45… 46… 47…

The Prisoner's silent counting was suddenly interrupted by the familiar whooshing of the automatic door that connected his cell to the rest of the palace. A reflex he'd developed over the period of no more than three years came into play, as he flashed his head in the direction of one of the only doors barring him from freedom.

He lowered himself down from his mid pull-up stance, and allowed his bare feet to touch the ground, keeping his sweaty palms tight around the iron bars of his cell's only window. Hovering in the doorway, was an easily recognizable egg-shaped silhouette. In one of its rigid mechanical hands, a large, metallic spear; in the other; a pair of electric binds. A Yolkian Royal Guard.

After taking a dramatic pause, the unwelcome visitor sallied into the room, its two eyes locked firmly on the Prisoner at its front. There were no obstacles in the cell for the alien to dodge, as the Prisoner hadn't been given access to furniture of any sort. Due to the nature of his person, it was deemed far too risky to leave any potentially-repurposable item in his vicinity. There was no telling how much trouble he could cause with only a cushioned chair.

The guard drew nearer, stopping only three feet in front of the Prisoner. In the early days of his imprisonment, several guards at once would be present during the times when he would be moved. Over time though, the numbers had dwindled to one, solitary sentry. The Yolkians knew their most esteemed capturee was smart enough to not engage the Royal Guard in melee combat. The Prisoner couldn't decide if it was the same guard everytime, or if they rotated- the Yolkians looked and sounded too similar to make a distinction. Not that it was of any consequence, anyhow.

Continuing with the routine, the sentry presented the open electric binds in its outstretched robotic hands, silently ordering the Prisoner to submit. Finally releasing his hold on the barred window, the Prisoner about-faced, and laid his hands flat out into the binds. As soon as his arms came into contact with the metal, they snapped shut, and surged with electricity. Every guard assigned to the Prisoner had access to a remote which, when activated, would give him several amps' worth of pure pain. Similar to a dog obedience collar, which only made the matter even more degrading.

The Prisoner raised his gaze from the binds, to his escort. The guard, satisfied that the Prisoner was secure, spun about, and made to exit the cell. Without hesitation, the Prisoner followed behind him, his bare feet squishing against the cold stone floors of his cell. That on its own had taken some getting used to, but three years' in solitary was more than enough to toughen him up.

Outside the cell, in the elaborately decorated hallway of the Royal Palace, three more guards awaited. The escorting sentry linked up with the already-formed up guard company, leaving space for the Prisoner to walk in the middle of all of them. Complacently, he took his position. The two leading guards quickly took their cue, and propelled themselves forward. As he took his first step, the Prisoner came to a sudden and confusing realization: King Goobot V was absent.

Goobot was not always present for the Prisoner's trips around Yolkus. Normally, only the four guards served as his escorting retinue, during his daily trips to work in the spice mines. However, Goobot had always been present on the beginning day of each quarter of the year… and it was for a very special purpose: the beginning of each quarter hosted a new feeding for Poultra, the resident deity of Yolkus. Goobot never tired of reminding the Prisoner of his failures to save the Gorlocks, who had become the newest addition to the Yolkian labor corps, and Poultra's quarterly meal.

Today was supposed to be one of the feedings. The Prisoner knew that, under no circumstances, were they to be cancelled… which only added more confusion to the situation. Goobot had never missed a feeding, and by extension, never missed an opportunity to escort the Prisoner himself. What had changed?

The Prisoner knew he would likely not get an answer from his escorts, so instead he did as he usually did when walking through the palace, walls of guards in front and back: watch and listen. He had slowly been stockpiling information on the Yolkians during his extended stay on the planet, carefully cataloguing every piece of useful knowledge he came across.

It was amazing what both Goobot and the guards around him would let slip in his presence. Goobot had admitted once, when complaining about a particularly bad slave revolt some years back, that he'd had to flee the planet in an escape ship he kept stored in the palace, only a few hundred meters away from the Prisoner's cell (behind a retina-locked door, of course). He'd once heard a couple of guards complain about a structural weakness in the back of their protective shells, that allowed for the suit's entire core system to be destroyed with one piercing strike. The Prisoner knew how many guards occupied the whole of the palace (some six thousand), the size of the Yolkian space armada (one flagship, forty battleships, one hundred and twenty heavy cruisers, four hundred frigates, and over a thousand transport craft), and even that the great Poultra's watering dish was kept in a large ceremonial chamber nearby.

While he continued to increase his ever-expanding library of information regarding Yolkus, the Prisoner also continuously sought an opportunity for escape. For the whole of the three years he'd been there, no such chance had presented itself… or, at least, he hadn't noticed it yet. There was hardly a time where he wasn't under surveillance, the only times being when he was alone in his cell. Breaking out of the cell was certainly a no-go. Without any sort of tools, it was impenetrable. He was accompanied by at least two guards during his working hours in the spice mines, and four at any given time when he was walking around the palace. That doesn't even account for the dozens of other static guards that lined the hallways of the palace.

