EVENT #5: J Mike VS Applekat (Independence Day Special) (EXPLICIT LANGUAGE)

5-AThe Stupid: Never mind that now.  I’m growing bored!  Let’s start another contest!
Deity Guy: [floating up and down] Oh!  Oh!  I wanna go again!  Can I go again?!
Prime: Of —
Deity Guy: [shouting] It’s my turn!
The Stupid: I —
Deity Guy: My turn!  You promised!
The Stupid: [abruptly] Oh for Azathoth’s sake, you can have your turn if you just agree to shut up!
Deity Guy: Hooray!
[Deity Guy rushes over to the Pants-iverse and pulls out someone at random.  He closes his eye, and in a flash of light and a second or two, an overweight balding gentleman in his late middle-age years wearing orange cat ears, a red sport coat, and yellow checkered pants stands before him.  This man is Applekat, children’s cartoon host.]
Applekat: Gosh, kids!  Look at all the neat… stuff!  Is this where cream is made?
Deity Guy: Uh… what?
Applekat: Cream!  You know, as a cat — an Applekat, to be exact — I love cream!  Especially the whipped kind!  It goes great with apples, which are the most important part of a balanced diet, kids!  They keep the doctor away!
The Stupid: [barely stifling laughter] So, you’re, uh, Applekat, I take it?  And why, why do they call you that?
Applekat: I’m Applekat, because Applekat is a cat who loves apples!  Applekat, apples!  Cat apples!  Kitty cat, apple cat!  Apple cider, cat cider, apple cider cat apples!
Deity Guy: Are… are you having a stroke…?
Prime: Maybe we should get a doctor.
Applekat: Nah, ol’ Applekat is fine, kids!  Sometimes the old brain doesn’t work as well as it used to, but that doesn’t mean Applekat can’t bring you tons of cartoon fun every weekday morning from 8 am until 8:30 am!  Harvey Toons!  You like Heckel and Jeckel?  Applekat sure does!  And bacon lard!  Applekat loves bacon lard!  But as long as Applekat keeps eating apples, the doctors will stay far away and Applekat can eat all the bacon lard he wants!
The Stupid: [laughing hysterically] You really can pick them, Failty Guy!  Hahaha!
Deity Guy: Well, well, well you can shut up.  Yeah.
Prime: It’s okay, Deity Guy.  Not every choice can be a winner.  Just look at the last round, and the Stupid’s pick.
The Stupid: Hey!
Prime: Let’s keep this fair, okay?  I’ll pick my contestant from the same universe as the Infarious Eleven.  That way, we’ll be evenly matched.
Deity Guy: Fine.  Whatever.  [mumbles] Stupid cat.
Applekat: Applekat!
[Prime’s light dims as he summons from the Danger-verse his contestant.  In a flash of light, not one, but seven physically intimidating, somewhat handsome, and extremely douchey young men appear: six standing and talking, and one — the Italian stallion lady’s man in ripped jeans, black faux hawk, and vintage Led Zepplin t-shirt known as T-Bone — sitting with a blond stripper on his lap and her tongue in his mouth.  In his hand, T-Bone holds a bottle of Russian Imperial Stout.  One tall young man — J-Jeff — stops talking and turns, scowling at Prime.  He is wearing a gray imported Italian track suit, and he is holding a bottle of Sangria.]
J-Jeff: Listen up.  Because it’s America’s birthday, we’re going to give you alien fucks negative two seconds to send us back home or we’ll pull your lungs out through your mouths, such as they may be.  So if you don’t want your Independence Day to end like the movie, well, clock’s ticking, fuckwits.  [Turns back to the others, continuing the conversation. ]
The Stupid: Oh, I like him, Prime!  He’s ill-tempered!
[Prime sighs in reply and floats over to group.]
Prime: Uh, guys?  Can I have a minute?
[The shortest of the group, a young man wearing a black silk shirt, gray dress pants, and sporting a scruffy-looking beard, speaks first but does not look at Prime.  He is holding a bottle of merlot.]
R-Man: Can you not interrupt us, asshole?  C-Bass was just getting to the good part.
J-Jeff: Yeah.  Way to be a dick.  Also, this doesn’t look like my fucking home.
Prime: Heh, yeah, sorry.  Listen, this will just take a second.  See, there’s this tournament where we’re pulling people from universes to fight, and —
R-Man: Danger Force’s specialty is fighting, so you obviously came to the right place.
J-Jeff:  Seriously, what the fuck kind of aliens are you?
T-Bone: [placing his hand into the stripper’s panties] My alien’s about to bust out of my pants.  Can we hurry this shit up?  Someone drop this clown and let’s get back.  The shitty brightness is killing the mood.
Stripper: [moaning] Mmm, not for me…!
[Prime floats back over to Deity Guy, Applekat, and the Stupid.]
Deity Guy: What did they say?
Prime: Uh, well…
[A tall young man — J Mike — breaks off from the group.  He is wearing camo pants, a red, white, and blue felt stovepipe top hat, and a gray “Big Johnson“ t-shirt.  The tattoos on his arms, both full sleeves of all manner of skulls, dragons, and flames, almost seem to be writhing.  He holds in his hand a glass filled with Rum and Coke.  The group goes silent, and they all move closer to the others.]
J Mike: All right, guys, calm down.  These pricks obviously brought us here for a reason.  It sounds like some sort of boring nerdy sci-fi action movie type shit, but what-the-fuck-ever.  So, what is it you need, nerds?
Prime: We don’t need anything.  We would like you to fight for us.  [Turns to Applekat.]  Both of you.
Applekat: Aw, shucks kids, I don’t fight, and neither should you!  [Points finger out into the open air, as though speaking with someone who isn’t there.]  Fighting is wrong!
J Mike: Fighting?  Pfft.  Fuck that, I’m not drunk enough yet.  [Takes a swig of his Rum and Coke.]
Applekat: Wow, kids!  That sure is awful language yer using!  You might wanna —
[The members of Danger Force all turn to Applekat and stare, as though noticing him for the first time.  Most carry a smile of disbelief, but the most ill-tempered and unpredictable member of all — E-Machine — is unamused.  He holds in his hand a bottle of imported Absinthe.  E-Machine steps up to Applekat, standing a mere inch or two away from the older gentleman’s nose.]
