Post by Los Pollos™ on Nov 12, 2015 11:11:02 GMT
Location: A wrecking yard somewhere on a planet called “Earth”
Year: 20XX (most likely 2015)
Zargnax sits by the “control panel” in the old abandoned bus he has made his home, with a bucket of Pollo chicken in his lap, as Computer stands beside him.
“So I still don’t understand. Why did he turn into a toast?”
“The short answer is that the quantum-molecular dimension-phasers had not been optimized, so the infra-code in the system mistook the target’s name for an order.”
“Well… that doesn’t seem to make much sense…. But hey! I won the match! So whatever!”
Zargnax picks up a piece of chicken out of the bucket and puts it in his mouth. Though it seems that the chicken stops at the mouth hole, like it was made out of fabric, like his face was a mask or something. Nevertheless, he seems disgusted by the taste and puts the chicken back in the bucket before putting the bucket away.
“Eww! Human food is gross! I can’t wait to wipe them all off of this planet! What even is ‘chicken’ anyway? Is it another breed of human or what?”
“Humans and chickens are separate species. Humans have domesticated chickens and often use their meat and their eggs as a food source.”
“But isn’t this restaurant slash combat sports league thing run by chickens?”
“Not exactly. Most sources seem to agree that they are merely humans dressed as chickens.”
“Okay. Uh… Why?”
“In Lucha Libre there’s a tradition of putting on mask and sort of playing a character... and… they come from a long family of chicken masks… and… uh… You know what? I don’t know. Humans are a weird species, okay?”
“All right, then… uhh… So what about my next match?”
“Hm… yes. You will face Mr. Crazy in Falls Count Somewhere for the Scramble Championship.”
Before the sentence is completed, Zargnax turns his head and begins to a stare out of the rain-stained window of the bus.
“I knew it would come to this sooner than later...”
“Do you want me to produce a plasmo-protonic probability-calibration radar-locator to help you in the Falls Count Somewhere Match?”
Zargnax turns his head back to computer, apathetically.
“Yeah, yeah… I guess…”
Computer rolls away, as Zargnax turns his gaze back to the rainy landscape outside of the window, and grabs a piece of chicken from the bucket.
“The vast empty coldness of space can not compare to the void of the lonely conqueror’s heart.”
He lets out a sigh and begins to munch down the chicken, as the rain continues to pour itself down over the old wrecking yard.
Year: 20XX (most likely 2015)
Zargnax sits by the “control panel” in the old abandoned bus he has made his home, with a bucket of Pollo chicken in his lap, as Computer stands beside him.
“So I still don’t understand. Why did he turn into a toast?”
“The short answer is that the quantum-molecular dimension-phasers had not been optimized, so the infra-code in the system mistook the target’s name for an order.”
“Well… that doesn’t seem to make much sense…. But hey! I won the match! So whatever!”
Zargnax picks up a piece of chicken out of the bucket and puts it in his mouth. Though it seems that the chicken stops at the mouth hole, like it was made out of fabric, like his face was a mask or something. Nevertheless, he seems disgusted by the taste and puts the chicken back in the bucket before putting the bucket away.
“Eww! Human food is gross! I can’t wait to wipe them all off of this planet! What even is ‘chicken’ anyway? Is it another breed of human or what?”
“Humans and chickens are separate species. Humans have domesticated chickens and often use their meat and their eggs as a food source.”
“But isn’t this restaurant slash combat sports league thing run by chickens?”
“Not exactly. Most sources seem to agree that they are merely humans dressed as chickens.”
“Okay. Uh… Why?”
“In Lucha Libre there’s a tradition of putting on mask and sort of playing a character... and… they come from a long family of chicken masks… and… uh… You know what? I don’t know. Humans are a weird species, okay?”
“All right, then… uhh… So what about my next match?”
“Hm… yes. You will face Mr. Crazy in Falls Count Somewhere for the Scramble Championship.”
Before the sentence is completed, Zargnax turns his head and begins to a stare out of the rain-stained window of the bus.
“I knew it would come to this sooner than later...”
“Do you want me to produce a plasmo-protonic probability-calibration radar-locator to help you in the Falls Count Somewhere Match?”
Zargnax turns his head back to computer, apathetically.
“Yeah, yeah… I guess…”
Computer rolls away, as Zargnax turns his gaze back to the rainy landscape outside of the window, and grabs a piece of chicken from the bucket.
“The vast empty coldness of space can not compare to the void of the lonely conqueror’s heart.”
He lets out a sigh and begins to munch down the chicken, as the rain continues to pour itself down over the old wrecking yard.
FIN