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KOOPALINGS : THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Foxy Boy

CHAPTER XII: REGRESSION

********************************************************

The full expanse of Grand Koopa City was bathed in sunlight, lending its reaches a beauty higher than they'd ever have owned without. It was quantifiable comfort to Iggy as he walked the narrow stone greenway behind the castle. The route wound over grassy bluffs, dotted with gardeners out tending to its upkeep. A few looked up at him as he passed, witnessing one of many worried princes. Though the issue jumped out at them, in light of well-known causes, his troubles were different altogether.

In science he'd found a life mission, a grand sense of fulfillment... And now, it was put on indefinite limbo, 'til normalcy is restored. He felt for his brothers, for sure; but they weren't the only ones to be suffering.

It was all just ill-timed, period. Every darker possibility in their comings and goings seemed to manifest at once, and though untrue he felt as if carrying the lion's share of the burden. Larry and Lemmy were in dire straits, and he wished for their safe return like any other... But to-wit they hadn't been robbed of their greatest joy by proxy. Even if the promised new facilities hadn't been halted, to return to the old one at a time like this would be unacceptable to Bowser. It would signify he was unconcerned, or even willfully detached... The latter by itself could be healthy, despite appearances. Through the course of his walk, he started wishing he'd never been born into royalty, and politics he had no will to shoulder. 'Happiness,' he thought, 'comes much easier in simple lives; wealth and power be damned.'

At a small hill's crest, he stopped to turn and view the castle. From outside, an impregnable fortress, and symbol of the kingdom's core strength and influence. Within, it more resembled a disturbed anthill, its legion of workers scattered and rushed under alarm.

In this chaos it was understood that much would be forgotten for a time... And by taking this short, therapeutic stroll, it was Iggy's hope that he, too, would forget. Pity that was easier said than done, and that he should have to learn this firsthand.

The sky above the turrets spread pristine blue, close to azure, and marred with but a tiny speck. To the spectacled prince it seemed likely a bird, surveying nature for a meal or mate. As his eyes stuck with it, however, it looked less like any sort of fowl; more round, and bulky. He squinted, striving to more easily make it out; several moments passed before it could be positively identified. In a flash his eyes went from squint to wide-open. His feet ran him like a rocket towards the towering stronghold.

He reached the front courtyard just in time to see the clown car make its landing on the second-highest turret, and two figures disembarking on foot. A short breath later, a third left on the arms of two shorter occupants. They were barely down the steps into the castle by the time Iggy re-entered at ground-level.

Every servant between the gate and the landing site felt the blast of air as Iggy passed them; some didn't have the time to even see him before he was gone. It was on a curving spiral stairwell up to the turret where he met Bowser; the king he found taking slow and weighted steps with his eyes bound to the descent. Bowser tried to show little more than exhaustion, for the sake of his son... But through his best efforts, still there's no hiding his immense concern.

"Dad! " Iggy exclaimed, winded from running. "Where have you been with the clown car? And who was carried down behind you a minute prior?"

Bowser pushed gently past his frazzled son. "Please, not right now. I'm badly under the weather." His words were soft, something highly unusual. "The answer to both your questions should be down any moment."

Puzzlement was plastered on Iggy's face as his father disappeared around the curvature of the stairs, this puzzlement remaining 'til he looked up to see Troopas carefully cart down his injured brother. Ludwig seemed delirious, but not so much as to hide the pain inhabiting him. Everything in Iggy wanted to scream for answers to what had transpired, and why his father hadn't obliged when asked... But he stood so dumbfounded, so silent as they, too, descended past his view.

Soon the scientific one's incredulous muteness gave way to a disorganized stammer. "What the... W-where d-...", he started, fully expecting this to be the end of the head count. So it was even starker surprise when he looked up to stare Roy straight in the eyes, sans-shades as the 'bully' moped in a state complementing their father.

For Iggy, the emotion couldn't stay itself longer. "Where has everybody been!? " he managed to shout in dismay. "What's happened to Ludwig!?"

Roy stopped and swung slowly to half-face his worried brother. "He broke his leg, tryin' to save me." His head shook almost ceremoniously. "Crazy shit went down out there, miles from this hellhole. Here's advice, give Dad a little time to recover, he'll be able to tell you everything. I just... Ain't too up to telling a tale right now, or anytime soon, either. Don't ask me again."

He started to slink down the steps again, but Iggy caught him by his collar, with just enough force to stop him in his tracks.

"You're going nowhere until I know what I need to. Don't expect me to watch my own flesh and blood lugged by me in some sore consequence and not want the 'why'."

His show of assertiveness surprised Roy, just momentarily. With a scowl, the latter jerked free of Iggy's grip with little effort, though more than he'd expected to need. There was a short pause - he tried to determine if Iggy's strength improved - before he noticed a slight shake in his own hands. He made a quick choice to ignore it, and maintained the confident aggression.

"I'm not doin' shit if I don't want. The last few hours were COMPLETELY fucked up, if you knew a goddamn thing about 'em and I said you will. I'mma be in my room to try and bury the memory. If you don't wanna hold your horses and let Dad feel better, you can always just follow the Troopas to the medical wing." He saw Iggy's face light up, as this option was newly considered. His demeanor softened in kind, as he drove his point home. "If you hurry you can still catch 'em before they're mobbed by panicked hallwalkers."

Iggy knew the truth in that statement, and nodded accordingly, turning to chase after them. Though he wouldn't admit it, he felt dumb for not thinking of that before.

It was plain to Roy that he was as shaken up as everyone else, even after withstanding all the reasons for general unease. It had been a while since seeing Iggy perturbed, and he handled it half-well... At the very least, he wasn't as freaked as the rest of the bloodline. Chances were that he'd encountered a defense mechanism, and one that Roy envied; he'd never been one to garner therapy from a thing or time without peers to distract him, among other, 'pharmaceutical' areas. It was up for guesswork just how many of his own were at various stages of incarceration, for multitudes of offenses.

