Sunday, October 28, 2012
The Commander stepped onto the hard-thought deck of the Pax System’s Googleheim Consensus and looked around the antiquated chat room disdainfully. Though the mosaic platform and phosphorescent chandeliers looked majestic amidst the sweeping vista of a craterous alien terrain, Kilfry couldn’t allow himself to relax and enjoy the ambience of the artificially rendered environment.
Commander Kilfry had never quite gotten used to pneurosensory projection. Even the simple act of mentally connecting to the intrinsinet still made his balls itch like ripe cantaloupes. Nonetheless, Kilfry knew he had a job to do, just as surely as he knew that he would succeed at that job, whatever that mysterious, thus-far-unascertained job might be… to do.
“Are you monologuing in your head again?” Scoomer asked as he rubbed his temples. “You know that gives me the most intense pneurophonic feedback.”
“You will listen to my narcissistic thoughts, and you will love them!” Commander Kilfry hissed back angrily.
Scoomer grunted at the Commander indistinctly and wandered off into the crowd of well-to-do socialites. Though Kilfry disliked having Scoomer tag along with him, he knew that the scruffy young lad was his best hope tonight. Scoomer was a multi-medium, which meant that, through a number of expensive cybernetic implants and years of training at a top secret government facility, he was able to perceive some of the more subtle aspects of existence. This meant that, at any given moment, Scoomer could tell you the number of ambient ionic particles in a room, how many hairs were growing out of your nose, and what the waitress at WrDenalds was planning to do to your food tomorrow evening.
The hard part was trying to get Scoomer to tell to you about these things. Sadly, trying to attract the multi-medium’s attention was like throwing a bratwurst into a wind tunnel – ineffectual and pointless.
Unfortunately, Scoomer was a necessity for the mission at the Googleheim Consensus. As this Pneurophonic Symposium was an intrinisinet-based social gathering, everyone attending was capable of selectively concealing their real-world identities from the general public. And tonight, one of the avatars gathered at the Symposium was concealing the identity of an elusive terrorist - a criminal wanted for high treason and intent to undermine the Universal Humanist Movement.
A criminal who went by the alias of Vesuvio Dong.
“Ahh, Mr. Kilfry!” an indistinct female avatar exclaimed as she approached him. “I am so glad you could make it this evening! And… I see that you have an erection?”
Commander Kilfry furrowed his brow and looked at the front of his artificial pants.
“I, uh…” he said uncertainly as he tried to flatten the bulge in his trousers. “No, that’s just my avatar… I’m sorry, Dame Yustroch. This is… this is embarrassing…”
“Don’t be silly!” Dame Yustroch reprimanded him playfully as she took his arm and dragged him into the party. “In Pax, it is considered respectful to the host to bear one’s erect phallus unabashedly! It simultaneously displays one’s comfort, confidence and approval all at once!”
“Really, it’s just my avatar,” Kilfry insisted as he rubbed the front of his pants. “I bought it second-hand. The last owner must have stretched it out…”
“You are too modest!” Dame Yustroch reprimanded him severely. “Conversely, modesty is frowned upon in Pax.”
With a polite cough and a gentle ptooh, Dame Yustroch launched a large glob of artificial saliva at Kilfry’s avatar, hitting him square on his digital cheek.
“:(,” Commander Kilfry emoted morosely.
“I am sorry if I seem forward,” Dame Yustroch told him mechanically. “But if you are to fit in tonight, it is important that you understand the tenants of Paxian high culture. We are a very forthright people.”
“Yeeees, the erection thing is making a lot more sense now…” the Commander remarked as he wiped the hard-thought spittle onto his sleeve. “Now, tell me Dame Yustroch, have you been able to ascertain which one of these avatars belongs to Vesuvio Dong? It is of the utmost importance that I find him this evening…”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Dame Yustroch lauded as she turned to look around the chat room. “Where is my head? I have done some research into our guests, as you asked, and I believe I have obtained a promising suspect. See that man over there, in the blank avatar?”
