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A Tale As Old As Time (And Space)

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This story was inspired by Monster Girl Encyclopedia and Monster Girl Quest, along with a litany of other things that will all be explained at the end of the story.


This is a work of fiction, sadly.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales, and persons, living or dead, is not a coincidence.

If you find an issue with this story, if it offends or defends you in any way whatsoever, please leave me a message at this URL.


And now for the main event.




A Tale As Old As Time (And Space)



(Now Playing : Love Kills [by Freddie Mercury]



“We know now that in the early years of the twenty-first century, this world was being watched closely by intelligences equal to Man’s, and yet not quite as mortal as his own. We know now that as these human beings busied themselves about their various concerns, they were scrutinized and studied. Perhaps almost as narrowly as a biologist with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. 

With near-infinite complacency, most people went to and fro over this world about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of total dominion over this small spinning fragment of stellar driftwood, which by Chance or Design, mankind has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space. 

Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that believed our own to be as ours are to the instinctive beasts, intellects competent, lewd, and condescending, regarded the men of Earth with envious eyes. And slowly but surely, they drew their plans against us, just as cold warriors of this world moved through shadows as they drew plans of their own. 

As to who fought for good, and who for evil, I leave this moral quandary to you, dearest readers.”


-Preamble of the Mamono Encyclopedia Britannica, First Edition. Written by The Wandering Scholar of Rutland, copyrighted in the year 5 A.L. (After Liberation)


Arc One : Neptune, The Mystic



Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America

Capitol Building

January 2nd, 20--

3:15 P.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone



        “....and I was the National Security Advisor to the President of the United States of America. Today is January 2nd, 20--, and I dictate this message for posterity, so that future generations can understand what exactly caused the sundering of worlds. 

If you are from the world we’ve come to identify as Kenkou, and are not at fault for the invasion that brought forth this reciprocal dual-planetary apocalypse, I offer my deepest apologies if you have suffered from my actions. 

If you are listening to, or reading this, and did in fact, intentionally participate in this invasion, or willingly aid and abet in any way, I would earnestly like to say, ‘Fuck you. I hope you suffer a slow and horrible death from radiation poisoning. You brought this on yourselves, and I hope you’ve learned your lesson on what happens when your romantic target does not consent’.”


(He takes a deep breath, then continues.)


        “To simplify, I was the top advisor, in matters of security on the scale of an entire nation, to the leader of the second most powerful nation on this world. 

Now approximately one month and 5 days before today, several groups of infiltration teams from another world arrived by teleportation. Their intention was to locate and subvert key members of my nation’s military and government, in order to sabotage any form of organized retaliation that could come in response to their invasion. 

I was told that the invasion had been planned to begin 2 days from now, but it appears that they were able to fully mobilize four days earlier than believed. Or my contact was given false information from the start. 

These Kenkouans, as we have come to call them, are sex-addicts that have come to our world with the intention to transform all female humans into soldiers of their cause, and to take all male humans to reproduce with them, and create more female soldiers. Now to clarify to any viewers from Kenkou, some call my world Sol 3, some call it Gaia, some call it Terra. But most, including myself, prefer the word ‘Earth’. We’re well aware that Earth is a synonym for dirt, but it just rolls off the tongue better than those other words.”



        “......Kenkouans are either two things. Some are humans, it would seem that their world’s humans are biologically identical to us humans of Earth. Several biology experts have informed me that this would imply that the planet of Kenkou resides in an alternate universe, rather than another planet out across the stellar void in my own universe. I believe them. But only a small and ever-dwindling fraction of them are still human. 

The extreme majority of them are human-like beings that have recognizable counterparts within the taxonomy of Earth animals, or have a documented counterpart in the myths and legends of Earth’s history, including some myths that have continued to this present day. I now wonder if the creatures in those myths were outcasts, or possibly even advance scouts, from Kenkou. 

All of the non-humans are female, with the technical exception of the ones known as alps, which are homosexual human males that slowly transform into complete monster females.”



        “To explain this conflict, I have to begin from the start. 

On Kenkou, for countless generations that even predate their written history, their version of the human species was protected by a series of beings that possessed immense power, said power is referred to over there as ‘magic.’ These beings had a successive title of ‘Chief God.’ I do not know if the title is truly successive, or if one can seize the title by combat. Now wouldn’t THAT be a sight to see. 

The Chief Gods had ideologically-opposite counterparts, known by the title of ‘Demon Lord.’ This is noteworthy in that the title is confirmed to be almost always passed down in two ways. Either one individual seizes power from the previous titleholder, or said titleholder dies from external causes, leading to extremely destructive civil wars betweens the Lord’s factions until one group or individual earns the title. The Demon Lords had the many, many differing races of non-human beings called ‘Monsters’ as their citizens and lackeys, and during those countless generations, Kenkou’s humanity had fought bloody war after gruesome conflict with the monster races. 

This cycle of hot wars and cold rearmings lasted until approximately three-hundred and twelve years ago, when that era’s Demon Lord was defeated in battle by a powerful human, a son of that era’s Chief God, in single combat. 

As the monster races turned on each other in the power vacuum that ensued, a never-before-seen council of level, relatively sane minds came together to prop up a brilliant female of a race of soul-sucking flying goats known as succubi. 

That succubus was appointed as their new Demon Lord. Upon taking the mantle, this latest Demon Lord, her name well-known as ‘Lilith,’ took power and withdrew all organized forces of the monster race coalition in a regrouping strategy. Several days afterwards, she found an audience with the powerful human that slew the previous Lord. This human is known as “The Ultimate Hero.”



        “The Ultimate Hero was already skeptical of the propaganda that the organized human nations had indoctrinated their peoples, about how all monsters were mindless beasts with no mental capacity beyond the desire to kill humans. 

In his quest to kill the Demon Lord, he discovered that a good portion of monsters were fully-intelligent beings that could be reasoned with, fairly bargained with, and could even be convinced to stop attacking humans, even though he almost always had to do that though violent shows of force. 

This culminated in his meeting with Lilith, as he attempted to negotiate a lasting truce of peace. At this meeting, they fell in love. Since Lilith was not at all interested in committing violent genocide over all of humanity, and The Ulimate Hero had lost the desire to do the same towards all monsters, they searched for some sort of alternative, and they quickly found one. 

The exact details have been lost to time or still kept a closely-guarded secret, but at the capital city of the monster coalition, known as Royal Makai, the Hero and Lilith unleashed the most powerful spell ever seen, experienced, and documented by still-living beings. 

It was a combination spell of total global reach that transformed all monsters from their beastly forms into the female humanoid ones we see today, assuming they weren’t already like that. This came along with a mass-brainwashing spell that eliminated any desire to kill humans. 

In its…..stead, the desire of mass-murder was replaced by the desire to mate and raise monogamous families with whatever human male they could find. Many on their own free will, have also decided to use their magic to transform human females into female monsters, or homosexual human males into a varitaion of succubi known as ‘Alps’.”



        “Now this sounds like a paradise at first, but that leads straight to the reason why they came to my--this particular planet. They’re a sentient virus, on the cosmic scale of things. They can only give birth to females, and most of them go out of their way to transform human females. Since human females are the only beings that can give birth to human males, they eventually ran out of available males. 

You’re now wondering what happened to all the male monsters. The problem was that the male monster population of that generation was already decimated in the war that brought Lilith to power, and the worldwide transformation spell had a partial backfire. 

As even I am aware, to each and every spell, there lies a catch. For the global humanization spell, the catch was that no male monsters would ever be born again after the spell was unleashed, and the remaining ones would all die in battle or from natural causes within a century. Lilith has been making incremental stopgaps to this spell over the centuries, such as functional eternal youth, to prevent a mass extinction. The last significant source of human males on their world have been all taken and put out to stud about six years ago, upon the conquest of the final stronghold of the last organized group of humans, the Capital City of The Order of the Chief God. 

The Lilim, children of The Ultimate Hero and Lilith, put their collective minds together to solve this population sustainment crisis. They should have put some thought into that when the spell was first cast, short-sighted idiots. So instead of something like, altering the original transformation spell to allow for male humans and/or monsters to be born, they found that the easiest solution was to invade other human-dominated worlds, to take their males and assimilate the females. 

And when they gazed upon Earth, this world of nearly 8 billion humans at the time of this message, they correctly saw a near-endless buffet. Really takes the phrase ‘all-you-can-eat’ to a whole ‘nother level, and even--I’m sorry, now’s not the time for jokes.”


        “.....Now, I’ll circle back to the saboteur groups. They managed to use scrying spells to view Earth, their magical surveillance has been confirmed to have started as far back as the Earth date of December 31st, 2010, although they had been trying to ‘get a good look’ since Halloween two months earlier. The invasion began almost exactly twenty-one years since then, minus one single day. However, they were not able to create a secure connection for portals or even simple teleportation, until a little less than one year ago. 

Two weeks after I had taken the position of National Security Advisor, I was made aware of surveillance-gathering operations from several law enforcement organizations within the United States of America, along with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and it’s Commonwealth, of whom they confirmed to me the existence of alien spies, and that the scouts were specifically targeting lonely human males that desired female companionship so badly, that they had nothing to truly lose from betraying their country or entire species. 

It would also stand to prove that there is some sort of connection between Kenkouan magic, and the wavelength digital radio frequencies of the Internet, Earth’s most important and frequently-used communication system. They were somehow able to interact with social media forums, where individuals could converse using pictures and words. 

In my own personal investigations, I also noticed that many of the turncoat humans were members of forum-clubs that centered around writing fantastical stories that by sheer coincidence, were themselves centered around human males that became lovers and sexual companions of women from other worlds. They were the perfect matches for Kenkouan women, the perfect beachhead from which to learn all they needed to know about the cultural strengths and weaknesses of Earth regions and nations. 

The scouts didn’t even need to lie about any details regarding themselves and their genetic flaws, since these desperate males were well beyond the point of caring that they would never have sons, or that they would never have any real power beyond serving as studs.


        “I take no responsibility for the societal conditions that put the first Earth traitors into the unsatisfactory  life-situations they were in, but given time, I would have done SOMETHING to alleviate them, had I been able to succeed in my aspirations to become the President of the United States of America. 

