Sunday, March 29, 2026

Get Some Socks, Sigma

Juno:
(deadpan)
Anran. Why is Sigma not wearing shoes?
 

Anran:
(without looking up)
He says footwear disrupts his gravitational harmony.
 

Juno:
Gravitational harmony? He’s hovering three feet off the ground like a philosophical Roomba.
 

Anran:
Exactly. Shoes would ruin the vibe. He’s channeling “space monk chic.”
 

Juno:
He’s channeling frostbite. That floor is marble.
 

[Sigma gently rotates midair, toes flexing like he’s testing the wind.]
 

Sigma:
(serenely)
The universe whispers through my soles.
 

Juno:
The universe is whispering “get some socks.”
 

Anran:
He tried socks. They screamed.
 

Juno:
I’m not even gonna ask.
 

[Illari walks by, glances at Sigma’s feet, then back at Juno.]
 

Illari:
If he dies from toe hypothermia, I’m not healing that.
 

Juno:
Fair. 

 


 

Thursday, March 26, 2026

“The Passive‑Aggression Social Link”

Location: Leblanc, after hours.
Cast: Akechi (confused menace), Haru (smiling doom), Futaba (gremlin fury), Joker (regretting everything)

[Scene opens]
Akechi
(cheerfully sipping coffee)
I must say, Amamiya‑kun, your brew has improved. Almost reminds me of the cup I had the day I—
 

Futaba
(leaning over the counter like a cryptid)
—Killed someone’s mom?
 

Akechi
(blinks)
Pardon?
 

Haru
(smiling with the serenity of a saint who has chosen violence)
Oh, Futaba‑chan, please. There’s no need to be so direct.
(turns to Akechi)
We wouldn’t want to make our guest uncomfortable.
 

Akechi
I… appreciate that? I think?

[Joker quietly backs away toward the stairs]
 

Futaba
(whisper‑shouting)
HE DOESN’T GET IT. HE REALLY DOESN’T GET IT.
 

Haru
(still smiling, but her eye twitches)
It’s alright. Some people simply… forget the consequences of their actions.
Like how some people forget they…
(pauses, voice sweet as honey)
…shot my father in the face.
 

Akechi
(confused, polite, absolutely missing the point)
Ah. Yes. Tragic business, that.
(sips coffee)
But what does that have to do with—?
Futaba
(throws hands up)
OH MY GOD.

[Ryuji enters, sees the situation, immediately turns around]
 

Ryuji
Nope. Not dealing with that. I’m out.

[Haru steps closer, still smiling like a kindergarten teacher about to assign detention]
 

Haru
Akechi‑kun, I just want you to know…
I hold no ill will.
None at all.
(smile widens)
I simply think it’s important to acknowledge the past so we can move forward.
 

Akechi
(relieved)
Ah, good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.
 

Futaba
(leans in, whispering loudly)
She means she wants you to APOLOGIZE, pancake boy.
 

Akechi
Apologize? For what?
 

Futaba
FOR THE MURDER.
THE.
MURDER.
 

Akechi
(tilts head)
You’ll have to be more specific.

[Haru’s smile becomes terrifyingly serene]
 

Haru
Akechi‑kun…
You’ve killed so many people that we need a spreadsheet.
 

Futaba
I already made one.
(slaps a color‑coded chart on the counter)
You’re in the red column.
The VERY red column.
 

Akechi
(stares at chart)
…Oh.
(pauses)
Well.
This is awkward.

[Joker returns with popcorn]
 

Joker
So… are we good?
 

Haru & Futaba
(in perfect harmony)
NO.
 

Akechi
(softly)
I’m beginning to suspect I may have done something to upset them.

[Fade out as Futaba chases Akechi around Leblanc with a rolled‑up newspaper labeled “CONSEQUENCES”]

 


 

Saturday, March 14, 2026

The Almost‑Victory

INT. TEROK NOR – INTENDANT’S QUARTERS 

The doors slide shut behind Major Kira, sealing her inside the Intendant’s private sanctuary.
Soft Bajoran music plays—familiar, but twisted into something sultry and indulgent.

