Well, here’s the conclusion to last issue’s story. Enjoy.
Issue 29: Into the Woods (Part 2)
INSIDE THE NET…
The RPGC Task Force continued to hang around in the net, somehow completely incapacitated by the oldest and simplest of tricks. Even if they decided to cut their way out, they would be faced with a no doubt fatal fall back to Terra Firma. All they could do for the moment was hang around, swinging in the light breeze, hoping that the mutant Teletubbies from their last trip couldn’t climb trees.
Rather embarrassing way to start their day, in any case.
Strangely, there wasn’t any sign of nearby platforms or anything. There wasn’t even one of those “treetop village” deals that usually accompanied such pedestrian fantasy as elves. In fact, there wasn’t even any real life to be found at all; only a heavy overcast of ancient tree branches marked any sign of growth and vitality in the region. A few birds and other small animals could be seen at times, but none ventured anywhere near the net, or where the clearing’s boundaries could be found.
After several minutes of having Mabat’s rock-hard elbow shoved into his face, Pierson was reaching the breaking point. “That’s it! Demigod, can you get us out of here?”
Demigod shifted himself from under GG Crono’s left foot. “I cannot. The net is enchanted somehow. It seems to be holding back my powers.”
Now curious, Mabat slowly moved himself over, sending his foot down on GG Crono’s poor nose and his elbow up into Pierson’s eyes. Hapless to his teammate’s screams of pain, he held one of the net’s many chords. Upon squinting, he was able to make out another series of runes, much like those on the stone. “I guess this is standard for Elves. I’ve never seen magic like this anywhere else.”
“PHFERY PHISS!” mumbled GG Crono. Finally realizing what he just did, Mabat lifted his foot, freeing Crono but slamming his knee joint into Pierson’s lower gut. The amnesiac hero quickly began to breath in sweet, non-foot fungus air for the first time in thirty seconds. “Okay, let’s find a way out of here, people! We still have a waypoint to find!”
The minute he said “waypoint,” the net began to shudder slightly. This was followed by a slight falling sensation…which was accompanied by a very literal fall. The heroes responded the same way any sane, rational person would: they screamed like babies. Except for demigod, who seemingly didn’t care. Their panic only stopped when the net itself halted, a few feet from the ground. The runes suddenly intensified, glowing at ever brighter degrees. Meanwhile, the sound of guns cocking emerged from the surrounding bushes and trees. Ivonne was nowhere to be seen.
Beads of sweat began to pour down Pierson’s forehead. “Um…I…don’t think this is good…”
His words proved true almost immediately. About two dozen figures shambled out of the growth, slowly venturing into the clearing and surrounding their targets. They were elves, no doubt; all bore the traditional pointy ears. However, nothing else seemed to match the corresponding lore. Instead of either elegant, physically impossible clothing or camouflaged outfits, they wore thrown-together pieces of armor and soup bowl-esque helmets. A few managed to have some sort of actual protection (mostly some bulletproof vests and old metal costumes), others simply pounded together a few loose pieces of scrap iron, a couple of bolts, and on occasion, strips of leather and fur. Instead of swords or bows, everyone was armed with more modern firearms.
“More” being the key word. They were certainly guns; the heroes could make our pistols, shotguns, and even a few assault rifles in the mix. However, they were obviously in horrid condition. Many were partially or completely rusted; quite a few had bent or busted barrels; and worst of all, they could even make out a handful that were completely missing firing pins or triggers. Either the Elves had no idea how to actually use a gun, or were simply incapable of maintaining their weapons. In any case, the Task Force wisely decided to keep their mouths shut for the moment, figure out how to get out of this mess, and of course, still get that waypoint.
One of the elves moved out of formation, zeroing in on Pierson. Judging from the more polished appearance of his uniform (only fourteen dirt smudges), his rifle’s more pristine, functional exterior, and the general arrogance he presented as he approached, he was most likely the leader of this little band. In any case, his twisted, serious face made it perfectly clear he wasn’t messing around. That, and he was damn near 6’8”. A Keebler he was not.
The elf stopped about three feet from his captives. As if on cue, the net suddenly popped open, depositing all four Task Forcers on the ground. “Metahumans, you have trespassed on holy ground. Explain yourself.”
The heroes slowly pulled themselves up, only to be greeted with an assault rifle to the face. Well, it was technically in GG Crono’s face, but everyone else was implied. “We…wanted to ask a favor.”
