We Don't Normally Smell Like This, Ma'am

Predator Press

[Mr. I]

All that really matters is the fast flow of information, and the effectiveness of the response.

On the bridge of the mighty war vessel LOBONIA, the darkly-clad figure kneeled in front of the bridge's viewscreen, inhaling, exhaling, for what seems an eternity.

Suddenly he stands, totters, and collapses like a sack of sand.

The crew of the bridge lights up with laughter as Sith Lord LOBO slowly "comes to."

"Told you!" titters Navigator LOBO.

"Did you see the look on his face?" bursts Communications LOBO.

"Omigod, that was awesome," says Sith Lord LOBO. Staggering to his feet and laughing, Sith Lord LOBO grabs a clipboard and beats Medical LOBO to a one-celled organism that owes a shit-ton of student loans.

"You killed Medical LOBO for not recommending against us playing a prank on you?" asks a suddenly serious Engineer LOBO.

"No," says Sith Lord LOBO. "I killed him for inoculating me against Diphtheria. I fucking hate needles."

Suddenly everything vanishes. POOF!

A blinding square of light noisily appears.

"LOBO!" demands a megaphoned voice from outside the Holo-Trailer.

"What?" says LOBO, suddenly aware that he's in a Holo-Trailer.

The voice says, "You've been officially captured by Hawly Enterprises." The disembodied static punctuates his instructions. "And we are fully authorized to blow your nuts off in order to take you without incident."

"I'm cool," I says, raising my hands.