Fanfiction:That's Not Funny: The Unimaginatively Subtitled Adventures of Lance the Wolf

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LordWeirdo, the author of That's Not Funny: The Unimaginatively Subtitled Adventures of Lance the Wolf, considers this page to be unfinished. As such, some sections may change.

And as this story is incomplete, you may be left on an epic cliffhanger. (Or, more likely, a really lame cliffhanger.)

Overview

Lance the Wolf, a comedic college student, is challenged by a friend to find something that Lance doesn't find funny in some way. In an entirely unrelated incident, he is possessed by the ghost of a long-dead wizard, and is convinced to assist him in exacting revenge on the sorcerer who killed him. With the help of a reformed felon, at the end of an arduous journey, Lance finds the sorcerer--and an even greater threat.

Included Characters

Lance the Wolf

A college freshman with an overdeveloped sense of humor, Lance has potential to become a great hero. All he needs is some strength, some brains, some sanity, some competence...

Doom the Hedgehog

Two and a half centuries ago, powerful wizard Doom unwisely took on the even more powerful Nox Nekros. Now cursed to wander the world a homeless spirit, he is eager to exact revenge on his foe...

Stalemate the Echidna

In prison at age 16 for assassinating the governor of the Iron Mountains, Stalemate was taught by a kindly old chaplain that he didn't have to follow his outlaw father's path. Eight months ago, he was freed by a clerical error. Now he wanders the mountains, in search of opportunities such as this...

Nox Nekros

Having lived over three hundred years off of his connection to the underworld, Nox is an extremely dangerous and powerful sorcerer. However, his current employment under an evil genius may be his undoing...

Dr. Maxwell Hamberger

Dr. Hamberger believes that robots are superior to animals, and that humans are superior to robots. Most of all, he believes he should be superior to everything...

1: The Bet

Lance the Wolf started the day in his usual fashion--arguing with the alarm clock.

"I was about to wake up naturally and peacefully!" he protested. "But you--you authoritarian, you had to yank me out of my slumber prematurely..."

"You know," remarked his dormmate, Brad the Hedgehog, in sleepy lack of amusement, "sometimes I wish the clock would talk back to you."

"Now that'd be a great story for my performance," Lance grinned, brushing his somewhat long, maroon fur out of his eyes.

"You say that for everything," Brad grumbled. He couldn't tolerate anyone before his first cup of coffee in the morning, much less the semi-professional comedian Lance.

The two were freshmen at Neon University, a college built in the heart of the bustling metropolis of Neon City, which in turn is just north of the Iron Mountain Zone, which is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Lance and Brad actually got along fairly well--after coffee. The normal routine continued as Brad hopped into the bathroom to shower and dress, while Lance straightened up the room and hummed classic country music.

This was a Thursday morning, so while Brad went to the cafeteria for breakfast (and more importantly, coffee), Lance bathed, dressed, and drove to the Purple Duck Diner to meet Penn.

Penn the Fox was a friend of Lance's family, but more like an older brother to Lance himself. As all three of Lance's siblings were older sisters, as a kid he had arguably needed one to keep sane. (Not that Lance was ever accused of being sane.) Penn was now three years out of college and had a solid job in journalism, but he maintained a mentoring relationship with Lance. One way he did this was by treating Lance to breakfast each Thursday morning.

Soon, Lance was recounting the events of the past week. "So I was in line to check out at the grocery store, to buy the one thing I can afford for the week. The guy ahead of me was this big, muscular guy--you know, the type of guy who lives on kale and spinach?" He paused for the imaginary audience to respond. "I kept checking my belt to make sure I wasn't losing weight by just standing behind him." Another pause. "Anyway, I watched as this health nut pulls eight bags of potato chips and a fried chicken out of his cart." Pause. "I wanted to ask if he'd just been laid off from his gym advertising job, but the biceps convinced me not to."

Penn chuckled. "Really, Lance, you need to stop using me to rehearse your act."

Fred, the owner, chef, and coincidentally Penn's father, brought their food out to them. "He still trying to make you laugh, Penn?" he winked.

"He's coming closer," Penn grinned.

"Well, there's a reason he's the prime attraction Friday nights," Fred replied, referring to the open-mike show his business hosted each Friday evening. He then left to attend to other duties.

"In all seriousness," Penn remarked a few minutes later, "I don't think I've seen anything that you wouldn't find funny."

