Daemon Sultan Donald Trump leered down on the peaceful blue marble slowly rotating beneath his Retribution-class Battleship, Ivanka. A small battalion of flunkies sat in the conference room, fidgeting, waiting to see whom would be the next to be fired. Out of a cannon. Into the sun. Finally, the one most tired of being alive spoke up in a tentative voice.
"Sultan Mister President Trump Sir, Esquire?" he asked carefully.
The Daemon Sultan affixed the man with a steely blue gaze. Donald Trump was the very picture of a high lord of Chaos. He had the figure of a burly youth still in his prime, but his intimidating stature was softened by his face, which was strangely feminine. He had flowing blond hair that went down past his shoulders; past his ass; past even the bottoms of his feet, and the tresses were held above the deck by a pair of naked female slaves. Sultan Trump projected an aura of wise, contemplative ruthlessness.
His underlings couldn't help but be starstruck.
The Daemon Sultan finally spoke. "Yes, Planetary Governor José Alejandro de Gómez Aznar?"
Governor Alejandro felt a thrill of electricity jolt up his spine. The Daemon Sultan remembered his entire name, a feat no superior before him had ever bothered to accomplish. To be directly addressed by Trump himself could be a path to a quick promotion – or an equally immediate death.
The governor took a deep breath.
"Your Excellency, your economic development plan for TrumpWorld LXIX® has exceeded even our most optimistic projections. Unemployment is holding steady at 0.00% since we started hiring the unemployed to throw the unemployed into woodchippers. We've made massive strides into cleaning up the PCBs in the Polar Ocean, and GDP, per capita income, and human development index variables have all skyrocketed since your conquest. Agricultural production is up 116% in the past four years. And, of course, the planetary shield – or Wall as you call it - is now finished, and is fully five feet thick around the entire globe."
Trump nodded sagaciously. "Go on. Any remaining issues on which I should be appraised before I leave this sector?"
"There's just… one small problem, Your Excellency, Sir."
"Well, what is it?"
"We've had no success in deporting illegal aliens. Millions of dark Eldar, Tau, and daemons still remain onplanet despite our best efforts. We've tried physical arrest and deportation; we've tried bribing them to leave; we even tried tricking them all aboard a giant spaceship disguised as a movie theater for a free weekend matinée; none of it has worked. I know this is considered an issue of planetary security-"
"Damned right!" interrupted the Sultan.
"-but nevertheless, there are several political factions that wonder if you might be… convinced to moderate your stance on the alien issue, somewhat?"
For a long, pregnant moment, Donald Trump said nothing. Then he finally stood, carefully smoothing his white suit over his barrel-shaped chest. Governor Alejandro cowered as best he could in his chair. The Daemon Sultan was unpredictable; at one moment, he might fly off the handle at the sound of bad news, but other times he would take it with cool bemusement. Two young, naked women of Slavic descent trailed behind him, holding his long blond hair so that it would not brush against the deck of the battleship. Trump walked to the window of the conference room while the various functionaries trembled.
"Good work, Governor. Of course, this is a complex issue with many facets. I didn't expect you to solve everything in a mere four years."
The governor let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "Thank you Excellency."
"Nevertheless, the illegal alien issue is the cornerstone of my legitimacy! Whenever someone thinks TrumpWorld – any of them! – a few simple things should come to mind. Do you know what those things are, José Alejandro de Gómez Aznar?"
"Yessir," squeaked the governor. "No sir. Please tell me, sir."
The Daemon Sultan was known for his long, self-congratulatory monologues, and the safest response was to try to stay out of the way.
"Beauty! Luxury!" the Daemon Sultan melodramatically brushed a long strand of radiant golden hair out from the front of his face. "Décadence! Not dirty aliens and a feckless bureaucracy! Have you tried killing them?"
José paused carefully. "Your Excellency made very clear during the campaign that we were to try to solve this as humanely – alienly – as possible."
"Good." Trump favored the man with a sharp nod. "That was my promise, and I intend to keep it. They've got their rapists, murderers, and some, I assume, are bad people. A wholesale slaughter is not what I want to associate with the Trump brand. Nobody wants to vacation on a planet that's a graveyard… well, nobody with money."
