Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business Numf & Sonnie Go To Hell On A Pushbike

Numf-El sits alone in the waiting room.

The wooden walls and window surrounds could do with a lick of paint. What was once white paint is now old, discoloured and flaky. The wood underneath is mildewed and slightly smelly. Smelling like tea tree oil. The posters on the walls are faded, peeling and cobwebbed, and appear to be offering holidays in swamps.

The air is heavy, the smell warm and rank. Not quite like a rotting corpse - more like pork chops that have been left to defrost for an hour or two too long.

The small buzzing insects don't annoy him as much as they should do.

It looks as if he's just missed the boat. The large steamboat paddles away, out across the lake. He can hear the slap slap slap slap of the paddles hitting the water. The slap slap slapping reminds him of something. Something else else sweaty, but he can't be bothered to chase it down at the moment.

He can't see the far side of the lake for the steam rising in the humid atmosphere, covering the far side like a curtain of mist. While he watches, the paddle steamer moves through the curtain.
The slap slap slapping disappears instantly, leaving the monotonous droning of the insects the only noise to accompany his loneliness.

He has got no idea where he is. Nor why. Nor how he came to be here. He doesn't even know how long he has been here, but judging by the fact that he has just watched the boat paddle across the lake he can't have been here too long.

Nor, indeed, does he know why he has got a large hole through his guts, out of which pisses, and occasionally spurts, a constant supply of blood.
It doesn't hurt, and it doesn't appear to be planning to stop any time soon.

That was perhaps the strangest thing out of this whole, very strange, picture.

----Interruption ------

This is the point where, if Harbinger were writing this story that she would offer the chance for a quick recap of what has gone before.

I'm not gonna do that.

This is a sequel to Dragons, which follows on from some Tag team plots before that.

It probably will made sod all difference if you haven't read them before - except that you've missed a whole pile of fun.
If you can't live with missing all that fun then go and search them out.
If you can, then fair enough.

Either which way - I hope you enjoy the ride to come.

K'N

--------- Back To The Story--------------

MORE, MORE, MORE!!!

Bored now.

That boat still hasn't returned.

I could do with a can of coke and a chocolate biscuit.
I'll go and see if there's a cafe somewhere around here.
Or at least a timetable.

Numf takes off his top and presses it to his stomach to try and staunch the flow of blood, but it quickly soaks through and the blood just drips incessantly from the makeshift bandage.

He investigates his wound - it appears to be an exit wound in his front. The bigger entrance wound is in his back, just missing his spinal column. Numf can make all of this out from the front.
Numf reckons, from his very limited medical background, that there must be a great deal of nerve damage, but everything seems to be working just fine and he still can't feel any pain.

Strange days indeed.
Most peculiar, mama.

Hell, don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
There are other places as well that you shouldn't go looking into in a horse, unless you're a qualified vet.

Come to think of it, is there anywhere that the unqualified layman CAN look into? Or in fact that your bog-standard horse will let you?

Maybe leave that for pondering at another time, Numf reckons.

Lets go see what there is to find.


------------------------


Numf fails to notice the battle of the flies as he leaves the waiting room.

One larger than normal fly appears to be taking on all-comers. And winning.
Not having any weapons as such, there's a lot of serious head-butting going on.
Shortly there's a small pile of dead and dizzy flies lying in the middle of the room, attracting a number of ground dwelling creatures to the feast of their lives.
Centipedes, beetles, woodlice and great big many legged millipedes join the fray.
The spiders leave it alone, knowing that the fattened insects will be much easier prey.

Eventually there's only one victor, buzzing about in the middle of the room by itself. Chuffed with itself.

Very quickly the pile of flies is consumed, as well as half of the smaller scavengers. The bigger scavengers that are left all seem to stand in a what appears to be the equivalent of a Mexican Stand-off , but without the sombreros and guns and ludicrous accents. The biggest, fattest millipede rises up on its rear 150 legs, towering over the others, who turn round and scamper back to their lairs, most of which are covered over with brand new spider silk.

The last millipede standing lowers itself to the floor, in a miniature version of a bull elephant seal flopping onto land.
Smiles to himself. He still has what it takes.
Lets out a deeply satisfying sigh. Belches and lets out a high squeaky fart. Sighs again.