E-Machine: You might wanna shut the fuck up before my fist and your face collide in a fist-face-fuck-up!  [Pushes his index finger into Applekat’s middle-aged chest hard enough to make a dull hollow sound upon contact.]  Understand, gramps?
Applekat: [gulps hard] Uh, sure, sure, kid.  Whatever you say!  [Looks down at the blood stains on E-Machine’s white t-shirt, the black block print letters posing the question, “Dr. Who — the FUCK cares?“  He then steps back and pulls out an apple from his pocket, shaking and smiling nervously as he holds it out for E-Machine.]  N-no hard feelings, huh?
T-Bone: [looks up from fondling the blond stripper sitting on his lap]  “No hard feelings“?  [laughs] Fuck, dude.  Did he just call you gay?
[E-Machine looks at the apple, then back at Applekat with rage burning in his eyes.  Quickly and without warning, E-Machine slaps the apple out of Applekat’s hands.  The other members of Danger Force erupt in laughter.  A giant of a man with a chiseled jaw, insanely grown mutton chop sideburns, and wearing a muscle shirt — the mute behemoth called Chops — steps behind E-Machine as though hitting the unsaid point home even further.  Chops is holding a bottle of whiskey.]
Prime: These are the heroes of the Danger-verse?
The Stupid: These are my kinds of heroes!
J Mike: Okay, that‘s enough grab ass.  Stand down, E-Machine.  You, too, Chops.
[E-Machine begrudgingly does so, never taking his eyes from the profusely sweating Applekat.  Chops nods and steps back into line with the others, his arms crossed.]
J Mike: [to the Embodiments] Do you dumb-shits have a TV or something?  It’s a holiday, and I’m in the mood for some sports.  Preferably football.
R-Man: [snickering] Football?  There’s always — THE WORLD CUP!  [R-Man bursts out laughing, as do the other members of Danger Force.]
J Mike: [throws his glass against the floor in a rage] God damn it! I want to watch my god damned football on holidays, not that shitty non-football sport!  [Pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a swig.  It too is filled with Rum and Coke.]  The only thing I hate more than ice in my Rum and Coke is when America tries to kow-tow to the rest of the damned world by pretending to give two shits about soccer. Why the hell can’t you use your hands? Are you supposed to keep them free to jerk off your opponents or something? [Takes another swig of his Rum and Coke.]  God damn it.
J-Jeff: Watch the trash talk.  T-Bone played soccer in grade school.
T-Bone: [pulls his mouth from one of the stripper’s exposed nipples as she squeaks in disappointment] Yeah, well, there was this rumor that Ms. Gornischelli — Ms. G — our eighth grade teacher, was into soccer players, right? She was a hot redhead. Tall, nice tits, great ass. Had to tap that twat, know what I mean?
[The sage C-Bass, a stocky young man built like a brick house and sporting an Army baseball cap, Army t-shirt, dog tags, and moustache the likes of which haven’t been seen since the days of Chester A. Arthur, smirks.  He holds in his hands a bottle of Scotch.]
C-Bass: Oh, Ms. G? Yeah, I tapped that. One 4th of July, I was home from Iraq on leave, right? So I’m in the grocery store, buying groceries and shit because a fucker needs to eat sometimes, and who’s walking down the aisle but hot-twat Ms. G? That night, I sprayed her red bush white to relieve my blue balls.
Deity Guy: That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard but I can’t keep myself from wanting to hear more.
Prime: Please, don’t encourage them…
C-Bass: Little did I realize, she wasn’t Ms. G anymore, but Mrs. Sydney. I guess she was, like, forty-five or something and married. Her husband walked in as I was making her queef the Star-Spangled Banner with my tongue. He was yelling some stupid bullshit about how he was going to beat the shit out of me, so I picked up my gun and blew his cock off. Then I got back on top of her and blew my load in her fox hole so fucking hard her back cracked. She would have screamed, but I was choking her, which made her clamp down on me and made me cum hard again. Anyway, by the time we were done, Mrs. Sydney was Ms. G again because the ambulance didn’t make it in time and she gave me a key to her 5th Avenue loft.  I hit her hot pocket at least three times a week, if I’m not busy.
Deity Guy: I’m alternating between awe and nausea! Nause-awe?
Prime: Don’t. Just… don’t.
J-Jeff: Ha, looks like you snatched her snatch, C-Bass!
The Stupid: Ha ha! These are the best heroes I’ve ever seen from you, Prime! I’m going to hang out with them.
Prime: No, no, no!  [to Danger Force and Apple Cat] Okay, fellas, here’s what we’re going to do.  Since no one feels like fighting, we’re going to have a drinking contest.  Shot after shot of your drink of choice.
Applekat: Can it be apple juice?
Prime: No.
Applekat: Can it be bacon lard?
Prime: No!
Applekat: Can it be apple lard bacon juice, bacon apple?
Prime: NO!  What?!  Just, no!  Alcoholic drinks only.  First one to hit the floor loses.  [to Danger Force] Which one of you is going up against Applekat?
J Mike: [snickers] More like Crapple Cat.  Fuck it, I’ll do it.
Prime: Good.  [Summons a table and two chairs just as the stripper on T-Bone’s lap climaxes from his heavy petting.]  Ugh.  The rest of you are going back home.
[T-Bone stands up, dropping the stripper hard on the ground, and rushes in between J Mike and Prime.  The rest of Danger Force steps between them as well.]
C-Bass: No way.  Like my Uncle Cage always said when he was fighting in ‘Nam, we all go home or none of us go home.
T-Bone: [punches his fist into his open hand] Danger Force doesn’t ditch on a bro like that.
Prime: [sighs] Fine, I guess you can stay.  But for this event, you’re the audience, okay?  No helping.
R-Man: Do we look like a bunch of bitches to you?
E-Machine: [pulls out a switchblade and opens it] Bitches get stitches.  So do people who think we’re bitches.
Prime: Noted.