"Wouldn't it be possible to, I don't know, leave the alien issue alone, Your Excellency?"
Trump quickly turned to stare back at the governor, sending his slaves into a scramble to keep his hair from touching the ground.
"Alone?" the Sultan cried out incredulously.
"Sir, they're doing jobs Trumpians won't do!"
"Nonsense," Trump argued hotly. "You used to be able to raise a family on agricultural wages. It might not make you rich, but you wouldn't go hungry, either. Then the corporations bought out all the politicians and allowed billions and billions of illegal aliens to immigrate over the border. That drove down wages, and now good human families can hardly make ends meet even working two jobs!"
"But Your Excellency, many of the Slaaneshi daemonettes will clean toilets, with their tongues, for free, and no human wants to do that work…"
Trump waved a finger at the governor. "Janitorial jobs are good work! They're people who ought to be respected, and there's room for upward mobility. Start out scrubbing toilets and in twenty years you might run the company!"
Governor Alejandro tried a different tack, suggested by the Tzeentch-owned mass media that broadcasted throughout the Chaos realm.
"Many of these illegal aliens are refugees from regions currently experiencing massive violence, or economic deprivation!"
"And that's all very tragic, I'm sure." Trump shook his head. "But we cannot afford to be the galaxy's dumping ground - or savior. I run the finest resort planets in the universe, I mean, have you ever seen tremendous planets like these? I have the best planets!"
"Yes, sir," the governor responded with a gulp.
Daemon Sultan Trump turned once again to stare out the window. For a long minute, there were no sounds but quiet breathing; a tapping stylus; and bureaucrats shifting uneasily in thick leather chairs.
"Your Excellency, I have an idea," announced a new voice.
Trump turned sharply.
"Yes, Ana Lucia Perez Aquino Guerrero? Well, out with it?"
"We could send… her," the Minister of Economic Development suggested, staring carefully into her stylus.
"Her?"
"Her."
A dark smile slowly spread across the Daemon Sultan's face, like a brushfire on a calm day.
"Tell me more, Minister Perez."
"We can have her and that horrible creature of hers brought up from cyro-stasis. We'll tell her, I don't know, that every illegal alien on TrumpWorld LXIX® wants to be friends with her. I estimate it won't take a week before she's driven every last one of them back to their homeworlds just to get away from her."
The Daemon Sultan's grin became downright lurid.
"Make it so. Maintain orbit until the package can be retrieved – we can't allow that thing to run loose across the galaxy."
An order went out across the ship's Intranet, jumping from PDA to mainframe and from mainframe back to PDA like electric fire. Heavy machinery began to move. Jets of steam erupted from valves and various status lights flipped from green to dark, bloody crimson. A technician in a HAZMAT suit shifted his weight nervously between his feet while a massive mechanical claw clanked into position and reached down into a vat of smoking liquid nitrogen. The needles on mechanical gauges fluctuated wildly as the claw deposited a torpedo tube on the deck of the battleship. The tube was emblazoned with dozens of warnings.
"DANGER: DO NOT EAT"
"HAZARDOUS MATERIAL"
"DO NOT OPEN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. THAT MEANS YOU!"
"POINT AWAY FROM FACE"
Slowly, a temperature gauge outside the unit climbed from negative three hundred C, to zero C, to thirty nine C. The HAZMAT technician's teeth clattered together uncontrollably as the tube suddenly opened with a loud hiss. Then there he was. Alone in the universe. Face-to-face, eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose with unmitigated horror. She was awake.
"Hu… hwhere am I?"
Cultist-chan. The most terrifying creature the galaxy had ever seen. The technician swore he'd rather come face-to-face with Khorne than that Warp-cursed demon. On the surface, she shouldn't be so frightening. She had cropped purpleish hair; small breasts hidden behind a torn-up tube top; a tattered black skirt; and she was wearing two sets of panties, "for luck" according to the dossier. But that was just the beginning. She had a voice that grated like a potato peeler to the balls. Cultist-chan had killed more enemies with her Septispike – mostly on accident – than even the most seasoned Chaos Marines. Khorne himself had once granted the woman a personal favor to honor her murder of an entire planet.
The technician tried to speak without stuttering. He failed.
"H-hello, Cultist-chan. We h-h-h-have a very import-t-t-tant mission for you."
