“Robespierre’s razor hums in Paris—Sven sparks, Klausi jigs, and Pete turns the guillotine into a stage. Walburga swings, Dumbo bickers with Quichotte, and Kanye raps through the roar. The crew dances on the edge of the blade—freedom’s just a chop away!”
List of Characters:
- Sven the Ugly Schmidt: Hacker turned revolutionary suspect, dodging the blade with tech tricks.
- Klausi the Shithouse Demon: Mischievous demon, pranking sans-culottes in the chaos.
- Murky Jan: Flamboyant manipulator, charming his way out of the tumbril.
- Crazy Pete the Fish (The Joker): Eccentric schemer, turning guillotines into circus props.
- Thomas: Drug-addled Prussian, lost in revolutionary haze and laudanum.
- Olaf “I Can’t Remember Anything” Amnesia: Forgetting the Terror’s point mid-trial.
- Ms. Dumbo Bock: Ambitious politician, debating Robespierre on the scaffold.
- Muschi Lie En: Syndicate leader, eyeing the mob as new recruits.
- Fritz the Fozzler: Mysterious disruptor, mumbling amid the crowd’s roar.
- Dr. Z: Neo-Nazi propagandist, praising the guillotine’s efficiency.
- Walburga the Valkyrie: Mythical warrior, her Wonder Sword clashing with revolutionary steel.
- Good Uncle Jochen: Lawyer, pleading legalities to a bloodthirsty mob.
- Dumb Tom: Tinkerer, rigging guillotines to misfire.
- Dumb Beatrix: Baker, tossing revolutionary bread to distract the crowd.
- Godmother Erika: Enigmatic planner, weaving schemes in Paris’s bloody streets.
- Andreas and Edith: Wastepaper moguls, accused of hoarding aristocratic paper.
- Vigo, die Geisel der Karpathen: Sinister figure, spared to stoke the chaos.
- Kanye West: Time-traveling rapper, dropping beats for the sans-culottes.
- Count Don Robert Quichotte: Dumbo Bock’s foe, facing the blade with her in tow.
- Maximilien Robespierre: Revolutionary leader, the “Incorruptible” with a deadly razor fetish.
(Cue frantic French revolutionary drums, the roar of a Parisian mob, and the slick chop of the guillotine, as the crew leaps from Torquemada’s dungeon into the blood-soaked streets of 1793 Paris.)
The Wonder Sword flared, and the dungeon’s stone walls dissolved into a swirl of light. Chains clattered to the floor, Torquemada’s snarl faded, and the crew crashed onto wet cobblestones, the air thick with gunpowder and the stench of unwashed liberty. Paris boiled around them—mobs chanting “Liberté!” as tumbrils rattled toward the Place de la Révolution. Maximilien Robespierre, lean and pale in a powdered wig, stood atop a scaffold, his cold eyes fixed on the guillotine’s gleaming blade. “Aristocrats, traitors, and… oddities,” he intoned, spotting the crew. “The Republic demands your heads!”
Sven, still rubbing his wrists, ducked behind a barrel. “From racks to razors—I need a circuit, not a chop!” He scavenged a broken musket, fiddling with its flint. Klausi, capering through the mob, yanked a tricorn hat off a sans-culotte. “Oi, mate, your revolution’s too grim—let’s spice it with a demon’s jig!” He dodged a pitchfork, grinning.
Murky Jan, draped in a pilfered revolutionary sash, flashed a smile at a passing citoyenne. “Darling, this bloodbath’s gauche—surely I’m too fabulous for the blade?” A fistful of mud answered him. Crazy Pete, meanwhile, climbed a guillotine’s frame, twirling a stolen bayonet. “Why so choppy, Robby? This circus needs a ringmaster—ha ha ha!” The blade dropped, narrowly missing his foot.