The lighting is warm, amber, almost like candlelight.The Intendant steps forward, barefoot, relaxed, predatory in her ease. 

INTENDANT KIRA
(smiling like she already won)
You came alone. That’s progress. 

MAJOR KIRA
I came because you said you had information. 

INTENDANT KIRA
I have many things you want. 

She circles her counterpart slowly, studying her with a fascination that borders on reverence.
Major Kira tries to keep her posture rigid, but the closeness is disorienting—like staring into a mirror that whispers. 

INTENDANT KIRA
You know… I used to imagine what you’d be like.
The freedom fighter. The hero. The woman who never compromises.
She brushes a strand of hair from Major Kira’s cheek—gentle, almost tender. 

Major Kira doesn’t pull away. 

Not yet. 

INTENDANT KIRA
And here you are.
Everything I hoped for.
Everything I missed becoming. 

Major Kira swallows. The words hit harder than she wants to admit. 

MAJOR KIRA
You don’t know me. 

INTENDANT KIRA
Oh, but I do.
I know what it’s like to be you.
To want connection so badly it terrifies you.
To hide softness behind anger.
To pretend you don’t crave being understood. 

Major Kira’s breath catches—because the Intendant is too close to the truth. 

The Intendant leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. 

INTENDANT KIRA
Let me show you what it’s like…
to stop fighting yourself. 

Her hand slides down Major Kira’s arm, fingers intertwining with hers. 

Major Kira doesn’t pull away. 

For a moment—just a moment—she lets herself feel the warmth of someone who looks like her, understands her, mirrors her in ways no one else ever could. 

The Intendant sees the hesitation, the softening, and her smile turns victorious.

INTENDANT KIRA
There it is.
That beautiful surrender.

Major Kira closes her eyes.

She’s so close to leaning in, to letting the moment swallow her, to letting herself be seen in a way she never allows

But then—

A single thought cuts through the haze:
“This woman isn’t me.”

Her eyes snap open.

She steps back, breaking the contact. 

The Intendant freezes, stunned—she had been so sure. 

MAJOR KIRA
(steady, but shaken)
You’re right about one thing.
I do want to be understood.
But not like this.
Not by someone who uses people as toys. 

The Intendant’s expression flickers—hurt, anger, longing, all tangled. 

INTENDANT KIRA
You were mine for a moment. 

MAJOR KIRA
No.
I was almost yours.
There’s a difference. 

The Intendant’s smile returns, but now it’s brittle, wounded. 

INTENDANT KIRA
One day, Nerys…
you’ll wish you hadn’t pulled away. 

Major Kira turns toward the door, her heartbeat still unsteady. 

MAJOR KIRA
Maybe.
But not today. 

She leaves.

The doors close.

The Intendant stands alone, staring at the space where her counterpart had been—so close she could taste victory, and yet denied at the last second.

She touches her own lips, almost in disbelief. 

 


 


Deep Space Nine Reactions: Crossover

Sunday, March 8, 2026

PENGUINS OF MADAGASCAR: OPERATION STARFISH SABOTAGE — MISSION BRIEFING

 INT. SUPPLY POD – MAKESHIFT HQ – “BRIEFING ROOM”

SKIPPER
Alright, team. Eyes front, flippers up, snacks down. We’ve got ourselves a planet‑sized pickle.

RICO
HURK …pickle?
(He coughs up an actual pickle.)

SKIPPER
Not that kind, soldier. The Death Star kind. Big, round, evil, and full of stormtroopers who couldn’t hit a barn if it was hugging them.

PRIVATE
But they can hit us, right?

SKIPPER
Only if we stand still, wave our flippers, and politely request it. Which we will not be doing.

KOWALSKI steps forward, tapping the hologram.

KOWALSKI
Gentlemen, behold: the Empire’s ultimate weapon. Capable of destroying planets, vaporizing fleets, and—based on this diagram—running on a cooling system designed by someone who failed basic engineering.

PRIVATE
Is that… duct tape?

