The Lord of the Matrix

Chapter 9: Is There Anyway This Story Could Be Funny Again?

Two giant stage lights rest atop shiny silver stands, large golf umbrellas attached with duct tape to their backs.  They shine before a black sheet, background to the foreground of a large matted wooden desk with picture framed sides and teethed molding.  Azoric leans against the desk, arms crossed and a face of malcontent.  The make-up woman scurries, her anorexially lean body zipped up in black.  She insists on one more moment, she, “can’t believe this light.  Can you believe this light?  How am I supposed to make anyone look good in this light?  Huh?  Huh?  HUHHHHHHHH?!?!?!?!??!?!”  She blots a soft brush in powder and strokes it along Azoric’s eyes, which squint bright red from the dusty cosmetic.  He breathes—as he is accustomed—and before the makeup infects his lungs, a sturdy muscular clamp tightens his throat, his mouth opens like a steam engine in anticipation of blowing its top…Aaaaaaa-cho!!!  A surge of spit rushes her face. Her mouth open in a state of shock, spit along her chin, a single tear dribbling down her cheek..  She removes a handkerchief to dry herself.  Azoric shrugs his shoulders, embarrassed and extends his hand to help.  The make-up artist refuses, stepping back and bowing her head, a large green and black booger, trails of snot at its ends, atop her tightly combed black hair.  Azoric’s eyes bug out of their sockets and his arms wave in the air (anime style). 

	“Ummm…stand still, there is something…”

	“What?” the makeup woman asks.

	Azoric’s eyebrows converge in consideration.  His forefinger and thumb descending like a sophisticated pair of tweezers,  stop short of the menace, wait a minute, this is a booger we’re talking about, and his hand withdraws.  “Its nothing, I thought I saw something but…”  Geez, its kinda slimy.  “…there is nothing there.”

	Raven, recently christened a vampire by foodmart’s bite now spends her morning bread and buttering her way into her cat woman rip-off costume, which entails black leather, black leather, back leather and two fake and stiff black plastic nipples glued to the breasts of her costume under the premise that, “It worked for Alicia Silverstone!”  To which Raven replied, “And what was the last thing you saw that heffer in?”  She wears the standard femme fetal footwear, four inch high heels boots, which she finds ridiculous, how can a superhero sneak around if she is always clicking?  She struggled with the heels at first, losing total feeling in her knees and lower back.  She sought proper treatment from the stage physician, a proclaimed former, although most likely current wastoid and pharmaceutical drug trafficker, offered her only two solutions, Percoset or Valium, with the possibly some Demerol if she was a good girl who played a good game.  Raven yawned off his many advances, finding solace in mudslides and nights alone with Orlando Bloom (if the press will ever leave them alone).

	“How’s it going, Azoric?”

	“Fine, Raven.  The mailman was here, they dropped off our fan mail.”

	“Do you really read that stuff?”

	“Absolutely.  Didn’t you see me on the cover of Team Dream this week?  They did a whole spread on my pecs and it has caused a fury!  Some girl named Tara wrote it was her prayers answered when you became a vampire on the show because it meant I was back on the market and she had the slimiest of slim hopes to one day cuddle me on a deserted island.  She was even happier you didn’t give birth, because while she admires single dads and their plight to raise their children in a world that’d rather let the woman handle it and Lord knows I don’t have a problem with that, it really is a responsibility she didn’t wish my character to take on; saying and I quote, You are way too cute for babies.  It was touching really.”  

	A crew boy walks round, obviously an inspiring actor, his ragged clothes and one-hundred page script in his back pocket, he is willing to work for pennies a day just to be on a movie set and pitch his script to walking by without fear of the security giving him the Jay and Silent Bob Special.  His arms fumble technical equipment, stage props and red contraceptives drag out of his back pocket like the tail of a dragon.  He distributes them after shooting as this cast is rather, frisky.  The director leads the crew boy, his enormous stomach dwarfed only by his enormous hair, an Afro courtesy of poor hygiene and cheap shampoo.  The boy jots down the director’s ramblings by writing with his toes and hopping on one foot to keep the fat man’s fat pace.  

	“Hey, refill this please.” 

	Azoric tosses his coffee top, it lands atop the pile of equipment.  What follows is a complicated and traumatic sight, as the boys legs and knees crack in half, the world of weight in his arms tumbles onto his abdomen, making a temporary grave and memorial sight.

	“That crew boy, always playing around.  What a laugh…but seriously man, I’m gonna need that coffee, like soon.”

	He turns to Raven again.

	“Do you ever write these girls back?”

	“Oh, absolutely I do.  Each and everyone of them.”

	“What do you say?”

	Azoric pulls out a piece of paper:

	Dear Tara,

	It sounds like you are a big fan.  To answer your questions, it was nice being with Raven.  She is a great girl and I wish her the best of luck in the realm of the undead.  To answer your second question, yes, my boys can swim and although they are much stronger than the average males, safe sex is always important.  Please do not follow the example set by our shameless writer and his profit driven studio.  I have included a picture of me, autographed by my assistant.

