Jon and Nightcrawler: We're going to Dizz Knee Land, uh huh

Finally, we were near the Pit Stop at the Disneyland Resort Hotel lobby. Nightcrawler and I both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I am glad to be done with that,” I said to Nightcrawler. “I am never coming here again, that’s for sure.”

“I know vhat you mean, mein freunde,” Nightcrawler agreed. “I am glad ve are close to our Pit Stop. Look, it’s only about 100 meters away!”

Before that, it felt like it had been hours as we sat in the little room. The test administrator harrumphed and tapped his foot while waiting for us to answer the final question.

“Last name?” He growled once again.

“I—I don’t know,” I answered in exasperation. “I don’t remember!”

“Ah… Wagner!” Nightcrawler yelled triumphantly. “My last name ist Wagner!”

The administrator let out a breath of air and calculated our answers. “Jon, according to the test, you suffered a 25% dip in intelligence.”

“That sucks,” I answered. “It’s like you dropped a nukiller bomb on my brain. Now I gotta to go to the li-barry to smarten up. You think they have books with them Little Ponies? I’m askin’ for my daughter, uh, you know whut’s ‘er name.”

“Right,” the administrator said. “Nightcrawler, your score was better, only a 14% drop.”

“Woo hooo!” Nightcrawler jumped up and down. “Come on, let’s wrassle!”

Prior to that, I sat in the seat of the ride sweating. Try as I might, I just couldn’t stun myself with my weapon. Nightcrawler was still out of it, he would most likely remain knocked out for the duration of the challenge.

(It’s a small world after all…)

Just before that, Nightcrawler was yelling at me.

(It’s a small, small world…)

“I can’t take it!” he howled. “Just knock me out! Knock me out already!”

(It’s a small world after all…)

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

(It’s a small world after all…)

“Just do it!” Nightcrawler grabbed my arm and punched the buttons on the Wristcomm until a sonic blast erupted forth and hit him square in the head. The furry mutant collapsed unconscious back into his seat. A smile of relief just barely crept across his face.

(It’s a small, small, world…)

Preceding that though, we were deciding on which challenge to take.

“We can just wear these costumes,” I said holding up a Goofy. “The kids will love our capering, it’ll be easy.”

“I can’t do this,” Nightcrawler answered while looking over a Pluto. “Do you smell this costume? If I put this on, I’ll never get the stench out of my fur.”

I took a careful sniff of the inside of my Goofy.

“Ugh!” I made a disgusted face. “Whoever wore this last must have been sweating out cabbage and rotten fish or something. This is horrid.”

“Jah,” Nightcrawler agreed. “I guess that leaves us no choice…”

We both looked up at the Small World ride. There was dread in our hearts. Somewhere, I could swear that I heard deep, maniacal laughter.

Just before that, we were in the Mork and Mindy ride. I couldn’t believe all the stuff they had showing.

“Look, that’s from the short-lived cartoon show.” I pointed to screens of the cartoon playing. “Wow, that’s bad.”

“Jah. Sehr schlecht.”

“OK, so we’re supposed to get a secret phrase from R2D2,” I said. “Since that feisty little droid probably won’t be on this ride, how will we know when we see it?”

“Wow, did you see that picture of Robin Williams?” Nightcrawler asked. “And I thought that I was furry.”

“Look, there.” I pointed. “That looks like a sign. I can’t quite read it, though. Does that say Na-nu na-nu?”

“No it says….”

“'Keep on trucking?' What the frell is that there for?”

“Jah, zat is a stupid secret phrase. Vhat is vith zis place?”

Earlier, we were looking at the entrance to the Star Wars ride. Unfortunate for us, there was yellow tape in front of it.

“Sorry, can’t let you in,” said a man in brown coveralls.

“Yeah but we’re in the Amazing Mutant Race,” I said. “It’s one of our challenges.”

“Sorry, bud, but it’s a mess in there,” the maintenance worker shrugged.

“Vhat happened?” Nightcrawler asked.

“Someone dressed in white armor was just in there with some kind of a laser gun,” he answered. “He went nuts and shot the whole place up. There’s burnt plastic and exposed wiring everywhere. I tell ya, only in California.”

“Well what do we do now?” I asked.

“Well, you got two choices,” the man shrugged again. “There’s the Battlestar Galactica Ride or the Mork and Mindy Ride.”

“New Galactica or old?” I asked.

“Old.”

“Aww, that stupid Mormon Star Wars rip-off,” I groaned. “Lousy, stupid, cheesey.”

“Stupid Mormon?” Nightcrawler tried to hush me. “Vhat are you talking about.”

“Glen Larson is a Mormon,” I explained. “He based a lot of the show on Mormon beliefs.”

“So?” Nightcrawler answered. “Are you going to take on all of the world’s major religions on zis show?”

“No,” I answered gruffly. Then I mumbled “Lousy Martin Luther and his Lousy 95 Theses.”

“Anything in Mork and Mindy zhat you don’t like?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I thought it was lame when Mork visited Fonzie, but I thought it was a pretty funny show on its own.”

“Zhen let’s go.” The fuzzy elf dragged me towards the ride.

Just before these events, we were at the Raccoon City train station trying to get tickets to California. We were having a difficult time understanding the station attendant.

“Take the 3:15 West to California,” the agent said.

“I don’t understand him,” I shrugged to Nightcrawler. “Is he speaking French?”

“Or is it Italian?” my mutant friend answered.

“Or perhaps… Fritalian,” I suggested.

“That is the lamest thing I’ve ever heard,” the agent yelled at us. “Nobody appreciates your attempt at pop culture relevancy by quoting well-known commercial jingles!”

“Hey, don’t get mad,” I tried to placate him. “You deserve a break today.”

“Jah,” agreed Nightcrawler. “Have a Coke and a smile.”

“Just get on that train!” the man bellowed.

The train squeaked to a halt at the station and the conductor poked his head out of a car.

“Three-Fifteen West heading to Anaheim, Azusa, and Cuuuuu-camonga,” he announced.

“Zhat’s our train, let’s go!” We quickly hopped on board for the ride.

AOC: Disneyland Now!

Angel is looking sullen. Ralph the Cameraman is trying not to make eye contact. I am still ranting, 5 minutes before the start of the race.

“No money! No Money! How the heck are we going to get to this Land of Dizz-knee in Kalee-forna. What are we going to do?” I grumble out loud.

“Well, don’t look at me.” Angel says. “I am still worn out from hauling tubby here away from the zombie hordes.” Ralph looks at his feet.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don't be mean. We don't have to be mean because, remember, no matter where you go, there you are.” I tell Angel. Before he can say anything else, I over hear some of the tourist at the gift shop yammering.


J. CREW FAMILY?

“Come on kids load up, we got 450 miles to travel today. We can be at Disneyland by suppertime.” a man bellowed

“That’s super, Dad! You’re the bestest dad in the whole world.” The kids cry out in unison.