Iggy had been gone for several moments, having left Roy on the steps at the spot where he confronted. With a light sigh, Roy started down towards his room-den again, in trembles, balance faltering on a quarter of his steps. He gulped hard, knowing their cause; but he had only to reach his bed to get their treatment.

On the way he met a slieu of worried servants; each put their own spin on where he might've been as they pummeled him with questions. He gave them the same treatment he did Iggy, directing them to the king's chambers once time had been allowed for shit to sink in and dim its emotional intensity. In his own mind, he was doing his father a favour by telling them to first wait for his better disposition... But as he watched each Shyguy sprint off with the same impatience his brother had, he knew there's no way they wouldn't head straight in that direction. 'Hell,' he thought, 'Dad's the king; it's his job to deal with what his slice of the world would send him. Otherwise a different guy'd be living in a castle right now.'

It seemed hours before he finally reached his door, pushing it open to the wecome sight of his personal space. His bed, his end-table, his sliding-door closet, even his red stain on the carpet from God-knows what. Before this moment, the reality of being home and safe hadn't quite sunken in... Now, as a grin formed on his face, he practically dived on his bed, enjoying the soft impact with bedcovers, the cool air as he came down, all things he would experience again. Best of all, Mouser and Vinnie could never threaten again, as he surely would've dreaded had Bowser not taken glorious - and enetertaining - care of them.

Concerns over Kamek, Ludwig and plenty more would return, they would have their time; for now, he would only relish life, despite his tremors.

That's what he thought. Ultimately, worry over the latter won out, chasing off the jovial mood. With their toll, relaxation would be next to impossible. He wanted so badly to find willpower to ignore, as opposed to the alternative... Miles away, hundreds of feet up in forested mountains, he'd made a pact with himself, to stay on the right path come hell or high water. But he hadn't counted on this, his brain rife with challenges, wracked by no end to strife. And certainly not this soon.

He rose, and rolled over 'til his feet could touch the floor. From there he sauntered to the closet, slid the left and right doors open, peeked down to find a lone shoebox at the back. He bent down and reached to slide it out, revealing the faded '80s shoe-company logo, a place no longer even in business. With clenched jaw he gingerly placed fingers on either side of the lid and lifted. Inside was no leather or lace... A needle, full of the fix to calm his shakes, rest on top of several inches of newspaper shavings.

His hands now trembled more from nervousness than anything. He was faced with a grim choice: do it, and take every last shred of dignity and self-loyalty down with him, or not do it, and join Larry's personal demons. He was shattered; he was weak. His jaw tightened further as he grabbed the hypodermic, and searched the paper shavings underneath for his tourniquet.

He rummaged for minutes, waxing more angry and forceful with every move of the litter that turned up nothing. Mist formed in his eyes; he wouldn't accept it as unavailable. At length, with an angry yell he picked the box up and flung it across the room, sending paper and needle alike to fly in all directions. He went to his knees, panting in fury, close to rare tears. Dependency had a hold on all joy from his homecoming only minutes after the fact. a wet trail went from eye to chin, in very real desperation, untempered. He wished Ludwig had never found him at all. Death - to pull the plug on this madness - might be preferable to life.

As he knelt, detesting sorrow but powerless to fight, his head jerked up. Elsewhere in the castle there was another set of problems, for to the youngest and closest of allies... And without realizing, he'd brought home with him knowedge that could play incredibly into how Larry's duty might be guided. All at once, he shot over to his bed's end-table, yanking open its topmost drawer to reach inside. A few more seconds produced a ballpoint pen and sheet of white paper; he instantly took to the writeable top surface, his shins on the carpet.

The writing was jagged, a symptom of deterioration, but now had some form of distraction. Years had passed since he'd last picked up a pen, but it felt strangely natural. He followed his stream of thought through the ink. In the midst of its river, he hoped to make it last where he'd have a decent spell of relief before it all came crashing down.

************************************************

An unsettling quiet permeated the king's chambers, as their occupant warmed his canopy bed in thoughtful repose. To an observer, the lines around his face and eyes might be more pronunced than usual... But none were there to bear witness, something he'd ensured as the first command upon return. His few-minutes' meditation would be fleeting; he well knew that any minute now, his loyal cerfs would grow restless and demand some answers. It simply wasn't possible for his absence and return to have gone unnoticed.

The door back into the throne room proper was slightly ajar; at length, a lone Shyguy poked his head through the opening. The diminuitive creature said nothing at first, waiting until Bowser leaned up to view his visitor.

"Your highness, Esmerelda wishes to address you."

The monarch only lowered his chin, clearly frustrated.

"... Shall I send her away, sire?"

"No," Bowser sighed, "Allow her. Receiving company might stabilize my mind."

"Yes, your majesty." The Shyguy rushed off, his footsteps loud to his king as he clambored to obey. The humour Bowser found in it was good for a brief relief of burdens, lasting 'til his firstborn's wife appeared at the doorway. She was wrapped by a demure floral-print gown, and Bowser's reaction, though plutonic, was one of slight enjoyment, tastefully... A little more than a decade earlier, his own love might have graced that threshold in a similar fashion, albeit with other intentions. There could be no question that his eldest had inherited at least part of him; he was thankful most of his more obvious flaws had not likewise been passed down to the majority of his children... 'Unless,' he thought, 'I'm overlooking something.'

Esmerelda, ever the class act, bestowed a slight curtsy on the reptile. Gracious words left her lips. "I realize I've come at a bad time, and foremost I should apologize fully."

By now Bowser'd leaned up, moving 'til he could stand on the floor. His reply accompanied a smirk. "Perhaps, but no daughter-in-law in good standing with me would be turned away. You have reasons for this."

She visibly relaxed, but only to maintain a lady's manner. "I'm glad. I was on the way to visit Ludwig in the infirmary. It's difficult, but I realized the need to first praise your saving he and Roy from something worse."