And then dies when Numf comes back into the room, rather distractedly, and accidently stands on him.

Numf sits down, and puts his head in his hands.

Blood is still pissing out of him, making an awful bloody, slippy mess.

He stands up, and then sits down again. He's obviously very agitated about something.

"Nothing! Nowhere!" he says to himself. He's up and down, up and down. Faster than a whores knickers. And even stickier.

Very agitated.

As if by magic the shop keeper appears.

Except it's not a shop keeper.

Numf looks up from his confusion, and just about shits himself.

"Where the ....? What the ....??" he starts. His brain and mouth aren't talking to each other.

"Who the ...... ?" finishes off the non-shopkeeper in a deep southern accent. He is standing there in stripey red and white dungarees, peaked hat and blue neckerchief, looking like the bastard love child of Beetlejuice and Casey Jones.

"Well, I'm here to give you two a lift, and answer the usual glut of questions that your lot always have," he continues.

"Huh?" asks Numf.

"Oh, and before we go anywhere, I'm not having blood all over my new boat."
And so saying our stranger produces a small needle and thread set from the large pocket at the front of his stripey dungarees, which he throws expertly across to Numf. Numf flaps at it, misses, and it falls in a puddle of his blood.

"Tsk!" remarks Casey Juice. Or Beetle Jones, if you'd prefer. "And I'd recommend that you start at the back and work your way forward, so that you get all the main veins and arteries, or else you'll leak everywhere. I'll be back in five minutes, I'm just away for a smoke."

As promised, after five minutes the boat driver / pilot returned, having satisfied his desire for nicotine. He has also managed to have a complete change of clothing.
He is now dressed from head to toe in a red padded skin-tight outfit, and is carrying a motorbike helmet under one arm.
Both the outfit and the helmet are adorned with what appear to be adverts.

SMOKE OUR CIGARETTES!

DRINK OUR CARBONATED DRINKS!

DRIVE OUR CARS!

PLAY OUR VIDEO GAMES!

Numf does a double take. The driver now looks like the hybrid offspring of Beetlejuice and Michael Schumacher. Wearing generic adverts.

"Oh, for goodness sake, give me it here!" exclaims the driver in a put on Germanic accent, and snatches the needle and thread from Numfs hand.

Three seconds later the needle is handed back, threaded.

"I'll give you another five minutes - I'll have another smoke," he exclaims, thankfully losing the accent this time, taking out his generic lighter and generic cigarettes as he leaves the waiting room.

The best part of the opener is the refusal to tell what's gone before! I love it

Off to a great start Numf! And a Casey Jones/Beetle Juice hybrid...

from me too. The poor millipede - at least he got to enjoy his moment of glory.

Thanks gents.

-------------------

Although pretty much garbage at threading needles, Numfy isn't too bad at sewing, so when our driver re-appears the alloted five minutes later Numf is finishing off sewing the wound in his front. Tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration.

He finishes off and ties a triple knot. Looks up at the driver and says "Smoking's not good for you, you know."

"You haven't worked it out yet, have you?" comes the reply. "Try asking your brother. I'm sure he's got a fair idea what's going on here."

So saying the driver moves back and leans against the wall, arms crossed and legs crossed, looking at Numf. Waiting for the penny to drop.

Numf looks thoroughly confused.
Well, even more thoroughly confused than usual, if that's possible.

"What do you mean ' ask my brother'? There's no-one here but me and you," he states, looking quizzically at the driver. "Fuck off fly!" he adds, swatting at the buzzing around his head.

Driver opens his eyes meaningfully at Numf to get his attention, and moves his head slightly to indicate the fly, who's buzzing just out of Numfs reach.

"You're taking the wee-wee, you are," says Numf, slowly picking up on the drivers meaning, looking confused through half closed eyes.

"Have I lied to you yet?" the driver asks.

"Maybe not - but you've told me sod all. Listen, I'm gonna prove you wrong - I'm gonna kill that wee buzzin', tinnitus beastie," Numf says, getting off his backside and swatting at the fly.

Driver looks on, shaking his head and tutting slightly, as the fly easily out-manuevres Numf. When Numf stops, dizzy, the fly flies over to the grimy window and starts to dance all over it.

