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Flight Of The Burkey

I’ve been digging through our forum archives and have come across a bunch of funny ‘fanfics’, if you can call them that, harking back to the Syndicate days. So I share one of them with you now.

Goonswarm presents: Flight of the Burkey

Remedial stood upon the main observation deck of S-U8A4 V – Moon 1, Ishukone Corporation Factory, giggling as the Band of Brothers formed a blockade around the undock point. A few frigates were still trying to escape, he noticed. Cowards. Traitors. Faggots.
Remedial turned away and, muttering to himself of cowards and faggots, screamed for another “burkey” (The burkey was something he had devised himself, and that he was particularly proud of: A whole turkey, wrapped in bacon, then deep-fried. Remedial had touted it as the most delicious foodstuff known to man and had attempted to market the idea in Verge Vendor, although rumours of it being produced via slave labour destroyed any potential customers in the mainly Gallente region.)

The Mittani watched as Remedial tore into the turkey, licking the outside first to ensure none of the delicious grease fell onto the floor. His face was a mask of indifference, though on the inside he seethed with disgust. How, he thought to himself, did I end up working for this brute. I mean, I’ve got the brooding look, the black clothes, that special cast to my eyes that makes me look sneaky. How the fuck did I end up here?
None of his turmoil was apparent on the outside. He stayed at the window for a few more seconds, wishing that he could see the silhouette his dashing, black-clad figure cast against the infinite void.

SirMolle and DBPreacher lay entwined on the massive 4-poster bed in SirMolle’s sleeping quarters. They were aboard SirMolle’s Mothership, Omnipotence Itself, and with little to do during the long journey they had fallen back on their favourite pastime – kink.
SirMolle rubbed his hand down DBPreacher’s back, marveling at the feel of the smooth leather gimp suit. DBPreacher shuddered in ecstasy as SirMolle’s hand rounded the curve of his buttock, tracing patterns into the leather with his fingers.
“Please, sir” grunted DBPreacher, “discipline me again. I have been a naughty, naughty boy. dbp.” SirMolle smirked to himself, pleased that he would again exert his will on another. He rose to his feet beside the bed, and wrapped DBPreacher’s choke-chain around his hand. He smiled lovingly at DBPreacher for a second, then in an instant he was pulling viciously at the chain, seemingly seeking to choke the very life out of his gimp. DBPreacher was dragged out of bed and across the cold, metal floor. SirMolle liked nothing better than to drag his bitch around the room for a while, to ensure that DBPreacher knew who was in charge; who it was that led, and who it was that followed.
His manhood grew harder as his ardour rose, DBPreacher’s every gasp echoed in the throbbing of his love muscle. Finally he stopped, and dropped his trousers.
DBPreacher was desperately trying to loosen the chain around his neck, and was a second too slow in engulfing his master’s member. SirMolle fist crashed against the side of DBPreacher’s head, knocking him to the floor in a daze. SirMolle leant down and placed his cock in DBPreacher’s mouth, thrusting it further and further down his helpless slave’s throat. Finally SirMolle found his release, shuddering and then falling still. He removed his dick from DBPreacher’s mouth, gazing down at the lifeless body of his companion. Smirking, he rose to his feet and opened his cabin door.
“Somebody come and get this piece of trash, it’s cluttering up my floor” he shouted into the corridor. Immediately two guards stepped into the room, hoisted the limp body of DBPreacher between them, and left again. They had done this many times, and knew well that their master punished inefficiency.
“Oh, and inform the clone bay that we need another Preacher!” called SirMolle to their hastily retreating backs.
He turned and gazed out of the porthole at the station suspended in the distance, reflecting on the circumstances that had brought he and his fleet to this backwater constellation. One of Remedial’s officers had publicly made a joke about one of SirMolle’s acquaintances. The man had taken some mindflood and a handful of blue pills, and had then piloted his pod out into the industrial shipping lanes, without ensuring his clone was up to date. A passing freighter had crushed the man like a bug. SirMolle had shed no tears, for he hardly knew the man and inwardly thought it fitting that such a stupid action was so harshly rewarded. However, it was the justification he needed to ensure that this oaf Remedial and his fleet of goons would rise no higher. They had begun to shake the pillars of his Alliance’s foundations, and that could not be tolerated.