“The waypoint,” grunted the elf. “We could hear you from the moment you stepped into this accursed wood. You seek to steal our most treasured artifact?”
“Steal?! No!” shouted Mabat. “We just…wanted to borrow a small piece of it.”
Demigod nodded in agreement. “We did not wish any additional harm.”
“Wait! Hold it!”
Ivonne suddenly came running out of the crowd of soldiers, panting and heaving for breath. She stopped beside the heroes and their elf opponent. “I bring word from the High Priestess. She wishes to see the intruders.”
“And how were you planning to bargain for the waypoint?” said the elf.
Nobody was sure of just what was going on, but they rolled with it anyway. “There’s a group out there, called the Illuminati,” said Pierson. “If nobody stops them, they’ll eventually find where you guys are. The elves can’t win…” He motioned to the poorly-equipped squad before him. “ESPECIALLY with soldiers like this.”
GG Crono continued, eager to get the rifle off his nose as quickly as possible. “If we have part of the waypoint, we can stand a chance of defeating the Illuminati. Your people will be safe, our people will be free, and everyone will be happy.”
“That’s nice and all, but can we PLEASE see the High Priestess now?” continued Ivonne.
“The Illuminati is a human organization. We have dwelled on this forsaken world from before the first primates learned to walk upright, and you expect US to believe that a bunch of humans can stand a chance against us?” The surrounding soldiers immediately burst into laughter at the sheer notion. The Task Force, meanwhile, was too busy trying to figure out which was worst: their arrogance, or their stupidity. The commander simply continued to stare stoically, as if contemplating what horrible fate to subject his captives to.
Beads of sweat were trickling down Ivonne’s forehead. This was starting to go very, very badly. Running on a combination of fear and sheer adrenaline, she impulsively grasped onto the elf commander’s left arm. “Please, we have to get-”
What happened next took less than a few seconds, but resonated in everyone’s mind for the rest of the encounter. The elf commander’s face twisted into an incredibly cruel scowl, his fiery eyes locked on the girl. He flipped the rifle up a few inches, spun his hands open, and grasped the weapon so the butt was facing his left. With a quick lean and jerk, he pulled back and slammed the weapon, full force, into Ivonne’s stomach. The half-elf spat up some saliva and let go, doubling over from the sheer agony of the blow. Before she could recover from even that, the commander grasped the barrel with both hands and swung the firearm like a club, uppercutting Ivonne square in the jaw with a sickening crack.
Ivonne, the half-elf daughter of Wilfredo Martinez, the person trying to lead the RPGC Task Force in a peaceful endeavor, was now lying on the grassy earth, sobbing uncontrollably, blood trickling from her mouth. Mabatsekker let out a bellow like that of a raging bull and moved forward, only for Pierson to raise his arm, blocking his path. The blue mage looked at his group’s new leader with confusion and rage, but the former thief was shaking his head disapprovingly. By the time the commander had returned his attention to the group, Mabat’s anger had subsided enough to keep things moving.
“What the hell is your problem?”
Unfortunately, Pierson had forgotten to cover Crono’s big fat mouth. The elf commander raised the gun back to nosepoint, visibly shaken by what had happened. So was everyone, to be honest. “That…thing touched me. I have never been so insulted.” He glanced back at Ivonne; by now, the girl had climbed to her feet, still clutching her gut. “If the High Priestess wants to see you, she will…”
A collective gasp suddenly emerged from the surrounding guards. The commander turned about, to see a pair of elven maidens emerge from the woods. They were dressed entirely in long, lacy white robes; you know, the ones seen in millions of horribly generic fanfics the world over. The soldiers quickly fell to their knees, their eyes not even looking upon the figures before them. The commander, meanwhile, took one look at Ivonne, another look at the maidens, and quickly gave one of the most satisfying “oh crap” expressions the heroes had seen in a long time.
“Commander She’ore,” said the maidens, speaking in what appeared to be one monotone voice. “The High Priestess has requested your presence. Why have you neglected your orders?”
“I…uh…was protecting Lady Ivonne from these…these…METAHUMANS, yeah!” Pierson quickly blocked Mabat’s body with one hand and covered Crono’s mouth with the other. Demigod, meanwhile, was still observing the ever-increasing carnage around him. “If anything were to happen to her…”
“Take them to the High Priestess,” said the maidens. “Fail this time, and she will not be so merciful.” With that, the two melted back into the forest, almost as mysteriously as they had first appeared. The elven soldiers quickly surrounded the Task Force and Ivonne, weapons raised in a rather cute attempt at being threatening. With much reluctance, the heroes followed their new captors.
