Better Off Alone (NSFW)

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..."

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.

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.

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... 

 --------

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!"

Test Track

~F-ZERO TEST TRACK, UNSPECIFIED LOCATION, EARTH~

"This is probably a bad idea."

Shockingly, it was not Stephen saying that. It was Russel, stopwatch in hand. And he was staring at Pele, the very dented Toyota AE86 Sprinter Trueno with considerable apprehension. Which was more than justified, as the car now appeared to have a rejected prop from Back to the Future stapled to the back of it. It hummed gently, which served as a contrast to the almost impatient and irritated snarling of the car's real engine.

Noodle's frizzy hair appeared from the passenger window. Underneath it, she was grinning maniacally.

"Hey, it worked when we went into space" she trilled over the rumbling noises. "It's gotta work on the track, too, right?" She patted the side of the Trueno, which seemed to growl in response.

"But that was us going into space!" protested the Boston drummer. "Escape velocity! This is actual steering and manouvering, with gravity and friction and all that shit! That booster wasn't designed for that kind of thing, baby-girl!"

"Only Stephen-kun gets to call me that now," Noodle retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

But Russel's expression didn't change. His eyes kept flicking between the car itself and the looping, curving racetrack that stretched out in front of him. The addition of the hyperdrive had been a last-minute botch-job, under concerns that Pele as she stood wasn't qualified for the F-Zero track. But as much as he'd tried to modify it, Russel had no clue if it would even work. He could only see two endings - the engine exploding, or the car shooting off into the sky before exploding.

They ended surprisingly similar to each other.

Noodle ducked back into the car and out of sight.

"How we doin'?" Russel heard her ask her pilot.

"I dunno." Stephen's voice, muffled as it was behind the rest of the car, sounded confused. "Engine seems really hot already, and the oil pressure... She's not happy, Noodle."

"Eh, she'll be fine," was the retort. "Put her in gear, Steph! Let's get going!"

There was a metallic racheting noise as Stephen fought against a gearbox that suddenly seemed unwilling to co-operate. Russel hadn't noticed before, but Pele seemed to be trembling, the body vibrating as if under tension. He didn't like to think of the car as alive - that was ascribing too much to it on the whole. But he could have sworn that the way the engine rumbled and the wheels twitched seemed...

Almost angry.

He raised the stop watch.

"Ready?" he shouted.

No answer from the inside. So Russel took it as his cue.

"GO!" And he clicked the-

Pele took off.

To understand that last sentence, do not imagine a car moving off from the starting line. Imagine a car exploding briefly into white fire before shooting forwards at comet speeds, bellowing like an angry dragon all the while. And imagine a very terrified drummer from a cartoon band throwing himself to the floor with a yell as heat washed over him.

When Russel could look again, the car was gone. And the hyperdrive engine that had taken a whole week to retrofit was in pieces on the start line.

He stared at it.

"At least I ain't payin' Pickle-Puss for the privelage," he muttered.

------

When the car finally came rocketing back and slid to a stop over the line, it had shaved an entire five seconds off the previous record-holder. Russel nearly forgot to click the stopwatch off in his shock. And then he spent several seconds staring at a car that, rather than tearing itself apart from g-forces and velocity, was instead quietly simmering as if to say "Ta-daaaaaaah!"

Inside the car, Stephen and Noodle were a mess. Their faces were sweaty, their hair was wild and tangled and their expressions were pictues of shock. They looked like they hadn't stopped screaming for a long, long while. They blinked owlishly, staring ahead as if trying to see ghosts - and having probably seen plenty already.

There was a very long silence indeed. It was marred only by the quiet purring of the engine.

"I think," Stephen murmered at last, "that she doesn't like being altered."

"Yeah." Noodle tried and failed to smooth down the explosion that was her hair. "Let's... let's keep her like this."

Pele snorted steam from her grille. It sounded almost smug and self-satisfied.

Cops VS Robbers

It ought to have been easy. It was the first big break the Lupinrangers had since coming to Olympia. The Gravitas Museum of Art, Science and History was holding a once-in-a-lifetime exhibition, The Treasure of the Ryusou Tribe, to display a groundbreaking archeological discovery. Their prize was part of the collection that was behing housed here for a while, to be displayed in May before being transferred into storage for proper scientific study.

Of course, it was the opinion of the trio that they should have it instead. The man who'd made the discovery had some very old-fashioned ideas about how wealth should be distributed. What better middle finger would it be to yank his hobby out from under his pretentious nose?

They got as far as lowering Touma - Blue - down through the skylight where their target was kept. They had to stifle laughter at themselves to avoid being detected. Seriously, who put something valuable in a glass case underneath a skylight? That was literally asking for somebody to drop down and steal it! Then again, with the Dial Fighters having the ability to unlock literally everything, almost every job seemed easy to them.

Touma was on the point of unlocking the glass case containing the artefact when it went wrong.

But not in the way the Lupinrangers expected. They expected alarms blaring, red lights flashing. Instead, the lights just slammed on to full power with an audible thunk. Practically blinded, Umi - Yellow - nearly let go of the winch that held Blue up, and he would have fallen bodily onto the floor if she'd lost her grip. Touma, for his part, had to shield his hands with both eyes, dropping his Dial Fighter in the process.

"The hell?!" Kairi - Red - cried. He'd been sure they were quiet enough. There was no way they could have been detected, not by the security systems or by the on-duty night guards. So who would even be around to-

"Halt!"

King of Time - Interlude

 "Why do you eat your hot dog like that?"

Vince was supposed to be eating a hot dog. But he wasn't, because he was distracted with the way Kouta was eating his hot dog.

"Why do you eat it like that?"

Kouta was sitting on the opposite end of the table from him. His cheeks were full and his jaw was working. But he was glaring back with childish defiance.

"I hate it when you eat your hot dog from the middle."

Vince's hot dog was untouched. But Kouta's had a bite right in the centre. Not the place one usually begins eating a hot dog. Vince had never seen anyone eat a hot dog this way, and now that he had, his world was crumbling from beneath him.

"Stop eating the middle of the hot dog and eat it the right way."

Kouta said nothing. He continued to chew and glare. The bite in the middle of the hot dog persisted.

"Why are you doing this to me, kid? You're driving me crazy."

Did others eat their hot dogs this way? Vince wasn't sure. But the fact that Kouta, aka Kamen Rider Zi-O, had just done it had horrible implications. Somewhere out there, there was a cabal of heretics who ate hot dogs in this perverse faction. Convinced that this was the proper way to dine on a sausage between bread and smothered with toppings.

He could not allow this. It was time to be the cool mentor guy again.

"Okay, look," said Vince, picking up his hot dog. "This is how you do it. You take the weiner out of  the bun-"

"Are you crazy?!" howled Kouta.

~FIN~