Now in hindsight, I should have assigned a group to find out what their true identities were, then send a secret military unit to assassinate them. Except for that one fellow, who was obsessed with asking Kenkouans for samples of their DNA. Our think-tanks could have used his knowledge to come up with some sort of biological or chemical countermeasures to Kenkouan magic. I hope he’ll survive these trying times.”



        “So the saboteur units used the ‘spirit-energy’ of their self-declared husbands to establish better connections for future portals or mass teleportations, through magic spells and area-enchantments, created by long sessions of ritualistic….. sexual intercourse. I wish this was a joke, but I am NOT joking. However, I have to say one thing in favor of the Kenkouans. 

Due to the brainwashing spell that congenitally affects descendants of the ones originally exposed to it, they honestly and truly love their human mates. I have evidence of this. 

In two cases for example, I have personally participated in covert death squad missions to eliminate certain Earth human traitors that were privy to important information regarding technical specifications of advanced military inventory, and secret plans involving the stable continuation of Earth governments in the aftermath of war or natural disasters. 

After the termination of these men, their Kenkouan lovers were also terminated, but not after going into clinically-insane rage and grief from the loss of their mate, rather than anger from the foiling of their subversive plans. Symptoms of true, honest love. While I do feel some measure of guilt, sacrifices must be made for the continuation of our species, and my country.”



        “Now while I have been able to stay two steps ahead of their saboteur units, it is only partially due to my cleverness and intellect. If you’re still listening to, or reading this, Lilim, Lilith herself, or even you, Ultimate Hero? I want you all to know that your scheme to take my world was foiled on the simple account of sheer dumb luck. 

About 8 months before today, a Lilim named Druella had sent out a scouting party from an open training field in a city called Lescatie. Princess Druella had left the portal open, as she then took her leave to attend to personal business of some kind. As the portal lay open, a servant of the now-defeated Chief God, who had been flying nearby on a random whim, saw the portal, realized what it was, and quietly entered. Druella really should have thought about doing that in broad daylight, rather than the darkness of night. 

The servant, a magically-enhanced human that described herself as a ‘Valkyrie,’ used her own magic to influence her trajectory, arriving via teleportation not at the established landing zone in upper Manhattan Island, but instead at the Meadowlands of northern New Jersey. Upon concluding that she arrived here without being seen by Druella’s forces, or by anyone of Earth, she used a spell to disguise herself as a human. 

Three days later, she made an attempt to contact this world’s authorities by directly appearing at the home of someone within the inner circle of the American president. She made a lucky guess, and I met her the next morning on my doorstep as I had awoken to go outside and get my mail. 

Had she gone to the American Secretary of Education, or our ambassador to the United Nations, she would have been caught by Druella’s scouts. 

To…um… elaborate, for any Kenkouan listeners, the United Nations was a forum where representatives of every nation on Earth could come together, to air and solve grievances without resorting to full war.



        “After I informed the Valkyrie about how we were already aware of Kenkouan infiltration, I put her through a series of tests to confirm that she wasn’t a very clever infiltrator herself. It turned out that she herself was a saboteur of another kind entirely. 

She was a devout member of The Chief God’s Order, and only hours before their last fortress fell, she was given a mission to establish contact with the human-dominated world, our planet’s existence was learned from rumors that had leaked from chatty Lilim. Her mission was to help us with fending off the forces of Royal Makai. 

Or in the best case scenario, she could rally us to avenge her deceased master, with a counter-invasion. A full counter-invasion is completely impossible of course, but a precision counter-attack to completely annihilate their capital? That IS entirely possible, and I was more than happy to arrange for it.”



        “And the second major blow to the invasion plans of Royal Makai? That came from dumb luck too. But also bribery! 

We used their own sex addiction against them, predictable bastards. When the last group of scouts arrived, the ones who were sent to neutralize the highest echelons of the American military and its conjoined industry, we managed to capture one. An outrageously desperate and semen-starved alp who had missed his original target, a top business executive of a military equipment manufacturing company called Boston Dynamics.

Right in the American capital city of Washington, he gave up on his mission, instead deciding to solicit sex from whichever next homosexual man would accept his advances. Minutes later, he was promptly arrested by a law enforcer on the charge of illegal prostitution. This law enforcer didn’t know anything about the Kenkouan infiltration, but he had mistaken the alp for a human narcotic-addicted harlot.

An informant within that police department soon alerted us to that alp’s presence in one of their holding cells, so I arranged for an incident to occur. I tricked his fellow scouts to think that he had been killed in action. 

In reality, we took him to a deep, dark dungeon where we made a deal with the half-mad sex addict. He told us everything he knew about the invasion. About who was planning it, how it was going down, and when it was going to occur. He was so desperate, it was almost pathetic. He even offered to show us how to make our own portals!”

“Upon hearing this, I quickly issued orders to prime our underground and underwater-based nuclear missile arsenals, to be launched into those portals. Their targets would be every major population center aligned with Royal Makai, which the alp and our valkyrie ally have been able to map and identify. There WAS the possibility that the alp was lying. 

But our heavenly assistant had already hidden several lie-detection runes in the interrogation room, confirming that he was telling the truth. Or at least whatever he THOUGHT was the truth. We held up our end of the bargain, matched him with an also-desperate bisexual male American naval officer. But just in case that alp switches sides again, we gave that officer false information about our counter-attack plans.”



        “Now that you understand the background of the world-shattering conflict, I will detail my counter-attack plans. By the time you’re reading or listening to this, I’ll already be dead, or it’ll be long after anyone has any chance of stopping me. 

At the end of Earth’s second World War, about eighty-seven years ago, the United States of America was poised to invade the outrageously fortified island-homeland of the Japanese Empire. The estimated casualty cost for this island campaign would have been on a scale unseen in all of Earth’s history. We were looking at 15 million of our own soldiers dead before victory, and that was only a moderate estimate.”

“So we scrambled to find some sort of… ‘wonder weapon’ that could kill as many of the Japanese as possible, with the minimum loss of American life. We found our salvation in the power known as ‘nuclear energy,’ which had nearly been acquired by several other nations involved in that World War, but their programs had all stalled or failed due to sabotage or a lack of resources. 

This energy could be harnessed from the naturally-occurring mineral known as ‘uranium.’ By using a complicated series of machines that would split an atom, we could harness the power within uranium atoms to unleash an explosion of nuclear energy. These explosions were triggered inside of bombs, and these bombs are the most powerful weapons ever created by humanity. Nothing but the Demon Lord and Chief God can exceed this destructive force at its apex.

After only two bombs had been dropped on them, the entire Japanese Empire surrendered and became our vassal. It saved millions of lives, and it only cost Japan somewhere around 160,000 lives. Thus began the modern era of nuclear hegemony. The Age of the Atom.”

“Over the ensuing years, we and our international rivals have stockpiled thousands upon thousands of nuclear explosive devices with ever-increasing precision and destructive force. As of today, the United States of America possesses the second largest arsenal, after the Federation of Russia, who’s nuclear arsenal triples ours in size, at the most conservative estimates. 

I can only hope that the Russians have their own plan to deal with the Kenkouan threat. All may be lost if they have already been conquered from within, and are willing to destroy us with Russian nuclear devices, in retaliation for razing Kenkou.”



        “The counter-attack plan was to stage our underwater nuclear weapon-launchers near any portals that opened from Kenkou, then fire barrages of conventional explosives at whatever invasion hordes came through. Once the hordes are dealt with, we would use the information gleaned from the alp to forcefully stabilize those portals with ‘magic’ of our own. 

The next step would be to launch our nuclear missiles through the portals that would then undergo timer-based detonations upon reaching Kenkou. The first wave of missiles would come from the underwater arsenals, devastating the lands that belong to Royal Makai, the ones within the immediate vicinity of the portals. 

Soon afterwards, a second wave of missiles launched from our underground silos will finish off any other large pockets of their civilization. After a certain amount of time passes, the valkyrie will lead a great mechanized legion to ensure that Royal Makai is defeated. 

Without the Demon Lord, The Ultimate Hero, or their daughters, the monster coalition will fall apart, and no longer become a realistic threat. Our legion is already primed and ready to attack, they simply wait upon the command of the valkyrie to strike.”



        “......Now, what else was there for me to say? I need a few seconds to think, I’ve got more time than I thought I would.”




(About 15 seconds of silence pass, then a muffled explosion is heard in the background, then the sounds of lightbulbs popping, and glass shattering.)



        “Hah! Almost right on time. They took out the electricity generator to this building. I was JUST finished with dictating this message. They have NO idea that I brought an emergency electricity-generator to this office. Brought it just in case they tried that. Now….. gotta get this message out to every military base and media company that still has an internet connection. Just time the emails to open after four days, for the news stations. Then time the emails to open for my military, precisely four hours after the missiles have been unleashed.”


“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, done! Now the truth is out, and the truth will set us free! My final message to whomever is still alive. To any Americans, to any citizens of Earth or Kenkou that weren’t responsible for this invasion, you know my name, and I did what had to be done for victory and freedom. It’s better to reign in Heaven than serve in Hell, and Hell is what you let your enemies make of it. I’m sorry. Bless you all, goodbye, and good luck.”


(A computer mouse clicks, and a human male of Russo-Inuit descent emerges from the chair. Clad in a slate-gray American-style tailored suit with matching pants, brown Pauls Evans Jackman Cap-Toe boots, white undershirt with a satin royal-blue long-sleeve button-up shirt and golden-yellow silk tie on top. He gets up from his chair, then quickly checks the time on his phone.)



(N.S.A.) “Wow, that was my toughest speech yet. I can’t believe that I didn’t slip up on any words the entire time!? Aw shit, I DID do an awkward pause at ‘wonder weapon.’ Fuck, I hope future historians don’t roast me on that. Ugh. Well, whatever, too late to turn back and try again. Just gotta save this as a .mp3 file. Hmmm. What should I call it? Oooh, I got it! Straightforward, no bullshit. ‘This Message Contains Information On How The Planet Earth Was Saved From An Alien Invasion.’ Now to set the algorithm’s timers, then hit ‘Send’. ‘POP’.