A SHORT TIME LATER…
The Task Force now stood inside the fabled Elven Village. Such a sight should have been the epitome of amazing. They were standing on ground humans had not tread since Martinez’s temporal incident, and for thousands of years before that. Here, there could be all sorts of amazing stories, ancient elven tales and myths of old. It would have made the trip worthwhile, even with what just happened.
Instead, they found what amounted to little more than a shantytown. There were buildings here and there, but most were constructed from nothing more than regular garbage. Pieces of metal and cardboard boxes were fused together with old cement, super glue, or in a few cases a rather more foul substance. The few places not built out of a landfill were instead made from what was probably once find old wood; now, it was a mess of rotting timbers and rusting nails. The whole thing was more pitiful than anything else.
The crowd of soldiers dispersed, leaving the Task Force and Ivonne standing in the middle of the small village. Already, some of the residents were coming out, curious and awestruck at the figures before them. Their appearances were a bit better than the earlier soldiers; their faces were washed but rough, their hair clean but often wild, their clothes still functional but often tattered or patched. The elf commander, realizing he was in serious trouble, simply decided to step aside at that point, leaving the heroes at the mercy of the village’s residents.
“Well…they seem friendly enough,” whispered Pierson. He looked over at Ivonne; she was still battered, but the bleeding had subsided significantly, and her sobs were reduced to an occasional moan. “Are you all right?”
The half-elf looked at the Task Force’s leader, slight confusion in her eyes. Apparently, nobody had bothered to ask that question before. “I…I’m fine. Thank you, though.” She quickly turned away, electing a small whine as she did so.
Suddenly, everything went deftly silent. From a small path at the other end of the village entered about a dozen of the maidens from before, marching side-by-side. They were all dressed in exactly the same robes, sporting exactly the same hairstyles, and even blinking in unison. The whole spectacle was more creepy than anything they had encountered by that point. The procession stopped about ten feet from the heroes; the maidens quickly moved to their respective sides of the road.
The elf following them was even more impressive. It was yet another woman, dressed in similar robes. However, her clothes sported more elegant designs, even showcasing a few of the elven runes that seemed so damn important and magical. Save for the maidens, the other elves quickly started to back away, some falling to their knees as they did so; whoever this was, she was obviously of great importance. The newcomer halted in the very middle of the makeshift columns, surrounded by a group of followers the Task Force quickly realized they probably did not want to mess with.
Everyone simply stood there, totally silent. The elves were apparently in awe and afraid of the new elf; the Task Force didn’t want to end up swiss cheese, and Ivonne was shuddering slightly. Finally, the commander raised his rifle once again, aiming it at the side of Pierson’s head. “Well…” he muttered. “Bow down, you insolent curs! Do not dare disrespect the High Priestess like this!”
“High Priestess?!” snapped back Pierson.
“The greatest amongst us, and far above you and your dog.” Pierson’s “Urge to Kill” meter quickly started to fill. “Now, if you wish to leave here with your HEADS, you will bow. NOW!”
At that moment, the High Priestess finally broke her silence. “Commander She’ore.” The commander quickly lowered his weapon and spun about, practically crapping his pants in fear. “I distinctly remember requesting your presence quite some time ago.”
“Ah…yes. Well, you see…”
“I do not tolerate excuses, She’ore.” The High Priestess raised her right hand, the limb now practically swimming in a shining white aura. The commander looked ready to run, but was still frozen in fear. He let out one last scream as white flames spontaneously engulfed his body, leaving him screaming and roaring in agony inside. The Task Force unwittingly took a few steps back, very eager not to get roasted in the same blast. After about ten seconds of the madness, the flames suddenly subsided, and the commander fell to the ground, his body completely uninjured but his eyes almost as wide as dinner plates, his body convulsing and pulsating with perpetual agony, a small yellow trail trickling down from his pants leg.
If any of the heroes ever wanted to know what elf urine looked like, well, now they did.
“Um…what the hell just happened?!” snapped GG Crono.
“That wasn’t magic,” said Mabat. “I don’t know what it was, but it certainly wasn’t magic.”
Ivonne shook her head sadly. “The sentence for disobeying the High Priestess is death, but we have too few people left to possibly allow executions. So all elves are branded with runes at birth, ones that connect to their central nervous system. When the High Priestess wants to, she simply activates the rune.” She looked down at the commander. “He’ll be down for weeks.”
