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Just as his hand had stuck to the hand impression outside the door, his hands would not come away from the hand impressions on the chairs arms. In fact, not one area of his body that touched the chair could be removed. He was nearly paralyzed. Numbers and random code that meant nothing to him began to flash around on the screen in front of him. The lights had dimmed drastically. Blue neon lights flickered into brightness around the perimeter of the roof and along the corners of each wall. If he had been able to move he’d see that these lights followed the perimeter of the floor area as well. Although the sensation of being trapped was uncomfortable inside his mind, his body felt relaxed and comfortable. That was until the liquid began to creep up over the edge of the chair and come in contact with his skin. It wasn’t cold or hot. At first Aarouglas believed he was just sweating, but with a quick twitch down of his eyes he noticed the entire room was filling up with liquid from somewhere beneath. He was so focused on the gradual rise of the liquid that when the, upside down bowl on the arm came down, silently over his head he yelped and almost swallowed his tongue. He coughed hard a couple of times, blurring his vision. Other lights began to play off the walls. He did not know this, but these new flickers and colors came from the top of the upside down bowl. The neon blue lights gave the illusion of translucent walls, or that’s what it looked like to him anyway and these new colors randomly hit the clear surface like a disco dance party.
The liquid had reached his mid section and he could feel it slowly tickling its way up his sunken belly. He tried to move, as calmly as he could but could only manage some slight rocking back and forth. The liquid seemed undisturbed by his movements. He started to panic. He breathing quickened and his heart felt like it began to palpitate. His eyes began to dart back and forth, searching for some kind of explanation as to what was going on. He found nothing and shut his eyes tight for a moment and tried to think. He could still see the flickering of lights behind his closed eye lids and feel the liquid reach the bottom of his chest and creep over his nipples. When he re opened his eyes he stared into the screen before him, desperately trying make sense of the random numbers, symbols and strange letters flying by at a steadily faster pace. His breathing seemed amplified and compressed by the lack of space left in the small room that was not filled with liquid.
The liquid touched his Adams apple and he raised his chin, staring into the blank ceiling. It seemed to go on and out forever within the blue neon border.
The liquid touched his chin and began to creep up his cheeks. His bladder let loose and his breathing hitched in before falling out. His heart thumped speedily in his head.
The liquid touched the left corner of his mouth. He sucked in one more breath and let loose a blood curdling howl that the liquid swallowed up half way through. And then there was silence.
The room was small and the ceiling was low. It couldn’t be more than ten feet by ten feet and the ceiling couldn’t have been more than six feet high. In the centre of the small, brightly lit room sat a contraption vaguely resembling a chair one could lay down on. Extending from the back of the chair was an arm bearing the weight of an upside down bowl with tiny, multi colored lights that at this particular moment were dark. On the far wall, facing the chair was a screen two thirds the size of the entire wall that blankly reflected the chair. Aarouglas regarded this contraption for some time from his rear end on the outside of the door he had somehow opened with the touch of his hand. The words - son of Solith - continued to bounce around his deprived mind like a bullet ricochet. He felt delirious. The pounding of his heart felt to be expanding and retracting the size of his head with each pulse. He felt terrified and curious at the same time. The pain in his hip, knee and lip subsided to a dull throbbing sensation. The coppery taste of blood filled his dry mouth. The sweat had dried on his forehead and smelled sour in the coolness of this area.
Following a long time he worked through the stiffness in his body and made it back to his feet. Soreness, no Bicilite his age should experience prevented him from straightening to his full height. He placed his right hand on this area and stepped into the room. The door rudely hissed closed behind him. He turned towards it with a strong sense of panic boiling up in his guts. There was no handprint on this side, or a control panel that would open the door. He pushed on the door to no avail. He briefly considered hammering his fist on the door but got himself together after a few deep breaths and turned back to the chair which seemed like his only option. He circled it in an investigative manner, touching nothing; in fact he had his arms laced together with tight fingers behind his back. He walked the entirety of the chair twice before stopping at its front and turning towards the screen. He stared at his reflection for a long time. His pale skin was dark with filth. His clothes had become tatters. One arm of his shirt looked to be hanging by a few weak threads. He looked thin and sick. He touched his face and looked deep into his own eyes. They looked alien to him and afraid of his gaze. Black rings circled them, drawing them together and coupled with his sunken cheeks gave him an extremely malnourished look.
