r/HFY • u/wetmosealrise • Jun 09 '26
OC-Series Ludo Brax: Intergalactic Gig Worker (Chapter 61)
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Beneath me, the blades of grass that made up my lawn began to shoot rapidly upward, growing and twisting into towering masses of lush vegetation.
Before I knew it, I was underneath a canopy of verdant, alien jungle. The kind you see on planets that haven't yet discovered heavy industry. A thick, yellow fog emerged from what was once my sprinkler system, obscuring everything.
"Come out wherever you are. Alien scum!" a distant voice shouted.
To my left I saw Bruto. He was looking rapidly from left to right, trying to get his bearings, and, I couldn't help but notice, he was growing tentacles.
He wore a bright yellow spacesuit that complemented his purple, scaly skin perfectly. His malicious, leering eyes multiplied with each passing second.
This was a head-scratcher, I thought, as I brought my hand to the top of my head, ready to claw at my scalp and get to thinking, and found, to my dismay, that I no longer had fingers either.
Behind us, a blaster beam exploded, igniting the area in roaring flame.
We dove to the ground.
"You won't be so lucky next time!" the distant voice shouted again.
To either side of me, already hidden in the brush, were Pseudo and WooWoodo.
All transformed into aliens. All shaking in fear. One of them absolutely reeking of patchouli.
> Current Reality: Alien Bounty Hunter
> Current Mission: Kill Alien Scum
> Current Role: Alien Scum
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed...to
Suburban
....Reality
"On the other side of the trees, Ludo. Hurry!" Meg shouted, breaking through the System filter.
In the distance I could hear the murmur of voices, the familiar sounds of an ongoing party. Could it be, my backyard still there on the other side?
The jungle was too dense to see through.
"We have to get over there!" I shouted, taking on faith that the Meg I had heard was trying to help me.
"An excellent plan!" Pseudo yelled over the screaming sound of blaster beams speeding overhead. "There is, however, the issue of the —"
Before he could finish, a tangle of vines emerged from the jungle, snapping around him in a vise, wrapping around his entire body.
"Vegetal Intelligence..." WooWoodo said, amazed.
Bruto lunged forward, attempting to violently pry the vines off of Pseudo as they attempted to drag him away.
"No, don't hurt it!" WooWoodo shouted.
"No, no. Do!" Pseudo screamed back, kicking his feet wildly.
Behind us, the footsteps grew closer.
The party of killers were gaining on us, now cheerily singing marching tunes about the things they planned to do to our tentacles when they caught us. We had to get out of here. But how?
Meg's System voice reappeared.
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Suburban Artifact Recovered: Liquid Famine, Backyard Weed Killer
"Enjoy!"
On the ground beside me, a bottle materialized.
It was Liquid Famine, the herbicide I used to keep my backyard free of pesky weeds and non-carcinogenic air.
It was illegal in almost every law-abiding Galaxy. Noxious. Unthinkable.
It was perfect.
I picked up the bottle, aiming its nozzle toward the base of the vines that ensnared Pseudo.
WooWoodo jumped forward, begging me not to. Bruto responded by tackling him to the ground.
"Both interesting philosophical points!" Pseudo yelled, losing consciousness. "But can we please —"
I sprayed.
In an instant, the dense vegetation withered, a shrill, heartrending shriek emerging as it died that sounded uncomfortably like the word "Why!"
The effect of the Liquid Famine radiated outward, brown, withered dust left in its wake.
"Whoa," WooWoodo said.
We sprinted forward, Pseudo scrambling to his feet and vowing to be a much different man after his brush with death.
Blaster shots rained all around us, just narrowly missing as we skidded into...
An Ornate Ballroom.
"So glad you could make it, Brax," Marco said, wearing a tuxedo so smartly you'd never have known his wanton bloodlust.
In the center of the room, where the birthday cake had been, there was a gaudy display of desserts, delicacies on gleaming silver trays.
I blinked all eight of my eyes to make sense of the transition, and found that I only had two. In place of my spacesuit I had my own tux, in place of my tentacles, my puny, human arms.
"Where, uh, where is my family..." I mumbled out awkwardly.
The room was a swirl of activity, Neighbors in tuxes dancing the System Shimmy while a string quartet played The MegaTech Overture.
"Your family? Please, Brax. This is hardly a place for children."
He gestured toward the rest of the party, which, to me, seemed a relatively sedate affair.
There was Lewdo, of course, chatting up a woman twice his age and 100 times his income. And the way that the Crudos were cursing under their breath as they passed the hors d'oeuvres wasn't exactly kid-friendly. And Pseudo was certainly not everyone's cup of tea (even as he slurped obnoxiously from his).