Remedial’s huge fist slammed into the newbie’s face, shattering his jaw and relocating his nose. Blood sprayed across the floor as the newbie flew backwards, coming to rest against the far wall.
“I wanted honey glazed ham, you fucking prick!” screamed Remedial, white specks of saliva appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Honey glazed, you faggot, not a goddamn roast with apple sauce! On your feet, you fucking bitch, and get this abomination out of my sight!”
The newbie rose slowly to his knees, his arms shaking. He crawled to Remedial’s feet and began collecting the various plates arrayed around his master. Remedial shook his head, half turned away, then brought his leg around in an arc. The newbie barely saw the kick coming, and his weak body had no chance of evading it. Remedial’s foot slammed into the poor creature’s stomach, flipping him over and sliding him back again. His tormentor strode across the room and picked up the newbie with one gigantic hand.
“Leave the roast, you fucker” sneered Remedial. “Get your pox-ridden arse back to the kitchens, and bring the fucking ham!” So saying, Remedial hurled the newbie across the room in the direction of the door. The newbie slammed into the lintel, and slid slowly to the floor. His eyes unfocused and blood seeping from his ears, he rose slowly to his feet and gave a fearful salute. He then turned and shuffled out the door, swaying on legs twisted and deformed from time in the Crokite mines. Remedial turned and almost ran back to the spurned meal. He fell to his knees besides the roast and began shoveling it into his great mouth. It took him less than a minute to consume the entire leg of pork.

Two weeks into the siege the silence was broken. Remedial was beating a newbie with a roast chicken and The Mittani was sulking, when one of his officers burst into the room waving a shred of paper.
“SirMolle has engaged communication sir, he wants a parley” panted the man. Remedial slammed the chicken down on the newbie’s face one last time, then waved the officer over. Taking the slip of paper he gazed at it for a second, then scrunched it up.
“So, he wants to talk, eh?” sneered Remedial. “I will pen the return missive myself”. He slowly turned towards the direction of his quarters, considering what exactly he would say to his nemesis.

SirMolle gazed curiously at the note handed to him by the Comms Room technician. He cast his eyes once more along the length of the missive:

Dearest SirMolle

If you want to talk, send someone over here. I am too busy eating beating newbies pleasuring myself with pork fat overseeing my empire to waste time going over there in person.



SirMolle couldn’t quite puzzle it out. The oaf seemed to be requesting that he send a delegate. The rest of the missive was undecipherable. Very well, though SirMolle. A match of wits is what the dastard wants, then a match of wits is what he will get. He pushed a button on the console and spoke into the microphone.
“DBPreacher, come to the Comms Room. I’ve got a job for you”.

DBPreacher’s shuttle glided into the docking bay of the Ishukone Corporation Factory. He stepped from the cockpit, and glanced around the hangar. Not a soul was in sight. He seethed at the indignity. An honourable man would have ensured there be refreshments waiting for a delegate of such high rank, yet there were none. The despicable cur hadn’t even assigned an honour guard. DBPreacher strode to the hangar door, stopping to read the note pinned to it.

Sup fag. Me and my homies are chillin on the bridge.

DBPreacher was outraged. Never before had he encountered such rudeness. There was nothing for it; he would just have to find the way himself. As angry as he was at the poor reception, he knew that to return to SirMolle without actually meeting the man would mean pain and yet another awakening in the clone bay. He strengthened his resolve, puffed out his chest, and began searching for the bridge.
Hours later, DBPreacher stumbled onto the bridge. He was tired, dirty, and in no mood for pleasantries. He cast his eyes about the room, searching for the object of his mission. A huge bear of a man stood at the main observation window, holding a whole pig above his bulging stomach while taking surprisingly large bites out of it. Closer to where DBPreacher stood, a man dressed all in black sat at a small table. The black-clad man spread his hands and invited DBPreacher to sit.
“Finally, some civility. dbp.” breathed DBPreacher, settling himself down with visible relief into the cushioned chair. SirMolle had been rough the night before, and the cushion felt divine against his bruised posterior. “I assume that you are Remedial? dbp.”
The Mittani glanced at DBPreacher, startled by the man’s speech impediment. Finally he started, realizing that DBPreacher was expecting a response.
“No, I am The Mittani, Remedial’s aid and head of intelligence. The distinguished gentleman you see at the window is Remedial” he finished with a touch of disdain. Remedial grunted loudly and returned to his pig.
DBPreacher was horrified. Never had he expected the man to be so disgusting. Tossing aside the pig carcass, Remedial strode over to the table and offered DBPreacher his hand. DBPreacher took it gingerly, attempting to avoid the grease dripping from the brute’s hands. Remedial grabbed his hand firmly, and rubbed grease from his left hand onto DBPreacher’s sleeve. With a smile of perverse pleasure, Remedial then released DBPreacher and sank into a chair at the head of the table.
“So, faggot, what took you so long?”
DBPreacher tried to ignore the casual insult, but his cheeks were starting to burn. “It appears that someone had removed all the directional signs in the station. I had to find the bridge by exploration. dbp.”
Remedial smirked at that, and waved at The Mittani, indicating that the black-clad spymaster should continue.
“What is it that SirMolle wants?” asked The Mittani. “We have no resources here that he himself does not have access to in his own regions”.
“SirMolle is angered by your irreverence and wants revenge for your organization’s callous remarks. dbp.” returned DBPreacher smugly. Remedial slammed his hand down hard on the table, splattering the remaining pig fat across DBPreacher’s face.
“Bullshit! That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!”
DBPreacher was shocked, but he gamely tried to struggle on. “With respect, sir, I…” he began, but Remedial cut him off.
“Burkey! Bring two burkies, one for me and one for our guest!” screamed Remedial. DBPreacher had no idea what a burkey was, and had absolutely no desire to find out. He attempted to voice his objection, but Remedial cut him off again.
“Quiet, faggot. You’re gonna enjoy this”.

