Sunday, 14 December 2014

CHAPTER 3 GQD summons TGM & KB


CHAPTER 3
GQD summons TGM & KB

Meanwhile, back on planet Maryland, the fallout from the malfunctioning of Octavius had started strange occurrences in West Gargantua and the Oneiverse.
King Bee and Tigermothy were napping in a carriage in the train poem man - it was kinda crazy but just beautiful out there. Fresh from their encounter with Fact Reeact and the marauding Octavius Dave, the Latterday Merry Pranksters, 14 years on since they left the Earth, fell to mooching about and kipping, in a hotel in South Wongon, since their aborted pilgrimage to Octavius Dave had been de-railed by a serious and too-dangerous-to-approach-at-this-stage malfunction on behalf of said Gargantuan Robot. And so to simple silly dreams for a while it was.
They dreamed and in the dreamscape, there as herself, Good Queen Dot, heraldic proud with Tiger, hovered magisterially on a very nice flying rug, and this is what she did say unto them: ‘Now you boys glisten right here: There is trouble on Earth big trouble – how we should ever have left it by itself, there should be great shame upon us – we must go back there!’
‘No way, not going back,’ said the Moth, awaking from his slumber in the carriage of the train poem. ‘I’d rather lie on this train and occupy my dreams, if you don’t mind, Good Queen, with your leave your majesty of course.
‘Look your majesty I can’t…’ Kingsley began his protest.
‘You must.’
‘I won’t
‘You must or all of your creativity credits will be frozen until you do!’ The queen flew at them in rage.
‘I’ll cancel your Fletnix,’ warned Mothy.
‘Silence!’ cried the Queen
‘The Earth is in danger, you must go back!’
‘Bloody hell, it’s not fair,’ whinged Kingsley.
They got off the dreamtrain at the next stop, fortunately Oak Town. Kingsley kissed the sign – ‘nothing like a little sweet taste of home.’
Referring was he to the new town his Latterday Merry Pranksters band had built, minecraft style, with Lexus Bexus at the helm. Oak Town, it was named, in honour of Acton, the town from which they had fled, some 14 years ago.
‘Start the Bus Mothman,’ barked Beat.
‘Flunk off Kingsley - you can do it yourself, retorted the stripy-hatted poet of purple plimsoll Euroball flex, flapping his wings moth-like and growling and snarling tiger-like.
Beat was an arrogant round version of himself these days, having given up singing songs to become a fulltime Euroballer. Boss the game he would with a little less flexibility than in the past – even in Paradise, age happens, cos you gotta enjoy the memories and the wisdom see – that’s why things get a little rickety – all that goodness you’re clinging quite-right-too on to. Collateral damage I believe is the phrase favoured by some.
Millennyway, conversations amongst the team at training were erring on the side of not going back to Earth for any reason, life was too sweet in Maryland, they loved their home planet but it was their right to be here – they had gone around being really nice to people, pranking people always in a good way, a funny way, they had practise their instruments, sung their songs and danced their dances, they deserved to be here. They had gathered all of the necessary magic insights, generated absolutely the right combinations of magic coincidences, splashed the world with colour and kindness, and through that great surge of magnificent good chi, they had defeated the Beast of Babylon, 14 year ago, in the year Twenty Zorro Zorro, smashed the light of Jah through Ultimate Glory in their magical lamppost game, escaping on a flying 207 bus from Acton, into space, beyond the spheres, then straight up the Z4 to Maryland. Why should they have to go back?
Whilst they had escaped the Beast of Babylon however, Babylon had prospered and poisonously flowered in their absence.
After training, Kingsley, Tigermothy and the team visited GQD in person at her grand palace. Sycamore trees emblem – sycamore seed scattered in d├ęcor across the pretty painted doors – this was Sycamore Keep, residential south pacific palace of Good queen Dot.
The Queen brought them ruefully up to date with the grim facts of Molch’s Viral Attack upon the Earth – and she managed to at least fashion a compromise with the stubborn Pranksters.
They agreed to visit Mustapha Kahn, the Great Wise Tiger, to seek his advice on the significance of the malfunctioning robot, as well as their moral dilemma as to whether or not they should return to their home planet, and risk their lives, jeopardise their spiritual careers even, to save the damn thing...
Captain Blaikie did a few press-ups, spoke in rhyme for a little bit, and then dressed up as a soldier and attacked Kingsley with a Frisbee. Kingsley, from underneath a bag of Frisbees that the lampooning Blaikie had just lobbed on top of him, managed to point out that the game their merry band had spread across large sections of multiple universes, Euroball, was on TV – the Intergalactic Cup (IGC) Qualifying Eliminators. Many of their illustrious cross-universe rivals would be in action, such as Delta Couriers of Zelta, the athletic Aringdillow Sprinters from a small world named Joll, in the South Western Gargantuan quadrant, which in itself actually spanned 12 galaxies or proportions that dwarfed any infinitesimal solar systems that hosted made-up spidermonkey planets such as Earth.
Blaikie’s team, Dortmund Superbus, formerly of Acton, Earth, now of Maryland, did not have to worry about qualifying for the IGC, since their home world, Maryland, was hosting it; a gift from FEEFA (Federation of Extragalactic Euroball Associations) for inventing the Magic Game in the first place.
The Pranksters were thus resolved to visit the Great Wise Tiger later that day. After playing (as themselves of course) a bit of FEEFA ZZ on their hexboxes, they settled down to some fat-free pink-wafers and waited with avid glee for kick off, watching it as they were, in the Dortmund Superbus clubhouse bar.
Fact Reeact lounged with his new-found friends; he enjoyed their company but he was running out of credits and needed to find Crabtree.