	PS, because of my current situation with the San Antonio Police Department, of which I am totally and completely innocent, my lawyers have informed me that I can no longer accept anonymous panties in the mail.  Please see your enclosed underwear.  Sorry.

	Your friend, 
	Azoric.

	“Touching,” Raven answers.

	The tubby director props his sweating self in the directors chair whose support beams bend and whine.  A gold hanky produces itself from the bowels of his pocket, he wipes his forehead of condensation from his brisk walk.  We really need to get the studio to buy those golf carts come re-negotiation time.   “Are we ready to roll here?  They’re using this set for a P. Diddy video in fifteen minutes.”

	“P. Diddy?  This doesn’t seem his style, with the two stage lights, black sheet, desk and the complete absence of skanky money-grubbing free-loading chicks.  Doesn’t he make expensive videos?” Azoric says.

	“And this video will be his most expensive yet, three hundred million.  Those stage lights are the two biggest diamonds in the world, shaved down to look like stage lights.  We had to lease a Volcano for ten thousands years to make them.  It cost us two hundred and fifty million dollars.”

	“What the other fifty million for?” Raven asks.

	“Hookers.”

	“Sorry I asked,” she responds.

	“Alright, I just got word that MTV is here for the P. Diddy Making the Video and you know them, if we don’t hurry up, they just tape the singing frogs and replay it twenty times this next month.  So no time to waste, lights, camera, action!”

	The studio freezes save a wrists turn of a dimmer switch.  The diamond light lowers, the camera records two silhouettes (one with cat ears) and a desk.  The camera lens rotates in its zoom, and the director orders lights up with the swipe of his arm.  Azoric dead stares the lens, Raven does the same, the light rising behind them.  They look like normal stage lights to me, Raven thinks.

	Azoric speaks first.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, before we begin tonight’s episode of Lord of the Matrix, the producers of the show, Raven and myself would like to address some pressing news in the LOTM world.  As you may know, due to her complete lack of sanity, Britney Spears has decided to take a six month vacation from show business.”

	Camera two cuts to Raven.

	“And although these last two months since her wedding have been rocky ones on the set, seeing as foodmart and her are always romping in their trailer and she is always satisfied to the point where none of us can sleep during the night, we here at Lord of the Matrix wish to extend her our support and best wishes in her decision to leave.  Good luck, Britney!  However, despite our clinically diagnosed stress syndromes induced by our deprived state of slumber, our drug-addicted producers still enticed Britney to stay by offering her a contract much more lucrative than Azoric’s or my own.  She ultimately turned us down.  Because she played such a pivotal character, we’ve decided the show cannot continue without her.”

	Camera cuts back to Azoric.

	“So our writers locked themselves in their think tank, which was formerly a studio apartment on Dixon and Fifth but since being served eviction papers, now appears to be the dumpster out back.”

	Camera cuts back to Raven.

	“That’s right, Azoric.  And lucky they were because someone who works at this studio had thrown away the answer to our Britney dilemma.”

	Camera pans to both of them.

	“Yes Raven.  Its puts a new spin on the saying, one mans garbage, is another television shows gold.”

	They exchange a har-dee-har-har.  The camera refocuses on Raven.

	“Until Britney feels healthy enough to retake her place as the Queen of Pop Music and her biographical role on Lord of the Matrix, she will be replaced.  And what did our writers discover in that dumpster of gold as Azoric so rightly put?  A Blow-Me Up Britney Doll.  This provocative and perverted toy answered all the issues that would be raised in Britney’s disappearance.”

	Camera focuses on Azoric.

	“That’s right Raven.  And we won’t have any problem with her voice over, because we have acquired that same machine which sings for her.”

	Camera focuses on Raven.

	“And now…on with the show.”

Primus digs despite his tired muscles, dehydration and a family of popped blisters on his palms and feet; for this dessert can not burn a hole in his soul bigger than the one a stranger burned on a fortnight.  Primus had learned peace in these years, working through the events of his life; the Fellowship failing and separating, Backstabber controlling the universe and his music being anything but…music.  And then, one day, he sits in a bar, beering himself up after a hard days hunting which yielded not one kill and finds a stranger occupying the stool next to him.  A roughly shaven man, who kept his face in the shadows and dawned a poncho with old-fashioned gun belt and cowboy hat.

	The stranger—who’s voice sounds familiar—entices Primus to the early hours with vast stories of vast universes.  Of magical gems, mighty empires, a woman whom rules the universes in fairness and kindness.  He shares the story of her two sons and their history—the hate and the love of the breast it suckles.  The stories touch his soul like well-timed miracles.  Primus’s heart opens up to what he has long forgotten, his own vast need to rejoin what once meant so much to him.  Among the bud of faith deep in a place he can’t point out on his body, it feels like he’s been given wings to fly.  He can’t remember that last great story he heard about a man who abandoned his destiny; his place in life.  Even though it is not Primus’ responsibility nor his duty, he must somehow make right what has gone astray.  He returns home, his heart beating fresh blood.  He fetches his shovels, explains his heart to Marrin and wishes her assistance.  

