LotS/The Story/The Prince & The Pixels

The Prince & The Pixels (Planet 12)

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"Zone Intro"=
Zone Intro

"Get lost, kid!" the man in blue said. He jabbed his index finger into the boy's chest.

"Yeah!" his black-garbed associate added. "This is private property!"

"Oh?" the boy replied. He glanced at the sealed doorway behind them. "And what kind of property is it?"

"It's a secret ninj-"

"Pet store!" the blue one interjected. "A secret pet store!"

"It sounded like he was about to say nin-" the boy began.

"Nine-banded armadillo! That's right! We're a pet store that sells nine-banded armadillos."

"Can I buy one?"

"No. We told you -- it's a private pet store. Go away."

"Fine. But I want to know something first..."

"Yeah?"

"If you guys work in a pet store, why are you both wearing ninja costumes?"

Their eyes narrowed within the slits of their masks.

"Kid..." the black ninja snarled, "I'm going to give you one more chance to get lost. If you don't, I'll throw a shuriken at you!"

"Oh, sure..." The blue one sighed. "You always have to rub it in..."

"Hey, it's not my fault you failed the shuriken safety course and got stuck wearing that stupid blue uniform. Yeah, bright blue -- real stealthy!"

"Shut up!"

The two ninja glared at one another, until the boy's voice drew their eyes back to him.

"A man asked me a question this morning. I think he was a Secret Service agent or something, because he had sunglasses on."

"Makes sense." The blue ninja nodded.

"He asked me if I was a bad enough dude to save the president. You know what I said?"

"What?"

"I said yes."

The ninja tried to move out of the way. They weren't fast enough. When the boy leapt towards them, stuck one of his short legs out, and span around in the air -- swinging the extended limb like a helicopter's blade, they each took its full force to the jaw.

Telemachus landed, looked down at their sprawling blue and black bodies, and grunted.

"Ninja... Such losers. Most of them go down with one hit."

He stepped over them and pushed the door open, revealing a metal-paneled corridor... And a host of blue, black, and red ninja.

"I'm bad!" he yelled. He punched a boyish fist up into the air, as though beating that sentiment into the universe.

Then he charged towards the oncoming ninja. The president had to be in there somewhere, and Telemachus was going to save him!

---

"Where is he?"

"Ma'am, the palace is closed. If you had an appointment here, you'll have to-"

"Where's Telemachus? I need to see him!"

"His Highness Prince Telemachus," the guardsman said, emphasizing the title, "doesn't see uninvited visitors. You-"

"Cut the crap! I know he's hurt bad. Take me to him. Now."

"Ma'am, I don't know where you heard that, but the prince is perfectly-"

"I'm going to count to five. Then if you're still in my way, I'll shoot your legs out from under you. And the same goes for your friends there. One."

Bermund Pelar, the seneschal of Gallea's royal palace, heard the exchange as he came down the broad marble staircase. And though his years and manner of living had left him with a pleasantly plump physique to which athletic exertion was anathema, the desperate anger in the woman's voice caused him to run. He descended the remaining stairs with near-disastrous haste -- only avoiding a perhaps bone-cracking tumble thanks to a fortunate clutch at the bannister -- and dashed across the great hallway.

The scene at the doors justified his dangerous and unseemly swiftness.

Five guards stood in a row, their weapons raised -- like the firing squad at an execution, poised and awaiting the signal that would bring death. Five long barrels were trained on the woman standing at the entrance. As for her... Pelar's eyes fastened on the woman for what seemed like an age. There was something indescribably captivating about her as she stood there.

She wore a black jumpsuit, unzipped almost to the waist -- disclosing a top the color of pure snow beneath. That white within blackness, the ebon hue surrounded in turn by the brilliance of the sunlight that framed her in the doorway, made the tableau into a sumptuous painting. Even the pistols in her hands, steady and unshaking, only enhanced the artistry it evoked in the seneschal's mind. It had been years since he'd picked up a brush. Yet now, in spite of the gravity of the situation and the terrible events of which it was but the latest episode, part of him yearned to paint her. That conviction, absurd but insistent, became even more powerful when he dwelled on her face and the emotions which flowed and froze across it. Anger and determination were there, the warrior's unflinching willingness to bring destruction upon those who stood against her. But both were tempered by sorrow, anguish, frantic worry. Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes, transforming her into a wrathful and mournful heroine, a goddess of war and sadness. It was a face worthy of a masterpiece, one that deserved to be immortalized.

Her eyes shifted, focusing on Pelar and meeting his -- assessing the new arrival and perhaps marking the seneschal as another target for her guns to deal with. The force of her gaze pierced his artistic reverie.

"You're Talia Ryx," Bermund Pelar said.

"Yes."

"I've seen pictures of the two of you together." He stepped forward and placed his hand on a guardsman's shoulder. "Stand down, sergeant. She's one of the prince's closest friends. I'll take her to see him."

The five rifles were lowered. Talia's pistols slipped back into their holsters. There was sympathy on the guardsmen's faces now, replacing the impassive rigidness of their profession. It only seemed to heighten her anxiety.

"Come with me," Pelar said.

The gunslinger darted to him and matched his stride as he made his way back across the hall.

"We didn't expect any of you to arrive so soon," the seneschal said.

"I was already in the system. Wu Tenchu sent us here to make an appearance at a charity thing on Calypso. The Dragons, I mean."

Bermund Pelar nodded, though the name 'Dragons' meant nothing to him.

"I was going to visit Tel afterwards," she continued. "Then I got Wu's message..."

The seneschal gave a small, awkward cough as they began to ascend the stairs.

"I... I trust that you..."

"I didn't tell anyone," she replied.

"Thank you. The people of Gallea have been through so much -- the Centurian invasion, the death of their king. I didn't want to cause them further grief. Not while we..."

"While you don't know if he'll make it?" There was a tremor in her voice.

Pelar could only nod.

"No one outside the palace knows," he said after a long moment of silence. "Except your prime minister and the people he told. I had to reach out to Wu Tenchu for help, and he asked permission to inform the prince's dearest friends."