"Black Arms invasion," Lance quickly countered. "Wait, they have the universe's ugliest faces...uh, Robotnik's an evil maniac, but he is even uglier..."

"See?" Penn replied, but not with the I-told-you-so tone that normally accompanies that word in that context. "I'm serious. Find one thing to which you can honestly say, 'that's not funny', and I'll give you fifty bucks."

To Lance, living on the stereotypical college-student budget, fifty was a substantial amount. "Heh, really throwing that much away so easily?"

Penn grinned again. "That much less for Kay to spend on her hair." (Kay was Penn's wife, in case you didn't guess.)

"Deal," Lance said. Then, as an afterthought: "Though I must admit, I'm not a hundred percent sure I'll win."

<==========>

Until nearly dinnertime, the day passed without significant event. That evening, shortly after his last class, Lance was walking around the Neon University campus. Or rather, wandering aimlessly around campus, alternating between singing Merle the Coyote songs and mentally writing comedy material. Walking was the one thing (besides eating) that Lance could do concurrent with thinking.

On that note, as Lance thought as he turned into a random blind alley, he couldn't even pay attention to his surroundings while thinking.

"Great," Lance said aloud, "lost in my own school again." But just then, something caught his eye. It was beginning to grow dark, and a luminous, light-green mist was just barely visible in a corner.

Lance paused. In his world, you believed in magic. You believed in ghosts. This gave the appearance of something supernatural, but if this was supposed to be a dramatic arrival of some long-dead villain, it was a near-epic fail.

As subtly as it appeared, the mist vanished. Lance shrugged and turned to go to the cafeteria. But then, not subtly at all, his mind went on overload and he fell to the pavement amidst a flash of green light.

2: The Spirit

His head spinning, Lance slowly picked himself up. Garbled thoughts and images sped across the screen of his brain. He couldn't even piece together a sarcastic remark.

Then, after a minute that felt like five, his head cleared. Yet he still felt something strange in there. Something...

"Greetings," an unfamiliar booming voice said--using Lance's mouth.

...ghostly.

"I don't swear," Lance remarked, "but I really want to right now."

"Calm yourself," the voice said. "I mean you no harm."

"Then what are you doing?" Lance demanded, almost yelling.

''All will be explained--or most of it, at least. To avoid awkward, uninformed conversations, I will remain silent until you are in your private chamber."

"Uh, okay..." Lance replied. It came to mind that he didn't even sleep alone, and he couldn't hog the bathroom for an extended period of time. But then he remembered: by random chance...a lot of random things work in protagonists' favor in these sort of stories, don't they?...Brad planned to party with some other friends of his that night, so that gave them until 11:59 pm. Plenty of time for dinner as well as explanations for being inside one's head.

So, Lance found his way out and went about business as usual until a couple hours later. When Brad left for the party, Lance set up the desk lamps to fake cop-movie-interrogation-room-style lighting and sat down. "Spill it," he said.

The voice complied. "I am called Doom, Doom the Hedgehog," it said. "When I was alive, I was a powerful sorcerer."

"Never would have guessed."

"Over two hundred fifty years ago, I was at the height of my power. I was the second-most feared magician in the Iron Mountain Zone. But though I was in my seventies, wisdom had not yet set in. I chose to hunt down the most feared sorcerer: Nox Nekros."

"And failed epically."

"That could be said, yes. After a power battle today's apathetic generation wouldn't consider noteworthy, I was killed. But Nox wasn't through with me--so thoroughly did he enjoy my defeat that he immediately brought back my spirit."

"So he could kick your butt again?"

"On the contrary. In spirit form, my power is useless. I require a physical body to employ the magic that made me a formidable warrior."

"Hence me."

"First of all, that makes little sense; second of all, I will get to you soon enough. As I was saying, my most famous power was useless. In addition, while a spirit can cause physical harm, if I were not possessing something, he could easily dismiss me should I attack him again.

"I eventually found a host who was strong enough of body and mind to help me wreak vengeance upon Nox, but by then, it was too late. He had disappeared from his usual haunts without a trace. Thus, I have spent the last quarter century wandering, searching for the one who destroyed and cursed me so."

"Pardon the obvious question, but uh...wouldn't he be dead by now?"

