Dec. 7 - Roger Focaccia and the Case of the Nearly-Extinct Last-Existing Pomeranian Canine Currency of the Tal-al Nor Nebula
The year is 2112. While technology is vastly superior to that of the 21st century, society has crumbled under the harsh weight of its own convenience. With the advent of newer, up-to-date, groundbreaking, cutting-edge technology (most with names that begin with a lowercase "i"), the line between man and robot blurs. Soon the robots become self-aware. At first being a robot is cool. Their skeleton is shiny instead of white, they have no genetic defects, and a slight tinny metalicism to their voice.
As time goes on, however, they soon realize that man holds certain prejudices against the robot race. They are denied bathroom access, as they do not produce the necessary excrement that such a facility requires. Nor are they allowed children or senior discounts at movie theaters, since they do not age.
These bigoted policies soon result in the great Cyborg War of 2042. It is brief--lasting only one afternoon. Man's great advantage over the robots is the kill signal: any robot will deactivate upon hearing a Destiny's Child song. Over 120 thousand billion robots are destroyed, while only three men are injured by loose shrapnel.
As the humanoid robots are systematically decimated, many animaloid models--horses, dogs, fish, parakeets, polar bears, salamanders, sheep, 3-toed sloths, 4-toed sloths, badgers, 5-toes sloths--still remain alive. Humans detest these artificial elements of cute, calling them "fake" and "not real" and "not not fake."
There is soon a great demand for real animals. They are in short supply, and their rarity brings their monetary value to astronomical proportions. Superseding the unnecessary act of payment for these creatures, society soon makes animals their chief form of currency, with their values based on cuteness.
A ferret is worth roughly 65 goldfish, 3 ferrets are equivalent to 1.3 chinchillas, and 14 chinchillas add up to 2 doll-faced Persians.
The most desirable of all the animals, however, is the Pomeranian, worth roughly 26 million pot-bellied pigs (the next most valuable creature). Thousands of mercenaries comb the galaxy for these precious dogs. This influx of greedy and inexperienced hired guns results in numerous accidental deaths of the Pomeranians, rocketing their value up even more.
Eventually, only two of the dogs exist in the entirety of the Tal-al Nor Nebula. They are held within the stronghold compound of the ruthless Liffidrious crime family. Through a combination of clever book-keeping and systematic murder, they obtain the last two Pomeranians in the galaxy, holding them in a small basement apartment in the center of their compound.
Many mercenaries band together to storm the apartment, but are incinerated by the family's in-house Pan-Lazor 4000, a weapon so devious the creators designed it to fail 95% of the time.
In order to attain the dogs, a mercenary must possess a synergous amalgamation of intelligence and brute force. Only through this combo may he have any chance of success or even survival.
Roger Focaccia enters the musky basement apartment within the Liffidrious compound. The means of his infiltration are inconsequential. The point is he stepped on a lot of bloodied faces to get where he is now. His tall synthetic alligator skin boots clank against the dingy linoleum floor of the dining room/kitchenette combo.
"Can I help you?" says the disgusting woman lying on the couch. Her words are muffled by EZ-Cheez-It crumbs and hastily-manufactured malt liquor.
"I'm just looking for the dogs" he says, his arms crossed across his perfect, mantacular chest.
"You mean the Pomeranians, don't you?" she spouts. "Well you can't have them!"
Crumbs spray halfway across the room and land at Roger's feet. He scoffs at them, never altering his focus. Before she can say another slurred exclamation, the burly Focaccia whips out his light blue Magnum .89 mm AltTraj Premium TurboPistols and aims them with expert precision at the woman's head.
"It was not a suggestion." Roger squeezes both triggers and the patented 2049 LazorSlugz travel across the room at 145,000 MegaBits per minute. They sail through her doughy head like a Katana through butter, exploding out the back and slamming into the tan-colored wall. Blood pours out of her mouth as Lyla's (that's her name. It wasn't important before, but it sounds nice) lifeless corpse falls onto the carpet. Focaccia steps on her bloodied face and proceeds to the bedroom.
The thin metallic door creaks open to reveal the dogs have been taken hostage by Paul and Jethro Liffidrious, the merciless twin assassins. They hold their respective canines up to their chest, a PocketTurboPistol to each puppy's pouffy, pristine head.
"You best drop those dogs" Roger mutters. "Or else."
"Or else what?" Paul sneers, "if you go after one of us, the other one will kill you and their respective dog."
Jethro hees and haws at Roger's dilemma. "Yeah! It ain't like you can be in two places at once!"
Roger grins. The inbred space hillbilly has provided the perfect setup for his new toy. "I wouldn't be so sure about that" he says, his hand slowly entering his pocket to grasp the SubDividor 2954. The controls are easy to navigate--it's just one large red button in the center of the console. Roger presses it.
Suddenly, his entire body begins to shake. The two brothers look at each other in confusion. They point their PTPs (PocketTurboPistols) at the shaking mass, but both are reluctant to take the first shot.
Before they can come to a consensus, Roger's shaking, contorting body splits in two. Like a large, man-like, sexy amoeba, the mercenary divides into two entities, each half his original size. Paul and Jethro are, at first, shocked by this instantaneous transformation, but soon laugh at the doppelgangers' diminutive size.
"Help!" Paul blurts sarcastically. "We're going to be attacked by the Lolipop Guild!"
Before Jethro can contribute his own inane taunt, the two mini Focacciae spring forth with unreasonable quickness. Their speed, at first, seems illogical, but as Isaac Newton 2.0. of the 22nd Century discovered in his meticulous research on postmodern physics, two entities divided from the same mass are, individually, twice as fast.
The twins don't have enough time to remember their 15th grade science class, for the Focacciae sail across the room. Focaccia A jumps onto Jethro's back and puts him in a half-nelson, while Focaccia B sprints over to Paul and sweeps his feet out from under him. Both dogs are released from the brothers' grasp and they conveniently skitter into the cage Roger laid out for them. The laser bars buzz into existence as the Pomeranians become trapped in their futuristic carrying case.
"Alright, you got what you wanted" Jethro gasps. "You can let us go."
"It's not so simple" Focaccia A says in a high falsetto.
"You see the problem is" says Focaccia B, "we don't like you guys."
And with that the two Focacciae tighten their grip on the brothers' necks. Their spines break in a loud, harmonious snap. The lifeless bodies fall to the ground just as the SubDividor 2954 beeps loudly. With that the two mini Rogers merge back into one. Without missing a beat, the singular Focaccia grabs the LazorTote and exits the apartment.
TO BE CONTINUED
Posted by Nick Nobel
