::Phase IV::
|The Second Interlude - Depraved Seduction,
Malevolent Abduction|
"Boss, I'm right outside the house now," a man in a
dark cloak whispered softly into a
cell phone, his body pressed up against a brick wall, "Yes,
they're all in there," he
paused, "I got their whole plan on tape," he patted a
tape recorder hanging at his side,
"What should I do now?"
The voice on the other end of the phoneline spoke, "You have
to inject one of them with
the serum I gave you earlier," the voice proceeded, "Do
you know which one Greg
Proops is?"
The cloaked man thought, "Isn't he the nerdy one with the
glasses?" he answered.
"That's right," the voice laughed, "Jab him with
the airgun when he leaves the house.
Make sure you get every last drop of the solution into him.
Do it fast, and he won't feel
anything. Remember," the voice instructed, "He's
never seen you, so he won't know
you."
"Got it, boss."
"And you and Archie know what to do next, don't you?"
"Yeah, but are you *sure* the tall guy won't be going home
tonight?" the dark figure
seemed to have doubts.
"Of course he won't," the voice said strongly,
"And don't forget the other hostage either."
"We won't," the cloaked man peered into the windows of
the house, "It'll be easy, if the
serum works fast enough."
"Indeed," the voice agreed, "Once Greg falls for
Tony, it won't be long before Brad,
hurt and vulnerable, storms off into the night..."
"Wow," Brad looked down at his watch, "It's
getting really late."
"So it is," Colin said, looking at Ryan.
"Sorry to bail, but I wanna get home and get some sleep
before tomorrow." Brad
rose to leave, and looked back at Greg. Greg also rose, and
joined Brad at the front
closet.
Once they were out of earshot of the others, who were still
sitting in Colin's living room,
they talked.
"Are you coming home with me tonight?" Greg
questioned, stroking Brad's face.
"Ah, no, sorry Greg, but I *really* am tired," he
looked playfully at Greg, "But I think
we should really try to pick things up where we left off in your
office... maybe
tomorrow?"
"Sure," Greg grinned, just as Tony came up behind them.
"Seems Ryan is staying here longer," Tony insinuated as
he opened the closet,
"Suspicious?"
Greg chuckled a little, "Even if he won't admit it, there
*must* be something going on
between those two."
Tony nodded. "It's weird though," he said,
changing the subject, "I don't feel tired at
all right now."
"Me either," Greg added. "This mission is
going to keep me up all night, just going
through the plan in my head."
Once the three men finished putting their coats on, they said
their goodnights to Colin
and Ryan, and walked out the front door of the house. They
turned down the street,
stopping at the corner, a prime place to hail a cab. Brad
got the first one, and rode
alone, as his flat was nowhere near either Greg or Tony's.
As they waited in silence for another taxi to come along, not
wanting to ride the tube
this late at night, someone brushed up against Greg as he passed.
"Excuse me, terribly sorry," the stranger said, going
on his way. Greg thought nothing
of the ordeal, instead thinking again of the mission, then an
idea hit him.
"Tony, why don't you come over, and we'll hammer out this
plan a bit more," Greg
suggested.
"That's not a bad thought," Tony said, agreeing.
"OK then," Greg raised his arm as he saw approaching
headlights. The cab stopped
inches from the curb, and a gust of hot wind and exhaust fumes
met them both. Tony
opened the car door, allowing Greg to enter first.
Greg gave the cabby directions to his flat, which took longer
than expected, due to the
man's thick Welsh accent.
Finally, an hour and a pack of cigarettes later, they arrived at
Greg's flat. They paid the
driver, opting to give him a minimal tip, and Greg led the way to
his upstairs abode.
"This is nice," Tony remarked as they got inside, and
Greg closed the door behind them.
"Yeah, it took a while to furnish, but now that it's
done," Greg threw his arms up into
the air, "Voila!"
Tony made his way to the living room, inspecting the little knick
knacks that were
placed on shelves and end tables.
"Make yourself at home," Greg insisted, "Would you
like some tea?"
"Sure, if you don't mind," Tony looked up and smiled.