Sickened by this reflection he turned away from the screen and stared at the inviting seat with its contraption extending from the back. Exhaustion overwhelmed him. One of his legs nearly gave out under his weight. He reached out and grasped an arm of the chair to steady him before spinning and falling into the chairs inviting embrace. He went in and out for a period of time. His outs were filled with quick dreams he could not recall when he returned full. When he did return full he noticed that the arms of the chair held hand impression like the one he used to enter the room. Following moments indecision he reached out and placed his sweaty palms in these impressions. Nothing happened for several seconds and then everything happened at once.
He lost all sense of time as he drunkenly bounced off the walls of the steel tunnel. The darkness only seemed to thicken the deeper he went. His need for water had reached a critical limit and began effecting muscles he never knew he had. He could feel a sharp pain ripping through his hip, creating a drastic limp causing worse cramping in his other leg as he compensated. He heard many voices but ignored them and found he couldn’t recall what they said moments after they said it anyway. He knew these voices weren’t really there and even if they were he didn’t care. He wandered this dark hallway for what seemed like hours before vaguely becoming aware of a dim glow far into the distance. The front of his legs reported a slight decline in the floor suggesting he was travelling deeper into the ground. He focused on this glow and registered a gradual increase in its brightness, like watching the dark sky during a sunrise. As he drew closer to this glow the top left corner of the wall displayed a change in direction. The hallway turned right. He reached this change in direction a moment later and halted, dreamily regarding a thick steel door with a control panel next to it. The control panel was where this glow emanated from. Numbers and letters in no discernable pattern flowed across the small screen in a hypnotizing way. Aarouglas stood there in awe of these digital movements for several seconds before taking the twelve steps to where he could reach out and touch it. And when he reached the panel he saw that that was exactly what was required for anything further to happen. Below the screen was the shape of a hand, patiently awaiting one to cover it. Thirst and hunger, once again temporarily set aside and his pain lost in the quickening thump of his beating heart, he slowly reached towards the hand. He hesitated for a moment, regarding his shaking hand with concern and then placed it on the impression. Nothing happened for an uncomfortable duration of time and then a soft blue glow began to pour from beneath the edges of his hand. The impression beneath began to heat up. He tried to remove his hand but found it was stuck somehow. He could feel the heat being applied to specific parts of his hand. He clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and awaited the worst. His face pulled into a grimace of expectation just before a voice, much too loud in this quiet, secret place boomed from everywhere.
“Welcome Aarouglas, son of Solith!” He opened his eyes and frowned at the screen which was now displaying the shape of a DNA strand. Son of Solith? What in the gods did that mean? His concern and confusion was interrupted by the loud hiss of the steel door sliding aside. The brightness intensified enough for him to squint against it. His hand came loose of the impression and he fell back, all the strength leaving his legs. He landed painfully on his tail bone, teeth clicking loudly together and waited as his eyes adjusted to the brightness.
About a third of the way down his right foot slipped and the sudden movement dislodged his hands from the tiny outcropping of rock he’d been holding onto. He slid down the steep wall, cutting his hip, bashing his right knee and bloodying his lower lip before, luckily catching another small outcropping with his left hand. He swung out, almost lost his grip but swung back into the slick wall. Breathing heavily, heart pounding, he widely hugged the wall with his eyes tightly closed. When his hand started to cramp, he reopened his eyes and found a place to set his feet. He relaxed enough for the cramping to subside and looked to see just how far he had slid down the wall. Off to his left stood, Okmar, on thin air, with his tongue stuck out.
