Near Saint Lô, France – June 9, 1944
Yoggy the sentient yogurt blob had gone rogue.
After devouring Doc Henderson's spectacles and Private Jenkins' cherished picture of Betty Grable, Yoggy now wore a tiny helmet crafted from a ration tin and hummed the Horst Wessel Lied – the Nazi anthem.
"It's a Fifth Columnist condiment!" Sarge roared, aiming his pistol at the quivering, optimistic smelling traitor. "Flux! Control your dairy demon!"
Juni poked her Chronitron.
DIAGNOSTIC: YOGURT HOSTILITY 97%. CAUSE: TEMPORAL CONTAMINATION (POD WRECKAGE) + EXPOSURE TO PRIVATE RIGBY'S "BARITONE BELCH" (06/08/44).
"It's not my demon," Juni snapped. "It's a spoiled snack turned fascist due to acoustic trauma*!"*
Hank sighed dramatically, strumming an imaginary lute.
"Alas, Yoggy! Once a beacon of creamy hope, now seduced by tyranny's siren song! Shall I compose a dirge for your fallen virtue? 'Ode to a Curdled Collaborator' has a certain—"
SPLAT!
Yoggy launched itself at Hank's face like vengeful pudding. Hank sputtered, swiping goo from his eyes.
"Et tu, Yogurté?!"
PURGE MODE: PARTIALLY ACTIVATED.
Juni snatched Jenkins' radio and hurled it at a tree.
"CEASE NARRATING THE INSURRECTION!"
Operation: Slime Recon
Yoggy led them straight into a German patrol.
"Ambush! Take cover!" Sarge bellowed, diving behind a crumbling wall as bullets chewed the earth.
Hank, yogurt dripping from his chin, became a whirlwind of lethal poetry:
Shot 1: "A leaden kiss for thee, good sir—" CRACK! (A German fell)
Shot 2: "—a sonnet's end, abrupt and brusque!" CRACK! (Another dropped)
Bio Acoustic Interlude: BRAAA WHOMPH! (The "Bismarck Hering" – a deep, resonant blast that made the remaining Germans gag and clutch their ears)
"Distraction complete, M'lady!" Hank yelled over the retching. "Now! The coup de grâce*!"*
Juni didn't fling a grenade. She activated her glitching holo projector.
FWOOOSH!
A battalion of holographic kittens wearing tiny Allied helmets materialized, swarming the Germans with pixelated cuteness. Confused, the Nazis hesitated.
"Meow mix those fascists, kittens!" Jenkins whooped, firing wildly.
Sarge stared, cigar stub forgotten.
"I'm hallucinating. Rigby's gas finally broke me."
The Cave & The Confession
They escaped into a damp, claustrophobic cave. Dank water dripped. Distant shelling vibrated the walls.
Doc Henderson mourned his spectacles.
"Blind as a bat! How will I suture wounds? Diagnose trench foot? Appreciate Flux's future tech?"
"Priorities, Doc," Sarge grunted, cleaning his pistol.
Juni huddled in a corner, Chronitron glowing faintly. The date 19440612 pulsed like a wound. Three days. Hank's laughter echoed as he taught Jenkins to sculpt Yoggy's remains (now prisoner in a mess tin) into a tiny, dejected Eiffel Tower.
"He doesn't know," Juni whispered to the darkness. "He jokes while death ticks closer."
Her Chronitron flickered.
WARNING: TEMPORAL INSTABILITY DETECTED (USER PROXIMITY). CHRONITON POISONING: EARLY STAGE.
Symptoms: Nausea, déjà vu, fleeting visions of… Hank, older, singing softly in a sterile white room?
A shadow fell over her. Hank. He offered a dented canteen.
"Water, M'lady? Purified by Sarge's glare and my own indomitable spirit."
She took it. His fingers brushed hers, warm and calloused.
"Why aren't you afraid?" The question slipped out.
Hank's smile softened. He sat beside her, the cave's gloom deepening.
"Who says I'm not? Fear's my constant companion. Talks more than I do, even." He tapped his temple. "So I talk louder*. Recite Keats. Mock Fritz. Describe the exact shade of your eyes when you Purge – a most magnificent violet fury."*
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a raw murmur Juni had never heard.
"Fear only wins if you let it steal the moments worth having. Like… this one."
The cave faded. There was only Hank's face – smudged with dirt and yogurt, beautiful and doomed. His storm cloud eyes held hers. The air hummed.
PURGE MODE: SUSPENDED.
Slowly, deliberately, Hank closed the distance. His lips met hers.
No poetry. No flatulence. Just warmth, desperation, and the taste of iron and hope.
Juni kissed him back, pouring every terrified, furious, impossible feeling into it. The Chronitron on her wrist flared BRIGHT BLUE.
Yoggy's Revenge & The Glitch
KABOOM!
An explosion rocked the cave entrance! Dust rained down.
"Fritz found us!" Sarge yelled. "Rigby, Flux – flank left! Doc, Jenkins, with me!"
As they scrambled out, chaos erupted:
Germans poured from the tree line.
Sarge laid down covering fire, roaring like a bear.
Doc Henderson blindly stumbled, suturing a tree.
Jenkins lobbed Yoggy's prison tin like a grenade. "Traitor bomb!"
Yoggy SPLATTERED across a Nazi officer's face, humming Deutschlandlied aggressively. The officer shrieked, batting at the sentient slime.
Hank and Juni dove behind a burned out halftrack. Bullets pinged off metal.
"Well, M'lady," Hank grinned, reloading, "our first kiss was literally explosive*. Sets a high bar for—"*
ZIIING!
A sniper round grazed Hank's shoulder. He hissed, crimson blooming on his uniform.
PURGE MODE: CRITICAL.
White hot fury consumed Juni.
"NO! NOT YET!"
She grabbed her Chronitron, ready to rip it off and hurl it like a black hole grenade—
FWUMP!
The Chronitron projected a flickering hologram: Not kittens. Hank. Older. Gaunt. Strapped to a chair in a blindingly white room. He mouthed soundless words, eyes wide with terror. Behind him, shadowy figures moved.
"Hank…?" Juni whispered, frozen.
The real Hank stared, blood soaking his sleeve.
"Is that… me? What devilry is this, Juni?"
The hologram Hank locked eyes with his past self. His lips formed two clear, silent words:
"FIND ME."
Then the image vanished.
The sniper fired again. Hank tackled Juni into the mud as the bullet tore through the space where her head had been.
"Later, M'lady," he rasped, pain tightening his voice. "First, we survive today."
He raised his rifle, aiming towards the sniper's nest. But Juni saw the tremor in his hands.
The vision hadn't just terrified her.
It had terrified him.
Three days remained.
And time itself had just screamed for help.