	In the dessert they search what eluded them so long ago, to let their love for each other, life and the Fellowship rule all that governs their souls.

	And then they ran out of water…

	“Have you almost found it?”

	“Almost!”

	“Why are we doing this again?”

	“I told you, I heard a story in town that there is a secret book buried out here.  That it caused a bunch of magics and summoned many creatures and treasures from other dimensions.  When Backstabber found out, he banished it somewhere in this dessert.”

	Marrin stands in her black vamp get-up.  She steps to the left, to slipping sand, arms pinwheel like a garden piece.  Her body crashes into a hole, she looks up and imagines being Alice in the looking glass.  She finds her way onto her bum and wipes the sand from her shirt, only to realize her most ultimate curse, damnit!  I got sand in my bra!  Zor doesn’t assist her and she climbs the wall of sand, pouting along.  She peaks over the hole and covers her eyes with her hand, like a visor, looking on the hundreds of ten-foot deep holes that suffered their wake. 

	“You dig anymore holes it isn’t gonna be a desert just a miniature golf course for Zentraedi.  What do we need with stuff from other dimensions, anyway?”

	“Oh I don’t know, a giant seismic blaster that will blow Backstabber’s palace to kingdom come?”

	Primus digs, sand over shoulder, his muscles jumping, plunging the shovel into the ground.

	“Oh…in that case, do you mind if I use this second shovel you brought for yourself?”

	“No, I don’t mind if you use the second shovel I brought for myself.”

	Marrin examines the shovel. “Its amusing that in all my years as a vampire and all my time spent in a cemeteries, I’ve never used one of these things.”  

	Marrin licks her finger and surrenders it to a breeze sweeping across the sand and she follows it two steps right and then shovels a bit of ground…clank!

	Zor’s head peaks out of his hole.  “What was that!”

	Marrin holds the book in the air, gloating and high stepping the sand like an obnoxious football player in her old world.  “I found the book!  I found the book!”

The critters which once made their home the swamps move along the trees and watered brush, no longer fearful of their predators.  Trees weep and die along the heavy fog, which no wind has been able to move.  The mud bubbles in heat, dead tadpoles and fish litter the surface, the water having cooked them.  The swamp temperature continues to rise, morphs anew with the Fellowship, which has failed to notice amongst the feat of their own miracle.

	foodmart approaches Fields with caution, extending his pointer finger and poking what he expects to be a transparency, a tortured soul who has risen from the depths of hell to enact the same torture on the one who killed him/her. 

	“FIELDS!!!! You’re alive…you’re a man!”

	“I know I’m a man.”

	“How do you know?  You haven’t even seen yourself yet.”

	“Coz suddenly this thong I’m wearing seems really gay.”

	foodmart looks to the group, considers it himself and smacks Fields on the shoulder.

	“Fair enough.  He checks out.  Nothing to worry about from him.”

	“Nothing to worry about?” Azoric asks.  “What about you, Mr. I’m-Gonna-Sell-Out-The-Fellowship-To-Backstabber?”

	foodmart shoulders shrug like an old man in an opus of frustration.  “Oh please, you’re still hung up on that?  It was one little betrayal and it happened years ago…let it go, man.”

	“Yeah Azoric, let it go, foodmart meant no harm,” Fields rallies.

	“Maybe you’ve forgotten fields, foodmart turned my wife into a vampire and killed my child!”

	“Geez Azoric, lighten up.  And I suppose next you are gonna say because foodmart killed me I should start avoiding him.  You are so unreasonable.”  Raven clicks along to foodmart’s side, taking hold of his arm and leaning against his chest, the leather of her suit like a smooth skin, he looks into her eyes so death-like and full of mischief…let the love triangle  being! 

	Azoric stares dumbfounded.  “But…but…but…”

	foodmart throws his arm in the air.  “The time for buts has ended!  Come now, we must find Punkr, Primus and Marrin.  The Fellowship lives!”

Rekiski, the old man who saw to him while he was in a coma, has ordered him out.  To flee the safety and security of the mountain; to fulfill the quest he started so long ago…

	The route to Backstabber’s palace from the mountain tops stretches along an entire world.  Moorigans and other beasts, hideous and grotesque, waste away their lives in the shadows, awaiting a passing stranger to make a meal of.  Jaded and weather born rocks via massive abrasions and razor shape edges, emerge like spikes from the ground.  The sun beats down like a fire.  The cold winds blow.

