Tag Archives: Nazias Cain Hero of the Imperium

Get in Line, Oppenheimer 8

Time to get the hizzell out of herezel. I don’t have a problem with outrunning a fireball, mind you, I just dislike doing it way up in the air with no way to fly or glide down. That’s why I hoof it back to the lift as fast as my little peg will take me. I don’t even stop when an Adepticus marine stepped out in front of me. I just ran by the surprised guy and called back to him, “Grab your shit, motherfucker, let’s go!”

Luckily this one was a worse shot than some of the others on the ship.

I dove into that lift and headed back up the way I came while watching the playback of my capture on my one remaining good eye. Bastards. Not that I care. I can always get myself a new eye. A better eye! An eye with x-ray vision and blackjack and hookers!

The lift stopped at a couple of floors. On the first, an exciting pitched battle took place between the Adepticus Pugilicus and a group of soldiers led by a man in dark armor with N7 on his chestplate. I watched as N7 vaulted through a broken window and charged an Adepticus. N7 formed a blade from a holographic projection on his arm and stabbed a marine in the face. In the face, I say! Another flanked him but was gunned down by a woman in bright pink and white armor.

I hope she saw when I motioned for her to call me before the doors closed.

The next stop was boring. Just a squad of Adepticus pinned down by the lifts. One was about to toss a grenade. I yanked his hand down with my hook and pushed the button to close the door. The explosion rocked the door a little, but I continued on my merry way up to the deck where I started this grand adventure. I promptly activated my stealth, which wasn’t quite so foolproof around my replacement parts. The built in sound dampeners in my boots obviously weren’t going to do anything about the peg leg.

By the way, if anyone has ever wondered if I can scream at a high pitch, the bomb went off. I’m not afraid of the dark so much as plunging to my death or being blown up. A few emergency lights came on as I ran for the docking bay. We started to fall. Then, with an odd hum, we stopped. When it grew loudest, I realized the emergency lights faded a little.

This reminds me of the time I played poker with this one guy who was getting way too lucky. So I stopped playing and hit him with my chair. Know when to fold ‘em, right?

At the end of the corridor stood my good buddy, the space Nazi. He reached behind him and pulled out…a circular saw blade on a chain. He charged at me and I hobbled at him, projecting various other mes charging or running and disappearing. He was thrown off by them and gave me a chance to get behind him and disarm him. Then I told him, “You are used to fighting in space, but have you ever fought on Uranus?”

An ancient and powerful fighting technique I know is called “63ing Your Ass” and it is not pleasant for the victims. First, insert hand into enemy ass. If your hand is a hook, this is even less pleasant for the other person. Then, you rotate them 63 degrees along a random axis. The Nazi was knocked out by the bulkhead, for instance. Then you release. Considering where it was, I just left the hook, took my stump, and made my way to the hangar.

I made like a truck driver carrying donkeys and hauled ass. So too did other space marines who emptied out of nearby rooms. I’m not that bad a guy. When I heard machine guns and saw the occasional tracer round fire through the door to the docking bay, I did the polite thing and let the marines go first. Waiting on them, I noticed the lights were dimmer than they had been a few seconds before. The humming was louder too. There could be an innocent explanation. Maybe it’s really boring to gun down waves of space marines.

I didn’t believe that either. I did stick my head out during a lull. Mecha marched through the bay or held defensive positions where they could track the entrances. Their insignia showed an eagle crossed with an airplane.

They also tracked me. I noticed the barrels of their machineguns adjusting slightly to my presence. That’s why I chose to wait until the next group of marines happened by. They charged in, reckless as they always are, and I followed behind. Not right behind. More to the right, since I’d seen some of what those guns could do. They did it, too, prompting me to grab a fallen marine’s laser rifle, roll, and bring it up to aim what I hoped was the cockpit of nearest mecha.

“It’s ok, not a threat, just some civilian. No need to shoot.”

I looked around and saw a mecha that had been aiming at me shrug and return to its watch.

A soldier not in the armor came over and gave me a hand. “You must be so scared, but don’t worry. We’re here to do all the fighting for you. Do you need a trauma counselor?”

I raised my stump to him.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s the finger.”

They let me on to one of the abandoned Adepticus transports where I took my seat and tried to figure out how to turn the thing on. Unfortunately, the controls were written in improper Latin. I think one of them told me “the engines they go to the brakes”.

It was right then that the pervasive hum stopped. It cut back louder for a moment and then an explosion rocked the ship, followed by that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize the ground missed you and wants to hug you at high speed. I jammed my stump against the controls in a hurry as the ship was thrown out.

The transport was thrown into a sharp dip. I saw one of the mechas had grabbed on, and the soldier who had helped me up held tight to the mecha.

I got the ship powering up, engines due to cut on in 25 seconds. I got the ship into an unpowered spin that threw off the mecha, but his little buddy grabbed on to the cockpit window like an orange cat that hated Mondays. The engines started and the soldier breathed a sigh of relief as I examined the systems for a windshield wiper.

“You’re going to need a trauma specialist,” I told him over the external speakers. Then a red glow suffused the window and shot him off.

Then I got to have a firsthand view as the massive ship I had been in suffered another cataclysmic explosion to the midsection. Pardon my terminology, but having a peg leg doesn’t automatically make one knowledgeable in ship lingo. All I know is that I didn’t smell anything, so it probably wasn’t the poop deck that went up. The ship fell after that, prompting the air force and the heroes to go in for the kill. Dead ship falling over a city and all that.

Excuse me for wrapping up here, but you don’t want to hear about me crash landing in a Burrito Bell, catching a cab home, and sleeping for 12 hours.

