Contrasts

There are two kinds of people in this world.

Fruits

The Agama Fruit Festival wasn't something the Kobbers got to see. It was one of those "off-season" events that the locals held, and it just so happened to be at a time when the group wasn't present for it. Which was a bit of a shame, because as the stalls rose up in the Grand Agama Market, bannas were hung and flags flown, it definitely would have been a sight they would have enjoyed, had they been there to witness it.

Those helming the festival had prepared all year for it. Stalls laden with the finest, ripest produce filled the streets with colour from one end to the other in a riot of hues. The scents, too, changed the air, replacing the drab smells of the air with the refreshing aura of green things, from the zest of maracuya and lulo to the floral hit of feijoa and so much more. No expense had been spared - everyone had a stall to call their own, and all of it lead down, like the threads of a spiders web, to the market square. It was here that those with a more enterprising mindset sold merchandise and more to any tourists that happened to be passing through.

The shouts of vendors as they bade customers come to sample their wares, the rows of well-tended fruits and the music that filled the air mingled together like threads on a tapestry, creating an atmosphere of relaxed jolity and well-being among the assembled people, Yes, it was a good time for the city. A time to relax and celeberate everything that was Agama. 

And, they assumed, with no superhumans or monsters to worry about.

They were proven wrong very quickly.

"AH-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!"

Dying of the Light

WARNING: Mentions of emotional abuse, heavy existential dread. Reader discretion is advised.

You haunt me.

Ultraman Trigger looked out on the universe.

Billions upon trillions of stars, flashing like pinpricks in the inky darkness of the cosmos, unfathomable light years away. Nebulae swirled and churned in a rainbow storm of dust and life-to-be. Planets turned their circles, sometimes show and patient, sometimes at speeds incomprehensible to mortal eye. All around were lights, sounds, colours - things that would stagger the imagination of any human able to perceive it all in this way.

But Trigger could find no joy in it. No solace from his thoughts.

Every lie. Every sick joke. Every waking moment. Thousands of years gone and the memory of you still burns.

His almond eyes seemed fixed on a point so distant that mortal eye would bleed if it attempted the same feat. He did not breathe - his kind did not need to, and in this near-total vacuum there was no point. Behind him, the shining sun of Earth - Sol - raged on, throwing out its fire across the face of the one planet orbiting it that could ever support intelligent life. It looked close, but it also seemed somehow incredibly distant, as though perspective and distance had become optional things.

And Trigger knew, in the back of his mind, that there were thousands of other universes out there, with their own Sols and their own Earths, each doing the exact same thing. Some younger, some older.

He derived no comfort from it.

That's all you are now. A memory. A thought in my head. And you leave me here, alone.

Z-Day

There were three kinds of people who came back on that day.

There were the very confused.

Countdown

It had started as a good day for Lilith.

She hadn't felt any intrusive thoughts that day. She'd been calm, oddly calm, like a quiet pool where no wind was there to disturb it. She'd had a good breakfast to start - bran flakes, although she didn't really care for the taste of them. She'd gone down to the local gym - Body 'n' Soul - and worked out a bit, although she had to restrain herself from punching too hard in case she broke the bag. And she'd danced to some Trance music and helped Plague sort some problems out across Olympia.

Now she was having dinner.

She shouldn't have been in a place like this. It was much too upmarket for a group like the Cure. But Lilith had Kobber connections, and nobody was going to refuse anyone who was even remotely connected to them. Lilith still didn't like them very much, although that was a gut feeling she was trying every day to get rid of. She just appreciated being able to do normal human things now and again. And treating herself was one of those things.

Start the clock.

Panty's Christmas Carol - Future (18+)

Something was wrong with Daten City.

It had always been a dirty city, in both senses of the word. Despite being an up-and-coming metropolis, it was usually seen as more of a Chicago than a New York or San Fransisco, with even the most up-market and hoity-toity districts full of dark corners, dodgy secrets and seedy doings. Not to mention the general layer of trash, bubblegum, pigeon shit and dark soot from all the car exhausts. It was almost as if the entire city had an oily sheen to it that the glitz and glamour only accentuated.

This... was a different kind of dirty.