	The fire crackles and stirs Duo from his thoughts.  He replaces his attention from the small cup of water in his hand to his dinner, a fish with a stick stabbed through its mouth and out its tail, just above the flames.  The lake water smell gone, and the deep toned scent, somewhat like burnt toast with an hanging aftertaste tickles and his nose.  Hiis sword at side—a gift from Rekiski—and ready to defend himself.  Some predators see food and they attempt to take it; while the true predators only show themselves once the food has been prepared.

	Duo hand pats the rough scruff grown on his face these last days.  His eyes watch the flames, they pop and flare, extinguishing themselves and settling back under the wood.  He thinks of his mission.  Its cost and importance.  And then he thinks of himself.

	“Whoa!  Look at this!”  Duo walks out of a closet in the far wall holding hangers full of clothing and shoes.  “Fields and Raven are going to love these.  We’ve finally got some clothes for them.  I mean, they must be really uncomfortable wearing those short …skirts, with those t-shirts…don’t really fit…”  Duo throws the hangers back into the closet, save one.  “Anyways, we’ll forget I found those.  Anybody like this cape?”

	Duo smiles, how life has changed since then.  Only a week after entering this world and the cape finds him.  The cape gives him power he can’t believe.  Too much power.  He never controlled it.  The world, the cape, it all became a fantasy and Duo didn’t believe in any true power, in any real consequence.  That’s why I did it, didn’t I?  That’s why I sent the group and me to Backstabber in that tornado of fire.  Not because I thought we were ready, but because I thought it was a game.  I thought we were destined to win…and I thought I was the most powerful being who ever existed.

	A tremor shakes the ground.  Duo crouches his ear to the ground, rough pebbles leaving tiny scratches along his face.

	The Moorigans…

	Duo throws a bucket of water upon the fire, its simmers and the a hisses, thick smoke mushrooming into the air.  He three-bites the fish, spitting bones and skin.  I better get hiding, before they catch my scent…  In the distance, over the rolling hills, he sees a small trail of dirt and dust mark the clam landscape.  They are much closer than I thought.  How did they find me?

	Duo awaits the roaming dust-cloud.  He may get lucky, it may only be five or six of them.  He draws his sword and admires the polished blade in the moonlight.

	Come on…you guys are faster than this.  What?  A horse?

	A galloping runs over the last hill.  A fair maiden legs struggle to hold-on, her exquisite dress flapping along the horses sprint, dry tears leaving their shining mark along her full cheeks and lean jaw.  The horse shouts out, ordering Duo aside, which he does, his sword away from the sprinting creature.  He turns to see the Maidens rear-end as she escapes into the night and instead his stomach cringes.  The horse’s knee rotates backwards and then pops.  The animal collapses, flailing in pain.  Its foot still trapped in the hole which captured it.  

Duo wastes no time; the pursuers will arrive any second.

	“Ma’am?  Ma’am?”

	The girl, not a day above twenty, lays unconscious on her back.  Her hands strung out like she were a puppet through aside.  Her tiny nose doesn’t seem to be breathing any hair.  Duo knows surely that her not so tiny chest breaths no air either.  He finds no pulse on the small of her wrist or incline of her neck.  He sits down, what a cute girl…a shame it is.  He forgets about the Moorigans.  They do not hunt him.  He can escape and they will be satisfied seeing their prey dead on the side of the road.  He rubs his hand against eyes, in need of rest.  

	The maiden’s ears open stir at his creative use of profanity to describe her death. Her eyes open and she sits-up.  Seeing her career hunched over and on the verge of exhaustion.

	“Nishi?”

	Duo jumps back, raising his sword to her.

	“What kind of creature are you?”

	“Nishi.”

	“And what is a Nishi?”

	“Nishi.”

	“Listen, they are coming and if you want my help, you’ll stop playing around.”

	“Nishi.”

	He wants to leave her, but her cute face and appartentless eyes tell a tale he wishes to hear.   Her fall replays in his mind, he tries not to exaggerate, but he imagines her tossed fifteen feet in the air, and landing shoulder first…how come she is not injured?

	He extends his hand, his sword aside.  “Alright, we can figure this out later.  But you have to get in the trees before the Moorigans arrive.  I can’t fight them and look out for you.”

	“Nishi.”

	Duo breathes out hard. He holds out his hand again, this time with more insistence.   “Yes, Nishi.”

	The girl looks at the hand and then her own.  She reaches out, his force lifting her.

	“Nishi?” she asks.

	“Yes, Nishi.”

Duo leads her by hand to the trees, shaping her body into a crouch behind a large plant.  He exits the forest as the first Moorigans charges over the hill.  His sword behind back, tightly strangled by his adrenaline laced hang.  Saliva growls off the Moorigans teeth, his coat of fur at ends.  The Moorigans crouches and barrels hind-legs high, leaping into the air.  Duo producing the sword, his wrists flip and the blade splits along the Moorigans heart, a geyser of blood spray from the creature.  He levels it to the ground and jerks the sword.  He looks to the hill.  Eight other Moorigans stand in their pack, barking and howling.

