The Nuclear Proposal on the Aircraft Carrier

The USS Enterprise tore through New York Harbor's radioactive fog, its flight deck slick with blood and hydraulic fluid. Captain Maya Stone's combat boots crunched over spent shell casings, her desert-camouflage wedding gown flaring around tactical armor. Classified Pentagon documents shimmered across her veil's holographic fabric, while a depleted uranium wedding ring—melted from a bunker-buster bomb—glowed ominously on her finger.

"By Article 7, Section 3 of the Patriot Act," she pressed an electromagnetic railgun to Liam's temple, "you're hereby conscripted as legal spouse to the 51st Star on America's flag."

A Liam clone roared from the carrier's bow, its chest cavity pulsing with a nuclear countdown: 00:59:57. Maya's retinal scanner identified 99.2% genetic match to presidential clones stored beneath the White House. Sophia Warren hung suspended over a Tomahawk missile silo in FBI-issue titanium handcuffs, while Evelyn's satellite constellation burned divorce papers across the stratosphere in laser-etched flames.

Deep in the carrier's belly, Maya kicked open a rusted brig door. Blacklight revealed yellowed 1945 Manhattan Project logs: July 15: Successfully transplanted Celestial Sect Grandmaster's organs into Truman clone. Side effect: compulsive matrimonial urges. Recommend pairing with atomic deployment. A hologram flickered to life—Maya's grandmother suturing an Asian man's heart into a president's chest, the organ bearing Liam's exact sect tattoo.

"Your great-grandfather," Maya jammed her uranium ring into Liam's sternum, "was Einstein's dirty secret."

Chaos erupted in three dimensions. Bianca's nuclear submarine surfaced, torpedo tubes launching plutonium roses. Evelyn's orbital drones spelled Global Ex-Husband Registry in ionized particles, Stalin's name glittering first. Tentacled drones dragged Sophia toward dark web auction feeds hitting $90 billion.

Liam tore the military control chip from his neck. Antimatter particles bled from his sect tattoo, quantum-disintegrating the flight deck. Maya's gown morphed into rad-suit armor. "Little Boy carried a love letter to your great-grandmother," she whispered, recalibrating her railgun to proposal mode.

The clone army detonated in synchronized mushroom clouds. Within the fireballs, holographic ghosts reenacted history's most destructive wedding—the original Celestial Sect leader exchanging vows with a Manhattan Project scientist, Einstein reciting relativity equations as best man. "Now," Maya shoved Liam into the reactor core, "we inherit this radioactive romance."

Sophia broke free, painting forbidden sect sigils in missile fuel. Evelyn's satellites focused lasers, boiling the Pacific into champagne. As five brides screamed demands, Liam ripped open his chest. The beating heart—his great-grandfather's presidential transplant—initiated quantum backflow through time.

Nine-year-old Liam emerged from the wormhole, clutching 1945 marriage certificates. The Hiroshima inferno raged behind him. "All timeline iterations," his child-voice echoed through nuclear fire, "refuse to be weapons."

Maya's rank insignia shattered to reveal Illuminati symbols. Evelyn's satellites formed Star of David constellations. Soviet emblems glowed on Bianca's sub. "We're all programmed," the boy Liam touched the disintegrating carrier, now morphing into Nagasaki's atomic-blasted church. "Love is patient zero."

Reality folded into 2D. Pixelated Vesper grinned across the paper-thin cosmos: "Welcome to the meta-honeymoon, hubby." Beyond the simulation, higher-dimensional beings carved an 11D wedding band. Maya's grandmother kissed Einstein's recarved tombstone: E=MC²❤️.

Somewhere in the quantum foam, a new Liam clone awoke aboard a Klingon warship, his sect tattoo pulsing with alien runes. The dark web counter hit $1 trillion.