The High Priestess, no longer glowing like a fluorescent light bulb, lowered her arm…only to raise it directly at Ivonne. “And you, Ivonne. Why have you led these metahumans to our most holy of sites?”
Pierson took a step forward. “I am Pierson, of the RP-”
Two guards immediately jumped out from the crowd, guns raised. The team got the message very, very quickly, and started to back down. Ivonne cleared her throat, eyes lowered as she approached the Priestess. “Father told me to send these metahumans here. They are fighting the same evil that threatened our home before, and must have a piece of the waypoint.”
The elves immediately broke into a cavalcade of whispers and murmurs, none of them exactly congratulatory for the Task Force. Or Ivonne. Or the commander. Or that strange guy in the back that kept talking about making cookies or something. The maidens were as stoic as ever, but the High Priestess’ previously cold demeanor was briefly ignited, then frozen down to sub-zero levels. “Ivonne…do you have any idea what you have done?”
A few hundred piercing gazes slammed right into the half-elf girl. She felt little more than a few inches tall at that moment. “I was just…”
The High Priestess walked over to the scared girl, as detached as ever. “I sent you there to keep an eye on things, to monitor the metahumans, to make sure Martinez kept his promise. By all accounts, you have failed each of these tasks. And now you bring the enemy into our last refuge?”
“You don’t understand, mother, I-”
(Insert standard jaw drop)
The white aura once again surrounded the High Priestess’ arm. Ivonne quickly started to back away, shuddering at her oncoming fate. The other elves were whispering and snickering amongst themselves, apparently readying for a good show. “I cannot allow such treachery amongst our ranks.” The hands shot back into position. Almost immediately, Mabatsekker flexed his muscles, crouching down in preparation for a pounce. “Let this be-”
Her words died in her throat as Pierson’s fist connected with the side of her face. The High Priestess collapsed in a heap, gasping and shaking in surprise. All noise, nay, all movement of any kind ground to a halt. The elves were frozen in shock, Ivonne was absolutely horrified, the maidens were unsure of exactly what just happened, and the Task Force was simply dumbfounded. Even Pierson had a look of “What the hell did I just do?” plastered all over his face.
The initial surprise quickly faded, and every single elven soldier raised their rusted guns; this time, it was obvious they weren’t playing around. The maidens rushed around the injured High Priestess, forming a protective barrier between her and these murderous invaders. The Priestess herself was bleeding slightly, a strange ichor of bright green mixed with dark purple. It wasn’t pleasant to look at, even in such small quantities. “How…DARE YOU, metahuman! No one has ever struck at the High Priestess before!”
Despite placing everyone into immediate danger no less than ten seconds ago, Pierson decided to rattle on again. “Look, miss. I don’t care WHO you are, but I’ve had enough of this bullshit for one day! Floating nets, nerve-cracking runes, ALL OF IT! And just so you KNOW, I’m HUMAN, NOT META! STOP CALLING ME THAT!”
The High Priestess’ expression soured even further; any more, and she would have probably sent him straight to Hell with a glance. “A…human? A slave DARES to strike one of our society’s highest members?!”
“Hey, Pierson!” shouted GG Crono. “I know you’re busy getting us killed and all, but can you get your butt back here!” Eight guards quickly closed in, firearms raised, licking their lips in anticipation. “We don’t exactly have much longer to work here!”
Pierson sneered at the High Priestess for a few more seconds before making his way back to his companions. They only had a few seconds left to figure something out. “Any ideas?”
“Let them fire,” said demigod. Everyone gave him a confused eyebrow. “Just listen to me.”
“I have heard enough!” shouted the High Priestess. “Kill them!”
The guards pulled the triggers in unison, just as demigod threw up a barrier around the heroes. The guns buckled for a half-second…and then nothing. Confused, the soldiers pulled the trigger again. Nothing. The humiliating affair continued five more times, before they finally just grabbed the barrels and swung them like clubs. Before a single blow could land, however, the barrier exploded out, propelling the elves away like sock puppets.
Even more guards ran forward, desperately trying to get their weapons to fire. Each time, the things simply refused to work. Seeing their opportunity to escape alive, GG Crono, Mabat and demigod quickly went to town on the oncoming enemies. Pierson, meanwhile, made his way to the still-trembling Ivonne.