Even with all of this, however, the Prisoner never stopped trying. He had people back home counting on him. The simple thought of the looks on their faces when he eventually returned was enough to give him the willpower to continue.

The Prisoner's thought process was ground to a halt, as he and his escorts arrived in front a large set of golden double doors. No markings were necessary; he'd been through the doors enough times to remember their purpose: they led to the private viewing balcony, used by King Goobot himself, for spectation of the great Poultra's feedings. The Prisoner couldn't help but swallow hard, as the automatic doors clicked open upon detecting their presence.

Instantly, he was hit by a flurry of sounds from the outside world. The cheers of the Yolkian masses echoed through the massive arena, adding to the sense of grandeur associated with it. When he hesitated, the Prisoner felt a jab in his back- the Royal Guards ordering him to keep moving. He stepped out onto the platform, and steadily approached the railing.

Still, Goobot was nowhere to be seen. The Prisoner had mused that he might've just been waiting for him at the balcony ahead of time. Something was clearly off, but the Prisoner didn't have nearly enough information to make any guesses. He stopped several feet from the edge of the railing, and stared out at the massive crowd of Yolkian civilians in front of him.

There were undoubtedly millions of them, filling the humongous stadium. It dwarfed the already-massive football and baseball stadiums from back home. While he despised the Yolkians, the Prisoner could admit that they were impressive architects. The huge cage door at the western flank of the arena remained closed, as it was not yet time to release Poultra yet.

The Prisoner threw a glance over his shoulder, just in time to watch the other two guards escorting him depart back through the balcony door. The lead guards halted at the very edge of the balcony, clearly eager to witness yet another of the great Poultra's feedings. Like his cell, there was no place for the Prisoner to sit out on the balcony, either.

Without Goobot on the balcony, the Prisoner somehow found the experience even more grueling. Despite being sworn nemeses, he found a small iota of entertainment in hearing the King's seemingly endless rants about various social and political issues on Yolkus. He talked often about conflicts with the merchant and noble classes of Yolkus, and how he wished he could move the planet to a more centralized state. Goobot also talked about troubles over in the main Yolkian prison complex. The Gorlocks gave him more than their fair share of a fight, and according to him, had nearly overrun the guard barracks on more than one occasion. The mentions of angry Gorlocks always managed to put a smile on the Prisoner's face.

The Prisoner's attention was redirected, when he could barely make out a low, rumbling sound emanating from nearby. The cheers from the immense crowd were almost enough to drown it out. He directed his vision to the upper right corner of the arena, just in time to see a group of Yolkian craft soar past the tip of the structure. He counted five Yolkian frigates, positioned in a chevron formation. The event added more to the Prisoner's curiosity, as he understood that it was usually prohibited for spacecraft to be active above the Yolkian capital during the feedings.

Again, the Prisoner found himself looking back at the arena, when the thrilled screeches from the crowd somehow increased in volume. The massive cage door containing Poultra had ascended. It was time for the show to begin. The stadium's crowd quietened down for a moment, as they awaited the entrance of their most esteemed bird.

A sudden piercing roar echoed through the annals of the stadium, as the head of Poultra emerged from its hiding place. The rest of its immense body followed, causing the crowd to go ballistic. Even the two guards on the Prisoner's flanks joined in on the cheers. Not the Prisoner though. Instead, he grimaced. No matter how much he tried, he could never prepare himself for what was about to come next.

The beast roared again, keeping in time with the crowd. A second gate, on the eastern side of the arena had just opened. It would be mere seconds before Poultra's 'delicacies' came trotting out into the center, presenting themselves to the monstrosity against their will.

The Prisoner grimaced even more, as the first victim emerged. It was clad in the all-too-familiar green jumpsuit, a strange helmet device wrapped tightly around its head. The Gorlock's legs moved as one unit, each rising stiffly in the air as it shambled forward. Its arms swung exaggeratedly from side to side, making the poor alien appear even more like a puppet. More and more followed behind the lead, mimicking her movements in perfect sync.

Soon, the whole of the monthly crop had emerged from their holding location. Two dozen in total, the Prisoner counted. They systematically spread out in a rectangular formation, four rows of six, right in front of Poultra. The beast bellowed out another intense screech, followed by recipricatory responses from the crowd. It was time for the ceremony to begin.

The operator, situated in a tower not far away from the Royal balcony, hit a button on his remote. Instantly, the amphitheatre was filled with the sounds of the ceremonial music- a tune that sounded strikingly similar to the Chicken Dance. It was yet another cruel reminder of his failure to save the Gorlocks. He wanted so desperately to look away… and yet, he found that he couldn't. In a way, the Prisoner agreed with Goobot. He needed to see the feedings. He needed to remember that he had failed.