The pulsing in Numfs ears from running around sounds like tympani. His coarse breathing sounds like an angry buffalo.
After a few minutes of sitting quietly, giving his blood pressure a chance to calm down and catch his breath, he hears a buzzing at his ear.

Numf is angry and pissed off. Partly due to the confusion that he's feeling, and partly because of the exertion of a few minutes previous.

Sitting recovering, Numf uses one of his many powers to tune in to the flight pattern of the fly. This takes a lot of concentration, which is perhaps why he doesn't use it very often. His super brain powers extrapolate the flight using chaos theory and gravitational forces amongst other factors. He sits for a few minutes confirming his findings.

On the third cycle Numf strikes.

SWAT!

Bzz. Bzz.


Bzz.


The wings stall. Like a shot chopper in a Vietnam movie.


As if in slow motion the fly plummets round and round towards the ground. Bounces twice and comes to a dead stop.

In triumphant glee Numf lifts his foot to crush the life out of it ......

"Ahem!" coughs Driver (for that is what we will call him for now), still standing looking amused leaning against the wall.

The sudden attack on his concentration causes Numf to lose his balance, missing the fly by the length of a gnats pubic hair.

"What?" asks Numf, in the way that you'd expect a 13 year-old boy to ask.
Sort of in two halves.
The first half, the 'Whoh', is said in a high, squeaky, shrill pre-pubescent voice.
The second half, the 'ot', is said in a 'they've just dropped half way through saying this word' voice.
And the whole thing is filled with utter incredulation that anyone would dare to talk to them, because no-one is more important than them, and there is nothing in the world worth interupting them for. No matter what they're doing.

"Just clearing my tar filled throat," comes the reply, followed by a tarry, phlegmy gob. Lovely. "However, before you resume, I'd suggest you look over there," Driver says, nodding towards the window.

Numf turns his head slowly.

There, written in the grime are the simple words "Numfy, we're dead you gype*!"

Gulp.

After a few seconds, Numf lifts his jaw back into place.

He then bends down and picks up the barely conscious fly from the ground.

Numf turns to Driver and says, "What is this? Has Sonnie been brought back to life as a bug?"

"No," says Driver, shaking his head slowly. "Have a good look at him."

Numf peers down into his open palm at his brother.

"He looks like a piece of coal with wings!"

"That's about right," says Driver nodding in agreement. "That lump of carbon is the state that he was in when his soul left him. Can you imagine how difficult it was for him to pull the wings off a fly for his own use, since he doesn't have any arms or legs? Let alone opposable thumbs."

Numfs brain had stuck at the bit about his brothers soul leaving him.

Doing some hard sums in his head, Numf comes up with, "So, I'm guessing that this is the state that my body was in when I died then."

"Well, yes and no. If your soul leaves you at the moment you die then yes. However your soul can leave your body long before your body dies. But, no matter when your soul leaves, you only arrive here when your body dies - but in the state that it was in when the soul left. Gottit?"

After working things out with his fingers for a short time, Numf nods in agreement.
"So, guessing from the state that I'm in, my soul left me when I died."

"That seems a fair assumption," agrees Driver. "Anyway, it's time to get a move on. I'm on overtime already today, and I want home for my dinner. Any questons you want to ask? We'll do it on the way."


* gype - Scottish word for fool, idiot

Numf and Driver walk out through the waiting room door.
Numf has Sonnies black carbon body nestled protectively in his hands.
He is still confused, and there are questions upon questions tumbling through his head.
Prime amongst these questions are two of utmost importance.

"When's lunch?" he asks. "And is there beer?"

Driver ignores him.

Around the building is a timber walkway. It is in the same state of repair as the waiting room, and creaks as you walk along it. Numf has already walked all of the way around in his earlier reconn, and found that the only interesting thing is a short pier, doubtless where the steamboat was moored previously.

Numf is not particularly surprised to see a large red motorboat moored up to it at present. Shiny.

"Cool!" he says. "I take it this is yours."

"One of many vehicles at my disposal. I was piloting an old Southern American paddle steamboat not very long ago," says Driver.

"So, why a steamboat ten minutes ago and a Ferrari powered motor boat now?" asks Numf, making the connection between the steamboat, the pilot, Driver and the powerboat finally.

