G-Bitez: Hangover

Stephen didn't want to wake up. The weather outside was typical Canada winter, all snow and frost and biting cold, and all he wanted to do was curl up in his big comfy bed and hibernate. The only problem was that Noodle wasn't there to share it, but he could take or leave that as long as it meant he didn't have to leave the bed. And, on top of that, he had a throbbing headache that, he suspected, might have had something to do with last night's celebrations.

But for some reason, breathing through his nose was a problem. So he had to get up to fix that, and that meant getting out of bed. For some reason, his antlers felt rather heavy, and it took a bit more effort to lift his head off of the pillow than it usually did, making him grunt as he hauled himself upright. As far as he knew, they'd never grown as heavy as this - in fact, as he pawed sleepily as his own face, he was pretty sure they didn't rustle, either...

And that was when the clown nose fell off.

"What?" he asked, still half-awake and very confused.

It was to be the start to a very long morning indeed. 

Dirkmas Presents

Eeeeeey baesephine,

Hope X-Mas dinner with the family goes well! I had to think pretty hard about what to get you this year aside from games and shit, but I think I hit the nail on the head with this one. It's called the Painkiller, and it's a combined razor fan and grappling hook. Doesn't make much of a bang, but it's great for forecasting Bloody with a Chance of Limbs :P

Oh, and btw, some of those parcels are marked "PRIVATE!", like that. You'll be needing them for when I come over later, wink wink.

Keep dat arse phat 4 me~

Dirky <3

-------

Broseph and Okuu,

Eeeeeey how goes the X-Mas? When am I gonna be an uncle? :P

LMAO, in all seriousness, though, I got you both a sunbed. I know, your girlfriend is the sun already so you don't really need one, but hey, if you ever want to head to Kuwahawi next year, you might as well get ready to prepare for that tan! Dunno where you guys can put it tho, unless you unplugged the filter on the shark tank, but I don't think that's such a good idea. So here's hoping you find a decent place for it!

Keep on rockin, bro!

Big D.

-------

Dawn,

Okay, so I called you a bitch one time, and to be fair, you did kinda make a massive screwup. But you're still a Kobber and I guess I can still call you my friend even if you do mess up a little - nowhere near as bad as your mom does, so there's that. Anyway, I got a few connections with some blokes up high, so I managed to get a little something forged for you. I think you'll appreciate it, after all the nonsense you've been through, and it'll be a great help in letting you put your feet up.

...yeah, it's a new casual chassis. It'll take some getting used to, since it's Olympian construction, but it's better than constantly walking around in bodies designed for computing or battle. After what went on in Vegas last year, you deserve it.

Also tell your mum I said hi and good luck with the family.

Love,

Dirk

-------

Cauren,

I know we haven't spoken much, so I thought now might be as good a time as any to have a chat. And let me start of by saying a dozen kids?!?!?! Jesus Christ, are you running some kind of benefits scam? :P

But all joking aside, I know raising them all must be hell for both you and your wives, so I went and bought you this big robot triceratops. It responds to voice commands, learns over time with multiple use and your kids can even ride on it. And it's plush, too, so there's no sharp edges or corners to get hurt on! It probably beats them messing around with those weird cube animals that Carol knocked together, who knows what kind of disasters those things have caused?

Oh, and I also got a NERF Gun set for Lucky. I figure if she wants to be like the Kobbers, the best step is to start with pretend guns before moving to real ones.

Hope everything's alright with you and yours, and have a happy Christmas!

Love,

Dirk

-------

Vince,

You poor, sad bastard. Have a laptop, and watch some stupid videos to ease the pain your dumb customers and pushy store cause you. Fun fact - this was my old Cré laptop, but it kicked the bucket so I fitted a whole new hard drive and shit and sent it over to you. Consider it penance for not going into your store at any point, although tbh that might be a blessing in disguise.

Oh, and it has a few games on it too - Darkest Dungeon, Civ 6, Bit Trip Runner, all that stuff. Enjoy.

