WARNING: The following contains themes not suited for younger audiences or those of more sensitive dispotion. Viewer discretion is advised.
"And in related news, the Olympia Police Department have released the names of the two men killed in a bizzare incident in the Undercity Market Square. The individuals, Mercurio Pozzi and Umberto Ardizzone, were found dead outside a fruit stall owned by local gardener Bertrand Bellincioni at half past three two weeks ago in a mangled condition, with the only clue being an unidentifiable energy trace on the corpse of Ardizzone.
"Police have yet to identify the killer of the two men, who were known to be associates of the small-time Capitani crime family-"
"THE VEG DID IT"
"Stew, this isn't the time to editorialize right now."
"No, come on, it's so obvious! Two men dead in front of a fruit and veg stall?! CHECK THE VEG! The real killer's there!"
"...you never got over that incident with the courgette in high school, huh?"
"I swelled up like a balloon, Chick! It was awful! And I know for a fact that anything that grows underground is never good for ya! Ask that gardener what he's been growing in his back yard!"
"And a reminder, folks, never to watch Attack of the Killer Tomatoes before a major murder happens. Now, back to actual news..."
Saturday 29 February 2020
Wednesday 26 February 2020
Good Faith
The playlist of the Body-n-Soul Fitness and Faith Center was definitely not one you'd hear at the club.
Nor was it one that you'd expect to hear in a place of worship or even a gym. But Body-n-Soul was both, a place where one could praise the good word with one hand and knock back a protein shake with the other. Where closeness to God was measured in push-ups and donations taken in where written down next to how many reps you’d done that week. A strange place, but in a place as strange as Olympia, the strange was home.
"Fifty-four... fifty-five... fifty-six..."
Jenny's feet pounded rapidly on the treadmill, her shoes almost blurs. Her breath came in minute gasps and pants from between her parted lips. Her face was flushed and her olive skin was shining with persperation that also matted her messy fringe. The silver ichthys bounced around her neck with every step, which came at a pace that would have made a casual jogger balk. In front of her, the eyes of Jesus Christ stared back at her from the glossy plane of a poster.
A poster captioned "Lord, show me the whey" as Jesus smirkingly held up a pot of protein powder.
She hated that poster so much.
Nor was it one that you'd expect to hear in a place of worship or even a gym. But Body-n-Soul was both, a place where one could praise the good word with one hand and knock back a protein shake with the other. Where closeness to God was measured in push-ups and donations taken in where written down next to how many reps you’d done that week. A strange place, but in a place as strange as Olympia, the strange was home.
"Fifty-four... fifty-five... fifty-six..."
Jenny's feet pounded rapidly on the treadmill, her shoes almost blurs. Her breath came in minute gasps and pants from between her parted lips. Her face was flushed and her olive skin was shining with persperation that also matted her messy fringe. The silver ichthys bounced around her neck with every step, which came at a pace that would have made a casual jogger balk. In front of her, the eyes of Jesus Christ stared back at her from the glossy plane of a poster.
A poster captioned "Lord, show me the whey" as Jesus smirkingly held up a pot of protein powder.
She hated that poster so much.
Sunday 16 February 2020
Breakout
It had once been the Curse's most well-kept secret. Not even Hardcore Prawn had told some of his biggest allies about it, not even Giovanni. It had been hidden away in the bowels of the Undercity, close enough to the Green Hell Zone that not even the most insane escaped convict would have wished to step foot in it. It was to be their ace in the hole, the knockout punch that would have seen the end of the Kobbers and their total control of Olympia.
Yet CRAY and Seanet had been defeated. And with their downfall had come the downfall of this place. Now it was nothing more than a rotting shell - lab equipment, computer monitors and cabling left to decompose like a whale's beached corpse, with not even any warning lights illuminating it.
But even this would have consequences.
-------
Somewhere, a computer monitor flared to life once more.
WARNING: Unable to connect to power supply. Check power cable connection and reconnect again.
The cyndrical capsule stood at the very end of a row of the things. They were identical in all respects - uniform grey, polished metal, like oversized drinks cans with a hinge at one end. Their only defining features were the numbers and names printed in black at the foot of each. No indication of their contents within. And each one was connected to a massive series of pumps that had, long ago, stopped pumping whatever it was into them, now rusted and still.
Whatever had been in those tanks, whatever project the scientists of the Curse had been tinkering on, had probably long died. Never to be unleashed against the Kobbers.
At least, that was the assumption.
WARNING: Critical power supply failure detected. Connecting to backup power systems...
ALERT: Unable to connect to backup power systems.
WARNING: Internal life support battery at 0.04%.
The tank marked "KK-010 LILITH" began to flash a warning light at the top. A loud beeping noise came from somewhere inside, probably an automated system. But that was quickly drowned out by the muted but furious thumping from within, like fists were bashing against the interior.
