### *This is Part 10 of a community-written, sci-fi parody serial.*

Mission 2 (ongoing)

*[Part 1: Steem Wars: Be There Or Be Square](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@tanglebranch/steem-wars-be-there-or-be-square), by @tanglebranch
[Part 2: Hip to be Square](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@negativer/steemwars-mission-2-part-2-hip-to-be-square-com-rd-15), by @negativer
[Part 3: I Can See Squarely Now, or Number 2 on Planet 3](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@caleblailmusik/steem-wars-mission-2-part-3-i-can-see-squarely-now-or-number-2-on-planet-3), by @caleblailmusik
[Part 4: Steemwars - Mission 2 - Part 3 - Thank the Gods for the Red Shirts [COM RD 16]](https://steemit.com/@jasonbu/steemwars-mission-2-part-3-thank-the-gods-for-the-red-shirts-com-rd-16), by @jasonbu
[Part 5: Steem Wars : Swept Away (Part 5 of Mission 2, and COM Round 16 Entry)](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@tanglebranch/steem-wars-swept-away-part-5-of-mission-2-and-com-round-16-entry), by @tanglebranch
[Part 6: Steemwars - Mission 2 - Part 6 - Lost in Spaces - [COM Rd 17]](https://steemit.com/comedyopenmic/@negativer/steemwars-mission2-part6-lostinspaces-comrd17-ph7ixu2mao), by @negativer
[Part 7: Steem Wars, Mission 2: Part 7: The Goofy Looking Beings Strike Back! (Comedy Open Mic Rd. 17, Entry 2)](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@caleblailmusik/steem-wars-mission-2-part-7-the-goofy-looking-beings-strike-back-comedy-open-mic-rd-17-entry-2), by @caleblailmusik
[Part 8: Catfish In Space: COM18 first entry](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@belemo/part-8-catfish-in-space-com18-first-entry-00427dafd1f3b), by @belemo
[Part 9: The Limited Battle For The Square Planet](https://steemit.com/@jasonbu/steemwars-mission-2-part-9-the-limited-battle-for-the-square-planet-com-rd-18), by @jasonbu*

*Our mission:
As delivered by @gmuxx, The Time Lord: Galacdictator Tangle et al.... a distress signal has been detected in the Quadrangular Quadrant. Source unknown, species unknown. Take thine crew and investigate / rescue / dominate whoever it is disturbing the galactic peace.*

*Our crew:
Galacdictator Tangle (@tanglebranch)
Underlord Negavader (@negativer)
Byepeex Reist-Stoomtrooper Destroyer (@jasonbu)
Sixty-Wine (@caleblailmusik)
Dr. Barley Whiskeyson (@belemo)*

![20180703_175423_0001.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmS9A6csDYMc9Sat58fkJp1Hs37PCh9cxhtNUbarvNxF7T/20180703_175423_0001.png)

*Location: Planet Three in the Quadrangular Quadrant*

The last thing I remember was sending Negavader a text message and everything exploding. 

Moments later -- or was it weeks? Time gets funny with explosions -- I found myself in a dingy room that reeked of spilled beer, spilled blood, and spilled secrets. 

Pex was there beside me, coated in rock dust and baby oil, chivalry personified. So delicious.

Sixty-Wine was loudly discussing packages with Pex; where to get them, size, shipping rates, that sort of thing. I must admit, Sixty-Wine was the largest package I'd ever been delivered. But he was more of a blunt force trauma kit, all flashing lights and whirling servos, without any finesse.  Pex, in comparison, was obviously a student of Mack Guy Verr’s school of thought, and could probably satisfy most needs with a paperclip, if that’s all that was available. 

I should know, of course.

I shook off the lingering effects of the explosion’s temporal distortion just in time to see Negavader with both hands down his pants.

“Negavader! How did you get here?” I tried to stop staring, but it was like watching a train wreck, I just couldn’t turn away.

“By the seat *ouch* of my pants, obviously *erk*, Galacdictator Tangle,” he said with a squirm.

“Itza shtrange phemon-phemona-pherom-- Itz priddy weird, how we all juss appeared in here.” An unfamiliar voice mumbled near my knees. I looked down to see a slightly familiar face, that of my new hire, Dr. Barley Whiskeyson.

“Oh! Doctor, there you are. I've been looking for you. I sent Sixty-Wine, you see, but he isn't much good for anything.” I reached down and pulled the good doctor to his unsteady feet. “I’m looking forward to finally having a proper medical professional on board the Intangible, Negavader has been filling the position up until now, but I think he got his credentials in some backwater joint that knows absolutely nothing about human anatomy. You should see the state of my toenails!”

“What.” Dr. Whiskeyson blinked at me exactly seven times.

“Wonderful. So. Since, *as usual,* I have to do everything myself, let’s make our way back to my ship and get on with our lives. It feels like we’ve been stalled here for weeks; why, there’s probably four generations of Hebridean Glitterphages oozing around the cargo hold by now. Forward march!”

I briskly shepherded my flock of miscreants out of the city. There were mumbles and moans from bodies with carefully coiffed eyebrows on all sides, buried in rubble. *Good riddance,* I thought. *Blockheads, all of them.*

As we exited the gates, I saw a great cloud of dust milling in the distance.

“What the *bleeeep* is that?” Sixty-Wine exclaimed.