*         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *

It was the revving of the engine of the birds. That authorised ornithologically approved automation sound of knowledge that colourful goodness would indeed abound – what an Insight to remember! Annotated Original Synopsis – there’s another one - got one – hand over it careful like a rare only fools and horses butterfly: a forgotten Insight. Put it in the Butterfly Net – a digital network of transmission signals – straight into the Heart Centre of Octavius Dave. That’s how it worked anyhow. So look at the one we got right now in our carefully hovering hands – a Forgotten Insight –load it up with butterfly-painted magnetic holograph paper clip – upload it to the Butterfly Net – from your own smaller Butterfly Net of course - and send it to Dave. Marylanders and East Gargantuans had naturally learned to use another 5% or so of their brains, making them often transmit a coloured stream of steam, like ethereal audio tape wafting off of them – and thus the Butterfly Catchers were a paid civic amenity – it was a well-credited job in fact. When you forgot inspirational or veracious things, they’d scoop it right up and send it to Octavius Dave, for sifting and sorting from there. You could use credit to access your Forgotten Insights anytime – and everybuddy had more than enough credit in the Western Realms of Gargantua and the Oneiverse. Alas, people had grown dependent on Dave – and the significance of remembering through Dave, that when he malfunctioned, they began to go about their daily business disoriented and with a little less purpose, at first… Things would only get worse, unless Octavius could be fixed.
This uprooted and marauding Bank of Forgotten Insights had been shut down thanks to a massive injection of buffering wheel fluid (BWL), by the Central Authorities of Wongon (CAW). How the gigantic beast had developed autonomy and slipped its chains, dragging its huge cable roots from deep within the mountain grounds, was still being investigated. Remarkably, no one had died, but many buildings had been properly Godzilla’d.
Fact scribbled away in his diary, whilst the Pranksters settled back to watch kick-off between CSKA Racists and the Zaylar Puritanical Stream – a huge techno lamppost of formidably high Ultimate Glory. No-one wanted the racists to win, obviously.