She expected some variation of 'You're welcome', but instead got a confounded look. "You already know where Ludwig is without needing to ask?"

She glanced down and nodded, shaking off the question's unexpected nature. "It's all over the castle, at least what Iggy knows of it."

Bowser drew a dramatic breath, and started to pace.

"... I hope this won't make matters worse," she was quick to add, watching his unease.

He shook his head, but went on wandering the floor. "It may be for the best. If I'm honest, it saves me a stressful announcement. I am grateful for your appreciation as well... If you knew how rare it is to cull kind words that aren't of blind fear or loyalty." He said nothing more for several seconds, then resumed, almost as a soldier. "Then again, I suppose the latter is to be expected. I'm only sorry I couldn't better keep my son out of harm's way."

"Don't worry yourself ragged over it... I-if I may be so blunt. A broken bone is hardly serious, painful maybe, but time will mend it." Her tone shifted more sorrowful. "That would be the part I hate, what he feels."

"As do we all. He didn't earn it, to be certain," Bowser agreed. "But, don't let me keep you any longer. Thank you again for your recognizance. I'm sure his worst ache is to see your face right now."

"Yes... More than likely..." She turned to look out her side of the door, and viewed something that put her ill at ease. "I'll be going, then." She repeated her curtsy. "Thank you for an audience, your highness."

Bowser cracked a smirk, toothy, healthy. "No responsibility of yours to heed a commoner's guidelines, leave when you feel the need. And afterwards you could always pay Roy a visit, to lift his spirits. He seemed as injured mentally as Ludwig is physically... Not that I'd judge this, after his ordeal."

She coyly turned her head. "I don't know, I'll have to see how my husband is faring. If he wishes me to stay, I'll have to make a night of it and soothe him while he's under care of the dreaded white-coats. Not that he's weak-willed, but, you understand. Husbands."

She turned to leave, not staying even long enough to view the joke's reception. "Tell him I wish him well! " The monarch called after her, but no response reached his ear. He accepted it as her concern for Ludwig, and started towards the bed again. An instant before his head would've hit the pillow, a semi-shouted "Daddy! " pierced the air, in his daughter's voice.

Grumbling, he leaned back up, and held his neck wincing as a crick came on. He caught sight of her immediately, standing in the same spot as Esmerelda, but in infinitely less-glam' stone-washed jeans and a red Cure tee. Her ponytail hung over one shoulder; its style more matched her temper than her clothes.

"You know, Wendy," he began, "Now is a poor time for me to solve problems. I just now rid myself of other unannounced company."

Her face twisted into a belligerent scowl. "Oh, so you auto-assume I need help or advice about something, soon as you see me? How convenient."

He sported a rascal's smirk. "You should not be surprised, with your track record." He could see hurt start to show in her face, and the levity of the moment grew inappropriate. "Relax," he asked of her, "I can afford you the benefit of the doubt. What would you like to talk of, then?"

She flipped her pony back, patience at zero. "I can't find Roy, I thought he might still be with you. I want to hear from him about what everybody's saying happened out there. I checked the courtyard, then the other grounds, then his room. He's nowhere I'd usually find him, and when I spoke to one of the gate guards they said he never left after you got back. He's not out raising heck."

Bowser's brow rippled in confusion. "Strange... But I'm sure he'll turn up. It looks to be a change in his usual routine, to maybe cope with what he must have faced, being abducted. In the meantime you could always ask me the details. Remember I was present during much of the end."

Her frown revealed sadness. "Yeah, but not when he was first taken, or anytime before the fight. Call me loony, but I used to like Mouser... When he was loyal. We had times, he was..." She struggled to find the words. "... I hate it, but he was something to me. I want to know what Roy knows, since he probably heard something, and I doubt he's already opened up to a soul about it... You'd be the last to know."

"... Well, well... On that you'd be right. But indulge me, what convinces you that this would come up?"

She shrugged. "On ething they have in common, they're predictable. Don't let anyone ever tell me I don't know my own brother, or... Him."

"But if that were true," Bowser replied, having way too much fun with this, "You wouldn't have to ask where he is."

"Tch," she balked, unamused, "Cute. But one more thing; did Ludwig really break his leg?"

Bowser once nodded. "Completely. However bad it turns out to be, I could tell it was worse than a simple fracture. This, while I have no medical training whatsoever. Take that as you will."

She stared off into nothing for a few moments, deep in thought. Bowser was quick to notice, and principally curious.

"Is something nagging you that you don't see fit to mention?"

This snapped her back to reality. She recentered. "You mind if I excuse myself? It's important."

Her quick turn aroused further suspicion, but not seeing it as dishonourable her father chose to ignore instincts. "Very well," he replied, "I hope you locate Roy before much more is wasted on him. Fretting, I mean."

Wendy cracked her own smile at the jab, out of defense, then practically ran out, leaving Bowser to the solace he needed. She lazily waved to throne room guards, not waiting to see if they bowed in return. There was other, pressing business.

Back in the halls, she produced the phone from her pocket, hastily dialed a familiar number. She winced at the fuzzy noise of the first few rings, interference by the thick surrounding walls... By the time she was answered, she'd reached a place closer to the castle's exterior, much more cell-friendly.

"Hello?", the male voice on the other end asked meekly. Her face lit up like halogens.

"Morie?"

"Oh... Hi, Wendy." He sounded downtrodden, troubled, reminding her of how shakily their last meet concluded.

"Morie, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I was calling to-"

"Don't, beautiful..." he interrupted to reassure. "It was dumb of me to think you'd wanna be someplace like that, especially with me-"

"No, no," she rapidly returned. "I'm telling you I changed my mind."

There was lengthened pause on the other end. "... Are you sure?"

"Positive," she grinned. "I'll see you Friday, when you pick me up."