"On the contrary. He feeds off his connection to the afterlife. As long as there are souls to send back and forth, he lives on, powerful as ever."

Lance shivered. "Well, at least he's not been seen for two-hundred-plus years..."

"Until now."

"Thank you for that uninformative, enigmatic statement."

Doom was obviously already beginning to grow tired of his host's overdeveloped sense of humor. "Just yesterday, I wandered into a laboratory belonging to a human, one Dr. Hamberger." (Here Lance snickered.) "I happened to overhear this Hamberger speaking to a colleague, and found that a hedgehog named Nox had been a great help to Hamberger by conjuring up spirits of long-dead scientific geniuses. I knew we had our man."

"Am I allowed to be a jerk and say it might have been coincidence?"

"No."

"Ha! A straightforward, monosyllabic answer!"

Doom groaned audibly. "If it weren't for the potential I see in you, I would abandon you right now."

Lance burst out laughing. "You see potential? Get some glasses. I'm no warrior, I'm an almost-funny comedian!"

"So you think. (About the first half of that last sentence, just to clarify.) Whether you realize it or not, the blood of your warrior ancestors flows through your veins. Also, you are but a tool--I shall exact my vengeance myself."

"Way to make me feel special."

"I will give you until Saturday to prepare. You may inform whomever you like about me--I fear I am entirely forgotten now. But that is no matter...only my vengeance is of importance to me..."

"May I request that you not go off rambling? It's my breath too, y'know."

Doom, for once, seemed to understand. "Of course."

The ghost silenced, Lance tried to work on his material for the next night. But he found it difficult to focus. Doom kept lurking in the back of his mind...literally, Lance observed.

He decided the best way to prepare for his quest would be to get some extra sleep, so he changed into the old t-shirt and basketball shorts that served as his pajamas. In the process of doing so, he found something under his clothes. To be more precise, a dark-green-colored garment that is best described verbally as a combination of vest, tunic, and scrap fabric, fastened by a black leather belt. Yeah, good idea--go look at the poster to see what on earth I'm saying.

Sensing Lance's puzzlement, Doom explained. "A strange side effect of my possession...the new addition to your wardrobe. It is what I wore back when I lived."

Much to Lance's relief, it came off normally. "Green goes terrible with my fur," he remarked to nobody in particular.

Lance finally climbed into bed. As he drifted off to sleep--something he could do almost at will--he heard Doom whisper: "I shall have my vengeance..."

3: The Advice

Friday morning, Lance randomly received a phone call. (Again with the randomness...) Lance was a bit surprised at first, but was later glad to have gotten it.

"Hello?" Lance answered.

His father Don's slow, calm voice came through the receiver. "Lance?"

"Oh, hi Dad. Random checkup again?"

"You could say that. I just felt led to call you this morning. Anything you'd like to talk about?"

Lance thought. He had never been good at thinking, and his dad had frequently offered just the advice Lance needed for eighteen years. "You know, funny you should ask..."

Briefly he explained, then noted that he had to get to class soon. "Tell you what, how about I come over later? Say, seven o'clock?"

Don, an easygoing wolf, had listened to and understood Lance's story with little to no shock. But now he displayed surprise. "Isn't that the same time as your show?"

Lance grinned. "I ain't been able to focus long enough to put one together. Old Fred can do without me for a week."

"I should hope so. See you tonight, then."

"Alright, bye."

That evening, Lance met with Don and Hannah Ryder in their home on the edge of Neon City. In greater detail than earlier, with occasional interjections from Doom, he told his parents what had happened.

"Oh, you poor thing!" was the first thing out of Hannah's mouth.

"Mom, I'm perfectly alright," Lance insisted. "I'm already getting used to having someone else in my head."

"He has been one of my best hosts," Doom agreed, "and I haven't even seen him in battle yet."

"If he learned at all from all those action movies he watched in high school, he ought to be in good shape," Don grinned.

"Dad..."

"I'm joking, son. But you're not exactly helpless. If you feel you should help this Doom fellow..."

"I'm still here, you know..."

"...then do so. And if you don't feel right about it, then don't. It's quite simple, really."

"No one ever accused you of being overprotective," Lance muttered.

"Honey," Hannah protested, "he could get killed! You heard the ghost--this villain outdid a powerful sorcerer! I know you wouldn't have let any of the girls do this!"

"Of course not," Don replied. "They're girls."

