So I felt kinda inspired by 
Sure my editor my hate me for this, but it's good to be an indie publisher. :D
So here we go! Do forgive some of the errors and typos, and keep in mind this isn't completely indicative of the finished product - that will come after my editor puts it through her meat grinder. Some of the things I like to leave behind for her are its/it's (let's not argue about "its'"), and certain past/present tenses. She gets to have at with them, then it's meat grinder time, and then?
Then it's tasty pie time for all! :D :D :D
Remember, credit the artist if yer gonna share, otherwise pass it around do~!
WARNING: Strong language and possibly a spoiler or two if you haven't read The Generalist properly yet. :V
The Generalist - Taboo X: The Orientation by Thomas Duder, Author of the Things
(Unedited Version)
It was the jarring sound of heavy metal music, not growling but power screaming, that hammered through its consciousness. A strange, cold lethargy sealed most of its movements but it could open its eyes and take in the surroundings. All was dark save for a window, frosted over but visible, directly in front of it’s eyes. A bit more of its consciousness fluttered and it took in what appeared to be bright lights and a bizarre myriad of plants of fantastic shapes and sizes - potted and sunk directly into the earth, a miniature forest of dark-fleshed trees, leaves of purple hues and tiny, skittering potted plants that wheeled about, propelled by their own mobile vines.
For a moment the entire tableau became obscured as a pair of green eyes suddenly peered into the window, the large eyes surrounded by light green scales on darker-green skin.
“Hey, Boss! I think Jackass number 13 is awake!” The creature laughed and backed away, presenting a large-mawed smile with frightfully large, jagged-edged teeth.
For a moment it tried to struggle against the lethargy as the creature manipulated a mechanism out of sight - lights within the enclosure flickered to life, gentle but bright enough for it to note that it had been encased within a box-like affair. Loud hissing sounds assaulted it as the lid of the enclosure opened up and a clawed, green-scaled hand easily the side of its torso reached in to help it out.
Coughing, it went through a rollercoaster of emotions, from terror to a strange, comforting trust as the scaled creature patted it on the back with a massive hand.
“Hey, hey buddy, you awake?” The creature grinned and knelt down to be more of a height to it doubled over, “Don’t worry, just let the fog out. We call that good stuff Lethe, or ‘Smoke-Smoke.’ HAH, I named it m’self, y’know? Frank says it’s great for healing, and boy did you need it after we were done with you!”
It looked to the creature and had a sudden flash of insight. Dash.
This creature was called Dash.
Vaguely it remembered that behind that genuine smile was row after row of excruciatingly sharp teeth, a garbage disposal of a mouth that lay closer to a pit leading to Hell than any normal orifice. At the mention of Dash’s partner in crime, Frank, it remembered more.
Memory and reality coalesced into one as, from between the rows of chaotic, snapping, baying plants the man in black appeared.
Frank Todd. The Generalist.
Dash. The UnGrimm Troll - no, wait, that wasn’t quite true. Not quite right.
For now, close enough.
About to go on guard, it nevertheless goggled as Frank drew closer and produced a simple stool out of thin air. Setting first one, then another, down, Frank patted it on the shoulder and took a seat, nodding to the free one.
Grunting in answer to the many questions it asked, Frank conducted a quick but thorough examination. While it felt an abject annoyance at being treated in such a manner, it noted the Shopkeepers (how did it remember that?) with interest. Where Dash was tall, green-fleshed and armor-scaled in various places, his thin trunk (compared to the rippling muscle of oversized limbs) was adorned only with a simple light blue vest, his massive legs sheathed in a pair of torn, well-worn blue jeans. While it remembered a battle garb of a different sort (vaguely, as the memories continued to both flood into it and yet still remain tantalizingly out of grasp), it found a minor comfort in the casual clothes Dash had taken to.
Frank, on the other hand, wore the same exact black clothing he had when they had fought…how long ago? Black khakis, boots, undershirt and unbuttoned overshirt-
No, wait.
It goggled, mouth agape, as Frank’s chanting had finished. It had made a horrendous mistake, one that the Shopkeepers had capitalized upon immediately - Frank’s clothes, at that point, transformed visibly as his Elan soared.
Black overshirt shortened and became tougher, stronger than stars as platinum filigree played about the edges of the half-jacket he now wore, the shirt more precious yet sturdier than samite. The khakis took on a slightly flowing look to them, the trousers made of an unknown cloth, the properties blocking it’s attempt to View them, his boots suddenly shod in the strangest of gleaming metals.
Raising his fists, now bearing the True Maximum Gloves, the Lance of the Shop appeared as he made a gripping motion, ripping it out of the interdimensional space he kept all of his most Overpowered items.
Overpowereds.
It remembered, at that moment, that it was an Overpowered, one who had come to this world on a particular mission that it couldn’t quite remember.
