LotS/The Story/The Prince & The Pixels/Deranged Dwelling
Deranged Dwelling
The mansion loomed against the night sky. Yes... loomed. It looked much like any other large house of its period, yet while its counterparts elsewhere might have been content to merely stand, this one was different. The cold and foreboding structure was the only one for miles around, overseeing nothing but green hills and fields from its gloomy eyes. It was almost like it was lurking. Lurking and looming...
Telemachus knew the stories. Professor Sarah Squiller was once a brilliant scientist and a respected academic. But after almost dying in a lab explosion, she relinquished her post and became a recluse -- withdrawing to the Squillers' isolated family home. Depending on which rumors one believed, she either carried out secret government research within its walls or else murdered trick-or-treaters. The best rumors went so far as to combine the two, though Telemachus found that unlikely. If the government wanted to kill trick-or-treaters, they could just put razor blades in the candy again...
In any event, if she really orchestrated Grislak's rampage, he intended to find out why. That meant going inside the sinister mansion...
"Six of you, and you still can't wake him up?" Talia sighed.
"It's not a matter of brute force," one of the Piscarians said. "The psionic attack he's suffering from is complicated. If we're not careful, we could damage his brain."
Talia said nothing. She knew her frustration was futile. But she couldn't help it. With each passing hour the space around Telemachus' bed became more crowded with the psychic healers Wu Tenchu had enlisted. And yet the prince still slept his unnatural sleep.
"If you were here," she whispered to a picture on the wall, "I'd even try getting you to kiss him. That's how you wake sleeping princes, right?"
But the portrait of Illaria just smiled in beautiful serenity.
Talia sighed again. Standing around and waiting, helpless and useless, went against every fiber of her being. But she had little choice. So while the psionics did their work -- even young Arla returning to the fray, insisting that she be allowed to play her part -- and Doctor Yien busied himself inspecting reading after reading on his machines, Talia merely looked on. Every so often her eyes met Bermund Pelar's, and read similar sentiments there. But the seneschal was sat next to his daughter, his arm around her, offering the strength and comfort of family as she exerted her mind to save the prince. The gunslinger couldn't even do that much.
She looked at the inert projector on the floor. They'd deactivated it after it had played through all of Rhapsody's Twisted Steel matches. Not for the first time, she wished the others were there. But if Wu's message had reached them, they hadn't made it to Gallea yet. She was still alone.
So she went back to walking among Telemachus' childish treasures, her gaze roaming across the things that brought him joy.
Telemachus ascended the few steps that led up to the porch. A bristly doormat crunched underfoot -- the noise seemed impossibly loud in the nocturnal quiet. There was a doorbell. But he wasn't inclined to press it. If Sarah Squiller was an evil, scheming villain, he felt that he should play the role of an intruder and possible assassin rather than that of a polite caller. So he reached for the doorknob instead. It didn't turn in his hand. That was annoying. He much preferred neighborhoods where the locals didn't lock their doors, and often didn't even seem to mind if random visitors helped themselves to the contents of their dressers and treasure chests.
He inspected the door, and gave it an experimental tap. There was metal under the wood. Smashing it down would be difficult, and far from stealthy. He moved to one of the windows that opened onto the porch, wondering if the time-honored entry point of vampires and burglars would serve any better. But it was locked, and the glass was thick. The same proved true of the other window.
Telemachus furrowed his brow. Perhaps he'd find a suitable entrance around the back... He strode back along the porch, intending to give it a try. Then the doormat crunched under his shoes again...
A reclusive scientist, possibly an evil mastermind, with reinforced doors and windows which she kept locked. No, there couldn't possibly be...
The boy crouched down. In doing so, he noticed the message inscribed on the mat: "Go away!". He pulled the charming sentiment aside. And something shone in the gloom. He picked it up, stood, slipped it into the lock on the front door, and turned it. There was a click. This time the knob turned in his grasp. The door opened into a drab hallway.
He took a moment to revel in the unexpected ease of his entry. Then he gazed around the room, wondering which of the doors might most likely separate mundane household from abominable villainy. None of them appeared to offer a clue, so he settled for trying the nearest one. It revealed a kitchen.