Britney sits up and tries not to swish it around her mouth.  It rests under her tongue, swallowing or spitting it may result in it befouling her tastebuds again.  Despite her starvation, her stomach cramping several times, she can’t imagine swallowing.  She gathers her courage, her cute cheeks bunched like grapefruits and spits it aside; the taste resonating like a long echo.  

	She moves up to Punkr’s side, caressing his cheek, cuddling to his warmth.  Their captivity hasn’t fared well.  The conditions like a sauna in the day and ice cold in the night; hardly the type of weather for the golden lounge dress she wears.   She still looks cute, her dirt smudged cheeks like a little girls while the straps of her dress hang by a thread of two.

	Punkr opens his eyes.  “Uhhh?  What happened?”

	“Punkr!  You’ve been passed out for days.  I thought you would never wake up.  At first I didn’t think I could do it, but after a night or two, I realized if I didn’t, you’d never wake up…and now you’re up, and it was worth it!”

	“Where is here?”  

	He examines the cell, which seems more a dynamite blown cave, sediment around them, moss and mildew covering the rocks green, a spring of water and no apparent out.

	“I have no idea.  One second we were having the most beautiful dinner and this was the most beautiful dress and then, I wake up and you are here, passed out and I am all by myself.”

	“Oh, you poor girl.  It was very brave, surviving by yourself while I was—ahhhhh!  Where are my pants?”

	“They are over by the water.  I tried to wash them for you.”

	Punkr stands up, wondering if he should cup himself and decides against it, thinking it doesn’t seem very stud-like, and proceeds to—with a stagger—walk to the water.  He lifts up his dress pants to the light, and it shines through gapping holes in both knees.

	 “Did I do a good job?”

	Punkr pretends her doesn’t hear and buttons up, running the belt to its last loop.  He walks the cell, trying to dumbly stumble upon the solution to this puzzle.  He taps some rocks, his ear to the walls, listening for faults.  His stomach growls.

	“What is that?  Do I smell something?”

	“Oh, I tried to make some soup.  Maria at my mansion makes it look so easy, but I really messed up.  It tastes awful.  I couldn’t even keep it in my mouth.”

	“You have food?  Where?”

	“Right here, I made it in an old bucket I found.”

	Punkr snatches the bucket.  The substance of sludge moves like spoiled milk, large chunks of something in it, with specs of red and gray.  It doesn’t water his tongue nor please his stomach.

	“You know Britney, you are hot and all that, but sometimes I can’t believe how shallow you are.  You haven’t eaten any food and you are going to sit here and turn this stuff away?  Anything to keep us alive.”

	She sobs, wiping her eyes with the inside of her wrist.

	“I know, I’m so spoiled.  I’m sorry, Punkr.”

	“Alright, good.  First, I’ll eat half and then you eat the second half.”

	“Of course.”

	Punkr swallows three hard gulps.  The soup clunks along his tongue and throat like dry pavement.  He grabs his throat, dropping and spilling the bucket.  His esophagus contracts and stomach leaping, smashing along his guts.

	“What’s wrong?” Britney jumps to her feet.

	“Dy……………..ing.”

	Punkr’s heart stops and brainwaves dwindle.  His heels arch and his arms give to the momentum.  His eyes close and he smacks the wall behind him.  The wall cracks along the center an falls, breaking into pieces.  A storm of dust surges and the entire room shakes, as she feels the wall sliding along itself, to its shattering conclusion.

	“Punkr?  Punkr?  Are you alright?”

	Punkr lays, coughing his throat up, smacking his chest again and again, a pool of white soup by his side.

	“That was close.  The point on this rock here hit me right on the stomach, giving me instant hymlic.  Without it…I might have died.”

	“What rock?”

	The wall has fallen.  He reaches his hand into a small tunnel of darkness, half expecting it to be bitten off.  “I don’t believe it.  It’s a tunnel.  We have a way out of here!”

	Britney lunges on him, her thighs and arm wrapped around waist and neck, kissing his cheek and neck, making snug their bodies.

	“Oh Punkr!  Punkr!  You saved me!  I love you!  I love you!”

	Punkr separates and sets her down, not neglecting himself a brush of her bum.

	“You what?”

	“I do.  I love you.”

	They enter their embrace, lips-a-mix and his hand down her cheek, through her hair and along her back until she feels so safe that nothing can hurt her, not in his arms.  He recalls their dinner together, his strong feelings at the restaurant.  He recalls wanting to be with her, wanting to hold her.

	He parts their lips and feels at the back of her head. “You know, your head feels like its filled with more air than usual.”

	“What?” Britney asks, her bottom lip emerging, big and beautiful.

	“Never mind, we have to get out of here.”

The bar in which Primus heard the stories is located on a hill, just above the slave colonies, overlooked by the out-look posts of the Palace and just deep enough in the mighty forest of Lengor to avoid patrolling from the Moorigans.  All those who refuse enslavement face being hunted down and killed by the ravage wolf-dogs.  Forced to live nomadically, they have no families, no fiends, just the solace of their heart, which beats for them in a way it won’t for those enslaved; it beats for life.