As he scanned over the individual Gorlocks dancing about on the ground, something caught his eye. Three somethings, more specifically. There was a small group of Gorlocks, in the far right side of the second row. They weren't keeping in time with the song as exactly as the rest of their peers were. Their movements were more erratic, less stiff… non-puppet like. The Prisoner squinted, as he wondered what had caused the mishap.

When the middle Gorlock nearly fell over, but caught himself, he came to a startling realization: they were in control. How had this happened? How had these three specific Gorlocks retained their self control? What were they planning? Would the Yolkian guards notice their sporadic movements? All theses questions and more echoed through the Prisoner's mind. He longed to help the trapped aliens, but knew that he wouldn't be able to do anything from his position.

Just as the song began to wind down, the three independent Gorlocks sprung into action. With striking speed and agility, they began tearing the mind control helmets off of their comrades, returning their lost self control. The crowd's cheers turned into a chorus of angry roars, as they realized that the crop had taken the reins from the operator. In just a few seconds, the three Gorlock rebels had freed the rest of their brothers and sisters, and were now making a beeline for the eastern side of the arena. The Prisoner stared, slack-jawed at the spectacle.

The Prisoner then noticed, that the two guards responsible for keeping him in line, had their attention entirely directed on the interruption in the arena. The Gorlocks were nearing the opposite side of the arena now, with Poultra catching up behind them. Panning back and forth between the two clueless Yolkians, the Prisoner decided that he had found his long-awaited opportunity.

He backpedaled back toward the balcony's exit, and surged forward with all his might at the guard on the left side. Caught completely by surprise, the Yolkian was sent sailing over the side, down into the arena below. The Prisoner wasted no time watching him fall to his demise, and turned toward the other guard. He was still fixated on Poultra, who was currently struggling to fit through the eastern gate.

Using the strength he'd been building up over the last three years, the Prisoner wrenched the spear from the unsuspecting guard's hands. The Yolkian spun around too late, and discovered the Prisoner currently mid spear thrust. He shattered the Yolkian's glass visor, and pierced straight into its green mass of goo. The guard cried out in agony, and plonked onto the balcony floor. Two down.

With only one possible exit, the Prisoner steeled himself for the fight to come. As he approached the balcony door, it suddenly opened before he arrived at them. A third Yolkian guard was standing in the doorway, spear held passively down at his side in one hand.

"What in Poultra's name is-" the guard began. The Prisoner didn't give him time to finish, instead ramming the spear directly into its center mass. He continued his rush out into the hallway, smashing the guard up against the wall, and driving the spear deeper into the Yolkian suit. Like the second guard, it clanked harmlessly to the ground, the still-alive Yolkian muttering curses at the Prisoner. Rather than try to pry his weapon from its body, he instead opted for the fresh spear clutched in the useless hand of his disabled foe.

The Prisoner quickly swerved left, and caught sight of two more Royal Guards zooming towards him. Behind them, and perhaps even more curiously, a plethora of other Yolkians were zipping down the hall in the opposite direction. He quickly hypothesized that they were responding to the Gorlock revolt in the lower levels of the arena. It was ultimately a good thing; the less guards for him to fight, the better.

While he had spent his time in the Yolkian cell bolstering his physical strength and stamina, the Prisoner was hardly a competent fighter. He had basically no experience in hand-to-hand combat, preferring to engage his enemies at range. Of course, it wasn't like he had a choice now. As the two guards closed the final gap, the Prisoner bent his knees, and drew his spear up across his chest.

In a display that left the Prisoner somewhat confused, the leftmost guard stopped moving, instead allowing his comrade to begin combat. While he didn't understand the implications of this combat strategy, fighting the guards one by one would certainly be easier. The guard charged him at full speed, spear outstretched.

The Prisoner hopped out of the way of the wayward Yolkian a second too late. The tip of the spear sliced right through the thin fabric of his prison garments, and cut into the skin underneath. He was unable to resist the urge to hiss in pain, before recovering quickly. Taking the initiative, the Prisoner thrusted his spear towards the guard's head. He successfully shattered the glass dome protecting the alien, but the deadly spearpoint coasted right between its vulnerable eyestalks.

Before the Prisoner could retract his weapon, the guard smacked him painfully in the side of the head with the blunt side of his own. It was followed up by a strike in the gut, causing the Prisoner to recoil, and lose his balance. He collapsed onto the ground, hitting his uncovered head in the process. Between the pain in his head and stomach, the Prisoner could hardly think.

He opened his eyes, barely in time to see the guard looming over him, poised to strike the killing blow. Remembering his electric binds, the Prisoner hoisted his arms up, just in time to block the incoming spear. The metal contacting the cuffs had an instant and satisfying reaction: the Royal Guard surged with arcs of electricity, and lost control over his shell's systems for a few crucial seconds. The force of the blow also successfully shattered the link between the cuffs, giving the Prisoner free range of movement. With a pained grunt, he leapt to his feet.