Something clicked.
WARNING: Potential danger to subject's life functions: 99.8%.
Disengaging subject from life support... Complete.
Commencing automatic ejection of subject.
Like some perverse clam, a parody of that famous painting, the tank cracked open. Pale blue, viscous fluid drooled stickily from the sides. A light shone from within, almost etherial, filtered to blue by the fluid. Something inside writhed like a newborn shark inside the egg-case.
DANGER: Power supply-
The monitor flicked off. The lights and sounds ceased. The door ground to a final, almost disappointed halt.
It had, however, opened far enough. The thing inside bucked and writhed, seeking an opening. It found one, and got a foot over the lip of the tank, then another. The legs followed, the hips pivoting to help pull the rest of the body along for the ride. One foot touched the ground, then gave way almost immediately, the concept of "standing up" too new to it. With a decisive thump and a gasp, the thing that lived in Tank KK-010 slid out and hit the floor in a heap.
But darkness had turned to light, silence had turned to noise. And it was too much all at once.
She gagged and spluttered. She writhed on the sticky floor in the manner of all newborns thrown suddenly into the world. She clawed at her eyes and ears, everything too bright and too loud. She tried to speak and instead puked more amnotic gel onto the floor. Her first breath was ragged, and then she clutched at her own throat as she tried to stop it, terrified by the sensation of air in her lungs.
Thoughts flashed through her head, and they terrified her more. They were fast, too fast, and she couldn't catch any single one. She tried to stop them by bashing her head against the edge of the tank. But the pain made her collapse again, wheezing. She scratched at her skin - which scraped, why did it scrape? - and clawed at the thing that revolved and hummed where her abdomen should be - why was that there, why, what for?
"Fuuuuuck," was her first word. She didn't know what a fuck was, or how she knew about it. But it seemed like the best word to use at the moment. Harsh and sharp. It described her entry to the world perfectly.
A single thought suddenly struck her. She didn't even know if it was hers. But this one stuck like stubborn wasp on a window.
Get outside.
Outside? What was outside? She felt cool air on her skin, and wondered if that was where outside was. Her eyes still stung, but she could make out shapes and colours now. She could feel the floor beneath her, hear the hum of some great machine far off beneath her own hyperventilating and spitting. And speaking of, she could taste - and smell - the nutrient fluid. Ugh, like ammonia and mustard in an abusive relationship. Whatever those were.
Somehow, she managed to roll onto her stomach. This made her puke another quantity of fluid from her lungs. Once that was out of the way, she braced her arms against the floor and pushed. They were still very weak, and all she could do was lift her chest off the floor. But it was enough.
She reached out and grasped the ground ahead of her, then pulled. Then she did it again. And when it proved too slow, her legs got in on the act, feet pushing where arms pulled.
There was a light ahead of her.
She crawled towards it.
Yet CRAY and Seanet had been defeated. And with their downfall had come the downfall of this place. Now it was nothing more than a rotting shell - lab equipment, computer monitors and cabling left to decompose like a whale's beached corpse, with not even any warning lights illuminating it.
But even this would have consequences.
-------
Somewhere, a computer monitor flared to life once more.
WARNING: Unable to connect to power supply. Check power cable connection and reconnect again.
The cyndrical capsule stood at the very end of a row of the things. They were identical in all respects - uniform grey, polished metal, like oversized drinks cans with a hinge at one end. Their only defining features were the numbers and names printed in black at the foot of each. No indication of their contents within. And each one was connected to a massive series of pumps that had, long ago, stopped pumping whatever it was into them, now rusted and still.
Whatever had been in those tanks, whatever project the scientists of the Curse had been tinkering on, had probably long died. Never to be unleashed against the Kobbers.
At least, that was the assumption.
WARNING: Critical power supply failure detected. Connecting to backup power systems...
ALERT: Unable to connect to backup power systems.
WARNING: Internal life support battery at 0.04%.
The tank marked "KK-010 LILITH" began to flash a warning light at the top. A loud beeping noise came from somewhere inside, probably an automated system. But that was quickly drowned out by the muted but furious thumping from within, like fists were bashing against the interior.
Something clicked.
WARNING: Potential danger to subject's life functions: 99.8%.
Disengaging subject from life support... Complete.
Commencing automatic ejection of subject.
Like some perverse clam, a parody of that famous painting, the tank cracked open. Pale blue, viscous fluid drooled stickily from the sides. A light shone from within, almost etherial, filtered to blue by the fluid. Something inside writhed like a newborn shark inside the egg-case.
DANGER: Power supply-
The monitor flicked off. The lights and sounds ceased. The door ground to a final, almost disappointed halt.