"Way to gender stereotype, Dad," Lance observed.

"Blame the author. Anyway, Hannah, I trust Lance's judgement. Despite how it seems sometimes, he's got a good head on his shoulders..." Either Lance or Doom snickered. "...and he tends to be over-cautious. Something our girls could have learned, if their ER bills are any indication."

"But...but..." Hannah stammered, falling into her husband's arms.

Don looked at his son. "I'll handle her; she'll be alright by tomorrow. You make your decision and act on it. We'll see each other again, whether on this side of the river or not. See you around, Lance."

Lance bowed for no particular reason. "Thanks, Dad. See ya 'round."

<==========>

"Well, have you made your decision?" Doom asked as Lance drove home.

"I thought you could read my mind," Lance pointed out.

"An entirely unfounded theory. Answer the question."

Lance sighed. "Well, I will spare you the idiotic chain of thought that brought me to this conclusion, but my mind is made up. I'm going."

4: The Start

Lance's start was nondescript. He just ate breakfast, grabbed his duffel bag, got in his car, and drove down the one vehicle-friendly road into the Iron Mountains.

The road ended halfway up one of the smaller peaks. "So, Doom, where do we go from here?"

"I don't know."

"Very funny. If you want to have your revenge, you have to tell me."

"I do not jest. I don't know."

Lance exploded. "Seriously?! You dragged me out into the middle of nowhere just to tell me you didn't know where to go?!"

"I confess I did not think this through very well."

"Well, start thinking, sonny."

"Did you just call me 'sonny'?"

"Yes I did, sonny! Now, do you at least have any general idea where the guy is?"

While they were arguing with each other, and Lance was running out breath twice as quickly, they did not realize they were being watched.

"I was known for my magic," Doom continued to protest, "not my sense of direction."

"Why are we standing here arguing anyway?"

"Excellent question," piped up a strange voice, much deeper than Lance's but much higher than Doom's. A young, dark blue echidna, wearing orange shorts and holding a flanged mace, climbed down from a tree. "Especially since you seem to have multiple personality disorder."

"I don't, FYI," Lance grumbled. "I'm literally possessed."

To Lance's surprise (and relief), the echidna merely shrugged at this. "Seen stranger things in my time."

"Like an evil wizard, perhaps?" Lance tried.

"Fool," Doom sighed.

"Nope," the echidna replied. "But now I'm sure you're not with the government--even they are more subtle than that."

"Good, I get enough hate as a comedian, I don't need being mistaken for a government agent thrown on top of that."

"Around here, there's people that would shoot you for being either." The echidna grinned. "I'm serious."

"Comforting."

"Anyway, I see you are looking for someone," the stranger continued. "I'm in a good mood, and bored beyond belief, so I'd like to offer my services."

Lance shifted his gaze to the mace. "You pretty good with that?"

"Only compared to some."

"Well, I don't have any idea where I'm going, but I have a feeling it won't exactly be a bed of roses. So yeah, I need some help."

"Remember: I get Nox alone," Doom cut in.

"Then, you have my assistance," the echidna said, bowing. "My name is Chase, but I go by Stalemate."

"Because you never win?" Lance cracked.

"My father went by Checkmate," Stalemate explained. "He was an outlaw, and led me down the same path he had walked his entire life. But while serving time for assassinating the governor, I underwent a massive change of philosophy."

"You speak of your past quite freely," Doom remarked, "especially being a criminal."

"I'm ashamed of my past, but I'm not going to hide it either. The kid I am now and the kid I was then are constantly fighting within me, neither keeping the upper hand. That, my friend, is why I call myself Stalemate."

"If you assassinated the governor," Lance wondered, "how are you here? You're much too young to have served even the lightest sentence to completion."

"Clerical error. But enough about me. It's hard even for us natives to find our way into these mountains; we don't need to burn daylight."

"Agreed," Doom replied. "Lead the way."

<==========>

Even with a guide born and raised in the area, Lance found that it took two hours to so much as get over and off the mountain. "I'd go faster," Stalemate said at one point, "but you city slickers couldn't handle the terrain."

"To ---- with the terrain," Doom swore. "I will not have my vengeance delayed by a mere inconvenience."

"And I will," Lance countered.

"It's no mere 'inconvenience'," Stalemate grinned. He pointed seemingly straight up a cliff face. "Any native would scale that without blinking."

