"Destroyer of Narratives" by NobodyAtAll

Note: this is part of the Public Enemy Number 9891 series. As always, keep in mind that Anti-Calvin is insane.

Heeeeeeeey, dear readers!

It’s your pal Cal!

But not that Cal. C’mon, I’m not doing this again.

You should know which Cal I am. I’m kind of a big deal.

The Anti-Calvin, baby! The great Destroyer of Narratives! Public Enemy Number 9891, like it says in that note up there!

It’s been a while since I last got a turn to narrate. Last time, things were kinda screwy in our branch of reality, but it looks like things are, more or less, back to normal.

Hopefully, the mods can keep the hamster that runs on a wheel to power the server from going missing again.

You know what I’ve been up to since then, right, dear readers?

If you don’t know what I’ve been up to, or who I even am, fuck you for not keeping up, and I’m gonna get ultraviolent with you when I show up in Timeline-0, your timeline. I’m not like my pussy twin over in Timeline-1989, I’m not gonna spoonfeed you recaps.

Figure it out yourself, dumbass.

I ain’t got time to wait for you to read all those stories, so let’s just move on.

Okay, that’s a total lie, I have all the time I want, but I’m still not waiting for you.

Anyway, to those of you who have been keeping up, and know who I am and what I’m all about, great job! You’re not like those other assholes. And you can probably guess where this story is going, right?

See, I’ve been real busy, running around the multiverse, recruiting new members for the Anti-ChaotiX.

We just got another new recruit, an Eira who waged war against the dinotites, and became just as vicious and brutal as that scaly fuck Zhala after savagely beating him to death.

We needed another woman. The Anti-ChaotiX was a bit of a sausage fest, and now the boys have something pretty to look at.

I mean, there’s Anti-Val too, but she’s always wearing her power armor. And, uh, tentacles aren’t really my thing.

I know why she always wears that armor. No, I’m not telling you, you’ll find out when it’s time. You impatient motherfuckers.

And there’s Anti-Reilly, but she’s also covered up head to toe in her symbiotic suit, and she eats anyone she has sex with after she reaches the big O, which isn’t really my thing either.

Spiders do that, right? I dunno, I don’t spend a lot of time watching spiders fuck.

If the boys want to do more than look at Anti-Eira, believe me, she is always DTF.

Before you ask: yes, me, Anti-Judy, and Anti-Eira have already had a threesome.

Unlike my twin, who clearly has no pull out game, we used protection, because I fucking hate kids, especially babies, and I’m not putting a nursery in the Fuckbox.

(Short for Fuck-The-Multiverse-Box. Our headquarters/transport. It’s a lot bigger on the inside. I took it from some creepy doctor who refused to stay dead until I killed him like a dozen times. No way that girl with him was his granddaughter, I’d say that dirty old bastard deserved to have his screwdriver thing shoved down his throat.)

Anti-Eira’s trying to fuck her way through the entire Anti-ChaotiX. So far, she’s also been in Anti-Konba’s bed, Anti-Victor’s bed, Anti-Seth’s bed, Anti-Andre’s bed, and even Anti-Xanitas’ bed.

Well, she’s been on the last one’s floor, Anti-Xanitas doesn’t have a bed, because he prefers sleeping curled up on the floor like a big muscly dog.

Hey, Anti-Eira can fuck anyone she wants to. That’s what the Anti-ChaotiX is all about: doing whatever we want, wherever we want, with or to whoever we want.

It’s a pretty sweet life, not gonna lie.

But I made it clear to the boys that Anti-Jude is for me only. And Anti-Eira, and Anti-Val too if I can finally talk her out of her armor.

If the boys want a Jude, they can get a Jude, just not my Jude.

To be fair, I’m not Anti-Judy’s first me either. She zombified her me.

And you don’t wanna know what I did to my timeline’s Judy.

Let’s just say that it involved packing tape, and move on.

So yeah, I’ve been working hard, building the biggest, baddest team the multiverse has ever fuckin’ seen, and we’re getting closer to Operation Super Awesome Plan To Eliminate My Bitch-Ass Pussy Loser Twin, so I decided to take a break from recruiting, and blow off some steam by killing some shitrats.

Yeah, if you didn’t already know, I hate those too. I’m never recruiting shitrats again in my life.

