Project Overview: Untitled Document is a serial comedy novel dealing with the sort of topics that we so frequently make fun of here at Something Awful.
This Chapter: Things take a turn for the sassy when sinister Imperatrixian space jerk Maximillian offs his competition and decides that sparing the assault troops will spoil the child. In a head to head showdown with NWO head honchoette Raylene, Maximillian sends hell raining down on earth, but can he outwit and out-devious the queen of mean? Meanwhile, Captain Patrick "Liberty" Henry at last returns to the narrative. I bet you had almost forgotten about him.
The ambassador was dead. It was clearly stated in the Imperatrixian Code Enforcement Manual that any signs of weakness or duplicity on the part of a ranking political official should be met with the harshest punishment by the ranking enforcement official. As the ranking enforcement official of the expedition to the human's tiny sliver of space Commander Maximillian Soak Xc8 took great pleasure in being the instrument of that harsh punishment. He looked down at the crumpled and dented exo-armor of the ambassador heaped at his enormous feet. The suit was battered from a number of blows, its left arm twisted out of its actuator socket and angled grotesquely backwards, and its faceplate had been crushed. It bore the handprint of Maximillian's own powered gauntlet, which he had used to first grip and then squeeze the ambassador's helmet.
Maximillian experienced a flashback of pleasure to the moment when he heard the ambassador's brain sac rupture inside the suit. The ambassador's death had been announced by a wet "pop" followed by a warm trickle of blood and preservation fluid that pulsed out of fractures in the armor.
"This is now an enforcement operation," Maximillian announced to the bridge.
The Chimopterans of his own crew did their best to continue working while the assembled delegates of the lesser races quivered and quailed. Some shat themselves, others began hyperventilating. Maximillian swept his red gaze across them and gestured to the phalanx of hulking code enforcement troopers behind him.
"I am declaring this a full-scale system interdiction." He folded his arms across his chest. "You are to return to your ships and remain in orbit around the sixth planet. I have activated the jump-disablers so any attempts to flee will be detected, stopped, and dealt with severely. You are to cease all contact with the delegation from 'earth' and they are hereby declared in violation of the code of trade."
Maximillian gestured and the troopers surged past him to begin ushering the delegates to their shuttles. The code enforcement troopers wore environmental powered armor similar to his. Their suits were much less ornate and were weighted down with bulky combat equipment such as the heavy sensor pods slung over their shoulders and the armored ammunition hoppers that fed shells into their infamous nuclear reapers. The tri-barreled guns were the trademark of the enforcement corps. Each weapon was capable of unleashing 500 oracalcium slugs per minute; heated white and accelerated to devastating speeds by the nuclear core that provided a counter weight to the long barrels. The weapons were painted matte black to match the intimidating double armor suits and the halberd-bayonets were daubed in a red to match the unit's numeric designation.
"Perhaps their version of events will differ from your own, commander."
The hissing sibilant voice came from sub-commander Axion, the leader of the third platoon and Maximillian's most and least trusted lieutenant. Axion was an oddity. Brilliant and vicious, he eschewed the splendor of privilege and wore a plain suit of combat armor more befitting a basic grunt. Maximillian trusted him to get the job done with unparalleled efficiency whenever called to action. On the other side of things, Maximillian had carefully monitored Axion's meteoric rise through the enforcement corps and knew that, ambitious or not, Axion would hold a rank far above commander in a matter of decades.
"I did not see any other Imperatrixians in the delegation." Maximillian spoke condescendingly. "Therefore it is my word against several lesser species. They will know not to challenge my record of events."
"No disrespect, commander." Axion seemed unconvinced. "But, you have sent a request for a pacification fleet. The arbitrators that accompany such a fleet will pore over the facts and may even demand mind probes of the entire bridge crew."
Maximillian turned thoughtfully to the screen displaying the blue marble of the human's planet.
"If such a deep inquiry seems likely I will have the entire bridge crew purged, Axion." The Chimopterans closest to Maximillian shuddered unconsciously. "There is no need to become preoccupied when we have far more pressing matters."
Axion bowed in deference.
"The sensor teams have located the site jamming transmissions from the mimetic hunter." Maximillian pointed to a glowing green dot superimposed over the human's world. "The humans appear to be using a crude facsimile of our own technology, and had they not been so inept at reproducing it their treachery might have gone unnoticed."
"Your orders, commander?" Axion cocked the plain helmet of his armor.
It's true. Grimace is human. God help us, we did our best for him.
Your lair. Maybe you lure victims to it, maybe you hide in it between killings, or maybe you haunt it 24/7 because you’re tragically confined by a curse. Whatever the situation, for most of us monsters, a living/un-living space is an important part of our identities. In this column, Monstergeddon award winners share their lair tips and techniques!
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