‘Close one bud,’ he taunted and took a couple steps towards him. Aarouglas’ face twisted into an angry, sweaty mess.
“GET AWAY DEMON!” he screamed through a hoarse throat. Blood dribbled onto his chin from his lip. Some had found its way onto his three front teeth. He let go with his left hand and swung at the apparition, nearly losing his footing in the process. Okmar’s ghost slowly faded taking his hysterical laugh with him. It echoed in the vastness of the crater. Aarouglas broke into desperate tears. It took all that he had to hold on and not just let go and fall the rest of the way down to his death. Despair had dislodged itself and ran stitches of tight pain through his already sore throat. The moment lasted less time than it felt. He hitched in a couple tough breaths and regarded his situation through tear blurred eyes.
The red light continued to pulse, and it seemed he had slid a lot farther down the wall than he’d suspected. The light and the hole sat in the wall at about a ten o clock angle, ten feet up to his left. He was lucky enough to notice just enough protrusions for him to make his way without the need to perform any outrageous and/or mortal actions. A fresh, determined expression caked his sadness. His teeth clenched and a heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach. The headache had reappeared in the centre of his forehead and his lip began to throb but these sensations became swallowed in this determined heat bloom. He reached over with a shaky hand and grasped the next outcropping of bicilite, simultaneously stepping out onto another protrusion with a sore foot. He could feel wetness in his hip area, dripping down the crease between his leg and midsection. He ignored it and altered his balance, developing a rhythm and before the cramp in his right calf became too much he was waist deep into the hole in the side of the wall. He lay there, going in and out of consciousness for nearly two hours, fading between reality and dreams he would never recall with his legs hanging over the drop.
When his mind came together enough for him to hang onto consciousness he raised his cheek from the ground of the long hallway and stared into its complete darkness. The blood had dried on his lip and his mouth was completely dry; tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The Stungett had fully risen, but this portion of the crater wouldn’t see its fading light for at least another three or four hours. He struggled to his knees and then wobbled to his feet, supporting himself on the cold steel of one of the walls. He stood there, listening to the wind rip down this tunnel of purpose, staring blankly into the darkness, wondering just how far it went. Ignoring the feeling of warning sharpening his nerves he began to walk into the darkness.
When he reached the enormous crater from which Okmar’s fathers giant cosmic garbage truck had ejected, Aarouglas was dizzy and nauseous from lack of food and water. A chill had spread throughout his entire body and his brain wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. He began to hallucinate more and more frequently,), and when he witnessed the giant crater he all but convinced himself that it was just another one of these visual falsities. With his toes protruding from the edge of the giant crater, causing crumbling rock and dirt to tumble down the steep edge he blankly stared across the mouth of the giant bowl and rocked back and forth precariously over the drop. He closed his eyes, shut off the voices and lifted one of his feet out over the drop. He offered an apology to his dead parents and to Beleesus, but just as he began to step forward into the bowl he hesitated long enough for his eyes to open on something down the far wall of the crater. A single red circle of light pulsed rhythmically next to a gaping hole that had some structure to it even though the crumbling rock of the wall had come apart around the frame of the hole and partially obscured it. Aarouglas stared at the red pulse of light until it seemed to grow in his vision, the cold wind blowing over his aerodynamic head and causing him to squint through teary eyes. His leg remained stretched out over the drop and the wind continued to rock him back and forth for nearly an entire minute until he convinced himself that it would hurt nothing to attempt the climb down to the red light. The worst that could possibly happen would be a mortal fall that he seemed quite prepared to initiate independently anyway. He gently replaced his foot to the bicilite and stepped back from the edge, running his dry, sandpapery tounge over his blistered, cracked lips. The grit and crunch beneath his wearing footwear seemed loud. He regarded the pulsing light for a few more moments before beginning the four hour trek around the edge of the crater. This entire four hour period grew thick with voices that rudely pushed their way into his mind, relentlessly insisting he spend his entire attention on their statements and suggestions. For the most part he did lend the majority of his attention to these voices for it sped the time along and drew his attention away from the chills and the grumblings in his panging stomach. Sometimes he would get so caught up in his pursuit of these apparitions or so riled up by their words and antagonizing that he would come very close to the edge of the crater. Once, a chunk the size of a football came loose under his weight, but he was able to lean away in time. He stumbled several times but never fell once which was a miracle considering his lack of nutrition, water and ability to focus. When he reached the area above the flashing red beacon, the Stungett had just begun to creep up over the horizon, drawing a deep purple line behind the hills and canyons beyond. He lay down, push his head over the edge and conjured a loose plan in his discombobulated mind of the climb down. The climb down would be a daunting task considering the lack of protrusions and the abundance of smooth rock and dirt never mind his current physical condition. A fall looked inevitable. He shook off a wave of dizziness and a want for sleep and rose from the ground. He took a deep breath and flipped both cramping legs over the edge and began his climb down.