"Fur mhe?" Cultist-chan ran her tongue along her snaggle teeth, scratching it. "Owh! Huwat do hyu needth?"
"Aliens… uh there's aliens… I mean… We need you to go down to TrumpWorld LXIX® and befriend as many aliens as you can."
"Hwue liek makink freindth!"
The technician's life flashed before his eyes as a flash of blue creature leapt out of the tube. He was slammed into the deck, back first, while the animal licked the faceplate of his HAZMAT suit. He couldn't hold back a high-pitched shriek, which was recorded by the ship's computer and subsequently played back thousands of times over the next decade to the merriment of all aboard except, of course, the technician.
"Kaaaa-oth!" cried out a singsong voice. "Idth time for hwus to go!"
The technician would have nightmares for the rest of his life.
The bridge crew carefully guided Cultist-chan to the shuttlebay, opening and closing bulkheads to drive her in the intended direction. Even watching her progress on the monitor was too much for some of the crew to handle – one woman fainted, and a veteran officer who had fought in a hundred bloody battles without a scratch failed his save and gained a permanent derangement. Finally, Cultist-chan was coaxed into a shuttle, which ascended from the hangar of the ship and took off towards the planet under autopilot.
"Your Excellency… are you sure this is a good idea?" Governor Alejandro asked nervously.
"No," admitted the Sultan cheerfully. "But I want to see where this is going."
It was tight quarters aboard the shuttle. Designed for one person, Kay-oth was sitting awkwardly in Cultist-chan's lap, face towards her feet and asshole directly in her face. In fact, it was so close that she accidentally kissed it whenever the shuttle hit a particularly turbulent patch of air in the planet's sky. Cultist-chan couldn't see the control panel in front of her but it was just as well; the ship was programmed so that if she somehow manage to override its autopilot, it would immediately self-destruct for the safety of the universe. Cultist-chan stroked the creature's furry side and cooed. Kay-oth purred gratefully.
"I whunder how lonk we huwhere athleep," Cultist-chan pondered out loud.
Kay-oth just barked. His larynx was unable to articulate human noises, and he no longer had anything interesting to say even if it could.
The shuttle roared through the planet's atmosphere and made its way slowly but surely along the 0 degree axis, towards the planet's temperate northern pole. Warmed by two small suns, TrumpWorld LXIX® was unusually hot for a garden world. The nearly boiling equatorial band of the planet was virtually uninhabitable, but the northern and southern regions, though subject to severe tropical weather, enjoyed balmy summer days and equally steamy nights. The newest Trump resort world, TrumpWorld LXIX® was in vogue with all of the prominent socialites of Chaos. Emeraude and her retinue were there, and the charismatic yet diffident lesbian attracted even more of the aristocracy, eager to be seen with her. It all would have been so perfect – except for all the illegal aliens.
Cultist-chan, of course, had no way of knowing any of this.
The shuttle dropped another ten thousand meters of altitude and made its final approach to an evacuated spaceport in the polar capital, Trumpsylvania. The shuttle slowly halted its horizontal velocity, and then sat down on its landing skids. The cockpit opened with a hiss, and Kay-oth, relieved to be out of the cramped space, leapt down onto the ground. Cultist-chan quickly followed. The air was hot and thick with humidity, and Cultist-chan's hair immediately matted down on her head like an unkempt bird nest. She uselessly ran her fingers through it twice. The primary sun was high in the sky, just after midday, but the second blue star was already dipping below the horizon, casting strange shadows across the runway. Cultist-chan threw up her arms, stretched, and yawned broadly. A faint glitter on the horizon crossed her eye and with delight she realized it was a beach.
"Come hon, Kay-oth!" she announced gleefully. "Ledth go twhimming!"
The creature barked and fell in line behind her.
The pair strolled onto the main boulevard connecting the spaceport to the beach resort district, a couple kilometers up the road. The highway was flanked with a greenbelt of palms and tropical flowers, and there could be little doubt that this planet was the most beautiful in all of the dominion of Chaos. Cultist-chan stuck out her thumb, but not only did every passing aircar refuse to slow down, but a bus even skipped a scheduled stop to ensure that she couldn't get on board. Happy-go-lucky as ever, the pair continued down the side of the roadway until it gave way to human development, with shops, hotels, restaurants, and bars springing up like forest mushrooms on the side of the boulevard. Shopkeeps took one look at Cultist-chan and closed for the day.