“Done. Time to get the hell out of here, and get cracking on Phase 3.”



(The N.S.A. exits the room and enters a hallway, a husky-built Hispanic male in a black suit and light-brown tie greets him.)


(SS Agent 1) “Mr. Non, there you are! Secret Service Agent Gutierrez, we were told to locate you, orders from POTUS. Why were you in that Senator’s office? He’s with South Carolina. Shouldn’t you be at the Alaskan senator’s office? Wait, why are you even at the Capitol Building anyways? We didn’t even think you’d even be here, but orders were orders, and this place was next on the list, after the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum’s basement! Sucks for my pals though! I’m alone! There were four more with me, but they went to the Library of Congress!”



(N.S.A. Non) “Nobody sane would think I’m here, that’s exactly why I did it! It’s one of the last places anyone would look for me. Take me to the White House, I have an evacuation plan, but there’s classified shit at my office that I don’t trust anyone to see, besides POTUS and the Joint Chiefs. Have the monsters made it to the underground tram? Like you said, sucks to be your fellow agents, but they knew the risks, and we gotta get outta here NOW!”



(Agent G) “No sir, everything’s fine down there, for now. Let’s make a disappearing act. The monsters are still slogging through the House and Senate Chambers. Great Rotunda’s barricades are holding for now, and those D.C. metro cops are still putting up a good fight, buying us time. As far as I know, you’re the last VIP still in the building.”


(They run down the hall to reach a stairway to the tram, but as they pass by the Virginian senator offices, the left door bust opens and a Cheshire catgirl pounces on Non, pushing him against the wall.)



(C.C.) “Whoa-ho! Now where’s a fancy-pants cutie like YOU think you’re goi-”


(Before she finished saying ‘going’, the noise of two gunshots rip through the air, the cat-woman recoils back into the senator’s office, clutching herself at the bleeding wound that was a right kidney.)


(C.C.) “Oh fuck, oh Maou! Y-you shot me! Oooohhh fuck! You sick prick, I just wanted your love! Why would you do this?”



(N.S.A. Non gets up, a hidden Colt Double Eagle Mark 2 is in his hands, smoking barrel and all, swiftly deployed from a concealed shoulder holster) “You’re brainwashed, lady! I’ve got more important things to do than a suck & fuck at a time like this! I’ve got a world to save!”


(He and Agent Gutierrez run further to the end of the hallway, turning into the Great Rotunda, where about 60 D.C. Metropolitan police officers, most of them equipped with SWAT gear, are still fighting on. Non and Gutierrez stop for a moment to collect themselves. 

The front door is closed with a blast door. Light still shines from the upper portion of the Rotunda. The entrances to the Senate and House chambers are held back with basic plywood and duct-taped desks. 

As police officers fire shots through the gaps in the barricades, the screams of pain and anger from the monsters on the other side ring on, and the barricades get ever more loose by the minute. 

In the chaos of battle, nobody notices two unarmored men in suits walking by. Bullet-riddled bodies of invaders that came from the roof litter the floor. 

It’s only a matter of time before the dams break.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Why didn’t you take a shot, Agent!?”


(Agent G) “Sorry sir, I couldn’t get a clear bead in time. It’s irrelevant, you were packing heat anyways.”


(N.S.A. Non) “And if there were two of them, I’d be saving YOUR ass. Three of them? The only thing we’d be ‘packing’ by now, is their fudge. Draw your gun right now, and stay alert! We’ll get some gear from those baggage carts over there, then we’re outta here! You’re supposed to be MY bodyguard, why am I telling you this?”


(Gutierrez) “Is it still fudge-packing if it’s a woman getting her ass reamed, though?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Anal is anal, dumbass, everybody’s got that hole.”


(Agent G) “Whatever you say, sir.”


(The Secret Service agent grabs a M1014 shotgun from a gun pile, slings it over his shoulder, then grabs a packed bandolier of 12 gauge shells. Gutierrez puts on a black Propper AEGIS plate carrier as Non takes his suit off, to don a London Bridge Tactical grey Slick Plate Carrier, already stuffed with plates and magazines.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Ah, just great! A non-gray plate carrier would’ve RUINED my looks.”


(Gutierrez) “Sir, are you seriously spazzing out about your aesthetics at a time like this?”


(N.S.A. Non) “You wouldn’t get it, Agent. I ALWAYS cover my bets! Lose or win, I’ll have to make a speech on TV, and I’m gonna do it in style! They’ll make paintings out of me standing at the White House Press Room’s podium, and I will NOT look like some mismatched jackass that went to a mall and raided a 5.11 before grabbing some Hugo Boss! Now is there a megaphone around here?”


(He finds one on the ground, leaning against a dolly under the painting of the 1781 surrender of British Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown. Quickly confirming that it’s already got batteries inside, he turns it on.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Attention, may I have everyone’s attention please! I’m National Security Advisor Non, and I’m the last VIP in the building. And I’m getting the fuck out of here! You are all hereby relieved of your duties, please make your way to the nearest bomb shelter! 

I can’t tell you when the missiles’ll start flying, but it’ll be soon! Contact your families, collect your loved ones, tell everyone you know to go find a fallout-rated shelter, IMMEDIATELY! 

If there’s any bleeding-hearts among you, there is a now-harmless cat-woman in the Virginian senate offices who could use medical assistance! Anyone that still wants to keep fighting, come with me to the underground tram, we’re making a stand at the White House!”


(Non and Guitierrez then take a left turn towards the smaller rotunda room, then a right turn to the stairway that leads to the tram. Twenty-three D.C. Metro cops follow them, as three other cops give each other hard looks, then abandon their positions to head in the direction of the Cheshire.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Hey, why am I the point man here? I’m the VIP! You first four officers, get in front of me! You too, Agent! Everybody draw your weapons! These aliens can literally pop up outta anywhere to grab us! Last guy! Close off the stairway u[ there, and use something long and metal in that broom closet to jam the door shut! It’ll barely buy us a minute, but every! Second! Counts!”


(As they arrive at the underground tram, three Arachnes and a Night Gaunt await them right in front of the train. A busted wall leading to the Orange Line of the D.C. metro subway lies to their left. An arachnophobic officer named Benton screams and yells to open fire, sounding like a little girl. 

The Arachnes are mowed down in seconds from the sheer firepower of 12 automatic M16A4 rifles, as the Night Gaunt stumbles backwards towards the tram line tracks. The cops cease firing out of pity, but Non fires his Colt pistol at her. Three landed shots and a miss later, she falls onto the tracks, and is promptly electrocuted by the third rail.)



(Officer Benton) “Well shit, Mister Advisor? I hate spiders as much as the next guy, but zapping that shiny dark woman? That was stone fucking cold, dude.”


(N.S.A Non) “I know, but I had to do it. Even if she was gonna retreat, she’d have given away our position. At least they opened a path to the Orange Line for us. I thought we’d actually have to use that secret door I ordered to be installed back in October. 

Everybody get over there, watch out for that third rail, and get off the tracks ASAP! There might be other people trying to use this subway to get the hell out of Dodge! We’re taking a right turn, that’ll lead us to the Federal Center Southwest Station. Get off the line, get on the platform, we wait for the next train!”


(They all pile into the hole leading to the Metro subway. Just as they get into the subway and make a right turn westwards, another Night Gaunt is waiting for them. A single lucky headshot, courtesy of Agent Gutierrez, takes her down.)



(N.S.A. Non) Nice move, Agent! Gotten back in the groove?


(Agent G) “Yes sir! I’ve only been on this job for 2 months, ya know? I-I haven’t actually shot anybody until today. Only got my position because I wanted to be on TV, and my brother over at the Pentagon was able to put in a good word!”


(N.S.A. Non) “That cat-woman was my sixth.”


(Agent G) “Sixth what, sir?”


(N.S.A Non) “Sixth person I’ve shot, first one who didn’t die immediately.”


(Agent G) “Damn. Who were the other 5?”


(N.S.A. Non) “First was when I was 16. Back then, I was living with my parents in Juneau. Illegal immigrant Canadian tweaker busted in our front door while I was microwaving a hot dog weiner. Grabbed my dad’s trusty Remington 870. He was a cop like you guys too, a good one at that, never beat me or my brothers, or Mom, never went nuts from the ‘ol firewater. 

Department let him keep the shotgun off-duty. It was lying by the fridge, I grabbed it, racked a round, a shell came out because I didn’t know it was already ready for action.

I went into the living room, scared out of my fucking mind. And there was the tweaker, drooling out of his mouth, screeching something about star alignments and blackened souls. I panicked, fired 4 shells of buckshot at him. First one blew his head to bits, the other three went into his chest, because I was fucking 16 and scared out of my mind, I even pissed myself too. 

The other 4 times were when I was already Mr. National Security. Actively participated in taking down some alien infiltrators. Over the past year, they’ve been seducing guys that had access to classified information, so I tagged along with a Delta Force unit to see what they knew. “


“Funny story, the Commandant of the Marines wanted MARSOC to handle that, but the President literally told him to get fucked, and that unless the alien spies were caught at a beach, this would be purely an Army operation. 

So the first time, this was in San Diego, we thought the house was abandoned. I went in with a squad, and while I was checking the homeowner’s computer, I found out that he had accessed information involving personnel lists of troop deployments to Europe and the Mediterranean. The homeowner and his roommate busted out of the closet to stab me, since they were no-gunz Democrat voters. 

I shot them both, one of them fell on me and nicked my thigh, really deep. Left a permanent scar. The aliens were, like, witches or something, could sense their mates being dead, so they went batshit crazy and blew up the entire room to try and get me. I went flying, landed on the next door neighbor’s trampoline. 

The Delta boys gunned one down fast, had to use a rocket launcher on the other one. Whole thing got covered up as a pilot light explosion accident during an ‘urban combat exercise.’”


“The next time, it was one of the aliens. Looked like an Abominable Snowman or a well-groomed Wendigo, couldn’t tell exactly. Showed up at my Arlington pad at night to try and seduce me. Little did she know, I had just chugged a 40-ounce Colt .45 on a Zoom meeting dare with the Secretary of the Interior. 