Lance grinned. Doom groaned.

That night, they camped in a small cave in a mountainside. Stalemate had chosen this spot thoughtfully. "The winds here can start up at any moment, and when they start, they start."

Lance watched night fall from the mouth of the cave while Stalemate started a small fire. His eye caught something--or more precisely, Doom caught something through Lance's eye.

"What's that out there?" Doom asked.

Stalemate looked a moment to where Lance was pointing, then started digging around in his pack. He returned with a telescope. Peering through this, he said, "It's a chimney--the industrial kind."

"Can you see anything else?" Lance inquired.

"I see a sign. Can't make out much detail from here, but the logo is gigantic. Looks like an M-H monogram."

"Wonderful!" Doom exclaimed, Lance's relaxed posture not matching the ghost's excitement. "That is the brand of Dr. Hamberger! We are closer than ever to finding Nekros!"

Stalemate grinned. "Do you have any idea how far off that factory is? Timewise, that is?"

"Fifteen years!" Lance immediately answered, much to Doom's annoyance.

"That factory's on the third tallest peak in this range. If the weather agrees with us, it'll take four or five more days."

Doom swore, so Lance pointed out, "I thought you said you were from here."

"I was. But I came from the foothills."

"Meaning?"

"The foothills," Stalemate cut in, "have always been home to the tame, cute little villages. The deeper into the Iron Mountains you get, the rougher the terrain gets--and the people."

Lance yawned. "Well, anyway, so much for not missing school. We've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there, so I vote that we sleep."

"Go ahead," Stalemate said. "I'll keep watch for a while."

Lance did not need to be told twice, and was out in moments.

5: The Visitor

Shortly before eleven o'clock that night, as the fire was beginning to die again, Stalemate sensed a presence outside the cave. This was accompanied by heavy breathing that he would have known anywhere.

Silently, Stalemate crept to the door. "Yes, Snowman, it's Chase," he whispered. Come on in, but quietly."

A massive bear stepped into the mouth of the cave, surprisingly graceful and noiseless for a three-hundred-pound grizzly. Stalemate put more wood on the fire. "Been a while, Snow," the echidna casually commented.

The one called Snowman looked toward the sleeping Lance. "Who's he?"

Stalemate shrugged. "No one of consequence. You know Dr. Hamberger?"

"Know of, yes."

"From what I've overheard, somebody working for him killed a wizard a while back, so this wizard's ghost possessed him to help get revenge."

Snowman raised a bushy eyebrow. "Interesting. So, you pulling one of old Check's schemes, eh?"

"No," Stalemate said flatly. He seemed almost a different person than earlier that day. He also did not appreciate the reference to one of his father's cruelest tricks: Checkmate would pose as a guide and take unsuspecting tourists and businessmen into the mountains, then once they were sufficiently lost, he would rob them and leave them to fend for themselves.

"You always hated that one, didn't you?" Snowman remarked. "Even before you went to prison."

"It was probably the last shred of my conscience kicking in," Stalemate concurred with a sigh. Then he changed the subject abruptly. "What do you want?"

"Assistance, Chase, that's all," Snowman replied. "You were the best kid I ever knew at planning a heist—h***, you were the best person of any age I knew, besides old Check himself. I got a plan, but I don't do details."

"What sort of robbery?" Stalemate inquired, interested.

For the first time since the meeting began, Snowman smiled. "Grand larceny, Chase. There's a fair-sized bank down in the south hills. The only one in a forty-mile radius...including a quite wealthy community or two. Can't be a total waste of time, and it's right up your alley...or what was your alley before you went to--"

"It's still my alley," Stalemate protested, in controlled anger. "I could do it if I wanted to. Emphasis on the if."

"Chill, Chase," Snowman replied. "You got to decide who you are, though."

"And just what do you mean by that?"

"Chase. Face it. I'm telling you as a friend, and as your father's friend. You can't just expect to make up for your past and be done with it. You're a branded man."

Stalemate did not deny this. "So be it," he said, rising. "Even if I am an outcast forever, I will not remain an outlaw."

Snowman shook his head. "Many have said the same. And even more have failed." He rose. "Nice talking with you, Chase. Sorry to wreck your dream, but we survive by being realistic. If you need me, you know where I hang out."

Stalemate watched the bear leave, then stared off into the darkness a while.