*****************************************************

Ten miles west of downtown, in the booth of a guard outpost straddling a four-lane highway, two hammer brothers passed the time through another long shift.

"Goddamn," the one seated in back grumbled, with helmet over eyes and fingers locked together on lap. "Can't still be 11:00, can it?"

"See for ya'self, sleepy," the one standing at the window shot back. "There is a clock."

He referred to the mounted timepiece, the size of an orange, hung securely on the rear glass. 'Sleepy' shot a lazy glance upwards, muttered several curses.

"Man, screw this job, Kasey", he finally said. "Not a thing to do or see out here. This damn booth's a time machine, eight hours feels like twenty."

"You bitch all you want, you're as rested as a guy can be on any job. Wait 'til they transfer you to infantry, see how you like this then." As he finished the sentence, a yellow Pontiac pulled up to the lowered gate. The driver, a fifty-ish jetsetter in biz casual, had only to present his ID card for the gate to rise, granting him passage.

"Sounds like the voice of experience alright," the seated bro mumbled sarcastically.

"Who needs experience to know that kind of shit?" came the peeved reply. "I have what's close, though, just a few friends getting their heads blown off in the line of duty. The big picture was pretty clear after that."

"Well I'd still rather risk it doin' that than this. At least there's something you can be proud to say you do. I have to tell Ma every day, the most excitin' moment in a month was when that vanload of hippies drove by 'her little Ray' with the whole side painted up like some Warhol piece. Lemme tell you, art's not action."

"You-", Kasey chuckled, "You call your mom every day?"

Ray lifted his helmet to expose the stink-eyes. "No, asswipe. She calls me. And there's not a damn thing wrong about keepin' in touch."

Another chuckle. "I live independent, I don't know about you."

By then, he was busy with another motorist. Ray only lowered helmet again, whispered to himself. "Fuck him, unthankful prick. Bastard'll miss 'em when they're gone..."

No reply, until the present car was also sent ahead. "My parents died in a crash on I-34 when I was twenty. Thanks for caring though." It didn't sound off with hate or anger so much as a 'shut your mouth' overtone. The seated hammer bro, humbled and not wanting to start shit, re-reclined as they both waited for the next car to approach and require clearance.

Close to four minutes later, their wait ended. Looking up the road, away from the city, Kasey could see an older-model sports car appear over lines of rising heat from pavement. With nothing else to do - and no desire to hear from his co-watch - he decided to watch it drive up.

It didn't take long for his lack of suspicion to change. Well-before the car was close enough for him to distinguish occupants, he heard squealing tires when it took the last curve before their station... A gentle one, ordinarily. By the time it lay within a hundred some-odd yards, his piercing stare knew it had to be traveling at least 110-MPH. This guess was conservative. With a hand shading his nose, alarm slowly grew over his face.

"Shit, SHIT! ", he remarked in a strong-enough tone to jerk Ray up. "We have a runner!"

"Tcheh", Ray chuckled. "Some adrenaline, 'bout time!" He ambled up, faced the same way as Kasey. "No way will I miss this."

The span it took for the sports car to approach was less than either expected... Barely two seconds elapsed from when the car's model and its front passenger could each be identified. Hammer bro's gasped in unison, and the less-bored's hand shot like a cannon down to the CB radio hooked on the wall.

"This is Second Lieutenant Kasey at checkpoint four, we have a code purple, I repeat, code purple!", he shouted unnerved into the mouthpiece. "A white Corvette is approaching at breakneck-speed, and it looks to be carrying-"

It was then the convertible plowed through the checkpoint, snapping the lowered gate clean from its housing. The wood bar tumbled, rattling on asphalt, and once at rest the car was already a speck beyond. Its top was down, and the speechless guards had no hardships spotting the short human up behind Morton's seat, ready to attack, but not posed as though it were imminent.

The CB crackled as they both stood slack, dumbfounded.

"Krrsshhh-- Second Lieutenant Kasey, this is Corporal French, come in, over! I repeat--"

Only now could the named koopa wrench himself from sweaty daze. "Kasey here. We have a... C-code 'M'..."

*************************************************************

A collective funk hung over three heads in the mall's center court. Passing shoppers, most of which were used to seeing their faces and dingy skater threads around, were treated to a rare and welcome sight: Todd, Bret And Walt, sans Lemmy, hogging space on the benches circling the court's center fountain. All three had their boards underneath, resting with them; it was arguably the only idle time the wheels had since they were purchased.

The oft-noisy group was now silent, serene... Behaved, even, but for the sound of Todd's Air Jordans squeaking as he brought them repeatedly across the floor to give life to his boredom. His rote stopped only for him to glance up, towards Walt.

"Are you sure? Like, totally certain?"

A lackluster nod announced the reply. "I rolled up to the gate and buzzed in. When they found out who I was and why I was there, I got the whole story. He's going, alright."

"Fuck! " Todd spat in return. "I always thought he's smarter than that. Motherfucker must'a watched one too many Bond films or something, 'cause I sure as hell didn't plant that idea in his head."

"Nah," Bret interjected, "He's probably just agreed to keep one of his family from having to. Besides, he's a friggin' prince. It might've been like William and Harry in England, where they were pressured into service. I read the Inquisitor, I know this shit."

Todd shot up out of his seat. "Whatever, losers; I'm not gonna sit here and do nothing all damn day. It's about time we put some good wheel-shaped wear around those new fake palms in the Marcy's wing."

He turned and bent down to grab his deck from underneath the bench, but Bret's foot went up just as quickly, stopping him.

"Think, dumbass. The one reason we'd be on it's our protection. You know - the dude we were just bad-mouthin' three seconds ago."

A scowl crossed Todd's face the second he remembered. "Damn, I didn't think... Security would be all over us the second those wheels went under me, without Lemmy around. SHIT!!"

His last word preceded the bang of his fist against the seatback. Looking on, Bret and Walt stifled laughs as they watched him squint in self-inflicted pain.