KOWALSKI
Imperial‑grade duct tape. Holds star empires together.

SKIPPER
Our mission: disable this floating doom‑ball before Darth Vader arrives in four hours and fifty‑five minutes. That gives us five hours. Tight window. Tighter than Rico’s digestive system.

RICO
HURK
(He coughs up a chainsaw, a bowling ball, and a live pigeon.)

SKIPPER
Case in point.

KOWALSKI flips to a new hologram: a maze of vents.

KOWALSKI
We’ll infiltrate through the ventilation system. It’s extensive, poorly guarded, and conveniently penguin‑sized.

PRIVATE
Why do humans build vents big enough for us to crawl through?

SKIPPER
Because humans are sloppy, Private. Sloppy like a walrus at a fondue fountain.

KOWALSKI
Once inside, we’ll navigate to the reactor coolant regulators. If we disrupt them, the Death Star will enter a full shutdown. No boom. No kaboom. No kaboom‑adjacent kaboom.

RICO
…no boom?
(He looks heartbroken.)

SKIPPER
Chin up, soldier. There’ll be plenty of boom on the way.

Rico perks up immediately.

PRIVATE raises a flipper.

PRIVATE
Um… Skipper? What about the stormtroopers? They’re on high alert.

SKIPPER
Stormtroopers are like seagulls, Private. Loud, annoying, and easily confused by shiny objects.

RICO
HURK
(He coughs up a disco ball.)

SKIPPER
Perfect. Weaponize the sparkle.

KOWALSKI
We’ll also need to pass through a detention block. I suggest disguises.

SKIPPER
Already ahead of you.
(He reveals four tiny Imperial officer hats.)
We go in as “experimental emotional‑support penguins.”

PRIVATE
Do we… actually provide emotional support?

SKIPPER
Only the emotional support of terror and confusion.

KOWALSKI
Once we reach the coolant regulators, I’ll initiate a seventeen‑step shutdown sequence.

SKIPPER
We’ll do the first three steps. The rest sound like nerd stuff.

KOWALSKI
But the remaining fourteen steps are crucial to—

SKIPPER
Nerd. Stuff.

RICO
HURK
(He coughs up a whiteboard that says “NERD STUFF.”)

PRIVATE
And what if Darth Vader arrives early?

SKIPPER
Then we improvise.

PRIVATE
What does “improvise” mean in this context?

SKIPPER
It means Rico throws explosives until the universe sorts itself out.

RICO
YEAH!

KOWALSKI
Time check: five hours until mission failure. Vader ETA: four hours fifty‑five minutes.

SKIPPER
Which means we’ve got a luxurious five‑minute buffer.
(beat)
We’re penguins. We thrive under unreasonable deadlines.

SKIPPER steps forward dramatically.

SKIPPER
Team… this is it. The biggest mission we’ve ever undertaken.
A space station the size of a moon.
Thousands of stormtroopers.
A Sith Lord en route.
And one tiny flaw in their cooling system.

PRIVATE
So… business as usual?

SKIPPER
Exactly.
Now fluff your feathers, tighten your goggles, and prepare for—

ALL
OPERATION STARFISH SABOTAGE!

RICO
HURK
(He coughs up a fish. They all cheer.



Friday, March 6, 2026

Trust Me, I Know What I’m Doing

 

INT. ABANDONED R.P.D. HALLWAY – NIGHT

Moonlight slices through broken windows. Dust hangs in the air. The hallway is silent — until heavy footsteps echo.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(enters frame, revolver drawn)
“Alright, whoever’s been stomping around like a linebacker in a trench coat — show yourself. I’m in no mood for subtlety.”

A towering figure steps into view. MR. X looms, expressionless.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(squints)
“Let me guess. You’re the strong, silent type. Great. I hate those.”

He raises his revolver, aiming squarely at Mr. X’s chest.

SLEDGE HAMMER
“Now, I could ask you to surrender. I could read you your rights. But let’s be honest — you don’t look like a man who respects punctuation.”

Mr. X takes a slow step forward.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(tightens grip)
“Easy, Frankenstein. I’ve got six rounds and a very short temper.”