Telemachus spent a few moments opening cupboards and the fridge in search of clues, but he found nothing more evil than diet soda. There was also a chainsaw, hanging next to the knives. He conceded that this might be considered evil in certain circles. But under the circumstances he didn't feel entitled to judge. He took the weapon down, grunted upon discovering that it was battery operated and devoid of those necessary articles, and decided he might as well take it with him anyway. It could still come in useful.
There was another door at the opposite end of the kitchen. Telemachus headed towards it, resolving to continue his search for evil by learning what was on the other side. He was three strides away from the portal when it flew open.
"All germs in the dining room have been destroyed. It is now cleansed. I-"
The voice was sultry and feminine. So was the speaker, who occupied the doorway in a state of dress that might charitably be deemed risqué, and less charitably be called indecent (perhaps with the word 'exposure' appended, if one were feeling particularly ungenerous). The outfit in question had the distinct air of the hospital about it, albeit expertly blended with that of the strip club. Telemachus realized that it was a close approximation of a nurse's uniform, albeit a thrifty version which had no doubt saved money by only employing half the usual material. The voluptuous body it adorned didn't so much fill it out as push it to the limits of tensile strength. Furthermore, that body was made of metal.
"New life form detected!" the robot woman said. "Engaging disinfection mode!"
"What... Hey!"
Each of the android's hands drew a bottle of cleaning product from some inner recess with the speed and precision of a master gunfighter. She fired them just as fast. Telemachus spluttered and clamped his mouth shut as their lemon-scented spray washed over him. A potent blast of the stuff ignited his tongue, as though a citric bomb had detonated there. After a few seconds, enough time for the robot to douse him head to toe on all sides, she gave a contented sigh.
"Cleansing operation completed. The new life form has been disinfected externally. Considering the possibility of internal disinfection. Negative. The subject is organic. Internal bacteria and other uncleanliness must unfortunately be tolerated."
"What the hell!" the boy exclaimed. "You just-"
"Further scans indicate that the life form is a human male. Consulting archived protocols. Appropriate response detected. Initiating ravishment mode."
"Huh?"
"Come here, my love!"
She advanced on him, arms outstretched. Her metal breasts undulated in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic fashion -- producing a faint whirring noise. Telemachus backpedaled.
"Wait! Stop!"
"Subject expresses a lack of consent. Databanks indicate that this implies the affirmative, coupled with a desire for mild to moderate sensual violence."
"You crazy metal bitch!"
"Subject enjoys foul language. Subject is a dirty little boy."
"Get back!" He brandished his chainsaw. "Get back or I'll... I'll..."
'Scratch you a bit' seemed inadequate, so he let the threat hang in the air. When the robot continued to advance and undulate, he started swinging. Batteries or not, it was better than nothing...
His first blow clanged and scraped against a metal bosom without causing any damage.
"Subject expresses a preference for sadomasochism. Violence settings increased."
Telemachus made another wild, desperate swing as he leapt backwards. It missed the robot. Instead it smashed a vase on the worktop, sending water splashing across the granite and onto the floor.
The robot halted.
"Standing water detected. Potential for the breeding of germs. Disinfection mode activated."
She pivoted on her heels, drew her sprays, and bombarded the offending liquid with its antibacterial cousin.
"Disinfection completed. Returning to ravishment mode."
She pivoted once more, and continued her amorous advance.
Something large and white appeared in the corner of Telemachus' vision as he backed away. The fridge... It was worth a try.
He lunged towards it, threw the door open, shoved the chainsaw inside, and swung the weapon. Cheese, chicken wings, jars of indiscernible condiments, and numerous other foodstuffs cascaded across the room, smearing and shattering on the floor.
"Food products! Bacteria! Potential for germs and odors: catastrophic! Initiating emergency disinfection mode!"
This time she reached over her shoulder with her right hand. There was a series of hissing, clicking noises. Then her arm returned -- clutching an enormous shotgun-like spraying device. She whirled towards the nearest offending article, leveled the weapon, and commenced blasting.
Telemachus slipped back into the hallway, closed the door behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief.
He glanced at the other doors. Perhaps he'd try the stairs instead this time...
Talia flicked through the holo-vid menu. She stopped when one particular title caught her eye. Mega Chainsaw Slaughter II: Brains on the Chains. She glanced at the information blurb, and discovered with minimal surprise that it was one of the prince's home movies -- filmed during battle via his mech's cameras. Kids these days... The gunslinger kept browsing.