Out of the darkness came the sound of wind. It pounded across the dusty, rocky terrain carrying with it the whispers of ghosts and the smell of death. Riding upon this carriage of invisible carnage, swallowing up the hope of any future and the possibility of anything positive were the crooked eyes of certainty. They stare down at the dying planet, losing its rotation, its star and it’s capability to support physical creatures in need of breath and sustainability with an indifferent, remorseless furrow in its brow. It wasn’t that these eyes were exactly uncaring; they were just full of wisdom beyond life’s understanding. This was nothing new to eyes such as these. They had seen such things many times before and were sure to see them again. These eyes belonged to no one and everyone and everything that had once been and that would be again. In this particular moment these eyes regarded the lone inhabitant of this dying planet with a rare expression of pity, for all that this inhabitant had loved, all that it was and would someday become had been ripped apart and scattered to the winds for reasons beyond its control. It wandered through the darkness, bewildered, shocked, angry, sad, hungry and thirsty. It talked to itself repeatedly in the belief that there were recipients of his communication. Responses were heard and given. The eyes above watched curiously, in anticipation of the inhabitants motivations. The inhabitant was a young boy named Aarouglas who, only four long days ago had not only lost his family but his entire race. He had not slept since; only fell into states of dilated thought that any other would consider a living nightmare. These thoughts revolved around the orbital protrusion of the Bicilite whom, (even though he had not reached this conclusion yet), he would dedicate the remainder of his painful existence to rudely tearing out of the fabric of existence. There would be no remorse given to Okmar. Okmar would receive the full force of a creature driven completely by a revenge that, in the eyes above, was well warranted. Okmar would realize, just before his life drained from his good eye, his biggest mistake in his own revenge journey had been leaving the boy alive. Jimini would understand and Draxle would encourage but neither was the motivation behind Aarouglas’ rage. He was young enough and naïve enough for the disbelief of such actions as Okmars. How could anything be so selfish, murderous and brutal? Nothing like that deserved the gift of life. He would come to terms with his situation over the next two days and nights, (both of which were very close to becoming one long night), and begin to take the steps that would eventually lead him to the result he wanted. On this night he would continue his lost stroll through the nearly unbearable weight of loss. He would battle with the sweet caress and promise of a forever sleep. He would speak with ghosts and let them convince his stomach it was full for it required convincing. Tonight, at an age of innocence, he would unknowingly age decades inside his mind and become what the eyes above had intended all along. He would make the eyes above proud and in the end he would join them and live forever.