	Primus’s new friend sits at a table, by himself, his face is alive in dirt, and hidden under a cowboy hat, a cigar from his mouth and poncho over shoulders.

	Primus slams the book on the table, the man inspects the brown leather binding, thick-tail-frilled pages, a thin and drawn text on the center of the cover, a gold embodiment of the Matrix, rays of light shining from its core.

	“Good.  Lets get to it then.”

	Poncho leads them outside where three horses rest, saddled up and tied to a post.  The horses step back at their new riders, flapping their lips in disapproval.  Poncho man touches them and they settle.  They mount and ride at full stride over hills and along streams.  The setting sun as their background.  They do not slow until they reach the mountain.  The red tint of Backstabber’s world transitions to the color of rust, and then shades itself to brown.  The dirt even dark brown, and the bark of the trees, a mix of the two, until they reach the mountains edge, a world of color again.  Marrin stays quiet, for years she watched this mountain from the distance they just traveled; it seemed further than this, like it was across the universe.  She never dared cross the path, knowing the Moorigans patrol it regularly.  However, the stranger’s path split the patrols without fault.  They had slipped past Backstabber’s defenses too easily.  Her teeth grow.  Her spirit returns.  She suspects they’ve all arrived alive but they will not be leaving that way.

	“What is this place?” Marrin asks.

	Pancho man dismounts his horse.  “A magical place.  There is a cave, not far from here.  You may leave the horses.  Do not worry, they will not run away.”

	They scale a steep hill, tip-toeing along the mountains side, their hands hang for their lives as pebbles drop with each foots step.  They drag themselves down a deep and rocky trench, through uneven paths, across slippery embankments and…climb, climb, climb climb.

	“Here we are.  Come, into the cave.”

	The sun has set.  Marrin’s vampire eyes see into caves and she sniffs, only fresh water dripping and echoing.  They enter the cave, a hand on a wall to lead them until Poncho man fusses his pockets and sparks a light.  The cave stops, a wall of rock in their path and engraved at its center, a symbol of the Matrix with light shining out of it.  Primus steps forward, not watching his feet and hits a smooth and polished rock no bigger than two fists.  The rock doesn’t move.

	“The Stones of Calling.  Hurry, you two must sit in the circle and read the inscription.  If we do not hurry, Backstabber will feel the magics and send someone after us.  Rapido—no?”

	Primus and Marrin join hands and sit in a circle.  Primus unfastens the lock on the book and flips through the first pages, until returning to the first.  They breath deep and read aloud:

	Mylene, I call upon thee
	Mylene, I call upon thee
	Mylene, the soul of the universes
	She who is everlasting
	She who will be proclaimed to have fallen
	She who will also rise
	Send us a sign.
	A sign of your existence.
	An army to fight down your foes.
	An army of light.

	And for a moment, nothing happens, the cave lit by Poncho man’s torchlight.  Their eyes scurry, looking for a sign. A gust of wind blows out the light.  The cave grumbles along, a quivering in its stomach, the earth falling between them.  Marrin grabs Primus to run out.  He throws her arm off him, staring at the symbol on the wall.  The Matrix glowing red…

Duo breaths heavy gasps, blood all over him.  Three cuts bleed along his face and into his mouth.  A large split along his back stings.  He holds the sword up, five Moorigan’s bodies laying dead around him.  The other three, have created a parameter around him.  He can only hold them off so long.

	Rikiski’s words play in his head: Listen to me Duo, the journey you are about to take will be long and hard tested.  You will reach the pinnacles of life and the doors of death.  You will see what others only dream; and wish to forget what others will never know.  You will become one with the universe.  It is your destiny.  But, destiny, you see, is a funny thing.  Your destiny is to become one with the universe, but no where it is written that you will win.  Do you understand?  The Fellowship are reassembling as we speak, the same unexplainable bond they had when you were alive, and that died when you did, now flares in their hearts again.  You must go to them, take only this sword and a few rolled up blankets for the night.  You may bring something else.  And there is another thing Duo, until you enter the Palace of Backstabber…until his cold eyes are to meet yours in battle, you must not use any magics.  Understand?  You must’ent…for the sake of us all…

	Duo leaps forward, decapitation one of the creatures, and spinning the blade at arms full extension, slicing the Moorigans mouth, it jaw to the ground.  The two injured Moorigans lay weeping.  He walks over to the dead horse, bites and rips its leg off, chomping and digging his teeth in it.  Duo watches them closely with his eyes.  The Moorgan runs off…no doubt for reinforcements.

	Duo slits the throats of the two injuries Moorigans and lifts his sword back in its cover, still red from the blood of battle.  Duo rushes to the trees.

	“Nishi?  Nishi?”

	“Nishi,” she responds.

