Chapter 51:
Surprising yet impressive that you've made it this far, heroes, credit where it's due… Though it shall matter not!
In front of you lies my simple little game, the beginnings of a game show none more appropriate than now… 21st century set-up, with a 31st century spin.
Welcome, both of you… to 'Who's Dying To Be a Hero There?'
As I'm sure both of you can relate… Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it. It's with this in mind that every question involves your journey together; from the very fight you find yourselves facing, to the very first day you met… You get the idea.
Fail me just once, and you will NEVER possess the cure you seek! In point of fact, Mayfield, I will IMMEDIATELY cause the termination of not just yourself, but the tens of thousands of soldiers that you desire to cure. And one way or another, before they fall to my whims, the universe will come to know of your responsibility.
Your legacy, your quest for redemption, will be scored & scorched as marks of failure, shame & disgrace.
Or don't do anything, and you can both die slowly and agonisingly. Since I win either way, I don't care what you do.
Your world and her universe is counting on you… Do not fail them.
Sir Reginald Archbury
AKA The Zookeeper
With a shade over fifteen minutes to go plus whatever Leela's ship-grade antidote could spare them, Mayfield knew almost immediately how serious it had gotten, and felt his heart begin to drop. Clobberella, for her part, was also well aware of the implications of this final puzzle.
All or nothing. Perfect or zero-grade. Best that should be, or worst that would happen.
"Ohhhhhhh Gods…" The Battler groaned. "Of all the game shows he had to remember for me…"
"What do you mean, oh Gods?" Come on, spit it out!"
"Look how we're situated here, lady! Aside from not knowing when I'll lash out, there's the questions… Fifteen of 'em, in such a short amount of time? Trust us to get an exam that we're forced to memorise!"
They both sat uneasily, growing beyond scared, as the twisted time warp got underway.
The first question asked about Mayfield's recent bet at Taco Bellevue, how much money he lost that day. A relief, and a regret, of sorts.
That day he knew, that he would never forgive, nor find a friend, in the fiend that was Zapp Brannigan. Charity galas aside, their history, steeped with treachery, manipulation and nastiness, only made clear that their mutual alliance would only be of hatred towards the other.
Answering that question without issue, where a series of upbeat tones sounded, the time warp pressed forward.
Question two asked about the alcoholic proof of the Maltese'ers' Liquor, drunk by the General during Leela's Nimbus date with him. Needless to say, she knew without issue, but had grown quiet and withdrawn in dread of remembering. The horrifying anger, the laser fire, the forced embrace... The attempt to stab her.
Though Mayfield probed as to why she had felt so reluctant to answer, she made clear her intentions to keep everything to herself for now, while loudly declaring her answer. Those same upbeat tones returned, and Mayfield grimaced at the possibilities.
He had remembered a rather regrettable game show of his past, one that would've guaranteed FAR more damage than this Millionaire knockoff could ever achieve.
Deeply personal questions, and a polygraph machine... Unreliable junk even back then.
Q3: Of the bill during the Elzar's double-date, what fraction did The Battler's Jerk Platter represent?
A: One-third
B: One-sixth
C: One-ninth
D: One-twelfth
Crap! He never did keep a copy of that bill… Though back then, he sure wasn't worried about keeping a budget.
No doubt the worst 'dinner date' he'd ever been on, as it questioned his own self, and his hopes of surviving such social occasions in future. He regretted being an asshole to Kif, but he mostly regretted his near-hopeless attempt at 'seducing' Amy convincingly.
If not for timely improvising, he would've destroyed their relationship, the plan, and the WORLD outright.
So much to learn still, still so behind on several aspects of life... Though the worms did help, they weren't miracle workers; couldn't fix such self-imposed & forced exile immediately. Remembering that King Crab, he hummed about the share between salad and platter.
"Dammit, either I gotta think long & hard, or take a guess… Well, ain't got time to think! B, one-sixth, final answer!"
Gripping each other's hand, they waited in tension… Upbeat tones again, and The Battler wiped his brow in relief.