Panty's heels crunched through the snow as she walked through Daten Central Park. Or, rather, what had been Daten Central Park. 

But as she looked around, she could see that it had it had... changed.

The once neurotically well-kept gardens and hedges were a tangle of weeds, briars and things the angel couldn't identify at a glance. The trees were sagging under the weight of unpruned boughs and what grass poked through the white blanket was almost up to her knees. The buildings on either side where showing extreme aging - stone was cracked, crumbling and covered in moss, steel was rusting and bending and glass was broken into snow-like shards. Many of the street lamps weren't on, and aside from the silvery sheen from a full moon the place was in almost total blackness.

Everything was deathly still. The only sound, aside from Panty's footsteps and her shallow breaths, was a faint wind that whipped at her hair. Where was everyone... or everything? No cars on the streets, no people, all the doors were locked... There wasn't even a single light on in any of the windows. No signs of life to be seen, not even the singing of birds or barking of foxes.

What had happened? Had some ghost, or perhaps a demon, come through the city and-

The streetlights flickered.

Panty knew what that meant by now, and braced herself. She wanted to be ready this time. No goddamn Ghost of Christmas Fuckery was going to catch her by surprise and-

A sound like the rusting hinges of an iron gate.

Panty's Christmas Carol - Present (18+)

Panty had taken her time with her dress. It was one of her old favourites that she'd kept around for a movie premeire, and she hadn't hesitated in picking it out. Time had been kind to it - the magenta fabric, dashed with cream like something that would incriminate a president, hadn't faded in the least. 

Putting it on, however, had lead to some embarrasing revelations. Firstly, that she'd forgotten the white corsage she usually wore with it - but she could make do without it. Secondly, the lower half of the dress, which had once hung from her body like a silken ziggurat, now clung to her hips and rear in a way that, while appealing, had not been a thing when she'd worn it last. The dress might have remained the same size, but Panty definitely hadn't.

She blamed Kouta's cooking. He never did tell her the secret incredient in the Secret Ingredient Noodle Soup.

But she liked to fantasize~.

Now, she was adding the finishing touches to her makeup in the bathroom mirror. And doing it as quickly as she could. Not simply because she knew how to do it quickly, but because she didn't want to be in the bathroom any longer than she could help. It wasn't making any better of an impression than the room itself did. Cracked tiles, a patch of damp in one corner and a dripping tap gave an air of melancholy that only served to lower her mood even more.

Not in the least because she kept thinking about what Garterbelt had said.

All that stuff about her past, and how hanging out with Kouta had mellowed her out. Even if that was all technically true, what business was it of his? Didn't he have enough on his plate, between being a Ghost of Fuckmas Past and preaching his bullshit gospel to impressionable and vulnerable young boys? And that weird question he'd asked before vanishing - "where do you think you are right now?" What the fuck was that, even? Some kind of bullshit Zen riddle, where the answer also didn't make any sense?

The lights flickered again. Panty sighed and put the eye shadow down. God, this place was a dump. The sooner she got out of here, the better. She just hoped for two things when she got to this bullshit party - some decent dick, and hopefully to not have to talk to-

There was a noise behind her that sounded like an embarrassed cough. 

The memory of what happened the last time the lights flickered flashed through Panty's mind. She looked up.

And stared at what she saw reflected in the mirror behind her.

"...you gotta be shitting me," she said.

Panty's Christmas Carol - Past (18+)

Panty Anarchy hated Christmas.

And not even for the usual reasons. That being that she'd put the newest and most high-tech sex toys money could buy on her list every year, but get coal instead. Seriously, would that sherry-chugging, home-invading creep ever get it right?! He desperately needed to get new specs, or maybe to just retire his fat ass to the Maldives while someone else took his place. Someone younger, maybe, with a six-pack instead of a beer gut and a dick that could make King Arthur's sword wilt in pathetic embarrassment.

Mmmh~ Now, that would be more like it. She'd definitely let him fill her stocking on Christmas Eve~

Ugh, that reminded her. Stocking always got whatever she wanted on Christmas. And all she ever asked for was sweets. But that was still another reason Panty hated Christmas. How was it that her bratty goth bitch of a sister got her vices fulfilled when she didn't?! There was some awful injustice in this world, and when she found the person responsible, she'd be making them regret it via the medium of holy fucking bullets.