Sunday, 7 December 2014

CHAPTER 2 Molchian forces position themselves around the Earth


CHAPTER 2
Molchian forces position themselves around the Earth

Meanwhile, back in the universe the Pranksters had left behind, in that glorious game of Euroball, in the year Twenty Zorro Zorro, unconscionably evil forces were at work.14 years after the world had lost its Pranksters (without really noticing), things had crawled gradually further forward into chaos and despair. And yet it came to pass, ah rarrss, that a Social Revolution had occurred. One cheeky Prankster had got off the spacebus for a wee, and never came back. He waited until the age of 2.0 and bummed around in Stanmore for a bit until the Revolution had had its day, but somehow things had not changed in any way. Not in terms of general oppression, but some structures were now different. The Royal Family of England were no more – ushered into retirement with bloodless digital referendums – only to be replaced by a corporate monarchy of similarly greedy stance towards its subjects. Celebrities were the faces of companies – and companies were the royal courts – to please the populace, a Follower Competition had been launched, with the winner to be anointed as the Prince or Princess of the new state, Babylondon, or Babylon for short. Beating the eager beebers and footballers to the crown was the massive pop star, Byron Belle Sacha, the Prankster who forgot to get back on the bus, who squeezed out the beeber by 3,489 votes only mind you. The people had their prince X-Idol style – it was supposed to be the pinnacle of democracy, but it was all a bit seedy, weird, with a long hollow tail of horror wriggling in the shadows behind the thoughts and general day to day awareness of the humans of England – other countries followed suit, but it was England that stood once more at the forefront of global power, largely due to the music of Belle Sacha, the Premier League and Robin Crowe, the lotto lout from Middlesbrough who won enough to buy the big American computer giants, on a very very lucky dip on a rollover Euro millions. Europe became mere satellite states for England. Babylondon was where the world was controlled from now. And with the merger of the big companies, the Googlean iChip idea had been touted. Straight in the brain was the idea, less headaches than the glasses apparently, and all the apps your brain can eat. There was a big public reaction to it, and the new Prince had angered his masters by speaking out publicly against it. It was all set to go to another bloody digital vote.
Millennyway, what the people of Earth didn’t know, is that that lottery win was no fluke. In fact that lottery winner – Robin Crowe, was actually a hellish monster by the name of Molch, from a very lowly and wicked planet indeed, and he had been plotting the destruction of the Earth, as well as the enslavement or incineration of every soul on it, for quite a few years now. Anti-terror laws and propaganda had rendered it a virtual certainty that the digital referendum would see the mandatory insertion of the Googlean iChip into every living human. Most world leaders were now in some form of contract for information on national security with The Companies, and Robin Crowe had ensured that he would get what he wanted. To make absolutely sure he had also arranged for a massive virus to be unleashed. Partly for his general amusement, but also to ensure that the chip got a yes vote in every country. Subsequently, two nefarious Agents from planet Pandemonium (Molch’s world) were deployed by their leader to hover above the Earth and plant a virulent virus, whilst he continued his devilish work in the undercover human persona of Robin Crowe. All he would need to get the chip mandatory, was an unprecedented pandemic of Fear spreading throughout the globe, and the Prince of Babylon’s signature, of course.

Agent of Molch 1:
[Reciting] We’re just sitting here sitting here, living off each other’s fear.

Agent of Molch 2: Shut up and stick it in there.

Agent of Molch 1: You’ve got to say the words, otherwise it doesn’t work.

Agent of Molch 2: Bonnocks! You’ve should’ve upgraded your virus uploader by now.

Agent of Molch 1:
I did but it won’t come out of the free trial.

Agent of Molch 2: Look, let me do it, watch this.