Question four had them remember about how many personal assassins were sent to their houses, after the weekend of that daring planetary invasion. The two heroes grew alarmed, remembering that true taste of his wrath, and how any other day, it might've killed them.
A small back-and-forth soon surfaced as Clobberella and her charge jogged each other's memories. She grew quite certain that only they were subject to the invasions, he reasoned that they never knew whether the likes of Zoidberg, or Hermes, or The Professor were victims either.
Making the memorising more difficult, a personal assassin was brewing inside The Battler, and soon, it had lashed out for Clobberella's throat. One thunder-cracking slap later, he had thanked her in tears, and confirmed his final answer.
Thankfully, those upbeat tones returned, and with a shade under five minutes left—courtesy of Bender's idiotic time-wasting game—until the serum possessed him whole, they quickly carried on with the next question.
The one-third hurdle, the fifth question, forced Leela to think of fine details, while forgetting the fidgety, frenetic hell her own self was going through. How far did she travel, she prepare herself to fly, to confront her worst enemy face-to-face, her first time in over a year?
Hell, she had to admit, that were it not for the infamous 'Plotz Wormhole', she might've died chasing that dragon. For his part, Mayfield hated to think of the untold number of years she could've spent otherwise.
And that was forgetting how close she came to losing her life TO him, rather than against.
With a sudden realisation, she remembered what The Professor noted about it. On the furthest outskirts of The Milky Way, in the Malumnus Galaxy... Remembered all the times she travelled outside of it for deliveries. With confidence, she declared her answer, and with a pumped-up musical piece, they were closer to home safe.
Well typically, but as if to illustrate that The Zookeeper was NOT offering any such generosity, The Battler had collapsed to the cold ground, coughing up chunks of blood, convulsing, and semi-conscious.
Clobberella, for what it was worth, realised immediately and readied the antidote, having seized it before the game began.
With only a minute or so left, she had begun gripping him in a body-scissors and restraining him with one arm, far more effectively than he could ever do. Keeping as tight a hold on him as possible, she performed a perfect pointed stab into his neck, helping the antidote to course through.
Sure enough, everything soon returned to normal… At least, until the sharp, searing shocks returned.
"I didn't know you cared, but why am I not cured?" he gasped. "Worked for you, didn't it?"
"I don't know, damn it! Maybe he'd planned this little twist in his creation right when it was too late. Whatever the case, think it's only reset the infection… Only got the original hour left."
"Well, we had better get to work then." A calm disguise, as the sixth question came on screen.
Q6: After the Battle of Chapek-9, the DOOP Army suffered how many confirmed casualties, rounded up?
A: 350 thousand
B: 450 thousand
C: 550 thousand
D: 650 thousand
Clobberella's cheeks flushed blood-red in fury, while The Battler's back arched up in worry. He was certainly made aware of the all-out war on Chapek-9, and the reasons why.
But the number of casualties was seriously THAT high?
The initial shock got worse, as the adamant, gritted response came from Clobberella:
"525 thousand that day… Round it to 550."
"Wait a minute, are you FUCKIN' kidding me?!" The Battler bellowed.
"No… C, final answer."
The moment those upbeat tones returned, The Battler felt his palms slide down his face, and a horrible chill through his bones.
Over half a million men murdered, surely from nothing but caved-in bodies, bleed outs & worse…
"All from that stupid declaration? That pointless war? That fruitless attempt to bed you again?"
"Yeah… Mentioned it in his drunken ramblings. Please, let's just move on."
To casually toss those lives away, just to screw his love in bed once more… Barring all that happened, what the hell else could Zapp do to him?
As the seventh question, nearing the halfway mark, was loaded in, they were asked about which floor they escaped from, during The Battle of Chapek-9.
Another one of those 'fine details' deals; how could they remember when fighting for their lives against laser-blasting, lugnut bearing, lethal bots?
The Battler had only wished that he had smuggled the MemoRay on board before he came here, even if it would've resulted in obvious death. Could've only imagined the help it'd give in those hallowed exam rooms he used to darken.
All those supervisors striding up & down, nothing but scratching pens & stiff coughs puncturing the silence... Given what they both came for, at least one got what was deserved.