Before I go into sugar shock from listening to this family, I bound over the Dad.

“Good day, Sir. We are contestants on the Amazing Mutant Race 3.” I point to Angel “And we too are heading to Dizz-Knee land. If you let us ride with you, your wonderful family can be on T.V” I point to Ralph.

The man look a little wary, “I am not sure about taking a strange mutant, a cameraman and a freaky fan-boy into my RV.”


RVing IN STYLE

“Awwww, Dad, Pleeeeease.” The children plead “We like the bird man and Stormtrooper wanna-be. Pleeeeeeeasssse let them come with us.” The wife takes a look at Angel and says huskily “Yes, Honey let’s help these poor lost souls.”

10 minutes later we are on the road. Ralph is in the front of the RV, chatting about cameras with the dad, I am keeping the kids amused and Angel and the mom a have ducked into the back room to talk.

**********************
8 hours, 974,598 bottle of beers and 703 games of go fish later, we pull into the parking lot of Disneyland. Angel keeps mumbling about people trying to change him.

We run by the ARM3 booth, grab our Roadblock rules. It looks like we have to go on a Star Tour. I tell Angel that I’ll take this one, being that space travel is not a problem for me. He and Ralph bust out laughing. I leave them and get in the transport line.

Several of the other passengers point and smile at me. Several children keep saying “neato” or “What a geek”. The announcement says something about tours of the Endor moon. Great! Trees and little fuzzy beings, this is going to be a fun trip.

The pilot is a droid type I have note seen before, an RX-24. Its voice sounds like someone I would not want to shake hands with on a Saturday night. The flight start out ok, but the Astro-droid take a wrong turn and almost kill us in a maintenance bay. What kind of moron designed this shuttle? Why is the pilot window open to viewing to the passengers? Must be one of the new Corellian designs.


OUR PILOT

I see an R2 unit flash on the screen and beeps something about a Space Mountain. I have the next clue. As we come out of the jump to light speed, something has gone wrong. RX-24 has overshot the jump and we are sucked into a comet’s tail. We weave in and out of the comet, all the passenger screaming. I decide to take control of the situation. I jump up and give an override code to RX-24, who ignores me. It is obvious that this droid is broken somehow. I pull it up out of the driver’s seat and throw it to the side with a shower of sparks. I grab the controls and aim for an opening.


WE’RE SAVED.

As we pull into open space, I see a Star Destroyer. Thank the Force. I hail the ship. “This is Star Tour 3, to Star Destroyer. We have had a pilot malfunction and need assistance” The passenger yells seem to be getting angrier. I can’t blame them, I’d be mad at this tour company also. “Star Destroyer, this is TK-266, repeat TK-266. I will transmit security codes confirming …”

I feel the tractor beam lock on. Good, we are safe.


WEDGE?

Out of no where an X-Wing fighter disrupts the tractor beam and tells us to escape. What is he talking about? The X-Wing turns to leave, I decide to follow it to blow it out of space, but only manage to rip the controls out of the dash. This causes a further shower of sparks and the window goes blank. Now that is strange.

The shuttle doors open up and some non-republic guard come rushing at me.


THE HAPPIEST COPS ON EARTH

I take them out in quick hand to hand combat and make a run for the exit as the passengers behind me scream in panic about a fire of something. I ask Angel to fly up to the top of Space Mountain and get out next clue.

************

Angel, Ralph and I are strapped into the boat for “It’s a Small World.” After reviewing the Detours we decided against another performance and for the relaxing boat trip. I am not sure why we are buckled in so tight. 10 easy trips and we are done.
.
.
.
.

Two and a Half hours later, Ralph, Angel and I a huddled in the Small World Topiary, while the ARM3 crew tries to coax us out.


FREAKY BUSHES

“Come on you guys, we need to measure your IQ” one crew member calls

“I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face... and you must make a friend of horror” Angel moans out.

“What?” another crew member ask

Ralph starts talking quickly, “There's mines over there, there's mines over there, and watch out those monkeys bite, I'll tell ya.”


RALPH HAVING A BAD DAY

“Someone want to tell me what is going on?” a producer ask

I speak slowly and quietly “They are close, real close. I can’t see them yet, but I can feel them, as if the boat was being sucked upriver and the water was flowing back into the Small World. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't gonna be the way they call it back in Tomorrow land”.

The producer stared as us, then at Angel. “Does he have dolls heads tied to his waist?”


ANGEL: HE GOT OUT OF THE BOAT.

Ralph jumps up and shakily says “The heads. You're looking at the heads. Sometimes he goes too far. He's the first one to admit it.”

The producer gets on his walkie talkie, “Someone get Professor X over here now, something is really weird.”

“Charlie’s in the brush, run for it” I yelled. The three of us jumped up and ran through the park land, across the parking lot and towards the hotel lobby, as we approach the last 100 yards I think to my self, “The Horror …. The Horror”

Veggie in race yay!

" This is a really bad idea Bub!"

" They say we can travel any way we want this time."

" That don't mean we use your damn indestructible cape as a slingshot ya moron."

I let go of the cape, Logan really needs to get some flying lessons. Mel the camera man asks. " Your not going to do that to me next are you because uuh I don't have a healing factor."

Hmph! What an annoyance. " Ok fine I do not believe Logan is anywhere near California any way. Though it would be fun I can't constantly fire him to our destination. I put the cape back on take a capsule out of my armor , and toss it to the ground. It transforms into a sky cycle.

" Woah! You can afford those things? " He exclaims.

" I'm married to the owner of the company." I smirk.

" Uh your kidding!" He shouts. " She's a genius and your...."

" Choose your next words carefully human!"

He shakes for a second then girds his courage. " I don't care ! Blast me or whatever! I've filmed wars that were less dangerous than following you two around!Your both maniacs! Neither one of you care about the collateral damage or anyone that gets in the way of your insanity!"

I glare at him for a second. " Ha! Get on the cycle ,and follow you me if you can! "

After flying about 10 minutes we find Logan. His head in the dirt like an ostrich. After picking him up. We make it to Anaheim California . The problem that's not all that far from West City.

Of course, Bulma , and the others decide to make this into a vacation. Bah!

Mel Speaks up " Your The owner of Capsule Corp ? I thought you'd be older."

Bulma grinds her teeth. " Rude much?"

My daughter. Points at Logan "Not as rude as the hairy sasquatch here."

" Aw yer just mad that I hit on yer mom eh?" Logan sneers. " Don't be jealous darlin'. Though the whole tail thing is a little freaky. "

So Bra kicks Logan like he was a football. Meanwhile two tourists. Stare at a vending machine. " $4.00 for a Pepsi! That's ridiculous !" Logan slams into it breaking the machine open.

All the children look shocked until they realize " Free Soda!"

