Indemnity: Angel or Alien

Prologue: Indemnity: Angels or Aliens

Once upon a planet far, far away (so far that even your GPS would give up), there lived a man named Articulous Forge. Now, Articulous wasn’t your average guy—oh no. He came from a big, noisy proletarian family: too many brothers to count, and one sister who spent most of her time telling him to "get a grip."

In his younger days, Articulous thought he was going to be a rockstar, the kind whose songs would echo through dive bars where the drinks were cheap and the lighting was suspicious. And for a while, he was! He sang in bands that burned bright and fizzled out faster than you could say “one-hit wonder.” But, as you can probably guess, things went downhill. The years weren’t kind, and neither were his vices. First, the music left him, then his family, and finally, his dignity packed up and caught the last train out.

Now, Articulous had been married… more times than anyone really cared to count. He fathered so many children that he started losing track of birthdays (and probably names, too). But every time he tried to build a life, it unraveled like a badly knitted sweater. His fiery temper tended to scorch everything in sight, and eventually, even the people who loved him had had enough.

After one particularly explosive argument with his (latest) wife—think supernova levels of drama—he stormed out, heart racing, hands shaking. He jumped into his car, and despite the voice in his head yelling, “Bad idea, bad idea!” he hit the gas, speeding off into the night like a man on a mission to make even worse choices.

And that’s when things went sideways. The crash wasn’t just a crash—it was like a cosmic collision. Metal met metal, fate met stupidity, and Articulous found himself flung into a strange, silent void. No flashy lights, no angelic choirs—just an awkward, floaty nothingness.

Enter Max.

Max wasn’t exactly what Articulous expected to find in the afterlife (or wherever he was). He looked more like a glitch in reality, shifting between light and shadow, and his eyes? Let’s just say they had the kind of intensity usually reserved for over-caffeinated motivational speakers.

“Articulous Forge,” Max said, his voice echoing like he’d swallowed a megaphone. “You’re at a crossroads. Between death and life, sin and redemption. And I’m the guy with the map.”

Articulous, still trying to figure out if he was dead or just in some really weird dream, squinted at the glowing figure. “Okay… so… who, or what, are you?”

Max grinned, and it wasn’t exactly comforting. “Some call me an angel. Others call me an alien. I like to think of myself as an interdimensional traffic cop. But what I am doesn’t matter. What matters is why you’re here.”

Articulous felt the familiar sensation of existential dread creeping in. “Uh-huh… and why am I here?”

Max’s glowing eyes narrowed as he peered into Articulous’s soul like he was reading the fine print. “Let’s see… broken hearts, abandoned kids, that whole ‘rage monster’ thing you’ve got going on. Yeah, the universe isn’t thrilled. But lucky for you, the cosmic powers-that-be are offering you a deal. A little thing called indemnity. You know, redemption… but with strings attached.”

Suddenly, the void started humming like someone had cranked up the bass, and Articulous could feel the weight of his life’s mistakes pressing down on him. Regret? Check. Guilt? Check. Lost potential? Triple check.

Max floated a little closer, getting all up in his personal space. “Here’s the deal: you can either fix this mess you’ve made, or you can keep spiraling into oblivion. Redemption or darkness. Angel or alien. Your choice, buddy.”

Articulous blinked, processing the whole “angel or alien” thing. “Wait, what? Alien? That’s an option?”

Max sighed. “Don’t overthink it, man. Just make a decision before I run out of patience.”

The choice was his. And honestly, neither option sounded great.

Chapter One:

The town where Articulous lived was a sprawling patchwork of diversity, a place where the Lantronians—a curious species of beings—coexisted in all their strange, colorful glory. Lantron, his home planet, was precisely 642 billion light years away from Earth… or so it seemed. In reality, it resided in a parallel dimension, a universe beneath a universe, smaller than any human could ever comprehend. Traveling at the speed of light wouldn’t get you there—not because of the distance, but because you wouldn’t be small enough to slip between the cracks of reality. Lantron existed on a quantum of a quantum level, a scale Earth would never be able to quantify for another 300 million years, not that it mattered much to Articulous.