He waved his gleaming red forefinger at a small cartridge resembling the topload insertion system of a sega mega drive, it clicked in. On the screen in their little media satellite red devil bug – a sort of space floating Herbie with horns - an image of the Earth rotated and a proliferating diagram of red and green dots did encircle the little digital globe.
‘There, it’s done now; the Fear Virus (FV) has spread across the Earth and is already panicking them into buying more things and hitting each other.
‘Good job Fred, agent of Molch 1.’
‘Cheers Barry, agent of Molch 2.’
‘Not Poodle? asked Barry.
‘Not half! enthused the evidently famished agent. Both agents were actually vegetarian and preferred Wolden Gunder’s Not Poodle range to the Pot Poodle range, which actually had poodle in it. Nevertheless, spreading despair across the galaxy was tiring business, so they ate their Not Poodles heartily, though not with relish because the relish had human rennet in it.
            PHASE ONE of OPERATION DESTROY THINGS was in operation. Soon the Fear Virus would spread across the Earth. ‘I will tell these miserable Earthlings that only the Googlean iChip can save them, plant it in their brains, then kill them all! Muwah-ha-haha. All of them! Except for the rich, I can use their vanity and their comfort electricity. Muwahahahahhee – cough – cough,’ said Molch.
‘Was there something I can get you Robin?” asked Miranda from her office next door in The Big Companies Building in London Wall – he had left the intercom on.
‘Er...er... no thank you Miranda; I was just clearing my throat.
‘Very good Robin; don’t forget you have a meeting with the Priminister at 10.’
In the press conference room, the Priminister (as part of the Social Revolution, government had allowed schoolkids to select the spelling of the leadership title) began:
‘Now is the time to take the moral high-ground,’ said he in a grave and powerful voice, albeit whimpering just a touch. He went on to assert how, in an act of great benevolence, the government was sponsoring a 22 billion pounds assault on the Fear Virus, in cooperation with The Companies, I-chips for all, gratis! Of course there was a little bit tucked on at the end about how, for Health and Safety reasons of course, to avoid the spread of the disease, there was, red-tape-only need for compulsoriness… but quantities of which the government was saving lives had never been seen before, the Prince was all set to give it is blessing as well as Divad Breekham, a hot shot Geordie England football captain of the recent past (not to mention Chobby Barlton; the all-time record goalscorer). Of course, in the right and proper spirit of democracy, and according to specifically laid down criteria of the New Constitutions of the Social Revolution, a digital vote was necessary – but, naturally, nobody in their right mind would want to perpetuate Intergalactic Terrorism – the crowd laughed.
It didn’t take long for the Fear Virus to take hold – rather than an airborne virus; it was targeted straight at satellite dishes and mobile phone telephone masts. The dose was proportionate to the target’s susceptibility; many went raging mad instantly, others did slightly crazy things. The death toll was never quantified because all the statisticians gathering the data all went raving bonkers with The Fear.
            Cornea advertising was horrendous: ‘Don’t Get the Fear! Upgrade your iLenses to the iChip now…’ that sort of thing.









Wednesday, 26 November 2014

WHERE HAVE I BEEN TONIGHT – THE BLOG THAT LAUNCHED THE BEATS OF BEAST OF BABYLON Finished it kinda methinks. The Bovel. Serialised here for the first 3 chapters. Read the rest on Kindle.


