Rage felt a stirring and it wasn’t just feelings. The woman’s voice had a musical lilt to it and all Rage wanted to do was wrap his arms around that voice and promise to protect it forever.

“Uh…hi,” Rage said. “I’m Max. Max Rage.”

“Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Rage,” Altra said. “I have been addressing you by your last name. But since you are in my bedroom and I have already seen you without clothes, may I call you Max?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Rage said. “Call me Max.”

Then her words caught up and Rage realized he was stark naked.

“Um, about the clothes?” Rage asked.

“Crawl on out of my bedroom and you can get dressed,” Altra said. “I have your jeans and T-shirt cleaned and pressed. My laundry bot is incredible. It even got all of the blood and other bodily fluids out.”

Rage gulped and nodded.

“Okay,” was all he managed to say.

Rage crawled up and out of the bedroom, which was literally a bed room, and down a short set of steps. Once on the floor of the room outside the bedroom, Rage stood, stretched, became a little self-conscious of his nudity since his stirring had turned into full-on arousal, then promptly forgot all about being self-conscious over his arousal when he saw all of Altra.

She was a foot shorter than Rage and naked too. Her body was an incredible hourglass shape because, as it turned out, she was some sort of spider lady. Her torso was lithe and tone with four arms that waved sensually as she walked away from Rage. Altra’s trunk was thick and muscular. She had four legs, two in front of the others, and her, well, ass was one of the best Rage had ever laid eyes on. There was a confusing little spike just at the top of her butt cheeks, but Rage didn’t stay confused for long.

Altra turned around and Rage gulped again when she revealed four perfect breasts arranged with two above two. Her midsection was tight and muscular, showing a six pack of well-conditioned abs. Yet even with all the muscle she showed, Altra had a softness to her that pretty much melted Rage.

Well, almost melted him. One part stayed very stiff.

“Max,” Altra said and put one of her hands to her mouth as she glanced between his legs. “You’re making me blush.”

Rage nodded then came out of his spell and looked down.

“Shit. Sorry,” Rage said. His hand shot out and grabbed the first thing he could find. It was a lavender pillow from the back of a small loveseat. He held it in front of his crotch and frowned. “It’s just that… Uh… You’re gorgeous and I’m naked and you know…”

“Max, I do know,” Altra said. “I appreciate the flattery and take no offense. I would be more offended if you were not attracted to me. I work very hard to keep myself in shape. Not all of my kind are able to maintain proper muscle tone. We can be known to overeat, at times.”

“Huh,” Rage said. He cleared his throat. “Um, my clothes?”

“Yes, right here,” Altra said and snapped her fingers. “I forget sometimes since I do not wear clothes.”

A bot rolled into the small living room and held out Rage’s jeans and black T-shirt. He hurried to put them on and ignored the fact he wasn’t given underwear. Commando it was.

“Thanks,” Rage said.

He was going to say more, but his eyes caught sight of something he’d clearly missed before. Altra had a couple extra orifices down below. He blinked, but he couldn’t quite figure everything out.

“Would you like me to explain, Max? Or would that be embarrassing? I know humans can get embarrassed when it comes to genitalia,” Altra said.

“I was a Master Chief Sergeant Major,” Rage said. “I don’t get embarrassed.”

“Alright then,” Altra said and pointed down with one of her hands. “Two are for elimination of waste, one is for reproduction, and one is for pleasure exclusively.” She turned and pointed to the spot above her butt cheeks. “And this is my spinner. My kind can make webbing.”

“You’re a freaking spider lady,” Rage said and held up his hands. “No offense. I didn’t mean that to sound so rude.”

“Oh, you didn’t sound rude at all, Max. It can’t be easy seeing one of my kind for the first time,” Altra said.

“I’ve seen a lot just not someone like…you,” Rage responded. “Uh, the web-spinning? I kind of remember maybe something wrapping me up. Was that you?”

“It was,” Altra said. “It was easier to transport you that way. You are such a large specimen for a human that carrying you solely with my arms would have tired me out just something awful.”

“Yeah, I’m big,” Rage said and giggled.

Then he punched himself in the cheek.

“Max! Why on Mars would you do that to yourself?” Altra exclaimed. She rushed forward and placed two hands on his cheek. “You mustn’t ever do that again. It upsets me.”

“Sorry,” Rage said, leaning his cheek into her palms. “I giggled. I don’t giggle. Needed to stop that right away and also make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“If you were dreaming, would it be a good one?” Altra asked and pressed herself up against Rage.

Rage’s heart beat wildly as her breasts pushed against his chest. She let out a slight sigh and pushed in closer, wrapping her two other hands around his back.

“Your pulse is so strong. So powerful,” Altra said, her four eyes staring up into Rage’s face. “I could sleep to that rhythm forever.”

“Sleep?” Rage asked.

“Perhaps not sleep so much as—”

Rage kissed her hard. He wrapped his arms around her back and they kissed for several minutes, their bodies clutched within each other’s embrace. Her sharp fangs tore at his tongue and their mouths filled with blood, but he healed instantly.

When they finished, Altra pulled back and licked her lips then her eyes went super wide and she pulled away from Rage to retreat across the room.

“Oh, I apologize, Max,” she said.

“For what? Letting me kiss you?” Rage asked. “It was my pleasure, believe me.”

“No, for enjoying the taste of your blood,” Altra said. “It was not my intention to do that. You are a guest, not a meal, and I have a rule about not eating sentient beings. I subsist on only the lesser lifeforms. Not as delicious, but certainly enjoyable and nutritious.”

“Great to hear. So, what do you say? More kissing?” Rage asked.

“After we have some tea and talk, Max,” Altra said. “Would you care to sit with me in my kitchen?”

“Sure,” Rage said, positive he’d follow her and sit anywhere she wanted him to.

The kitchen was small and cozy. Rage felt like everything, other than the bedroom, was straight out of a dollhouse. Polite and conservative furnishings. Cute appliances and tableware. Rage thought he’d see lace curtains over the sink, but there were no windows. Altra had mentioned bringing him from above.

“It’s a Darjeeling hybrid I order,” Altra said as she poured two mugs of tea, handed Rage one, then sat down at the kitchen table next to him, two of her legs brushing against his. “I hope you enjoy it.”

Rage sipped and had no idea if he enjoyed the tea or not. He enjoyed sipping the tea with her, so that was all that mattered.

“I have, of course, heard of you, Max,” Altra said. “Who hasn’t heard of the Gardener of Glixot?”

“Gardener of…what?” Rage asked. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“So, Max, what brings you to Mars?” Altra asked. “You don’t seem like the Scorching Dude type of person.”

“I’m not,” Rage said. “I’m working. Or trying to. Supposed to be protecting some folks, but the Scorchers’ murderous carnage isn’t helping with that.”

Altra’s smile faltered.

“What? Oh, the murderous carnage,” Rage said. “We can talk about something else. So, tell me about you.”

“No, I have a strong constitution. It’s just that you seemed to be the one perpetrating the murderous carnage,” Altra said. She put a hand on Rage’s wrist. “It does not bother me, I was simply explaining what I saw when I went above to find you.”

“Right. Okay. Uh, yeah, so someone spiked the water bottles with nanites and all the Scorchers are killing each other when they aren’t trying to kill me,” Rage said.

“Spiked the bottles? Who would do such an awful thing?” Altra asked.

“Nargle Boof is what I was told,” Rage said. “Heard of him?”

“The famed cook and outlaw?” Altra asked. “I have heard of him. Not a good pig at all.”

“Nope,” Rage said. Then he paused and narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You came looking for me?”

Altra blushed and glanced away. Then she looked back at Rage and batted her eyes.

“How embarrassing,” Altra said. “I can promise I’m not a stalker. I just wanted to meet the Gardener of Glixot. Word spread you were above and I had to come see for myself. It is a good thing I did, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I think,” Rage said.

Rage set his tea down, but didn’t break eye contact with Altra. He stood up and held out a hand.

“How would you feel about me taking you to your bedroom and getting to know the part of you strictly for pleasure?” Rage asked.

Altra took his hand and let herself be pulled upright.

“I would feel it would be my honor, Max,” she said.

Then they raced to the bedroom.

Twenty-Seven

While one of Altra’s holes was strictly for pleasure, that didn’t stop her and Rage from using the rest.

And with four arms of her own, each with five fingers, Altra had a few digits to share with Rage’s holes.

Sated, sweaty, and close to sound asleep, Rage rested in the massive bed, Altra draped across his body.

“I have some friends you should meet,” Altra said just as Rage was drifting off. The lavender smell was so soothing.

“What’s that?” Rage mumbled.

“I said I have some friends you should meet,” Altra said. “We’re having a get-together tonight at the beer hall. I’d like you to come.”

“Beer hall? I like beer halls,” Rage said. “Where is it? Up top?”

“Oh, no, we rarely go above,” Altra said. “We have a grand beer hall down here.”

“Hmmm. Sounds nice,” Rage said. A quick thought flitted through his brain. It seemed important, so he voiced it. “Where is here? Where are we?”

“In one of the many subterranean levels of Mars. They go down for miles and miles,” Altra said. “This level is ours.”

“Ours? You and your friends?”

“Yes. Ours.”

“Are these friends like you?”

“Yes. They are like me.”

“Exactly like you? All ladies like you?” Rage asked and ran a hand across Altra’s back and down to her ass. “Is this a nude beer hall?”

“My kind do not wear clothes,” Altra said. “And all ladies.”

“Nice,” Rage replied with a sleepy grin. “Yeah, sure. Meeting your friends in a beer hall sounds like a damn fine way to spend an evening.”

Rage yawned wide.

“Any chance we can sleep first? A little cat nap?” Rage asked. “I’m so tired.”

“Of course, Max. You will need your rest for later,” Altra said. “I’ll tell my friends you are joining us. I’ll return shortly.”

“How you gonna tell them?” rage asked. “Shout through the ground?”

Altra had pushed up and away from him. She gave Rage a curious look then shook her head.

“No, I’ll use a comm system like the rest of the universe does,” she said then crawled out of the bedroom.

Rage’s sleepy grin grew as he watched her backside disappear through the square door. Another important thought flitted through his brain. Something about comms. He liked comms. They helped him talk to people. Especially people he was working with.

A stab of alarm cut through Rage’s sleepy thoughts, but the stab wasn’t painful enough for him to react appropriately. He was Max Rage. No stabbing thought could harm him. He’d heal fast from any and all stabbing thoughts. Who did they think they were? Stupid stabbing thoughts…

“Max?” Altra whispered in Rage’s ear.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

“Mmmm, yeah…?” Rage mumbled.

“My friends are all set to meet you tonight,” Altra said, her voice so soothing. “They are very excited. As am I. We have been waiting for you.”

“You have? That’s nice,” Rage whispered. “Nice, naked spider ladies. Rage is gonna get his spider lady orgy on… Mmmm…”

“Yes, Max, keeping thinking that. Now sleep. We need you at full power.”

“Damn right…”

Rage woke with a start. He sat up in bed and reached for Altra. Everything was wrong. He could smell the wrongness.

His eyes shot open and he looked about. Rage was no longer in the bedroom.

“Well, shit fuck,” he said.

Rage was strapped to a cross. Not the Jesus kind, but the original Roman kind. A huge X with his arms and legs spread eagle. Whatever room he was in was lit by a large fire set against an earthen wall. It was a large room and there was the distinct smell of hops and barley. Beer.

But that wasn’t what woke Rage.

The smell of fresh blood did.

Rage turned his head to see some human Scorcher up on a similar cross and being bled from his femoral artery. The Scorcher’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. He wasn’t dead; Rage could see his chest moving, but the guy was close.

Rage turned the other direction and saw another cross, another Scorcher, and more bleeding. But the second Scorcher was very much dead. Rage knew that look anywhere.

A quick scan and Rage could see by the tables, the mugs of beers on the tables, and the naked spider ladies drinking and singing, that he was in Altra’s beer hall and was meeting her friends just like she said he would. Wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but then he had little experience with naked spider lady beer halls.

“Hey there,” Rage called out. “Um, whatcha guys doing?”

“Oh, Max, you are awake,” Altra said. She came in close, moving between the two spider ladies doing the Scorcher bleeding. “I am glad we can talk before your sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? Right. Sacrifice,” Rage said. “I should have known. Guy thinks he’s gonna be able to drink a ton of beer and have himself a naked spider lady orgy and that guy is dreaming. It was a nice dream.” Rage studied the others and realized that many were a hundred times more beautiful than Altra. Altra had really undersold her friends. “A really fucking nice dream. Oh, well.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but we need a powerful sacrifice to appease our gods,” Altra said. “As soon as I heard you were on Mars, I knew you were the perfect candidate. The Max Rage. Our gods will not only be appeased, but they will bestow upon us great gifts and powers.”

“Listen, Altra, baby, you don’t need gods to bestow powers on you,” Rage said. “You have four amazing tits and holes that put any female in the universe to shame. Really. I’ve had a lot of sex. I mean a lot of sex. We’re talking impossible to count amounts of sex. You are up there in the top ten, for sure. Maybe top five. Coming from me that is saying something.”

“I am flattered you say so, Max,” Altra replied. “And I knew you were a great and powerful lover or I wouldn’t have chosen you. Your legend precedes you. I am surprised your woman on Earth ever lets you leave.”

“You know what? Me too,” Rage said. “And speaking of my woman on Earth, you should probably let me go. Mascholine is open-minded, but if she gets jealous, then there will be serious hell to pay. You are really lovely and I’d hate for her to mess up that face and bod of yours. Trust me, she’ll cut ya until you scream for mercy.”

“You’ll be screaming for mercy, stud,” one of the bleeder naked spider ladies said. The other laughed and nodded.

“Stud. I like that,” Rage said. “You care to see me prove it? Untie my hands and I’ll show you what a stud I am. I mean, look at you.” Rage glanced down between his legs. “See. Even captured and told I’m about to be a sacrifice, my body is responding.”

The naked spider lady stopped her work and looked Rage up and down.

“It’s tempting,” she said. “But Altra was chosen to anoint you, not I. You have already been drained of seed and that is being used to call the gods to us now so they may witness the sacrifice.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Rage said. “I tried to be nice. Guess that time is over.”

Rage strained at his bonds, but they did not budge. He strained some more and only managed to tighten the ropes.

“Masra is an expert at tying knots,” Altra said.

“I love knots!” a naked spider lady at one of the tables shouted.

There were many beer mugs raised and clinked in response.

“Altra, you really need to let me go,” Rage said. “My friends will find me. They are very skilled killers. If they come down here and see you doing this, then you are all dead.”

“Oh, Max, your friends are quite occupied up top fighting for their lives,” Altra said. “They have forgotten all about you and are only trying to get to their ship and leave. We have eyes everywhere and see all that happens above.”

“Yeah we do!” a different naked spider lady shouted. Once again, beer mugs were raised and clinked.

“I spy with my four eyes Max Rage’s winky!” another naked spider lady shouted.

“It’s so fucking big it’s hard to miss!”

“It’s so fucking big AND so fucking hard!”

“Oh, foul language!” Altra shouted. “Ladies! Comport yourselves or we will offend the gods.” She licked her lips. “It is rather hard though. Hmm…” She shook her head. “No. He is for the gods now. Calm down, ladies!”

The raucous atmosphere calmed down a little. A little.

“Max,” Altra said. “You must understand that this is the highest of honors. I truly mean that. You would not have been chosen if you were not worthy. Some gratitude would be appreciated. Did I not please you earlier?”

“Ooooooooooooo,” the fairly drunk naked spider ladies called out.

“Yeah, Altra, you pleased the hell out of me,” Rage said. “And I pleased you. It was mutual.” He shook his bound hands. “This? Not so mutual. Do yourself and your naked spider lady friends a huge favor and let me go.”

Altra frowned. “You speak as if you are confident of your escape.”

“Yeah, because I am confident of my fucking escape,” Rage replied.

“But, even if you were to somehow manage to get free of the ropes, and did not die from blood loss, how could you get past all of us?” Altra asked. She looked honestly interested in the answer.

“Blood loss?” Rage looked down and saw that he’d already been cut and was bleeding from his thigh. Rage sighed. Idiots. He’d heal. “Because I’m Max Rage. I always escape. I always live. I’m a winner that way, lady. A goddamn winner.”

“Did he say wiener?” a naked spider lady asked.

“I call dibs!” another shouted.

“Huh? Dibs?” Rage exclaimed. “Oh, come on! You’re gonna cut my dick off? So not cool!”

“Who said anything about cutting?” the dibs naked spider lady said and gnashed her teeth.

“Enough,” Altra said quietly. Almost too quietly for Rage to hear.

But the naked spider ladies heard and they went silent.

“It is now time to call our gods!” Altra announced. She raised her four arms above her head and waited. And waited. “Will someone dim the lights, please?”

“Sorry! I thought Nacra was doing it!”

“I did it last century!”

“I said sorry!”

“Ladies!” Altra scolded.

She cleared her throat as the lights dimmed.

“Oh, Lord and Lady Stardust! We have a sacrifice worthy of you! Please appear and bestow upon us gifts and powers!”

The lights went completely out.

Nothing happened.

“Uh, you guys must have forgotten to pay the power bill,” Rage said. “Maybe assigning someone to do that instead of assigning ladies to bleed strangers and dim lights might be a good idea.”

“SILENCE!” a voice boomed.

A spotlight appeared in the middle of the beer hall and a man and woman, both human, both dressed in skin-tight leotards and covered in glitter, stood there, staring at Rage.

“Hello, Max Rage,” the glittered man said. “It is time for you to die!”

Twenty-Eight

Rage scrunched up his face.

Not out of concentration or fear or confusion. But in order to keep from laughing.

He really wanted to laugh.

“These are your gods?” Rage asked, unable to stay silent. “You do realize they’re wearing leotards and covered in glitter. I mean, look at them. That’s a lot of fucking glitter.”

“Max, do not blaspheme our gods,” Altra scolded.

Rage peeled his eyes off the two, uh, gods, and turned to look at Altra. All of the naked spider ladies were bowing low, their four arms spread out in supplication.

“Listen, sugar tits,” Rage said. “These two are conning you. Look. Look at them. Gods don’t wear leotards. Why in the hell would they? Unless the point is to show off his bulge and her camel toe. Is that the point? It’s working if it is.”

“Stop speaking,” Lady Stardust said.

Rage stopped speaking. He tried to keep on speaking, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

“Is a con artist capable of that?” Lord Stardust asked. “Only those who are the nazz are capable of—”

“Wait. Hold on. Did you say nazz?” Rage asked, able to get his mouth working again. “What the fuck is nazz? That’s not a word.”

The naked spider ladies gasped. Lord and Lady Stardust each took a step back.

“So much power,” Lady Stardust gasped. “He fights the beer light!”

“He fights the beer light,” the naked spider ladies echoed.

“Beer light?” Rage scoffed. “Now you’re just saying shit to be weird. Nazz. Beer light. Jesus jumping up and down on a Boopernit’s head Christ…”

“Tufted or not tufted?” Lord Stardust asked then shook a hand. “It does not matter. Your silence is not required for us to drain you of your life force.”

“But a whole lot of firepower is,” Rage said. “Listen up, bulgy, that naked spider chick may have tied some really good knots—”

“I love knots!”

“—but the cuts in my legs have already healed and I’ve been figuring out these ropes and this cross the whole time I’ve been up here. I’m about to break free and put some serious hurt on the fucking lot of you freaks. So, and I’m being way nicer than I have to here, mainly because Altra really was great in the sack, but I’m giving you the one chance to walk away. All of you. Just walk away. And turn the fucking lights on when you leave, alright?”

Rainbow lasers flew from Lady Stardust’s fingers and hit Rage in the chest.

“I shall suck you of your essence!” Lady Stardust frowned. She shoved her hand forward as if that would make it more effective. “Your essence shall be mine!”

She stopped firing the rainbow lasers and shook her hand a few times.

“This should suck his essence,” she said.

“Kinda tickles,” Rage said. “Is that the essence sucking?”

“Here, my love, let me try,” Lord Stardust said and shot his own rainbow lasers from his own hand.

“That tickles a little more,” Rage said. “Is sucking someone’s essence just code for a tickle party? Because you two have nailed it if it is. Way to tickle.”

Lord Stardust stopped firing as well and looked at the tips of his fingers like he was looking into the barrels of five guns.

“That should not happen,” he muttered.

“People, listen up!” Rage shouted. “I’m Max Rage, Intergalactic Badass. Earth Corp put a lot of money into making sure I could destroy entire planets and wipe out whole civilizations, with or without a team by my side. You think your tickle rainbows are gonna take me down?”

Rage strained and the cross groaned then exploded into a thousand pieces.

“Think again, bitches!” Rage shouted, free of his bonds.

“Ow! I got a splinter in my eye!” Lord Stardust screamed. “Get it out! Get it out!”

“Well, if you’ll hold still for a second I will!” Lady Stardust snapped. “You can be such a baby sometimes!”

“This cannot be,” Altra gasped. “How can a mere human best our gods?”

“Jesus Christ, lady, did you not hear what I said?” Rage snarled. “I’m Max Rage, not some mere human!”

Then he leapt at the naked spider ladies, fists curled and arms swinging.

There was one problem with his attack: the naked spider ladies weren’t exactly wilting flowers. They each had four fists of their own and a whole lot of really sharp teeth. Not to mention they were a bit upset over Rage’s blasphemy and shaming of their gods.

In seconds, Rage was covered in really pissed-off naked spider ladies and they were, to be blunt, kicking the shit out of him. Yes, Rage had boasted of wiping out whole civilizations, which was very true, but he’d never fought a bunch of angry, and quite drunk, naked spider ladies before.

But, that didn’t stop Rage from trying his badass best.

“You want some?” he shouted as he hole-punched two naked spider ladies at once.

They shrieked and scrambled back, each holding their holes with two of their arms.

“How about you?” Rage snarled as he pinched the closest nipples he could reach and twisted. Hard. Shrieks filled the beer hall. “Ha! Teach you to have four tits!”