The guard about-faced just in time to find himself skewered on the end of the Prisoner's spear. It penetrated downward, through the green matter of the Yolkian itself, into his shell. Like before, he released the spear, and snatched up the one that the now-deceased guard had dropped to the floor. Unfortunately for the Prisoner, he couldn't predict what happened next.

A small explosion erupted in front of him, sending him tumbling to the ground a second time. The damaged Yolkian shell had seemingly taken on a mind of its own, rocketing through the air at an extreme velocity. It exploded brilliantly above the Prisoner and the remaining guard, almost like an impromptu fireworks show. Chunks of wire, metal, and Yolkian splattered across the hallway, decorating it in a wide assortment of debris.

It took the Prisoner a few precious seconds to make it to his feet for the second time, just in time to be nearly knocked over again. The second Yolkian had beelined towards him after watching his comrade burst into flames, and was currently shoving him towards the wall, using his spear as a lever. The Prisoner gripped the sides of the weapon, struggling to resist the mechanical strength of his adversary. His back came into contact with the wall, and he realized he'd run out of retreating space.

The icy cold of the metal spear came into contact with the Prisoner's neck, causing him to recoil slightly. His windpipe became sufficiently compressed under the weight of the Yolkian's weapon, depriving him of much needed oxygen. The guard squinted its two beady eyes, a mix of anger and righteousness clouding them. Its mechanical fangs fixated themselves into a menacing grin. Desperate for an escape, the Prisoner scanned his surroundings. There was nothing in the immediate area he could reach, let alone use to his advantage.

He realized that he was precious seconds away from unconsciousness, and subsequently death… or worse. The fact that he was so close, so immeasurably close, to escaping the hell he had resided in for three years, only made the matter worse. The Prisoner calculated that he would likely never face favorable conditions to this degree again. Failure was not an option.

With another grunt, the Prisoner wrenched one of his hands free from the Yolkian's spear. The pressure on his neck increased, and he quickly slipped his remaining hand towards the middle to rectify this development. With his free hand, he reeled his fist back as far as he could, and threw a forceful punch at the alien's slim visor.

Other than causing it to flinch, no damage was done to the guard. The Prisoner, on the other hand, resisted the urge to scream. He could already feel the inflammation building in his knuckles. Nonetheless, he struck the Yolkian's faceplate again. And again. Four, five, six times he struck the alien's visor. Realizing what he was trying to do, the Yolkian guard chuckled at him.

Lashing out angrily at his foe's arrogance, the Prisoner threw a seventh strike. He felt one of his fingers dislocate from the force of the hit, but when he noticed the crack that had formed in the glass, it was entirely worth it. The Yolkian's grin was briefly replaced by shock, before it reformed into an angry scowl. It somehow increased the pressure on the Prisoner's neck, causing the edges of his vision to blur.

Another punch. The crack widened. Another, and the crack widened even more. On the tenth hit, the fracture spread across the whole of the screen. With a triumphant smirk, the Prisoner swung a final time. His fist crashed through the protective visor, the broken glass leaving innumerable tiny cuts across his abused hand. He wasted no time, and in one move he had painfully taken hold of the guard's two eyestalks. Lacking remorse, he yanked on them as hard as he could.

The Yolkian instantly cried out, and recoiled in pain. His spear fell to the ground, as his own mechanical arms frantically grabbed at the Prisoner's hand, desperate to escape his vice grip. Placing his good hand against its shell, the Prisoner began pulling the alien out through the broken glass visor. It continued to curse him in pain, as he forcefully removed it from its body. In a short few seconds, the shell clattered uselessly to the ground.

Holding the alien in his bad hand, the Prisoner stared at the defeated Yolkian angrily. Gone was its triumphant grin, being replaced entirely by sheer terror. The lividity in him wanted to crush the alien, to brutalize it in every possible way. As the Prisoner continued to look on the petrified form of the Yolkian, however, he felt his merciless resolve weaken. He wasn't like them. He couldn't commit such vile acts, even on his enemies… and even when warranted. Instead, the Prisoner opted for a different route.

"I'll let you live…" he began, breathing heavily. "If you open the door to Goobot's emergency hangar." Originally, the Prisoner had just planned on getting in the old-fashioned way, but with the assistance of his defeated foe, access to Goobot's escape ship would be much easier.

"Yes! Please! If you only show mercy I'll give you want you want!" begged the creature. Without uttering a response, the Prisoner began limping down the hallway, in the direction of his destination.

It took him a few moments to reach the door, and a few seconds longer to identify it. The Prisoner was certain of its contents, because it was the only door in palace hallway that had a retina scanner on it. He hoisted the Yolkian up, and placed one of its eyes practically on the scanner. A flash of green, followed by a beep, and the doors opened. The Prisoner turned, and looked down at the captured Yolkian. Its eyes stared up at him pleadingly.

