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?"

QUIZ QUEST: The Final Problem

Coming soon... 

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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!"