Internally, Rage thought that was kind of harsh of him. He had nothing against a lady having four tits. In fact, he’d enjoyed Altra’s a lot earlier. But he wasn’t going to admit that. He was in full-on fight mode!

Six fists slammed into Rage’s left cheek then six fists slammed into Rage’s right cheek, sending his head whipping back and forth, over and over. Fists hit his gut, hit his chest, his back, his nose, his ears, his legs.

Then his nuts.

“Ooof!” Rage grunted as pain exploded in his crotch. He always wondered why Earth Corp didn’t fix that very specific weakness males had. They could have easily armored his scrotum. Easily.

Rage collapsed into a quivering ball as blow after blow rained down on his bathing suit area. Then the kicking started. With each naked spider lady having four legs, that was a lot of kicking.

“STOP!” Lady Stardust shouted.

The naked spider ladies pulled back instantly and gave her room to approach Rage. She crouched down and leaned in close as Rage swallowed hard, pretty sure his testicles were lodged somewhere in his throat.

“How do you feel now, Punisher of Pole Vaulters?” Lady Stardust asked.

“I…?” was all Rage managed to say. Of everything he’d been called, that was really the most confusing.

“You have wounded my love,” Lady Stardust said. “I got the splinter out, but now he’s going to have to wear sunglasses for at least a week every time we go outside. And as handsome as my love is, he has yet to find a pair of sunglasses that compliment his nose.”

“They just don’t fit right!” Lord Stardust yelled from somewhere in the beer hall.

“It’s true,” Lady Stardust said. She patted Rage on the cheek. “Now, what we are going to do is get you back up on that cross.”

“The cross is splinters, bitch,” Rage said and spat bloody phlegm in her face.

She wiped it away with grace and poise. Then punched Rage right between the eyes.

“They have backups,” Lady Stardust said. “Don’t you, Altra?”

“Yes, Lady Stardust,” Altra replied from out of Rage’s line of sight. Not that he could focus his eyes very well. “We have many more.”

“See, Max Rage?” Lady Stardust said. “Tonight you will die and your essence will be mine.”

“Mine too!” Lord Stardust called.

Lady Stardust closed her eyes, shook her head, and took a deep breath. “Yes, love, you get some essence too. Then we will bestow gifts and powers upon our acolytes.”

“Yay!” the naked spider ladies cheered.

“Lift him and bind him once again!” Lady Stardust ordered.

Rage was lifted from the floor, still in a balled-up fetal position, and carried to where a new cross was already being set up.

“When you are drained of your essence, Max Rage,” Lady Stardust said, spreading her legs wide and planting her hands on her hips. “Then perhaps you will finally know some humility.”

“Doubt it,” Rage gasped as he was once again spread-eagled on the cross. “Bitch.”

He received several punches to his groin for the insult. Unfortunately, he couldn’t cover himself since his hands were already bound by the time the words escaped his lips.

His legs were secured and Rage was helpless. So much for his big speech and tough guy escape attempt. He made a mental note to never deal with naked spider ladies ever again unless he had at least one, probably two, dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifles on him. Or, to make things even easier, just to never deal with naked spider ladies ever again at all.

That seemed like the simpler solution.

Rage attempted to pull free of his bonds, but the naked spider ladies really doubled down on the ropes and knots. The knot chick had gone to town, that was for sure.

“Now, Max Rage, are you ready for your end?”

“If I say no, will you set me free?” Rage asked, his voice and ability to breathe coming back to him.

“No,” Lady Stardust replied flatly.

“Can I at least have a beer before you suck my essence out of me?” Rage asked. “One last beer for the condemned?”

“Don’t, Lady Stardust,” Altra warned. “It could be a trick. Beer may give him superpowers.”

“Who doesn’t get superpowers from beer?” Rage responded. “It’s beer.”

There were quite a few agreeing nods from many of the naked spider ladies.

“No beers. No last requests,” Lady Stardust said and raised her hand at Rage. Her fingertips began to glow. “And no more rainbows. This time you will get pure light straight from the creation of the universe.”

“No wonder your power keeps going out,” Rage said. “Pure light straight from the creation of the universe has got to be some expensive shit.”

“SILENCE!” Lady Stardust shouted.

But there wasn’t silence. Instead, there was a massive explosion and the beer hall’s doors blew inward, flying across the hall and straight into Lady Stardust’s back. The pure light from the creation of the universe she was about to shoot Rage with tracked across the beer hall, slicing many of the naked spider ladies in half.

“Who dares?” Lady Stardust screamed as she recovered quickly and turned to face the huge hole where the beer hall’s doors had once been.

“I dare!” a very muscular human man dressed in a leather loincloth and nothing else shouted as he marched into the beer hall, a trident gripped in both hands. “Jack Connor! King of Mars!”

Creatures that were about half as tall as the human man streamed out around him, laser rifles clutched in their paws. They wore goggles and had short, gray fur. No clothing and Rage could easily see the gender of each of the creatures.

“Now, cower before my mole people army!” Jack Connor, King of Mars yelled.

The mole people rushed at the naked spider ladies. The naked spider ladies that hadn’t been cut in half by Lady Stardust’s laser fingers, rushed at the mole people.

Rage hung his head.

“I can’t say it enough, but I fucking hate Mars so much,” Rage muttered.

Twenty-Nine

“Jack Connor, King of Mars!” Lady Stardust shouted. “You overstep the boundaries of your kingdom!”

“All of Mars is my kingdom, Lady Stardust!” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied. “Or have you forgotten that I am Jack Connor, King of Mars?”

“No…I haven’t forgotten, Jack Connor, King of Mars,” Lady Stardust replied. “I literally just called you Jack Connor, King of Mars, Jack Connor, King of Mars.”

“We get it!” Rage roared. “He’s Jack Connor, King of Mars! Fucking hell will everyone shut up about it?”

“Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars called. “I am here to save you from Lady and Lord Stardust!”

“Uh, thanks, but it’s just Max Rage, no Maximillian,” Rage replied. “Don’t ever call me—”

“Worry not, Maximillian Rage! These abominations shall harm you no longer!” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted. “For Jack Connor, King of Mars is here!”

“Fucking Christ,” Rage snarled. “Hey! Lady Stardust! Shoot me with those universe lasers! Do it! I’d rather die than hear him shout—!”

“Jack Connor, King of Mars will never let this faux god shoot you with her rainbow lasers!” Jack Connor, King of Mars yelled.

“I was going to use my light from the creation of the universe lasers,” Lady Stardust said. “The rainbow lasers didn’t work.”

“And I got a splinter in my eye!” Lord Stardust called from a seat at one of the tables as naked spider ladies and mole people warred around him. “It really hurt, Jack Connor, King of Mars.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I had a splinter only yesterday. Granted, it was in my little toe, not my eye. But it was the little toe on my left foot and that is such a sensitive toe.”

“Mine too!” Lord Stardust exclaimed.

“Really? What is it with little toes on left feet?” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded.

“Love! Stop talking to Jack Connor, King of Mars,” Lady Stardust ordered.

“No, seriously!” Rage shouted. “Kill me! I just can’t hear you call him—!”

“Jack Connor, King of Mars!” Lady Stardust yelled. “Do you challenge me?”

“Challenge you? Lady, he blew up the doors and his mole people are kicking the shit out of your naked spider ladies! That’s what a fucking challenge looks like!” Rage bellowed. “What surreal fucking nightmare am I in?”

“A surreal fucking nightmare that Jack Connor, King of Mars will extract you from, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars yelled. “Lady Stardust! Begone now or feel the wrath of my trusty trident!”

“Please don’t have a name. Please don’t have a name,” Rage mumbled over and over.

“And all that inhabit Mars know that Lawrence the Trident is unstoppable!” Jack Connor, King of Mars yelled.

“It’s got a name,” Rage said. “Of course it does. I’m so gonna nuke the shit out of this planet when I leave.”

Rage glanced down and saw three mole people shooting the living hell out of a naked spider lady.

“Psst!” Rage called. “Hey! Molies! Any of you got a sharp knife you can use to cut me down? Or, hey, here’s a thought, you got some seriously sharp teeth. Feel free to gnaw through these ropes. Just go to fucking town on them. Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.”

None of the mole people reacted to Rage’s request. They kept shooting the obviously very dead naked spider lady and acted as if he hadn’t even spoken. Yes, it was very loud in the beer hall, what with the battle between mole people and naked spider ladies really ratcheting up, but Rage’s voice tended to carry and he couldn’t figure out how they didn’t hear him.

“Hey! Molies!” Rage yelled louder. “Hey! You three there! Get me off this cross!”

Nope. Nothing. They just kept shooting lasers at the naked spider lady corpse.

“Jesus Christ. Stupid and ugly,” Rage said.

Rage thrashed against the ropes. There wasn’t even a millimeter of give.

“I love knots!” a voice called out from the carnage.

“Yeah! Good for you!” Rage called back. “Crazy bitch…”

“Do not strain yourself, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted. “I shall vanquish Lady Stardust then set you free myself!”

“Oh, you think so, do you, Jack Connor, King of Mars?” Lady Stardust laughed heartily. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time we met?”

“I thought we weren’t going to speak of that,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied. He nodded his head toward Lord Stardust. “Especially with Ord-lay Tardust-say sitting right there.”

“Who’s sitting where now?” Lord Stardust said.

“No, not that, Jack Connor, King of Mars,” Lady Stardust hissed. “I meant the last time we fought.”

“Well, it did get rather rough until I used the safe word,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “And even after saying it once, I still had to shout Bowie a second time before you loosened the nipple clamps.”

“Bowie? That’s our safe word!” Lord Stardust screeched, jumping to his feet. “Lady Stardust? Have you been cheating on me with Jack Connor, King of Mars?”

“Okay, this got interesting,” Rage said. He grinned as the drama unfolded within the mole people and naked spider lady melee. “Yeah, Lady Stardust, have you and Jack Connor, King of Mars been boning behind Lord Stardust’s back? Tsk tsk!”

“Stay out of this, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “This is a personal matter that does not concern you at the moment!”

“It concerns me!” Lord Stardust said. He got between Lady Stardust and Jack Connor, King of Mars. “Lady? Is this true?”

“It… I…” Lady Stardust stammered. “It was a one-time thing.”

“If one time means six times in a row,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Every other Wednesday at Altra’s place.”

“Oh, damn!” Rage yelled. “You guys were boning in that bedroom? It’s a great place for boning, I’ll give you that. That bed is huge!”

“Shut up, Max Rage!” Lady Stardust yelled. She put a hand on Lord Stardust’s leotard. “Love, it meant nothing.”

“Of course it meant nothing!” Jack Connor, King of Mars bellowed. “Jack Connor, King of Mars would never have feelings for a woman with such loose morals!”

The fight ceased instantly.

Fists about to be slammed into mole people faces, paused. Mole fingers about to depress triggers, eased back. All eyes, naked spider lady and mole people alike, turned to Jack Connor, King of Mars.

“Don’t slut shame!”

“Yeah, asshole! Women can get theirs without having to give up their morals!”

“What makes you better than her? Because you have a trident?”

“Overcompensating much?”

“Oh, Jack Connor, King of Mars…”

“Pal, you done screwed up with that one,” Rage said. “Even I wouldn’t call a chick that likes to get laid a woman with loose morals and I’m pretty much a chauvinist prick most of the time.”

“I, uh…” Jack Connor, King of Mars gulped. “My apologies, Lady Stardust. That was uncalled for. I was caught up in the moment.” He gulped again. “And, if I may be honest, I thought that it maybe did mean something. You hurt Jack Connor, King of Mars’s feelings and I lashed out. I am sorry.”

“That’s alright, Jack Connor, King of Mars,” Lady Stardust said. “Thank you for the apology.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars smiled and gave her a short bow. The smile slowly faded from his face.

“Uh, do you not have something to say to me?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Lady Stardust replied. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I said that it may have meant something to me,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Did it not mean something to you also?”

“What? Oh, gods not me, no,” Lady Stardust said and laughed. “It was purely physical. You’ve got a big trident, Jack Connor, King of Mars, but there is no way I’d have actual feelings for you.” She gestured, her hand moving up and down to indicate Jack Connor, King of Mars’s body. “I mean, look at you. You’re hot, but wear leather underwear every day of your life. It’s kind of sad.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars roared with pain and anguish.

He threw his trident and it tore through Lord Stardust’s body and into Lady Stardust’s body. The Stardusts both looked down at the trident. Then they shrieked and exploded into glitter.

And stardust.

“Oh, no! What have I done?” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted, his arms raised above his head, his hands balled into fists. “I have killed them! KILLED THEM!”

He fell to his knees, arms still raised, fists still balled, and burst into tears.

“Uh, hey there,” Rage said. “Still got a naked spider lady problem, pal.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars sniffed loudly and made a quick hand gesture.

The mole people opened fire with everything they had and dropped every last naked spider lady.

Rage hated to see Altra die, but he did have to admit that the killing efficiency of the mole people was impressive.

“Could have done that a little sooner,” Rage muttered.

Thirty

Rage waited on the cross, but no one moved to set him free.

Instead, all of the mole people circled around Jack Connor, King of Mars to console him.

“Hey! A little help!” Rage shouted.

“Oh, yes, I apologize, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. He made several hand gestures and four mole people hurried over and gnawed quickly through Rage’s bonds. “In my grief, I had forgotten about you, Maximillian Rage.”

Free from the ropes once again, Rage rubbed his wrists and stared at the King of Mars.

“Uh, what’s with the hand stuff?” Rage asked. “Why not tell the mole people to set me free?”

“Mole people are deaf,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “They are part mole, after all.”

“Moles are blind, not deaf,” Rage said.

“What? That is absurd,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied as he was helped back to his feet. “What an ignorant thing to say. I am surprised at you, Maximillian Rage.”

“I… Never mind,” Rage said. “Okay, so you’ve saved me. And had your little cry. Can we get out of here now?”

Jack Connor, King of Mars staggered over to a table and slumped on the bench. He began crying again.

“Or not,” Rage said. He found his clothes piled on a table, put them on, then found two full mugs of beer and sat down next to Jack Connor, King of Mars. “Here you go. This’ll help.”

“I came here to kill Lord Stardust so Lady Stardust and I could be together forever,” Jack Connor, King of Mars sobbed. “Why would she say such awful things?”

Rage stared at the mole people.

“If they’re deaf, then how did they hear you slut shame Lady Stardust?” Rage asked as he studied the creatures very carefully. “Pal, I think you’ve been—”

“Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars exclaimed. “Did you not hear what I said to you?”

“No, I heard you,” Rage said. “And stop fucking calling me Maximillian. It’s Max Rage. Better yet, Rage. Call me Rage. That’s it. Nothing else. Rage.”

“I could never be so informal,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I will call you by your full name, just as you will call me by my full name. Which is—”

“Yeah, I know your full fucking name,” Rage said. “The thing is, Jackie Boy, my name isn’t Maximillian. It’s Max. Max Rage. Call me Rage.”

“I could never be so informal,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said again. “I will call you by your—”

“Nope!” Rage shouted then calmed down. “Nope. Not gonna loop around the name thing forever. Call me whatever you want, Jackie Boy.”

“Yes, you see, Jackie Boy is not my name,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “My name is—”

Rage punched him.

“Ow!” Jack Connor, King of Mars exclaimed, his hands covering his bleeding nose.

Mole people leapt on Rage and tore into his neck and head with their very sharp teeth. Rage jumped to his feet and spun about, throwing the mole people off of him. In one motion, he snatched up two laser rifles and climbed onto the table. He put the barrel of one of the rifles to Jack Connor, King of Mars’ head and pointed the other one at the army of mole people.

“Listen up, you little rodent fucks!” Rage shouted. “Twitch a whisker and I blow his head off! I mean it! One whisker and Jackie Boy is king of jack shit!”

“It won’t work, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “You cannot fire that rifle even if you wanted to.”

“I do want to, dipshit,” Rage said. “I’m not fucking around here.”

“It is a brave show, Maximillian Rage, but you can lower the rifles now,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “The triggers are calibrated to mole people DNA only. If you try to fire the—”

Rage fired.

Silly string covered half of Jack Connor, King of Mars’ face. More silly string shot from the second laser rifle and sprayed the annoyed-looking mole people. Rage couldn’t see their eyes behind the goggles, but he knew several were rolled.

“Shit,” Rage said and flipped the rifles around so he could use them as clubs. “Well, there’s more than one way to beat the shit out of some mole bitches.”

“You cannot do that either, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Conner, King of Mars said. “The mole people are quite resourceful and excellent inventors. They would not create laser rifles that could be used against them.”

The two rifles that Rage held dissolved in his grip, turning to a gooey, gray putty.

“Yeah, I’m nuking the shit out of this planet,” Rage said and shook the putty from his hands.

“Enough!” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted as he got back to his feet. “The pity party is over! I came here to rescue you, Maximillian Rage! You will be rescued by Jack Connor, King of Mars or you will die! Choose now!’

“Uh, I’ll take rescued,” Rage replied. “Not sure why I would choose to die. Am I missing something here? Other than the original reason you said you came here was because you wanted to—”

“The minds of kings have many thoughts,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Being Jack Connor, King of Mars, I have more thoughts than most kings. Mars is a place of great power, Maximillian Rage. I shall use that power to lead you to your friends and the ship which will take you away from the blood and violence that has overtaken everything above.”

“How overtaken?” Rage asked.

“The entire planet’s surface is nothing but death,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied. “I tried to talk reason to many of the Scorchers, but they refused to listen to me. That is how bad it has gotten, Maximillian Rage. Even those out of their minds with a lust for murder and violence are not willing to listen to Jack Connor, King of Mars.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t take it personally,” Rage said. “So, this rescue? Can it start now? And while you’re rescuing me, how about we swing by somewhere and pick me up some non-mole people coded weapons? A nice dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle would hit the spot right about now.”

“I do not have access to a weapon of that type, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said as he retrieved his trident. “But Lawrence the Trident has cousins.”

Rage closed his eyes and braced himself.

“There is Nicky the Quarter Staff. Brett the Short Sword. Carlotta the Bullwhip.” Jack Connor, King of Mars rubbed his chin. “And, hmmm…”

A mole person tapped him on the leg and Jack Connor, King of Mars bent low to listen.

“Ah! Yes!” Jack Connor, King of Mars exclaimed, straightening back up so he could thrust a hand in the air as if he’d won a major contest. “Desdemona the Slingshot! How silly of me to have forgotten Desdemona. Such a lovely slingshot she is.”

“How did that mole person know what you were forgetting if it can’t hear you?” Rage asked.

Jack Connor, King of Mars blinked. Rage blinked. Jack Connor, King of Mars blinked. Rage blinked.

“Right,” Rage said and took a deep breath. “How short is the short sword?”

“A wise friend once said length isn’t everything, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“Was that friend dressed in a leotard and covered in lots of glitter?” Rage asked.

“She was,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and nodded.

“Yeah, she was lying,” Rage said. “You really don’t know shit about chicks, Jackie Boy.”

“You may be correct there, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “But I do know how to get you out of here and to the ship that your friends seek. Shall the rescue begin?”

“That’d be great, man. Can we go now?”

“But you haven’t chosen a weapon, Maximillian Rage. I must recommend Desdemona. I cannot believe I forgot about her. Stupid Jack Connor, King of Mars.”

“No, I’m good. My fists are pretty handy.”

“Are you sure? Desdemona shoots straight and true.”

“I bet she does, but like I said, I’m good.” Rage smiled and waited. “Really. Can we go now?”

“Of course,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Once the mole people have finished feasting.”

“After the mole people have finished doing what?” Rage asked. He didn’t have to ask a second time.

The mole people tore into the corpses of the naked spider ladies. They ripped open the exoskeletons and grabbed at the yellow guts inside, stuffing the spider innards into their ravenous maws by the handfuls. Much of the yellow goo spilled down the mole people’s chins and onto their mole chests, but they didn’t seem to care too much.

“Oh, how messy they are when they eat,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, looking a little nauseous. “But what they lack in manners they make up for in enthusiasm.”

“No shit,” Rage said, a little nauseous himself.

It was pretty disgusting how the mole people were devouring the naked spider lady bodies. It was like watching a bunch of starving refugees attack an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. Rage expected a few of the mole people to pull out bibs and tools for cracking the naked spider lady legs apart. But the little beasts didn’t seem to care how messy they got and their teeth worked just fine for cracking those spider legs open.

“How long is this gonna take?” Rage asked.

“Oh, it’ll take a bit,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Perhaps we should move to the corner over there and talk over beers.”

“Not sure I want to talk, but beers are good,” Rage replied. He looked at the few tables in the beer hall that hadn’t been overturned. The few that held beer mugs, held only broken beer mugs. “Looks like we’re outta beer, though.”

“What? Oh, Maximillian Rage, have you never been to a Martian beer hall before?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. A stray chunk of naked spider lady splatted on his cheek and he casually flicked it off. “Beer halls can never run out of beer. That is Mars law.”

He turned and walked away, weaving through the naked spider lady smorgasbord, headed to a set of doors against the far wall, opposite the still-roaring fire. Rage followed.

When they reached the doors, Jack Connor, King of Mars, knocked loudly. The door cracked open slightly.

“Hello there, beirmeister,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said to a pair of eyes. “The violence is over and the mole people are feasting, as is their custom. My good friend here, Maximillian Rage, and I would be most grateful if you could supply us with two… No, better make it four pitchers of your finest. Please and thank you.”

The door closed and Jack Connor, King of Mars gave Rage a big smile.

“It’ll only be a moment, Maximillian Rage.”

The King of Mars did not lie. The door opened in a moment and a tray with four frothy pitchers of beer was handed out to him. Jack Connor, King of Mars took the tray and curtsied.

“My gratitude to you and yours, beirmeister,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said then turned on his heel and headed for the corner table, well away from the ongoing feast. He set the tray down and handed Rage one of the pitchers. He picked up one for himself and raised it. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” Rage echoed and clinked the pitcher to Jack Connor, King of Mars’ pitcher.