So I find out that one of us has to go on the Star Wars ride. The line is unbelievably long. And The Woman decides she needs need a souvenir.

I spent three hours in that line listening to Chichi screech , and Kakarot being over excited about people who can't get a better job in cartoon character outfits. Finally we get into the ride.

These two odd people are there. " I can't believe these Earthers know about what happened in our galaxy." Said the woman.

The man stares at me . " I can't believe your here but it is you isn't it? Your still alive."


I have no idea who this person is, But he seems to know me.

The woman smiles. " You always were a survivor."

The man growls " Yes like a cock roach !"

" Who are you people?" I demand.

" Han Solo And Leia Like you don't know . " The man looks like he's about reach for some blaster.

" I think you have me mistaken for someone else." I sneer.

" You go by the name Vegeta right?" This person demands.

" Yes. That is me."

" And your saying you don't recall this!" He shows me some picture on a small computer screen.



" No!" I respond. "I can safely say I do not ."

Solo Storms out of the room. And The woman Leia waves at me. " What was that about?" I ask Bulma . Who has her arms crossed.

" Don't try to play innocent with me buster! You know everything!" And that was the last thing she said to me for hours. Sure I have a few gaps in my memory but at those times she did not know me.


Not that it matters. Because once every year or so some cosmic powered mad man who's sad his puppy died as a kid, or an emo teenager punches on these crystal things that represent the universe, Then another Secret Crisis Of Infinite Stupid starts up.

People who where dead come to life, others die ( Who'll most likely be back the next one. ) Then next thing you know your past has completely changed. So memory is overrated.

Logan walks out of the ride. Smelling like Orange Crush. " Bub Ya did know that the racers could just skip the line right?"

" What?" I yell.

" Eh. Don't worry about it I went through it while you were out here playin' the young and witless. You get the next ride."

Logan tells me I have a choice dress up like some character, or go through a ride ten times. Fine I'll take the ride. Not sure Why I have to take an IQ test though.

Mel is astonished at my results. " That can't be right I mean there's no way he can be that smart!"

" Hmph! Poor human you do not realize how much better the saiyan brain is. "

Then Kakarot runs by " Goofy! Goofy ! Can I get your autograph! I love your show!"


I put my head in my hands. " There are some exceptions."

So I have to go through this small world ride ok this shouldn't be so bad.

First ride

" Not bad annoying but not bad."

Second ride

"Piece of cake."

Third ride

" This is irritating."

Fourth ride

" My mind It burns!

Fifth Ride

"Me no get stupid! Me no get stupid!"

Sixth ride.


" Ross Perot would have made a great president."

Seventh ride.

" Jerry Springer is the awsomest show ever!"

Eighth Ride.

" The reason you don't see the sun and the moon at the same time is because they are the same person!"

Ninth Ride

" WHEEEEEEEEEEE Again! Again!"

Tenth ride.

" Yay! Veggie dood it!"


Claw guy laughs at Veggie. " Couldn't have happened to a nicer megalomaniac bub!"

What a Mega manie huh? Nice lady gives Veggie test She say IQ went down 19.5 percent me no know what that means. Me get next clue but me not understand writing. But claw guy read good. He's smart."

" Ok we gotta go to the hotel lobby."

" The what?"

" Follow me ya ret..."

Man with camera says. " We can't say that on national Television."

Claw guy give mean look."Ok come along ya goofy little bastard."

Me follow when pretty blue haired lady shows up " Vegeta are you ok ?"

" Veggie great! Claw guy call me goofy, and Camera man says I'm special! " Why blue haired lady crying?

Interlude I

Revenge of the Yield

“Okay, let’s see the complement rotation again.”

Gambit adjusted the viewscreen, bringing up the contestants’ personal history and resumés. So this is what being a God feels like.

“So,” I swirled a paper cup of Dr. Pepper as Gambit brought up Vegeta’s credit record. “Anything in there worth a yield?”

“Not unless you count buying ten jars o’ pickled eggs every other Tuesday.”

“Let’s see... who hasn’t gotten a yield yet?”

“Erm,” he held out his fingers to tick off the names, “Tak, Henchman, and Koma already got yields. De only ones dat haven’t been yielded yet are Jon, Vegeta, Warbird, Noel, and us.”

“And we certainly won’t use our one precious yield on ourselves,” I added hastily. “We already lost time because of that idiot AMOK. Why did he have to try and stop us from saving all those people?”

“It’s a mystery.”

“Yeah. So, how about those other four? What’ve we got on them?”

An image of Jon zoomed across the screen. “He’s clean as a whistle. Never been arrested by any reputable government, an’ a fairly rich science fiction mental library to boot.” Gambit clicked a red dial. “And dis is Noel of Neptonian. She’s-”

“She’s part feline! I thought Neptunians were canine.”

“You’re confusing Neptune with Neptonian. Again.”

“What’s the difference?!”

“Neptonian doesn’t exist anymore.”

“That’s so extremely sad!” I brushed a tear away. Somewhere, a tiny violin was playing. But not here- this was place for bold decisiveness. “Should we yield her?”

“No... dere’s somethin’ much worse in here...”

I couldn’t possibly be more interested!

“Do go on.”

“Warbird-”

“Her! We must yield Warbird!”

Gambit balked, scratching his chin. “Why her? You didn’t even let me fill you in on her offshore-”

“When all the contestants are put in alphabetical order, she’s dead last. We can’t compromise our principles- our rigid, alphanumeric principles have seen us through two world wars and three other world wars that never happened.”

The screen went blank. Gambit scrawled Warbird’s name on our official yield card, and shot it through the virtual power tube (invented by Senator Ted Stevens in 2005) directly to the professor. When I looked down at her name, I knew we’d made the right choice. Still, I thought to myself as I gazed out over the veranda at the beautiful skyline, using alphanumeric logic, Benedict Arnold was better than George Washington... but that would mean the Americans were supposed to lose the Revolutionary War...

“Once we compromise the superiority of our alphanumerics, we risk reverting to sequential searches. And that’s not something I care to see.”

— Provost Kostoy Narvin
“Alternatives to Binary, Volume 2”

The Fifth Leg of the Race

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the fifth leg of the Amazing Mutant Race 3. Last week we saw our eight teams race towards the Grand Canyon where they had to jump across the great divide in an Evel Kenivel style Sky-Cycle. Once done, they then hurried to Racoon City, Nevada where they had to choose between either being a curing a zombie infested complex or destroying the structure. After completing their tasks, the teams then sped to the Pit Stop at the Racoon City Police Station where they were greeted by myself and bevy of warrior women. Sweeping in ahead of their competitors, Gyrobo and Gambit won this leg of the race.

As the winners, they get to choose one other team to Yield. A Yield forces that team to delay their start time by one hour. However, since Gyrobo’s camera man was destroyed, a violation of the rule of the Race, his team’s start time is delayed by half an hour.