Beat. Mr. X clenches his fist.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(grins)
“Trust me... I know what I’m doing.”

The camera holds on the standoff — tension thick, silence louder than words.

FADE TO BLACK.

 


 

MAXWELL SMART MEETS DR. NO

Location: Dr. No’s underground lair — a sleek, sterile dining chamber lit like a villain’s dental office.

INT. DR. NO’S DINING HALL – NIGHT
Maxwell Smart is escorted in by two guards wearing radiation badges and expressions of deep regret. Max walks with the stiff confidence of a man who has no idea where he is but refuses to admit it.

He stops at the long dining table, sees the elaborate place setting, and immediately picks up the wrong fork.

MAX
Ah. The shrimp fork. A classic intimidation tactic.

A calm, resonant voice echoes from behind him.

DR. NO (O.S.)
I assure you, Mr. Smart… the cutlery is not meant to intimidate.

Max spins around, nearly tripping over his own chair.

Dr. No enters with the slow, theatrical precision of a man who practices his entrances. His metal hands gleam under the lights.

MAX
Dr. No, I presume. Or should I say… Dr. Negative.

DR. NO
You should not.

Max nods, as if he expected that.

MAX
How about… Dr. Maybe?

Dr. No stares at him, unblinking.

DR. NO
Sit.

Max sits. The chair immediately sinks three inches lower than expected. He pretends this was intentional.

Dr. No takes his seat at the opposite end of the table. A servant pours wine. Max swirls his glass, sniffs it, and then gargles it like mouthwash.

Dr. No’s eye twitches.

DR. NO
You are not at all what I anticipated from CONTROL.

MAX
That’s what they all say. Usually right before I foil their evil plan.

DR. NO
You believe you can foil my plan?

MAX
Would you believe… delay it slightly?

Dr. No steeples his metal fingers, producing a faint metallic clink.

DR. NO
My work is beyond your comprehension. I am on the verge of altering the balance of global power.

MAX
Funny. I once altered the balance of global power by accidentally unplugging a vending machine.

Dr. No blinks. Twice.

DR. NO
Tell me, Mr. Smart… how did you find my island?

MAX
Oh, that was easy. I followed the suspicious radio signals, the trail of missing scientists, and the giant “KEEP OUT OR ELSE” sign on the beach.

DR. NO
That sign was meant to deter intruders.

MAX
Well, it worked on everyone except me.

Dr. No leans forward.

DR. NO
You are either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish.

MAX
I get that a lot.

Dr. No rises, pacing with slow, deliberate steps.

DR. NO
You meddle in forces you cannot understand. My reactor is a masterpiece of precision. One wrong move could destroy us all.

Max nods solemnly.

MAX
Then it’s a good thing I’m known for my precision.

He immediately knocks over his water glass.

MAX
That was a test. You passed.

Dr. No closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

DR. NO
You could be useful, Mr. Smart. Join me. I could use a man with your… unpredictability.

MAX
Sorry, I’m loyal to CONTROL. And also I don’t work well with people who have metal hands. They leave fingerprints on everything.

DR. NO
I do not leave fingerprints.

MAX
See? Already a problem.


Dr. No slams his metal hand on the table — a loud, echoing CLANG.

DR. NO
Enough! You will not leave this island alive.

Max stands, adjusting his tie with exaggerated confidence.

MAX
Would you believe… I already left?

DR. NO
No.

MAX
Would you believe… I’m leaving right now?

DR. NO
Also no.

MAX
Would you believe… I’m thinking about leaving?

Dr. No gestures to the guards.

DR. NO
Take him to the reactor chamber. I want him to see the brilliance of my work… before it destroys him.

Max is escorted out.

He turns back to Dr. No.

MAX
Just so you know — I’m not afraid. I’ve faced KAOS agents, double agents, triple agents, and once a very angry poodle.

Dr. No watches him go, baffled.

DR. NO
How has this man survived this long?

Fade out.



