The Main Event

Preliminaries

"No, that's just fine," says the bartender turned announcer, "you can keep your boots on!  As for the rules, they're pretty simple - no weapons, and you go until someone gives up or can't continue.  No throat strikes, eye gouges, testicle yanks, or any of that permanently crippling shit.  If you want a groin guard or a mouth guard we have 'em.  Other than that anything goes!"

He leans over and speaks quietly to Kyle for just a moment.  "Listen 'Goodness'," the bartender says in a low voice, "Throw the fight and make it look good and there's a $200.00 bonus in it for you, plus the 'Goon' here will hand over the cash that the audience throws on the stage.  Make it good and you might be looking at $600.00 total."

"Sure." Griffin say quietly; grinning at the man conspiratorially he adds, "And a mouth guard and cup would be good."

"Great, great!" the bartender says quietly.  "You go on back to dressing room #1 and you'll find a cup and a mouth guard.  Just remember though, this is our little secret!"

Griffin nods eagerly and heads back to the dressing room. When he gets there he'll put the cup, and the mouthguard on. He also strips out of his shirt. Reaching into his back pocket he pulls out a pair of skin tight, black fingerless gloves. They've been padded just enough around the knuckles to protect his hands more than not wearing them would. He walks back out towards the bar room, throwing his head from the left to the right, and back again. He's bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his breathing has increased slightly. Anyone that's looking will see he looks like he's got a mental condition, one that makes him prone to violence, and doesn't seem to be improving any time soon.

As Kyle is getting ready, Chris calls over a server and asks, "Is there wagering?"

The server - a pert little blonde - replies, "I'm sorry sir.  Normally the House handles wagers, but because the Goon of Doom is an american celebrity there are some sort of WWF restrictions against it.  You might be able to find a private bookie if you look around."

Although delivered sincerely, as if the woman really believes it, this - so far as Chris knows - is a complete load of crap.  Chris cranes his head around looking for the usual scene: a bunch of people in a group waving money and talking excitedly.  If he espies such a group he will walk over (taking The Slave's stuff) and try to place a bet.  Of course if it turns out that it is the monthly meeting of the Al Amarjan Numismatic Society he will quietly back away.

Oddly, there doesn't seem to be one, though there is an enthusiastic crowd gathering by the ring and it is possible that there are some private bets changing hands there.  Once again this strikes Chris as odd because this is exactly the sort of place where bookies should be.

"What kind of place is this?" Chris says, perplexed.  He moves forward to the crowd to see if there is any betting.  Taking a chance he says "200 American on the Slave."

This elicits differing reactions from several people in the crowd.  By far the most common reaction is to simply ignore the comment and concentrate on the match.  A few people glance at Chris and either roll their eyes or shake their heads.  Someone in the crowd nearby says "Save your money," at the same time the inevitable Knobs pops into Chris's field of vision and says "I'll cover that," with a big pie eating grin on his face.  His female companion still trails behind him.

Chris turns to Knobs and asks "Why the lack of interest in wagering? I have been all over this planet and everywhere I have gone there is betting on every type of thing imaginable. It seems that a fight of this sort should have people frantically trying to gamble money on the outcome. What is up, dude?"

"Lets see the cash first," says Knobs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of twenties.  He peels off ten and shows them to Chris.

Chris, knowing that he is about to learn a lesson in proper money management from Professor Knobs, takes out his folding money and peels of three fifties and three twenties.  He looks at them as if he will never see them again... but still it might be worth it.

"I have the money, Knob, now tell me what the custom is regarding betting on fights.  And what this is with throwing money."  He considers for a moment.  "And when I said the Slave I meant the fellow who was sitting at my table, I say that in case the Loon of Doom there is also a slave."

"It's 'Knobs', man, 'KNOBS'," says Knobs, repeating his name slowly for emphasis.  "And it beats the fuck outta me.  Usually this place is thick with bookies, but Frank said no betting on the Goon's fights so they've all cleared out.  Most of the crowd figures that Frank wouldn't chance off the bookies without reason, so most of 'em are too scared to bet.  Not me though!  I'm fuckin' happy to take your money.  As for throwing money, thats how fight fans pay the fighters.  For gettin' on stage you get $100.00 - win or lose.  Winner gets to keep the cash that the crowd throws ."

"All right, it's a bet"

As he is led towards the back, Ben spots a guy who looks quite similar to the martial arts instructor at Kuan Tuns sitting at the bar.  The guy is stripped to the waist (and has an interesting variety of scars on his back, only some of which are readily identifiable as knife cuts, blunt trauma injuries, or bullet exit wounds) and is wearing a pair of jeans and heavy boots.  Unlike most of the patrons, he shows only the most passing interest in the current fight on stage.

As he is being led to his seat, KK glances at the bartender, who is watching the fight while tending bar.  As the martial artist looking guy begins taunting the bigger guy with the mask on about his testicles, KK notices the bartender frown - he narrows his eyes and scrutinizes the exchange more closely for a second, then (as the wrestling masked guy replies) reaches under the bar and pulls out a cordless phone and starts dialing.

KK loses all interest in this exchange, however, as the woman with the perfect breasts seats them near the back, near the restroom, just in time for a couple of guys followed by something that looks like an escapee from one of KK's nightmares come out of the Men's Room.

Meanwhile, coming out of the busy lavatory, Leo nudges Ghishu and points towards the large, hulking man currently walking behind a waitress, heading for a nearby table.  Another man, a rather nondescript guy with a big bandage on his nose, is tagging along.  "Hey, Ghishu, isn't that Ben?"  Leo asks.

He stands there, undecided; clearly, not everyone who comes here wishes to to pal around.  Almost automatically, he glances towards Norbert, brooding at the bar.  He turns back towards Ingar and Goodness and adds, "Ben Crutcher is a friend of Ghishu's.  We're staying at the same hotel in Sunken."

"Nice place, but what is that?" KK says leaning over to Ben and making a small gesture towards Ingar Forn.

Ben cranes his neck back searching for whatever it was that caught KK's attention. His eyes light on the strange group exiting the rest room. Recognizing Leo and Ghishu, he gives a quick wave. "Well, it appears to be a large mutant in a suit standing next to a stick figure who is in turn standing next to a bald guy. So if your wondering whether or not your medication is causing hallucinations, the answer is no."

"Huh. Another mutant then. Are they common here?" KK asks without going into the fact that he hasn't even taken his medication yet.  Hopefully his soda won't take much longer though.

"They're fairly common," says Ben.  "In fact, there's a few businesses here that cater almost exclusively to mutants.  If you stick around the island long enough, you'll see quite a few of the unfortunate bastards."

"They're not the only unfortunate bastards," KK says after a short pause.  "I still have to look at them!" he says with a wink.  "Not that I look my best right now though," he then trails off while looking around for something that's more pleasing to the eye.
 

Let the Fight Begin!

A crowd has gathered around the stage, and many of them are already throwing coins at the fighters.  Both Griffin and the Goon get smacked a couple of times by quarters and half-dollars, but nobody is really flinging them hard, so they only sting a bit.  Once Griffin is back on stage the bartender directs him towards one corner, then backs out of the way.

"Go to it!" he yells.

Griffin grins, and steps forward slightly.  He's standing in profile towards the wrestler, crouched down in a fighting stance.  His left arm is extended out in front of him, his hand open, while his right is held cocked up by his ear, his fist closed as if he's holding a telephone.  His chin is tucked down slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on the wrestler.  He waits for the large man to make the first move before he does anything.

The Goon simply struts around his section of the stage for the moment, posing ferociously, grunting and growling in a menacing manner.

"Hey asshole, how small did your balls get after you started taking the 'roids?  Pretty tiny hunh?!" Griffin yells this out at the wrestler, waiting for him.

The Goon smirks and flexes some more.   "Is that the best you can do?" he bellows.  "If you want to fight with words little man, GO PLAY SCRABBLE WITH YOUR MOTHER!"  He slaps his chest.  "I AM THE GOON OF DOOM!  I AM YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE!  FIGHT OR CRAWL OFF THE STAGE LIKE THE WORM YOU ARE, PUNY LITTLE MAN!!!"  He continues to flex and grimace dramatically.

The crowd is eating it up.  There are calls of "Kick his ass Goon!"  and "Thump him good!"  A few small denomination bills flutter onto the stage.

Griffin shakes his head at the stupidity of the man. Moving forward quickly Griffin steps into range long enough to throw a snap kick aimed at the goon's stomach region. He doesn't put his entire power into the kick, he still wants to give the crowd a good show. Griffin is relying on his great speed, and the unexpectedness of the attack to get the kick past the Goon's defenses. Griffin steps back slightly, gauging the kick's effect.

Griffin's attack is deflected (barely) aside by a swat from one of the Goon's beefy arms.   The Goon tries to follow up with a grapple, but Griffin easily dances back out of range.  Griffin steps forward again, trying to use the off balance goon's forward momentum against him by kicking his his heel into the back of the Goon's knee while slamming his elbow into the Goon's chest.  If things go well the goon should end up on the ground, after which Griffin will dance back out of range, and play it up for the crowd, while keeping an eye on the Goon.

