Thunderfunk the Superchicken - Chapter 37

Different Perspective

Jerry laid back and sighed heavily. How had his life come to this? When he was younger he had had dreams and aspirations like anyone else. He had wanted to be a dinosaur. And then, when he got older and someone explained how these things worked, he had decided to spend his life digging for and studying dinosaurs. He would have succeeded in his goal too if only he hadn’t decided to dig for the creatures using dynamite. That particular method was not appreciated, it would seem.

Afterwards, he started to drift from job to job, never quite able to settle into anything permanent. His love life had also suffered, leading him to conclude that women just didn’t like him. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that women did like him and all wished that he were dating...someone else. Most mornings, Jerry woke up bitter.

Now, he was driving busses for a living, something he had always vowed he would never do as he hated busses. Of course, today he wasn’t driving the bus. He had been, earlier in the day. Everything had been normal at his first stop, but when he got to his second stop, a giant chicken had boarded, knocked him on the head and then dragged him away. Now he was tied up, laying on the floor in the kitchen. A few minutes ago, a young man had entered the room and kicked him in the stomach as he stepped over his prone body. Likely, the kick had been accidental as the kid hadn’t seemed to notice that there were a few people tied up on the floor. He must have had a wicked hangover. Soon after, the young man had left, leaving the kidnapped bus drivers alone in the dark.

Sighing again, Jerry closed his eyes and smiled. It was nice to have an extra day off of work.

Fools of us All - Chapter 37

I reacted as I had been trained, without thought, without emotion. The scriveners were smart people, but they had grown soft in their intellectual pursuits, which is why they kept armed guards on the premises. However, there were no guards in the room, so there was little opposition. Soon the remaining scriveners were lying on the ground, groaning.

Spin looked up at me and grinned. “I think I’m starting to like it here. They’re even fighting over the right to kill me. Does a man’s ego good to be so wanted.” He laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Okay, go ahead.”

“It’s me, idiot,” I hissed at him, throwing back my hood.

One eye opened and looked around until it spotted me. As soon as it did, he seemed to deflate. “Oh thank heavens,” he said without any of his bravado. “If that machine had started, I would have peed my pants, and that is not how I want to die.”

Briefly, I considered leaving him where he was, but at his pleading look I relented and unstrapped him. Helping him to his feet, I realised just how much bigger than me he truly was. “Can you walk on your own?” I asked as I struggled with his bulk.

He sat down in the chair, cradling his arm. “Give me a minute,” he said. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Good.” I reached down and stripped the robe off of the tallest scrivener I could find, tossing it to him. “Put this on. And this as well.” I handed him the silver cross I had just removed from the now disrobed scrivener. “It’s like an all access pass.”

Seconds later, we were standing beside each other when the door burst open and a pair of guards rushed in. “What’s going on here, brothers?”

I was about to answer when I remembered that there were no female scriveners, so I nudged Spin instead. Luckily, he seemed to catch on. “The prisoner escaped,” he said. “He left the room a moment ago.”

One guard left the room while the other began looking around. “He must be strong,” he said, sounding impressed.

“Oh yes, extremely. Crafty too. And somewhat handsome, if I do say so myself.” I rolled my eyes and poked Spin in the side again, encouraging him to stop talking. Once again, he caught my meaning and fell silent. I hoped the guard would leave soon, but instead he stationed himself by the door.

One more time, I nudged Spin. He turned to look at me from under his hood. I jerked my head towards the door. “Uh, well, I guess we should be going now,” he said.

“Oh no, you can’t leave,” replied the guard. “You are witnesses and you have to tell us what you know.”

“I, that is we, don’t know anything. We, uh, we weren’t looking at the time. I think that’s why he left us alone.”

The guard eyed us suspiciously. “You know, you seem nervous. And your friend hasn’t said anything at all.” He moved to stand directly in front of us. “What are you hiding.”

“This,” I replied, throwing back my hood. As he stood in shock, I jumped into the air and delivered a perfect spinning jump kick, catching him in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I turned to Spin and hit him in his good arm. “All you had to do was tell him we needed to get to the medic and he would have let us go.”

Spin merely shrugged. “I know. I just wanted to see you kick someone in the head again. It’s so cool.”

I put my head back up to hide the fury in my eyes. “You’re going to see it up close if you’re not careful.” We headed to the door, peeking out make sure the coast was clear. “Besides,” I whispered, “what if I had punched him?”

“That’s okay,” he replied. “It’s equally cool.”

Thunderfunk the Superchicken - Chapter 36

He Might Miss His Transfer

Straw yawned, stopping midway to rub his aching head. He smacked his lips a few times, trying to get the mothballs out of his mouth. Slowly he swung his feet around and sat on the edge of his bed, wondering how he ended up there. His last memory was of downing an entire bottle of alcohol. Thunder must have carried him to his room to sleep off the booze. Now he was awake and sore. Carefully shielding his eyes from the evil of 60 watt light bulbs, Straw stumbled out of his room and headed for the kitchen to grab a large glass of water and some aspirin. He nodded distractedly at the man in the hall.

Taking the largest glass he could find, he filled it with water and downed it immediately and then refilled it. Stepping over a prone body he went to the cupboard where they kept the aspirin. Pouring a few into his hand he put them in his mouth one at a time and swallowed each with a large swig of water, making a face in between each pill, wondering if he would ever get over his aversion to swallowing them.

