The Worst Thief in Galactic History
Copyright© 2025 by Datuner
Chapter 1
The Worst Thief in Galactic History, Episode 213: “Operation Sneaky Sandwich”
It was 1400 hours Terran time on Proxima Centauri Station, and once again, destiny ... wearing a towel-cape and two mismatched slippers, was on the move.
Every shopkeeper, bartender, and bored dockworker knew what that meant. Right about now, a certain blue-skinned six-year-old would be sneaking, tumbling, and narrating his own spy mission toward Zog’s Stellar Subs.
And the galaxy would be watching.
Literally.
Because Zog, practical businessman and accidental entertainment mogul, had long since given up trying to stop Jorl Vantoo, “The Sandwich Bandit.” After the third theft (and fourth broken napkin dispenser), Zog installed a camera. By the fifth, he’d added five more, all from different angles. By the tenth, he was live-streaming the whole thing.
He called it The Worst Thief in Galactic History.
And somehow, it caught on.
The footage of a pint-sized Alterian spy dramatically failing to sneak past a sneeze guard drew more viewers than the Proxima Gladiator League. Now, every day at precisely 1400, billions tuned in from across the sector to watch the little blue menace conduct his “missions.”
Zog even had a sponsorship deal. The sandwich Jorl “stole” was now labeled a Stellar Spy Sub, available for purchase right after each episode, with a complimentary crayon and napkin autographed (in shaky, barely legible letters) by the “master thief” himself.
On the monitors, Zog watched as Jorl entered the frame, pressing himself flat against the window outside. “Invisible mode: activated,” the boy whispered.
Half the audience cooed. The other half took bets on what he’d trip over first.
“Camera three,” Zog told his assistant, a bored robot named Nix-4. “He’s about to engage in his patented ‘roll of confusion.’”
Nix zoomed in as Jorl somersaulted dramatically through the automatic door, which hadn’t even opened yet. A dull thunk echoed through the shop, followed by a dazed giggle.
“Target sighted,” Jorl muttered into his plastic straw. “Engaging tactical distraction maneuver.”
He reached into his “Top Secret Spy Gear” box, retrieved a single cookie crumb, and tossed it over his shoulder with deadly seriousness. The crumb landed about three inches away.
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