Then Rage downed the entire pitcher of beer in one, long drink. He belched, wiped his mouth, and snagged the second pitcher. To his surprise, Jack Connor, King of Mars was also on his second pitcher.

“Ah, it is good to see you are not a sipper, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “There is something off about those that sip their beer.”

The two downed their second pitchers, belched loudly, wiped their mouths, and smiled.

“If I don’t look behind me,” Rage said, “I might enjoy this moment.”

“That is good,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said then leaned across the table and whispered, “Perhaps now might be a good time for me to ask you for a favor.”

“Go for it, Jackie Boy,” Rage said, feeling the warmth of the beer take the edge off, well, everything that had happened since he woke up tied to a large cross. “Whatcha need?”

“I need you to take me with you when you leave, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars whispered. “I am the mole people’s prisoner and I would like to go home to Earth now.”

Rage should have known. He really should have.

“Of course,” Rage said. “How about we get a few more pitchers and you start from the beginning? I have a feeling there’s a story to all this shit.”

“Oh, Maximillian Rage, there is,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, nodding his head up and down vigorously. “Quite the story.”

Thirty-One

Jack Connor, King of Mars, had once only been Jack Connor, king of nothing. Or nothing to his friends and family. But to Jack Connor, he was about to be the greatest adventurer in the history of human civilization.

For Jack Connor was building a machine that would take him to Mars!

If he could get his machine to work. It wasn’t like he had anything to compare it to. The year was 1934, the United States was in the Great Depression, and there wasn’t even a transcontinental interstate highway system built yet, let alone an aerospace industry. It would be over a decade before rockets designed to go into space would even become a feasible idea.

That did not deter Jack. No, despite his wife’s constant nagging for him to put the saw down and come inside and wash the dishes before bedtime, which was at exactly 9:30pm every night since Mrs. Connor was very strict when it came to one getting their proper amount of sleep, Jack continued working well into the wee hours of the morning on his invention.

“The egg was a thing of beauty,” Jack Connor, King of Mars told Max Rage.

“The egg?” Rage asked, not really wanting to, but four pitchers down kind of stripped that bit of willpower away. “Sure. The egg.”

“I called it that because it was shaped like an egg.”

“Makes sense.”

“Shall I continue?”

“Is there more beer?”

“Plenty.”

“Then continue away, Jackie Boy.”

Jack Connor had once been to a museum when he was a child. Being from the Midwest, the museum was in Chicago, which was a city filled with wonder for a young boy, and the city did not disappoint. Jack toured the museum with his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide. Even his mother’s need to hold his hand at all moments, even though he was almost twelve years of age, did not ruin the wonder.

Especially when they reached the exhibit of flying machines.

The Wright Brothers had just announced their success at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, so every museum in the country was scrambling to cobble together exhibits that showcased past attempts at flight. The museum Jack Connor toured was no exception and the main exhibit hall was jammed with aeronautical failures.

Except Jack did not see them as failures. He saw them as dreams that someone had never completely followed through on. Every contraption his eyes fell on had the potential of flight if only the inventor had not given up. It was completely illogical, and rather stupid, but that was how Jack saw things at eleven years of age.

“Yeah, that is kind of stupid,” Rage said.

“I know, I know, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “But I was only a boy and did not know better.”

“Hold up, Jackie Boy,” Rage said, eight pitchers in. “This is early 20th century? You built your egg in 1934? Science is good, but not live forever good.”

“I shall get to that, Maximillian Rage. May I continue?”

“Continue away.”

The idea of building the egg came to young Jack Connor in a dream one night. A Midwest thunderstorm raged around the two-story farmhouse where Jack was raised, shaking the walls and threatening to tear the roof right off. But Jack slept soundly. He’d always been a good sleeper. It was one reason he and his future wife had connected so well. Until Jack became obsessed with building his egg.

In the dream, Jack stood on a desolate landscape. Nothing but red rock and sand for as far as his eyes could see. Then an object appeared before him. An egg-shaped object. Well, an egg. That was why it was egg-shaped. It was an egg. A big egg.

“Jack Connor!” a voice boomed like thunder. “You shall build this egg so it may one day transport you here!”

“I don’t want to be transported here,” Jack Connor replied. “It’s really dusty and I have allergies.”

“Silence!” the voice boomed. “This is your destiny! For the next eight hundred and sixty-three nights, except for holidays, you will dream of this egg and what it will take to build it in your time and place!”

“That’s a lot of nights,” Jack Connor said. “I really do have bad allergies, so I may wake myself up from sneezing. Is that alright?”

“You will not sneeze here!”

Jack Connor sneezed. He woke himself up.

And so it went for eight hundred and sixty-three nights, except for holidays.

Jack Connor dreamed of the egg and how to build it properly. The problem was that he kept sneezing in his dreams and waking himself up at the worst possible moments, so he missed a lot of the finer points of the egg’s construction.

Once the eight hundred and sixty-three nights, except holidays, were up, the dreams ended.

After a couple of years, Jack Connor forgot all about those sneezy dreams and the egg. He graduated high school and went off to college where he met his future wife. She wasn’t at college, because the college he attended didn’t have a home economics program and women were only good at home economics back then as everyone knew. She worked in the cafeteria, had very large breasts, and thought Jack Connor was swell.

The day after graduation, Jack Connor married that large-breasted cafeteria worker and they moved off to one of the larger cities in their Midwest state.

Jack got a job as a factory worker, making factory stuff, and his wife stayed home and kept the house free of dust so that Jack could sleep properly. Sleep was important.

Then the dreams began again.

“Jack Connor!” the voice boomed. “Put on that suit!”

Jack looked at the red dirt at his feet and saw a strange-looking suit. He reached down, studied it, then sneezed and woke himself up.

“I’ll clean twice tomorrow,” his wife mumbled then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Jack lay awake the rest of the night, his mind racing with the long-forgotten dreams he’d had as a young boy.

The next night, Jack had the same dream and put the suit on before the voice could even utter the command for him to do so.

“Good!” the voice boomed. “Now you will not sneeze! That suit is sealed to protect you from Mars’ dusty atmosphere!”

“Mars! Golly!” Jack Connor responded. “This is Mars?”

“Yes, this is Mars!” the booming voice replied. “Where did you think it was?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Egypt?”

“Why would you be instructed to build a vehicle to transport you to Egypt? That makes no sense.”

“Have you ever been to Egypt?”

“Well, no…”

“Do you even know how to get to Egypt?”

“No, I do not know how to get to Egypt.”

“Then maybe don’t be so judgmental, please and thank you.”

“Silence!” the voice boomed. “You must listen, Jack Connor! You have a destiny that must be fulfilled!’

“I do? What’s that?”

Jack woke up when his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

“You’re talking in your sleep. Stop that,” his wife said.

“Sorry,” Jack replied and lay there the rest of the night wondering what his destiny could be.

The next night it was revealed.

“You shall start building this egg!” the voice said. “Then you will use it to travel here and fulfill your destiny!”

“That sounds swell!” Jack exclaimed. “But what is my destiny?”

“To be King of Mars!”

“Oooo, that’s a nice destiny.”

“Yes, very nice, so do not screw this opportunity up, Jack Connor.”

“I promise I will not. Being King of Mars sounds awfully important and you can count on me, Jack Connor, to be up to the task.”

“I know I can! Now, pay attention! Did you bring something to write on?”

“No, this is a dream.”

“Right. Yes. Hold on a moment.” A pad of paper and pencil appeared in the dirt. “There you go. Start taking notes.”

And Jack Connor took notes. Notebook after notebook of notes. Then he was required to memorize those notes. It was two years later before he began building the egg in his garage, much to his wife’s chagrin, as stated previously.

“Your wife was a real ball-buster,” Rage said, twenty-three pitchers down.

“She was nothing of the sort. She was a lovely woman with large breasts that cared for my health is all.”

“If you say so, Jackie Boy.”

“I do. May I continue?”

“Continue away.”

Then, one night, the egg was done. Jack had had a dream the evening before that told him not to hesitate. To jump into the egg immediately. He was not to let his wife know. He was not to pack. He was to open the egg’s lid, climb inside, and press the single button.

Jack Connor did exactly as he had been instructed in his dream to do.

There was a flash and Jack felt as if he was being torn inside out. Then it was all over and the egg’s lid was lifting open.

“Get out,” a man wearing nothing but a leather loincloth said. “Hey! Moron! You deaf?”

“Uh, no,” Jack Connor responded.

“Then get out of the egg!” the man in the loincloth ordered.

Jack climbed out of the egg and the man climbed in.

“See ya, sucker!” the man shouted before he slammed the lid shut and the egg disappeared.

Then Jack Connor was surrounded by a thousand mole people.

“And that’s how I became King of Mars,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “It’s been really awful.”

“I bet,” Rage replied, finishing his sixty-third pitcher. “Now can we go?”

“Yes,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “But you have to kill them first.”

“The mole people?”

“Yup.”

“All of them?”

“Yup.”

“No problemo, Jackie Boy.”

Rage stood up and turned to face the mole people. They were done eating the naked spider ladies and all were glaring at Rage.

“I had a feeling this was where it was all going,” Rage said and cracked his knuckles. “Beer power, activate!”

Fueled by alcoholic courage and his always physically enhanced strength, Rage rushed the mole people.

Thirty-Two

Rage crushed and killed mole people with his bare hands at a rather surprising rate even for him.

He also threw up a lot of beer. Considering how many pitchers he’d drunk, that part was not surprising.

But, Rage being Rage, a constant spewing of Martian beer didn’t slow him down one tiny bit.

The fact that the mole people kept multiplying even at the rate he was butchering them, did slow him down a little bit.

“Where the fuck are they all coming from?” Rage shouted.

He slammed six mole people heads into six other mole people heads. He wasn’t sure how he did it, and would have loved to see the instant replay, but two dozen more mole people leapt onto his back before he could ask Jack Connor, King of Mars whether the beer hall had surveillance equipment, so he simply asked the previous question again.

“Where the fuck are they all coming from?”

“That door,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, pointing at a side door and not helping Rage in the least.

“Then go shut the door!” Rage shouted.

“Oh, I cannot assist with this battle,” Jack Connor, King of Mars explained. “As their liege and ruler, it would be a conflict of interest.”

“You’re the one that told me to kill them!” Rage bellowed. “Pretty fucking sure conflict met interest a few minutes ago!”

“Yes, well, the mole people expect that of their king,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “It comes with the position. Did you not infer from the telling of my tale that no one willingly takes this job?”

“I inferred that you got suckered,” Rage replied. He spun in a tight circle and dislodged the mole people from his back. Some flew into other mole people, some missed the others and slammed into the beer hall’s walls, making disgusting splat noises on impact. “Are you telling me they expect their kings to try to kill them?”

“All the time,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied. “Yet it does not diminish their worship and loyalty. Strange creatures, the mole people of Mars.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” Rage snapped as eight mole people clawed at his face with their extremely sharp mole claws.

Blood poured down Rage’s face, blinding him briefly. Only briefly. The cuts healed quickly and he continued his assault on the mole people of Mars. They, in turn, continued their assault on Max Rage, Intergalactic Badass.

There was a lot of mutual assault.

Most of the assault was of the melee variety. Fists. Claws. Boots. Claws. Teeth. Teeth.

Then, as if psychically linked, Rage and the mole people paused in their mutual assault upon each other and looked down.

Down at the laser rifles that had been forgotten and discarded.

“No you don’t!” Rage yelled and dove.

Rage grabbed up a rifle in each hand and opened fire before he’d completed a full roll across the beer hall floor. Mole people screamed as Rage sliced them apart. Rage came up onto his feet and spun in a fast circle, slicing and blasting every mole person that wasn’t diving under tables for cover.

“The rifles work!” Rage shouted.

“It’s all the beer in you, Maximillian rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “Beer is wonderful! Oh, and excellent shooting, Maximillian Rage! Ow! Watch it now! A little close there! But still excellent shooting!”

“Shut up, Jackie Boy, and let me work!” Rage yelled.

“Of course! I shall bother you no more, Maximillian Rage!”

“That’s not shutting up!”

“My apologies!”

“Still not shutting up!”

There was no response to the last yell and Rage tossed the empty laser rifles at the closest mole people, impaling both in the abdomens. Using the toes of his boots, Rage flipped two new laser rifles up from the floor, grabbed them midair, and started firing once more.

Of course, the mole people were firing too.

Rage took several shots to his sides, his chest, his arms, and his thighs. Unfortunately for the mole people, lasers just weren’t super effective against Rage’s superior physicality. They should have known that when Lord and Lady Stardust’s rainbow lasers only tickled Rage. But, live and learn. Or not learn.

It wasn’t like the lasers didn’t hurt, though. Rage screamed, shouted, roared, bellowed, and pretty much let loose with all the exclamations as the beams of deadly light penetrated his skin. Some of the roars and bellows were over the fact that his black T-shirt was getting shredded and Rage didn’t have a backup with him since the one he wore he’d gotten on the party barge. Shirtless was okay, but Rage really preferred to wear a T-shirt, specifically black, when massacring his enemies.

He didn’t even want to think about what was happening to his jeans.

“Ouch! Damn! You son of a bitch! Eat this! You eat this! Eat some of this! Eat it! Eat all the lasers, you little rat bastards!”

“Little mole bastards, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars called out. “Oops! I am supposed to be shutting up!”

“Yeah! You are!”

Rage blasted thirteen mole people all in a row, the laser from the rifle he was firing nailing them in perfect sequence directly in the right eyes. It was a feat to defy all the odds, but Rage was pretty damn good at defying all the odds.

He fired again and only blew the kneecaps off three mole people. Sometimes defying odds was hard to duplicate.

“What’s the exit strategy, Jackie Boy?” Rage yelled as more and more mole people streamed into the beer hall.

“I’m sorry?” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “Hold on a moment, Maximillian Rage. I am attempting to retrieve Lawrence. Unfortunately for Lawrence, he is under a considerably large pile of mole people corpses. Nice work, Maximillian Rage. I applaud your abilities. Perhaps in the future you may try to not allow the mole people corpses to gather over my best friend and most trustworthy weapon? Hmmm?”

Rage let that one go. He had to or his head would explode from the what-the-fuckery that Jack Connor, King of Mars caused.

“Ah! There we go!” Jack Connor, King of Mars announced, holding Lawrence the Trident up high. “See? Maximillian Rage! Do you see? I was able to slide Lawrence free of the corpse pile! A triumph indeed!”

“Good for you, Jackie boy!” Rage shouted.

His laser rifles died and the next three he tried died too. The rifles were spent. No matter which ones he tried to fire, nothing happened. Same with the rifles the mole people wielded.

“Back to fists and feet?” Rage asked.

The mole people shrugged then attacked.

“You heard that!” Rage shouted before punching the heads of seventeen and a half mole people. The half one only lost its bangs and right ear. “None of you little shits are deaf!”

“Oh, they most certainly are deaf!” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Can you hear me, mole people?” None of the mole people responded. “See?”

“Christ,” Rage muttered. “They just don’t talk to you, idiot!”

Rage caught a glimpse of the shock on Jack Connor, King of Mars’ face and almost felt sorry for the guy. He looked like everything he’d learned in life was a lie. And that Santa Claus was probably a child molester. The look on his face was that bad.

But, Rage had more important things to take care of than worry about Jack Connor, King of Mars’ feelings. He had mole people to slaughter. And slaughter was the only way he was going to get the job done.

“Time for full rage!” Rage bellowed.

He shoved his fist deep into a mole person’s guts and yanked out a good three meters worth of intestines. As he’d suspected, especially since he’d been stepping on, stepping over, and stepping around a lot of the mole people’s guts for a good while now, the intestines were stringy and tough.

Perfect for some whipping.

Rage whipped the intestines over his head then flicked his wrist and brought the long guts down and back in one motion, snapping the end of the intestines through three mole people’s skulls at once. They were some sharp guts.

Pain exploded in Rage’s left leg and he glanced down to see two mole people gnawing into his jeans, just above his boot. They’d pierced the denim and were going to town on his calf muscles. Rage tried to kick them off, but they hung on tight with those front teeth like their lives depended on it. Which they did.

“Little shits,” Rage snarled and wrapped the intestines around their necks in a looping pattern then pulled tight. He kept pulling until their eyes bulged then their heads popped right off. “Pop a mole, bitches!”

More pain exploded in Rage’s body, but this time in his right shoulder as three mole people jumped onto his right arm and sunk their teeth into the flesh just above his bicep. Rage grabbed one mole person by the skull and yanked hard, tearing not only the mole person off, but a sizable amount of Rage flesh. Rage squeezed until the mole person’s skull was crushed by his grip. Then he repeated the motion two more times, clearing the mole people from his arm.

That left his right arm useless until it healed since it was missing most of its upper flesh and muscle. Rage’s bone gleamed in the light, a bright white beacon to the other mole people that attacking now would be the best plan they could execute.

They attacked all as one. No hesitation. No groups maneuvering for position. No watch and wait to look for a weakness. The mass of mole people rolled over Rage and took him down to the beer hall’s floor. In less than two seconds, there was no sign of Max Rage any longer. He was at the very bottom of a mole people pile-on.

Thirty-Three

“Oh, dear me,” Jack Connor, King of Mars fretted as he stared helplessly at the mole people pile. “Maximillian? Hello? Are you in there?”

He continued to stare at the pile then looked at Lawrence. Back to the pile. Back to Lawrence.

“I am Jack Connor, King of Mars,” he said to himself.

There were a few rolled eyes underneath the many goggles and some soft raspberries from the mole people, but Jack Connor, King of Mars was too lost in thought to notice. Or lost in what passed for thoughts in his King of Mars-addled brain. The planet really hadn’t been good for Jack Connor’s mental health.

“I can do this,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I can help Maximillian Rage and defeat the mole people myself. I am not only Jack Connor, King of Mars, but Jack Connor, Wielder of Lawrence the Trident!”

He thrust the trident into the air and let loose with a battle cry.

Then he stepped to the pile and gently poked the closest mole person.

“You! Get off now, I say!” he shouted. The shout was about a thousand times more forceful than the stabbing motion he was making with Lawrence. “You will stop trying to kill Maximillian Rage! As King of Mars, I command thee!”

The mole person being gently poked swatted at Lawrence and nearly knocked the trident out of Jack Connor, King of Mars’ grip.

“That was quite rude, I shall have you know!” Jack Connor, King of Mars snapped. “Quite rude indeed! So rude that I believe you should be punished!”

Jack Connor, King of Mars brought Lawrence back, hesitated, hesitated some more, kept on hesitating, then stopped hesitating and thrust the trident into the pile with all of his strength.

There was a blood-curdling scream and Jack Connor, King of Mars yanked Lawrence back out of the pile. Two mole people were impaled on the end. They squirmed for a second then died, their bowels and bladders loosing right there.

“Yuck,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said then realized that the mole people were no longer piling onto Maximillian Rage. They were standing up and staring at Jack Connor, King of Mars. “Oh, hello there.”

A lot of mole teeth were bared. Goggles were lifted so that Jack Connor, King of Mars could see just how upset each and every mole person was with him. The glares were hard to miss.

“Yes, well, they deserved to die,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and brandished Lawrence at the disapproving mole people. “I did warn them. Just as I warned you all. You will leave Maximillian Rage alone from here on out.”

The mole people charged Jack Connor, King of Mars.

Jack Connor, King of Mars turned and ran screaming, Lawrence clutched in both hands and waving over his head. He was out the door and sprinting down the outside tunnel or corridor or whatever with a good couple hundred mole people on his ass.

Rage rolled onto his back, sat up, stared at the empty beer hall for a moment, then begrudgingly got to his feet. He stretched, popping some kinks out of his spine, rolled his shoulders, then clapped his hands together.

“I should let them kill him,” Rage said to himself, able to clearly hear Jack Connor, King of Mars screaming for Rage’s help.

The screams were clear because Jack Connor, King of Mars was sprinting past the open doors to the beer hall every couple of minutes. Going the same direction each time. Rage guessed that the tunnel or corridor or whatever out there was a loop. He was sure there was a way out of the loop, but Rage didn’t exactly have a great amount of confidence in Jack Connor, King of Mars. Even if the guy was King of Mars, he’d basically been suckered into the job and held captive by mole people for several centuries.

He was kinda lame.

Rage walked slowly to the open doors and leaned against the frame. He waited, studying a cuticle, as Jack Connor, King of Mars’s screams grew closer and closer. The second the leather-underwear clad king was close enough, Rage snatched him out of the corridor, tossed him back into the beer hall, and slammed the doors closed. Rage shoved everything he could against the beer hall doors, from tables to chairs to benches to a good amount of mole people corpses, then took a step back and smiled at his work.

He spun on his heel and was about to shout at Jack Connor, King of Mars, but something made him close his mouth, turn back around, and face the beer hall doors that were quite securely barricaded.

“Didn’t you destroy those when you came barging in to interrupt the Stardust idiots from sacrificing me?” Rage asked, really confused by the intact beer hall doors.

“No, I do not think so,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied.

“No, I’m pretty fucking sure you did,” Rage said. “I’m also pretty fucking sure I don’t care about any of this place any longer. Doors are there, they’re barricaded, you need to show me a different way out.”

“We could go down the garbage chute,” Jack Connor, King of Mars suggested. “It will be disgusting, but there is a bright side.”

“Please. Tell me the bright side,” Rage said. The pounding of mole people fists echoed through the barricaded doors. “And hurry because those little shits are pretty fucking motivated.”

“Yes, well, if we take the garbage chute, then that puts us on the seventeenth basement level,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said with a huge grin on his face. He didn’t elaborate.

“Is that the level with a bunch of dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifles waiting for me?” Rage asked.

“Oh, heavens no,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “That’s where I keep my grav scooter. It’s a Vespa 3000. Top of the line.”

“The latest model is 9000,” Rage said. “So not even close to top of the line. And it’s a grav scooter, so it sucks no matter what model it is. What else is down there?”

“Garbage.”