They finally arrived on a beach, with white, finely grained sand digging between their toes and talons, respectively. There were hundreds of revelers in varying states of nakedness, laying on beach towels and napping beneath brightly colored umbrellas. Families played Flying Plastic Disc and teenage lovers splashed one another under the glittering primary star. Cultist-chan and her pet found an unoccupied spot on the beach. Kay-oth quickly bolted off to frolic in the sapphire waves, and Cultist-chan, feeling frisky, stripped down to only a single pair of pink panties, more or less matching the rest of the resort goers. She rushed into the water to give her strange companion a hug.
"Hyu thmell liek whet dogth," she observed.
The ocean water was bathtub warm, but compared to the steaming tropical air, it was refreshing. When a big wave rolled up Cultist-chan dove under it. Soaking wet, she realized that the water was fresh and sweet, with none of the saltiness that characterized the oceans of most worlds. She took a greedy gulp and then another. Kay-oth followed her lead with a joyful vocalization.
"Thadth right, thathtee!"
It wasn't until a half hour later that Cultist-chan spied her first alien and remembered her mission. It was an entirely naked daemonette, sipping on a margarita and being chatted up by a human barely concealing his erection in a Speedo. The daemonette was trying to play it cool, but the occasional dart of her eyes down below gave away her interest. Cultist-chan had an immediate burst of inspiration.
On TrumpWorld LXIX®, Cheerilee sipped her margarita and luxuriated in the attention of an interested human male. Of course, she knew she was an illegal immigrant, but then, a lot of things were illegal – speeding on the Webway; dabbling in one of the Slaaneshi cult's experimental narcotics. It was obviously ridiculous to expect her to stay on the legal side of the planetary shield, especially when the drinks were so cold and the air like a sauna, fragrant with tropical perfumes. Cheerilee didn't care how many jobs she was taking from legal humans. From stripping to prostitution to her day job in electrical engineering, it was just the jobs that humans didn't want anyway. She carefully uncrossed and then recrossed her legs, giving her interlocutor a treat for being such a good boy. Then, carried on the trade winds, she heard it. A Voice. A shrieking Voice.
"Itdth a hnue friendth!" caterwauled the Voice.
Her human friend beat a hasty retreat, drawing a sharp curse from Cheerilee. She tore her sunglasses from her face to see a half-naked human girl running at her full tilt, with some unspeakable abomination of a creature hot on her heels. Like a deer frozen in headlights, Cherilee hesitated. This had nothing to do with her. It must be some stranger behind her that the girl is after. Cherilee tried a weak smile, like the one you use when you wave at a friend only to discover that you were actually hailing a total stranger. Cultist-chan's feet kicked up hot sand as she bolted across the beach.
Then, in one swift motion, Cultist-chan threw herself into the air. Cherilee watched, too frightened to even move. The human crashed into the daemonette at full speed, sending them both into the sand and spilling the margarita all over both of their boobs.
"Just… just what the fuck do you think you're doing!?" demanded Cherilee as she tried to regain the breath knocked out of her by the impact.
"Hwe kapthur a new friendth for KAYYYYY-OTH!" Cultist-chan howled at the top of her lungs, drawing stares.
Cherilee tried on her most aggressive growl. "Hey! Fuck off, will you!? I was talking to that guy!"
"KAYYYY-OTH!" Cultist-chan screamed again.
Cherilee's ears were ringing. "Okay, okay! I'll leave! Just leave me alone - in the name of Slaanesh!"
"Noh! Hyou are hour new alien friendth! Letdth go get dinner and a drink and meet thome boys and dance and heventhually die of a heroin overdoth!"
Cultist-chan playfully cuffed the daemonette, breaking the smaller creature's jaw and knocking her out cold. Confused, Cultist-chan shook her a couple of times before giving up.
"I gueth thee just huwanted to taketh a naep. Hwue will come batkth later," she announced.