“It's the Hipsters.” Negavader finally had both his hands back where I could see them, thank goodness.

“How would you know?” Pex fired a few poorly aimed warning shots directly into the swirling mass of fleshy mounds.

“‘Cause I was *there,* dipsquick. Until I, uh, wasn’t.” Negavader’s eyes rolled around like marbles in a cup.

“Watchyer langwidge,” Dr. Whiskeyson hiccoughed.

“It doesn't matter. They're between us and Intangible, so they need to be dealt with,” I said, ending the argument.

“Harshly?” Pex and Sixty-Wine said in unison. They looked at each other in unison, then gagged in unison.

“I'm not sure yet. But I’ll handle it.” I tweaked Negavader’s chin as I flounced by.  “Watch and learn, Underlord.”

With perfect timing, I arrived upon a knoll and struck my most commanding pose. It was also my most contemptuous pose, and most fear-inducing. I had a different one for seduction but I had a meta-hunch I wouldn't need my feminine wiles for this random encounter.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Plenty of garlic and avocados, sweated out into too many shirts laundered in homemade soap. A little alarm started ringing in the back of my head but I snoozed it; I’d apply my deodorant later when I wasn't getting a false positive.

The nearest in a disorderly mob of boob-mobiles jiggled to a halt beside me and a triple-shirted man with a mediocre beard braided into his chest hair and aviator glasses holding back his faux-hawk leaned out the window.

“You're the second hitchhiker we’ve seen today.” He gestured at a sniveling mustachioed man in the next seat, cradling a brown paper bag. “Prancis there gave a fellow a ride in exchange for a toaster, but now they're both gone, and Prancis is mourning the loss with some craft beer. So you’ll understand if I'm not willing to give you a ride either. Besides, we’re not going anywhere.” He took a long drag on a long pipe and blew two lopsided smoke rings into the air. “I’m Borges, by the way.”

“Charmed. I don’t need a ride. I just need you to get out of the way. That’s my ship there in the midst of your throng.” I gave him a cold smile and wrecked his smoke rings with a wave of my hand.

“Um, that’s too bad. ‘Cause it’s not really my call. The Media is still deciding what to do now that the city’s exploded. It sorta messed up our whole day, we’re pretty bummed.” Borges wiped away a tear.

“We can’t even get a participation medal because we didn't get to participate! And now my new toaster is gone and I just wanted my mom to make me some avocado toast!” Prancis suddenly cried out in anguish.

*Oh my.* This called for back-up after all. I beckoned to my crew. “Tell you what, Borges. If I trade you this toaster bot, plus fifteen minutes of Negavader’s undivided attention while Prancis explains to him exactly how awesome lava lamps are, could you take us to the Media?” 

Five smoke rings later, we were all piled into the back of the boobmobile and traveling in ever-shrinking spirals toward the center of the maelstrom.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Sixty-wine grumbled.

“Do robots even have feelings?” Pex asked.

“Sshh. Dozen matter. Jus lemme drink in peace,” Barley whined, nursing Prancis’s craft beer.

“We’re here!” Borges shouted. 

“I’M FREE!” Negavader wept, and jumped out the nearest door/window.

“Find me on Phasebook, you're my new best friend!” Prancis called after him.

We all (save Negavader) watched Borges and Prancis drive away, then turned our attention to the giant red-and-yellow tent that filled the center of the dust-storm.

“There’s a sign,” Negavader murmured, squinting at the open doorway. I could just make out the gleam of Intangible's landing gear inside, beyond the flapping white square of the sign.

“It says, ‘Welcome to the Media Circus’.” Pex fired off a few shots and the sign fluttered down into a heap on the ground.

“I think that’s the first thing I've seen you hit on purpose,” Sixty-wine snorted.

“I'm really good at white targets.” Pex’s jaw twitched tragically, and I thought I might swoon. 

“Come on,” said Dr. Whiskeyson, discarding his empty bottle and weaving forward. “If I know anything about the Media, there’s always a peanut gallery. ‘N I’m hungry.”

I smiled in anticipation and joined my newest recruit. In my experience, where there are peanuts, there is beer, and where there is beer, there is poutine.

### To be continued...

## WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE?

*Catch up on the beginning of our zany adventures here!*

[Mission 1](https://steemit.com/steemwars/@tanglebranch/steem-wars-no-i-would-not-recommend-this-product)


<img src="https://gateway.ipfs.io/ipfs/QmWa3Gs55coC6B8haVWk7Epqw6pBftBXeL2DTdNz7AGqRA">

<h2>WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE?</h2>
<p>STEEM Wars is the brainchild of <a href="/@gmuxx">@gmuxx</a>. It is a community creativity parody project with a sci-fi basis. Read more in the following links:</p>
<p><a href="https://steemit.com/steemwars/@gmuxx/steem-wars-a-parody-too-far">Steem Wars: A Parody Too Far</a></p>
<p><a href="https://steemit.com/steemwars/@gmuxx/steem-wars-crews-assemble-start-date-announced">Steem Wars: Crews Assemble!</a></p>


*This being a Comedy Open Mic entry, I must of course nominate ~~victims~~ friends and/or enemies to make an entry of their own. I call upon @negativer and @caleblailmusik, and they'll have to guess which category they belong in.*