From the hall at the top of the stairs, the seneschal led her down a long corridor. When they reached the door he paused for a moment, as though bracing himself. Then he pressed the button. It slid open to reveal Telemachus' bedroom. The chamber was large, and had once been elegant. But its original ambiance, the royal splendor it had been decorated to display, had long since been buried beneath holographic posters, images of the prince's mech, pictures of his companions, racks of assorted weapons, and a number of archaic videogame systems connected to modern screens via dubious tangles of cable.

The sight made Talia smile. But only for a moment. Then she stepped into the room, turned, and it slipped away -- unraveled by a soft intake of breath.

Telemachus was on the bed, eyes closed, face expressionless. His body was still, save for the rise and fall of his bare chest and the almost imperceptible fluttering behind his eyelids. An array of machines formed a semi-circle around the upper half of the bed, bristling with a plethora of holographic screens and images. Slender tubes ran from the devices to bands around his arms and forehead, to pads on his soft, boyish chest. Some pulsed with colored light, as though drawing arcane substances from his body or else pumping them into his flesh. Others were dull and lifeless, their deeds concealed beneath segmented metal or black plastic.

There the Prince of Gallea lay, a cybernetic spider in the middle of an electronic web.

Two people shared the machines' vigil around Telemachus' bed. The first was a girl, sat cross-legged on a chair, holding his right hand with her left. She was in her early teens from the look of her. Not much older than the boy. But the sheer concentration on her face, almost painful in its intensity, made her seem much older at first glance. Her eyes were closed, like his.

The second was a short man in a white and red medic's uniform. He was standing in front of one of the devices, his back to Talia and Bermund Pelar, examining the three-dimensional simulacra of organs it projected.

"I'm Yien, the palace physician," he said, without looking round.

The gunslinger sat down, pulling her chair close to the bed. She reached out, paused, and glanced at the seneschal. When he nodded, she grasped the prince's left hand in both of hers. Then she looked to the physician.

"How bad is he, doc?" Talia asked.

"He's as well as I can make him." Yien sighed, and turned away from the display -- revealing gaunt and haggard features. "But that doesn't mean anything. Not when we're dealing with a psychic attack. Arla here's doing more than I can."

Pelar knelt beside the girl and stroked her auburn curls, moving a lock of hair away from her face. He looked at Talia and gave a faint smile.

"My daughter," he said. "She was off-world when the Centurians attacked, training to use her powers for healing."

"Arla's psionic," Yien added. "We're lucky she was in the palace. I don't know of any other psychic healers left on Gallea."

"Can't she wake him up?" Talia asked.

"She doesn't have the strength. But as best as I can tell, she's keeping him stable. Even that's more than I expected from someone her age."

"It's why I went to Wu Tenchu," Pelar said. "I knew that he'd be able to help us. He said you and Jian [Player Name] helped the Sian Empire make many psychic allies during the war. Men and women we could trust. Until they arrive, we can only wait -- and hope the prince's mind is strong enough to endure."

---

"You're too late!" the Scarlet Harlot laughed. "The president is mine!"

The red-skinned ninja leader stood on the helicopter's landing skid as the craft rose, shunning the safety and comfort of interior seating for the pleasure of taunting her young foe as he battled her dogs below.

Telemachus kicked one of the snarling canines aside, punched another square on the nose, and glared up at her. He couldn't let the Scarlet Harlot escape with the president!

"Yeah?" he shouted. "Too bad I've killed all your ninja! How're you going to carry out your evil schemes without them?"

The scandalously dressed villain gestured towards the pilot's window. The helicopter stopped climbing.

"I'll hire new ninja!" she said. "Better ones!"

"Good luck with that! There are plenty of other bosses out there snapping up wannabe ninja as fast as they can throw uniforms on them. And what about all the dogs?" He emphasized the point by dodging another set of snapping jaws and punting the creature across the hangar. "You'll have to get a whole bunch of new ones, and put up with your next base stinking of dog crap until they're housetrained! Face it -- you've got the president, but you're screwed!"

"You little bastard!" she shouted. Her eyes flashed like daggers. "I'll teach you to mess with me!"

The Scarlet Harlot reached into her bodice, pulled something out, and hurled it at him. But the little object landed wide. When it exploded in a small plume of flame, it only succeeded in singeing one of the dogs -- who ran off yelping.

"Great bomb!" The boy laughed. "Maybe if you didn't dress like such a slut you'd be able to carry bigger ones!"

"Take us lower!" the Scarlet Harlot screamed, making frantic gestures at the pilot. "Take us down so I can blow him up!"

The helicopter descended until it was only six feet from the ground. She pulled another bomb out of her bodice and took aim. From that distance she would have been able to hit him. But she never had the chance.

Telemachus jumped upwards, landed in front of her on the skid, and knocked the explosive out of her hand. The bomb landed on one of the dogs. Then bits of that dog landed on the others, sending the entire pack scurrying.

"You bosses fall for it every time!" Telemachus said. "You guys need to learn to quit while you're ahead!"

"And you need to learn to die!" the Scarlet Harlot hissed.

She lashed out with one of her black boots, aiming for the boy's head. He parried it aside with his forearm. The red-skinned woman howled as the momentum almost sent her off the skid, and grabbed for a firmer handhold.

An elderly face appeared at the helicopter's window, pressed up against the glass near Telemachus.

"Win one for the Gipper!" the president cried.

"Huh?" the boy asked.

"Never mind! Just kick that red bitch's ass!"

"Sure thing!"

The Scarlet Harlot crouched and kicked, trying to sweep his legs out from under him. He jumped, twisted in mid-air, and answered with a kick of his own. It caught her in the side of the face as she rose from the crouch. Her head thudded against the helicopter's reinforced window.

She groaned, and stared at Telemachus through dazed, groggy eyes.

"You're good..." she murmured.

"No," Telemachus replied. "I'm bad."

Another jump, another spinning kick. This one sent her tumbling off the skid. She hit the hangar floor headfirst.

"Better take her down, son," the president yelled inside the chopper, "if you know what's good for you!"

The pilot evidently did, because the helicopter descended until it touched down next to the Scarlet Harlot's corpse -- scattering the dogs who'd gathered round to lick up their former mistress' brains.