Griffin's attack goes as planned right up to the point that he trips the Goon and brings his elbow into contact with his chest.  The Goon's own momentum, coupled with the strike, serves as the perfect vehicle to snap the xyphoid cartilage off the bottom of his sternum and drive it directly into his heart.  The Goon topples without so much as a sound and lies on the floor of the stage.

He is very still.

It gets very quiet in the bar.

Griffin looks down, knowing immediately what happened. "Oh come on you rotten son of a bitch."  He grumbles under his breath.  Griffin steps away from the goon, not looking at the man's crumpled form. Griffin clamps his hands underneath his arms to keep them from shaking.

Chris holds out his hand to Knobs.  "My money, please."

Knobs makes a face and glances at his female companion, who jerks her head in the direction of the door.  Without a word Knobs hands over the cash and the two of them begin making their way hurriedly towards the exit.

KK hardly noticed the fight had already begun, so at first he starts looking around to see why everyone's so quiet.  When he does realise the reason for the silence he gets up on his feet to get a better view of the stage.

Ingar stares at the stage. His lower lips quivers, and he says in a choked voice, "This is horrible."

Goodness stares, dumbfounded.  "Jesu Christos," he says quietly, "He's cakked the bastard!"  He taps Ingar in the upper back, because he can't quite reach the big man's shoulder.  "Hey, Engar.  I'm thinkin' aboot goin' inta business fer meself. Private investigations.  Wanna be me pairtner?"

Leo looks at Ingar and their companions, a pained expression on his face.  He shakes his head.  Seems like the Goon is fated to die over and over again," he murmurs, apparently to himself.

He leans towards Goodness with an expression middling between worry and puzzlement.  "I'm not sure what's going on here, but there's a setup somewhere," he says in a low voice.  "I've met the Goon of Doom when I went through C&I.  He was some kind of weirdo, murdered his C&I caseworker and filmed it.  He was sentenced to be hung, and the sentence should have been carried out in the last few days.  Maybe even today.  That guy in the cage... that wasn't the Goon.  He's big enough, but the voice was wrong.  And now your slave kills this guy with one punch.  I don't think whoever was covering up the Goon's real death is going to be too happy with the fight -- unless they were looking for just that, someone to blame it on.  Either way, they might make it unhealthy for you as the owner."

"From the looks of it", Ghishu comments on Leo's words, "it seems like this is a perfect way to cover up someone's death. If for some reason the authorities didn't want anyone to know that they murdered the Goon, what better way to have it set up as if her was killed in a fight with a bar full of witnesses?".
 

Pandaemonium

"Let me through, I'm a doctor" he says over and over as the struggles through the crowd.  His accent sounds vaguely southern (Texan for those who can detect such things).  He bends over and briefly checks the unmoving Goon of Doom.

"My god, this man is dead!" he exclaims.  He rises and turns towards Griffin, but anything he might have wanted to say is immediately drowned out as the crowd goes crazy!  About a quarter of the spectators begin cheering wildly and screaming "YEAH!" and "ALL RIGHT!" and "SLAVE!  SLAVE!  SLAVE!"  About three quarters begin to yell "BOO!" and "WHATHEHELL KINDA FIGHT WAS THAT?" and flinging rolls of coins, glasses, and beer bottles in the general direction of Griffin and the doctor on the stage.

Over by the bar Frank puts down the phone and looks over the increasingly hostile crowd.  His face seems devoid of any real emotion, though he does motion several of the waitresses back out of the way.

At this exact moment the door to the bar bursts open and a huge man staggers in, gasping for breath as if he had just run a very long way.  Both Ben and KK recognize him as the crazy derelict from Four Points.  He spots them immediately and begins wading through the crowd in their direction, grinning like a puppy.

"I wonder how he knew we'd be here," KK says thoughtfully. "And why is he still following us?"

"Forget about that," says Ben as he stands. "We need to get the hell out of here.  Shit's about to hit the fan."  Ben spins on his heel and heads for the exit.

"So much for a nice and quiet place," KK mumbles as he once again follows Ben wherever he goes, watching his back, while also using him as a human shield.

At the other table, Goodness looks at Leo and Ghishu. "Let's discuss this on the street," he says quietly.  "'Tis aboot t' get truly ugly in hair."  He grabs Ingar forcefully by the arm.  "Engar!  We need t' make a quick exit!"  He begins pulling/shoving Forn towards the door as quickly as possible, hoping the big man's bulk will help to clear a path before everything goes to hell.

Leo shoots a worried look at the crowd between them and the front door.  "Agreed," he says, "but maybe we should try the kitchen door..."  He looks back over his shoulder, but Goodness is already in motion.  Well, if anything is going to clear a path, it's Ingar's friendly smile...  Leo shoots a worried look at Ghishu, and follows the Scotsman's lead.  He tries to signal Chris as they approach his table.  "Bail out!" he mouths silently for Chris's benefit.

Chris pockets the money, hands The Slave's stuff back, and joins the wedge heading for the door.  He has seen bad crowds before, this one though is of a very different quality.  His hand covers the scabbard of his Gerber.

"Change o' plan!" says Goodness, and begins steering everyone towards the stairs.  "We'll head upstairs fer the moment, an' with all haste.  Maybe we ken find a fire escape oor somethin'. At least, we'll be above th' fray!"

When Leo starts leading the group towards the kitchen, the first instinctive thing for Ghishu to do is to follow him.  But a moment before doing that he takes a look at the crowd and the entrance to the pub.  It is then that he catches Ben in the corner of his eye.  And then that he also spots Griffin, who seems to be in the middle of all the mess. Taking a moment to weigh his options, he realizes that Ben and Griffin can both take care of themselves.  On the other he's not so sure about Leo, Ingar, Goodness and Chris.  "I'm coming" he says mostly to himself as he quickly follows the band.

Chris does not like the idea of going upstairs.  If the place strts burning and there is no other way down you are trapped and dead.  "Hey Goodness, how about we head for the kitchen and then out the service door?"

"Fine by me!" shouts Goodness. "Lead the way!"  And for the third time in ten seconds, he changes direction.

Kyle puts his shirt back on nonchalantly appearing to completely ignore the increasingly unruly crowd.   He hops off the stage and heads in the direction of Chris (who has his stuff) - the menace on his face palpable enough to keep angry patrons from physically confronting him, though many continue to yell and gesture.   The doctor follows, saying  "Are you all right?  let me see your elbow, are you hurt?  Let's get you outside so you can - ACK!" as a beer bottle thrown by someone in the crowd, hits him in the back of the head, driving him to his knees with a large and profusely bleeding scalp cut.

Chris, heading in the direction of Kyle to hand him his stuff back.  As he does so he looks back over his shoulder and tries to catch Goodness eye, gesturing with one hand in the direction of the kitchen in the hope that someone in the group will get the idea He arrives in proximity to Griffin just in time to watch the Doctor take a beer bottle to the back of the head and go down, momentarily stunned.

Ben and KK both head in the direction of the exit.  Most patrons of the bar don't seem to be following, but appear rather to be either complaining loudly about the fight or cheering the slave (the former outnumbering the latter by about 3 to 1).  Ahead the pair can see that Knobs and Sally have made it to the door, and are trying unsuccessfully to get around the derelict who is blocking the doorway with a glazed look in his eyes.

"Get the fuck out of the way asshole!" yells Knobs desperately.  The bum appears not to hear.  Knobs dances to either side of the mountain of flesh and muscle, but the bum is squarely blocking the exit (which would be a clear violation of Al Amarjan fire codes if there were any Al Amarjan fire codes).  Sally simply folds her arms and watches Knobs, apparently content to follow his lead.

Leo, Ghishu, Ingar, and Goodness all head for the exit, stop, head for stairs, stop (upon seeing Chris's gesture) and head for the kitchen instead.  All in all they don't really get too far, although they do see the woman that Goodness was talking to disappearing through the kitchen doors.  Norbert, however, is still sitting at the bar.  He has swiveled on his stool, and seems to be watching Kyle with the same intensity that a sniper might exhibit when looking at a target through a rifle scope.  Behind the bar the bartender Frank takes a couple of steps away from him.

Leo gulps at the thought of going past the decidedly unfriendly Norbert.  "Don't mess with him," he says hurriedly to his companions.

He tries to keep as low a profile as possible, a task which he made somewhat difficult by his tall, lanky, eminently recognizeable silhouette.  Can they tiptoe past unnoticed by Norbert, and, accessorily, by the rest of the bloodthirsty mob?  He thinks of the throwing knives he purchased a few hours ago, but instantly dismisses the thought.  Bad idea to get blades out too early.  Instead, he reaches inside a pocket for a few small jugging balls, a bit larger than bearing balls and a bit lighter.  He tucks a few in his large hand, out of sight.

Agent Goodness picks up a stray beer bottle and discreetly palms it, still moving towards the kitchen area.  "Well," he mutters to his companions as he feels the tension level jack to ten, "This should be intairestin'."

Griffin readjusts his hat for a moment, then looks around at the gathering crowd.  Seeing the four other companions across the room he says to Chris, "I think it's time to leave."

Werewolf spots his newfound friends and joy fills his heart. at the same time voices begin to fill his head: "Oh-oh!  This smells bad!" - "I'm sorry, but i forgot to change my diapers..." - "Shut yo' mouth, fool!  What he is sayin' is dat we about to kick some funky ass on the dancefloor!" - "...?" - "He's saying that it's going to get pretty ugly pretty soon." - "Right.  I knew that."  A decision is made: do not follow new friends, recalculate Euler's number and find the action.