"And for your next trick?", Walt smarted-off, as Todd strolled around the fountain to allow the throb in his fingers time to subside.

"My next?", he mouthed as the short walk was completed, "Would be to find us shit to do that won't land us in lockup for vandalism or disturbing the peace."

Walt nodded in agreement. "Well that shouldn't be too hard. Let's use our heads, 'stead of our feet and lips." He turned to Bret, one bench behind. "Got any light bulbs you wanna tell us about, Little B?"

No answer, as the 'median' of the group seemed transfixed forwards.

Walt's eyebrow raised. "Little B? Hey, Earth to Buzz!"

A second more and Bret seemed to snap out of it, glancing over at Walt with half a smirk.

"Sorry man. Check out who's about to go by."

He pointed ahead of him, through a planter of fake jungle foliage. Todd and Walt had to lean left to see through it, but upon doing so they made out three teen Koopas, two male and one female, all together talking between two boutiques. They recognized the shorter dude immediately - Morie's blonde locks weren't easily mistaken - but Todd's reaction was altogether more than his only-fascinated buddies. His heart skipped a beat as he fastwalked to the other side of the fountain, with Walt watching his unexplained swing the entire way.

"Hey," called the younger of two from the bench, "What's up with you all the sudden?"

"Shit, man, don't talk to me right now. I don't wanna tip 'em off I'm here. Just, pretend I'm not with you 'til they're gone, alright?"

"... You didn't piss 'em off or shit, did you?"

"No, I just... I don't want to talk to him right now. And didn't I just say to stop callin' me out?"

"Tch", Bret grunted, rising to his feet. "Then I'll go and see wassup. I heard you just say 'him', and not 'them', so your tweakin's already half-explained. I'll come back for the rest when you're done bein' a wuss. I'm sure they won't care either way."

He started towards the group, intending to go around the planter for a meet-and-greet. Halfway there, however, the doubts Todd had unwittingly put in his mind manifested, and feet went still as if walled off. It didn't help that both the guys were taller, much more built. Cursing his circumstance, he began to creep low until against the planter, with Walt looking on also quiet, an audience to a spectacle.

He hunkered down and gently parted fronds of a plastic fern to do his own version of spying. All three of the other teens were dressed with clear wealth, no surprise, the emblems of 'A/X' appearing at least once on each of their preppy wardrobes. He started to concentrate, 'til he could make out their words over the hundreds of footsteps and the gentle roar from the mall's central air system.

"No, I heard," the female started, her skinny frame pushed into the hand on her hip. "I hope she doesn't take it too hard. They've always been closer than two gears in an iPod."

Bret started to chuckle, but remembered himself; the topic they had dished on earlier was going around.

At least his short stature had one use; it made him too low to be spotted at this dark green cover. Feeling the concrete of the planter's edge cut into his stomach, he shifted weight with care and peeked on as they carried on.

"Haley, you know Lemmy can handle himself," the bigger dude started. "I see him all the time on that deck that doubles as his legs, and a few news channels had it by their sources that he'll take the thing with him to track the bastard down. I'm not surprised at all, look at his gift for it. He's murder on those fucking wheels, I swear."

As quick as he could get the words out, Morie's hand went up and across the back of his head with considerable force. "Yeah, he'll find a use for streetboarding on a top secret suicide mission. You're a friggin' brain-trust, Justin."

Bret's pupils expanded. The comment was a little out of character for Morie... Or what they knew of him, anyway... Maybe this would help explain Todd's cold feet about a run-in. No chance he'd break his cover now, unless and until they broke it for him.

"Ugh," Haley piped up, "Stop making butts of yourselves. I know Lemmy through her and he's just the kind of guy to go the distance. He is murder on it, or it looks like he's about to be."

"Well he's not retarded," Justin shot back, rubbing the back of his skull where Morie's hand made contact. "You can't bring a bike to a rodeo."

"You can't what!?", Morie leaned back for a few good guffaws.

Justin's face flooded with red. "You know what an analogy is, don't give me that shit. You have no room to talk anyway, I saw you at the rink last week. Your guts went AWOL the second she gave you the time of day."

Morie shook his head, the laughs expiring. "Man, if Wendy so much as looked at you your ass cheeks'd go so tight your bunghole would swallow your briefs."

"Oh, gross," Haley groused, sticking out her tongue in disgust. "No wonder she turned you down for next week. I'm gonna tell her what you said just now, too." Sickened, but sly and turning it on him.

"Whoa, she changed her mind, remember?" he smugly retorted. "I didn't expect, either, she just up and dialed me outta the blue to set it up again. Now you tell me that doesn't speak effin' volumes right there."

His last sentence escorted a challenging tone. She was momentarily mum, but soon spun around and started a denial with back turned.

"If she'd had confidence you're worth it, you wouldn't hear a 'no' in the first place."

Morie's ego shrank in a flash, as Justin's taunt of "OhhHHHHhhhhh" rang through his ears. When he couldn't form a fast reply, he started away, casual. Justin came with, swatting him backhand on the haunch. His thoughts clicked when they were twenty feet out from her.

"Well at LEAST I'M NOT THE NICOLE TO HER PARIS!!" He barked, watching as Justin laughed and turned, split off from his side. Only then did it him him how the joke didn't work due to gender. Eyes were on him from both the appalled and amused; he huffed off in a lone direction, unwittingly passing Bret as he went.

The latter stepped back from his eavesdrop-point, his hand cupped over his mouth to refuse giggles. As he watched Morie stomp off, he could hear his name being called from the benches. He turned just in time to catch Walt's frustrated stare.

"Are you deaf or something!? I said he's about to see Todd, stop him!"

Instantly he'd react. The moment's panic faded as his mind was bent to process the situation. "Psshhh, it's cool. Todd's just being weird, nothin'll happen when they see each other, I'm sure."

