Wow, I actually got people reviewing this. And I intended this as my 'lazy story' to begin with. The one I go to when I have blocks and stuff. Glad to know that the people enjoy the products of my deranged imaginings.

Also, I'm writing this as I go along. A genuine unplotted story...or something like that, whatever.

Writing the Total Drama kids wasn't as hard as I thought. Bear in mind, I haven't seen any seasons thoroughly except for World Tour, so any inconsistencies should either be blamed on this being a alternate universe where everything gets frakked up or, better yet, alert me so that it might be corrected. (Wikis cannot account for every little detail, unfortunately.) I know much about Gurren Lagann and Warhammer 40k; Total Drama has some blind spots for me.

Disclaimer: Total Drama Island/Warhammer 40,000/Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann are copyrighted Fresh TV/Gameshop Works/Funimation.

...

Across the country, twenty-four young people are being greeted by men in black suits at their doorsteps. (Or whatever, these are some damn weird young people.)

These particular men have come bearing something that these people have come to dread and get twitchy-eyed in the presence of:

Contracts.

Those vile, neatly worded little legal documents that have become the bane of their existence. Quite terribly, it would appear that these young people are being called back to attend yet ANOTHER reality TV show, so that thousands more might yet bow at the alter of mass media and offer their tribute to the gods of the networks.

This is, of course, not readily accepted. The more legally savvy among them point out that their contracts have ended after the World Tour. (And their extensive recoveries from the injuries sustained was no small matter either.) The others have more...volatile, whiny or stubborn reactions. (More than a few people in black suits run away in terror.)

Regardless, a point is reached. These young people MUST return once more. The gods of the media will not be denied. Attention is directed towards a crucial point by the legal-savvy, towards a line of wording that basically amounts to "After this point, (insert contestant's name here) is hereby released from contractual obligations relating to the Total Drama series". A triumph is assumed.

The lawyers bring out the magnifying glasss, powered up by several thousand times, and magnify a tiny spot between the words 'is' and 'hereby', over a seemingly insignificant bit of ink.

On closer inspection, the dot proves to be a very very very small three-letter word: 'Not'.

The resultant screams of horror, despair and rage echo in dimensions beyond mere space, and they are heard by gods chaotic and malicious, and they just laugh and laugh and laugh...

...

And several months after that occured, one must return to the Ork warship: massive, unstoppable and as wieldly as a cow.

A pair of sails had been extended from the sides. There didn't seem to be much point in making cloth sails a thousand yards across, espicially when they served no practical purpose in the vacuum of space or had already been shredded by debris, but it still looked cool.

(Notably, what little recognizable of the cloth sails there was sported a logo; a skull, with the top of it's head in flames and one eye narrowed in a wink, as if to say it was all in good fun. The skull sported sunglasses; it was anyone's guess why.)

In the pseudo-bridge, once more the Orks had assembled around their great leader, who was absently poking at a absolutely massive monolith of a device that looked a bit like a compass, a bit like a complicated alter of cables and brass metal and too many knobs and also a big glowing bit at the top, and mostly like pop art; call it 'Mad Science 01'.

The brutish aliens huddled around their beloved Boss; surely, a grand pronouncement awaited them.

He yawned. "I'm BORED."

They considered this. One Ork picked up another by the wrist, swung him in the air and hit the Boss as hard as he could.

There was a yell, growing distant, and a loud thud upon sudden impact with the wall.

"Did dat do da trick?" The Ork who had been a blunt weapon asked helpfully.

Their Boss came running back with a mighty yell of "Who-the-hell-do-you-think-I-am PAWNCH!"

The resultant crash, dealt to the wall on the other side of the bridge, would require a number of Mek Boyz to fix, mostly with big power tools that crushed stuff. And some Painboy Dokz, to get the Orks out of the impact in the first place. (Being Orks, they were perfectly alive, though moaned 'Da Boss hits like a Warlord' a few times when asked how they got that way.)

Their boss glowered up and raised his fist, still glowing with a faint green shine. One of his eyes twitched behind his primitive sunglasses. The Orks tensed; not wary, Orks saw a Boss that went and pulverized his own men as a Boss that knew his stuff, but were certainly willing to run like hell if the Boss went frak.

Their Boss paused. "Huh. I do feel a bit betta."

The Orks assembled glanced at each other. "Yay?" A small grot ventured.

Da Boss appeared to decide that the moment was right. "...Boyz, I been doing sum thinkin'."

"Don't dat hurt?" One Ork asked.

"Not when ya been smashed in da head by Mork, it ain't! I gots the Morky thinky in me, I knows my stuff."

"I thought Gork was da thinky," A random Ork, whose named was Bitz after all his many stitches, said.

Another Ork pulled out a rough and shoddily repaired energy-based firearm (or laspistol, though far larger than it ought to be). "HERESY!" He shouted, and shot Bitz in the face.

The massive pincer-shaped mechanical Power Claw that replaced Bitz's left arm swung down and hit him between the legs. "Auugh, my Orky crotch!" He said, for the look of the thing, and fell over. He didn't move.

Da Boss frowned at the trigger-happy Ork. "Gritgrotz, whud I tell yaz about doing what da Imperium gits do?"

"...Dat it'z a bad idea?"

"An'?"

"An' it ain't pruh-duck-tive tah go 'round shooting people in the face when dey say summit yaz don't like an' yelling 'HERESY'?"

"An'?"

"An' doing grotty humie stuff iz bad?"