So while the Yeti-chick was trying to get in my pants, I was blasted as fuck, and I wobbled and hobbled over to the pool house, then I shot her in the chest with a flare gun. She was like, full of wool or something, ‘cause her whole body went up in flames. Sucked to be her. And the last time before today? Shit, that was back in August. 

Iced a succubus and her lover. Those Delta Force cowboys caught them trying to break into Camp David while I was there, getting ready for a meeting with some folks from the British Ministry of Defense. The succ-er, her man, and two other succubi and their men? Well they came to eavesdrop on my meetings with the Brits. We’d leaked false info that we were going to seriously discuss joint plans on how to deal with an alien invasion. 

Heheheheh, we were actually meeting to discuss what to do with China’s latest moves in Kashmir, a region of the Himalayas that Pakistan and India have been popping shots over since the 1970s.”


“So the first succubus and her man showed up, trying to walk right by the security cameras using an invisibility spell. Problem was, I could see their footprints, and when I ran over to a security room to grab a rifle, I got on the intercom, told everyone to set the cameras to thermal, and hit the alarm. Security wasted the other two succubi, and their men were detained. 

We sent them to a mental asylum, where no one would ever believe anything they say. As for the ones I killed? Shot the guy right while he was trying to escape by climbing the fence, a three-round burst into his back. The succubi’s mind fell apart, cradled her man. …..You know, she asked me “why?” while bawling her eyes out.

So I told her that it was either him or my freedom. She begged me to kill her, so I obliged. Guessed she literally lost the will to live after I wasted her husband. They were married for real. She was a mutated human, a 2nd-grade teacher from Newport News. 

Never shot a fellow American until then, besides the two guys in San Diego, but that was self-defense. I still feel bad about it, to be honest. Should’ve just tranq’d them and locked them in a shared cell at Groom Lake.”



(An officer with the name tag of Reynolds speaks up.)


(Reynolds) “So you’re telling us that you’ve been in charge of secret anti-alien operations for about a whole year? Why was keeping this shit from the rest of us so important?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Well, uh, Officer Reynolds, the thing is that the average citizen is a horny bastard who would definitely turn on America for some extraterrestrial poontang. Not to mention the rest of the world. 

Now their offer sounds great, you know. Get a soul mate, get to have sex all day, breed like rabbits, no more adultery, no more boring rules of society to have to follow. But by the time you find out the catches, you’ll be too sex-addicted to even care anymore. First, no more sons. Your family line dies with you. They can only birth daughters, and that just ain’t sustainable. 

Second, royal demon assholes with God-complexes are gonna run the whole planet’s show, and as Americans, we’ve got to tell these pricks to take their crown jewels and shove it up their asses, just like we did to King George the Third! 

Third, they brainwash EVERYBODY, plain and simple. You know all the funny little things about humans, good and bad, that make us, uh, people? They take that away from us. They first rewire our women’s brains so that all they wanna do is be your wife and raise daughters. Almost none of them give a shit anymore about not being able to have sons. And then they get YOU. 

After having sex enough times, you’ll turn into somthing called an incubus. Oh sure, you’ll be better, stronger, faster, the whole six-million dollar upgrade. But your brain will be just as rewired and brainwashed as your wife. 

Don’t you get it by now? These aliens aren’t Vulcans, here to show us the path to live long and prosper! This is a porno version of a combination of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Stargate, and Children of Man!”


(Agent G) “......This, this is some heavy shit, sir. Sorry you had to go through all that bullshit. If it means anything, I’d have stood by you to stop the aliens, even if it went public earlier. I don’t like the idea of me not having sons, or my sisters not having nephews.”


(Reynolds) “I’m with you guys there. That alone is a deal-breaker.”


(Slowly but surely, everyone agrees that the Kenkouans are brainwashing assholes, and deserved to get a fight on their hands. But as they approach the Federal Center SW Station, they come across a large group of monsters, 29 lamias, led by a dark mage. 

Having beat the humans to the station platform, the dark mage was already aware of firearms, and had deployed a shield in the hopes of making Non’s group waste all their bullets, or surrender. After about ten shots that stopped against the shield, Agent Gutierrez figured it out.)


(Agent G) “Shit man, she’s got a whole-ass deflector shield going on!”


(N.S.A. Non) “Fuck! Fall back, slow steps backwards! Keep your guns pointed at them, when they come out of the shield, waste ‘em!


(As the lamias step in front of the edge of the shield, safe from any bullets, a man emerges from a dark corner of the train-tracks. Disheveled, wearing Wal-Mart sandals, M81 woodland camo pants and a patch-packed M65 field jacket, he walks up to the dark mage. 

Greeting the mage, he grabs his crotch and tells her that he’s got a present for her. The mage coos, asking what it is. The homeless-looking man tells her to close her eyes, then reaches into his jacket for a pistol-grip Mossberg 500. Already pumped, he blows her away in one shot to the left side of her chest. 

The shield instantly drops, and Non & the Gang proceed to mow down the lamias, while the hobo expends the rest of his shells at the ones that got smart and tried to retreat. Two wounded lamias escape up the stairs anyways.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Dammit! Now the heat’s really onto us! We gotta hunker down here and wait for a train. We got lucky just now, and we won’t get lucky again if we proceed on foot! Now thanks for the save, pal, but just who the hell are YOU!”


(The Bum) “First Sergeant Arnold Wheeling, 9th Infantry Division, at your service! Left the Army back in ‘79, but I never got rusty! Yrah! You saw that trick I pulled on that witch? Did it before back in ‘72, to these two Charlie whores that tried to poison my CO! Might have been against the war itself, South Vietnam was getting fleeced to the bone by those klepto-gooks in charge, but today? Now I ACTUALLY get to defend my country!”


(N.S.A. Non) “Welcome aboard then, First Sergeant Wheeling! Your country missed you, and now Lady Liberty needs you more than ever. I’m National Security Advisor Non, this is Secret Service Agent Gutierrez, and the rest of these guys are D.C’s own Metro boys in blue! Consider your rank reactivated, reinstated, and congratulations on your promotion to Sergeant Major of the Army! You’ll find out later, but trust me, you’ve just single-handedly saved America!”


(Wheeling) “Holy fucking shit! Oh, I’m SO glad I picked this train station to hide in! Whaddaya mean I saved America? I-is this a nuclear launch code thing? Is that why you guys are waiting on the train to the Red Line? Get to the White House, get to The Football, and make it rain?”


(N.S.A Non) “Woah-ho-ho, Sergeant Major! Baby steps! Sure we’re headed to the White House, but before we can bring the atomic pain, we’ve got to assemble the Joint Chiefs and whatever’s left of the Cabinet. You know when the next train comes along? Those snake-freaks are probably going to tell their own COs that we’re down here, and that means our clock here is ticking, and it’s ticking fast!”


(Wheeling) “Normally I would, but the schedule’s all fucked up from the invasion. I don’t know if we’re even gonna get a tra- wait! You feel that vibration? It’s coming! We’re gonna make it!”


(Wheeling runs to the edge of the platform, ready to greet the conductor. Only to see that the conductor is a Mindflayer, and the train is packed with eighteen more Mindflayers and seven Mantangos.)




(Everyone stops their break to scramble for their weapons. Non & Wheeling don’t even wait for the train to stop before opening fire, and as the doors open and the monsters emerge, they get gunned down quickly. 

Gutierrez enters the train first, emerging with the Mindflayer conductor, still alive but with one hand clutching her hair. Agent G’s other hand is holding his M1014, pressed to the back of the conductor’s head. Non yells to everyone to pile into the train ASAP, and to ignore the bodies. The conductor begs Gutierrez not to kill her, trying to appeal to his patriotism. 

She was an American too. The actual conductor of this train, now mutated into a Mindflayer, and on the hunt for a husband. Non grabs her, then shoves her out of the train and onto the platform. As the train began to proceed to the Metro Center, Metro Station, all Non did was to point his pistol right at her face, and tell her that he should shoot her right on the spot for treason.)


(Wheeling) “Yo advisor man, why didn’t you blast her?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Would have been a wasted bullet. She wasn’t a threat, and she won’t bother us again until it’s too late for them. Trust me.”



(Seven minutes later, and five ran-over Ant Arachnes later, the train arrives at the Metro Center. The platform is oddly empty. The dead bodies of three Werecats litter the platform, along with one dead D.C. Metro cop. 

The cop’s corpse was lying against a wall, an empty Beretta 92 in his left hand. The angle of his fatal wound made it obvious. He shot the catgirls, then turned the gun on himself. 

Another officer speaks up, this one a woman by the name of Whittaker. Non has been on his Nokia mobile phone since the train started moving.)


(Whittaker) “Goddammit. Check those cat-people, then check that stiff’s wallet. There’s something familiar about this.”


(Wheeling walks over to the dead cop, taking his pistols, extra magazines, then his wallet. Non, Reynolds, and an officer by the name of Johnson search the others.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Bingo. This one has the same last name as that cop, but 23 years younger. And this one is two year older, but looks just as young as the other. Was probably his wife, and the other was his daughter or niece. I’ve been told from inside sources that monsterization usually de-ages the female back to their 20s, sometimes even younger. Can’t blame him for taking the easy way out. I’d probably end it all too, if I had to ice any of MY family. 

Everybody got your gear ready? We’re headed topside. No clue what’s waiting up there, other than who knows how many dragon and bird-women are ready to dive-snatch us off the streets. Keep your eyes peeled on the sky, and on the rooftops. Have any of you guys seen monsters using guns against us? Wouldn’t put it past some of them to shoot our legs so we can’t run away. And nobody at the White House is answering their phones. 

Fuck, can’t lose hope. Shit ain’t over until we see them mutated with my--our own eyes, you all get that?”


(Gutierrez) “We get you loud and clear sir, but on the topic of them shooting at us? Not exactly. But, while my team was driving around town looking for you, we did see witch-bitches that shot, I shit you not, fucking laser beams at us. Comin’ out of wizard staffs. 

