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Tuesday, 10 October 2017



An Adam Godwinson Story
Alexander Gordon Jahans

Forty Five Days. That’s how long you’re allowed to hold a terrorist suspect without trial.

Adam Godwinson had been good. I mean thick as two short planks at tactics but he wasn’t in the Raspberry Reich’s high command because of his military tactics. He was an Alpha God. A soul reading omniscient manipulative bastard. He played the keystreams like a fiddle, granting Raspberry victory after victory when Narrative law dictated that Nazis fail conveniently in the third act.

Except he still lost. Because every nazi loses in the end. Genocide is the ultimate debuff. Everybody turns on the genocidal in the end.

Forty Five long days at the hands of the SLF and the empire of Mirth. 45 days with the Bam-Kursh telling him exactly what the Farsh-nuke would do to the man who saw that he was tortured and raped. Forty Five days under the scrutiny of the champions of light. You could almost pity the man. Almost.

At last on the day the man who had played the game so right was ready to suffer an accident on the way to his trial, he received a visitor. The name understandably sent the hairs standing up on his back.

The Farsh-nuke entered in an unusually black cloak.

“Leave us.” commanded the Farsh-nuke.

“But sir!” cried the more senior guard.

“I think I can handle myself don’t you? Wait outside.” said the Farsh-nuke.

The senior guard studied the Farsh-nuke for a long moment then ushered the other guards out of the room.

Adam Godwinson lay chained and bruised on the floor.

“They’re going to kill you you know?” said the Farsh-nuke.

“So I keep hearing.” said Godwinson.

“I spoke with the writer by the way.” said the Farsh-nuke.

“Oh really?” asked Godwinson with half a chuckle. “I expect I am going to be made head of the Logicios and given a harem of submissive blondes.”

“Not really no.” said the Farsh-nuke dryly.

“No, I don’t suppose there would be.” said Godwinson.

“I believe his exact words were ‘Fuck that fucking fucker like the fucking tories fuck the fucking poor.’” said the Farsh-nuke.

“How marvellously eloquent? One wonders why he never got published?” said Godwinson.

“You convinced the world he had a fetish for fucking in baths of vomit then drove him to suicide in half a dozen universes.” said the Farsh-nuke.

Godwinson laughed. “I forgot about the vomit. You know the original plan was to use the recipe for the sylph cure. Really twist that knife.”

The Farsh-nuke stared at him. “You broke him.”

“Thank you, I did try...” said Godwinson magnanimously.

The Farsh-nuke was cold but he pulled out a quantum oscillator. “I came from Alex you know.  From that first pacifist...”

“The one with all the rules?” said Godwinson laughing. “What a pathetic cuck?”

“The Alex I know wouldn’t care how many worlds you burned, how many of his bones you broke.” said the Farsh-nuke activating the Quantum Oscillator.

Godwinson stopped laughing. “But I am his nemesis.”

“You are a plot device.” said the Farsh-nuke. “He wants me to kill you, to rape you, to turn you into a woman and brainwash you, because the revenge would make for a good story.”

“I told you he was a bad writer.” said Godwinson laughing again, but with hesitation in his voice.

“This is the command key to my ship.” said the Farsh-nuke, pulling a small septagonoid prism out of his pocket. “It’s fully automated. No sapient or sentient AI. Fly it. Disappear.”

“But what about the story?” asked Godwinson hysterically. “I matter to Alex. I have won. I reside in his consciousness forever -”

“You don’t matter.” said the Farsh-nuke dryly. “No body cares about you. Even if you came to his house, pulled out his his eyes, made him eat his tiny dick and raped him in the arse with a red hot poker, his thoughts would still be of how he failed the trans people. And no amount of horror on your part would change that.”

Godwinson stared. “But I crushed him! I defeated him!”

“And you still lose.” said the Farsh-nuke with a shrug. “So fuck off and fly into into a star for all I care. Or better yet. put the fucking bastard out of his misery. Kill the writer. You’ve still lost.”

“Burn the land and boil the sea, you can’t gain a victory!” crooned the Farsh-nuke as he walked away.

“But Alex cares about me.” said Godwinson as he stared at the command key. “I broke him. I am his master.”

Godwinson admitted everything at his trial. He was sentenced to death by gassing.

Raspberry Reich had lost as it was always meant to and the Freedom Collective reigned supreme. The Feminist utopia enveloping even the Logicio strongholds within their might. Soon the mname Godwinson was forgotten by all.

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