It was while enjoying a bottle of Bailey’s in the bar that the purpose of the space marine invasion was made known to us. The marines butted in on every broadcast around to make a statement.
“Profligate peoples of the past. The Adepticus Pugilisticus are here in your time to make a statement. For too long have you casually cheapened our legacy. Even though we come from years in the future and are not the first to take the name Space Marines, we are the peak, the definition of that title. We will not tolerate others helping themselves to it. Only we the truly righteous, are worthy of this. Know this. Today we make the statement that all the worms who dare claim our title for themselves shall be eradicated as insolent pests. For the Emperor!”
Yep. They were willing to attack and destroy lives just to control a term that has been in use since the 1930s. My first thought was to make sure John Glenn and other astronauts who had been marines were protected. They had been literal marines in space. My second was that it was a good day to support piracy and other ways to get around trademark and copyright.
That’s right, I will outright say I support piracy. I am also anti-gun because the sword and axe lobby bought me. Why bother carrying a pissant 9mm when you could be packing a broadsword? I’m also not pro-choice. The only true way to prevent the biblical apocalypse on the off chance it would come true is to abort all the babies whether the parents want them or not. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not pro-life either. In fact, I’m anti-life. Darkseid for President!
So anyway, I got myself back to the lair after they made that announcement, figuring I’d do my part in keeping the world safe and the ability to use a basic term. Also, it’s just fun take the fight to self-righteous religious assholes who are willing to kill for their beliefs. Hell, I took one out on the way back to base. Guy pulled out a pistol that fired exploding bullets. I covered him in pantyhose, drove his head through a mailbox, drew a smiley face on his ass, broke his wrist, and fired it up his rectum. Rectum? Darn near killed ‘em!
I do love my armor. As good as I am outside it, I am better inside it. Except for eating and pooping. I wear special armor for pooping.
I strap on the rocket launcher and head out to find myself a space marine ship. On the way, I spot a giant walker spewing flames and flying the bright green of enemy Adepticus. Lasers lanced out, attempting to hit a villain I knew of. He was dressed in a wetsuit and took gliding, almost skating steps through water that he generated with every step. The mech never even saw me coming. Literally. It saw nothing thanks to my armor’s advanced ability to project nothing while hiding the real view of me. There are all kinds of protection. Get your mind out of the gutter. My armor does technically protect against pregnancy and transfer of STDs, but I was talking damage resistance.
So this big mech walker was burning everything up and getting smacked with bursts of water from Hydroplane when it met with an unfortunate end. I charged up my gloves with energy and busted in the cockpit window. A surprised pilot looked back. He continued looking surprised as I tore out the wiring of the controls and strangled him with it. All the futuristic cybernetics in the world can’t save someone who needs to breathe.
That’s one of those simple truths of life. When life gets you down, remember that and it’s bound to help you out of your troubles.
It was then that I caught sight of Adepticus ship flying over head. Hydroplane caught my gaze and shook his head disapprovingly as I set up the launcher and mounted the rocket. Then I flung myself at the battleship of a group of crusading high tech power armor knights using a weapon known for exploding.
The ship was trying to catch me with rapid-fire lasers, so I had to twist and dodge. More Adepticus marines were whizzing around on their jetpacks. Some were taking potshots at me. Others that were close took swings at me with chainsaw swords, chainsaw axes, and even a chainsaw mace, which seemed to defeat the purpose. Not just the lime green marines, either. Some were in pearl, others in a color my HUD told me was kumquat, and one fellow in periwinkle nearly took my head off. He chased me, but got too close. I was able to yank the chainsaw whip out of his hand because we were both moving through the air at high speeds and it would take a moment to start the whip.
They must have a lot of gasoline in the future to run all these chainsaw weapons.
Oh, and I wrapped the whip around the marine’s neck and guided him into a dropship of theirs that was making its descent. Last I saw of him, he was getting chewed up in a rotor. Took the whip with him.
I miss you, whippy.
The dropship gave me a hint of where they were offloading from and I zipped in while the door was open. I aimed for a doorway to the interior, and then lower. The rocket crashed into the floor as I launched myself off and towards the door, just in time for it to automatically slide open for me or some marine that was walking in. Actually, it didn’t. I crashed into it with my rocket about to go off and no way to disarm it.
I was saved by the door having an easily accessible handle. Saved is a relative term, however. I barely got in when the door blew in on me and left me splayed out on my belly, just in time for a squad of space marines to shove their guns into my face.
I checked, but they had them on the rest of me as well.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” one of them asked me.
Another said, “Doesn’t matter, just shoot him.”
I told them that I was “Psychopomp Gecko, the world’s superest copyright lawyer. I heard you might have a lawsuit on your hands?”