"Thank you." he told the alien, before hurtling it down the hallway. The alien screamed as it flew, before plopping safely on the carpet. The Prisoner didn't wait around to hear his reply. He slid inside the dark room, and shut the doors behind him. Motion-activated lights quickly clicked on, revealing the interior of the room.

Just as Goobot had promised, a small Yolkian ship was present. It wasn't a hulking monster, like the ones the Prisoner had encountered in his younger days. It was, however, lavishly decorated. The chicken figurehead on the front of the ship was golden, and adorned with multicolored gems of all kinds. The ship itself was painted up in a brilliant purple color scheme, accented with golden stripes throughout. The ramp leading up to the inside of the ship was already lowered, probably due to the promptness usually associated with the craft.

Before he could leave, however, the Prisoner would have to open the massive hangar doors. For obvious reasons, they were kept shut until the ship was supposed to be used. Thankfully, the Prisoner easily located a solitary computer console near the forefront of the chamber. He approached it earnestly.

As he moved to activate it, his right hand came into view. Already, it had swollen massively. He couldn't move at least two of his fingers, and a constant throbbing sensation was present. Cuts from the broken glass covered the whole of its surface. A quick look at the console told him that it would be nigh-impossible to operate with his disfigured limb.

"I probably should've used my left hand…" the Prisoner quietly mused to himself, being right-handed. He used his good hand to activate the console, and bring up its control interface. The Prisoner was thankful that he'd had past experience with Yolkian computers, otherwise the mysterious characters on the screen would've been indecipherable.

Shortly, the lumbering hangar doors were squeaking open, giving the Prisoner his cue. He vacated the console, and made his way toward the fanciful Yolkian craft. He steadied himself with his left hand, as he climbed up the ramp and into the main concourse. Movement-triggered lights once again activated, giving him a full view over the ship's interior.

He flicked a switch on the back wall next to the boarding ramp, causing it to close. Thankfully, the ship was too small to be difficult to navigate. A hallway leading straight down would take him to the cockpit, while the two rooms on the flanks were likely the King's quarters. The Prisoner continued his stride, until he'd made it to the entrance to the cockpit. With the press of a button, he was inside.

The regality of the ship's exterior wasn't totally lost inside. The cockpit, while much smaller than the last Yolkian craft he'd been in, was certainly still royal. A large, throne-esque seat, presumably for Goobot, was in the center fo the room, making it very awkward to navigate. It had always been obvious that the Yolkian king preferred form over function, but the fact that the Prisoner had to walk almost a full circle around the throne to access the pilot's controls, made him realize it even more.

As he approached the control console, the Prisoner began to wonder why Goobot even had a throne. Yolkians had no legs, or limbs for that matter. Their shells provided them with hovering capabilities. Knowing Goobot, it was likely just a status symbol. He raked his hands over the console, until he found a power switch. The ship's systems quickly glowed to life, casting a multicolored glow across the Prisoner's face.

It didn't take him long to realize that operation of the ship's complex systems would be nearly impossible with one hand. Far too many things needed to be accounted for for him to use his single, functioning hand. The Prisoner wasn't about to give up, though. There was always another way. As he searched the console for any sort of autopilot function, he stumbled across a filtered, speaker-like object. The Prisoner's mind quickly began to wander…

"Uh… hmm… hello? Computer?" he asked. The ship was likely one of the most expensive in the whole Yolkian fleet. Surely it supported voice operation.

Silence for a few, short seconds. Suddenly, a chipper, Yolkian announcer rang through.

"Hello! I am the voice of His Royal Majesty, King Goobot V's, majestic royal transport spacecraft." declared the computer. "How might I assist you, pilot?"

"Thank the stars…" the Prisoner proclaimed quietly. "Uh, yeah, I'm looking for the autopilot. My… um… shell's hand modules have been crippled, and I am unable to pilot the ship manually." he explained.

"Oh, how terrible! I suggest you report to the nearest pod maintenance bay as quickly as possible!" the computer insisted. "Autopilot, you say? What are the coordinates His Majesty desires?"

The Prisoner paused. He wasn't entirely what Earth's coordinates were, based on the Yolkian star maps. Hopefully the computer would recognize his home planet by name.

"Earth." he stated. The computer didn't immediately reply.

"Ah, yes! Earth, home of the terrorist Jimmy Neutron, may his bones be crushed. Coordinates sixteen point two-seven-five by forty point five-five-seven." chirped the operator.

"So you can take me- er, us, there?" the Prisoner asked hopefully.

"Of course! I go wherever His Majesty requires I go. Approximate time of cruising speed arrival: five hours." it informed him happily.

"Home free." the Prisoner couldn't help but smile, in spite of himself. "Excellent, computer. Set course for Earth, and don't stop for anything."

"As you wish, pilot. Inform His Majesty that we will arrive promptly." the computer ordered him.

The Prisoner turned around, and eyed the vacant throne behind him.

"Will do."

