Neonn: 'Kay, it's been a while since I've played, so some of the details aren't entirely correct. Oh well. But most of them are. Which is the sad part. I could've gone on and on and on, but wanted to keep this somewhat short. This idea came when I was playing PoP:Two Thrones with some friends, and someone pointed out that everything must look completely coincidental. This is the result.
Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Persia.
Safety Inspection
By: Neonn
"Hello, welcome to Babylon. I am Achmed, and I will be your guide during your stay. As your guide, I will be pleased to show you all the local 'hot spots', as those of us in the tourism industry like to call them. Babylon is quite a popular city.." Achmed was smiling widely, trying to be as friendly as possible to the dour man before him.
The man interrupted. "Thank you, Mr. Achmed." The man's tone was flat and monotonous, perfectly fitting. He was somewhat thin, in the sense that he couldn't be considered obese. His hair was a dark brown, but he was balding, and what little of it he had left consisted of a horseshoe around the head and a badly disguised comb over. His face was one of those unremarkable faces which reminded one of an someone else, despite not really looking like anyone. Easily forgettable. He wore a gray business suit. All of this combined with his dour, serious personality to an aura that practically screamed –well, said, anyway. Screaming didn't seem to be something he would be capable of--'ignore me.'
"As you are aware, the Committee for Public Safety has sent me. There have been some, ah, questions pertaining to the safety and stability of Babylon. We shall start here. Explain: why must I climb over these boxes, several of which are on fire, in order to enter the city?"
"Well, Mr Martin, it would seem that we've been invaded. Again—I mean, this doesn't happen often, no sir!" Achemd said cheerfully, acting like a tourist guide. Which he was. "It would just seem that the gate has been blocked, sir."
"And the other entrances?" asked Mr Martin, making some notes on a clipboard. Achmed stared at him blankly. "Other...why would you need more than one entrance?" Mr Martin fixed him with a disapproving frown. "Indeed. Shall we continue?"
With surprising agility for a man his age, Mr Martin followed the nimble Achmed over the crates. Achmed began rambling, trying to point out the virtues of the city. This was difficult to do as much of it was crumbling and/or on fire. Achmed decided that Mr Martin didn't need to see much of that, so he led him to a back alley. Thankfully, it was intact, and only a little screaming could be heard.
"Was no thought given to the layout of this city?" asked Mr Martin, walking through the twisting, winding, and overall narrow streets.
"Oh, on the contrary. Babylon took years to plan," replied Achmed carelessly.
"I find that difficult to believe."
"Oh, but it's true, see the beams?" Achmed pointed up. Seven or so feet off the ground, a series of narrow round beams connected the walls. "Those are for the Prince to use, so he can escape from the Dehaka."
"The Dehaka?"
"Yes, the Time Demon."
"And your prince runs across them?" asked Mr Martin dubiously. The beams were spaced at least two feet apart, didn't lay flat, and each seemed either higher or lower than the ones around it. Achmed nodded eagerly. "Isn't that...dangerous?"
"Not as dangerous as the Dehaka!"
Mr Martin made some notes.
xXx
"Achmed? I am seeing a giant pit. Is this correct?
"Indeed, sir! I'm glad you have noticed! It's one of our major attractions, you see--"
"There is no safety railing; there are ramps which end rather abruptly ten feet up a steep incline—and is that an open manhole?"
"Oh, sir, sir, sir, you are a stranger to this city, so allow me to explain," Achmed gave his most winning smile to Mr Martin. It had little effect on the note-taker. "You see, the pit is there so that the Prince can fight the man turned into a giant, hideous sand monster by the Sands of Time, sir. In the event he is corrupted by the Sands, there is a way for him to escape."
"Down to the sewers?" asked Mr Martin, sniffing delicately at the stench rising from the hole. Achmed gave him another nervous smile as Mr Martin wrote furiously on his clipboard.
"Well, shall we go on, then?" Mr Martin watched as Achmed got out of the pit by jumping on a pyramid of precariously stacked, and also on fire, boxes. Mr Martin took the ladder.
xXx
"So, this is the palace." It was, for once, a statement rather than a question. Achmed tried to be relieved, but the tone of the other man was...disapproving. He couldn't give it much thought, however, as he was currently focused on making it past a booby trap.
"Care to explain why rotating spiked logs are in a public area?" asked Mr Martin seriously. He waited for an answer, patient as always.
"Oh, it's to give the Prince a challenge, you know. He sort of expects it for some reason. Not entirely sure why." Thinking back on the entire layout of the city, Mr Martin was fairly confident he knew why.
Suddenly, a violent earthquake shook the building, causing random chunks of ceiling and floor to fall down, opening great, seemingly endless pits.
"What in the..?" said Mr Martin, surprised and dangerously close to raising his voice as he lost his balance.
"Not to worry sir, not to worry! This happens all the time—a regular occurrence!" Achmed tried to reassure the safety inspector. It was rather hard as he himself had lost his own balance, and was currently separated from the other by one of the chasms.
"A regular occurrence? We aren't anywhere near a fault line. Why is there an earthquake?" Achmed shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a small squad of bulky men, armed with water guns.
