The bouncy, maniacally grinning young fantasy author bounced up to the well-known detective's desks. He stopped mid-bounce and grinned at the two male detectives there and the other author. "I got written into Star Trek's universe."
"Why?" one of the minions asked.
"Someone sent me the link. I'm a half-Klingon/half-Vulcan epic battle story writer." He cackled. "I have multiple weapons and true Klingons that can't tell I'm only half."
Rick looked at his young protege. "You need drugs."
"I didn't write it."
"You still need drugs," one of the minions said.
"Who did write it?" Castle asked.
"I'm pretty sure it was Dell."
"The guy who chairs the young author's panel at the big convention?" Rick asked, considering it.
"Yup. He's done some work in that series before. He knows me pretty well." He bounced a few more times. "It's a great compliment!"
"Yes it is but you sound like you need a nap," Rick said with a point at the elevator. "You should do that." Xander hugged them and bounded off to go home and do something less than socially redeeming probably. Rick shook his head quickly.
"Is that author on drugs?" the other minion asked.
"Yes. Quite possibly. There's a lot of authors that use it as a recreational fortifier." Castle sat down and found he had been sent the link earlier by Xander. He read it over, holding his head when it started to throb from the imagery of Xander with a quill pen, a piece of parchment, and a battle axe on his way to the next battle. "I wonder which side's which," he decided.
"Now you need drugs," the minions said in unison. "Before it spreads."
Beckett walked in. "What's going on this time? Someone said Xander looked like he had been drugged by another bad date." She sat down at her desk. Rick let her read the short little piece of brain fluff. She shook her head violently for a second and handed it back. "No wonder they thought he had been drugged."
Rick smiled. "He thinks it's a great compliment."
"It looked like it but I'm having images of how did you mate a Vulcan and a Klingon." She rubbed her forehead. Rick texted that to Xander. She read it. "He decided it was some diplomatic thing that they met at. His mother must've been the Klingon and the Vulcan logiced her into bed." She handed the phone back, walking off to go bang her head on a wall. A very hard wall if she could find one. Maybe even a metal one if they hadn't taken it out of the gym yet.
"Thanks for stranding us with the paperwork, Castle."
"Sorry, guys. I thought she'd get a kick out of it."
"Uh-huh. Go distract her before she gives herself a concussion," the other minion ordered with a point in the right direction. "Then arrange for someone to go drug the kid for real."
Rick got up to go distract Beckett as ordered. He did love to tease her. This would be a good opportunity.
The minions shared a look before shaking their heads. Xander was a slightly contagious mental disease at times.
Xander woke up and panted, looking around to make sure it wasn't real. He got up and went down to his office to write the supposed author a note about the bad dreams he had just gotten thanks to that story. He walked off muttering to get a drink and go back to bed then decided to write them out and send them off as well.
//This is what happened after I read that. Especially the part where I tragically gave up my life single-handedly beating a Borg queen. Gee, thanks, Dell. Though, loved it otherwise.//
The Borg queen somehow found herself alone in her ship, but strangely the readings she was getting from the ship said that she was inside one of those talking entertainment boxes that were destroying humanity. She wasn't sure how or why but there were a great many unassimilated warriors nearby. She could create an army that would restore the Borg's greatness and let her get free of this idiot box that held her inside this universe. Where to begin? She saw square, flat panes of pictures go floating past the ship and scanned them, deciding on one great heroic male to start with.
"Indiana of Borg I am," the man in the hat said. "I will assimilate you so I can rescue and own your cultural artifacts and then use them to teach nubile young students."
"Borg do not have names," the queen commanded. "You must be faulty."
"The dog's name was Indiana," a male voice shouted.
"Great, they assimilated my father. I'll never be just a number, lady. I fought against those type for way too long to ever be a numbered drone. Nor do I have a number tattooed on my forehead in the Biblical sense. Though this is clearly evil." His whip got pulled off and she zapped him before he could whip or shoot her. Then she got back to work on his transformation. Clearly she had underestimated his sort of being's needs to join the Collective. She'd have to choose an easier second Borg to assimilate.
The next Borg to be found suitable was found tripping over a fallen coconut. He fell, lost his hat, and grabbed it from in front of the Queen's boots. He looked up and smiled. "Hi. Did you get shipwrecked too?"
"You will do good as part of the Collective." She took him back to get to work on him. Gilligan would follow orders she was sure. He was used to following orders from the one in the hat she would get after she got the smart and the pretty ones. They were of more use to her and less likely to fight the transformation. When she was done with him she sent him back.
"I am Two of Three," he said, sounding flat and monotone as he walked up to his friends. "You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile. Assimilated is good and you will join the Collective." He grabbed the smart one but the Skipper hit him with his hat.
"Snap out of it!"
"I don't think he can. Notice all the new electronic looking things on his face," the Professor said, staring at one. "I can fix our radio with that." He got his tool set and set about dismantling some of them. They'd let the Skipper whip Gilligan back into normal shape later.
The queen finally found a minion that wasn't going to question the Collective's will, wasn't full of original thought, and wasn't going to cause her problems by fighting the transformation.
"There is a rumbly in our tummies for honey," the new drone said. "We must assimilate honey."
"Rumbling in our tummies is irrelevant," the queen instructed.
"Rumbling leads to confused thinking and confused days lead to operations that Owl send the Collective on. It is best if we assimilate the honey soon. That way the rumbly goes away and we can get on with more proper Collective work."
The queen stared at him. Perhaps she had been wrong about him. "Honey can not be assimilated. It is a power source, not a separate being."
"Then the rumbly must be indication of low power. The Collective must assimilate the honey now to keep power up and to avoid all confused headed days. They lead to Eeyore losing his tail or a great adventure that the Collective would probably find less than fulfilling as it would lead to only assimilating Owl or Christopher Robin."
The queen stomped off shaking her head but she did let her drone have honey. The other assimilated ones liked honey as well as a biological power source, which they needed.
When the Transformers heard about this going on, they decided to band together - Autobot and Decepticon - to fight this menace before it spread. They were no match for the might of the higher laser weapons and tactics driven by horny teenage human males. Plus the occasional help from a soldier or government agent. They called in reinforcements from GI Joe and He Man. A few of the other heroes were too busy fighting amongst themselves until flaming pieces of the Borg ship, and unfortunately most of the minions, fell on them. Then it was a massive superhero effort to clean up her disease before it spread.
After all, if it could happen to Pooh, it can happen to you.
Knowing it can happen to you is half the battle of fighting it.
Xander strolled off to go up to his bedroom and beat his head on the closet door. Dean thoughtfully came in to knock him out for waking them all up doing so. It was so sweet of him. He'd have to dedicate some Klingon poetry to him some day soon.
The Actual End.
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