THE FIGHT…
Two leaner guards met Mabatsekker first, charging forward like banshees out of hell. They were met with a straight fist to the gut each, slamming into them like a hammer press. A single guard managed to run up the right side of the battlefield, shotgun raised to club GG Crono’s skull. The amnesiac warrior quickly drew his sword and parried the oncoming attack. He followed it up with an almost immediate swift sweep to the right leg, sending the elf tumbling to the ground. Finally, a few others decided homing in on the scary cloaked guy was the best strategy. Demigod didn’t even bother to give them a glance as he mentally crushed their weapons into small balls of metal and wood.
Seeing that their modern weapons were useless, the next few attackers resorted to more primitive weaponry. The typical swords, daggers, maces, and bare fists that accompanied such fantastical societies found their way into the hands of the guards, each perfectly happy to not share their companion’s fate. Three of the oncoming figures, wielding two swords and a dagger respectively, were the first to meet Mabatsekker. However, even then there was something completely off. The blue mage wasn’t the fastest hero in the Task Force; however, even he was able to effortlessly dodge the elves’ clumsy strikes. The sword swings were practically in slow motion, swirling about in a feeble attempt to connect with his head. The dagger stabs were a bit better, but the bulky armor made it almost impossible to get any real distance.
A large elf, wielding a massive two-handed spiked mace, strode towards GG Crono. With a glint of murder in his eyes, he raised the weapon in preparation of a single killing blow. However, as the medieval armament neared the top of its arc, his entire body started to lean significantly backwards. He had, by all appearances, never even bothered to train with the thing, or at least in his current equipment. Meanwhile, another elf came sneaking around the back…well, as much as “crawling forward wearing disjointed, clanging metal armor” can constitute as sneaking.
Finally, the attackers, realizing the cloaked guy might be the most dangerous person in the group, quickly threw themselves around demigod, desperately trying to keep it pinned down. A combination of swords, axes, knives, whips, and arrows leveled themselves at the mysterious figure, all hoping to somehow kill the thing and make it through the day alive.
WHILE THAT WAS GOING ON…
Pierson quickly made his way towards Ivonne, his eyes darting around for any sign of oncoming soldiers. A few took steps towards him, but the sight of their brothers and sisters getting their asses handed to them by the others quickly attached their attention. The maidens, meanwhile, continued to stare him down, but otherwise took no action to move away from their High Priestess. Whatever fearful power they held over the other elves, it was most likely connected to those runes again; in other words, not of the sort that would bother the human in their midst.
After a few moments of tip-toeing around, Pierson finally reached Ivonne, still just standing there. “Alright, now all we have to do is-”
(SLAP!)
The blow knocked Pierson clear to the ground. Above him, Ivonne was glaring with a hitherto unseen inner rage. “You…you idiot! You’ve killed us all!”
“Wh-What?!”
“Birth rate be damned, even TOUCHING the High Priestess is punishable by death! I can assure you, actually striking her does not make our situation any better!”
Pierson climbed to his feet, once again making sure nobody was planning on dog piling him. “Listen, princess, they were going to roast you alive, just like the other guy! Did you expect me to just let them slam you around like that?”
Ivonne shook her head. “Listen, she would not have done that. She needs me alive.” He looked at her mother, shaking her head sadly as she did so. “We only have one more chance…”
BACK AT THE FIGHT…
The whole spectacle had gotten pretty damn sad by this point; all three Task Forcers decided to end the whole thing in unison. Mabat flipped over the stabbing elf, shoved him into his companions, and then Whirlwind Kicked the whole lot. All three came crashing down like a pile of wooden toys. GG Crono grabbed the sneaking guard, threw her into the mammoth of an elf mid-swing, jumped over the falling mace, and slammed the guy in the head on the way down. He fell forward, falling unconscious while also pinning his fellow soldier. Demigod just melted his attackers’ weapons before splitting the ground open, creating a series of conveniently elf-sized pits. All of his opponents fell inside, just in time for their weapons to meld into metal/wooden bars, sealing them inside.
The sight of all three things was enough to convince the elves to drop the subject. The few remaining soldiers wisely backed away, while the civilians quickly ran for cover. The maidens reluctantly spread out, revealing the High Priestess’ form yet again. Whatever bruise Pierson may or may not have departed upon her form was gone; were it not for her narrowed eyes, she would have looked exactly like she did coming in. “I am impressed. If Ivonne is to betray her people, at least she picked the right people for the job.”
Pierson quickly moved back to the rest of the Task Force, making doubly sure to keep Mabat the hell away from the High Priestess. Ivonne, meanwhile, took her place next to them, arms crossed. “Mother, I did not betray us.