As Werewolf stands there unmoving, doing whatever it is that he is doing, he can hear the sound of about a half-dozen sets of booted feet running in the direction of Bar and Girl from the Plaza.
 

Flashbacks

Had they not been so drunk he might not have made out alive, as it was when the bottles started flying the only person not struck was Chris. Soon the crowd was completely enraged and started fighting amongst themselves. For his part Chris escaped up the stairs chased by the owner and several mean-looking patrons. Downstairs an errant vodka bottle had knocked over a candle and soon the whole place was afire. Reaching the roof he saw he had no place to go. He decided to try to jump the alley to the next building. It was a beautiful leap. Had it not been for the snow on the other building he would have made it.

He woke up lying in a pool of his own blood lying face down in Gogolya Street. His face a bloody ruin and his right leg  broken in two places. There was no hope forthcoming from any passerby so he half crawled half lurched three blocks to find a taxi. The hack didn't want the fare but it is remarkable what a ten dollar bill could buy you back then.

Knowing that soon he will be regretting this decision Chris reaches down and pulls up the alleged doctor.  "Get up fuckhead, or you'll die here!"

Harvey blacks out for a moment as he falls to the floor.  Lying there confused and dizzy he tries to work out what's happening, where he is and how he got here.  His life flashes before him, he remembers the day he handed in his notice to the hospital.  He'd gone to talk to the head of department, but instead they'd sent him to talk to some snot nosed kid of an administrator.  He remembers the exit interview, the kid telling him that at his age if he left now he'd never get work again, that he'd be sorry.  He remembers telling him there's got to be something better out there than doing facetucks for aging oil wives, that he was going to look for that something.

His daughter hadn't understood, just like she hadn't understood when the divorce finally came through "But you and mom can't split up, I prayed on it".  After he told her he was leaving the hospital she cut short her vacation, went back to college early and told him that she'd pray for him too now, that she understood why mom had left, that he needed to accept his age and his responsibilities.  She told him that if he just gave his heart to Jesus and took Him as his personal saviour it would all be OK.

Maybe that was it, maybe he was dying.  He had some memory of having travelled somewhere, but he couldn't place it.  Perhaps this was that heart attack he had always feared.  Harvey looked up and mistily saw some figure reaching out to him, could it be Him?  Had his daughter been right all along?  Looking inside himself he tries to find some particle of faith he can cling to, but its not there, it was never really there.

A voice rings out, echoing in his ears "get up fuckhead, or you'll die here".  Suddenly it all comes rushing back, the bar, the fight, the back of his head feeling like its just gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.  He grabs the hand, pathetically grateful for the the seeming promise of help, and says the first thing that comes into his head "Is my camera OK?

Suddenly Griffin explodes into motion,hopping up onto the table nearest him quickly.  Griffin lands on the nearest table, sending beer bottles, half-eaten burgers, and fries in all directions.  He crouches, preparing to leap to the next table.  Chris more or less ignores Griffin, seeming to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, despite the gravity of the situation.

Buttery, Ingar, Ghishu, and Leo continue heading for the kitchen exit.  As they get closer to Norbert (who is still watching Kyle with great intensity) he opens one clenched fist to reveal the remains of a shot glass which he has apparently broken ("crushed" would likely be a better word).  Blood from glass cuts slicks his hand as he begins rubbing it across his face, painting some sort of design in crimson across his forehead and cheeks.  Behind the bar Frank catches Buttery's eye and jerks a thumb in the direction of the stairs to the second floor - which lie in a direction that does not take the party nearer to Norbert incidentally.

Leo is only too delighted to be offered an alternative.  He enthusiastically backtracks again (their exit is beginning to look more like a dance than a run), but not without checking that the rest of his companions also saw the sign from the bartender.

Ghishu takes another look at Norbert and agrees to Leo's assessment that it would be unwise to disturb the man in his battle ritual.  He grabs Li by the hand, motioning her to follow him after Leo towards the stairs.  "This is getting ridiculous", he comments, "Let's just get out of here.  They won't chase us once we get out of this room.  But while we're here, we're likely to get hit by a stray 'something'".

Goodness throws a salute at the barkeep and begins moving towards the stairs.  "I'm right, I'm wrong, I'm right," he mutters, "Always go wi' yair fairst instinct, Goodness.  STAIRS!"  He says to his companions. "Not so bad," he thinks to himself.  "After all, Siobhan is up there, and I've got a ticket..."

Ingar mindlessly follows Leo and Goodness who are good and kind and trustworthy people. He walks in a sort of crouch, hunching down from more than eight to a smallish six and a half feet. Ingar holds up his arms and hands to shield his face and head, and smiles between his elbows at whoever comes into view. He does not brandish any sort of weapon. Then again, Ingar's body would certainly be disapproved of by the Geneva Convention as an unusually cruel and vicious biological weapon. Ingar is rather frightened of being hit by flying objects or upset people, but his foremost priority remains to keep some other person between him and Li, and if possible to stay out of her field of vision.

As he plods through the bloody turmoil, Ingar seeks solace in memories of better times. Unfortunately for him, most of his life was worse. The roiling mass of people reminds him of times when the herd was being festively slaughtered, their screams echoing through a vast cavern whose odd angles were hewn long before the first apes ran over the plains...

Up by the stage a couple of patrons start swinging, one knocking his opponent onto another table and disturbing several additional patrons.  The bar fight is beginning to take on a life of its own.

Chris looks at Norbert, then he again looks at the front door.  "Shit."  He grabs the camera's strap and yanks the doctor towards the stairs.  "MOVE MOVE MOVE!"  Hopefully Buttery & Co. will detect this latest change in plans.

Shaking his head Harvey moves rapidly along, keeping up with what seems to be the one sane person in this place.  "Is there a back way out?"  Harvey looks around as he runs for a serving tray or something he could use as a shield against any other flying objects.

Meanwhile, Ben and KK run up against the roadblock in the doorway being caused by the derelict who followed them.  Knobs is pacing back and forth before the seemingly oblivious giant, and is now gesticulating wildly with his arms and screaming "GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY YOU SHITHEEL!  MOVE!"  Behind him, Sally continues to watch not Werewolf but Knobs.

Fortunately, Ben is well equipped to handle this sort of situation.  Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out a cattle prod, the perfect device for convincing large, unintelligent beasts to get the hell out of the way. Ben flips the 'on' switch and steps past Knobs.

Werewolf has seldom seen such beauty.  Flying bottles, flying people and their respective flying body parts.  Feeling deeply for this passion he is almost unable to move.  Yet, fortunately, a just too familiar sound brings him back to "action" level: quite a number of feet in boots.  That's his cue.  "ARMED MEN!" he shouts at the top of his lung.

Realizing something or someone jumping up and down in front of him, he tries to use it (him?her?who cares?) as a living shield, while he hastens away from the entrance to the closest exit, which seems to be the kitchen door.

Although it's still tempting, Ben will refrain from zarking the big guy as long as Werewolf removes himself from the exit and isn't moving directly towards him.

KK is still right on Ben's heels, and much like Ingar he's letting his hands and arms do guard duty for his face, where the nose is the primary mission objective. He's feeling like quite the boxer, but unfortunately he hasn't got any memories from the ring to share with anyone. But like so many others, he's no stranger to the roaring masses of excited people.

It was in southern Italy, and said masses had gathered to watch a particularly interesting game of soccer, and although it would've been nice to be able to recite which teams were playing, KK didn't know and didn't care. He had a plan, and it relied heavily upon the assumption that when Italians go to see a game of soccer, they pay more attention to the game than to their wallets. And that plan worked pretty well. A wallet here and a wallet there, and then discarding the empties in some unsuspecting Italian's bag. To pass the time in between good marks, KK carefully sorted the denominations and rolled them all into one huge roll of hard cash. It felt very rewarding, and provided a huge boost to his self confidence. But as bad luck would have it, he got caught trying to lift that very last wallet for the day (honest!).

That's when being in a soccer stadium is a really bad thing. Well, maybe not as bad as when being in a soccer stadium that collapses under the pressure of a thousand stomping feet, but bad nonetheless. The owner of the "last wallet for the day", a slim, wealthy-looking Italian guy with bleached hair and fancy shades, immediately started to yell in his native language, of which KK had enough understanding to make out the word "thief". Several eyes turned from the game and unto KK, and it was definitely time to do something. The policemen on duty had already noticed that something was going on, and if they also found out what was going on, it would surely ruin his perfect track record of no convictions.

With no viable exits, the only option KK could think of was to confront his accuser, first with indignant words and gestures, soon followed by a push, which shortly led to the pair wrestling among the seats. This of course didn't sit too well with the people trying to watch their favourite game, but suddenly that didn't matter, as goal was scored down on the field. The crowd went wild, and KK went to business. He reached for the roll of lire he'd accumulated during the game, and shoved it into the jacket pocket of his adversary, shouting "You win!  OK?".

