Honey Moon hung in space, deliberately worrying at her lip, staring off into the eternal distance.
“So, is it everything you though it would be?” Sub-Orbital Stan’s voice was a barely heard whisper.
It took a second for Honey Moon to come back from whatever far-off place occupied her attention. “Is what, everything I thought it would be?” She peered down at her tiny brother. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. Being in charge. Running the show. The big moon on campus, etcetera, etcetera.” He winked at her. At least, she was pretty sure he was winking. It was tough to say, he was really tiny.
“You think I wanted this?” She sneered and rolled her body in such a way as to indicate omnidirectional space. “This? This is a lightless vacuum; a devastated hole with a population of mere millions. I have always been prepared to take charge if the need arose, but don’t insult me by thinking this is something I wanted or could wish for.”
Stan whistled and retreated slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, I get it. Sorry, I don’t really—I’m not good with lifeforms, so much, you know. It’s all the same to me, I guess.” He looked around innocently. “So, it’s bad then, I guess?”
The moon shot the little shithead a look of practiced disgust. What was he even doing around here. Hadn’t they demoted him? Was he even in the family anymore? Not for the first time in this past month, she wished her older brother was here. The Bastard Sun was a blowhard—and a bastard—but he was always confident and sure. Bah! she thought, I’m just waxing, by the time I’m full all this second-guessing and self-doubt should be gone.
“Yeah, sure is dark,” Stan interjected. “Makes you wonder, if it’s not all deliberate.” He shrunk under another of Honey Moon’s steely glares.
She was ready to dismiss him entirely, but something he just said struck her. “What are you on about?”
“Hm? Me? I was just saying that the timing of it is all rather suspicious. Everyone’s gone, the Bastard Sun taken out for incompetence, his vaunted heroes missing. It’s like someone meant for it to happen.” The little planetoid gazed off into space.
Honey Moon found herself tracking his line of sight, only to find nothing all that interesting. “You think we were set up?” She urged him on.
“Huh? Oh, what do I know? I mean, maybe GoogolSoft did this all on their own and the rest is all coincidence. Like, I said, I’m not so good with lifeforms. I’m not really up on what they’re capable of. Still, you have to ask yourself who profits? Who benefits from the Storyverse descending into a cold, lightless expanse, devoid of life?”
Honey Moon visibly chewed that over. Who indeed?
•••
Lord of the Lemmings was tired of setbacks, but wise enough to know that nothing worth having, came easily. If he wanted to be a God, it was going to take a little more doing.
Still, always setbacks. Who knew Gunther was so into blowing up little girls? Who knew that blowing up a little girl would cause so much trouble?
In its way, this boded well for his plans. If a virgin sacrifice stirred up this much trouble, achieving his godform in the digital realm was a realistic aim. Unfortunately, he needed GoogolSoft themselves to arrive, which had been derailed. His contact had since cut off communication with him, but he knew enough to know they were stuck over there in the really-real world. That would never do.
Still, not a lot he could do about it.
He’d done his part: His delicious companions, the Shadowstories, were digitally improved in order to eventually become his little champions. They each hosted a piece of data that would be necessary to his ascendance.
But he had lost them.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was going on omniscient, and he had lost the pieces to his god puzzle. The bacon, lettuce, tomato, and… mayo with which to make the B.L.T. of his apotheosis.
His agents were out cruising the Infi-Net for word of them, but so far, no good.
Conveniently and in a flagrant display of dramatic laziness, a faint beeping announced an incoming call on his touchscreen wristwatch.
He called up the image of one of his many lemming followers. Larry, maybe? Or was it Sven? They all ran together sometimes.
“Hey, guy.” He played it safe.
Dutifully, the lemming popped and purred on the other end of the transmission.
Now that was a surprise. How long had she been here?
“Are you 100% sure it was R.T.?” he probed.
•••
They all regarded Not-Gunther’s body.
The leg twitched a little. A pool of green blood spread from his head, while a stain spread around the seat of his pants. None of them mourned per se, though a fair amount of thought was spent on the squandered potential of the troll and the unsung mystery of his origin.
Click.
Doctor Godwin reminded them all of his presence by recocking the gun.
“That was probably our best chance to give this guy the bum’s rush,” Chuckles mused at their wasted opportunity.
Grebok nodded in agreement. “Still, none of us could be sure that that bullet wouldn’t have come for us. I mean, tactically speaking I would have shot myself, or Sparky hear, before the Troll, who’s physical acumen was questionable.”
Chuckles and Sparky murmured their ascent.
“Stand aside,” Godwin growled and shooed them toward the wall with the barrel of the gun.
Sparky shut his eyes tightly. He was in the grip of some internal struggle, which he apparently lost because he announced, “You should really have one of us carry the head for you. There’s no way you can keep the gun on all of us if you’re burdened with carrying it.”
Chuckles leaned forward from the line they’d unconsciously formed and seemed to have—not scolding or inquisitiveness on his brow—but pity in his eyes.
“Well then, hop to, Ferret.” Ernst pointed with his upturned chin.
“I wouldn’t have told him that, man.” Grebok didn’t sound as sure as his words suggested.
“You have a laser eye.” Sparky whispered aside, seeming to urge the Miradorian as he turned to fetch the head of Gary.
“How does that even work? It’s nonsense,” Grebok protested. “What’s its powered by? How can I hope to be accurate with it? If I miss, what then?” He raised his voice so Sparky could hear him as he walked up the steps to retrieve the search engine. “Then he shoots me, or you, or Chuckles. I couldn’t live with that.”
Chuckles put his hand on Grebok’s shoulder. “I appreciate the sentiment.”
Ernst squinted his one and zero eyes at the remaining trio. These were the agents of chaos the Cenobite was gloating about? Somehow he didn’t suspect agents of chaos would be this polite or obliging.
“Well, I don’t know that I ever could have put it into words before. I believe I always felt this way—”
“You are a romantic after all.” Chuckles interjected.
Grebok nodded in agreement. “Indeed. And while you’re pragmaticism can be, at times, off-putting, I very much consider you to be my friend. Perhaps the best I’ve ever had.”
Somewhere inside of Sparky, a younger, angrier Sparky rattled at his little cage. That Sparky wanted him to knock the Avatar and Keykeeper’s sentimental heads together and shake them all out of it. It just wasn’t practical, he warned himself, someone would get hurt. Sure it sounded comical on the outside, but head wounds could be a silent, lingering killer.
THIS IS NOT RECOMMENDED! SURELY DOCTOR GODWIN INTENDS TO USE ME TO DO HARM, AN OUTCOME WHICH IS UNDESIRABLE TO ALL PARTIES, SAVING HIS OWN, OF COURSE. The head’s cadence didn’t change so much, but Sparky imagined for just a second that it was pleading.
“Sorry, head. In a small way, you only have yourself to blame. You shouldn’t have made us so smart,” the weasel explained and put both paws on either side of the head.
DO YOU WANT TO TAKE IT BAC—szzt!
The head faded from glowing ice blue to a deep hue that was almost black.
Chuckles watched as Sparky clunked down the steps on clumsy metal legs. He looked to Grebok, whom he felt a deep affection towards now that his brain was less dominated by violence and occulted behind irrational homophobia. Lastly he looked at the Doctor.
“I finally feel as if I have a glimpse of the big fucking picture,” the Avatar announced to all present. “Frankly, I’m not at all impressed.”