"It's no problem," Greg returned the grin, adjusting
his spectacles. He waltzed across
the living room, and pushed through the swing door that led to
the kitchen.
In the kitchen, he found a kettle, filled it with water from the
tap, and set it on the stove
to boil. As he was searching for the tea, he started to
think. For some reason, he didn't
regret that Brad hadn't wanted to be with him tonight.
Maybe it was simply the fact that
they hadn't had enough time to really bond as a couple, although,
Greg lamented, if
making out on top of a desk wasn't bonding, what was?
"How's it coming along in there?" Tony called.
"Pretty good," Greg answered.
"That's good," Tony's voice trailed off.
His accent is so sexy, Greg found himself thinking as he slipped
tea leaves into the pot,
and was shocked. He might not have been with Brad that
long, and he sure as hell
didn't want think of himself as some sort of promiscuous
playboy. At any rate, alluring
thoughts kept coming to him. The kettle whistled, snapping
him out of his muse. 'How
long was I like that?', he wondered, as he poured two cups of the
green liquid, and
moved from the kitchen back to the living room.
"Here you are," Greg presented Tony with his drink, as
he found a seat next to the other
man on the couch.
"Thanks," Tony replied, taking a sip.
"It might be hot," Greg cautioned, remembering his bout
with the coffee earlier this
morning.
Tony smiled, "It's fine," he said as he placed a hand
on Greg's knee. As he did so,
Greg coughed, sputtering tea across the room, and nearly tipping
over his whole cup.
"Wh, why are you doing that?" Greg asked, visibly
agitated.
Tony removed his hand, instead putting it on Greg's
shoulder. "Are you all right?" Tony
inquired, setting his cup of tea on an end table.
"I'm fine," Greg sighed, feeling there was no other way
to get past his perturbation than
to be blunt, "Are you coming on to me?"
Tony took one look at Greg, and cracked up. "Coming on
to you?" he asked, still
giggling. Suddenly though, his look turned serious,
"Well... yes, if you have to know."
He rubbed Greg's shoulder. "I really like you,
Greg."
"Ugh," Greg grunted, "That's exactly what *he*
said," he pushed Tony's hand from his
shoulder, although he himself didn't *really* want to fight off
Tony's advances.
"What *who* said? Is there someone else?"
Tony asked, still serious, sliding in closer
to Greg, so that their sides were pressed up against each other.
"Well, ah," he looked at Tony, those deep brown eyes,
his silky dark hair, "It doesn't
matter now..." he continued staring at the other man,
until Tony made the first move.
"Mmm, no it doesn't," Tony agreed, as he thrust his
lips against the delicate flesh of the
other man's throat. He kissed deeply, as Greg moaned
fervently. Tony made his way
through small, tender kisses all the way up to Greg's own lips,
onto which he placed a
finger. He traced the outline of Greg's pale lips, smooth
and warm, until he pressed his
mouth against them, sucking lightly on the bottom lip.
Greg brought his tongue into Tony's mouth, flicking it, rolling
it, tasting the other man.
He flung his arms around Tony, who returned the gesture and they
were locked in a
tight hug, hands running rampant all over one another's bodies.
They began to undress each other, moving swiftly, urgently,
willing the passion to
escalate. Adrenaline coursed through Greg's veins, and he
thought naught of Brad, his
mind focused on only one thing: Tony.
The dark haired man virtually tore through Greg's light shirt, in
an effort to uncover his
heaving chest. Their breathing was almost in sync, both on
the verge of panting for the
excitement. Tony ran his hands across Greg's pale, bare
chest, feeling the warmth, and
arousing the other man further. Tony slipped his own shirt
off, and once more the two
men engaged in a fond embrace, lips meeting again.
Greg broke the kiss, and began to suckle Tony's earlobe,
eliciting a small cry of
pleasure from the man.
Tony reached for the zipper of Greg's dress pants, intent on
getting rid of the burdening
slacks. As he did so, Greg stopped his hand, pressing it
against the erection he had
achieved. Tony sighed deeply, and began to slowly knead the
other's engorged member.