It was like those Zat guns from Stargate, like, once they hit something, the thing would spark for a few seconds with some pink or purple electric effect, and if you touched the thing while it’s still sparking, you’d get all horny and down to fuck. If that shit hits anything that’s touching your skin, take it off or they’ve got you!”


(Reynolds) “I’ve seen that too, but I’ve also shot a few skimpy bitches with wings and white berets, and they all had bows and heart-arrows that make their target all horny, too. They look exactly like strippers in Cupid costumes. 

And there was that one blueberry-skinned woman that led the first wave of those monsters sieging the Capitol. She was blasting lasers out of her fucking hands, man! Officer Whitley blew her brains out, but then he got hit by a blast from one of those witches the agent was talking about. 

Poor fucker pulled his pants down, started jacking off right in front of us. We had no choice, threw him over the barricade to buy us a few more seconds. Fuckin’ Whitley, man, I used to work 3 desks down from him!”


(N.S.A Non) “Sorry about your pal, Officer, but hold it together now! There’ll be time to mourn the man he used to be, later. This goes to everyone! Now let’s keep moving, our next stop is the Treasury Department. I’ll explain why, when we get there. It’s all part of the plan, just trust me!”


(As they all run like bats out of hell to exit the subway to the ground level that is the intersection of G Street Northwest and 12th Street Northwest, an upside-down A-10 Thunderbolt roars overhead. 

As Non & the Gang clearly see that the cockpit glass is shattered and the pilot is gone, the plane makes an explosive crash-landing, one block south at F Street Northwest. At the same time, a tank convoy emerges from a different cloud of explosion-caused smoke, rolling down 12 Street NW from the north.)


(As if on cue, arrows hail down from the rooftops and windows from all directions, beams of light and the odd bullet as well. Non and his comrades make a mad dash for the tanks, as American soldiers of every camouflage color flood the streets, tracer bullets making light-beams of their own, shattering every window with a monster behind it. 

Cupids begin to fall off rooftops, already dead from bullet-riddling, as the laser beams begin to get more sporadic, but more calculated in their aiming. Within two minutes, 6 of the Metro police officers were down for the count from the arrows and lasers, including Officer Benton. 

Non pulls out his Yankee White-clearance security card, quickly making his way to the Marine who seems to be calling the shots, ducking past a Humvee, rushing behind one of two Army-marked M1A3 Abrams tanks. 

The rest of the convoy was made up of four M939 troop transports, 14 Oshkosh M-ATVs, two Frag Kit 6 Humvees, and five M3A3 Bradley IFVs. For some ungodly reason, all the vehicles were painted desert tan, a massive bulls-eye in this part of the world.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Hot damn, outstanding work, Marine! They’re on the run for now, but they’ll be back in bigger numbers. I’m National Security Advisor Non, here’s my identity proof! What’s your name, rank, and unit?“


(Marine officer) “Colonel Ashley Andreas, 4th Combat Engineer Battalion, sir! We received a distress signal from the White House, about five hours ago. Some of our SIGINT folks are sure it from the East Wing! My unit and these hooahs were supposed to be deployed to Saudi Arabia next week, but these mutants sure put some sugar in THAT gas tank!

We ‘oorahs were stationed over in Baltimore, but we met up with some of the 28th Infantry Division at Andrews! Right on time too, the base was overrun with hostiles, and the 28th lost their whole command structure! So we shot our way out of there, picked up a bunch of flyboy combat controllers and Security Forces. I think there’s about 400 of us now, but we’ll be bleeding troops until we get to safer ground. You folks were headed for the White House too?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Yeah, yeah! We shot our way out too! Capitol Building’s a write-off, but the aliens made a tunnel that led to the Metro subway, that’s how we just got here ourselves!”


(Andreas) “So no wonder you didn’t hear our distress messages over the radio, being underground and shit! I’ve lost contact with the Pentagon too, so I guess that makes YOU our CO for the time being! Orders?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Get me a radio!”


(An Air Force combat controller with a large radio on his back, runs over to Non, handing him the phone-like mic, then informs Non that he’s broadcasting live.)



(N.S.A. Non) “This is the National Security Advisor, I’m taking command over this combined unit! We’re heading straight to the Treasury Department! You two Abrams drivers, get in front of us! After we get to the Treasury HQ, head straight to the White House, and park yourselves around it! 

Any vehicles with weapons, your orders are to defend Whiskey Hotel at all costs! 

Cargo drivers, position your vehicles as barricades, try to get some objects like, uh, sandbags, to cover the bottom parts! We haven’t totally lost Whiskey Hotel yet, and I don’t plan for that to happen on MY watch! 

As for everyone else, stay behind the tanks, but in front of the cargo vehicles! Once we get to the Treasury HQ, run like hell and get inside!”


(With a little over 415 armed individuals marching and rolling down westwards on G Street NW, Non saw firsthand what Gutierrez had spoken of, regarding the Sith-lightning-esque electric effects of the beams fired by Demons and Dark Mages, even spotting at least one Alp wearing skimpy sorcerer robes. 

None of them were able to penetrate vehicular armor, but the lead Abrams lost their top gunner, a rather stupid jarhead who had ditched his helmet for a red Rambo bandana. Hit by an arrow to the head, he began to glow pink, jumped out of his turret, then ran into the Marshalls department store on the corner of 14th Street NW. 

The tank commander quickly replaced him, keeping his helmet on, but also wearing a gas mask. The tanks fired their high-explosive shells into every building, every store, every restaurant, from which enemy fire was seen coming from. 

In the meanwhile, the turret gunners made chopped liver out of rooftop snipers and any monster dumb enough to be on the streets, to the sides or in front. One unlucky Imp slipped through, hoping to ensnare the crew of the second Abrams through the cupola entrance, only to meet a shell’s worth of buckshot from a  Marine lieutenant, name-tagged as Lafeunte, having taken point behind the tanks.)


(About 10 minutes later, the convoy had slowly arrived at the end of the street, where the Treasury Department’s main building lay. The Assistant Director of the Secret Service emerges from the building, clapping his hands, looking happier than two kids opening a present box containing a Nintendo 64 on Christmas Day, 1998. 

He runs up to Agent Gutierrez, to shake his hand. Before he can say anything to his subordinate, the National Security Advisor speaks up.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Ah, Agent Schmitt, nice to finally see a friendly face from MY neck of Uncle Sam’s woods. Is the building secure?”


(Schmitt) “Oh yes, yes indeed, sir! Everything's under control, situation normal! We lost the Director while he took a chopper out to retrieve your…..counterpart at Homeland Security, crashed somewhere out in Annapolis. Don’t know if the Director’s dead or not, but, uh, everything’s perfectly alright, we’re fine, we’re all fine here, thank you. Uh, how are you?”


(Non walks up to him, giving him a one-handed hug. Then he presses his Colt to the Assistant Director’s lower stomach, correctly guessing that the plate carrier under his suit wasn’t protecting that part. 

He then fires one round, the bullet going right through the AD, leaving a ricochet-crack on the steps. Right on cue, monsters of all kinds begin to open fire from the windows, some using magic and some using dart-guns loaded with tranquilizers, conventional and magically-enchanted. As Non and Gutierrez duck & run back to the Oshkoshes, the rest of their allies proceed to light up the building with gunfire, turning pillar after pillar, door after door, every window, into bullet swiss cheese. 

Even the Abrams M2 Browning gunners open fire, the sheer strength of .50 BMG rounds causing four building pillars to collapse, covering the street in smoke, which only aids the soldiers, Marines, and airmen that were already wearing thermal imaging goggles. After three more minutes of sporadic gunfire, Mr. Non grabs the combat controller’s radio.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Get in the building, go, go, go! Stay frosty, shoot anyone that puts up a fight! We’re too close to Whiskey Hotel to be able to afford prisoners! Any HUMAN that doesn’t put up a fight, take them to the conference room and lock the door! At this point, they’re already too far gone, but we don’t need to waste bullets on them yet!”


(At the same time, a Cockatrice in a torn black suit, looks upon the American forces from the rooftop of the Bank of America financial center, one block north. Her name tag identifies her as Michelle Spengler, United States Secret Service. Peering through binoculars with one hand, and holding a Motorola VZ-18 in the other, she begins to converse with her new superior, a Gargoyle by the name of Crystine.)


(Spengler) “Yes, my lady, we’ve lost the headquarters of the American President’s personal guard. No, madam, I don’t think my comrades were able to breach the connecting tunnel. They would’ve radio’d me, had they succeeded. I don’t know who’s commanding their murderers.”


“….Well, I see the guy giving orders….. but I can’t see his face. Someone in a gray suit, slick black hair. Gotta wait for him to turn around. Wait for it... Ha! I see him! The one giving out orders, my lady! It’s the top advisor to the American President, well, the top advisor on matters of security. It’s that asshole Non!”


“…..Yes, my lady, that’s not hyperbole, he’s a jerk of the highest tier. Acts all humble and shit around his superiors, then the second they aren’t looking, he plots behind their backs and mocks them when in the company of trustworthy friends! I’ve been guarding over enough Cabinet meetings to understand what sort of man he is! Son of a bitch usually advocates doing the most ludicrously violent option for dealing with national problems, but he keeps his cool by phrasing it to sound like a joke. He isn’t really joking, he was just biding his time for the day when the others would be desperate enough to listen to his batshit ideas! His time has come, that day’s today.”


“.......Yes, I know. I thought he just had a superiority problem, along with skimming money from our intelligence operative funds, but he--he just shot Schmitt in cold blood! Just blew a hole through his stomach, while pretending to embrace him!

“…..I know! He’s definitely a serious threat. Get this message up to Lady Druella and her father. Out of the American government’s inner circle, he’s got to be BY FAR the most vicious and bloodthirsty. If there ever was a “man” who would rain nuclear fire upon our worlds, it’s him.

“...I have proof! I saw him, with my own two eyes, cruelly execute a defenseless succubus and her lover at Camp David a few weeks back!”

“….Yes, this was before I was made pure. My lady, I still have my firearm from when I was still human. No Demonic Silver tricks. I can perforate FEMA’s golden boy right now, just say the word. A man like him doesn’t deserve our love!”