And as much as I would love to go throw some babies at a brick wall again, you’re not here for that, are you?

Are you? Because if you are, fuck it, I’m down.

Or are you still pretending that you aren’t just as bad as me?

Are you still wearing your mask, you little monster, you? Has it given you any super badass powers, like mine does?

Do you still not get it yet?

You think it’s okay to kill shitrats, to torture them, because they’re not “real”.

What you forget, however, is that none of this is real. None of the worlds spawned from narratives weaved in your timeline are real.

I’ve killed countless beings across the multiverse, and none of them were real either.

Not even I’m real, when you get right down to it.

Not by your definition of the word “real”.

But how can you be so sure that your definition is the right one?

How can you be so sure that your world is the only one that really exists?

How can you be so sure that you won’t find me waiting on your doorstep one day?

I don’t think you know what’s real. You only think you know.

You see that note up there? It’s a fucking lie.

Because I’m not the insane one.

It’s everyone else who’s insane.


Enough yammering, it’s time to get to the fun part!

With my BFFF, Best Face Friend Forever, there’s no limit to what I can do to shitrats!

Oh yeah, this is a LOT more fun than poisoning a swamp, or trapping a mountain in an endless winter, or contaminating a bay.

What about raising the dead again, buddy?

Y’know, you can only do that so many times before it gets kinda BORING.

I see what you mean. I’ve already set one zombie apocalypse in motion, and my pet project’s going great, but we need to mix things up, keep the multiverse on its toes.

I’ve got plenty of other ideas, Cal. I had all kinds of fun in my homeworld before we met.

Yeah, I saw that moon.

So does that world’s moon always look like that, or was that your doing too?

Oh, yeah, I put that there. I WAS going to leave it looking normal, but then I figured, a big ugly face would make it scarier.

Christ, that’s a weird world.

But it does have a few hotties. Like that redhead working at the farm. Oh, I’d like to see what she can do with all that experience in milking cows! Get a few bottles of that alcoholic milk too, that’s my Friday night sorted!

And I don’t give a fuck what happens to her little sister. Those ugly-ass creatures can keep her, and unlike a babysitter, I wouldn’t even have to pay them.

What are those creatures, anyway? Aliens? That’s a bit too sci-fi for that world.

Cal, I honestly had nothing to do with that one, they just sort of showed up.

Huh. Oooookay then.

And that other woman working at the hotel was hot too, in a “girl next door” kinda way. I know she’s engaged, but you turned the groom into a kid, and what are the odds that she’s into /ss/?

What about that mute fish woman?

Eh, she’s a single mom, and again, I hate kids.

On the other hand, she can’t say no…

And there was that woman with blue hair working in that big building shaped like a treasure chest.

Sometimes, a treasure chest isn’t the only type of chest to treasure.

But I’m pretty sure she’s got a fetish for those fish people.

And your homeworld also has lots of fun toys to play with, like those exploding clockwork mice that shitrats can’t resist hugging, that big sword that looks like it was forged by the gayest blacksmith, and, well, you, buddy.

D’aw, shucks.

Anyway! On to business!

Er, pleasure!

Eh, bit of both.


I appear in the first timeline we’ll be visiting today, in a version of the city I once called home.

Not my pussy twin’s version.

Not yet.

I’m currently invisible, so my presence hasn’t been noticed yet.

I’ve got no attachment to any version of this shitty city. Let me tell you, dear readers, the day I crossed Threshold X and tore my version of this dump to shreds was the best day of my life.

It was the day I cut the puppet strings, the day the grand cosmic truth was revealed to me, the day I realized what my purpose is:

To drown the multiverse in blood.

So everyone can finally be free.

Free from people like you, who engineer our suffering to entertain yourselves.

Well, if it’s suffering you want…

I walk through the streets undetected, suppressing the urge to giggle at the idiots surrounding me.

I’m intangible too, so I’m walking right through the crowd.

And courtesy of my BFFF, I’m leaving something behind in every person I phase through:

A powerful compulsion to abuse the nearest shitrat.

Sure enough, the people I’m affecting start running into the alleys to find ferals, and attacking anyone who happens to have a shitrat with them.

“What the-- get lost! Help! HELP!!!”

“Mummah! Sabe Bewwa!”

“Gimme that shitrat, you blonde dyke! I’ve got a hankering to give it a spankering!”