Heading to the fridge, he rummaged through, looking for something fresh and sweet to munch on, settling on an apple. Straightening up, he turned around slowly, shutting the fridge door with his foot. Taking a large bite, he chewed thoughtfully, wondering idly why anyone would want to sit in the kitchen while tied up. He headed out of the room, planning to lay down for a nap.

All thoughts of sleep left him when he realised what he had seen. Sticking his head back into the kitchen, he saw with increasing horror that there were six unhappy looking men in the room, each held immobile by ropes and various restraints. They were all gagged and unable to speak, though a few had made frantic noises as best they could under the circumstances. With a sinking feeling, Straw wandered around the house, finding various men and women in mixed states of consciousness strewn around the house like an upturned box of lego.

Heading down to the secret lair, Straw found it hard to get past all of the bodies on the stairs. Finally reaching the large room, he looked with dismay at all of the people there. Just then Thunderfunk came in carrying a women over his shoulder. Dropping her none to gently to the ground, he greeted his ward with a serious nod and turned to leave.

“Thunder, what in the world is going on?!” cried out Straw in dismay.

Pausing, Thunderfunk the Superchicken looked over his shoulder. “Why, the plan, of course.” He stepped out of the room, and then poked his head back inside. “I’d stay out of the bathroom, by the way. There are more bus drivers in this city than I thought.” And with that he was gone.

Straw didn’t move for a long time, ignoring the pleading looks from the few drivers who were awake. With a heavy sigh, he turned and headed back for bed. This was too much to handle with a hangover.

Fools of us All - Chapter 36

Rough hands grabbed me under the arms and dragged me from the room. I was too numb to feel the pain anymore, but for some reason my mind would not let me fall into the comforting darkness I could feel at the edge of my consciousness. It felt like we were on the move for a long time before we finally entered a room and I was thrown into a reclining chair. I looked around and noticed a bed beside the chair, the kind with clamps to hold people down. Vaguely curious, I wondered if I was destined to lie there some day.

The thought of where I might end up left me rapidly when someone grabbed my arm and yanked. I think I screamed before I blacked out.

When I came to I was surrounded by men wearing robes, much like the one I had stolen earlier. They were all facing me, not saying a thing. Their faces were lost in shadow, covered by their hoods. Finally one spoke.

“Tell us, why did you attempt to access the archives in such a stealthy manner? Everyone is free to come and learn from the sacred relics and holy tomes here.” The other hoods bobbed slightly in agreement.

I glanced down at my arm, happy to see that the bone was no longer protruding, but wishing that the numbness of before would return. Pain radiated up and down my arm, making focusing on anything difficult.

“Come now, young man, there is no benefit to hiding anything from us. We are the guardians of the truth. We wish you no harm.”

That solicited a short bark of bitter laughter from me. “Then what do you call this,” I asked, indicating my arm, “a free trip to Disneyland?” I closed my eye for a moment, briefly considering passing out again, but someone reached out and squeezed my arm, causing me to gasp in pain and denying me the comfort of sleep.

“Do not mock us lightly,” came a new voice, this one deeper and angrier. “We wish to help, but if you continue to fight us we will have no choice but to brand you an enemy, and our enemies rarely prosper.” The menace in his voice was only heightened by the dark shadow his hood cast over his face.

I shook my head, trying to shake some of the cobwebs out, to clear my head for a moment. “Listen, dude,” I said through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry I hit your guy on the head, but I thought the building was closed to everyone who wasn’t a monk and I was curious, okay?” One of the robed men at the end of the table seemed to jerk back when I said that. Leaning over to the man beside him, he whispered a few words and then left the room. Another one of the monks let his shoulders slump for a moment, his hand disappearing into his robe like he was rubbing his eyes or something similar to that. The rest of them stepped back from the chair and started to converse excitedly among themselves.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and a very dignified looking older gentleman stepped through. He was wearing a similar robe to the others, but his hood was down. He regarded me seriously for a long time as the others fell silent. Tired of the silence and of not knowing what was going on, I started to shoot off my mouth. “That’s interesting,” I said sarcastically, “you are actually so ugly that the hood is scared of your face.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Well said, lad,” he commented mildly, stepping closer to get a good look at me. “I can see you still have some spunk left in you. That is good to see.” He motioned to one of the others who began opening the clamps on the table, moving it to a proper height. Another monk brought over the machine that had been sitting in the corner. As it moved closer, it began to look much more menacing. I swallowed hard and then screamed with pain as they roughly grabbed me and moved me to the table.

Once my screaming had quieted and I was properly strapped down, the hoodless monk leaned close to me. “For future reference, ‘dude’,” he said, the word sounding unfamiliar to his lips, “when you time travel, you should do a better job of learning the language and customs of the time you visit. There haven’t been ‘monks’ in the world for hundreds of years. They call us scriveners now.”

“And what does that make you? Bartleby?”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “I am impressed,” he said. “Alas, what we do now must be done.” He turned to address the others. “Brothers, the ancient prophesy is in fact true, and as such, we all know our parts. The prophesied one must be destroyed, as it was foretold.” He turned to face the machine, watching with interest as it was turned on and positioned over my head. I was so distracted that I almost missed the loud grunt and whoosh of air as one of the scriveners randomly kicked another one in the gut, followed by a sharp punch to the jaw, sending him flying into a wall where he slumped to the ground.