"Oy!" A grot said, offended. Without looking, Gritgrotz shot one of them too. The grot squealed in pain, now missing an arm, but paused. It shouted with joy, realizing that it now had an opening to get a stabby-shooty-fake arm-thingy put in. It picked up it's arm as an afterthought. "Free backscratcher! Whoo!"

"Dat'z righ'," Their boss said with a satisfied nod. "An'?"

"Sorry," Said Gritzgrotz.

"Dat'z better. Oy, someone check an' see if Bitz iz alive."

Bitz raised his hand and gave a thumb's up. "I'm okay!"

"You face iz all smokey."

"Dang!" Bitz said. "No wonder I aint' seein' anything. Thought summin threw a blanket over me head. I'm blind!" He paused. "I getz da Painboyz ta put meck-can-i-cal eyez in?"

"Yep," Said Da Boss.

"WHOO!"

"You SEE!" Gritzgrotz said. "Did him a favor, I did."

"Shuddit," Their boss said. "G'wan and get you sum new eyez, Bitz."

Bitz heisitated. "...But what if da new eyes dun' work right?"

"BAH! Dun' go 'round thinking emo grunk like dat! It gun work for yaz if yaz WANTS it to! MAKE it work! I know yaz can do it! I BELIEVES IN YAZ!"

"YEEEEAH!" Bitz yelled, running off. He ran into the walls, choppa-racks, a few dakka-bikes the Bika Boyz had left around and pretty much went out of his way to run into stuff, but he did that all the time anyway, so no big difference.

Eventually, an Ork he'd commanded for some extremely important work came up to him. "Oy, Boss! I did wadger wanted!"

"Good timing. Gibbit ta me!" Da Boss said.

"What Da Boss want?" Gritzgrotz asked, bewildered.

"Easy; we're bored! Bored Boyz make da bad shit go down, savvy?"

"Nope."

"Of course not. Anywayz, wot I'm sayin' iz that we needs something ta pass the time, and I figured, we'z by a inhabited planet, right? Or coming to one, whatever. Well, yaz see's, I found some communications wavy-thingies! Like, for stuff. Picto-slates and fun watchy stuff, that style of thing."

"Uh huh...?"

"So! I figured; me and my Boyz gots to see da GOOD STUFF these pipple got going! We'z sees what we got's to deal with, who'z we gotta stomp, and find good stuff to make popcorn and watch."

"We gotz popcorn?" A random Ork asked, puzzled.

"We watches stuff. Don't matter if it's planetary programming or inter-wurld broadcastin' or Mana-Net junk, yaz gotta has popcorn when yaz watches it."

The Ork who had brought Da Boss news spoke up. "So, me and da Boyz I russled up for dis, we found some good stuff, yaz knows?"

"Like what?" Asked Da Boss.

"Buncha movies, some really good TV shows-"

"Cartoonz?"

"Whadda Warp does yaz think I am, Boss! 'Course dere's cartoons!" Da Boss grunted. "Anyways, I fig-yured yaz might wantsa take a look at 'em, see?"

"BOYZ!" Da Boss roared. "It's TV TIME!"

A tremendous roar echoed in the bridge, several hundred Orks yelling as one.

They crowded around the device Da Boss had been occupied with; some Mek Boyz had crowded around it and rewired it so that several screens were now displayed in mid-air above it, so big that you could sit across the bridge and still see pretty well. More adjustments were made, the collected data that the media-searching-Orks had gotten together, and let the feed connect.

One of them threw Da Boss a wire-strewn badly soldered thing that approached the idea of a remote. Da Boss caught it without even looking and pressed a big smiley-faced button that made things happen. The screens flickered to life, images already playing.

Hours passed. Perhaps days, they got distracted easily and this was some really cool stuff. Popcorn (or banged grains; they'd gone to one world where very little stompin' had been required and they'd called it that there) was prepared, and to suit their numbers, it was enough for an army. (It was very cheesy; Orks love their cheese.) The Orks passed a long while sampling the media of the planet they were coming upon.

They watched interestedly at the war movies where the heroic sociopaths gun down the vile dictator; it was part of their daily lives, of course.

They laughed like a roaring engine at comedies and funny movies, the humourous instinct bypassing cultures and the barrier of species.

They booed when the villain won. (This was rather familiar in their crapsack lives, of course, but that didn't mean they liked it.)

They made fun of the sci-fi technologies and kept yelling at the people on hwo it could be done better.

They cried when the hero died to make a happy ending, or when it was a bit of a downer.

They were genially bemused at all the fuss about men and women getting kissy and mopey and happy when they got 'round each other, except for Da Boss who was genuinely interested, even a bit melancholy. But that was Humie stuff, they didn't ask.

They roared their joy when the bands of brothers, the friends closer than families, the bonds of companionship won over brute hatred, base evil or malevolence.

They...completely skipped over the gross sex stuff meant to apply to base needs. Orks didn't have perverts. (Well, Da Boss was, but he didn't like to upset his Boyz.)

They watched with fascination at the movies set in places that never were, places of wizards and heroes and fantastical beasts and unearthly landscapes. For one thing, da Orks had been to tons of places like that. For another, they were damn cool.

They watched the documentaries and based-on-a-real-story movies; stories dedicated to people that didn't survive mass killings or movies about awful things that had happen and mustn't be forgotten. Clearly, there would be no shortage of stompin' to be done to make this world remember Da Right and Proppa.