Two newbies entered the room, carrying plates. DBPreacher was mortified. He had no idea what this was supposed to be, as it appeared to simply be a mass of greasy meat. He stared at the plate placed in front of him, desperately trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it. Not eat it, surely. Remedial answered for him as he lifted the thing up and bit it entirely in half. DBPreacher could hear the crunching of bones as the oaf chewed his prodigious mouthful, then he returned his gaze to his own plate. He shuddered.
“Sir, I appreciate the gesture but I am afraid I am not hungry. dbp.”
Remedial glanced up and smiled, as The Mittani rose from his seat and crossed to stand by the door.
“Oh, you aren’t going to eat it.”
Dropping the rest of the ghastly creation to his plate, Remedial lunged across the table and slammed his fist into DBPreacher’s face. DBPreacher crashed over the back of his chair and hit the floor. He was dazed and hovering near unconsciousness, yet he still managed to rise on unsteady legs and half-run, half-shuffle towards the door. The Mittani stepped in front of him and delivered a neat straight left, clipping DBPreacher’s chin. DBPreacher crumpled to the floor, out cold. The Mittani glanced at Remedial, while Remedial strode over to the supine figure and, burying one hand at his throat and one at his crotch, lifted him and carried him to the table. Slamming him down next to his untouched burkey, Remedial flipped him over onto his stomach and pulled down the unconscious man’s pants.
“Lets get some cold water on him, I want him to be awake for this.” grunted Remedial. The Mittani nodded and called for water to revive DBPreacher. Water was brought, and DBPreacher was pulled spluttering from his stupor.
“You want to know what I think of your SirMolle?” breathed Remedial, unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers. The Mittani moved to DBPreacher’s head and placed his hands on the man’s back, holding him firmly in place as Remedial moved up close behind DBPreacher and pushed his huge cock into the man’s anus.
DBPreacher screamed and screamed, barely able to stand the torture. His arse, already tender from SirMolle’s attentions, felt like it was on fire. He wasn’t sure, but from the wetness dripping down his thighs it appeared that his anus had started to bleed. Remedial pushed himself further and further inside with every thrust, until he was touching DBPreacher’s large intestine. DBPreacher screamed and passed out again. The Mittani waited for Remedial to finish before reviving the man again. After Remedial had finished his thrusting, shaking climax, he reached over and grabbed DBPreacher’s burkey.
“Do it” he grunted to The Mittani. More cold water was splashed over DBPreacher’s face, and the man slowly came to. Then, pain gripped him again as Remedial started forcing the steaming hot turkey up into his rectum.
Remedial pushed and pushed, ignoring DBPreacher’s agonized screams as his body was slowly torn apart. He could feel his anus splitting, feel the turkey pass up through his colon and into his abdomen. His stomach bulged obscenely, and his organs ruptured as the turkey was rammed up further and further into his body. He died screaming.
Remedial pulled his arm from inside DBPreacher’s body.
“Stick this faggot in a jetcan and launch it back to them.” he ordered. Two officers gripped the dead man’s arms and swung him down off the table, carrying him towards the cargo bay. Remedial finished his burkey and returned to the main window, peering out at the Band of Brothers’ armada and chortling.

The contents of the jetcan were hauled into the cargo bay onboard the Omnipotence Itself, where SirMolle stood waiting to see what they had sent back. He glanced at the still form of DBPreacher, it’s stomach bulging and fluids leaking from its anus.
We can’t intimidate them, he thought to himself. Waving an officer over, he gave instructions to have DBPreacher’s clone activated again. Then he ordered the room emptied, and stood alone over the body of his lover, considering his next move.

Remedial waved his burkey leg to the departing Band of Brothers in farewell. They would claim victory, of course. They would claim to have broken Remedial and removed his followers from space. They couldn’t claim to have shoved a turkey wrapped in bacon up the arse of Remedial’s Aide de Camp, though. He smiled at that, and gave the order for his newbies to return to the Crokite mines. He laughed at the terror on their twisted faces, and whistled a happy tune around his mouthful of burkey.



Itinerant photographer, firespinner, poly feminist, he/him.