Greg moaned, and leaned back into the couch, Tony taking this
opportunity to remove
the other's pants fully. He was left with a man clothed
only in boxer shorts, and for this
he was in a state of bliss. As he lowered his head to take
Greg into his mouth, he
noticed something odd.
Greg felt his hot breath on his thigh, and its warmth carried
through his boxers. He
waited for Tony to begin with the oral escapades, and when he
didn't he opened his
eyes and looked down at the other man. His head was nearly
in Greg's lap, although
it seemed he was taking a close look at something on Greg's upper
leg.
"What's wrong?" Greg asked, wanting so for his hardness
to enter the man's mouth.
"I don't know," Tony replied, in a monotone, un-aroused
voice. "There's a mark on
your leg that's bothering me," he said finally.
"What do you mean?" Greg leaned over, attempting to
inspect his own leg.
"See it there?" Tony pointed to a red dot on his thigh,
"It's a mark, did something cut
you?"
For a moment, Greg sat in silent confusion. He couldn't
remember any sort of injury,
and yet when Tony placed a finger on the spot, it stung quite a
bit. He traced back
through the day, trying to think of how he could have possibly
acquired this wound.
Suddenly, it hit him.
"That man," Greg said, almost to himself, "When he
bumped into me when we left
Colin's, I assumed he was carrying an umbrella or
something," he rubbed the red spot,
"I felt a prick or jab and thought nothing of it."
"An injection..." Tony said thoughtfully.
Greg thought for a moment more, and then things began to unravel.
"An injection," he repeated Tony's words as he searched
for his pants, "That man could
have been poised with some sort of syringe," he rubbed his
chin. "But why?"
"It could an operative of the Whoser Losers," Tony
offered.
"Hmm," Greg continued to ponder theories, "A mind
altering drug perhaps..."
"Huh?" Tony shook his head.
"I never would have cheated on Brad in my right mind,"
Greg affirmed, brightening up.
"So there *is* someone else," Tony said quietly,
pouting. "Wait," he looked worried,
"Do you hear that noise?" he motioned for Greg to
be silent, and they heard what
sounded like the squeaking of metal.
The door. Greg cursed that he hadn't locked it, and felt
foolish that once more
someone was walking in on him in a compromising position.
The knob turned fully,
and although they weren't in view of the door, they heard the
sounds of footsteps
entering the flat.
"Greg?" the voice that belonged to the footsteps
called tentatively. The steps
quickened, soft thuds on the carpeting moving closer as each
millisecond drew on.
Tony and Greg attempted to dress in a hurry, throwing their
clothes on maniacally.
It was too late, the footsteps stopped as they reached the living
room, and the figure
was now visible. It was Brad of course, they had recognized
his voice as he first
entered, and now seeing him before them, it was driven into
further reality.
Brad stood and stared, taking in the scene: His lover, and
another friend, rushing to
get dressed and looking quite guilty. Emotions stormed
through Brad, rage filled his
body, then hurt, then betrayal.
"Greg," he managed to utter, somewhere between a
furious cry and a whimper, and he
ran out of the flat, knocking over a small bureau that had been
displaying expensive
china as he made his way out of the room.
"Brad!" Greg called after the man, buttoning his
pants and grabbing his shirt he fled into
the short corridor, in hot pursuit.
Tony slowly rose, and followed Greg into the hall, almost fully
dressed. Brad was long
gone, and Greg held his head low, defeated. Tony placed his
arm around the other
man, and Greg turned to him, collapsing with a faint cry into his
chest. They stood in
the hall, Tony comforting Greg, for about half an hour.
They made their way back into
Greg's flat, tired and worn, and somewhat uncomfortable.
They talked long into the night, sorting out what had happened,
Greg explaining his
relationship with Brad, and telling Tony that although he didn't
want to hurt him, it had
been the injection that had made him so amorous toward him.
Tony reluctantly offered
understanding, and Greg thanked him greatly. It was about
three in the morning when
the phone rang.
Greg answered it, bemused that someone would be calling this
late. "Hello?" he
questioned the receiver, half hoping it was Brad so that they
could reconcile.
