Proby Glan-Glan stood staring, mouth agape. The great spires of the Chrome City towered above his old onion. Sure, he had seen incredible things, one doesn’t space-skip without seeing their fair share of marvels but the Chrome City of Flandergon was a stallion of a different colour. That colour, of course, being chrome.
Proby shook off his amazement and checked his chrono-stone. Seeing that he had 69 minutes to kill he sparked up a fat-ass mangoij.
“These things are gonna kill me someday”. He whispered to himself. Little did he know...he was already dead.
The journey from his home on Shmebulon 2 to Flandergon was comprised of 7 separate jumps - each more harrowing than the last. Proby suspected the two jack-boot mutant thugs who thought they were being so secretive had probably been tailing his sweet little ass since jump 4: from Caladan to Geidi Prime. Who sent them? Their style of dress was consistent with that of the Ancient Lyle Militia but it was widely known that that organization had been dispanded with the dramatic death of their God-King some 420 cycles prior. Plus their breastplate sigil was one he didn’t recognize: a red and blue 6-pointed star.
Proby pushed the thought of his pursuers to the back of his domepiece, he would deal with them when the time came, for now the goij was starting to take effect - he could feel his fremular fold creasing itself in a fashion most righteous. Good timing, he thought to himself, ever since The Great Calamity the inter-dimensional Veil had been wavering and shifting in unexpected ways and it was doing a mighty fine jig at that moment. Proby knew he had work to do but besides his high ranking position in the Interplanetary Union of Cleany-boys he was also a creature of leisure. So he sat in the square for a time, nursing his goij and taking in the beauty of the Veil shimmering and playing off the mighty chrome spires of the city. Let his pursuers watch, they wouldn’t glean anything useful accept perhaps to discover that Proby was a really chill dude.