Dr. Alto Clef Liquidizes the Illuminati

Nx-51, Dunwich-class Nexus, is as abysmally enshrouded by a void sky as the impression of the heavens after the brilliance of a 4th of July.

Brimmed with a cacophony of intensively sprouting fungal drugs and occupied by a packed criminal blackmarket alongside the atmospheric blackness that stains one’s skin through every ounce of incessant downpour, no one would anticipate this locale as prime material for vacation.

That is, until Major Note arrived.

“Cuuuuuue the music~!” a voice declares, origins unknown but emotive swell exceptionally beset on anyone near!

The lad cropped up to this languishing town with an instrument on his hip and an ambience that immediately gave him renown. The very plants themselves rose from their nests of soil and joined him in a march of something vaguely bipedal.

He dosed the dreary, unendingly green-swarmed streets by spades of a certain serenity that nobody could beat! He didn’t present a hat for coin or a case for dollas, but only asked that he could remain without falter.

Everyone marveled at his oddity, but none knew how bad he could be.

Note’s three atypical eyes were beady for something few could comprehend, which he soon achieved with his fungus in stead. He snuck, as a rabbit, beneath the chainlinks of the Illuminati - and ravaged their substance stores by inserting a spatula that spun a new chemical destiny.

The suited men, much like a mafia, indulged before dawn - the whole lot of ya!

But the Bavarians became something close to their name, and found one-another as donut-shaped dames! Their innards now gushed by cream and exteriors cushioned like pastries with tasty gleam, several of the fellows punctually melted beneath the pellets of rain - and more besides, the fungi claimed!

This process repeated, every so often, compelling aggression from the peoples of the precarious operation. They sought the culprit, sought a fix, and raised batons as an iron fist! Their fury eventually found purchase before the Ukulele Man - who gave them his mind on this accursed land.

“You exploit, you burden, you’re a product of Satan!” he exclaims, gesturing broadly under the Veil’s cooking curtain. “There’s only one Devil, and that Devil is me. Relinquish your palms of this place or have at thee!”

A rapier flew from his wrist like a rocket and speared a footman - driving him into an alleyway’s pocket. The others drew guns and pulled triggers hastily, intending to annihilate the triple-eyed curiosity.

All their bullets blasted out the rear of their handpieces and chunked their shoulders through gunpowder’s ghastly repentance. Writhing now, captivated by pain, their leader was approached by the de facto deity that they’d violently inflamed.

“I’m a Pandora’s Box of all confusion, but there’s something you can know for certain: I know who you sell to, I know how you get your thrills. Your business is through, your benefactors take their final tills. If I see you again, you’ll have hell to pay.” and following these words, he wished them





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