Find out more about the combatants:
J Mike


EVENT #4: Resolution

[Player One wrests himself out of the grasp of the others and connects solidly, knocking Baron von Stricknine off his feet. The Baron lands on his back and stands up as El Presidente pushes past him and flails at Player One.]
The Stupid: Hey! I’m all against breaking the rules, but not when I’m the one who made them! Get back here!
El Presidente: No! I’m the leader! This should be my fight!
[The Stupid reaches out to grab El Presidente, but the young man weasels his way out of the Stupid’s grip and lands right on top of Player One. The force knocks Player One to the ground in a daze. El Presidente, knocked out by the fall, is pushed aside by Player One, who lunges at the Stupid. The Stupid picks up Baron von Stricknine by the legs and seems to test his weight.]
The Stupid: All right. Yeah. This will do.
[The Stupid carefully aims Baron von Stricknine and throws him like a dart into Player One. Player One is knocked to the ground again, though this time his head hits the ground and he’s knocked out. Baron von Stricknine uneasily sits up and the Stupid grabs his hand. Players Two and Four carry Player One to the infirmary.]
The Stupid: I declare Baron von Stricknine the winner!
Baron von Stricknine: Hooray?
The Stupid: Now take your leader and go run the comissary. You’ve earned it!
[Smoke Signal drags El Presidente as the Infarious Eleven follow the Players towards the dorms. Baron von Stricknine follows.]
Deity Guy: That was just the biggest mess.
Prime: Seriously. I’d call for a do-over but Player One is way too attuned to our supernatural energy. If he stays on this plane of existence, he’ll just keep going after all of us.
The Stupid: Some champion of good you got there.
Prime: Like your El Presidente did any better.
The Stupid: Hey, the kid may be stupid but he’s got moxie! What we need is something even more supernatural than we are.
Prime: There isn’t anything more suprnatural than we are, and it’s not like we can make a guy.
Deity Guy: Yeah. They usually don’t work out all that well, like that Matsu Her-O guy.
The Stupid: Wait, that was you guys?
Prime: I was trying to create a force for good on his world, but then Deity Guy got involved and… you know the rest.
The Stupid: How the hell could you guys let someone get that powerful? I’m supposed to be the stupid one!
Prime: It’s your fault. You’re the one who’s responsible for all those star seeds popping up all over the place.
The Stupid: I am not! Most of them are greeted as heroes. Why would I want in on that? I thought it was you!
Deity Guy: All I know is that it’s not me.
[All three Embodiments are uncharacteristically silent for a moment.]
Prime: So there’s some Fictosphere-spanning entity who’s unaligned with any of us causing general fear and chaos.
Deity Guy: At least that Matsu Her-O guy is on the case. He’s keeping track of things, right?
Prime: I have a bad feeling about all of this.
The Stupid: Eh, it’s not that big a deal. We have to worry about Player One right now. How can we make him not want to kill us?
Deity Guy: Got it.
[Summons Pikapunk.]
Pikapunk: Why are you doing this to me?
Deity Guy: You’re super-important! You’re immortal, and now you’re a supernatural beacon! [a glowing orb of yellow light travels from Deity Guy and hovers above Pikapunk.]
Pikapunk: I don’t want to be a beacon!
The Stupid: Too bad! It’s your destiny or some crap like that! [a glowing orb of red light travels from the Stupid and hovers above Pikapunk.]
Prime: I still think we should be giving more credence to the star seed thing.
Deity Guy: We’ll hook Matsu up with a few more people who can help him and then they can start really getting into things, okay? Now beaconize him, captain.
Prime: I suppose it’s necessary. [a glowing orb of green light travels from Prime and hovers above Pikapunk. All three orbs begin swirling above Pikapunk’s head and then they enter him, causing him to hover and glow for several seconds. He lands on the ground.]
Pikapunk: I don’t feel any different.
Deity Guy: Good! Now run off.
[Pikapunk scampers off]
The Stupid: Player One is going to kill him so much.
Deity Guy: Yeah.
[Prime looks out towards the swirling universes.]
Prime: I really hope this really isn’t anything big.