"Well, I needed a bigger vessel before because we had all these guys dressed in black. All shapes and sizes. Thousands of them. I had to make a few trips. But this time I knew that there was only you and Sonnie. And, like I said, I'm on my own time now, and I'd like home for my dinner," Driver answers. He is strolling along, whistling. Keys whirling around his finger, as if he is a '60s TV cowboy with his six-shooter.

Alarm bells are going off in the back of Numfs head. '...dressed in black...thousands...' Scary flashes.
Luckily for him, Driver isn't watching the horror crossing his face as vague memories leak back in.

"So, where did you take them all?" asks Numf after taking a few seconds to calm down a bit, and to return his demeanour to an apparently unflustered state.

"Same place I'm taking you - to see Minos," says Driver.

"And he is?" asks Numf.

"He's the person who decides where you end up. I guess that you can think of him more as Death," says Driver without looking round.
If this was a horror film there would be cracks of lightning and off screen manic laughter at this point......
Ah, please yourself.

As they walk under a wooden frame at the near end of the pier Numf asks, "What did that say?"

"What, the banner we've just walked under? It said 'Lasciate ognes speranza, voi ch'intrate', or 'Abandon hope all who enter', if you'd prefer."

Numfs brain works overtime....

"I haven't touched the stuff since Amsterdam. Honest! That was some lethal shit, that was. So I've got none to hand over," he remarks. Seeing Drivers confused look he expands, "Bob Hope - dope? Cockney rhyming slang? No?"

Driver sniggers. And sniggers some more.

This would be the time that Numf nicks his keys, shoves him in the water and steals his big shiny red boat - but he has absolutely no idea what to do after that. So he decides to let fate take them along for a while. He needs to find out a bit more before he tries making a break for it.

As they hurl across the calm water of the river, bouncing on the occasional very small wave, Numf tries to stop the dry retching that he's doing over the side. Hanging on for dear .... um.... life?......with one hand he holds delicately on to his carbonised brother with the other hand. Thoughts flit past various synapses, seldom stopping to do any damage.

How did he end up with a great hole through him?
How had Sonnie ended up like a small piece of coal?
Thankfully there is no sign of Harbi, Marvin or Stacey, so hopefully they're safe.
Would it be possible to get in touch with them, let them know that they were alright. Well, in one piece. Well, dead really, he supposes, when you get down to it.
They probably knew this anyway.

Numf wishes that he had managed to find something for lunch - at least then he'd have something in his stomach to th .........

bounce

Retch..retch....

Seldom had there been dogs quite as sick as Numf is now. And feeling very sorry for himself to boot.

It's not helped by the YEEEEEHAAA!!-ing and general good humour that's coming from the drivers seat. Like a kid on a rollercoaster.

Within seconds they find themselves within the fogbank that Numf had noticed earlier. In no way does this change Drivers driving style. Nor slow him down at all.

Well, at least the abject fear of hurtling speedily into the unknown takes Numfs mind off of the dry retching that he's been doing.

AAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHH adds itself to the Yeehaaing, which itself quickly changes to laughter at Numfs pant-wetting fear.

Fighting to keep down the lining of his stomach, Numf decides it might be worth his time trying to find out somthing about what was happening, or about to happen. Try to take his mind off his severe discomfort.

"IS THIS THE STYX?" shouts Numf over the engine noise.

Driver ignores him.

Numf taps him on the shoulder and shouts his question again.

Driver glances round at Numf, but obviously can't make out what he's trying to say, partly due to the engine noise, and partly due to the great big full-head helmet that he's wearing.

Eventually Driver slows down. The engine noise decreases.

"You've gone all white - you look like you've seen a ....oh forget about it," Driver says with a snigger to himself. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Where are we?" asks Numf.

"Cocytus," says Driver.

"Don't be silly - they're big white Australian parrots, named especially to give gay ornithologists a laugh," says Numf.

"HUH?"

"Cockatoos - oh, you know - 'I bet you've seen a Cockatoo' ....." says Numf with a pretend wicked grin on his face.