The Prisoner turned, and ascended the small ramp to the golden throne. He took a seat, and stared out at the front of the cockpit. The blast shields on the front of the ship creaked open, revealing a perfect view of the Yolkian capital. Hundreds and hundreds of buildings, millions of street light posts illuminating the extensive roadways that lined the massive city. There, seated upon Goobot's throne, the Prisoner realized that he was no longer a prisoner. Once again, he was James Isaac Neutron… and he was free.

The ship's engines rumbled to life, and Jimmy quickly grabbed onto the arms of the throne for support. With no safety belts in sight, he hoped the rest of the ride would be smooth. He felt the ship rise steadily from the ground, as more noises echoed through its narrow hallways. For a moment, Jimmy simply sat there, hovering in the palace hangar. In the next, he was rocketing out above the Yolkian capital, breaking mach speed easily. The ship's computer directed them on a steady course skyward, beginning the long journey back to Earth.

As he soared higher and higher, Jimmy felt a pang of guilt. He felt wretched for leaving the Gorlocks down on Yolkus alone. He had promised April that he would rescue them from the clutches of Goobot, and to that end he had failed miserably. Of course, the logical part of him knew better. Jimmy hadn't been in any state to assist the Gorlocks on the ground, what with a broken hand, and a lack of his inventions. He likely would've been killed, or returned to his cell to rot for a few more years.

Without further debate, he resolved to return to Yolkus, after he'd recovered and tooled up back on Earth. He'd walked right into Goobot's hands last time, but this time it would be different. The Gorlocks would be liberated, and the Yolkians would get what was coming to them. Goobot's reign of terror would be ended once and for all.

For now though, Jimmy knew it was best to relax. He couldn't do anything until he'd made it home, and retrieved his hypercube. Not to mention all the conversations he'd have to have. Everyone would want some explaining, especially Cindy. She would probably yell, and cry… and yell some more, but in the end he would just be happy to see her. His parents, Carl, and Sheen too would probably have some choice words for him. And they certainly wouldn't like his plan to return to Yolkus so soon.

Jimmy pressed his head back against the hard frame of the throne, seeking any modicum of comfort he could get. The chair had obviously not been designed with human comfort in mind, but it would surely suffice. He stared out at the vast expanse of space in front of him, doing his best to get lost in the millions of stars… and the strange blasts of green and red in the distance.

Were those fireworks? In the distance, above Yolkus, Jimmy could make out brilliant explosions of color. While he knew the quarterly feedings were a huge cause for celebration, he'd never heard of the Yolkians doing anything in outer space. As they drew nearer, Jimmy began to make out dots. Hundreds and hundreds of dots, seeming to be the source of the explosions of color. Jimmy squinted, and leaned in closer.

As the distance between he and the light show closed, he realized the dots were much more than dots. They were ships. They were thousands of them, undoubtedly. Yolkian heavy cruisers, battleships, and frigates swarmed about frantically, firing banks of green in every direction. Jimmy's eyes widened as he realized what was going on.

There was a battle. Above Yolkus.

He craned his neck again, trying to identify the adversary the Yolkians faced. While he was much closer than before, he was still much too distant to make out anything concrete. The other ships sported a burgundy color, and fired out rays of bright red, in contrast to the Yolkian green.

"Computer, are you picking up any transmissions?" Jimmy asked loudly.

"Why yes I am, pilot. A distress signal, from Yolkus' 251st Combat Wing." the computer replied. Jimmy scrunched his eyebrows curiously, and placed his palm against his chin.

"What are the details of the signal?" he followed up.

"Mayday. Under attack by unknown foe, engaged just outside of the Dervis cluster. Need immediate backup- losses are heavy." the computer recited flawlessly.

"Can you tell me how long the broadcast's been running?" Jimmy asked finally.

"For approximately one hour." answered the ship friendlily.

While the numbers probably weren't exactly on the mark, that meant the Yolkians had been embroiled in the skirmish above their planet for an extended period, well before Jimmy had been escorted out to the balcony. From the looks of it, the Yolkians had all hands on deck. If that were the case, it would also explain Goobot's absence from Poultra's feeding.

As the thought crossed his mind, Jimmy caught sight of the Yolkian flag ship. He continued to coast at a safe distance (or so he thought) from the battle, but now he was close enough to see the Yolkian side of the conflict. The flagship was facing away from him, firing a host of large broadside guns at the unknown foe across the expanse of space. It appeared to have taken its fair share of damage, having lost the ceremonial crest off the top of it's chicken figurehead.

Jimmy then directed his attention to the opposite side of the battle, where the unknown aggressors lay. Unlike the uniform nature of the Yolkian vessels, these ships were the total opposite. Most of them looked completely different from one another. Not one was symmetrical, or even close to the same shape of another. Almost like someone had turned a modern art masterpiece into an interstellar warship.

"Can you patch me into the flagship's communications?" Jimmy asked. "His Majesty wants to hear a status report from the admiral at hand."

"Of course! Anything for His Majesty!" proclaimed the ship. "One moment."