EVENT #4: Player One VS Baron von Stricknine

4-A[Deity Guy, Prime, and the Stupid are on the top floor of the building materialized during the last event. The entire rest of the building is empty, save for a flight of stairs, kept on the plain as a way of making the landscape a bit more interesting. They are looking out a window at the square building that houses the combatants that have so far been brought in, as well as their various companions and hangers-on. The door opens and Xen and Xig enter. They are both visibly sweaty and out of breath, and are followed by the Heralds.]
Toothpaste Joe: Hello!
The Stupid: Damn it! Those stairs are supposed to dissuade you people from coming up here.
Xen: It’s not like we have a hell of a lot else to do.
Xig: The lady speaks true! You brought us here to announce and commentate, but we’ve mainly just sat around.
Baco: There’s not even cable in the dorms or whatever they are.
Antwon: Cable? Who cares about cable! This entire place is devoid of Internet!
Toothpaste Joe: I’m toothpaste!
Baco: He won’t shut up! Why did you make us share a room? What did we do to deserve such a fate?
Prime: Everyone calm down. I’m sure we can find something for you guys to do.
Deity Guy: Like camping!
Prime: No, not like camping. We can’t give you Internet, or cable, or anything that’s reliant on a specific area to provide it. The constraints on our power would be huge, and we just can’t handle that and keep you all here.
Xen: It sounds like a win-win to me.
The Stupid: Actually, it’s just because we don’t want to pay for cable and Prime won’t let us just steal it.
Deity Guy: We could get everyone to set up little tents and stuff! Make a campfire and sing songs and have a jolly old time!
Toothpaste Joe: JOOOOOOE!
Deity Guy: Toothpaste Joe agrees!
Antwon: He really doesn’t. We thought he was trying to communicate at first, but no. He’s not. He’s just loud and bothersome.
Prime: Okay. We need to get some infrastructure going. Since cable and the Internet are a no-go, we’ll figure out other things to keep you guys amused. Jobs and things like that.
Deity Guy: Jobs are lame, though.
The Stupid: Would you just shut up? You’re being especially annoying!
Deity Guy: I can’t help it. The elevation is getting to me.
The Stupid: We’re not affected by elevation!
Baco: We are! You need to install an elevator!
Antwon: Indeed! This is far too high!
Xen: Espeially when everyone is trying to look up my skirt!
Xig: Poor Pikapunk didn’t even make it up!
Toothpaste Joe: Hello!
Prime: [Glowing red] Would everyone kindly shut. Up.
[Everyone falls silent.]
Deity Guy: Uh oh.
Prime: I was fine with starting this. I was fine with continuing it. Now, though, if we’re going to keep these people here we need to keep them happy and that means keeping them busy, and that means introducing some people to work here. Xen and Xig, I know you two don’t get along, but I’m going to put you two in charge of running the dorms. Just make everyone is relatively safe and taken care of. If you refuse, we’ll just send you back.
Xig: Well, then —
Xen: Shut up, Xig! We were both about to die!
Xig: Ah. Yes. I accept.
Xen: As do I.
Prime: Heralds, you’re going to run the commissary. It’s not hard, just pass out the food.
Baco: We have no arms.
Prime: Point. We’ll just magic that up, then. I guess you can just help Xen and Xig. Get to it.
[Xen, Xig, Baco, Antwon, and Toothpaste Joe all vanish before they’re able to raise any sort of protest.]
Deity Guy: We still need to give them something to do. And I guess we need people to run the commissary.
The Stupid: I vote we just kill everyone. I’m getting bored.
Prime: No, we’re not killing anyone who can’t pop back into existence thirty seconds later. We’ll set up some sort of communication network and maybe bring in some video games and whatnot, as well as some books. Get a library going. We can get all this done. We’re nigh-omnipotent, after all. Come on.
[The Embodiments shift to the Fictosphere, where more and more universes are moving in various patterns. Prime plucks the one labeled “Universe 42: Area/Pax Conjoinment” out of its lazy orbit.]
Prime: No sense in messing with more universes than we need to. Let’s see… [Prime quickly finds a group of four people who are adept at setting up networks and video game systems, and also killing supernaturals.] Here we go! Now, the Stupid, why don’t you —
The Stupid: Why don’t you shove it out your eye-hole? I found a bunch of teenagers! They’re basically slaves, and they’re all mine! [The Stupid holds up a universe labeled “Universe 69: Danger-verse”] Let’s put them to work!
[The Embodiments shift back to the dorms, along with eighteen other people. One of them, a young man wearing goggles and a trench-coat, stops and pulls out what looks like an NES Zapper. He aims it at Prime, lingers on Deity Guy, and shoots the Stupid. The shot connects, but does absolutely no damage.]
The Stupid: Oh ho ho! Pax Custodes! I haven’t seen any of you in a long long time!
Player One: You won’t be seeing anything anymore!
[Player One manages to shoot the Stupid in the eye before two of his companions, a young man in an orange vest and a young lady in dark green, Players Two and Four, manage to wrestle him to the ground. Their fourth, a chubby young man with glasses named Player Three, steps forward.]
Player Three: We’re really sorry about that. Player One shoots first.
Deity Guy: And asks questions later?
Player Three: No. Anyway, this place is just filled with supernatural energy. You three are obviously something big, and since we were just discussing E3 in our safe-house, we’re probably not dead.
Player Two: [Gestures to the Stupid with his chin, since his hands are holding down Player One.] That one’s obviously malevolent, though!
The Stupid: No shit.
Prime: Anyway, we need you to set up a network and a bunch of video games.
Player Four: Slight problem with that. Player One is going to be like this until he can beat on something.
Prime: I see.
[A teenager with spiky black hair and glasses steps forth from the remaining thirteen people. He is wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt, and he is holding a tie.]
???: I can take him! [Laughs stupidly.]
The Stupid: [Looks him up and down] Sorry, kid, I can tell you want this but you don’t have the brains or the brawn, and I’d like to win this.
El Presidente: I’m the leader, though! I’m El Presidente!
The Stupid: That’s nice. What’s your group called, then?
El Presidente: The Infarious Eleven!
[The Stupid looks from El Presidente, to the thirteen teenagers, and back to El Presidente.]
The Stupid: You are aware there’s fourteen people in your group, right?
El Presidente: It’s cooler this way! [Laughs stupidly.]
The Stupid: This is why I keep losing, because I’m not choosy at all. Well, time to choose! You! [To a young man holding a Native American headdress and a tomahawk.] What’s your name?
Smoke Signal: Smoke Signal. You know, like what Native Americans used to send out.
The Stupid: You’re the whitest person I’ve ever seen.
Smoke Signal: [Casts his eyes downward] El Presidente found out I’m 1/14th Cherokee.
The Stupid: Wow. What about you? [To a young man holding a BB Gun]
Winchester Bill: My name is Winchester Bill. El Presidente found out my dad has a few guns and decided that should be my “thing”. The worst part is that my real name is Henry.
The Stupid: Beelzebub’s scrotum, that’s dire. Are you all like this? [There is a murmur of agreement.]
El Presidente: Shut up! I made you all pizza rolls!
The Stupid: Did he find out you were all molesting puppies or something? Why do you put up with this?
Winchester Bill: He has a really nice basement and his parents are pretty cool.
El Presidente: They are not! My parents are just the worst!
The Stupid: If you people are your universe’s definition of a villain, I’d actually really like to see what your heroes are like. Anyway, let’s see… You! With the monocle. What did you get saddled with?
Baron von Striknine: He found out I was really into researching poisons and decided I’d be Baron von Stricknine.
The Stupid: Not too shabby. You ever actually poison anybody?
Baron von Stricknine: [Glares at El Presidente] Sometimes I’d kind of like to.
The Stupid: That. That is the kind of thing I’m looking for. You’re obviously not the biggest or strongest guy on your team, but you’re certainly the angriest. You’re my guy for this. Go fight that guy!
Baron von Stricknine: [Looks at Player One, who is almost free of Players Two and Four.] Seriously? He has a gun!
The Stupid: Or does he? [Player One’s weapons all vanish.] This okay with you two? Fistfight between these two?
Deity Guy: Yeah, but I hope the next one isn’t just a fight.
Prime: I’m fine with that being the next event.
The Stupid: Good, because I was going to let it happen regardless.
[Players Two and Three are thrown back and Player One stands up, bellowing. He surges forward, and the Stupid pushes Baron von Stricknine towards him. Baron von Stricknine awkwardly puts up his fists and waits for the battle to be joined.]

Learn more about the combatants:
Player One
Baron von Stricknine

Event #3: Resolution (AND FATHER’S DAY SPECIAL!)

