Work Text:
Floating over the throng of mutated humans begging quite loudly for feed, the Kurzgesagt Duck opens its French lesson. Every day, there was time to study language. Quite a pleasure, to the simple, curious being. And it just didn’t have the life in it to shove some innocent lifeforms into a black hole anyway, after spending about a quadrillion USD (courtesy of the Kurzgesagt Online Merch Store) on building a space elevator to an obscure exoplanet they named “Paris.”
"Bonjour!"
A gaudy green Owl calling himself Duo chirps a greeting, waving mawkishly in the duck's face. Its voice is high, childish for its eldritch age. The screen shifts, shows the Duck a little person in an orange coat, staring nonchalantly into blank space. Reflected in the Duck's glasslike, vacuous eyes are three options—three answers to one question: Hello.
Bonjour
Fille
Chat
The duck contemplates for a while, until it presses its expressionless beak onto the first option, but due to poor evolution—the fact that a duck’s bill does not exist for the purpose of selecting options on a tiny screen—it lands on the second. Incorrect.
A dismal, soul-killing noise bursts from the speakers as the iPhone 18 Pro Max’s screen burns in a furious crimson.
Oops. Uh- Oh mon dieu!
The little person’s expression sours, and they leave their arm outstretched to make way for the slightly Boosfer-colored demon to burst from the display.
Despite speaking in garbled gibberish, otherwise known as French to the illiterate, unsophisticated Duck, the Owl makes its point quite obvious and easy to follow through its tone of voice. The Duck takes note of that in its banal, dysfunctional, underdeveloped little brain. “Kurzgesagt Duck ver no. 67!” Duo ululates. “Tu es un idiot très stupide! Pourquoi je te donne mon aide quand tu m’ignores?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re saying,” the Duck quacks innocently.
Duo lunges toward the duck, startling it so it drops the iPhone. “Inutile! Je vais te tuer maintenant! Tu ne vas jamais savoir français parce que tu es parasseux!”
For a second, the duck looks down the desperate, malnourished humans claw at the fallen device, piling over each other just to try and open Instagram Reels of a handsome yaoi merman named Tristan breakdancing to Sweet Home Alabama. The Kurzgesagt Duck briefly recalls the eardrum-shriveling horrors of teieisoukan, shivers, and looks back up at Duo. Perhaps the Duck shouldn’t have left its phone unlocked.
But Duo is no longer enraged. His eyes are large and curious, disgustingly moist too, but obviously tracking the hundred-forty-nine men ruthlessly mauling each other over Tristan.
“Hmmm…” he noted under his breath, “c’est interessant. Les hommes, ils voulent regarder Tristan.”
The Duck nodded. “All I heard from that is ‘interesting’ and ‘Tristan. Are you perhaps into mass murder for the sake of scientific research?”
Piqued by that single word, Duo stared at the Duck with a blazing passion. “Oui.”
“Good.”
They then proceed to dump every last one of those men, women, nonbinary people, and like every individual to ever have existed into a black hole called “Balama” in the PE galaxy. The last image these poor souls see is Tristan twerking violently in the screen and Duo recklessly making out with a Chemins page while the Kurzgesagt Duck does backflips while extracting protons from hentaiviruses.
T-the end. 🥹