The improbability drive shifted and beckoned. For those who don't know, an Improbability Drive is a type of interstellar engine that teleports the owner into every universe, dimension, and reality in about the size it takes to fry a potato on blacktop in the Summer. The last destination that this particular drive arrived at was the dimension where everything living has about a 5-foot long spike shoved in the liver. Yes. Everything screams. The two people that were driving this ship, also known as the Imperialist, invented and stolen 200 years after the creation of the Heart of Gold, which monopolized the improbability drive by being the only ship in existence to have used the bloody thing, were materializing smack-dab in the center of the Wizard 101 universe, which had about 50 billion omnipotent wizards with the brain size of a elephant flying around. "We... we achieved normality... I think." The Zyruxian scout, named Bolschonia, stuttered. "Why did they choose US for this suicide mission?" The other scout, Khalahan, explained. "Maybe... because... we volunteered for it?" "HA! Sounds realistic." "Wait a minute... didn't we spraypaint that giant cross in Chaos Square?" "Well, there was that." "Shall we prepare the Multiverse gate?" "Hmm. Yeah. Sure. I don't care anymore." Suddenly, the Imperialist self-destructed in an array of colors, leaving behind a large, white hole. There is no more dialogue from Bolschonia and Khalahan because they're dead.
"Game's Over, Magneto!" Cyclops shouted. "I think not, Cyclops!" Magneto retaliated. Magneto levitated a large amount of scrap metal and hurled it at Cyclops with telekinesis, only to have it sliced into two pieces with Cyclops' laser eye beams. "Cyclops, you fool! You cannot stop my... my... what the Deadpool's pajama's is that?" Magneto pointed at another Zyruxian ship piercing through the sky. "So... should we... get out of here?" Cyclops motioned to the exit. It was only a matter of time before the Zyruxian ship self-destructed and took Magneto's 1044th lair with it too. "So... where were we... oh, yes! Welcome to diiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" Magneto attempted to squeal before he was blurred into distortion by the new vortex opening where the lair was previously stationed.
Satan reopened the Hangar that contained the modified version of The Massive. Strange as it was, it looked like a large, obsidian version of Notre Dame buried in a glacier. "Sir!" A female zyruxian-demon hybrid ran to serve. "What, thought slave?" "Um...hi... ANYWAY! The scrapping process is taking a bit longer than usual, and the ... well... the removal of the core from the wreckage is going to take longer than scheduled..." A small ember started burning in Satan's palm. "Okay, okay. Seeing as you ... obviously had some problems with your little allies, the labor force and I are going to have to work triple time. Also, we require some signatures for the use of some of the Machinations from Greed, is that okay?" "Well... I'll have to assign more furies, but nothing I can't handle." Satan quickly signed the paper with a blood-red pen. "Also, if you don't mind me asking, is that real-" "Yes. Sacrificed Goat blood. I find it's color to be quite astonishing, also incorporating the fact that it never bleeds, fades, or wipes. Also, I would like to personally talk to the labor force." "Really, Sir? Because they've been a bit uneasy ever since the Golden Compass project..." Satan raised his eyebrow. "Okay... okay... the Elevator's here." A makeshift chute made from recycled oxygen tubes were twisted to make a larger venting system. "Shall we?" "Of course." They both stepped into the makeshift elevator. The secretary pressed the 13th floor. "Alright. Some of the workers have been going on strike to have their opinions known on the Golden Compass project, they want more lunch breaks, and they want to know what this big plan you've been working on is." "All in due time, Miss..." "Khalahan, sir." "Ah. I remember sending a person named Khalahan on... oooh. Bad subject. Anyway, Miss Khalahan, I've decided to present the plan to the labor force immediately." "Oh, very good sir. Could you please also send the papers?" "Certainly." The ember spiraled around the papers, transmitting them into a familiar green smoke, which spiraled up into the Sistine Chapel-esque central manufacturing chamber. The smoke exited the windows located on the sides of the ceiling, and into the higher circles. "Also, Miss Khalahan, are you ... open later, by any chance?" "As a matter of fact, I am, thanks for asking. As soon as I get this paperwork done..." Satan's eyes flashed golden yellow. "AAAAUUGGH!" "Sir!" Khalahan exclaimed. "Sorry! Sorry! Just a little... gift given to me by my Father." "You... you mean..." "Yes. Him." "Oh. I see." Organ music played from the 50's-esque obsidian radio. "Ah, this must be our stop. Good luck sir!" "Of course, Miss Khalahan." Satan straightened his tie and went down the 50's motel-esque hallway, while listening to his adviser. "Sir, are you sure about this?" "Of course, Mr. Johnson, are you saying I don't think my choices through before I do them? And wouldn't you know a lot about that, Mr-I-bought-Seventy-million-dollars-worth-of-moon-rocks?" "Granted, that was a ... casual mistake, anyone would've done that." "I will say, though, you did start thinking things through when you decided to renovate Greed after Caroline finally is removed from your beloved Aperture, am I right?" "You are correct sir." "Ah, so I have better judgment than you." "Of course, sir." "Also, send a couple of Lemo'nade crates up to my office. I have some politicians I need disposing of." "Of course, sir. Right away, sir." The classy spirit of Cave Johnson scurried away to Greed.