He ran a modest shop on the bustling streets, a place called Square Head Hippo. Nobody on Lantron knew what a "hippo" was, but the name stuck because, well, that’s what they called it. The shop sold all sorts of oddities—tools, gadgets, and, most importantly, Smurry Barrels. Smurry was the town’s equivalent of beer, except it packed a far stronger punch. The locals loved it, not just for its kick but because it had the hilarious side effect of making you glow in the dark while also turning you into a walking wind machine. Lantronians would often down a couple barrels just to see who could out-fart their friends in a neon-lit contest of flatulence. Good times, indeed.

Articulous had seen better days, though. Back then, he had a beautiful wife named Silver Notum. Silver was, in every way, delicious—literally and figuratively. Her skin tasted like watermelon smoothies when she was in a good mood, a sweet sensation that lingered on your lips. But if she was angry, well, that was another story entirely. She tasted like skunk butt on those days, and you could feel her anger down to your bones. They had two girls, both radiant as their mother, and life—despite the chaos of Lantron—had been good. At least until the scumbaggians from Westangeles tried to kidnap their daughters one night.

The scumbaggians were notorious in town for their underhanded dealings. They sold people to the Bloggins, a race of creatures that liked to buy children for God-knows-what. Articulous and Silver fought like hell that night, saving their daughters, but in the chaos, they ended up being arrested for being too close to the road during a high-traffic period. The laws in Lantron could be pretty unforgiving at times, but that’s a story for another day.

Back at the shop, things weren’t always so exciting. In fact, Square Head Hippo rarely saw customers. Sometimes two weeks would go by without so much as a single sale. Articulous would sit behind the counter, watching the Lantronian sun trace slow arcs across the purple sky, wondering if he had made a mistake sticking to retail. And then, just when he was about to close up for good, two or three gouldians' worth of merchandise would fly off the shelves, and life would feel abundant again. The gouldian was the universal currency, a crystalline chip that pulsed with energy—kind of like a digital coin, but it also made a pleasant chime whenever you earned one.

When they had a decent payday, Articulous and Silver would often celebrate in true Lantronian fashion: by scoring some Stellar Joltz. Joltz was a red crystal mined from the far-off planet Zigma, and it had a reputation. One hit, and your mind was flung into the deepest corners of the galaxy, where time unraveled and the stars sang in voices only you could understand.

They’d consume the Joltz and disappear from the world for weeks at a time, their heads lost in the nebulas of another reality. It was dangerous, sure, but on Lantron, danger was a way of life. You either embraced the chaos or you were consumed by it. Articulous, for all his faults, knew how to walk the line between the two.

And so, the days went on. The shop stood as a testament to survival in a world that existed on the fringes of logic, in a town built on dreams that didn’t always make sense. But that was the nature of Lantron. It was a place of triangles—sharp, unpredictable, and always a little off-kilter. Just like Articulous himself.

Then the Virus hit...

It ravaged through Lantron, the streets fell eerily silent. Once-bustling cities turned into ghostly landscapes where paranoia ran rampant. People huddled in their homes, terrified of what would happen if they ventured out without the "approved" masks. Those who had worn them for too long seemed to slowly slip away, their once-clear eyes now distant and glassy, whispering things that made no sense.

Reports began to surface in the media, though many believed the media was complicit in the conspiracy. The stories spoke of entire families losing their minds, turning on one another in fits of uncontrollable rage, while neighbors claimed to hear screams of despair, followed by silence.

The king, Zapaloopa Von Vulgamomba, stood at the heart of it all, delivering speeches that seemed to both reassure and confuse the masses. His smile was warm, his gestures diplomatic, but there was an unsettling undertone to everything he said. Some whispered that he had masterminded it all, that Nuttybrown Retosis was his doing—a perfectly calculated move to cull the population and consolidate his power.

Lantron, a planet once thriving with a population of 92 billion, was now barely a shell of its former self. The remaining 72 billion lived in a constant state of fear, unsure of who they could trust. The wealthy, those who could afford MindShields, kept their thoughts hidden, immune to the collective panic gripping the world. But for the vast majority, their thoughts were laid bare for all to see. Every fear, every suspicion, every doubt—they couldn't hide them, not even from themselves.

What they feared most was that the madness of the virus was contagious, not through the air or water, but through the very thoughts theys hared.