Thursday, March 5, 2026

“The Park, The Pterodactyl, and The Panic Attack”

 “The Park, The Pterodactyl, and The Panic Attack”

EXT. ROCK CLIMBING PARK – MORNING
Jerry and George stand at the base of the faux‑mountain, staring up at the maze of climbing walls, overhangs, and the giant dusty Pterodactyl perched at the summit.

GEORGE
Look at this! Look at this monstrosity! Who builds a mountain out of… whatever this is? Plastic? Foam? Regret?

JERRY
It’s a climbing park, George. People climb it. For fun.

GEORGE
Fun? FUN? I don’t climb things, Jerry! I barely climb stairs! And now I’m supposed to scale Mount Ptero‑whatever with a water gun strapped to my back like some kind of janitorial Spider‑Man?

JERRY
You’re not climbing it. You’re walking up it. There’s a difference.

GEORGE
Oh, yes, yes, a big difference. One is climbing. The other is climbing but slower.
Jerry starts spraying the lower wall, dust peeling off in satisfying sheets.


JERRY
You know, this isn’t so bad. Nice breeze. Good visibility. Plenty of footholds.

GEORGE
Footholds? FOOTHOLDS?! Jerry, I don’t trust anything with “hold” in the name. Handholds, footholds, strongholds—none of them have ever held anything for me!


The Pterodactyl Problem
They look up at the summit where the giant Pterodactyl looms.

JERRY
We should probably clean the Pterodactyl first. There’s an achievement for it.

GEORGE
Oh, great. Great. Now we’re doing achievements. I can’t achieve a stable relationship, but sure, let’s achieve cleaning a prehistoric lawn ornament.

JERRY
It’s not prehistoric. It’s fiberglass.

GEORGE
Fiberglass, prehistoric—either way, it’s judging me.



The Climbing Holds Crisis

George attempts to clean a cluster of tiny climbing holds. He sprays one, then another, then another…

GEORGE
Why are there so many of these?! Who needs this many? What are they training for, Jerry? A ninja competition? A heist? The Olympics of finger strength?!

JERRY
You know, you could try moving your arm instead of screaming at the wall.

GEORGE
Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the wall had feelings. “Oh no, George yelled at me, now I’ll never be clean!”

He sprays aggressively. The water ricochets and hits him in the face.

GEORGE
I’m being attacked! The wall is attacking me!

JERRY
It’s water, George.

GEORGE
Water can be aggressive, Jerry! Have you ever been in a shower with bad pressure? It’s like being pelted by angry rain!


The Summit Struggle
They reach the top. The Pterodactyl towers over them.

GEORGE
Look at this thing! Why is it so big? Why does it look like it knows my secrets?

JERRY
Just clean under the wings.

GEORGE
Under the wings?! UNDER?! Jerry, I can’t even get under my own bed without emotional support!

George crouches, sprays upward, and immediately gets blasted with falling grime.

GEORGE
I’m being punished! The dinosaur is punishing me!

JERRY
It’s not a dinosaur.

GEORGE
IT’S CLOSE ENOUGH, JERRY!


The Final Reveal

They finish the job. The park gleams. The Pterodactyl sparkles heroically.

GEORGE
Well… it does look nice.

JERRY
See? Wasn’t so bad.

GEORGE
Oh, no, it was bad. It was very bad. But at least now I can say I survived a mountain, a dinosaur, and a personal crisis before lunch.

JERRY
That’s what we call “professional growth.”

GEORGE
I call it “hazard pay.” Do we get hazard pay?

JERRY
No.

GEORGE
Then I’m filing a complaint.

He slips slightly on a clean rock.

GEORGE
And THAT is Exhibit A!




Tuesday, March 3, 2026

STARFLEET JUDGE ADVOCATE GENERAL v. KATHRYN JANEWAY

 A cavernous Starfleet courtroom. Admirals line the bench like a flock of judgmental owls. Janeway sits calmly, sipping coffee as though this is a routine staff meeting.

ADMIRAL PARIS
Captain Janeway, you stand accused of… well… gestures to a stack of padds taller than a warp core …all of this.

JANEWAY
If you’d like, Admiral, I can summarize. It’ll save us all time.