It was an Overpowered, and as it remembered how he had slammed the Lance of the Shop butt-first into the ground of it’s demiplane, conquering and claiming it without even a fight as the flag of the Shop erupted from underneath the head of the lance, it realized now what foolishness it had been to try and challenge the Shop with such strength.
It had been warned, to never attack the Shop with it’s full, true power lest they be able to unleash theirs.
It had forgotten the Pact of Pantheons in a single, breathless moment. It had fallen victim to their taunts and constant harassment during their battle, until it had dragged both combatants to this plane of existence, this pocket dimension all of it’s own.
There it had unleashed it’s full fury, it’s full power, venting hard and heavy…only to grow even further enraged at the scornful laughter of The Generalist.
It was an Overpowered, the strongest being known in existence, but there was a catch.
It wasn’t the only one. What many Overpowered learned the hard way was that while one’s thoughts and actions affected the entirety of existence, so did many others.
And even amongst the Overpowereds, those who were the epitome of strength, there were still those who were stronger than reality itself
And it had, inadvertently, triggered two of such creatures…
Rumbling and roaring with wicked laughter, the green-scaled dragon, massive in size and far stronger than any normal dragon, suddenly descended behind Frank. Seizing the initiative, Dash, his full might unleashed, roared down upon it as his jaws opened miles-wide.
Within his long, serpentine throat various layers of Hell awaited, reaching out for him with sickle-tipped tentacles even as Frank complained at having been one-upped at that moment.
It suppressed a shiver as Frank took his cold stethoscope off of it’s naked chest. Clucking his tongue and snapping his fingers, Frank put away his instrument as its enchanted fullplate armor suddenly appeared over it, obscuring it’s gaze. As the armor activated, it once again gained its omniscient view - on one level it saw as if the fullhelm wasn’t blocking it’s view completely, yet on another level it floated high above The Shop, seeing the entirety of all within Neo-Los Angeles save for a few, darkened spots, including The Shop itself.
Reckoning correctly that these were allies of The Shop, or at least strong enough to ward off even its Omniscient Visage, it got up when Dash, calm and kind now, patted it on the shoulder.
Frank grunted as they began to walk with it, “Okay, this is your orientation. You fought us fair and square and LOST fair and square, you poor idjit. We ain’t gonna kill you though - in fact, we’ve discovered a use for you.”
Dash chuckled as he waved his powerful claws before them. At first it didn’t quite understand why until it realized that they were walking through a veritable forest of predatory and rather angry plants. Trees and shrubs with animal sentience growled and them threateningly, only to back off completely at a single swipe from those powerful hands. Letting Dash have his fun, Frank gripped it’s armored bicep and continued to walk it out of the Garden section. It now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had, somehow, been held in stasis in the heart of The Shop itself, here where the Shopkeepers cultivated a menagerie of plants and plant-like creatures from various dimensions, all in a strange balance with one another despite their strange origins.
Frank growled, “I shoulda just brained you inside of Dash, especially after you pissed me off the way you did, but the Chief is right - we’ve been going out of our way to NOT kill you fucks but, rather, collect you for various reasons. I’ve had to stop scrapping you jerkoffs, though, when a particular thing came about in the future.”
Dash cackled, as a long, spiny man-eater plant suddenly reared forward and clamped onto his hand, breaking it’s spiny teeth on his scales. Patting the whining plant, Dash directed his respond back to it, “Yeah, but you weren’t that bad. There was this one guy who tried to infiltrate us through words, like spoken words, y’know? That one pissed off Frank ‘cuz he’s a writer.”
“Amongst other things,” Frank glared at Dash before continuing his explanation, “Anyway, you asked a few things of us while you were passed out in cold storage. Since I’m not the kinda sadist to NOT seek satisfaction for all involved, I figured I’d answer ya a little-shit!”
Frank suddenly juked to the side, throwing an arm protectively in front of it as a massive tree suddenly sprang out of the alien foliage. Wrapping rope-like tentacles around Dash, it hefted the laughing UnGrimm Troll up overhead before dashing him to the ground, sending his brains splattering against the packed earth. Dragging its catch into the darkness of the pseudoforest, the various other plants suddenly backed off, realizing the newcomer was about to be introduced to their favored keeper in a memorably violent manner.
Frank, shaking his head, sighed and continued walking with it. It noted how a wave of absolute rage and violence cascaded off of Frank in waves, driving back the plants that would attempt to devour them. Noting how it saw this, Frank explained, “It’s easy enough to cow these little things to heel, but Dash prefers a more hands-on, LITERALLY hands-on, method. Me, I’d rather their fear than their respect. Honestly, fuck their feelings. If they try to eat me, they’re gonna fuckin’ get it.
Anyway, speaking of fuckin’ gettin’ it, you asked about leather and clothes instead of ‘real’ armor. You even made fun of my clothes back when we fought, and yeah - I see that you remember now, for all that you still don’t remember your name.
