Va'armo'o trotted down the hallway to his relaxation room, feeling the euphoric compounds race through his system from the two wads of high priced narcocud in his system. He admired the flow of light on the precious metals making up the frames and the accents on valuable curios that he had lined his hallways with. He nodded to the portrait of his grand-matron, her stern and authoritative visage glaring at him as it always had. He smiled at the portrait of one of his ancestors, who had pulled the family up to Grand Most High status in eons past. Nobody knew the patron's name, but Va'armo'o had taken to calling him Ge'enree'u'si. The nearly forgotten elder was scarred and did not bother having his portrait hide it.

He trotted into the room he had recently ordered built, the doors opening automatically and letting him move into the room.

It was built lavishly. Comfort and leisure were foremost in mind during the design and it reflected Va'armo'o's wealth and power as the Most High of System Transportation and Shipping. Overstuffed reclining cradles, max-screen display screens, ultra-high definition holotanks.

True, much of it had been ordered through the black market from Terra before the recent unpleasantness (and afterwards through grey-market contacts and outright lack market contacts) and was only quasi-legal. Va'armo'o could excuse it as he needed to examine Terran goods to make sure the market wasn't flooded with cheap Terran material that would threaten Lanaktallan industries.

Va'armo'o felt a quiver of excitement as he sat down in what he liked to think of as his 'throne.' A movement context sensitive couch with built in speakers, a handle for controllers to set down on, a nearby food and drink unit.

Everything he needed.

The thoughts of the Night Terran swept away by expensive drugs and the sight of his favorite place in the whole world, Va'armo'o moved up and sat down in the cradle. He let the back rest get into position and the 'variable hardness ergonomic system' shift itself for maximum comfort. Music spun up, Terran classic music, and the lights dimmed as the screens came on.

JUST MASTER RACE THINGS...

His gaming system powered up, the LED's and holograms appearing as his powerful computer system (which met all the minimum specifications for his games) booted up.

JUST MASTER RACE THINGS...

He reached over and grabbed one of the master control pads, pressing the button to turn it on. A little hologram of a bouncing ball with eyes and a mouth appeared above the pad, squeaking happily at being turned on.

Va'armo'o smiled, biting down on the narcocud so juice filled his jowls. His tendrils tingled.

JUST MASTER RACE THINGS...

Va'armo'o picked up the three cables and plugged them into his datalink, shuddering as his system synched up with the computers. The logo for the all powerful OS manufacturer appeared in his vision and he shuddered at the fearsome appearing Terran.

YOU KNOW JUST MASTER RACE THINGS!

The heavy bass beat was vibrating him as he watched the screens flicker several times before coming online. His Nebula-Steam games list scrolled down the screen and he trembled with anticipation. Nearly three thousand games appeared, all of them sorted by achievement amount and how many achievements he'd managed to gather.

OI, M8!

The Terran male's voice filled his world as he navigated to one of his favorite games. A post-apocalyptic survival simulator where he played the part of a subject that had been grown up in an underground shelter and had been experimented on before escaping to the post-nuclear war hellscape of his primitive world.

He activated the game's mod-manager so he could play the game modified. It was illegal according to the Unified Software Council and the Unified Corporation Council to modify software, but Va'armo'o knew that they were his lessers and would not understand why he needed to modify the games.

GET A BETTER INVIDIA

Oh, he only needed to kill another fifteen monsters with melee weapons to earn a bronze achievement. Only a handful more of explosive kills, a few computer hacks, a few more lockpicks, and produce only three hundred more weapons to outfit his settlers with enough firepower to hold off the Brotherhood of Iridium. OH! He only needed to kill twelve more radiation zombies in unarmed combat and he'd get another Silver achievement!

YA FRIGGIN' IDYA

Va'armo'o snorted. Unlike most of his fellow Lanaktallan, he rejoiced in the fierce and whirling combat of these Terran survival simulators. Lately he'd even taken to running the whole thing in full eVR with the ability to inflict pain upon him.

He found it more fulfilling than even sex.

YOUR LAGGY JAGGIES ARE ACTUALLY HIDEOUS

They may be satisfied with merely matching a few colored gems into a row to feel accomplishment, but nothing is better than feeling a Supermutant's head explode when you punch him with an enhanced gravity fist, Va'armo'o thought to himself, navigating to the load a saved game screen.

I WANT THE SMOOTHEST SKINS!

Va'armo'o opened the save files, ignoring the warning that it was modified and he would not receive achievements. He had a mod to fix that.