The man just smirked and went with it, explaining to the cops that he'd been mistaken, and that he was sorry for causing trouble. Then, as KK was about to leave for greener pastures, he delivered the punchline:

"Next time you do your thing on my turf, you only need to give me thirty percent. But don't ever touch me again, you hear?"
 

Convergences

Griffin suddenly stops dead in the bar.  His eyes locks with Norbert's, and he suddenly has the urge to stay, to face Norbert.

"Hey Slave! C'mon! You've done enough for today why push it?" says Chris from with one foot on the floor and one on the bottom stair.

Werewolf heads into the thick of the emerging chaos, heading for the kitchen door.  By this time many of the patrons of the bar are too busy arguing with one another and/or pounding one another to really pay him any mind.

 The instant he is out of the way, Knobs attempts to dart through the doorway, only to find himself shoved back and out of the way as a group of well muscled blonde men with long hair and beards (who in fact would not look out of place in a viking movie if it weren't for the fact that they are wearing motorcycle jackets, leather pants, and thick soled boots in place of furs) muscle their way in through the doorway.

"Out of the way, thrall!" one snarls in the general direction of Knobs as the unfortunate little weasel lands on his butt.  Sally continues to watch Knobs impassively, but steps out of the way of the newcomers.  The newcomers in turn spare a glance at Ben and KK, note the cattle prod in Ben's hand, and come to a halt.

"You there!" says one, pointing at Ben, "Put that thing away, churl!"

Ben shrugs, flicks off the cattle prod, and shoves it back into his jacket.  He steps aside, allowing the thugs to pass if they so wish.  Unless provoked, Ben has no intention of interfering with the newcomers.

Frank the bartender heads up the stairs, closely followed by Ghishu, Li, Leo, Buttery, and Ingar, with Chris (still assisting the bleeding "doctor") bringing up the rear.  Only Kyle hesitates, instead staring at the guy on the barstool who continues to stare back as he paints himself with blood.  Patrons in that region of the bar are now finding numerous good excuses to go almost anywhere else.

Werewolf lumbers through the crowd in the direction of the kitchen.

Knobs jumps to his feet and heads for the door, only to be knocked ass over appetite once again as two more leather clad thugs burst into the bar.  As soon as Ben puts away his industrial strength cattle prod the apparent leader motions to four of the thugs, who wade into the brawl and begin quieting things down through the simple expedient of whacking anyone who resists over the head with short wooden cudgels.  The leader and one thug continue to watch Ben warily.

Ben holds out his hands, palms up and obviously empty.  "We're just leaving," he says, doing his best to appear harmless.  "We're not looking for any trouble."  He begins to cautiously make his way towards the exit watching the leader closely for a reaction.

"Enough trouble for one day," KK mumbles in agreement. And since the immediate violence seems to be on the other side of Ben, he lets down his nose-guard a little and tries to get a better view of the situation.

As Goodness mounts the stairs, he has to cover his mouth to conceal a slowly spreading smile. It is just as he'd hoped.  He recalls his brethren, discussing the possibilities that lay before them, and how they would affect their individual goals.  Then Goodness discovered Mrs. Brinker, and learned the joy of creating chaos, and nothing had been the same since.  Sure, his life is probably over, what with everyone from the CPC to the Terminal to the Peace Force to Dobbs knew who else after him at any moment, and with a being clearly more alien than human, plus that silly meat sack his slave, but gods above, the stories simply could not do justice to the sensory input he is now processing.  His hand touches the back of his neck reflexively, and he reaches for another smoke as his friends follow.  Now, all he has to do is get layed, and he can call the conclusion of a very successful day.  He whispers around the filter end of his smoke, "Yes, this is indeed weather the cuckoo likes."

Leo glances at Goodness over his shoulder, puzzled by the comment.  He immediately decides that it would be a bad moment to ask for a clarification.  He runs on, as he he has run from maddened crowds so often before.

This particularly reminds him of that weird performance in Laramie, Wyoming, when the spectators decided old Frank "Fausto Cagliostro" Coglione's blade-box was gaffed.  This was odd, because although two or three of the stranger performances in The Astounding Doctor Marvello's Travelling Circus of Wonders were doctored to some extent or relied on optical illusions, Frank's was genuine.  He really did run those blades and spikes through Sally, because Sally was a blockhead, a genuine fakir.  But somehow, the marks had got the idea that it was all a trick; what with the large amounts of beer that had been flowing, they got a bit too rowdy.

The circus folks were so surprised, with the outrage of an habitual con artist accused of lying the one time he's telling the truth, that they didn't react with their normal speed.  Raymond Tuttle, a.k.a. Doctor Marvello, took just that extra second to find his smooth patter again, and it was this much too late.  The first bottle hit the blade box.  Frank dove for cover behind the box, and Sally, stuck as she was inside the box, protested loudly: "Frank, you sonovabitch, don't hide behind me!  Get me outta here!"  You'd think that someone who could stick daggers through her arm, nails through her nose, and walk on spikes wouldn't be afraid of broken glass, but maybe impacts hurt blockheads as much as they hurt everyone else.

"Fuuuck!!" moaned Doctor Marvello, not too loud.  "We haven't even covered the nut yet!"  As he grumbled, he took long strides to get closer to the Blade Box and create a distraction, actually quite a brave thing to do even if financially motivated.  "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," he boomed in his best stage voice, "the entertainment has barely begun!"

Naturally, Doctor Marvello was making shit up to distract the increasingly rangy crowd.  He looked left and right for a suitable patsy in the wings, someone who could withstand the crowd's ire long enough to get things back on track.  His glance fell on Spidora who, understanding immediately, gave her refusal by way of an eloquent gesture, hidden from the crowd but not the boss.  Doctor Marvello's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he didn't have time to argue.  He looked at the next potential designated volunteer, who happened to be Bingo and Shana, the monkey boy and wolf girl unicycle-riding banjo-playing singing duet.  He perked up -- the two were kind and simple-minded, without enough sense of self-preservation to look worried.

"Yes, my friends," he boomed on, "I understand your impatience!  In fact, if you only knew what's ahead, you'd be even more impatient!  Why, stepping right up, we have two of the most amazing, the most talented, the most freakish -- Ouch!!!"

A half-full (or half-empty, if you felt like being optimistic) beer can had just hit bullseye, splashing Doctor Marvello's hair, face, and the jacket of his purple velvet costume.

"I give you Bingo and Shana of The Jungle!" he finished hurriedly.  He looked at them with some anxiety, but they were too innocent to fear their fellow man as they should.  With beaming smiles, the two unicyclists pedalled onto the stage, arms extended to wave happily.  Doctor Marvello scuttled away, pushing the Blade Box (fortunately set on casters) with Sally hiding inside and Frank hiding behind.

Bingo and Shana were slightly mentally retarded, in addition to being afflicted with hirsutism, but they were talented acrobats and pretty decent singers and musicians.  They loved performing, loved to make people laugh, loved to be loved, and so they threw themselves into their bouncy rendition of 'Bungle in the Jungle' with their customary flair.  Unfortunately, the crowd would have been more interested in, say, a strip-and-whip show or, at the very least, a group act featuring a Christian and half-a-dozen starved lions.  Bottles, food items, and assorted debris flew with redoubled power and accuracy towards the stage and the hapless performers.  Bingo and Shana continued their act for a moment, confused and increasingly troubled, until even the most child-like mind had to grasp the fact that sometimes people want to hurt you for no reason.  They slowed down and finally came to a full stop, still atop their unicycles, hugging each other for reassurance as they stared fearfully at the crowd.  Naturally, they made a hilarious picture for the good ol' boys in the front row, who redoubled their jeers and catcalls.

Bingo and Shana looked down the wings towards the spot where Doctor Marvello had last been seen, but the boss was nowhere to be seen.  To his credit, he had not in fact hightailed it and instead was gathering the roustabouts to bring back some help, but the two besieged performers believed themselves abandoned and began to cry in silent rolling tears.  Of course, the crowd just roared with laughter over "the tears of a clown."  Particularly jovial members of the audience decided this was a good time to climb up and begin stage-diving, or better yet, stage-tossing.  They started advancing on the unicycle duet.

In the wings, Leo and his closest colleague, Two-Ton Tessa the Bearded Lady, looked at each other in horror.  Bingo and Shana were going to be hurt.  Despite her bulk, Tessa was faster to react.  "These sumbitches are NOT touching OUR people!" she roared as she started barrelling down towards the centerstage.  Her approach did not go unnoticed since it sent vibrations through the entire stage floor, which was elevated and hollow.  "GET AWAY FROM THEM YOU SHIT-EATING DOG-FUCKING PENCIL DICK CRAB-RIDDEN RED-NECK!!!" she thundered.  Leo  started running along, although he felt like a grain of popcorn in the kettle as each vibration sent him bouncing.

Suddenly reassured that they were not forsaken by their friends, Bingo and Shana had the good sense to wheel away as some of the good ol' boys made a grab for them.  They weaved and bobbed as hands clawed at them left and right, their mastery of the art of unicycling finally becoming a life-saving skill (or close).  At the same time. the Tessa Express finally reached its terminus, connecting with several jollies and sending them flying much like a bowling ball hitting a group of rather wobbly pins.  Leo, for his part, started throwing juggling balls with great accuracy, occasionally vaulting over an opponent.