Silence filled the ship, as Jimmy continued to watch the unfolding battle. Nearby, one of the smaller Yolkian vessels, a frigate, exploded brilliantly. Suddenly, a large burst of static followed, and the cockpit was soon filled with the voices of a dozen frantic Yolkians.

"There's another one coming in at mark two-seven!"

"Copy, green leader. Will adjust for travel time."

"Need another charge here on deck six!"

"Medical assistance requested in laser bay fourteen!"

Jimmy cringed at the amount of noise pouring into the cockpit. He needed to filter out all the extra dialogue pouring in from the capital ship.

"Can you restrict the transmissions to the control deck?" Jimmy shouted, attempting to talk over the Yolkian crew.

"As you wish!" responded the computer. Another burst of static, and all the voices dissipated. Jimmy was about to ask if something was damaged, when another voice pierced the sanctity of his ship.

"Your Majesty, I simply must insist we retreat! Our shields are buckling, and the rest of the fleet isn't faring any better!" a disgruntled Yolkian cried.

"Silence! I refuse to be beaten by a bunch of cowards who won't reveal themselves to I, King Goobot V of Yolkus! We will stand and fight!" Jimmy watched from his ship, as an explosion burst from the side of the huge vessel.

"What was that?!" Goobot asked angrily.

"Engine bay four, your Majesty! It's been destroyed!" the engineer answered.

"Confound it all! Direct all fire on their capital ship!" Goobot declared loudly.

"It will be done, your Majesty."

Jimmy followed the traces of green as they left the Yolkian ship, and barreled towards a looming mass of burgundy some distance in front of it. It was certainly the most imposing of any ship on the field, being at least one and a half times the size of Goobot's vessel. The main body was covered in large, burgundy metal plates, covering up a rough, metallic undercarriage. The menacing craft sported a massive, purple-glowing disk on the side facing the Yolkian fleet, and a bright white insignia plastered next to it that Jimmy had never seen before.

The bottom of it was made of what looked like a caricature of fire, with a perfectly-drawn circle sitting atop it. Topping it all off, was a downturned crescent. Jimmy wasn't sure what it meant, or who it was that operated behind it. However, if they were dedicated to destroying the Yolkians, he mused that they couldn't be too different.

"Your Majesty, we're detecting a huge power surge on the hostile capital ship!" declared the engineer panickedly.

"What of it!? Keep firing!" Goobot brushed off the engineer's warning.

Jimmy had an idea of where the power might be going. He directed his attention to the aforementioned disc, on the side of the enemy ship. As he'd predicted, it was now surging with wide, bright arcs of electricity. Soon, the whole structure was alight with purple energy. Whatever was about to happen, couldn't be good for the Yolkians.

The silence of space only added to the eeriness of what happened next. A huge beam of purple burst from the side of the craft, blasting straight through the hull of the Yolkian flagship. It ruptured the craft in half effortlessly. Fire surged forth from the breach, encompassing both sides of the vessel almost instantaneously. The panicked voices of the Yolkian crew soon filled Jimmy's cockpit.

"What?! What was that?! Status report, you fools!" Goobot demanded.

"The hull's been ruptured, Your Majesty! Shields are down, turrets are offline… we're completely useless!" bellowed the engineer. It would seem the Yolkian capital ship had sung its last song.

"Nonsense! As long as we are able, we shall battle the enemy on!" Goobot proclaimed fanatically. An explosion rocked the intercom, earning a terrified screech from the aforementioned king.

"Ready the escape pods! We're evacuating! Royalty first!" Goobot's tune had changed quite quickly. Jimmy couldn't help but smile.

"As you wish, Your Majesty!" responded the engineer.

Jimmy continued to watch the unfolding battle. With the Yolkian capital ship decimated, it was apparent that they were on the losing end of the engagement. The rest of their battleships had already sustained heavy damage, or were destroyed entirely. A frigate narrowly listed past Jimmy's tiny craft, causing him to recoil in shock.

"Computer, make sure you account for space debris on your plotted course." Jimmy warned the ship.

"Of course, pilot." the computer replied quietly. Immediately, the entire ship surged forward, as an explosion rocked the rear of the craft. Jimmy was sent tumbling from the throne, onto the hard ground. He managed to bring his arms up, as to protect his face, but landed painfully on his wounded hand.

"Computer!" He immediately called. "What did I say?" How could Yolkian computers be more incompetent than their designers?

"Negative, pilot." The computer replied, to Jimmy's surprise. The computer suddenly projected a large, holographic screen above the control dashboard. It was a perfectly rendered image of the rear of the Yolkian craft. Jimmy understood the computer's words, when he noticed the two, small, burgundy craft trailing behind them.

"They think I'm one of them…" Jimmy whispered. This wasn't good. He'd made it too far now to get sucked into the vacuum of space now… especially at the hands of someone who was a common enemy of the Yolkians.