The very next thing he knew was Todd passing him, fire in his eyes, followed by Morie with incredulous shouts of "What'd I do? What'd I do, man!?"

Bret and Walt first looked at each other, then down the long corridor those two dispersed by. Not a thing they spoke as they together gave chase.

They caught up with Todd at the mall's end, facing Marcy's vestibule, fists unwittingly clenched. Morie was nowhere in sight, but it wasn't hard to tell where he'd headed. Bret walked up to Todd, getting no nice rise from his pissed friend.

"Hey, Todd, buddy," he appealed, waving a mitt in the reticent koopa's face. Todd raised his arm to push the gesture away, with eyes never moving from the storefront. "I'm fine, man. I sent him on his way. I'm done."

"Dude, what's wrong, for real? Is there somethin' about that night at the Green Derby you want to finally spill? 'Cause there wasn't one bit of trouble before you went trippin'. I was watching and listening to him and his two buds before he even saw you."

"He wasn't supposed to see me, dumbass!!" came the harsh answer, and he started back towards the center court. "I had enough of him that night, if you gotta know."

"Well clue me in! I don't know any shit before you open your mouth, so by all means!" He began to follow a few paces behind. "What, was he a douche or somethin'? He skip out on the check?"

"*Sigh* No," Todd sharpened. "All he fuckin' talked about was Wendy. All God. Damned. Night. I called him up 'cause I wanted a drinking buddy, and kind of as a good will thing, y'know, 'cause he has ties to the family now, same as we do. I didn't know I'd stuck myself with a preppy poser who's eternally whipped the moment she bats her fucking eyelashes. My biggest mistake in at least a year, I know."

"... Okay, but still," Walt piped up from the other side, "You could've been a bit - well - chill about it. You were walkin' away from a princess's B.F."

"Fuck princesses!" Todd shot back loudly. "I don't need to kiss her toes when I know her damn brother!" With inhibitions gone, he cupped two palms around his mouth and tilted jaw up to shout. "ALL HEAR THIS!!" He started, the passerby's taking full notice. "WENDY'S GAY, SINCE HER BOYFRIEND'S A HUGE, BORING PUSSY!!!"

Gasps were clear over any ambient mall noise, and he felt Bret forcefully grab his arm. "What the fuck, man, are you TRYIN' to get us arrested?"

He shook off the hold with excessive strength, hurting Bret's shoulder in the process. As the latter grabbed the injured muscle, Todd started off again without them. "Fuck you guys." They could hear him gripe under his breath as he kept on. "I'm gonna go find a place where people listen."

This time they let him go. Once he was out of sight, Walt turned to face Bret, still holding his shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yehh, I'm good," Bret replied, unconvincingly. "Man, he was on the fuckin' warpath with Morie. I've never seen him like that. Why the hell didn't he bring any'o this up before now?"

Walt shrugged. "'Cause nobody asked, probably. Let's just leave him be, let him cool off."

"Waaaay ahead of you bro. I need to get back to the house anyway, check how bad he screwed my rotator cuff." Many still stared - or glared - on them from Todd's earlier yell. Some had even followed, like they would start something. "... And we should jet before the rent-a-cops catch up to us."

"Man, this shit... Okay. I'll just head back myself, and try to think of an excuse for my Mom why I wasn't in school today. There's been an angry phone call by now."

Bret chuckled, disregarding a lingered pain. "Planning, m' friend. Use it often." With that he started off for the other side of the mall, where they'd first entered. "Catch you later, Walt," he called out as he waved with his good arm, soon absorbed by the mass of shoppers. Walt's head went up, as the words "Be cool, Little B'-" left his lips.

That easily, their day out came to an early, unfulfilling and as-yet-unexplainable end.

******************************************************

"DUCK AND COVER!!"

A hissing shout echoed through the giant room, before an explosion rocked its walls. As dust settled around what had been a lead pipe bomb, the two princes were revealed, sprawled on the ground with their hands on-back of their heads. Soon they began slowly to rise, dropping hands to their sides as they watched general Triclyde approach from his previous, safe vantage point on the room's other end. He didn't toil to conceal his pride; seeing how low to the ground they'd thrown themselves after lighting it, to him made clear that they'd done procedure perfectly.

"Excellent," he commented as they dusted selves off. "That makes another test you had no trouble passing. There might be hope for this kingdom after all."

"Yeah, well," Lemmy started curtly, "There'd be alot more hope if Dad had chose to count on the trained agents we already have, but whatever."

All six of the general's reptile eyes narrowed at once, to Lemmy alone. The gesture sent shivers down the young one's spine, and had him regret speaking out long before reproach from his angered trainer reached his ears.

"I know I didn't just hear you question your king's judgement."

His tongue had flicked out on the last syllable, prompting a cringe from obstinant teens. Soon, however, the reaction gave way to 'balls' born of royal pride; Lemmy's confidence was back in full force.

"I was questioning my father's judgement. Last I heard, that can't be an offense. And I don't care how much sway he's granted you; I doubt he'd be happy if here right now, you trying to intimidate us like some Joe-Vanilla army pawns."

Three serpentine heads jerked back in unified surprise. Larry and Lemmy braced for an unpleasant reprimand, but much as it would make sense, there was no denying the truth in that outburst. Triclyde went to begrudgingly concede, albeit in a way that admitted no wrongdoing.

"Fine then. If you insist on undermining me, go right ahead. But good luck convincing your father to trust someone else to rein you in, or hold you to the instant readiness that lives depend on. It may be easier for him if it were just your flesh at stake."

Lemmy grunted and turned away. To him, having no quick comeback was insufferable, no less towards a power-drunk cronie like the one whose care they'd been thrust into. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, detesting the foul taste the word left in his mouth. To see the pride it instilled for the general only added insult to injury.

"Much better, soldier," came the self-indulgence. "Now, if you have no other petty shit to start with me, we'll continue."