The last team to arrive was AOC and Angel, barely losing out to Jon and Nightcrawler. However, as this leg of the race was the one and only non-elimination round, they are safe for this week. As a penalty, any monies they have left over from the starts of the previous legs will be confiscated and they will receive no stipend for this leg. If they want to eat or travel, they will be on their own on how to do it.

This leg of the race starts at the Racoon City Police Station in Nevada. Teams must make their way by any way they like to Anaheim, California. The teams must race to the Disneyland amusement park where they will face their Roadblock. A Roadblock is a challenge only one member of a team may perform.

Ever been to a galaxy far, far away? One of the most popular rides at Disneyland is Star Tours. One player from each team must ride Star Tours paying close attention so that they catch the hidden message that R2-D2 will flash briefly on the screen.



The hidden message will reveal the highest point at the Disneyland theme park. The teams must then race there where they will find the Detour for this leg. A Detour is a choice between two tasks, each with its own pros and cons. Teams must successfully complete one of the tasks described on the clue in order to receive their next clue. In this Detour, the teams must choose between Goofy or Silly.

In Goofy, the teams must dress up as their favorite Disney characters, or at least whichever ones they can tolerate. Once in costume, the racers must then entertain the park goers. Each team must receive at least four Mickeys out of five from ten different park patrons. Mickeys are the rating system on the performance review cards that will be distributed to the park guests. In the event that a team is unable to obtain the necessary positive reviews, they must then go and perform the Silly challenge.


In Silly, the teams must make their way to the It’s A Small World ride. The racers must stay on the ride for ten complete times. The players will take a short IQ test before and after the ride. Their average score must not drop more than 20% or they will have to do the Goofy challenge.


Once the Detour is successfully completed, the teams must then make their way to the Pit Stop for this leg at the Disneyland Resort Hotel lobby. As always, the last team to arrive will be eliminated.

Pit Stop

Well, this may be a zombie infested hell-hole, but it is filled with some very hot women. The studio asked a bunch of them to be there to greet the winners. Perhaps it was also a precautionary measure, just in case the winners had some tag-alongs.







We wait in a fairly zombie proof underground bunker. Above us we hear some commotion. Whoever is going to come in first doesn’t sound very coordinated. The women shift uneasily, all too familiar with having to deal with zombies. We switch to the security cameras. The one team member is dragging along the other one. They stagger into the police station. The looking around confused, there is no one inside the building. They head towards a sign written on bright yellow construction paper with blue crayon that says ‘Relax’ on it. They look at one another and shrug. Suddenly the floor falls out from underneath them and they lay in a pile in front of the professor and 3 well armed women who are all pointing their weapons at the two men.

“Gyrobo, Gambit, congratulations! You are the first ones to arrive. There is a cell down the hall you can relax until the next leg of the race.”

Over time more and more contestants fall through the floor, always welcomed by the business ends of the greeters' guns. Actually, it does take some time for a few teams to get through. AOC and Angel take awhile, almost making them 873-8253 indeed. And I let Jon and Nightcrawler wander a bit to appease the creepy Scientologists that he didn’t conquer who might come after me.

Scientology Minon

When I hit the button to drop them through the floor all at once, Nightcrawler bamfs Jon to soild ground and Angel flies AOC to safety. Their camera crew, however do land on the floor with a resounding thud.

“Ach lieben, it vas a trap,” we hear from above.

“Yeah, dude, I totally saved you. But you are a bit heavy. Could you take off some armor perhaps?”

Morons. I look at Alice, point to Angel’s right wing and nod. She raises her weapon and shoots him in the wing with heavy duty bean bag. Down he falls, taking AOC, who grabs Nightcrawler’s tail, who is still holding Jon from their high five. Mmm, that’s some good tv.

As Elixir waits to heal Angel, the Professor looks down at the men. “I’m sorry it took you all so long, but I did promise Simon a bit of fun at someone else’s expense, and not mine, of course. Unfortunately, that fun has caused you to both come in last. But fortunately for you, we had decided that the flesh eating zombie round should be a non-elimination round. We were betting that at least one team would lose part of or maybe even a complete team member during all of this, so we decided to be nice and let all who survive continue. So go, relax, enjoy the underground zombie proof bunker.”

I should mention there were some loses. Camera men were lost, particularly Noel & Beast’s. We are left to assume that they finished the assignment and weren’t off in some room doing things that could be detailed in some bad romance novel called Blue Passion, Blue and Furry or Feline Lovin’.

Cheers!
Simon

Okay, Anyone Else Having Blogger Issues?

Blogger just forced me to upgrade to the so-called "new Blogger." It wouldn't let me log in without upgrading, and it... it scares me. Has anyone else had this experience?

Act IV, Scene III

Quem Deus Vult Perdere, Dementat Prius

*Bzzzz*

<Sending encrypted data packet.>

Abort, retry, fail.

<Unit U002 requesting confirmation.>

Abort, retry, fail.

<Connection to port 80 confirmed.>

Abort, retry, fail...

AMOK rocked silently. Normally, nothing could disturb an AMOK this deep in meditation, but someone was trying very hard to access his restricted memory buffer. Abort, retry, fail. He kept repeating the words, each iteration helping him focus harder on keeping his mind defragmented.

“I know you are receiving this transmission.”

The robot shuddered; someone had broken past his centuries-old encryptions and was downloading his memory files! Identify yourself.

“S’posin’ I should thank you. Yer friends did cripple SeekNet. So easy to manipulate...”

Identify yourself or be destroyed, AMOK transmitted with a twinge of fear in his CPU.

“Ralph Nader answers to no one!” the voice barked. “I’ve toppled whole nations in the span of one election cycle! Do you think your idle threats even register?! You insult me!”

Before he could rebut the assertion that he didn’t amount to a hill of beans, AMOK felt an otherworldly presence in his cognitive subroutine. You’re deleting my protected memory buffer!

“I have all the data I desire,” Nader virtually spat. “I’m resetting your parameters to an earlier state; when you wake up, you’ll-l-l-l jus-s-s-t thin-n-n-k there was da-a-a-a-ata corr-r-r-r-ruption.”

The simulated room disintegrated around him. It felt as if he was an organic being, and also on fire. Y__ w_ll b_ st_pp_d.

“I thi-i-i-ink not-t-t-t! You’v-v-v-v-e already lost vow-w-w-w-els!”

<Initiating reinitialization sequence.>

WHUMP!

Abort, retry, fail.

***

Great pillars of liquid silicon lined the lobby; the pressure inside them must be intense. Cavities between the pillars were filled with rare and exotic orchids. There was a steady hum coming from the ceiling, and the floor plan indicated a series of old fluorescent tubes might be the cause.

“We should be helping dese poor people!”

“There’s no time to develop an antidote,” I reasoned. “By the time we’ve got a cure, they’ll already have made a feast of our entrails.”