That part’s simple - the fuck you think fullplate armor can do what enchanted clothing or leathers CAN’T, eh? EH?! In case you haven’t noticed, most of the people in Neo-Los Angeles have taken to the same kinda fashion, especially since a simple, basic enchantment can do the same thing that kevlar or dragonmail can. What’s more, there’s plenty of basic, one-time use enchanted trinkets that can also save one’s life. Here in Neo-Los Angeles things get rugged, and a little bit of protection goes a long way, especially if it’s something your assailants can’t see on ya.
You get that, you big tin can fuck?”
Frank knocked on it’s helmet condescendingly as Dash staggered back onto the main road, laughing with wicked humor, “Hey, hey, bro, didja see that puppy? I TOLD you it was gonna need my green thumb! HAH, get it, GET IT?!”
Dash thrust his humongous, armored thumb into it’s field of view, “GREEN FUCKIN’ THUMB BUDDY, AHAAHAHAHAHAHAH!”
Frank, despite his grumpy demeanor, chuckled at his friend’s antics, as did it - it was cheesy, but at least a little funny.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Frank waved Dash back ahead of them as they began to exit the Gardening section - the Shop, full and bustling with customers and employees, assaulted it with a panoply of noise, a frenetic energy filling the warehouse-like affair.
It gazed about itself for a moment before rejoining Frank and Dash, who pushed through the crowd of shoppers and seekers alike, Frank continuing on as if it hadn’t been stunned by the unexpected sight of The Shop actually being…well, a shop.
“Suffice it to say, you also asked about guns - oh, hey, here.”
Plucking it out of thin air, Frank casually tossed it it’s own Champion Gear, the six-shooter “Heavy Brand.” Cradling it with both hands, it nearly shed tears of blood as it looked back at Frank, who rubbed the back of his head and looked away, slightly embarrassed.
“I know what it’s like to be a stranger in a strange land without yer weapons. Now that you’ve been beaten by The Shop, you belong to The Shop - you ain’t gonna turn on us, I know that from your own code of honor and conduct.
So anyway, there’s your Heavy Duty, Heavy Day, whatever you called it. Anyway, you DID wanna know ‘bout how most people just melee in this world when we have guns a plenty layin’ around, right? Oh, hey, there’s the cowpoke!”
Dash turned and called out to a nearby employee, a tall, long-muscled man in a dark business suit save for a tan Stetson hat atop his head, “Hey, Jude! Shoot us!”
Without asking for explanation or second guessing, Agent Maxwell, their handler from the FBI, immediately quick-drew on the trio with his own six-shooter, customized for speed shooting. Firing two bullets with one squeeze at Dash, he fanned the final five shots towards Frank, chuckling wryly as the Shopkeepers responded in kind: Dash snatched the “shadow” arcane bullet out of the air with his claw tips, catching the actual bullet between his teeth. Looking back to leer luridly at it, it noted the fast reflexes the UnGrimm Troll (no, that’s not quite it! What WAS the actual word for what Dash was?), but it was the bullets that remained floating in mid air, aimed for Frank, that snagged its attention. His part done, Jude chuckled and went back to his business at hand.
Frank, looked back at it as the bullets began to float about his head, still spinning, “Y’see, not all telekinetics can do something like this, but there’s plenty of other ways to nix bullet speed and velocity down to zilch. Magic, psionics, ki energy even, or other stranger ways. Even with enhanced guns or modified bullets, there’s ways to deal with them in a bunch of ways here in our dimension. I know guns are, like, the pinnacle of technology for your people but, eh, there ya go.”
Hauling it through the press and chatter of the crowd, it barely had a chance to note the bizarre rows and rows of alchemical reagents and more, items and gear for sale arranged on mannequins and being hocked by employees loyal to the Shop. Here and there Frank or Dash stopped to hail a friend or chatter with a client quickly, but between them both it got the gist of what was going on.
This particular planet was known as “Earth,” but was known as a hubworld. Like all hubworlds, it eternally spat out shadows of itself, clone dimensions originating from this planet.
Unlike other hubworlds, the edge of this dimension overlapped that of another reality, one with a hubworld as well.
It was a phenomenon that had never happened before in all the entirety of existence, and one that caused certain problems between the sister dimensions.
“Y’see,” Frank grunted as they began to approach a series of concentric circles inlaid upon the ground, leading to the opening of what appeared to be a row of bookshelves, creating a corridor, “There’s various bits of this and that that sometimes affects our dimension due to actions taken over there, and vice versa. Because we’re both hubworlds, though, it affects ALL other realities connected to us.