Don't let the bastards get you down!

Dirk Angelos

-------

Jaws,

Didn't I see you doing stunt work for that shitty SyFy film about a two-headed shark? Whatevs, you're a brilliant actor and it's a shame you have to get stuck with crap like that. I was gonna send you tooth whitener, but that's a stupid idea and also you're a friggin' shark, you don't need tooth whitener when you constantly grow new ones. So I thought I'd send you a fine selection of port, since movie stars seem to like stuff like that. Try not to drink all of it at once, I saw you at Drown Yer Mates and lol you hilarious when drunk.

Keep doing what you do best!

Best Wishes,

Dirk Angelos

-------

setpehn,

hahahaha you shacked up with thle lgorillaz guitarist you sly motherfucker

have a ccoholatve fountain because i htave like fucking ten dof thoose

i'm svery drnufk

drik

-------

Melody and Co.,

Don't really know you guys much, but I wanna spread a little Christmas spirit to you guys since I have so much money. So I threw some your way - a whole bunch of  £100 gift vouchers, to be exact. Don't spend it all in one place, and be sure you buy something nice! :)

Btw Melody, are you and Beck a thing yet? Hurry up, I wanna find some outlandish wedding present I can send to the both of you XP

Love,

Dirk :)

-------

Clash,

Hey, haven't seen you around much. Shame we didn't talk, but I guess you had problems of your own, so we never really met. I know you like swords, tho, cause Cauren told me, so I got my connections to make you a bigger version of this thing. It slices, it dices and it cools you down on hot summer days! Wouldn't reccomend using it in the kitchen tho, unless you like soggy food.

Dirk

Fae Folk

Have you ever had a day where everything just seemed to go wrong?

Mine didn't start until last night, when I made the first mistake in a long line of mistakes - purchasing a replica sword from a booth at a games convention. I fully admit, it was a stupid desicion and I knew it at the time, but I make terrible purchasing desicions after a pint of Stowford Press, and a pewter mug or video game poster just didn't seem like appropriate souvenirs. The only major issue I had with the thing was that it didn't have any label describing the maker or what franchise it was based off, but it was small and fairly cheap, and the man running the booth seemed all too happy to get rid of it. And hey, it looked vaguely like the Master Sword, so there was that going for it.

This small victory was immediately crushed when I returned home and my mother flipped her lid at the sight of it. I'd spent years procrastinating on finding a job and wasting my university degree, so money was a touch and go subject, and as far as she was concerned the huge, impractical replica blade was close to the last straw. A lot of screamed words and accusations got thrown about, and threats to cut off the Internet or kick me out of the house got aimed my way, and we parted in a sour mood fuelled by mutual resentment and my own self-loathing. When we sat down at the television that night, we didn't banter or guess at plot points like we used to - our relationship had been severely strained by my frivolous purchase, and we both knew it.

I knew that in the morning the whole thing would have been smoothed over and life would probably proceed as normal, even if the atmosphere would be a little frosty at first. But as I placed the sword against the wall next to the games consoles and crawled into bed, I felt as though all of my internal organs had been transmuted into lumps of lead. As childish as this is going to seem, I honestly wished I was somewhere else instead of some backwater town in the arse end of England - somewhere more interesting, where I didn't have to put up with my parents or dodgy neighbours and the reek of 4am booze and vomit.

With all that considered, though, I slept like a log. Cider will do that to you.

-------

I was woken up next morning by a buzzing noise close to my ear.

I groaned - it had been a pretty hot Summer, so the explosion in the insect population was pretty much a given at this point. Despite my best efforts, things like craneflies, ladybugs and the occasional wasp would breach the flimsy defenses of my room's windows and make a scene until I could shift them or get them with the bug spray. But I was comfortable, and couldn't be bothered to drag myself out of bed just to deal with the one annoying insect. So I merely swatted at it with one hand, thinking nothing of it and merely wanting to lie in until I felt ready to face the world at large.