Somehow resisting the strong urge to slap Numf around the head - funny how many people seem to get that urge - he explained to Numf how Cocytus is the sister river to the Styx, which along with the Pyriphlegethon flows into the Acheron, the underworlds main river.

"Oh, so the Afterlife is all based on Greek Mythology?" Numf asks, showing that he's not such a dumb shit after all.

"If that's what you believe in," explains Driver.

"Are you saying that you get the Afterlife that you believe in? Well, I always thought that Valhalla sounded dead cool - no pun intended. Can I have that one?" asks Numf.

"No - it's about beliefs and faith, not wants," Driver tells him. Seeing Numf about to complain he adds, "I know you think that you're an atheist, but that just isn't so. Deep down inside you do have beliefs - you maybe just haven't realised that yet. Therefore your beliefs will shape the afterlife that you are part of. If you had been a 12th century Viking you could have gone and lived in Valhalla, with endless quaffing and busty wenches, because that's what you would have believed in. They might let you in for a few pints, but generally no more than that."

"So I can interact with other peoples belief systems?"

"That's half the fun down here."

Driver cuts the engine.
The powerboat slows down, still ploughing through the thick fog.

"What's happening?" asks Numf, glancing around nervously at the prospect of some nefarious trickery.

"Don't worry, we're just coming up to the landing," replies Driver, smirking slightly to himself at Numfs obvious discomfort.

As promised, out of the fog appears a jetty which the boat sidles nicely up alongside, stopping perfectly.
Driver gets out and moors the boat. He then offers his hand to Numf, who grabs ahold and gratefully hauls himself out.

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask, what's your name?" asks Numf.

"Charon," says Driver.

"Sharon? That's a girls name," sniggers Numf.

"Tsk! Now you see why I didn't offer it!" says Driver looking slightly dejected.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've come to think of you as Driver. Is it okay if I call you that?" Numf asks, realising that he doesn't really want to offend the only person that he can talk to in the Afterlife.

"That'll suit me. It's better than Sharon, anyway!" says Driver, brightening up a bit.

"Wait a minute," says Numf, more pennies dropping into place. Boat. River. A man called Sharon.
"You're the ferryman. Aren't you?"
Chris DeBurghs song swims round in his head. But he had reached the other side now, so he could pay him. Numf reaches into his pockets. Not a bean. Not even a snotty hankie.

He pulls his pockets inside out to show that he hasn't anything in them.
A grin spreads across his face.

"Have you ever seen an elephant?" he asks, pulling down the zip on his trousers and delving inside.

Thwap!

"I've never seen a baby elephant, no," says Driver trying to keep a straight face. And failing.

Both Driver and Numf break at the same time, and both start laughing.

"Listen, I know it's customary for you to pay me for transporting you to this side of the river, but in this case I'm not going to accept any money from you. But you're owe me a favour, okay?" Driver says eventually, when the guffawing calms down a bit.
"In fact you'll need this for chips," he adds, tossing a big, bright dual-coloured £2 coin across to Numf. This time, almost miraculously, Numf manages to catch it before it plunges into the Stygian depths of the river.

"What's the favour?" asks Numf, zipping himself up again.

"Can't tell you - that'd give the game away. But it's not anything that'll cause you any problems. Now, on you go - over that way," Driver says, pointing the way down the long jetty.

"I don't believe in fate and pre-destiny and all that shite you know," Numf says, as he starts to walk along the jetty.

"Ah, but I do. I'll see you again - and I don't say that to many people," Driver replies, just before he starts up the power boat again and quickly disappears into the fog, leaving silence behind.

Not to go all Harbi on ya or anything Numf, But...



MORE, MORE, MORE!

Thans Chuck - and here's some of that more, more, more just for ya!

--------------------------

The dark waters slop gently against the sides of the jetty as Numf walks along it towards land. He is rather sad at having had to part with his new found friend.

He blows gently into his hand in an attempt to revive his carbonized brother, and is rewarded after a number of seconds by a gentle stirring of 'life'. Slowly a sense of contentment washes out from Sonnie through Numfs hand, who smiles to himself. Sonnie seems to have fallen asleep. Numf puts him carefully in his shirts top pocket.