	Duo extends his hand again and she takes it.

	“Listen, my name is Duo.  Can you say that?  Duo?”

	“Nishi?”

	“Right, well Nishi, you don’t look like you’ve done a lot of running in your day, but that’s about to change.”

Savage and Sixty sit in a chamber, poorly lit by torches on either wall.

	“I see, Commander V-man, are you sure?” Sixty asks.

V-man bears his usual brute, in his usual General Patton-est uniform and sweat dribbling along his side.  “foodmart and Apollyon have defected.  With your permission, I’d like to order up a platoon of Moorigans whose sole purpose will be to seek out and destroy these traitors.”

	“foodmart fine, but not Apoyllon.  He is one of the Lords of Backstabber.  We may still need him yet.”

	“Damnit-it-all,” Savage complains.  “Why is taking over the universe so time consuming?  Can’t we just kill everybody and be done with it?  I mean, for heaven’s sake, I’ve got massage therapy in twenty minutes.”

	Sixty throws his arms in air.  “You and your massage therapy.  You never shut up about it.  If massage therapy is so important, more important than this super-top-secret meeting, then go to the massage.”

	“Alright then, V-man, thanks for the report.”

	Savage leaves the room.

	“V-man, forget the Moorigans, take your men.  Leave Apollyon for now, I know him, he’s just blowing off some steam, he’ll be back.  In the end, he has no where left to go but here.  I want you to hunt down foodmart…and I want you to kill him.  And don’t return until it is done.” 

The wall’s symbol burns bright and intoxicates them.  Their hearts beat fast, in anticipation of what it may be.  The light spreads, boundless by physical law.  They cover their eyes, the man raises his poncho shielding his face.  Everything exists in white.  A voice speaks.

	Yee who have called the power of Mylene
	It is I, Steven Bateman, son of Mylene 
	and inheritor of the universe upon her passing
	You have done well, my fellowship
	Do not consider yourselves failures
	Now Backstabber must be stopped
	His madness put to its end
	I send you a warrior of great strength to help in that feat
	Use her wisely, and return my universes…

	A pool of blues surge like river’s rapids, twirling faster.  A body, dressed in black falls through and somersaults the ground.  The strangers stares among her new company.

	“Marrin!”

	“Buffy?”

The slayer slides foot along floor, tripping Marrin, picking her up and  throwing her onto the ground again, straddling her and manning a steak she retrieves from her ankle.

	“I’ve waited for those moment longer than you can imagine, Marrin.”

	Primus tackles the slayer, the wooden steak rolling off into the white.

	“Stop it!  Don’t you know?  You were sent here by Steve Bateman.”

	That’s right, Buffy, Steve parlays.  You were sent here by me.  From now on, please fight with the Fellowship, of which Marrin is a member.

	Primus extends his hand helping Buffy to her feet.  Funny, she is missing the boils on her face and the scorning vengeance deformities of which Marrin described in past nights pillow-talk.

	“Yeah, she can’t bite people or do anything bad while she is here.  Only in your world.” 
 
	Buffy turns to Marrin.  “So you are a good vampire?” 

	“Yes.”

	“Really?”

	Marrin throws her arms, ready to cry.  “Yes!  Perfectly harmless!  I am almost the last thing resembling a vampire, teeth and immortality aside.”

	Buffy reaches out gently caressing the skin of Marrin’s arm.  Her bottom jaw shivers, abs pulsating, tongue rounding her lips, eyes stuck on Marrin’s chest...eyes…chest…eyes…chest…eyes…chhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeessssssstttttttt…  “Really?  So you’re like, really dangerous but safe?  Really really bad, but so incapable at the same time?”

	Marrin snatches her arm, for the first time, afraid of Buffy.  “Please, let go.”

	“I can’t help it, I just feel so, flushed.  You know, I work at a fast food restaurant, nobody ever comes round back, we could just talk ya know…that is, until you’re ready.  I’ve heard Willow and what’s-her-face in the night sometimes…”

	Primus steps between them.  “Really Buffy, that sounds wonderful,” Primus turns to Marrin and mouths, my birthday is coming up… “but unfortunately, she’s with me.”

	Buffy smiles, rubbing sides with the mortified vampire, wrist along the small of Marrin’s back and hand tugging on the strap of her Power-Puff Girls panties. “Meow, little boy, meow.”

	Primus closes his fists and breathes in deep.  “So Steve, do we have to read the next passage or can you just cough it up on your own?”

	Hey watch you attitude, just coz my help has got the hots for your girlfriend is no need to take that tone.

	“Alright, sorry.  How is it going anyway?  Are you safe or has Backstabber entrapped you in the Matrix?”

	Actually, I am not in the Matrix, I’m in the Keys on vacation.  You know, drinking the suds, scoping the babes…taking a breather from that whole overseer of the universe thing.

	“Wait, we are here fighting and dying while you are on vacation?”

	Got a problem with that?

	“Well, not really, but it just seemed like the right thing to say.”