Commander Kilfry would have found it hard to miss the man that Dame Yustroch pointed out. He was dressed in plain white from head to toe, as though a void occupied the space where his digital representation ought to have been.
“He goes by the handle, ‘Guest86’,” the Dame whispered surreptitiously. “It could be a family name, but not one that I’m familiar with. I believe that’s the man you’re looking for.”
“You’d best stand back, Dame Yustroch,” Kilfry said confidently as he tucked his thumbs into the belt on his bulging pants. “Because I’m about to crunch some data.”
Kilfry stomped heavily across the crowded chat room to find Scoomer sorting through a bowl of candied bits, trying to arrange them all by colour and size without taking any of them out of the bowl. It looked to be a harrowing and fruitless exercise, though that didn’t seem to bother Scoomer in the least.
“Stop that!” Kilfry told the multi-medium angrily, slapping a blue bit out of his hand. “Look over there! There! You see that man? Is that him??”
Scoomer blinked slowly and considered the man.
He looked at Commander Kilfry and then slowly looked back at the abnormally white Guest86. He looked back at Kilfry one last time, as though he was still digesting the thought, before finally conceding a nod.
“Yes,” Scoomer told him plainly.
Kilfry cackled maniacally.
“Gotcha,” he snarled triumphantly as he tore across the crowded Consensus.
Commander Kilfry locked the viral manacle construct around Guest86’s wrist with an approving bweep. The virus had cost the Universal Humanist Movement several billion dollars and decades of research time to fully develop. The viral construct essentially attacked the pneurophonic receptors in an individual’s head, preventing them from breaking free of their intrinsinet connection once the manacle was placed on their avatar’s wrist. With Guest86’s consciousness securely trapped in the pneurosensory construct that was the intrinsinet, Kilfry allowed himself a broad grin. Then, the Commander smacked the white avatar squarely in the chin and sent him sprawling to the floor.
“I know that’s you, Vesuvio!” Commander Kilfry yelled wildly at the prone Guest86. “I pwn you! Give up the location of the Profederate fleet! >:(”
Guest86 inclined his head quizzically from his crouch on the floor.
“Would you like to unsubscribe?” he asked Kilfry quietly.
Commander Kilfry paused.
“What?” he asked uncertainly, poised to attack again at a moments notice.
“Say STOP to unsubscribe,” Guest86 told Kilfry pleasantly as he climbed to his feet. “Thousands of sexy singles are waiting to talk to you!”
“Wh-what are you doing??” a nearby male guest asked Kilfry in shock.
As Commander Kilfry looked about, he realised that the social elite of Pax were all staring at him as though he was a piece of scabby dandruff.
“I’m, uh… I’m a Commander,” Commander Kilfry told them all hesitantly.
“Alright, ‘Commander’…” a man with a rotund avatar barked gruffly as he stepped forward. “Exactly why are you attacking that automated spam-bot?”
“‘Automated spam-bot’…?” Commander Kilfry repeated nervously.
As the Commander scanned the crowd of disgusted socialites he spied Scoomer smiling earnestly at him amidst the throng.
“I thought you told me this guy was Vesuvio Dong?!” Kilfry growled furiously at the multi-medium.
“What??” Scoomer exclaimed with unusually lucid bewilderment. “No I didn’t! You asked me if he was ‘him’, and I told you he was. Of course he’s ‘him’. I mean, who else would he be…”
Kilfry stared at the innocuous youth in muted disbelief.
“Scoomer,” he intoned gravely. “I am going to rape you with a shoe-horn.”
“Excuse me, ‘Commander’,” the large man interjected bitterly again. “But could I see your e-vitation?”
“I don’t have one,” Kilfry replied timidly. “But… Dame Yustroch will vouch for me!”
“Who in the hell is Dame Yustroch?” the man demanded. “And why the hell are you cavorting around my symposium with such a protrusive erection??”
Kilfry’s mind wheels slowly creaked into action.