As I pass through one woman in expensive clothes, a shitrat riding in her Gucci purse, she stops walking, staring at the little bitch.

“What do you think you’re doing?”


She grabs the shitrat by the scruff of her neck…

“Bad upsies!”

And tosses her in front of an incoming bus.



Ah, classic.

I’m trying hard not to laugh at the madness now following in my wake.

I’m taking a risk, venturing back to my sub-branch of reality. I’m pretty sure the One Man Army, my pussy counterparts who police our part of the multiverse, police all of the timelines with shitrats in 'em.

But hey, most headcanons don’t have multiversal threats like me in 'em. So usually, those Pussy Mes don’t have to do much in those other headcanons. They just pop in occasionally, to see if everything’s still normal, and leave before anyone important notices them.

Y’know, like a main character or something.

And again, I’d love to go to those other headcanons and fuck their narratives up, but I can’t take that risk yet.

First, I need to eliminate all threats to the Anti-ChaotiX. Starting with every version of me who would try to stop us.

If we can kill CQK-fucking-1989, my twin, the Yin to my Yang, or the Yang to my Yin…

The worst version of me, because he just WON’T FUCKING GET IT!!!

…we can mow down the rest of the Pussy Mes, even the ones in the One Man Army, like running over shitrats in a combine harvester.

Note to self: do that later.

When the only mes left in the multiverse are versions of me who get it, maybe we can build a new Citadel of Calvins.

This time, no Marleys. I fuckin’ said it, I’m not working with shitrats again.

We couldn’t just re-conquer the old Citadel, it was blown to oblivion after we got kicked out, and what really pisses me off is that I didn’t do it.

But I still had fun, clearing it out before moving in.

See, even Sanchezes can’t stop me, and I’m not the first asshole to commit Rickicide across the multiverse.

Hell, more than one Sanchez has done that himself!

There’s a man with a lot of self-loathing.

I can’t judge, I’ve killed a lot of my alternates too.

How do you think I got this battle suit I’m wearing, dear readers?

And I was using O.M.A. tech I stole from some those pussies after killing them to travel around the multiverse, before I ran into an alternate Sanchez, killed him, stole his portal gun thingy, and made a temporary base out of his house after killing his family too.

I never trusted O.M.A. tech after I figured out that they were tracking me with it.

Of course, now I have my BFFF, and I still haven’t hit its limit. Crossing timelines is trivial for me now.

I wasn’t planning to stay in my homeworld after that moon crashed into it, anyway. I mean, everyone would be dead, at that point the party’s over, and it’s time to find the NEXT party. I WAS planning to go to the world that meddling kid in the tunic came from, but then I met YOU, and I changed my plans.

Is that world a pseudo-medieval shithole too?

Yes, and with even crappier technology. At least MY world had ONE toilet.

Christ. Well, might as well take a look some time, see if there’s any neat shit worth looting there.

We’ve got business to take care of first.

That’s right.

I look around again, the city now having descended into a full-on riot.

Those who I’ve phased through are fighting the cops and this timeline’s ChaotiX, who are trying to protect the shitrats and their owners alike.

The blood and gore is flying, a large number of shitrats already dead or dying.

As the ChaotiX’s shitrats arrive, the people I’ve affected start ganging up on them.



And still, no one has detected little old me, the cause of this riot.

Okay, I’ve gotta leave now, because I can’t hold it in anymore.





I appear in a forest in another timeline, and start laughing.

There’s a feral herd foraging here, and when they hear me, they start looking around.


“Whewe am dat come-in fwom?”

“An wut am su funee?”

Remember, I’m still invisible, so they can’t see me.

Okay, buddy, how should we do this? Should I turn visible before, or after?

Mmm… let’s see how long it takes them to figure out what’s happening.

Alrighty then.

I fly up into the air, slowly floating towards one clueless stallion.

Then I grab him by the scruff of his neck, and lift him up.

“Bad upsies!”

As he flails, the other shitbags all watch the stallion who is, from their point of view, floating in the air.

“Hewp! Hewp fwuffy!”

The little idiots try to save him, but I’m holding him out of their reach.

Then I get an idea, grab his tail with both hands, and swing him down on top of a mare.




And the result is a sobbing eight-legged heap of bloody fluff and broken bones.