"It's Ryan," the caller identified himself, "I
just got back to my house," he sounded
panicky.
"What's the matter?" Greg pressed.
"I've been broken into," Ryan said, "They,
they," his voice broke.
"What?" Greg inquired.
"They took them hostage!" Ryan cried.
"Who took who hostage?" Greg asked, becoming
agitated.
"The Whoser Losers, probably," Ryan whimpered,
"They stole every last pair of shoes
I own!" he screeched, obviously in pain over the loss.
Greg was shocked, for the thief to exclusively steal shoes, well
he'd have to know
Ryan's weakness. And the Whoser Losers did make sense in
that respect.
"And that's what they took *hostage*, as you said?"
Greg questioned.
"Not quite, there's a note," Ryan could be heard
shuffling a paper, "They said they're
coming to get Brad as well."
"Brad!" Greg exclaimed.
"You mean he isn't with you?" Ryan asked, seriously.
"No, he ran out on me, er, stormed out of my flat about two
hours ago," Greg said,
attempting to cover up his relationship.
"You don't have to hide the fact that you're a couple,"
Ryan said, "Anyway, Jan told
me what she caught you two doing in your office."
"That's beside the point," Greg stammered, almost
relieved that he and Brad's "thing"
was out in the open, but he brought back the issue of
abduction. "The Whoser Losers
probably have him now, and we have to save him."
"And my shoes!" Ryan agreed. So they planned to
get back to the SOI complex right
then, before morning set in. Greg related everything to
Tony, and they readied to leave
the flat.
****
::Phase V::
|Brad's Reflection: Spiralling into the Abyss
of Mediocrity|
I couldn't believe it. After all that we had done, after I
shared with him the true desires
of my heart... I just couldn't believe him. As I
stood in his living room, watching him
and Tony frantically redress after what I took to be a lurid act
of passion, I just couldn't
take it. I spun around and ran out of there like I was
running from the plague.
I heard footsteps shadowing me, it had to have been Greg. I
sped up, not wanting to
see his face. Not wanting him to see *my* face, or the tears that
were now streaming
down it. Searing rivers of saline, tracing a path down my
cheeks before finally dripping
from beneath my chin. I made quite a few futile wipes with
the back of my hand,
attempting to dry my face, but to no avail. The tears kept
coming, like my pain. The
hurt multiplied with each stride I took, and I didn't even
realize where I was until I
almost slammed into a parked car.
As I tried to regain my grounding, I could hear no other
footsteps any longer, Greg
must have given up on me. I leaned forward on the car,
breathing deeply and steadying
myself. I remember I looked up for a moment, and through my
tear-induced hazy view,
I could see someone approaching me. I didn't know if it was
Greg, or possibly even
Tony, and I didn't care. I didn't have the will to run
anymore, so I prepared for a
confrontation.
My head was lowered when I felt the comforting hand on my
back. I was startled
when I looked up and saw the face of someone who looked vaguely
familiar. I couldn't
place him right then, but I sensed something wasn't right.
However, I pushed my
intuitions aside, grateful that someone was offering a shoulder
to cry on. I turned to
him, and in my delusional mind, I saw a face glowing with
warmth. I thought he was a
good guy... I didn't know how wrong I really was.
We didn't talk, he simply embraced me, and I continued to
blubber. After a moment or
so, he pulled a small liquor bottle out from his coat pocket, and
offered it to me. In the
state that I had been in, I went against my usual judgment and
took a long drink of the
liquid. Anything to ease the pain... But something
tasted funny in the alcohol. It was
scotch, but there was a slightly more chemical taste, and just
when I realized what had
happened, I passed out. I don't remember what happened
next, all I know is that some
time later, I woke up in a place *very* far from the parking lot
of Greg's flat.
There was a ringing in my head and a dull throbbing when I
awoke. I was going to
hold my forehead in my hands, except when I tried to move, I
realized that my arms
were being restrained with something. It took me a while to
fully awake, but when I
did, I saw that my whole body was tied up with leather, cords,
ropes, shackles,
everything you picture when you think of a medieval torture
chamber... or bondage
movie, for that matter. I struggled for the better part of
an hour, without so much as
loosening the bonds when *he* came into the room.