Carnage gave way to comedy, after a long selection of vids in which the two seemed to blend together. Then she came to his cartoon collection. From the looks of their cover images, many of them were inclusive of the previous two categories. But she found others as well, which might be more suitable for playing in front of the present audience.
Talia picked up a projection device, set it down near the foot of the prince's bed where she'd placed the Twisted Steel one earlier, and pressed the play button. An anime movie about bright, colorful, robot death machines came into existence.
Bermund Pelar smiled at her. It somehow seemed appropriate. It was very... Telemachus.
"Oh..." Telemachus said.
"Who're you then?"
"I'm... Well... I'm..."
"What? Don't know your own name? Bloody stupid, that is."
"You're a tentacle! A talking tentacle!"
"Oh, my mistake. You're not stupid. You're a regular genius. It must be nice, being able to spot the bloody obvious so you can tell everyone else about it. I mean, if you hadn't come along I'd never have known that I was a tentacle. Or that I could talk. Idiot."
Telemachus felt the weight of the chainsaw in his hands. But he still hadn't found any batteries, so carving the disagreeable creature into quivering chunks was out of the question. Instead he groped for a suitable verbal riposte.
Upon ascending the staircase, he'd arrived in the upper hallway. He'd expected this, due to the customs and traditions of architecture. But he hadn't expected the hall's occupant, who vied with the kitchen's mysophobic, nymphomaniac, robotic nurse for bizarreness. That occupant was, as he had astutely but perhaps superfluously declared, a tentacle. A blue, walking, talking tentacle with one eye set at its upper end -- beneath an expressive eyebrow -- and two rows of large suckers along the rest of its front. It also had little arms sticking out of its sides, along with other appendages which Telemachus might have referred to as tentacles were it not for the dubiousness of speaking of a tentacle with tentacles.
"You're a jerk," the boy said at last.
"Ooh, I'm wounded! Help me someone!" He placed one of his arms against his brow. "I fear I might perish from such a cutting barb."
"Well, at least get out of my way."
"No!"
The boy stepped to the left. The tentacle moved to block him. The boy stepped to his right. Again the tentacle half-shuffled, half-bounded in front.
"You know, I could just beat you up!"
"Ever tried to beat up a bloody tentacle, mate? It's not as easy as you'd think. Not that I imagine you do much thinking."
"I want to get past!"
"Oh, you do, do you? We all want things, sunshine. But we don't always get what we want. I wanted to be an actor. And I would have been great at it too." He cleared his throat. "If not, I'll use the advantage of my power and lay the summer's dust with showers of blood rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen!"
"You're pretty good."
"Pretty good? I'm bloody marvelous! But my talent's doomed to go to waste. I've called every agent in the country... None of them want a tentacle as a client! And God knows what the professor's going to do when she sees the phone bill..."
"Well, I'd like to help you, but..." He paused. A notion popped into his mind. "Hey, have you thought about acting in Japan?"
"Japan? I heard they chop up tentacles there and eat them!"
"Maybe... But I've heard they put others in hentai."
"Hentai?"
"They're special movies, with schoolgirls and tentacles."
"Schoolgirls? Ah, I would like to work with young, impressionable actors -- and give them the benefit of my thespian excellence! What did you say they were called? Hentai?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'm off to learn more about them! Thanks, kid!"
The tentacle bounded away down the stairs. Telemachus shrugged, and continued to explore. This time, when he pushed a door open and stepped inside the room beyond, he was ready for any manner of strangeness.
But he found himself in a disappointingly ordinary bedroom. Perhaps slightly too pink for his tastes, but still ordinary.
"Can I help you?"
The girl who sat on the bed, her back against the headboard, also seemed...
"You're normal."
"Thanks... I think."
"Everyone else in this place is crazy!"
"Tell me about it..."
"I met this robot woman who... She wanted to... I mean..."
The girl sighed.
"That's Nurse Ratchet. My dad had her built. He was a pervert. Now he's dead. Yay!"
"And there was a talking tentacle..."
"Blue? He's harmless."
"But you're normal!"
"Well, not quite..."
She leaned forward. Six metal appendages rose from behind her like snakes, shifting and swaying in the air above. Each ended with a little snapping mouth.
"I do have these. My mother made me get them."
"Still normal, compared to the others."