"Attention, citizens of Cocytus, your attention, IF YOU PLEASE!" The voice of Satan rang out on the intercom system. "Some of you may be wondering about my little plan I've been cooking up. Well, fret no longer, I am going to tell you. We are going to ... wait a minute... A SPY!" The intercom buzzed off, and Satan slammed the microphone down. He then began breathing fire to check for spies. A small shimmer erupted into a full-fledged fire, with the voice of "I do believe I'm on fire. Ohh... merde" "INTRUDER ALERT!" rang the voice of Satan throughout the Chapel. The doors shut themselves during Satan's lockdown speech. "ALL DOORS ARE QUARANTINED AND UNDER LOCKDOWN! NO WAY IN, NO WAY OUT, SPIES! FIRE EXTINGUISHERS ARE BEING DEPLOYED! CLOAK YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS MESS, COWARDS!" Satan could hear the alarmed shrieks of Spies realizing that they're being covered into a unmovable, anti-cloaking substance. "Attention, Security? Incinerate all Spies detected in the Chapel." Satan heard the shrieks turning into screams of pain. "Justice... is served." Satan determined as he put his cloven hooves upon the desk. "Anyway, since we have a case of the spies, I will not be telling you the plan." Satan heard several outcries of refusal and one obscenity-filled rant. "How about this- you keep working OR I won't come down there and throw all of your firstborn into a firey pit... of fire." Satan heard moaning from the factory floor. "Deal with it. Whiners." Satan then conjured a large, black cigar. He then started smoking it. "Problem, Workers? I am the 1%."
[MEANWHILE]
"So, what's the plan, Willzahk?" Darkbane asked from the threshold of the command deck. "I... I... just... don't know anymore, Darkbane. What would you think if the only person you've only truly loved was taken while you were away, and by someone close to you?" "Well. I've... had that situation happen to me before, Willzahk... it ... wasn't exactly... pleasant." "Really!?" Willzahk shouted, his Pak slowly catching fire. Willzahk then began slowly levitating up and up while his eyes felt like they were about to burn through a steel wall. "You... have... the GALL... to try to suck up to me... AFTER MY WIFE WAS MURDERED?" Willzahk was in a blaze now, turning into a column of red-hot fire with two white-hot eyes. "Well, if you take your hand off me, I might be able to apologize." Darkbane managed to snarl out after he was completely suffocated by the flaming claw swirling around his neck. "Mmmmrgh. Fine." Willzahk's fist disapparated around Darkbane's neck and rematerialized with the rest of his arm, about 5 feet from Darkbane. Willzahk then vented the excess fire away from his body, which left him wheezing on the floor. A miniature monitor with an uplink to the AEGIS mainframe descended from a pristine white plate on the ceiling. "Willzahk? Are... you healthy?" "Psychologically? Or physically? Because either way, I'm friggin' hurt. Got an extra Pak you can spare?" "Sorry, no." "Oh." "What appears to be the problem, sir?" "Nothing much... I'm just dying." Several trails of light burst from the holes that belonged to the attachments on his original Pak. "Now... play Amazing Grace through the ship or, if I get out of here alive, I'm going down to your operating cores and reprogramming them with a perfectly sharp FIRE AXE- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Willzahk shouted as several gallons of blood jetted out from the holes along with the lights on the pristine white floors. "Now... listen, you depressing necromancer, get over here." Darkbane kneeled to the bloody, writhing mass on the floor. "If I die... tell Wilzyx to go [REDACTED] himself-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Willzahk screamed as the trails of of blood and lights turned into large tendrils of skin, which Willzahk absorbed into his body. "Great. Now I realized that I have large amounts of surplus skin, which I'm going to have to get a lot of liposuction for. Anyway. Call the Crew. We have a war to go to."