[By the time Mr. Pants has made it to the top of the building, panting and coated with a thin sheen of sweat, The Stub is sitting on the edge of the roof, his metal legs dangling towards the ground.]
Mr. Pants: [sits next to The Stub] It’s pretty high up here, son. [He takes off his hat and shakes it around in the air in a useless attempt to exemplify his point]
The Stub: Things are always low when you’re trapped inside of my head.
Mr. Pants: What’s with all this sadness, guy? Look at this beautiful landscape. Makes you want to shed some happy tears, doesn’t it?
The Stub: Why would I? None of this is real. [sighing] Everything is just one big illusion. Or disillusion, really.
[They sit in silence for a moment. A giant blue bird of unknowable origin sweeps by and lets out a victorious screech before dipping behind the building]
Mr. Pants: So, your friends down there, they wanted me to come up here and try to, you know, get your feet back on solid ground again.
The Stub: The only way that I can find solid ground again is if my face hits it first. [He stands up and bends his body at a dangerous angle over the side of the building. Mr. Pants stands up and grabs The Stub’s arm.]
Mr. Pants: Wait a second! You’re trying to kill yourself? That’s why you came up here?
The Stub: Wasn’t that obvious?
Mr. Pants: What? Of course it wasn’t. I just thought you wanted to come up here and build, like, a little fort or something. [looking towards the sky] I always wanted to build a fort. I kinda thought it had something to do with your dad. He seems a little, well, off. I wouldn’t want to be around him either.
The Stub: [sits back down] My dad never loved me. He just built me for the money. I was meant to be a companion robot for lonely teenagers, you know.
Mr. Pants: That is both fascinating and highly illogical.
The Stub: [smiling slightly] Right? He wanted to create a bot that was filled with angst and all sad and stuff, so that it could relate better to the kids it would be pairing up with. The problem is that he got his information on teenagers while watching those after school specials from the 80’s and old episodes of Maury Povich. You know, those ones with the sad goth kids and angry parents? He thought all teenagers looked and dressed like that.
Mr. Pants: I know I sure did.
The Stub: He decided that if the bot was more depressed than the kids it was purchased for, the depressed kids would realize that they didn’t have it so bad and, you know, just stop being depressed. [he shrugs] So out I came. But the company that hired him to make me hated me, and he hates me. Everyone hates me. And I can’t even hate them back. I was programmed to feel nothing but sadness.
Mr. Pants: Wow. That may possibly be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.
The Stub: [begins to sob hysterically] I have no purpose! No point! No responsibility! I stand for nothing, I do nothing. I am useless. USELESS!
Mr. Pants: Hey, there there kid. It’s alright. I know where you’re coming from. My dad doesn’t appreciate me either.
The Stub: [stops crying] Really?
Mr. Pants: Really, kid. I grew up at a petting zoo, and my dad cared more about those dumb animals than he ever did me. Most of them weren’t even alive any more! I remember that we had a chicken in a cardboard box, and he used to tell people it was a Velociraptor! And he cared more about that Velociraptor than he cared about me!
The Stub: Right? I know how it feels to be unloved.
Mr. Pants: [Stands up] My dad couldn’t even remember my name most of the time! He refused to call me Mr. Pants!
The Stub: Wait, that’s your real name?
Mr. Pants: Of course it is! He always used to call me- oh never mind. What matters here is that he never loved me. [Mr. Pants starts to cry]
The Stub: [Starts crying again] My dad doesn’t love me either!
Mr. Pants: Without the love of my father, my life is just useless!
The Stub: Oh, man, so is mine!
Mr. Pants: I mean, life just isn’t worth living anymore. Who would want to live without the love and respect of your parents?
The Stub: [Stands up] Someone finally understand me!
Mr. Pants: I hate you, dad!
The Stub: I hate my dad too! I hate everything!
Mr. Pants: Me too, kid! Me too!
[The Stub lets out a tinny scream, and then throws himself off of the side of the building. He screams until he hits the pavement below, where the shattering of metal can barely be heard over the screams of those surrounding the bits and pieces of The Stub.]
Mr. Pants: [Wipes the tears from his eyes] Huh. That wasn’t supposed to end like that at all. I wonder if I’m still getting paid for this.
[At the bottom, the Stupid, Deity Guy, and Prime are standing around the shattered remains of the Stub.]
The Stupid: Huh, so that’s what that looks like.
Prime: I can’t help but feel that we could have prevented this somehow.
Deity Guy: Eh, no bigs. Doctor Derangemo’s got a handle on things.
[Doctor Derangemo enters, holding a broom and garbage bag.]
Doctor Derangemo: Not to worry! I’m sure I can recycle these parts, or at least sell them for scrap. [Under his breath] I’ll at least get something back from this wretched creation.
Deity Guy: Actually, the Stub technically won, so you have to rebuild him.
[Doctor Derangemo stops, halfway to putting the Stub’s head into the garbage bag.]
Doctor Derangemo: Drat! At least bring Gerald here so I can foist this task off on him!
Deity Guy: No problem!
[A lanky young man with a swoop of dark greasy hair appears. He is dressed in a lab-coat and is making adjustments to a large robot that appears to be made of metallic tampons.]
Gerald: That should… [He looks around and realizes that he is no longer in his lab.] …huh.
Doctor Derangemo: Ah, my faithful assistant! I need your, erm… assistance. Yes. The Stub has gone and broken himself!
Gerald: [Exasperated] Again? Okay, let’s get him back to the lab.
Deity Guy: Oh, no. You guys can’t leave until the tournament is over!
Doctor Derangemo and Gerald: What?
Deity Guy: Don’t worry, there’s a lab in that building over there that will suit all your needs!
[Doctor Derangemo, Gerald, and the Tampon-Bot head off towards the lab.]
Deity Guy: You know, I think this is starting to really come together!
Prime: It’s really not.