The rest of the circus hands who were close enough started joining in.  In the wings, Sally could be heard, screeching at Frank: "It's your damn fault they're in trouble, it's your damn botching of your damn act that started this, GO HELP THEM!"  A stage prop went flying and Frank erupted from behind the curtain, ducking more blunt objects.  He caught them on the fly and started throwing them back at the attackers from the audience.

Way in the back at the main entrance, Doctor Marvello walked back in with a handful of roustabouts.  Edgy but controlled, they managed to convince the sizeable portion of the audience that didn't actually wish to participate in the free-for-all to leave.  That still left a significant contingent of angry, drunken people spoiling for a fight.  They outnumbered the circus folks, and they had less to lose (after all, an acrobat breaking a leg or a juggler breaking a hand have no job and no insurance.)

The good ol' boys were no longer amused and decided that Tessa had mortally challenged their honour.  She was big, but there was a LOT more of them.  A posse surrounded her and started laying into her like they meant business, which they did.

Leo had just managed to cover Bingo and Shana's retreat backstage, and turned just in time to see the hoodlums surround Tessa.  Backstage, he could hear Sally's voice, no longer screeching but coolly directing the evacuation. Someone had been quick enough to get one of the trucks around, and Sally was cramming the non-combattants into it.  All he and the other defenders had to do was cover the retreat in good order.

Ha.

He frantically looked around for a weapon.  His eyes came to rest on the row of pickled punks from the baby show: two-headed babies, siamese twins, pinheads, 'devils' with horns and 'angels' with vestigial wings, all preserved in formol or alcohol.  He lunged for the preserved freaks and grabbed as many jars as his spindly arms could hold.  He selected a particularly gruesome specimen, a dead ringer (so to speak) for Ripley's Aliens, lifted the jar high above his head, and with a powerful throw sent it crashing near the most aggressive of Tessa's assailants.

The jar exploded in a mess of glass shards, stinking preserving liquid, and one hideous pickled freak.  Instead of being squished onto the floor, the little monstrosity bounced like a superball and splattered itself onto the back of the villain's head.  Just like the Aliens.  The reaction was immediate and unchecked; the target started yelling: "Aaargh!!!  Motherfucking goddamn sonovabitch is on me!  Getitoffamegetitoffamegetitoffame!!!" as he danced around in a frenzy.  His companions, scared out of their wits by the lightning attack from left field, scattered away like dead leaves in a gust of wind.  That was all the opening Tessa needed to send the rest of her opponents flying.  The respite was short, though: many more were ready to move forward and take part in the festivities.

"Tessa!" yelled Leo.  "Through the back end!"  He threw down more pickled babies with wonderful accuracy, hitting his targets on the rebound with that extra oomph! that says: 'The monster is after you.'  Frank had got the idea and brought back another load of jars, joining in the barrage of deformity.  "For once, I'm glad Marvie-Boy is using gaffed freaks," he confided to Leo, his voice quivering only slightly.  "And now I can see why we call them bouncers!"

The circus folks combined their efforts and managed to retreat to the truck with only minor wounds on both sides.  Doctor Marvello and the roustabouts had managed to load the rest of the circus hands onto the other trucks, and the drivers floored it.  For a while, a small procession of pickup trucks followed them, but they made it to Cheyenne without further attacks.

It was a disaster for the troupe; their equipment, tent, stage, props, personal possessions had all been left behind.  Eventually a lot of it was recovered, but most of it was damaged and some irretrievably so.  Morale was high for a short while, with the exhilaration of having escaped worse, but soon sank when the crew realized their livelihood was slashed.  Eventually, many moved on to other jobs, sometimes with other circuses and sometimes, for those who could, mainstreamed.  Tessa started shaving and parlayed a job as a security guard in a casino in Las Vegas; the pay was good and she could keep an eye on Bingo and Shana.  The two had come to stay with her and performed their act in the city of gamblers.  In fact, many in the circus crowd made Vegas their permanent stage.  Those who could, who were more circus performers than freaks.

Leo had kept moving.  Mostly up, although not always literally -- like now.
 

Upstairs

"Shut the door behind you," says Frank, taking a seat behind the desk.

Out of respect for his new friends, Goodness stubs out his smoke on the floor before entering, and take a spot to the left of Frank's desk, taking up as little of the corner as possible. "Yer a good man, Frank. Thanks fer the quick save!"

Ghishu stops outside the room holding the door open.  He motions Li to go inside "Go on in, I'll just see that everyone else gets in".  He remains outside directing everyone into the room. After the last person steps into the room, he goes in and close the door.

Leo makes sure that he leaves the easier spots for his companions who are less versed in the art of contortionism, and settles for an unlikely spot angled between a file cabinet, the shelf and the edge of the desk that would make most other people think of consulting a chiropractor.

Ingar hangs around, a huge bundle of smiling, timid loathesomeness, trying to stay close to Buttery and Leo, and to keep out of Li's hostile little face.  After his faux pas in the men's room, he tries to keep his mouth shut and be as quiet as possible.

Harvey goes in, one hand clasped to the back of his head.  "What the hell just happened down there?  Is anyone hurt?  Anyone besides me that is."  He looks around for somewhere to sit, sees the chair in front of the desk and gratefully collapses into it.  "So, do you people all know each other and does anybody have any idea how we're going to get out of this?"

Chris shrugs.  "Well, I just met them myself. And if by "this" you mean what is going on downstairs I think those security vikings will take care of it soon.  You say you are a doctor; what of?"

"Medicine, I'm a consultant dermatologist.  What, you think if I was a doctor of philosophy I would have pushed my way through the crowd like that?  Anyway, let me have a look at you, you may be hurt yourself or in shock"  Harvey moves gingerly over to check Chris for signs of injury or shock, after which he sees if anyone else is in need of attention.  Since the only person injured is Harvey he sinks back into his chair afterwards and says to Chris while extending his hand: "Harvey Finkelbaum, thanks for taking care of me back there, I owe you".

"Do you know anything about bowling alleys?" asks Chris.

"A bit, sure, I used to go bowling with the guys sometimes back home and I went out with my daughter and her friends a few times.  Golf's really my game though, you play golf?  With your strength and reflexes and all you'd be a natural."

Once the door is shut and locked, Frank turns to Goodness.  "How much do you want for your slave?" he asks.

Goodness' response is immediate. "One free night pair month wi' the escoort of me choice fer one year, including gettin' back th' two hundred I've spent fer Siobhan this evening."

"Sorry," says Frank, "I deal in..."

Whatever it is that Frank is about to mention he deals in is abruptly cut off by the sound of gunfire from downstairs.  One shotgun, two pistols for those trained to recognize such things.  A shitload of noise like on a cop show for those who aren't.

"Damnit!" Frank swears over the rolling chorus of *BOOM*s and *BANG*s.  After around five seconds the noise stops.  Frank spends the time digging around in a desk drawer and about the time silence returns he pulls out a pair of manacles and shackles, which he tosses to Goodness.

"You bring that asshole slave of yours in here, alive and well, all trussed up in these, and you have yourself a deal - BUT not Porche.  Any of the others, fine."

"Now you had best hurry because Lucky Pierre is getting ready to feed your slave his own asshole for lunch, and the deal's off if you bring him in here dead.  Maybe your friends can distract Lucky Pierre long enough for you to get your slave up here."  Frank pulls a gun case out of his desk, opens it, and removes a rather expensive looking .44 magnum, which he carefully begins loading.

Leo stares at Frank Germaine, aghast, then back at Goodness and the rest of his companions.  "If this 'Lucky Pierre' is Norbert, get the hell out of his way," he advises.

But despite his own words of wisdom, Leo is not the kind of person who can stay tucked away while others are in danger.  Using his amazing powers of contorsion and acrobatics, faster than a speeding tricycle and limberer than a rubber band, he wiggles his way out of Frank Germaine and towards the stairs to take stock of the carnage downstairs.

At the top of the stairs, he pauses to survey the room below.  No point in rushing in where bullets are flying.  He drops and peers through the bannister.

"Yair on," says Goodness with a grim smile. He hangs the shackles around his neck, then pulls his 9mm from the shoulder holster and wipes off the remainder of Ingar's slime trail on the big man's jacket tails, then chambers a round. With the other hand, he pulls out his newly-purchased throwing stars and transfers all but one of them to his jacket pocket. He shoulder his way out of the room, following Leo, and crouches behind the man at the top of the stairs. "So, carny-boy," he says conversationally, "Ever thrown a shurikin?" He holds one out to the man and peers downstairs, hoping to find his slave amidst the fun and games below.

Leo twitches at Goodness' choice of address.  He eyes the agent for a couple of seconds, all trace of a smile gone from his normally friendly face.  He finally lets out a long breath and shrugs.  "Something like it, anyway," he answers.  "I think I can managed."  He takes the proffered star.  With his other hand, he reaches under his shirt sleeve and pulls out a throwing knife, holding it between two fingers of his right hand.

Harvey sighs heavily, holding his head in his hands.  "Well, if people are insisting on going back downstairs I guess I'd better go with you, somebody might get hurt.  By the way, since you guys are all armed for bear any chance I could get something to point at somebody?"  He then turns to the Scotsman "and while we're here, what's this about a slave?  This is some kind of fetish thing, right?"