But this year, Panty hated Christmas for quite another reason.

A letter had arrived this morning, unexpected. Stocking had got to it first, and had opened it up. The cry of surprise she gave had been one red flag, and then everything after that was an avalanche of the things. The familiar seal, the gold edging, the fancy handwriting. And one look at the invitation confirmed Panty’s worst fears in a second.

They were going back to Daten City. 

Anarchy in Kuwahawi (18+)

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

King of Time Gaiden Part 2

"What's goin' on?"

"What do you mean, what's going on?!" cried Evolto. "I should be asking you that! Didn't I just run you over in a Void Jumper and turn you and the rest of the band into milkshake?!"

"The hell are you on about?" Russ sounded equally as confused. "Where are you? Why's Queen playin' in the background?"

"I'm at the Spirit House!" A sudden urge came over Evolto. He grabbed his shorts and began to hurriedly put them on. But he was still feeling somewhat dazed from the Superfast Jellyfish, and fell over with a yelp and a thump.

"Well, we ain't there, man. We're at Lake Como, Italy. Murdoc bought tickets as an apology for the whole truth serum thing. We've been filmin' for our next single, and Noods and Steph are havin' a blast on the new boats. Also, Stu thinks he saw a lake monster, but I think he's just gone aquaphobic after Plastic Beach."

From the prone position, Evolto finally wiggled into the shorts.

"So I didn't just liquefy you?" he asked.

"No, but can you explain why somebody just bought pizzas on my company card?"

Oh, dear. Russel's voice had gone low. That was when he was most dangerous. Rusell Hobbs very rarely raised his voice, and that was only the second scariest thing about him. When it became even more of a growl than usual, you had to pick your words carefully or risk any number of injury, comical or otherwise. Evolto stared at the phone with a mixture of nervous tension and confusion.

"Wasn't me, man. I just spent the last hour or so eating expired snacks and playing Tekken. And cleaning up the mess," he added, hurridely.

Russ snorted. "Okay, first off, no way that's true. You're shit at Tekken."

"Am not!" Evolto threw a middle finger at his phone.

"Secondly," Russel insisted, "somebody just ordered pizzas. Three of 'em, to be exact. I'm lookin' at the delivery email... one Meat Feast, one anchovy and pineapple - eurgh, Muds' favourite - and one pepperoni with BBQ sauce. You wouldn't know anythin' about that, right?"

"Are you kidding?" cried Evolto as he wrestled the t-shirt over his head. "Last time I borrowed somebody's card, I had to go work as a hotel maid until I could pay it all back! I ain't goin' back to that life, man! Even if the outfit does look good on me!"

"Well, somebody just did. And if I gotta freeze my card because of- Oh, hold on a second, Stu just fell in the lake. I'll call you back, 'kay?"

The phone went silent. But Evolto's mind was racing. The facts didn't add up. Not only were Gorillaz alive, they hadn't even been in the house. They'd been elsewhere all this time, and also somebody - not him - had been ordering pizzas on their dime. So if he hadn't just killed one of the most influential bands of the mid Two-Thousands, then who's slurry did he just send Kouta out to reconstitute into...?

He walked back into the dining room.

The goo had been trying to stand up. It had faded to corpse white in colour, sprouted too many eyes and jutting fangs and tried to pull itself into a coherant shape. But there wasn't enough of it left for that anymore, too much of it obliterated by cosmic forces. Evolto arrived just in time to see it finally evaporate with a hiss and the stench of rotten eggs and dead fish.

A memory struck him like a speeding truck.

"Oh, shit."

King of Time Gaiden Part 1

Things were not great at the place the band known as Gorillaz called home.

Murdoc had never really given up on being a shithead. Despite everything the band had been through, none of the lessons seemed to stick in his head. The fame and fortune of the band had never been enough - he always had at least one finger on the thread of some criminal or supernatural connection to try and boost himself even further into success. This time, he'd been on the trail of a particularly nasty demon that had taken refuge in 2D - why, nobody knew.

But his idea of negotiations with a being of the astral plane was to lure 2D out to a nearby petrol station, under the pretext of a friendly afternoon drive, and then jab him with a needle full of truth serum.