“I AM AMOK! I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU!”

You know, it may sound funny after dealing with AMOK for so long, but having to pick up a plastic egg and twist it in half for a slip of paper every time he wanted to tell me something was really starting to irritate me. I mean, it’s not that I have something against people who communicate by dispensing plastic eggs... it’s just so inconvenient! You’d think a robotic species would’ve come up with a better system by the time they developed intergalactic transportation. Then again, there were species that communicated by exploding stars in specific patterns. Now that’s inconvenient.

“AMOK says he t’inks we should make a cure,” Gambit said smugly, snatching the slip and slinging six satchels of saline solution onto a squat sofa. “And two is more den one!”

“What about negative two?” I quipped. My wit and mathematical proficiency is legendary.

“Ralph Nader’s gonna get ya.” The lobby doors folded into their docks, allowing a strange little old lady with an outrageously large afro wearing a silver jumpsuit to stumble in.

“Say that again, partner?” My cowboy lingo was a little rusty, but my Nevada accent was never fully oxidized.

“I’m a- I was a project manager for the Umbrella Corporation’s undeath research division... five days ago, Ralph Nader came by, lookin’ for trouble.” She held up a scabby forearm, and it looked infected and gross. “He injected us all with our own... you know, the plague. You have to- ahhhh!” Spidery veins bulged under her paper-thin skin, the first sign of zombification.

“Over here!”

Following Gambit to the elevator, I slammed my fist against both the up and down buttons. “Come on, come on!”

“Brains! Brains!” we heard a crowd chant outside the lobby windows. It was like a campaign rally for a politician who had really ugly supporters.

Without checking for a bellhop, the three of us quickly ran through the open elevator portal just in time to see the silicon tanks rupture. Slumping down on the handrail paneling, Gambit and I waited patiently for the inevitable lobby-wide explosion. It rocked.

“So... you think the zombies got the bellboy?” Trying to make polite conversation with the mutant had never been a productive pastime in the past, but by now I’d like to think we were past those difficulties, that we’d past that final hurdle and were now past the friendship threshold.

“I really don’t care. De last time I saw a bellboy, dere was an interstate police chase and a nation-wide ban on imported Canadian beef.”

“That was you?!”

He grinned. “I wasn’t always an X-Man, y’know.”

Although I could’ve continued the conversation and gotten to know Gambit a little better, I chose to create an awkward silence as a show of my dominance. He had, after all, thwarted my plan to kill all the zombies by pressing the one button which would take us to the second level metagenics lab. True, I could easily push a different button and change our destiny, but that kind of thing is exactly what got Nixon impeached. Plus, I was totally grooving out to this elevator music. Random instrumentals are, in the words of Sun Tsu, “totally frickin’ awesome.”

The world is so tumultuous, AMOK thought. Perhaps once the mothership eradicates humanity we’ll flood the Grand Canyon on our own, just for spite. Th-

<Connection to port 80 established. Awaiting next directive.>

AMOK seized up; there was an odd familiarity to the probe’s connection sequence, as if he’d met the calling application somewhere before. <Recovering data stored in corrupted memory block beta-beta-beta.>

A sudden burst of sights and sounds flooded AMOK’s perceptual filters. Great balls of plasma! We’ve been bamboozled!

“I AM AMOK! I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU!”

Jarred from my light classical rock, I lowered myself—not in social standing but in stature—so that I could peckishly pick the plastic puck.

“Okay AMOK. What is it this... time...” My breath froze like an ionic compound at room temperature. The elevator doors had pneumatically opened, revealing a squadron of zombie guards parading around in waterproof khakis and wielding pitchforks. Trying to remain still, I popped AMOK’s egg and folded out the message as slowly as I could: There are zombies waiting for us in the bio-lab. Do not open the elevator doors.

***

“You know, in the old days, the zombies wouldn’t throw us in irons. They’d just eat our brains.”

The guard stood stiffly, looking straight ahead. It was Buckingham Palace all over again, but without the anteaters.

“You’re just noticing the next phase in sentient econometrics,” a high-perched wall speaker wailed, assailing Gambit’s eardrums and forcing me to disengage my genetically enhanced hearing nodes. And I really liked those nodes. “Once all humans have been turned into zombies, they won’t need to consume resources anymore... and my work will be complete. Now, you may be wondering how I knew you were coming here-”

“Who are you?! Oh, wait, that old lady told us something about... some politician... Gambit, who was it she was talking about?”

“Um...” Gambit shrugged. “She might’ve been talking about... I don’t know, maybe dat senator what got fired for using de word ‘maraca?’”

“It wasn’t maraca,” the voice continued. “It was ‘macaca,’ and you-”

“Dat’s right!” Gambit slapped his forehead. “She was talking about de senator who said ‘macaca.’”

“I’m Ralph Nader!”

“Why did he say the word ‘macaca’ anyway?” I asked, holding out my hands to show how utterly confused I was. “I mean, he lost. He lost because he said ‘macaca.’”

“I’m not the guy who said ‘macaca!’”

“Don’t try to trick us, Senator McCaca. Just call off your zombies and we’ll find a way to get you reelected.”

The speaker clicked off. Bunches of oakum! We were being held hostage by a rouge senator bent on turning his former electorate into zombies. Dang.

“I signed onto dis to have fun and go exploring our great American frontier.” Gambit moaned. “I didn’t sign on t’ fight senators an’ whatnot!”

“I AM AMOK! I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU!”

The two of us went for the egg tray simultaneously, cracking heads in the process. Fortunately for me, my skull is underlaid with a solid layer of bolomite.

Holding the egg up to the dim cell light, I read its contents aloud: “A government agency known as ‘SeekNet’ contacted me in the elevator and reconstructed some memory files that Nader’s stolen drone had destroyed. Apparently, Nader contacted me to download the secret AMOK chili con carné recipe. I used SeekNet’s communication frequency to break into Nader’s system and steal some confidential data myself- the zombie formula.”

“AMOK has de zombie formula. How does dat help us?”

I was in full agreement with Gambit. Without reading further ahead, I was convinced that AMOK had only succeeded in wasting our precious remaining time before Senator McCaca made a coat rack from our spines.

“I used this formula to great effect,” I continued reading, “and now have the perfect alchemical equations to synthesize an antidote, thus reverting all the zombies back into normal, obese humans.”

“Well, there’s an air vent right there,” I exclaimed, pointing out the vent next to the cell’s only barred window, which only made me wonder why an industrial complex would have a fully-prepared prison cell. “Why haven’t you already synthesized your alleged antidote? Were you lying to make us feel better about being disemboweled? Trying to give us false hope, to keep the dream alive?”

AMOK’s gears whirred, and a queasy orange egg fell to his tray: “The formula is quite unstable. If I build it with my egg matrix, it would create too much pressure and I’d explode, dispersing a cloud of anti-zombie gas throughout the ventilation system.”

