Prologue

Janus 5

Janus 5 - Stardate - 191.020.18

A dead-end solar system, in a cul-de-sac galaxy, the shit stained arsehole of the universe leading fucking nowhere!

The furuncle of the known universe, in fact, the furuncle of any universe or multiverse that’s been dreamt up in any imagination, once and for all time by anyone who has ever existed past present or future.

Janus 5 inhabitants are the most grotesque backstabbing anti-good Samaritans that Jesus Christ would have ever had the displeasure of knowing, then having to die for.

Maybe he should just say the word which will kick-start Janus 5 into Armageddon. I ain’t talking about some Hollywood soy boy’s wet dream of despair or hope, after which everyone ends up living happily ever after!

I’m talking about the type of conflagration that destroys so effectively that no matter how many different writers try and conjure up a sequel or pre-prequel that any idea of any reboot can just fuck right off!

Anyway, their pens will be about as much use to them as a man with a limp dick in his hand, who is offered up Salome’s dripping hot wet throbbing pussy on a silver platter with no questions asked, may as well just cut off his own head.

It makes no difference whatsoever if the director or writers first name is John, or even if he tries to go rogue or rock a Rambo.

It’s never going to happen in any universe or multiverse, not even at the end of the last verse of this verse.

Because the total destruction of Janus 5 has been written out of existence with such certainty that like a self-replicating virus that has the tenacity of a terminator, Janus 5 will be completely annihilated every time that it dares to try and show up again on any universes arse.

The boil that is Janus 5 has been lanced once and for all and forever!

Do you hear me you stinking money grabbing cocksukers?

Phew well, that covers that I hope!

Arrival

Janus 5 Arrival

For why and for whatever reason any type of alien entity of any form or formless form would want to be there shall remain a mystery that no being in any universe anywhere can be arsed to try and fathom.

When arriving on Janus 5 all aliens must pass through the white zone, (Frank Zappa anyone) making sure to have fully dispensed with all and any luggage.

One is immediately confronted with the eye-melting spectacle that is the Hunchback Anti-Gravity Sisters (HAGS).

HAGS

They have arms and legs like limp boiled spindly sticks of spaghetti with three tiny like circularly shaped suckers attached. And both their arms and legs can be used for exactly the same purpose. Fuck all!

The hags are so densely packed that it’s possible each hag may weigh about as much or even more than a teaspoon full of singularities.

Their head is pure unadulterated Vantablack, their eyes constantly change colour across all known and unknown spectrums of light. Pulsing and flashing like annoying Christmas tree lights.

They have to wear an outfit reminiscent of the one worn by the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. As it helps them to levitate and float about considering their mass.

It is rumoured that underneath the hag’s anti-gravity suit that they have a penchant for wearing the skin of any greenhorn intergalactic adventurer dumb enough to trust anyone of the hags for even the smallest part of a Planck second.

When the Hags murder a victim it is as swift and as random as any murder committed by Patrick Bateman.

After every kill the hag’s fashion their undergarment like a great artist. I suppose something akin to Michelangelo.

The hags take great care to weave and fashion their fleshy undergarment into a silky kind of transparent web.

I guess the hag’s idea of art is certainly nothing like the Adamic creation, created with the artistic genius of Michelangelo, while lying on his back, flash cunt.

If they have any type of discernible mouth then the only way one can guess as to its location on that blackhead of lightless light is given a clue because they have a deluge of some stinking gaseous like fluid of ammonia constantly pouring out from it.

Like the Aliens from all the Alien movies combined whose mouths orgasmed more heavily with each new film and for no fucking reason at all.

I tell you not even Noah’s Arks would be safe.

Instantly the Hags inhale and reabsorb the gaseous like fluid of ammonia directly through their skin pores, if they have any that is.

I guess this may have something to do with producing glucose or energy for the Hags.

Blood Sugar

One of the benefits the Hags derive from this constant flow of ammonia is that they secretly produce a highly addictive drug called (Blood Sugar or CH61206) as it is chemically known to human beings.

All that is required for the Hags to produce this drug is a smidgen of photosynthesis, water, carbon dioxide and sunlight energy. And their own added personal secret formula or recipe.

Even I am not sure what the added secret formula consists of and I’m the writer, that’s how much of a secret it is to the Hags.

Blood sugar is obviously red in colour and has a sweet taste to it, at least that’s the way it ends up when the Hags have finished making their product.