The whispers of Nuttybrown Retosis took on a life of their own. As the virus burrowed deeper into the minds of its victims, the fear of "the Biden" spread like wildfire. No one knew where the term originated, but it didn’t matter—it had taken root in the collective psyche of Lantron.

The thought was simple, yet horrifying: fail to act, and you would be doomed to walk the streets, suffering from a grotesque fate—a violent, uncontrollable burst of nutty-brown and greenish diarrhea that would shoot out with such force it could tear through your clothes. The fear of humiliation—public and irreversible—was enough to drive even the sanest minds over the edge.

People would rather face the unimaginable horror of turning on their families than live with the fear of being seen in such a state. The paranoia fed on itself. Rumors spread about entire communities succumbing to "the Biden," with people dropping to their knees, clutching their stomachs, and screaming before their bodies betrayed them in a sickening, explosive manner.

King Zapaloopa, ever the smooth-talking diplomat, dismissed these rumors with his characteristic charm. He assured the public that such tales were nothing but superstition, a manifestation of the fear gripping the planet. But behind his polished facade, the king knew better—Nuttybrown Retosis had taken a hold far deeper than anyone could imagine.

And still, the whispers continued.

Articulous and Silver, despite refusing to wear the masks, couldn't escape the voices that plagued the minds of so many on Lantron. They had learned to live with the whispers, pushing them aside, but they were never fully gone. One night, as the virus raged across the planet, they sought some peace in the mountains of Vlag.

Teleportation made everything so simple. In less than the blink of an eye, they stood at the foot of the towering mountains. It was a serene place, untouched by the chaos consuming the rest of the world. The beauty of Lantron lay in its simplicity—no physical buildings cluttered the landscape. All it took was a word, and the world around them would respond.

"Door," Articulous had once said, and a portal to his home would open before him, invisible to all but those who spoke the magic word. The waste was no different—anything unwanted could be sent to the "waste dimension" or "sewer dimension" by a mere command. The people of Lantron lived in harmony with their environment, or at least they had before Nuttybrown Retosis.

Chapter 1 (continued): Dreebs, Diarrhea, and the Disastrous Sky

Articulous rubbed his temples as he stared at the dwindling pile of Celestial Coins. Business had been slow for a while. They couldn’t afford to close the shop for even a few days, yet the constant media-fueled paranoia was getting to him. Nuttybrown Retosis was everywhere—teleported right into the minds of everyone on Lantron, and with it, the endless talk of the dreaded "Biden." He and Silver needed a break.

“I can’t believe people still think these parasite masks are protecting them,” Silver muttered, pacing the space. "It’s like they’re waiting for someone to tell them to stop breathing next."

Articulous smirked, though it was more of a weary smile than anything. “Can’t say I blame them. The King’s media channels have everyone convinced that one slip, and you'll end up with explosive diarrhea shooting through your pants.”

The Biden. Articulous still couldn’t wrap his head around it. No one had actually seen it happen, but somehow, everyone on Lantron knew someone who knew someone who had experienced the shame of a Biden. The Nuttybrown Retosis virus was said to cause mass hysteria before the final, humiliating public meltdown—a brownish-green mess that would tear straight through the fabric of reality… and your pants.

“I’ve never seen one,” Articulous continued, “but you know how it is—people believe what they’re told. It's not like they need evidence. The media talks, and suddenly, Nuttybrown Retosis and the Biden are as real as anything.”

Silver sighed, rubbing her eyes. “It's madness. All this fear, and for what? No one’s even questioning it anymore. We need a break before we end up like them.”

Articulous nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking. A couple of days in the mountains, just to clear our heads. Some Yaga, a little peace, and none of this paranoid insanity.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “We can’t afford to just vanish again. You remember what happened last time. We disappeared for two weeks.”

“Yeah, well, everyone needs an escape sometimes,” Articulous said with a shrug. “It’s not like the shop’s making us rich right now. Besides, if anyone asks, we’ll just say we’re hunting for answers.”

“Hunting for what?” Silver laughed.

“Dreebs,” Articulous said, straight-faced. “I mean it. You’ve heard the rumors.”

Silver groaned. “Oh, not this again. You know there’s no such thing as Dreebs.”

Articulous turned to her, his expression softening. “And how do you know that for sure? You weren’t there when Max saved me. I’m telling you, there’s more to the universe than we realize.”