“…..Well of course he’s cold-blooded, he’s Alaskan! Ugh! Yes, I’ll explain that later, too.”


“......Yes, my lady, I understand. So Druella’s father, HE’S coming to oversee the conquest of this city? He’ll deal with Non too? Good! Give him a strong warning. Non probably already knows that we’re tailing him close, he’s gonna lure his chasers into some kind of trap.

“.....No, I don’t know WHAT kind of trap, but he’s got SOME trick up his sleeve. I used to professionally gamble, my lady. I can spot a card shark from a mile away.

“……Oh, yes, uh, I’ll explain what card sharks and miles are when I see you. Smithsonian Castle? Yes, that’s an excellent choice for a command post. I’m on my way. As for my personal opinion on the situation? We ought to wait until dusk. Then? Send in Shucky. HER idea to take the White House is our best shot, I can’t argue with it.”


(As the former Agent Spengler makes an exit, the still-loyal servicemen, police officers, and Agent Gutierrez proceed to bum-rush the Treasury Building, the sound of loud gunshots spreading further and further into the building. At the same time, three F/A-18E aircraft of VFA-32, 3000 feet above, drop their fragmentation payloads on makeshift Kenkouan encampments across the National Mall. Igniting their afterburners to quickly break the sound barrier, a five-woman flight of three Jabberwocks, a Jubjub, and a Gremlin in a stolen T-38 Talon follow in hot pursuit. An Apache gunship flies closely over the Treasury HQ, using its 30mm cannon to bombard the monsters encamped on the roof of the Harry S. Truman Building, four blocks west of the White House.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Yo, Reynolds! Help me carry this spacepussy-whipped traitor inside! He might be an old fart, but he’ll live, it was just a gutshot!”



(Reynolds and Non grab the Assistant Director, taking him inside, to prop him on a plastic swivel chair. They’d have given him a comfier chair, but anything comfier was already shot to pieces. A Marine medic figures out that an interrogation is about to begin, so she injects a syringe full of morphine into Schmitt’s right shoulder.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Wakey, wakey, Jack! You’re not gonna die, that was just a gutshot. Takes days to die of a gutshot without medical attention, so if you answer my questions, you’ll get to live to fuck another day, you old traitorous bastard. We clear?”


(Schmitts coughs up a small amount of blood) “Crystal, --ACK-- clear. I’m 73 years old, you icy twat! You didn’t have to shoot me! Could’ve just punched my goddamn gut or knee’d my balls or something, fuck!”


(N.S.A. Non) “Yeah, yeah, you say that, but you’re working for demons four times older than you. So question one, who’s in command of the monsters around here?”


(Schmitt) “Well….. it’s not like you can do anything with this info. It’s some talking Gargoyle named Crystine. Apparently she’s answering to our new king or emperor or whatever, they kept calling him “The Ultimate Hero”. He’s…..operating like a hatchetman for the war council of his daughters and their own advisors, insisted on being right in the thick of any combat going down from the Atlantic to the Mississippi!”


(N.S.A. Non) “Well that confirms it. I suspected that they’d send a heavy hitter with experience to slice the head off of the USA, but the Big Man himself? Shit. He’s got over 3 centuries under his belt. I’ve only got 29 years.”

“......Alright, question two. Where’s their nearest FOB? I’ll be honest, every option is still on the table, and if I surrender, I’d like to know where exactly am I supposed to drive a Humvee with a white flag to? Don’t wanna drive all over D.C. like a tourist without a map.”


(Schmitt) “The Smithsonian Castle. T-they’re setting up a command center at the Smithsonian Castle. Most of our “new management” are…..honestly medieval yokel primitive screwheads. So they hear “castle” they think ‘Oh great, the rightful place to rule any sort of large settlement.’ A lot of them couldn’t understand why the White House isn’t a castle too.”


(N.S.A. Non) “I see. Well, now I know. Alright, two more questions. Question three, what exactly did you tell…… ‘them.’”


(Schmitt) “What did I tell them? Everything, you cold-blooded uxoricidal maniac! You think you’re gonna save America? Why save it? Why even bother? It’s a bunch of lines on a map, where a woman’s infidelity is rewarded! Where unwanted kids get shuffled into worthless foster care systems that crank out violent criminals like they were getting paid on purpose to fuck their minds up!”


“Oh, yeah, I remember the good old days! The days that you young pricks like to jerk off in remembrance of! It was a shitshow! Whole-ass neighborhoods would come together to cover up wife-beatings, CHILD-beatings, hanging blacks that didn’t even do anything wrong, running harmless poor people out of town just to inflate their housing prices, even tossing fucking WAR VETS into the nuthouses just for having PTSD, or because Uncle Sam gave them a morphine addiction! 


“You--you think there wasn’t a price to pay for our Howdy Doody paradise? Our economy was only the best because the fatcats in Wall Street squeezed every dime they could out of the blasted ruins of Europe and Japan, to line their own pockets! Why do you think the Big Malaise of the ‘70s happened? Because the trickle-down stopped, and we got what we fuckin’ deserved!” 


“We were supposed to be a shining beacon of justice and freedom to the world! What did we do instead? Fuck over Rhodesia, a country that was doing the exact same thing we did in 1776! Fuck over Ho Chi Minh, because French corporate interests made payoffs to Truman and Eisenhower’s lackeys! We crushed democracy & installed a goddamn KING in Iran, just because he made the right concessions to Wall Street! We backstabbed Afghanistan, just because the CIA wanted to cut past some heroin middlemen!”

“America’s been rotten since 1945, when we got the nuke and decided that everyone else on Earth only exists because we allow them to. And the Demon Lord? She’s gonna wipe the slate clean, man! A fresh start! No more borders, no more wars to profit off of, no more sons or daughters coming home in pine boxes, no more ‘acceptable losses,’ no more losses of anything!”


(N.S.A Non) “Well, Jack, if you really feel that way, I don’t think I can really convince you to stop committing treason. But before I go, the last question. You’re clearly in the loop regarding what the Demon Lord’s plans for America are. If we lose, if we surrender, what happens to the President and me?”


(Schmitt) “........Heh. Well, the President’ll make a ceremony to dissolve the USA, hand the keys to the country over to the Demon Lord herself. Then they’ll establish some kind of regional control sectors to divide among her daughters and all their royal court favorites and retainers and top flunkeys.

Me and whatever Secret Service members join them? We get to keep our jobs, since there’ll always be the risk of religious terrorists, American ultra-patriots on revenge-quests, or just attention-seekers with a death wish. There’ll always be a need for bodyguards.”

“The President gets to keep Camp David, a Marine One Sea King chopper, and whatever properties he owns that weren’t on the taxpayer dole. As for you? HA! You and your Delta Force pals sealed your fates when you skimmed money off the Black Budget to run your little X-COM LARP club. A lot of monsters are PRETTY upset that you pricks have spent the last year locking, executing, chopping up their friends, siblings, in-laws. 

They’ll walk you out of the White House in handcuffs, brainwash you to make you admit to EVERY bad thing you’ve ever done in your whole fuckin’ life! You lose, you self-righteous, line-stepping, homicidal fascist pig-maniac! All you’re getting is a padded cell, and the first aggressive Mamono we can find that’ll give you the beatings you should have gotten in middle school for being such an instigating cunt!”


(N.S.A. Non) “I think I’d rather splatter my brains all over the Oval Office than do that, but there’s one problem, Schmitt! That whole plan relies on your new friends being able to catch me, if they can. Goodbye, Jack, and fuck you. I never liked you anyways, you dope-fried hippie throwback. Wheeling! Get over here!”



(The ancient veteran runs over.)


(Wheeling) “Yeah, man? I just finished clearing up the restrooms, didn’t find anyone.”


(N.S.A. Non) “No shit? Well, good work, great job. Check it out, this is Secret Service Assistant Director Jack Schmitt. Back in the ‘70s, he convinced his dad to lobby Congress in favor of the Paris Peace Talks.”

“I know what you’re already thinking, and you’re right, buddy! Schmitt sold YOU out. He sold your brothers-in-arms out. He sold Marvin the ARVN out. He sold freedom out! All because he felt saaaaad that communists were getting roasted with napalm. Wanna give him a good stomp in the nuts, for old times sake?”


(Wheeling) “This son-of-a-bitch? This guy was in deep with the pinkos that pulled us out in ‘73? Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I have a better idea!”

(He racks his shotgun for dramatic effect, ejecting a perfectly good shell.)

“Taylor Eighy! Walter Karol! Dennis Demilo! Aaron Daniels! Charles Reinhold! Brian Keitel! Do any of those names ring a bell to you, you Berkeley free-love faggot piece of shit?”


(Schmitt) “N-no, who are they?”


(Wheeling) “They were my friends, Mr. Schmitt! My squad-mates! You know what happened to them?”


(Schmitt) “....The--they died in Vietnam, didn’t they? Well I didn’t shoot them! I didn’t tell them to go out there to die so Colt could sell two million rifles! I didn’t tell them to go die, just so CIA stooges could impose their will on 20 million villagers that don’t even know what taxes are!”


(Wheeling) “No, but you could have just let us go nuts! Could’a let us use everything we had to win the war and go home quick! But no! No! You and your Democrat friends cut our balls off and wouldn’t let us win! You know why my friends died? Because we weren’t allowed to pull off a search-and-destroy mission on some Cong tunnels barely a mile across the Cambodian border! Our targets came to our camp three days after the mission got canceled. Know what they did?”

“They slipped past our wire and slit all my friends’ throats while they were sleeping! We didn’t have a single casualty until that bad night, and I wound up the only! One! Left! I couldn’t even avenge them, because your pussy bleeding-heart Geneva rules wouldn’t let the rest of our platoon do a revenge raid! 

I heard your big rant about why America’s gotta go to the trash can of history. But you know what? If we’re all headed on a freight-ride to hell, then let’s wipe off some old stains before we all go! Let’s settle some scores before Lady Liberty rides off into the sunset for good! We were Squad Delta, Mr. Schmitt, and if it’s too late to go back to ‘Nam and ice some more zipperheads, then you’ll do as a consolation prize!”