ADMIRAL PARIS
Please don’t.

Charge #1: “You Blew Up the Caretaker Array”

PROSECUTOR
Captain, you destroyed the only known way home.

JANEWAY
It was either that or let the Kazon get it.

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV
And what would the Kazon have done with it?

JANEWAY
(Raises eyebrow)
Have you met the Kazon?

The admirals murmur. One shudders.

Charge #2: “You Recruited a Maquis Crew”

PROSECUTOR
You integrated known terrorists into Starfleet ranks.

JANEWAY
They were very polite terrorists.

CHAKOTAY (from the gallery)
We prefer “enthusiastic dissenters.”

TUVOK
Their performance was adequate.

CHAKOTAY
Adequate? I saved your life twelve times!

TUVOK
Thirteen. I keep a list.

Charge #3: “Temporal Violations… All of Them”

A holographic screen lights up with a dizzying montage of time loops, paradoxes, and Janeway shooting her own future self.

ADMIRAL PARIS
Captain… you broke time.

JANEWAY
In my defense, time started it.

PROSECUTOR
You created a temporal paradox so severe the Department of Temporal Investigations had to invent new paperwork.

JANEWAY
You’re welcome.

Charge #4: “You Made an Alliance with the Borg”

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV
You allied with the Borg Collective. The Borg. The Federation’s greatest enemy.

JANEWAY
They were having a bad week.

SEVEN OF NINE (deadpan)
The Collective found her… persuasive.

ADMIRAL PARIS
You also personally antagonized the Borg Queen.

JANEWAY
She started it.

SEVEN
This is accurate.

Charge #5: “You Turned Your Crew Into Salamanders”

A holo-image of two giant amphibians appears. The courtroom gasps.

PROSECUTOR
Captain… you and Lieutenant Paris evolved into… checks padd …giant space salamanders and had offspring.

JANEWAY
It was a stressful week.

ADMIRAL PARIS
(leans forward)
Did you at least send child support?

JANEWAY
They’re salamanders, Admiral. They don’t have a college fund.

Charge #6: “You Let the Doctor Become a Novelist”

PROSECUTOR
You allowed your Emergency Medical Hologram to write a tell‑all novel defaming the crew.

JANEWAY
It was either that or let him sing opera again.

The courtroom nods in grim understanding.

Charge #7: “You Brought Voyager Home Using a Time‑Traveling Future Version of Yourself”

ADMIRAL PARIS
You violated temporal law, commandeered a future starship, and detonated a Borg transwarp hub.

JANEWAY
Yes.

ADMIRAL PARIS
…Anything to say in your defense?

JANEWAY
(Smiles)
You’re welcome.

Final Verdict

The admirals huddle. Whispering. Arguing. One faints. Finally:

ADMIRAL PARIS
Captain Janeway… after reviewing your actions, your impossible circumstances, and the fact that you somehow returned with your ship, your crew, and a Borg…
We find you…

ALL ADMIRALS
…Promoted.

JANEWAY
(Raises coffee mug)
I had a feeling.

Facegate

 “FACEGATE”

INT. SHEPARD’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
The party is loud. JACK pushes through the crowd with a bottle of Serrice Ice. WREX follows, amused and already half‑buzzed.

JACK
(raising her voice)
Shepard! Hey! We gotta talk. Grunt just yelled something across the room, and I need answers.

WREX
He said Tali showed you her face. Her real face. No visor. No filters. The actual thing.

Shepard freezes mid‑sip. Across the room, TALI stiffens like someone just unplugged her suit.

SHEPARD
…Grunt needs a muzzle.

WREX
So it’s true! I knew it! I wanna see it.

JACK
Yeah, me too. I’ve earned this. I’ve been shot, stabbed, set on fire—show me the damn face.

Tali tries to quietly back out of the room. She immediately bumps into GARRUS, who was calibrating the snack table.

GARRUS
Whoa—Tali? You okay?

TALI
No. Shepard told one person. One! And now the krogan and the tattooed maniac want a viewing.

