The Terrarians in Real Life project plans to bring the world of Terraria and Earth together in a intertwine of humour and revised literature. This project will feature Terrarians in different scenarios, the main one in employment. Not only that, but it will be filled with short stories and such, to connect a group of protagonists, and antagonists, in one big thread. All this done, whilst simultaneously adding references and the like to keep you readers content.
Mr. Wilson, Dentist:
"Now, now, a little less on the aggressive side. Open your mouth just the slightest. Great, I'm loving it. I really am. If I were a zombie, I'd want to be you."
"Greh?"
"Yes, yes I really think that. In fact, I've been thinking a lot about you. Your curves, your incredibly beautiful face, your--" Mr. Wilson's dentistry assistant cleared her throat obnoxiously loud, trying to cleanse the subject. "Yes, that's right. Now close your teeth and--holy
--that's my hand! Helen, Helen! The zombie, get it off me! This is not what true love is supposed to be!"
Helen, the assistant, rushed to the dentist's side in trauma, blood oozing from the large cavern deep inside Mr. Wilson's palm. Zombie teeth really were something, and the large teeth marks dug into flesh and skin were a sign of it. So was the blood, but that was too disturbing.
Helen fetched some bandages from the medical kit mounted on the bricked wall, then went to stop the blood and seal the wound. Mr. Wilson's loud screams reduced to pathetic whimpers, the zombie's eyes gazing at him sympathetically. Forget that, those eyes weren't sympathetic; they wanted more--brains. Helen could already picture the scenario and what might happen, so she tackled the bloodlusting undead to the floor. Without a weapon, things weren't quite planned how the assistant had envisioned it.
This was supposed to be her heroic moment, where her dentist in shining armour was supposed to marry her. Her moment to save Mr. Wilson and make out with him in the battlefield of tiled floors and white furnishings.
...
She died.
The fight between both man and zombie wasn't over yet. Mr. Wilson was still alive, maybe not healthy, but still intact, which accounted for something. He grabbed dentistry equipment and launched them at the zombie's way, hitting it square in the chest and knocking it back, stumbling. Wilson threw punches at the undead's head, managing to keep it busy on blocking attacks so it couldn't make any of its own. Tension rose between the two, and the battle continued to go the dentist's way. He took the zombie's two arms and swung it out of the window, utilising all the strength and adrenaline in his body to boost the flinging body. Shrapnel flew out with the limp corpse, splashing all across the main road.
Mr. Princer, newly appointed police chief, was taking his regular stroll. He enjoys the sights and foreign smells of the park. Of course, provided his wife isn't with him, her scent is on a whole different octave of unappealing. The occasional conversation about his new job gives him pleasure too. But, it also puts attention on the fire, which he really needs to do a better job of covering up.
So, all the while, he is on the look out for some emergency. Something to detract attention from the mysterious arsonist attack at the sheriff's office. As he left the park and transferred into town, which started his route back to home, he came across a sight.
The dentist's office, on the third floor of a high rise, had blood running down the window sill, glass was abundant and visible, where fragments had fallen to the ground. Clearly, this was an urgent, and dire situation. But, at the same time, what Princer needed. He smiled and rushed into the building. The elevator was being serviced, so naturally he took the stairs. He managed to make it to the third floor in record time. With an interesting surprise to greet him.
The third floor had a hallway, the stairs directly entered into the hallway. There were two offices on that level, a studio, and the dentist's. In between them was the elevator. Outside of the door to the dentists office, sat Mr. Wilson. Crumpled, back against the door. He was a sickly, clay like, shade. When the two witnessed each other, Mr. Wilson smiled grimly, and began to laugh. He teetered and rocked against the door, exposing that the back of his shirt was drenched in blood. David barreled into Mr. Wilson's side which sent him sprawling. David then drew his gun, shot the door knob, and broke in the room.
The scene was intriguing, to say the least. Helen, a close friend and work partner of Mr. Wilson, but oddly not his wife, lay dead. Princer knelt beside Helen, and rolled her carefully. It was apparent she was dead, protocol to get pulse, but Princer had no care. He noticed the bite marks against her neck, deep, penetrating, bites. Bites that had gouged large portions of her flesh out. Princer laughed. "Seems like the dentist's work on teeth involves interesting practices, wonder what journal he found this one in."
Mr. Wilson had snuck in the room behind Princer, soon enough to hear his comment. He stuttered, before saying: "I really didn't do it, check my teeth, my mouth, my body if you care! You have to believe me! The-the-the... patient logs have records of my last patient, he was a zombie! He did this... He did!" Princer chuckled again.
"That's exactly what someone who killed a dentist assistant would say, and unfortunately for you, I just committed arson, and murder, and need a convenient way to decongest all the attention from that." David approached Mr. Wilson, proceeded to slug him, bringing him down in one punch. He dragged Mr. Wilson in a position that would make it look as if he fed upon Helen, clamped the jaw down on her neck, and retrieved his service pistol. "Now, as I'm sure you say often: 'this will only hurt a little bit, it just numbs the pain.'" "Yeah, um, I'm calling in a homicide. This is Mr. Princer, Chief of Police."
To come:
- Agent Alex, with new single "Nev-er say Nev-er."
- More...
Credits:
- @Flor3nce2456 , for the dividers.
- @Teal, for helping me a bunch with the writing and character development.
Mr. Wilson, Dentist:
"Now, now, a little less on the aggressive side. Open your mouth just the slightest. Great, I'm loving it. I really am. If I were a zombie, I'd want to be you."
"Greh?"
"Yes, yes I really think that. In fact, I've been thinking a lot about you. Your curves, your incredibly beautiful face, your--" Mr. Wilson's dentistry assistant cleared her throat obnoxiously loud, trying to cleanse the subject. "Yes, that's right. Now close your teeth and--holy
--that's my hand! Helen, Helen! The zombie, get it off me! This is not what true love is supposed to be!"Helen, the assistant, rushed to the dentist's side in trauma, blood oozing from the large cavern deep inside Mr. Wilson's palm. Zombie teeth really were something, and the large teeth marks dug into flesh and skin were a sign of it. So was the blood, but that was too disturbing.
Helen fetched some bandages from the medical kit mounted on the bricked wall, then went to stop the blood and seal the wound. Mr. Wilson's loud screams reduced to pathetic whimpers, the zombie's eyes gazing at him sympathetically. Forget that, those eyes weren't sympathetic; they wanted more--brains. Helen could already picture the scenario and what might happen, so she tackled the bloodlusting undead to the floor. Without a weapon, things weren't quite planned how the assistant had envisioned it.
This was supposed to be her heroic moment, where her dentist in shining armour was supposed to marry her. Her moment to save Mr. Wilson and make out with him in the battlefield of tiled floors and white furnishings.
...
She died.
The fight between both man and zombie wasn't over yet. Mr. Wilson was still alive, maybe not healthy, but still intact, which accounted for something. He grabbed dentistry equipment and launched them at the zombie's way, hitting it square in the chest and knocking it back, stumbling. Wilson threw punches at the undead's head, managing to keep it busy on blocking attacks so it couldn't make any of its own. Tension rose between the two, and the battle continued to go the dentist's way. He took the zombie's two arms and swung it out of the window, utilising all the strength and adrenaline in his body to boost the flinging body. Shrapnel flew out with the limp corpse, splashing all across the main road.
*
Mr. Princer, newly appointed police chief, was taking his regular stroll. He enjoys the sights and foreign smells of the park. Of course, provided his wife isn't with him, her scent is on a whole different octave of unappealing. The occasional conversation about his new job gives him pleasure too. But, it also puts attention on the fire, which he really needs to do a better job of covering up.
So, all the while, he is on the look out for some emergency. Something to detract attention from the mysterious arsonist attack at the sheriff's office. As he left the park and transferred into town, which started his route back to home, he came across a sight.
The dentist's office, on the third floor of a high rise, had blood running down the window sill, glass was abundant and visible, where fragments had fallen to the ground. Clearly, this was an urgent, and dire situation. But, at the same time, what Princer needed. He smiled and rushed into the building. The elevator was being serviced, so naturally he took the stairs. He managed to make it to the third floor in record time. With an interesting surprise to greet him.
The third floor had a hallway, the stairs directly entered into the hallway. There were two offices on that level, a studio, and the dentist's. In between them was the elevator. Outside of the door to the dentists office, sat Mr. Wilson. Crumpled, back against the door. He was a sickly, clay like, shade. When the two witnessed each other, Mr. Wilson smiled grimly, and began to laugh. He teetered and rocked against the door, exposing that the back of his shirt was drenched in blood. David barreled into Mr. Wilson's side which sent him sprawling. David then drew his gun, shot the door knob, and broke in the room.
The scene was intriguing, to say the least. Helen, a close friend and work partner of Mr. Wilson, but oddly not his wife, lay dead. Princer knelt beside Helen, and rolled her carefully. It was apparent she was dead, protocol to get pulse, but Princer had no care. He noticed the bite marks against her neck, deep, penetrating, bites. Bites that had gouged large portions of her flesh out. Princer laughed. "Seems like the dentist's work on teeth involves interesting practices, wonder what journal he found this one in."
Mr. Wilson had snuck in the room behind Princer, soon enough to hear his comment. He stuttered, before saying: "I really didn't do it, check my teeth, my mouth, my body if you care! You have to believe me! The-the-the... patient logs have records of my last patient, he was a zombie! He did this... He did!" Princer chuckled again.
"That's exactly what someone who killed a dentist assistant would say, and unfortunately for you, I just committed arson, and murder, and need a convenient way to decongest all the attention from that." David approached Mr. Wilson, proceeded to slug him, bringing him down in one punch. He dragged Mr. Wilson in a position that would make it look as if he fed upon Helen, clamped the jaw down on her neck, and retrieved his service pistol. "Now, as I'm sure you say often: 'this will only hurt a little bit, it just numbs the pain.'" "Yeah, um, I'm calling in a homicide. This is Mr. Princer, Chief of Police."
Caramiltdansen, Dancer:
She took to the stairs, red hair flowing from her crown in remarkable strands. She was at the house of Criddle Ish Zebest, a famous artist that turned fashion designer from Germany. Their rendezvous was set for 6 pm, and the bell had struck a seventh hour in the afternoon, signalling urgence in the dancer's pacy strides. Caramiltdansen was late, perhaps too late to meet the designer in time.
The meeting was arranged for Criddle to design Caramiltdansen a new costume to go with her mesmerising dances. After all, Caramiltdansen was proclaimed to be a French girl. And everyone knew Zebest was incredibly good with designing outfits for French girls.
Exhausted and completely out of breath, she knocked on the front door of Criddle's house. Its foundations were well built and build elevated to a three-storey housing. The house's walls were entirely built from gold brick, which had been relatively hard to obtain, given its sudden rarity. The door to the establishment was fashioned from Middle-Eastern oak, and held a doorknob in the shape of an upturned pear. It looked decent on the exterior, and that's all Caramiltdansen really knew.
The door to his house opened up, allowing Criddle's maid, Dorothy Alsbent, into view. She had a pretty face, save the wrinkles and sunken eyes. Dorothy was most likely in her early 30's, given her stance and appearance. She was dressed as any clichéd maid, with the addition of pink trim. Zebest really did have to put his trademark touch on everything he possessed or proclaimed to hold value; whether it be in price or sentiment. Alsbent knew Cara had made an appointment, so she immediately took her to the flight of stairs, reaching up to the third floor. Waiting there, standing, was Criddle Ish Zebest.
"You took some time, Cara." started Criddle, an obvious hint of annoyance in his voice, thick with German accentuation. He interlocked his hands behind his back and turned to meet the lady in red and blue. His hair was spiked and blonde, held up by an incredible, albeit a little excessive, amount of hair wax. His face was unamused, yet he always managed to seem as flamboyant as magazine articles had depicted him.
"I'm ever so sorry, Zebest. My show didn't end until late, and the road traffic took my course in the completely wrong direction." apologies Caramiltdansen. She was embarassed her first meeting with her outfitter had already begun as a horrible failure.
"It's OK, Cara. Now, shall we get to designing that costume of yours? Come, come." Criddle gestured to come follow with his hand completely covered in bling and jewelry. His neck held a necklace fashioned from Crabs, holding a Moon Charm; one of his most prized possessions.
The two of them entered a neighbouring room that was lit up like a furnace. Most of the light was coming from the sparkling chandelier on the ceiling, obviously being the centrepiece of the room. Inside were racks of clothes and armours, as well as accessories. Mirrored walls lined the room beside makeup stands. There were even props and fake weapons for the full package. What reassured Milt's comfortability even more was the well-known fact that this outfit would be completely free of charge, given Criddle was now employed under her agent, which meant everything that she wore would be made from Zebest.
He picked out a princess vanity costume, shrugged, then hanged it back up. He followed the same process with a few other pre-made outfits before grinning. "Yes," he began, "that's it!" Criddle shuffled over to where Caramiltdansen was sitting down, browsing through the selection of makeup and the sort available. Her outfitter held a suit of Solar Flare armour in his two wrinkled hands. The sight of it made Cara buzz with excitement.
"This set of Solar Flare armour will not only make you look especially good out there in your shows, but protect you should a drunkard decide to attack. Not that you have to worry much with that large hammer of yours." Zebest eyed the Chlorophyte Hammer with curiosity and then turned, allowing Caramiltdansen to undress and try on the equipment. She clambered into the suit and twirled around in varying poses in front of the mirror.
"Perfect... I hope we have similar success in our next meeting. See you until then, my wonderful French girl."
And with that, Criddle disappeared. Of course, he had to remove his armour before sneaking off into the shadows. Invisibility potions had a disadvantage.
Milt exited the large house and closed the door gently behind her. When she got out, she noticed the unmistakable frame of Nageru's motorbike. Steef, Nageru's partner, was planted on the leather seating, his armour reflecting the sunlight in a hundred different angles. "Get on the motorbike," Steef urged, "Nageru is in trouble--big trouble."
She took to the stairs, red hair flowing from her crown in remarkable strands. She was at the house of Criddle Ish Zebest, a famous artist that turned fashion designer from Germany. Their rendezvous was set for 6 pm, and the bell had struck a seventh hour in the afternoon, signalling urgence in the dancer's pacy strides. Caramiltdansen was late, perhaps too late to meet the designer in time.
The meeting was arranged for Criddle to design Caramiltdansen a new costume to go with her mesmerising dances. After all, Caramiltdansen was proclaimed to be a French girl. And everyone knew Zebest was incredibly good with designing outfits for French girls.
Exhausted and completely out of breath, she knocked on the front door of Criddle's house. Its foundations were well built and build elevated to a three-storey housing. The house's walls were entirely built from gold brick, which had been relatively hard to obtain, given its sudden rarity. The door to the establishment was fashioned from Middle-Eastern oak, and held a doorknob in the shape of an upturned pear. It looked decent on the exterior, and that's all Caramiltdansen really knew.
The door to his house opened up, allowing Criddle's maid, Dorothy Alsbent, into view. She had a pretty face, save the wrinkles and sunken eyes. Dorothy was most likely in her early 30's, given her stance and appearance. She was dressed as any clichéd maid, with the addition of pink trim. Zebest really did have to put his trademark touch on everything he possessed or proclaimed to hold value; whether it be in price or sentiment. Alsbent knew Cara had made an appointment, so she immediately took her to the flight of stairs, reaching up to the third floor. Waiting there, standing, was Criddle Ish Zebest.
"You took some time, Cara." started Criddle, an obvious hint of annoyance in his voice, thick with German accentuation. He interlocked his hands behind his back and turned to meet the lady in red and blue. His hair was spiked and blonde, held up by an incredible, albeit a little excessive, amount of hair wax. His face was unamused, yet he always managed to seem as flamboyant as magazine articles had depicted him.
"I'm ever so sorry, Zebest. My show didn't end until late, and the road traffic took my course in the completely wrong direction." apologies Caramiltdansen. She was embarassed her first meeting with her outfitter had already begun as a horrible failure.
"It's OK, Cara. Now, shall we get to designing that costume of yours? Come, come." Criddle gestured to come follow with his hand completely covered in bling and jewelry. His neck held a necklace fashioned from Crabs, holding a Moon Charm; one of his most prized possessions.
The two of them entered a neighbouring room that was lit up like a furnace. Most of the light was coming from the sparkling chandelier on the ceiling, obviously being the centrepiece of the room. Inside were racks of clothes and armours, as well as accessories. Mirrored walls lined the room beside makeup stands. There were even props and fake weapons for the full package. What reassured Milt's comfortability even more was the well-known fact that this outfit would be completely free of charge, given Criddle was now employed under her agent, which meant everything that she wore would be made from Zebest.
He picked out a princess vanity costume, shrugged, then hanged it back up. He followed the same process with a few other pre-made outfits before grinning. "Yes," he began, "that's it!" Criddle shuffled over to where Caramiltdansen was sitting down, browsing through the selection of makeup and the sort available. Her outfitter held a suit of Solar Flare armour in his two wrinkled hands. The sight of it made Cara buzz with excitement.
"This set of Solar Flare armour will not only make you look especially good out there in your shows, but protect you should a drunkard decide to attack. Not that you have to worry much with that large hammer of yours." Zebest eyed the Chlorophyte Hammer with curiosity and then turned, allowing Caramiltdansen to undress and try on the equipment. She clambered into the suit and twirled around in varying poses in front of the mirror.
"Perfect... I hope we have similar success in our next meeting. See you until then, my wonderful French girl."
And with that, Criddle disappeared. Of course, he had to remove his armour before sneaking off into the shadows. Invisibility potions had a disadvantage.
Milt exited the large house and closed the door gently behind her. When she got out, she noticed the unmistakable frame of Nageru's motorbike. Steef, Nageru's partner, was planted on the leather seating, his armour reflecting the sunlight in a hundred different angles. "Get on the motorbike," Steef urged, "Nageru is in trouble--big trouble."
Baron Turtleton, Freelance Writer & Journalist:
"Baron Turtleton, Journalist under Mr. Anglestatue. So glad we could arrange this meeting, Mr. Princer. I have a few quest-" Mr. Princer put his hand up to signal that the talking needed to cease. "Mr. Turtleton, it is in the interest of the police force to acquire your special talents." David Princer crinkled and cracked the edges of the paper cup he'd just filled with water. "But, Chief, what could you want from me. I'm just a writer; nothing more" The chief let out a hearty chuckle before landing his heavy hand on Turtleton's knee. "Ahh yes, but you're very convincing." Turtleton swallowed. "Is that some sort of accusation?"
"No, no, Mr. Turtleton of course not." Mr. Princer sported a grim smile, and retrieved his hand from Baron's kneecap. "Please, in the future, keep your meaty hands off me. David."
"Look, Turtleton, I have reason to believe there are some in this town being rather unjust. I simply want to enlist you as somewhat of an infiltrator. You know, record some of the town gossip and rumors. Get me the dirt."
"You want me to spy on people? Hah." Mr. Princer did not admire the response. "Well, before you reject my offer, keep in mind, I already know something invaluable about you." Baron shared Mr. Princer's lack of admiration now, eyes narrowing in concern. "Like my sandwich preference, or...?" the chief policeman didn't even bother responding, he didn't have to.
In a few minutes Ish Zebest will be meeting you to tailor you some outfits that will help you camouflage and fit where you're needed. I already have several badges, cards, and identification lanyards, ready for your disposal. What do you say, Mr. Turtleton?"
"Do I have a choice?" "I'll let you guess that one." "Then it's settled." Ish Zebest interjected with his loud entrance. "Lovely lovely boys, I have many outfits lined up for you!" Before Turtleton could so much as protest he was covered in fabrics and being measured from stem to stern. "Ahh yes, this'll do quite nicely." Turtleton just bit his teeth in the hopes that this would transpire quickly. It didn't.
•
After hours of being poked, prodded, and pulled, in the most unimaginable of places, the job was done. "You can wear your tailored suit for today, and I'll have the rest of your outfits shipped over." Turtleton didn't so much as respond, he staggered out of the joint and over to his bike. "You're not seriously planning to ride your bike home in a tailored suit?" "No, I figured that after standing for hours I'd just phase through the world and into my house." "That's no way to talk to the Chief of Police, now is it?" "With all due lack of respect, go to hell, Mr. Princer."
Mr. Princer hopped out of the vehicle he was in and escorted Turtleton in. Shortly after, Turtleton drifted into the comfort of sleep.
"... the hell?" Turtleton only exclaimed because best he can recall, he never lived in a club called 'The Quote House.' "You little pie-" Turtleton quickly came to the realization he was alone in the car. High pitched noises then radiated into his ear canal. "ARGHhh!" "Sorry, Princer here, I gave you some of those ear thingies. I'll relay instructions through these. Tonight's information target is a singer, you've likely heard of him. Alex, the Agent." Turtleton sighed. "Yeah, I did an article on him last week. He misquoted just about everything I said on his blog." "Revenge seems a more appropriate term for this mission, then." "The back door should be your route of entry, show the guard your card."
Alex, the Agent, Singer:
"I will nev-er say nev-er!
I will fight till forever!
Whenever you knock me down.
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up up up.
And nev-er say nev-er.
Ne-nev-er say nev-er.
Ne-nev-er say nev-er.
Ne-nev-er say nev-er.
Nev-er say it, nev-er, nev-er say it.
I nev-er thought that I could feel this power level.
I nev-er thought that I could meet Yoshihisa.
I'm strong enough to create innuendos.
And I'm fast enough with yo-yos.
And there's just no turning back.
When your Titan's under attack.
Gonna give everything I have.
'Cause this is my destiny.
(...)
I will nev-er say nev-er!
I will fight till forever!
Whenever you knock me down.
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up, up, up.
And nev-er say nev-er.
I will nev-er say nev-er!
I will fight till forever!
Whenever you knock me down.
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up, up, up.
And nev-er say nev-er...
Thank you everyone! Tonight's been a great show and I'd like to show my gratitude to everyone here. You'll all be getting your own free set of Kotoura-san episodes!" The audience cheered in Agent's name, waving card signs depicting the singer as their love, or as some sort of god. He waved a hearty goodbye to his thousands of fans present in the building, and took the flight of stairs off the stage floor. He was generally relaxed, and happy to have succeeded another night's show.
*
Baron Turtleton removed his ridiculous set of binoculars and cleared his throat. "Did you get all that?" It was Princer again, speaking through the black earpiece. His voice was muffled by its awful quality, making his words hardly comprehensible. "Every word of it. That song was awful." "Good work, Baron, your work is incredible. Now, let's see what he thinks of our little revenge plan." Turtleton could manage a chuckle, and he de-activated the earpiece and unplugged it. That was pretty impressive, considering he hated David Princer with a passion.
He needed a plan of action for turning the chief of police in. Recordings, photos, videos; he'd need it all. Whilst Baron was working as his mole, he could simultaneously be gathering all the evidence required for a case at court.
"Baron Turtleton, Journalist under Mr. Anglestatue. So glad we could arrange this meeting, Mr. Princer. I have a few quest-" Mr. Princer put his hand up to signal that the talking needed to cease. "Mr. Turtleton, it is in the interest of the police force to acquire your special talents." David Princer crinkled and cracked the edges of the paper cup he'd just filled with water. "But, Chief, what could you want from me. I'm just a writer; nothing more" The chief let out a hearty chuckle before landing his heavy hand on Turtleton's knee. "Ahh yes, but you're very convincing." Turtleton swallowed. "Is that some sort of accusation?"
"No, no, Mr. Turtleton of course not." Mr. Princer sported a grim smile, and retrieved his hand from Baron's kneecap. "Please, in the future, keep your meaty hands off me. David."
"Look, Turtleton, I have reason to believe there are some in this town being rather unjust. I simply want to enlist you as somewhat of an infiltrator. You know, record some of the town gossip and rumors. Get me the dirt."
"You want me to spy on people? Hah." Mr. Princer did not admire the response. "Well, before you reject my offer, keep in mind, I already know something invaluable about you." Baron shared Mr. Princer's lack of admiration now, eyes narrowing in concern. "Like my sandwich preference, or...?" the chief policeman didn't even bother responding, he didn't have to.
In a few minutes Ish Zebest will be meeting you to tailor you some outfits that will help you camouflage and fit where you're needed. I already have several badges, cards, and identification lanyards, ready for your disposal. What do you say, Mr. Turtleton?"
"Do I have a choice?" "I'll let you guess that one." "Then it's settled." Ish Zebest interjected with his loud entrance. "Lovely lovely boys, I have many outfits lined up for you!" Before Turtleton could so much as protest he was covered in fabrics and being measured from stem to stern. "Ahh yes, this'll do quite nicely." Turtleton just bit his teeth in the hopes that this would transpire quickly. It didn't.
•
After hours of being poked, prodded, and pulled, in the most unimaginable of places, the job was done. "You can wear your tailored suit for today, and I'll have the rest of your outfits shipped over." Turtleton didn't so much as respond, he staggered out of the joint and over to his bike. "You're not seriously planning to ride your bike home in a tailored suit?" "No, I figured that after standing for hours I'd just phase through the world and into my house." "That's no way to talk to the Chief of Police, now is it?" "With all due lack of respect, go to hell, Mr. Princer."
Mr. Princer hopped out of the vehicle he was in and escorted Turtleton in. Shortly after, Turtleton drifted into the comfort of sleep.
"... the hell?" Turtleton only exclaimed because best he can recall, he never lived in a club called 'The Quote House.' "You little pie-" Turtleton quickly came to the realization he was alone in the car. High pitched noises then radiated into his ear canal. "ARGHhh!" "Sorry, Princer here, I gave you some of those ear thingies. I'll relay instructions through these. Tonight's information target is a singer, you've likely heard of him. Alex, the Agent." Turtleton sighed. "Yeah, I did an article on him last week. He misquoted just about everything I said on his blog." "Revenge seems a more appropriate term for this mission, then." "The back door should be your route of entry, show the guard your card."
Alex, the Agent, Singer:
"I will nev-er say nev-er!
I will fight till forever!
Whenever you knock me down.
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up up up.
And nev-er say nev-er.
Ne-nev-er say nev-er.
Ne-nev-er say nev-er.
Ne-nev-er say nev-er.
Nev-er say it, nev-er, nev-er say it.
I nev-er thought that I could feel this power level.
I nev-er thought that I could meet Yoshihisa.
I'm strong enough to create innuendos.
And I'm fast enough with yo-yos.
And there's just no turning back.
When your Titan's under attack.
Gonna give everything I have.
'Cause this is my destiny.
(...)
I will nev-er say nev-er!
I will fight till forever!
Whenever you knock me down.
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up, up, up.
And nev-er say nev-er.
I will nev-er say nev-er!
I will fight till forever!
Whenever you knock me down.
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up.
Pick it up, up, up.
And nev-er say nev-er...
Thank you everyone! Tonight's been a great show and I'd like to show my gratitude to everyone here. You'll all be getting your own free set of Kotoura-san episodes!" The audience cheered in Agent's name, waving card signs depicting the singer as their love, or as some sort of god. He waved a hearty goodbye to his thousands of fans present in the building, and took the flight of stairs off the stage floor. He was generally relaxed, and happy to have succeeded another night's show.
*
Baron Turtleton removed his ridiculous set of binoculars and cleared his throat. "Did you get all that?" It was Princer again, speaking through the black earpiece. His voice was muffled by its awful quality, making his words hardly comprehensible. "Every word of it. That song was awful." "Good work, Baron, your work is incredible. Now, let's see what he thinks of our little revenge plan." Turtleton could manage a chuckle, and he de-activated the earpiece and unplugged it. That was pretty impressive, considering he hated David Princer with a passion.
He needed a plan of action for turning the chief of police in. Recordings, photos, videos; he'd need it all. Whilst Baron was working as his mole, he could simultaneously be gathering all the evidence required for a case at court.
Darthmorf, Evil Genius:
"So... Nageru. I was waiting for you to fall into my trap. It appears your throwables were no match for my robot security guards. Not to mention, Brick Wall, my favourite of them all. Though, as any security protocol is... expendable. Unlike you, Nageru. You have value, and I very much intend to use it." The gag around Nageru's mouth stifled her screams of protest, as she attempted to break through the metal cuffs stopping her arms from moving. Her efforts were futile, as she relaxed her shoulders and sighed behind the damp cloth covering her lips. The shackles next to her rattled, and to Nageru's surprise--which is rare for one who specializes in stealth--a zombie nurse was also chained against the wall. Bite marks scrawled across her neck. The tag attached to her neck read 'Helen: Subject 01441'.
"Well, you'll be happy to know that your friends, Caramiltdansen, and Steef, will be joining us soon. Probably looking the same way as you do. Oh, would you look at that," Darthmorf pressed a button on a remote, activating a wall-mounted screen. There were cameras guiding their way, "here they come!" Darthmorf cackled. "Luckily for you, you're still alive. Unlike my dear friend Helen. Unfortunate bite, that. I invite you to stay alive and comply with my, and my associate's, demands." David Princer entered the room and played around with some of the scientific equipment sprawled on the marble-top counters.
"You see this, this little nifty bottle? This is what caused that unfortunate 'accidental' burn. Wouldn't to spill any of that, now would we." He pranced over to Nageru, elegantly, just in time for her friend's to enter and witness the scene. He uncorked the container and poured it generously on Nageru. "Nasty habit, this." Princer retrieved a cigar and a lighter, and lit the cigar butt, allowing smoke to drift into the air. Its smell permeated the premises, and Darthmorf turned his head and covered his mouth from vomiting, managing curses in his mumbles. Princer continued smoking, and then pressed the heat against Nageru's left cheek, burning the skin. Nageru twisted in pain.
"Well, sweetheart, nice visit, but your friends are here now too, and they must be contained for their own safety. Caramiltdansen doesn't bite... cats..." Darthmorf snapped his fingers reluctantly and slouched down, and two robotic security guards charged the guests that had arrived. In their arms, they had seized Helena, a redhead who could beat down most enemies with her hammer. She went under the showname 'Caramiltdansen'. In the other guard's arms was a male with fire for hair and eyes concealed behind the lenses of his trademark sunglasses. He struggled to get out; that was Steef's resilient nature coming into play. Their weapons were confiscated, as they were thrown to the floor in dust. "You're going to clean that up, y'know."
"Now, then. Let's see what you can offer. We would like all of your bank account details, first, for the sake of purchasing scientific equipment and the such. Is that OK with you fellas?" Helena shrugged, and Steef could only manage a mumble. "What was that?" Princer shouted, kicking the two in the gut and dragging them to their feet, "I want an answer!"
"Y-yes..."
"So... Nageru. I was waiting for you to fall into my trap. It appears your throwables were no match for my robot security guards. Not to mention, Brick Wall, my favourite of them all. Though, as any security protocol is... expendable. Unlike you, Nageru. You have value, and I very much intend to use it." The gag around Nageru's mouth stifled her screams of protest, as she attempted to break through the metal cuffs stopping her arms from moving. Her efforts were futile, as she relaxed her shoulders and sighed behind the damp cloth covering her lips. The shackles next to her rattled, and to Nageru's surprise--which is rare for one who specializes in stealth--a zombie nurse was also chained against the wall. Bite marks scrawled across her neck. The tag attached to her neck read 'Helen: Subject 01441'.
"Well, you'll be happy to know that your friends, Caramiltdansen, and Steef, will be joining us soon. Probably looking the same way as you do. Oh, would you look at that," Darthmorf pressed a button on a remote, activating a wall-mounted screen. There were cameras guiding their way, "here they come!" Darthmorf cackled. "Luckily for you, you're still alive. Unlike my dear friend Helen. Unfortunate bite, that. I invite you to stay alive and comply with my, and my associate's, demands." David Princer entered the room and played around with some of the scientific equipment sprawled on the marble-top counters.
"You see this, this little nifty bottle? This is what caused that unfortunate 'accidental' burn. Wouldn't to spill any of that, now would we." He pranced over to Nageru, elegantly, just in time for her friend's to enter and witness the scene. He uncorked the container and poured it generously on Nageru. "Nasty habit, this." Princer retrieved a cigar and a lighter, and lit the cigar butt, allowing smoke to drift into the air. Its smell permeated the premises, and Darthmorf turned his head and covered his mouth from vomiting, managing curses in his mumbles. Princer continued smoking, and then pressed the heat against Nageru's left cheek, burning the skin. Nageru twisted in pain.
"Well, sweetheart, nice visit, but your friends are here now too, and they must be contained for their own safety. Caramiltdansen doesn't bite... cats..." Darthmorf snapped his fingers reluctantly and slouched down, and two robotic security guards charged the guests that had arrived. In their arms, they had seized Helena, a redhead who could beat down most enemies with her hammer. She went under the showname 'Caramiltdansen'. In the other guard's arms was a male with fire for hair and eyes concealed behind the lenses of his trademark sunglasses. He struggled to get out; that was Steef's resilient nature coming into play. Their weapons were confiscated, as they were thrown to the floor in dust. "You're going to clean that up, y'know."
"Now, then. Let's see what you can offer. We would like all of your bank account details, first, for the sake of purchasing scientific equipment and the such. Is that OK with you fellas?" Helena shrugged, and Steef could only manage a mumble. "What was that?" Princer shouted, kicking the two in the gut and dragging them to their feet, "I want an answer!"
"Y-yes..."
Barry Angelstatue, News Reporter:
"Hello, this is Barry Angelstatue reporting live in London, it looks we've got a mafia outbreak in the streets. They go by the name: "The Saltshakers", this can't be any good." Walking, all armed with three-barrel shotguns, were Tiru, Bluebeard, and Plaguerion. The three of them were uniformed in classic tailored suits in black, buttoned up to a flared collar. On their left-breast pockets were 'TS', obviously being an acronym for their group name. Forces of policemen kept jumping to take them down, but bullets were being shot at speeds that were surreal. "These three just won't stop, and the police are running low on reinforcements. The army are to come soon if nothing can block their path."
It was obvious that they were walking towards the bank, and the police blockades were a sign of that. Even then, none of the trio battered an eyelid, and continued shooting their way through the forces of men and women. Every time someone went to reload, another would take their back, and then proceed as normal. They followed a fluctuating pattern change, allowing all three of them to stand strong. A few yards ahead, police cars were lined in the street, blocking the road and pavements. Using their vehicles as cover, the police kept shooting at them and the bullets had no impact. It was if the suits were made of something impenetrable, but surely that wasn't the case.
An obese policeman charges into Tiru, knocking him back, to find three bullets sprawled across his visage horrifically. The more and more officers that are killed, the more come in from their respective vehicles and join in the fight. It's a massacre. "It looks like the police aren't doing a good job of blocking the attackers, despite their best efforts. We'll be --" Barry Angelstatue falls to the ground, bullets dotting his reporter uniform, staining it with a crimson blood. His eyes sink down and his skin becomes a sickened pale, before the camera drops to the ground and smashes against the concrete floor, sending the audio into a soft, nightmarish, fizz.
One of the police vehicles was charging right to them, when Plaguerion unfolded the wings he had concealed behind his back, and let it manoeuvre into the blockage straight in front of their way. This created an open pathway, where they could walk straight past the officers that were sending bullet after bullet from their guns. Most of the bankers and customers had already evacuated from the bank building, but there remained a small few. Tiru shoots at the chains and locks keeping the door together, where the glass shatters into a hundred shards.
"Alright, people, listen up!" Bluebeard smiles and begins chuckling. "You're our hostages."
"Hello, this is Barry Angelstatue reporting live in London, it looks we've got a mafia outbreak in the streets. They go by the name: "The Saltshakers", this can't be any good." Walking, all armed with three-barrel shotguns, were Tiru, Bluebeard, and Plaguerion. The three of them were uniformed in classic tailored suits in black, buttoned up to a flared collar. On their left-breast pockets were 'TS', obviously being an acronym for their group name. Forces of policemen kept jumping to take them down, but bullets were being shot at speeds that were surreal. "These three just won't stop, and the police are running low on reinforcements. The army are to come soon if nothing can block their path."
It was obvious that they were walking towards the bank, and the police blockades were a sign of that. Even then, none of the trio battered an eyelid, and continued shooting their way through the forces of men and women. Every time someone went to reload, another would take their back, and then proceed as normal. They followed a fluctuating pattern change, allowing all three of them to stand strong. A few yards ahead, police cars were lined in the street, blocking the road and pavements. Using their vehicles as cover, the police kept shooting at them and the bullets had no impact. It was if the suits were made of something impenetrable, but surely that wasn't the case.
An obese policeman charges into Tiru, knocking him back, to find three bullets sprawled across his visage horrifically. The more and more officers that are killed, the more come in from their respective vehicles and join in the fight. It's a massacre. "It looks like the police aren't doing a good job of blocking the attackers, despite their best efforts. We'll be --" Barry Angelstatue falls to the ground, bullets dotting his reporter uniform, staining it with a crimson blood. His eyes sink down and his skin becomes a sickened pale, before the camera drops to the ground and smashes against the concrete floor, sending the audio into a soft, nightmarish, fizz.
One of the police vehicles was charging right to them, when Plaguerion unfolded the wings he had concealed behind his back, and let it manoeuvre into the blockage straight in front of their way. This created an open pathway, where they could walk straight past the officers that were sending bullet after bullet from their guns. Most of the bankers and customers had already evacuated from the bank building, but there remained a small few. Tiru shoots at the chains and locks keeping the door together, where the glass shatters into a hundred shards.
"Alright, people, listen up!" Bluebeard smiles and begins chuckling. "You're our hostages."
Nageru, Ninja/Seducer/Thrower:
Darthmorf was working at his keyboard connected to his 50 inch monitor computer, entering the information on all his prisoners: Steef, Helena, and herself--Nageru. Sitting beside him was David Princer, quietly murmuring and whatnot, allowing snippets of information that he himself had acquired to be heard. "She has a large green hammer, which allows her to fight relatively well; must be confiscated." "His haircut is awful." "She's obviously got some experience in martial arts, so she's a tricky gal." Nageru's shoulders were heavy and sagged, and she had given up all hope of escaping, watching the world go past her as she was held captured in darthmorf's laboratory.
Helena and Steef had both been put on similar tables for investigation as Nageru, and had robotic servants on the move, their arms and appendages marking every note and transferring it to the computer Darthmorf was seated at. "David Princer!" Caramiltdansen shouted, grabbing the attention of the police chief almost immediately. Princer sighed heavily and stood up, walking towards the metallic table Helena had been attached to. "What is it, goblinface?"
"Why are you keeping us here? What did we ever do?" that was a decent question. They'd never been told why they had been captured, and neither had Nageru. David stared blankly at Helena.
"An antagonist never reveals his plans to his adversary." he sucked in his cheeks and went to walk back to his desk, but Caramiltdansen interrupted his stride:
"So you're going to keep us chained here, even though we haven't done anything." Princed turned around and unholstered a gun, pointing it between the eyes of Helena. He had grown a distaste for the trio's attitudes, and they'd been asking him and Darthmorf question after question. It was time he changed that.
"Look, sweetheart, you're here for a reason. The reason won't be revealed, but it exists. Now why don't you shutup. Thank you kindly." that ended the conversation, and David resumed work. Darthmorf had finished the information on Steef, and was about to finish on Nageru. The notes had all been compiled and the mad scientist was writing it all out in sentences and paragraphs, because he was all about writing. The quantity of documents and files he had stored on his computer's storage reflected that passion.
Steef had remained silent for the majority of the time, and was staring into Nageru's eyes with what looked to be the complete opposite of optimism. If they had been aware of the ambush that was to take place on them, then they could have easily fought back. Unfortunately, nobody could have warned them, and this is where they ended up. Steef shifted his body and looked upwards, eyes meeting the ceiling lights placed above. This was different, his boyfriend looked changed and alien to his surroundings; as if he had just been born. "Darthmorf, David," he began, "I would like to join you on your mission."
Nageru could hear a chuckle from Darthmorf, him flicking his mop of brown hair. "How do we know this is not a trick? Why would someone against us be wanting to join us in a matter of an hour? Surely something must be up."
"I understand that I have no future if I do not do something, so I'd like to at least work with you, if it is death that awaits me." Steef couldn't tilt his head to meet that of Princer and Darthmorf, but he continued confidently.
"I'm not getting it. How do we know you're loyal?"
"Because, darthmorf," Steef gulped down in his throat, "I will kill Nageru and Helena for you."
Darthmorf was working at his keyboard connected to his 50 inch monitor computer, entering the information on all his prisoners: Steef, Helena, and herself--Nageru. Sitting beside him was David Princer, quietly murmuring and whatnot, allowing snippets of information that he himself had acquired to be heard. "She has a large green hammer, which allows her to fight relatively well; must be confiscated." "His haircut is awful." "She's obviously got some experience in martial arts, so she's a tricky gal." Nageru's shoulders were heavy and sagged, and she had given up all hope of escaping, watching the world go past her as she was held captured in darthmorf's laboratory.
Helena and Steef had both been put on similar tables for investigation as Nageru, and had robotic servants on the move, their arms and appendages marking every note and transferring it to the computer Darthmorf was seated at. "David Princer!" Caramiltdansen shouted, grabbing the attention of the police chief almost immediately. Princer sighed heavily and stood up, walking towards the metallic table Helena had been attached to. "What is it, goblinface?"
"Why are you keeping us here? What did we ever do?" that was a decent question. They'd never been told why they had been captured, and neither had Nageru. David stared blankly at Helena.
"An antagonist never reveals his plans to his adversary." he sucked in his cheeks and went to walk back to his desk, but Caramiltdansen interrupted his stride:
"So you're going to keep us chained here, even though we haven't done anything." Princed turned around and unholstered a gun, pointing it between the eyes of Helena. He had grown a distaste for the trio's attitudes, and they'd been asking him and Darthmorf question after question. It was time he changed that.
"Look, sweetheart, you're here for a reason. The reason won't be revealed, but it exists. Now why don't you shutup. Thank you kindly." that ended the conversation, and David resumed work. Darthmorf had finished the information on Steef, and was about to finish on Nageru. The notes had all been compiled and the mad scientist was writing it all out in sentences and paragraphs, because he was all about writing. The quantity of documents and files he had stored on his computer's storage reflected that passion.
Steef had remained silent for the majority of the time, and was staring into Nageru's eyes with what looked to be the complete opposite of optimism. If they had been aware of the ambush that was to take place on them, then they could have easily fought back. Unfortunately, nobody could have warned them, and this is where they ended up. Steef shifted his body and looked upwards, eyes meeting the ceiling lights placed above. This was different, his boyfriend looked changed and alien to his surroundings; as if he had just been born. "Darthmorf, David," he began, "I would like to join you on your mission."
Nageru could hear a chuckle from Darthmorf, him flicking his mop of brown hair. "How do we know this is not a trick? Why would someone against us be wanting to join us in a matter of an hour? Surely something must be up."
"I understand that I have no future if I do not do something, so I'd like to at least work with you, if it is death that awaits me." Steef couldn't tilt his head to meet that of Princer and Darthmorf, but he continued confidently.
"I'm not getting it. How do we know you're loyal?"
"Because, darthmorf," Steef gulped down in his throat, "I will kill Nageru and Helena for you."
Caramiltdansen, Prisoner:
It was dark at night and she could see Steef tapping away at the keyboard, entering information he possessed into the computer. The screen didn't show much of a document, but rather a site, which perked her curiosity. "Steef, get us out!" Steef turned around from his seat and rested an arm against its back, staring blankly into Helena's eyes. To her side, Nageru was fast asleep and chained a lot more excessively.
"Your execution is tomorrow, Helena, think happy moments whilst you still live." Darthmorf and David Princer were loving every bit of this, watching from the surveillance camera feed. They had pretended to go to sleep in their individual quarters, but had in fact snuck up to the security room and were using the cameras for their entertainment. Not only could they watch as the three of them communicated, but they could simulate sounds and noises to alert them. Darthmorf pressed at a green button on a panel, listed 'Gunfire'.
"Steef, get us--" The sound of gunfire interrupted her speech as she moved to look around, still restricted by her cuffs. "What the hell was that?!" Steef thought nothing of it, and returned to the bright light of the computer monitor that sat inches away from his eyes. Soon he'd get some rest, but he had work to do. Caramilt at this time was fed up, and relaxed her shoulders against the table. She closed her eyes and dozed off into a sleep. Why would Steef betray his best friends like this? It wasn't him. It was almost as if he'd been poisoned or brainwashed into thinking of himself as separate from the two of them. There must've been a reason; killing never had been a light subject for Steef.
Two blocks of wood were placed on the floor. The execution was taking place outside the laboratory, as tradition went, and Steef had been armed with a large axe that executioners would normally use. If he were to make one move to stopping David Princer or Darthmorf, they'd electrocute him. Nageru and Helena were shaking, tears falling from their eyes in misery. Steef had been the one to set up the whole rescue plan with Caramiltdansen, and now he was going to kill them. Perhaps he'd been planning this all the time, nobody knew.
Darthmorf began: "Helena and Nageru. Two prisoners caught for their actions towards Princer, alongside their companion Steef, whom will be the executioner." the robot servants gathered at the execution were applauding and obviously quite entertained by the proposal of death. What concerned Helena the most was that the robots expressed emotions. Darthmorf really was super-intelligent, and that was a dangerous trait. Steef went to Helena first, holding the axe's handle with all his strength. He swung it in the air, and...
"NOW."
Everything around them began changing. Helena, Steef, and Nageru were all armed and clad in their suits of armour. Darthmorf and David Princer were horrified, and began running into the laboratory. Darthmorf commanded for all the robot servants to attack, and they did as they were told. Helena took five robots with her single hammer, her large swing crushing the material the servants had been created from. All five of them were sent sprawling across the floor, their metal clashing against the floor and skidding. Nageru set off a grenade and rolled it into a crowd of zombie-esque servants, exploding their bodies and sending them flying into others beside them. She then took a set of knives and started to throw them in the direction of her adversaries, and with such terrific accuracy. At this time, Steef was taking down enemies with swipes of his blade, making sure to cut through the wiring and machinery that put the robots together. He was enjoying every moment of it.
By now, all the robots had been slain. Because of the metal they were constructed from, the three of them hadn't had a hard time defeating them. But there were still others that hadn't yet been stopped. Darthmorf and David Princer. The three of them charged into the laboratory and flew past the flight of stairs, breaking through the secured doors and locks the two villains had put in place. They shrugged off the ray blasts and traps emerging from the floor, and set their eyes forward to the central room, where their enemies, no doubt, were. The trio crashed into the room in a bundle, breaking through the last door with their weapons and pure strength. Caramiltdansen's hammer had helped in the process of that, obviously; she had swung the weapon in a tornado manoeuvre, breaking through every construct. Right in front of them were Darthmorf and David Princer.
"Well done to the three of you, that was incredible acting." Robot servants came through with notepads and jotted down words, and cameras were moved around. Not to mention the lights and screens put in place. "Our movie will be a hit."
Helena got up confused, and looked around. The laboratory really was a movie set, so it seemed. Caramiltdansen moved and pulled the other two up from the floor. Steef and Nageru were equally as concerned. "All of that, for a film? We didn't even know we were acting."
"Hehe. I find that if people don't know they're acting, the quality is better. Just look at how you took down those robot servants, darling. That was incredible." Helena dismissed David Princer's comment, and turned to the others, shrugging. "Oh," darthmorf went, "and one last thing..." He unholstered a taser and before it was too late, Helena and Steef were sent into electrocution. Their bodies started rocking and they fell to the floor, weak. Nageru went to disarm Darthmorf but David Princer stepped in. "Naughty..." everything transitioned to slow-motion, and Princer slammed his fist in Nageru's gut, sending her flying into the corridors they had knocked down. Darthmorf and David Princer had been tricked, but so had they. In the distance, he could make out the body of Nageru crashing into the white tiles that made up the corridors.
"Well, Princer, we've eliminated our targets, and almost died in the process. I can't believe they bought it, that whole movie directing thing. What fools." David couldn't help but chuckle, and let his hands slide into the comfortable leather of his pockets. They turned around in synchronisation, and met eye-to-eye with a man. He had a purple eye, and a red eye, with red hair falling from his crown, and not to mention horns that protruded from his head. The man wore a mask that covered the entirety of his mouth. He was a lot taller than the two of them, and wore robes in blue, silver, and black. From his left hand, he created a large bolt of dark magic, of which he sent into Princer's face. His facial features were burned almost immediately, and he began screaming in agony. Then he turned to Darthmorf, and let his hand move through his labcoat and into his body. Darthmorf was panicking and sweat dropped from his brow, before he felt the man's hand close in on his heart. Drop.
He went to the floor on his knees, whilst Darthmorf had collapsed, blood oozing from the cut in his chest. Helena had recovered, but Steef and Nageru were still on the floor, unable to move or feel their senses. She came to support him, in case he fell down. "Who are you, and why did you save us?" The man couldn't speak much; he felt weakened. The use of his powers had obviously took a lot of strength and power. "I am a friend of Steef, and my name..." he spat out blood, "is Tsalyken." Tsalyken fell to the floor, beside the body of the mad scientist. Helena couldn't help but cry, and slammed her fists against the floor. She went down and gave him a kiss. He had died to save them? That was something she would never forget.
"Goodbye..." Helena drank in the sadness.
Archmage Larissa walked the streets of London. She wasn't alone, however. Ahead she could see the Saltshakers enter a bank, and she smiled. "Shall we?" she said, putting her arm around her companion's shoulder.
"Yes."
Tsalyken replied.
It was dark at night and she could see Steef tapping away at the keyboard, entering information he possessed into the computer. The screen didn't show much of a document, but rather a site, which perked her curiosity. "Steef, get us out!" Steef turned around from his seat and rested an arm against its back, staring blankly into Helena's eyes. To her side, Nageru was fast asleep and chained a lot more excessively.
"Your execution is tomorrow, Helena, think happy moments whilst you still live." Darthmorf and David Princer were loving every bit of this, watching from the surveillance camera feed. They had pretended to go to sleep in their individual quarters, but had in fact snuck up to the security room and were using the cameras for their entertainment. Not only could they watch as the three of them communicated, but they could simulate sounds and noises to alert them. Darthmorf pressed at a green button on a panel, listed 'Gunfire'.
"Steef, get us--" The sound of gunfire interrupted her speech as she moved to look around, still restricted by her cuffs. "What the hell was that?!" Steef thought nothing of it, and returned to the bright light of the computer monitor that sat inches away from his eyes. Soon he'd get some rest, but he had work to do. Caramilt at this time was fed up, and relaxed her shoulders against the table. She closed her eyes and dozed off into a sleep. Why would Steef betray his best friends like this? It wasn't him. It was almost as if he'd been poisoned or brainwashed into thinking of himself as separate from the two of them. There must've been a reason; killing never had been a light subject for Steef.
*
Two blocks of wood were placed on the floor. The execution was taking place outside the laboratory, as tradition went, and Steef had been armed with a large axe that executioners would normally use. If he were to make one move to stopping David Princer or Darthmorf, they'd electrocute him. Nageru and Helena were shaking, tears falling from their eyes in misery. Steef had been the one to set up the whole rescue plan with Caramiltdansen, and now he was going to kill them. Perhaps he'd been planning this all the time, nobody knew.
Darthmorf began: "Helena and Nageru. Two prisoners caught for their actions towards Princer, alongside their companion Steef, whom will be the executioner." the robot servants gathered at the execution were applauding and obviously quite entertained by the proposal of death. What concerned Helena the most was that the robots expressed emotions. Darthmorf really was super-intelligent, and that was a dangerous trait. Steef went to Helena first, holding the axe's handle with all his strength. He swung it in the air, and...
"NOW."
Everything around them began changing. Helena, Steef, and Nageru were all armed and clad in their suits of armour. Darthmorf and David Princer were horrified, and began running into the laboratory. Darthmorf commanded for all the robot servants to attack, and they did as they were told. Helena took five robots with her single hammer, her large swing crushing the material the servants had been created from. All five of them were sent sprawling across the floor, their metal clashing against the floor and skidding. Nageru set off a grenade and rolled it into a crowd of zombie-esque servants, exploding their bodies and sending them flying into others beside them. She then took a set of knives and started to throw them in the direction of her adversaries, and with such terrific accuracy. At this time, Steef was taking down enemies with swipes of his blade, making sure to cut through the wiring and machinery that put the robots together. He was enjoying every moment of it.
By now, all the robots had been slain. Because of the metal they were constructed from, the three of them hadn't had a hard time defeating them. But there were still others that hadn't yet been stopped. Darthmorf and David Princer. The three of them charged into the laboratory and flew past the flight of stairs, breaking through the secured doors and locks the two villains had put in place. They shrugged off the ray blasts and traps emerging from the floor, and set their eyes forward to the central room, where their enemies, no doubt, were. The trio crashed into the room in a bundle, breaking through the last door with their weapons and pure strength. Caramiltdansen's hammer had helped in the process of that, obviously; she had swung the weapon in a tornado manoeuvre, breaking through every construct. Right in front of them were Darthmorf and David Princer.
"Well done to the three of you, that was incredible acting." Robot servants came through with notepads and jotted down words, and cameras were moved around. Not to mention the lights and screens put in place. "Our movie will be a hit."
Helena got up confused, and looked around. The laboratory really was a movie set, so it seemed. Caramiltdansen moved and pulled the other two up from the floor. Steef and Nageru were equally as concerned. "All of that, for a film? We didn't even know we were acting."
"Hehe. I find that if people don't know they're acting, the quality is better. Just look at how you took down those robot servants, darling. That was incredible." Helena dismissed David Princer's comment, and turned to the others, shrugging. "Oh," darthmorf went, "and one last thing..." He unholstered a taser and before it was too late, Helena and Steef were sent into electrocution. Their bodies started rocking and they fell to the floor, weak. Nageru went to disarm Darthmorf but David Princer stepped in. "Naughty..." everything transitioned to slow-motion, and Princer slammed his fist in Nageru's gut, sending her flying into the corridors they had knocked down. Darthmorf and David Princer had been tricked, but so had they. In the distance, he could make out the body of Nageru crashing into the white tiles that made up the corridors.
"Well, Princer, we've eliminated our targets, and almost died in the process. I can't believe they bought it, that whole movie directing thing. What fools." David couldn't help but chuckle, and let his hands slide into the comfortable leather of his pockets. They turned around in synchronisation, and met eye-to-eye with a man. He had a purple eye, and a red eye, with red hair falling from his crown, and not to mention horns that protruded from his head. The man wore a mask that covered the entirety of his mouth. He was a lot taller than the two of them, and wore robes in blue, silver, and black. From his left hand, he created a large bolt of dark magic, of which he sent into Princer's face. His facial features were burned almost immediately, and he began screaming in agony. Then he turned to Darthmorf, and let his hand move through his labcoat and into his body. Darthmorf was panicking and sweat dropped from his brow, before he felt the man's hand close in on his heart. Drop.
He went to the floor on his knees, whilst Darthmorf had collapsed, blood oozing from the cut in his chest. Helena had recovered, but Steef and Nageru were still on the floor, unable to move or feel their senses. She came to support him, in case he fell down. "Who are you, and why did you save us?" The man couldn't speak much; he felt weakened. The use of his powers had obviously took a lot of strength and power. "I am a friend of Steef, and my name..." he spat out blood, "is Tsalyken." Tsalyken fell to the floor, beside the body of the mad scientist. Helena couldn't help but cry, and slammed her fists against the floor. She went down and gave him a kiss. He had died to save them? That was something she would never forget.
"Goodbye..." Helena drank in the sadness.
*
Archmage Larissa walked the streets of London. She wasn't alone, however. Ahead she could see the Saltshakers enter a bank, and she smiled. "Shall we?" she said, putting her arm around her companion's shoulder.
"Yes."
Tsalyken replied.
To come:
- Agent Alex, with new single "Nev-er say Nev-er."
- More...
Credits:
- @Flor3nce2456 , for the dividers.
- @Teal, for helping me a bunch with the writing and character development.
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