As the Hags can see all spectrums of light known and unknown they are able to manipulate the drug so that it can reflect any colour across all light spectrums. And can even appear to be multi-coloured or monochromatic.

The Hags have an intuitive understanding of what humans know as Rayleigh scattering.

This is just one of the potential psychological advantages the Hags employ so as to be able to manipulate any alien species on different levels into trading with them.

An alien would apparently see the drug in their favourite colour or colours.

Additionally, the Hags have manufactured (Blood Sugar) to taste and smell appealing to any potential customer.

I imagine the Hags accomplish this through a process of light refraction and chemical manipulation.

This amazing piece of chemical engineering poses quite the conundrum for drug enforcement agencies because it makes it very difficult for them to determine with any accuracy what it is they are looking for.

PILL

However, it is rumoured that the science departments across all intergalactic drug enforcement agencies are working together to try and produce a photosynthetic illuminating light laser, ironically known as the (PILL).

Unfortunately, this is at high cost and for some, the cost alone makes the idea of producing and manufacturing the (PILL) a hard one to swallow.

The design concept of the (PILL) resembles a small antibiotic shaped capsule that can be held by the thumb and index finger, it is small lightweight and half coloured red and white.

In addition, the (PILL) is able to analyse and quickly determine the chemical compound of many substances.

Furthermore, the (PILL) is able to take precise measurements and it can also determine the effect a substance may have on the cell function and metabolism of the majority of alien species.

Near the thumb are a small keypad that has been designed to aid the user in analysing light and chemical compounds and their structures, in this case primarily glucose being part of a group of carbohydrates or simple sugars.

When a scan is initially started the (PILL) will prompt the user to punch in a certain formula that corresponds with its first basic finding.

E.g. for glucose, C6 H12 O6. After the user punches in the correct formula the (PILL) then takes an intricate measurement on a molecular level, and makes a determination as to whether any other foreign or artificial bodies are present.

The (PILL) is also able to scan across a large spectrum of electromagnetic waves, including gamma rays, infra-red, X-rays, microwaves, terahertz waves, radio waves, light waves, ultraviolet, etc.

And this is why it is proving very costly to the intergalactic drug enforcement agencies science departments, and why some want the whole idea to be dismissed permanently.

There are those behind the scenes that want this to be accomplished as quickly as possible.

These are the real powers that be and they have no intention of stopping the flow of (Blood Sugar), because they are busy working out how to corner the market for themselves.

They are pouring resources into the research and manufacture of the (PILL), why? Well, because they have realised that the profits and the return that they will reap on this very expensive endeavour will be astronomical.

They also realise that with greater and greater wealth comes more and more influence and power, this is their holy trinity. Or they're (WIP).

Customs

OK first to arrive at the intergalactic customs desk is Mr and Mrs Samson, Adam, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Peter, Paul, and his wife, Delilah, Eve, Lilith, Jezebel, Salome, Phylistine.

They have to go through the whole terrifying ordeal of stating what their reasons are for visiting Janus 5, is it business or pleasure?

One absolute truth truly exists within the material universe and it is this, that not even an Almighty creator would visit such a floating turd of a planet in space for pleasure.

To demonstrate this Graham has kindly, quickly, and roughly on the back of an extra-large Rizal paper put together some theoretical maths for us to truly appreciate the dilemma.

He postulates through advanced calculation that the chances of any kind of omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, creator (The three big OOO’s, I said O’s not Ho’s, that’s a private story), existing at all anywhere at any point in time, and in any dimension ever, visiting Janus 5 are 3^^^^3.

He was stoned at the time so he may be off by just a tad. OK, Infinite shout outs go out to Graham at this point.

Metaphorically speaking Janus 5 is the curry stain in one’s underpants that the anus accidentally vomits out after one has had far too many beers and a scorching hot Vindaloo.

Leaving behind that old Johnny Cash tune to hum and vibrate against one’s sphincter. That being ring of fire.

Where were we? Oh yes back to Samson and Delilah!

When Mr and Mrs Samson and wife Delilah Phylistine stop directly at the intergalactic customs desk, one of the hags' hovering slightly off the ground asks both Sam and Jez, anything to declare?

The hag’s voice is a coalescent oil slick of tones that resemble Regan McNeil who when possessed shouts out to father Damien Karras your mother sucks cocks in hell.

And interlaced with the dark, rich and cool as fuck chocolaty voice tones of Spawn.

The hag quickly follows her first question anything to declare, with a second question, is it business or pleasure?