“Yustroch was Vesuvio,” he said quietly to himself as two enormous bouncers descended on his frail digital representation. “La mia nemesi è diabolico…”
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
So, it's been over a year since I've penned a noteworthy adventure for Commander Kilfry, as I have been focusing on finishing my 2nd book 'Beneath a Clockwork Sun'. Nonetheless, I do still love the character, and the blog was still sitting here, so I thought I might make use of it... By turning Kilfry into a comic strip!
So without further adieu, here is the first Infinititus comic - Future Tense. :)
So without further adieu, here is the first Infinititus comic - Future Tense. :)
Friday, May 6, 2011
The heady twang of pneurophonic alarm bells scythed through Kilfry’s cranium as the crew of the Guilty Seamstress sprang to life. Crewman with panicked looks charged past him as they went about manning their posts throughout the Seamstress’ bridge. Warning lights cascaded across the warmer ranges of the colour spectrum as Kilfry blinked placidly from his command chair and squinted through the ensuing chaos around him.
“Whassat?” he mumbled dozily to no one in particular.
“Sir!” barked Communications Officer Poultice whilst frantically pressing buttons at his console, “It’s the cargo bay, sir! It’s been breached!”
Commander Kilfry stared at Poultice thoughtfully as he scratched his shadowed jaw.
“What?” he asked again blankly.
Why did they have to make the Captains chairs on board Tango-Class Interstellar Transport class vessels so damn comfy? Kilfry thought to himself as he yawned languidly. It’s the built in foot-spa that really puts you off-guard…
“The cargo bay, sir!” asserted Officer Poultice as he began fervently winding a nearby crank of undisclosed function. “The prisoners! They’ve… broken loose…”
Kilfry’s brow narrowed.
He gritted his teeth resolutely and took his feet out of the mineral-essence spa treatment custom designed to soften his cuticles.
“The Day-Fist Ninjas…” Kilfry growled heatedly under his breath as he stood up. “Quantum help us all.”
Kilfry yanked his combat boots on hastily and stormed over to the weapons locker as the bridge crew darted and shoved around him. He gleefully eyed the array of high-tech killing machines before him.
“Let me see…” Kilfry mumbled happily to himself. “Pneuronic-Suspension Rifle? Too easy… Distended-Laser Falchion? Ack, it’s purple! Gay… Ahh, here we go…”
Kilfry hoisted the Light-Cutter Assault Arm out of the closet and hooked it over his shoulder. The device’s pneumatic harness hissed and clicked as it locked itself into place.
“Bad. Fucking. Ass,” Kilfry remarked to himself as he squinted down the length of the cybernetic weapon.
The Light-Cutter Assault Arm was essentially a terminally-fast buzz saw attached to a mechanical shield arm, and was originally designed for mining expeditions on stars. The 3-foot wide circular saw in the machine’s mechanical hand sported quasar-lanced blades, specially treated so that they could cut through higher-dimensional constructs such as heat, light, or even laser-blasts. Add to this the fact that the arm provided a rudimentary prismatic-energy shield to the wielder, and the Light-Cutter Assault Arm was a photon-rifle’s worst nightmare.
Kilfry tensed his sweat-caked fingers deep within the mechanical death-apparatus. The buzz-saw flashed and whirred to life.
“Prepare to suck the captain’s log,” he announced proudly to no one in particular.
Communications Officer Poultice eyed Kilfry uncomfortably.
“Go fuck yourself, Poultice,” Kilfry called over his shoulder as he jogged away from the bridge. “You wish you’d thought of that line…”
Kilfry suspected he was in the midship, but it was hard to be sure. The corridors down here all looked the same, and the holographic deck maps were really hard to read. He hadn’t seen anyone for some time now. Approximately ninety percent of the crew were currently piled into the evac-shuttles, awaiting further instructions due to the ship’s emergency status.