This was just a demonstration.”
“Of what, impudent child?”
“Of our chances to win.” Ivonne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small batch of folded-up documents. She tossed the papers to the High Priestess, who quickly unfurled them. Inside was a list of RPGC’s most prominent occupants, with red circles over the names of metahumans/special humans. “I already scouted out everyone in RPGCity. They’re far stronger than any of our projections.”
The High Priestess looked up from the document, shaking her head in disbelief. “And…what else have you learned?”
“According to Martinez, there are over ten million metahumans in the world. Of those, an estimated five hundred thousand are powerful enough to be a significant threat. And as you can see, three metahumans are capable of defeating our entire race. Do you really think your invasion plan will work?”
There was silence. Then the High Priestess slowly walked forward, flanked on all sides by her maidens. She stopped in front of Ivonne, the maidens circling around the Task Force. “Nevertheless, you have…led these metahumans here. Our traditions have been spat upon, our people will take weeks to recover, and you still claim to be loyal.”
“I am,” said Ivonne. “That is why we need part of the waypoint. With it, we can keep any other metahumans from entering the forest.” She pointed back at the heroes. “These guys are not our enemy. If you help us, they can protect our people from our other enemies.”
There was yet another period of stilted silence. Finally, the High Priestess lowered her head. “You win, Ivonne.” She turned to her maidens. “Bring them a piece of the waypoint at once.”
A WHILE LATER, BACK AT THE CLEARING…
The Task Force and Ivonne now stood in the clearing, holding a large piece of marble-like stone, covered entirely in runes. The High Priestess and her entourage stood deeper within the forest. “This will accomplish your goals, metahumans. The runes will be enough to bring you to your home base and back. They will only require one day to recharge.”
“Thank you, High Priestess,” said Pierson, more than a little embarrassed by what happened a few hours ago.
“And…I’m sorry about everything, mother,” said Ivonne. “It will never happen again, I promise.”
“You are right,” said the High Priestess. “It will never. Happen. Again.”
Suddenly, the trees around the elves glowed bright yellow with a series of runes, just in time for vines and branches to shoot out and block off the passage. Quickly realizing what was happening, Ivonne darted for her mother, but it was too late. By the time they stopped, there was absolutely no way of going down the same path as before. She was finally reduced to pounding on the thick wall of plants, crying and begging for forgiveness.
LATER, AT DEEP 14…
The Task Force (and Ivonne) emerged from the sewers, covered in various pieces of sludge and other unspeakable liquids. Dr. Forrester gave them a quick nod before darting out the door, desperate to show his new deadly theme park designs to the Disney corporation.
A FEW HOURS LATER…
“And…there!”
The waypoint was sitting on a small pedestal, hooked to a series of computers. The monitors showed various satellite images of RPGCity, the Very Scary Forest of Bad Things, and other areas of the countryside. The Task Force, Ivonne, and Martinez watched as the stone’s runes ebbed in and out of vision, until at last they reached a dim, fairly stable level of lighting.
“So…all we need to do is chant some words, and bam, we’re good?” said GG Crono.
Ivonne shook her head. “No, I’ll still have to activate the waypoint manually. The runes have to be read very precisely, or we might send the entire city to the Fifth Layer of Xenu. So…”
“Stay here,” said Martinez.
Everyone was more than a little surprised at the sharpness of the suggestion. “Um…Wil?” said Pierson. “Not to sound rude, but our lease-”
“But…I can just do it over the phone!” said Ivonne. “All we have to do is-”
“ENOUGH!” Everyone quickly shut up, Mabatsekker secretly wondering if Wil had been replaced by aliens or something. “Ivonne, I’m sorry, but you’ll be more useful here. And that…is…final!”
Martinez suddenly disappeared, leaving almost no trace of his even being there. Sighing in defeat, Ivonne took a seat at the computer monitors. “I’ll be your mission control from now on,” she said, her voice a total monotone. “I will alert you of any trouble that comes up. If you need me, I’ll be here.” There was nothing else to be said, no words that could resolve the situation. At least, they had some way to fight back now.
THE END OF ISSUE 29
Next Issue: The latest disposable teen pop sensation comes to RPGCity, complete with her…deadly pedophiliac stalkers? But is there something else going on? And how is the Illuminati involved? Tune in next time for…TWEEN BOP!
-Plus-
The origin of General Damascus!