And so on. They had so much more media to watch, and much time to do it in. It was, perhaps, a week or two after TV Time had begun. Orks had left to go to the bathroom and get more food or just got bored and left. They had stuff to do, and arranged a instinctive rotating schedule so that good work could be done, though none of them were aware of it. They were Orks, after all; organization was not something in their natures, every Ork simply decided to do something and it happened to work out.

Da Boss remained focused. He just kept watching, and it soon came to pass that a show that he'd been assured was really popular (based on what his Mek Boyz had found out from their glimpses of this planet's information network). A show about a whole ton of humie boyz and gurlz stuck on an island to do crazy stuff for tons of money. Then it was movie stuff, but that wasn't so good, and then all around da world on a plane which was better.

A show where the people, fighting for what they wanted so badly, scuffled amongst themselves. Used by the ruthless, only to snap back and go their own way. Where they resorted to the most outrageous and crazy things to beat the challenges thrown at them. (And there was singing.) Where they were forced to make one each other leave the game, but not always in a spirit of hatred or resentment. This was a show that told stories; stories of blooming love, whether one-sided or mutual. (Da Boss was interested in that.) Of enemies that became friends or at least mutual associates, crazy peopel that embraced the bonds of love and became happier for it. Of them evolving as people. Of struggling onward no matter the cost, of refusing to ever give up without a fight.

Da Boss kept his own thoughts. Some of them interested him more than the others. One boy in particular; small, brown-haired and not as good with da gurlz as he thought. 'Cody' didn't seem a proppa name for someone like him. A humie that hadn't seen how to be awesome yet. That didn't know about the spiral.

There was something about him. An instinct, the same that compelled him together together his Orks and beat morality into them and call them his brothers, was rising. This boy...da one with da spirit until he quietly broke for a long while...he didn't have anybody. Da Boss knew the signs. He didn't have a big bro to punch the sense back into him when he couldn't dig through the pain. He didn't used to have anyone to call up when things got frakked. And even now, he was still a bit alone where in counted deep down. No one believed in him, Da Boss knew.

Da Boss stirred. Now that...that was wrong. Everyone needed someone to believe in them.

His eyes narrowed and he grinned, watching him and dat big girl with da purple hair get close near da end. Maybe...dis boy had someone to believe in him. But dat wasn't enough.

That boy and dat gurl weren't the entirety of his thoughts. Through it all, Da Boss watched. Entranced, enthralled, enthusiastic. He had...connected with these humies; his Boyz were surprised and intrigued, cool stuff happened when Da Boss liked people like that. They did not ask just why he found all this so interesting, for they were Orks and did not think as deeply as humans had. Indeed, they had no need to.

Da Boss himself had his own reasons. He knew the seeds of true awesomeness when he saw it. He knew where the Spiral might just be dug up, of great spirit lying buried in unaware hearts. Most of all, he saw...potential. These people he saw on the screen, acting without thought of script, only doing what came naturally and being so very outrageous...it was chaotic. It was wild. It was...

Orky.

As the last episode of the series closed, to the shock of all - a volcano was involved, and some very close escapes - Da Boss swore. "OY! Iz dat it? Are they DEAD?"

"Nawp," Said a Mek Boy, who'd checked the whole thing out when he figured out what Da Boss was up to. "Sez dat dey all went home after. Got hurt some, did some hospital stuff, but they're fine."

"Dat's good, then."

The Mek Boy grinned, a mouthful of overgrown teeth gleaming filthily. "An' get dis, Boss! They're doing another show!"

"WOT!"

The Mek Boy gave him the details. Da Boss thought quick. "BOYZ!" He said. "I gots some news for yaz! When we gets to dis here planet? WE GOTS SOME HUMIES TO SHOW DA RIGHT AND PROPPA!"

"We's gonna stomp 'im?"

"Wot? No! I means...means...shows 'em how ta spin!" Da Boss' spiral-eye gleamed, and spun on. Green static crackled around him. "Dis is important. We'z TAKING A SHORTCUT."

""WHOOO!" Da Boyz cheered.

So, over the course of a few days, stuff happened. Important stuff was tied down. Everyone's favorite squeaky toys were put in special vaults so nothing could happen to them. Da Mek Boyz made sure everything was up and running before Da Boss put foot to the Awesomeness Engine, spun on, and did his thing.

An observer would have seen green energy, spirit and resolve made physical, spin out from around the Ork's ship, revolve around and around until a double-helix warped space around them and made stuff happen.

The helix appeared to disappear into space; what it actually did is beyond the power of current science to describe, but a entertainingly inaccurate summery is that it shot into places beyond mere matter, where energies and thought were one, where tomorrow became the past. Places where potentiality was real and nothing else was. The helix, smashing through it all like a tidal wave in a kiddy pool, sought out the way to a very specific little planet that wasn't really that for, perhaps a few months away, but they were in a hurry.

It found something; two hearts, male and female and both really flippin' weird in their own ways, resounding with Da Boss in ways inexplicable and unknown. They were afraid. Fear was a gateway. There were things out there that would exploit that fear, climb up it like nightmare spiders and do such awful things.

But heroes also come when their people are so very afraid. Fear is the pathway for both monsters...and saviors.

The helix found what it needed. And around the ship, it spun. And then, the ship was gone in a blast of green.

A flash of green, and they reappeared.

"Boss?" An Ork said over the universal intercom. (It's a spaceship, ya gotta have intercoms!) "We'z gotta problem."

"Oy, wot's dat!" Da Boss yelled from the little plug where he powered it everything with fighting spirit. "And why's everythin' gone all dark?"