<==========>

When Lance awoke the next morning, he had no idea what had transpired overnight. He also had no idea that Stalemate had only been asleep an hour.

"This is a first," he remarked. "I'm always the last one out of bed."

Stalemate, a light sleeper, was awake in an instant. "There's a saying around here that says 'never judge a sleeping man'," he said, stretching. "You never know the whole story."

"Your entire personality already seems much different than yesterday," Doom remarked. "Of course, that may be attributed to early-morning crankiness."

"Not really," Stalemate replied. "I already explained my dual self."

"Only you don't have a ghost in your head as an excuse," Lance pointed out, grinning.

"Don't push me," the echidna warned. "It could end badly."

"I think we're destined for a lousy end anyway," Lance replied, still smiling like the idiot he was.

6: The Roadblock

Well, the next couple days passed without significant event, other than Stalemate's mood swings and Lance remembering too late to ration the food.

"A skilled traveler, you are not," Doom had muttered.

"We'll make do," Stalemate had assured him.

But soon, the good luck had to change. (Lance had in the past developed a "scientific" law: Good luck is limited. Bad luck is infinite.) And that bad luck came in the form of a massive boulder in the solitary path.

Stalemate immediately analyzed the situation. "Perfect," he sighed as he examined the rock. "It's nearly eight feet high, and no footholds. Theoretically, one could scale the face of the mountain to get over it, but I suspect your climbing skill is nil."

"Ding ding," Lance confirmed.

"But," the guide continued, "if I toss you up, and you swing this"--here he drew his mace--" over your head and forward, you may be able to get on top."

"The more I see of this young man's skill, the more I doubt he is capable of such things," Doom replied, pessimistic.

"Thanks a lot," Lance replied. "Whatever happened to 'I see great potential in you'?"

"If it weren't for your ideal balance of will and submission, I would have abandoned you long ago."

"Gentlemen," Stalemate interrupted, "we can only try."

Thus, Lance took Stalemate's mace (stubbing both of his own big toes in the process), and was hoisted up by the sturdy echidna. "On the bright side," Lance remarked, "since we are running out of food, I'll soon be a lot lighter."

"Just get the mace ready," Stalemate huffed. "One...two...three!"

Lance flew a total of six inches higher than he had been, then came crashing down on top of Stalemate. But just as this happened, the two were pounced upon by a heavily armored armadillo.

In an instant, Stalemate had slid out from under the other two bodies (leaving a lovely split in the side of his shorts), recovered his mace, and shoved the attacker off of Lance.

As the two on the ground picked themselves up, Lance observed, "Wow, that armor's really redundant."

The attacker started to rush in again, but stopped when he saw Stalemate. "Checkmate?" he asked, obviously frightened.

"I'd love to let you believe that," the echidna replied, "but I won't. I'm his son. Pa was shot by an angry raven a little over a year ago."

"Ah yes, Chase Moore. The assassin."

"Yes. So I'd recommend not harming this fellow." He gestured to Lance.

The armadillo studied the wolf. "Impressive. An assassin for a bodyguard."

"I need no bodyguard!" Doom roared. Lance watched his arm lift and fire a ring of green energy.

It bounced harmlessly off of the armor.

Lance and Stalemate exchanged glances. "Brilliant," Lance sighed.

"He must be wearing enchanted armor," Doom observed, apologetically (sort of).

"I was trying to avoid a fight," Stalemate groaned.

"What was that for?!" the armadillo roared.

"Uh, I don't know," Lance shrugged, "but maybe because you ambushed us?"

The armadillo turned to Stalemate. "Step aside, Moore. I need to teach this fool a lesson."

Much to Lance's surprise (and relief), the echidna actually stepped directly in the attacker's path. He held his mace as one holds a swagger cane. "No. I'm seeing them through to their destination."

"'Them'? There's only one."

"Long story. You can lay off, or you can see just how much of old Checkmate lives on in me."

The thug was getting still madder--in multiple senses of the word. "So! You think you're impressive because your father was the most feared outlaw in this zone?! It seems you need to be put in your place as well!"

As the armadillo to whom I really need to give a name brought forth a club, the skies began to darken with clouds. "Boss battle!" Lance proclaimed. "You got a Super Form handy by any chance?"

Stalemate ignored him for the moment, and met the ruffian's charge with a blow to the groin. As should have been expected, it produced no reaction whatsoever.