He strode in, defiant and self confident. It sickened
me. However, I did finally
recognize him. It was Ron West, the biggest fraud of a
comedian I had ever
encountered in my life, and leader of the pathetic Trinity of the
Unfunny. I don't know
how he came to believe that with only two other people he could
develop an
organization that would outdo the SOI. But that's neither
here nor there. The bottom
line was, with an unappealing balding hairline, and glasses that
only Archie Hahn could
love, I was almost retching from my previous actions. He
advanced, and behind him I
could see something burning. As he veered off to one side
(I presumed he was pulling
a lever, yet I heard the weirdest sound as he did... water
gurgling) I made out the letters
"W" and "L" in the flames.
I could only pray that the other SOI members would -if not for my
sake, than for the
sake of good comedy- arrive soon to vanquish Ron West and his
Hierarchy of unfunny
cronies...
***
::Phase VI::
|Salvation of Comedy from the Lake of the
Unfunny|
Four grim faces met, it was early morning and one of their own
had been abducted.
Kidnapped, no doubt, by one of the dreaded Whoser Losers.
The four men turned
their gaze up as another entered the room.
Clive strode into his office, papers in hand, also wearing a very
bleak expression. He
looked down at all four of them, each one in turn lowering their
head in shame. "Not
only do we have an abduction to worry about," Clive began as
he sat down behind his
desk, "But we are now one man short in our operation, which
can't be carried out
anyway, given our circumstances." He glared at his
agents.
Greg was about to speak when Clive continued.
"Would you like to know something else, agents?" he
slapped down the papers he was
holding onto the desk. It was a report of some kind,
pictures and audio transcriptions
along with it. "Our organization intercepted these
documents. It seems our unfunny
friends were trying to fax this information overseas."
"What is it?" Ryan asked, leafing through some of
the papers.
"Our mission plan." The four men looked at Clive,
astonished. "They tape recorded
your private meetings, your brainstorming sessions, everything.
They would have known
we were coming, even if they hadn't taken Brad hostage."
Greg stared in disbelief. It all made sense now; The drug
he had been injected with, the
Whoser Losers kidnapping Brad, they had known. He relayed
all of this to Clive, who
nodded, almost sympathetically.
"It doesn't surprise me," he said, shaking his head a
little. "But now on to the task at
hand: How we will rescue our agent, and destroy the Trinity
of the Unfunny."
"It won't be easy," Colin spoke up, "Maybe we
should just storm their hideout at
nightfall."
"Yes," Tony agreed, "Take them by force and
reclaim Brad."
"It's not that simple," Ryan countered. "We
already know they have operatives
working for them on the outside, how many guards do you think
they have inside the
compound?"
"He's right," Greg sighed, "It's risky to ambush
them. On the other hand," he adjusted
his glasses on his nose, "We don't have much of a
choice."
*
Four men, clad in olive drab, crawled silently through the
thicket, night sounds filling
their ears. Ryan headed the group, navigating. He held a
compass in front of him, and
kept an his ears open in case of any suspicious sounds. He
led them through the
relatively low brush, as the M-25 was not a hundred yards to
their right. They were
fast approaching the hideout of the Whoser Losers, Ryan could
feel it.
The ground beneath them suddenly felt different, and Ryan stopped
dead in his tracks.
Colin, unaware of Ryan's discontinuation of the crawl, kept on
crawling and bumped
hard into the other man's legs.
"Sorry," Colin whispered, rubbing his head, "It's
*really* dark out..."
"Hey, what's the hold up?" Greg called softly,
catching up with the other two.
"Something isn't right," Ryan whispered back as Tony
joined them, "I hear something..."
he put his ear to the ground, invoking quizzical glances from the
others.
"What is it?" Colin asked, lowering his head to the
ground as well.
"It sounds almost like," Ryan trailed off, straining to
listen, "Almost like a stream."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "A stream?" he said
doubtfully.