Thankfully, the other three band members had arrived before any real damage could be done. Well, to 2D. Russel contributed to Murdoc's ninth broken nose, and Noodle didn't exactly make much effort in pulling the drummer off of him. And all while Stephen had been exorcising the demon out of 2D with what recipes he could call on. The Skinwalker Incident had left him low on supplies of magic ingredients, unfortunately.

So to say that the last few days had been trying would be an understatement. Murdoc had become sulky, feeling that nobody had wanted to hear his side of the story. Russel was deathly quiet and both 2D and Noodle kept very far away from them both. Stephen had tried to play meditator, but one catty comment too many had caused him to snap and he'd threatened to eat both bassist and drummer before storming out. It had taken Noodle half the day and several bowls of chashu ramen to calm him down.

Things weren't much better today. It had been a warm, lazy day where nobody wanted to put effort into anything, so Russel had ordered pizza. They were all sitting at the table, opening up the boxes to let the smell of cheese, meat and grease fill the dining room for what felt like the umpteenth time. Murdoc was sitting a little further away from everyone else, and Noodle sat a little closer to both 2D and Stephen. all three of them between Murdoc and Russel. Nobody was looking each other in the eye.

The silence was broken when 2D turned to Stephen, coughed and said:

"Um, could you pass the hot sauce?"

And then a Bleed-traversing spacecraft burst out of reality like pus from a boil in the middle of the dining room.

It may be comforting to know that the band did not notice this. Because its entry was accompanied by a pulse of raw space-time energy that instantly liquified them on impact.

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~

King of Time Part 4

(NOTE: The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 and 2019 RP. Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince and Draco for writing Parsee.) 

Kouta Tokiwa, looking at the stranger, had a bad feeling. He’d been having them a lot recently, but this one was the most severe. There was something subconsciously wrong about the newcomer, an underlying sense that he felt out of place and didn’t belong. There was a faint aura around him, barely perceptible - a kind of haze that made him look as though he was a badly-applied sticker in a children’s picture book.

The body of the middle-aged man lying in front of him didn’t help matters.

“What do you mean?” he asked, at last. “Change the future how?”

The stranger’s mouth turned up in a smirk. His voice was oddly soft and quiet. But he never took his eyes of Kouta as he spoke.

“His daughter was dying. The Bugster Virus is due to claim her life in a week. So I gave him the power to save her. The power of Ex-Aid, the rider who cured disease. By defeating him, you’ve stopped the future from changing and doomed her.”

“That’s horseshit,” said Vince from behind Kouta. “I’m pretty sure we have, like, five doctors who could cure that shit without thinking.”

The smirk widened. “That’s not what the history books say, Ex-Aid.”

“Fuck the history books, they’re written by assholes.”

Kouta decided to chip in before things got ugly. Not that they weren’t going to anyway, but still.

“...and who are you?”

“My name is Heure,” the stranger explained. “I’m one of the Time Jackers.”

“Gross,” said Vince.

Heure ignored him. “We’re from the year 2068. As you already know, that world is ruled by Emperor Zi-O, who commands all of time and space. The entire planet is a dictatorship and all those who oppose his rule are destroyed.”

“Let me guess.” Kouta rolled his eyes. “you want to stop Zi-O from becoming Emperor. Look, I already dealt with a guy who-”

“Of course not!”

Induction

The journey to Earth wasn't the problem. Ryuga had plenty of reading material and things to do, and the ship was pretty fast. It only took him about a month or so to get there. And traveling alone wasn't a problem either - the other Wyverns were needed back home, in case the Benthians brought more trouble. He'd miss them, of course, but he'd been assured he could stay in contact, so that was alright.

He understood his orders well enough. Rumours were going around that somebody on Earth was supplying the Benthians with their tech. How and why, nobody could guess - no ships had ever been reported carrying such cargo into Porphyrian airspace. So Ryuga had to invesitage. Laura had promised to handle much of that, so the boy wasn't too worried about that part.

The problem was, upon disembarking, he was told to report directly to the Base Commander in her office with all the other pilots.

-------

"Welcome to Earth, you sorry sacks of shit."