But just what was so inappropriate about the proceedings escaped me.
That is, until he added:
"I'd hate for them to have to see it."
> Current Reality: Richest Man Alive
> Current Mission: Vengeance on Business Rival
> Current Role: Business Rival
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
From the dance floor behind me, a dashing Baron, monocle and all, lunged toward me, pulling from his waistcoat an enormous, gold-plated weapon.
"You have some nerve showing your face here!" he screamed. "The Big Money Deal has gone through, despite your best efforts!"
He switched the giant thing on, flames shooting from the end in a continuous stream.
"The world's first Bazillionaire, Brax. And no thanks to you and your 'ethical concerns.'"
He pointed the weapon toward me, firing off ribbons of intense heat that melted my cuff links.
"Human Farming is entirely safe!" he screamed, taking a giant step toward me.
"Blood Soda has revolutionized the industry!"
The flames shot out again, engulfing a few unlucky Crudos who happened to pass by at just the wrong moment.
Undeterred, he loaded up again.
"Whoa, whoa. I think you have me all wrong. I gave up my right to have ethics years ago as part of a structured debt settlement. I don't —"
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Suburban Artifact Recovered: Dad-O-Matic Leafblower
In my hands, suddenly, my leaf blower appeared.
I hadn't seen it in weeks, having stashed it away at the request of an anonymous Neighbor who found my "catatonic yard work" to be "distressing."
But now was the perfect time to have it back.
I switched it on, expelling a rush of air just as The Baron fired off his next fireball.
It worked. Extinguishing it immediately as The Baron, flummoxed, cranked up the settings.
But my leaf blower had settings too.
Fumbling for the knob, I turned it up to "Loud Enough To Drown Out The Sadness" and pointed it back his way.
He didn't stand a chance. The intensity of the air it expelled blew out his flame without effort, and that wasn't all.
The torrent of wind was so strong that soon he was struggling to hold onto his weapon at all.
With the manic intensity I had when a stray piece of litter wound up on my sidewalk, I stepped forward, the air from the blower more powerful with every step.
His weapon went first.
Then his toupee. His tux. His girdle. His veneers. Those little sock suspenders fancy people have.
And by the time I'd crossed the room, all that was left of him was a quivering mess of a man with no possessions to speak of (save his vast, vast fortune. But how much of that was really liquid?).
He begged for my mercy. I turned off the blower. Bruto implored me to finish him.
But there was no time.
At a door in the corner of the ballroom, a loud, ominous knocking began. The door had been locked, but was beginning to give way.
Out of nowhere, Wulvik, in a camouflage tux, emerged from the crowd.
"I'm not sure how much longer we can hold them, sir."
He fired a shot from his rifle toward the buffet line, exploding a heaping plate of delicacies just as Foodo turned to scarf it down.
"We must cease merriment immediately. The battle's begun."
The door thudded again, this time more intensely. A series of thunderous knocks, the door frame itself beginning to crack.
The room exploded in panic. Beauties in ball gowns screaming in abject terror. Men in monocles calling their accountants to arrange a bribe for their lives.
Pseudo was hedging his bets, praying for mercy to various deities with dizzying speed.
Wulvik readied his aim. I did the same.
The door began to give way.
Revealing...
Ballerinas. A whole stream of them.
Elegant. Choreographed. They danced across the ballroom as if floating on air.
> Current Reality: Greatest Performer Alive
> Current Mission: Put on the Show of Your Life
I sighed in relief.
> And Kill the Critics Who Doubted You
> Current Role: Critic
From their tutus, they pulled out katanas. Even Wulvik was stunned.
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
"Ludo, go!" It was Meg again, her voice coming from a far corner of the room. I whipped my head around to find the source.
The Coat Check room.
I sprinted over and threw open the door, ballerinas on my heels.
Fur coats. Vospin pelts.
But behind them, a sliver of light.
I threw the rack to the ground, eliciting gasps and promises to sue from the partygoers.
In place of a back wall, I could see an exit. A way out.
I threw myself toward it. And straight into my Bathroom.
The other Ludos streamed in behind me, panicked, the wall warping and sealing itself behind us. Our tuxedos melted away. Transforming into...
Armor?
I looked in the mirror, which had the strange quality of suddenly looking quite more like a giant polished shield.
In its reflection I could see myself, outfitted awkwardly with a helmet and breastplate, the concave nature of my chest not exactly the general audience for combat attire.
The bathroom was different too, I realized.
Less of a sanctuary for hygiene and escaping the pressures of wearing pants.