That was the second mistake. Because then the buzzing thing swooped down, landed on my shoulder and bit me on the ear.

"YEEEOOOW!" I shrieked, leaping about a foot into the air. Have you ever been bitten by a swarm of ants, or stung by nettles? Because this was like the two had fused together, Dragon Ball style, into some kind of super-sting whose sole purpose is to make your life an utter misery - a tingling, ice-cold spike of pain that radiates thorny roots into the rest of your skin just to drive the point home. It was the kind of bite, I figured as I clapped a free hand over my ear, that wasn't going to shift any time soon, and that made the whole experience worse.

But my agony became trivial when the thing alighted on my other shoulder and said:

"Ah've bin tryin' ta git yer bloody attenshun fer 'alf an hour, ye sod! Are all 'umans this bloody daft, or is ye a special case?"

Somehow, despite the pain in my neck, I managed to twist my head around to facew hat I had assumed was a talking insect. Except that instead of some miraculous discovery in the field of entomology, there was a very small, very naked woman standing there, with fiery red hair, deep green eyes and an expression like she was scolding a puppy for chewing the furniture. For someone about eight inches tall, she was built like a Roman gladiator - broad shoulders, thick limbs and muscles that looked like they could knead my blood right out of my own pasty body. That and the shiny, beetle-like wings folded up over her back should have been my first clue that this was not the thing that children's storybooks were written about.

But I was still half-asleep and still getting over the pain of the first bite. So I made my third mistake.

"Excuse me," I mumbled. "Are you a fairy?"

For reply, she leaned over and bit my other ear.

"Ah'm a bloody pixie, ye daft booger!" she snapped, once I'd stopped screaming and realized she was hovering just in front of my nose. "If I wuz a fairie, Ah'd be wearin' clothes, fer wun thing, an' doin' a lot warse tae ye reet noo! An' stop squallin', t'wern't nowt but a love bite!" The stranger's voice was surprisingly baritone, for such a small creature - despite being clearly a female voice, it sounded as though Barry White and that girl from Disney's Brave had some kind of horrific love-child.

"Give me one reason," I hissed, massaging my forever-ruined earlobes, "why I shouldn't just swat you into a pulp right now. Because even if I wasn't hallucinating this, I don't have any time for this shit right now."

"Ah'll give ye two," was the reply as the pixie - if that was what she was - folded her arms over her chest. "Wun- ye couldnae squish me if ye tried. Ah've got enuff strength in me body tae hoy yer sorry arse oot yonder winder, so a book or shoe wouldnae do shite tae me." Given the close-up of her muscles I was getting as she buzzed, humming-bird style, just a little too close for comfort, I was ready to believe her. I normally had no qualms about squashing bugs, but one look at those rippling abs and biceps left me ready to reconsider my options.

"Two," she added, pointing to the aformentioned window, "there's a knucker diggin' oop yer ma'am's garden."

It took all of two seconds for me to register that bit of information. Then, even more bewildered beyond belief, I leaped up out of bed and dashed to the window, peering past the glare of the morning sun and down into the garden below. Sure enough, there did seem to be something rooting about in the bushes at the foot of the lawn, kicking up dirt over the grass as it dug - something which, on first glance, could have been mistaken for next door's orange-and-white cat, with it's hunched back and front end hidden from view.

Except when I looked closer, it was clearly too big to be a cat.

-------

My fourth and stupidest mistake was thinking I could run downstairs, leap out of the double-doors that lead to the back garden and try to shoo the thing away.

Because the moment I got close, it whipped around to face me, and it dawned on me immediately just how woefully underequipped I was for this. The creature looked like somebody had taken a lizard and stretched it on a rack - all body, neck and tail, with equally-gangly limbs and sharp claws still covered with soil from the digging it had been doing. The eyes were too big for the horn-studded skull, rolling comically back-and-forth in their sockets, but the effect was ruined by the angry hissing noise that came from parted jaws, accompanied by glistening fangs and a stench like an upturned pig farm.