	I can help you with one more bit of help.  Behold the Army of Truth!!!

	A blue rapids rotates around.  An army of men begin marching out, lead by their leader and his APC.

	“Insane Tank Commander Totalk!!!  Danish Military!!!  At your service!”

	Primus kicks at his feet.  “The Danish military?  Steve!”

	What?  They were the only military who’d accept a retainer.

 “Britney it feels like we’ve been crawling this for miles.  I don’t know how much further I can go.”

	“I know, and I’m feeling dirty…like really dirty, not in the fun, sexy, pop star way, you know, like against the wall, before we left.”

	Punkr reaches into the darkness, anticipating to grip hold with his black finger nails and pull himself forward once more.  He hits a wall of dirt.  He claws at it, hoping for just a small cave-in to squeeze through.

	“I can’t believe it.  It’s a dead-end.  A dead-end.”

	“Why don’t you feel above you for a door?”

	Punkr shakes some dirt from above and feels the ripping of old and wet planks.  He pushes with his tired muscles, throwing his body in the air.  The door creaks and cracks, buried under years of growth.  He pushes harder, and the ground tears like the seat of his pants, ripping routes, the whites of his tighties and scattering bugs.  He flips the door on its back.	

	“FREE!  WE’RE FREE!  Fields?  Is that you?” Punkr pops out the door, eyes out of his head when he sees Azoric’s bow pointed at him.

	Fields coughs.  “Yeah.”

	“But…but…but…your boobs!  They’re gone!”

	“Yeah…Backstabber made me a man in the afterlife.”

	Punkr lowers his head and closes his fist.  Britney climbs to his side, grabbing the flexed muscles, she can feel its tension, its rage.

	“Are you okay?”

	“You don’t understand.”

	“What don’t I understand?”

	His lowers to a whisper, his jaw open, cheeks reclined and teeth jumping like a psychotic dog.

	“Her boobs were…her boobs were…they were………….perfect.”

Raven nearly chokes.  “Okay, they were good, but not that good, I mean, I saw them back when…come on guys…”

	Punkr’s voice explodes, his fist high in the air.  He calls across the wild.  And all hear…

	The slaves…

	The Moorigans…

	The Palace…

	…the night trembles.

	“DAMN YOU BACKSTABBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  YOU ROBBED ME!!!!  fields too, BUT ESPECIALLY ME!!!!!!  I’M COMING FOR YOU!!!!!”

And the echoes in the night disturb even the great One.

	Hmmm…lets see here, since they warn you about falling prices at Wal-Mart, can you sue if a sign falls and hits you?

	Backstabber sits on the can, suffering along with thong at ankles, many books along the floor and magazine on the bathroom counter.

	“Oh, whoa is me…  Whoa is me…  Nothing has been the same since I was diagnosed with Cognitive Constipatory Disorder.  I sit and sit on the toilet and nothing happens…  I feel like one of the great philosophers of our time, of any time.  A cigar is just a cigar, and thanks to the condition of my bowels, I really am chalk full of s***.  Oh, whoa is me….whoa is me….”

	I’M COMING FOR YOU!!!!! COMING FOR YOU!!!!  FOR YOU!!!!!!!!

	“That’s strange.  You’d think it’d finish the echo—”

	YOU!!!!! 

	“That’s better.”

	Backstabber squeezes once more, further hemorrhaging his hernia from sitting on this toilet thirty days straight.  Nothing happens and he resolves that nothing will.  He stands from the toilet, his pants at waist, his thong at crack, and he cape at neck, a Lord of the Matrix again.

	He crushes the toilet paper in his hand.

	“So Punkr, you and your Fellowship have managed to see my past my tricks, have you?  Well, you’ll need to do a lot more than just reassemble!  I beat you before and I can beat you again!  So long as I have my Lords of Fire and Flame, Pain and Anguish, and Darkness and Black…we’ll show you what real Gods can do with that Matrix.”

	A knock at the door, Savage and Sixty have run to Backstabber’s auxiliary thrown, having just heard the calls…

	“Backstabber!  Backstabber!  It’s Sixty.  We’ve got a problem!  Apollyon’s gone!”

	“Oh, shucks…that was unexpected.”

Back at Fields swampy HQ:

	Raven trips Punkr, throwing him into a puddle, standing over him, she grabs her breasts in protest.  “What’s wrong with these?  They’re not perfect enough for ya?” 

	Foodmart stands on his tiptoes, examining the leather from above.  “You know Punkr, she’s got a point.  Actually, she has two of them!”

	“Shut up, supermercado!”

	“Yes, ma’am.”

	“Now, what wrong with them, Punkr?  What’s wrong with them?”

	Raven gives herself another squeeze, leather crackling against her gloves.  Her plastic nipple pops its suction and flies across the swamp, landing on Punkr’s forehead.

	The group erupts in laughter.

	“Now, there’s one for the outtake reels.”