Moon Champion's Busy Day

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Harold was confused and scared. It was four o'clock in the morning, and a bespacesuited figure in a dress had just entered his bedroom via a newly made spacesuit-shaped hole in the wall.

"Sir!", the creature proclaimed, "I wish to purchase a business garment! For I am Moon Champion, and to be improperly clad in the workplace is a grave sin indeed!"

There is a moment of silence while Harold's sleep-addled mind attempts to grapple with what is, without a doubt, the single most viscerally terrifying experience of his life.

"You are silent, I notice. My research has led me to believe this is a sign of deference, and so I thank you for it — Moon Champion, for that is my name and therefore me, is a wide-travelled and culturally adept figure beloved by many. It is only natural that you would quiver before him. Me. Moon Champion."

There is a slow creaking as the self-titled Champion extends its arm towards the bed and leans in close. In the dark of the night, Harold can just make out his own reflection in its visor.

"Put her there, pal."

Without waiting for a response, it quickly reaches round with its other arm and grasps its hand tight, shaking it vigorously in front of Harold's tear-stained face. It leans back, obviously proud of itself.

"Now, as you are not obviously employed as a doctor, food dispensary, street musician or dog, I am led to believe that this establishment is some manner of garment distillery. My new companion and I are preparing to enter the exciting world of executive corporate management and I am woefully underdressed for such a momentous and thrilling venture. I require shirt, tie, and — if you can find it in your frankly unappetising heart to procure one — perhaps the elusive pant."

Harold pushes himself up in bed and points with a trembling finger towards the wardrobe on the opposite wall. In the distance, police sirens begin to blare.

"Th- they're, um, in there. The wardrobe. S- sir."

"Your chivalry is appreciated, Earth man! I foresee a bright future for you should you ever decide to join my fight against the bastardly Moon Monsters. Do you know of them?"

Harold shakes his head, eyes shut tight in fear.

"No, I- I don't."

"Well, no matter! Your clothary is clearly a valuable one, and I wouldn't wish to drag you away without due cause. Perhaps one day we shall be able to discuss the Moon Monsters at length, over a cup of hot scones, but for now I must be off — business never rests, Earth man, and you are a coward and a fool if you think otherwise."

In one swift movement the Moon Champion crosses the room and lifts the wardrobe above his head, spilling clothes out into the night.

"Farewell, friend. May we meet again on the fields of Valhalla!"

And just like that he was gone, with all the grace and subtlety of a meteor strike.


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By the time dawn arrived, the trail of mass property damage and terrified citizens had already extended across half the town. Fire hydrants spewed water, car alarms fired off wildly, and hundreds of cats stared down terrified and unmoving from the branches of an oak tree in the town centre. The remains of the town's primary car park was filled with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, ordered by colour, size, and presumed surname, while the hospital sported several new metal triangles jutting from the side, designed to reduce air resistance and deter predators.

If one had had a bird-eye view of the whole event, and was not currently locked in the library along with the rest of the town's birds, one would have been able to trace an approximate path through the chaos. Starting from a smouldering crater some distance away, a line of scorched earth, damaged roofs, and inch-thick footprints would, with much meandering and general absentmindedness, arrive at the door of a large block of offices in a less-than-upscale neighbourhood. It is inside this building that the Moon Champion, Champion of the Moon, currently stands, ties billowing in the wind.

"Good day, people of the business world! I am here to business!"

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