wanderingwolf
Digizel
rush99999
Izurich
MrSkimobile
XxFellsingxXVideo Star
On board the Video Star, Badurong's most important broadcasting center/TV Studio/Spaceship, it was garbage day. This meant Spandez's two most trusted lieutenants, Loot (a monster that seemed to be equal parts "Pirate" and "Chainsaw") and Pillage (one that was equal parts "Viking" and "Zippo"), were hard at work trying to figure out the best way to lighten their load. As usual, it was to tightly pack the ship's waste into a series of iron garbage cans and fire them through the ship's railgun. It got the boss of their back, got the ship smelling better, and required minimum effort.
"Avast, thar, Pillage, I find that I be thinkin' 'bout somethin'."
"Und hwhat would that be, bruder Loot?"
"Ya ever feel like... yer bein' watched?"
"Hwell, hwe are on der television. Have our own segment on the show!"
"Oh yar. That'd explain it."
Loot began fiddling with the targeting, pointing the crosshairs straight at the nearby sun. An easy way to dispose of garbage, environmentally friendly (provided there wasn't any Solar Fuel in the trash, but that wasn't likely), and low-effort.
"What's th' planet's gravitational constant again? We should probably account fer that before firin' th' railgun."
"...Crap, Loot, that's the byoss! Foorget about der corrections and fire!"
Fearing the lashing (either from his tongue or from his microphone-whip) Spandez might give them for taking so long, Loot slammed the "fire" command on the console. With the loud spinup and electric whine of a magnetic pulse, the garbage cans were launched, caught by the Earth's gravity well almost instantly. Spandez nodded approvingly as he approached, noting their clever use of the railgun. He took a sip of his coffee for the commercial break, waving as he headed back to the studio.
"Very nice, boys. Working smarter AND harder. You guys remembered to correct for gravity, right?
Loot and Pillage looked at each other before responding in unison.
"Aye."
"Ja."
Neo-Tokyo. Population: Spandez does not care. Primary exports: Spandez also does not care.
Miles above in the atmosphere, however, glowing red embers of molten iron and partially-combusted garbage streaked down with the force of a large ballistic missile. Accelerated by the sort of gravitic assist from the moon and earth that other civilizations reserved for intergalactic travel, the molten blobs rained down on a parking lot next to a large white building. As the superheated garbage melted the cars there to slag, a mostly-intact garbage can fell, impacting with the force of a bunker buster on the center of the building. Where once had stood the Neo-Tokyo Stock Exchange, now sat a molten crater full of broken concrete and the tattered remains of the people that once worked and traded there. The rubble and twisted metal husks of cars rained down all over the streets as people screamed and ran from the destruction.
"Oh, you!" Spandez said with a fatherly laugh as he clapped his lieutenants on the shoulder. These sitcom antics served as a sort of bumper for the show. The laugh track played, as the studio audience wasn't present for it.
"Remember folks, gravity is in important factor in the travel of anything in space- whether it's a vessel carrying a warm snuggly sweater grandma's sending you through the mail, or it's a standard garbage shoot! If you mess up the gravitational constant, it can lead to a lot of trouble for someone down the road- I mean, just look at that- they went and destroyed a place central to the Japanese economy! So don't be like Loot and Pillage. Be careful, and always double-check your calculations!"
The Spandez Conquest Hour is brought to you by...
"SEVEN CYCLES! SEVEN CYCLES! SEVEN CYCLES! THAT'S HOW LONG YOU HAVE UNTIL THE NEXT BROADCAST FROM RODTHORG'S X-TREME SPORTS X-TREMATORIUM BLOWS YOUR PUNY INSIGNIFICANT MINDS! THAT'S RIGHT, THE UNIVERSE'S GREATEST DISPLAY OF MARTIAL ARTS RIGHT FUCKING HERE! WE'VE GOT CRUSHINATOR CLASS FIGHTERS! WE'VE GOT WIZARDS! WE'VE GOT THE LIZARDMEN FROM THE TENTH DIMENSION, HERE TO FINALLY SETTLE THE SCORE WITH THE SERPENT MEN OF DIMENSION X! TICKETS ARE AVAILABLE NOW FOR FIFTY CREDITS FROM THE BADURONG SPORTS COUNCIL! I CAN'T STOP SHOOOOOUUUUTTIIIIIIIIING! CALL A HOSPITAAAAAAAL!"
White words faded across the screen, intercut with shots of a typical child's room. The difference, of course, being the large nest in place of the bed.
You've seen him on the Conquest Hour.
You've seen how he's touched our lives, and the lives of billions.
But have you seen... where he came from?
Emotional music swelled up as two pterodactyl-like humanoids stood in a kitchen, fighting. With a backpack and loincloth, a little one made his way to the door. As he reached up to the knob, he looked out to a world of infinite possibilities with the sunrise and the clear, blue skies overhead. The male pterosaur came forward, taking off his belt and shoving the female to the wall.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, YOU LITTLE SHIT!?"
Coming to theaters this winter...
The little boy ran out, tears in his eyes. He began sobbing after the male shouted after him from the doorstep, but never stopped running.
"YOU'LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING! YOU'RE NOTHING, YOU HEAR ME?!"
The screen went to black and the music cut out. One last white message appeared, read aloud in a soft voice.
Stand By Me, Pterrordactyl.