Cultist-chan looked across the rest of the beach. Every beachgoer she could see was a human – apparently, this Chaos world had some kind of strict policy on speciation. No wonder she'd been sent down to befriend aliens. They must want a friendly representative to show the galaxy the welcoming face of Chaos, and increase tourism and revenue by coaxing non-humans to the segregated world. Cultist-chan cheerfully skipped across the white sand, looking for another alien to befriend.
Soon, she came across a young couple. The woman was laying in the sand holding her shoulder, clearly in agony, and her boyfriend was lamely trying to comfort her. Concerned, Cultist-chan bounded up to them.
"Huwath wrong?" she asked with genuine compassion.
"Fuck off," hissed the young woman.
"She was stung by a goddamn jellyfish," her friend explained. "I thought this planet was supposed to be a resort – can't they do anything about the wildlife?"
Cultist-chan knew exactly what to do in a situation like this. She got into position, stood over the stricken woman, and pissed through her panties. Urine sprayed everywhere; all over the lady's face; hair; shoulders; all over her boyfriend; and even down Cultist-chan's legs.
"What the Hell are you doing!? Everybody knows that doesn't actually work!" shrieked the pee-soaked woman.
Her boyfriend roared, "You'd better get out of here right now."
So, Cultist-chan bounded off as quickly as she'd appeared. After another ten minutes, she started to flag beneath the intensity of the remaining sun, and she retreated into the air-conditioned lobby of a massive hotel and casino, long-since having forgotten her clothes and Septispike back where she first got into the ocean. Fortunately, her minimal attire was hardly out of place. Half-, mostly-, and entirely-naked people crowded around the hotel bars and gambling machines.
Cultist-chan pulled on the skirt of a French maid walking past, obviously a hotel employee.
"Huwe are lookingth for alien to befreidnth," Cultist-chan explained.
"Aliens? They're all illegal on this planet."
"Hillegal? No perthon thoud be illegal," Cultist-chan murmured.
"Maybe you should be," the maid replied with a cough. "But you might try McKraken's; it's a seedy bar a little ways down the street, and I know a lot of non-humans congregate there…"
"Hokay!" beamed Cultist-chan. "Thank hyu!"
"Don't mention it," murmured the maid, just happy to get away.
Cultist-chan and Kay-oth exited the air-conditioned casino and got back into the steaming hot afternoon, but not before Cultist-chan grabbed an unattended ice cream cone and downing it in its entirety. Outside, the pair threaded through throngs of tourists, milling about and watching the various spectacles put on by the massive resort complex. There were tigers, lions, and even a fake volcano, which occasionally erupted with great red bubbles of vinegar and baking soda. Cultist-chan couldn't resist, and she ooed and ahhed with the rest of the entertained crowd. Someone grabbed her ass, and she turned around to see a black human male grinning at her. The moment he saw who he was sexually assaulting his face fell to his ankles.
"Sorry, miss. I didn't realize it was you."
"Thadth hokay!" Cultist-chan answered cheerfully. "Hin fakth, I kind of liketh it. Want to try it some morh?"
"No thanks!" the man shouted over his shoulder, fleeing as fast as his legs would carry him.
"He theemed liek a nice man," Cultist-chan observed. Kay-oth merely barked.
The two continued down the street, towards McKraken's. When it arrived within sight, Cultist-chan could tell that the bar would live up to its seedy reputation. There were used needles scattered across the pavement of the parking lot, and two tough-looking Tau bouncers guarded either side of the entrance. Cultist-chan strode right up to the pair sternly, and put her hands on her hips.
"Don't thu know hyour illegal?"
The two thugs glanced at one another. Was this bitch crazy, or high?
"I think you'd better leave," the one on the left announced slowly.
"Juth kidding! Hwue don't care! We are here to make friendth with alienth!"
The two bouncers shared a quick conversation in a language Cultist-chan couldn't understand. Apparently they eventually reached some kind of agreement, because one of them put a small pill in her hand and the two stepped aside.
"See that guy at the bar, wearing the thick jacket and the bald blue head?" one of the toughs asked.
"Hyeth."
"Try putting that pill into his drink. With his physiology, that should kill I mean help him, uh, make friends with you. It's a very important medicine he needs for friendship purposes," the thug finally ended lamely.
"Hwue love friendth!"
"Step this way, miss," said the other thug, pulling aside the scarlet rope to allow her in.