“That’s it? Garbage and your fucking grav scooter?”

“It’s a very nice scooter. A sensible aqua green with a yellow seat. Room enough for two.”

“Room for two? Two what? Idiots?”

“Well, no… Maximillian Rage, you do not seem impressed by my grav scooter and that hurts me deeply. My Vespa 3000 has been nothing but a reliable companion for many, many, many, many years. I believe you owe me an apology.”

The beer hall doors started to groan and crack.

Jack Connor, King of Mars gripped Lawrence tightly and slammed the end down onto the floor.

“And it is not like you have a lot of options, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said then pointed Lawrence at the doors. “They will be in here soon. Very soon. And there will be a hundred times the number. You will not be able to fight all of them, Maximillian Rage!”

“I didn’t want to fight any of them,” Rage replied. “You told me to kill them so you could be free and then you’d get me the fuck out of here so I can find the other idiots I’ve been dealing with.”

“This is my fault?” Jack Connor, King of Mars snapped. “My fault? I am not the one that was seduced by a female of the arachnid type that does not wear clothing.”

“Naked spider lady,” Rage said. “Just say naked spider lady. And, in my defense, there was a lot of lavender.”

“Oh, that is right,” Jack Connor said, nodding. “That lavender is potent. I will give you that, Maximillian Rage.”

The doors started to split and angry mole people heads shoved through to glare behind goggles at Rage and Jack Connor, King of Mars.

“Fine,” Rage said. “We take the garbage chute down and ride your grav scooter back to the surface.”

“That won’t happen,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “The Vespa 3000 is not rated for surface driving without the proper registration and I’m afraid I have let mine lapse. It is perfectly fine for zipping around the subterranean levels of Mars, but up on the surface—”

“Shut up!” Rage shouted. “Just show me the garbage chute so I can get this shit over with!”

“That outburst seems out of nowhere,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “But I will let it pass and do my duty to get you to safety.”

Rage pinched the bridge of his nose. “This fucking place…”

“Are you ready, Maximillian Rage?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Yes,” Rage said through the most gritted of gritted teeth ever gritted in the history of teeth gritting.

“Then follow me!” Jack Connor, King of Mars bellowed, lifting Lawrence high as if in triumph.

Rage followed him.

They went through the kitchen to the very back of the beer hall facility. There was a large hatch marked “garbage chute” set into the wall.

“This is the garbage chute,” Jack Connor, King of Mars stated.

“Yep,” Rage replied. “Kinda hard not to see that.”

“Shall I open it?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Sure,” Rage replied.

Jack Connor, King of Mars opened the chute and was about to turn to tell Rage something. Rage didn’t give him the chance. Instead, he shoved the King of Mars as hard as he could through the hatch then jumped in after him.

It was a very small victory, but Rage took it.

Thirty-Four

The Vespa 3000 was a sensible aqua green with a yellow seat. It was also coated in a lot of garbage. A lot of garbage…

“It has been a while since I went for a ride,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, scratching his chin in thought. “A century perhaps?”

“That’d be about right for the model number,” Rage said as he struggled to disentangle the grav scooter from the rib cage of the discarded carcass of a roast beast. “You wanna give me a hand here, Jackie Boy?”

“I think we should revisit that name,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “If you are to use a nickname, could it be, and this is off the top of my head, not like I have been thinking about it for the last few decades, but, and like I said—”

“Spit it out,” Rage snarled, finally freeing the Vespa 3000 from the putrefied carcass. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Would Jack Connor, King of Mars be too much trouble?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

Rage’s right eye began to twitch. The twitch grew worse until he was forced to squeeze the lid closed and keep it that way for at least thirty seconds before the twitching stopped. He took a deep breath then let it out.

“That’s your name,” Rage stated. “Jack Connor, King of Mars is your name. That’s not a nickname. That is literally what you are called.”

“I know, and it has taken many, many years of thought to come to the conclusion that I would like to always be addressed that way,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Sometimes one must lose one’s self before finding one’s self.”

“No! That’s not how that works!” Rage shouted and punched Jack Connor, King of Mars, square in the mouth, cracking several of the man’s teeth and all of Rage’s knuckles.

Rage healed instantly. Jack Connor, King of Mars did not.

“How dare you!” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted as he wiped the blood and bits of enamel from his split lips. “I have been nothing but hospitable since meeting you, Maximillian Rage! You repay me with violence? For shame, sir! For shame!”

Rage pointed from Jack Connor, King of Mars to the grav scooter. “Get on that. Now. We’re getting out of here.”

“Do you have any idea how much dentists cost on Mars?” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, ignoring Rage. “Do you? They are not cheap, sir. Not cheap at all. Even for the King of Mars!”

“Fine,” Rage said and straddled the grav scooter. “I’m leaving without you.”

The grav scooter did not start when Rage depressed the power button.

“It’s out of charge,” Rage said. “Of course it is.”

“Hardly,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and waved at Rage. “Move. I will start it up.”

Rage got off and Jack Connor, King of Mars got on. The grav scooter started right up.

“Biometric ignition system,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Too many thieves roam the garbage level.”

“Good for them,” Rage said. “Move back. I’m driving.”

“I should think not, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “This is my Vespa 3000 and I will drive. Plus, I know these levels and you do not.”

“Max Rage don’t ride bitch,” Rage said. “I’ll drive.”

“Out of the question.”

“I’ll break the rest of your teeth if you don’t let me drive.”

“What is one more broken tooth?”

“Is that more philosophy? Because if it is, I’ll rip your dick off and feed it to you.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars blinked several times in rapid succession. Rage frowned.

“Just move,” Rage said.

“I will drive,” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded and gave Rage a look that said he’d rather have his dick ripped off and fed to him than move.

“Okay, Jackie Boy, you drive,” Rage said sat down behind Jack Connor, King of Mars. “So. Drive.”

There was a squeal and a loud thump behind them both. They turned their heads in unison to see a goggle-eyed mole person clawing its way up out of the garbage. Then seven more fell on top of that mole person. Rage looked up. Jack Connor, King of Mars looked up.

“I say, Maximillian Rage, that is quite a lot of mole people falling directly at our position,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Approximately three or possibly four hundred of them.”

“Then drive, dumbass!” Rage shouted. “Before they crush us!”

“I shall!” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded and the Vespa 3000 shot forward.

Rage gripped the edge of the yellow seat with all his strength, which was a bad idea since he was pretty damn strong. He ended up tearing two large chunks out of the seat. Rage tossed the chunks aside and decided not to mention it to Jack Connor, King of Mars. No point in distracting the moron.

They raced down the corridor of the garbage level.

Rage’s already considerable frown deepened. Maybe race wasn’t the right word…

“Is this as fast as this thing goes? Rage asked.

“Yes!” Jack Connor, King of Mars called back over his shoulder, his hair waving in Rage’s face even though they didn’t seem to be going fast enough for his hair to be waving at all. “Quite peppy, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think!” Rage shouted.

He looked over his shoulder and several hundred mole people were not only on their tail, but catching up.

“This thing has to go faster than this!” Rage yelled. “How fast are we going?”

“Thirty-five Martian miles per hour!” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied. “Now, be quiet, Maximillian Rage! At this speed, I need all of my concentration!”

“Thirty-five? Thirty-five!” Rage jumped off the Vespa, grabbed the back of the seat, and yanked the small vehicle to a halt. “I can run faster than that!”

He crouched and studied the small grav engine. Then he began yanking off wires and crimping tubes with his bare hands. He swore loudly as his palms were burned from the engine, but Rage didn’t care. They were about to have a few hundred mole people attack them, so what was some crispy skin?

“There!” Rage yelled and shoved Jack Connor, King of Mars to the back of the seat.

“I told you already, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars protested, “I drive my Vespa 3000. Hey… What happened to the seat?”

Rage climbed in front, grabbed the handlebars, revved the grav engine, and grinned.

“Hang onto your leather underpants, Jackie boy,” Rage said. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Hurt? Why would it—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

The Vespa 3000 shot down the corridor, no longer going thirty-five Martian miles per hour. It was going nearly twenty times that and Jack Connor, King of Mars was screaming at the top of his lungs as the flesh of his face was shoved back, his mouth open, cheeks flapping in the wind.

Rage was laughing his head off.

“Yes!” Rage said. “Now that’s speed!”

“My brain is on fire!” Jack Connor, King of Mars screamed. “All of the blood in my body is boiling!”

“Oh, shut up, you wussy!” Rage called back. “I’m not going that fast!”

“Worm butt!” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted.

“Yeah, well you’re a donkey dick!” Rage shouted back.

“No!” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “That’s a worm butt ahead!”

Rage squinted into the gloom of the garbage level corridor. The Vespa 3000’s headlight wasn’t the greatest. Rage wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. At least not until they were almost up on the worm butt.

“SHIT!” Rage yelled as he laid the grav scooter down.

The floor of the corridor tore into Rage’s jeans then into the flesh of his leg as they slid toward the massive worm butt. Somehow, Jack Connor, King of Mars, had managed to climb up onto Rage’s top half and was clinging to him tightly.

“Get off me!” Rage shouted as the grav scooter came to a halt only half a meter from the worm butt. He shoved Jack Connor, King of Mars and the man was sucked through the Sphuncter’s sphincter. “Oh. Crap.”

“Who’s that knocking at my ass?” a voice asked.

Rage knew the voice.

“Missy T?” Rage asked, tossing the Vespa 3000 off of him so he could stagger up onto his feet. One half of him looked normal. The other half was a mangled mess. “Is this your territory, too?”

“Max Rage, baby!” Missy T cried. “What a pleasant surprise! And, yes, baby, this is part of my territory too.”

A thought struck Rage hard.

“Missy T! Do not eat the man that flew into your ass!” he cried. “That’s Jack Connor, King of Mars and I’m helping him out.”

“Oh, glad you said something,” Missy T responded. “I was about to suck him dry. Now, how about you hop up inside Missy T, baby, and tell me what you two strapping men were running from.”

Rage didn’t have to explain much. The massive mob of mole people was already catching up despite the grav scooter’s supped up speed.

“Them,” Rage said and hooked a thumb at the mob.

“Mole peoples? Ah, I hate mole peoples,” Missy T said. “Climb on in, baby. Missy T will take care of those little rodents for you, don’t you fret none.”

“Thanks, Missy T,” Rage said and climbed through the Sphuncter’s sphincter like it was a normal thing to do.

Considering the past couple of days, for Rage, it was a normal thing to do.

“Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars cried when Rage caught up to the man. “You threw me into a Sphuncter! We’re doomed!”

“Chill, Jackie Boy,” Rage said. “Missy T is a friend. We’re good.”

“You’re better than good. Jackie Boy, is it?” Missy T said.

“Well, no, it is Jack Connor—”

“Hush now, Jackie Boy, Missy T is about to take care of your mole peoples problem,” Missy T interrupted. “What I need you two to do is run up ahead about sixty paces then stop. There’s an empty pus pocket there you can climb into while I have a little snack. No matter what you do, do not come out of that empty pus pocket until Missy T tells you to, you understand?”

“Loud and clear,” Rage said and yanked Jack Connor, King of Mars by the arm. “Better hurry our asses, Jackie Boy. We do not want to be anywhere near this shit.”

“No, you do not,” Missy T agreed.

Thirty-Five

Rage and Jack Connor, King of Mars just made it to the empty pus pocket when the air inside Missy T began to rush past them. Rage shoved Jack Connor, King of Mars inside then climbed in after and wrapped a flap of Sphuncter flesh up and over both of them.

“For a former pocket filled with pus, this is quite comfortable,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and nestled his body into the soft folds of Missy T.

“Not nap time, Jackie Boy,” Rage said. “Stay awake. Once Missy T is done, we’re gonna need to get moving. I do have some people to meet up with and if you want off this orange rock, you’re gonna have to keep up.”

“Oh, I can keep up,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I am quite—OH, MARS!”

“What?” Rage yelled.

“Lawrence! I left Lawrence back on the Vespa 3000! We must go back for him!”

“You didn’t leave him on the Vespa,” Rage replied.

“I didn’t? You have him?”

“What? No. He never made it onto the Vespa. You left him in the pile of garbage.”

“NOOOO!”

Jack Connor, King of Mars made like he was going to shove past Rage. So Rage punched him again. This time it was between the eyes, not between the lips. Jack Connor, King of Mars was knocked unconscious instantly. Rage wedged him between some flesh folds then got comfy as Missy T did her business.

The moisture level inside the Sphuncter increased exponentially and Rage thought he might drown just by taking a breath, even inside the empty pus pocket. He toughed it out until the air dried out and Missy T’s body gave a happy shake.

“Ahhh, there we go, baby,” Missy T said. “Drank them mole peoples dry. Yum.”

“They taste good?” Rage asked, not sure why. He really didn’t want to know.

“I’ve had better, but you take what you can get,” Missy T said. “Uh oh. What happened to your king friend?”

“I knocked him out,” Rage said. “He wanted to go back for Lawrence.”

“Is Lawrence his boyfriend?”

“No, his trident.”

“Oh. Missy T don’t quite know what to make of that.”

“Best you make nothing of it.”

“Then I won’t.” Missy T sighed contentedly. “Now, Max Rage, you have done me a great favor by bringing me a meal of that size. I may not eat for long while now. What can Missy T do to repay you?”

“I need to get to the docking bay where one of the people I’m working with has her ship,” Rage said. “Hopefully that’s where they’re going.”

“Oh, Max Rage, I am so sorry, but I can’t go as far as the docking bays,” Missy T said with honest regret. “Those are off limits to us Sphuncters. Earth Corp has put something nasty in the ground to keep us away. Makes all of us Sphuncters sick as Martian dogs, and let me tell you, Martian dogs can get mighty sick. Out both ends at the same time.”

“How close can you get us?” Rage asked.

“Do you know which docking bay it is?”

Rage growled. “No. But the ship is a custom built XeneX 3232 Deuce. Does that help?”

“Max Rage, do I look like I know a custom built zexy whatsit from a third asshole?”

“No…?”

“That’s right. Now, this ship, is it expensive?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it made to shoot things?”

“Yeah.”

“Would Earth Corp hire it to shoot things?”

“They might. They hired the pilot.”

“Then there are two options. I can get you close to both. I’ll drop you in the middle. That’s the best I can do.”

“That’ll work. Thanks, Missy T.”

“My pleasure, Max Rage.”

“Max is fine,” Rage said.

“Oh, I know, but Missy T likes saying your full name. It’s kinda sexy. Max Rage. Just rolls off the tongue. Not that I have a tongue, but you know what Missy T means, baby.”

“I do,” Rage said as Jack Connor, King of Mars started to come to. “He’s probably going to freak out a bit. Sorry.”

“No problem, baby,” Missy T responded. “Won’t be the first person to wake up inside me and lose their shit.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars opened his eyes and blinked. Then he began to sob.

“Lawrence!” he cried. Literally. “Oh, my friend! How could I leave you?”

“Damn. This boy really liked that trident,” Missy T said.

“He did. A lot,” Rage agreed.

“Stop speaking about him in the past tense!” Jack Connor, King of Mars sobbed. “Lawrence is a trident, not a puppy! He’s back there!” Jack Connor, King of Mars’ eyes got wide and stared at Rage. “We could go back to get him. The Sphuncter has taken care of the mole people. We could go back.”

“Oh, baby, there’re thousands and thousands more mole people down here, you know that,” Missy T said. “Go back and get your big fork if you want to, but Missy T won’t be waiting to help you out again. Missy T has things to do today, baby.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rage said. “We aren’t going back.”

“But, Maximilian Rage, we—!” Jack Connor, King of Mars began.

“No fucking way!” Rage shouted, shutting the man up instantly. “You want off Mars? Then you’re coming with me now. We are not going back to get Lawrence.”

“Your cruelty knows no bounds, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars stated. “Have you not loved something so much that you would risk all for it?”

“Yes,” Rage said. “Me. That’s why we’re leaving. Now.”

“You two got that all worked out?” Missy T asked. “Because we should get going. I can put away some mole people when I need to, but the eighty-five thousand, three hundred, and four that are scurrying their little behinds toward us are a bit much even for me, baby. Now, if I was a couple thousand years younger I might be able to suck that kind of feast down, but I ain’t, baby.”

“Take us where you think is best,” Rage said. “Just glad I’m not on a party barge right now.”

“Oh, the party barges are so disappointing,” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “Have you seen what they charge for drinks?”

‘That’s Earth Corp for ya,” Rage said. “Bleed ya dry while you think you’re having fun. Just like when I used to commit genocide for them back in the day. It was all fun and games wiping out entire planets until the nitpicky performance evaluations came back. Bunch of bureaucratic fuckheads.”

“I am both shocked and confused by many of the words you used,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“Missy T?” Rage asked.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Move on out.”

“Gladly, baby. Gladly.”

The ride was smooth and quick. Mostly because Missy T was so gigantic that Rage and Jack Connor, King of Mars walked a good deal of her insides before she came to a stop.

“Alright, now I’ll open wide so you two can climb on out of Missy T,” Missy T said. “I’ve already checked the vibrations and there ain’t no mole people around. There’s something going on up top, so be careful. Can’t tell if it’s friend or foe, but it’s busy.”

“Probably Scorchers still going wacko and killing each other,” Rage said.

“No, don’t think it’s that,” Missy T said. “I ain’t hearing killing. Death has a vibration and there’s no death going down. Just a lot of busy work.”

“Great,” Rage said. “Maybe Earth Corp has finally pulled its head out of its ass to take care of the Scorcher mess that Sandy caused.”

“Sandy? Who is Sandy?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Lord Sahndle,” Rage said. “A Ghej prick that hired Nargle Boof to… Never mind. Too long of a story. We need to get above and find the others before they take off without us.”

“Ghej,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I despise the Ghej.”

That got Rage’s attention. “You do? You don’t seem like the despising type, Jackie Boy.”

“The Ghej have refused to recognize my royal authority on Mars,” Jack Connor, King of Mars snapped. “My name is Jack Connor, King of Mars, after all, yet they insist I am not of royal blood so I cannot be considered a proper king.”

“Did you tell them about the egg?” Rage asked with a smirk.

“Of course I told them about the egg!” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied earnestly. “The egg is very important!”

“Man, if they don’t take you seriously when you get suckered into an egg by some weirdo, then how can you ever be taken seriously?”

“My thoughts exactly, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied and shook his head. “My thoughts exactly…”

“Anyway, time to go, Jackie Boy,” Rage said. “Missy T, a pleasure.”

“All mine, baby. All mine,” Missy T responded.

The two men walked a little further until the end of Missy T spiraled open. They walked out into the tunnel.

“Which way?” Rage asked Jack Connor, King of Mars.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I am not familiar with this area. I rarely navigate the subterranean levels of Mars without assistance from either the mole people or Ned.”

“Okay, then we should…” Rage paused. He thought for a second then decided that if he didn’t ask now it would only come up later. “Who’s Ned?”

“Who’s Ned?” Jack Connor, King of Mars laughed hard. “Why, only the best map in the solar system! Ned can get you anywhere.”

“You named your map of Mars Ned?” Rage asked.

“I did not name him, he was already named Ned when I arrived.”

“I am sure he was,” Rage said and pointed. “That looks like a good direction.”

“It is, Max Rage,” Missy T said as she began to squirm in reverse away from the two men. “Keep walking until you hit the bend in the tunnel. Should be a ladder not far after that. But, like I said, be careful, baby. Missy T don’t know what’s going on up there, but it sure is loud.”

“Thanks, Missy T,” Rage said. “We’ll be careful.”

“We could be a lot more careful if I had Lawrence and Ned with me,” Jack Connor, King of Mars. “The trips we’ve taken together…”

“You start crying again and I’ll snap you in half,” Rage said.

“There is no need for that, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I do not want you to break any more of me. Losing my teeth is hard enough. I will need to seek out a proper dentist as soon as we are away from this accursed planet. Do you know a good dentist on Earth, Maximillian Rage?”

“My teeth fix themselves.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It has its advantages.”

They continued down the tunnel until they reached the bend. Rage held Jack Connor, King of Mars back to make sure there weren’t a thousand mole people or a bunch of whacked-out Scorchers waiting for them. The coast was clear and Rage led them on until they reached a very sketchy, very tall ladder.

“Gonna be a bitch of a climb,” Rage said. “You up for it, Jackie Boy?”

“I am very fit,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Do I not look fit?”

“Yeah. You look fit,” Rage said and grabbed onto the ladder. “Let’s get the fuck out of this underground shit show.”

“That is a fine plan, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, following closely behind. “A fine plan.”

Thirty-Six

The ladder had to have been close to three hundred stories. It was barely secured to anything, with only a few rods and bolts here and there to keep it from snapping off and sending Rage and Jack Connor, King of Mars tumbling back down into the subterranean shit show below.

But Rage had no intention of tumbling anywhere. He hated tumbling. Never was a summersault kind of guy, even as a kid.

When they finally reached the top, Rage was not surprised to see a basic door. Not a hatch, not a manhole cover, but a door. With wood paneling and a sign that read, “Knock First.”

Rage leaned up against the door and listened.

“There is a lot of shit going on up there,” Rage said. “Plenty of movement. Boots marching everywhere. Equipment being lugged. People are shouting orders in a few different languages.”

“Can you understand them?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Barely. Not enough to know who it is up there,” Rage said. “I can say it’s not Earth Corp. They bark like little dogs.”

“Like Pomeranians?”

“What?”

“Those are little dogs. Pomeranians.”

“Sure. Like Pomeranians. But that’s not what I’m hearing. So it’s not Earth Corp.”

“Why does Earth Corp speak Pomeranian?”

“What? They don’t! Shut up!”

“No need to be rude. It has been a trying day for me and that climb was awful even with me being in such great shape.”

“Not Earth Corp and not Scorchers,” Rage said, ignoring Jack Connor, King of Mars. “I know what violence and chaos sound like. Haven’t heard a single death cry.”

Rage listened some more then grabbed the doorknob.

“It does say to knock first,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said as he peered around Rage.