Buttery, Leo, and Chris step out of the office, leaving sufficient room for the remaining individuals to all inhale at the same time.  Frank continues to carefully load his gun.  After a few seconds he glances up.

"You might want to step out of the office," he says casually.  "I don't want anyone to get hit by a ricochet."

Harvey decides to follow this advice.
 

Downstairs

The guy at the bar continues to stare at Griffin.  He seems to have finished painting a bunch of lines and squiggles on his face, and is starting on his torso.

Werewolf, lumbers past the guy at the bar and over to the kitchen door, which he attempts to open.  Someone has locked it from the other side however.

The thug in front of Ben and KK motions with one hand.  "If you wish to depart, then do so freely," he says.  "But in a moment this churlish behavior will be crushed, and it is the custom of the barkeep to offer a free round of drinks to those who remain."  The thug and his companion step out from between Ben & KK and the door, in time for another thug to half drag, half toss an unconscious form out into the street.  The other thugs are not far behind, dragging troublemakers of their own.  The bar fight seems to be rapidly running out of participants.

Looking through the crowd the lead thug squints in the direction of the bar.  His eyes grow wide with surprise.

"By Odin's left tit!" he exclaims, "Lucky Pierre is going ballistic!"

Immediately KK cranes his neck in order to catch a glimpse of this "Lucky Pierre". Could it be that guy who's painting himself in red? In any case, these newcomers seem very capable of ending the fight, so maybe it wouldn't hurt at all to stick around for that free drink. On the other hand, if this ballistic guy is about to explode and turn every piece of furniture into splinters, and every living thing into a bucket of red paint, then it certainly wouldn't hurt to stay close to the exit.

Werewolf contemplates his life so far and a very distinct voice in his head, which had remained rather quiet during the past few... hours, once again steps behind the speaker's desk.  Inside Werewolf's head: "Check, check... is this thing on?' [clearing throat.]  "Now, Austin, wouldn't this be the perfect time to finally give in?  Be reasonable, my fellow, you cannot go on dragging around that ludicrous fiction of being a...' [suppressed laughter.] '...a Werewolf! by jove, man, get a life and quit this insanity!  You have caused enough trouble as it is.  Austin Daniel Gretherham! stop this foolishness!"  And that was the cue for another voice in werwolf's head, which also has remained still for a long time,but foremostly because it was busy digesting some of the other voices.  [Deep growling - with distortion and all the gimmicks] "FUCK YOU!"   And that was the cue for Werewolf. full of rage and despair he throws himself against the locked door.  He has to get out of here!  HE JUST HAS TO!

Werewolf throws himself at the door to the kitchen.  The door is smashed halfway off its hinges - it continues to block entrance to the kitchen, but not by much, and another good solid hit should knock it aside.  From the other side, a male voice yells "BACK OFF ASSHOLE!" and there is the rather unmistakable sound of the pump action of a shotgun being worked.

Curiosity piqued, Ben stops short of the exit turning to watch the remainder of the action.  "Who the fuck is Lucky Pierre? And don't you really mean 'by FREYA's left tit?"

The lead thug points in the direction of the guy painting himself in blood.  "That's Lucky Pierre.  He's the reigning death match champion - 27 victories.  He single handedly shut down the death matches at Sad Mary's by killing anyone who entered.  But I've never seen him start painting himself with blood before."  He turns to his companion.  "Get Hans.  Quickly!"

He seems a bit too busy to answer queries about who's left tit he really meant.

Meanwhile the bar fight is winding down, with thugs tossing out unconscious patrons into the plaza.

Werewolf's brain actually notices the information that Werewolf's ears have gathered, but Werewolf's brain is quite insane. so the poor door will have to take another full brunt of Werewolf's anger and fear... and Werewolf won't try to control the impact.  As his mother always used to say: "Let it flow, baby!"

The kitchen door, though sturdy, is not meant to survive such ferocious impacts, and is battered right off its hinges.  As Werewolf ploughs into the kitchen he is met by a hail of gunfire from three large individuals in nicely tailored suits - one of whom is wielding a shotgun and two of whom are firing small pistols.  The shotgun blast lays open Werewolf's abdomen in a shower of blood and entrails such that the pistol bullet that grazes his skull is pretty much superfluous.  The crazed mathematician goes down in a welter of gore and violated flesh to lie twitching atop the remains of the door.

Out in the bar proper the reaction to gunfire is, for the most part, instantaneous.  Most patrons dive for cover with amazing speed and agility, and even the rent-a-vikings duck behind tables and such.  Lucky Pierre seems oddly unmoved, for all that he is closer to the gunfire than anyone else.

Much like everyone else, KK gets down on the floor in an effort to avoid catching a stray bullet. But he's taking care not to bump his nose, so he sure takes his sweet time getting down there, considering the speed of most bullets and such.

As the shooting starts, Ben takes a step towards the exit ready to throw himself out the doorway. He pulls up just short of executing what was sure to be a magnificent bellyflop on to the sidewalk, however, when he sees Werewolf go down with the first barrage. With the big guy down and either dead or dying Ben figures the gunplay for being over. Besides, if he were to dive outside he might miss it when Lucky Pierre finally does something. Ben has no idea what the crazy son of a bitch is going to do but he has a gut feeling that whatever it is it's going to be good.

The rolling thunder of gunfire coming from the kitchen continues for several seconds, as those within pump multiple rounds into Werewolf's still twitching form, sending him off to whatever oblivion awaits him.  After a seemingly endless time the fusillade of shots ends, with the remains of Werewolf spattered generously over the doorway.  When a few additional seconds pass without further trouble emerging from the kitchen, patrons and thugs begin to pick themselves up from behind whatever cover they took.  The guy at the bar continues to paint himself (at this rate he'll take another minute or two to finish, depending on whether he also paints his arms or not) and he and Griffin continue to stare at one another.

KK gets off the floor, grabs a chair and has a seat. There he waits for the deathmatch to continue, or for the waitress to appear with his orange soda, whichever comes first.  Ben leans back against the wall and crosses his arms.  "This damn well better be worth the wait," he mutters.

Thirty seconds go by and everyone has more or less picked themselves up off the ground.  KK even spots his waitress coming out of the kitchen (stepping gingerly over the dead body in the doorway in the process) carrying what looks to be a bottle of orange soda.  Suddenly, from out of KK & Ben's line of sight, a voice bellows from somewhere upstairs.

"Slave!" the voice yells angrily. "Griffin Kyle! This is yer Master! You get yer ass up here RIGHT BLOODY NOW, oor I swear t' Christ I'm gonna shoot ye where ye stand! An' you, bloody-painted guy! I'll send 'im back doon in a minute, so doan stop what yer doin'! Everyone else, eh...nothin'.  As ye were."  The angry voice sort of runs out of steam towards the end there.

The waitress glances up fearfully in the direction of the stairs, then turns and scampers back into the kitchen, fairly vaulting over the corpse and taking the coveted orange soda with her.  The guy at the bar continues to paint himself (he is quite covered in blood by now) and continues to stare at Kyle.  He is starting to paint his arms now.

Seeing his orange soda disappear doesn't make KK a happy customer.  He's just about to let the guy upstairs know how he feels about it, when he realises that he'd probably be better off walking over to the kitchen rather than pick a fight with someone who threatens to shoot people.  But as he stands up he also comes to realise that the reason why he wants his orange soda so badly is because he was going to let it give one of Dr Toropov's pills a little ride to their new home.  But with all that's going on, would it really be wise to get drowsy?  Probably not.

So with a resigned sigh, KK sits down again.  Only to feel how the throbbing in his nose is back with a vengeance. Safety be damned, he can't let this city keep him on red alert for the rest of the night as well, he reasons, as he jumps to his feet and quickly walks towards the kitchen, yelling angrily at the voice from upstairs: "You scared my waitress!  You bastard!"
 

Rescue From Above

The bar seems to be very quiet, the only real movement being the sound of numerous patrons who sound like they are heading out the door.

Chris looks at the Scotsman.  "As long as you're handing out weapons, mind if I borrow those shackles?"

Goodness hands them across. "As long as ye realize they go around me slave.  The idea is t' grab 'im an' get 'im back upstairs with a minimum o' fuss."

"Since he is standing completely still that should not be much of a problem," comments Chris.

"Mmm," replies Goodness. "If ye care t' try, God be with ye.  I think we may need a wee distraction, preferably near the door, afore we make our move.  An' Leo," Goodness says, catching the contortionist's hard look, "Sorry aboot th' 'carny-boy' line. I dinna know it was a sore spot wi' ye.  Jest a tairm o' endearment in a time o' crisis. No offense."  He smiles.  "Pretzel-boy."

Leo's face returns to a grin.  "That's better," he chuckles.  "Killer Clown from Outer Space will also do fine."

"I can't do much by way of fighting", offers Harvey, "but I can yell and distract with the best of them, would an indignant tourist be any help in drawing attention for a bit?"

Leo nods.  "I can help too so that you don't become an obvious target, maybe I can toss something over to the far corner to make some noise.  Watch yourself, doctor, I would hate to see you get hurt -- again -- for being a good samaritan."  He looks at Goodness again.  "You know, we're kind of handicapped here: I don't think Mr. Germaine is going to take it kindly if we damage his place and his people too much..."