"Uh...we made's it, but there's a bit of a problem, see?"

"And dat iz?"

"We'z...kind really deep underground."

Da Boss grunted. "...Well, we'z supposed to get to da planet. Not big a deal how deep we are, yeah? We just do what we always do: dig straight through until we win! Dat's da way my Boyz roll!"

The intercom roared with affirmation. Da Boss continued. "But we'z gotta be careful, see? Don't wanna crack da planet or somethin; how's we gonna bring 'em Da Right and Proppa den?"

Some Orks moaned in disappointment; breaking a planet like that was right fun. Other Orks, more in tune with the way the Boss thought, agreed with Da Boss completely. And others giggled at imaginary dragons getting drunk on butterflies, but they were Weird Boyz, they were just crazy.

In the darkness of the deep crust, flows of magma almost cooking them alive in their ship if not for Da Orks being unaware of them, drills extended from glowing green masses on the front of the ship. They spun onwards, and the ship gradually started to climb up.

"Dat's da way!" Da Boss shouted. "Keep movin'! Dig and dig until we're through! Go all da way to da surface! Pierce through da underground with YOUR SPIRITS! TURN THOSE DRILLS INTO YOUR SOULS, and BREAK EVERYTHING IN YOUR WAY!"

"YOU GOTZ IT!" They roared.

Da Boss laughed. He had such awesome plans.

...

Somewhere in the middle of Canada, where the media would be completely oblivious to the important things going on there, a large and familiar group of people had assembled, compelled by the dread power of contracts and one man's vision of the wealth found in reality TV. (Also, the change to be a sadist.)

They should not, therefore, have been as easy in each other's company as most of them were (barring vendettas, past grievances and a small degree of general dislike). They had plotted against each other, used each other, and generally done unpleasant things over a prize that simply refused to be won. (Undoubtedly there was some greater power at work that wanted to drive them mad with frustration. Or Chris kept rigging everything, no one knew.)

In spite of that, outside the competition, they could still gather together and...well, not completely hate each other, really.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," Noah said sarcastically; he was a bookish-looking young man of Indian descent, possibly from the Indian sub-continent as well. (Or Canada. No one but Sierra know for sure...) Around him was a small group consisting of Cody and Sierra (who, he noted wryly, seemed to be spending a lot of time together voluntarily) plus Owen, Izzy (who seemed to have patched things up with Owen, though they apparently weren't romantic anymore) and Beth.

Owen, a very large and rotund teen with blond hair and a amiable attitude that could drive a Necron to hippie-dom, tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Noah pointed across the old take-off runway the bus had dropped them off upon and left, presumably awaiting whatever Chris was planning to annoy them with. Most of the campers (though contestants was probably a more accurate term, given that the island had been so long ago) had gathered into the familiar cliques and groups, based on who liked who and who dated who and, generally, who merely tolerated who, making an informal hierarchy.

But where there are alliances and friendships, there must also be vendettas. Some eliminations had been...harsh. Scars remained, and devious plots scarred deepest. And nowhere was there a rift deeper, filled with greater loathing and mutual dislike, than between Leshawna, the self-proclaimed diva, and Heather, who was essentially the kind of girl nerds and geeks that grow up into smartass writers hate. For reasons unknown, they had found a lot of boxes lying around the runway and arranged them into forts, glaring at each other through them.

"...Oh," Owen said. "Wow, they're still mad at each other? Why can't they just let it go?"

"Because they've been posessed by horrible brain parasites eating their brains, secretly from the dawn of time and fighting forever and forever over the most awesome cake ever!" Suggested Izzy, a rather manic redhead with an expression that would make a Chaos Cultist envious. (They had to practice hard.)

"Probably," Sierra said. "It's a sensible explanation."

"No it's not!" Beth, a short and wide-hipped sort of geeky girl said.

"It's not? Huh, no wonder it felt like logic had died listening to that."

Owen persisted. "I mean, sure, they've done tons of bad stuff to each other, but we've all messed with each other, right? Cody kept trying to vote Sierra out because she's really really really scary and doesn't know when to back off a little-"

Sierra glared at Cody. Cody whistled innocently and pretended that a cloud in the sky resembling a demon's-face was more interesting then all this.

"And Sierra teamed up with Alejandro because he tricked her into thinking he could help make your Niagra Falls marriage legal, and you voted me out..." Owen's face fell a bit. Cody frowned at Sierra, and Sierra flinched guiltily. "And you choked me with your legs once. You have really impressive lower body strength."

"She'd have to, from the size of her thighs," Noah said blandly. Sierra gave him such a Look.

"Um...would a apology make it better?" Sierra said heisitantly. She liked Owen. Everybody liked Owen. (Except Alejandro, but he hardly counted. Come to think of it, they hadn't seem him anywhere.)

"No," Noah said.

"Yes!" Owen said. "I mean, no?"

Sierra tilted her head to the side. "I'm really really really really sorry!"

"Aw!" Owen seized Sierra in a mighty hug. "I can't stay mad at you even if Noah says I should!"

"GROUP HUG!" Izzy said...and hugged a nearby rock. "It's my rock, hug your own. He is a rock, his name is Benito Sashloff, and he shall be my rock."

"You're squishy!" Sierra said, of Owen, giggling like a loony. (An accurate example, under the circumstances.)

"Aw, you say the nicest things!" Owen said.

A short distance away, Eva, Bridgette and Geoff (the later two not quite as paranoid of Eva as they used to be, owing to her calming down a bit) had gathered around a robot that had been on the bus for no apparent reason and hadn't done much aside from periodically wandering around and staring at Heather irately.

