Chapter Deux! The spy who clubbed me... with disaster!
kingmonkey sped away from his home on his rocket-powered motorcycle. Old women scattered in his path, screaming, as kingmonkey pondered his mission. It would be dangerous, and sexy... very sexy. Crazy Ned's words still echoed in his ears (for Crazy Ned was unable to differentiate between indoor and outdoor voices): Hazzum, blazzum in the can, you farging radent!
Crazy Ned was a fount of wisdom, presumably, and kingmonkey knew better than to take his words lightly. The meaning of Crazy Ned's cryptic message would likely become clear as kingmonkey's mission unfolded.
kingmonkey was a monkey on a mission- a mission to stop a crazed European dictator (is there any other kind?) and no amount of enemies or red lights would stop him from rocketing blindly into danger and succeeding despite himself. Iron Cast and his many minions were no stranger to kingmonkey, for they had crossed swords many times. Truthfully, they had crossed guns more often than swords, and once even crossed streams, but still, the metaphor sounds best in its original format, and it's best not to mess with that.
Above the intersection through which the speeding simian super spy now hurtled, a strange stork stood staring starkly in silence. It's camera eyes recorded the scene as a dozen police cruisers hopelessly pursued the daring rogue. The stork suddenly extended an antenna from it's head and began emitting an encrypted electromagnetic signal along a special frequency. The information beamed its way out of the city and up into the sky where it jumped from secret relay satellite to secret relay satellite, and finally down to a small European theme park-- Submissionland! The nation was Bacteria, and in the magic castle at the centre of Submissionland! Iron Cast stood in front of a megascreen, watching as kingmonkey evaded justice in the pursuit of justice.
"Come, you simian simpleton," Iron Cast said aloud to no one in particular, "this time you shall find that Iron Cast is ready for you, and no amount of idiot luck will save you this time."
"You're doing it again, sir."
"What? No, I wasn't"
"You were, sir," said a thin man, impeccably dressed, who stood beside the deranged monarch, "you were referring to yourself in the third person. You remember what your evil therapist said about that?"
"Sigh... when you dissociate from yourself, you dissociate from success."
"That's right. Care to try that again, majesty?"
"Right. Ahem-- Come, you simian simpleton," Iron Cast said aloud to no one in particular, "this time you shall find that Ir-I am ready for you, and no amount of idiot luck will save you this time!"
"Well exclaimed, sir. I have a number of your minions online. Who would you like to send after kingmonkey first: The Toffee-Maker, Big Wrench, Bigger Wrench, Chopper Queen, Spastic War Veteran, or Natasha Unfaithfulova?"
"Call in... The Toffee-Maker! Hah ha ha ha ha ha!"
"Indeed, sir."
Stay tuned for Chapter 3: A "sticky" situation-- get it?
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