'the beats of babylon' a bovel*
Chapters

1.    Octavius Dave malfunctions
2.    Molchian forces position themselves around the Earth
3.    GQD summons TGM & KB
4.    Assimilation of the Earth begins as legions of Nasty Ones are strategically scattered throughout the Earth
5.    Octavius Dave sabotages the Euroball Cup
6.    Prince of Babylon welcomes the alien forces.
7.    A story from the mouth of a tiger
8.    Kingsley’s dream
9.    The Maniacal Awakening
10.                  Meet the Pranksters
11.                  The sensational sacking of King B
12.                  The war of Love and Fear
13.                  The sensational sacking of Danny Venus
14. The unimaginative sacking of Mr. Blaikie
15. A funny-peculiar magic game called Euroball with little sellotape and plastic bag balls
16.                  The choose your own adventure sacking of Danger Dave
17.                  The sensational sacking of Timmy Traveller (Tigermothy)
18.                  The making of The Beast
19.                  The simple sacking of the boy on the bike
20.                  Mc Mennamonkey meets the Pranksters
21.                  A web of Classy deceit
22.                  The bird prank
23.                  Escape from Ludlow Court
24.                  Ultimate Glory
25.                  Send in the clones
26.                  The Pranksters head back to Earth
27.                  Maryland malfunction
28.                  Arrival on Earth
29.                  Hiatus
30.                  The universe comes under threat
31.                  Chip insertion becomes law
32.                  A game of Euroball is lost
33.                  GQD poetry storm
34.                  FTLC
35.                  The universe on the brink
36.                  The arrogant Prince
37.                  Removal of the chip on the shoulder
38.                  The future of the Earth
39.                  Gathering of Insights
40.                  Super Sunday at the Sports Nebula Home World Arena
41.                  A little snag
42.                  Beatific

This is the First Edition.

(*bovel = 'beat novel' - b'ovel - or simply bovel)


CHAPTER 1
Octavius Dave malfunctions

Sat 08:35 24th oct 20ZZ

Diary of Fact React.

I got one maxim in life – and the sea is my brother by the way – but that aint a maxim, it’s a fact – one maxim in life, and that is Never Lose Control (NLC).
The history of The Earth: ‘I sat on my turnovers and I spilt my tea, I am not the god that you want me to be, I made you on a program deep in outer space.’
I work for a company that designs a game called ‘Race’. You see, it came to pass that an intergalactic civilization of beings undreamably more sophisticated than our own had, within its video game industry, programs where you could design worlds and the people on it, but there are actually so many infinite worlds and a markedly infinite potential for an infinity of further infinite worlds, that it matters not a jot up there if things go wrong and people die and worlds collapse. It’s a bit like having your own spidermonkeys as opposed to tamogotchies.
Well it certainly wasn’t convention to care amongst the vast worlds of Gargantua. The multiplicitous planets within Gargantua had many such quirky little computer programs on their retinal consoles, and a reasonably felicitous, but not evidently over-intelligent (by their standards of course) operative, had designed Earthlings: lions, birds and tigers, and a lot of the other animals and creatures that inhabit the Earth with humans (insects, it turns out are actually from another planet where they are simply known as Crawlings). The programmer’s name was Bob, short for Galacticon Bobellina Felladon Smithereen Willis, from a family of Gargantuan beings – the race of the Zellarons in fact. But that’s not important right now, what is important now is the story of the Earth, how it was made, and how it was nearly destroyed by what to the poor tiny creatures of this besieged planet, were described in the news as Thermo Nuclear strikes, but were actually just simple nanobot program erasures from within the computer at Bob’s house, when he sat on his turnovers and spilt his tea. The story of how Bob saved the Earth is one not believed on his own planet, and he is currently locked up – not for believing in things that don’t exist - but for the universal lack of credulity afforded to anyone within this strata of Gargantua, professing to care, in any tiny way, about such infinitesimal and insignificant things, namely computer generated spidermonkeys; or Earthlings, to give them their proper name.
Lock you up for that they could, and frequently did – a fate which befell Bob, on the last day of the year described in Gargantuan calendars as the year of Twenty Zebedee Zebedee.
But that little story is a mere incidental fact of the matter. The matter is this: Something weird happened tonight. I met a bunch of guys who used to live on that spidermonkey planet. They seemed like good guys, Professional Euroballers as it happens; founding fathers of the game I’m told (apparently the grandfathers of Euroball were captained by Rayners Lane Dave in the antecedent of the game Kickthecan). Pretty good at fighting ninjas too, got me out of a hole. Millenyway, that wasn’t the only weird thing – the Bank of Forgotten Insights, a giant robot called Octavius Dave, ripped itself right out of the ground and is stalking the city as I type. I’m very lucky that my apartment is deep underground, and that I‘ve got plenty of tinned rice-pudding in stock. I don’t really know what the hell is happening. Fortunately, those Prankster guys are coming back for me in the morning, reckon they’ll help me locate Crabtree’s purple sphere, so I can finally get those deals done – I’m running out of credits. All I gotta do is help them find a tiger.