Eva, a large, strong and vaugely East European woman, glared at the robot, virtually daring it to react. "Eva?" Geoff said carefully. "Why, uh, why are you trying to stare down a robot?"

"That isn't even looking at you?" Bridgette, an easy-going girl with blond hair tied in a ponytail, said.

Eva looked at them for a long time. Bridgette, to her credit, only flinched a little. Geoff merely looked like he wanted to run and hide forever. Eventually, Eva said, "It's the robot from the Aftermath bit after Total Drama Action. What's it doing here, then?"

"...Maybe it wants to compete?" Geoff suggested, a blond teen wearing an inexplicable cowboy hat, grinning weakly.

Eva glared at him for making such a stupid joke. He cowered. She turned her attention back to the robot. "Chris had something to do with that robot. I'll bet you, it's going to kill us all or something."

"What's going on over here?" Courtney asked, wandering over, frustrated in her inability to just gel with one of the groups like the others had done (she wasn't particularly inclined to be around the loonies like Izzy and Sierra and those crazy enough to associate with them; it was a waste of time being around Gwen and Duncan even with DJ hovering around them to possibly ameliorate tempers; Lindsey and Tyler would kill braincells just by their proximity; Harold, Justin, Trent and their apparent groupies Katie and Sadie were avoiding her on purpose; Leshawna and Heather were too busy hating each other to even notice Courtney and that was pretty much it); since these guys weren't doing much to suggest disliking her, she went with it.

"Eva thinks the robot is evil and sent by Chris and out to kill us or something," Geoff said.

Courtney scoffed, secretly relieved that they didn't try to shoo her away or something. "That's ridiculous; there's no way Chris would put an evil robot to kill us, he wouldn't have a show if he did that."

"I feel I should be more disturbed that that is a more plausible answer than simply pointing out the immorality of killing us at all," Eva said.

"And yet none of us are surprised," Bridgette said.

Geoff picked up a stick and poked the robot. "Poke poke." The robot slowly turned it's head at him and stared for a moment; there was a disturbingly familiar intensity to that look, but it soon trundled off in Heather's general direction, seemingly uninterested in being harrassed.

"And it's going to kill Heather, probably," Geoff said.

"...That is a bad thing?" Eva said.

"Not's not the time to go not-good and such," Bridgette said, and followed after the robot. The others did too; it's not like they had anything better to do.

The robot stopped a short distance from Heather, surprising both Leshawna and Heather. It was, after all, a mysterious robot. That sort of thing gets your attention. "Is that the popularity robot from the Aftermath bits?" Heather, a tall and pretty Asian girl with a short ponytail, said.

"Looks like it," Agreed Leshawna, a curvy dark-skinned teen with a high ponytail and a slight air of haughty self-satisfaction. (Otherwise known as 'sassiness', but that's not as loquacious.)

"...What it's doing?"

Leshawna made that noise that people employ when they want to indicate that they don't know. "Just...sitting there. All ominous and brooding and grumpy-like."

"Huh." Heather glanced back at Leshawna and raised an eyebrow as the other girl shrugged. Then they remembered that they were supposed to hate each other and glared briefly and decided to forget it; the robot had spoiled the tension.

It became incredibly spoiled when the robot shifted, and spoke. "Heather," it said, in a voice synthesized and distorted enough to be unrecognizable.

Heather choked. "It knows my name!"

"You're doomed!" Sierra called out; she and a few others had been made aware of Eva, Geoff, Bridgette and Courtney's thing about the robot (okay, it was just Eva's, but whatever), as Eva insisted on explaining it to everyone they encountered, which was everyone. "Evil robots will hunt you down and chase you forever and never ever ever leave you alone! Just like me."

Noah sighed and gave Sierra a dirty look. "You know, it's just not right for you to go around and steal my lines. It's hard to made appropiately sly and witty remarks when you won't let me use them."

"You're killing Noah's funny!" Owen complained. "That's not right."

"It is...A SIGN!" Cody wailed. "I knew it wasn't a figment of my imagination after Sierra told me it wasn't!"

Sierra added, "The stars have foretold it all! Someone really is screwed! The heavens themselves have foretold of this doom! Repent, repent and live your days in slightly ameliorated fear because at least you'll have a nice afterlife to look forward to after the horrible, horrible death in store for you! Find something! A rock - not Izzy's rock, it's her rock - or a stick or a minigun or a giant robot or a REALLY REALLY BIG DINOSAUR because it's better to go down fighting than beign a wuss! Because the stars gave me and Cody an OMEN!"

"Wait, wait," Said Duncan, a rougish-looking punk with a green mohawk, having wandered over. "This the same omen you and Cody say you saw?"

"Yes!"

"The stars spelling out that we're all going to die or something, right?"

"Well," Cody said. "Not exactly, but pretty much."

"In spite of no one else seeing this."

"Uh..."

"And that the stars doing something like that would spell catastrophic consequences for the entire planet," Harold, a lanky and redhaired nerd, pointed out, neglecting to mention that due to the lightspeed problem, the stars couldn't change so dramatically and briefly because the light simply couldn't travel from them fast enough.

"Well, yes..."

"And you know think they did that all because a robot is going to kill Heather - or all of us - for no apparent reason," Said Gwen, a pretty Goth girl with a streak of cyan in her dark hair.

"That'd be a weird thing for an omen to do," Courtney said. "If they existed. Which they don't."