It had, however, opened far enough. The thing inside bucked and writhed, seeking an opening. It found one, and got a foot over the lip of the tank, then another. The legs followed, the hips pivoting to help pull the rest of the body along for the ride. One foot touched the ground, then gave way almost immediately, the concept of "standing up" too new to it. With a decisive thump and a gasp, the thing that lived in Tank KK-010 slid out and hit the floor in a heap.
But darkness had turned to light, silence had turned to noise. And it was too much all at once.
She gagged and spluttered. She writhed on the sticky floor in the manner of all newborns thrown suddenly into the world. She clawed at her eyes and ears, everything too bright and too loud. She tried to speak and instead puked more amnotic gel onto the floor. Her first breath was ragged, and then she clutched at her own throat as she tried to stop it, terrified by the sensation of air in her lungs.
Thoughts flashed through her head, and they terrified her more. They were fast, too fast, and she couldn't catch any single one. She tried to stop them by bashing her head against the edge of the tank. But the pain made her collapse again, wheezing. She scratched at her skin - which scraped, why did it scrape? - and clawed at the thing that revolved and hummed where her abdomen should be - why was that there, why, what for?
"Fuuuuuck," was her first word. She didn't know what a fuck was, or how she knew about it. But it seemed like the best word to use at the moment. Harsh and sharp. It described her entry to the world perfectly.
A single thought suddenly struck her. She didn't even know if it was hers. But this one stuck like stubborn wasp on a window.
Get outside.
Outside? What was outside? She felt cool air on her skin, and wondered if that was where outside was. Her eyes still stung, but she could make out shapes and colours now. She could feel the floor beneath her, hear the hum of some great machine far off beneath her own hyperventilating and spitting. And speaking of, she could taste - and smell - the nutrient fluid. Ugh, like ammonia and mustard in an abusive relationship. Whatever those were.
Somehow, she managed to roll onto her stomach. This made her puke another quantity of fluid from her lungs. Once that was out of the way, she braced her arms against the floor and pushed. They were still very weak, and all she could do was lift her chest off the floor. But it was enough.
She reached out and grasped the ground ahead of her, then pulled. Then she did it again. And when it proved too slow, her legs got in on the act, feet pushing where arms pulled.
There was a light ahead of her.
She crawled towards it.
Sunday 2 February 2020
The Epic Trailer
Next time, on Quiz Quest...
"It's over, Ego! The Stones of Mystery may be yours, but I've solved all their riddles and defeated your Enigma monsters! Your power's gone! You've no hope of winning!"
What should have been the final battle...
"Don't be so sure, pathetic human! I may not have the power I once possessed over your planet and your people..."
...and the final answer to all things...
"...but I can still do THIS!"
"What?! No... that can't be!"
...takes a dark turn.
"Say goodbye to your future, Quiz! Because it's MY future now! GYA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!"
"NOOOOOOOO-"
This year... The past must be uncovered... the future must be saved... and the ultimate question must be answered...
"Who were... the Kobbers?"
--------
As the commercial ended, the brown-haired youth turned to the only other person in that smokey room and beamed.
"Well?" he asked. His voice was like a child that had just made a modern-art masterpiece at the making table in primary school. Which was somewhat incogrous given he was very clearly in his mid-late twenties and, thanks to the pinstripe jacket and fedora he was wearing, somehow looked a lot older.
The other figure, older and portlier, pulled the cigar from his mouth and let the smoke roll forth for a bit.
"I still think it's a lotta hooey," he said at last.
The youth's shoulders slumped. "Oh, come on, pop!"
"No, I told ya before!" the man insisted, gesturing with the cigar. "You'ze wastin' your time with this ridikerous show! If the papes are roight - which itself is a freakin' miracle - you're ratin's 'ave been plummetin' like concrete shoes in a lagoon! If dis bombs-"
"Bombs?!" The youth threw up his hands. "How can it bomb?! We've got everything worked out! Marketing, location, sponsorships! And I've got my best agents-"
"Ya mean, the most crooked ones," snapped the man. "The ones whose palms ya greased so hard, they couldn't even hold their own dickie-birds."
The youth looked at him as though he'd just said the sky was blue. "Well, obviously.
"No, pop," he insisted as the older man rolled his eyes, "that' just what showbiz is! The entire thing's corrupt, everyone's a crook, and the only way to get by is to latch onto the bigger crooks and ride their coattails! You taught me that, pop!"
"I don't remember teachin' ya to prance aroun' in a budget Mardi-Gras costume!"
"Must have been drunk that day, then," came the retort.
The older man sighed and brushed a hand through iron-gray hair. It was clear that he'd had this kind of talk with the youth - his son, apparently - before. But it was hard to tell if he was more exasperated, annoyed or upset by the remark. He quickly jammed the cigar between his teeth again in an effort to stop thinking about that.
