Hello everybody, and welcome to the next Chapter of 'The Revenge'. Not much to say, yet again. So… Wander over Yonder is owned by Disney. Enjoy.

The Revenge: Chapter 3.

Time: 18:16 GST (Galactic Standard Time)

Location: Lord Hater's Skullship.

After being roused from his terror induced comma by about three or four bottles of Svokian smelling salts, Peepers had been ordered to rally whatever troops he could scrounge up and prepare them for tomorrow's attack.

Unfortunately, as the Supreme Watchdog had predicted, finding willing volunteers for such an insane assignment among their remaining forces was no easy task. The War for the Ring of Invincibility had drastically reduced the number of active Watchdogs in the field. Of those who were not still in the infirmary, a solid 42% had yet to be cleared for active duty by their doctors. Another 27% were threatening to go on strike unless they received a Cost of Living increase, while yet another 20% had simply vanished without a trace; rumor has it they went AWOL to avoid any future embarrassments caused by their leader. What remained was, for the most part, a pathetic rabble of poorly trained, inexperienced foot soldiers who had been out of the academy less than a week.

Following his master's advice, Peepers attempted to pad these numbers by drafting members of various other departments and providing them with a crash course in basic field maneuvers and firearm techniques. But even with their new recruits, the grand total was still just a little over eight hundred; nowhere near enough to takedown someone like Dominator.

When the Grand Watchdog informed his master of this fact, Lord Hater ordered him to assemble every member of R&D in his throne room ASAP and to tell them to, quote 'bring their A-Game'. Obviously the cloaked skeleton believed that one of his scientists might be working on something they could use to tip the scales in the coming battle. Unfortunately, Peepers did not share his optimism.

Which leads us to the absurd scene about to take place.

"Alright boys," Lord Hater called to his loyal army of eggheads and tinkerers. "Show me what you got. Peepers, who's up first?"

"That would be Bob, Sir." Answered Peepers from his position beside his master's throne; his tone betraying his total lack of faith in this exercise. "Bob, you ready on your end?"

"All set, Boss." Replied the Watchdog scientist as he stood eagerly in front of the prepared projector screen; pointing stick at the ready.

"Alright then, Bobby." The dark lord said nonchalantly as he leaned back into his reclining throne. "Wow me."

"Sir yes Sir." The cycloptic scientist said, with an almost game show host level of enthusiasm. "Friends, Colleagues, Esteemed Tyrannical Overlords, allow me to introduce to you the latest addition to the Hater Empire's ever-expanding arsenal."

As if responding to his verbal cue, an unseen projector suddenly turned on; displaying what appeared to be the blueprints for a small, handheld disco ball.

"Behold! The Party Bomb!" Bob said dramatically as he directed everyone's attention to the central diagram. "Now, I know what you're all thinking, 'Bob, that just looks like a tiny disco ball', and you're right, it does. But, in reality, it's a miniature sonic device that, when activated, emits a powerful hypnotic signal that forces everyone within a two-mile radius to dance uncontrollably for up to eighteen hours!"

After that last bit, Bob paused for what was supposed to be dramatic effect. Unfortunately, all it did was add to the already intense air of awkwardness that threatened to suffocate the room.

"So… any questions?"

"Yeah, I've got one." Said Lord Hater, sounding more than slightly irritated. "What are you, nuts?"

"What?" replied Bob defensively. "It's a bomb that makes people dance. You gotta admit this is cool!"

"No, cool describes what an air conditioner does. Stupid describes what you're talking about."

"But Sir, I…"

"NEXT!"

Then without another word, Bob marched away in disgrace, only to be replaced by another Watchdog a few seconds later.

"Alright Carl, show that loser how a real scientist does it." The dark lord said to the replacement pitchman.

"With pleasure, Sir." The new Watchdog replied confidently. "Gentleman, feast your eyes on… The Scylla Tank!"

A split-second later, the image of the miniature disco ball was replaced by that of what appeared to be a nine headed mechanical dragon.

