Tale #30: The Importance of Helmet Safety (2100)

Tale #30: The Importance of Helmet Safety (2100) (A time warped story! Based on the Premium Story "Why You Should Always Wear a Helmet)) (Content Tags: Severe brain damage, laser lobotomy, messy diapers, humiliation, drooling, nose picking, academic demotion, academy setting, sci-fi setting) There's a certain pride to becoming an official space cadet; there is a respect that comes with the uniform, with the sense of responsibility and pride. Not just anyone is accepted into the academy's program, and those that are accepted are never stripped of that honor, even when it would seem the obvious choice to do so. For one once-promising cadet, it would have probably been the better move to strip them of their role altogether, instead of simply lowering their ranking to the abyssal bottom. At least his cadets in the junior program would have thought so, as a mercy to their noses and as a means to maintain the integrity of the space academy. Maximus Karlov. The boy had been a prodigy of the academy's programs, whether in the physical or the intellectual sections. He had leadership skills, superb marksmanship, mechanical knowledge, impressive endurance, and was a certifiable genius in his various studies. He was the kind of recruit that easily could have one day become an enterprise captain, and while he was arrogant about that fact, nobody could deny the truth of it. Now though? Not so much. The only future prospects he was looking at now all involved the level of dignity that only a dung-filled diaper could provide. He'd been flunked out of all his advanced classes, no longer able to cut it as a student, and had been flung all the way back to the absolute basics, where his peers were still learning basic adding and subtraction, and he was still struggling to succeed in even such a class setting as that. His fellow classmates found his mushbrained antics humorous, but they also found his presence to range from obnoxious to malodorous. It was funny to watch the older boy struggle to add two plus two, straining his addled brain to the point of explosive defecation in his uniform, but miasma that followed was enough to kill the initial amusement. Everyone knew full-well what he'd once been capable of. He'd been chosen to come in to their classes and give speeches or student-led lessons all the time, and the academy's award case had his prior bright visage plastered everywhere. He was a real class superstar, emphasis on 'was'. Now? He was an embarrassing retard that could hardly get through a stunted sentence without evacuating his bowels and loading up the massive diapers that bulged out his taut uniform. Not to mention what seemed like ceaseless flatulence and unending drool. The source of his severely reduced state still left evidence behind, a singed scar on his temple where the laser had struck during target practice. Maximus had been teaching some of the younger recruits the proper way to fire their laser, and as usual, he'd been showing off. Worse, he'd disregarded one of the most important rules of the firing range, which was to wear the proper protection. The suits worn on the range were designed to give all the cadets complete safety from the dangerous nature of the laser pistols, and that included the helmet that finished the ensemble. In the prodigy's vanity, he'd left his behind in the dressing room, as he didn't want to deprive any of these younger students the honor of seeing their role model's face. It would be the last time he had the privilege of being vain, the last time he had the privilege of being a role model, and the last time he had had the privilege of operating a toilet instead of simply soiling himself. While teaching the bright eyed youngsters how to improve their marksmanship, Maximus had become vexed of one student in particular: Terrance. Terrance was a dim, flickering bulb of a cadet; he'd only been inducted into the program on counts of gross nepotism, and it was a wonder that he could put his suit on the right way, let alone move along the rigid schooling that the academy demanded. Maximus found his placement in the program as a blemish on their academy and didn't hold back in treating the dumb little boy with uttter contempt and mockery. So when it was Terrance's turn to fire on the targets in the range, Maximus had begun things with a snide remark about whether he had the brain power to even locate the trigger. After a couple of shaky, inaccurate shots downrange, the boy's laser had stopped working. Maximus had asked him if he'd been running proper maintenance on the weapon, to which the dimwit had given a sheepish shrug. With a roll of the eyes, and another biting comment about competence, the instructor had given a poor piece of advice: 'Just give the thing a few whacks' It was something that could help in a pinch, if the situation was truly dire, but in this particular setting, it was an extraordinarily irresponsible thing to suggest. Even an idiot like Terrance had questioned whether that was safe, to which Maximus had given an irritated sigh and snatched the chrome-coated pistol from his hands. "Just like this, you nimrod." He had given the device a couple of solid whacks on the side with his hand, giving an impromptu lecture on the importance of listening to one's betters and especially one's intellectual superiors, and about how Terrance was a complete disgrace to the uniform and all that it stood for. "...If we had a retard room at this academy, you can bet that you'd be in it!" Then had come the third whack, and karmic retribution had rained down from the heavens onto the 'perfect' cadet. The laser went off, but it didn't fire downrange; no, the recoil of the energy burst had directed the bright beam right up at the handler, the only person not wearing a helmet. In one fell swoop, everything that Maximus had worked toward was gone. Small wisps of smoke rose from a blackened burn mark on his temple, and his mouth hung open, tongue lolling out in a slobbering display of idiocy. The laser had effectively lobotomized him, which had become more obvious when a sloppy eruption from the back of his uniform heralded in the sound of hot mushy stool helplessly plopping inside. The damage had been deemed irreparable, but as he hadn't broken any rules severe enough for expulsion from the academy, they had to find a place for him. Which is how he'd wound up with the cruel little rugrats that he had to now consider his intellectual betters. The most unfortunate thing, at least by Maximus' standard, was that the laser hadn't disintegrated the part of his brain that remained painfully aware of everything he'd lost. While his intellectual capabilities might not have been able to properly display it, he still distinctly remembered every moment that he'd been on top. He couldn't even have the bliss of utter ignorance. His little incident had also been enough of a kerfuffle to have more stringent policies written up on wearing a helmet on the firing range and in instructing students to not try smacking their laser pistol to make it work, which should both have been obvious. One day, while delivering some supplies to the younger classroom, Terrance had gotten a good look at the 'legend' that'd tried to dress him down in front of his peers. He'd heard rumors of where Maximus had been placed after the accident, but he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but now he could really soak in the vindication. Sitting on the floor, as these little desks were too small for him, the former prodigy had his legs sprawled out in front of him, and his finger was in his nose. Drool soaked his slackened chin while he 'mined the asteroid' for green gold. His cadet uniform had been hemmed to better suit not only his now flabby frame, but cut to resemble more of a taut onesie, which his immense diaper threatened to pop the buttons of. Terrance couldn't help but snicker, giving the teacher the box of supplies and standing around for a moment to get a final look at the once prominent lad. "Guess they really *do* need a 'retard room' now at the academy, huh?" He mentioned to Maximus as he started to pass him. The slobbering boy looked up, a faint anger in those glassy eyes, and he attempted a rebuttal. "Nnghhh...Me no tardy...me da best! Me-- HHRRRRGGGGHHH! **POOPING!!!**" A powerful, foul wind broke through his buttcheeks and thundered against the bulwark of his diaper. The force of which was so strong that he leaned his girth forward and proceeded to splatter the inside of his diaper with what would be a full day's worth of droppings for everyone else. The back of the uniform, or really the onesie, began to swell out and get lumpy, tightly matching the exterior of the diaper underneath. The moron gave another loud, shameless grunt and leaned even more forward, his face becoming as red as a tomato and sweat trickling down his pores. **"P-PPP-POOOOOO-POOOO!"** The buttons on the onesie popped with that final massive torpedo, and his bulging diaper seat billowed out of confinement; it was a mucky mountain fit for a moron missing half his mind. Boogers hung from the nostril unoccupied by a finger, and his drool bib was completely soaked; Maximus was left panting, exhausted from the effort of his newfound work. Terrance clicked his tongue and kept walking, leaving the former prodigy to stew in his bubbling cauldron of filth. "...And he said that *I* was a disgrace to the uniform..." --------