Silver rolled her eyes. “Max, the star who talks to you in dreams? You really think he’s a Dreeb?”

“Why not?” Articulous asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Max saved my life. Pulled me out of the worst moment I’ve ever been in and offered me a chance to set things right. Maybe he’s a Dreeb. Or maybe he’s an angel. Either way, I’m not ruling anything out.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Silver said, shaking her head with a smile. “First Nuttybrown Retosis, and now Dreebs. Is there anything you don’t believe in?”

Articulous grinned. “Not when it comes to Max. He could be anything—an alien, an angel, or something else we can’t even comprehend. And if he’s real, who’s to say the Dreebs aren’t?”

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Silver said. “No one’s ever seen a Dreeb, and no one cares because there’s always something else to worry about. Like the next fake media scare.”

“Maybe so,” Articulous said thoughtfully. “But the way I see it, if triangles can mean danger in our world, like a yield sign or a warning for explosives, who’s to say the universe isn’t sending us a similar signal? Slow down, something bad’s coming.”

Silver frowned at him. “Triangles?”

Articulous nodded, looking out at the distant mountains. “Yeah. Max told me once that when you see a triangle in the sky, it’s a sign. A warning. They appear when the universe is trying to tell you to be careful, to stop and think before you crash headlong into something dangerous.”

Silver followed his gaze. “Triangles in the sky now?”

“You’ll see,” Articulous said, his voice low, a little cryptic. “When we get to the mountains, we’ll know for sure.”

They packed lightly and teleported to the mountains of Vlag, leaving behind the swirling paranoia of Nuttybrown Retosis and the endless chatter of Celestial Coins. Here, everything was quiet. No noisy streets, no crowds. Just a clean teleportation jump, and suddenly they were surrounded by towering cliffs and the Slushy Path glimmering faintly in the distance.

Silver took a deep breath. “I forgot how peaceful it is up here. No masks, no media, no ridiculous Biden scares.”

Articulous smirked. “Yeah, and no constant skepticism about Dreebs either.”

Silver shot him a look. “You really think the Dreebs have something to do with all of this?”

“Who knows?” Articulous replied. “But I wouldn’t rule it out. Max might be a Dreeb himself, and if he is, those triangles we keep hearing about? They’re definitely connected.”

Silver was about to protest when her eyes caught something unusual in the sky. Three faintly glowing triangles hovered just above the Slushy Path, pulsing rhythmically as if signaling to them.

“What… is that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Articulous didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the triangles. “That,” he finally said, “is exactly what I was talking about. A cosmic yield sign, just like Max said.”

Silver blinked, stunned. “A yield sign? In space?”

“Think about it,” Articulous said, lying back on the ground. “Triangles always mean something. Danger, caution, a warning. It’s the universe telling us to slow down before we end up in a wreck. Maybe the Dreebs are trying to warn us, maybe it’s something else entirely, but I think we should listen.”

The triangles pulsed softly in the night sky as the two of them stared up, pondering the universe’s cryptic signals. Whatever was coming, they were standing right beneath it.

Articulous, always so sure of his surroundings, glanced up to confirm her observation. And she was right. The familiar patterns of stars were shifting, something he hadn't expected. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a strange sound filled the air—metallic, unnatural. It reminded them of a broken fan blade scraping against metal, echoing through the silent night.

The sound grew louder, and as they both looked up, they saw triangular star formations swirling above them, hovering eerily just 200 feet overhead. The triangles moved with precision, their sharp edges gleaming in the faint light of the stars, creating a hypnotic pattern in the sky.

Despite the spectacle above them, the heat of the night pressed down like a blanket. The temperature was an intense 625°, but for Lantronians like Articulous and Silver, it was no cause for concern. Their skin, while soft to the touch, was built to withstand extremes—up to 4,000° on the upper end, and as low as 3,000° Celsius. How or why their bodies adapted to such extremes was a mystery, but on Lantron, these things simply were. There was no need for explanation. It was a truth of their existence, and in moments like this, with the universe swirling out of place above them, that truth felt more important than ever.

Silver shrugged with a playful grin. "Well, you know what they say: Believe or leave or just be leaves!"