Cultist-chan stepped proudly into the bar, tits-out, skirt gone. Here she was, on a beautiful Chaos world, performing a very important mission whose exact parameters she could no longer remember. All that really mattered was friendship. A strange-looking alien wearing biker leathers catcalled at her, and, deeply touched, Cultist-chan walked over to him with a coquettish smile on her face.
"Hyeth?"
"You're pretty enough, I guess," hiccupped the visibly drunk stool pigeon. "Want me to buy you a drink?"
"Hwue hardly ever drinkth, but… thidth ith a thepthal occathon!"
"You heard the lady, get her a whiskey, neat."
The bartender, some kind of lizardly-looking alien of a species Cultist-chan had never encountered before, shrugged and passed her a small glass half-full of whiskey. She didn't hesitate for a second before downing it in a single gulp. The drunk next to her was impressed in spite of himself, and he motioned the bartender to bring her another. She looked small enough to carry back to his grubby apartment. If he could get her to drink enough, he could have his way with her while she slept, and as an added bonus he wouldn't have to listen to her lisping, rasping voice.
Cultist-chan downed the second whiskey as easily as the first, but was definitely starting to feel the effects. A wooziness overcame her, and her vision clouded at the edges.
"Hoof," she admitted. "Idth been a long time thinth hwue were drunk."
The stool pigeon licked his lips in anticipation. It had been too long since his last dalliance, and the crimson-eyed woman was pretty enough, at least when her mouth was closed.
Suddenly, Cultist-chan remembered that she had something in her hand. What was it again? She couldn't remember; all she knew is that it had been given to her by a friend. She peered down at it, curious. It was a small cylindrical pill, bright blue and appealing in every way. Was it candy? She bit down into it, splitting it open and filling her mouth with an acrid, citrusy flavor tingled with battery acid. She started gagging and tried spitting it out, but instead she accidentally swallowed what felt like a hundred kilograms of the strange powder.
"Huh oh."
She turned to the drunk next to her, who was now eyeing her with a wary unease.
"Excuth me," Cultist-chan coughed. "Hwue haf to go to the bathroom."
Cultist-chan stumbled into the bar's single toilet and locked the door behind her. She spat gooey powder into the sink, and tried washing her mouth out with sink water. The nasty taste was clinging and seemed determined to stay with her for the rest of her life. She drank a few mouthfuls of tepid water, and finally, the nastiness started to subside. But in its place, a strange sensation started growing in her. It was warm and buttery and light and it made her want to dance. Cultist-chan let out a sudden whoop of delight, but the sensation didn't stop there. It kept building and building, growing into a burning crescendo until it seemed like she was being torn between two worlds. Her body wanted to dance and fuck and scream and run around, while her mind was being focused and bent in ways she'd never experienced before. Her eyes jittered and focused of their own accord. She went from staring at the toilet, to staring at the light, to staring at the flowing water coming out of the tap. Then she focused on everything at once.
The Warp moved.
Slaanesh was in xir Cathedral, entirely naked, trying on genitals for xir nightly balls.
"Hmm," she said. "The pussy is so pretty, so delicate and sensitive."
She touched one of her labia, and felt an electric current and spreading warmth.
"But on the other hand… a dick is forceful and masculine. I take whatever I want without a moment's hesitation or remose." He reached down and brushed the shaft with the back of his knuckle, coaxing out a different flavor of thrill.
"What to do, what to do…"
Suddenly, a Warpquake rocked the Cathedral, shaking the building from the lowest dungeon to the tallest minaret. Shocked, Slaanesh dropped the dress he was holding, and it fell to the ground in a quiet fold.
"What the fuck was that!?" the god demanded of a terrified daemonette.
For a brief, confused moment, Cultist-chan flared almost as brightly as the Astronomicon. Entire Imperium fleets were disoriented, and one battlegroup flew directly into a large sun, incinerating all aboard with no survivors. Cultist-chan's bizarre, unexpected light drove hundreds of thousands of psykers permanently mad in a single instant. The Warp twisted with the intensity of the sudden shift and then broke open. A Rift opened in the skies above TrumpWorld LXIX®, and the oceans began to seethe and bubble beneath the burst of radiation that crackled through the atmosphere. The entire sky of the planet bruised with livid violet. Intense electrical storms started congealing from the vaporized ocean water. Simultaneously every non-human on the planet felt the searching eye of Cultist-chan, desperate for friendship and now temporarily, through the power of the drug, turned into the most potent psychic force in the entire galactic region. One ship and then another lifted off from the planet's spaceports, filled with aliens desperately fleeing the intense psychic pressure of Cultist-chan's camaraderie.