Numf is in a much happier frame of mind as he steps from the jetty onto a beach. He is positively bouyant as he heads up into the sandy dunes, climbing up through the surprisingly named dune grass to the peak. Expecting a great vista to open in front of him - herds of majestic wildebeast - snow capped mountains - certainly something worthy of the afterlife, Numf is quite disappointed when all that there is in front of him is a boring red brick wall, 12 feet high with barbed wire and broken glass along the top.

The spacing between bricks has been filled in smoothly with mortar so that there are no finger or toe holds to be had.
Numf checks his right ring finger to see a white patch where his Legion Flight Ring used to be. No flying then.
Jumping up and down doesn't work either.
Nor does running at the wall and trying to scrabble up it. Gives him a smack on the nose though.

Having quickly exhausts the endless .... ummmm .... 4 then..... possibilities, Numf decides he might as well head in one direction - right. Picked at random. The terrain ahead looks much the same as he is on at present, and the fog seems to have thinned out a bit, so he can at least see 20 or 30 yards ahead.

After a couple of hours traipsing through damp sand Numfs concentration wavers a bit, and since Sonnie seems to be contentedly asleep Numfs mind wanders, as if sometimes does, to pussy.

Or, more accurately, to his mothers pussy. His mother used to say that Misty (for that was the cats name) wasn't fat, she just had short legs. Whereas Sonnie and Numf knew the truth, and kept telling her to stop feeding the damned cat Mars Bars and whole chickens. Numf smiled to himself stupidly as the memory played in his head. And wonders, not for the first time, what happened to the sofa that had gone missing.

Bump! Trip!

Numf should be paying attention. Instead he walks into the back of a black clad warrior with no legs and trips over him, bringing down the five similarly bedecked people in front of him.

Still sprawled on the floor Numf looks up to see what appears to be a long line of hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of pseudo ninja warriors snaking towards a HUGE open gateway bearing the legend "Disneyland! - The New Name For Heaven!".

Numf can do little more than 'Gulp!' as he watches heads turn in his direction, in some kind of strange black hooded Mexican wave along the length of the line.

[ If you haven't been bothered going back and reading Dragons, then you'll have no idea who these guys are. And who can blame you. 300 posts of sheer comedic genius, including the worlds only Grease / Led Zeppelin bastardization hallucination, and you just can't be bothered reading it. Why, oh why do I bother? Oh well. What? Are you expecting me to explain it all? Nope. Not doing it. That's Harbis realm. Re-writing the last story so that readers have some kind of idea what's going on. And here's the condensed version ...... Nah! If I'd wanted to write a short story I would have done it first time around. Would have saved me a shit-load of time and creative energies. Let me tell you. And you just can't be bothered reading it. Please yourself.]

Yo Numf! Hey Buddy, I read every brilliantly funny word of your magnum opus, Dragons, and enjoyed all of them. (especially the ones that made a few folks blanche, but thats another story) so you better not be talkin' ta me here pal!

Oh and PS This ones great too...

But if you and Sonnie get thrown out of hell for selling ice cubes to the ninjas, I swear I'll...

Laugh my ass off!

Nah - I've seen the Duran Duran video for 'Girls On Film'.
I can think of MUCH more interesting things to do with ice cubes.

"You bastard! You cut my legs off!" says the leg deficient pseudo-ninja.

"No I never - I just tripped over you!" squeaks Numf from his prone position.

"Yes you did - back in your Dragons Onevision. Page 12," exclaims the short-arsed fellow. "Near the bottom. In the hotel stairwell."

"Yeah, me too!" says his compatriot standing next to him, with half a head missing and only one arm.

"And me!" says a third. This one had his left foot cut off, and was missing his nose.

Numf notices that most of the people in the immediate vicinity were missing various appendages.

"Yeah, you're the reason that we're at the back of the queue to get into heaven!" exclaims SGG ninja 1. "I can't walk very quickly with no legs. And I was first off the first boat as well!"

"I had wondered what the brown streak I'd been following was," Numf says quietly to himself.

The other ninja are starting to gather round to see what all the excitement is.

"And I can't walk very quickly with most of my neurological functions diminished," explains Mr. Halfhead.

"And I keep walking round in circles," says the third. General murmerings are picking up all around. The cacophony of voices is increasing as recognition strikes the rather stupid synapses of hundreds of brains - the chance for vengeance can be sensed. In fact smelled.