As for the Day-Fist Ninjas…
Kilfry knew all too well that those trained in Day-Fist ninjutsu would only be found if they truly wanted to be. Wandering around aimlessly and hoping to run into them was essentially like looking for a hypodermic in a bio-organic chaff pile.
Day-Fist ninjutsu was a well guarded secret. The seamless blend of their intense physical training, their practiced slight of hand, and their clandestine technological superiority made them feared throughout the galaxy.
It was said that they were faster than light. It was said that they could hide in the bright of day, and that they burnt through their foes with the fury of one-thousand suns. No one had ever caught one of them, until now.
And now, they had three of them.
Three of the universe’s most deadly assassins, stalking the ship that was once their prison, thought Kilfry to himself despondently. Maybe it’s not too late to find an evac-pod…
Without warning, Kilfry’s Light-Cutter Assault Arm whirred to life.
Kilfry gritted his teeth as the automated defence function took hold of the assault arm’s rotary motors, and he felt it lash out sharply to his right. He felt the high-velocity spinning blade connect, and closed his eyes to brace himself for the counter-attack.
There was a thud.
Kilfry opened his eyes and blinked.
He looked around uncertainly.
The Day-Fist Ninja was lying on the floor.
On either side of him.
Kilfry squeamishly stepped out of the blood that was rapidly pooling from the two pieces of ninja.
That was incredible! Kilfry thought to himself excitably. It was as if that guy came out of the nowhere…
The Light-Cutter Assault Arm interjected Kilfry’s train of thought with a punctuated automated seizure.
Kilfry’s eyes widened as he spun around.
With a crack, a second Day-Fist Ninja’s foot punctured the mechanical arm’s carapace before vanishing in a flash of halogenic light. Kilfry’s weapon moaned dejectedly as he staggered backwards from the blow. He nursed the wounded weapon with all the tenderness of an opiate-riddled lover.
“You’ll pay for that, ninja-face…” Kilfry growled as he soothingly patted the robotic arm.
With renewed resolve, Kilfry widened his stance and pivoted his gaze up and down the ship’s corridor.
And then he saw it.
Like a ray of light, the Day-Fist Ninja struck.
Kilfry’s light-sensitive gauntlet responsively snapped out, clipping the second ninja. As his lightning-quick opponent thudded heavily to the metal floor, Kilfry contorted his body to press the attack. Running up the corridor wall, Kilfry back flipped through the star-ship’s low-gravity field and, with the all the poise of a deranged emu, brought the buzz-saw down on the head of the prone criminal.
The whirring blade let out a wet, meaty crunch.
“Two points to Commander Big-Dick,” Kilfry said informatively. “Suck it, flesh-puppet.”
Kilfry felt the assault arm split apart with a tearing metallic roar. He fell backwards as the weapon collapsed away from his shoulder in one smooth, crushing blow from the third and final Day-Ninja. He felt the ligaments and musculature in his biceps snap, and howled out in pain.
“One point to me,” hissed the ninja standing over him.
Kilfry panted as he eyed the high-tech martial artist up close. The ninja was entirely covered in a red-tinted polymer body armour of some sort, though the armour refracted light at its edges as though it possessed some rudimentary personal-cloaking technology.
The ninja stared down at Kilfry through a hooded crack in its visor. Kilfry’s pulse pumped heatedly from his rapidly haemorrhaging arm as a faint red light flashed from deep within the ninja’s armoured suit.
“Any last requests before I kill you?” the ninja snarled as it extracted a long, metallic bladed implement from its belt.
Kilfry’s eyes flashed around nervously.
“Can you tell me…” he panted wearily, “Where the fuck are we on this piece of shit ship?”
The ninja snorted.
“You don’t even know that?” it asked condescendingly. “And you’re in command here? Pah… We’re on Crew Deck 9. The starboard quadrant.”
Kilfry slammed his wrist communicator against the ground in a desperate attempt to activate it.
“Officer Poultice!” he shrieked in an ungainly manner. “Open all airlocks on Crew Deck 9!”
The Day-Fist Ninja stared at him mutedly.
