DQN Short Novel (Part 9)

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Continuing seamlessly from the previous chapter, this section takes a turn for the sinister with a deadly threat from space and an unexpected assassination. Oops, spoilers. Sorry.

It contains 57 posts, 1111 words and 6601 characters.

Chapter 4: A gaseous cat in the knee[edit]

Three nights ago, before the whole incident with the Great Sky Loli (whom everyone, might it be said, believed to have exited the story forever), a man by the name of Polymer Pete had completed his greatest invention. It was rather unimpressive, to be honest. It didn't even permanently eliminate world hunger, or make peace between warring nations. Still, as Polymer Pete's inventions went, it was the best he was likely to come up with in a long time. Maybe this one would make his mother acknowledge his existence once more, and Polymer Pete had never desired any better outcome.

His invention had been perfected - however, the most unfortunate event would transpire precisely three days later, shortly after Polymer Pete's invention was unveiled. You see, he was never much of an engineer to begin with. But the EPUDM needed him, for he was in fact the only capable engineer supportive of their cause. Thus when they contracted him to invent the console which would control the launch of their nuclear warhead, they had no idea how faulty it would turn out to be.

Hence, when the BFB pushed the button, an entire squadron of Imperial Guardsmen swarmed out of the portal that had appeared instead of the expected launched nuke. They looked around and saw all of this heresy and were disgusted. "Hail the Emprah!", they shouted, and immediately began to glance at each other nervously, unsure of exactly what to do. You see, this particular squadron had a habit of going into battle completely unarmed. As a consequence, they went through new recruits like a chainsword through warm butter, but that's no reason to break with a perfectly fine regimental tradition.

"Does the 750th post even count as a GET these days?" inquired Tharsh, who had recently been born of an interesting captcha but already posessed the mental and physical traits of a fully-grown adult. He then proceeded to butter his toast with a chainsword. "WHARRRGARBL! Toast for breakfast!" screamed Tharsh. Tharsh was cranky because he had toast crumbs inside his power armor.

The GSL effortlessly lifted Tharsh from the room and told him that breakfast was long since over, and it was better to think about tea-time instead. Upon alighting, Tharsh did his very best to restrain his barbarian toastly urges and engage in the tea party in a civilised manner, as was expected of him. Nonetheless, he couldn't seem to find the sugar bowl. This misfortunate absence of a dish convenient for hiding small things like sugar or microphones caused Tharsh to make impromptu use of his nostrils for the job, which aside from looking very silly was also terribly inefficient.

Marie Antoinette and her sister, who were also attending the tea party, were not amused. They found that they were much more efficient at disposing bodies than giving birth to them. One of them gave birth to a body of water and created a planet similar to earth. The other stopped in her tracks and was run over by a freight train.

Regrettably, a certain large obtuse backside was not also killed in the accident... or was it an accident? In fact, nobody had their eyes open during the concert, it was the coincidence of the century: everybody blinked at the same time. Newspapers were outdated by several centuries - therefore no longer existed - and so instead, people held large rectangular sheets of low-quality paper covered entirely in adverts. This meant that the new planet's creation was utterly missed by the entire population of the solar system, who were too busy looking for a good bargain on shoes.

Tharsh gazed at his surroundings, as though seeing them for the first time, and saw his world for what it truly was: an incredibly complex roguelike game made of political intrigues rather than monster slaying. It was anal leakage in a downright horrid way. Speaking of anal leakage, the gaseous cat was busybeing completely inconsequential, although he was sure he fit in this whole fiasco some way or another.

"What a gas!" he said as he drifted through the window of an adult entertainment store.

Meanwhile, in the Oort cloud, a sinister swarm of nanobots was approaching the solar system, intent on restructuring the Earth into the shape of a giant rodent - which their extraterrestrial employers would assuredly find very humorous.

As it approached Earth, the massive swarm resembled a sinister swarm of nanobots.

"Stop!" said Beady Eyes. "I'm really happy for you, I'm-a let you finish, but we have to acknowledge I'm the greatest thread hijacker of all time." But nobody would hear him, and he then asphyxiated due to an inability to breathe interstellar plasma.

"Arf," said the queen of Catland. The entire population was shocked to hear such canine response from their feline ruler. "...is what I would say if I were a wretched dog, like our sworn enemy!" she continued, flustered and desperate to recover the situation, lest her true canine identity be discovered. Fortunately, the residents of Catland were stupid enough to buy it. Actually, most of them had already completely forgotten about the whole affair and were more occupied by basking in a sunbeam.

"Anyway, I have an important announcement to make," said the queen. "It's about King Alistair Xavier Chang-Mortensen III... --Nyaaagh!" With that undignified screech, the queen was dead. She had been assassinated by none other than Niccolo Machiavelli, brought back to life by the Edinburgh Cult of Undead Moé.

Naturally, the citizens of Catland were completely indifferent to the whole affair, being notoriously difficult to lead at the best of times. Most of them had never even realized there had ever been a queen of Catland, and wouldn't have cared even if they had known. Yet this was par for the golf course of feline monarchy, perhaps even a birdie or an eagle, but then nobody was keeping score, especially not the caddy, for Catland royalty specialized in being completely inconsequential. Thus, Niccolo Machiavelli had to concede that his political theories only really work on humans.

Disappointed and sexy, Niccolo slunk off into space to forget his problems. But his problems were just beginning. That very second, the nanobots landed and promptly deployed their specialised protein regurgitating apparati. Niccolo has no choice but to throw raw bacon at them in the hopes of delaying them long enough for him to make his getaway. He silently thanked fate that he had thought to fill his pockets with raw bacon that morning in case of breakfast. Breakfast without bacon would be uncivilized, after all.

Nanobots momentarily pacified, he ran to the only place he could think of: Venice.