Diary entry paused.



We don’t need to go anywhere: we’ve got TIME.

Of course time travel is possible. We travel backwards through time whenever we remember. We travel forward in time when we imagine.

Fact Reeact was a Lingarian time travelling sales-man, and avid writing hobbyist, dotting back and forth from his office in Liverthon, the capital city of Wongon, Zaylar; one of 217 planets in the western Gargantuan Quadrant.  It’s a built world. The planet is a purple sphere – It has no sky – 4 global vents mind you. All the green is built on something, but it’s very pretty.
‘3 Breaths,’ said Fact to himself as he prepared to walk through the Ninja Ghetto, where hordes of disenfranchised ninjas (DFN), lurked acrobatically with great menace. Fact had recently downloaded an anti-ninja defence app after a couple of pretty hefty beatings, the only trouble was that you had to keep up the stretches, or else the crazy martial arts the programme could make you do, would seriously twang or even snap any muscles not sufficiently stretched. Fact was supposed to stretch for twenty minutes a day, according to the download instructions, but he scarcely managed a quick lean and count to three when his left hamstring threatened to break whilst simply walking down a sunny street in Lingaria. Now he was here, on the way to an absolutely imperative business meeting, at the mercy of the DFN. Still he would rather have the fight app than not, at least it gave you a chance; and if you did stretch regularly and have regular aerobic workouts, the app could make you buss up mans real good.
‘Phreep!’ Fact’s forefingerphone (FFP) made him jump. He pointed at himself and flicked his finger off his thumb, thus answering the call.
‘Fact Reeact here, how can I help you?’
‘Ahh, Mr. Reeact, I know that I was scheduled to meet you in my Wongon office, but alas the Richmond Bowl has become quite overrun by ninjas, so I‘m teleporting back to my sphere…’
Fact felt a sudden pang of fear and anger, knotting up like a sudden inner tummy punch. ‘But Mr. Crabtree – sir – I’m sure we can close the deal on those purple bins today – I’ve got a whole heap of clients from diners and spacebars all up and down the intergalactic highway sir – This will make both of us super spacerich! Think of your constituents sir!
‘That’s precisely what I’m doing dear boy, they need me alive and well – not everyone in Richmond upon Tembe has double trick-nutted BMXs yet my boy, and I will not rest, no I will not yield, until each of them has one; two even…
‘Can’t we do business by phone Mr. Crabtree?’
‘Certainly not, business by phone is as cheap as cybersex; it cheapens one awfully.’ With that, Alexander Crabtree withdrew into his teleporter and dotted the quick journey into his purple sphere, which resided in one of the infinite recesses of Octavius Dave.
Fact shook his finger angrily at himself by way of hanging up his FFP, then turned sharply in alarm as a ninja star suddenly hurtled past his left ear, and lodged itself into the thick trunk of a llama tree.
            `
*         *         *         *         *         *         *         *

