After the last robot dog, or, Randy hoped it was the last, it was nearing three p.m., he had to start heading home, a paper popped out of its mouth. Randy, curious, picked it up and discovered printed words on it.

The night awaits, said the message.

What?

Randy looked around. He pulled the Namakon out of hammerspace and said aloud that he wanted to consult it. If this was some kind of trick, surely it would be able to detect it. If it was an exploding note, Randy was screwed, but he'd have to take that chance, it seemed. His mind was sucked into the Ninja's Namakon, body going limp and eyes becoming glazed. His breath was always shallow when this happened, Howard told him once. That didn't matter to him now.

Randy found himself standing in total darkness.

THE ENEMY AMBUSHES IN THE MIDNIGHT HOURS. Said the Namakon suddenly in big bright hiragana. It knew English, of course, but had taken to slowly teaching Randy written Japanese in all its forms when junior year started. Randy already knew spoken Japanese thanks to the Namakon's magic and he could understand it—it
was the only way he could have communicated with the First Ninja when he'd traveled back in time—but he couldn't read or write any of it. Well, he could, a little, now, but…

"So…I'll have to sneak out of my house during the night?" It dawned on him gradually. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea, but if it was what needed to be done…if he could get past his mother.

The windows of the Cunningham house had storm shutters. Randy shut the ones in the kitchen while his mom got the ones around the rest of the house. He knew he'd have to open the shutters in his room again that night to get out, and that was the main problem. The shutters would make noise as he opened them. He could only hope that his mom wouldn't overhear. After the chores were done it was dinnertime. They had leftovers, like they often did. After that his mom saw fit to watch the news again and to Randy's dismay, while there were no dog-bots, the weather was growing progressively worse. Well, what did he expect?

He set the alarm clock on his cell phone to ten p.m. He usually went to bed around nine. Still, it didn't hurt to remind himself, even if he couldn't exactly forget. Let no one say he wasn't at least slightly paranoid after all that had happened to him in the past three years. He kissed his mom goodnight at eight thirty, claiming he was tired. She looked at him skeptically, because he rarely went to bed early, but if he said so then it must be true. When did he ever lie to her, he thought sardonically. He laid awake for an hour, the Namakon said nothing to him, and when his alarm finally went off he jumped out of bed, opened the shutters and—

Glanced at his bedroom door. Waited a moment.

Nothing.

He pushed up his window, climbing out into the chilly air, the Namakon's weight tucked under his arm and the Mask in his jeans pocket. This was new to him, and he wasn't sure what to do next. He figured he ought to patrol like he did in the daytime. Have some common sense, Cunningham, he scolded himself, What else did the message tell you? Nothing. It just said that something would happen during the nighttime. Vague, opaque. He was careful of authority, keeping an eye out for cops who would surely ask why a teenage boy was roaming the streets alone at this time, even if they were busy with general mayhem around town.

The trouble with it being night out, Randy grasped, was that there were less people around to give warning when a robot dog came rampaging down the road. Once downtown he slipped on the Ninja's Mask and scaled the side of a building to gain a better view of what he was looking at, which was pretty much everything in sight. It was about an hour later—a grueling search—Randy heard a clamoring some distance off. He followed it and it grew louder with each leap from rooftop to rooftop he took.

The sleek black limousine was cozy as it ever was.

The aggressive robot outside, which Willem Viceroy III had made himself and could see through the tinted limo windows, didn't glance twice at them. McFist hadn't risked anyone witnessing them, forgoing a person as a chauffeur and using one of his robotic apes. One of Viceroy's robotic apes. He'd designed the things. No use thinking about that at the moment.

The Ninja of Norrisville showed his masked face just as expected. Almost with a dramatic, theatrical flair the slim figure appeared out of the shadows of the edge of the building, true to his title as a...well, ninja, leaping and slamming on the metallic head of Viceroy's killer robot. Seeing this never failed to fill Viceroy with bitterness. Do you even care how long it took to conceptualize that thing? Not that long at all, I'm a genius, but still.

'Head' smashed in, the robot had a second pair of optics in his chest, cleverly hidden. It used them of course, aiming blasts of toxic fire-breath at the Ninja with deadly accuracy. Viceroy was pleased that the Ninja wasn't too quick for everything; he had to stop and block a fuming roar with the broad side of his katana.

They were at a distance but even from here Willem thought he could see the Ninja's gaze narrow, Where is the center? He usually went for that if it could be found. Hm. There was no single center. Different aspects of it were scattered throughout the robot's 'body,' for the simple sake of making life harder for the town's beloved celebrity. After three years of dealing with the confounding hero Viceroy liked to think he knew him on some level. The sides of his lips quirked. It was a purely businesslike relationship.

The Ninja managed to break through the onslaught of flame somehow, it happened so fast Viceroy wasn't sure, running along the flank of the A.I. beast, simultaneously cutting it open with his sword as he did. It was at the last moment that specialized coils shot out from within the confines of the robot, like harbingers of doom, wrapping around the Ninja of Norrisville.

"Excellent."

Viceroy's dark eyes flicked to McFist, sitting beside him, "Just as planned." He agreed.

Hannibal chose not to reply, opening the car door and getting out.

Viceroy did nothing but follow his employer, who waltzed across the street to where the Ninja lay. The bound, short man struggled then seemed to freeze at the sound of footfall. A dark head turned to look at them. It was all slightly surreal to Viceroy. Did the Ninja just forget he had super-strength? Viceroy assumed he did, otherwise he was severely underestimating the human body. But then, who said the Ninja was human anymore? Eight hundred years was a long time indeed.

Hannibal was the epitome of smug, "So, will you finally admit defeat?"

The Ninja glared up at the billionaire defiantly.

Hannibal smirked, "Of course not. Didn't think s—"

"Silence!"

Even Viceroy started at the sheer holy fury in the superhero's tone. The Ninja of Norrisville did not often speak. The thunderous voice echoed in the darkness of the night.

Eyebrows risen, mouth a little ajar, Hannibal did not say anything else.

"I know what you are doing, McFist!"

Did he? It wouldn't surprise Viceroy. This was the Ninja. If he said he knew, then he most likely did. He did not strike the mad scientist as a liar.

"And it's not gon—not going to work!"

Viceroy blinked at the stumble. McFist barely even noticed. "Yeah, well, when it's over with we'll see how you feel, Ninja."