"The Lake of the Unfunny," Tony said to himself. Greg
turned to look at him, as did
Ryan and Colin.
"Exactly," Ryan said, undeniably this is what he was
thinking as well. Keeping his ear
near to the grass, he continued to crawl on, following the
sound. Colin shrugged, and
continued behind him. Greg eventually did the same, Tony, once
again, taking up the
back of the procession.
After what must have been an hour of traveling on all fours, Ryan
raised his head from
the ground, and looked ahead. A huge building loomed in
front of them, just a few
more feet and they'd be there. He looked behind him, making sure
that all that the rest
of them saw that they were almost at the compound of the Whoser
Losers.
"Now that we're here, how do we get in?" Greg asked,
rubbing the dirt from his knees,
and motioning toward the few night watchmen that were situated at
the front of the
building.
"That should be easy enough with this," Tony pulled out
from under his green shirt a
small spherical object.
"That wouldn't be a remote control to a kamakazi fighter
jet, parked out on a hidden
landing strip behind the compound?" Ryan asked, taking the
sphere from Tony and
examining it.
"No, it's just a teargas grenade," Tony answered.
"Alright," Colin said, "Just light it and throw it
then, Ry."
Before Ryan had the chance to ask for one, Greg produced a
lighter from his jacket
pocket. "Here," he said as he tossed it to Ryan.
"Thanks," he replied as he flicked the lighter, the
flame licking out from the base. He
touched it to the wick of the teargas-bomb, and quickly threw the
little bomb toward
the entrance of the compound. The guards noticed something
being thrown at them,
and were about to advance toward Ryan, Colin, Greg and Tony when
the bomb
exploded. Each one clutched his eyes, screamed, and began
to run around like mad,
looking for water to flush out the irritant.
Ryan rose fully to his feet and made a dash for the entrance, the
rest of the guys
following him. The large wooden door was locked, but
together they easily broke it
down, and continued running through the darkened front
hall. Ryan stopped, and
flicked the lighter on once again. He searched for a light
switch, and when he found
one, he hit it with his fist, hard. An overhead light
reluctantly sputtered to life, and
flooded down upon them.
The sound of gurgling water was even louder here, he
realized. He noticed a staircase
to his left.
"Think we should follow it?" Ryan asked as he
pointed to the stairs that seemingly lead
farther down inside the compound.
"Let's go for it," Greg said as he cracked his
knuckles, "That seems to be the mentality
of the night anyway, right?"
Ryan ignored his mild sarcasm and turned to Colin, who looked up
at Ryan with those
big eyes of his, and shrugged.
"I'm going," Ryan asserted. Something in his gut
told him that Brad might be down
those stairs, and he didn't care if the rest of them
followed. It was a risk he had to take.
As he made his way down the steep steps, he realized that the
guys *had* decided to
follow him, and now Greg was right behind him.
"What made you change your mind?" Ryan inquired softly
over his shoulder.
"I just had a feeling," Greg replied.
"Hey, I think I hear something," Colin called from
behind, and they were all silent.
There was *indeed* a noise, and although the water sound was
definitely louder, this
was not what they were straining to hear. It was of a human
voice, and it sounded
quite like a pained groan.
"Oh God," Greg said, "It's Brad." As he
said those words, he burst past Ryan, nearly
knocking him over as he skipped down the steps, eager to reach
the bottom, and, he
hoped, Brad. Greg almost tripped on the way, and skidded to
a halt on the last step.
He waited until he heard another cry, and moved on in the
direction he felt it was
coming from. Ryan, Colin, and Tony were at his heels, just
barely keeping up with
Greg's frantic pace.
They all came to a standstill after turning a bend in the
basement. There was a man
blocking their path, he had his arms across his chest and he was
laughing menacingly.
They recognized him at once, and immediately were ready to defend
themselves.
"So you've come," the unmistakably monotone voice of
Ron West came to them, what
little light had filtered into the basement now reflected by his
balding head, "And you
want to rescue your Braddie. How disgustingly
cute." From out of the shadows
stepped Debi Durst and Archie Hahn.