Suddenly, his expression changes like someone who's just had a new idea.  "Hey, we could airlift Slave: I'll bet there plenty of silk rope and such in those rooms upstairs, and I could just lasso him where he stands.  Then we yank him upstairs, no need to meet with Norbert, I mean 'Lucky Pierre'!"

Harvey says, "Don't worry, this time I'll duck.  Give me the nod when you're ready.  I can either run about and look like I've been hurt or bellow about how I'm an American citizen and I demand my rights, if I do the second I'll need someone covering me, I tried that as a teenager in Mexico and it doesn't always work so well.  Otherwise I could run for the exit in a panic while you guys did the airlift, whatever works for you."

Leo looks dubious.  "I don't know about the American citizen bit," he whispers, "in most places that's likely to make everyone shoot at you.  I might forget myself and throw one of Mr. Goodness's toys at you too..."  He pauses and realizes from his companions' expressions that he's not at his funniest.  "Sorry, just kidding.  Mr. Goodness, you signal when you're ready for us.  It's your dumb slave, after all."

Harvey nods.  "Guess I'll stick to running around like an idiot then and getting in the way, Mr Goodness?  On your mark".

Goodness moves to the top of the stairs, his gun held behind his back.  "Slave!" he yells angrily.  "Griffon Kyle!  This is yer Master!  You get yer ass up here RIGHT BLOODY NOW, oor I swear t' Christ I'm gonna shoot ye where ye stand!  An' you, bloody-painted guy!  I'll send 'im back doon in a minute, so doan stop what yer doin'!  Everyone else, eh...nothin'.  As ye were."

Griffin seems unmoved by Goodness' orders.  So does the guy at the bar.  However, from somewhere in the bar comes an outraged cry in response to Buttery's outburst.  "You scared my waitress! You bastard!"

Goodness throws himself unceremoniously sideways, flattening himself on the floor next to Leo and covering his head as if someone had yelled "Incoming!"

"Stan's oot there," he says, uncovering his head. "Dinna see Kyle, Eric or Kenny, an' Chef must be in th' kitchen, makin' Salty Balls."  He risks lifting his head a bit to shout downstairs, "Soory! Dinna mean it!"

"Folks seem t' still be cranky," the agent continues to Leo. "The slave's doon there, but he's na movin'. Could be a Zen trance. Oor maybe he's jest an idiot."

Leo flashes another smile, despite the very real risk of more shooting.  "Yeah, well, he hasn't impress me as the most gifted of thinkers so far.  The murder rap you mentioned earlier seems a lot more likely now, don't it?  I don't know what the hell is going on, but the idiot has been doing everything he could to walk in every trap and get himself stuck."  He shrugs.

After a moment of stunned silence following KK's outburst the guy who examined the Goon (so long ago - was it really less than five minutes?) comes trundling down the stairs at a rapid pace.  Repeating "I'm a doctor, let me through!" he heads in the direction of the large corpse lying in the kitchen doorway.

As he passes Lucky Pierre at the bar, Lucky Pierre stands up and begins walking purposefully towards Griffin Kyle.  Chris prods Goodness.  "Ya gonna do something?"

While Goodness was assessing the situation, Leo has  performed a rapid visit of the upper portion Mr. Germaine's establishment.  It's just amazaing what -- and who -- you can find in this place!  He's not sure he'll need the whipped cream, but it's a good circus-like thing to have.  And the whip is just so Indiana Jones!  From some of the occupied rooms comes a string of abuse at the rude man who just burst in on their privacy, but most were either too busy to really do anything about it, or had already fled at the sound of trouble downstairs.  A couple of young women, now idle since their customers escaped throught the second story rear window, wander over to look on.  One is wearing a blue patent leather schoolgirl outfit and is pouting, while the other is dressed like Mary Poppins and looks supercalifragilisticexpialedocious.

Goodness looks upstairs, over his shoulder, for any sign of Leo and his ropes.  "Nnn... yep."

Behind the bannister, Leo drops half a dozen quick-lock leather straps, as well as the whipped cream and the whip (on principle).  He deploys a loop of rope and coils it like a lasso in his right hand.  Looking up at Goodness, he mouths: "Ready when you are."

Goodness begins crossing the room, sighing once more as he sizes up the bloody giant.  He attempts to put himself between Pierre and the slave, and says, "Hey, remember me?  The guy who asked --"

This is about as far as Goodness gets before Lucky Pierre feints once and then walks around him.  The move is so smooth and fluid that it takes Goodness a moment to realize he has been walked around.

Harvey starts shouting as he approaches the Goon's corpse: "Is anybody else hurt, any injuries?"  He keeps an eye out for anyone who looks like they might be thinking of starting something, whether with him or anyone else.

Only one person in need of assistance is immediately apparent as Harvey heads in the direction of the deceased Goon - a guy with a big bandage on his nose who crosses paths with Harvey, headed in the direction of the kitchen (and the now deceased Werewolf).  Aside from that Harvey reaches the Goon's corpus without incident, noticing that most eyes in the bar seem firmly riveted on the guy covered in blood as he makes his way in the direction of the stairs and the slave.

Struggling to reach the kitchen door, KK looks around for his waitress.    "Can I have my soda now, please?"  Actual arrival at the kitchen door is somewhat difficult as the doorway is currently taken up with a couple of hundred pounds of very bloody ex-lunatic, which is making a widening puddle.  KK does, however, manage to make out the waitress on the other side of the doorway - she is still holding the tray with an orange soda and a Black and Tan.  She gazes at KK fearfully.  There are also several cooks who seem to be doing their best to look inconspicuous at the moment, and KK can just make out the large forms of several men dressed in Italian suits hurrying out the back.

KK takes a good look at the late lunatic and tries to figure how hard it'd be to take a leap over the associated puddle. But then again, he doesn't feel up to any athletics, so instead he sighs and leans back against the wall next to the kitchen door. Better keep an eye on those violent people in front of the bar, right?

Meanwhile, Goodness draws his gun from behind him, and...

...a lasso drops over his other arm, yanking him towards the stairs.  Looking up briefly as he struggles, he sees Leo tugging valiantly on the other end.  Setting his feet as best he can to arrest his abduction at the hands of "pretzel boy" Goodness tries to draw a bead on Lucky Pierre...

...who executes a low kick to Kyle's ankle from a standing start.  His speed is incredible, the force of the blow moreso, and Kyle only barely manages to get the leg out of the way fast enough to keep it from being broken.  As he belatedly launches his own strike, Kyle notes that in the "exploding into motion" department he may have met his match.

Goodness, being dragged slowly but surely towards the stairs (Leo hauls him a good two meters), pops off at Lucky Pierre, but the difficulty of aiming while being dragged along throws him off just enough that the bullet whizzes by Pierre's ear and imbeds itself in the wall near the doorway where KK is standing, waiting for his orange soda.

Kyle's fist passes cleanly through the spot where Lucky Pierre was supposed to be.  However, he is no longer there - having simply leaned to one side with incredible speed and allowed the blow to breeze past.

Chris runs to the nearest barstool and hefts it, finding it tolerably barstoolish in weight and balance.

Lucky Pierre is faster than Kyle, and hits harder too.  Also, he didn't try a sweep (which would almost certainly have landed Kyle on the floor given how fast this guy moves) but a straight out joint break with the intent of doing serious and permanent harm.  In short - Lucky Pierre is better than Kyle is and seems to intend to maim him for life at the very least.

Goodness, not wanting to kill anyone (at the moment, as far as anyone knows, certain company non-withstanding, this offer may be withdrawn at any time, see dealer for details), holsters his gun as he is dragged further away from the fray.  "Hairvey!" he shouts, spotting the Doctor.  "Got an anesthetic?"

Harvey hefts the weight of the ashtray in his hand and shouts: "If you can hold the patient still..."

Leo pulls Goodness up and out of immediate harm's (read: Lucky Pierre's) way, then stops for a second, leaving the good agent poised mid-air.  "Sorry!" Leo apologizes hurriedly.  "Didn't want you killed.  This guy is too fast for threats at close range.  Down you go, now!"  As he speaks, he drops Goodness again out of the immediate "circle of death", a few paces off to the side.

KK takes a quick look at the bullethole in the wall, and is then just about to throw himself on the floor when he sees the shooter put his gun away. Being this close to getting shot leaves KK more than a little upset, and in his imagination he's screaming "You crazy bastard, you almost killed me!". But since verbal abuse, or any sound at all for that matter, could make the crazy bastard change his mind about not shooting anyone, KK doesn't give his thoughts a voice.  Instead he just stands there, looking agitated.

Lucky Pierre moves in on Kyle with single-minded determination, launching a flurry of blows and kicks with inhuman speed and precision.  To those outside the radius of Pierre's reach its like watching Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and Chow Yun-Fat, all rolled into one, hopped up on speedballs, and appearing in a film co-produced by John Woo and Quentin Tarrantino being played on fast forward.  By comparison Kyle looks like something out of Mortal Combat.

From inside Lucky Pierre's reach Kyle doesn't have much of an opportunity to make movie comparisons, however.  He's too busy trying to stay alive in the face of multiple throat strikes, groin kicks, kidney punches, eye gouges, and joint breaks.