"Game's Over, Magneto!" Cyclops shouted. "I think not, Cyclops!" Magneto retaliated. Magneto levitated a large amount of scrap metal and hurled it at Cyclops with telekinesis, only to have it sliced into two pieces with Cyclops' laser eye beams. "Cyclops, you fool! You cannot stop my... my... what the Deadpool's pajama's is that?" Magneto pointed at another Zyruxian ship piercing through the sky. "So... should we... get out of here?" Cyclops motioned to the exit. It was only a matter of time before the Zyruxian ship self-destructed and took Magneto's 1044th lair with it too. "So... where were we... oh, yes! Welcome to diiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" Magneto attempted to squeal before he was blurred into distortion by the new vortex opening where the lair was previously stationed.
Satan reopened the Hangar that contained the modified version of The Massive. Strange as it was, it looked like a large, obsidian version of Notre Dame buried in a glacier. "Sir!" A female zyruxian-demon hybrid ran to serve. "What, thought slave?" "Um...hi... ANYWAY! The scrapping process is taking a bit longer than usual, and the ... well... the removal of the core from the wreckage is going to take longer than scheduled..." A small ember started burning in Satan's palm. "Okay, okay. Seeing as you ... obviously had some problems with your little allies, the labor force and I are going to have to work triple time. Also, we require some signatures for the use of some of the Machinations from Greed, is that okay?" "Well... I'll have to assign more furies, but nothing I can't handle." Satan quickly signed the paper with a blood-red pen. "Also, if you don't mind me asking, is that real-" "Yes. Sacrificed Goat blood. I find it's color to be quite astonishing, also incorporating the fact that it never bleeds, fades, or wipes. Also, I would like to personally talk to the labor force." "Really, Sir? Because they've been a bit uneasy ever since the Golden Compass project..." Satan raised his eyebrow. "Okay... okay... the Elevator's here." A makeshift chute made from recycled oxygen tubes were twisted to make a larger venting system. "Shall we?" "Of course." They both stepped into the makeshift elevator. The secretary pressed the 13th floor. "Alright. Some of the workers have been going on strike to have their opinions known on the Golden Compass project, they want more lunch breaks, and they want to know what this big plan you've been working on is." "All in due time, Miss..." "Khalahan, sir." "Ah. I remember sending a person named Khalahan on... oooh. Bad subject. Anyway, Miss Khalahan, I've decided to present the plan to the labor force immediately." "Oh, very good sir. Could you please also send the papers?" "Certainly." The ember spiraled around the papers, transmitting them into a familiar green smoke, which spiraled up into the Sistine Chapel-esque central manufacturing chamber. The smoke exited the windows located on the sides of the ceiling, and into the higher circles. "Also, Miss Khalahan, are you ... open later, by any chance?" "As a matter of fact, I am, thanks for asking. As soon as I get this paperwork done..." Satan's eyes flashed golden yellow. "AAAAUUGGH!" "Sir!" Khalahan exclaimed. "Sorry! Sorry! Just a little... gift given to me by my Father." "You... you mean..." "Yes. Him." "Oh. I see." Organ music played from the 50's-esque obsidian radio. "Ah, this must be our stop. Good luck sir!" "Of course, Miss Khalahan." Satan straightened his tie and went down the 50's motel-esque hallway, while listening to his adviser. "Sir, are you sure about this?" "Of course, Mr. Johnson, are you saying I don't think my choices through before I do them? And wouldn't you know a lot about that, Mr-I-bought-Seventy-million-dollars-worth-of-moon-rocks?" "Granted, that was a ... casual mistake, anyone would've done that." "I will say, though, you did start thinking things through when you decided to renovate Greed after Caroline finally is removed from your beloved Aperture, am I right?" "You are correct sir." "Ah, so I have better judgment than you." "Of course, sir." "Also, send a couple of Lemo'nade crates up to my office. I have some politicians I need disposing of." "Of course, sir. Right away, sir." The classy spirit of Cave Johnson scurried away to Greed.