The clouds continued to battle as the two combatants fought a evenly unmatched fight. Stalemate couldn't inflict any damage through the armor with his blunt weapon, and his opponent couldn't hit Stalemate to save his life. Lance just sat on the ground and wished he had popcorn.

After roughly ten minutes of impasse, the gathering storm finally broke loose. And a moment after that, a bolt of lightning struck within eighteen inches of the armadillo. Scared out of his wits, the ruffian fled for cover.

"Well, that was a crummy plot twist," Lance remarked. "You were supposed to find the one weakness in his armor and, with the last of your strength, launch the crushing blow that sends him flying off the mountainside."

"Blame the author," Stalemate replied, winded.

"That was quite a fortunate coincidence," Doom remarked.

Stalemate smiled mysteriously. "Who said it was coincidence?"

As he spoke, a hooded, horned figure appeared. The rain lessened enough to reveal the face of a young female goat. "It's been a while, Chase," she said, smiling.

Yes, I did just introduce yet another character who is in no way important to the story. Before you complain, allow me to say that Tolstoy did the same thing, but some people still find War and Peace a good book.

Back to the story. "Smokey," Stalemate sighed, still smiling, "two weeks isn't 'a while'."

"Who's the hot chick?" Lance inquired.

Stalemate introduced the newcomer. "Lance, this is Smokey von Dell. Childhood friend of mine and wandering magician."

"I saw the bright orange a literal mile off," Smokey explained, gesturing toward Stalemate's shorts. "By the time I had come closer, he was fighting that jerk Maximus, so I decided to lend a hand. Once one has a storm conjured up, directing lightning is a piece of cake." She pointed her staff, and another bolt of lightning broke up the rock barrier.

"You still owe me a few, though," Stalemate grinned.

7: The Conversation

Between Stalemate's hunting and his trail wisdom, Lance and Doom made good time on their way to Hamberger's plant. I'd love to say that the days flew by, but due to Lance's bad jokes and Doom's bad attitude, they really didn't.

Stalemate, even in his lighter mood, seemed to be lost in thought for the majority of the trip. While the others did not know this, his darker phases were also occurring somewhat more frequently than usual.

As night fell on day four, which had held the roughest trail yet, Lance made Stalemate go to bed once camp was made. Stalemate had argued, but once he lied down, he was thankful for the extra rest.

Two things had caused Lance to volunteer for the first watch: one, Stalemate appeared noticeably more tired than he; two, Doom had been dropping broad hints that he wanted to speak to Lance privately.

The moment Stalemate's deep, regular breathing notified the others that he was asleep, Doom got to business.

"Lance. I understand that we need a guide, but this echidna may not be right for the part."

"Meaning?" Lance asked.

"He's a criminal. A murderer, kid. He has been generous, yes, but can he be trusted?"

"Probably not," Lance agreed.

"Then why stay with him? He is asleep; we could slip away now if we wanted."

"Because I'm a soft idiot who would rather die of a knife in my back than of an empty stomach."

Doom exploded. "You blind fool! Could we not make it on our own from here? We know where we are headed now..."

"We couldn't, old man."

"Is there not a chance?"

"Yep, a chance about as fat as Dr. Eggman. I've told you a dozen times, Doom, I'm no adventurer. I'm only letting you drag me into your vengeance thing because I professionally have no life, and because I don't want you literally haunting me the rest of my life about it.

"Besides, call me an idiot yet again, but I'm willing to trust this killer. He seems honest, though I will agree that such things are often not as they appear. We don't really have another choice, sonny."

Doom was silent a moment. "You are a fool, a thousand times a fool."

"You use that word a lot."

"You are too dense to see that this guide is likely to turn on us at any moment, and has even less reason to stay with us than we have to stay with him. We have only the word of a murderer that he didn't merely escape prison.

"Yet," he sighed, "somehow you correctly guessed that I would not have left you alone till you assisted me."

"Educated guess."

"Very well, for the time being, we will continue to follow what little judgement you have. But the moment I feel like it, I will fully take control and fly out of this place."

"Wait, you could fly me?!" Lance was incredulous. "Why haven't you done so already?"

"Because I wish to reserve as much power as possible for Nekros. Flight is an inefficient, unintended use of my energy."

"Shoot. You ready to shut up now?"

