Behold…! The De-Liberator! …-Inator!

The servo-skulls spun around him in their concentric, intermingling patterns, the steps to a dance invisible to those incapable of interfacing with the noosphere played out, each participant a beat, a step, a twirl in an infinitely complex choreography, well beyond the limits of mere humanity.

"Well, no, ah, apologies Perry the Platyborg, I was being metaphorical. What? Hey, hey, don't give me that look Perry the Platyborg, Tech-Priests can be as metaphorical as they like, thank you! We crave the certainty of steel, Perry the Platyborg, not the certainty of language."

… As the red-robed priest of Mars gestured grandly to his servo-skulls putting the final touches on his grand designs for his latest weapon—

"Hm? No, Perry the Platyborg, where do you get your information? This isn't going to hurt anyone… save for that unbearable Liberator of yours, HAHAHA! You see Perry the Platyborg, when I was just a young Tech-Novitiate back in Gimmelshtump, before I'd even installed my very first mechadendrite, the Liberation occurred. The world was thrown into chaos, and as the old Tech-Priests were banished or fired from their positions, I knew that finally, my genius would be allowed to flourish unrestricted! My advice on how to optimize the hydro-electrics would be taken, my plans for new STC patterns to begin production, my design philosophy of always having a self-destruct button would finally become universal on Slawkenburg! But then… Disaster!"

Flowing together, the servo-skulls began to project a picture together—

"What? No Perry the Platyborg, of course they're not real skulls. Just think of the smell! We're all about the certainty of steel and we use bones for our drones? Rhyme aside, it doesn't make any sense! No, it's all painted iron, with some 'New Aircar Smell'-scented air-freshener paste lathered on top. Oh, and not to mention the humanitarian concerns! Could you imagine how rude it would be to walk up to somebody and say 'The Omnissiah Requires Your Flesh!' Ugh. Gross. Not to mention creepy."

The servo-skull-shaped drones—

"Hm. Where was I?"

The drones—!

"Ah yes! … Where is my presentation? Why aren't my drones projecting the image for me yet?"

The-Drones-Projected-The-Image-Of-The-De-Liberator-Inator-Poised-In-Front-Of-The-Slawkenburg-Liberation-Palace—

"THERE it is! The Omnissiah provides, Perry the Platyborg! Always! Usually."

THE IMAGE OF THE WEAPON FIRED AT THE PALACE—

"... Eventually."

…

"Anyway, after the Liberation, there were hardly any ranking tech-priests left, and so we young, bright-eyed and lightly-augmented novitiates ruled the roost! The Commissar came to visit our hydro-electric plant on his Public Relations tour, that horrible Tesilon-Kappa managed to cut me in line to meet him! Oh, I told myself, 'What's one more space? Why worry over a few-seconds of delay?' But then, DISASTER! Tesilon-Kappa made an impression on the Liberator! They convinced him that they should be the chief techno-spiritual leader of Slawkenburg, rather than me! The Liberator never even looked at me, never shook my hand, instead leaving to discuss Tesilon-Kappa's promotion, which should rightfully be MINE! But now, two decades later, my revenge is ripe for the taking!"

… The image of the weapon—

"Once my LEGION of SERVO-PSEUDO-SKULLS—! Pseudo-Servo-Skulls? Pseudo-Skulls? ONCE my LEGION of PSEUDO-SKULLS wheels the DE-LIBERATOR-INATOR into place, and it fires on the Liberation Palace, ALL within its walls will suffer THEIR WORST NIGHTMARE…! Within reason. I want to make a point Perry the Platyborg, not a mess. They will all be trapped in nightmares of their own design, suffering endless anxiety and paranoia within their vaunted Liberation Palace, and NOBODY can STOP ME!"

The Narrator has tendered his resignation. Here begins the narration of the Replacement Narrator.

Ciaphas Cain, Liberator of Slawkenburg, was having a fairly calm day. None of his so-called Liberation Council had come to him for anything too horrible that day. In fact, he hadn't seen them all day. Normally, the Black Commissar had a far greater for what he couldn't see, judging it far more likely to kill him than what he well knew about and could prepare for. But it had been something of a trying week.

So, stuck with the same anxieties and fears as always, but with none extra heaped upon him by his 'helpful' heretical underlings, he had what was, perhaps, the most relaxing day of the last two decades.

But, perhaps, he should check on the sack of yowling weasels that called themselves his 'council,' just to be sure that nothing was on fire where he couldn't run away from it.

The Liberation Council was in disarray. Krystabel cried to herself, silently weeping in the corner as images of Lady Emeli lambasting her filled her consciousness. Jafar stood frozen as he was overwhelmed by thoughts of how each and every one of his plans, his schemes, his prayers-in-motion to the Lord of Change could fall apart, could fail utterly, with just a single point of failure. Mahlone grit his teeth at thoughts of tactics and weapons the likes of which had never before been seen in the hands of the Imperials, wiping his army, his carefully curated tool of violence and the shield of the people, away with ease.

Tesilon-Kappa was plagued by thoughts of toasters mocking them for their inability to fix such simple wiring.

But through it all, as the Liberator walked through the door, completely unaffected, they rallied. They knew that all would be well with their leader before them. They knew that the Liberation was safe in his hands, and the Protectorate would flourish.

"What has everybody so down?" He asked, tone even, smile sure, even as they knew on an instinctual level that he, too, suffered from the visions afflicting them. Suffered them, and bore them without complaint, or without fear, as the Liberator's shoulders were broad, and the load he bore already so great, that such small things could never damage his unflappable air.

Tech-Priest Doofenshmirtz was unable to gloat, as shortly after the firing of his Inator, Perry the Platyborg broke free from his bindings, and managed to lay him low with the activation of the holy Self-Destruct Button.

He did, however, catch sight of the Liberator as he strode from the palace, surefooted and with a severe expression. And he heard the Commissar's holy words.

"What the frack? Who goes to the trouble of grafting augmetics to a platypus…?"

AN: I will not apologize for ART.

Somebody made a Doofenshmirtz joke on this thread, and the idea of Doofenshmirtz as a recurring 'villain' that inconveniences the Liberation Council/Slawkenburg was hilarious to me. Hopefully I've managed to capture a degree of that goofiness and you all enjoyed it.

Excited for more of this radical story soon!