Telemachus pulled its door open.

"Nice work, kid," the president said. "But I don't suppose I've got much future in politics after this. The other side were already saying I was too soft on rampant ninja-related crime. They're going to have a field day with this. Oh, well. Hey, you want to go for a burger?"

"Make it a deep-fried pizza, Mr. President, and you've got a deal." |-|

"Monkey Business"=
Monkey Business

Monkey Business

"What happened?" Talia asked. "Wu said it was an assassination attempt."

"Yesterday the prince met with Moto Zair, a representative of Envision Armaments," Bermund Pelar replied. "During King Salastro's reign, Envision supplied most of our planetary defense force's weaponry. She wanted to renew those agreements with the prince. But..."

"No," Telemachus said.

"But Your Highness," Zair replied, "your father was always satisfied with our products."

"That was before your weapons killed him!"

Moto Zair coughed. Her beautiful face reddened, making her seem young and shocked. Innocent and aghast at the accusation. But the seneschal had done his research. The woman was twice as old as she appeared, and she hadn't become an executive at Envision by being sweet and naive. Perhaps her employers thought Zair's synthetic youth and beauty would win over Gallea's young ruler...

"It's true that we sold weaponry to the Centurian Collective, among many other human and alien powers. But I promise you, we wouldn't have dealt with them if we'd known they intended to carry out an unjustified and barbaric attack on Gallea. King Salastro wasn't just a client to us, he was a dear and respected friend. His tragic death was-"

"You kept selling to them afterwards!"

"We had to honor our contracts, or the UHW would have-"

"Your. Weapons. Killed. My. Father. I won't have them on Gallea!"

"That's... unfortunate, Your Highness." Zair sighed. "But my superiors believe that the contracts your father signed with us are still valid in spite of the period of... interruption... caused by the occupation. If Gallea refuses to uphold its end of the arrangement, they may take the matter before the UHW."

"Get out."

"I-"

The prince jumped to his feet.

"Get out or I'll grab my chainsaw!"

Moto Zair stood as well.

"Your Highness..."

She stepped forward, dropped to one knee -- bringing her eyes almost level with his -- and clasped Telemachus' hand. The gesture was unexpected enough to make the prince's brow furrow, and the snarl retreat from his mouth.

"I'm sorry. I told my superiors that this mission was a terrible idea. And for what it's worth, I always considered your late father to be a decent and honorable man. I'll do my best to make them release Gallea from its obligations."

"Oh..."

Telemachus glanced at the seneschal, who could only shrug. He certainly hadn't anticipated any such kindness from Envision's representative.

"Thank you," the prince said.

Moto Zair held his hand for a long moment and bowed her head. She continued to hold it even as she stood, before finally releasing it, bowing again -- from the waist this time -- and leaving the chamber.

"We believe she infected him," Doctor Yien said, "with some kind of engineered psionic ailment."

"Did you catch her?" Talia asked.

There was a calm coldness in her voice that made the Bermund Pelar shiver. If Moto Zair had been in a cell, he knew that nothing could have saved her from dying there with a pistol wound in her face. The mental image didn't displease him. But the seneschal sighed.

"It was almost a full day before the prince fell ill," he said. "She'd left Gallea long before then."

"That incubation time was meant to be the perfect alibi," Doctor Yien said. "If Arla hadn't detected the psionic aspect, we mightn't have known his illness was inflicted."

"You're sure it was Zair?" Talia asked.

"I contacted her, and told her the prince had reconsidered," the seneschal said. "I invited her back to Gallea for fresh talks. She told me she was in negotiations with the Novocastrian government, and couldn't leave their space until they were concluded. But Prime Minister Wu spoke with Lady Hollister. Moto Zair lied."

"Then when Tel's better, the two of us will hunt her down. He can bring his chainsaw."

The gunslinger tightened her grasp on the boy's hand and leaned towards him, bringing her lips close to his ear.

"Hear that, Tel? Wake up, so we can hack that bitch to pieces."

---

"Talia..." the boy murmured.

"Talia..." a voice echoed.

"Talia?"

Telemachus opened his eyes. The first thing that met his gaze was the framed picture on his bedside table. He and Ronald Reagan were standing side by side, cramming greasy wedges of battered pizza into their mouths. Good times...

"That's right, Talia!" the voice said.

The TV... Telemachus sat up.

A pixelated news anchor with a blocky blue suit and equally blocky blond hair was on the screen. Yes... The boy remembered. He'd been watching one of the 8-bit news channels when he fell asleep.

"Talia has been abducted!" the anchor continued.

"What!?!" Telemachus threw the blankets aside and jumped out of bed.

"You heard me! Talia has been abducted. Pay attention, kid. Now, in other news, authorities have reported a massive increase in fatal traffic accidents involving oversized frogs..."

The boy ran towards the TV, reached into the screen, grabbed the anchor by his poorly rendered lapels, and pulled him close -- until they were nose to nose.

"Tell me what happened to Talia!"

"Okay! Okay! Geez..."

Telemachus let go of his jacket. The anchor collapsed back into his chair.

"Talia has been abducted by Grislak, a blue gorilla-like monster," the newsman said.

An image appeared to the upper right of his head, showing the creature in question and confirming his status as being both blue and gorilla-like.

"Grislak was an attraction at the local zoo, until this morning -- when he inexplicably broke out of his cage and rampaged through the city. Fortunately this rampage was largely limited to 8-bit neighborhoods, so the damage isn't-"

"Get to the part about Talia!"

"All right! All right! Grislak smashed through her apartment building, grabbed her, and took her to a local construction site."

The anchor disappeared, replaced by animated footage of the blue ape. Grislak was standing on the shell of a partially constructed building, a framework of haphazard girders. Talia was next to him, looking as vexed as the area's 8-bit ambiance permitted.

"Police officers tried to apprehend him," the invisible anchor said, "but Grislak seems to have found an inexhaustible supply of barrels -- which he's prepared to use as weapons."