"You might outnumber us," Ron continued, "But we
can kill your little bitch with the flip
of a switch."
"Arghhh I'm Popeye," Debi added, to which everyone
simply stared.
Ron shot a nasty look at Archie. "I thought you said
the cyborg was operational," he
hissed.
"There are still some bugs, I can't help it," Archie
responded, on the defensive.
"Whatever," Greg interjected, "Sorry to interrupt
your little flight of fancy, but I think
there is some major ass-kicking that is going to be administered
by us on you," he
darted quickly out towards the Whoser Losers, and kicked Archie
in the shin before
running back to his group.
"Damn you, Proops," Archie said through gritted teeth,
as he started to make a rush at
Greg.
Tony stuck out his foot, tripping him. Archie landed flat
on his face, and yelped in pain.
Greg grabbed him by the back of the collar, picking him up, and
then throwing him up
against a wall.
"Are you ready to fight, woman?" Greg yelled, as
he hopped back and forth, holding
his fists in the fighting stance. Archie made a gurgling
sound, and collapsed back to the
floor, apparently passed out.
After witnessing the easy defeat of one third of the Trinity of
the Unfunny, Debi stepped
forward. "Arghh, me needs me spinach," she cried as she
lunged for Colin. He almost
dodged her attack, when he realized he could simply stop her by
extending his hand out
and catching her forehead with his palm. He held her at
bay, as she kept trying to run
foreward.
Ryan watched this with amusement before he realized Ron West was
still unscathed.
He looked up to where the last Whoser Loser had been standing,
and was shocked to
see that he was gone. He had fled in cowardice, no doubt.
Tony and Greg were at his side in a moment, and Colin was
occupied with a certain
Popeye impersonator, who was now thrashing wildly at him, yet was
coming up about
a foot short of actually hitting him.
Greg looked into the distance, and he could just see the far wall
of a room ahead.
Weird, wavy reflections danced on the wall. He pointed, and
Ryan nodded; they
would venture further to see what was in the room.
The cautiously strode forward, and instantly they knew that this
was the source of the
two noises they had been hearing: The human screams, and
the gurgling water. Greg
started jogging as they approached the entrance, and he was
shocked, yet somewhat
relieved, by what he saw next.
Brad was on the other side of the room, chained to the
wall. He was suspended above
the ground, and he wore many silver studded shackles that looked
like they were
borrowed from a medieval torture chamber. Greg rushed to
where his love hung. As
he got closer, he realized Brad was barely conscious. His
head lolled to one side, and
spittle dribbled from his open mouth. He was also only
wearing a leather thong, but
Greg didn't notice that. He also didn't notice where he
was, until he looked behind him.
Ryan and Tony had caught up with him, and they were staring
across the room at him.
Directly outward from the wall Greg was nearest to, was a small
body of water. A lake,
really, which had been casting the reflections and making the
sounds that had garnered
their attention in the first place. Once he understood all
this, he turned his gaze back to
Brad, and started undoing all the shackles to free him.
Once he had finished, Brad fell to the ground, almost fully
unconscious. Greg helped
him to stand, and he and Tony held him in the upright position as
they, for lack of a
better way to describe it, began to drag him out of the room.
Ryan simply stood, staring
at the water. Greg, Brad, and Tony were nearing the door
when the sound of sloshing
water met their ears.
Ryan snapped out of his prolonged stare, and instead focused on
an object coming into
view across the water. It was someone in a rowboat, and he
figured he knew who that
someone was. Sure enough, as the figure came closer, he knew it
was Ron West.
"Bastard!" Tony called over the water.
"So you think you've won," Ron called back, jumping out
of the boat and wading in
toward Ryan, "Just you wait," he started running
through the water, as Greg and Tony
hurriedly tried to get Brad out of the way.
Once out of the room, the ran down the corridor in the direction
of Colin, who was
*still* holding Debi back. They laid Brad down on the
ground, and Tony ran back to
help Ryan. Greg stayed with Brad, stroking his head, and
wiping the sweat and dirt
from his forehead. "Watch him for me," he said,
and Colin nodded. Greg reluctantly
left, and went back to the Lake.