“Th-That…” it stammered “… that would kill you too.”
Kilfry winked happily.
As the vacuum rushed in, both Kilfry and the surviving Day-Fist Ninja were pulled off their feet. Amidst the storm of debris, corpses, and ninjas, Kilfry felt his fragile human bones shattering as they were consistently smashed throughout the tunnelled maze of Crew Deck 9. As unconsciousness took hold, Commander Kilfry consoled himself with another mission well-done…
The stasis pod opened with a hum.
Kilfry yawned happily and looked around, to see the stoic face of Communications Officer Poultice.
“Good job, Poultice!” Kilfry said encouragingly as he grabbed him by the hand. “We did it! We defeated the ninjas! Hope it didn’t take you long to find my body and recover my consciousness-pneumonic.”
“Six months, Commander,” said Poultice dryly. “General Sectus commissioned the Seamstress for the task personally.”
Kilfry nodded happily.
“Excellent!” he lauded happily. “Though I’ve got to confess, clone-bodies always take me a few months to break in. It’s like wearing a codpiece that’s shrunk in the wash… But you seem distracted, Poultice. Is something wrong? Why so glum, my friend?”
Poultice starred at Commander Kilfry in mute disbelief.
“Are… are you serious?” he asked finally. “Aside from wasting six months of my ship’s time, you killed several hundred passengers and crewmen in your stunt back there! Aside from which, you weren’t even supposed to kill the Day-Fist Ninjas! General Sectus wanted them alive, remember?! They were the only Day-Fist Ninjas that have ever been caught!!”
Kilfry nodded and pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Is General Sex-Less pissed?” he asked tentatively.
Poultice sighed and hung his head.
“No…” he conceded angrily. “When I last talked to him, the old fool seemed to have… forgotten the whole thing…”
Kilfry winked and gave Poultice a peace sign.
“V is for ‘victory’,” he informed Poultice happily before plonking back down in the stasis pod. “Now, go fetch me some pornography. I have some breaking in to do.”
Thursday, April 28, 2011
The soft, steady thrum of the rotary fan high overhead punctuated the tense silence of the abandoned awesomite silo. Kilfry felt the crisp crunch of residual crystals grinding underneath his combat boots as he crept forward through the maze of galvanised tubing.
Humanity had long since forgotten the awesomite boom some several hundred years earlier. Kilfry was amazed that structures like this still existed, deep beneath the winding pneuro-communication conductors and the hydro-electrical ducts supporting the civilised world high above. Awesomite was a man-made compound that had highly anomalous energetic qualities. One pound of refined awesomite contained enough raw power to maintain single domestic household for a year. Unfortunately, awesomite also had a tendency to release unpredictable bursts of highly mutagenic omega radiation. Sadly, no-one had been aware of this fact until the awesomite silos had all simultaneously turned critical ten-years into the awesomite craze. The ensuing plague of mutant rats and city council workers had been utterly devastating.
As the sulphurous smell of sterilisation agents wafted through from the bowels of the silo Kilfry did his best to block his nose with the photon pistol in his hand.
At least the residual awesomite here has been neutralised, thought Kilfry with relief. Although, I have always wanted a third penis…
As Commander Kilfry steadily pressed deeper through the abandoned industrial storage facility, he reflected on the wild adventure that had brought him here; his daring rescue of the Royal Vizier from the exploding Pneurophonic Symposium Centre, his gritty shakedown of numerous lowlifes from back-water dives and seedy bars, his brief but highly sensual sexual encounter with not just one but two women, who had been nice enough to only charge him half price.
This case has proved to be quite the web of intrigue and deception, Kilfry conceded as he absent-mindedly licked the barrel of his energy weapon. It would make an excellent movie, or perhaps a short story, as long as attention was given to the more exciting aspects of the journey, and is not wasted on long internal soliloquies or unimportant personal observations.
