War God McMann led the band of hooligans out of the prison, where a small detachment of soldiers waited for them. Armed to the teeth, with heavy body-armor and full-face helmets, they truly looked like stereotypical freakin’ Space Marines.
HEY LOOK, A TROPE. DON’T WORRY, I KNOW IT’S THERE. SORRY, I KNOW THAT THERE’S TOTALLY FRESH, NEW IDEAS TO BE HAD, AND THAT BY USING SPACE MARINES, I’M JUST DOING LAZY WRITING. IT’S NOT LIKE THERE’S A GARGANTUAN WEBSITE CATALOGING THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF CLICHES IN BOOK AND MEDIA OR ANYTHING, AND THAT ANY WRITING CAN REALLY BE CALLED “LAZY” BECAUSE THERE ACTUALLY /ISN’T/ ANYTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN. SO I’M SORRY IF MY USE OF THIS OVERPLAYED, BORING TROPERINO IS HARSHIN’ YOUR VIBE, FRIENDO. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE STORY ANYWAY!
The Space Marines grunted in acknowledgement of the War God, praise be upon him.
“Alright men, we’ve got 2 new recruits for the Augmentation Process. The third man here is to be put to work at the hospital,” barked McMann.
“Yet another thing I didn’t sign up for,” mumbled Raymond. God, what a bitch.
But McMann heard him. He grasped his shoulder and looked him in the eyes sympathetically.
“Look, boy. I understand that you’re down. But life is just a bitch, and everyone has shit done to them that they don’t want. There’s nothing we can do about it, except not be fucking intolerable cunts to the people around us. Do you think you can do that?”
Raymond suppressed a sob.
“Y-yes, sir. I think so.”
“Good, now let’s move out.”
They all boarded the Space-Helicopter. It’s a goddamn helicopter that can fly through space.
It was smooth sailing for several minutes before something crashed into them.
“What the hell was that?” shouted Rob.
“Oh GOD, IT’S ANOTHER TROPE!” cried the Pilot.
An Alien ship was bombarding them with sticky pellets of obnoxious alien sap, sticking up their jet-engines and slowing them down. Yeah, the Space-Helicopter has a jet-engine, duh.
“Return fire! Return fire!” barked McMann, as he pulled open the sliding helicopter door and began shooting at the Alien ship.
The Alien ship looked like a giant grinning shark made out of rubber, and all of the Space Marines’ bullets just bounced off of it. While it continued flying next to them, just grinning like an asshole.
“Sir, our bullet are having no effect!” cried Robert.
“I know what I have to do…” said Antbro solemnly.
“So do I,” said McMann even more solemnly, “You would have made a great Mega-Ant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With that, Antbro launched himself out of the Space-Helicopter and bit into the Alien ship with his mandibles. It popped like a fuckin’ balloon and soared away out of control, bringing Antbro with it.
“God speed you black empress,” Rob said sadly.
“I thought Antbro was a guy?” asked Ray.
“What are you, a fucking idiot? It was clearly a female Ant,” remarked a Space Marine.
McMann slid the door shut and looked at his soldiers.
“Men,” he said, “I won’t lie to you. Winning this war won’t be easy. It’ll require sacrifice. Blood sacrifice. Voodoo-magic.
“Das where I come in, mahn!” said Rasta Rick, apparating why is that red- oh, that’s only a thing in Harry Potter? Fuck it, Rasta Rick appeared in a poof of dank 420 ganja smoke.
“Men, this is Rasta Rick, a powerful spellcaster. With his aid, I believe we can deal a significant blow to the Alien chain of command,” explained War God McMann.
“Where did he come from?” inquired Ray. idiot.
“He was here with us all along, Raymond,” explained McMann, “Rasta Rick’s powers are beyond explanation. But I trust this man with my life.”
“How do we know he’s not an ALIEN IN DISGUISE?” asked an unnecessarily skeptical Space Marine.
“BECAUSE, SOLDIER, IF HE WERE AN ALIEN, HE WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO STAND IN THE PRESENCE OF THE CHOSEN ONE,” roared McMann.
“What?” asked literally everyone.
“There is an ancient prophecy that foretells of a man who will lead mankind to domination over the Aliens.”
“This is a looooooooooooot to take it at once,” said Ray.
“And I believe that man is YOU,” continued McMann.
“That’s even more to take in.”
“You have to take it all in,” McMann said, “With the fighting-force of my Space Marines, Rasta Rick’s dank 420 noscope Magic, and your Prophecy-Powers, we will win this war.”
“What fucking prophecy powers?” asked Ray.
“I don’t know yet. We’ll need to consult our scientists once we get to ZEDEXA IV, one of our last surviving bases.”
The pilot pushed the space-helicopter into MAXIMUM SUPERSPEED and they zoomed across the cosmos, until they came across a planet on fire.
“DEAR GOD,” said McMann, “We’re too late…”
The Aliens were launching firebombs all across the planet. Surely everyone on it was deader than fuck.
“Hold on, sir, I’m receiving a transmission from Sector 8,” the pilot announced.
“That’s the Hospital!” said McMann, “There could still be hope! Patch them through!”
On the screen in the cockpit, an ugly-ass alien appeared. It had no ears, no nose, and big freakin’ eyes. It pretty much looked like a Gray. Oh, look, another trope. Dun dun duuuuuun, pls forgiveme.
“We have your scientists, War God. If you want them alive, you will deliver to us the Chosen One!” it hissed.
“No deal!” said McMann firmly, “We’re not giving this kid up!”
But the second the Aliens had made their demand, Ray had already made up his mind. He grabbed a jetpack from the cargo bay, and prepared to jump to the planet to turn himself in.
“Ray, you don’t have to do this,” said Rob, “We’ll protect you.”
“No, Rob. I’m tired of being a punk-bitch. I’m going down there, and I’m saving those scientists. I’m just one guy, those scientists are the key to the production of the Space Marines.”
“But Ray, you’re the Chosen One,” pleaded Rob.
“Yeah, we still don’t know what the fuck that means. Let’s just see how this plays out,” said Ray.
“I love you, Ray.”
Ray jumped out of the Space-Helicopter. But, like a complete fucking dumbass, he forgot to bring the jetpack. Way to go.
[TO BE CONTINUED]