A few thousand miles above Zaylar, with a 64-lane freeway direct from Wongon, and the other major nations, runs the great space highway the Z14, follow that a stretch and take the short hop across the Spatial Sea and you reach the spinning orb of Maryland. It’s a different world altogether – a bit like a heaven for the living you know – I guess you could say it’s where genuinely enlightened people go. It aint no reward for death, it’s more of a have-it-now-as-well kind of heaven; no bad thing I assure you. From time to time new arrivals are welcomed and there’s no overcrowding at all – in the year Twenty Zorro Zorro, a busload of Latterday merry Pranksters, Acton branch, arrived from Earth – they have enjoyed themselves ever since, painting and singing, eating the crazy space cake that tastes good but doesn’t make you fat; that kind of thing. Everyone works for a day or two, or more if they want, and people do that swell mail order thing like in the ‘Conquest of Mars’ where you get what you want – robots pack it and deliver it – everybuddy takes a little turn at controlling the robots, with no danger of Terminator style robot revolt – real simple robots they are – with no central-nervous-system-super-computer; just simple, clockwork almost, kind of robots - more tick tock of Oz than Hal really.
Millennyway, when this crew arrived, they brought a new dimension to Maryland – not just from their colourful kindness and musical ninja capability, but through a game called Euroball, which they taught to the people of Maryland, and which, subsequently, spread throughout 14 different universes, including the twelve that comprise Western Gargantua. In short, Euroballers make a ball and kick it round a lamppost, building up so much energy that when they hit the light, they are flooded with insights which turbocharge the forces of good, whilst dealing heavy blows to the forces of bad. Pretty spectacular, and useful stuff really.
Amongst those happy Earthling ex-pats to reside on Maryland, were Kingsley, Danny Venus, Tigermothy, Danger Dave, John Mc Mennamonkey, The Big German, and Captain Blaikie.
These Latterday merry Pranksters had gained so much energy and insight when they smashed the light of Jah (the lamppost they used to play against), that they had been able to fly a magic bus off the Earth, rescuing lots of other people from trudgery, drudgery and general fiscal evil, and consequently entered a new realm of enlightened happy niceness. It was not at all as simple as that but it’s very important at this stage in the story that you know who the Latterday merry Pranksters are and what business their Euroball team Dortmund Superbus had in Wongon on the day that Fact Reeact found himself lost in a dangerous part of town. 
The Bank of Forgotten Insights, also known as Octavius Dave, is a gigantic Robot, serving the whole Western Peninsula of Gargantua, and a whole realm of galaxies, including Serendipity, the Oneiverse that contains Maryland, amongst 8 other similarly blissful worlds.
Unlike on Earth, several other planets, universes and the East of Gargantua, those with access to Octavius Dave, can simply download forgotten insights. Big fans of The Bank of Forgotten Insights are often known to visit, Octavius Dave pilgrim-fashion, where they, amongst other activities of positive connectivity, swap teachings and/or demonstrations of skills, in exchange for multifarious Insights, which can of course further their art, and/or spiritual careers. Thus, a five-aside team from Dortmund Superbus were headed to Wongon, at the same precise point in time that Fact Reeact, having concluded his frustrating phone call with Alexander Crabtree, was nearly decapitated by a ninja star.
Millennyway, these intrepid Pranksters – good prankers they were; not the could-have-given-you-a-muddaflunking-heart-attack type pranks: somewhere between ‘let’s pretend that we’re the living dead and scare the ship outta people – through to Jeremy Beadle, and not-very-candid-compared-to-this-day-and-age camera – and the behind the hall wall Boo! of a brother to a sister or a sister to a brother… Theeeese intrepid Prankster met up with Fact Reeact and successfully fought ninjas before picking Fact up and spiriting him away into the swirling oil ocean zone clouds of the Wongon skyline. Fact was rather out of breath, and clurching his very badly pulled left hamstring, he managed to close down his Ninja Kicks simulation program, and stutter out his great gratitude. ‘Thanks you guys, like, who the hell are you anyway?
            ‘I’m Venus.’
            ‘I’m Beat.’
            ‘I’m Moth’
            ‘Und I’m ze big German. They huddled together to form a freeze-frame - half Power Ranger, half One Direction.