The knucker, if that was what it was called, was clearly not happy about being interrupted, and was also more than capable of killing me in various agonizing ways. And all I had on me was my dressing gown and two hands that were only good for either furious wanking or typing on a computer. For a brief moment, as the snake-like monster manouvered itself into position between me and the flowerbed, I wondered if this was some sort of horrible nightmare I hadn't properly woken up from, and if I should stop reading so much Tolkien before I went to bed.

But then the buzzing of the pixie's wings came cutting into my thoughts, and she shouted into my ear too loud for it to be a dream.

"Dinnae panic, laddie!" she yelled. "Joost mind oot when it lays it's ears back - that's when it spits venom at ye!"

"Spits what?" I said, my attention divided between her and the horrible thing.

Then I saw the creature's bat-like ears flatten back, and I leaped to one side just in time as the knucker lunged forward and coughed out a stream of something purple in my direction. The foul-smelling liquid missed me by a hair's breadth, but splattered over the paving stones, gravel and fence in great globs, and a sizzling sound like bacon on a frying pan ensued, accompanied by great clouds of fumes from where the substance had struck. I shuddered as my brain conjured images of dissolving flesh and liquifying bone, which I quickly pushed out because I wanted to eat breakfast, thank you very much.

"Git the sword, ya gutless fanny!" shrieked the pixie in tangible frustration. "Lop it's fackin' 'eed orf!"

"I can't!" I howled back, trying to put distance between me and the snarling knucker. "It's in my room!"

"Oh, fer fack's sake..."

The buzzing rapidly vanished, which meant the pixie had left me alone with the slavering snake-dragon thing. It wasn't a very comforting desicion, since the creature was still very cross at me and seemed to be inching forwards to get in range for another strike, which was precisely what I didn't want right now. Putting the clothesline between me and it would be a stupid idea - if it's venom was able to melt stone and wood like that, then what chance did a flimsy metal pole have? Precisely ten seconds of my life passed by where it really didn't seem as though I was going to walk away without some part of me missing.

Then something like a toothpick was hurridley pressed into my hand.

Everything happened fast after that.

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the replica sword in the palm of my hand, before it suddenly grew back to it's usual size and weight, making me stumble with the sudden change. Reading my panicked flailing as an attack, the knucker lunged again, this time to bite - and a higher instinct kicked in that took control of my body and made me twirl aside, the teeth missing my thigh by milimetres. The head lashed around again, but met the blade coming the other way, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop what happened next with my arms acting on autopilot.

There was a crunch as bone disintergated like a biscuit liferaft, accompanied by a fountain of black, stinking blood.

And then it was over. I'd just killed a monstrous dragon in the back garden, with a magical size-changing sword, wearing my pyjamas and dressing gown, because a foul-mouthed naked pixie told me to. And nobody was there to congratulate me. No mayors or kings were offering me land, no princesses were kissing me on the cheek, no parties were being thrown with cake or pizza or booze. It was just as though I'd merely gone outside to mow the lawn or buy a paper for my grandmother, a mere footnote in the day's events, worth no more notice than an itchy nose.

Not a great start to the week.

As I stood there, heaving with terror and wondering how to wash the blood out of my clothes, the pixie alighted on my shoulder again. I could sense the satisfied grin on her face without having to look, and the vague impression that she was scoring my efforts on a scale of one to ten went through my mind. It occurred to me that I was probably not awake enough to make sound character judgements, but I still couldn't help the feeling that this tiny muscle-woman knew far more than she was letting on, and that made me uncomfortable. On top of terrified, confused and nauseated, I mean.

"Nut bad, laddie," she remarked, "Ah reck'n ye'll 'ave a knack fer this afore long!"

I blinked, resisiting the urge to vomit from the stench of knucker gore. Then I pocketed the sword - it shrank, of course - and headed down the garden path in the direction that, I knew, would ease my mind of these troubled events.