On cue, three pixelated cops appeared in the bottom corner of the screen and ran along the lowest girder. It was angled to create a convenient ramp, either by design or as the result of shoddy construction. But as the officers of the law made their way across it, the ape started throwing barrels. Each missile hit the uppermost of the sloping girders, then proceeded to roll down its angled length. When it reached the end, it fell onto the next girder -- which was angled in the opposite direction -- and continued rolling. It occurred to Telemachus that Grislak might have arranged this himself. If so, he was quite the engineer... At least as far as apes went.

The cops ran one way, using the slanting girders to ascend the structure like bold defenders of law and order. But the barrels were coming down the other way. When they met, something had to give...

"Here we see the police officers' tragic demise!"

One of the barrels ploughed through the cops, smashing each of them in turn before rolling off -- leaving the poor souls spinning in a circle before the momentum ebbed and they finally collapsed dead on the girder.

"Who can stop this monster?" the anchor asked.

"I can," Telemachus replied. "I can."

---

"He's strong," Arla said. "His mind, I mean."

"He's a tough kid," Talia replied. "I guess they breed you that way on Gallea."

The girl smiled. Its brightness only accentuated the weariness etched into her young face. Red lines crawled across the whites of her eyes, and dark patches tainted the fair skin beneath -- making her look like a tired little panda. She was on her feet, stretching legs that had been bent for too long, leaning against Bermund for support.

"He's a gamer," Norux said.

The Snuuth nodded towards a holo-poster on a nearby wall. It depicted a wizard hurling a fireball at a plate of roast chicken, perhaps to indicate his disdain for poultry.

"They always have strong minds," he continued. "Playing so many games changes the way they think. They get used to fighting against any situation, no matter how strange and ridiculous it is. That's why they don't get as many nightmares."

"If that's true," Talia replied, "this psionic illness thing doesn't stand a chance against Tel."

The Snuuth smiled and took his seat -- an especially wide one which had been brought to the room to accommodate the sizable dimensions of his posterior. He was the second psionic healer to arrive at Wu Tenchu's behest. The first, a Piscarian female whose clothing seemed to consist entirely of imitation seashells, was already entranced. Her eyes were closed, like Arla's had been. And like her young human counterpart, she now held one of Telemachus' hands. She'd relieved the girl, allowing her a welcome respite. Soon Norux would join her, then the others who were making their way to Gallea and its palace. Together they might be able to do what Arla alone could not...

"Does the boy have a pet?" the Snuuth asked. "A dog, perhaps? Its presence, the feel of its fur, might help him."

"No," the seneschal said.

"Not unless you count his mech," Talia added. "And I don't think we want to stick that on his bed."

"How about a teddy bear?" the Snuuth suggested. "Or another favorite childhood toy? Anything which evokes strong, happy emotions could aid us."

The gunslinger looked up at Pelar.

"How about-" she began.

He nodded.

"I'll go get it," he said.

---

Telemachus craned his neck and stared up at Grislak. The blue-haired beast was just standing there, alternately scratching himself and halfheartedly beating his chest.

"Hey, monkey!" the boy yelled.

The creature stopped scratching his genitals, shifted them back under a swath of pixelated fur, and glared down at him.

"Grislak not monkey! Grislak ape!"

"Whatever! Let Talia go!"

"No! Grislak keep girl! Grislak obey boss!"

"Who's your boss?"

"Ha! You think Grislak stupid? Grislak not tell you King Mega is boss!"

"You work for King Mega?"

"No! Stupid human! Grislak said Grislak not tell you that!"

"Tel!" Talia shouted. "Do something about this guy!"

"Why don't you just shoot him through the eye?" he yelled back.

"I don't have my guns!"

"Okay! I'll save you!"

"Ha!" the ape roared. "You not save girl! You get smashed instead! Smashed by Grislak's barrels!"

The beast's brutish hands grabbed one of those containers and brandished it above his head. Then he hurled it down at the boy. Telemachus broke into a sprint. The barrel crashed onto the ground behind him, close enough for the some of the smashed pixels to plink against the back of his head.

Grislak bellowed. The boy was on the angled girders now. The blue ape couldn't hit him from here. Not with a direct shot, anyway...

As Telemachus ran up the sloping metal, he heard the rumbling high overhead. The barrels were rolling. But still the boy kept on running, up one girder and then along the next. He couldn't leave Talia in the monster's clutches.

On the next girder he saw them, revolving towards him. A barrage of barrels, too many and too close together for him to jump over...

---

"Here it is!" Pelar said.

"What's that?" Norux asked. He stared at the object in the seneschal's arms.

"It's a laser-edged chainsaw," Talia replied.

"Oh..."

Bermund Pelar laid it on the bed beside the unconscious prince, and placed the boy's hand on top of it.

---

Telemachus' eyes lit up. There, suspended above him...

He jumped up and snatched it from the air. It fell into his grasp with a satisfying chime. He didn't know where it had come from. Perhaps one of the construction workers left it there, though he had no idea what a builder might have wanted with one of these things. That didn't matter though. What mattered was that it was his now...

The boy pressed the button. The laser-edged chainsaw whirred to life in his hands.

The barrels rolled towards him. He laughed and ran at them. Pixelated wood chips rained through the air. Big chunks of barrel fell this way and that.

He ran up the girder, swinging and thrusting with his newfound weapon -- obliterating barrel after barrel, laughing with the thrill of destruction. The ape must have heard him, because he gave a confused bellow before throwing down more barrels. They were chainsawed to bits just like the others.

Telemachus strode up the last sloping girder, onto the horizontal one that Grislak must have left undamaged to serve as his platform.

"Tel!" Talia cried. She was on a smaller girder-platform above.

And there ahead of the boy was the massive ape.

"Time to die, monkey!" he yelled. Then he ran towards his blue foe, swinging his chainsaw.

"Grislak not monkey!" the ape howled. "Grislak... Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!"

The blue beast clutched his injured hand. Even his mighty jungle flesh was no match for a laser. Or a chainsaw. Let alone the two combined into one weapon of considerable homicidal might.

"No fair! Human has sharp stick!"

"It's a chainsaw, you idiot!"

"Grislak not... Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!"

A slashing wound across his broad chest was enough for the ape. He turned and ran. He wasn't very fast.

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!"