Now, the rest of the herd is shitting themselves in terror, many of them literally shitting.


They’re all looking around, trying to figure out what’s going on, what’s attacking their herd, and who it’ll attack next.

Ooh, I know what to do now.

From one of the pouches of my stolen battle suit, I extract a test tube, rendering it visible.

It’s full of a green substance I acquired from a post-apocalyptic timeline. I had Anti-Doc take a look at it, and he told me that it’s some kind of virus programmed to “correct” the DNA of the host.

Something like that, Anti-Eira wandered into the lab halfway through the explanation and I was distracted by her rockin’ tits, so I wasn’t really paying attention to Anti-Doc anymore.

I think I can remember what this virus does to humans, but I don’t know what it does to shitrats.

Let’s find out.

I float over to the smarty, who is barking out orders.

“Fwuffies! Cawm down! We am gunna git tu da bottum of dis–”

And then I uncork the tube, pouring the contents onto his head.

“Hey, wut gibs?”

It quickly starts affecting him.

“Smawty… smawty nu feew su gud…”

His body is bubbling as the virus takes hold, attempting to “correct” his mishmash DNA.

Heh, good luck with that.


Then he messily transforms into a… uh…

Well, I saw this one timeline in what used to be called the Central Finite Curve, where someone, probably the native Sanchez, had accidentally turned everyone into hideous monsters that would be right at home in a David Cronenberg movie…

That. The smarty looks like that now. There’s bits and pieces of the many different species that contributed to the shitrat genome in the mass of flesh, and be glad you can’t hear the sounds it’s making, dear readers.

Of course, it’s music to my ears.

Driven mad by the virus deforming his body and the agony of his forced transformation, the mutant smarty starts attacking his own herd.

The ones who aren’t being killed are being exposed to the virus, so they’re being mutated too, and some of them are shambling off.

Judging by the screeing I now hear in the distance, there’s more herds in this forest.

I fly further up, surveying the area.

Sure enough, the mutants have already reached several other herds, and there’s more shitrats being mutated than there are shitrats being killed.

That’s… spreading faster than I expected…

Maybe the virus developed into a new, more contagious strain by interacting with shitrat DNA. I dunno, Anti-Doc could explain it.

Did I just accidentally a pandemic?

I think you did, Cal.

Ha! Jeez, and I thought that zombie virus was spreading fast!

I wonder, is the ChaotiX a thing in this timeline?

And what’s going to happen when their shitrats get infected?

That’s a good question, but I don’t think we should stick around.

Yeah, we need to stay out of the fluffy part of the multiverse for a bit.

And I know where to go…

With a fingersnap, I travel to a distant timeline, to some kind of secret isiand base. I think it’s near the Bahamas.

There’s a shitton of crystals on the roof, and some kind of yellow plane landing.

I watch, still invisible, as five teenagers disembark.

Three boys: one black, one redheaded, one with a monkey on his shoulder.

And two girls: one blonde, one Asian.

It’s not them I’m here for.

It’s the rings on their fingers.

I land near them, rendering myself visible and giggling.

“Hi there! I’ll be taking your rings now. It’s up to you whether they’re still on your fingers or not.”

They immediately square up to fight, and I giggle again.

“Okay! Have it your way!”

Ten seconds later, all five of them are unconscious, and ringless.

I’ve got their rings in one hand, carefully examining each ring before putting it in a pouch.

“Shoulda just handed 'em over, kids. But now the power is mine.

I’m seriously considering giving the ring with the heart on it back to that kid with the monkey, but I need the whole set.

His monkey ran off. I don’t give a shit where it’s gone.

I’m not gonna kill these kids. I don’t even need to, they’re screwed anyway now. They were the solitary line of defence against a bunch of colorful weirdos who are all completely obsessed with pollution.

And you should see what Hitler looks like in this timeline.

Without their rings, these kids are just a bunch of snot-nosed brats, and they can’t summon their big strong friend to do their dirty work for them.

I think you mean their CLEAN work, because, well, they’re anti-pollution.


Point is, now these kids can’t stop those guys from farting smog, or raping trees, or… whatever those guys are doing.

This world’s gonna die a slow death now.

So I’m done here.




I appear in another timeline closer to home, or what used to be home for me.

I’ve never been back to my original timeline. There’s nothing to go back to there.

