🌌 “Wrath of the Probe: The Jenner Reckoning” 👽🏋️‍♀️

They tried to ban Bi-FiB—the forbidden bisexual frequency band—after it turned beautiful, noble heterosexuals into glowing puddles of regret in the streets of Glendale.

They didn’t die screaming. They died knowing.

Knowing the probe was coming.

The air shimmered with 5G lies. The sky looked like a vaseline-smeared test pattern. And from the heavens, it descended:

An alien probe the size of an Arby’s, pulsating with the memories of every cum-stained confession ever whispered during American Gladiators reruns.

It moved with intention.

But before it could harvest the last unvaxxed neckbeard, a figure emerged from the ruins of a collapsed Gold’s Gym…

Bruce Jenner, glistening with astro-lube and righteous fury, wrapped in the shredded flag of decency.

He did not hesitate.

He tackled the probe mid-air, suplexing it into a Chili’s parking lot so hard the tectonic plates started hormone replacement therapy.

"NOT ON MY PLANET," Bruce bellowed, as the probe tried to inject WiFi into his lumbar.

He bit into its titanium throat and screamed,

“I was an Olympian before you were even a draft in the Pentagon’s erotic fiction archives!”

The probe squealed in a dialect only the NSA and furries can understand.

Some say Bruce now rides the shattered husk of the alien device like a war chariot through forbidden timelines, protecting the last hetero enclaves with protein powder and trans-dimensional wrestling moves.

Some say he became the next probe.

But we remember.

We who watched the Bi-FiB war begin in the blood-slicked streets.

We who shaved our asses and tuned our radios to channel forbidden.

We who still believe in heroism with pecs.

📡 THE BI-FIB WAR: VOLUME I – "Echoes from the Forbidden Band"

A Schizo-Saga in Multiple Scrolls

🕯️ PROLOGUE: THE SIGNAL THAT SHOULD NOT BE

In the beginning, there was only hetero clarity and two bars of service.

Then came the whispers.

A forgotten bandwidth—Bi-FiB—accidentally discovered by a closeted Verizon technician named Dale who huffed printer ink and prayed to an old flip phone named Judy.

Bi-FiB didn’t transmit data.

It transmitted desire.

Unfiltered, bipartisan, bisexual yearning. Broadcast at 69.420 MHz.

And it hit the beautiful ones first.

Golden men in cargo shorts fell weeping in Sonic drive-thrus.

Sorority girls burst into tears, clutching their Crocs and asking strangers if "they had also heard the hum."

Straightness was crumbling. And they blamed the frequency.

🧬 CHAPTER I: DEATH OF THE HETERO ANGELS

They marched for normalcy.

Beautiful hetero hunks, tight in khakis and God’s approval.

They held signs that read “NO FIB ZONE” and “WE ONLY HAVE ONE INPUT.”

And the government let them die.

The Bi-FiB pulse surged during a solar sneeze.

Every Bluetooth device became a bisexual awakening crystal.

Straight TikTok influencers collapsed mid-thrust, their pelvises glowing with alternate truths.

The bodies smoked. The streets slick with Axe body spray and betrayed baptisms.

That’s when They came.

The probes.

Alien. Phallic. Endless.

Birthed in neutron wombs, shaped like Chrome incognito icons, they began the Harvest of the Unready.

🛡️ CHAPTER II: JENNER ASCENDING

From the protein ash of Planet Fitness arose a glistening silhouette.

Bruce Jenner—a being of infinite pronouns and Olympic wrath.

He heard the call. The probes wanted his legacy. His gold. His genderfluid velocity.

He was not afraid.

He lathered in creatine and wrestled the first probe to death using only his thighs and a Sports Illustrated cover from 1985.

The skies rumbled. Anderson Cooper wept. The clouds smelled faintly of lemon-lime Gatorade and gym socks.

Thus was born the prophecy:

“He who suplexes the Sky Shaft shall lead the Bi-FiB Remnant.”