A/N: Oh No! Not another Oliver Twist reference!
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Chapter 23
BYRON'S NIGHTMARE
Byron was completely unaware of where he was. He had become lost, not in some uncharted star-system from his own miscalculation, but in a bustling street in Victorian London. The tall shops rose up around him while their chimneys billowed thick black smoke into the sky. In the distance, through the smog and factory stacks, he could see Big Ben and St. Paul's Cathedral. The filthy cobblestone streets, however, were not littered with shopkeepers and peasants, but with hundreds and hundreds of Irkens and wagons being drawn by strange and horrible creatures. There was a tumultuous roar from the crowd. Many could be heard shouting and arguing about prices for bread, fish, and fabrics. Others sat at a corner café and drank to their hearts content while singing. It was a supremely bizarre setting that completely baffled Byron. He had no idea how he had arrived at this present occasion or why nineteenth century London was completely overwrought with Irkens. There was a small lad in a blue coat and top hat standing before him, feasting on a piece of bread, and talking in a strange accent.
"Hullo, my covey! What's the row?"
"What the hell's going on here?" Byron asked the small Irken boy with a look of pure confusion. He didn't have time to contemplate this Charles Dickens themed acid trip, he had to rescue Tak!
"Oi, gov'na, this 'ere be's merry ole' London. Je'el of the civ-o-lized worl'. And I might be obliged to inquire as to 'wo you are," the boy said. As he stood before Byron, he rolled up the sleeves on his coat, with was obviously not his and several sizes too large, and shoved his hands in the deep pockets of the aforementioned blue coat.
"That doesn't matter you cheeky little shit! How are you and where is Tak!" Byron's face flushed to a deep green color and his antennae laid flat against the top of his head.
"No need fo' irritable conduct, sir! I meself, sir, go bys the name o' Jack Dawkins, but, I'm known amongst me mo'e intimate fwiends as de' Awtfu' Dodger!" The boy proclaimed with a drunken bow. Dodger fiddled with one of the buttons on his soiled orange waste coat.
"Well, Dodger, this has been a laugh riot, but I must be going. Now piss off!" Byron said with great irritation and shoved past the boy. "Tak, Tak! Where are you?" He desperately yelled. With any hope, if she was here, perhaps she'd stolen some food from a local merchant.
"Where's is it you's being off to in such a rash rush sir?" Dodger asked as he climbed out of the sewer grating Byron had shoved him into and dusted himself off. "You can't be leaving so soon! We've still got a musical numba' to perform!" He proclaimed with a single finger sticking into the air.
"What are you talking about!" Byron asked. Before anything else could be said or done, booming music came from absolutely nowhere and filled the entire city street. All the other racket had magically dissolved and made way for this grating tune. Byron then realized that not only Dodger, but every other Irken in the street was poised and ready to take part in a decadent and immense musical number that you never would have anticipated to occur in such a low budget fic as this!
Byron was able to yell out a single, "NO!" Before he was consumed.
"Consider yourself an E.T.
Consider yourself one of the army.
Though your plan's gone all-wrong.
I'm sure you're going to get along.
Consider yourself well done
Consider yourself part of the invasion.
There lot's of planets out there.
But we Irkens don't rightly care to share!"
Everyone began to dance in a wonderfully choreographed chorus line and Byron desperately tried to escape.
"You've worked and planned so hard
and tried to be the great conqueror
of Earth?
Always a-chance could be things
Could finally go your way
Then you'd finally have some mirth!
Consider yourself our mate.
Don't try and discuss,
For after some consideration, we can state
Consider yourself
One of us!"
Dodger looked at Byron and sang, "Consider yourself…"
Byron opened his mouth and attempted to tell Dodger to go and fornicate with himself, but instead SANG, "an E.T.!" Byron slapped a claw across his mouth in horror.
"Consider yourself…"
"One of the Army!" Byron again sang against his will as if he were possessed by Rogers and Hammerstien, even though they had absolutely no affiliation with the musical number at hand.
"So you changed yourself genetically?
Well that's a cup-o'-tea no doubt
And now your going to go and get your lady friend
Before ole' Zim finds out!"
The crowd entered into an even larger dancing number as fireworks filled the sky and elephants were brought out into the streets with half-naked showgirls atop them.
"Consider yourself a freak
We don't want to have no fuss
For after some consideration we can state
Consider yourself
One of us..."
"For after some hesitation we can state
Consider yourself...
One of us!"
"I guess," Byron added sadly. He now knew that he'd never escape this hellish, um, hell and Tak would be lost!
Now the entire city street, though set before the invention of electricity, was now illuminated by billions of neon lights. And if that wasn't bad enough, the stage had now been invaded by Priest juggling flaming chainsaws and a small troupe of tap-dancing hotdogs! The musical number had now reached its over-the-top and gaudy climax as the music and chorus swelled!
"Well I can see
You could be a psychopath,
Why I can do the math,
I'm sure
Always a chance you'd snap
now you're over the edge.
And there aint' a fucking cure!"
"Consider yourself…" Suddenly Byron sat in fear and gasped. His chest pounding and his body drenched in a cold sweat, Byron looked around now to find himself, not in a musical hell, but, in the back of his small ship, which he dubbed 'The Gulf Runner', lying on a small and very uncomfortable cot he'd set up.
"OH MY GOD! WHAT A FUCKIN' NIGHTMARE!"
He got up off his bed, still trying to calm his spasming heart and to keep from hyperventilating, and looked out one of the many portholes. Outside, the cold, black void of space engulfed everything that could bee seen. The stars seemed to stand still even as the Gulf Runner reached its top speed. Every now and then, a small planet or asteroid would pass by. Byron smiled to himself as the little scene reminded him so of the opening credits of 'Mars Attacks!'. The thought of having to pilot a flying saucer, again, brought a smile to his face.
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A/N: So, what do you think? Damn, how many times have I asked you people that? Anyway, sorry I've been gone so long, been rather ill and not in the writing mood. Please leave a review, it really help keep my spirits up. Also, forgive the odd spacing, something in the system's fucked up! Thank you, more coming…