Fucking baristas, am I right? What with the coffee and all? Damn. Of course, the whole “coffee shop employee” thing was just a disguise. It would have been really anti-climactic if he were just some minimum wage java-slinger, huh? But no, our villain turns out to be a true cosmic badass. And unlike our heroes, he has a background in writing, so he understands the need for little things like exposition. (Yes, I’m aware Tommy Wiseau was technically a writer. Check out his stuff and tell me if he really qualifies. I’ll wait.)
Using some of his mystic abilities (oooooOOOoooOOOOooooOOOooo), the mystery man teleported all three of them to the roof of a nearby apartment building where he proceeded to lay out his whole backstory. He’d been planning this for awhile, and…well…he’s kind of full of himself.
“Now before we get to why you are here, I should explain why I am here. The Multiverse does not order itself. It also does not un-order itself. Contrary to theories to the contrary, The Multiverse quite prefers to be Zen. But living creatures have a poor grasp of Zen, and lean towards either Order or Chaos. You probably know at least that much. What you don’t know is that there is actually a body that governs all this. Keeps it all in balance so The Multiverse doesn’t barf us up like so much tainted meatloaf. This body is composed of near-omnipotent beings called The Celestial Referees. And when things started to get really out-of-whack, The Celestial Referees would hold a ridiculous tournament of wildly disparate beings, objects, and concepts that somehow slipped everything back into Neutral. This worked for eons. But not so very long ago, a few of the creatures in the tournament rebelled. The Celestial Referees were laid low and replaced by a goat, a prairie dog, an obese movie star, and an armored superhero. It was insane! It was the complete antithesis of everything we had believed! They made us look like assholes, which is a part of the human anatomy that resembles this:”
Tommy, taking a not-quite-extraordinary deductive leap, spoke up. “You were one of these referees.”
The man blinked, then smiled. “See? It’s amazing. Like an amoeba painting Starry Night. But yes, Mr. Wiseau, I was one of The Celestial Referees. Not anymore, obviously. But our usurpers made a terrible mistake. They killed quite a few of us in their coup, but not all. Those that survived became The Rogue Officials. Mind you, we didn’t strike out of vengeance or because we wanted our old ‘jobs’ back. Honestly, it’s boring balancing The Multiverse. There is no great cause here. It is because there is an absence of a great cause that we do what we do. Our belief that we knew how things worked was completely shattered! How else to cope with that but to keep shattering? Well, aside from killing ourselves…but that’s not as easy for some of us as it is for you, Mr. Wiseau.”
“Me?” said Tommy, still unaware that most of his previous clones had offed himself and even more unaware that about 85% of the versions of him across The Multiverse had gone out the same way. But try telling a guy something like that.
Shockwave sure didn’t want to. “You have explained your past in greater detail than was strictly necessary to those you are no doubt about to kill. Inform us of our role in these cosmic affairs.”
The man laughed. “‘Get on with it!’ says the tin can. All things come to those who wait. First, you should know who it is you are addressing!” And with that, he tore off the disguise. It should be noted that the disguise was actually painstakingly hand-crafted out of 317 different coffee shop workers across 52 different realities. Say what you will about mass-murder, but that’s some dedication to your craft right there. This was the face that was revealed:
Tommy Wiseau looked even more confused. “I still don’t know.”
“He is Kurt Vonnegut, a highly-influential American science-fiction writer and social commentator. Or at least that was one of his guises in this reality.” Shockwave monotoned.
“Oh hi, Kurt Vonnegut!” chirped Tommy involuntarily.
“Well, at least someone here reads. But no, it’s not a guise. I have always been Kurt Vonnegut across all realities. Makes it easier to keep track of things. Anyway, I know you wanted to move this along. So: As you were discussing earlier, Mr. Wiseau’s brain is quite special. But even you with your robotic analysis and logic could not even begin to conceive just how special it truly is. I have been searching for the Wiseau Brain for quite some time now. They are few and far between, what with them getting blown up all the time. I managed to salvage a few, but it simply wasn’t enough for what I had in mind. Then I came here, and to my everlasting delight, you had actually cloned him! Just so you know, no one else has ever thought to do such a thing. So I must commend you, Shockwave. And I think the scientist in you will truly appreciate what I have created.”
Kurt Vonnegut opened his hands, and a light glowed between them. Gradually, a small object grew into what appeared to be an oversized atom. But as it became larger, it became more grotesque, revealing angles and shapes and materials that didn’t exist in this reality – or in any reality, really. But mounted here and there on this sinister construct were 87 severed Tommy Wiseau heads. Their eyes were open and glowed with aberrant power and they chanted three words over and over and over again: “I DID NOT”
“I did not…” breathed Tommy, completely enthralled by the horror that unfurled before him.
“You have built a Perpetual Motion Chaos Engine.” There was awe in even Shockwave’s voice.
Vonnegut shrugged. “Eh. Not quite perpetual. But certainly a Chaos Engine. This little baby will erase the barriers between universes, turning The Multiverse into one big pot of chaotic soup. The only problem is it needs a living Wiseau Brain to work. And as far as I know, there’s only one left.”
Shockwave started towards Vonnegut and lifted his gun-arm. “You will not — ”
Vonnegut flicked his wrist dismissively, and ripped the Spark from Shockwave’s chest. His lifeforce gone, the robot crumpled to the ground. “I will. I might have even let you live, but you killed my Mime Wolves, and those are hard to come by. Now I only have Kazak left, and I’ll probably never find a bitch to mate him with.” Vonnegut then crushed the Spark and scattered the remnants to the wind. He watched them float away for a moment. “Your protector is gone, Mr. Wiseau. And I have waited long enough to watch all of Creation burn. Now get in the Engine and…aw shit…”
Tommy Wiseau was kneeling next to Shockwave’s empty shell, his service revolver pressed against his temple. “Don’t plan too much, it may not come out right!” were his last words before he did what any “good” Wiseau would have done: he blew his very special brains all over the roof.
Kurt Vonnegut cursed and kicked Shockwave’s body clear over the horizon out of frustration. His wait was going to be longer. But, he was not a Celestial Referee for eons without gaining a tremendous reserve of patience. “And so it goes.” With that, he folded up his Chaos Engine, turned sideways, and vanished.
And so our heroes were victorious! The dastardly plot was defeated! Existence as we know it was saved! Okay, yes…it was kind of phyric…but these things happen?
I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t remember it going down that way at all. Wiseau and Shockwave lived. They prosecuted themselves, remember?
This is…concerning. Tell ya what kid, story time is over.
I’ve got to go check on…well…all of it…