“I’m not knocking,” Rage said and turned the handle.

He shoved the door up, since up was the only way it could go, but it stopped after only a few centimeters. All Rage could see where the bottoms of crates and dozens of boots of different types running this way and that. That didn’t help him much.

“What’s wrong?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Door’s blocked,” Rage replied and held up a finger. “Do not say it’s because I didn’t knock. Something weird is going down up here.”

Rage put his shoulder to the door, braced his legs on the ladder, then shoved with all of his strength. Whatever had been on the door was no longer on the door. It went flying into the air as Rage threw the door open and let it fall against the ground. He climbed up out of the ground and grimaced at the many faces that stared at him, none too pleased to see him.

Rage was even less pleased to the see the faces. Especially since many of them wore goggles. Not mole people goggles, though.

Velpoohian goggles. Goddamn space pirates…

“Rage!” a voice filled with anger and disgust cried. “What in the Hell are you doing here? Why is it I can never seem to get rid of you?”

“Tatti,” Rage said and sneered. “What’s a space pirate vampire like you doing on Mars? You hate Scorching Dude.”

“Racist!”

“Why is he so intolerant?”

“He’ll probably kill us all and blame us for our deaths like bigots do!”

“Bigots do that?”

“Yeah! They suck!”

“Bigots do suck!”

“You suck, Rage!”

“Bigot!”

“Racist!”

“Why are they calling you that, Maximillian Rage?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked as he climbed up through the door.

The Velpoohians all paused. Every single one of them stopped mid-task. They stared at Jack Connor, King of Mars.

Then burst out laughing.

Jack Connor, King of Mars laughed with them.

“They are a jovial bunch,” he said after several chuckles. “What’s so funny?”

“You are,” Tatti said.

Closely shorn black hair, almost pure white skin, and beautiful almond-shaped eyes that were sparklingly violet, Tatti grinned and all beauty that her eyes may have possessed was lost as she revealed a set of deadly looking fangs.

“What are you wearing?” Tatti asked.

“What any self-respecting King of Mars wears,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “A good and proper loincloth.”

“Like you idiots should be laughing at what anyone wears,” Rage said to the Velpoohian crowd.

The scavengers, their eyes covered with grease-smeared goggles, turned back to Rage and snarled in unison. Dressed in layers of what looked like rags, the scavengers gave off a very post-apocalyptic vibe. They really seemed committed to the space-grunge look.

“Racist!”

“I called you idiots, not pirates,” Rage snapped.

“Oh. Sorry…”

“Did you say you were King of Mars?” Tatti asked, shoving past some of her crew to get up close to Rage, who blocked her from getting up close to Jack Connor, King of Mars.

Rage knew Tatti well enough that if she really wanted to, she could rip Jack Connor’s throat out faster than Rage could stop her. Not that it would be bad to have Jack Connor, King of Mars throatless, which meant voiceless, but dead wasn’t good either.

“Back it up, bloodsucker,” Rage said and placed a hand on Tatti’s chest. The Velpoohians instantly began shouting and yelling at Rage. “Oh, shut up! Don’t get your goggles in a twist! Your boss and I have a routine!”

“Getting sick of the routine,” Tatti said and pushed Rage’s hand away. “Getting tired of you always showing up to get in my way when I have a good gig going. Why are you here, Rage?”

“Not to mess with whatever your scavenger plans are,” Rage said. “I’m guessing you got a heads up that shit was going down on Mars and you could play clean up and, well, clean up.”

“We got a tip,” Tatti said. “A very reliable tip.”

“From Nargle Boof?” Rage asked.

Tatti didn’t answer, but by the way her violet eyes widened, he guessed he was right.

“You do whatever it is you want to do,” Rage said. “Me and Jackie Boy are gonna be on our way.”

“Not so sure that’s what I want you to do,” Tatti said. “Jack Connor, King of Mars might fetch a nice price on the intergalactic market. Royalty always gets a premium.”

“Do what now?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. “Maximillian Rage? Is she talking about kidnapping me, putting me into bondage, and possibly selling me as a slave? You would not let her do such a thing, would you, Maximillian Rage?”

“She’s not taking you anywhere, Jackie Boy,” Rage said. “Tatti is being Tatti. What do you want, Tatti?”

“Nothing from you, Rage,” Tatti said and pointed at Jack Connor, King of Mars. “I honestly want him. I happen to have a buyer lined up for royalty. Random conversation a few weeks ago that I didn’t think would ever mean a damn thing. Now it does. You can go, Rage, but the king stays here.”

Rage sighed.

“Tatti, Tatti, Tatti,” Rage said and shook his head. “You know your people can’t fight worth shit.”

Rage pointed at five massively muscled pirates that stood a foot taller than he did.

“Even those guys are gonna get hurt,” Rage continued. “You all can scavenge better than anyone in the galaxies, but when it comes to close combat, you really suck.”

“You suck, Rage!”

“Yeah!”

“Poop face, ragey head!”

“Nice one.”

‘Thanks.”

“Shut up!” Tatti shouted and her Velpoohians shut up. “Rage. Just go. We’ve had a nice truce since our last unfortunate encounter. How about we keep it that way? You walk off, leave the king, and if we ever have to suffer through another meeting, there will be no bad blood between us.”

Tatti looked Rage up and down.

“And you ain’t looking so hot right now, Rage,” she continued. “Clothes all torn up and no dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle. Damn, Rage, you don’t even have a pistol on your hip.”

Rage shrugged.

“Luxuries,” Rage said. “I won’t need them.”

“You sure he’s worth it?” Tatti asked.

“Are you sure he’s worth it?” Rage countered. “Look around, Tatti. With the Scorchers going berserk, Mars is a scavenger’s dream come true. You have more crap to haul off than you have probably seen all year long. I take Jackie Boy with me, you take all this equipment and loot with you, and we stay friendly enemies.”

“It’s called being frenemies!”

“Yeah, loser, get with the lingo!”

“And he calls us poop faces! Ha!”

“He didn’t! We called him a poop face! He called us idiots!”

“What a jerk!”

Rage lifted one eyebrow and smiled at Tatti.

“Your call,” he said.

“We have weapons, Rage,” Tatti said. “We will shoot you down.”

“Weapons are only good if you can keep ahold of them,” Rage said. “How fast do you think I’ll strip those pistols off that moron’s belt over there and jam them up his ass? Care to wager? Five seconds? Three?”

A very tall and skinny Velpoohian laughed then looked about. Everyone was staring at him.

“What? He’s not jamming my pistols up my butt,” the Velpoohian said, but didn’t exactly sound confident.

“I’ll count to three and you’ll want to move before I get to three,” Rage said to Tatti.

“I’ll count to three and you’ll want to hand over the king before I get to three,” Tatti said to Rage.

Neither moved.

“One,” they said in unison.

The Velpoohians began pulling pistols from holsters, rifles from their backs, knives from sheaths. Jack Connor, King of Mars began to whimper.

“Two,” Rage and Tatti said.

Pistols were raised, rifles were put to shoulders, knives gleamed in the light. Jack Connor, King of Mars gulped loudly.

“Three!” Tatti and Rage shouted.

Thirty-Seven

Tatti leapt at Rage. Rage ducked then shoved up with his legs, hitting Tatti in the midsection and sending her flying head over heels past him and Jack Connor, King of Mars.

Then the shooting started.

“Down!” Rage yelled and threw Jack Connor, King of Mars to the ground just as several rifles blasts nailed Rage in the arm, the side, the leg, and the shoulder. “Fuck!”

The blasts hurt like hell, and tore a good amount of flesh off and scorched even more, but Rage was waiting for the attack and had braced himself. He dropped to a knee, picked up the closest item at hand, which happened to be a socket wrench, even though there were no other tools anywhere even close, and threw it at the head of the closest Velpoohian.

The socket wrench went straight through the space pirate’s left eye and out the back of his head then pierced the skull of the space pirate behind him. The two fell and Rage rolled his scorched and wounded body over to the fresh corpses, relieved them of their weapons, which happened to be one laser rifle and two laser pistols, stood, and opened fire.

“No fair!” someone shouted before they screamed as Rage put a blast between her eyes.

Rage waded into the crowd of enraged and attacking Velpoohians, but no matter how many came at him, Rage managed to keep them back enough that he only got the occasional knife stab to the legs or ribs and laser blast to the chest. His body went into overdrive and repaired him at a rate that would have surprised anyone except Rage. After the beatings and damage he’d already taken, Rage had a feeling that his Earth Corp approved genetics were about to dig deep and really put on the healing.

It’d happened before on many a planet during many a campaign. He’d pay for it in the morning, he knew that too, but for the moment, the Velpoohians had made a very big mistake. A very big mistake they were all dying over.

“You want some? Huh? DO YOU?” Rage yelled, shooting the googles, then the face, off an attacking Velpoohian. “How was that?”

Hey!” Rage shouted at a Velpoohian that had changed her mind and turned to flee. “Where are you going?”

He shot the backs of her thighs off.

“You! You look thirsty!” Rage snarled. “HOW ABOUT A BIG CUP OF RAGE!”

Rage shot the Velpoohian in the mouth.

Rage didn’t stop until the pistols powered down and then he only paused long enough to pull the rifle from his back and continue the Velpoohian slaughter. When that rifle powered down, Rage picked up two more and double fisted his way through the now panicked and retreating crew of space pirates. None cared about the loot they’d come for, all they cared about was to get as far and fast away from the murderous monster that pursued them.

Most didn’t get very far at all.

“STOP!” Tatti roared. “RAGE! JUST FUCKING STOP!”

Rage did not stop. Several dozen more Velpoohians were butchered before the two rifles Rage held stopped firing.

Tatti tackled Rage about the waist and they fell hard, putting a dent in the Martian ground.

“STOP!” Tatti shouted in Rage’s face as she straddled his chest.

“NO!” Rage shouted back and bucked her up off him.

Tatti flew into the air, but managed to do a back flip and land on her feet. She came down in a crouch, throwing a hard, fast, right hook into Rage’s face as he sat up. The lower part of his jaw came unhinged and it was only the tendons and flesh that kept the bone from flying right off his head.

“Fuck!” Rage shouted, although it was impossible to understand the word since Rage’s jaw was not working properly. But everyone got the gist.

He grabbed his face and held his lower jaw in place for a second until his body reattached it for him.

“Jesus Christ, Tatti,” Rage said and worked his mouth a few times. “Where’d you learn that?”

“I’ve been training,” Tatti said. “Just in case I met up with you again.”

“You learned how to knock someone’s jaw off just because of me?” Rage asked and slowly got to his feet. The few Velpoohians he had not killed scurried for cover behind anything that would give them enough cover. “Oh, calm the fuck down. Fight’s over.”

“Is it?” Tatti asked. “Are you done, Butcher of Bumbletown?”

“Butcher of Bumbletown?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. “That was you? Even I have heard of that massacre.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars shook his head back and forth slowly.

“I am beginning to think you are not a man of good character, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars continued. “What you have done here was making me wonder, but now that I know you are the one that did to Bumbletown what was done to Bumbletown.” He kept shaking his head. “Yikes.”

“Fuck your yikes,” Rage said. “I have never claimed to be anything other than me. So both of you can fuck off.”

“I will fuck off when you say you are done, Rage,” Tatti said. “Are you done?”

“You gonna try to take Jackie Boy here?” Rage asked.

“Not any longer,” Tatti said.

“Then I’m done,” Rage said. “Come on, Jackie Boy. Time to go.”

“That’s it?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. “That is all you are going to say after doing… all this?”

“All what?” Rage asked and looked about at the sea of corpses before him. “What? This? They started it!”

“Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “You are a true and awful killer.”

“Oh my fucking God!” Rage shouted. “Why is everyone always up my ass about how many people and aliens, and whatever that guy there is, I’ve killed? Huh? Do you think I like doing all this killing? Do you?”

Tatti pursed her lips and glared at Rage. Jack Connor, King of Mars continued to shake his head.

“Okay, yeah, maybe I do like to kill blindly without thought or feeling or remorse or any sense of nausea when I do that to someone.”

Rage pointed at a Velpoohian that had been twisted and tied into so many knots that he looked like a third grader’s friendship bracelet.

“Yes. That is some masterwork right there and if there ever was a killing Olympics, I’d take fucking gold every damn competition, but does that make me a bad guy? I’m just doing what I was designed and trained to do, that’s all. And I didn’t even want to do it! I warned you, Tatti! I fucking warned you that this is what was going to happen! All I wanted to do was get from here to the closest docking bay and find a custom-built XeneX 323 Deuce so I can get the fuck off this piece of shit planet!”

Tatti blinked. “A custom-built XeneX 323 Deuce with dual-quad quantum drives? Probably with a plasma booster in each valve, if I know my couplings?”

“What? Yeah,” Rage replied. “You saw it?”

“Does it have thirty-six sharp guns and a rail of rocket launchers?” Tatti asked.

“That’s what I was told,” Rage said. “Have you seen it or not?”

“If she has not seen it, Maximillian Rage, then she is making a very good guess right now as to its appearance,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“It’s that way,” Tatti said and pointed her chin toward the Martian east. “Half a click off is the docking bay area. Not a lot of ships there on the landing pads anymore. Most bailed when things got weird and the rest took off when my people started landing in volume. After you blew our ship up, and killed pretty much my whole crew, I decided we’d be more of a convoy from now on. That way one bomb can’t take us all out.”

She studied the death that surrounded her.

“But I guess even that wasn’t Rage-proof enough.”

“I believe there is no such thing as Rage-proof,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “He is like a force of nature. Not unlike my good friend Lawrence.”

“Here we go again,” Rage muttered.

“Lawrence? What’s a Lawrence?” Tatti asked.

“Not a what, but a who,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “He was my trusty trident.”

“Trident? Like a weapon?” Tatti asked and looked at Rage. “That’s a what, right? I’m not crazy?”

“No, he’s crazy,” Rage said. “Jackie Boy! We’re heading out now! Shut up about Lawrence and get to stepping. We don’t have any time to waste. They could be leaving as we fucking stand here and jabber our jaws!”

“You’re gonna leave me here all alone, Rage?” Tatti asked. “After what you did?”

“What do you mean by all alone?” Rage asked and swept a hand at the Velpoohians. “You still have like…uh…one or… Huh…”

Everyone was dead. The few Velpoohians that Rage hadn’t killed and had tried to get away didn’t make it far. Rage may not have killed them, but he wounded them all pretty badly. So they died. Which, in the end, meant Rage really did kill them it just took longer than the others.

“I am good at killing,” Rage said, almost apologetically. Then he rolled his eyes at Tatti. “You have plenty of ships of your own. Are you alone now? Yes. Again because of me? Yes. But I’m not leaving you. You can take off from Mars anytime you want.”

“And do what, Rage?” Tatti asked. “No one will want to be a Velpoohian when they know all it takes is one damn random encounter with Max Rage and it’ll be all over. I’m out of a job.”

“Bullshit,” Rage scoffed. “There are more idiots in the galaxies than ever before, in my opinion. You can sucker at least another hundred or more to follow you around the systems and scavenge shit instead of getting real jobs.”

“I hate you so much, Rage,” Tatti said.

“Which you tell me every time we meet,” Rage said and tipped two fingers to his brow. “Until next time, Tatti. A pleasure as always.”

Rage walked off.

Jack Connor, King of Mars gave Tatti a weak smile, hesitated, then took off after Rage.

Thirty-Eight

The walk was easy. The intense silence was not.

“I never thought I’d say that you keeping your mouth shut would be worse than you talking,” Rage said. “Just say what’s on your mind, Jackie Boy.”

“I am unsure I should leave with you, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Until I met you, the biggest drama in my life had to do with Lady Stardust and whenever a mole person would get stuck in a hole too small for his or her butt. So far, I have witnessed more death and destruction being with you than I thought could be possible.”

“I’m a shit magnet,” Rage said with a shrug. “So sue me.”

“I am between lawyers at the moment, so legal action is not a viable option,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “But I do have doubts about my safety if I remain in your presence for much longer.”

“Are you kidding me with this?” Rage snapped, but didn’t stop walking. “The only reason you are here is because you wanted me to get you off Mars in exchange for helping me get back to the surface. But you know what, Jackie Boy? You haven’t really helped me with shit!”

“Garbage chute,” Jack Connor, King of Mars stated.

“What?”

“I directed you to the garbage chute which is how we made our escape.”

Rage started to respond then closed his mouth and kept on walking toward the docking bay. He could easily see a few ships parked up ahead on the landing pads and he hoped one of them was the XeneX 323 Deuce and everyone was still here.

“Yet,” Jack Connor, King of Mars continued. “Despite all of the death and destruction, none of it has befallen me. You kept your promise of getting me away from the mole people. You even took me on a ride inside a Sphuncter which I did not ever think I would do. Not willingly, at least. So that was a new experience. And when the Velpoohians tried to steal me, you fought them off. Did you kill every last one? Yes, which is slightly unfortunate, but I am grateful I will not be sold into slavery. Yes, it probably would have been sexual slavery because I am a king, specifically the King of Mars, and I do have a body that many find attractive, even with the broken teeth, or simply because of the broken teeth, but sexual slavery is still slavery. The word slavery is in both.”

“Slavery is the only word in slavery,” Rage said then mentally chastised himself for engaging in the idiocy.

“Very true, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Very true indeed. But what I am trying to say is despite your obvious homicidal bloodlust and ability to kill at a rate that is mind-boggling, you have done right by me. So I forgive you.”

Rage stopped walking, turned on his heel and glared at Jack Connor, King of Mars.

“You forgive me? For what?” Rage asked.

“For breaking my teeth and being rather rude all the time,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied.

Rage started to argue then scrunched up his face, took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded. “Fair enough. Are you done talking?”

“Probably not,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“At least you’re honest about it,” Rage responded. “Come on. Let’s find that ship.”

They walked on until they came to the edge of the docking bay filled with landing pads. It didn’t take a lot of detective work to figure out which ship was Choosper’s. First, it was the largest on the pads and had several weapons sticking out from all angles. Second, it had the name “The Rage” painted on the side in a bright pink, cursive flourish. There was no third. The first and second indicators were enough.

“It’s not even started up,” Rage said. “They must not have gotten here yet.” He frowned. “That’s not good.”

“Why is it not good?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. “That means they have not left without us. Also, we could make snacks and mix drinks as a fine welcome to them when they do arrive.”

“No snacks. No mixed drinks. Drinks straight up, yeah, but no mixers,” Rage said. “And the drinks are for me, not them.”

Rage moved across the landing pads, navigating between the other ships, and Jack Connor, King of Mars followed. When they reached The Rage, Rage tried to activate the side hatch, but a small alarm sounded and an automated voice said, “Unauthorized entry. Go away or authorities will be notified.”

“Oh, dear, we don’t want that,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“Look around, Jackie Boy, Mars is toast. No authorities are coming,” Rage said. “Not that that news helps us get inside this ship, though.”

“Could we not sit down on the landing pad and wait?” Jack Connor, King of Mars suggested. “A rest does sound nice.”

“We don’t rest until we’re off this planet,” Rage said. “And considering the time that’s gone by since I got split off from everyone, the fact that they aren’t here is bad news. Something happened to them.”

“Look,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“Yeah, looking for them is a good idea,” Rage replied. “But where? We got lucky we even found this ship. Everyone else could be anywhere on this fucking planet. Where do we start looking?”

“No, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and pointed past the landing pads. “Look!”

Rage followed the pointing finger and growled low. He looked and didn’t like what he saw.

“Scorchers,” Rage said. “A lot of Scorchers. And they look hopped up and ready to fight.”

“You killed all those Velpoohians,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Why are you worried about the Scorchers?”

“There are about three times the numbers,” Rage explained. “And the Scorchers are all messed up by nanites. I’ve fought them and eventually they take you with their numbers because they don’t always go down when you punch through their bellies or rip their arms off. Shit, some keep fighting without heads, but that depends on the race.”

“Oh,” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded, looking a little green. “Thank you for explaining that.”

Rage turned back to the ship. “We need to get inside and start this baby up. Then we might be able to scan for Choosper, if scanners work. It’s her ship and it must have a rescue protocol.”

“Did you say Choosper?” the voice from the ship asked. “Captain Choosper?”

“Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said sotto voce. “I think the ship is talking to us.”

“I’m not talking to you, leather britches,” the ship said. “I’m talking to the muscle boy there. Did you or did you not say Captain Choosper’s name?”

“I did,” Rage said. “I’m working with her and she’s probably in trouble. Let us in so we can go find her and the others and get them out of whatever trouble they’ve found themselves in.”

“I cannot let you in,” the ship said. “I am programmed to only allow Captain Choosper access. And one other, but the odds of that person ever showing up are pretty slim. I am devoted to Captain Choosper, but she does have a bit of an obsession. You see what she named me?”

“The Rage,” Rage said and grinned. “After me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” the ship asked. “What was that about me being named after you? Impossible. You are not Max Rage.”

“Yeah. I am Max Rage,” Rage said. “Ask this guy.”

“And who is this guy?”

“Jack Connor, King of Mars.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” the ship exclaimed. “You’re telling me that out of all the landing pads on this planet, not only does Max Rage find me, but he brings the legendary Jack Connor, King of Mars with him? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars tugged at Rage’s arm. “The ship has asked us to get out. I appreciate the flattery it has bestowed upon me, but it will not allow us inside and those Scorchers are getting too close for my comfort. We should run, Maximillian Rage.”

“Run? Sorry. I didn’t explain right,” the ship said and the side hatch opened so a set of steps could descend to the landing pad. “Get your asses inside. The only other person I can allow entry to is Max Rage. What a coincidence!”

“No shit, but I’ll take it,” Rage said and shoved Jack Connor, King of Mars at the steps. “Up you go, Jackie Boy.”

“Does it not seem weird that a person you barely know would allow you access to her ship?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Wait until you meet Choosper,” Rage said. “It won’t seem weird at all.”

“You say that now,” the ship said as Rage shoved Jack Connor, King of Mars up the steps and into the ship.