I guess you’ll have to speak to the Almighty if you want to be enlightened and find out the truth about those questions.

And here’s hoping he’ll answer you; if he does tell no one because they will lock you the fuck up.

Nobody apparently is allowed to have had a direct answer from Almighty God without being slipped like an erect penis into a Johnny, a.k.a, the straight jacket.

It has to be that no one has ever seen him and so how for the love of Satan or Charles Darwin can we let one get away with that kind of monkey business, that’s pure Vulcan logic.

You would be led away kicking and screaming and thrown headlong into a padded white room where incessantly the track White Room by the British band Cream is playing.

You’re then told by some weird looking motherfucker with an east end accent although possibly being an alien and having spent far too much time in the east end on Earth, obviously, that you’ll be alwhite. Then he fucks off back to his mental health market stall.

Sam is still considering the hags questions thankfully. That’s great because it offers me a convenient segue back to the point when Sam and Jez arrived at the intergalactic customs desk a few paragraphs earlier.

OK, Sam you ready to answer that question now?

Fuck sake can you just get on with it! OK, Sam, I am I am calm down.

With all the decorum and grace of a real gentleman, Sam mockingly repeats the hag’s questions to himself in an undertone. And then says to the hag well it ain’t for fucking pleasure that’s sure as shit.

Sam with his right hand confidently sweeps back his long black silky obsidian locks of hair over his right shoulder and with the skill of a professional fisherman casting his line.

The wafting back of his hair causes a honey scented zephyr to sail through the air which permeates the whole room with its sweet odour.

The hag glares at Sam and thinks to herself you’ll regret speaking to me like that you muscle bound honey scoffing poncey cunt.

Show me your Holo Wristwatch containing your intergalactic travel permit growls the hag.

Samson then rolls up the sleeve of his carbon nanotube silken shirt revealing his dermal nanotech arm A.K.A. (DNA).

Through the epidermis of his left forearm lies the translucent face of a watch, colloquially known on Janus 5 as a Holo Wristwatch

Sam gives the command, search intergalactic travel permit, and with the flash of a bolt of lightning an amber three-dimensional image silently screeches up from his wrist and halts at about four inches in mid-air and displays all relevant documentation written in a verdant translucent font.

The hag says everything appears to be in order then she says if you are ready you can be transported over to your hotel room instantaneously.

All the while she drools holding a mischievous glint in her eye; she is still extremely angry because of the way Sam had spoken to her earlier about Janus 5. Incessantly, secretly in her head she is ruminating and thinking about how she may hatch a plan for some payback

As Sam and Jez were just about to transport over to their hotel room Sam hesitates and Jez asks what’s up honey.

Sam realising the huge amount of security throughout the customs depot enquires asking the hag what’s with all the security.

The hag says oh yes there are quite a number of planets at war presently and it’s all to do with some highly addictive spice that everyone is raving about. Silly cunts she whispers to herself.

Oh yes before I forget what month is it classed as being here on Janus 5 asks Sam, and the hag says June.

Sam thought to himself June, war, spice, that rings a bell for some reason.

Security

Samson asks his wife Delilah have you got any question for the customs officer Sweetheart, and impatiently D replies no I fucking haven’t.

So, can we please get to our hotel room as I am gagging for a steamy hot wet fuck, and you know I can’t be bothered with all of this mind-numbing shit?

Delilah says a woman of my intelligence craves a wide variety of exciting and different types of stimulation?

OK, OK, darling says Sam. D says look let’s get out of here and remember I am the brains you are the brawn.

Delilah says, Sam looks like you need a haircut, and Sam replies, not after what happened the last fucking time.

At each point of entry and exit, there are heavily armed guards posted, each of the armed guards is dressed in black, wearing a long black coat somewhat like a long riding coat.

These long black coats conceal the different types of weaponry that the guard’s posses and which they use in order to adapt to the fluidity of violent conflict if they ever come face to face with that grim reality.

Inside the coat is a long sabre with a pure silver hilt hand grip and a long golden blade.

All across Janus 5, the sabre is humorously named by the military, police and security guards as the Strategic Arsehole Bludgeoning Rectification Emperor.

The blade is as sharp as an eagle’s eye and has a bite just as deadly as the Inland Taipan if not even more so.

The sabre is capable of releasing neurotoxins into the nervous tissue that then affect the nervous system causing temporary paralysis or death.

If death does occur it is usually because the blood has become coagulated and the lack of oxygen to the brain causes death, especially for a human.