"Folks, I'm not gonna bore you with all the complicated, technical details, so I'll just get straight to the point." Carl said in a disturbingly salesmanesque fashion. "This baby is a four-hundred-ton, nearly indestructible, flying war machine capable of breathing fire, ice, lightning, poison gas, and a whole host of other cool stuff."

"I never realized it until just now, but I've always wanted one of those!" said Lord Hater excitedly; practically drooling over his prospective new toy. "Okay, meeting's over. Carl wins. Everybody else get lost."

"Not so fast." Peepers interrupted; assuming his trademark no-nonsense attitude. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, no catch." The minor Watchdog answered sleazily. "I just need ninety trillion hate-a-zoids so I can have the power core shipped overnight, and then you'll be good to go."

"No problem! Peepers, write this man a check!"

"Um Sir, might I have a word with you." The Grand Watchdog said as he pulled his master aside for a private chat. "Two things. 1. This is obviously a scam. And 2. Even if it wasn't, we don't have ninety trillion hate-a-zoids to spend. Ted embezzled five times that much before he went solo. Remember? As it stands, we can barely afford to keep the lights on."

As if to emphasis his point, the lightbulb directly above Hater's throne suddenly began to flicker.

"Ugh! I hate it when you're right!" the cloaked skeleton said childishly before turning his attention back to the conman in front of him. "Sorry Carl. Commander Killjoy says we can't afford it right now. Maybe next time."

"I'll be waiting." Said the diminutive bunko artist as he stepped aside; allowing another Watchdog Scientist to take his place.

"Okay, show of hands." Said the replacement egghead enthusiastically. "Who here hates fighting their own battles?"

"We don't have all night, Jimmy!" Lord Hater interrupted. "So cut the sales pitch and just get to the point!"

"Okay, Okay, yeesh." replied Jimmy as he tugged on his shirt collar nervously, before quickly regaining his composure. "Gentleman, I give you… The Tunneler!"

A split-second later, the image on the screen switched to that of a small but admittedly cool looking gun.

"The awesome name is the first pro, obviously." The Watchdog continued confidently. "The second pro is that this baby opens a portal to an alternate universe. Unleashing an ancient Elder God who will do all our fighting for us."

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" the dark lord said ecstatically. "Summoning an Elder God! That's like video game level villainy! Sign me up!"

"Not so fast." Peepers cut in; once again in no nonsense mode. "Are there any cons?"

"Oh yeah, plenty." Jimmy answered, sounding much too frank for his own good. "For one thing, there's no way to control whatever Elder God we summon, and once they're out those things are almost impossible to send back. But let me tell ya, the real con is that after all that beta testing, I've been completely desensitized to gore and mayhem."

"Ugh! You guys!" Lord Hated groaned angrily. "My duel with Dominator is tomorrow! What do we have that works?"

"The Party Bomb~"

"I mean besides that!" the cloaked skeleton roared furiously. "Come on! One of you must have something I can use! Something that's not completely stupid!"

"Well…" said an unseen Watchdog from somewhere in the far back. "There's always that Top Secret Project Commander Peepers has been working on."

"Top Secret Project?" the dark lord parroted before shooting his second-in-command an accusatory glare. "What top secret project?"

"Uh…" the Grand Watchdog replied nervously; sweat dripping from every pore. "Funny story about that."

XXX

(Elsewhere in the Galaxy)

"Hmm… Now let me see…" said Wander as he examined the contents of his seemingly ordinary wicker picnic basket. "Cold Chicken, Cold Tongue, Cold Ham, Cold Beef, Aged Cheddar, Aged Swiss, Smoked Gouda, Mustard, Mayo, French Rolls, Apples, Oranges, Peaches, Plums, Pears, Picked Gherkin Salad, Cress Sandwiches, Potted Meat, Potted Lobster, Sardines, Melba Toast, Lemon Squares, Snickerdoodles, Strawberry Pie, Ginger Beer, Lemonade, Soda Pop. Gee, I hope I'm not forgetting something."

"Don't cha think that's a little much for just two people?" asked Sylvia from her relaxed position on the opposite end of the campsite.