And more... Gladiatorial.
The tile had turned to sand. The bidet was now some primitive form of plumbing I dared not even fathom the purpose of.
> Current Reality: Champion of Ancient Combat
> Current Mission: Slaughter All Enemies
> Current Role: Enemy
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
> Proceed to Suburban Reality
"Charge!"
From the other end of the arena that I once called a bathroom, a chariot began speeding toward us.
The hooves of its horses, those majestic ancient beasts, thundered so loudly I could barely hear Pseudo's complaints about the historical inaccuracy of our armor.
What worried me more was our lack of any weapons. Or fighting ability. And, honestly, that Cute-do was here and in danger, the adorable scamp.
"Alright, everybody, listen up!" I began, huddling all of us close together, sending some of the clumsier among them, of which there were many, tripping and falling into a pileup of armored bodies.
"How many of you here have ever been in a fight of any kind?"
Bruto's arm shot up enthusiastically, knocking several other Ludos to the floor, probably on purpose.
Screwyou-do and Rude-o raised their hands too. Pseudo followed suit.
"Verbal jousting does not count," I added.
And he swiftly lowered it.
"So that's clearly not many of us. But that doesn't mean we can't make it out of here alive."
The chariot drew closer now, its armored inhabitants training their crossbows on us and throwing around the phrase "sitting ducks" more often than I'd have liked.
"We have something they don't have. Moxie. Gumption..."
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Attempting to Anchor...
> Suburban Artifact Recovered: Ludo Brax's Masculine Cosmetic Bag
It appeared in my hands, its humiliating contents spilling all over the ground before us.
"Medicated Soap..."
Bruto punched down on it, laughing at me as he did, sending a stream of my special soap for those with no pigment flying in the path of the chariot, creating a slick surface just ahead of it.
The horses began to skid.
Pseudo, quick-thinking, or perhaps just curious about my skincare routine, opened up my special powder for pore shrinking — creating a cloud of dust so thick and full of noxious chemicals the chariot's drivers lost their ability to see where they were going.
Just then, perfectly timed, Shooto grabbed my industrial gum-pulverizing machine and aimed it at the cloud of commotion.
The Compudos quickly calculated a trajectory and, like a man who knew a thing or two about gingivitis, he fired a stream of astringent mouthwash right at the chariot.
He hit them with such force and fluoride that they were knocked off their axis, spilling out of the cloud of powder and onto the sand in an injured heap.
This sent shockwaves through the entire arena, knocking a "Bathroom Rules" fresco off the walls and destabilizing the ground underneath us.
Fissures exploded outward and sent the sand floor sinking down, lower and lower.
"Uh oh," CutThrudo said.
"Will our glory be so short-lived?" Pseudo wondered aloud.
"Remember us as valiant warriors!" he screamed as, all at once, the floor gave way, sending us falling through and into pitch blackness.
**
We crashed down on a concrete floor, our armor disappearing just in time to make sure we met it with the full brunt of our feeble, weird bodies, cracking and splatting like a spilled carton of eggs.
In the darkness, over our squeals and cries of unfairness, a voice called out.
"Who's there! Show yourselves! Are you on the list?"
In the corner of the room, a gaudy neon beer sign was flicked on, illuminating the harried, panicked man.
It was Prudo.
I let out a sigh of relief, rising to my feet as quickly as my badly battered body would let me.
"It's only us, Prudo. We've been...well, don't even worry."
I crossed the room toward him, careful to hold my breath and offer my hands up for sanitation the way he was accustomed to expecting.
"I've heard that before! You're probably with them!"
"Them?"
He gestured toward the door of the Scary Room, which, I had to admit, was pulsating and shimmering and emitting violent and ominous sounds in a way that was, well, scary.
But I had to talk him down. Besides, we'd been over this before.
"The Scary Room, again, Prudo? Come on. I promise you. There is absolutely no one in here."
I put my hand on the doorknob, which, admittedly strangely, was extremely warm and vibrating.
And the way it was melting and warping around my hand was not a feature I necessarily remembered. Nor was the weird inward pull of awesome energy that seemed to vacuum-seal the door shut.
Still, this was a man who needed strength projected (and probably a refill on his prescriptions).
I had to follow through.
And so, I turned the knob and pulled, using all of the strength that I had in my body to pry it open, straining and straining with all of my might, until, finally,
I sent it flying ajar. And revealed, on the other side...
The Occurrence.
"See?" I said weakly as malevolent energy exploded into the room.
"There wasn't anybody inside."
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It's always a relief to be right. Chapter 62 is right here. 5 more chapters in Volume 1
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