Whatever type of life-sustaining gas emanates within the life forms cell structure of an alien world has been thoroughly studied and catalogued by Janus 5 scientists.

This is so toxins can be manufactured, modified, and deployed anywhere on any planet at any time.

Because God forbid that an alien species try something nasty or violent; the Janus 5 government holds the toxin market in an unbreakable iron grip.

This also gives a confidence boost to the military, police and security guards.

Each force is one more vibrissae on the ever-expanding tentacles of the Janus 5 government.

Security forces undergo intensive study of alien genetics to prevent errors when using toxins.

If the wrong toxin is used on the wrong species it neutralises itself on contact with nervous tissue.

Weapons are thought-controlled, linked directly to the guard’s brain waves.

This saves precious time where the difference between thought and action could mean life or death.

These measures reduce the chance of mass murder by alien incels, psychopaths or religious extremists.

Imagine an octopod terrorist armed with eight sabres. Holy fuck.

The guards wear a half-moon titanium helmet protecting the golden bowl known as the brain.

The helmet strap is reinforced with titanium rivets and electromagnetic shielding.

P.E.N.I.S. / B.A.L.L.S.

The biggest and most apparent weapon is the Phasic Energy Neuralgic Interstellar Shocker, or PENIS.

Attached just below the penis is the Ballistic Ammo Line Locator System — BALLS.

The balls ensure ammunition is fed into the penis quickly and efficiently.

All personnel must be cocked, locked and ready to rock at all times.

They must keep their penis and balls in full working order.

Any officer found flaccid in duty will be court-martialled with extreme prejudice.

Their motto is simple: keep your penis and balls to hand always.

The penis can blast out hot viscous fluid capable of pinning assailants to surfaces.

Betide anyone hit in the face — cleanup takes a while.

VCRT

Now that we have gotten that entire load of bollocks out of the way, let's get Samson and Delilah to their hotel room.

Yes, Delilah is still waiting for some hot hard throbbing cock from old Sammy boy.

D and Sam motion to the hag that they are ready to be transported.

The hag instructs them to step onto the Vavilov–Cherenkov Radiation Transporter.

A crystalline force field encapsulates them in a warm eiderdown of light.

They are disintegrated and reassembled outside their hotel room door L11.30.

For increased security, the male must provide retinal scan and semen sample.

This is either genius or Janus 5 law designed purely to fuck with people.

Hotel Suite

As Samson and Delilah enter the room there is a hotel cleaner already inside, tidying and straightening the suite in preparation for their stay.

He steps forward politely and Delilah notices the holographic ID card clipped to his lapel. It reads: G.F. Man.

He is tall and slim, with reddish hair and beard, dressed in yellowy-orange and black overalls and wearing thick black-framed holographic glasses.

He asks whether they have seen his colleague — Gary Man — also a cleaner, though instantly recognisable because the boring bastard insists on carrying a briefcase everywhere, even on intergalactic travel.

The rest of the cleaners, when Gary isn’t around, refer to themselves as the resistance. This is because G. Man is always trying to convince them that carrying a briefcase improves one’s status.

The resistance couldn’t give a flying fuck about status. They party, get wasted, and fuck.

Before leaving, the cleaner offers a helpful tip: wank into a receptacle and save some jizz juice for the virtual orifice lock if you need to re-enter later.

Cheerio, he says, disappearing down the dimly lit corridor.

⚠️ Adult Content Warning — 18+

This section contains explicit sexual content intended for adults only.

Captain Proton

As they lie recovering, a call comes in on both Holo Wristwatches from Chilion Prime.

A sound like a screaming eagle plays out until Sam accepts the call.

Captain Proton opens by commenting enthusiastically on Delilah’s tits and Sam’s beaver-cleaver.

Then he gets serious.

He needs both of them back on Chilion Prime — quietly.

CHASSIS

The Cosmetic Hybrid Alien Species Symbiotic Integration System — CHASSIS — is a technology that adds another artery to interstellar travel.

It allows a user to temporarily inhabit another alien species for operational, criminal, or sexual purposes.

It lingers in the air like a crimson translucent apparition, embroidered with golden hexagons.

Unsurprisingly, intergalactic pimps, slavers, and governments have exploited it mercilessly.

SAS-Gun

The Specularly Absorbed Scatter Gun weaponises light itself.

It can disintegrate, liquefy, or ignite most matter with surgical efficiency.

Small, concealable, flexible — and utterly lethal.

It is the preferred weapon of Chilion Prime.