/lit/ - Literature

VVM

A NOCTULIAN craves DISCIPLINE.

DRILL SGT. 333 is the LEADER of the VVM (Velton Vindex Movement.) He is a grim, grey alien with large, almond-shaped eyes and a small, skeletal figure (which is in contrast to his over-sized head.) He wears a Drill Sgt. Uniform (including a large, harsh brimmed hat with the numerical code ’333 emblazoned on the front, military pants tucked into combat boots and a military battle-ready logistical jacket emblazoned with the numeric ’333 and on which is pinned an insignia of the Nine Angles, a patch bearing the sigil of the TOB and upon the collar-tab epaulets is the numbers ’333 – the latter which appears on both of his thin, starved shoulders.) He wears a black armband with large white letters sewn onto the clothe bearing the initials ‘VVM’. His mouth is only a slit which never smiles. From his mouth emanates only hate because he hates you, he wants to discipline you, he wants to punish you, he wants to push you over the brink so that you fall – like chaff – into the blaze of the abyss, the blaze of subversion, the blaze of the clandestine, the blaze of torture, the blaze of discipline.

He carries a wooden punishment paddle that has been drilled with holes, many, many holes. The holes are to lessen wind resistance when he beats you and he will beat you – he will beat you like a bad little girl or a bad little boy but he will not beat you because you have been bad, he will beat you because you have not been bad enough. When he bends you over and paddles your bottom it is a loving discipline because he is saying to you: do not be human, be a Noctulian! Although the way he phrases it may sound more like ”TOUGHEN UP YOU WIMP!” or it may even sound like the churning and grating of hideous machinery in a terrible, dark and grim factory somewhere in the astral wastelands. Did I mention he also carries a cat o’ nine tails made of a hideous leather-like substance which is interspersed with spikes? You are truly a fortunate soul if Drill Sgt. 333 decides to go after you with that particularly unholy implement.

Every foul verbal abuse that issues forth from his mouth which swirls and rotates with the horrors of Nythra will make you more motivated. Each beating he gives you will bring you closer and closer to the Abyss and insanity (like a trout swimming upstream, the Abyss will make you immolate yourself in the hideous and caustic ordeal of shedding the causal.) The more miles you run and the more push-ups you do chanting ’333 will help you transform from your current state into a bloated frog: bloated on the blood current of the Velton Vindex Movement and basking under the radioactive glow of atomic mushroom clouds who look down upon you with leering, spiral eyes.