When he arrived in the room, Ron had Tony in a choke hold and
held a knife to his
throat. Greg gasped, and Ron looked up.
"Well look who it is," he adjusted his grip on Tony,
"Lover boy's come back to join us,"
he grinned, and moved the knife closer to Tony's neck. Ryan
looked helplessly at Greg,
not knowing what to do. If they made any sudden moves, Tony
would be killed. If
they didn't act quickly, however, Brad could die out in the hall.
As Greg went through the choices in his mind, a loud bang came
from the hall. It
startled all of them, Ron included. So much so, that he
lost his grip on Tony, and he
escaped. The scent of burning rubber and the scraping sound
of bending metal soon
followed, and Colin poked his head into the room.
"I guess the cyborg had a few more bugs than you
thought," he quipped, brushing stray
scraps of hardware from his clothes.
"Damn that Archie, I knew the cyborg would short circuit
without proper wiring," Ron
growled angrily.
"Well, well, well," Ryan moved in closer to Ron,
"Look who has the upperhand now."
"What are you going to do?" Ron mocked him, "You
don't even have a weapon."
"We have this," Tony shouted, tossing an oar to
Ryan. Evidently, he had waded out to
the rowboat after he had freed himself from Ron, and had grabbed
one.
Ryan slapped Ron a few times with the oar.
"Hey, stop it," Ron whined, trying to protect his head
from the blows.
"Stop what, huh?" Ryan asked, and slapped him a few
more times, "Make me." He hit
him harder three more times, and Ron almost fell to the
ground. Blood dripped from
his face, scattering across the ground as he swaggered.
"I'll do anything," Ron gasped, "Just don't kill
me."
"Why should I let you live?" Ryan asked as he raised
the oar to smack Ron another
time. He stopped the motion as Ron held up a remote
control-like object he had
brought out from his pocket. He fumbled with the small
controller, and pressed a
button on it. Immediately, a whirring noise began to sound
throughout the compound.
"You'll let me live, because you won't have time to kill me
and save yourselves, not to
mention your dear Brad," Ron regained his
composure. "I just activated the self-
destruct mechanism of this place."
"I'd still do it," Ryan sneered bitterly, "But I
won't if you agree to one thing."
Ron held his head in his hands, trying to cease the
bleeding. "Yes?"
"Never show your face in comedy again," Ryan shouted
above the whirring of the self-
destruct alarm. Greg, Tony, Colin, and himself were almost
out of the room when Ron
replied.
A weak "All right" came to them through the pandemonium
of noise. That was all they
needed to hear, and they all broke into a run, only stopping to
get Brad to his feet so
they could get him out too.
*
::Flash Forward, the year is now 1997::
Greg sat in the living room of his recently purchased Los Angeles
home. He hadn't
furnished it completely yet, as "Whose Line?" tapings
in Britain would soon start, yet he
wanted to get a feel for the place. It was good to be back
in California again, even
though LA was still quite a long way from his *own* Kansas... San
Francisco.
It was about 8pm, prime-time in the world of television. He
flipped on the TV, and
Brad came in from the kitchen to join him.
"Hey Braddie," Greg said happily, as the other man sat
next to him on the couch. He
wrapped his arms around Brad, cuddling him close. Brad
offered him some of the
popcorn he had brought from the kitchen.
"Thanks," Greg said as he shoved a handful in his
mouth. The two of them turned their
gaze back to the TV, where "3rd Rock From the Sun" was
now on. They watched
without casualty until the second commercial break ended.
On the screen, Dick Solomon was complaining about his co-worker,
Vincent
Strudwick. As Strudwick made his entrance, Greg stared in
disbelief, and Brad
choked on his popcorn. At that moment, the phone
rang. Greg answered it, to hear
Ryan's voice on the other end.
"It's starting again," was all Ryan said, while Ron
West paraded across the television
screen. Greg dropped the phone receiver. He didn't
want to believe it....
---
END
---