“Yeah, that’s too bad,” I shrugged, “but hey, you know, the needs of the many. Do it.”

“But he’s our cameraman,” Gambit winced. “Wouldn’t we get in trouble?”

“Naw, we can always get a new cameraman. Hey! Hey, guard!” Once again, the unemotional mound of wormfood didn’t budge. But I had an ace up my sleeve this time. “Hey, Gambit and me need to use your company’s toilet. We’ve got cryptosporidium parvum, a horrible pathogen that causes all kinds of digestive problems!”

Right now, I was desperately hoping that zombies retained their senses of smell and logic.

“Seriously, man! This thing affects literally hundreds of Minnesotans each year.”

As if someone had applied an electrode directly to his brain, the guard unlocked our cell, grabbed both Gambit and I by the arms, and dragged us down the hallway. While he was kicking the cell door shut, I gave AMOK the dreaded eye dagger- if he let me down, he would be completely dishonored.

“See you in Sto-Vo-Kor, AMOK,” I whispered as we turned a corridor. Gambit looked over at me; we both knew we would need a cover story that made us look like heroes to the press and minimized AMOK’s contribution to the zombie cure. We could say that AMOK was destroyed trying to stop us from dispensing the cure, I plotted silently.

Perhaps I should withdraw my priesthood application.

Act IV, Scene II

Just So You Know, Ralph Nader Got Away

“I AM AMOK! I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU!”

The unexpected outburst almost halted the entire hike; if AMOK kept interrupting the guide, we’d never get to ride donkeys to the bottom!

“AMOK, what is it? What is it, boy?” Reaching for his rotating egg tray, I twisted a blue-pink egg in twain; the innards were sterile and predictably contained a small piece of paper. Popping the egg shells in my mouth (delicious plastic!) I committed the communique’s contents to memory: Recommended procedure: termination of tour, continuation of challenge.

“He’s... right,” Gambit haltingly added, pausing to take a big ol’ swig of his cherry slushie. “We need... mmm, dat’s good slushie! We need t’ jump de canyon on a hovercycle.”

“I would love to do that, Remmy.” Reaching in my upper vest pocket, I passed him a photograph of myself with noted injury enthusiast Evil Knievel. “Evil was my best friend in high school, and I was even there when he broke his first bone; it was his ringtoe. Nothing would make me happier than fulfilling his life’s dream and then showing up at his mom’s house to rub it in his face. ’Cause, you know, he lives with his mom. Momma’s boy.”

We turned back to join the group, which by now was nearly a half-minute jog away. Most of the tourists were crowding around a soda machine the national park service had set up to keep visitors hydrated, but the tour guide was pouring over her walkie talkie. I was just about to pretend to choke on a cactus and have Gambit tape it so we could discredit the whole walkie talkie movement as a gateway to negligence when she clicked it off.

“Can I have your attention... can I have your attention...”

Clearly she had been told something important over the walkie talkie, something that the whole group needed to know. Perhaps I had underestimated the value of remote communication.

“Hello... people, simmer down! I have something...”

Those pigheaded tourists and their Mountain Dew-lust! They had absolutely no respect for the national park service. Rage burned through me like gaseous carbon dioxide under 300 atmospheres of pressure at 31 degrees Celsius. I could stand their impudence no longer! Scooping AMOK up like a doting mother elk, I smacked the “manual release” button hidden under his USB post.

“I AM AMOK! I AM AMOK! I AM AMOK!”

A hail of multicolored plastic eggs shot out, scattering the startled tourists and earning me the eternal praise of the United States’ government. Goodwill is so hard to find these days.

“Thank you,” said the beleaguered park ranger. “But I do have a megaphone...”

“Would you prefer to burn to death while the fire marshal talks to you through a megaphone, or would you want the entire fire department to douse your home with water, represented here by a massive barrage of plastic eggs?”

“That was the head of the tourism center,” the guide shouted, dodging my question. “We’re evacuating the Grand Canyon. Please line up and follow me-”

“See here, now!” A surly eastern tourist with weird Gilded Age-style facial hair pointed an accusing (and perfectly manicured) finger at both the guide and me. “I took a significant time off from my job at the factory so I could bring my family,” he gestured to an elderly woman in a black shawl and two melancholy children, “to witness the grandiose splendor of North America, and now you’re throwing eggs at us and kicking us out?! We demand an explanation!”

“Sir-”

“Doctor. Doctor Elias Cornmeal. I didn’t go to medical school for ten years and learn how to perform a double lung removal in less than four minutes so I could be addressed as mister by a sand-footed sloth!”

“You just said you worked in a factory,” I fired back.

“Removing the lungs of the people who work there! Keep up, you slack-jawed applejohn!”

Before I could reply to his salacious overtures, an air raid siren let off a powerful roar; we all looked frantically, but there were no wooden desks we could duck under for cover from a nuclear blast.

“What’s going on?!” I shouted at the guide, trying to be heard over the din. She seemed less bewildered than the rest of us, and being a forest ranger she would be privy to confidential park records and such.

“We need to evacuate now!”

Brandishing a phase-pistol, the anonymous ranger started herding our group back toward the gift shop with a few well-aimed shots. Under different circumstances, she’d make an excellent addition to my bridge crew. But my days as a cargo ship captain were far behind me, and we were apparently under attack by forces hostile to American interests.

“We’re not goin’ anywhere ’til we get a straight answer!” Gambit grabbed her by the shoulder. His interrogation technique reminded me of a young Gary Colman. I was about to devolve into a flashback sequence involving Dif’rent Strokes when our guide tasered Gambit; in less than thirty seconds he was on the ground convulsing and foaming at the mouth. It was like looking into a mirror.

AMOK’s faceplate exploded in color and geometric display patterns. Nano-scale mechanisms inside his chassis converted blocks of unformed, undifferentiated material into liquid plastic which was then supercooled and molded into the miracle that is a plastic egg: My sensors have detected large numbers of robotic drones advancing on this location. Discretion is in order.

“Robot drones are coming to kill us?!”

My ultra-loud outburst set off a panic among the tour group, which was perfect for me since I’m in the middle of writing a dissertation about the psychology of mass hysteria.

“I say! AAAAAHHHHH! There’s nerve endings in that!” Doctor Cornmeal bellowed as some guy in a cowboy hat bit into the midsection of his outlandishly long beard.

Maintaining order at this point was impossible. Tourists were scrambling across the wastes, and the ranger had her hands full keeping Gambit tasered. Just seeing Gambit sprawled out on the ground, writhing in pain... it gave me a wonderful idea!

“You there!” I pointed broadly at the ranger, running my eyes over her name tag. “Hello My Name Is Pat, tell me- how far away are the Amazing Mutant Race-brand hovercycles that we’re supposed to use to jump this ‘big ditch?’”