"Whoa, 'ang aboot!" cried the pixie woman. "Where'z ya gawn tae?"

"To the garage," I muttered thickly. "That's where I keep my cider."

"Ach, dinnae bovver wi' that! Thatcher's is piss in a bottle!"

 I turned, ready to snap back at her for talking shit about by beloved tipple, only to find her suddenly carrying a very large jug of what looked like melted gold, which sloshed heavily as I came to a stop just short of the garden gate. The fact that she was carrying it without a hint of a struggle - in one hand, no less - made me wonder where the hell she'd been when I needed to move my old bookshelf out for the council to collect. Would have saved me a lot of bother.

"Naah, this," she cackled, "is a proper bevvy!"

-------

Three swigs of pixie rock cider (which is fucking delicious, by the way), and I was calm enough to let my new house guest explain things. Which she started off by suddenly growing to about my size - which was a bit of shock, but honestly? After killing a dragon, I was just about ready for anything between a charging rhino and a meteorite strike, so a naked woman sitting next to me with a glass of fairie booze was hardly anything to get worked up about.

Her name was Belinda. And yes, she was a pixie. They're kind of like the value-brand, low-budget cousin to fairies, and the relationship bewteen the races is like that between the rich and the poor in the average Charles Dickens novel. She'd run away from home because she couldn't stand the prejudice and oppression any longer, and had pretty much blundered into this part of the country by accident - which made sense, because if she was being smart about it she would have come somewhere more exciting than here. And that, apparently, was when she felt the thaumic signal from my sword and made a beeline straight for me.

"So the sword actually is magic," I groused, unsure as whom I should be blaming.

"Aye," nodded Belinda as she knocked back another swig. "Faecaliburs be dead rare, mind. Only a few o' em left, and nae many livin' wot could forge anuvver. Yer bloody blessed ta get yer mitts on one, Ah'll tell ye - we wudnae be 'aving this chat reet noo, ovverwise."

I blinked. The pieces were starting to come together in my mind - all of this had happened after I'd got the sword, it didn't look like anything I recognized from nerd culture, it could inexplicably change size...

"...the sword is letting me see you."

"Och, yer noo' as daft as ye look!" The pixie slapped me on the back - which was like being hit with a sledgehammer, and made me jerk forward and spill cider on the carpet. "Dinnae fash yersel' aboot that, it vanishes in aboot a minute."

Then she told me the rest of the story - and guess what? All that stuff about fairies and dragons and all the folklore of the British Isles? It's all real. Don't ask me to explain how, but basically they decided to hide themselves with magic years ago, and now regular people can't see fae - that's the collective noun for all magical beings, by the way - because they explicitly don't want to be seen. It's only when a normal person interacts with something made by fae hands, or gets blisteringly drunk or high, that they can see them; and most just blame the alcohol since, as far as the real world is concerned, fairies simply don't exist. Weird shit, I know.

"So wait," I interrupted. "If I went to Derby right now, would I see that giant ram standing over the city?"

"Naa, that's 'is great-great-great grandkid noo. 'Ee's a reet arse'ole when the footie's on."

"And Nottingham?"

"Robin dinnae taak many visitors noowadays. But aye, 'ee's there."

"Scotland?"

"Och, best not tae, laddie. Nessie gits aal cranky durin' July - matin' season fer kelpies."

"...and why are you Scottish?" I asked, the question only just occurring to me. "I thought pixies were from Cornwall."

Belinda shrugged. "Me great grandpa moved oop there durin' the war, when bloody Nazi's looked like they wuz gonna invade. Ah wuz born and grown in a brownie neighborhood, an Ah reck'n Ah joost picked oop t'local flavour. Mind ye," she added, grinning widely, "at least Ah'm no' born Irish! Bloody money-grubbin' leprechauns can kiss me arse, bunch o' swanky fannies!"

I sipped my cider again, and made my fifth mistake.

"So," I summarised, "I have just brought a magical sword made of fae metal, which lets me see all the folkloric beings of the British Isles, made the acquaintance of a pixie, killed a dragon-"

"Knucker, laddie."