"I suppose. Who are you, anyway?"
"Telemachus."
"And what're you doing here? I mean, it's nice to talk to someone that isn't insane for a change, but why would anyone want to come to this lunatic asylum?"
"I'm looking for Professor Squiller."
"Oh, my mom." The girl sighed. "Another minion come to work for her, I guess?"
"Er... Actually... If she's done what I think she's done, I'm going to kill her."
The girl smiled.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Great!"
"But first I need to get some information out of her."
"She's a supervillain! Just look at her the right way and she'll blurt out her evil plan. Then you can kill her. I'm Samantha, by the way."
"Oh... Okay. But I'll need some batteries for this thing." He brandished the chainsaw.
The girl slid open a drawer in her bedside table, rummaged around inside, and pulled out a hand clutching a couple of big, fat, black and gold cylinders.
"Try these."
Telemachus popped open the chainsaw's battery compartment, dropped them inside, closed the flap, and pressed the button. The blade came to life with a shriek of metal that gave way to a whirr.
"Come on," Samantha said. "I'll take you to her."
The younger Squiller led Telemachus along corridor after corridor, through a thick steel security door, and down a couple of hidden passages. When the odyssey ended, it had brought them to a secret underground laboratory -- at least according to the sign on the door. And from the strange machinery lying around the place, combined with the lack of any windows, those advertised designations seemed accurate. Moreover, it was tenanted by the woman he'd been searching for. Professor Sarah Squiller.
The family resemblance was obvious. She and Samantha both possessed the same distinctive nose and cheekbones. They shared the same black hair, though the professor's was cut much shorter. Their jumpsuits might have been -- and probably were -- purchased at the same store. And the sextet of mechanical tentacles that emerged from each of their backs was something of a giveaway. Nevertheless, the boy felt obliged to make sure.
"Professor Squiller?"
"No," the woman replied.
"Oh..."
"Sarah Squiller is no more. Now there's only... Professor Squid! Muahahahahaha!"
"Ah. So does that mean 'yes'?"
"Yes," Samantha said. She rolled her eyes. "Mom, this kid here wants to know about your secret evil plans."
"Foolish child! Do you think I'd reveal my-"
"See, I told you she was too stupid to be part of an evil scheme. She's always been a loser."
"You little brat! For your information, I'm working for Colonel Ironside -- one of the most powerful differently abled criminals in the world! I ordered King Mega to unleash Grislak, so the stupid ape could distract Telemachus while Ironside put his plan into action. He's going to take over Murder City!"
"No way!" Telemachus exclaimed. "The mayor there's an ex-street-fighter. He won't give in to Ironside!"
"Oh, he will... If he ever wants to see his beloved Jess again! Muahaha-"
"There, you've heard her stupid scheme," Samantha said. "Can you kill her now?"
"Sure."
"Great. I'll help."
"Muahahahahaha..." Professor Squid stopped laughing and frowned. "Wait, what?"
"This is for running all my birthday parties!"
Samantha's tentacles pushed off against the floor, launching her into the air -- straight at the professor.
"What kind of mother serves poisoned cake to children?" she added.
"An evil one!"
The two Squillers collided. Six pairs of mechanical tentacles thrashed and clawed, creating a great tangle. It was like watching a dish of cybernetic noodles trying to eat itself.
"Ungrateful brat!"
"Delusional bitch! You're not even a real professor! You cheated in the exam by writing all the answers on your tentacles!"
Their human arms joined the fray, scratching at each other's faces and tugging at one another's hair.
Telemachus decided that he should put a stop to it. So he pressed the battery-operated chainsaw's button. It came to life as he ran into the fray.
"Now, Telemachus!" Samantha called. "Now!"
She twisted aside, pulling her mother's tentacles away with her own -- exposing the professor's torso.
The chainsaw flashed and whirred. Her costume and flesh opened. Ropes of intestines poured out.
"Told you... I was... evil... villain!" she moaned. "Only... evil... villain... deaths... have... so... many... ellipses..."
She took a step, slipped in her own guts, and fell with a thud.
"She's dead!" Samantha punched the air with all eight of her arms. "She's dead! She's really dead! Hey, there's a whole bunch of other people I'd really love to kill. Think you could help me?"
"Sorry," Telemachus replied. "I need to get to Murder City!"