Still something about the view of the ship, with ants dropping out of it and heroes desperate to destroy it before it takes out buildings, reminded me of a joke I was thinking of when I worked on my rocket. “I am become death, destroyer of worlds,” was what Oppenheimer thought of from the Bhagavad Gita when he saw a nuclear bomb test. If I had been there, I’d have told him, “Get in line, Oppenheimer.”

 

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Get in Line, Oppenheimer 4

As you can probably tell from this being a short time later, I have at least survived the events I was telling you about. So I guess the continued existence of this endeavor is a spoiler alert. This may disappoint you, especially those of you who do not like me. To the first group, I say that my continued existence does not disappoint me. To the second group, I would like to extend an invitation for you to enter a zoo in the middle of the day while drawing a lot of attention and then engage in sexual congress with yourself forcefully enough to induce anal leakage for up to a month afterwards.

Then go fuck yourselves.

If you must know, they put heavy metal shackles around my wrists, took my belt off, and escorted me to an officer who appeared to be in charge based on his massive shoulderpads. Also, he was seated. I think the two are connected, as I doubt he could even get through the doors on the ship with those things. Command weighs heavily I’ve heard.

“This is the lawyer?” he asked his men, who nodded an affirmative. “He doesn’t look like much of a lawyer.”

“Trust me, I’m a fantastic lawyer. You wouldn’t believe how much corpus I habeus and I have a lot of experience with mens that aren’t very sano,” I responded.

The member of my escort with the slightly larger shoulder pads spoke up, “His Latin checks out, sir.”

“Yes, I see that. Very well, Psychopomp Gecko. What can you do for us?”

This was the tricky part. I had to open up my connection and try to be heard around as much of the world as possible. I needed to send this signal to any civilized area with wifi, as well as the U.S. and Middle East. “Alright, first off, we’ll have to do something about those pesky loopholes. Like satire. Did you know that as long as people make fun of you and your oversized armor you have no legal recourse?”

“Is that true?” he asked as he looked towards a smaller man on the bridge who was wearing what looked like a leather Nazi officer uniform. I butted in first.

“It is. Your hands can’t fit all the way into those gauntlets with those sizes. Depending on how short you are, you may not match up to your codpieces there either. Must make it hard to unscrew the things for a bladder drain, right?”

“Actually, we just urinate into a bag in our suits.”

“Right, so you guys aren’t even trusted with your own bladder control. Here in our time, that’s a basic criteria for not wimping out. For you, it’s just normal to piss yourselves.”

“I feel you are being disrespectful.”

“I apologize. Now let me reach for my fly. If it’s not disrespectful for you guys to pee while standing around talking to each other, I might as well mark an area here while relieving myself.”

“Take him to the brig.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said to countermand his order. You say something like that, people get interested in a hurry if they have any intelligence.

“Why not?” said the commander-in-shoulderpads. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It would have been menacing if he didn’t look like he really, really wanted to jerk himself around. Maybe they put chainsaw blades on that too.

“Because your men are unarmed, for starters,” I said to his confusion, then looked around. His men were indeed unarmed. They instinctively pointed their weapons at me, but instead they held ox-like creatures that weighed them down, kicked at them, and began to run amok on the bridge. I looked back to the commander’s face, which sparkled. “Fanfic writers influencing the cultural legacy of space marines so that when someone creates them far down the line, they create the better known versions made up by the millions of people rather than the version some company put out that was turned into you. Problem is, there are these things called typos, so now you go into battle with gnus.” I could see the vein throbbing on the commander’s reddened forehead even as the critters stumbled around, kicked, and generally reeked of alcohol. “Correction,” I added, “loaded gnus.”

“Get him the hell out of here!” He yelled, showing a pair of fangs to match his sparkly skin. My guards were too busy butchering the wild gnus, so the Nazi drew his laser pistol and began to lead me out, even as the words “Team Edward” appeared on his otherwise stylish cap.

“You will be executed for this heresy.” He hissed at me as he lead me further into the ship.

“Fair warning, no one’s executing me today,” I told him.

“You think that do you?”

“Oh yes, the space marines ought to be showing up before long.”
“You addle brain. The space marines have captured you.”

“Listen, Herr future zpace Nazi, zere are other ideas about zpace marines out zere, zome predating yourz. If you come to assert dominance over them in these times, it’ll wipe them out, so they’ll likely show up to stop you at some point. Odds are on my side-“ I had to stop while trying to keep my balance when an explosion rocked the ship, providing a convenient underscore to my warning. As the Nazi and I recovered, I turned and saw he held his pistol outstretched towards me. I leapt and wrapped my legs around his head and arm, locking them into a triangle shape as I fell back, my upper back against the ground. He fired at me a few times, missing once and burning through my visor to take out my eye, but the shot didn’t manage any further.

I released him once he lost conciousness, stood up, and told him, “You just got knocked the fuck out!” His laser made a handy restraint removal device. Then I noticed him begin to stir. “Did I tell you you could wake up yet?” One boot to the head got the point across and sent him back to peaceful slumber.

I had two options then. Either go back and try to grab my belt with all my disposable gear, or not. I sent out the signal to the device in my belt that triggered a self destruct. But Gecko, you might ask, why run around with explosives so close to your crotch? Good question, I would say, but not all explosives go off if they are jostled, or shot, or caught by an explosion. Some, like those involving small nuclear detonations, need to be initiated instead. That’s a revelation that would have blown the Commander’s mind. In fact, since my belt was carried up by one of those escorts, it did.

Now I just had to escape through a ship full of perpetually pissed off marines that was being attacked by either superheroes, the strongest conventional military on Earth, or alternate universe future space marines protecting their future existences.

This is gonna be so much fun!

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