MY OCULUS RIFT WEARS AN OCULUS RIFT WITH AN OCULUS RIFT ON ITS OCULUS RIFT!

He stared in horror.

All five of his saves no longer showed his amazing 33% progress!

All of them only had an hour in game, which meant they were barely out of the tutorial area! And they were all...

they were all...

LEVEL ONE!

He whinnied in horror, staring at the screen.

THERE'S MORE CASH IN MY NEBULA STEAM WALLET THAN IN MY BANK ACCOUNT!

Shaking, he moved quickly to his other games, checking the saves.

Horror filled him as he saw that each of them had been saved over with another save that barely had any time on them.

All of his games! All of them!

He lowered his head and made a sad noise.

His datalink chirped.

"Most... Most High Va'armo'o," he sobbed.

"Greetings, Most High Va'armo'o," the voice said. "This is the Nosferatu Collective."

"Oh... okay," he said, unwrapping another chunk of narcocud. The voice was heavily synthesized to the point Va'armo'o, sunk in his own misery, couldn't tell anything about them.

"Do you want your saves back?" the voice asked.

"Yes!" he said, lifting his head.

"Then you will take three weeks of sick leave," the voice said.

The narcotics flooding his bloodstream filled him with sudden courage.

"I will not! I am the Most High of System Transportation and Shipping! I will not be... extorted in such a manner!" Va'armo'o said.

"Yet, you are," the voice said.

"Bah, I will simply replay-arino all my diddly-iddly gamer-inos. This time I know the differences in the beginningses and can tailor my game betterly how I want it," Va'armo'o said, straightening up. "You may be albe to toucherino my gamily-amily saviddly files, but my power is in the REAL world," the stimulants in the narcocud were sweeping away the depression, leaving him sweating and licking his jowls. "I will have all of your order by GalNet packages fired into the sun and see how you like that! I AM A GOD COMPARED TO YOU!"

There was silence.

"Yes, yes, I am a God compared to your insignificant self," Va'armo'o said. He paused. "GIVE ME BACK MY SAVES!"

"A God?" the voice asked. There was a long pause. "So you believe in Gods?"

Va'armo'o nodded. "Of course I do."

There was a motion, to his left, that attracted his attention.

Va'armo'o realized he couldn't see well to this left, where his Player Two chair sat (so far, sadly unused by any comely fillies who were scantily dressed), and he was forced to turn his head and look.

Look!

As if he was a peasant!

With only two eyes!

Like a peasant!

Va'armo'o blinked as the chair started to whine, the back lifting up. There was something under his blanket featuring scantily clad cartoon female Terrans (that he only had for decorative purposes), something that was...

that was...

Terran shaped.

The figure, with obviously two arms and two legs under the blanket, sat all the way up.

The blanket slowly slid down and Va'armo'o's eyes bulged in terror.

The figure wore fur trimmed robes of great wealth and power. The body and sleeves were red, with white fur edging and cuffs. He had a large medallion of precious metals hanging from a golden ribbon draped around his neck. He had reddish facial hair, a beard and mustache that completely encircled his mouth. His hair was wild beneath his large and heavy golden crown that was bejeweled with large gems. His robes and face were splattered with blood, his eyes glinted with madness, and Va'armo'o could smell the stench of flame broiled meat.

Va'armo'o felt his bowels let loose as he recognized the figure next to him, who's head was slowly turning until the Terran faced Va'armo'o.

Va'armo'o had seen the visage a thousand times, but the reality was even more terrible than the legends could have ever suggested.

Va'armo'o gave a whimper and his bowels evacuated as the figure slowly smiled, showing a mouth full of rending and tearing omnivore teeth.

"Where is your god now?" the Hamburger King asked.

Va'armo'o shrieked as the dreaded tyrant the Hamburger King lifted one hand and held out a horror show.

It was a sandwich, two buns of grain bread, with seeds covering the top one. There was greenery, vegetables, fruits, in the sandwich.

But it was the two patties of meat, sizzling still, flush with grease, that made Va'armo'o shriek in fear as the bloody despot who had destroyed all of his foes to rule with a iron fisted grip over the Hamburger Kingdom held the meat sandwich out to Va'armo'o with a flourish.

The room's lights flashed, then went dark.

Va'armo'o struggled against the seat, but couldn't get loose.

The lights came on and Va'armo'o was able to see with all six eyes again.

The dreadful Terran ruler, long dead, was gone.

Only the smell of flame broiled meat remained.