"-knucker, right, and now I've just learned that fairies are real and living among us. And I know I'm not dreaming any of this, because I'm not anywhere near smart enough to make up this kind of shit. So, the big fat question hanging over all of this right now is... what do I do with all this? Because if it means I'm now the Chosen One or something and have to save the world from some terrible evil, I'm not doing that."

Belinda looked at me when I finished that statement, as if judging me for a job interview. And her eyes were like polished emeralds boring through my body - I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was reading me like an open book. It made me squirm a little in the sofa, and it didn't help that I wasn't sure where to look, torn between not wanting to be rude and not staring at the naked woman sitting right next to me. This was something the pixie had clearly had experience in, wheras I had none of that at all.

"Weel, noo" she replied, "ye divvent need tae do any o' that. But Ah cannae lie to ye, laddie, it's nae aal roses an' clover. Ye'll nivvor see things the same agin, on accoont o' knowin' that yer boss might joost be a dragon or elf, or yer neighbour's got a barghest fer a dog. There's a lotta dangerous beasties an' beings oot there, warse than knuckers, and quite a few pricks wot'll taak an interest in ye fer ownin' a Faecalibur and bein' able tae see us. Ye could verra weel git hort or warse, if ye divvent knaa wut yer doin', an' folks wot cannae see us will taak ye fer mad, mebbe even try an' lock ye oop if yer try an gab any o' this tae anywun."

That statement wasn't very comforting to anyone, let alone a twenty-three year old nerd who's world had made complete sense until now. Never mind the fact that I'd be considered insane if I divulged this information to any other human being (as if I would), there was the distinct possibility that my drunken impulse purchase could lead to me ending up in a dragon's stomach or getting my head cut off by mad elves. For a moment, I wondered once more if I really was dreaming and was going to wake up at some point.

Once again, fate dealt me a bum hand when Belinda threw an arm around me, and my shoulders whined in protest.

"Ye'll joost stick wi' me, aye? Yer a canny lad, nivvor mind wakin' oop in the morns, and a promisin' 'and with that blade - ye'll sharp larn 'ow tae git bey in the Faelands. We's an odd and scattered folk, nae lyin' aboot it, but us Fae be a bonny lot when we's noo layin' doon curses or makin' heedlines in shite tabloids! Ye'll 'ave a gran' old time with us - whey, give ye a month or three, ye could verra weel pass fer one o' us, if ye keep a mind on wut Ah tells ye!

"Now, 'old still," she finished, letting me go. "Ah gots tae put this in yer lug'ole."

"...I beg your pardon?" I asked.

For answer, Belinda reached into thin air and pulled out something that looked like a failed experiment to crossbreed earwigs and blenders. It shrieked and snapped its six pairs of mandibles at my face, wiggling its stubby legs as though it severely wanted to get back at me for insulting it a mere sentence ago, and yet the pixie held onto it as thought it was a harmless earthworm. It was the kind of scenario where I wished that, between the size-changing faeries and the magical swords and the poison spitting dragons, I could find a box of Chicken McNuggets to reassure myself that I was still on Planet Earth.

I couldn't tell you the name of that insect - it's Gaelic and requires a pint of phlegm in the throat to pronounce properly. But I can tell you that having it crawl into your ear so you can understand the fae language hurts like a goddamn bitch.

-------

Three months later, I had learned a lot of things. 

I'd learned how to step between the world of humans and the Faelands just by thinking about it, and where the best places to do so are. I learned about fae currency and why it can't come into the human world, and that the leprechauns are in charge of the only fae bank in the whole world. I learned how to tell the different between an seal and a selkie, how to haggle with a cait sith for a pint of milk and some ham, where the best place to tickle a wyvern is and why you should never call Herne the Hunter a scrublord to his face. I lost a bunch of weight, won a wrestling match with some out-of-town pixies, killed an erkling preying on children in the New Forest and, as Belinda predicted, had a generally good time.