"Well, we haven't been going out all that long. So I'm not really sure what she likes." The furry nomad answered casually. "Besides, you never know, I might run into some poor, hungry traveler while I'm on my way to meet her."

"Fair enough." The blue Zbornak replied before giving her long neck a much needed crack. "But seriously, if we're gonna get an early start tomorrow, we should probably go ahead and hit the hay."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Replied the furry wanderer as he stuffed the wicker basket into his 'magic' hat and walked over to join his companion.

Within minutes, their campfire was safely doused and the two friends took their usual sleeping positions; Sylvia curled up into a ball on the hard ground with Wander on her back, using his endlessly versatile hat as a makeshift sleeping bag.

"Goodnight, Sylvia." Said the nomad as he closed his eyes and readied himself for dreamland.

"Goodnight, Wander." Replied the Zbornak as she attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, before she could fully allow herself to drift off into the Land of Morpheus, there was something she needed to get off her chest. "Hey, Wander."

"Yeah, Syl?

"Don't you find it a little suspicious that Dominator…"

"Deedee."

"Whatever! That she would just call you out of the blue and demand you take her on a picnic on some random planet you've never heard of?"

"Well, first of all, Deedee didn't demand anything, she asked me nicely." Wander corrected her gently. "And second, no, I don't find it suspicious at all."

"But, Skrillpon 5? I looked it up, and it's out in the middle of nowhere; not to mention totally barren."

"Maybe she likes barren." The furry nomad suggested. "Some people find starkness quite beautiful. Even romantic. Maybe she saw a picture of it online and got so excited that she just had to see it for herself."

"How can you be so optimistic? You're dealing with a psychopath for Grop's sake."

"Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia." He replied in an almost paternal manner. "If you want someone to change for the better, you have to be willing to give them the benefit of the doubt."

"And what makes you think she can change?"

"Because, she's just like me."

"You keep saying that, but…"

"Look, it's complicated." Wander cut her off. "You wouldn't understand."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" the Zbornak shot back; sounding more than slightly insulted.

"It's complicated."

"You keep saying that too, but you never…"

"It's. Complicated." He cut her off once again; this time making it clear that he did not wish to discuss the matter any further.

"Fine, be that way." Sylvia said with a huff as she set her head back down.

For about a minute or so, the blue Zbornak just laid there and fumed silently over her companion's refusal to cooperate. Eventually however, her frustration gave way to other emotions, and she spoke up again.

"Hey… Wander…."

"Yeah Syl?"

"There's… something I've been meaning to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Well… it's just…" she began nervously; clearly searching for just the right phrasing. "Back at the Asteroid Formation, you kinda made it sound like you were willing to marry Dominator no matter who wins your game. But… you were just kidding right? I mean, you'd never actually marry someone like her… right?"

"I don't know." Wander answered matter-of-factly. "I might."

"What? You can't be serious."

"Hey, I don't know what's gonna happen in the future. Maybe we'll get married. Maybe we won't. We're just gonna have to wait and see."

"This isn't a joke, Wander! Marriage is a serious commitment!"

"I know; I've been married before."

"What!" the blue Zbornak exclaimed; clearly flabbergasted by this sudden revelation. "What did you just…"

Unfortunately, Wander cut her off yet again; only this time it was with a rather loud snore.

"Wander, I know you're faking. This isn't gonna work."

The hairy nomad said nothing; replying with just another snore.

"I'm not buying it, Wander. No one falls asleep that fast."

Again, he just replied with a snore.

"Oh come on! You can't just drop a bombshell like that on me and expect me to just…"

And yet again, she was cut off by a snore.

"Fine! You wanna be Mr. Mysterious, be my guest!"

And with that said, she lowered her head and tucked it into her usual sleeping position.

"But one of these days, you're gonna give me a straight answer." She muttered to herself angrily. "Whether you like it or not."

End Notes:

Writing is fun, but editing is painful. I meant to have this up on Sunday, but work plus the long and arduous tasks of editing and proofreading made that impossible. Hope it was worth the wait. See you all in the next one. Peace.