Suffice it to say, this is annoying. Y’see, in a hundred years from now there’s this real prick, this huge dick of a President in our sister-city ‘Neo-Tokyo’ who’s gonna instigate a ‘No Fucking Magical Time Travelers’ law. The thing is he’s got enough power to back it up, and as hardcore as Neo-Los Angeles is, Neo-Tokyo is just as gritty and heavy.”
“Yeah, a huge fuckin’ dick!” Dash agreed as they both stopped at the largest circle before the Library Maze’s entrance.
Frank grunted, “The thing is this has far-reaching consequences, and the little schwanz isn’t listening to us.”
Dash leaned in towards it’s field of vision, all smiles as he poked it’s armored chest, “So we’re waking up Overpowereds who lost to us, like you, and belong to The Shop now. We don’t want you to kill that walking crotch, we just want you to cause him some Hell and cause some mayhem over there. Don’t kill anyone, but make that wangmeister’s life a living fuckin’ misery!”
“Seriously though, this guy has an absurd power given to him by a member of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild’s greatest generation of members, from a highly specific unit called Unit 13. Suffice it to say there’s been a bit of time trickery goin’ on over on the Neo-Tokyo side of things, but that’s why President Chestraper has instigated this far-reaching law.”
Dash laughed and clasped it on the shoulders with both massive hands as Frank busied himself with hidden, ethereal mechanisms, “I know, I know, with a name like that I bet you’re thinking he’s a Devil or from somewhere in the Underverse, right? Nope! Mongo ‘Rod’ Chestraper is a weird throwback to one of the Unit 13 members, though a hundred years from now they apparently had a split of some kind. Whatever - you’re gonna go cause some mayhem, and survive the initial encounter. President Chestraper has a weird habit of randomly killing people, and he’s got the technique and strength to back it up! HA HA hey, I just realize - Unit 13, and you’re the thirteenth jackass we’ve sent across!”
Doing it’s best not to dwell on what those techniques would be, it began to lodge a complaint when two things happened at once: a glowing tear in reality rent the center of the circle, revealing the glowing, whirlpool-like tunnel between realities held within, and Dash pushed it squarely into it with both hands.
“Bon voyage, buddy!” Dash cackled, “Bring Daddy and Daddy a souvenir!”
”Do well and live, you little shit!” Frank called out as the tear in reality began to heal up with a loud, goopy sound, “Survive, then give that cockdocker what for!”
It remembered now. At the sound of reality healing itself, once again proving the Spackle Hole of Reality Theory, information came in at a rush as it’s memories once again asserted itself.
“Thundershield.” The Highborn, heavily enchanted living armor that covered it from head to toe, gleaming silver and beyond the reproach of the gods, it was the current chosen Champion for the item. In their hubris, the gods had sent it to face off against the champions of this particular dimension, fearful of the rumors of mighty movements by said possible adversaries.
What it had done was inadvertently invade this dimension, triggering those champions to action. It had learned, all too late, that if it had only stayed the hell away then those champions, The Shop, would never had taken action to begin with.
In its dreams the past several months, Frank and Dash both had left behind the hypnotic explanations, invading its dreams to point out that a treaty had been negotiated…so long as it paid it’s due to The Shop.
So it landed in the stately offices of the President of Neo-Tokyo, slamming its fists together to activate the highest of its guards. With Thundershield once again connected to its brain, it looked up and, for the second time in so many hours, dropped its jaw at the horror it beheld.
Screaming foul gibberish in the air, President Mongo Chestraper was an actual, absolute, utter, inexplainably pink dick with hands and a snarling, angry face right below the frenulum.
”FJADSLJGJJKILLYOU!”
Standing to the height of a muscular dwarf, someone had the bad humor to dress it in what amount to a tube-like business suit, complete with tie. Dripping clear, acidic liquid in rage, President Chestraper gripped the heavy, mahogany table before flipping it over with ease. Flexing it’s tiny, square fists, the squat President flexed an array of atrocious muscles, tearing it’s own suit before pointing at it.
”GIBBITZRAZZLEFUCKYOUTODEATHARGLE!!”
Overcoming its own shock and surprise with a forced battle trance, it roared and rushed the President even as the powerful creature leaped into it’s blind spot, tiny little pale hands reaching out for it.
Within the next moment the Overpowered assailant went cold once again, Thundershield’s emergency automatic functions kicking in even as it began to sink once again back into dreams.
Only this time, it knew it would awaken soon. Amidst unintelligible screams of phallic rage and the smashing of glass windows, it knew it had survived the initial attack.
Soon it would awaken.
Soon it would find the other twelve assailants.
Soon it would fulfill its mission and ensure that Time was once again unlegislated, but for now?
To sleep, and to suffer sweet dreams of madness.
So it seems all's well that ends well
Oh angels in heaven, oh demons in Hell
And of those things grotesque and obscene
That which is worse is always in between
And of all verse, which have slowly began
That which is worse, the monster in the man