"You electrocuted me in the toilets!"
"You cut my head off!" shreiked a head held up at arms length to see over the crowd.

The murmers turn into shreiks and screams.

"I am sooooooo gonna get my ass kicked," Numf mutters to himself.

The attempt by Numf to stand up gels the thought processes of all of the screaming black clothed crap assassins into one single thought. They don't want Numf to stand up. In fact they want him to stay down. Permanently.

The resulting pile-up makes the Scorpion Pile-Ups from Ritzy's Thursday night mosh look like the thing of a bunch of rank amateurs.

Luckily there are some very long ladders at hand to enable the last members of the black bedecked fraternity to arrive to join in the fun and games.
Located as he is at the bottom there's very little that Numf can do.
Literally.
He can't move. He can't breathe. He can't speak.
Luckily for him he's dead, so there's no need for him to breathe. And why on earth would he want to speak to anyone here? Pseudo ninja psycho xenophobes, the lot of them.

However, he would like to get his face out of lil Mr Legless' crotch. Especially since Mr Legless seems to like it.

"Careful there boy - you'll have someones eye out with that!" Numf manages to snarl down his nose, rather unintelligibly.

Numf can't even his mouth so that he can bite his way out.

--------------


Sonnie comes to in a hot dark sweaty moment. It takes a few seconds to even realise that consciousness has taken over once more.
The pressure in Numfs pocket is immense, and Sonnie can feel strange things happening to him every time there is another 'thump!' on the pile above.

He realises that there's something very wrong. He can sense that Numf is still functioning, although immobile. He can get his own back on Numf later for the swatting business, but right now it would appear that it's up to him to get them out of here. He is the only one in the vicinity who can understand Numfs muttering - it was a skill that he learned when he used to sit on Numfs head to wake him up.

After what he assumes is a final thump, Sonnie steels himself and starts moving very slowly, pushing his way upwards.
He feels the material of Numfs shirt rip, and he gathers a miniscule amount of momentum. This momentum, however, adds itself to the collosal amount of pressure from above, and Sonnie feels himself almost 'sharpen' as he pushes.

The cutting gets noticably easier, and Sonnie slices slowly through more material, and then flesh, and bones, and organs and more bones and more material and ........

The further the journey progresses, the greater the speed, until, mere minutes after Sonnie has become conscious he bursts out through the back of the topmost ninja, slicing majestically through the back of his cranium.

Bursting from the darkness into the light, 300 feet high, looking down on a fog on one side, and a sanddune leading to an absolutely immense area filled with roller coasters, waltzers, and rides of every description on the other.

The golden orb of light in the sky provides a heat from afar which seems to clear Sonnies head, and bring joy to his heart after the cool dampness of the fog through which they had come.

Sonnie knows what he has to do to free Numf. Having no hands he would be unable to move the mountain of blackness which covers his brother, so he must get help.

Sonnie turns around and heads for the huge dazzling white fairytale castle in the centre of the park.

personally I prefer them in a nice malt whiskey or a pitcher of pyms.

Each to their own, my dear.


---------------


Sonnie is quite pleased with the turn of speed that he can produce, since he hasn't had the chance to test himself

before now.

Quicker than a Kwikfit fitter.

However, he's much less pleased with the ricocheting off the invisible, non-reflective dome which protects the

pleasure park below.

He comes back round again, slower this time, and stops when he feels the dome. There he rests for a moment.

He catches and holds his breath - not too shabby a trick for a lump of carbon. And then he slowly pushes.

Slowly he forces himself through the ultra dense air surrounding the park, the space closing itself up behind him.

After six inches or so Sonnie pops, gratefully, out the other side.

Sonnie had once heard that although bullet proof vests were good for stopping bullets they were absolutely no use

against knives. And the same principle had worked here. Thankfully, because that had been the only option he'd

come up with.

On tiny wings Sonnie hovers to get his bearings. Main control center is bound to be in the big white castle.

Down below he sees millions & millions of people, milling around in seemingly random patterns. Big scale

Brownian motion in action.
The sunshine covers the area within the boundary with bright light, casting sharp shadows.