Kevin stood on the stool before the control screen with his front paws splayed out before him and a look of deep concern on his face. His tail swished back and forth in a twitchy, agitated fashion. From the warm interior of the office room, (growing warmer by the second), he watched Murphy fall into one of the Bicarbonite pools. He watched Onun reach the pool and experience something. He watched Okmar and ten of his drones speed away from the city in the direction of the pool Murphy fell into. He watched the battle in the forest path begin. He watched Bohspox and Andelad Mott leave the control tower and begin their trek back to the office he now resided in. He continually attempted to send thoughts out to each and every one of them but for some reason beyond his capability to understand none of these thoughts seemed to reach their intended targets. He could tell by the lack of response and action in regards to them. His tongue fell from his mouth and began to drip; the drops forming a small pool between his splayed paws. He saw all of these things, yet did not see the shadow creep up behind him until it was too late. It would most definitely would have been too late had the shadow behind him harbored any ill will towards him. He spun in his stool and raised his paws which had extended the full inch of sharpness from each tiny toe.
“Who are you!?” Kevin demanded, back legs prepared to spring at any sign of action. “Calm yourself Kevin, Commander of the Kwallee. I am a friend and an ally,” the shadow responded and took a step forward from the shadows. Even though the shadow which no longer was a shadow continued to display no intention other than talk and his arms hung loosely at his sides said nothing of violence, Kevin almost sprung at his face nonetheless, fore the shadow which was not a shadow was an Okmar drone, yet wore no suit.
“My name is Aarouglas and I share your enemy and wish nothing but the same end you do.” At that exact moment the door hissed open behind them and Bohspox and Andelad Mott charged in. Bohspox skidded to a halt at the sight of the intruder and Andelad Mott ran head first into him sending him sliding on his belly along the smooth floor. Andelad Mott then tripped over Bohspox and did his own belly slide. Bohspox struggled to his feet and tugged at his weapon of choice hidden within his shirt. Kevin responded long before anything rash could occur by raising one of his paws in their direction.
“Go on,” Kevin said and stared into Aarouglas’ face, searching for something that would confirm anything.
“Okmar murdered my family, murdered my entire race and left me to die on a dying planet. I have suffered through much to get here and my only hope is that I have not arrived too late to see the head of that monstrous Bicilite on a pike.” Silence greeted this from all three of them. The door hissed closed but none of them noticed. Following several heavy moments Kevin visibly relaxed. He was quite sure there was nothing menacing about this new player. He took his words and sentiments as they were introduced. This was an ally and an eager one at that.
“We have no time for explanations right now. Another wave of suits is about to invade the clearing. We still have a chance to save Bor and the Kwallee if we leave this instant.”
They left that instant.
Several more electric bolts lit up the darkness as though the Stungett had risen, marking a new day. Foo watched helplessly as his friends and family were sizzled and torn apart one by one. He raised his tiny katana over his head and swung just as the dog lunged at him with its gaping jaw and shining, deathly white teeth. The dog’s head sailed through the air, got hit by one of the passing electric bolts and exploded into a bloody rain. The dog’s body toppled headless over heels and struck a tree. Foo could see the shapes of more Men in Suits floating into existence from the darkness behind the charging dogs. Everything slowed down to a crawl. He caught sight of some of his feline friends dashing into the trees in confused fear. He turned back and ducked, barely escaping one of the electric bolts. A line of burnt fur ran along the top centre of his head. The smell was bitter and acrid. One of the dogs caught hold of his tail and swung him high in the air. Another dog left the ground, meaning to end him before he hit the ground but Foo was able to twist in the air and cut the top half of the dogs head clear off. When he landed, (on his feet of course), a quick glance around him told his already worried mind that the battle was lost. They were now outnumbered and beyond escape. He momentarily envied those who ran into the trees. Foo regarded the approaching enemy with storm clouds in his eyes. If he was to die, then he would die fighting. He took several steps towards the Men in Suits and then was blown from his feet. Not by one of the electric bolts, or by any doings of the dogs. The very ground at the feet of the twenty or so Suits vomited upwards from beneath them as though they had stepped on a mine. Body parts flew through the air and dappled the ground. His hearing was temporarily lost. He landed roughly, about thirty feet from where he had been, (this time not on his feet), and slid along the leafy ground on his back until he came to rest below the slumped figure of Bor who still had not moved.