            ‘I’m Fact, Fact Reeact, pleased to meet you. What’s with the stupid pose?
            ‘Oh sorry,’ said Venus, and they all fell out of postured formation rather self-consciously.
            ‘Who were those ninjas?’ asked Moth.
            ‘Oh, just ninjas – DFN man, ever’ since they stopped makin’ movies, all these out of work ninja fighters been pouring out of Wongon – they can’t even get a commercial nowadays, and they’ve taken to mugging people acrobatically. Figure if they make a show of it, someone’ll film it on their mobile phone, and they could rip it with keepvid and put together a showreel for their CV.’ Fact proceeded to explain his woes, how Zaylar was increasingly feeling the squeeze and the burden of a darkening cloud. Retinal Consoles were necessary for all Zaylans. Ever since the mystery new WGUWL (World Gargantuan Union World Leader), Sillyconius 1, had been ‘elected’ by digital blinkvote. There just didn’t seem to be much freedom any more. The murder rate, albeit ‘only’ 3, per annum, was still the highest in the Galaxies of Western Gargantua. The rich were getting bitchier and the poor were getting nastier. But Fact had always been a hard worker He told them of his impoverished childhood in Lingaria, but how he’d managed to forge himself a career in business trafficking in and out of Wongon, but how he really wanted to be a writer, and also how something was not quite right today. ‘So where are you guys from?’
            ‘Maryland.’ said Beat, but we’re originally from Earth.
            ‘Oh, Earth, that’s one of those little spider monkey planets isn’t it?
            ‘Wayasayin about monkeys, Earth and indeed spiders?’ bristled John Mc Mennamonkey.
            ‘No nothing – just that Earth is one of those little planets made on the Race game – I have sold a few units so I know all about it – these worlds are infinite man – just created by gamers. The only reason anyone in Gargantua knows about Earth is because of the crazy guy who took the trouble to save that planet – the guy who created it – they locked him up for Obvious Insanity – a serious crime y’understand? It was declared Obvious Insanity because he was so concerned about such a tiny thing. He leaned in and looked suspiciously left and right. ‘To tell you the truth, I kind of admire the guy… you won’t go blabbing to no one will you?’
            Fact Reeact evidently felt he had the trust of the Latterday Merry Pranksters. They could tell he was a Prankster in the making too. ‘Look, as a matter of interesting fact,’ said Kingsley, if what you say is true, and I doubt you not sir, then this guy saved us all right. It also makes him our God, which is a very dramatic re-working of originally fabled versions back on our poor home planet. Say, why don’t you come along with us to Octavius Dave? Perhaps we can earn some insights into this man; what did you say his name was?
            Galacticon Bobellina Felladon Smithereen Willis’.
            ‘Bloody good name that,’ said Captain Blaikie. All the Pranksters agreed that it was a bloody good name.
            Fact Reeact was just about to decline their kind offer, when a gargantuan shadow suddenly loomed large, obliterating the coloured skyline with instant night. Moth screeched the bus upwards and in retreat to escape the hellish shadow which now straddled what seemed to be the whole of Wongon, let alone just Liverthon.
            ‘O my Daze!’ exclaimed Fact. ‘ But that’s… no… it can’t… be… what in blue blazes is it doing here?’
            ‘What the hell is it?’ Venus impugned
            It stood there in the shadow of its own. This monstrous monolith of darkness. Zooosh! Two flaming square red lights lit up the jet black skies, ripping suddenly into the darkness. In and out: the eyes of it: gigantic hugeness of wonder or annihilation. Who knew? Nobody knew but all stood breath-bounded to the suddenness of this universal interruption. Now other portals of light – some gold, some copper - definitive feel-it-on-your-teeth properties of copper and gold light, slotted open and threw fresh new beams into the great shadow, until the proliferating dots of light stood gleaming, and a beautiful but broken face of robot immenseness could be discerned. As the Pranksters hovered safely and in awe, as the innumerable hordes of civilians, robots, creatures and spirits, the population of Wongon, looked on with perfect poise of half-terror/half-love, as they looked up into the shimmering chaos – to behold the face of the place where Forgotten Insights and escaped butterflies of thought and sound and wonder go – all at once knew, by the fact of trampled mountains now visible behind, that Octavius Dave had blown a gasket.