Some heroes might have allowed the ape to flee, slink away to his nefarious lair (in this case his cage at the zoo, nefarious or otherwise), lick his wounds, and plot his revenge. But Telemachus wasn't one of them. Thus he drove his chainsaw at the routed ape's butt.

Grislak leapt at least a dozen feet in the air. Then gravity decided to put him out of his misery by grabbing him and slamming him onto the hard, unforgiving ground below. A pool of blood and splattered 8-bit organs gushed out of his blue body. It was game over for the ape.

"Nice job, Tel," Talia said. The gunslinger dropped down and landed beside him.

"Thanks. But it isn't over yet. You heard what he said -- King Mega was behind it."

"The boxer?"

"I guess so. I'm going to find him and beat the truth out of him."

"You're in luck. He's fighting at the Genyo Arena tonight..." |-|

"Count of Monte Fisto"=
Count of Monte Fisto

Count of Monte Fisto

"Hey, are you Glass Rautha?" Telemachus asked.

"Who's asking?" the boxer replied. He looked the boy up and down with a sneer.

"I am."

"Yeah, I'm Rautha. But after tonight no one's going to be calling me 'Glass'. I'll be Iron Rautha... Steel Rautha... Diamond Rautha!" He raised his gloved fists in the air, stared up at the heavens -- or at least the damp, stained ceiling of the jobber's dressing room -- and closed his eyes. "I can already hear them chanting. Die-mond Row-tha! Die-mond Row-tha!"

"That's great... But I need to-"

"Die-mond Row-tha! Die-mond Row-tha!" The boxer opened his eyes, frowned, lowered his arms, and looked down at Telemachus. "What're you doing in here anyway? You're not on tonight's fight card."

"Not yet... But I want to be. Step down, and let me fight King Mega instead."

"What? You want me to give up my big break, my chance at the big time, my one shot at-"

Telemachus didn't have time for this. He sprang up and nailed Rautha with a right cross on the tip of his prominent chin. The glass-jawed boxer hit the ground before the boy landed.

The door to the locker room opened. Telemachus turned towards the newcomer, fist clenched and ready to mete out more of the same. But it wasn't another boxer. It was the portly referee who stood there in his black slacks, white shirt, and bright red cap. Telemachus was no veteran of the squared circle, but even he knew that beating up the referee would be inadvisable.

"Mamma mia!" the ref exclaimed. "What-a happened to Rautha?"

"He..." Telemachus began. "He knocked himself out shaving!"

The referee sighed and stroked the end of his prodigious moustache.

"Again? Madonna! But he's a-supposed to be fighting King Mega tonight! And who do you think the promoters are a-going to blame-a? It's a-me! Minchia!"

"Hey, why don't I just take his place?"

"You? You're just a bambino! King Mega will-a kill you!"

"Hey, yesterday I saved the president from ninja. This morning I killed a big monkey monster. I think I can handle a boxing match."

The referee shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands in the air.

"Madonna! You want-a to get-a yourself killed? You be-a my guest!"

---

"How long have you known the prince?" Arla asked.

"It feels like forever," Talia said.

They were milling around a corner of Telemachus' bedroom, running idle hands and eyes over some of the inexhaustible supply of knickknacks which seemed to fill the chamber and turn it into a cross between a museum and a scrapyard. Their places at the prince's bedside had been usurped by the latest psionic healers to arrive and lend their minds.

"Has he really killed people?"

"One or two..."

The girl glanced into the gunslinger's eyes.

"Okay, maybe it was one or two thousand," Talia amended. "It's hard to keep track. Things happen pretty fast when you're fighting."

"That's... terrible."

"They all deserved it though."

Arla frowned. Talia decided to change the subject.

"Hey, check this out!"

She picked up a small disc that was nestled between stacks of assorted toy robots, set it down on the floor, and pressed a button on its side. A large holographic screen popped into being -- taller than either of the two women, and twice as wide as it was tall. Its expanse was dominated by the near life-size images of two people in battlesuits punching each other. Behind the bellicose pair, thousands of spectators were screaming their approval or lack thereof.

"This is from when the captain was in Twisted Steel. Tel loved watching her fight."

"The captain?"

"[Player Name]. You know, the Jian. Back on the Child of Heaven, we had a whole bunch of captains. But when we said 'the captain', everyone knew who we meant. That's how great she is."

"We should take this over to the prince."

"Reckon it might do some good?"

"Yes, if it reminds him of happy times and good friends."

---

"Phage drek, chummer!"

King Mega yelled out the serving suggestion. But in the absence of any available 'drek', he fed Telemachus his fist instead. It proved an unenjoyable repast.

The boy flew across the ring and slammed spine-first into the turnbuckle. He slumped against the corner, his arms stretched out on either side -- draped across the ropes like he was being crucified. And from the way his face felt, his groggy mind doubted crucifixion would hurt any more. His dazed vision roamed across the ring, searching for the chunks of brain matter he was sure had been knocked out of his skull.

"Go on, scav! You phobed? Baino over here and get wrecked!"

King Mega beckoned him over with both fists.

Telemachus pulled his arms off the ropes, took a step out of the corner, and fell on his butt. The podgy referee bustled over like a waiter preparing to serve his last meal.

"A-one! A-two! A-three!"

The boy flopped over and dragged himself towards the ropes -- those dear sweet friends he had been a fool to abandon.

"A-four! A-five!"

He grabbed hold of them and tried pulling himself up. His legs were like rubber underneath him.

"A-six! A-seven!"

But somehow he made it to his feet. The count stopped. And the beating continued.

King Mega's fists knocked his feeble guard aside and thundered against his ribs, his skull, his brain. His whole body shook with every impact. His spine had just burst out and landed in the crowd... He was sure of it.

"Call this a rumble?" King Mega asked. "Kauf tickets for this drek? Find me someone with proper fighting meat on their bones!"

A sweeping left hook battered Telemachus' head. He felt something under his back. There was blackness in front of him. Blackness and distant lights. Distant, twinkling lights.

"A-one!"

It was peaceful here.

"A-two!"

A good place to rest.

"A-three!"

To sleep.

"A-four!"

Yes... Sleep.