Griffin backs up quickly, dropping himself into a fighting stance he looks at the man who's attacking him slightly wide eyed. He had faced men who were faster than him before. He had also faced men that were stronger than him before. He had never faced a man that had both of these qualities though, especially one that wanted to kill him.

He concentrates on defense, trying to be smarter than the man in front of him. He knows he's going to go for the quick kill. He opens up his defense for a moment, giving the man in front of him the opportunity to land a strike that may be crippling. He tries to make it look like it is just inexperience, and not a deliberate ploy. Since Griffin should hopefully know where the blow will be aimed, he should be able to counter it.

Griffin leaves his left arm out of line, just the slightest bit, in the hope that Lucky Pierre will go for it, and is not disappointed.  But even knowing where the attack will come from proves insufficient fully implement a counter, as Lucky Pierre strikes past Kyle's defenses like a snake, achieving a brief grip on his left arm and wrenching it with brutal force, shattering the elbow.  The pain is incredible, and Kyle feels himself weakening as he jerks back out of range and swings his left side away from Lucky Pierre to protect his useless arm.

Leo flings his makeshift belt bola at Lucky Pierre from the top of the stairs, but Pierre is moving so fast that he barely needs to step aside to avoid the flying missile, which falls harmlessly to the floor.

In the brief instant that Pierre is extended to snap Kyle's wrist, Kyle reaches forward in an attempt to break one of Lucky Pierre's wrists.  But Lucky Pierre is ready for him, and moves the appendage in question out of reach while forcing Kyle to back off or risk further trauma to his injured arm.

Goodness searches in vain for a dart board, but doesn't see one around.

Chris closes in from behind Lucky Pierre's right, interposing the barstool between the two combatants and attempting to lock up one of Pierre's arms.  The attempt fails, but only due to Pierre's uncanny speed and unbelievable reaction time.  The attempt does manage to put some space between the two fighters however, as Pierre falls into a defensive crouch and prepares to meet the newest threat.

Harvey hunts around for a suitable object to wield with intent to cause blunt trauma, eventually coming up with a heavy whiskey bottle.  Gripping it by the neck he begins moving in the direction of the fight.
 

The Final Crunch

Harvey continues to advance toward the fight, clutching his whiskey bottle, crying out "Doctor on the way, doctor on the way, nobody panic" while wearing an expression of abject terror and disbelief.  He is walking towards a guy who has covered his face, torso, and arms in complex symbols drawn in his own blood, and who has just snapped the arm of his opponent (Kyle) like a chicken bone.  A veritable group of people have tried to whack the guy, and so far nobody has touched him.

Definitely a whirlwind of destruction.

The action momentarily slows as Lucky Pierre drops into a defensive stance, gauging the number and skill of his opponents.

Leo frantically backtracks out of the way of the more "up close and personal" combatants, brandishing shuriken and some juggling balls in his hands.

"Doctor coming through, everybody stay calm, no need for alarm," yells Harvey, heading unsteadily towards what he perceives to be near certain destruction and waving a bottle in his best imitation of a menacing manner

"Shoot the fuck!" yells Kyle to Goodness.

"Hey, give it up, he'll kill you!" yells Chris to Kyle.

"Hey, Doc! We need somethin' t' knock the big man oot!" yells Goodness at Finklebaum."Ether, oor sodium pentathol oor a Kenny G album oor somethin'! "

 "You can't inject a man who's fighting back, point your gun at him for God's sake, that should calm him" Finklebaum yells back.

"Shoot the fuck!" yells Kyle again (in a flagrant case of GM editing)

"Catch!" yells the watress at KK, tossing the soft drink underhand in his direction.

Lucky Pierre doesn't say anything, but after a brief pause to assess the situation advances on Kyle again.

As Leo backtracks he hears footsteps in the hall on the second floor and Ingar's rather unmistakable (and still disturbing) voice saying "We are all friends here, aren't we?"

With blinding speed Lucky Pierre goes on the attack once again, targeting Kyle with brutal single-mindedness and ignoring the others.  Kyle attempts to block, but finds it difficult with one arm out of commission.  In another flurry of blows, this time to the body, he feels a couple of ribs give.  Another round of pummeling leaves him barely standing.

As Buttery draws his gun once again, Leo screams "Don't do it!  Don't shoot here!" and throws himself at Goodness.  Buttery is greasy and slick, however, and manages to mostly dodge the hurtling circus performer with only a slight loss of accuracy.  As Leo crashes into a nearby table and Chris dives behind the bar, Goodness snarls, "Mother fucker!  I told you NOT TO TOUCH MY FUCKING SLAVE!"  and shoots Kyle.  The bullet glances off Kyle's temple, gouging a nice furrow but not cracking the brain case.  This, however, proves to be the tiny shove that Kyle needs to push him over the edge and into the blissful realm of unconsciousness, and he collapses on the floor in a heap of accumulated trauma.

"Damn it," growls Goodness to Leo, "I was na' goan t' shoot the bruiser! I was jest..." BOOM! "Ah, Christ."

Somewhere, in some corner of his mind that is aware of all that is happening, Griffin screams: "You stupid Scot bastard, you shot me."  Unfortunately the only sound that his tirade produces in the real world is....."Ungggghhhhh."

Over by the kitchen, KK watches the soda bottle arc towards him in slow motion.  Closer it comes.  Closer and closer.  His hands reach out to catch it...  and it is within his grasp!  KK HAS HIS SODA!  The crowd goes wild!

KK wishes that he could share the excitement of the crowd, but instead he scurries away to take cover behind the bar. Maybe someone with a nice, big shotgun will take an interest in the mad gunman, and KK wouldn't want to end up in the middle of that kind of an argument.

Chris looks at KK and asks "Have you ever been at the Marriot in N'Djamena?"

"No," KK croaks. "Never heard of the place," he adds after clearing his throat.

"Hmmm, my mistake, sorry."

"Hm. You look a lot like that guy in that TV series... what's it called... oh yeah," KK says while looking Chris over.  Just as he remembers the name of the sitcom in question, he also remembers that on the other side of the bar there's that crazy bastard with his gun.  So KK decides that in this particular situation, it would be safest not to say the name of the sitcom aloud.

Harvey hovers at the edge of the combat, looking somewhat confused and dazed.  The level of violence that he is experiencing at the moment is stretching his nerves, and the gunshot in close proximity threatens to shatter his composure altogether.  As Kyle collapses on the floor, Harvey throws himself forward.

"Get away from him you psychopath!".   He screams, dodging quickly in between Pierre and Kyle and waving his bottle in what he hopes will be a menacing manner.

Lucky Pierre pauses for a beat, staring at Harvey.  In a voice which is amazingly reasonable sounding for coming from the mouth of a guy painted in his own blood, he says "Tire-toi de mon chemin, enfoiré." and attempts to walk around Harvey without waiting for an answer.

Harvey rushed to Griffin and begins to administer emergency first aid.  He intends to check for broken bones, head or spinal injuries, obvious bleeding and any signs of internal trauma.

He glances around, checks Pierre is not about to kill him, and shouts "Goodness, get over here, you shot the wrong man, the other one, shoot the other one".  He looks for Chris, the one reliable friend he's found so far in this mess.

"Ye made me miss!" says Goodness to Leo, wrenching his arm free.  He looks at Pierre, seemingly still intent on stomping the slave.  "BIG MAN! ENTENDRE'! KINDERSCHEISSE! Eh..." Suddenly the agent does a double take, looking to Leo again.  "Throwing stars!"  He jams his gun into the back of his pants (flicking the safety on with his thumb; don't want any accidents!) and reaches quickly into his jacket pocket.

The instant that Harvey is out of the way (in the sense that he is no longer blocking Lucky Pierre's path) Lucky Pierre pounces on Kyle, aiming a snap kick to the temple.

Harvey attempts to throw his body in the way.  Floating through his mind as he attempts to interpose himself comes the thought that he never even got the drink he'd ordered just before that fight on stage started.  "If I survive this, I'm getting my four dollars back, dammit".

Leo winces but nevertheless lets go of agent Goodness's weapon arm to plunge instead towards the good doctor and try to drag him out of harm's way.  So many potential disasters, so little time...  Suddenly, the circus life seems like a distant, cozy, well-ordered memory of calm, comfort, and bliss.

Chris grabs a seltzer bottle and tries to shoot Lucky Pierre in the eyes with the fizz.

The instant that Harvey turns away from Lucky Pierre to examine Kyle, Lucky Pierre strikes like a snake.  Harvey turns and tries to intervene, beginning "He's..." but Lucky Pierre is around him and at Kyle before he can say more.  He slides forward and launches a kick which lands just where Kyle's neck joins his shoulders.  There is a crunch and Kyle shudders once, coming to rest with his head at a highly unnatural angle, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

"...  out of ... OOF!" continues Harvey, only to ba tackled by the lanky Leo.  The pair go skidding across the floor to fetch up against the end of the bar.

"... the fight." Harvey finishes lamely.  As he finishes up Chris springs up belatedly from behind the bar and douses Lucky Pierre with seltzer water, washing some of the blood off his arms and face.

At this moment Ingar comes trundling down the stairs like an escaped toy from "Nightmare Before Christmas", dragging Ghishu along behind him.
 

To Be Continued...