Spooks in Space X

The Aliens tore open the door to the escape pod, but McMann was more than ready for them.

Oh God, no one’s ever been as ready for anything as War God McMann was for those Aliens.

Jesus Christ, get hype.

Their were no less than a dozen heavily-armored aliens pointing laser blasters at that escape pod, but none of that mattered when 2 of them pulled the door off.

McMann clung right to the other side and began charging with it, knocking the first 2 aside and plowing through the crowd of soldiers as if they were children, sending them crashing to the ground. bunch of fuckin little wimps. Humanity’s goddamn unstoppable.

When McMann had cleared his front, he flipped the door onto his back with one arm, and with his other he pressed a detonator linked to the explosives he’d left inside the escape pod, sending pieces of it flying into the soldiers who’d just moments ago expected to capture the War God. Now they expected nothing, because dead men can’t expect things.

“This is McMann,” the War God barked into the communicator on his wrist, “I’ll have their weapons down in 1 more minute. Start moving now.”

“Aye aye, sir!” laughed the Pilot as he pushed the Space-Helicopter full-space steam ahead.

McMann was familiar with the Alien ships. He’d been captured once previously- against his will. He’d been forced to work on the ship for 10 long minutes before slamming a pickaxe through the warden’s skull and using his body as a raft to escape through the ship’s sewage line.

He found the weapon control room, which was guarded by a big-ass Alien. Bigger than the rest by 3 feet.

“Step aside,” commanded the War God, “Actually never mind.”

And then he just shot him in the face. The beast fell to the ground, shocked at how easily he’d just died.

He punched every single goddamn computer in the room.

“That should do it.”

“That did it, sir!” confirmed Irish Pilot, “They’re not firing at us! We’ll be on the planet in less than 5 minutes!”

“Good,” replied McMann, “I’ll rescue Raymond and commandeer this piece of ship. We’ll meet you down their and assist with the rescue.”

“Roger that, sir! See you down there!”

McMann ripped a pipe off the wall and prepared to hand out some beat-downs.

but suddenly, his body froze. Oh shit.

He couldn’t move. His body was being held in a freakin forcefield.

“You’re not going anywhere, sir,” said a familiar voice, “It is against the law to conduct warfare using Alien munitions.”

Oh fuck, it was Space Judge, the Arbiter of Justice.

“What are you doing here, Space Judge?!” exclaimed McMann, “You’re supposed to be on Planet Xerfii!”

“I was, for a time,” answered Space Judge, “But the President gave me another promotion. I am now the SUPREME WAR JUDGE.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” roared McMann.

“YES, AND YOU WILL PAY FOR TAKING MY PRISONERS FROM ME. PREPARE TO MEET JUSTICE!” shrieked the War Judge, and he fired his bazooka directly at McMann’s torso, splattering his body into a thousand heroic chunks.

“There’s been a change of plans, Irishman,” announced the War Judge, “I AM BRINGING RAYMOND BACK TO PRISON. JUSTICE WILL BE SERVED. YOU ARE TO ABANDON YOUR MISSION AND DELIVER ROBERT TO ME IMMEDIATELY.”

“Oh fuck that shit,” said one Marine.

“We have to listen to him, he’s the War Judge,” retorted another.

“He killed the War God, what are we supposed to do?”

“I teel ya what we be doin’ mon,” replied Rasta Rick,

Irish-monnn, I promised McMann I’d look afta ya boys, but ya must go on without me. Save de scientists, mon, and don’t give up young Rober.”

“What are you going to do, Rasta Rick?” asked Rob.

“I gon keel de Space Judge,” replied the rastamon, lighting a blunt the size of a broadsword, “And when I’m tru, den real justice will be served.”

[to be continued]

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