Larry hand shot up, reflexively. Triclyde's eyes traced it, and he slithered over in calculating fashion, addressing the prince with full impatience.

"Schoolboys raise their hands like that, but go ahead, class clown."

Larry wrinkled his nose but did nothing more to show disdain. "Can I please take five, sir? My health is kind of fragile right now, if they didn't give you the memo. I need a small window of time to ensure I take my, eh, treatment properly."

Silence, for a noticeable time, broken by a low laugh as Triclyde turned and started his legless equivalent of pacing in a slow circle. "Yes, I'm aware of your little 'health issue'. To that end, I have three questions for you." A smile cracked his dry, rough lips. "Number one: DID I START YOU ON ADDICTIVE VICES, SOLDIER!?"

Blown away already, Larry could only think to mutter "No".

"Number two: DID I SUGGEST TO YOU THE METHOD OF RECUPERANCE YOU'RE USING!?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then number three should be easy for you." Fangs dripped with WHY SHOULD I CARE WHERE YOUR STUPIDITY LED YOU!!?"

Larry stepped back from the force of Triclyde's scream, but scowled. "Now wait just a damn minute-"

"HELL NO, SLACKER!! " boomed the general, instantly silencing Larry. "There's been too much waiting done already, namely me waiting for you crybabies to cough up the silver spoon jammed down your throats!" The two were now leaning back wide-eyed in shock and fear, only regaining their calm as he tactically resumed his pseudo-pacing. When he dished on, calmer, it was the leftmost or 'west' head that spoke. "Now, we've gone through basic stealth, enemy recognition and construction and use of munitions. I was particularly impressed by your performance of the second of those, though the cardboard props have never proven much of a challenge to our agents." Hearing this, Larry glanced over his shoulder at the corrugated props in question, lying stacked on the floor between two corners. Of course the duty of consolidating these had been left to them, as the troopas standing astride targets hadn't lifted a finger. In fact it would seem they hadn't even moved in the past hour-and-change. "Nevertheless", the center head re-grabbed Larry's attention, "We still have to cover weaponry, sniping tactics and anything you might not ace the first time around."

"And maggots," the right or 'east' head picked up, "I still have orders to make sure you two are briefed and ready to standards in no more than an hour. So hell no, agent-in-training Larry, you're not getting your needle-pacifier until you fall over foaming at the mouth! "

He was quick to pounce emotionally on the shock caused by bluntness; Larry reeled and east-head grabbed another window to speak. "You have two seconds to shadow to the targets, starting one second ago. MOVE IT! "

They did as they were told, grumbling the entire way. Larry's gripes were limited to his condition; Lemmy's mostly centered around the irony of Triclyde's attempt to turn out "professional" agents in the middle of a party room, on a few hours' notice. And the two soldiers they'd initially thought would somehow help them had only stood at attention next to the targets, as if guarding them; they themselves had gone through several lessons. 'Maybe now,' Lemmy thought, 'They'll be of some help.'

Triclyde stopped close to twenty yards distant from the left target; he turned as his east head spoke. "I'm sure the next step's obvious. This may well-be the most critical part of your training, since you only have one chance at it each, so you'd best get it right."

Larry craned his neck, clearly attempting to figure something out. At length he gave that up, and reverted gaze back to Triclyde. "Okay, but why d'we only get one chance to hit the target... Eh, sir? Don't firefights usually go a while, I mean not like in movies, but... Well..."

The general wore a look of displeasure. "Because I'm only supplied with two guards. According to 'your father', no more could be expended right now. And no more questions are allowed, 'til I say otherwise." As this left Triclyde's scaled lips, the middle head swerved on its long neck until it faced the soldier at the closest target. "It's time, private. Surrender your arms and take your position."

Larry held in deep intrigue as the soldier gulped hard and stepped forward. He held out his rifle; grip was shaky. The general's eastern face then moved back around to face Lemmy with a glare. Terse, unmoving.

"I'm not the one learning to make use of a firearm, you know. March over there and take it from him."

A very puzzled Lemmy started off towards the soldier, going up to two feet in front of him. There he halted, and took gently the weapon in his arms. He couldn't help noticing clamminess on the troopa's face, light reflecting from a nervous sweat. The soldier's mouth was open slightly, and the blank, dutiful countenace etched on all trained servicemen hid little of some unspoken turmoil.

Lemmy started back for Larry and Triclyde; he looked only once to see the private appear even worse for wear. No sooner had be rejoined them than his thumb went up to point in the troopa's direction.

"Is he gonna be alright?"

All he received from Triclyde was a half-assed smirk, and the rightmost head looking past him in that same direction.

"I gave you an order to take your position, boy!", he hissed, watching as the troubled soldier's eyes began to dart around.

Lemmy now held the rifle barrel-up against his side, facing the same as his commanding officer. Once his attention was averted to Triclyde, he saw an expectant scowl.

"Well, what are you waiting for?", the middle head snapped. "I'll take care of him. Just raise your gun and prepare to fire on my command."

He obeyed, lifting the bulky assault weapon to a level height, holding it the same as he'd seen depicted in a dozen war epics. With steadiness, he closed one eye; the other honed his aim on the target.

"Private, this is your last warning," he could hear Triclyde bellow. "Take your position, now."

Lemmy tried to ignore, and only concentrate on getting his one chance right. But his cool dissolved, as the troopa wandered right in front of him.

"Hey, genius!", he shouted in frustration, "Get out of the way!"

"He won't listen to you," Triclyde casually informed. "He's received his order."

"Well then YOU tell him to move it!" Lemmy barked, lowering his weapon and twisting around to face the general. To his surprise, the rightmost heads grinned; the one to the left was stalwart, maybe sorrowful behind the stare but inactive.

It still took a moment to register in Lemmy's brain, after he turned back straight to see the private now solidly at attention before the bullseye, trembling. The skater-prince's eyes grew in an instant; a gasp in squawk's form escaped his lips. When next he faced the general, his voice cracked on nearly every word.