Cody and Sierra glanced at each other. "Should we shun the non-believers?" Sierra asked.

"That never ends well," Cody said, shaking his head.

"Guys?" Heather asked. "A little help?" They stared at her. "...Okay, I just know someone's going to say something sarcastic about karma or poetic justice but I don't see how me manipulating my way through a competition to get a million dollars that no one ever seems to get qualifies me to get killed by a robot!"

"Disporportionate retribution?" Gwen suggested.

"HELP, NOW?"

Sierra shrugged. "Aw right. But first, we must ascertain the robot's true intentions!"

"Ah yes!" Harold said. "You're going to instigate a series of clever and subtle gambits to see how it reacts and pull a hypothesis from that?"

"...Not really, no," Sierra said, and ran over to the robot and banged on it's head from behind. "HEY! WHADDAYA WANT!"

"That works too," Cody said. "I guess."

The robot slowly turned around on it's tread. It waved it's arms and roared, in it's synthesized voice, "CRUSH! KILL! DESTROY!"

"I KNEW IT!" Sierra said.

"Only joking," The robot said, it's voice dimming and changing, returning to a more human tone of voice. A very...familiar voice.

Heather peered at it. "...Alejandro?"

The robot seemed to slump. "...Yes. It is I. Diminished and ruined, but nevertheless. I live."

"AL!" Owen said, running over and seizing him in a mighty hug that Sierra neatly sidestepped. (No one wants to be group hugged with a blocky robot.) "YOU'RE ALIVE! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD OR POSSESSED OR FED TO RADICAL GREEN PARTY FUNDAMENTALISTS VIA A INSTALLMENT PLAN! But you're alive! And...a robot."

"Yes," Alejandro said, a very clear note of irritation in his voice. "I'm alive. As I just pointed out."

"Yes," Noah said. "We get that point, you're alive after all-"

"Your apathy wounds me," Alejandro said.

"As I'm sure does everyone else that does dislike you for whatever reason. My point is, why are you a robot?"

"Chris put me into this thing."

"...What? He did?"

"Why would I say otherwise?"

"But...why?"

"I'm...not sure. Not at all."

"Well, on the negative side, you're a robot now," Sierra said. "On the plus side, at least you didn't become on in a really narmy and needlessly dramatic way!"

Alejandro shifted his eyes within the robot. "Yes. That is exactly what I did."

"Why did you shift your eyes just now?"

"How could you tell I did that!"

"My mom taught me how to delicately bend the fourth wall."

"What."

"Hi guys, what's going on?" Said Lindsey, a pretty and kindly if vapid-looking blond, as she wandered over.

"Alejandro's back and he's a robot!" Leshawna yelled at her.

"...What, seriously?"

"Seriously," Duncan said, looking like he could hardly believe it himself. "...And just like that, reality comes so close to jumping the shark."

"At least we didn't go back in time and chase Hitler with a grain thresher while he flees in a jetpack," Sierra said. "...What? It's on my to-do list."

"Really?" Izzy said. "My to-do list has the same thing, but kaiju instead of grain thresher."

"Ooh, good idea!"

The news spread quickly (Alejandro being a robot now, not Sierra's being even more of a loony than anyone thought); and reactions varied; generally, people that actually had met Alejandro during the World Tour were smugly pleased at what had befallen him, while those who had never had to deal with him but had seen his plots on reruns were satisfied. The kinder among them, like Cody, Beth, Trent, Owen or Bridgette, thought that this was too far; he'd done bad things yes, but that wasn't bad enough to warrant a volcano and becoming a robot. The less kind, such as Duncan, Leshawna or Eva, thought otherwise. Other's still were harder to gauge; Sierra, for instance, privately thought that this was some sort of karmic retribution. She often told Cody that she had always known that Alejandro was evil (she was, after all, very genre savvy) but hadn't used it against him because she'd known that he would get others eliminated and that served her plan to get Cody to win the million just fine. (Cody wasn't sure how seriously to take that. It sounded ridiculous on the surface, but then, Sierra did have her hidden depths...)

Heather, the one directly responsible for Alejandro being in this state, was...stunned. Almost, some dared to suggest, sorry. For his part, Alejandro didn't seem to bear her too much ill-will, for whatever reason. All was, apparently, fair in love and war. (Espicially when there did not appear to be a distinct difference between the two.)

The gloating, comforting or genial indifference was swiftly interrupted by a loud buzzing from Alejandro, like intercom static. "OW!" Alejandro said. "Why does it be so loud!"

"Because it's funnier this way," Chris' voice said cheerfully. "Hold on a sec', is this thing on? Hello? Hello? You're all gonna die, the robot's programmed for killing..."

"WHAT?" was the general response. (And Eva said, "I knew it!")

"Hah, gotcha! Just kidding, the robot's just a robot."

"Yes...on that note, why exactly did you put Alejandro in a robot?" Heather asked.

"I think a better question is...why wouldn't I put him in a robot?"

"Oh, sure, that's a perfectly good reasonYOU KNOW THAT'S NOT A REASON AT ALL!"

"Geez, touchy! Grow yourself a sense of humor while you're at it. And longer hair. Also, some sort of freakish mutation. That would be AWESOME."

"I have become a walking intercom for a fiendish sadist," Alejandro said flatly. Well, a bit more flatly than his synthezier-distorted voice normally conveyed. "This is officially a new low."

"Can be any lower than putting up with Owen."

"You speak truly."

"Hey!" Owen said, hurt.