Aboard Ivanka, the bridge crew was running around like headless chickens with their hair on fire, while Trump peered at the growing Warp storm with distaste.
"How could this have happened?" he demanded out loud.
The ship's captain winced and gave his best report. "Impossible to say, sir. There was a massive Warp flare and then the fabric of space itself was torn open to the Immaterium. Could this… could this have had something to do with that girl?"
"Impossible!" the Sultan insisted. "The dossier we hacked from Slaanesh said she was entirely Warp-blind."
"Sir, I advise we send an extraction team before she can do any more damage."
"Make it so, Captain."
Meanwhile, back at McKraken's, all of the bar patrons save Cultist-chan and Kay-oth had been instantly vaporized by the sheer magnitude of her psychic eruption. For her part, she remained locked in the bathroom, shrieking at the top of her lungs while tears of pure joy streamed down her face.
"Hwue can thee everything now! Hwue are the entire univerth!"
Kay-oth, entirely unaffected by the howling psychic storm, barked.
It took six hours to evacuate Cultist-chan, Kay-oth, her Septispike, and her clothes from TrumpWorld LXIX®. By that time almost every single non-human had either evacuated or died, but by now, it was a moot point. The Warp had transformed the planet from a garden world into a sun-scarred and blasted desert, and almost all the oceans had boiled away, covering the planet in a thick vale of greenhouse gasses. The temperature on the world was slowly rising, and only the most Warp-mutated of its citizens would be able to live on it for more than a few days before it gave up the rest of its seas to the thickening skies. Daemon Sultan Donald Trump sighed and fiddled with a stylus.
"Governor, is the planet a total loss?"
"Not… total, Your Excellency. We could still perform manufacturing, and with so much ambient heat, it would be easy for us to set up foundries for various metals on the planet's surface. It's safe to say that the tourism industry is completely moot, however."
"Damn it. At least all the illegals are gone, right?"
"There are a few hundred left, Your Excellency, but our intelligence indicates they're all trying to get offworld as fast as possible. Along with much of the remaining citizenry."
The Daemon Sultan cleared his throat. The air in the conference room was thick with tension; anything could happen in the next moment.
Suddenly, Trump began to laugh.
"S-sir?" asked Governor Alejandro.
"Oh well, gentleman, you can't win them all. Minister Ana Lucia, would you please spin off the assets and liabilities of TrumpWorld LXIX® into a shell company and declare bankruptcy? I'll bet I can still get twelve cents on the dollar from what I've poured into that planet if I sell out now. It's a pity about all those jobs, though."
"Sir, what do you want us to do with the girl?" the ship's Captain piped in. "I don't want her aboard my ship a picosecond longer than necessary."
"You're right about that. Just throw her out into space – she's Slaanesh's favorite, I'm sure the Tranny-Deity will rescue her."
"Sir, you're not supposed to say Tranny."
Trump affixed the man with a steely blue stare. "Set course for TrumpWorld LXVIII®, the Golfing Planet®. After a disaster like that, I'm in desperate need of a good game."
So, Cultist-chan and Kay-os were unceremoniously thrown out of Ivanka's airlock. Though the girl had mostly come down from the drug-induced psychic eruption, there were still some lingering aftereffects, and it didn't take long for Cultist-chan's panicked, suffocating screams to reach Slaanesh in her Warp Cathedral. With a long-suffering sigh, the goddess danced upon the fulcrums of the Warp, bending and twisting it to fit her fancy, until with one last gasping "Ooof!" Cultist-chan fell into the naked goddess' arms.
Slaanesh leaned over and kissed the girl's forehead. "What ever am I going to do with you?"
"Love uth gently?" Cultist-chan asked hopefully.
Slaanesh-heika laughed and Kay-os barked.
[Editor:] Vote God-Emperor Trump 2016.