Thomas, swaying from laudanum he’d snatched off a dead guard, muttered, “This is… liberté? Or just a bad batch?” Olaf Amnesia, beside him in a tumbril, scratched his head. “Did I start this revolution? Or end it?” A guard shoved him forward, barking, “Next!”
Ms. Dumbo Bock, hauled before Robespierre, straightened her torn suit. “This is no way to run a republic—I demand a vote!” The crowd jeered, and Count Don Robert Quichotte, roped beside her, sneered, “Your head rolls first, Bock—mine’s too noble!” She elbowed him, earning a cheer from the mob.
Muschi Lie En, tied in a cart, whispered to a grubby revolutionary. “Slip me out, and this mob’s yours—syndicate style!” Fritz the Fozzler, stumbling through the throng, muttered, “From blades to blood…” Dr. Z, bound and beaming, nodded at the guillotine. “Such purity in precision—a lesson for the ages!”
Walburga, her Wonder Sword sparking against a soldier’s pike, roared, “Your steel’s no match for myth—I’ll carve us free!” Robespierre pointed, “Blasphemy to the block!” Good Uncle Jochen, dragged by his coat, shouted, “Under revolutionary law—ow!—we’ve rights!” A rotten cabbage silenced him.
Dumb Tom, fiddling with a guillotine’s rope, grinned. “Jam the gears, save the necks—simple!” Dumb Beatrix, tossing stale bread from a sack, called, “Eat this, not us, you liberty loons!” Andreas and Edith, accused of paper hoarding, whimpered, “We’ll print pamphlets—spare us!”
Godmother Erika, calm amid the storm, murmured, “Chaos is our clay—mold it.” Kanye West, mic-less but bold, rapped to the crowd: “I’m Kanye, uncut, yo—revolution’s my track, watch me flow!” Vigo, lurking by Robespierre’s side, chuckled darkly. “Heads or havoc—both amuse.”
Robespierre raised a hand, his voice cutting through the din. “To the blade, all of you—the Terror purifies!” The mob roared, tumbrils rolled, and the guillotine’s shadow loomed. Pete dangled from the scaffold, cackling, “This act’s a cut above!” Sven’s musket sparked, Klausi tripped a guard into the crowd, and Walburga swung her sword, its glow flaring.
As the blade fell, the Wonder Sword pulsed, and the crew leapt—light swallowing the chop, Robespierre’s shout fading into a revolutionary echo. They landed hard, the Parisian din replaced by silence, a new horizon stretching before them, guillotine-free but ripe with peril.
Call to Action: “Dodge Robespierre’s Razor!”
“The crew’s neck-deep in Paris’s bloody bash—Robespierre’s blade’s hungry, and we’re the main course! Sven’s sparking junk, Klausi’s tripping tyrants, and Pete’s clowning the chop, but Walburga’s sword needs your push to slice us out! Back our dodge from the guillotine’s kiss—or heads will roll!
Join the revolutionary rumble: patreon.com/berndpulch
Drop a coin to defy the Terror: berndpulch.org/donation
Save us from Robespierre’s razor riot—support now, or it’s off with our noggins!”
(End scene with the thud of a distant blade and the crew’s ragged cheers.)
This keeps the madness rolling, swapping torture racks for revolutionary blades. Want tags, an image prompt, or tweaks to the landing spot? Let me know what’s next! How’s this guillotine gambit for you?
Call to Action: “Outrun Robespierre’s Chop Shop!”
“The crew’s teetering on Paris’s bloody edge—Robespierre’s guillotine’s humming, and our necks are next! Sven’s sparking scraps, Klausi’s pranking patriots, and Pete’s turning the scaffold into a stage, but Walburga’s sword needs YOUR boost to slash us free! Support our sprint from the Terror’s slice—or we’re revolutionary confetti!
Back the blade-dodging brigade: patreon.com/berndpulch
Toss a coin to cheat the chop: berndpulch.org/donation
Help us outwit Robespierre’s razor riot—act now, or it’s curtains for our craniums!”
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