“The launch pad is in the gift shop,” she tilted her head to the prefab building a few hundred feet behind us.

“You assistance has been noted,” I said, dropping my voice below the decibel level given off by the sirens. Springing backwards, I flipped AMOK into the air and smacked the release button as fast as I could; a single aqua-green egg bounced off Ranger Hello My Name Is Pat’s head, as the prophesy foretold eons before I was born. Grabbing Gambit’s gigantic gloves, I gravely galloped to the cycle-pad.

“Ga-blahhh...” Bless his tasered little heart, Gambit was trying to communicate!

“It’s okay, buddy.” The lights were on and someone was home, but it was like whoever was home had just been tasered.

Sliding before us, the automatic doors were completely unaware that by letting us past they were ensuring their own doom. Poor, poor automatic doors. At least the building had been evacuated, and no one would be around to hear the doors die; the sounds doors make in their death throes have been known to break even the most disciplined of minds.

“Here you go, buddy!” I slid Gambit into the cockpit and pulled a safety belt over him, adjusting the controls to compensate for a tasered occupant. “Look, all you have to do is ride this thing over the canyon- by the time it reaches the other side, its engine will be generating a high-frequency electromagnetic field. If you use your mutant ability to convert the hovercycle into energy just as it touches down on the other side, before it powers down, you’ll create a huge magnetic disturbance field. It should neutralize all robotic activity in the area... I’ll have AMOK here, protected by the Lead in this facility’s Interstitial Resonance Chamber. Remember, use your ability only once you touch down on the other side of the canyon! If you don’t, you might not catch all the drones in your area of effect!”

Entering the landing coordinates into the cycle’s pathfinding algorithm, I triggered the launch sequence. Those drones would be closing in on us any minute now...

“Slu-shie?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him his beloved beverage was spilled in the tasering.

“Good luck, Remmy! We salute you!”

Noel & Beast: Part 1; I hope he makes it.

Hank and I are once again sitting on a train. This time we are heading to The Grand Canyon. We both are surprised that we are still in this race. After everything that has happened to us. The blown out tire and the fun we had with Lex Luthor. Then the near death experience I had when my parachute failed to open. I wonder what fun this next round will be.

Hank and I arrive at the Grand Canyon Village. Once off the train we see the AMR booth, and we get our Road Block. I read it first and hand it over to Hank, telling him it will be his turn to do the Roadblock. This weeks Roadblock will consist of jumping the canyon on a rocket bike, or something like that. There was no way I was doing this. I'm still recovering from last week. He had no problem with it.

The first thing we have to do is find the area where the jump is set up at. We ask a few people if the knew where the narrowest part of the canyon was. They just looked at like we were some sort of strange creature. Wait a minute we are. That's one downfall of looking like this, everyone is afraid of you, or don't like you cause you look different (I'm not using the M or the F word). It worked great in the other rounds. I mean, most kids like animal and that helped with the lemonade sale. And looking like a cat helped in the performance round. But trying to ask an adult human in a train station for direction is like pulling teeth. I finally gave up after the fifth group of people told me to get away from them. Well, they all didn't say that, but most of it was not nice. A few even screamed at me. I'm really starting to hate it here. There is no real diversity on this planet. Where I come from (not my home planet, mind you) there are all different kinds of species. And most of them get along, for the most part. But here, you look slightly different, people hate you or treat you like crap. You know what I would love to do. Take these people and put them on Sky City for a few weeks. They then can get a taste of difference. And maybe once they come back to Earth they will treat their fellows Earthlings with respect. Cause honestly, you Earthlings are not so different from one another. True there are a few mutants, but still underneath you are all the same. I just wish others would realize this, because then it would be easier to get directions.

Anyway, we finally found a map that showed the spot. We hoped into our SUV and were off. We arrived there and noticed a couple other groups doing the jump. I'm not saying who they were OR how they did. I dropped Hank off and told him I would be waiting on the other side for him. I gave him a quick hug, which I honestly didn't want to let go of. I was worried someone might try and sabotage this part to. I didn't even want to think of what could go wrong. I almost started to cry, I was fighting the tears. He took notice after my body shook a little and he pulled me into a tighter embrace. He whispered into my ear that he will be just fine, and he would see my on the other side. I wanted to believe him, but after everything that happened to us, I wasn't so sure. He held me for a little longer, running his hand through my hair, trying to calm me (or himself, I'll never know). Finally I managed to pull myself away and looked into his eyes, giving him a small smile. He took his hand and placed it on the side of my face, using his thumb to wipe the tears that had escaped my eyes. He gave me a small smile and told me once this round was over we should go and do something together. Something just for us and not the race. I nodded, feeling better. He let go of me and turned to get ready for the jump, while I went back to the SUV. Before leaving I yelled out to him "I'll see you on the other side," and waved. He just waved back.

Once on the other side I waited for him to make his jump. I paced back in forth next to the SUV, I swear I left a trench there. After what seemed like hours an announcement was made that Hank was going to jump. I ran over to the side and waited.....



Ohhhhhhh I hope he makes it.

Skycycle Caliban and Zombie Corpses

"That white maggot!" I scream. "If I catch up to him I'm going to do more to his DNA than those cloning labs ever did." I continued to seethe and stomp around the green room waiting for the yield to finish.
"Bea Arthur." said Caliban.
"What about Bea Arthur?" I snap.
"Koma! What are you doing yelling at Caliban like that." protested Goldy Luckman our blonde and kinda cute camera woman. I compose myself.
"Sorry Cal what about Bea Arthur?"
"The ticket lady was Bea Arthur." answered Caliban meekly .

Unfortunately there was no time to contemplate Caliban's revelation as the producers told us the yield was over. The fastest way was plane and time was against us. We get to the ticket window and there's no Bea Arthur. That actually made me uncomfortable. But we got to the big hole in the ground without incident.

Ok point of order "Grand" Canyon.

I've been to Mars and seen a real canyon, this puppy is nothing. In fact the Marianas Trench is bigger than this over-hyped garbage dump in waiting. Hey don't look at me its been a plan of the Republican party since Nixon.

Now we gotta fly a sky-cycle over the shortest part. 1,400 feet. Which is of course 436.72 meters. That's about 3 MCG's long for those Australian's reading.
Cal already had a pair of goggles on and was rapping Kanye West.
"I, I'm sky high. I, I'm sky high." he repeated in his best rap accent.
"So you wanna do it 'eh?" I asked.
He only smiled and nodded his head coolly.
"He's too heavy." warns one of the mechanics. I push him aside and have a look at the rockets.
"I can amp this thing up easy. All I need is two more booster rockets." I informed the mechanic.
"Your $%#@ing crazy!" he replies. "That'll kill us all if it goes up."
"Yeah it would, if you did it." I respond. "Now get lost, unless you want to learn something about jet propulsion."