And yet, when the legendary giant Gogmagog called me a twat as he fished my hungover form out of the River Thames, I still felt completely clueless.

So, did you ever have a day like this?

Because I tell you straight - it can only get better afterwards.

Non-Canon AU: Ghosts

Beck was dead.

This must be clearly understood, or nothing that happens next will make sense.

It had happened last year - suddenly, and from a source that nobody had expected. The question of how Ivan of the Magpies got a hold of the weaponry he'd carted back to his superiors had been a lingering question in everyone's minds, and it was swiftly and horribly answered when Tremor of the Black Dragon appeared as if from nowhere and levelled half of South Vegas. In the resulting skirmish that followed, the Kobbers had been hideously beaten by the geomancer, whose powers had been slowly approaching those of a deity due to past events, and it seemed as though he could just not be brought down by anything that was thrown at him.

The sudden and awful twist ending came when Beck, spitting sparks and furious beyond measure, had leaped at Tremor just as he had been winding up to smash somebody around the head with a fist of solid granite.

The crunch of a shattering AI Core would forever be ingrained in the minds of the people present.

Tremor had then fled, leaving the others to realize what had happened. Then the panic had set in, and Beck's mangled body had been rushed back to the K.O.B. in what basically amounted to a spare wheelbarrow someone had conveniently found lying about. There was a mix of horrible tension and vague hope as the gadgeteers and scientists studied the remains of what had once been their former comrade and spunky, heroic ally. Surely, they reasoned, he could be restored? What were the Kobbers if they couldn't bring someone back from a fate as horrific as this - they'd come back from worse, hadn't they?

All hope died when Doctor Light turned to everyone assembled and shook his head.

There was nothing to recover. The AI Core had been pulverized, and the Xel system had no means of reconstructing the very thing that told them to form a body to begin with. Even if they could recover anything, there wouldn't be anything that was Beck to put in a new body or restore - the same personality, but none of the memory or experience. Doctor Light did not believe in keeping personality backups, as evidenced by his refusal to restore Rush two years ago, and he hadn't the hand-eye co-ordination anymore to recreate the systems he'd forged the body from.

For all intents and purposes... Beck Light was dead.

Permadead.

The realization settled in like sea-fog; slow, but cold and bitter, and everyone took it badly in one way or another. Jewel Man broke down into hysterical sobbing and had to be comforted by an equally tearful Rock, Crash and Splash Woman. Sarah had sobbed quietly, and the rest of her week had been spent in mournful silence, not even touching her pancakes at breakfast. Kevin and Jin had promised to pay tribute to him in a special episode, touched by how he had gone down fighting. And even David, who didn't give a shit about much else, poured himself a drink in memory of the robot - although he immediately forgot why after he'd downed it.

But none took it harder than Ash. Beck had been practically like a second child to him, and the moment he'd heard about what was essentially the murder of a close ally, something dark and shocking erupted from within the Godslayer. A kind of cold, silent rage enveloped him, and he'd turned and left the bar without so much as saying a word. The only news anyone had of him was at the end of that week, when news reports came of an entire army descending upon the south quadrant of Vegas where the Black Dragon made their lair.

There wasn't enough left of Tremor to fill a tuna can.

Ash had been banished to the couch for a month. Even Sam had to admit that it had been rather extreme.

They held a funeral on the next day. It had been so long since they had held a funeral, since barely anyone died amongst the Kobbers like this, that it felt strange and dark. Rock spoke of how proud he was to have a son like Beck, and that he would not wish for any other, not even as a replacement. Ash had quietly spoken of the boy's enthusiasm, willingness to learn and unyielding sense of justice. Melody - the doll - had begun to say something, then broken down and had to be escorted to a back room. Then the single pen drive that contained what remained of Beck's programming was lowered into the dusty earth of Nevada, as all present recited the traditional rites mechanically and dully.

It was going to be a long year. And one of their own wouldn't be around to help.