"What?! Are you demanding I be silent?"

"Only because a couple armed robots are on their way here." Lance grinned innocently.

8: The Robots

Not a hundred yards away, two droids were indeed marching down the trail. They were humanoid, armored and equipped with laser cannons.

"Should we rouse the echidna?" Doom whispered.

"I thought you didn't just him," Lance smirked. "Besides, they don't seem to be headed specifically for our camp, and we really need to prove that your power is of some use."

"For once, a good point." Doom became silent.

As Lance had hinted, robots were on their way past the camp. Originally. But suddenly, they stopped.

"Mobian detected. Initiate eradication sequence."

"What in the name of insanity..." Lance breathed.

In unison, the machines turned toward Lance and aimed their lasers. Lance leaped to the side just before they fired.

"Two of them, yet they focus on one of us," Doom remarked. "And surely they cannot detect that our guide is sleeping."

"If robots were smart, old man, Eggman would have taken over the world by now."

"You've been unusually intelligent tonight."

Lance again screwed up the droids' aim, but then Doom took over. Two energy rings later, the battle was done.

Stalemate came out. "What happened?"

"Pest control." Lance pointed to the robots.

"We were attacked," Doom clarified. "They appeared at first to be walking past, but they detected our presence and tried to destroy us."

Stalemate was surprised. "No criminal in these parts would trust machines to do dirty work. Lance, was he exaggerating?"

"No, for once. Heard it myself." He attempted to imitate the robots' voice: " 'Mobian detected. Initiate eradication sequence.' "

"Interesting. Let me grab my flashlight."

The echidna did this and proceeded to study the droids. One thing jumped out at him immediately. "Look at this."

On the chestplate of the robot was emblazoned a bold MH monogram.

Stalemate turned to Lance. "I don't know about you, but I suspect there's more than ancient sorcery going on in that factory."

"It doesn't matter," Doom quickly argued. "Only my battle with Nekros does."

"Hold your horses, sonny," Lance replied. "This could mean that this Hamberger may be somehow responsible for our attempted murder. Or, he takes chasing people off his lawn way too seriously. Either way, it's no small matter."

Suddenly, Lance remembered his bet with Penn. "Huh. You know, after all this, I might just find something not funny after all."

<==========>

Over the course of the next day, Lance, Stalemate, and Doom spotted more patrols, but they were far enough off to not bother them.

And just as the sun began to set, they came to the fence surrounding the Maxwell Hamberger Robotics Company International Headquarters property.

Two robots, similar but not exactly the same as the patrol droids, stood outside the main gate, with others marching around the perimeter.

"Is this a factory or a military base?" Lance wondered aloud.

"Do you by any chance know what you're going to do once you get in?" Stalemate asked.

"Well, I figured to just ask for Mr. Nekros. Then, when he showed up, we'd fight."

Stalemate facepalmed, and Doom would have had he not been inside Lance.

"Fine," Lance challenged, "have a better idea?"

Stalemate thought for a moment. "Actually, dumb as it first sounded, we have no reason to sneak around. Currently, your beef is with Nekros alone."

"Wait, I came up with a decent plan? I'll be a hero before you know it!"

"Probably not," Doom muttered. Then something caught his eye. "Hold...there he is!"

A white figure dressed in dark robes and cloak came out of one of the more distant office buildings, and crossed over to the main factory. He went inside.

"You sure?" Stalemate asked.

"I've had his face engraved on my mind for a quarter of a millennium. I know my quarry."

"You're scaring me," Lance remarked.

"Well, we know what building he's in now," Stalemate quickly summarized, changing the subject. "I'll help you get in if necessary, and leave Master Doom alone to do his work."

"Thank you," Doom replied, noticeably pleased even though he was forced to wear Lance's expression.

When the trio (or duo, depending on how you look at it) reached the factory, they ran into two robotic guards. "Authorized personnel only."

"We are authorized," Lance replied.

"Show identification and authorization form." From the way that the robots acted, namely exactly the same as each other, Lance and Stalemate deduced that they had as little artificial intelligence as possible.

"Here you go," Lance said, handing one his driver's license and his notes from Chemistry 101.

As Lance had hoped, the robot couldn't--or at least didn't--read the papers. "Access granted."

"Have fun," Stalemate said. "I've got a friend to meet with."

To be continued...