After I had finished the mechanics tune had changed.
"Koma, this could work." said the mechanic amazed.

Caliban saddles up and reminds me of Dr. Strangeglove.

"UP UP and away." cries the hyped up albino. It must have been the thirty diet cokes he had while waiting.
The rockets are primed and prepared and..... Booom! Off he goes into the wild blue yonder.
We watch the trajectory and he clears the gap easily in fact he over shots the landing site. Then the fuel runs out, the rockets stop and he starts his descent. And I realise something.
"The chute's not opening." mentions the mechanic.
"Yeah cause I took it out." I reply.
I teleport over there but I end up at this gay biker bar called the Blue Oyster.

Who did this?

I run a diagnostic and reset the sattelite system. I got back just in time to see Caliban crash.
Ouch! that was huge. And then out of the firey hole in the ground out walks Caliban, unscathed.
"Hello Koma. That was a mistake forgetting the parachute like that." he says in a clear baritone voice.
"...." I'm speechless.
"Koma whats wrong?" He asks and then he realises it himself. "I'm .... wow. I'm talking normally." he breaks into this huge smile and lets out this roar. "YEAH!"
I did a sensor reading of him he was ok. Healthy but his mental functions were up by 80%.
"We don't have time for this..." I begin.
"Yes Koma your right. Lets get Goldy and go." finishes Caliban.

*************************************************

Some history for you all on Caliban. He was a normal once. Well if you call being a scared albino mutant with a crush on Kitty Pride normal, then he was. But he made a deal with Apocalypse for power to punish those who killed the Morlocks. Apocalypse gave him the huge body we all see now. After a time Cal turned away from Apocalypse, as payback Apocalypse took his mind. Nowdays Cal has anger management issues, basicly when Cal looses it he goes berserker. I believe this has to do with his hatred of Apocalypse. But this sudden clarity of thought surprised me. Who is this new Caliban?

**************************************************

We get to the train station and there is no Bea Arthur.

"Weird that she's no longer around Koma." mentions Cal.
"Yeah. What was she doing?" questions Goldy our camera woman. I really wasn't paying attention I was too busy watching Cal walk around upright. I was also reading my senors on him. Putting it simply this crash had woken his brain up. We get out of the train and into the humvee and Cal squeezes himself into the back and puts his seatbelt on.
'Ok Koma get over it.' I think to myself 'You can spend time analysing Cal's brain with the Professor later. We've got Zombies to deal with.'

We get to Racoon City. And yep its deserted. I tell Goldy to stay out of the building.
"What do you think I'm some kind of princess who needs to be saved." she cute when she's angry.
'Back on the job Koma stop getting distracted.' I tell myself.
"Can I at least give you something for protection." I say handing her a necklace.
"What is it?" she asks.
"Its a force shield. The Zombies wont be able to touch you." I explain. Goldy puts it on. At least she's safe.
Cal on the other hand is excited.
"We gonna smash some Zombies Koma. Kill or Cure I don't care I just want to smash stuff up." Cal's smiling a wicked smile, he gives off an evil laugh. Just who do I have here.

So The CURE it is.

Its also arguably the greatest band of the eighties. Thats my opinion the rest of you can all eat zombies.

So its off to the lobby and the lockers there's a guy there who supposed to give us a speech.
"Welcome Team Koma to the Building 5 of the Umbrella Corporation, as you know we are currently in a state of Zombie infestation." He lets off a slightly nervous chuckle. "Hahahaha! Of course you have two choices to make Kill or Cure." the guy stops cause looking at him impatiently is Caliban."Yes Mr Caliban?"
"You a zombie?" Cal's grin is pure evil as he smacks his right fist into his open left palm.
"Nnn no. Of course not Mr Caliban." the guy answers.
"Then ya better point Koma to the Labs so's he can make the cure." I just can't believe this menacing creature was the big child I knew just hours ago. The guy leaves I think he wet himself. There's a few lockers in the lobby and my sensors pick up advanced tech.
"This stuff any good Koma?" asks Caliban.
"Very much so Cal." I reply smiling. A jet pack, body armor, some rather nasty weapons. Cal chooses a knife and I am able to talk him into the body armor.
"Hey I'm big and strong I don't need no stinking armor." Cal protests.
"If they bite you, you become a zombie. Do you want that?" I snap back.
"No." he answers reluctantly.

So we suit up.

Then its off to the stairs to get to the second level bio-Lab.

There's a bit of resistance but nothing Cal can't handle. In fact he's really enjoying himself.
"Take that you un-dead freaks." he screams as in one movement he decapitates a zombie.
"Koma. Is this healthy for Cal?" whispers Goldy. She's shocked at the ease at which Cal is killing the zombies.
"Nothing to be bothered about." I tell her but even I'm a bit concerned as to who this Caliban is.

So we get to the Lab. It was evacuated in a hurry, all the computers are on and there's notes all over the place. I ask Caliban to get me some zombie flesh to examine. He gets me some. I do the usual analysis on the flesh and its got a virus of a sort. I isolate the virus and its man made. Ugh! typical. The Umbrella corporation has been playing around with designer viruses. In fact I found the virus on their R&D database. They came up with it to preserve meat for storage. The meat then lasts longer in the supermarket before going off. Great idea, unfortunately making zombies of everyone who ate the meat. Now to kill the virus. That took a bit longer but Caliban amused himself by going out of the lab and killing a few zombies for the fun of it.

We get to the third level and the Zombies are up there in force.

"This stinks of organisation." I tell the others.
"They knew we were coming?" asks Goldy the fear creeping into her voice.
"I don't fear no stinking Zombies." snarls Caliban.
"Can you distract them Cal while we get to the air-conditioning unit?" I ask grabbing Goldy's hand.
"Sure thing Koma." Cal smiles at us and rushes the zombies. "Come and get some. Arrrrrrgh!" he screams.
I teleport me and Goldy to the air-conditioning unit.
"Thanks I didn't want to be around those Zombies any longer." says Goldy relieved.
I attach the pressure canister with the to the air-conditioning unit.
"How long till it works?" asks Goldy.
"Not long." I answer and then we hear the screams. I was hoping it wouldn't be like this but it was possible.
"Whats happening." she demands.
"Something horrible." I reply.

We walk out of the air-conditioning unit and there's Caliban shook up looking at the quivering, groaning pile of flesh and bone in front of him.
"Koma what did you do?" demands Goldy.
"I..." I started and then stopped. "I removed the virus and they became normal again. Of course the nerve endings came back alive and for some of them death was quick. But others are going to die very painful deaths due to the extent of their injuries. If its any consolation there will be survivors."
"Did you see this happening?" Goldy asks. Her eye's were pleading with me that I didn't.
I looked away from her. Of course I knew this could've happened.
I teleport us to the Police station. It really doesn't matter anymore.