Suddenly it was as though the Stungett HAD risen. The entire clearing was lit up from some source above. A high pitched ringing began to come back into Foo’s ears, followed by a low hum. The crown of the tree’s danced and rippled as though from a huge wind. Branches snapped and limbs fell followed by a sprinkling of leaves. In this light the horror of the clearing was provided a ghastly reality. A voice boomed from somewhere. Foo could barely hear it. A Suit exploded from the foliage to his left and leveled its stick at him. He closed his eyes. There was a bang but he felt nothing. Foo slowly opened his eyes and regarded two familiar faces and one strange one standing just off to the right of the now murdered Suit. A hole had been blown through its chest.
“Hurry!” Bohspox yelled and waved at Foo. Andelad Mott and the stranger ran for Bor and delicately lifted him from the ground. His head lolled in a lifeless way that brought tears to Foo’s eyes. A few more electric bolts flew from the darkness before Foo, Bohspox, Andelad Mott and the stranger reached the sanctity of the Projection Ball. It quickly closed around them and began to rise from the ground towards the shuttle above. Foo watched two Men in Suits and three dogs appear to their left. They seemed to look right at them but did not see them. A look of confusion peppered their faces. The dogs began to run in circles.
Foo looked at the stranger and said, “Are you a doctor? Is there anything you can do for my friend here? He deserves your efforts if you have any to give.”
“I am no doctor,” Aarouglas replied staring deep into Foo’s concerned, glowing eyes, “but with any luck, where we’re going next, we won’t need one.
All the remaining Suits stood there, still as the trees, wearing blank expressions. A couple of them had begun to drool helplessly. Bor, still holding his blade high, took one more tentative step towards the Suit he had intended to decapitate and lowered the blade slowly until the point was a couple inches from the Suits heart. With a confused gaze that bore into the pinhole eyes of the Suit, Bor slowly pushed the tip of the blade into and through breast bone. It entered and exited as though the blade were running through soft butter. Blood began to bloom from the wound, darkening the white undershirt. Nothing changed on the Suits face. It did not seem to register what Bor had just done to it. He pulled the blade free and watched, stunned as the Suit simply fell over and died with that same look never leaving its face.
Out of the twenty that entered the clearing only seven remained and they all stood still and wore the same lost, blank expressions as though they were buffering or something. Bor calmly walked up to each one and slid the blade through their hearts as he had done the first. The last one seemed to come aware at the instant the blade entered his breast bone. He swung his arm out and clouted Bor in the face with his electric fire stick. Bor didn’t expect it so did nothing to ward off the blow. He was knocked backwards and sideways. The Suit looked down at the hilt of Bor’s heat blade protruding from its breast bone, cocked its head curiously and fell over dead. Bor stare at the fallen Suits and surveyed the trees in the background, decorated with lynched Suited brethren. Several of the cats crowded around him and began to rub against him in an agitated manner with different parts of their bodies. Bor regarded them seriously and then turned to regard the clearing. It was a horror to see. Dogs were in pieces everywhere. Blood clots hung from branches, blood dripped from leaves. The sudden silence was deafening.