"A-five!"

Sleep forever.

"A-six!"

"Tel!" The voice... a woman's voice... drifted in front of him like a black bird. No... A dancing dragon.

"A-seven!"

"Tel! Get up!"

"Eight!"

"Are you going to let this fat sack of crap beat you?"

The darkness parted. The lights blazed above him.

"A-nine!"

The universe shifted around him, reality tumbling and turning like it'd taken a big hook of its own. When it righted itself, he was on his feet. And no one was counting.

Telemachus raised his guard. He wasn't done. Not yet. Not ever.

Across the ring, King Mega lowered his arms. His eyes widened. The boy was up... That kind of beating, and the boy was up.

The bell rang. And they both breathed a sigh of relief.

Telemachus staggered over to his corner and dropped onto the stool. A face appeared next to his, between the ropes.

"You can win this, Tel."

"[Player Name]? What're you doing here?"

"Saving your butt, as usual."

"He hurt me bad, [Player Name]."

"You're still alive, aren't you?"

"I think so..."

"Then he hasn't hurt you enough to win. The next round. Just one round, and the fight's yours. One more round."

"Think it's going to take more than that..."

"No. Not if you fight smart. Think, Tel. Think. Look how much he loves to open that big mouth of his. He leaves himself open. When he does that, pop him there. Then work the body. He's got big muscles on his arms, but I bet that flabby gut of his is weak."

"Okay! I'll do it!"

The bell rang. The boy got to his feet.

"Tel! Don't forget the most important thing..."

"What's that?" he asked, turning back.

"I believe in you."

Telemachus looked across the ring at King Mega.

"You're about to get rumpled, scav! I'll knock the noosing meat right out of you!"

"Keep talking," the boy murmured, as he stepped forward to meet him.

Some of King Mega's punches missed. Telemachus was focused now. He dodged and weaved, letting them slip by his small body. Others hit him hard. But this time he took them without so much as flinching. Pain didn't matter. Broken ribs didn't matter. Only the right moment mattered. He didn't launch any punches of his own. Let King Mega think he had nothing left to throw at him. Let him get cocky. All that mattered was the opening. And there it was...

"Time to get rumpled, chummer!" The burly boxer raised one arm in the air.

Telemachus struck. Blood and teeth rained on the canvas.

"Should have worn a mouthguard, 'chummer'," the boy said.

King Mega groaned. His gloves rose to his injured maw. His flabby gut was wide open... So the boy punched. His little arms moved like pistons, throwing out a flurry of powerful blows. Each one thudded into soft flesh, pounding it like they were trying to tenderize a great slab of meat.

The fat boxer reeled. He staggered backwards with each fresh blow. It was time to finish him...

"I believe in you."

Telemachus' fists glowed.

"Kasan!"

He punched, a tremendous uppercut straight to the abused abdomen. King Mega's guts exploded.

Pixelated blood, gore, and excrement spewed out in all directions. King Mega looked down.

"Drek!" he groaned.

Then he fell.

"Tell me why you unleashed Grislak!" Telemachus said, gazing down at his dying foe. "Tell me!"

"Wreck off..."

The boy stomped down in the middle of King Mega's churned up guts. The boxer screamed.

"Professor Squiller! She told me to! Professor Squiller!"

Telemachus walked towards the ropes. Behind him the referee scurried over to the dying pugilist.

"A-one! A-two..."

Telemachus stepped between the ropes, walked down the stairs, and headed up the aisle. Professor Squiller, he mused. Interesting... |-|

"Deranged Dwelling"=
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!" |-|

"Alleyways of Minor Annoyance"=
Alleyways of Minor Annoyance

Alleyways of Minor Annoyance

"Where the hell's my axe?" Ragnar demanded.

Talia smiled at her omnicidal friend's holographic image.

"Your weapon has been located, sir," came a training bot's emotionless voice.

The screen panned away from the Niflung and centered on the robot. The axe was buried in its chest.

More of Telemachus' home movies, recorded during some of their training sessions. When Talia came across the holo-vids, she knew she had to play them for the sleeping prince. If the others couldn't be here, it was the next best thing.

"Give me that!" the recorded Ragnar roared.

He stepped into the frame, grabbed the weapon's shaft, and pulled it free -- straight upwards, cleaving through the training bot's head.

The gunslinger looked over at Telemachus. She was almost certain that the corners of his mouth twitched.

---

"I need to speak to the mayor!" Telemachus said.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked. She didn't even look at him. She was busy admiring her 16-bit beauty in a hand mirror.

"No, but it's important!"

"I'm sorry, but the mayor's in a meeting with the press. You'll have to wait."

Telemachus glanced through the glass door. The mayor was sitting at his desk. He was bare-chested, just like in his street fighting days -- displaying his huge muscles. The men in suits who sat opposite him looked like children compared to his powerful bulk.

"Mr. Mayor, isn't it true that crime figures are through the roof?"

"Doesn't officially changing the city's name to Murder City send the wrong signal?"

"What about rumors that you've been killing criminals without trial, and leaving their bodies lying around to boost the recorded murder rate and thus justify your vigilante killing sprees?"

The mayor glowered before the bombardment of journalistic inquiry.

"You should duck, kid," the receptionist said, as she slipped under her desk.

"How come?" Telemachus asked.

"Because when the mayor gets mad..."

There was a crash of breaking glass. Telemachus dropped to the ground. He was just in time.

A volley of airborne newsmen hurtled through the space where he'd been standing. Most hit the floor and sprawled there. A few hit it hard enough to roll for several more paces. One unfortunate journalist, who perhaps regretted his lack of mass, actually made it all the way across the room and smashed through the window. From the subsequent crunch, someone parked below would share his displeasure when they returned to their vehicle.

"Who's next?" the mayor roared from the shattered doorway.

"This kid is," the receptionist said, as she clambered out from beneath the desk.

"Come on then." He turned and stomped back into his office.

Telemachus scrambled to his feet and followed. The mayor stared at the boy from across his desk.

"If you're looking to buy drugs, kid, you've come to the wrong place. That was the last mayor. And now he sleeps with the fishes. And the lions. And the hippos. And the giraffes. He died at the zoo, and bits of him went everywhere. That's what happens if you run negative ads about Ragnar Ragnarsson."

"I found out that Colonel Ironside's going to-"

The phone on the desk rang.

"Hang on, kid." The mayor pressed the speakerphone button. "This is Mayor Ragnar."

"Ah, Mayor Ragnar," came the deep, gruff voice. "The man who's too good to do business with us."

"Ironside!"

"That's right. I'm here to make you another offer."

"If it isn't your head on a plate, I don't want to hear it!"

"Oh, you'll want to hear this. We have Jess."

"What!?!"

"If you ever want to see her again, you'd better stop killing our boys. That's bad for business! Well, not for our line of funeral homes. But it's bad for all our other businesses -- the ones dead guys can't help with! So stop doing it!"

There was a click. Then the line went dead.

Ragnar growled.

"I'm too late!" Telemachus said. "He's already got your daughter."

"What're you babbling about, kid?" The mayor glared at him.

"Jess..."

"Jess isn't my daughter! She's my axe!"

"Oh..." Telemachus exhaled. "Well, that's okay then. You can always get a new axe, and-"

"Get a new axe? Get. A. New. Axe?" Ragnar stood up. "A new axe?"

He grabbed hold of the big rosewood desk and lifted it above his head as though it were cardboard.

"Get a new axe?"

The mayor roared. Then he hurled the desk. It crashed through the remains of his glass door, flew across the reception area, and smashed into an unlucky journalist who'd just made it to his feet.

"Do you know how many people me and Jess have killed? She's my axe, and I'm getting her back!"

Ragnar strode towards the wall, extended his arms on either side of his body, fists clenched, and span around. The wall crumbled before his sweeping, spinning limbs, sending chunks of masonry into the street beyond.

"Use the door, Mr. Mayor!" the receptionist yelled.

"There isn't time for doors!" the mayor roared.

He jumped through the hole and charged off down the street. Telemachus leapt through and ran after him.

When the boy caught up to Ragnar, he found him standing next to a small heap of corpses, a terrified teenager in his grasp. There were spray-paint cans scattered on the ground at their feet, and a layer of fresh, glistening graffiti on the nearby building. It was a mural of Colonel Ironside.

"You punks work for him! Where is he?" Ragnar shook him, making his limbs dance like a marionette's. "Tell me!"

"We... We... We..."

The mayor stopped shaking him. The graffiti artist took a deep breath and recovered the power of speech.

"We're just taggers! His gang pays us for it! We've never met Ironside! He's the big boss, and we're just trash, man!"

"Who do you know in the gang? You must know someone!"

"We... We get our orders from Chem Rautha. We meet him in the abandoned apartment building on 32nd!"

Ragnar grunted. Then he slammed the punk's head into the wall. Blood and brains added their colors to the mural. Whether it was an improvement or not was a matter of opinion.

The mayor turned to Telemachus.

"What're you doing here?"

"I want to help!"

Ragnar glared at him for a long moment.

"You're the kid who saved the president, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. You can tag along. But don't get in my way. I rule this city!"

Telemachus followed him through deserted streets. Word of the mayoral killing spree must have spread. The only people left out and about were the two of them and Murder City's criminal community. It made it easy to know whom to hit...

They battered their way to 32nd street, leaving a trail of corpses behind them. Looters, robbers, jaywalkers... Crime didn't pay when the mayor was around. There, in front of a derelict building -- an ugly shell of broken glass, worn brick, and shattered wood -- was a contingent of unsavory individuals. Among them was a face Telemachus recognized.

"You?" he said.

"You!" Rautha echoed. "You're the one who stole-stole-stole my big break! Thanks to you I fell into a life of crime-crime-crime. Now I make-make-make my living using chems!"

"Don't you mean selling chems?"

"Huh? You can sell-sell-sell chems? Why-why-why didn't someone tell-tell-tell me! Stupid walrus!"

"Where's Ironside?" Ragnar roared.

"Won't tell-tell-tell!"

The gangbangers advanced. So did Ragnar. This wasn't going to be pretty...

---

"Remember when we killed that jerk in the hoverchair, right here in the palace?" Talia asked.

She stroked the prince's cheek.

When one of the psychics had left his seat to take his break -- they were all resting in turn to keep their minds fresh -- he'd offered it to Talia. He'd said her presence, her voice, her actions were helping. She couldn't tell whether he'd been sincere or just trying to comfort her, but she was glad to be right by Telemachus' side again.

"He thought he was a badass, with all those stupid psychic powers and telekinetic barriers. But we still blew his brains out."

---

"Where's Ironside?" Ragnar pulled Rautha towards him by his shirt as he growled the question, until they were nose to nose.

"He's in the-the-the-"

"Damn you!"

The mayor roared, lifted him up, and impaled him on a fire hydrant.

"Ouch-ouch-ouch!"

"Is there anyone around here who isn't on chems?" Ragnar asked.

"I'm... I'm not..." one of the sprawling gangbangers murmured.

Telemachus crouched next to him.

"Then you'd better tell the mayor what he wants to know. He looks pretty mad."

"The colonel's base is in the Yasuda building!"

"How do we get there?"

"You'll have to fight your way through the subway and onto the train. Then more fighting on the train, until you get off on the west side of town. Then you'll have to fight some more, until you get to-"

"Idiot!" Ragnar grunted.

He raised his boot and stomped down on the gangbangers head -- driving his face into the street. His skull gave way with a crunch.

"Did he think we're on a sightseeing tour? Let's find a cab."

"Where? Everyone's hiding apart from us and Ironside's guys."

"Damn cowards!"

"We could-"

The screech of abused rubber cut him off. A black sports car was zooming down the road ahead of them. The vehicle swerved just long enough to plough through a group of gangbangers, launching their mangled bodies in all directions. Then it straightened up, whooshed towards the mayor and the boy, span, and pulled to a squealing, smoking stop next to them.

"Need a ride?" Talia asked.

"Are those fingers sticking out of the wheels?" Telemachus inquired.

"Maybe. I ran over a lot of them on the way here. And you know how fingers are... They get everywhere."

Telemachus and Ragnar nodded in sympathy. Then they piled into the vehicle.

"Where are we heading?" the gunslinger asked.

"To get my axe back!" |-|

"G. Rahn"=
G. Rahn

G. Rahn

The drive through the city was an experience. At least Telemachus assumed it was. With the way Talia drove, it was mostly a blur -- apart from the 16-bit gore on the windshield.

"Help... me..."

"Who was that?" the boy asked.

"I think one of them's stuck to the car." Ragnar laughed.

"Help... me..."

"Should we do something about it?"

"Sure, Tel."

Talia turned on the radio, and boosted the volume until powerful music blasted through the car.

"That's better," she said.

Telemachus nodded. Talia's taste in music complimented their breakneck speed and repeated vehicular homicides. And it was only enhanced by the percussive accompaniment of severed body parts splatting and thudding against the hood and windshield. Hence all three of them groaned when a song was truncated in mid-chord, and gave way to a news bulletin.

Talia reached towards the knob.

"Wait!" Telemachus said. "It might be about Ironside's gang."

"I'm here on the Zenith," the reporter said, "the spacecraft where the World Warrior Championship tournament is taking place -- a location selected because it's neutral ground, as well as just being plain awesome. But what isn't so awesome is the absence of last year's winner, Telemachus."

"No!" The boy groaned. "I forgot all about that!"

"He's entitled to fight this tourney's winner for the title, but if he doesn't show up he forfeits that right! That might be welcome news for G. Rahn, who's been looking unstoppable so far."

"G. Rahn?" Ragnar asked. "I know that bastard! He's the CEO of Centurian. They've been helping Colonel Ironside's punks launder money for years!"

"It was all a setup," Telemachus said. "Grislak, King Mega, Professor Squid, Colonel Ironside... G. Rahn wanted to keep me busy so I wouldn't get to the Zenith in time! Now it's too late!"

"No, it's not," Talia replied. "I can get you there, if we go now."

"Take him!" Mayor Ragnar said. "I'll go get Jess!"

"You sure?" the boy asked.

"Kid, I've been killing people longer than you've been alive."

"Okay..."

"Good luck! And beat the crap out of G. Rahn!"

With that, Ragnar threw open the door and leapt out. Telemachus saw him through the rear window -- hitting the ground, rolling, getting to his feet, and sprinting down the street. Before the car turned, he saw the mayor barge into a pack of gangbangers. They probably wished they'd been hit by the vehicle instead...

"How're we going to get to the Zenith?" Telemachus asked.

"Trust me, Tel."

---

"When I first met you," Talia said, "I wanted to kill you. That was only fair, right? I mean, you were trying to kill us too. But we're both still here. Alien monsters, robots, Centurians, hookers... We've been through a lot, and it hasn't killed us yet. Trust me, you'll be fine. You just need to wake up, and we can keep being crazy together. Trust me."

---

The sports car's tires squealed as it turned -- quite an achievement, since it was driving in the perfect vacuum of lavishly rendered 16-bit space. Telemachus couldn't decide what it said about Talia's driving. It didn't matter. Supremely skilled or suicidally foolhardy, the important thing was that they were approaching the ship.

Something bleeped. Talia pressed a button on the radio.

"This is the Zenith. Did you know you're driving a car in space?"

"Yeah," she replied.

"Just checking. We'll open the landing bay for you."

---

Talia's eyes widened. Had she imagined it? No! There it was again.

"He moved! He squeezed my hand!"

"The prince's thoughts are getting stronger," Arla said. "But there's... There's something in the way."

"This affliction is clever," Norux said. "It's struggling to keep him."

"Come on, Tel!" Talia whispered. "Win!"

---

"G. Rahn wins!" The referee declared. "Perfect!"

Rahn raised his arms and stood over his opponent's prone form.

"This fool was no match for my Centurian power!" he declared.

"Since last year's winner is absent," the referee continued, "and therefore unable to defend his title, I name Rahn as-"

"Hey!"

The entire crowd, from gorgeous 32-bit celebrities to 8-bit plebs, turned as one. Their combined pixelated gaze rested on the boy in the red gi.

"I'm here, Rahn. This title isn't yours."

"So, the wretched cripple failed?" Rahn's voice echoed from the confines of his mask. "I'll just have to destroy you myself!"

---

Telemachus tottered. His entire body felt like it was still burning, as though it had been consumed by the fury of Rahn's psionic blue flame instead of merely singed. His limbs were heavy. His mind exhausted by the eclectic adventurers of the past days.

But G. Rahn was no better. He was as unsteady on his feet as the boy. Some of his armor plates were scattered across the floor. Others were dented, marked by Telemachus' fists and feet. The malevolent CEO's exposed flesh had been battered and bruised by the same martial strikes. Blood trickled from a dozen places. A single trail of crimson ran from his brow into his right eye. Yet he made no move to wipe it off. He knew his adversary would be on him the moment he left himself open.

Not a single pixelated eye blinked. No one in the entire room took a breath. Everyone knew the next exchange would end the fight and place the mantles of victor and loser on the fighters' shoulders.

"No match..." Rahn gasped. "No match for... psi-power..."

Golden psionic energy crackled across his arms as he lunged. It licked its way down his body, sheathing him in psychic force as his feet left the ground and pure psychokinetic energy sent him spinning towards Telemachus like the head of a drill.

"Come on, Tel!" Talia whispered. "Win!"

Telemachus' fist clenched. He dropped into a crouch.

Rahn spiraled closer, a split-second away. Each electrified pixel of psionic wrath blazed with the might of destruction.

Telemachus rose.

His hand tightened around Talia's.

It struck Rahn at the same time. A rising, leaping, soaring uppercut that threw both their bodies into the air. But Telemachus landed on his feet. Rahn crashed down on his back, his eyes almost popping from his head.

"Tel!"

"Talia?"

Two worlds floated around his vision, his consciousness. He focused on the one with better graphics.

The prince blinked. The 16-bit Zenith and the tinny cheering of the pixelated crowd vanished. They were replaced by the richer cries of flesh and blood.

"I won," he said.

"Me too, Tel. Me too." </tabber>