Articulous chuckled, his laughter warm and genuine. "Ah, yes, that old saying. It never fails to amuse me, though I'm not quite sure why." He shook his head, still smiling. "It’s one of those things that just feels right, even if it doesn’t make much sense

Chapter 3: A Stranger World

Everything in the universe seemed to be folding in on itself… as if things weren’t already bad enough. Collapsing, really. Not just on Lantron, but across every world, every plane, and every dimension. The Lantronians, oblivious as ever, walked around like the center of existence, not realizing that the same fate was happening everywhere—politically, cosmically, spiritually, organically, socially, physically, interdimensionally, and even metaphysically.

It all meant the same thing: the end. And it meant nothing, because no one cared.

Politically, the leaders of Lantron scrambled to shift blame, passing meaningless laws while the people squabbled about policies and titles, blind to the universe that crumbled around them. Everyone thought they had the answers, but the truth was no one was asking the right questions. And so, they bickered as galaxies collapsed, stars imploded, and gravity lost its grip on reality.

Cosmically, the very fabric of the universe was unraveling. Black holes sucked in more than light; they swallowed entire futures, and the stars themselves flickered like dying candles. But the Lantronians paid more attention to their neighbors' faults than the dimming sky, convinced that the shifting constellations were nothing but anomalies—glitches in their atmosphere, things to be debated but never understood.

Spiritually, they were just as lost. Temples filled with those looking for answers, but instead of peace, all they found was argument. Each person clung tighter to their beliefs, certain they had it right, while the truth slipped away like sand through their fingers. The universe tried to speak to them, sending signs, but the Lantronians were too busy praying to themselves. They couldn’t hear the cries of the cosmos.

Organically, the world itself was deteriorating. Plants withered, animals grew restless, and the once-lush landscapes of Lantron began to rot from within. But the sickness was invisible to the Lantronians. They saw only surface symptoms, pointing fingers at bad weather or faulty farming techniques. As they bickered, the earth beneath their feet groaned with each passing moment.

Socially, the cracks ran deeper than ever. Relationships frayed, communities turned on each other. It was always someone else’s fault—always someone else to blame for the world's problems. The sickness of ignorance, disguised as certainty, poisoned every interaction. Lantronians had mastered the art of distraction, never once seeing that the real danger was not in their neighbor’s flaws, but in the stars themselves, silently dying above them.

Physically, the signs were impossible to ignore, yet they did. Earthquakes, storms, even the very ground under their feet seemed to pulse with the universe’s decay. The heat became unbearable one moment, the cold suffocating the next, as if reality was beginning to fray at the edges. But Lantronians saw only inconveniences—things to complain about, not cosmic warnings.

Interdimensionally, the glitches were growing. Across the planes of existence, cracks began to appear. Realities once thought to be separate started to bleed into one another, causing distortions that defied logic. Teleportation systems, normally flawless, began to misfire, and communication between dimensions became erratic. Yet, instead of alarm, there was only frustration—“fix the bugs” was the call, as if it were a software error, not a universal breakdown.

Metaphysically, the laws of time and space bent. Reality itself became fluid. Time no longer flowed forward; it rippled, twisted, and bent around them. They could see the distortions, feel the unease in their bones, but they dismissed it as nonsense—another conspiracy, another mystery to be mocked. The universe was bending, folding, ready to collapse, but no one had the courage to look up and face it.

As one world died, so too did all worlds. The sickness was not confined to Lantron, but spread across the cosmos, an inevitable unraveling of life as it had always been known.

Something Articulous had always known was that 98% of the people had no idea what was going on. And honestly, they weren't bad people. Of course, the idea of "good" or "bad" people was a myth. There were just people—people who needed understanding. But the remaining 2%? They did not care to understand. They never would.

All they cared about was the chiming of the celestial coins, the symbol of power and control. They wanted everything for themselves, and in many ways, they already had it. They owned all the gates, all the doors, and everything else that could be called "good" in life. They had turned the universe's gifts into commodities—charging others for what the cosmos had given freely. Even love had a cost.

Marriage, once a union of eternal universal souls, had become nothing more than a business contract, a transaction. The essence of what was once sacred had been twisted into a system where everything, even the most personal of connections, came with a price tag. In a world collapsing around them, even the notion of a soul-bonded partnership felt like a distant memory, traded away like any other resource.