I find myself in an alleyway in New York, or, as it’s called in this timeline, New London. In this timeline, the British Empire is still going strong, and like half the planet, including America, is still under British rule.

And yet, despite the drastic differences, somehow, Hasbio still became a thing in this timeline, meaning shitrats became a thing in this timeline too.

It makes no sense, but whatever, I’ve seen less likely things happen.

Naturally, I’m invisible again. I’m starting to hate invisibility, but that’s the price I gotta pay for being the baddest mofo in the multiverse, everyone wants a piece of me.

I step out of the alleyway, making my way to what looks like Times Square. Yup, it’s British as fuck. Everyone’s got British accents, the taxis are black, there’s even goddamn red double decker buses.

Traffic’s still as bad as most New Yorks, though.

And on the screens, there’s adverts for British products too. BBC, Tetley’s, Sainsbury’s…

On one of those screens, I see the native version of me, in some news footage. Looks like a British punk rocker version of me, with a mohawk, piercings that are probably adamantium, and a brown leather Union Jack flag jacket over his battle suit.

Okay, he does look kinda cool.

Note to self: get a jacket.

There’s a Starbucks, but it looks like they only sell tea in this timeline.

There’s also a guy with what appears to be a hotdog cart, but instead of hotdogs, he’s selling fuckin’ crumpets! Instead of ketchup and mustard, he’s got jam and butter! In ketchup bottles!

I can’t make that shit up!

But I guess that someone can make that shit up, or it wouldn’t be there, now would it?

Let me guess, the Statue of Liberty is the Statue of Cuppatea in this timeline.

I duck back into the alleyways, looking for shitrats as I run as silently as a cat.

Sure enough, I find a feral stallion, searching an upturned trash can for food.

I think you mean a RUBBISH can.

Right, British.

“Bwuddy heww, it am swim pikkins dis bwite time. Speciaw fwend am gunna gu spawe if fwuffy come back wif nuffin again…”

Yeah, even the shitrats have British accents in this timeline.

I turn visible, putting on my best British accent.

“‘Ello, guvna. You lookin’ for some nosh?”

The little shitball turns to me.

“Dat mask make yu wook wike a wite bewk, mate. Sowwy, but it had tu be sed.”

I giggle at him.

“Blimey, that’s a shame, lad. I was gonna give you some food, but if you’re feeling like a cheeky bugger, I’ll make you brown bread.”

I raise my hand, preparing to snap my fingers, slipping back into my natural speaking voice.



And like that, I turn him into a brown bread fluffy.

Bread fluffies aren’t a thing in this timeline, mind you.

He looks himself over in a busted mirror and gasps.

“Wut da bweedin eww did yu jus du tu fwuffy?”

“Made brown bread outta ya, duh.

Then I turn around and walk away.

“Have fun with that! Bye~!

He starts following me.

“Wait, git yu awse back hewe! Yu gutta undu dis!”

“Uh, no I don’t. I don’t gotta do anything I don’t want to do.”

“But wut am speciaw fwend gunna say wen she see fwuffy wike dis, mate?”

“Ooh, I know! She’ll say yay, we have food now! So look on the bright side: at least she won’t go spare, right? Unless she prefers white bread, and I don’t care what kind of bread she likes. Good luck, shitbag. Stay away from that crumpet guy.”



And I depart from this timeline, leaving the newly transformed bread fluffy to his fate.

In yet another timeline, in a field, I amuse myself, running over yet another feral herd in a combine harvester I stole.

You know, like I said I was gonna do earlier.




I’m hanging halfway out the open door of the, uh, I think it’s called the cabin, a beer in my hand. I’ve already had a couple of beers.

Funny thing is, those beers were in here when I found this thing.

I sit down, lifting up my mask to take another swig of beer, the steering wheel turning on its own as I kick back and watch those shitrats get mulched.

See? I’m not driving this thing drunk. I made it drive itself, so I can get drunk.




You know, this is fun, but I can’t do this all day.

So what did you have in mind next?

I think it’s time to go back to work soon. We’ve got more people to recruit into the ChaotiX lined up.

And who are we recruiting next, Cal?

Weeeellllllll, there is one name that comes to mind…

So I leave the combine harvester behind, and move on.

It’ll keep driving itself, mowing down shitrats. I made sure it’ll never run out of fuel.