Rides galore take up most of the spaces, queues miles long wait patiently to get on to the obviously more popular

ones.

From his vantage location Sonnie can hear the gleeful laughs, screams and shrieks of excitement floating up from

the obviously happy people below.

It seems very peaceful, the sort of thing that pleasant summer days are made for, and for a few seconds Sonnie is

distracted from the task at hand.

But quickly he remembers his brother stuck at the bottom of the pile, and accelerates as hard as he can towards

the castle.

The brakes work well.
Sonnie stops with the speed of thought.

He finds an open window in the top-most floor through which he sneaks with nary a buzz.

Up and down corridors he flies slowly, searching for the communications room.

No-one seems to notice him, as the slow hum of his wings is lost in the noise of the HVAC system.

Sonnie finds what he's after, an unmanned tannoy.

And that's where his plan falls down.

He can't talk! He'd tried unsuccessfully to talk to Numf prior to resorting to the window scraping. So how the bloody hell is he going to use the tannoy system?

Damn! Something else else is going to have to be done about this.

The only thing on Sonnies side is the fact that Numf isn't actually in mortal peril, since he's no longer mortal, so there's time to formulate a plan.

Morse Code! He could turn the tannoy on and bang himself off the microphone! Brilliant!

Umm, slight problem - Sonnie doesn't know any morse code other than dot dot dot dash dash dash dot dot dot. And that probably wouldn't be consise enough to work. And the only words he'd be able to spell would be SO, OS, OOS & SOSS. And three of them make no sense at all.
Oh, and SOSO, which he thinks was one of the alternative titles for Led Zeppelins fourth album.

Ah, he says to himself, coming up with the most brilliant of plans.


Big Hairy Bollocks!

The big hairy bollocks that Sonnie had remembered was apparently the result of an experiment carried out in an Aberdeen City Council office once upon a time. By the friend of a friend. Allegedly.

In appears that it is possible, using a mixture of new-fangled technology and witchcraft, to send a mobile phone text message to a land line audible phone. And actually hear the words, rather than just a mixture of farts and squeaks.

Apparently, after much experimentation, it was found that the 'rude' expression that could be heard clearest with this was the phrase "Big hairy bollocks".

Try it yourself if you think I'm making it up.

So, now all he needed was a mobile phone, a land line phone, and to get close enough to the tannoy to make this whole plan work.. . . .

Not that he was planning on sending that particular message to anyone of course. It probably wouldn't help them any.
Though perhaps when they got out of this .......

It takes four long, mind numbing days for things to fall into place.

Mickey Rat is the only person up in the control room, making a personal call on his mobile, feet up on the counter, when there is a shout for all personnel to attend the morning circle jerk. Or morning prayer and team hug, depending on your viewpoint.

In the pre-orgasmic excitement of putting his big fat rat head back in place, Mickey accidently drops his mobile mid-call.

Sonnie is prepared, as he has timed these meetings over the past few days, hoping that an opportunity like this might arise.

He comes out of his hiding place in the HVAC system and buzzes his way over to check the corridor. He hears the alleged motivational antics taking place a few rooms away. He should have enough time.

Back into the control room he goes, knocking over the tannoy microphone so that it lands next to the phone which sits on the desk.

Next, he buzzes down to the mobile phone on the floor. He hears a voice coming from it and buzzes over closer to listen.

"....at's happening? Where are you? What's that buzzing noise? That's not you using that toy of yours at work again is it? Yuch! You're disgu..."

Sonnie terminates the call, and types in his own message.

X zom bees
numf needs ur help
go 2 perli gate.
now.

And sends it to the phone next to the microphone.
A few minutes pass before the call gets through - Sonnie knocks the receiver off as soon as the phone starts to ring. As planned it falls right next to the tannoy.

Sonnie listens to the distributors message 'This is your Angels Telecomms mobile phone service. You have received a ....', cranking the volume on the tannoy, ready to flick on the switch when it gets to the message.

Four bloody days of lying under many a ton of mortal enemy, not a single one of whom had remembered to wear incontinence pants.

And you know these cults - sorry, I have a cold, I'll spell it for you - c-u-L-t-s.
All they eat is cabbage soup and sugar puffs.


I'll just leave you with that thought.