Noah gave Sierra a significant look and the two of them patted Owen's shoulders. (Sierra had an easier time of it because of her height.) "You still have us," He said.

"Yeah!" Sierra said, trying to get on Owen's good side. (This was not a very hard thing to do, really.) "We're reality buddies!"

"Woo!" Owen said with a grin. He spread his arms.

"No hugs," Noah warned him.

"Awww." Owen slumped a bit, but still smiled.

"Aw, isn't that sweet, no one cares. Geez, you'd think no one knew that you're not supposed to get along in stuff like this," Chris complained.

"Actually," Duncan said. "If everyone's backbiting and backstabbing and hateful, no one will want to watch because they don't have anyone to root for or identify with." Sierra and Harold stared at him. "What? I'm not allowed to be genre savvy?"

Gwen cleared her throat. "All right," She said to Chris through Alejandro. "What are you doing now? What sort of horrible things are you going to do to us now? Bring us to a hotel and stick us there until we go crazy?"

"It wasn't a good idea with dirtbags and it won't be a good idea with us," Noah said.

Gwen went on. "Force us to destabilize a small African country for fun and profit?"

"It's not actually that fun," Izzy said knowingly. Wisely, they chose not to respond to this.

Trent picked up the thread. "Stick us in an abandoned underground city and watch us slowly go crazy from claustrophobia and hope that the ensuing horrors will get attention?" He paused, and added, "Crazier, I mean?"

"Do some sort of World Tour again, only in specific countries for longer and even more dangerous challenges so we actually DO die?" Harold said.

"Sacrifice us all to your dark and vile gods to add to your inexplible appeal and power?" Sierra said darkly. She got her share of looks. "...There's gotta be a reason my mom likes him. The only possible explaination is sporadic satanic sucking-up."

"That's the most needlessly eloquent referral to deals with the Devil I've ever heard!" Beth said.

"Uh, no," Chris said, sounding thoughtful. "But good ideas, all the same. Thanks for the inspiration."

"DAMN IT!" They said.

"What I actually have in mind is a bit more...awesome. It involves air travel. Again."

"But I blew up the plane!" Sierra said, sounding inexplicably proud.

"...Yes. You did. I REMEMBER."

"Why do you sound upset that no one pointed it out right away?" Courtney asked her.

"Because I blew up a plane!" Sierra said excitedly. "On accident, but, hey, a plane! Blowing up! Am I the only one impressed by that?"

"Sometimes, you scare me almost enough to overwhelm my utter loathing for you," Chris said cheerfully. "I'm tired of talking to you losers, so direct your attention to the falling intern from above!"

Cody blinked. He looked around, as if interns might suddenly fall down and kill them all on impact. Nothing happened. "Uh. What intern?"

And then a big metal sphere fell from directly above them and smashed in their midst, narrowly missing Sadie and Katie and giving Justin quite a scare. (He panicked a bit about undue stress doing bad things to his complexion.) The ground cracked, dust billowed up, and there was an unscrewing sound. Amid everyone's coughing, choking (from Cody and Harold) and no small amount of outraged yelling, a metal lid hit the ground.

The dust cleared, and the contestants saw that out of the metal sphere had appeared a politely annoyed intern with a inappropiately stoic lack of reaction to showing up this way. "Well, that was needlessly life-threatening," Rossiu said. "Both me and them."

"I know. Ain't it great?" Chris laughed. "Take it away, Yinsid!"

"Rossiu."

"Whatever. Give them the straight and stuff." The intercom feed cut out, with a brief electrionic shriek.

Rossiu sighed and stepped out of the sphere, walking in such a way that he held his hands behind his back, stiff-backed and proper. "At least it's not as alarming as the last time I was shot out of a cannon," He said to himself.

"Uh, who are you?" Gwen said. She was vaugely aware that he was an intern, from his uniform; but she had certainly never seen him before, and anyway, none of them had paid much attention to them anyway. Interns had a nasty habit of vanishing horribly. But this guy...something about him was different. And it wasn't that he looked younger than any of them, even Cody.

The intern looked up at them. He had a way of standing that made his relatively goofy uniform look more severe and serious than a cardinal's robes. "My name, though I suspect introductions are completely pointless, is Rossiu."

"Yeah?" Duncan said, uninterested. "And?"

Rossiu sighed. "And...against my wishes...I am the one who will be the sole holder of every truly significant duty relating to the T.D. Awesome."

Geoff peered at him. "...The wha?"

Rossiu pointed up. They looked up and saw, to their astonishment, an airship.

An actual airship, too far away for them to have noticed but getting closer floating down to the runway; a modified zeppelin-type of blimp, more streamlined than the usual sort, the envulope colored bright red and some sort of black flame-shaped design hastily removed (inexpertly, too), and an almost palatial and baroque series of swooping points and curves at the front that looked vaugely flamelike.

They stared, eventually, Leshawna said, "That's an airship. Why is there an airship?"

"I am not altogether certain," Rossiu said flatly.

"...O-kay...wait, I thought he barely had any budget to replace the plane, nice bit there Sierra-"

"Thank you!" Sierra said brightly.

"So how did he afford to buy an AIRSHIP!"

"Espicially one that shouldn't be flying with all that extra metal on it," Cody said. Harold raised an eyebrow. "Steampunk enthusiast! I know how these things ought to work."