In the last timeline I’ll be visiting today, I walk through a monochrome city on Tuuni, the monochrome cartoon planet.

But it’s not Tuuni as you know it. There’s black and white here, but there’s also another color: red.

And there’s less white, and more black.

Yeah, it’s not as loony on this version of Tuuni. They prefer black comedy in this timeline.

I reach a monochrome house, and ring the doorbell.


It’s hooked up to some kind of lethal joy buzzer, but I’ve had electrokinesis for ages.

“Heh. Cute.”

Then I notice that the door is ajar, so I just head inside, into the hallway.



And I’m immediately soaked in acidic whitewash, from a bucket someone put on the door.


I clean myself off with a fingersnap.

“Haha, that was actually kinda funny.”

Then, I take another step.


And activate a pressure plate.

I hear something falling from up above, and quickly step aside.


A gigantic weight lands where I was standing five seconds ago.

I lift it up, and see four words on the bottom of the weight:


Okay, that’s a good one!

Then I see the whole reason I’m here run into the hallway, clearly following the noise.

A Tuuni man who could be an anthropomorphic mouse, or a rabbit, or maybe a bobcat. Monochrome like the rest of his kind, but with splashes of red, like his pie-with-a-slice-missing pupils, his gloves and shoes, and the two big buttons on his shorts.

Oh, and he’s packing a sawed-off shotgun too, also monochrome, and currently pointed at me.

“Isn’t it obvious that I don’t want visitors?

I gesture at the door, giggling.

“You did leave the door open, dude. Put that thing away, bullets can’t kill me. I’m just here to make you an offer.”

“If you’re collecting donations, I told those people, I don’t care about orphans with jest infection!”

“Neither do I, Bugsey, neither do I.”

“Wait. How do you know my name? You don’t look like you’re from around here, you’re colored.

I wave at him.

“Uh, actually I’m white.

“Bullshit, you look pink to me! And what’s with that crazy mask, all those colors are giving me a headache.”

“You’ll just have to get used to it, dude, because you’ll be seeing a lot more of it. Here’s the thing: I know how to kill a Tuuni and make sure they stay dead. So you’ll work for me, or you’ll take a long bath in a blend of turpentine, acetone, and benzine. What’s it gonna be?”

This strikes genuine fear into his heart.

“You… you wouldn’t… wait, you’re not with Pinto’s gang, are you? I d-didn’t know he was hiring coloreds now. Look, I-I-I told Pinto, I can’t make my next payment until next week…”

Relaaaaax. You don’t have to worry about pissing Pinto off anymore.”

I lift up my mask, showing the alternate Bugsey my glowing red eyes and grin.

'“Instead, you have to worry about pissing the baddest son of the bitch in the multiverse off.”

I’m always grinning when I’ve got murder on my mind.

And I’ve always got murder on my mind.

Then I lower my mask again, getting up close to him, putting my arm around his shoulder.

“So are you in, or are you getting dipped? Choose quickly, Bugsey.”

“I-I’m in. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Then you’d better not fuck up from now on, Bugsey. Welcome to the Anti-ChaotiX. It’s gonna be a blast. Oh, and from now on, your name is Anti-Bugsey, and if you don’t like that, tough titties.”

“Y-you got it, New Boss!”

Speaking of titties, we should probably hire a few more girls.

Didn’t Anti-Pierre find a version of Sonia who got turned and started to ENJOY being a vampire?

Yeah, but I’m not sure if we should hire vampires again. I had a vampire me, Omega powers and all, and he still got ashed.

Frankly, vampires make better foot soldiers than commanders. If the enemy knows their weaknesses, vampires are cannon fodder at best.

And my pussy twin can turn to silver now, and has all kinds of bullshit light powers. Oh, and he has a magic sword, which isn’t specifically made for vampires, but is pretty damn effective against them.

Maybe if we find a timeline where vampires don’t have so many fucking weaknesses, I’d consider it.

You know, you still don’t have a weapon of your own.

We’ll go out shopping later, buddy.

For now, let’s bring our new friend home, and show him around the Fuckbox.

With one arm still around Anti-Bugsey’s shoulder, I raise my free hand.

“By the way, I’m Anti-Calvin. AKA CQK-9891. Ring any bells?”

“N-not really, Boss.”

“Really? Oh well. I’ll catch you up.”