"Excuse me, we've had some complaints of giant, viscous dogs. Made of sand," said the most heavyset.
"Oh, they are one floor up, by the fountain. You can't miss it," said Achmed. The squad nodded and left, carefully watching their step as to not fall down a pit. Achmed noticed Mr Martin's confused stare.
"Sometimes the sand dogs get out before the Prince gets the chance to fight them. We have to call in Animal Control then."
"They had water guns."
"I should hope so. They were going up against sand dogs, after all" Mr Martin shook his head and let it go. He moved closer to examine one of the great crevasses. He looked for a little bit of rubble, which should have been littering the ground, so he could kick it down. All the rubble, however, seemed to be at least the size of his head. He settled with throwing down a penny. He waited and waited, but there wasn't any sound.
"How far down does this go?" he asked Achmed, who had somehow managed to get back over to where Mr Martin stood.
"A good six hundred feet, sir." Anticipating the other's next question, he continued, "So the Prince can deftly maneuver and avoid them. And use up all of his Sand before he gets to the sand dogs."
"His what?"
"Sand, sir. The Sands of Time enable him to go back approximately eight seconds in time. This is so he can use it all up beforehand. See, he falls down, and uses the Sand to go back in time—often only to fall down again. Then, by the time he gets to the dogs, he's all out of Sand. It encourages him to try harder."
Mr Martin shook his head and wrote down more observations. He was almost done with this particular set of notes when he paused. "Did you hear that?"
"Hmmm?" asked Achmed, nor really paying attention.
"A voice. It...sounds odd."
"Ah, yes. It would seem the Prince is possessed," said Achmed calmly. "That would be the Dark Prince talking inside the Prince's mind."
"Then why am I hearing it?"
"The Dark Prince talks aloud through the Prince. To the uninformed, it would appear that the Prince is crazy, but that is not so! He is merely possessed." Achmed gave Mr Martin a look that clearly indicated he counted Mr Martin among the uninformed. Mr Martin made another mark.
"And you said these went down six hundred feet?"
"True, sir, true! The Prince uses strategically placed hand holds to cross, avoiding the spinning blades and such."
"And how does everyone else cross?"
"Sir?"
"How does everyone else cross?"
"I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about. There's only one Prince. Why would anyone else need to cross?" Mr Martin grimaced.
xXx
"Finally, safety railings," said Mr Martin appreciatively, gazing at the ten foot high, intricate fence. On the other side was, of course, a gaping pit.
"Er, actually, sir.." said Achmed apologetically. Mr Martin sighed. "It's for the prince, isn't it?"
"You're learning, sir! We will make a true Babylonian of you yet!" said Achmed happily. "See, the Prince can use the strategically placed furniture and footholds to climb to the top and using the intricate mass of beams overhead, he can use his Sneak Attack, greatly reducing the need to replace so much broken or damaged furnishings." Achmed saw the look in Mr Martin's eyes.
"But you can call it a safety rail if you like, sir...heh heh..."
xXx
A little further in, they came across an associate of Mr Martin, a certain Ms Grace, part of the Health Safety Department in the Comittee for Public Safety. She was taller than Mr Martin, and thin, almost emaciated, and her dark blonde hair was tied back in a severe bun.
"Ms. Grace," said Mr Martin politely.
"Ah, Mr Martin, good morning," she replied.
"You could say that," he said slowly.
"Difficult job?" she asked sympathetically.
"This city is a mess."
"I can imagine. I mean, it's certainly one of the most unsanitary. This is where they keep their dishes, little alcoves on the floor, not even the minimum six inches up. And they have an immense sewer system—one that is easily accessible. One could literally walk right into it." As if to illustrate her point, she took two steps forward. A chunk of ceiling fell to the floor, which then crumbled, reavealing a rushing, filthy river. "Do you see? Not even in proper pipes." Both inspectors sighed, and filled out two whole pages of notes on their respective clipboards.
"Achmed?" said Mr Martin tiredly to his guide, who was engaged in an energetic conversation with Ms Grace's guide. Both were gesturing expressively and talking loudly in foreign.
"Sir?"
"Why?" he did not need to elaborate. Achmed sighed. "Because, sir. You do not seem to understand. Everything must be prepared, for every possible scenario. And, most importantly, everything must look entirely coincidental."
xXx
"Condemned?" said Achmed in shock. "You can't condemn an entire city!"
"I just did, Achmed. It is a hazard. The buildings are definitely not up to code, everything seems to be flammable, there aren't enough entrances or exits...need I continue?" asked Mr Martin pointedly. Dejected, Achmed shook his head. He no longer bothered keeping up the pretense of a cheerful tourist guide.
"Also, you all seem to have a delusion that this 'prince' character exists, despite that I could find no evidence of him, other than booby traps that had been so carefully prepared. And the occasional voice. This is possibly a result of the fumes from the sewer system." He wrote down something on the clipboard, the clipboard Achmed was coming to hate. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Here is a list of things that must be corrected. And the name of a good doctor with experience in helping those addicted to hallucinogens. I will be back in one month to check up on your progress. Good day, Achmed." Achmed nearly cried. The list had to be at least a hundred pages long. And it all had to be corrected? What would the Prince think?
-End-