"Attention, citizens of Cocytus, your attention, IF YOU PLEASE!" The voice of Satan rang out on the intercom system. "Some of you may be wondering about my little plan I've been cooking up. Well, fret no longer, I am going to tell you. We are going to ... wait a minute... A SPY!" The intercom buzzed off, and Satan slammed the microphone down. He then began breathing fire to check for spies. A small shimmer erupted into a full-fledged fire, with the voice of "I do believe I'm on fire. Ohh... merde" "INTRUDER ALERT!" rang the voice of Satan throughout the Chapel. The doors shut themselves during Satan's lockdown speech. "ALL DOORS ARE QUARANTINED AND UNDER LOCKDOWN! NO WAY IN, NO WAY OUT, SPIES! FIRE EXTINGUISHERS ARE BEING DEPLOYED! CLOAK YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS MESS, COWARDS!" Satan could hear the alarmed shrieks of Spies realizing that they're being covered into a unmovable, anti-cloaking substance. "Attention, Security? Incinerate all Spies detected in the Chapel." Satan heard the shrieks turning into screams of pain. "Justice... is served." Satan determined as he put his cloven hooves upon the desk. "Anyway, since we have a case of the spies, I will not be telling you the plan." Satan heard several outcries of refusal and one obscenity-filled rant. "How about this- you keep working OR I won't come down there and throw all of your firstborn into a firey pit... of fire." Satan heard moaning from the factory floor. "Deal with it. Whiners." Satan then conjured a large, black cigar. He then started smoking it. "Problem, Workers? I am the 1%."
[MEANWHILE]
"So, what's the plan, Willzahk?" Darkbane asked from the threshold of the command deck. "I... I... just... don't know anymore, Darkbane. What would you think if the only person you've only truly loved was taken while you were away, and by someone close to you?" "Well. I've... had that situation happen to me before, Willzahk... it ... wasn't exactly... pleasant." "Really!?" Willzahk shouted, his Pak slowly catching fire. Willzahk then began slowly levitating up and up while his eyes felt like they were about to burn through a steel wall. "You... have... the GALL... to try to suck up to me... AFTER MY WIFE WAS MURDERED?" Willzahk was in a blaze now, turning into a column of red-hot fire with two white-hot eyes. "Well, if you take your hand off me, I might be able to apologize." Darkbane managed to snarl out after he was completely suffocated by the flaming claw swirling around his neck. "Mmmmrgh. Fine." Willzahk's fist disapparated around Darkbane's neck and rematerialized with the rest of his arm, about 5 feet from Darkbane. Willzahk then vented the excess fire away from his body, which left him wheezing on the floor. A miniature monitor with an uplink to the AEGIS mainframe descended from a pristine white plate on the ceiling. "Willzahk? Are... you healthy?" "Psychologically? Or physically? Because either way, I'm friggin' hurt. Got an extra Pak you can spare?" "Sorry, no." "Oh." "What appears to be the problem, sir?" "Nothing much... I'm just dying." Several trails of light burst from the holes that belonged to the attachments on his original Pak. "Now... play Amazing Grace through the ship or, if I get out of here alive, I'm going down to your operating cores and reprogramming them with a perfectly sharp FIRE AXE- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Willzahk shouted as several gallons of blood jetted out from the holes along with the lights on the pristine white floors. "Now... listen, you depressing necromancer, get over here." Darkbane kneeled to the bloody, writhing mass on the floor. "If I die... tell Wilzyx to go [REDACTED] himself-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Willzahk screamed as the trails of of blood and lights turned into large tendrils of skin, which Willzahk absorbed into his body. "Great. Now I realized that I have large amounts of surplus skin, which I'm going to have to get a lot of liposuction for. Anyway. Call the Crew. We have a war to go to."
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