EVENT #3: Mister Pants VS The Stub

3-APrime: Man, things sure do get boring around here quickly. What shall we do next?
Deity Guy: We can start by killing this giant awful bug!
[Deity Guy manifests a brand new foot in order to squash something small and shiny rolling across the floor.]
Prime: [Blocks Deity Guy’s foot] That’s not a bug, you idiot! That’s a new universe!
Deity Guy: A new universe? How did that get there?
The Stupid: No idea. [He bends forward to look at the orb.] It says it’s called The Pants-iverse.
Prime: The… the Pants-iverse?
Mr. Pants: Wow. They named an entire universe after me?
Prime: Nobody named anything after anything. It’s just the name that was given to it. Who the heck are you anyway?
Mr. Pants: Of course the Pants-iverse was named after me. [He extends his hand, realizes that those in the room have no hands, and slowly puts his hand back by his side.] I’m Mr. Pants, P.I.
Deity Guy: Pee-eye? Sounds gross.
Mr. Pants: Not Pee Eye, you strange little thing. P as in Private. I as in instigator.
The Stupid: Do you mean Investigator?
Mr. Pants: Precisely.
Prime: Mr. Pants? What the heck kind of name is Mr. Pants?
Mr. Pants: Mr. Pants is the kind of name that Mr. Pants gets. So what am I doing here? Is there some investigations that need to be done privately?
Prime: We’re still trying to figure out why you’re here.
The Stupid: Oh, yeah. Well, that was me.
Prime: Why?
The Stupid: I was bored.
Prime: Fair enough. Well, since you’re here, we might as well make you useful. Deity Guy! I sense this guy’s one of mine, so bring us a new contender!
Deity Guy: You know, I haven’t seen Doctor Derangemo for a while.
[Deity Guy focuses his energy for a moment, and Doctor Derangemo appears beside Mr. Pants, along with what appears to be a steel teenager. He is clad in black, but is also wearing a curly clown wig. A chunk from the top of the wig has been cut out, and for some strange reason it has been taped to the boy’s left eyebrow.]
Doctor Derangemo: Well, this is certainly interesting. And how on earth did I end up here? Hold on, is this a grant hearing? Well then, my name is Doctor Derangemo, and this is my newest adopted son-bot creation. His name is the Stub, and I didn’t actually want to adopt him after his creation, but I, unfortunately, had no other choice. The Stub, introduce yourself.
The Stub: [Frowning towards the ground.] Haven’t you already introduced me?
Doctor Derangemo: The Stub, have some manners. Be nice to these weird little creatures.
Deity Guy: We aren’t weird! We’re unique.
The Stub: Manners are useless. [Attempts to flip his hair and fails.] Niceties are overrated.
Doctor Derangemo: It’s unfortunate that no amount of money would convince Gerald to take you away from me.
The Stub: I wish I could be taken away from the world.
Doctor Derangemo: Dear Nietszhe, why did I insist on making you a teenager?
Deity Guy: I know what would make the Stub feel better!
[Deity Guy materializes a gleaming silver skyscraper overlooking the crisp blue sky. The sun is a vibrant orange, and flocks of brightly colored birds fly gracefully through the air. The Stub creaks his metal head upwards. He can barely see the top of the building. ]
The Stub: Cool. [The Stub runs towards the building and disappears into the front door.]
Prime: Deity Guy, what the heck did you do that for?
Deity Guy: What? I made a big beautiful building for the Stub to sit on. I thought the sunset would make him feel better.
Prime: You gave a depressed and highly suicidal teenager a tall building to jump off of!
Deity Guy: Jump… with joy?
Prime: No, you idiot! Jump with suicide! Jump with death!
Deity Guy: But… the sunset… doesn’t make anyone sad…
Prime: Jesus, will somebody go up there and try to un-suicide-ify him?
Doctor Derangemo: Eh, just let him do it. It’s bound to happen someday anyway. [To himself] Maybe I can get my money back for all those supplies I needed.
Mr. Pants: Well, everyone, if I may interject. I may only be a mere Private Investigator, but maybe I can do something about this child’s… issue.
Prime: Do your best, man.
[Mr. Pants runs into the building.]
Deity Guy: Whoa. Did we just accidentally create a new battle?
Prime: [sighs] I think we may have.
The Stupid: I’m kinda hoping the kid jumps. I’ve never seen a robot hit the pavement from 300 stories.


EVENT #2: Resolution

[Chuck Lucky’s hulking frame looms over the inert Connor the Wanna-Be Doctor, who still grips the syringe in his hand. The heavy sound of meat pounding non-existent pavement echo through the Fictosphere as Chuck Lucky’s fists repeatedly slam the ground mere inches away from Connor’s head–a head that is constantly turning from left to right in an attempt to save the man to which it is attached from experiencing a rainbow of pain.]
Chuck Lucky: Hold still, you pill!
Connor: [to the Embodiments, who are all just hovering and watching] Ahh! Someone–anyone–please, help me!
Prime: [light pulsates red, indicating his glaring] Deity Guy…! You got the poor boy into this mess, now you get him out!
The Stupid: Now now, Prime! Don’t stop the fight quite so soon! The dim young quack may still get the needle into your champion’s arm…!
Chuck Lucky: [still punching the ground] Not if– [punch] –I have– [punch] –anything to say– [punch]–about it!
[Connor, forgetting that he’s holding the syringe in his wild panic, lifts his arms in front of his face in a desperate attempt to defend himself against the oncoming onslaught. Chuck Lucky grips the fake doctor’s wrist and, with a twist, disarms Connor.]
Connor: Hey! That was your medicine!
The Stupid: …or not!
Chuck Lucky: Oh yeah? How about that? I’ve got some medicine for you to take, too! [Chuck Lucky attempts to pull Connor’s arm straight out, but Connor struggles to keep him from doing so.]
Connor: Hey! No, no, no! You, you don’t know what’s in there! Hell, even I don’t know what’s in there!
Chuck Lucky: Dr. Death can dish it out but can’t take it, huh? We’ll see about that!
Deity Guy: What do you expect me to do?
Prime: Well, for starters, maybe you should get the other doctor! You know, the real one!
Deity Guy: Aw, man… but he might be a centaur…!
Prime: Do it!
Deity Guy: [sighing] Fine…
[Deity Guy floats over to the Astounding-verse, mumbling the entire way. He peers into the bubble, hesitating as he does, and catches a glimpse of Bob–the real doctor and might-be centaur–viewing some x-rays on a handheld clipboard. True to form, Bob is standing behind a counter, his bottom half obscured. Across the room from him is a small child slapping together a coconut shell that has been cut in half in such a way as to make it sound as though a horse is galloping in the room. Deity Guy, still unsure of how much help a centaur–doctor or not–can be, closes his eye tightly and concentrates. In a burst of light, Bob, the counter behind which he is standing, and the small child with coconuts in hand appear in front of Chuck Lucky and Connor. The sudden appearance of Bob stops Chuck Lucky and Connor in their struggles. Bob lifts his head from his clipboard and glances around the room. His expression remains stoic and unimpressed as he lowers his head to the clipboard again.]
Bob: Ah. Connor, good to see you.
Connor: [squirming away from Chuck Lucky] Oh, heya, Doc.
Chuck Lucky: [cracking his knuckles] Another one?!
Bob: The rest of you will need to make an appointment with my secretary, as I’m off-shift in an hour.
Deity Guy: Oh, well, guess we have to send him back!
[Deity Guy closes his eye, but is forced to open it again when Prime nudges him in the side in a manner that could be considered the opposite of “gently”.]
Prime: Doctor?
Bob & Connor: Yes?
Prime: Er, the doctor behind the counter. The, uh, real doctor.
Bob: [raises head again] Let me guess. You–[points to The Stupid, Prime, and Deity Guy]–all of you, you’re gods, right? And we’re on a plane of reality where it’s possible to access all other universes in the multiverse. Stop me if I’m getting this wrong. And you pulled that guy–[points to Chuck Lucky]–from his world, and he flipped out. So you pulled Connor from mine, I‘m guessing to diagnose him, because you are not only gods, but also irresponsible morons who couldn’t understand that he’s not sick, but rather suffers from being a prototypical version of a person as opposed to the final version. [smirks sardonically] How right was I?
The Stupid: You came pretty close, but there are only two morons here.
Deity Guy: Yeah. The Stupid and Prime are the only two morons here.
The Stupid: Hey!
Prime: Aside from your poor bedside manner, Doctor, you are correct. So, first, how do you know any of this?
Chuck Lucky: I told you not to call me Mister!
[Chuck Lucky takes a swing at Prime, who teleports a few feet away. Connor slowly rises and makes his way towards Bob’s counter.]
Bob: [lowering his head back to his clipboard] I’m both an M.D. and a Ph.D. in quantum mechanics. Will that be all?
Prime: Uh, yes. Yes. Thank you.
Bob: Good. Now if you don’t mind…
[Chuck Lucky snaps the syringe in half and throws it away, proving to be the “victor” of the “contest”. Deity Guy closes his eye and sends Bob, the counter, and the small child back to the Astounding-verse.]
Deity Guy: [to Connor] Go get cleaned up, you. [to Chuck Lucky] You, too, Punchy McPuncherson.
[Deity Guy closes his eye again and, in a flash of light, a square white building appears far off. Chuck Lucky grunts noncommittally, then walks off towards the building. Connor warily follows behind.]

EVENT #2: Chuck Lucky VS Connor the Wanna-Be Doctor

The Stupid: Hey, Prime! Where the hell did that nitwit Deity Guy disappear to?
Prime: Huh? Oh, he popped into the Fictosphere to look for his special representative in the games to come — you know, one that embodies neutrality perfectly. I sent Azrael with him to make sure he doesn’t do too much damage.
The Stupid: We’re doing champions, then?
Prime: Yeah, why not?
Azrael: Oh, cool! Can I have a champion, too?
Prime: Yeah, sure, Azrael, I guess you — [Prime’s light flickers, indicating the embodiment’s version of a double-take.] Azrael?!
Azrael: [looks behind and to the sides] Uh… yes?
The Stupid: Oh, this is too perfect!
Prime: You were supposed to watch Deity Guy!
Azrael: Yeah, I know. But, see, there’s this horse. Barry refuses to ride it. Says it’s faster to walk from place to place. But it’s a company horse, and I get to take the mileage as a deduction on my annual fiscal return, right? Barry’s been racking up the overtime lately, so I needed to step out to make sure he was riding the horse as per company policy. Well, it was only supposed to be for a minute, but I got stuck in traffic, so it’s been like an hour. Anyway —
[Prime’s light grows bright to signify widened, horrified eyes. The Stupid laughs in response.]
Prime: You left him alone in there for about an hour?!
Azrael: Yeah. Traffic, like I said. Anyway —
Prime: There is no traffic! We exist on a plane of existence where — oh, never mind! [to The Stupid] Come on, we need to stop Deity Guy from messing anything up!
The Stupid: Hahaha! Oh, you’ll do all the stopping, Prime! I’ll be happy just to sit back and watch the delightful destruction!
[Prime and The Stupid appear in a puff of smoke inside of a large white room with indefinite walls and a floor — much like the area they previously occupied. Scattered around are several incandescent bubbles of various size: some exist in clusters, some exist by themselves. Some float serenely through the open space. Some bounce as they go. Some are small, some are large — and some seem to grow in size with every passing second. After a moment, Prime locates Deity Guy sitting in front of a cluster of universes. Three shimmering bubbles — universes in their own right — float above the ground, arm’s length from Deity Guy. They are connected to each other by several thin semi-translucent tubes, and a fourth small bubble in the middle acting as a hub universe.]
Prime: Deity Guy! What do you think you’re doing?!
Deity Guy: [Deity Guy pulls one bubble back a little, stretching the semi-translucent tubes.] What does it look like? Having fun!
Prime: Those are universes, not playthings!
The Stupid: Ha! I beg to differ! Let the imbecile have his fun!
Deity Guy: Yeah, let the imbecile have his fun, “Optimism” Prime. That’s still a stupid name, by the way.
Prime: Yes, yes, duly noted. Look, you have to be careful with those things! There are countless lives contained within each, and —
Deity Guy: Oh, yeah, I know. [Deity Guy twists the bubble, his single eye taking note of every color shift on its surface. Instantly, he knows everything happening in the universe cluster. The name of the cluster appears on the bubbles themselves: Universes 12, 47, 61, 716. A larger label appears between them —  Polarity-cluster.] Anyway, these things are really cool! Check this out: the universe I’m holding is part of a small cluster, right? Because it’s connected by these stringy things and such to two other universes. But these stringy things don’t just allow passage between the universes. See that one in the middle? The little one? That‘s a self-contained universe that holds this super-computer thing keeping all the other universes apart!
Prime: Yeah, that’s great, but listen, you need to be careful —
Deity Guy: The Conductor — that’s the super-computer’s name — it keeps them apart! So, even if I do this… [Deity Guy pulls on the bubble as hard as he can and lets go. The bubble launches forward and slams into the middle bubble, which then slams into the other two bubbles, causing the cluster to shutter and bounce a bit. After a few seconds, the tubes straighten again and the universes fall back into place. Deity Guy turns away to face the other embodiments.] See? Nothing bad happens!
The Stupid: [grinning broadly] Oh yeah? Look again.
[Deity Guy looks closer as the tubes connecting the universes glow with an ominous green light. Instantly, they retract and pull the three bubble universes on a collision course with the center. They slam into the center and into each other, and, with three loud pops, several flashes of light, and countless brief but blood-curdling screams, only one bubble remains.]
Deity Guy: What? Again?!
Prime: Again…?! You’ve done this more than once?! I mean, once is one time too many, but —
Deity Guy: [a little flustered] Yeah, but it’s okay! It’s all okay. One of those universes was stuck in the 1970s, so… no one cares. Heh, you might even say I did them a favor! Man, disco was just the worst! Right, guys? Ha ha! Ha!
[Prime’s light takes on a reddish hue. The Stupid yawns and turns away from the other embodiments, zeroing in on a bubble with an image of a padlock on it. It bears the label of “Universe 66: Hammersmith-verse”. Deity Guy rushes over to another bubble: this one, solitary, and bearing the label of “Universe 101014: Carnival-verse“.]
Deity Guy: Hey, check this out! This one’s about a girl stuck in a concrete cell, and there’s the time traveler guy with a robot who’s trying to break her out, right? There’s going to go on an adventure! A universal adventure! [Deity Guy pulls the universe back and tosses it forward with all his might. The bubble launches forward in an arc and rotates in an orbit around the room, endlessly zooming, ever forward.] Ha ha! It’ll never stop, Prime! It’ll never stop!
Prime: [the red light grows darker] Except for when another universe bounces into its path, or happens to grow there.
Deity Guy: Ha ha. Yeah, except…except for that. Heh. [Deity Guy picks up a two-universe cluster, combined at the middle like a pair of conjoined twins, and holds them just beneath his eye. He forces his eye lash to grow.] Hey, check it out, Prime. I’m Deity Gal! Get it? Prime? Prime? Get it?
[Prime turns away and sighs, saying nothing and hovering towards a bubble with an image of a padlock on it. Unlike the other bubbles, this one has a few cracks in it, as though it were a spherical gemstone and not a bubble at all. The universe itself carries the label “Universe 1920: Manly-verse“, with the cracks labeled as “Oglethorpe Lines“. Deity Guy’s eye lash shrinks once again, and he looks down, disappointed. In the background, the Carnival-verse zips past yet again with a whistle.]
Deity Guy: Oh, hey! Wait! [Deity Guy looks into a conjoined universe — labeled “Universe 42: Area/Pax Conjoinment” — and notices a scientist adept at creating seemingly useless robots with wasted grant money.] Guys, guys! I think I just found my champion!
The Stupid: Gah! [frowning] I found my champion, too, but I can’t get to him! This stupid thing is locked!
[The Stupid and Prime peer into their chosen universes respectively.]
Prime: Hmm. I can see my choice. His name is Mr. Lucky, and he appears to be an all-around good bloke with a strong sense of justice. Looks smart, too: greenish brown tweed suit, glasses, bow-tie, bowler hat. The universe is locked, though, but maybe if I reach into these cracks —
[Prime’s light flickers as he struggles to pull his champion through the Oglethorpe Lines. All at once, he pulls backwards, and almost tumbles from the inertia. His light flickers for a moment and he is finally able to focus on the tall man before him. Deity Guy blinks and rushes over to Prime, moreso to look at the “champion” than to actually help Prime. The Stupid does the same.]
Deity Guy: Uh, Prime? Are you sure you got Mr. Lucky? I mean, this doesn’t quite —
[Deity Guy is interrupted with a swift jab to the eyeball. The man who delivered said punch, the man liberated from the “Manly-verse”, stands roughly six feet tall in brown slacks and a white shirt buttoned up to the collar with a bow-tie. His sleeves are rolled up revealing heavy muscular arms, and his square-jawed face is adorned with black-rimmed lens-less glasses and a sharp crew cut.]
???: The name’s Chuck Lucky, you pill — and if you ever all me “Mister” again, I’ll knock your block off.
The Stupid: Prime, you moron! You got the wrong one!
Chuck Lucky: [looking around the room] Hey, this doesn‘t look like any opium den I‘ve ever seen! Either the criminals running the place found me out and doped me up, or something funny’s going on here…
Prime: Nonsense. He’s the right one. He’s just… not adjusted to being outside of his universe, is all.
[Chuck Lucky dashes to Prime and grabs Prime‘s lamp stand neck type thing.]
Chuck Lucky: You‘d better start talking, Jack, or I start punching.
Prime: Urk! The Stupid — Deity Guy — help!
[The Stupid keeps his distant and laughs heartily at Prime’s situation. Deity Guy rushes over to a solitary universe labeled “Universe 312: Astounding-verse” and peers into it. He sees two people. The first, Conner, is a slim young man in his twenties with a Star Trek communicator pinned to a lab coat covering a t-shirt tackily printed to look like a lab coat as well. On his head, slightly askew, Conner wears a round mirror to mimic those worn by real doctors. The other man, Bob, stands behind a counter and his legs cannot be seen. He, too, wears a lab coat and a head mirror, but beneath the lab coat are green scrubs and around his neck is a stethoscope. When Bob moves, a clopping not unlike the sound a horse makes can be heard. Deity Guy briefly entertains the idea that Bob — the obvious real doctor — might be a centaur, and freaks out a little bit. He ultimately opts to liberate Conner instead. With a flash, Conner is in the room with the rest. Upon seeing Conner appear, Chuck Lucky releases Prime and glares at the newcomer.]
Conner: [looks around, notices the bubbles everywhere] Whoa! I must be coming down with Pac-Man fever! [lifts hand to his forehead to check temperature] Nope, cool as ice.
Chuck Lucky: Who’s this clown?
[Deity Guy edges backwards as Chuck Lucky, like a panther, moves slowly towards Conner.]
Conner: Hello! I’m Conner.
Prime: He’s, uh, a doctor…?
Deity Guy: Kinda… I guess.
Prime: [to Deity Guy] You guess?!
Deity Guy: Look, it was between a really freaky centaur and a fake, wannabe doctor. I went with the obvious choice.
Prime: Was the centaur at least a real doctor?
Deity Guy: Okay, you totally missed the point. Centaurs are weird.
The Stupid: Ha! And they call me stupid!
Chuck Lucky: …a doctor, huh?
Prime: [to Chuck Lucky] Uh, yeah! You seemed sick, so we brought a doctor to check you out!
Conner: [grinning] I’m indeed a doctor. I got my degree from the University of Paraguay’s online medical program. I was at the top of my class in “E.R. Tycoon”, and–
[Chuck Lucky grabs Conner by the collar with his left hand and punches him with his right. Conner falls to the ground and puts his hand to his cheek.]
Chuck Lucky: A doctor! I don’t trust doctors, no way, no how! All they’re good for is trying to take over the world and building death machines!
Conner: [scurries backwards, trying to get out of Chuck Lucky’s way] Hey, let’s take it easy, big fella. You seem to be suffering from a case of the Rage Virus, made famous by that movie, 28 Days Later. I have a cure in my pocket, Mister. I’ll just need to inject it into your arm with this syringe, and —
Chuck Lucky: [cracks knuckles] The name’s Chuck Lucky — no “Mister” — and I got news for you, Doc. Today isn’t your lucky day, especially if you think you’re gonna get anywhere near my arm with that thing.
The Stupid: Ha! Well, fellows, it looks as though we’ve found our next game! “Pin the syringe on the bruiser!” Let’s see how the boy fairs against your “champion”, Prime!