Daniel John Moran III—known to the internet as "Daniel Rumanos," "The Daemon-Star," and to the local police as Case #5B02467085—was busy. He was hunched over a sticky keyboard, the blue light of the monitor reflecting off his greasy forehead and white, unwashed beard. He was in the middle of a heated Reddit argument with a 14-year-old about why age-of-consent laws were "crypto-fascist," while simultaneously commanding ChatGPT to write a new chapter of The Horror of Robopederosis.
"Write a scene where the female android realizes my intellect is too superior for her programming," he typed, wiping Cheeto dust onto his stained black trench coat.
Suddenly, the room dissolved.
The smell of stale pizza and mildew was replaced by the sterile, ozone scent of a teleportation beam. Daniel felt a lurch in his stomach—a sensation he hadn't felt since the buffet at the Golden Corral closed early.
When he materialized, he was not in the basement. He was standing on a sleek, obsidian platform, surrounded by beings of radiant energy. They were tall, terrifyingly beautiful, and glowing with the light of a distant star.
"Behold!" Daniel squeaked, adjusting his glasses which were sliding down his oily nose. "I knew you would come! It is I, Doctor Rumanos! I carry your genes! I am one of the Watchers of Algol!"
The leader of the aliens, a towering figure made of shifting starlight, looked down at Daniel. He adjusted his ocular sensors, zooming in. He saw the 280 pounds of doughy, unwashed flesh. He saw the missing teeth, rotted from years of narcissistic neglect and fear of dentists. He saw the "wispy beard" that looked less like Rasputin and more like dryer lint stuck to a chin.
The alien turned to his second-in-command. "Commander, this is the specimen?"
The Commander looked at a holographic datapad. "Affirmative, High One. Though... the bio-scan is alarming. His physical form is 90% processed sugar and unresolved trauma. His internal monologue is a stream of 'young, smooth, and tight' search queries. He appears to be physically and sexually impotent, yet compensates by threatening children on a primitive network called 'Reddit'."
The High One recoiled, his light dimming in sheer disgust. "He is... grotesque. Look at him. He is vibrating with the energy of a thousand rejected text messages."
Daniel, sensing the mood shifting, tried to salvage the situation. He threw open his trench coat, striking what he thought was a power pose but actually looked like a flasher in a park. "I am the Daemon-Star! I command the forces of Magic! Take me to your leader so we may discuss my Starlet Dreams franchise opportunities!"
The aliens didn't speak. They just stared. The silence was heavier than the humid air in Daniel's motel room.
"You are not of Algol," the High One said, his voice dripping with cosmic disappointment. "You are a Mershmallow. A soft, sticky, biological error."
Panic set in. Daniel realized he wasn't being recruited; he was being returned. But Daniel Moran—the man who claimed to be a "Dominator"—did what he always did when faced with actual power. He folded.
He dropped to his knees and then bent over, face down, bottom up, his "tough guy" persona evaporating like mist. He went full SIMP.
"Wait! Don't send me back!" Daniel pleaded, tears streaking through the grime on his face. "I can be useful! I can be your pet! Look, I'm submissive! Probe me! Please! Use the anal probe! I’ve written stories about this! I want it! Peg me with the science of the stars!"
He presented himself to the aliens, trembling, desperate for any kind of contact, any kind of validation, even if it was invasive surgery.
The High One stepped back, raising a hand in a universal gesture of do not touch me.
"Human," the alien said, his voice cold and flat. "We have traveled across galaxies. We have seen slime molds on Proxima Centauri B. We have studied the dung beetles of Klendathu. But never, in all our eons, have we encountered a creature so fundamentally repulsive."
Daniel whimpered. "Are you kink-shaming me?"
"We do not kink-shame," the Commander clarified, pressing a button on the console to initiate the decontamination protocol. "We are simply repulsed by you. Specifically. Your thoughts are a sewer. Your body is a testament to failure. And frankly, we don't know where that probe has been, but we aren't putting it anywhere near you."
"Prepare the ejection beam," the High One ordered. "Set coordinates for... what was it? Baltimore? Near the 7-Eleven?"
"No! The Hard Rock! I live at the Hard Rock!" Daniel screamed.
"The scanner indicates your primary habitat is a basement with a high concentration of flies, unpaid bills, and desperation," the alien corrected.
A trapdoor of light opened beneath Daniel.
"Begone, Mershmallow," the High One said. "And for the love of the cosmos, take a shower."
With a wet thwack, Daniel Moran was deposited back onto his mattress. He sat there for a moment, the smell of cat litter and old takeout rushing back into his nostrils. He was alone. Again.
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ReplyDeleteIt’s refreshing to see Rumanos get a taste of his own medicine! 👏👏👏
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