Rossiu's eye twitched gently. He considered a moment and said, as though he'd rehearsed it, "I'm not at liberty to explain anything. Mr. MacClain has had absolutely NO use of secret government technology relating to opening gateways between other worlds that CERTAINLY DO NOT EXIST, and he most certainly did not steal decommioned airships previously in use by a imperalist nation very similar to Imperial Japan that stood down in it's hostilities. He also did not blackmail a number of talented engineers to retrofit it so we could operate it in lieu of the pyrokinetic abilities of it's original designers, and he certainly did not do all this with the tacit approval of the government, which relies on this reality TV series far more than the world currently knows." Rossiu closed his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked in satisfaction. "Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to discuss anything."

They stared at him. "...Huh," Cody said.

"I knew other worlds existed!" Harold said.

"And that the government is using them to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!" Izzy said. ("OF COURSE!" Sierra said.)

Most of the others just stared at him. "You didn't...hurt yourself on the head when you landed, did you?" Gwen asked kindly.

Rossiu tilted his head. "No, I don't believe so. Why?"

"Um..."

"Because you fell out of the sky and could have gotten hurt!" Beth said quickly.

Rossiu nodded. "Ah, of course. Your concern is welcomed, but I'm perfectly all right. This isn't the first time I've been shot out of a cannon."

"...They shot you out of a cannon?" Sadie, a energetic and rather big Asian girl that was somehow nearly identical to her skinnier dark-skinned friend Katie, said faintly.

"Yes. Yes they did. I assume there was a reason." Rossiu shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him one way or the other.

"I call bullshit," Duncan said bluntly. "That...that little story, right there? About the other worlds and stuff? Yeah. That was completely insane. You need help, kid."

"I get that a lot, yes," Rossiu said, completely serious. "And I must immediately point out that I most certainly do not have a history of psychotic episodes, chainsaw manias or inappropiate obsessions with drills and how they can pierce a squishy human body."

Alejandro stared at him, presumably. "...Is that so," He said.

"Yes. You might be surprised by how often that point has to come up in job interviews. None of that ever happened, except for a minor case of the drill thing but no one died and they dropped the charges eventually. People make such odd assumptions."

"...Aren't you a little young to have job interviews?" Heather said.

"Assuredly." Rossiu stared up politely at her. She found it hard to return his gaze. He wasn't feeling her up with his eyes or trying to challenge her or anything like that; Rossiu was a weird kid.

"...I like him!" Sierra said brightly.

"Yeah, you're alright!" Cody told Rossiu.

"Thank you," Rossiu said.

The airship loomed, approaching. Vast and slightly ominous, and the question of just what it was for occupied their minds.

"...So, just out of curiosity, I don't suppose there's many other guys to pilot that thing?" Noah said.

"We have some, yes," Rossiu said. "Mr. MacClaine and the others are...elsewhere. Until our destination is reached, and the show begun in earnest, the other interns roped into this horrorshow shall be running the airship and tending to your needs." He bowed a bit, unexpectedly. "All under my supervision, orders and command."

If he had added of course, like a blowhard, he might have been hated for it. Like he was enjoying the prospect of power, maybe trying to impress them or suggest that he deserved that petty power. But the way he said it like it was inconsequential to the real task at hand, an afterthought, that was more than a little odd.

"Um, good," Gwen said uncertainly. "I guess."

"'Needs'?" Owen said hopefully. "That wouldn't include a breakfast buffet, would it?"

DJ looked incredulously at him. "It's nearly twelve in the afternoon!"

"...A really late breakfast?"

"Yes, I already had one prepared warm prior to my arrival," Rossiu said.

"WHOO HOO!"

"...Okay, maybe this won't be so bad," Noah said reluctantly.

Rossiu looked almost pitying. "For your sake...I really hope so."

"Okay, a bit worried about that!" Lindsey said. "I'm worried about that. Is anyone else worried about that, because I'm really worried about that!"

DJ shuddered. "Oh man, this is gonna kinda suck, isn't it?"

"Probably," Alejandro agreed. "...Perhaps someone could let me out of this robot? No? Perhaps? Aw well, it was a nice try."

...

The tides of the Warp searched.

Intentions and designs foul and inhuman both sought for a means in.

It did not matter where that would lead them. It was simply enough to FIND; a fresh new world innocent of Chaos, with so many unwary and virgin minds fresh for it to TWIST.

A crack; unrelated to that which the Orks had used. The power of the Spiral was anathema to Chaos; it was born of things it could not use, though it was born of emotion and drive and determination: stuff Chaos could use, but the spirit bent it into something...bright. Glorious. Terrible.

No, Chaos always found it's own way.

And the gaps were already there. Something unwise had been done, vainglorious and foolish. Already, this unassuming world had BREACHED to other worlds, and closed the gates might be, GAPS had been left.

Chaos rolled with it's own tides; peculiar whims and inclinations defying reason or sensibility. It was, after all, Chaotic. For whatever reason, Chaos flowed not into the world where the spirits graced humans with the nature of the elements, but into the world that had breached, the world of humans unknowing and unhindered by the rotting carcass that dared to call itself the Imperium of Man. The people of this world had no fear or faith of the Carrion-God of the Imperium.

Nothing to stop the gods of Chaos from rolling over it, so many dark and eldritch things to do their will, and no shortage of loyalists to obey.

Even if there had been, that would have not stopped the unstoppable roll of Chaos. The gods would not be denied their prize.

This world would soon BELONG to the Immaterium, and fall into the Warp.

A thing that was valor unrestrained and in excess until it was only sheer bloodlust peered upon this world of humanity. So many weak humans, waiting for HIM and his champions.

Khorne made his will known, and his champions followed.