Indeed, she remembered that she escaped from the same rooms she entered, and as she was proven correct upon committing to the answer, she gave a relieved sigh.
Nearly halfway through this game, with some 50 minutes & change until The Battler would truly succumb. And this next question was bound to be a sore point, beyond that:
Q8: To rounded figures, how many weeks did Mayfield spend in hospital—courtesy of myself & The Admiral—after his first face-to-face encounter?
A: Seven
B: Six
C: Five
D: Four
Oh he had to bring THAT up!
Sheer shock from the four-week coma and utterly horrid sandwich aside (though in fairness, he might've still been asleep if not dead, without all his friends had done), it was mainly beyond that, the 'why bothers' that was gnawing at him more:
"If you lot were only going to fire me months after, why did you bother saving my life?"
"You're still hung up on that?"
Mayfield could only sigh: "I guess I'm still pissed that he never pulled me aside and told me face-to-face, least gave me a chance to prepare for the future. Hell, I'd split my tips with Fry, gladly, if that's what it was about."
"Look, you gave us a real hope and valuable help that day, but The Professor doesn't care. He only sees business. He's the one who makes the decisions. Hell, since we're all at-will employees, be grateful if he even gives you a reason… And please, until he's back in my arms, could you not mention his name again?"
The Battler stared at the ice… He knew of several off the top; cracking his hand, finagling that deal, the constant interruptions, the liability from being in hospital… All little notches in Farnsworth's growing belt of bereavement.
"A, seven, final answer!" he called out. Sure enough, he was 100% correct. No time to worry about his future now, as the ninth question, almost two-thirds through, got prepared:
Q9: At the art auction in my most recent Audience with Archbury gala, what was the cheapest winning bid offered?
A: $250,000
B: $375,000
C: $500,000
D: $625,000
Oh man… While that was going on, he was busy in Dreamland, and then came the kidnapping, the squeeze for information, the slow, agonising torture...
As he stared at his lone hand & his feet, stretching them like before, he could still recall slicing his foot over rusty piping decades ago. Scar was still there, and that was a minor bruise compared to that.
Hell, the alcohol poisoning—the signal that sent him several centuries forward in time—was a wussy little paper cut.
Sure, he certainly didn't escape unscathed, but it begged the question... How, and why, was he still here? Maybe being fired might've been the best thing, in that he could take time off to do some thinking…
Clobberella, meanwhile, had been in attendance well after her charge had been captured. She had remembered, for the delicious irony, that the man who threw that extravagant party WAS the subject of that painting.
Though 625 thousand was a none-too-shameful sum, she imagined that it must've shredded his ego, given the rest easily sold for well over a million each.
Confirmed correct upon committing themselves, there were now six questions between them and what looked to be ultimate victory.
Q10: Of these four items, what did Amy Wong spend her Tarantulon-6 tax refund on?
A: A day with Shamu
B: A talking devil tattoo
C: A day's paddle-plane rent
D: One hundred cups of coffee
Great, an even worse reminder of his social ineptitude… Though he knew the answer, Mayfield hated the implication.
Out-of-shape and clearly inferior as he showered with Amy & Leela, the harshest truths he had hoped to hide away were forcibly exposed, and as they were chipped and cracked away, he was defenceless for the cruellest blows of all.
That day, he cleared his chest of confessions, cleared off confused & crushed, and considered how he'd ever catch up.
It was also a somewhat subtle stab at his partner-in-justice. Buying those cups of coffee was how Fry spent his tax refund, and how to her, he had proved the makings of a quality man and true hero beneath.
Not that she could prove it then.
"So yeah, springing that shower confession… Kinda got me thinking about that, again."
"While now's not really a good time, I'll bite… Why?
"I have to be honest. It was a facade to say that all was forgiven the day after. Just for professionalism's sake. In truth, I still don't know what to do. Given how we began, and where we ended up before we met, I hardly compare, and still don't. Kills me inside, to confront how clueless I really am to everything…"
"Yeah, so what? Doesn't change the fact that we're both here now, as equals, with the common good in mind."
"For now, but after? Still think that once I lose those miracles, I'll return to the same has-been, would've been, and never was that you found, dying a bitter man in the Orphanarium."
"Seriously, shut up Thomas. Cream or no cream, just remember all you've done, and what you've been through, in only these months alone. We've got a rare chance to save the universe… doesn't that count for something?"
"It would, if we actually do. Even so, what if no-one remembers? Least you can fall back upon your captaincy. I can't. If it even applies, I'll just be the forgotten hero with the fading medals, kicking papers in the wind."
"Just remember where you came from. 'Cause you'd best believe, pal, that I certainly do."
They then answered B together, and with that, got two-thirds through this confessional of their own. Approaching 35 minutes left, they still looked well on track to completing this test.
One question was about to derail that:
Q11: What was the estimated height from Mayfield's balcony to the New New Jersey pavement?
A: 125 feet
B: 150 feet
C: 175 feet
D: 200 feet
Aside from neither of them knowing, it had once again set off those nightmares that Clobberella had long thought lost.
Implications of her charge's suicide besides, she remembered those pointed threats The Professor recalled, regarding Fry, after they dealt with those assassins. If Mayfield could theoretically replace him...
She raced from her seat, meaning the game couldn't continue. The Battler chased her, towards the solid ice wall.
"Hey, wait up, where are you going?!"
Without any cream that he knew of, she was trying to break & smash through it in anger, in desperation, to reach out for her lover.
Remembering those words that Fry spoke, that he lip-synced to her, she wanted him by his side now more than ever:
"Even with all I can do, how far I've come… I still can't get out and save him!"
"Cream or no cream, Clobberella, you're not getting through this ice wall! Too damn solid!"
"I just know that fat crook seeks to murder him! Just wants me to witness it up close, the weasel!"
The Battler had placed his lone hand on her shoulder, and stared deep into her blue eye.
"Clobberella, listen to me. Unless we sit in those chairs, play his games & complete those tests, that's a virtual guarantee. And if all we've suffered on his behalf taught me anything, you'd be lucky just to witness it. How he breaks others, it's scary… He'll MAKE you commit his murder, right before he orders me to kill you!"
"Oh Lord, why did you bring THAT possibility up?!"
"To remind you of what he's capable of. Remember what he did to me, just for information. To you guys, just to prove a point. To our city, as a taste of his true wrath. Simple reason? I wouldn't put it past him. So as heroes of justice, from my day and yours… let's ensure that he fails, okay?"
She nodded, and they both returned to their seat. The game had returned, and they resumed pondering.
"So do you have any idea about this, Battler?"
"Well, I didn't exactly leap from the balcony with DIY in mind. Saying that though, it'd bruise my ego if I fell only 125 feet to my death. Go big or go home, I say!"
He finished with a morbid chuckle, but stopped as Clobberella narrowed her eye, none too impressed:
"Seriously Mayfield, stop saying stupid things like that. Remember what I know about death and loss, before you blurt something that messed up again."
"You're right, that was out of line, and not the right time. My apologies."
Tried to recall the balcony, the height of the building, the address even... Struck out one by one. Ten minutes had gone, and time was now slowly crawling against them.
"Should we just guess?"
"And risk killing everybody? I don't think so!"
"What choice do we have… D, final answer!"
"The hell are you doing?!"
"Taking a chance. It's either my guess, or Reggie's guarantee. Which would you choose again?"
Much to both of their reliefs, a triumphant tone sounded throughout, and now, they were four questions away.
The twelfth question gave Clobberella, the captain inside, some serious pause regarding her violent tendencies, as it asked about the contents of her charge's final envelope before he quit Planet Express.
That precise & pointed note. That cab fare. That cream. Was proven emphatically wrong that day, and for all the washing she did since her near-murderous assault, there were still hidden stains among those ridges.
Perhaps permanent reminders of her wrath, of that one part of her that would never go away.
She expressed her regret, and her charge only pointed out that it was for the best. After all, if she actually followed his words, he might never have returned, and she would've perhaps been at the bottom of a bottle, unemployed, or forced to crawl back to her cryogenics job.
That was all behind them now, especially with what was at stake. Confirming their answer, and proven correct, they were now just three questions away.
Q13: To the closest value, what was the weight of the chocolate bar Planet Express received as thanks for their successful delivery on Caragat-12?
A: 100 kilograms
B: 165 kilograms
C: 230 kilograms
D: 295 kilograms
Leela gasped, given she had no idea what the hell 'kilograms' were (in a country full of life-long Imperial users), and Mayfield freaked out, because he was all too familiar with the scary truth it had implied.
Among several 'clues' that had literally 'busted' him open, for selfishly stealing the Miracle Cream, he stroked his burn scar in reminder of how he'd been struck, smashed, stabbed, and stomped, with hardly any chance to claim innocence.
Certainly would've taken said innocence to the grave, and Leela's job with him, were it not for Zoidberg.
"Hey listen, any luck with curbing your temper lately?
"No, not that we've had much chance. And not that it really matters, to be honest. Hell, you don't have to worry, since you're so convinced we'll never see each other again."
"Whether we do or don't, it still frightens me to know what you're capable of. Was just hoping that you had it 'tempered', or that you saved it for those who deserved it most…"
"You deserved it, and I emphasise, AT THE TIME."
"Hey, I've said and shown my piece, but suppose I died that day? Where would you have gone?"
"Now's not the time, pal. I was certain of your sneaky, slimy stunts that day, back when I had no love for who you were. But all you've done and helped us do since? You know how to make one come around..."
"Well, I s'pose I should be glad for that."
"Anyway, do you have any idea about this one?"
"Of course I do, but given it's in metric, need to do a calculation or two."
Luckily he remembered the accusation, and luckily his Australian roots served him well. With a little long division, and moved decimal places, he got to work.
5000 divided by 22; two, carry the six. Then two, carry sixteen. Then seven, with six remaining.
"C, 230 kilograms, final answer!" Battler yelled confidently. Sure enough, with a content smile, he had succeeded.
Wasn't gonna trick him with a change of measurement system, no sir!
But almost immediately after, the serum began acting up, sending The Battler sprawling and clutching his neck.
Sitting back down, waving off Clobberella's concerned gaze, he stared down that penultimate question.
One that tested his skills under enormous pressure, mere moments after his marvellous dreams came true. As the only one in that turret his first day, only he knew how many shots were required to destroy those cargo bandit bastards. Was also the very first delivery he worked for Planet Express…
Who would've thought that it all led here, that it would've created such a catalyst for chaos in his life?
Like the Battle of Chapek-9, he'd been too worried about breaches, blast dodges and big explosions to worry for that trivial detail. But obviously, that was where billionaire and boy disagreed.
Running through whatever details they could remember; the dozen cargo bandits, those fierce commands, any details on those fighter ships and so on, The Battler pondered on what he saw the moment that turret came live. That flashback to his arcade-loving days, the rapid-fire shooting, the cool compliments, and his near-death experience.
Giving their answer, a good minute or so persisted as the two heroes gripped each other's hand, raring to panic. But thankfully, having an idea of how many times he shot, and the number of misses, the logic was sound.
Now they faced the ultimate question. Just 10 minutes remaining, and the hardest inquiry about their past yet:
Q15: To the closest value, how many places did Mayfield visit during his entire first weekend tour of New New York?
A: 10
B: 15
C: 20
D: 25
That conniving sod! That motherf…
And not like Leela could've possibly known either. All she saw was the huffing, puffing moron stinking of sweat & showing up so late. Perhaps another notch against him, amongst all that led them to not only violence, balcony leaps and the old crew's discovery, but here as well.
Then there was the difficulty & logical vagueness in the question.
First, how could he trace hours upon hours of walking, exploring and feeling around the city, given it was his first days? And second, just how did The Zookeeper define 'visit' & 'place' as terms?
What he stared at, which was plenty?
The areas he walked in, which were few?
What he dealt business in, which was next to none?
As the clock kept ticking, and Clobberella got more nervous, he tried to trace his steps… Early morning at HQ, drink of water. Café next door; bought water to walk with… That odd pizzeria where the cockroaches were the OWNERS… That GRAVITY training at the gym… Mom's amazing HQ, right before she SHOT at him…
Keywords or no, sadly the gaps had proven numerous, and with each pause, it felt like another minute went by. Worse yet, the effects of his serum were growing dire, as his entire body was nearly corrupted again.
"Of all the damn questions…"
"This is not the time to give in, Battler!"
"This life's been such a crazy ride, I forgot how it began."
"But we're so close! Think of all you've sweated, bled & cried for!"
"You think I don't REALISE that?! If I make one wrong guess, then our efforts would've been for nothing. I die, I take tens of thousands with me, and perhaps the world too! I will NOT have that written on my grave!"
The two of them argued and jogged memories for a little while more, and then the serum made its presence known further.
Mayfield, close to death in both life and free will, suffered a horrible choking cough, one that sank him to the floor.
It was there he hit upon an idea… A risky, crazy, utterly stupid idea, but one to try no less.
"I've got three minutes or so left, and I'm sure you've got a miracle or two in your boot… Perhaps it's about time we pull this one out of our ass."
"What are you talking about?"
"Listen, when I give you the go-ahead, slather your cream on, as thoroughly as possible, and get ready to fight and restrain me, for your life."
"Why the hell would I do that?"
"Because I'm going to transform, become his slave."
"No, you are NOT doing that to me! Not after all the effort both my friends and I gave in keeping you alive!"
"Now's no time to argue! Remember what he mentioned, only a couple hours ago? This two-point-zero of his will greatly increase my brainpower, so logic dictates that it'll give me the means to answer this question! And all things equal, I know there's no better person for whooping my ass and keeping me in control."
"But surely The Zookeeper's woken up by now? And what makes you think he's not going to take advantage?"
"Chances are, he will. But I've also given strict orders that he stay down, knocked out or otherwise. He might give orders, but he can't give specifics, especially not while he's counting sheep."
"You know it's taken a lot for me to put my faith and trust in you, Thomas. You know how much my suspicions and doubts caused serious hurt to us both, personal AND professional. You've put all that effort into getting into my good graces… Now you're prepared to toss all that and more for some wild speculation?"
"Remind me again... Who employed who, Captain? Right now, I don't give a single solitary shit about your 'good graces', okay? Way I see it, it's imminent that I'll be a slave or stone-cold dead. If I'm going out, then this will be my tiny chance to swing for that fat fucker's head."
Clobberella still remained very reluctant, but knew that time was growing short.
"Now, are you with me or not?"
"If you mess this up, I swear I will kill you BEFORE he ever does."
"I'll hold you to it. Now let's go!"
With a single minute's warning, she stripped her boot straight off, grabbed a good glob of cream on her hand, and rubbed all over. Still a fair amount left, given it had lasted a good long while even against those super-soldiers.
Just in the nick of time, she powered up as Mayfield completed his transformation into another Admiral-like creature.
All he felt was rage, bitter hatred and cravings for destruction. So like when he first arrived, only without the snazzy outfit and glowing eyes. However, without any orders to drive his one-track mind, he was just exceptionally sloppy and uncontrolled, and soon enough, Leela had him fully in her grasp.
Gripping him in a full-nelson and dragging him to the seat, protests be damned, she kept him well-restrained and forced to answer.
Certainly didn't take long before he just blurted out "C, twenty, final answer" in some half-roar, half-growl.
Having recalled more or less the entire journey in moments, he remembered that he had visited a spread of between 18 and 22 places… Good enough, if the Zookeeper's final cry was of any indication:
"YOU WIN, DAMN YOU!"
For now, major success was theirs. The computer screen had some final fireworks go off, and out of the corner of Clobberella's eye, she noticed that syringe become accessible. Racing off, as Mayfield convulsed & shook, she had soon inserted The Professor's full cure syringe beside that agent of catalysis. Maybe a full cure of its own.
With five minutes before the new compound would be complete, the ice wall slowly came down…
And for the man who just rose from unconsciousness, whose very plans looked to be crumbling before his eyes, courtesy of his stupidly merciful 'sporting chances', he had whispered one final order to his newest minion, intent on one final victory:
"Kill her."
