Breathless, dirty, and on fire, Miguelio lumbered down the gangplank, fending off grizzled Garbolators on his way back to his ship. He'd lost his bangulatrix back in the trench and well, that was a bloody mistake. HE WAS FURIOUS!!! Which is not a problem really because fury is one of the highest virtues on planet Fury. It was these fucking Garbolators that threw a wrench in his plans.

Dodging a wrench, Miguelio leapt the last 3000 meters into his ship. He was a good leaper. Came with the territory. Planet Fury had no gravity but only when you denied its presence. The ship was already primed and ready to go. Thanks, ArmaliomiooxxuxjuxÏ´ED'˜Âeoiooiaoiox, he thought. She would get a promotion when they got out of here. IF they got out of here. What a fiasco.

"NEED ANOTHER BANGULATRIX," he screamed into the air, which was rapidly turning into fire as his ship (the Fury) blasted off (he'd made it onto his ship and collapsed inside). Nobody heard his pissed off shriek because the spacecraft was spewing its own profanity into the atmosphere. Down here near the engines you're not allowed to talk. Ships are loud and that's just the way they make 'em. You can't fight the system because then you're back in the hole you were born in. Miguelio's brother had learned that and where was he now? That's right. The hole he was born in. Sad story. But this is Miguelio's story. It lacks an editor but he would be sure to fix that situation right quick, as soon as he had a chance to relax and debrief.

Where you at, ArmaliomiooxxuxjuxÏ´ED'˜Âeoiooiaoiox? he keyed into his wrist communicator. It took him thirty-five minutes to send the message because his assistant's fucking name gave him a series of panic attacks anytime he had to spell it out. And doing it on a god damn WRIST COMMUNICATOR down here in the Fury's engine room with everything rattling and shaking like an exasperated brand new mother certainly made it no easier.

Got ourselves an issue, Cap, she replied promptly. No fuckin' shit, thought Miguelio. Cap. How long did it take her to write that message? he thought bitterly. Eight seconds. The Fury was a zoo of shrieks and bangs. He should not have offered to transport his brother's zoo on this ship. Especially now, when the government was cracking down on this exact thing. What was he thinking? He had no room for these terrible animals. "Stick em in the engine room," he'd said, three weeks ago, distractedly and without considering just what sort of bullshit he was signing up for in doing so. To be fair, Miguelio's personal motto was "Tomorrow's me will worry about tomorrow's problems" but that was not working out so well now that he had to deal with yesterday's Miguelio's short-sighted decisions. He should change his motto but that was just so damn expensive. Who could afford a new motto? It was a hassle. Red tape, lines, government ineptitude. It was enough to

Whxxtx The_ FxiUCkZG ISXLUe!?> he jammed his communicator in reply. What was the point of these cheap things? Miguelio prided himself on his ability to keep his temper but refused to admit he had never once been capable of it. That's just life. Nobody knows what they're doing. Except the engineers of the Fury, thankfully, or he'd have been turned into ash long ago.

Garbolators in the main hold, tearing up our cables and getting into the power regulators. Nice. Garbolators everywhere. Miguelio turned off the communicator and laid back. He was still on the floor in the engine room. He was still pretty upset about how the last few days had gone on Fury but it was nobody's fault, really. He blinked. Man he needed a drink. Fortunately he had one in his hand, so he took a huge draught of whatever was in it, three-day-old Bene-Merc© if he remembered right. That's the good stuff. Especially if it's cold. And oh fuck yeah it was cold. He finished it off and threw the empty bottle down the hall, grunting loudly. "Sorry dad," he muttered.