"Look, kid," he said. "I know dis is what you'ze wanna be doin'. An' I don't begrudge ya nuttin'. But I still tink you'd be better off gettin' out. What's gonna 'appen when those vampires all up in that studio drain yer dry and kick yer out again? When is you gonna tink of your family and show 'em a little more respeck?"
The youth sighed in return. "Pop, we've been over this. I'm on television now! People know my name and I'm loved by millions! And they kept saying saying I couldn't do it because of who I was, because I was Manny Tamboia's kid. Isn't that enough respect?"
"An' annuver thing," cut in Manny, "you'ze never gonna get the actual, for-real Kobbers! They gots better tings ta do than mess about with yer lousy games!"
The youth suddenly gave a grin. It was a fox's grin - all charm on the outside, but hiding a mind like a steel trap. It actually made the older man recoil slightly.
"Oh, no? Just wait until they get a taste of what I've got to offer them. The moment they hear about it, they'll be flocking to get on stage with me. And then..."
He snapped his fingers as though pulling off a magic trick.
"It's over, Ego! The Stones of Mystery may be yours, but I've solved all their riddles and defeated your Enigma monsters! Your power's gone! You've no hope of winning!"
What should have been the final battle...
"Don't be so sure, pathetic human! I may not have the power I once possessed over your planet and your people..."
...and the final answer to all things...
"...but I can still do THIS!"
"What?! No... that can't be!"
...takes a dark turn.
"Say goodbye to your future, Quiz! Because it's MY future now! GYA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!"
"NOOOOOOOO-"
This year... The past must be uncovered... the future must be saved... and the ultimate question must be answered...
"Who were... the Kobbers?"
QUIZ QUEST: The Final Problem
Coming soon...
--------
As the commercial ended, the brown-haired youth turned to the only other person in that smokey room and beamed.
"Well?" he asked. His voice was like a child that had just made a modern-art masterpiece at the making table in primary school. Which was somewhat incogrous given he was very clearly in his mid-late twenties and, thanks to the pinstripe jacket and fedora he was wearing, somehow looked a lot older.
The other figure, older and portlier, pulled the cigar from his mouth and let the smoke roll forth for a bit.
"I still think it's a lotta hooey," he said at last.
The youth's shoulders slumped. "Oh, come on, pop!"
"No, I told ya before!" the man insisted, gesturing with the cigar. "You'ze wastin' your time with this ridikerous show! If the papes are roight - which itself is a freakin' miracle - you're ratin's 'ave been plummetin' like concrete shoes in a lagoon! If dis bombs-"
"Bombs?!" The youth threw up his hands. "How can it bomb?! We've got everything worked out! Marketing, location, sponsorships! And I've got my best agents-"
"Ya mean, the most crooked ones," snapped the man. "The ones whose palms ya greased so hard, they couldn't even hold their own dickie-birds."
The youth looked at him as though he'd just said the sky was blue. "Well, obviously.
"No, pop," he insisted as the older man rolled his eyes, "that' just what showbiz is! The entire thing's corrupt, everyone's a crook, and the only way to get by is to latch onto the bigger crooks and ride their coattails! You taught me that, pop!"
"I don't remember teachin' ya to prance aroun' in a budget Mardi-Gras costume!"
"Must have been drunk that day, then," came the retort.
The older man sighed and brushed a hand through iron-gray hair. It was clear that he'd had this kind of talk with the youth - his son, apparently - before. But it was hard to tell if he was more exasperated, annoyed or upset by the remark. He quickly jammed the cigar between his teeth again in an effort to stop thinking about that.
"Look, kid," he said. "I know dis is what you'ze wanna be doin'. An' I don't begrudge ya nuttin'. But I still tink you'd be better off gettin' out. What's gonna 'appen when those vampires all up in that studio drain yer dry and kick yer out again? When is you gonna tink of your family and show 'em a little more respeck?"
The youth sighed in return. "Pop, we've been over this. I'm on television now! People know my name and I'm loved by millions! And they kept saying saying I couldn't do it because of who I was, because I was Manny Tamboia's kid. Isn't that enough respect?"
"An' annuver thing," cut in Manny, "you'ze never gonna get the actual, for-real Kobbers! They gots better tings ta do than mess about with yer lousy games!"
The youth suddenly gave a grin. It was a fox's grin - all charm on the outside, but hiding a mind like a steel trap. It actually made the older man recoil slightly.
"Oh, no? Just wait until they get a taste of what I've got to offer them. The moment they hear about it, they'll be flocking to get on stage with me. And then..."
He snapped his fingers as though pulling off a magic trick.
"...showtime."
Introducing
BARTOLOMEO "BART" TAMBOIA
aka KAMEN RIDER QUIZ
"...I still can't believe you'ze my kid."
"I know, right? It's great!"
"I know, right? It's great!"
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