Kilfry nodded thoughtfully to himself as he passed into another large, echoing chamber of the silo. A chlorosustainant light source broke the gloom high overhead, its beam consistently severed by the rotations of another humming ventilation fan. The light danced eerily around the inside of the large metallic coffin, creating pockets of gloom around the starry refractions of glittering awesomite particles.
“So, you finally found me, eh Kilfry?” croaked a husky voice from a shadowy corner of the storage chamber. “I’ve waited for this moment for some time…”
Kilfry’s photon pistol whipped out as he took aim at the shadow-cloaked stranger. The Commander desperately squinted through the dim-lighting of the underground chamber, doing his best penetrate the nefarious villain’s veil of darkness.
“So…” Kilfry enunciated carefully. “You must be the one who planted the bombs? The criminal mastermind who has been terrorising the city? You must be… ‘the Future Man’?”
The shadowy puppet-master chortled hoarsely to himself.
“I don’t know that I must be…” he confided slyly. “But yes. I am.”
With a loping, hunched gait, the strange man stepped into the light.
Commander Kilfry gasped.
“B...” stuttered Kilfry in shock. “… Badmoo?”
The Future Man cackled and raised his arms triumphantly.
“Yes!” he hissed villainously. “It is I! Your trusted friend and partner…”
“Sidekick,” interjected Kilfry pointedly.
Badmoo seethed quietly for a moment.
“Yes…” Badmoo muttered agitatedly. “Yes, I am the villainous mastermind, ‘the Future Man’.”
“But you’re an officer of the Intergalactic Defence force!” Kilfry exclaimed in impassioned tones. “You and I are the only two officers of the Intergalactic Defence force! We have untempered respect and financial backing from the entirety of the human race! Why the fuck would you thrown that away?! To blow up a few cultural landmarks?? I mean… Look at you! You look like shit, dude!”
Badmoo pulled his rat-skin cloak more tightly around his shoulders and combed his long, matted brown hair back carefully.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Kilfry…” the Future Man told him dismissively. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the pain of playing second fiddle to a moron. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the futility of a life spent in stasis, with zero promotion prospects. I mean, there’s a good chance that neither of us will ever age or die due to the technological advancement of our species. We have been protecting the human race for over two hundred years now! Two hundred fucking years!! Did you know that the government won’t let us retire?? I tried! They said that they’ve ‘invested too much time and money in preserving our physical wellbeings’… Bastards…”
Badmoo sighed wearily and hung his head.
“I couldn’t handle another two hundred years of it, Kilfry,” he confided. “No… I’m going to fix the world! I’m going to give us a better future!”
Kilfry examined the hunched form of the Future Man in disdain.
“And your future involves not showering, and systematically mashing baked-beans into your teeth?” Kilfry asked squeamishly. “Where the hell did you get baked-beans from anyway? I haven’t seen those in years… And why aren’t you wearing any clothes??”
Badmoo cackled maniacally and flung his vermin-skin cloak back.
Kilfry averted his eyes modestly.
“My future is the future of all things, Kilfry!” shrieked the Future Man. “Entropy and decay is the true nature of all things! Not even the technological might of the human race can resist it! Buildings will crumble! Cities will fall before the ravages of time! Look upon me, and behold the future!!”
Kilfry fired off a searing photon beam into the Future Man’s exposed genitals. With a whimper, Badmoo collapsed on the ground.
“I’ve neutralised the terrorist,” Kilfry announced into his wrist communicator. “Send in the retrieval team.”
Commander Kilfry strolled over to the prone form of Ex-Lieutenant Badmoo and shook his head disdainfully.
“So… after orchestrating all those sequential terrorist attacks across the city,” he asked, “You really didn’t have a plan to deal with me when I finally tracked you down?”
“I’m more of a ‘long-term’ strategist than a tactician,” the Future Man murmured into the cold metal floor of the silo.
Kilfry nodded thoughtfully as he rested a foot on Badmoo’s back and extracted a cigarillo from his belt.
“By the way,” he said conversationally as he lit the tip of the small cigar with a photon blast, “I fucked your sister.”