The two men froze once they were past the hatch’s airlock and into the first corridor.

“Told ya,” the ship said. “Captain Choosper, while a very pleasant person to work for, is what you would call an obsessive.”

The corridor’s walls were lined with framed photo after framed photo. All of the photos were of Max Rage. That explained Choosper’s reluctance about taking everyone to her ship.

Rage walked slowly down the corridor, studying each photo. He pointed at one.

“That’s me last week!” he exclaimed. “Hey, ship, has Choosper been stalking me?”

“Yes. For years,” the ship replied. “We’ve followed you around the galaxies for a long time. Once we hovered over that bar you work at for seventeen months straight. That was before you were leaving Earth to take side gigs with your lady friend and her son.”

“The son always tags along because he sucks,” Rage said then remembered why they were on the ship. “Speaking of. Does Choosper have a rescue protocol locked in?”

“She does,” the ship said. “But I will need you to come to the bridge and confirm that you need it activated. Captain Choosper did not initiate the rescue protocol procedures before disembarking. She was…busy.”

“He had a tone,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I heard the tone. Ship? What was that tone?”

“Nothing,” the ship replied.

“Bullshit,” Rage said. “What was that tone? I heard it too.”

“It’s, um, nothing really,” the ship said. “Are you for certain that Captain Choosper is in trouble and needs rescuing?”

“Yeah. Pretty damn sure,” Rage replied.

“I need you to be more than pretty damn sure,” the ship said. “It’s very important that you are.”

“Okay, I am,” Rage said. “I am certain that she is in trouble and needs rescuing.”

“Great. Proceed to the bridge,” the ship said. “Follow the red line to… Nope. Sorry. Follow the green line. Do not follow the red line. Whatever you do, do not follow the red line.”

“I kind of want to follow the red line now,” Rage said. “I hate it when ships tell me what I can and cannot do.”

The ship sighed. “If you follow the red line, it will take you to a specially built cage.”

“Specially built? For what?” Rage asked.

“Not what. Who,” the ship replied. “You. Captain Choosper didn’t activate the procedures for the rescue protocol because she was busy planning your kidnapping. Sorry.”

“Ah. That kind of obsessed,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I have been there, believe you me.”

“Green line takes us to the bridge?” Rage asked, wary.

“Yes,” the ship said.

“And that’s not programmed to trick me if I happened to show up on this ship?”

“What? Ha ha ha. No. That’d be crazy.”

“So the green line is the line that takes me to the cage.”

“No way. The red line takes you to the cage. Green line is the bridge.”

Rage followed the red line.

“That’s the wrong one!” the ship shouted. “I’m not joking! You’re gonna end up in a… Ah, who am I kidding. You’re right. I’ll get the ship started. Will you tell Captain Choosper that I tried at least?”

“Not a problem,” Rage said. “Just no more bullshit.”

“Understood,” the ship said. “Welcome aboard The Rage, Max Rage. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I will as long as it’s brief and not in a cage,” Rage replied and kept following the red line.

Thirty-Nine

Rage hadn’t been a hundred percent confident that his guess was right until he reached the actual bridge.

“Engines online and ready?” Rage asked as he sat down in the captain’s chair.

“Oh, uh, that’s Captain Choosper’s chair, Max Rage,” the ship said. “Might I suggest you sit in the co-pilot’s seat or perhaps the navigator’s seat?”

“Where should I sit?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. “Will this chair work?”

“That is weapons,” the ship said.

“No,” Rage barked. “Do not sit there. You’ll just blow us up.”

“That is quite impossible,” the ship said. “I have safeguards in place to prevent that.”

“No, no, Maximillian Rage is correct,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I am not an experienced space traveler. I could inadvertently do something and make a mess of things.”

Jack Connor, King of Mars, leaned a hand on the console next to him, about to launch into a long-winded oratory of the dangers of space travel when several ships around The Rage exploded, lighting up the Martian sky with fire and burning hunks of metal.

“Did I do that?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked, jumping back from the console.

“No, no, that was the Scorchers,” the ship said. “I believe it wise to lift off now even though I do not know where we are going.”

“Yeah! Lift the fuck off before they blow us to shit!” Rage shouted. “Go, go, go!”

“Technically, I do not take orders from you, but since I was doing that anyway, I shall go, go, go,” the ship said.

The view outside the bridge changed rapidly as the ship lifted off from the landing pad. Other ships around and below them continued to explode as the Scorchers laid waste to what may have been the last few vehicles left on the planet that people could escape by. Rage didn’t know that for sure, but his gut was telling him he was right.

The ship banked and took off fast, dodging flying metal and plumes of flame.

“You activate that rescue protocol yet?” rage asked.

“I am working on it,” the ship responded.

“What’s the problem?” Rage asked. “Can’t you process a ton of tasks at once?”

“I can, yes, but the chaos on the planet’s surface is causing havoc with my sensors,” the ship said. “In order to activate the rescue protocol, at least when it has not been properly setup, I will need to locate Captain Choosper’s personal signal. That way I can assess the situation she is in and make the proper call as to whether or not she needs rescuing. It would be unfortunate to be wrong and go in all guns blazing.”

“You shouldn’t go in all guns blazing anyway,” Rage snapped. “That’s how you get her killed, not rescued.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” the ship said.

“No, I believe Maximillian Rage is correct,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “You are speaking of a shoot first and ask questions later scenario and those rarely turn out well.”

“No, shoot first and ask questions later is when you are going after an enemy or fugitive from justice,” the ship said. “That phrase does not apply to a rescue operation.”

“Neither does shooting at all!” Rage shouting. “No shooting!”

“I wasn’t planning on shooting,” the ship said. “That is why I’m trying to locate Captain Choosper’s personal signal. Are you not listening to me?”

“I swear to God I’m nuking this planet the second I have the chance,” Rage muttered.

“You will not get the opportunity, Max Rage,” the ship said. “Earth Corp has already announced that they will be deploying nuclear weapons upon Mars’ surface to handle the crazed Scorcher issue.”

“They said what?” Rage asked. “They’re nuking Mars?”

“Only way to be sure,” the ship said. “Apparently, they cannot guarantee that the issue can be properly contained to Mars and do not want it to spread to the rest of the system then the galaxy then other galaxies.”

“Son of a bitch,” Rage said and rubbed his forehead. “Either they’re taking advantage of all this shit or this has been the end game from the beginning.” Rage shook with, well, rage. “I’m going to strangle Lord Sahndle when I see him. If he knew about this, then he’s one dead Ghej.”

“I would not advise killing galactic royalty, Max Rage,” the ship said. “That might not work out well for you. I’ve heard stuff.”

“Good for you, ship,” Rage said.

“Why would Earth Corp deliberately want to destroy Mars?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked. “Is it because of me?”

“Why would it be because of you?” Rage asked.

“I am rather threatening,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied. “Perhaps they thought that my power was growing too much and one day I would eclipse their power.”

“He doesn’t get out much, does he?” the ship asked.

“Not for centuries,” Rage said and smiled at Jack Connor, King of Mars. “No, Jackie Boy, I don’t think it’s because of you.”

“That’s a relief,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Being a king is hard enough without having that kind of pressure on my shoulders. Not sure I could have handled it without cracking.”

“Because you’ve been doing a fucking stellar job all day with everything else,” Rage said. “Ship?”

“Yes, Max Rage?”

“Have you located Choosper yet?”

“I have, Max Rage.”

“You have?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Where is she?”

“We are headed to her right now,” the ship said. “She is halfway across the planet. Not sure why she has gone in the opposite direction as me, since getting to me in order to leave the planet would be a good idea considering.”

“That was the idea,” Rage said. “They should have been heading toward you this whole time. Can you get me intel on where she is located?”

“I do not have much in the way of specifics since my sensors are very messed up, but I was able to grab a snatch of audio briefly before the interference was too much,” the ship said. “And, for the record, I am assuming we are going to the correct location. I no longer have a lock on her signal because of the—”

“Interference. Gotcha,” Rage interrupted. “Play the audio.”

The ship played the audio.

“Oh, my!” Jack Connor, King of Mars cried as he clasped his hands to his ears. “What is that abominable noise?”

Rage sighed.

“That would be Junior,” Rage said. “Singing. Now I get the whole mime aspect of an a cappella mime troupe. I’ll never make fun of it again. Turn it off, ship.”

“Why? I find it rather soothing,” the ship said.

“You’re also not a living being,” Rage said. “If you were, you’d understand that the noise we are hearing should be killed with fire.”

“In exactly one and one-half hour, it will be,” the ship said. “Nuclear fire.”

Rage sat up straight. “Do what now?”

“In one and one-half hours, Earth Corp will be nuking Mars,” the ship said. “Did I not mention the time frame before?”

“Nope. You left that part out,” Rage said. “How long until we reach the last known location of Choosper’s signal?”

“Twenty minutes,” the ship said.

“Oh, I can do maths very well,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Let me see. That would mean we have—”

“Seventy minutes to rescue them and get our asses as far away from Mars as possible,” Rage said. “Ship? What weapons are onboard?”

“Uh…”

“Ship? Why aren’t you answering?” Rage asked. “Don’t tell me that a being hired as overwatch doesn’t have an armory.”

“I would not tell you that at all, Max Rage,” the ship said. “Because there is a great and vast armory below decks.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Rage asked.

“Green line,” the ship said. “I believe the term is honey pot. If you could not be lured into the cage, then the armory was set up as the secondary trap.”

“Jackie Boy!” Rage yelled and made the King of Mars jump. “You’re going down to the armory for me! I’m going to tell you what to grab! You will bring it all back to me, understand?”

“Yes,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “No.”

“I will assist,” the ship said. “Tell me what you need and I will direct Jack Connor, King of Mars to pick those items and return to you with them.”

“Good idea,” Rage said. “Jackie Boy, get a move on. We don’t have much time and I need to be ready for a rescue mission the second we arrive.”

“Of course,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Is there a wheelbarrow? Or dolly? Perhaps a medium-sized cart? I have a feeling the list will be large.”

“It is,” Rage said and rattled off all of the items he wanted.

“Yes, that is a large list,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Ship?”

“There is a cart waiting in the armory,” the ship said. “I will light the path. We now are fifteen minutes out from the last known location of Captain Choosper.”

“And sixty-five minutes from nuclear destruction,” Rage said. “Get going, Jackie Boy!”

Forty

“Of course,” Rage said. “A party barge link up. Kinda fits the theme of this entire crap hell of a job.”

Rage stood at the edge of an open hatch and stared down at the dozen or so party barges that were all linked together into one floating, throbbing, music blaring, throw down of a party. He tried scanning with his eye implant, but it was glitchy like everything else and he couldn’t pick out anyone he was looking for.

Not that he thought he could. The amount of blacklight and strobing flashes was so overwhelming that Rage knew he’d be getting a migraine well before he got away from Mars.

“Are you sure this is a wise plan?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked as he stood a meter back from Rage. “There are a lot of Scorchers down on those barges. Even with all of your armaments, they could overwhelm you. You did tell Tatti that the Scorchers were way harder than Velpoohians.”

“I also didn’t have a nutso Kalanip’s armory at my disposal,” Rage said and patted the dozen dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifles he had strapped to the heavy-duty combat armor he wore. He also patted the dozen pistols that ringed his waist. “Choosper’s obsession, and intimate knowledge of my physical measurements, is a plus at this moment. And with the ship’s last-minute help, these now work on party barges.”

“We will be in position in three seconds,” the ship said. “Two and one.”

“See ya, Jackie Boy!” Rage yelled then jumped from the hatch.

He spread his arms and legs wide to slow his descent and waited for the last second before deploying the braking chutes the armor possessed. His body jolted and he almost stopped dead midair, but he was still falling just not as fast.

Rage landed in the link up’s center party barge and the blaring music came to a screeching halt. The party barge was much larger than the one he’d been on before. Much larger. It held close to two hundred Scorchers, many of them looking like they’d killed quite a few of their Scorching Dude friends before hopping onto the barge. Rage wasn’t sure why they weren’t killing each other. But he’d ask later.

Rage straightened up and pulled two dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifles free from his armor. He spun in a slow, careful circle and shouted, “Alright, scumbags! I am looking for a black-skinned human, a headless Starsch, a nutso Kalanip, a Jamba, a green-haired human doofus, and a Ghej! Oh, and a shrunken Sphuncter too! Tell me where they are and I won’t kill every last one of you fucks!”

No one responded. Not only did they not respond, they didn’t seem to really care. Most of the Scorchers were giving Rage a bored, almost sad look of pity.

“I am not kidding here, people!” Rage yelled. “I will start shooting!”

“Chill, man,” a Scorcher finally said. “We aren’t keeping anyone anywhere. Everyone on this link up is here voluntarily, man. So maybe calm down with the rifles, take off that armor, grab a drink, and get to dancing.”

The rest of the Scorchers agreed and the music started back up. Everyone turned away from Rage and started dancing. Not one Scorcher tried to attack him. Not one.

“I, uh, will shoot…” Rage shook his head. He pointed the rifles in the air and fired. The music stopped again. “What the fuck is going on?”

“What do you mean, man?” the same Scorcher asked. “This is a link up. We’re partying, as one does.”

“But you’re Scorchers,” Rage said.

“Yeah… So…?” the Scorcher replied.

“You were all killing each other. Look at you. You’re covered in blood and guts and that chick there has someone’s ear stuck in her hair.”

“Oh? Is that where that went?” the chick said and laughed as she plucked the ear from her hair and threw it on the ground. “Oops.”

“Oops? Oops! No, that is not an oops!” Rage shouted. “Why are you not killing everyone anymore?”

Rage received nothing but shrugs as his answer. The music started again and he stood there, dazed for a while before he shoved through the crowd of dancing Scorchers. No one attacked him. Most of the Scorchers got out of his way and those that didn’t only gave him annoyed looks when he shoved them away. He reached the edge of the party barge and looked out at the rest of the link up.

Dancing. Partying and dancing. Absolutely zero mass murder. No killing each other. He saw a few of the Scorchers screwing up against the railings of various other barges, but that was about as hardcore as it got. No death or destruction.

“What the hell is happening?” Rage asked himself.

He climbed onto the railing and jumped into the next party barge. More shoving, more not getting attacked. Rage even tried to provoke a couple Scorchers, but they successfully didn’t take the bait and went back to ignoring him so they could dance and have a good time.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered to himself. “They were attacking the ships at the landing…”

Rage thought back on it and realized that while they were blowing up the ships, they weren’t really attacking them. What they were doing was destroying them. They were stopping anyone and everyone from having a way off the planet. If The Rage hadn’t lifted off, then it would have been destroyed too.

“Hey, you!” Rage yelled as he grabbed a Scorcher by her shoulder and turned her to face him. “You do know that this planet is going to get nuked, right?”

The girl blinked a few times then smiled at Rage.

“That’s a crazy get-up, man,” she said. “Looks hot. I don’t mean sexy hot, but sweaty hot. And not sexy sweaty hot, but bummer sweaty hot.”

“It’s internally cooled, so I’m good,” Rage said and frowned. “But forget about my fucking armor. Have you heard that Mars is going to be nuked?”

“Yeah, sure,” the girl said. “That’s a bummer too. We’re all going to die, but oh well, right? The party must go on!”

The crowd whooed and hooed to her cry of the party must go on. Then the girl went on. Went on dancing.

“Christ,” Rage said. “Phase two. Earth Corp didn’t want crazies getting off-planet so they programmed a chill-out protocol in the nanites. Keep everyone dancing and partying and you don’t have to worry about witnesses getting out. They already fried the comms systems, so no vid left Mars.”

Rage smacked his helmeted forehead.

“Fucking Earth Corp.”

“Yeah, man, fucking Earth Corp,” a couple Scorchers agreed. They did not pause in their dancing to agree, simply shifted rhythm for a few seconds.

Rage swiped at the wrist tab on his armor and brought up the scanning protocol. He switched between visual spectrums, hoping maybe one of the aliens he was looking for would light up on the visual overlay on the inside of his helmet’s faceplate.

Nothing.

He was going to hunt the old-fashioned way, barge by barge.

Rage tried to contact the ship, maybe get some assistance with the search, but the comms were too messed up even though the vehicle was only hovering half a kilometer above the link up. He was on his own.

Once more into the breach, Rage shoved and pushed, kicked and punched his way across barge after barge after barge. There was no sign of anyone he needed to find. Rage spun about and shoved and pushed, kicked and punched his way back to where he’d started. Still no sign of anyone.

Then Rage smacked his helmeted forehead once again. He stepped to the railing and looked over the side. But not at the party barge he was on. He looked at the hull of the party barge next to the one he was on. It was shallow, no room for a lower deck. But the party barge next to that one had a deep hull.

Some of the party barges had lower decks and some didn’t.

Rage knew what he needed to do and worked his way back across the barges, skipping the ones with only upper decks and focusing on the ones with lower decks.

Forty-One

Six party barges later, Rage heard the distinct sound of a whine he probably would never be able to get out of his head no matter how long he lived.

“But I like my hair green!” Junior complained. “I don’t want it pink and purple!”

“Pink and purple hair is way better than boring green hair,” Choosper said. “Tell him, Bill.”

“I am a magenta guy, but pink and purple is nice too,” Bill said.

“Don’t do it if ya don’t wanna, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Just say no to peer pressure, yo.”

“If I had hair, I would dye it pink and purple,” Lord Sahndle said. “But I have tentacles which are far superior to hair. Tentacles have purpose, unlike your silly strands of whatever human hair is made out of.”

“All of you need to listen to me now,” Scutter growled. “We can’t stay down here. We need to get off this barge, away from this link up, and back to the landing pads. Choosper’s ship is there. We need to get off this planet.”

Rage turned a corner and nodded in agreement as he saw everyone he needed to see sitting in a very nice lounge area. Either they were focused on Junior and his hair color choice, or they were watching Rasco play some video game on the holo projector. Except for Scutter. She was standing in the middle of the lounge looking about as exasperated as Rage had ever seen her look before.

“Max!” Scutter shouted. “There you are! You have to help me. No one will listen. The planet is going to be—”

“Nuked. I know,” Rage said. “I have Choosper’s ship hovering above us. I got it off the ground before the Scorchers destroyed all the ships.”

“The Scorchers are destroying ships?” Bill asked. “Not nice, man.”

“Total bitch move, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge agreed.

“Guess we’ll have to stay here,” Choosper said.

“No, we are not staying here,” Rage said to Choosper. “I have your ship. It is hovering above. I also know about the cage you made to trap me in when this job was over. You and I will be having words once the nanites are out of your system. Some serious words.”

“The cage!” Choosper exclaimed. “Oh, you will love it in the cage, Mr. Rage. Love it! LOVE IT!”

“No. I won’t. Because I am not going in your cage,” Rage said. “But all of you are coming with me. Now. Before Mars becomes nuclear glass.”

“That’ll be my next a cappella mime troupe’s name,” Junior said. “Nuclear Glass. Only eight members, though. Twelve was too much.”

“Too many,” Lord Sahndle said. “Too many when talking about beings.”

“They were a little much too,” Choosper said. “Even how they died. That was too much.”

“Horrible end,” Rasco said and chuckled. “End.”

“You all are high on nanites. Somehow they got in you,” Rage snapped. “You need to follow me now.”

“I’ve been trying, Max,” Scutter said. “They won’t follow.”

Rage stood there in his armor, which was total overkill in the party barge’s lounge, and tried to figure out how to handle the mess in front of him.

“Why aren’t you affected?” Rage asked Scutter.

“No idea,” Scutter replied. “Maybe because I died and was brought back? Could affect my neural pathways enough that nanites can’t take me over.”

“Possibly,” Rage said. “Probably. Too bad we can’t recreate it and snap these…”

Scutter frowned. “Max? I’m not liking that look you have on your face.”

“Maybe we kill them, bring them back, and they’ll want to get off this stupid barge,” Rage suggested. “Really quick kills. There’s a med box in that panel over there. Couple shocks once they flatline and they snap back to life.”

“Or they don’t,” Scutter said. “We have no idea what is happening to their physiology. And we aren’t killing the team.”

“Hey,” Rage said. “Where’s Labous?”

“He’s in the can with a Scorcher,” Scutter said and rolled her eyes. “Been in there for almost an hour. Never thought he had that kind of stamina.”

“Who would think that?” Rage responded. “The guy’s a schlub.”

“You have all those weapons and no stunner?” Scutter asked, waving at Rage’s get up.

“I didn’t think the Scorchers were going to ignore me,” Rage replied. “I was expecting murder and mayhem. I’d prefer murder and mayhem over all this blah crap.”

“Well, it’s blah crap we’re dealing with,” Scutter said. “And time is running out.”

Rage checked the wrist tab on his armor. Time was running out.

“Fine,” Rage said and started taking all the weapons off his armor.

“What are you doing?” Scutter asked. “Is Max Rage setting weapons on the floor?”

“Ha fucking ha,” Rage snapped. “I’m getting free of entanglements.”

“What does that mean?” Scutter asked.

“Watch,” Rage said when the last rifle was set down and all he had on him was the combat armor. Rage worked at the wrist tab for a couple of seconds then jumped up and down a few times.

“Calisthenics?” Scutter said with a smirk. “Are you going to Jazzercise them off Mars?”

“Not quite,” Rage said and approached Bill.

As Jambas went, Bill was a big one. He also seemed to be extra oily.

“Bill? Can I speak to you out in the hall for a second?” Rage asked.

“Busy,” Bill replied.

“Be real quick. Just a second,” Rage said, trying to sound nice and polite. It was excruciating.

“What do you want, man?” Bill asked.

“Got a personal question that I’d rather no one else overheard,” Rage said. “Please?”

The pain Rage felt from having to ask please nearly knocked him to his knees. It was an internal pain that no armor could protect him from.

“Whatever,” Bill said and got up to follow Rage.

“No, after you,” Rage said and let Bill pass by.

He gave Scutter a wink then was out in the corridor outside the lounge. Bill stood there, all arms crossed, looking annoyed at having his fun interrupted.

