— VJOOM—TOTALFUCKINGSTATIC—…TUDUM —[A cosmic-jazz jingle that sounds like someone tried to play blues on a dying space-cuttlefish during a mental breakdown]“Welcome back, gremlins—
you’re listening to Night With Melody™,
broadcasting on Radio Nebula 69.99 FTLM—
the only station that transmits faster than light
and still manages to be late to its own goddamn show.With you, as always—
your one and only, your beloved, your universally admired host…Dick Melody.
No, seriously—that’s what my psychiatrist told me to repeat every day:
‘”‘Say it three times, and eventually someone might believe you.’So burn that into your skulls, you filthy cosmic crumbs.
And of course—
here with me in the cabin,
my deadly, radiant, beautifully unpredictable partner-in-crime—
DJ Jacqueline “Jackie” Rho.Explosive like a plasma leak,
and twice as sexy.Kinda like Madeline Crook—
yes, that Madeline Crook—
the girl who just saved our deranged duo from becoming insect-purée.And for those of you living under asteroids,
in mining shafts,
or simply dumb as a warped plug:this sweet little lady is now the CEO of Quince™.
Yep.
Kicked daddy to retirement,
bought out the Board of Directors,
and the next day—
are you sitting down?She was engaged to the son of Macrohard™’s CEO,
Bob Hutch.That’s right, kids.
A century-long corporate war
is about to end with a marriage contract.Diplomacy?
No, no, no, darling.
This is marketing.After that, the merged megacorp MacroQuince™ is gonna be thriving, bloated,
and stinking of even more money.And since we’re on the subject…
Hey, marketing department of Macrohard and Quince—
don’t be shitholes.Or I’ll start leaking the dirty secrets from your accounting division.
Yeah, I’ve got access.
Someone gave it to me…
wait, that’s classified.Alright, Jackie—
hit the jingle.Let’s get back to our story
before these listeners start thinking
we’re padding the runtime with filler.”As you’ve undoubtedly guessed,
our idiot duo escaped through the same asshole of the flagship
they’d used to get in.The MacroHard™ frigate was dying—
not from age, not from a systems failure,
but from the catastrophic fires and ruptures
all of it traced back to one deranged murder-droid—X0–RΞΛPΣR
who had rampaged through the station’s guts
like a toddler smashing a LEGO set.The multi-trillion-credit orbital mega station MacroHard Office™,
the corporation’s pride, its command center,
its throne of power and useless .xlsx reports—
was now descending into the atmosphere of Quince Park™
in a glorious, burning, catastrophic freefall,
shedding trillions of c-bucks in valuation
every single second
as it crumbled into cosmic confetti.If the Macrohard™ marketing department were watching this live,
their eyes, lungs, and entire 300-slide presentation deck
would’ve crashed simultaneously.”