“What was that all about?” Stinky asked Bor who continued to hold his sore jaw where the Suits fire stick had hit him. Bor shook his head unknowing and then stiffened. He could hear something coming out of the darkness from where the other dogs and suits had come from. He leapt from his vulnerable position on the ground and yelled, “Form a line!” and reached back into his pocket for his favorite weapon. Before he could retrieve it, set and throw a bright blue bolt of electricity flew out of the darkness and threw him backwards. A haze of blood mist drifted into Stinky’s fur. An mixture of hurt and anger decorated his face. His whiskers twitched and his left eye opened and closed. A snarl found it’s way into his upper lip and he bolted forward towards the darkness. Foo yelled for him to stop but he paid the warning no mind. Four other cats followed his lead. Foo jumped in front of the others and repeated Bor’s instruction to form a line. He could see Bor slumped up against a tree in the background. He did not seem to be moving. The electric bolt had hit the tree he laid against, leaving a smoking hole in its ancient bark. Several loud snarls rolled out of the darkness as the shape of dogs began to form. Red eyes glowed. Stinky, although not expecting the charge of more dogs, dodged the first two, managing to rip open the throat of the second with one clawed swing of his left paw, but the third dog bit down hard on one of his hind legs and thrashed him about like a doll. He was tossed aside like trash. The dog looked back, Stinky’s blood dripping from its frothy lips and found Foo’s eyes. It barked once and charged. At least twelve more dogs appeared from the darkness behind it. Foo’s heart leapt into his throat.
The Men in Suits halted as Bor landed on the hard packed path before them. The darkness shadowed the majority of his facial features but enough starlight caught his eyes to reflect a look of murderous confidence back at the group of Suits. He stood still for several moments as yowls and whines carried on behind him in the clearing. Stinky had just disemboweled one of the last remaining dogs and it howled into the darkness in a desperate attempt to ward off death.
Bor had one hand behind his back, the other held out in front of him and his legs slightly bent in preparation for something none of the suits expected. Their mouths all hung open and a look of obliviousness covered their faces. Without further hesitation, Bor stepped forward and swung out the arm that was hidden behind his back and let loose the object he had been tossing thoughtfully for most of that day and night. It hurled through the air, made invisible by the darkness and streaked towards the group of stupid looking Suits. Strands of glowing twine ejected from several small compartments in the small device and wrapped themselves around random parts of several Suits. The one front and centre got one under the arm. The one to his left got one around the neck. The one next to him around the waist. The three on the other side of the Suit in the middle disappeared so quickly that the Suit in the middle had no idea what happened to them before they met a similar fate as the ones on the other side of the Suit in the middle. The Suit in the middle turned to regard his suddenly vacated left side and noticed a stream of blood shooting from his shoulder. Where his left arm used to be there was nothing. He glanced down curiously and regarded his severed arm lying on the ground. The Suit to his right and back two steps was whipped backwards so hard and fast by the twine around his neck that his head was all but peeled off. He flew through the air, knocking a few of the men behind him over in his travels and in seconds hung from the branch of a tree with his head hanging by threads of flesh. His legs kicked about frantically. Next to him and slightly to the left, the Men in Suits that had vanished to the one in the middles left hung from branches in similar fashions. Two of them had grown still, while a third continued to kick. One of his hands had found a small gap between the twine and his neck. The third Suit to the right and a step back of the one in the middle stood still for a moment before his torso slipped from his erect legs and fell to the ground with a sickening squelch; a shocked O of surprise on his face. His legs stood for a few seconds longer before falling over backwards. Only seven seconds had passed since Bor had unleashed his favorite weapon and already nine of the suits were downed. The remaining Suits, seemingly reaching an understanding of recent events, quickly moved forward while retrieving long stick like objects from the holsters they wore on their backs. Bor caught his object, which zipped back to his waiting hand in boomerang fashion and dodged the first bolt of electric fire that ejaculated from the end of one of the Suits sticks. Bor could feel the top portion of his head sear with the heat. He rolled twice to his left and then, while crouched, side stepped his way behind a tree. He quickly looked down at his object and pressed the small protrusion on the side. It would take twelve seconds to reload. He dropped it in his centre shirt pocket and unsheathed his second favorite weapon; a long, heated blade of thin, hot steel. He ducked back out from behind the tree and charged the remaining Suits; nearly completely unaware of the group of cats on his heels. Bor raised the blade above his head and just as he was about to swing it through the neck of the first Suit of the remaining Suits he halted suddenly. Most of the cats had followed suit but a few rocketed from the ground and toppled their targets with ease.