GROUP PROJECT TIME!
We will be writing a story. I will write the first little bit, and then the first person to respond will write the next little bit. It will go on like this, and then I will end the chapter. Later I'll make a new post, where we will do the same thing!
IT WILL BE FUN SHUT UP
Here's the first bit!
The neon face of the space clock blinked "4:30", and an irritating beeping noise flooded the room.
Sargeant Doctor Dirk Spanglebanner opened his eyes slowly, and reached his arm across the gap between his space bed and his nightstand, shutting the space clock off.
"I slept in, god damn it" he growled through his startling beard.
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Shaving the beard off in the kitchen sink, he wept openly each time his oafish hands were responsible for a cut on his face, which amounted to a lot of crying. It was too early to be shaving, and that was causing certain cognitive imbalances, Dirk thought, rationalizing his tears as usual. His space-night shift started half an hour ago. Probably. That's the trouble with space clocks. Their AI grows cocky after a few long voyages, and they know that there's no sun position to prove when they're wrong, so some clocks like to make things up.
It was a terrible idea to give cognition and whim to a machine that could only communicate through a few seven-segment displays and a loud beeping sequence designed to irritate. But space scientists were always giving AI to everything, and he couldn't openly complain about any of it, because his wife was a scientist and she was prone to her fits.
As his shaving cuts clotted, and he attempted to get through the door out of his quarters without offending the space handle with his sweaty palms, his wife, whom he had been avoiding, climbed out of bed.
"Dirk, honey, wouldn't you like me to make you some pancakes before you left?" She strode into the kitchen where she could see him at the door, and more importantly—once she had turned the light on—where he could see her in those nauseatingly-patterned pajamas. "Eugh! Why is your beard all over the fucking kitchen sink?"
"I gotta go, sweetie," he growled, slipping out the door.
Oh, um, If that was too many words, let me know and I can dial down the length of my segments.
If my name was half as good as that I'd be going somewhere in life.
As he locked the space door behind him, a loud thud came from the bolt sliding into place, and Dirk could feel the heat on his face again.
The thud resonated through the hallway, and turned into the sounds of space rifles discharging, Dirk felt the heat of the explosion at the end of his rifle sear his face, and he winced in pain. Opening his eyes he was once again in the space battlefield, suicide droids exploding with a pink cloud of powdered fuel in the distance. Dirk's legs moved him fast towards the safety of a cave up ahead, his feet snapping the bones of the dead underway.
"Sarge?"
Dirk turned and looked at the man, and recoiled in horror at the sight of his Captain, his lower jaw completely destroyed, and blood coursing down his chest.
"Sarge?"
Dirk shook his head, and opened his eyes.
"Flashback", he thought.
Standing in front of him was Stephen Orville, assistant to the Space Commander. Stephen wasn't a tall man, among other attributes that he didn't have were blond hair, glasses and a fear of spiders.
"Yes, what is it?"
I'd have written more sooner, but I was hoping this little exercise wouldn't become purely Zack-Keth-Zack-Keth so I was giving a little time for somebody else to take a shot. Ah, well.
---
"Were you just spazzing out in the hallway again?" the non-spectacled, black-haired phasmaphobe jeered. "That's the second time this week. And this time you're doing it right outside the fusion-powered spacetime chamber. It's a fire hazard. Cut it out."
"We live in fucking space. Haven't we, like, cured fire, already?" Dirk asked Stephen this question quite seriously.
"If you'd like me to pick a worse hazard, Spanglebanner, I'm sure I can drudge up something plausible. Perhaps your children will be born with nuclear inverse-time syndrome if you keep wasting your time out here."
"That's not cool, sir, my wife has been pressuring me to knock her up. It would break my heart if she had little backwards nuke babies in her womb." Dirk tried to play it safe with those words, not having any idea what nuclear inverse-time syndrome was.
"Yes, well, get to work, Sargeant Doctor. Whatever the hell it is that you do."
"I clean turlets."
"Well... go do that, then," Stephen frowned. As he turned to leave, a breeze rushed past the two of them. "Did you hear that?" he nervously asked. "It felt like a... a ghost. I must get back to my duties."
And with that, Stephen ran off like a little girl.
Then, HOLY SHIT YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT IT WAS SO EXCITING The President busted through the door!
"SHUT UP EVERYONE!" he bellowed, his surgically implanted auto-tune machine turning his gruff voice into a T-Pain-esque nightmare of OOH and AAH that you will hear in your dreams.
That's when the world started burning. You know why? Because they made the Earth into a paper crane and no one likes the cold.
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