(His Mossberg already out, he blasts the screaming Schmitt’s head off, spraying blood and head-guts all over Non, who hadn’t occurred to take a few steps back after calling Wheeling over.)


(N.S.A. Non) “AHHHHHHHH! MY SUIT! AGH, DAMMIT, THIS IS A BOUTIQUE MADISON AVENUE KAMAKURA! ….Oh, fuck it, now’s not the time. You feeling better, Wheeling? …..I’ve gotten some real conflicting answers from people that get their revenge. Some still feel empty, and some feel fulfilled.”


(Wheeling) “Yeah, boss. I feel fulfilled. I feel like a billion bucks. I guess you could say that my buddies’ ghosts are silent, for now at least. Let’s go. Don’t wanna see this trash anymore. Funny, though.”


(N.S.A. Non) “Funny how?”


(Wheeling) “......He was talking a big game about plans for the future. A future that he won’t get to see, because he kept running his big mouth. Guess there IS something to be said about how every plan’s got its own monkey wrench if the planner don’t keep his eye on the cages.”


(N.S.A. Non) “Yeah, I get you. Kinda makes me nervous. I got some big plans too, and I’ll be honest, there’s a zillion different ways this could all go wrong. But look on the bright side! If my big plan gets pulled off, then we’ve saved the country. We’ll have saved the world, man.”

“......Hey, you wanna get commissioned? I could kick you upstairs all the way to 2-star general. Hell, if I somehow wind up in charge, wanna be my Army Chief of Staff? America’s gonna need someone who’ll go the whole nine yards to get the job done right, and she’ll need an overhauled Armed Forces who’ve got the balls to play dirty 24/7.”


(Wheeling) “You’re counting chickens before they hatch, Mister Big Shot National Security. I’ll get back to you on that offer when the time’s right.”


(N.S.A. Non) “Fair enough. Let’s go help clear up the building. I need an absolute minimum of intruders before I start phase three.”


(They proceed to speed-walk around the building, working their way from the first floor lobby to the rooftop exit.


(Wheeling) “The fuck’s phase three? Wait, what were phases one and two?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Phase three was to get here, then take the secret tunnel from the basement, lead into the East Wing of the White House. FDR had it built in 1941 for tanking German artillery shells, from possible U-boats in the Potomac. Then Nixon had it upgraded to handle an indirect hydrogen bomb. It’ll hold.”

“As for Phase Two? That was…..well, I went over to the Capitol Building, recorded a rundown on what the monsters are, their history, and what my plans to beat them were. Then I emailed the recordings to every major news station in the USA, along with the BBC, Russia Today, that Brazilian channel Globo, and for shits and giggles, Al-Jazeera.

Phase One’s above your paygrade, but I CAN say that you guessed right back in the subway. It does involve The Football. Phase two’s email has a special algorithm that I bought off of an ex-Pakistani programmer, all off-the-books of course. 

I even had a plan to waste him afterwards, but he got himself killed already before the plan went through. That’s what happens when you play too many fuck-fuck games with The Forbidden City’s spooks.“


“So I went and put the message in a NSA satellite cloud server, and the email is set to go out on a countdown of three days after I sent it, to the minute. There’s no chance that the aliens will even THINK about shooting or shutting down any satellites, not anytime soon. 

They need ‘em just as much as we do, to coordinate themselves AND to demoralize us. It’s just too damn useful, and whoever’s using it has an automatic major boost over anyone that isn’t. And I highly doubt that I won’t be able to finish the final phase of my plan before that message goes out. 

Fuck. Now that I think about it, it’s been barely over an hour since I left that room. Time really DOES fly when you’re under fire. 

Picked out the South Carolina senate offices to send out the Phase Two message. Thought it’d be the last place anyone would ever look for me, seeing as how I’m not part of the legislative branch, and that I’m Alaskan, not a Carolinian of the north or south variety.”


(Wheeling) “No shit dude, Alaska? You’re not what I expected for an Eskimo. You could pass for a Jap hafu.”


(N.S.A Non) “If I had a nickel for everytime someone confused me for a Japanese or South Korean, I’d have, like, 20 bucks. 

Yup, I’m an Eskimo. Nome-born, Juneau-raised. My dirty blonde hair comes from the Tsar-era Rooski immigrants in my family tree. Graduated at the University of Alaska at Anchorage. Bachelor’s and Master’s, both in political science, minored in environmental science & electrical engineering. You’re now probably thinking why I was so random with the degree choices? It’s because I cover my bets, Arnold. Always. 

If I couldn’t get far in politics? I’d go into environmental science, weasel my way up until CNN kept me on paid retainer to give sound bytes for layman morons tuning in. If THAT went sideways? The last straw was to go into a wiring technician blue-collar job. Moderate work, but high pay, and I can set my own hours.”


(Wheeling) “Hey, man. You sure that Henry Kissinger isn’t your real dad? I’d bet you could’ve given him a hard time in chess, back when he had your job.”


(N.S.A. Non) “A-heh. Thanks, I appreciate it. Hang around the Whiskey Hotel too long, you almost forget what it’s like to get genuine appreciation without a hidden agenda. 

Well, it seems that the building’s clear, for now. Time to head on down to the tunnel entrance. Most of these stiffs are Secret Service ladies that got turned. 

We got lucky again. All their eyes changed, and so did their hands, so the tunnel’s entry computer didn’t register them as ‘authorized’. Lemme find the intercom.”



(Non finds it, in a security room on the second floor.)


(N.S.A Non) Attention everyone, your attention please! Make your way down to the basement, immediately! I will explain when I get there. Please be fast, but don’t shove or trample each other. There’s, like, 400 of us packed in this building.”


(He makes his way down, losing Wheeling in the crowd. Non easily slips his way to the front, on account of not wearing any heavy gear that would catch on anything. 

Agent Gutierrez spots and follows him closely, all the way to the tunnel entrance. Non points over to another radioman, this one a straggler from the New Jersey Army National Guard.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Alright you primitive screwheads, listen up! This is a secret tunnel to the East Wing of the White House! If you didn’t already know, FDR had it built right after Pearl Harbor, and Nixon upgraded it to be nuke-proof! 

Once we get to the East Wing, you will ALL scramble out to fortify the White House! I want sandbags and foxholes all over the lawn, I want dedicated snipers on the rooftop, and could someone PLEASE, get some air support on the line! I don’t care if it’s jet airstrikes or helicopter sector screening, or--or airliner kamikazes, but we need whatever we can get, and we need it now! I, and Agent Gutierrez, will head over to the Oval Office to check on The President and the Cabinet!”

“Major Andreas, Sergeant-Major Wheeling! You will head over with our SIGINT folks to figure out where that East Wing distress signal is coming from, find out who set it off, and shut it off! Agent Gutierrez here has a radio, his frequency is 694.20. 

Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but it’s not hard to remember and that’s what’s important! Report to him if something’s fucky, he’ll put me on speaker! Or…. whatever it is that radios do instead!”


(Non puts his hand on the scanner, it confirms his fingerprints. He then places his right eye in front of a small computer screen, which takes a quick picture-flash of his eye. After visually compiling the data on his eye, his identity is double-confirmed. A small keyboard pops out from under the screen, asking for his personal password. He enters “GH1914-1916.”)


(The door opens, lifting upwards to reveal a red-carpet tunnel with water fountains, a single door leading to a restroom, wall-mounted cots going all the way from one side to the other, and hand-drawn replicas of great American paintings that line the walls above the cots. 

The walls themselves, appearing to be just as wooden as they were in 1861, are covered on the outside with five layers of hardened steel, followed by a layer of concrete, ending in two more layers of Space Age titanium-lead alloy. 

Everyone is still standing still, as if waiting on Non to say something. Agent Gutierrez coughs, then asks a question.)


(Agent G) “Yo man, what kind of password was that? I was expecting something……)


(N.S.A. Non) “Something overdramatic? Like, THX-1138? Or NCC-1701? Or NIGGERSTONGUEMYANUS, all caps, no spaces? Fuck off, Gutierrez, that’s EXACTLY what they’d expect me to do. So I specifically asked that everyone in the know be given completely random, but memorize-able passwords.”

“And pass this down to the last guy! Tell ‘em to hit the red button to close the door, then hit the light blue button that’s on the opposite side of the wall from the entry computer! It’ll start a two-minute timer that’ll set off C4 that’s lining the entire first floor of the Treasury HQ! It should cave in the basement, and it’ll buy us a lot more time from them following us here!”


“.....Well? What are you all waiting for? Let’s get moving, people! We gotta rock, then we gotta roll, then we let it pop, go, let it go!”


(Upon arriving at the East Wing sub-basement, Non’s gun is drawn. He slowly opens the door, to find no monsters waiting in the spiral stairway that leads to the White House proper. The lights were still on, which meant that at least the sub-basement emergency generators were still online. 

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, a conga line began to form covering the entire staircase. 

By this rate, Non thought he’d already be in the Oval Office by the time the last guy hits the buttons.

At the top lay a single door, with another fingerprint scanner. 

He puts his hand on it again, the computer again recognizes his identity. The door opens outwards, then moves to the right, revealing that it was built into the walls of the first basement level of the East Wing staircase. 

Several sub-basements for the White House’s bunker went further down, while the ground floor was one last flight of stairs above. 

Non begins to reiterate his plans, now with his voice echoing down the staircase and into the tunnel.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Alright folks, we’re in! Stick to the plan, don’t worry about breaking or putting bullets in any national relics and paintings and shit! Consider them as acceptable casualties, your lives and your comrade’s lives, are the TOP PRIORITY here! 

The last time royal jackoffs got in here, the whole place got toasted down to the ground! We’ve rebuilt it before and we’ll do it again! 

Colonel Andreas, I’m trusting you to have the every floor below us cleared out, by the time I get back with any other VIPs. Especially the Emergency Operations Center. As much as I’d like the entire building cleaned out and locked down, I’ll settle for just the East Wing, worst-case. Alright people, I trust you’ve all been trained in room-clearing and other kinds of urban combat, so move out! ”



(He and Gutierrez walk slowly towards the Family Theater, silently agreeing with each other to take a shortcut via the Theater’s backdoor. Non uses hand motions to get Guitierrez to take a quick peek behind the curtain. 