"Computer, can you hail those craft?" the crippled genius asked, standing from the floor. Another hit caused him to stagger once more. Silence.

"They are refusing all transmission requests, pilot." The ship finally stated. Another hit, harder than the last. Jimmy slid forward, and caught himself on the console.

"Uh… do we have any defenses? Anything that can knock those fighters out?" he asked frantically.

"Negative, pilot. This craft is only equipped with passive defenses, such as shields." the computer replied apathetically.

"Well, we have to do something!" Jimmy yelled. He searched the dashboard for any possible solution. "Do you have any ideas?"

"I can run an evasive maneuver protocol." the computer suggested. Jimmy didn't give it a second thought, before turning and bounding back to the throne.

"Do it!" he ordered.

"As you wish, pilot." the ship answered, before violently swerving right. Jimmy practically tore the arm off the throne gripping onto it. The craft continued its erratic movements, as bolts of red soared dangerously close to the cockpit.

"Are there any safety belts on this thing!?" Jimmy hollered. "His Majesty requests them!"

"Of course, anything for His Majesty!" the ship echoed. Two seat belts sprung from unseen compartments near the top of the throne. Two matching locks subsequently rose up on bottom of the seat. Jimmy wasted no time connecting them… only to realize they were ridiculously loose. Obviously not designed for his dainty, human form.

"It'll have to do…" he grumbled. The ship suddenly did a complete flip, leaving him hanging upside down for a few harrowing seconds. He slammed back down on the hard seat, hitting his head and further damaging his hand.

"Can't you fly a little steadier?!" he complained loudly.

"Not unless His Majesty wants to incur further damage from his pursuants, no." the ship replied snarkily. Jimmy bit back the urge to utter his own retort, remembering that he would be arguing with a literal computer. Instead, he clung even harder to the seat than he had before. Streaks of red continued to soar past the cockpit windows, doing nothing to ease his nerves.

For a gruelingly long few minutes, the ship continued to spin about, miraculously dodging every blast of high-temperature energy that came their way. Jimmy had given up on keeping his eyes open, becoming dizzy at the sight of the constantly spinning stars. He almost sort-of wished the hostile aliens would vaporize him already, and spare him the sickening waves of nausea that had overcome him.

Until, it just stopped. The Yolkian ship suddenly righted itself, and ceased its erratic flying pattern. No more plasma bursts soared past the front of the spacecraft. Not even a slight shake, or a bump from behind. It was as if he had sailed out of the hurricane, into dauntingly calm waters. Exhaling, with surprise and relief, Jimmy looked down at the control console.

"Computer… what's going on?"

"It seems the pursuers have… well, stopped pursuing." chirped the artificial intelligence. Jimmy shook his head, rubbed his aching temples.

"Any idea why?" he asked afterward.

"Negative, pilot. Is His Majesty in acceptable condition? I know the flying was a little rough." the ship wondered concernedly.

"Yes, he's perfectly fine. And he thanks you for asking." Jimmy quipped.

"Excellent! Just doing my job, your Majesty." the computer added quickly.

"Damage report?" Unable to see the exterior in great detail, Jimmy had no idea if the ship was in good or bad condition.

"Hull integrity at sixty-seven percent. Left primary and backup engines have sustained significant damage. Afterburners nonfunctional. Landing gear is intact, as are all core systems and reactor integrity. Flight computer functioning at peak efficiency." the computer added proudly.

"Can we make it to Earth?"

"In our current state, yes. However, I cannot say for certain if that will be the case should we incur further trauma." the ship replied.

"Duly noted." Jimmy placed his face in his palm, and allowed relief to wash over him once again.

Though he was not without his battle scars, it seemed that he had made it. Three long years of waiting and watching had finally paid off. Thanks to the actions of a few brave Gorlocks, most of the palace's security had been occupied during his escape. He felt the pang of guilt again, as his thoughts wandered back to the oppressed aliens. It only strengthened his resolve to return, and free them from their oppressors.

Of course, he also still had many questions. Who were the aliens that had come into conflict with the Yolkians? Goobot hadn't mentioned any large-scale extraterrestrial adventures undertaken by the Yolkian regime, not since the invasion of Planet Gorlock. He supposed it could be something as simple as a trade conflict, but judging by the size and ruthlessness of the enemy armada, it had to be something pretty serious. Especially if it warranted Goobot himself's presence.

That was a worry for another time, though. Now, it was just him, the ship, and a few million miles of empty space. In a matter of hours, he would be back home, safe and sound. Jimmy couldn't say he was looking forward to all the explaining he'd have to do, nor all of the yelling he'd have to endure from a certain blonde girl. That didn't discourage him, though. If anything, it made him feel better. The angry yelling meant she cared.

Jimmy smiled, and allowed his thoughts to wander, as he again tried to get comfortable in Goobot's throne. For the moment, it was peaceful. There was no overbearing threat to he, or anyone he cared about's well-being.

He was home free.