“What’s the issue?” Bill asked.

“See that over there,” Rage said and pointed behind Bill.

Bill turned and looked down the corridor.

“What? Where?” Bill asked.

Rage, having dialed up the power assist on his armor, punched Bill in the back of the head as hard as he could. The Jamba dropped like he’d been deflated. For a split second, Rage worried that he’d dialed up the power too much and just crushed the back of the guy’s skull, but Bill let out a semi-conscious moan and Rage sighed with relief.

That relief was short lived as Bill rolled over and tried to get up onto his knees.

Rage hit him again.

That time, Bill stayed down.

“Scutter!” Rage called.

Scutter appeared in the corridor, looked at Bill, looked at Rage, looked at Bill, then glared at Rage.

“I said no killing,” she snarled.

“He’s breathing,” Rage said then double-checked. “Yep, he’s breathing. I’m going to haul him up onto the upper deck. Not sure how I’ll get him onto the ship, but I’ll deal with that when I need to.”

“What do I tell the others when they ask where he is?” Scutter asked.

“Tell them whatever you have to,” Rage said. “Stall until I get back and can knock out the others.”

“This is going to take too long,” Scutter said.

“Feel free to get started before I return,” Rage said.

Then he crouched, managed to haul Bill up over his shoulders, and stood, the combat armor’s servos kicking in to assist Rage. He carried Bill up and out of the party barge’s lower decks until he was back in the middle of an annoying dance party.

“Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars called. He shimmied his way through the dancers, smiling at every one as he passed by, until he reached Rage. “I had a feeling you might need assistance when I saw you go below. Here I am. Ready to assist.”

“Did you bring a stunner?” Rage asked.

“No, I did not.”

“Can you carry this Jamba by yourself?”

“That would be unlikely as he is a big fella, isn’t he?”

“Then you aren’t much help,” Rage snapped. “I have the rest of the team below and none will cooperate with me. They’ve been affected by the nanites and just want to play video games and hang out.”

“Ah, yes, I have noticed that everyone seems to be in a non-killing mood,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Perhaps I should go below and speak to your friends. I have a way of connecting with people that is less…”

“Less wanting to snap their necks and leave them for dead?” Rage responded.

“Yes. That. No offense, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said.

“None taken,” rage replied. “Where’s the ship?”

“Right there,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and pointed to the starboard side of the party barge. The ship was linked up with the party barges. “I was speaking with the ship and we came to the conclusion that there was no reason why we couldn’t join the link up. Especially since the Scorchers do not appear to be a mortal threat any longer.”

“That was a good idea,” Rage said and headed for the ship. “Go and see if you can talk the others up top. If not, then I’ll be back with a couple of stunners and a grav jack.”

“A fine plan, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars exclaimed. “A fine plan indeed!”

“Whatever,” Rage muttered as he maneuvered his way across the party barges and to the wide-open hatch of The Rage.

Forty-Two

Jack Connor, King of Mars had left the hatch wide open, which was nice because Rage could hop onto The Rage without waiting.

It was also not nice because a bunch of Scorchers thought the ship was part of the link up, and why wouldn’t they, so they climbed aboard and were busy partying up and down the corridors of The Rage.

“Move!” Rage shouted.

The Scorchers did move, but not out of the way. They just shifted their groove to block him as he tried to duck around. Even with the power assist, Bill was getting heavy.

“Your friend is leaking,” the ship said. “A lot.”

“He’s a Jamba,” Rage said. “They tend to do that.”

“I do not mean his naturally sebaceous oil secretions, Max Rage,” the ship replied. “I mean from his urinary system. He is currently peeing all down your leg.”

“Son of a bitch,” Rage said when he looked down to see that the ship was right. Bill was pissing all over him. “Just great.”

“And our new friends are leaking as well,” the ship said. “Human urine is not an issue, but some of the races currently letting their bladders lose all over my floor have a musk that will not be easy to get out. I may have to cut out entire sections of floor and replace it.”

“What the hell?” Rage growled. “Are they all pissing themselves? Shit, they are!”

“Yes. Shit, they are,” the ship said. “And in vast quantities. Much more than I would guess to be healthy, no matter the race.”

The ship was right again. The Scorchers were leaking way too much piss. In seconds, as Rage continued shoving past them to get Bill farther into the ship, several of the Scorchers had dropped to their knees, all looking drained and dried out.

“Shit,” Rage said as he started to sprint.

He navigated the ship and made it to the infirmary where he dumped Bill onto a table.

“Ship! Can you keep him from drying out?” Rage asked.

The table came to life and a hundred different apparatuses went to work stabilizing Bill.

“Rehydration pouches!” Rage yelled.

A cabinet opened and a dozen rehydration pouches were ejected at Rage.

“You could have just pointed,” Rage said as he gathered up the pouches, found a bag to put them in, and sprinted from the infirmary.

He made a stop at the armory for a stun baton then headed for the hatch and the party barges.

The corridors were filled with dried-out Scorchers. Most were only weak looking, but a few had started to become husks of their previous forms. Rage kicked himself for not seeing that stage coming.

Out the hatch, across the party barges, then down into the lower decks of the one he needed to be on, Rage found everyone except for Scutter and Jack Connor, King of Mars laying on the floor in pools of theirs and the others’ urine.

“Here!” Rage yelled and tossed the bag of rehydration pouches at Scutter. “You know what to do!”

She did and got to work connecting the pouches to everyone.

“And what shall I do?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

“Help carry them,” Rage said. “I didn’t get a grav jack. No time.”

“I am quite strong,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and picked up Rasco, throwing the Starsch over one shoulder, then picked up Junior and threw him over the other shoulder. “See?”

“Yeah. You’re strong, Jackie Boy,” Rage said. “I’ll give you a cookie later. Right now, bust your ass and get them to the infirmary on the ship.”

“I shall do that. And not just because of the promise of a cookie, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded and was out of the lounge a lot faster than Rage thought the guy could move.

“I’ll get Labous,” Scutter said and went to the bathroom door. She yanked it open and began to gag. “There’s another phase to this.”

The police detective lay on the floor with the Scorcher he’d been banging. While Labous was simply wet from his own urine, the Scorcher had defecated and it was everywhere.

Every. Where.

“Great,” Rage said and threw Choosper over his back.

Once Choosper was secured, Rage crouched and scooped up Grandmaster Scunge, who had shriveled to the size of a carrot, and put the Sphuncter into a pouch on his belt. Then he snagged Lord Sahndle and tied a couple of the Ghej’s tentacles around his neck.

“Ready,” Rage said.

Scutter had just gotten Detective Labous over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“He’s coated in shit,” Scutter said. “I really wish I’d stayed dead.”

“You may get to return to that state if we don’t get them on the ship and away from Mars in the next few minutes,” Rage said. “With the amount of nukes Earth Corp is going to rain down on this planet, we’ll need to be well out of orbit not to catch some serious heat.”

“Then go,” Scutter said, nodding her chin at the door.

Rage went. He managed to make it to the upper deck before an alarm in his armor started to cry out.

“They’re shorting out the armor!” Rage yelled. “How can they short out combat armor? This should be able to handle a tsunami of liquids!”

“Yeah, well, you never know how much piss and shit a system can handle until it has to handle a whole bunch of piss and shit,” Scutter said. “That’s how many civilizations were built and how many were destroyed.”

“Sewage,” Rage agreed.

“Sewage,” Scutter echoed.

Across the barges and into the ship, Rage raced before he collapsed. As soon as he stepped through the hatch, he fell to his knees and his armor powered down. Scutter stepped over him and kept going with Detective Labous.

“I’ll be back for the others,” she called over her shoulder.

Rage couldn’t really do much until she returned. The armor was completely out of power and without power it was a two-ton suit of metal weighing Rage to the floor. He was strong, but it’d been a long couple of days.

“While your cargo has not been secured in the infirmary,” the ship said, “and we have many more passengers than I was expecting, I assume you would like me to close the hatch and fly away from this planet before it is destroyed, yes?”

“Yes,” Rage replied.

“Then that is what I shall do,” the ship said. “I must warn you that there could be issues as I leave the planet’s atmosphere and orbital influence.”

“Like what kind of issues?” Rage asked.

The ship took off, hard and fast. Every Scorcher in that corridor slammed into Rage and pinned him up against a bulkhead. With the Scorchers came their bodily fluids and Rage was beyond grateful that he was at least enrobed in armor even if it wasn’t mobile at that moment.

Then the breathing issue began.

“What cheap ass armor is this?” Rage gasped.

The air filtration system didn’t have back up power. Rage would have cursed up a storm if that wouldn’t have taken too much oxygen and effort.

“Ship?” he whispered. “Hey, ship?”

“Yes, Max Rage?”

“Kinda…suffocating…here…”

“Asphyxiating,” the ship corrected.

“Fuck…you…”

“Unfortunately, I cannot do anything to relieve your suffering. My programming will not allow me to.”

“Your…what…? Why…?”

“Captain Choosper assumed you might be hard to capture, so all of the sets of combat armor have been altered so only a short supply of clean air is contained within their systems and the entire air filtration unit is set to turn off after a specific time of use. You have hit that specific time of use.”

“This is…happening…on…purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck…you…”

“You have already said that, but I understand why you are saying it again, Max Rage.”

“Gonna…kill…her…”

“I doubt that. Are you seeing black spots yet?”

“Yes…”

“Then it is only a matter of seconds before you will no longer be conscious. Anything you would like me to relay to Captain Choosper before you go? In case you die and can’t tell her yourself.”

“Gonna…kill…”

Rage didn’t finish his threat. The black spots before his eyes combined into one veil of blackness and he was out.

Forty-Three

Rage was coming to and he could swear he heard someone rattling off an invoice. His lack-of-oxygen-addled brain caught up with his hearing and he was certain he was hearing an invoice being read.

“Hey…” Rage croaked.

“He’s awake,” Scutter said and gave Rage a hard smack on his cheek. “Get up, lazy ass. We have problems.”

Rage sat up and started to swing at Scutter for the slap then saw everyone’s faces. They were in the infirmary and Rage was the last one to wake up, but he was not the only one ready to swing and break shit.

“What?” Rage asked as he swung his legs over the side of the table he was on. “What’s going on?”

“May I say something before you continue?” the ship asked. It didn’t wait for an answer. “I just want to say how impressed I am at your rate of recovery, Max Rage. Even with the added chore of removing the detonator chip Ms. Slang put in you. Earth Corp built you well.”

“Compliments won’t stop me from ripping your cybernetic guts out, ship,” Rage said. “So keep them to yourself.”

“Worth a try,” the ship said.

“What’s going on, Max, is I am reading the bill sent to us by Earth Corp,” Scutter said. “Not only are we not getting paid, or our debts being forgiven, Earth Corp is blaming us for everything that has happened on Mars and we now, as a group, owe forty-six trillion credits.”

“So?” Rage asked as he hopped down from the table.

Choosper was staring at him. He glared at her as hard as he could, but her expression didn’t change. Then Rage realized he was stark naked and Choosper’s eyes were not staring above his belly button.

“We’re gonna have a chat later,” Rage said and pointed at Choosper. “But right now, I’m going to take a shower. How long until we reach Earth?”

“Seven hours,” the ship replied. “I’d go faster, but the media ships are getting in the way as they travel to report on what has happened to Mars.”

“What has happened?” Rage asked.

“Nuclear glass,” Junior said from under a pile of blankets on one of the infirmary tables.

“It’s being called the greatest art installation ever created,” Lord Sahndle said. “And I missed the creation of it because I was on this ship instead of down there.”

“You’d be dead down there, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “You may be royalty, but you can’t survive a nuclear attack.”

“Ghejs are quite resilient,” Lord Sahndle said.

Rage left them to argue their idiotic whatevers and worked his way through the ship until he found a locker room. He walked in, started up the closest shower, then stood under the water for as long as the ship would allow.

“Sorry. I do have to at least pretend to conserve water,” the ship said. “Even though I can resupply on Earth.”

“Don’t care,” Rage replied and dried off. “Where are my clothes?”

“You will have to wear a jumpsuit until you arrive home,” the ship said. “I do not possess jeans or black T-shirts.”

“Fine,” Rage said and put on a jumpsuit.

By the time he made it to the bridge, everyone was there.

“Had time to think in the shower,” Rage said. “Earth Corp planned this from the start.”

“Ya think, dude?” Rasco said.

“Yeah, I do,” Rage replied. “Scorching Dude was probably costing too much, so they nuked all of Mars and created one giant piece of art. Art that needs no maintenance or supplies and will now be valued at—”

“Six hundred gazillion credits,” the ship interrupted. “It was just listed on Sotheby’s.”

“There ya go,” Rage said plopped down into an open chair. “And we catch the blame for it.”

“But we are all alive and here together,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “And that’s what counts.”

“Is it, Jackie Boy?” Rage asked. “Is it what counts?”

There were grumbles from everyone else that said that was not what counted.

“I am sorry about your friends,” Lord Sahndle said to Grandmaster Scunge. “It is an inglorious end for the Sphuncters.”

“Nah, they gonna be fine, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Sphuncters ain’t gonna go down like that. Not when they can go down. Like all the way down, yo. Sphuncters have a safe room in the core of the planet.”

“How wise,” Lord Sahndle said. “Now, if you would be so kind as to drop me at the nearest diplomatic outpost on Earth before you all head your separate ways, that would be wonderful.”

“Nope,” Rage said and pointed at the invoice Scutter still clutched in her hands. “You’re gonna pay that first.”

“I’m going to what? How preposterous!” Lord Sahndle said. “Why would you think I would pay that?”

It took Rage all of thirty seconds to drag Lord Sahndle to the nearest airlock. Everyone followed and watched without interfering.

“You pay the bill or you get thrown off the ship,” Rage said.

“But I do not have that amount in my accounts!” Lord Sahndle said. “I stated previously that I am a bit strapped for funds!”

“Then make some calls,” Rage said, opening the airlock and throwing Lord Sahndle inside. “Use the comms unit on the wall.”

“I’ll tell them what you are doing to me!” Lord Sahndle screeched.

“Do you think that will help or harm your case?” Rage asked.

Lord Sahndle glared then started making some calls. They were almost to Earth when he finished.

“It is done,” Lord Sahndle said. “I cannot possibly explain what I had to sacrifice to make it happen, but the debt is wiped clean. However, none of you can be employed by a Ghej or by any subsidiary that a Ghej owns. That is the penalty for treating me so poorly.”

“Anyone have a problem with that?” Rage asked the others.

“Nope.”

“I’m good, dude.”

“I wouldn’t work for a Ghej, bitch.”

“I already have a job.”

“A king does not work.”

“Scutter?” Rage asked.

“It’ll cut into my new life some, but I can live without Ghej work,” Scutter replied. “We probably are blacklisted by Earth Corp too.”

“That goes without saying,” Lord Sahndle said. “Now will you let me out of the airlock?”

“Nah,” Rage said and walked away. “You can ride in there the rest of the way.”

“Where are you going, Max?” Scutter asked.

“There is booze on this ship and I aim to find it,” Rage said. “Feel free to join me.”

Everyone felt free to join him.

Forty-Four

Rage rolled off Mascholine, his chest heaving from the exertion of two hours straight of sweet, sweet sex. He had no idea what Mascholine had taken to keep up with him, but he wasn’t going to ask and ruin the gift.

“That was exactly what I needed,” Rage said.

“Better than that naked spider lady?” Mascholine asked.

“Is telling you about her gonna bite me in the ass every time we screw?” Rage asked.

“No, but I might bite your ass every time we screw,” Mascholine said. “Not that I was chaste while you were gone. Had a foursome with some lonely housewives that stumbled into the bar even though we were closed for repairs.”

“You break out the toy chest?” Rage asked.

“And used every vibrator in there,” Mascholine said.

“Good for you,” Rage said and sighed.

He lay there, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment.

“What’s wrong?” Mascholine asked.

“I don’t know,” Rage said and sat up.

He rubbed his forehead then shook his head, got off the bed, and got dressed.

“We done?” Mascholine asked.

“I feel like a drink,” Rage said. “You?”

“Of course,” Mascholine said and snatched up a skimpy robe before following Rage out of his apartment.

They made their way down to the bar and Mascholine poured them two tall tumblers of bourbon. They downed those then she poured two more. Rage went to grab his and knocked it off the bar. The glass shattered and the liquor went everywhere.

“Do not fear, Maximillian Rage!” a voice called from the corner. “Jack Connor, King of Mops shall clean that up for you!”

Jack Connor, King of Mops raced to the backroom.

“It’s too bad they couldn’t repair the bot,” Mascholine said, getting Rage another drink. “But that guy is going to work out fine as a replacement.”

“He really takes the job seriously,” Rage said.

“I have returned!” Jack Connor, King of Mops said with a mop bucket and mop in hand. “If you shall pardon me, I will clean the floor by your feet.”

Rage hopped up onto the bar and sat there smiling as Jack Connor, King of Mops cleaned the broken glass and spilled liquor until the floor gleamed. Then the man hurried to the backroom again to clean up his mop and mop bucket.

“Still got a ways to go,” Mascholine said and gestured to the almost-repaired bar. The stage was still being rebuilt, but most everything else was back to its grungy self. “I need to throw a coat of grease on the booths or people will think we’ve lost our dive bar cred.”

“Can’t have that,” Rage said and finished his second drink.

He sighed and shook his head.

“I swear I’m forgetting something,” Rage said.

“Labous already said you’re cleared with Greenville PD,” Mascholine said. “So don’t worry about that.”

“No, that’s not it,” Rage said. “And Labous had better made sure that happened after I saved his ass.”

“Nast and Zell said Earth Corp would rather the incident was forgotten so that the appraisal price of Mars doesn’t go down,” Mascholine said. “So what is the problem? Is it your ex-wife being alive out there?”

“Scutter? Shit no,” Rage said. “More power to her. I doubt we’ll ever cross paths again. She avoided me when she was first alive. After all this? She’s gotta be six galaxies over by now.”

“Then what?” Mascholine asked, exasperated. “Do we need another two hours of crotch-pounding sex to get your mind right? Because I am going to need to soak my twat in a bath before we go again.”

“No,” Rage said. “I mean, yes, we should do that, but because it’s fun. Not because my head’s messed up.”

Then it hit Rage. At the exact same time, the front door opened.

“Rage!” Grup said as he raced into the bar.

“That!” Rage said and pointed at the Clickelack. “We forgot Grup!” Rage sighed and relaxed. “Phew. Glad that’s off my mind. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch.”

“Glad to know you were worried about me, Rage,” Grup said. “I’m touched.”

‘What? I wasn’t worried about you,” Rage responded. “I’d forgotten about you and that forgetting was bugging the shit out of me.”

“You forgot about me?” Grup said. “Wow…”

“Grup?” Mascholine asked.

“Yeah?” Grup replied.

“How did you get off Mars?”

“Oh. Right. That’s why I’m here!” Grup said and moved away from the door. “This guy saved me.”

In walked one ugly-ass alien. Or pig. It was an ugly-ass pig. A pig alien?

“Nargle Boof,” Rage snarled.

“That’s me,” Nargle Boof replied. “Bet you never thought you’d see me.”

Rage moved toward the pig man, cracking his knuckles as he went. “But I’m glad I get to. This is gonna be fun.”

“Hold on, muscles,” Nargle Boof said. “How would you like to make a few trillion credits?”

“Wait up, Rage,” Mascholine said. “Let the pig man talk.”

“What? No!” Rage exclaimed. “He was the guy that programmed all the nanites that started all the shit on Mars!”

“Because of Earth Corp,” Nargle Boof said.

“So? You think being an Earth Corp stooge protects you?” Rage laughed. “Think again, porky.”

“No, what is going to protect me is that I also managed to plant a backdoor into Earth Corp’s main systems,” Nargle Boof said. “I have an army of nanites waiting for my command.”

“Your command to do what?” Mascholine asked.

“Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you all about it,” Nargle Boof said. “It’s going to be worth it, trust me.”

“No one should trust you,” Rage said.

“I’ve heard some of the plan, Rage,” Grup said. “You should listen.”

“Your endorsement does not make me want to do it more, Grup,” Rage said.

“Rage, we still have the issue of the Punches’ parents,” Mascholine said. “They haven’t sued us yet, but they will. We’re gonna need to take a job soon. How about we hear the pig man out?”

She was right, and Rage hated that she was right. He also hated that this conversation was going to postpone Mascholine’s twat-soaking bath which would postpone the next round of hours-long screwing.

But as soon as the Punches’ parents got their shit together and began filing lawsuits, which they will, Mascholine would probably lose Crater Ray’s. Not to mention the cost of Junior’s love bug removal which was not covered by health insurance. And Jack Connor, King of Mops’ dental work.

“Fine,” Rage said. “One drink on the house. If you get boring, then you buy your own.”

“Rage?” Mascholine said.

“What?”

“I’m the owner. I tell the pig man what drinks he does or does not buy.”

“Was I wrong?”

Mascholine turned her attention from Rage to Nargle Boof. “No, Rage, you were not wrong. Better make this good, pug man, or our new King of Mops is going to have a really big mess to clean up.”

“Did someone call Jack Connor, King of Mops?” Jack Connor, King of Mops shouted from the back room. “I shall be there shortly!”

The End

Read on for a free samlple of Asylum

Author Bio:

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

Prologue:

Folter

Hate. Rage. War. The relentlessly desired instinct to hunt down his enemies and exterminate their existence was the first concept to enter his mind when his proud, battle-scarred, warrior-like brown eyes flashed open. An irresistible rage burned his soul, demanding to release genocide of biblical proportions as it sweltered to the surface temperatures of hell. He couldn’t possibly yield the demon that yearned to condemn his bastard opposition to the mercy of his sadistic urges. The atrocities they had performed on his fellow Marines were unforgivable, and to formulate his response, he’d introduce the scum to Fear himself.