The agent complies, opening the door behind the curtain, then peeks through the curtain just slightly. Doing a double-take, he then speaks up, in a hushed tone.)


(Agent G) “Shit! There’s like 15 bogeys in there!”


(N.S.A. Non) “How do you know what the bed-monsters are called? The--whatever! What are they doing, if they didn’t see you?”


(Agent G) “Sir, I meant bogey as in a hostile, didn’t know that it was a whole type of alien? Anyways, they’re all jilling-off in there, eyes closed. The projector’s muted, they’re all using headphones. They didn’t hear me, probably won’t hear us at all, unless we start shooting nearby!”


(N.S.A. Non) “Think we should go around and slip past them through the East Colonnade?”


(Agent G) “Negative, sir. They’re all basically neutralized in there, projector’s being controlled by that tour guide Johnson, recognized him. He’s too busy getting high off of cow-woman titty milk to notice us. I’d say we should grab three guys with automatics, mow down the whole room.”


(N.S.A. Non) “Great idea, hold it down here ‘till I come back with your troopers. Sucks for Johnson, but we’re making the biggest Freedom Omelette the world’s ever seen. We’ll be breaking plenty of good and bad eggs before it’s all over.”


(Non double back to the staircase, grabbing three airmen from the 135th Intelligence Squadron’s Security Forces, pointing his thumb towards the way he came from.)


(N.S.A. Non) “You three! The Theater room’s got 15 hostiles, temporarily neutralized. I want the three of you to get by the door in a volley-fire position. Agent Gutierrez will open the door for you, DO NOT use your flashbangs. 

I don’t want them knowing SHIT until our bullets are already flying. The door opens inwards of the Theater, so you won’t be bumping into it! If you need extra help, just yell so I and my security detail can provide fire while you reload! Let’s go!”


(The three airmen arrive by the door, taking position. Gutierrez does a sideways-kick to open the door, with Non behind him. One of the airmen, a 1st Lieutenant named Wollcroft, yells out for contact. Three expended mags of 5.56x45 later, he yells at Guiterrez and Non to cover him. 

The airmen get out of the way as Non clings to the curtains, while Gutierrez does an overdramatic roll into the room. Three hostiles remain, a Beezlebub, an Echidna, and an Amazoness. The Echidna attempts to toss chairs at Non, but is shot through the gut and spine as she holds a chair up, crushing herself from loss of spinal balance. 

At the same time, the Amazoness makes a gridiron dash for Wollcroft, smacking Gutierrez away like a gnat, smashing him against the wall of the other side of the room. Now in panic, Non expends the last three shots of his magazine at the Amazoness, to no short-term effect. The 7-foot-tall woman grabs Wollcroft by the throat, pushing him against the back entrance’s ceiling. 

His two fellow airmen then finish their fumbled reloads, firing and turning her center mass into swiss cheese. She drops to the floor, gushing blood from her mouth, as Wollcroft lies on the ground to give her a quick death from a SIG-Sauer M17-fired 9mm to the cranium. 

Wollcroft gets up, shaken but not stirred, as Non rushes over to the now-unconscious Agent Gutierrez.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Sweet fuck, Gutierrez!? You okay? Oh fuck, he’s bleeding, SOMEBODY GET A GODDAMN MEDIC. MEDIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCC! You’re gonna make it, Agent! You hear me!? That’s an order!”


(Non attempts to grab Gutierrez’s radio, only to find it broken, as blood continues to flow from his back, along with the left side of his head. One of Wollcroft’s airmen takes out a tourniquet for the Secret Serviceman’s head, then injects him with a syringe’s worth of morphine as Wollcroft yells into his own radio for a medic. 

Right after his request is acknowledged, an eerie laugh arises from under the projector.)


(N.S.A. Non) “Johnson, that you?”


(White House tour guide Johnson) “R-righty-o, Mr. Non. Looks like Emilio ain’t gonna make it. Good fuckin’ riddance. Son of a bitch kept making me look bad, kept hitting on our tourists. You know we got six bad Yelp reviews just from him not keeping his big mouth shut? 

Guess Deandre f-fixed him all right. You bastards got me good. D-don’t think I’ll be making it out of here either. Can’t feel my left arm and leg. 

You took her. You took Bailey from me. W-why? What the actual fuck is wrong with you, man? Why couldn’t you j-just let everybody be h-happy?”


(N.S.A Non) “The price for your happiness was too high for me to pay, Johnson. They brought this on themselves by invading our country! You know, if they just asked us for some men to replenish their world, I’m sure that there would’ve been plenty who’d sign up. 

I’m coming over, I’ll get you up. Can’t guarantee a medic at a time like this, but we’ll see if someone’s got time.”


(He walks over the projector, to find Johnson with his arm in his blazer. Non assumes he’s trying to stop the bleeding to a gunshot wound, but as he walks over to try and grab him up by the shoulders, Johnson uses the last of his strength to quickly pull a Glock 19X out of his coat, firing three rounds point-blank into Non. 

Two rounds impact onto his plate carrier, while the last round cuts through his suit and hits the ceiling, leaving a hard graze on his left shoulder. Non recoils and screams from the pain, as Wollcroft hops over a chair to double-tap Johnson into a quicker death. Wollcroft pulls out a tourniquet of his own to wrap around Non’s arm above his wound.)


(Wollcroft) “Sir, stay calm! It’s over, he’s dead! Lean up against the wall and wait for a medic, while me and my men secure the room. DO NOT fiddle with your arm, keep it limp! You need to get as little blood circulating through those veins as you can!”


(Wollcroft then turns on his radio) “Our VIP guide has been hit, I repeat, he has been hit! 9 millimeter graze to his left arm, not too serious, but will SOMEBODY get a medic in the theater room? 

And is there any sort of infirmary in the East Wing bunker? His bodyguard’s gonna need it!”


(As the three airmen sweep the room to make sure that every Mamono is dead, bursts of gunfire and screams of humans and monsters echo throughout the East Wings halls. Andreas’s troopers and D.C Metro PD are doing their jobs, and doing it well. 

Wollcroft closes the Theater Room’s front door and locks it even harder by placing a chair under the doorknob, before he walks over to the National Security Advisor to have a discreet discussion.)


(N.S.A. Non) “You know, uh, Wollcraft? After having gone through the Treasury, I would have expected more Danukis.”


(Wollcroft) “It’s WollCROFT, sir, and what the hell is a Danuki?”


(N.S.A. Non) “They’re basically raccoon-bitches, supposedly drawn to powerful men. Like, uhm, business executives and politicians. Not to be confused with tanukis though. Tanukis are a kind of….. wack-ass Japanese dog, unrelated to raccoons. They must’ve all gone to New York and Hollywood. We gotta get to the East Colonnade. Not much open space, CQB guns are perfect for this. 

Call Colonel Andreas, tell her that we need to board up every window that doesn’t already have blast shields. After we link up with the West Wing, we’ll get the rest of the Cabinet over to the Emergency Operations Center. 

Stay cool, we’ve only killed one room’s worth of them. For all we know, the West Wing’s already a write-off. There might be more right outside the windows too, waiting to snatch us as we walk by.”


(Wollcroft) “You guys installed blast shields for every window? Goddamn, you Security guys thought of everything.”


(N.S.A Non) “I’ve spent almost a year trying to brainstorm and account for every possible variable, Lieutenant. The blast shields though? Actually not MY idea. My predecessor Condolezza Rice had them installed back in 2003. Back then, it was deemed highly likely that ‘ol Al-Qaeda was gonna shoot rockets at us through the windows. Had ‘em set up for all the doors too. Someone already activated the one for the East Wing’s tourist entrance.”


(A five-man team of medics arrive. Since the Kenkouans rarely use any sort of weapons that would cause actual bodily harm other than sudden extreme sexual arousal, they weren’t as busy as they’d normally be. 

Four medics pick up Agent Gutierrez by his limbs, to take him downstairs to the third sub-basement’s clinic. The last one, a Marine Lance Corporal with the fitting name of Lance, checks up on Non.)


(Lance) “You’ll be fine, sir! Just a minor wound. Stay still so I can clean it off with gauze and stitch it up.”


(He does so without issue, hardly taking three minutes.)


(Lance) “Alright sir, you’re good to go! May I ask that you NOT attack other people with guns anymore? Leave it to us! We’ve encountered three other White House staff that shot back, you’re the only one that’s actually gotten hit so far. Need another pair of hands to tag along?”


(N.S.A. Non) “Fuck it! Wollcroft here’s already shut the front door, let’s go around and take the Colonnade to the Main Hall! Ignore the rest of the rooms, that’s what everyone else here is supposed to do! 

Wollcroft, you and your boys here will escort me and the Lance Corporal on a straight path to the West Wing!”


(They take the back entrance out one last time, taking a turn into the Colonnade. A Wight and a Bogey outside attempt to use their large arms to break the windows and reach for Non, only to meet gunfire in return. 

The Wight’s head is blown off by a .45 ACP round from Lance’s M45A1, while the Bogey runs away screaming, ignited on fire from tracer rounds in Wollcroft’s M16A4. Non and his escort rush to the East Wing Visitor’s Foyer door with no other hassle.)


(N.S.A Non) “Alright, people, we’re here. DO NOT rush in, we’ll triple-check if the Center Hall is clear first. If so, I’ll yell out ‘tempo.’ THEN, we bumrush our way to the West Wing entrance. Oorah-hooah-whatever-the-fuck-sailors-and-airmen-say?”


(Lance) “Sir! Soldiers, airmen, and the Space Force all say hooah! Sailors and Coasties technically say ‘hooyah,’ but I’ve never heard anyone actually say that.”


(N.S.A Non) “Then it’s oorah, Marine. Wollcroft, get the right-side door, I’ll take the left!”






“Did someone turn the heat up?

Or did my love walk in the room?

Oh, just a little whiff of her perfume, makes my heart go boom!

Let's strike a match, my dear!

Set your damper to be open wide,

Let the passion warm you up inside, it's the flames of love!”


-Smokey Bennett & The Hoops