Va'armo'o closed his eyes and squeezed the narcocud in his teeth, flooding his mouth with the juices. The narcotics raced through his bloodstream and he heaved a few deep breaths.

It was just a hallucination. Just a hallucination, he told himself.

Shaking, Va'armo'o turned back to his games. He found that, thanks to the narcocud, he no longer felt despair at seeing all of his precious saves reduced to basic saves. He could start over, and do even better this time.

Va'armo'o spent some time downloading mods, even using a fabulous program that let him modify how the bodies would look. He weighed which texture he wanted applied to the characters and kept only the best ones so that the NPC's would look the most realistic.

Satisfied, he fired up one of his favorites and went through the character select and creation menu, slowly building his character.

He finished the tutorial, taking his time, exploring parts he would have never have thought to explore prior. Finally he went through the section's transportation.

SAVING! DO NOT TURN OFF CONSOLE! appeared.

The lights flashed.

When the room lighting came back up Va'armo'o gasped.

The Night Terran stood next to his 'rig'! His black cape wrapped tightly around him, the shoulders making him look impossibly wide, the collar high peaked with points, the cape puddled on the floor, chrome spikes on his shoulders.

One finger was over the power button to Va'armo'o's computer system.

"No," Va'armo'o whispered.

The finger reached down and touched the button.

"Please," Va'armo'o whimpered.

The finger bent slightly as the Night Terran put pressure on the button, pressing it down slightly.

"I'll do anything," Va'armo'o said, staring at the warning not to turn off his console.

His datalink clinked and clicked.

"You will take three weeks off for vacation," the heavily synthesized voice said.

"Yes! Yes! Anything!" Va'armo'o said. He quickly put together a note, firing it off to his subordinate, telling the subordinate that he would be taking three weeks for mental and emotional hygiene. "There! I've done as you asked!"

"Your membership with your extended warranty has been verified. Your progress has been restored. Thank you for your prompt payment," the voice said.

The lights went out.

SAVE FINISHED!

The lights came on and Va'armo'o looked around frantically.

The Night Terran was gone.

He slumped in his gaming couch and breathed a sigh of relief.

I survived meeting with the Night Terran, he thought to himself.

The holoscreens flashed and Va'armo'o's attention was pulled back to his systems. His character was breathing heavy as it stepped into sunlight for the first time in their lives.

Within moments, Va'armo'o had forgotten (with the help of the narcocud he kept chewing) all about Night Terrans.

There were achievements to win!

------------------

MANTID FREE WORLDS

My God, it just keeps on getting worse.

How was this supposed to terrify the Varakson Empire again?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

I don't know. It's kind of terrifying. There's nothing out of his reach, no place safe, nothing that he can't touch.

It's really scary.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK FREE FLIGHT

Plus, I don't understand half of what he's doing.

It's utter terrifying that he has no rhyme or reason for anything he does.

He kills criminals, terrorizes politicians, acts goofy and friendly toward the population.

He makes no sense.

It's really really scary.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

MANTID FREE WORLDS

I don't get it.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

OK, Sis. We get humans, we understand them.

The Lanaktallan, hell, half the younger ones, don't understand them like we do.

Look at it from their point of view.

This guy is killing at his own leisure, nothing these high powered criminals, even low life scum that catch his eye, can do to stop him, or even slow him down. If he wants you dead, you're dead. He'll literally tear you in half and dance with your torso to creepy organ music.

He can get inside the residences of the Most Highs, mess their stuff, destroy their pillows, delete their saved games, dress in their clothing.

He can enter their offices, highjack their limos, do whatever he wants.

And they can't stop him.

Worse, they can't ask TerraSol to stop him.

If you don't know much about the Terrans, this goes from goofy, and trust me, sis, we know goofy, to down right pants shittingly terrifying.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

RIGELLIAN SAURIAN COMPACT

I don't know about you, but if I had the Hamburger King sit up next to me and offer me a hamburger, I'd probably start screaming.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

DIGITAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS

Not even we are safe from something like that.

Man, just thinking of him lurking around old data archival stores, hiding in barely used maintenance links, crouched down behind ancient hyperlinks.

Brrr....

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

BIOLOGICAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS

Plus, even when he's just terrorizing these guys, he's still a Terran, and we all know what that means.

Fuck that. If this thing appeared on our capital world, we'd sue for peace right there.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

CYBERNETIC ORGANISM COLLECTIVE

It's an unholy thing.

When the war is over, we believe it should be eradicated from the universe once and for all.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

LEEBAW CONTEMPLATION POOL

I don't know, I think he's funny.