Corporal Alabama Fear had only just begun to regain consciousness after enduring a state of hibernation in what he could only presume was stasis based on the thin, chilly, transparent fluid his naked, titanic bulk was submerged in, gently bobbing up and down, and calmly side to side. His vision beginning to clear somewhat, Alabama peered down at his nude, muscular body—an abnormal specimen of gargantuan muscle, bulking from his behemoth, skull-sized biceps to his monstrous quadriceps that could easily pass for the size of an average man’s waistline, all of which took several years worth of punishment to perfect—and observed the series of chords and sensors connected to his body, some of which dipped beneath the flesh, or unpleasantly entered his orifices. These cables and tubes were what had supplied his body nutrients in his cycle of stasis, and he had only just begun to vaguely recall the ominous faces peering through the glass at him, and the monotone, almost robotically emotionless voices he had heard speaking in languages using scientific vocabulary that he couldn’t even possibly begin to comprehend.

“I see that the specimen has substantially recovered from its injuries. I have noticed its healing has occurred much more rapidly than I had anticipated,” Alabama recalled in one of the more clearer conversations he had heard, but he could not see the faces in his level of consciousness at that time.

“Yes, it’s only necessary as the parasite will require his body to be fully functional once it has been revived,” chimed in a second voice almost excitedly, unlike the cold, sinister, analytic tone of the first speaker. “Because of this, I have made some alterations to the healing process.”

“Alterations?” the first voice questioned in a menacing manner. “We agreed upon only the most strict and natural treatment for the specimen, Lenard. Do not forget that this specimen is extremely valuable to me, and an alteration as minor as a change in the chemical composition of the fluids being pumped into its veins could cause defects. Defects that you would be held responsible for.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take in order for you to jump-start phase two,” responded the second voice—presumably Lenard. “We are running out of time, Dallas, and—"

“—Do not perform such a reckless action again, Lenard,” the second voice—Dallas—interrupted. “You were wise not to alter the experiment further, else I would not let you off without much more than a mere warning.”

Lenard proceeded to snicker impudently in the presence of his superior before embittering his final comment.

“You are a very somber man, Dallas…”

Lenard and Dallas…

Finally, Alabama began to feel the sore, achiness that engulfed his bones and muscles. Then, beginning to observe his body more, he began to notice the arrays of staples bolted into the layers of mammoth muscle that encased his bones, arranged in grid-like patterns of surgical scars. Based on the disastrous amount of bullet holes that had permeated his flesh these staples had been surgically implanted into his flesh to seal, his body looked like one gigantic slab of stitched-together muscle. However, the excessive and quickly repaired mutilation of his body didn’t capture his attention for as long as the thick, oozing sheet of crimson smeared sloppily across the exterior of his glass prison. His eyes widening with astonishment at the grotesque abnormality, Alabama began to notice small chunks of fractured vertebrae and ribcage rippling out of the tenderly raw nerve-endings exposed in the red meaty mass that besmeared the transparent surface.

Alabama couldn’t see beyond the gory muck oozing down the sides of his test-tube-like chamber, nor could he really move his freshly enlivening limbs. Instead, he could only helplessly bob in his liquid containment knowing that something on the other side of that glass had awakened him from his slumber. Feeling adrenaline begin to streak thunder and lightning throughout his blood vessels, Alabama grew uncomfortably sober with his surroundings, and was alarmed by the blood-soaked hand that suddenly penetrated the gore smothered on his cell, the ensanguined palm then proceeding to drag down the glass wall, tearing layers of carnage—

--Exposing the mutilated man—presumably a scientist based on his tattered, blood-doused lab coat—who managed to make eye contact with Alabama as he sunk to his belly, against the cell, too overwhelmed in pain to stand. Alabama simply gazed back into the man’s horrified, wide-eyed, blood-caked face, quickly observing the hundreds of glass shards embezzled in his scalp, and followed the trail of embroidered pieces down the man’s back to his--

--Alabama gasped, immensely startled when the man’s legs entirely disappeared, replaced by a fleshy, blood-sputtering stub at the waistline, which oozed various organs and leaked entrails, which Alabama followed halfway across the gore-suffused room that had been transformed into a sea of littered glass and dismembered limbs, and tracked the internals to where they literally rose out of the carnage, and stretched towards the ceiling, where he discovered several streaks of pulsating, worm-like viscera tangled throughout the rafters in the fashion of a toilet-paper rolled house. Just glancing below the macabre of entrails, Alabama saw where the other half of the man’s body was, dangling just a couple feet off the ground, still attached to the intestines wrapped in the rafters above, rotating slowly like a neglected piñata would.

Gazing beyond the mercilessly bisected halves of the still squirming man, Alabama discovered several more gore-battered corpses beaten into pulpy chunks that were only recognizable based on the torn white cloth plastered to their decimated remains, some of these victims literally smashed into some of the sophisticated machinery relevant to Alabama’s stasis tube, the panels and consoles dented and rapidly bursting in explosions of sparks due to the colossal damage they had received. In a corner of the room, propped against one of the consoles was a corpse that was mostly intact except for a gargantuan chunk of glass skived into the scientist’s face just above the lower teeth, severing his head in half, and lodging into the machinery behind him. The upper portion of the man’s skull was nestled in his lap, smothered in gore, eyes wide with terror and begrimed in blood. Just beyond so much overwhelming carnage, Alabama located the exit to the room—a massive, blast-proof sliding door that had literally been ripped apart like a piece of paper, massive metal chunks littered throughout the room amongst the glass and gore. However, not only was the door dislodged from the wall, but most of the wall had been invalidated as well, debris and rebar surrounding the doorway, overall suggesting that a bulldozer had barged into the room… But where was that bulldozer?

Alabama couldn’t turn around in his stasis, but based on the shattered glass surrounding him, he couldn’t have been the only one enduring stasis in that room, meaning…

The life was just about to fade from the eyes of the man when suddenly, a massive, blood-caked, fleshy spike tore into his backside, drilling a solid hole through his midriff, and gouging a fracture into the floor beneath him. The man’s body immediately stiffened as it was paralyzed with pain, blood and bone chunks slurring from the corners of the scientist’s mouth as he yawped in agony. Then instantaneously, a behemoth body skittered atop the man, two more death-spikes joining the anterior appendage, suddenly revealing to be legs that connected to a monstrous, gore-caked abdomen, the rest of the titan’s body disappearing behind the splotches of blood on Alabama’s cell except for two, freakishly long, lanky arms that concluded in clawed, ensanguined fingers.

Without warning, one of these hands suddenly surged downwards with startling speed, grasping the scientist by his head, its needling fingers easily spanning the circumference of the man’s skull before two of those morbidly cuspidate fingertips suddenly sunk brain-deep into their victim’s eye sockets. The scientist brayed with torment, his strident screams resounding from the cruor-daubed walls, but only for a moment before his fracas shifted into a RRRRRIIIPP as the monstrous hand jerked back, effortlessly tearing the man’s head from his shoulders. The hand and the disembodied head disappeared beyond the blood-smeared glass only for gore-caked shards of the skull and diffused brain matter to deluge the corpse simultaneous to several deafening, grotesque, repulsive crunching noises.

Alabama watched in awe-struck horror, literally baffled by the existence of such a creature. What he was seeing in that very moment couldn’t have possibly been happening, yet his senses were far too stimulated for this entire ordeal to simply be a nightmare. This was reality—

--No, hell.

--And hell quickly escalated when the monster suddenly ceased its movements, and based on its sullen body language—despite the fact he couldn’t see its face through the sanguineous glass—Alabama knew it was looking right at him. Not even a second later, its goliath, claw-fingered hand perforated the glass, quickly wrapping around his throat before yanking him out his chilly confinement in a violent, ripping furor. Alabama howled not only with pain as the entire tube around him shattered, lancinating chunks of glass into his bare flesh, but also out of sheer terror as the lurid creature lifted him several feet from the ground with a single arm, holding his face level with its, which at first appeared as a crimson glow laced in white, speckling chunks, but Alabama quickly discovered they were just the heaping red masses of slivered nerve-bundles and minced bones that bespattered its ashen, demoniac skull.

Grasping its direful arm with either of his enfeebled own, Alabama could only squirm impetuously, suspended helplessly in its grip, his legs hanging delicately below, unmoving, debilitated and rendered immobile due to his detainment in stasis. He was forced to stare back into the deep-set, black void of its eyes, eyes so philistine and livid that a soul couldn’t possibly belong to the creature. Gazing past its harrowing eyes, Alabama quickly observed that in place of a nose, it contained an indentation shrouded in scar tissue. Worst of all was its flesh-drenched maw that Alabama’s skull hovered before, a mouth lined with several serrated, gore-smirched, shark-like teeth set awkwardly in its jaws alongside two malignant insect-like mandibles that clicked and grinded in an odious manner.

Alabama and the demon had not even made eye contact for a second when its head vehemently snapped back, its menacing, gore-satiated mouth unbarring in a deplorable demeanor, its mandibles poised to envelop Alabama’s skull in a gluttonous chomp of execrable euphoria—

--CHT-BOOM!!!

Alabama cried out in surprise when suddenly, a massive wall of flames dispersed across the monster’s back in an explosive manner that Alabama easily recognized as the ignition of a forty-millimeter grenade, and in reaction to the blast, the beast tossed Alabama across the room, and into a surfeit pile of glass that instantly incised the muscle fibers of Alabama’s backside as he was grounded. Alabama howled with pain as shards of glass embezzled his flesh, some seeping deep beneath the skin, and clinging to his body like parasites. Disoriented and trying to recover from his scarifying, glass-laced plunder, he heard voices, followed by fully automatic gunfire, clearly 5.56X45 millimeter.

“HOLY SHIT!” roared an outraged soul. “THE THING HAD FEAR!”

“SHOOT IT!” boomed in another, but the stream of bullets from their arsenal of M16s and M249s didn’t last.

Looking up, Alabama watched in a state of hopeless negation as the monster that had grappled him—its back now charred, and peeling with burnt, crispy, steaming flesh—whirled to the doorway where Alabama instantly recognized a few of his fellow Marines, the first being Quan, the one who had fired the forty-millimeter from an M203A1 under barrel grenade launcher attachment on his rifle, and one of the leaders of the other teams in his platoon. Behind him, Chuck and Roy, the twin bodybuilder machine gun team who had often been classified as human tanks based on their tremendous bulk that even dwarfed Alabama’s, were poking their LMG’s into the room past Quan, unloading on the lanky, three-legged monstrosity as it emitted a bloodthirsty howl that suggested that a forty-millimeter to the back at close-range had not hurt it, but instead, further enraged it.

“FALL BACK! FALL BACK, NOW!” Quan hollered, and he and the twins began to back away quickly while continuing to open fire on the monster, blasting away massive chunks out of its body, speckling the walls and ceiling in its cruor—

--But the blood-ravenous, rabid colossus didn’t even seem to notice the 5.56X45 millimeter rounds that chiseled its flesh, skiving holes into its vitals. Instead, without mercy, it charged through the storm of bullets, and as its bulk engulfed the image of the three Marines, the next thing Alabama heard was ripping and screaming with the stroke of one of its massive, lanky arms. As a result, Alabama was suddenly more sober than he had been in his entire life when his fear mutated into a primal, uncontrollable, unstoppable rage.

“NO!” he roared in a state of indispensible anger as a mammoth sheet of gore washed over the brawn of the monster, and poured into the chamber behind it in a wave-like fashion, strewing what was doubtlessly Quan’s blood and guts throughout the room. “NO! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

Teeth clenched and eyes narrowed in a despicable manner, Alabama launched himself forward, and gasped as he simply belly-flopped weakly into a pool of blood and gore, still unable to move his legs. Glancing up, Alabama watched, hopelessly engulfed in enmity as the gore-caked abomination then charged through the doorway, swinging its arms relentlessly in what became a cacophony of enraged, feral growls, brutalized screams of unimaginable agony, the ominous grating and grinding sounds of metal being refabricated, and the grotesque, splatter-rich sound of flesh ripping from bone.

“FUCK YOU, GOD DAMN IT!” Alabama screamed furiously as he limply dragged himself across the glass and gore-littered floor with his hands, intent on getting to his fellow Marines before the monster could get to any more of them—

--But it was already too late as the monster disappeared through the hole in the door it had extirpated, and in the hematic trail it left behind were the butchered corpses of Quan, Chuck, and Roy, their limbs torn off like the arms and legs of dolls, their insides messily doused across the walls and ceiling, pieces of their intestines even deluging from the rafters alike the scientist before. Squirming closer to the doorway, Alabama felt his flesh beginning to boil as averting sensations suffused. Just in the midst of the doorway, Alabama began to make out more of the blood-splattered hall outside, which lacked quality lighting as the bulbs that illuminated the generic, grey, industrial corridor hung lopsided, flashing in a strobe-like effect. As these lights flickered on and off malignantly, Alabama struggled to further see the remnants of his three comrades, but eventually made out the three gore-smeared lumps concealed in dismaying dimness. Quan, Chuck, and Roy’s disembodied heads all lay close together, rocking gently due to their imbalance on the catwalk-like floors of the hall, the expressions on their bloodied faces immortally stained with disgust and horror. Beyond their severed limbs and strewn entrails were the remains of their center-masses, once massive, powerful slabs of muscle now transformed into pulps of gore, tattered in shredded, blood-drenched armor with ribcage and vertebrae visibly curving out of the raw nerve-endings.

Just outside the door and to the right, Alabama heard more gunfire, followed by swears then screams of pain and terror that were quickly drowned out by the inhuman growls of the beast and the tearing of bodies. Hearing these screams, Alabama knew he had to push himself to move faster or he’d never get to his Marines, and crawling through the carnage-imbrued crater of a doorway, Alabama entered the massive hall-like corridor outside. Just like the room he had served his detainment in, this hall was permeated in blood and gore as well, and all around on either side were multiple blast-slide doors leading to rooms marked: cells. To his left at the very end of the hallway was an even bigger blast-slide door labeled: mess hall, and at the very end on his right which was nearly double the distance from his location was another alike door labeled: living quarters.

Alabama hesitated for a moment as he reached the ocean of dismembered carnage Quan, Chuck, and Roy had been reduced to. Reaching out towards their bodies, Alabama pulled back giant heaps of shattered armor that despite being bulletproof had been abrogated to small, puzzle piece chunks. Examining the carnage even further, Alabama discovered that their rifles and machineguns had been undermined as well, literally torn to metallic shards, the bodies of the pieces snapped like toothpicks. What the hell kind of three-legged demon were they up against?!

Almost overwhelmed in despair as much as he was melting with the burning, fiery, embers of rage, Alabama couldn’t help but stray amongst the brutalized corpses of his comrades, struggling to accept the thick, meaty chunks of gore they had been quelled to. Unable to validate his surroundings, Alabama reached forward and picked up Quan’s head, turning it to face him. He couldn’t even see Quan’s lifeless eyes beneath the satiate crimson sheets that besmeared them, and all Alabama could think of was the times they had spent in the service together. Quan had been a role-model Marine, a well-respected, merciless, diehard warrior and a gentle, law-abiding citizen in times of peace at the same time. He was possibly the greatest team leader in their platoon, and Alabama could vouch for it on the things their teams had coordinated in both war and simple, everyday life. Alabama was even the one who nominated him for a promotion to squad leader, a promotion that was likely to happen… His death was unforgivable.

Dropping Quan’s head, Alabama let out an indistinguishable roar of unrelenting rage and anguish. His gaze quickly drifted to the two human tanks: Chuck and Roy. They were astounding specimens of inhuman bulk, possessing a hulk that even proved superior to Alabama’s colossal slabs of muscle. Alabama would not only forget the time he had spent fighting alongside the two human tanks on the front, but the quality gym-time they spent on the home front, where Alabama would try to adapt to obscene workout programs the two testosterone-junkies had designed to torment him… Their deaths were unforgivable.

“AL…!”

He heard the voice to his right, followed by a gurgling croak, and as his head jerked in that direction, Alabama saw another one of his fellow Marines at the top of a flight of nearby stairs, extending either of his hemoglobin-suffused hands towards Alabama, his eyes wide with fear, his face livid with certain death as blood and bone chunks burst from his mouth in vehement vomiting.

“BILLY?!” Alabama shouted, instantly recognizing his compatriot, and in response, reached his hand out as if he could grasp it beyond the colossal distance, yet he knew he had no hopes of making it to Billy’s aid in time; not without legs.

Billy was one of the younger Marines in the platoon, and due to his age and extreme cockiness, he had received the nickname: Billy the Kid. But Alabama could only watch in hopeless horror as Billy the Kid’s legacy came to a sudden, tragic, and very grisly end. The doomed Marine’s armor was already torn to shreds, and his legs despoiled and relocated somewhere down the stairs. Alabama could see chains of viscera oozing from Billy’s abdominal region and streaking down the flight, and beyond his visual—

--Where suddenly, like a fishing line straining as a whopper took the bait, Billy’s entrails suddenly straightened out as something down the stairs—something demonic and depraved—snagged on them.

“AL-AL!!!” Billy screamed helplessly as more blood and gall trickled from his mouth, and with a single yank, he was pulled down the stairs by his own intestines, his nails grinding across the steps as he clawed adamantly at the ground, eventually disappearing down the flight where the ripping and tearing of flesh and armor commenced.

“BILLY!” Alabama yelled once more before he quickly salvaged a sidearm from one of his fallen Marine’s corpses—a M9A1 9X19 millimeter parabellum semi-automatic handgun—and lunged forward, proceeding to drag himself across the gore-swamped floor as fast as his arms could possibly move after their attenuating duration in stasis. “BILLY, NO! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

The strain of rage pumping throughout Alabama’s bloodstream like an infectious disease was so pure that he could no longer feel the dagger-like sting of glass shards that incised his flesh, grating against the bone. His anger was so collateral that he felt molten lava suffusing his veins, demanding an eruption of volcanic proportions. His fury grew ever more as he heard more gunfire resound below only to be silenced by screaming and ripping caterwauling seconds later, the growls of the beast reverberating back up the stairs. The cacophony below was doubtlessly the sound of an entire squad being boorishly liquidated; a section in Alabama’s platoon that he was certain had been deployed to rescue him from his confinement. Officially perceiving a world coated in red, Alabama decided he would butcher the three-legged demon below no matter what it took.

Finally reaching the stairs, Alabama attempted to double time it by propelling his body forward with full exertion, only to pitch beyond his balance, hit his face, and begin tumbling down the entire flight. Alabama blustered with pain as some of his stitches tore lose and the metallic bulk of the stairs battered his flesh. He winced as his limbs dipped in pools of blood and raked over butchered bodies on the way down. Then, as his calamitous falling ceased, the floor he had crumpled to became too moistly soft to possibly be the actual floor.

Opening his eyes and tilting his head up, Alabama then gasped in total shock, his brows twitching in a dismaying manner at the raunchy sight. Below him was assumed the appearance of a mass grave—a mountain of butchered, dismembered, pulpy corpses ranging from scientists to sanitary workers and other employees of the facility, to militant figures, some of which were his fellow Marines and other soldiers belonging to the enemy. Not even on the fields of war had Alabama seen death so thick. Clustered up in the small hall at the base of the double-deck of stairs was what must’ve been a hundred brutalized corpses stacked halfway to the blood-doused ceiling. Severed limbs and skeletal, ensanguined corpses amongst piles of shredded organs and exenterated intestines were strewn throughout the narrow hall, and as Alabama followed the trail of gore to where it thinned out at a doorway down the dim-lit hall—

--He spotted the demon he so odiously sought to raze. Alabama trembled, not out of fear, but out of unstable, unrelenting rage as his bloodthirsty, animalistic eyes twitched irresistibly. The grotesque, three-legged abomination stood just past the doorway, stooping near what appeared to be a monorail track that ascended into a void-like sheet of black beyond. Around the beast, several of Alabama’s fellow Marines were strewn throughout the subway as brutalized carcasses torn in halves and thirds and fourths, and in the midst of the carnage, the monster could be seen snatching up its final victim—a gore-battered, blood-caked corpse that had been ripped diagonally in half from the shoulder to the opposing ribcage, several chains of intestines extending to the floor, and the still-beating heart of the somehow still-living victim visible through the skinless cavity of the sternum. The Marine twitched with hellish agony before the monster’s head suddenly surged forward, clasping its mandibles around the man’s entire scalp, and biting it off, swallowing his skull in one piece.

Alabama’s teeth gritted together with so much pressure that his jaws could’ve broken, and he could no longer yield the demon that had chewed its way into his soul. As the monster tossed the Marine’s decapitated carcass back to the floor, it began to pivot in Alabama’s direction.

“BASTARD!!!” Alabama roared tumultuously and detestably, and the monster had just begun to hunker its hunchback shoulders and charge in his direction when several blood-ravenous, inhuman shrill-shrieks erupted from the darkness beyond it.

Hesitating, the demon suddenly peered into the void, clicking its gore-smeared mandibles before launching itself forward and onto the track, emitting a deep, guttural roar of bloodlust as it rampaged into the darkness, the sound of devastation commencing shortly afterwards, quickly dying into the shadows. Afterwards, Alabama could only lie motionlessly on a mountain of mutilated bodies, staring at the brutalized carcasses of an entire squad of his comrades; brothers-and-sisters-in-arms who had bled and died for him, succumbing to dogged wrath of the three-legged demoniac that had nullified them… To save him, they died.

Rage. Hate. War. The endless lust to rip his enemies into screaming shreds with his bare hands and pluck away their limbs in the same grisly fashion the three-legged demon had butchered his fellow Marines was his only urge. He wanted to plunge dick-deep into mounds of dissevered carcasses slain at his will, and to bathe in their entrails as the facility’s halls ran red with rivers of their blood. He wanted to gouge their eyes and vitiate the occipital cords. He wanted to eviscerate his enemies and feed them their own intestines. He wanted to endure endless pleasure in the comforting beat of his opposition’s disembodied hearts trapped in the palm of his hand. He wanted to collect their heads and spines. Alabama wanted to kill. To… KILL! KILL! KILL!

Asylum is available from Amazon here!

Table of Contents

- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Author Bio:
- Prologue: