and
present:
Of Possible Alternatives
(a.k.a. The God of Copyright Infringement Takes a Holiday)
-------- Part Two --------
by Jason Bertovich
©2013 by Jason Bertovich and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Perspectives created by Jason Bertovich
Kenny's Laboratory created by Matthew Atanian
Of Possible Alternatives
(a.k.a. The God of Copyright Infringement Takes a Holiday)
-------- Part Two --------
by Jason Bertovich
©2013 by Jason Bertovich and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Perspectives created by Jason Bertovich
Kenny's Laboratory created by Matthew Atanian
Matt Atanian found himself pedaling his bike, determinedly, dutifully, even angrily toward the Church in the Acres. His face, a tight expression of resolution and defiance. He slowed down and parked the bike next to the meeting hall and walked inside.
Walking down the hallway inside the meeting hall, he came to the doors to the room at the end of the hall and without pausing he swung the double doors open dramatically. Inside the room, Mr. John Hawley sat at the small oak desk and looked up from his Scouting paperwork, and regarded Matt. Matt walked straight up to the desk and reached into his black trench coat and pulled out a plain white envelope, he tossed in on the desk.
Hawley regarded the envelope with an arched eyebrow. Matt paced back and forth and angrily told Mr. Hawley that he was done with this outfit and he would no longer be part of their organization. He then slammed his fist on the desk to emphasize that point before turning around and walking out.
Matt smiled to himself. He felt good. It was the right thing to do. The others would understand, no doubt, and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t still be friends with them. He pedaled home, a tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders.
Returning home, Matt prepared to pack up his Scout uniform and other items, but as walking through the kitchen, he spied a tall glass of brown nirvana. There, sitting on the counter all alone, was a tall glass of Iced Tea. Condensation glistened as ice cubes settled with a slight jiggle. Matt paused and regarded this development. He looked around the kitchen to see if anyone would suddenly claim this wonderful beverage and after waiting fifteen seconds, he picked up the glass and took a long satisfying sip. He ‘ahhhhh’ to himself and set the glass down, the ice cubes rattling as they resettled.
Matt smiled broadly and turned back to his task. As we walked up the steps to his room, he suddenly felt as if his legs were made of rubber snakes. He looked up the stairway and blinked as the stairs started to spin and elongate. He steadied himself on the wall and started stumbling back down, dragging himself toward the front door in an attempt to get some fresh air. As he passed by the kitchen, he suddenly noticed the empty glass and grimacing, he then fell down, blacking out a moment later…
Matt was unsure how much time had passed, but it appeared to be still be daytime, but whether it was still the same day could not be determined. He quickly realized that he was lying on his back and the ceiling he was looking at was not his own. He quickly sat up and realized that he was inside a midsized cabin and he, himself was laying on a small cot. He took stock of his situation.
He was still wearing his uniform, he quickly looked under the cot and found his black trench coat and black fedora neatly folded and stacked there. He got up and put them on. He found a door and he opened it.
Outside the cabin was woods. Birds chirped lightly and in the distance he could make out a large lake. Where the devil was he?
As to answer his question, a large din of marching music blared out from some unseen PA system. A moment later a matronly woman’s voice echoes across the woods. “Good morning, campers! It’s another beautiful day on the Reservation. There are no major announcements this morning. Today, chocolate ice cream bars are available at the trading post at the cost of two credits each or two bars for three credits. Be seeing you!”
Matt looked around and felt very out of place here. A moment later, he heard a tinny-sounding beep from behind. He turned around and saw a Chinese girl in Girl Scout uniform honking the horn of a black and white striped golf cart. “Nihao. Number Two wishes to see you.”
“Who is number two?” Matt asked, perplexed.
“Number Two wishes to see you,” she repeated and patted the seat next to her.
Matt sighed and realized that if he wanted answers, he would have to play along. He sat down next to the girl and the cart sped away. As they drove, Matt made mental notes of the terrain, noting other cabins, the lake, what appeared to be a waterfront, and most importantly, the small bubble-domed helicopter parked on a small helipad.
A moment later, the cart stopped and Matt found himself parked in front of some sort of administration building. He looked at the structure and then back to his driver.
“Number Two wishes to see you,” she said again and nodded toward the building. Matt nodded and stepped out of the vehicle. “Be seeing you!” She chimed and sped away.
Matt walked up the small stoop into the building, opened the door and went inside. Walking down a long hallway, he came to another door that proceeded to open for him. He looked inside and saw a sunken room with a narrow ramp leading down toward the center. In the middle of the room was desk and rising the floor was a large concave chair, in which sat a long haired man with a greasy looking beard.
“Greetings, One Ninety-Two,” The man said cheerily.
Matt found himself walking down the ramp with purpose, “Where am I?”
The man regarded this and gestured his hand, “On the Reservation.”
“What do you want?” Matt demanded.
“Information,” The man answered.
Matt arched an eyebrow. “What information?”
“Why did you leave the Pioneer Valley council?”
Matt changed his expression from anger to a more neutral one. “Whose side are you on?”
The man grinned and responded, “That would be telling. We want information.”
Matt returned the smile. “You won’t get it,” he said confidently.
“By hook or by crook we will,” The man verbally parried.
Matt placed his palms on the desk and regarded his adversary. “Who are you?”
The man nonchalantly waved his open palm. “I am Number Two.”
“Who is Number One?” Matt queried.
The man looked coldly at Matt. “You are Number One Ninety-Two.”
Matt screwed up his face and straightened his posture. “I am not a number and I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own!” Matt then turned around and prepared to march out.
“Be seeing you,” Number Two shouted after him.
Matt exited the building and not knowing what else to do, he started to walk around. He found himself wandering, taking mental notes the whole time. He eventually came to what appeared to be a dining hall. Sitting outside were several picnic tables, milling about where several men, women, boys, and girls of various ages all wearing various scouting uniforms, some really not matching the age of the wearer.
Matt suddenly recognized something familiar and quickly made his way toward it. Sitting at a table by himself, staring longingly at a full chessboard was Mr. Bill Pruyne. There was a vacant look in his eyes as he regarded the ivory and onyx pieces.
“Mr. Pruyne!” Matt said excitedly.
Pruyne didn’t look up. He continued to stare at the chessboard. “A Game of chess, friend?” He asked absently.
Matt felt his stomach turn slightly. “I don’t play,” he said cautiously.
“You should learn. We're all pawns, friend.” He said slowly, never looking away.
Matt found himself backing up slowly, suddenly finding himself much more nervous about this place. He quickly decided to make his way back to the cabin he awoke in hopes of finding some clue about what happened to him.
Walking into the cabin, Matt was greeted about another man, a couple years his junior, wearing a Scout uniform, and sitting on another cot. He looked to Matt and smiled. “Ah, you must be my new cabin mate I was told about. The mysterious One Ninety-Two makes his grand entrance.
“Who are you?” Matt asked suspiciously.
The man pointed to the patches on his left shoulder. “They refer to me as Six Eighty-Three.”
“Who are ‘They’,” Matt queried.
“The Counselors, of course. Don’t worry, you’ll be brought up to speed soon enough,” The man said with a smile and the stood up from the cot and walked toward the door. He passed Matt and then nodded for him to follow which Matt, shrugging his shoulder, then did.
The pair walked down a beaten path. Matt adjusted his hat and looked to his companion. “Who are you, really?”
The man shrugged, “I’m not really that sure anymore. I’ve been here for so long.”
“But why are you here?” Matt asked.
“The same reason you are, One Ninety-Two. You know something and you being free is a liability to them,” Six Eighty-Three answered.
“What is it that you know?” Matt probed.
“I left when I was fourteen. It appears that I learned too much about Dutch oven cookery that I became a threat to their dining hall monopoly.”
“Really?” Matt asked, incredulous.
“Maybe,” Six Eighty-Three said with a shrug. The pair had made their way to the waterfront area and the stood at the edge of the short pier leading into the murky water. Six Eighty-Three sighed and looked about him, “Quite a beautiful place, really, isn't it? Almost like a world on its own.”
Matt regarded the scenery. “I shall miss it when I'm gone.”
The man smirked and as if repeating something he himself was once told, said to Matt, “Oh, it will grow on you.”
Matt shook his head sadly. “Be seeing you,” He said to the man and started walking away.
Walking back the path he came, he looked around him to see if he was out of site of the mysterious man. There appeared to be no one about. He quickly broke away from the path and started making his way toward the lake’s edge. Matt hunched down on his legs and started making the slow march around the lake in hopes of finding escape.
From under the surface of the lake, something bubbled. Matt was oblivious to this though, as a large white translucent orb floated to the lake’s surface and quickly zeroed in on Matt.
Matt felt a sudden presence looming over him. Turning around, he saw the white bubble bouncing toward him. Unsure what to do, he stood up and bolted away. He pumped his legs in hope of escaping whatever the thing that was chasing him down was. Suddenly his footing gave away as the marshy soil near the lake swallowed his foot.
Before he new it, he was being pushed down on by the white thing, it stretched over his face like an evil balloon and as he struggled to get free and get air, the world suddenly went black…
Walking down the hallway inside the meeting hall, he came to the doors to the room at the end of the hall and without pausing he swung the double doors open dramatically. Inside the room, Mr. John Hawley sat at the small oak desk and looked up from his Scouting paperwork, and regarded Matt. Matt walked straight up to the desk and reached into his black trench coat and pulled out a plain white envelope, he tossed in on the desk.
Hawley regarded the envelope with an arched eyebrow. Matt paced back and forth and angrily told Mr. Hawley that he was done with this outfit and he would no longer be part of their organization. He then slammed his fist on the desk to emphasize that point before turning around and walking out.
Matt smiled to himself. He felt good. It was the right thing to do. The others would understand, no doubt, and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t still be friends with them. He pedaled home, a tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders.
Returning home, Matt prepared to pack up his Scout uniform and other items, but as walking through the kitchen, he spied a tall glass of brown nirvana. There, sitting on the counter all alone, was a tall glass of Iced Tea. Condensation glistened as ice cubes settled with a slight jiggle. Matt paused and regarded this development. He looked around the kitchen to see if anyone would suddenly claim this wonderful beverage and after waiting fifteen seconds, he picked up the glass and took a long satisfying sip. He ‘ahhhhh’ to himself and set the glass down, the ice cubes rattling as they resettled.
Matt smiled broadly and turned back to his task. As we walked up the steps to his room, he suddenly felt as if his legs were made of rubber snakes. He looked up the stairway and blinked as the stairs started to spin and elongate. He steadied himself on the wall and started stumbling back down, dragging himself toward the front door in an attempt to get some fresh air. As he passed by the kitchen, he suddenly noticed the empty glass and grimacing, he then fell down, blacking out a moment later…
Matt was unsure how much time had passed, but it appeared to be still be daytime, but whether it was still the same day could not be determined. He quickly realized that he was lying on his back and the ceiling he was looking at was not his own. He quickly sat up and realized that he was inside a midsized cabin and he, himself was laying on a small cot. He took stock of his situation.
He was still wearing his uniform, he quickly looked under the cot and found his black trench coat and black fedora neatly folded and stacked there. He got up and put them on. He found a door and he opened it.
Outside the cabin was woods. Birds chirped lightly and in the distance he could make out a large lake. Where the devil was he?
As to answer his question, a large din of marching music blared out from some unseen PA system. A moment later a matronly woman’s voice echoes across the woods. “Good morning, campers! It’s another beautiful day on the Reservation. There are no major announcements this morning. Today, chocolate ice cream bars are available at the trading post at the cost of two credits each or two bars for three credits. Be seeing you!”
Matt looked around and felt very out of place here. A moment later, he heard a tinny-sounding beep from behind. He turned around and saw a Chinese girl in Girl Scout uniform honking the horn of a black and white striped golf cart. “Nihao. Number Two wishes to see you.”
“Who is number two?” Matt asked, perplexed.
“Number Two wishes to see you,” she repeated and patted the seat next to her.
Matt sighed and realized that if he wanted answers, he would have to play along. He sat down next to the girl and the cart sped away. As they drove, Matt made mental notes of the terrain, noting other cabins, the lake, what appeared to be a waterfront, and most importantly, the small bubble-domed helicopter parked on a small helipad.
A moment later, the cart stopped and Matt found himself parked in front of some sort of administration building. He looked at the structure and then back to his driver.
“Number Two wishes to see you,” she said again and nodded toward the building. Matt nodded and stepped out of the vehicle. “Be seeing you!” She chimed and sped away.
Matt walked up the small stoop into the building, opened the door and went inside. Walking down a long hallway, he came to another door that proceeded to open for him. He looked inside and saw a sunken room with a narrow ramp leading down toward the center. In the middle of the room was desk and rising the floor was a large concave chair, in which sat a long haired man with a greasy looking beard.
“Greetings, One Ninety-Two,” The man said cheerily.
Matt found himself walking down the ramp with purpose, “Where am I?”
The man regarded this and gestured his hand, “On the Reservation.”
“What do you want?” Matt demanded.
“Information,” The man answered.
Matt arched an eyebrow. “What information?”
“Why did you leave the Pioneer Valley council?”
Matt changed his expression from anger to a more neutral one. “Whose side are you on?”
The man grinned and responded, “That would be telling. We want information.”
Matt returned the smile. “You won’t get it,” he said confidently.
“By hook or by crook we will,” The man verbally parried.
Matt placed his palms on the desk and regarded his adversary. “Who are you?”
The man nonchalantly waved his open palm. “I am Number Two.”
“Who is Number One?” Matt queried.
The man looked coldly at Matt. “You are Number One Ninety-Two.”
Matt screwed up his face and straightened his posture. “I am not a number and I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own!” Matt then turned around and prepared to march out.
“Be seeing you,” Number Two shouted after him.
Matt exited the building and not knowing what else to do, he started to walk around. He found himself wandering, taking mental notes the whole time. He eventually came to what appeared to be a dining hall. Sitting outside were several picnic tables, milling about where several men, women, boys, and girls of various ages all wearing various scouting uniforms, some really not matching the age of the wearer.
Matt suddenly recognized something familiar and quickly made his way toward it. Sitting at a table by himself, staring longingly at a full chessboard was Mr. Bill Pruyne. There was a vacant look in his eyes as he regarded the ivory and onyx pieces.
“Mr. Pruyne!” Matt said excitedly.
Pruyne didn’t look up. He continued to stare at the chessboard. “A Game of chess, friend?” He asked absently.
Matt felt his stomach turn slightly. “I don’t play,” he said cautiously.
“You should learn. We're all pawns, friend.” He said slowly, never looking away.
Matt found himself backing up slowly, suddenly finding himself much more nervous about this place. He quickly decided to make his way back to the cabin he awoke in hopes of finding some clue about what happened to him.
Walking into the cabin, Matt was greeted about another man, a couple years his junior, wearing a Scout uniform, and sitting on another cot. He looked to Matt and smiled. “Ah, you must be my new cabin mate I was told about. The mysterious One Ninety-Two makes his grand entrance.
“Who are you?” Matt asked suspiciously.
The man pointed to the patches on his left shoulder. “They refer to me as Six Eighty-Three.”
“Who are ‘They’,” Matt queried.
“The Counselors, of course. Don’t worry, you’ll be brought up to speed soon enough,” The man said with a smile and the stood up from the cot and walked toward the door. He passed Matt and then nodded for him to follow which Matt, shrugging his shoulder, then did.
The pair walked down a beaten path. Matt adjusted his hat and looked to his companion. “Who are you, really?”
The man shrugged, “I’m not really that sure anymore. I’ve been here for so long.”
“But why are you here?” Matt asked.
“The same reason you are, One Ninety-Two. You know something and you being free is a liability to them,” Six Eighty-Three answered.
“What is it that you know?” Matt probed.
“I left when I was fourteen. It appears that I learned too much about Dutch oven cookery that I became a threat to their dining hall monopoly.”
“Really?” Matt asked, incredulous.
“Maybe,” Six Eighty-Three said with a shrug. The pair had made their way to the waterfront area and the stood at the edge of the short pier leading into the murky water. Six Eighty-Three sighed and looked about him, “Quite a beautiful place, really, isn't it? Almost like a world on its own.”
Matt regarded the scenery. “I shall miss it when I'm gone.”
The man smirked and as if repeating something he himself was once told, said to Matt, “Oh, it will grow on you.”
Matt shook his head sadly. “Be seeing you,” He said to the man and started walking away.
Walking back the path he came, he looked around him to see if he was out of site of the mysterious man. There appeared to be no one about. He quickly broke away from the path and started making his way toward the lake’s edge. Matt hunched down on his legs and started making the slow march around the lake in hopes of finding escape.
From under the surface of the lake, something bubbled. Matt was oblivious to this though, as a large white translucent orb floated to the lake’s surface and quickly zeroed in on Matt.
Matt felt a sudden presence looming over him. Turning around, he saw the white bubble bouncing toward him. Unsure what to do, he stood up and bolted away. He pumped his legs in hope of escaping whatever the thing that was chasing him down was. Suddenly his footing gave away as the marshy soil near the lake swallowed his foot.
Before he new it, he was being pushed down on by the white thing, it stretched over his face like an evil balloon and as he struggled to get free and get air, the world suddenly went black…
The lights came back up and Kenny ejected the disc and returned it to it’s case. “Interesting,” he mused.
“A little heavy-handed and confusing if you ask me,” Becker countered. “Though, I’m glad that there aren’t actually any evil conspiracies involving our Troop. That would be weird.”
Kenny smirked a little at this musing and quickly hid it. He then reached for the next case. On it was a picture of Nicole Porter dressed in a black and yellow racing suit. She brandished a long katana. The text on the front read, In the Year 1998, Nicole Porter will… and then underneath in large slashed letters, Kill Bill Hughes. Kenny flipped the case and read the description out loud to Becker. “He played her for a fool, now she’ll pay him back and she won’t be satisfied until him and all his cohorts have tasted her blade.”
Becker blinked. “Hot damn, now that sounds like a universe. I gotta see this,” he said enthusiastically.
Kenny regarded it and popped the disc out, “I just hope it’s not too graphic in the violence department. I would like to be able to look Nicole in the eye next time I see her.” He then inserted the disc and the lights dimmed again.
“A little heavy-handed and confusing if you ask me,” Becker countered. “Though, I’m glad that there aren’t actually any evil conspiracies involving our Troop. That would be weird.”
Kenny smirked a little at this musing and quickly hid it. He then reached for the next case. On it was a picture of Nicole Porter dressed in a black and yellow racing suit. She brandished a long katana. The text on the front read, In the Year 1998, Nicole Porter will… and then underneath in large slashed letters, Kill Bill Hughes. Kenny flipped the case and read the description out loud to Becker. “He played her for a fool, now she’ll pay him back and she won’t be satisfied until him and all his cohorts have tasted her blade.”
Becker blinked. “Hot damn, now that sounds like a universe. I gotta see this,” he said enthusiastically.
Kenny regarded it and popped the disc out, “I just hope it’s not too graphic in the violence department. I would like to be able to look Nicole in the eye next time I see her.” He then inserted the disc and the lights dimmed again.
Nicole panted heavily. The crimson splatters on her face smeared slightly as she wiped her brow. She moved her sword into a defensive position and looked about her.
Laying about her in a mass of agony and pain were what was left of Troop 88’s Crazy Squirrel Patrol, Mike Quadrozzi’s personal army. Most were still and laying in pools of blood and gore, though a few were still moving slightly, groaning and clutching at stumps where limbs once were.
Nicole looked at them and sneered. He lowered her sword with a flourish, flicking blood onto the nearby wall. “Those of you lucky enough to still have your lives, take them with you! But leave the limbs you have lost. They belong to me now. I’ve got some buyers at tissue banks who will pay a premium on them.”
The wounded scouts who could still make their escape frantically did, some helping others limp away, while some leaving their fellow men to fend for
themselves, passing by a poor lad as he dragged himself to the door, both legs reduced to stumps below the knee.
Nicole then pointed her sword to one boy who was slowly trying to slink his way toward the door. “EXCEPT you, Swett. You stay where you are.”
Matt Swett, still clutching his severed arm, froze in his tracks. He looked back to the stairwell that Nicole was standing atop and nervously gulped. Nicole walked down the steps toward him, sizing him up. “I am gonna ask you questions. And every time you don't give me answers, I'm gonna cut something else off. Oh, and I promise you, they will be things you will miss and they will be things that will make me very wealthy.”
Suddenly, there was a clapping from the top of the stairs. Nicole looked over her shoulder to see Mike Quadrozzi giving her a slow, rather sarcastic, golf clap. He stopped clapping and pulled out a katana of his own.
“Silly Quarter-Japanese girl likes to play with Samurai swords,” Mike said with a sneer, “You should’ve just let it go, Nicky. You had to go and make it personal. Look, none of us agreed with what Bill did, but I think you took this a touch too far.”
Nicole matched his sneer. “No one plays me for a fool.”
Mike eased off his fierce expression. “You have every right to want to get even with Bill...”
“Even? No. To get even? Even Steven? I would have to kill you, find every member of your new troop, kill them, then find every last Garden Snake and end their lives, all while Mr. Hughes watches, and then I finally will end his miserable life at the edge of this blade. That would be even, Quadrozzi. That'd be about square,” Nicole mused.
Mike sighed. There was no use trying to continue diplomacy. He raised his sword and watched as Nicole matched his stance. “You might not be able to fight like a samurai, but you can at least die like a samurai.”
Before Mike knew it, Nicole was behind him. It was as if she had possessed supernatural god-like speed. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Nicole sheathed her sword with a satisfying snap. Mike suddenly felt a cool breeze waft over his head. He looked down and saw his beloved red hat lying on the floor, with the top of his skull still nestled inside. “That was a Hattori Hanzo blade…” Mike whispered as he fell to his knees and collapsed.
Several days later, Matt Swett sat in a darkened room, an I.V. stand pumping painkillers into his enflamed stump. He looked at the company he had with him and winced again at the painful memories of the night the man had come to see him about.
Bill Hughes looked to the wounded Matt Sweet and asked him, “If you had to guess why she left you alive, what would be your guess?”
Swett shed a single tear and looked to Hughes, “Guessing wouldn’t be necessary,’ he stated with a quavering voice, “She informed me.” He paused and sniffled, trying to maintain composure, “She said I could keep my wicked life for two reasons…”
Matt flashed back to that night, staring down Nicole’s sword, frantically praying for some divine savior. She loomed over him like a demon and smiled. “As I said before, I've allowed you to keep your wicked life for two reasons. And the second reason is so you can tell him in person everything that happened here tonight. I want him to witness the extent of my mercy by witnessing your deformed body. I want you to tell him all the information you just told me. I want him to know what I know. I want him to know I want him to know. And I want them all to know they'll all soon be as dead as Quadrozzi.”
Laying about her in a mass of agony and pain were what was left of Troop 88’s Crazy Squirrel Patrol, Mike Quadrozzi’s personal army. Most were still and laying in pools of blood and gore, though a few were still moving slightly, groaning and clutching at stumps where limbs once were.
Nicole looked at them and sneered. He lowered her sword with a flourish, flicking blood onto the nearby wall. “Those of you lucky enough to still have your lives, take them with you! But leave the limbs you have lost. They belong to me now. I’ve got some buyers at tissue banks who will pay a premium on them.”
The wounded scouts who could still make their escape frantically did, some helping others limp away, while some leaving their fellow men to fend for
themselves, passing by a poor lad as he dragged himself to the door, both legs reduced to stumps below the knee.
Nicole then pointed her sword to one boy who was slowly trying to slink his way toward the door. “EXCEPT you, Swett. You stay where you are.”
Matt Swett, still clutching his severed arm, froze in his tracks. He looked back to the stairwell that Nicole was standing atop and nervously gulped. Nicole walked down the steps toward him, sizing him up. “I am gonna ask you questions. And every time you don't give me answers, I'm gonna cut something else off. Oh, and I promise you, they will be things you will miss and they will be things that will make me very wealthy.”
Suddenly, there was a clapping from the top of the stairs. Nicole looked over her shoulder to see Mike Quadrozzi giving her a slow, rather sarcastic, golf clap. He stopped clapping and pulled out a katana of his own.
“Silly Quarter-Japanese girl likes to play with Samurai swords,” Mike said with a sneer, “You should’ve just let it go, Nicky. You had to go and make it personal. Look, none of us agreed with what Bill did, but I think you took this a touch too far.”
Nicole matched his sneer. “No one plays me for a fool.”
Mike eased off his fierce expression. “You have every right to want to get even with Bill...”
“Even? No. To get even? Even Steven? I would have to kill you, find every member of your new troop, kill them, then find every last Garden Snake and end their lives, all while Mr. Hughes watches, and then I finally will end his miserable life at the edge of this blade. That would be even, Quadrozzi. That'd be about square,” Nicole mused.
Mike sighed. There was no use trying to continue diplomacy. He raised his sword and watched as Nicole matched his stance. “You might not be able to fight like a samurai, but you can at least die like a samurai.”
Before Mike knew it, Nicole was behind him. It was as if she had possessed supernatural god-like speed. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Nicole sheathed her sword with a satisfying snap. Mike suddenly felt a cool breeze waft over his head. He looked down and saw his beloved red hat lying on the floor, with the top of his skull still nestled inside. “That was a Hattori Hanzo blade…” Mike whispered as he fell to his knees and collapsed.
Several days later, Matt Swett sat in a darkened room, an I.V. stand pumping painkillers into his enflamed stump. He looked at the company he had with him and winced again at the painful memories of the night the man had come to see him about.
Bill Hughes looked to the wounded Matt Sweet and asked him, “If you had to guess why she left you alive, what would be your guess?”
Swett shed a single tear and looked to Hughes, “Guessing wouldn’t be necessary,’ he stated with a quavering voice, “She informed me.” He paused and sniffled, trying to maintain composure, “She said I could keep my wicked life for two reasons…”
Matt flashed back to that night, staring down Nicole’s sword, frantically praying for some divine savior. She loomed over him like a demon and smiled. “As I said before, I've allowed you to keep your wicked life for two reasons. And the second reason is so you can tell him in person everything that happened here tonight. I want him to witness the extent of my mercy by witnessing your deformed body. I want you to tell him all the information you just told me. I want him to know what I know. I want him to know I want him to know. And I want them all to know they'll all soon be as dead as Quadrozzi.”
Becker sat there with a slackjawed expression, utterly stunned at what he just witnessed. “Holy mother of God!”
“Is it over yet?” Kenny asked, eyes squeezed tightly closed.
“Let’s do ourselves a favor and never, EVER visit that universe. While we’re at it, let’s also never piss off our version of Nicole either,” Becker stammered. “I mean even half a planet away, I’m still not sure we’d be safe.”
Kenny clapped his hands twice. A moment later a service droid floated in. Kenny ejected the disc and handed it to the droid. “Please dispose of this immediately, use the volcanic vents on level ZZ.” He then turned to Becker and weakly smiled, “ How about something a little less horrifying?”
Becker nodded furiously and reached into the stack and randomly grabbed a case. He handed the disc to Kenny and then looked at the case. “This one looks kinda boring. It just says, Encyclopedia Galactia.” He then flipped it over and smiled, “Hey, this one is about us too!” He then worked up his
best movie-guy voice, “When Jon Becker learns his friend Kenny’s fantastic secret, it’s only the beginning of an amazing adventure that takes him all across the galaxy and beyond.” He then crooked his head with a perplexed expression. “A secret more amazing than a giant underground laboratory?”
Kenny shrugged his shoulders. “Guess we’ll just have to watch it and see…”
“Is it over yet?” Kenny asked, eyes squeezed tightly closed.
“Let’s do ourselves a favor and never, EVER visit that universe. While we’re at it, let’s also never piss off our version of Nicole either,” Becker stammered. “I mean even half a planet away, I’m still not sure we’d be safe.”
Kenny clapped his hands twice. A moment later a service droid floated in. Kenny ejected the disc and handed it to the droid. “Please dispose of this immediately, use the volcanic vents on level ZZ.” He then turned to Becker and weakly smiled, “ How about something a little less horrifying?”
Becker nodded furiously and reached into the stack and randomly grabbed a case. He handed the disc to Kenny and then looked at the case. “This one looks kinda boring. It just says, Encyclopedia Galactia.” He then flipped it over and smiled, “Hey, this one is about us too!” He then worked up his
best movie-guy voice, “When Jon Becker learns his friend Kenny’s fantastic secret, it’s only the beginning of an amazing adventure that takes him all across the galaxy and beyond.” He then crooked his head with a perplexed expression. “A secret more amazing than a giant underground laboratory?”
Kenny shrugged his shoulders. “Guess we’ll just have to watch it and see…”
Far out in the backwaters of space, in the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the galaxy, sits a small, unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this sun at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles stood an insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-like descendants are so amazingly primitive that they still regard RPG’s with FMV’s on a system with a 128-bit processor to be “Pretty flippin’ sweet.”
Hovering this planet currently, at a distance of four miles above the surface, is a fleet of ships. A mass of ugly monstrosities that hung in the air the exact same way that bricks don’t. In about twenty-seven minutes they will annihilate all life on this planet…
Save for one individual. He will enter our story in about thirty-five seconds when he awakens to find his home is about to be bulldozed to make way for a new bypass…
Becker awoke to the sound of his alarm and as is his routine quickly replaced the disc that he had gone to sleep too with a fresh one. He smiled at the rumbling sound that came to life, so life-like in fact, that it caused the ground under him to rumble. He brushed his teeth to the rumbling, wondering if the bass solo intro was ever going to end. He picked up the player to check the track number and time when he noticed that the player was dead. The batteries had gone the previous night.
Still, the rumbling sound and vibrations remained. Curious, he looked out the window of his home and was startled to witness a large bulldozer bearing down on his front door.
He quickly grabbed a bathrobe and proceeded to rush outside. He would never reach there, as he stumbled down the stairs, he suddenly found the world wisping way around him, quickly coming back into focus in Kenny’s laboratory. Damn, he thought, Kenny must’ve teleported me because I was late for our breakfast meeting.
Kenny sat at a small table, a lavish spread of food in front of him. He was pouring several cups of black coffee. Becker rushed toward his friend.
“Kenny, you need to send me back. They’re going to destroy my home!”
Kenny jerked back in surprise, “You know?!” Then he looked back to the large monitor behind him, currently showing a bulldozer smashing the front wall of Becker’s home. He then looked back to Becker, “OOOHHHH! You meant the bulldozers. Sorry about that, can’t really be helped.”
Becker gasped as his house was reduced to rubble. He stumbled past Kenny and looked up at the monitor in horror. Kenny casually buttered a slice
of toast, then checked his watch. He then called over to Becker, “Breakfast? Fresh off the griddle.”
Becker looked at his friend in a zombie-like daze and slumped himself into seat opposite of Kenny. Sitting in front of him was a plate and three cups of coffee. “It’s gone. It’s all gone. What do I do?”
Kenny sipped his coffee and mused this question, “Well, first you have some breakfast and three cups of coffee.”
Becker sipped his coffee as he listened and did a small spit-take at hearing the answer, “Three?! For breakfast?”
Kenny bit into his toast and then picked up a piece of crisp bacon, snapped it in two and bit into it. “Time is an illusion, Breakfast triply so. Drink up, you still have two and a half cups to go.”
Becker finished his first cup and picked up the second, “Why three cups?”
“Brain stimulant, you’re gonna need it,” Kenny answered.
Becker moaned and rubbed his hair with his hands. “Did I do something wrong today or was the world always this insane and I’ve been too wrapped up in my headphones to notice?”
Kenny finished off his bacon and softened his expression, “Sorry, I’ll try to explain. How long have we known each other?”
Becker thought about it. “Ten months, maybe eleven. Most of it made more sense than today, though that’s not saying much.”
“Okay, what if I told you that I wasn’t from Springfield after all, but rather was from the a planet on the outskirts of the Horsehead Nebula?”
Becker looked around at the giant laboratory and then back to his small friend, “For the first time, everything about you makes perfect sense. What’s this all about.”
Kenny buttered another piece of toast and started to explain as he munched, once again checking his watch, “My name is K’in’th P’ndrallllllllllllllll,” he said emphasizing the ‘al’ sound with a light gurgle, “I am, or rather more probably was, the head of the History Department at the University of MaxiMegalon. I also happen to work for the Encyclopedia Galactica, which is the single most complete repository of knowledge in the entire universe.
“You’re actually standing inside my ship, which came to your planet under rather complicated unfortunate circumstances.”
“Unfortunate circumstances?” Becker asked.
“Well, I originally came back in time to some Sixty-five million years ago to study the pre-history of your planet when due to a terrible piloting error, my ship crashed into your planet with such force that the ship ended up being embedded into the molten mantle of your planet. I think it might have also caused some sort of mass extinction, for which I’m terribly sorry.
“So, I was now trapped here. There was little hope of another intelligent species coming within communications range of my ship, and obviously there was no one here to help, I decided to go into hypersleep and left instructions with the computer to be awakened when some sort of species had evolved enough to provide possible help,” Kenny finished explaining and then took in a forkful of pancake, syrup dripping slightly down his chin.
Becker took this all in and looked Kenny up and down. “You’re an alien?”
“Yes, Mr. Becker.”
“You look human,” Becker pointed out.
“Ah, yes, that. Well, this technically isn’t my real body. My species are beings of pure energy. When I awoke, I was to possess the cloned body of a Cambridge Science professor. Unfortunately, again, due to a slight clerical error, I ended up possessing the cloned body of his 14 year old nephew,” Kenny said with a slightly embarrassed tone.
“Well, I guess all that makes some sense. One last question. Why did you teleport me here to tell me all this?” Becker asked.
“Well, you’ve been a really good friend, and I’ve grown a soft spot for the human species, so I thought the least I could do was rescue at least one member from the Earth.”
Becker nodded in understanding and then stopped, “And what happened to the Earth?”
“Oh, it’s been disintegrated,” he said, looking at his watch. “About four minutes ago. Vogons came and blew the poor thing up. Bureaucratic bastards. I found news of the arrival this morning in my Sub-Etha news dispatch.”
“It’s… Gone” Becker quietly said.
“Yes, boiled away in space,” Kenny confirmed.
“Look, I’m a bit upset about that,” Becker moaned lightly.
“Well, yes,” Kenny stammered,” I can understand that. “But there is some good news.”
“Good news?” Becker quietly queried.
“Yes. The blast finally freed my ship. I was able to go to hyperspace the second before the demolition beams would have vaporized us alongside the planet.”
Becker slumped further down into his chair, lightly tossing the piece of the toast he was eating back onto his plate. “So, what do I do?”
Kenny smiled and bit into another piece of bacon, “Why come with me and enjoy yourself, of course. There’s a whole universe out there to explore. The 103426828 Edition won’t write itself, you know.”
Becker weighed this for a moment. A whole new universe. Millions of new worlds. Millions of new species. Millions of new ways to help him go deaf. He sipped his fourth cup of coffee. “Think they’ll want a music correspondent?”
Hovering this planet currently, at a distance of four miles above the surface, is a fleet of ships. A mass of ugly monstrosities that hung in the air the exact same way that bricks don’t. In about twenty-seven minutes they will annihilate all life on this planet…
Save for one individual. He will enter our story in about thirty-five seconds when he awakens to find his home is about to be bulldozed to make way for a new bypass…
Becker awoke to the sound of his alarm and as is his routine quickly replaced the disc that he had gone to sleep too with a fresh one. He smiled at the rumbling sound that came to life, so life-like in fact, that it caused the ground under him to rumble. He brushed his teeth to the rumbling, wondering if the bass solo intro was ever going to end. He picked up the player to check the track number and time when he noticed that the player was dead. The batteries had gone the previous night.
Still, the rumbling sound and vibrations remained. Curious, he looked out the window of his home and was startled to witness a large bulldozer bearing down on his front door.
He quickly grabbed a bathrobe and proceeded to rush outside. He would never reach there, as he stumbled down the stairs, he suddenly found the world wisping way around him, quickly coming back into focus in Kenny’s laboratory. Damn, he thought, Kenny must’ve teleported me because I was late for our breakfast meeting.
Kenny sat at a small table, a lavish spread of food in front of him. He was pouring several cups of black coffee. Becker rushed toward his friend.
“Kenny, you need to send me back. They’re going to destroy my home!”
Kenny jerked back in surprise, “You know?!” Then he looked back to the large monitor behind him, currently showing a bulldozer smashing the front wall of Becker’s home. He then looked back to Becker, “OOOHHHH! You meant the bulldozers. Sorry about that, can’t really be helped.”
Becker gasped as his house was reduced to rubble. He stumbled past Kenny and looked up at the monitor in horror. Kenny casually buttered a slice
of toast, then checked his watch. He then called over to Becker, “Breakfast? Fresh off the griddle.”
Becker looked at his friend in a zombie-like daze and slumped himself into seat opposite of Kenny. Sitting in front of him was a plate and three cups of coffee. “It’s gone. It’s all gone. What do I do?”
Kenny sipped his coffee and mused this question, “Well, first you have some breakfast and three cups of coffee.”
Becker sipped his coffee as he listened and did a small spit-take at hearing the answer, “Three?! For breakfast?”
Kenny bit into his toast and then picked up a piece of crisp bacon, snapped it in two and bit into it. “Time is an illusion, Breakfast triply so. Drink up, you still have two and a half cups to go.”
Becker finished his first cup and picked up the second, “Why three cups?”
“Brain stimulant, you’re gonna need it,” Kenny answered.
Becker moaned and rubbed his hair with his hands. “Did I do something wrong today or was the world always this insane and I’ve been too wrapped up in my headphones to notice?”
Kenny finished off his bacon and softened his expression, “Sorry, I’ll try to explain. How long have we known each other?”
Becker thought about it. “Ten months, maybe eleven. Most of it made more sense than today, though that’s not saying much.”
“Okay, what if I told you that I wasn’t from Springfield after all, but rather was from the a planet on the outskirts of the Horsehead Nebula?”
Becker looked around at the giant laboratory and then back to his small friend, “For the first time, everything about you makes perfect sense. What’s this all about.”
Kenny buttered another piece of toast and started to explain as he munched, once again checking his watch, “My name is K’in’th P’ndrallllllllllllllll,” he said emphasizing the ‘al’ sound with a light gurgle, “I am, or rather more probably was, the head of the History Department at the University of MaxiMegalon. I also happen to work for the Encyclopedia Galactica, which is the single most complete repository of knowledge in the entire universe.
“You’re actually standing inside my ship, which came to your planet under rather complicated unfortunate circumstances.”
“Unfortunate circumstances?” Becker asked.
“Well, I originally came back in time to some Sixty-five million years ago to study the pre-history of your planet when due to a terrible piloting error, my ship crashed into your planet with such force that the ship ended up being embedded into the molten mantle of your planet. I think it might have also caused some sort of mass extinction, for which I’m terribly sorry.
“So, I was now trapped here. There was little hope of another intelligent species coming within communications range of my ship, and obviously there was no one here to help, I decided to go into hypersleep and left instructions with the computer to be awakened when some sort of species had evolved enough to provide possible help,” Kenny finished explaining and then took in a forkful of pancake, syrup dripping slightly down his chin.
Becker took this all in and looked Kenny up and down. “You’re an alien?”
“Yes, Mr. Becker.”
“You look human,” Becker pointed out.
“Ah, yes, that. Well, this technically isn’t my real body. My species are beings of pure energy. When I awoke, I was to possess the cloned body of a Cambridge Science professor. Unfortunately, again, due to a slight clerical error, I ended up possessing the cloned body of his 14 year old nephew,” Kenny said with a slightly embarrassed tone.
“Well, I guess all that makes some sense. One last question. Why did you teleport me here to tell me all this?” Becker asked.
“Well, you’ve been a really good friend, and I’ve grown a soft spot for the human species, so I thought the least I could do was rescue at least one member from the Earth.”
Becker nodded in understanding and then stopped, “And what happened to the Earth?”
“Oh, it’s been disintegrated,” he said, looking at his watch. “About four minutes ago. Vogons came and blew the poor thing up. Bureaucratic bastards. I found news of the arrival this morning in my Sub-Etha news dispatch.”
“It’s… Gone” Becker quietly said.
“Yes, boiled away in space,” Kenny confirmed.
“Look, I’m a bit upset about that,” Becker moaned lightly.
“Well, yes,” Kenny stammered,” I can understand that. “But there is some good news.”
“Good news?” Becker quietly queried.
“Yes. The blast finally freed my ship. I was able to go to hyperspace the second before the demolition beams would have vaporized us alongside the planet.”
Becker slumped further down into his chair, lightly tossing the piece of the toast he was eating back onto his plate. “So, what do I do?”
Kenny smiled and bit into another piece of bacon, “Why come with me and enjoy yourself, of course. There’s a whole universe out there to explore. The 103426828 Edition won’t write itself, you know.”
Becker weighed this for a moment. A whole new universe. Millions of new worlds. Millions of new species. Millions of new ways to help him go deaf. He sipped his fourth cup of coffee. “Think they’ll want a music correspondent?”
The lights came up and Kenny noticed that Becker was giving him a very scrutinizing stare. Kenny shifted momentarily and decided to take the proactive approach. “I swear to you Mr. Becker, what we just saw is as far removed from the truth of our universe, that it’s almost laughable.”
“Laughable… right.” Becker deadpanned, looking around the room and then back to Kenny. “Riiiiiiiiiiggghhhhhtttt.”
Kenny squirmed a little more. “I’m not an alien.” He held up his hand, with three fingers raised forming the Scout Sign. “Scout's honor, it’s the truth!”
“Sure. If you say so. Just seems a little too logical in explaining everything, that’s all. But if you insist it’s nowhere near the truth, then I believe you,” Becker said, completely unconvincingly.
Kenny fumed a little. Damned parallel universe over simplifying things. He wasn’t an alien. Of course, the actual truth was much more fantastic, but that wasn’t the important thing right now. He then grabbed another case and threw it at Becker who was still grinning like he knew everything.
Becker caught it and looked it over and scratched his head, “Wow, this one looks, um, interesting. Quack Experimental Fan-Fic Proctor Saga. I swear, I think Will Shumler must’ve wrote this because absolutely nothing written here on the back makes any sense. Are we sure we want to watch this?” He asked and then flung the disc back to Kenny.
Kenny inserted the disc. Let’s give it a few minutes. For Science.”
“For science, hooray,” Becker chimed unenthusiastically as the lights darkened once more.
“Laughable… right.” Becker deadpanned, looking around the room and then back to Kenny. “Riiiiiiiiiiggghhhhhtttt.”
Kenny squirmed a little more. “I’m not an alien.” He held up his hand, with three fingers raised forming the Scout Sign. “Scout's honor, it’s the truth!”
“Sure. If you say so. Just seems a little too logical in explaining everything, that’s all. But if you insist it’s nowhere near the truth, then I believe you,” Becker said, completely unconvincingly.
Kenny fumed a little. Damned parallel universe over simplifying things. He wasn’t an alien. Of course, the actual truth was much more fantastic, but that wasn’t the important thing right now. He then grabbed another case and threw it at Becker who was still grinning like he knew everything.
Becker caught it and looked it over and scratched his head, “Wow, this one looks, um, interesting. Quack Experimental Fan-Fic Proctor Saga. I swear, I think Will Shumler must’ve wrote this because absolutely nothing written here on the back makes any sense. Are we sure we want to watch this?” He asked and then flung the disc back to Kenny.
Kenny inserted the disc. Let’s give it a few minutes. For Science.”
“For science, hooray,” Becker chimed unenthusiastically as the lights darkened once more.