JACK
Hey! I’m not a maniac. I’m a professional maniac.

WREX
And I’m just curious. Quarians are mysterious. Like pyjaks that can build starships.

TALI
We are not pyjaks!

LIARA drifts over. JAVIK appears because he senses “foolishness.” JOKER limps in with a drink.

JOKER
Okay, what’s happening? And is it something I can mock?

SHEPARD
Everyone relax. Go back to partying.

WREX
Not until I see the face.

JACK
Same. I wanna know if she’s got mandibles.

TALI
I DO NOT HAVE MANDIBLES!

Shepard steps between them.

SHEPARD
Tali showed me her face because she trusted me. It was private. Personal.

JACK
So… like tits?

SHEPARD
JACK.

WREX
If it’s that big a deal, we can make it a ritual. Krogan do face‑showing rites.

TALI
You absolutely do not!

WREX
We could start.

GARRUS
Look, Tali doesn’t have to show her face. It’s her choice.
(beat)
But if she did, hypothetically, I’d like to see it too.

TALI
GARRUS!

GARRUS
Scientific curiosity!

Jack leans in, grinning.

JACK
C’mon, Tali. We’re your crew. Your messed‑up, emotionally stunted, occasionally violent family. Let us see the mug.


Tali throws her hands up.

TALI
Fine! FINE! But only if Shepard says it’s okay.

Everyone turns to Shepard like she’s about to choose a dialogue wheel option that determines the fate of the galaxy.

SHEPARD
Tali… it’s your face. Your call.

Tali breathes, nods.

TALI
Then the answer is no. Absolutely no. Not happening.
(beat)
Unless everyone here agrees to never mention this again.

Wrex thinks, then grins.

WREX
Deal.
But only if you let me take a picture of Shepard’s face when she tries my new krogan liquor.

SHEPARD
Wait—what?

JACK
Oh, hell yes. That’s fair.

TALI
…Acceptable.

If the World Baseball Classic Existed in the 90s...

Bit of a thought experiment, but here would be the starting line up and starting pitcher & closer for a World Baseball Classic team if it existed in the 1990s

1. Kenny Lofton — CF (L) • Elite OBP/SLG combo in his early‑90s peak • Game‑breaking speed sets the table • Gold‑glove defense in center 

2. Chuck Knoblauch — 2B (R) • High OBP, line‑drive machine • Perfect “bridge” hitter who keeps the pressure on • Great hit‑and‑run partner with Lofton 

3. Barry Bonds — LF (L) • The most complete hitter in baseball by 1990–94 • OBP monster, 30–40 HR power, elite baserunning • Forces pitchers to work from the stretch early 

4. Mike Piazza — C (R) • Best pure right‑handed hitter of the era • Protects Bonds, punishes pitchers who pitch around him • Massive gap and HR power 

5. Larry Walker — RF (L) • Balanced power, average, and athleticism • Lefty who can still hit lefties • Extends the inning behind Piazza 

6. Tony Gwynn — DH (L) • Contact king, .350+ threat • Perfect “reset” hitter who prevents strikeout clusters • Turns the lineup over with quality ABs 

7. Barry Larkin — SS (R) • MVP‑caliber shortstop with power/speed blend • Dangerous lower‑order bat who lengthens the lineup • Elite defense keeps run prevention strong 

8. Mark Grace — 1B (L) • High‑contact, high‑OBP, doubles machine • Ideal 8‑spot hitter who keeps innings alive • Lefty balance before the 9‑hole 

9. Jeff Cirillo — 3B (R) • High‑average, low‑K, underrated OBP • A “second leadoff” hitter who feeds Lofton • Strong glove at third 

SP: Gred Maddux - Run prevention king in a pre‑steroid‑explosion environment - Ground‑ball machine who pairs perfectly with Larkin/Knoblauch/Cirillo - Low walk rate keeps games clean 

CL: Dennis Eckersley - Ridiculous control - Sub‑1.00 WHIP for multiple seasons - Strikeout-to-walk ratio unmatched

Deep Space Nine Reaction: Equilibrium