"No, not that... You can't make me... No fuck-ing way."

The red of Triclyde's complexion warmed. "Watch your tongue, worm. You won't be shooting at motionless canvas when you're out there. How else were we to test your resolve or loyalty? Do you see now why this step is most important?"

Had Lemmy's jaw dropped any lower, it would scrape the floor. Insinuation was dastardly, well-nigh inconceivable. There was no chance his father had authorized this caliber of madness... But harshest of all, he had no choice in the matter. He and Larry were alone in this, essentially locked up with the high-ranking serpent until they could be deemed fit to leave... By none other than apparent murderer.

He glanced to the side, reading shock just as incredible on his brother's face. This had morphed to a living nightmare.

Shaking more intensely than his target, the prince again raised his weapon, likewise re-prepping to fire. A tear squeezed out his closed eye, as the other trained itself on an innocent man of his own nation. He found his thoughts drifting to the family that might be at home right now, waiting for the hour their patriarch may conclude his service to the crown, and join them. For dinner. For TV, or to... To spend time with his children...

He couldn't do this; no amount of tyrannic influence would will him to such a low. But will had no bearing; it took a backseat to duty, born of necessity. For all he knew, it very well could be his father's idea. Bowser'd been one of the few to raise them; he would know the greatest thing they need to overcome for a mission like this. Their king had never been the type to sit back and allow someone else to engineer, for any event or reason.

It was only this epiphany that gathered him the courage not to falter. He felt the eight eyes of Triclyde and Larry's upon him; the former to see if he would chicken out, and the latter to see if one was capable... If the precedent would happen, and open him to commit the same.

His kingdom... Their kingdom depended on heartlessness. Nothing fair, but things were inescapable. He kept his eye open only long enough to steady his aim one final time, the longest second of his life... Then, forgetting all, shutting heart and mind out, he closed it tightly... Hard pressure applied to the trigger.

The sound evoked that of a battlefield cannon. Lemmy strained from the discharge; images were grainy, his memories of films on history. His eyes he opened, praying to the heavens he'd missed.

A bullet-sized hole lay dead-center in the bullseye. Surrounding it, thick spray of scarlet blood. Below lay a crumpled heap, lifeless, the body of an unwilling sacrifice.

It drove all composure instantly from Lemmy. He collapsed in sobbing regret, the most bitter tears. He had done it. To prove himself, he had done it.

The gravity had barely sunk in when a sharp jab pricked his leg. "Get up, gutless wimp," Triclyde seethed as he poked Lemmy once more. "It's over and you can't undo it, so don't weep over it like you can. Throw a tantrum on your own time, when both of you return. And speaking of both of you..." he trailed off, whipping towards Larry with an unseemly grin. "I believe it's someone else's turn."

Both could see, in the corner of their eyes, the remaining soldier cringe in fright. Larry immediately stepped back, his palms up and forward. "No. You're not getting me to kill in the name of proof, I can handle a firearm."

Two of Triclyde's faces filled with cruel mirth. "Oh, so you're too good to do what your brother has? What makes you better than him, in skill I mean?"

Larry lowered hands, transforming from shocked to insulted, so furious as his brother knelt on the floor in lamentations. "Don't you DARE twist this around like that. You just stood there and made my brother kill a man, and you're amused. You sick bastard!! "

He had stopped only inches away, fronting Triclyde's middle countenance. They locked in a standoff of glares, unyielding.

"And you're just an impudent little shit," the head hissed. "As you were, before I make you sorry you opened your mouth."

"Really?", Larry chuckled sardonically, unfazed. "What could you do to me, with this deadline or my bloodline? Once word gets around to Dad, he'll string you up by each one of your necks, one at a time."

"Why you-"

"STOP!!!" came a baritone yell behind them. All four survivors jumped.

Roy had burst through the ornate doors, staggered in a bit and halted. "I HAVE SOMETHIN' TO GIVE YOU!!" His pitch was too level; brain didn't carry the shift of any emotion.

Larry and Triclyde stood dumbfounded. The Koopaling in shades hobbled closer, his head lolling every other step. By the time he reached Larry, a coma patient could know he came in no right mind.

"HERE!", he shouted in slur, stuffing his youngest bro's hand with a small stack of paper while jerking around in manners not unlike Parkinson's. "Read it... After you're left. TAKE IT in with your heart, with you when..." His voice faded out as he began to look around, no explanation, several moments. After squinting to the macabre scene at one target, he rotated his neck once, sniffed, proceeded. "Found an... Old can paint. Took away the pain. Cool red painting over there."

With that, he pivoted around, losing balance a bit to stagger a few steps before correcting. Thereon he staggered like a drunkard back towards the doors from whence he'd come.

Larry had gone speechless through all of this. His hand shot up just as Roy's clenched the door handle. "ROY, WAIT! WHAT IS THIS!!? ROY!!"

He got no answer, nor a stop. In more time, the double doors slammed shut behind his older brother, leaving them alone once again.

Larry's everything was mired in the pits of conscious despair. He first glanced to his power-mad superior, then to the motionless cadaver under Lemmy's target, then to Lemmy himself, still on the floor weeping, no change for their distracting and abstract interruption... Lastly, Larry looked to the other poor soldier, who held a visage even more in fear than his contemporary's last breaths. The horror was unspeakable... But worse still may have been how unavoidable it now bent, what little that was yet to occur. In back of his mind, he ticked past all the other branching struggles that tore their family asunder. They would survive... It was obligation to their people, for the sake of more than image but strength and trust as well. But their bond - the collective of an eight-strong clan - was in mortal danger. Nothing in his hopes would convince him that they'd weather any less, that all would ease... It was all too close to home, too apparent where they were headed.

The Koopa kind was to be locked in the influence of its purest enemies.

To be continued...