AN: Thanks for the new reviews. =) The story's progressing a tad slowly, but I'm trying to finish it this year...

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"Warp?" Buzz gasped.

A baffled-looking blue man had just appeared in the doorway, braking jerkily on his heels as he came tumbling in. Despite the sackcloth, horridly oppressing atmosphere that had been hammering down everyone's hopes more and more forcefully, the Captain had to suppress a fit of laughter. He had almost believed that a black hole had devoured his ex-evil pal, but Darkmatter had obviously just loitered in his usual shady space voyages, and returned only very recently. The scoundrel however managed to appear as though he had just become the new self-proclaimed ruler of the cosmos, with a ludicrous space-robe thrown over the vacuum-resistant suit, a huge wide glistening letter W embellished over his overly broad chest. The epitome of narcissism took a sweeping glance across the chamber, raising a brow,

"Piddling Buzz-buddy, what kind of sauce have ya cooked up this time? The last time I saw ya, ya were supposed to be havin' a smooth coo-time with your kittie. Don't I keep tellin' ya to chill out for once? Quasars... is it true that your sassier twin's sprung up again? Where is he?" He was squinting after the long dark corridors, trying to get used to the green lantern glow. The clattering echoes reverberating from behind him told that more troops were approaching; he had only been on the very stem.

"Craters, Warp, hold your breath!" Lightyear yapped, limping forwards as much as the throbbing legs allowed. Such a relief was filling his inners now: this hell was going to be over, ultimately. Hence he momentarily forgot the situation's graveness, grinning broadly at the alien whose brook of sarcasms never seemed to be dammed. "Blast, where've you been all this time? Bet the good old space ranger spirit in you wouldn't have wanted to miss this mission, a tricky and treacherous fight against the wicked forces of evil."

Darkmatter's visage went to the color of sour milk. "Feh, I'll gladly leave the halo-headed crusader's part for you. Remember, I'm a bad dude."

"And we all know that this 'bad-dudeness' is only superficial. Deep down there somewhere is the golden heart who yearns to fulfill the will of righteousness!"  

Warp stuck out his tongue at this bigotry -the very trademark of Buzz-, looking as though he had wanted to throw up fifty times in row.

Nevertheless, Lightyear's simper died soon, the tone turning hoarser. "No, seriously, it's good to see you. We truly need help."

The duo turned their gazes towards the room's middle.

"Oy, what a cheerful place... definitely beats ol' Zurg Tower ten to one in the intergalactic ugliness contest..." Warp's gawk hit the wounded Emperor first. "What's the Big Zee been doin'? Has he finally been wrestling with a Mountain Troll, like he always brags that he's one day gonna do?"

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It did not take eternities to clarify Darkmatter how the planets were aligned. In a few minutes, the moldy subterranean chamber was additionally swarming with space rangers of many shapes and sizes. Warp in his mismatching jubilee costume explained how on the way to Capital Planet with Zarah and Ay'noh, they had randomly popped in Star Command Headquarters. Only to meet Nebula looking like a giant radish with mustache, as he, red in the face, had bellowed to everyone and everything. His orders to send a few units to Morph had been understood somehow wrong: the Star Cruisers had headed to Murph, a tiny but obnoxiously criminal asteroid town near Trade World. The excuses had been that who the ninny Neptune had ever heard of any riots on Morph? The planet was so dully calm that beside it even a lambkin looked like a T-Rex who had been fed for a month only with lettuce. Thus the original depart from the HQ had delayed.

And so, from between the fierce growls and showers of spit flying out of Zeb's maw, Darkmatter had understood the patterns and joined the squadron, which had lastly found the right direction. But another idiocy had awaited in Kaon: the rangers that had been ordered to investigate Buzz' house and should have received novel instructions from the Head Commander himself, had furthermore loitered outside the particular building. Sluggishly shuffling their feet and shrugging around, they had appeared utterly clueless of what guidelines to follow. It shortly became obvious that the most dimwitted Star Command crew had been dumped on this sheepish planet, to have some sort of effortless, not-so-brainwork-requiring sheltered work here. And judging by their doughnut-filled stomachs and fat keisters, they had disregarded even the basic workouts.

Perhaps it was true that the Universe Protection was not itself without the few hard-boiled veterans... or then it simply had started becoming sloppy without a constant menace breathing against its nape. Zurg might have been a corny travesty of Darth Vader, but at least his Evil Muffin Rays or whatever z-balderdash had kept the defenders alert.

After the couch potato rangers had been mopped up out of the way, there had been the forest flight ahead. Even though a treeless square existed in the place of the Nex Crucio fortress, no Star Cruiser was able to land there. So the ships had to be left outside the woods, in addition to the grumbling Mrs. Darkmatter, who had insisted to join her mate. But someone had to take care of the rogue kid, who had grown very fond of a big red button on the console reading Automatic Self-Destruct in large, friendly letters. Already trice during the journey from Xaneda to Capital Planet she had been saved from pushing it. Either the lass did not grasp what her parents tried hammering under her black locks, or then she really wanted to see a spectacular explosion.

The proceeding of the Xi Muon's woodland miles had been turned into a jetpack marathon. And more jumble caused that some rookie had crashed against a tree midway around. Nevertheless, the devil's lair had been trivial to uncover once the archaic ruins had been reached. Who would not have spotted a huge reedy hole in the ground, the grass around it still smoldering and all the nearby bushes burnt into black skeletons? Down, down into the abysses the rescuers had descended.

Now that the troops were in, the collecting of the victims became far swifter. Stretchers were constructed for the injured; Booster was lifted on a giant one. And now, seeing the outcome of battles and accidents, even the king of irony's curl of lip somewhat vanished. Every inch here plashed in macabre nausea, from Evil Buzz' corpse to the self-accusatory Zurg, who was turning ever surlier. As his freedom had already been balancing on a fish line stretched above a mile-long torrent full of piranhas, now everything in his eyes appeared devastated. Darkmatter had to join the nag choir of Buzz and Mira, who attempted brainwashing the old Emperor to apprehend that he was not going to spend the rest of his days on PC-7 because of the mirror universe foe's fate. Even though it was a mischief against his life-long parole, he would stay free of guilt. Perhaps tardily that dark, aged visage would figure out that by his hand, many souls were saved from the serpent staff's altar.

Alike every major adventure so far, even this one seemed to end up in the arms of a hospital. There was no reason to send the injured to Capital Planet or Star Command HQ, since Kaon sported very adequate medical premises. Lord Hyperon's Hospital was sited at the lake, sitting in a hodgepodge of buildings from diverse eras. The core was the oldest, an elaborately cut stone edifice, the architecture bearing resemblance to Tellurean Baroque with all the little carvings and statues of formidable physicians decorating its front. Its right side, an assortment of extensions varying blaringly with style from clumsy angular grey to sleekly smoothed green-white, was stretching itself nearer and nearer the petite local university, which had a diligent partnership with it. Mostly the hospital was being used by the small human population. The Grays preferred home calls even with more serious illnesses; thus they were scarcely seen around.

******

The whole escapade left piles of oozingly dirty laundry to be assorted, which meant tons of nitpicky paperwork. On top of everything was naturally the discovery of Evil Buzz. Some of his victims would have probably wanted to leave him to rot in his own grotto, but Star Command did not take such events casually. As soon as the hospital was reached, the villain was set in a cryogenic chamber to wait for an autopsy. Any larger-scale reports concerning this issue would probably take weeks to become even half-ready.

The Red Viper cult's reincarnation was like a fish-slap on the face for some of the town's authorities. Though hush-hushed and silenced, Kaon ostensibly recalled a great deal about the excruciating days of the hidden threats. And even now, the whole finding was rapidly sealed and pushed into the box of classified files. Nothing of the nature of the Evil Lightyear's hideout was mentioned in the screaming Holonet news spreading in lightspeed throughout the Alliance. It was dubious whether the city's high maestros were even going to let the local police forces investigate fully the subterranean spaces. If not, the issue would soon fall into the previous state of hemi-oblivion, only carried on by obscure rumors.  

The Captain could not comprehend why such naïve furtiveness was needed; he had always supported the freedom of speech and loathed such corrupted secrecy. Nevertheless... as he scrutinized his thoughts, he learned that he possessed very sparse preparedness to meet the storm that would follow if he, one of the epic heroes of the Gamma Quadrant of Sector Four, was publicly revealed to be the spawn of an ancient and long-lasting evil. So, perhaps the quietude was a treat, in a contradictory way.

As the days went on, his mental tiredness towards Morph and especially Kaon increased exponentially. This wretched city, sweet and idyllic from the outside but such putrid insincerity from the inside, was granting him nothing but disturbing illusions. As he sprawled in the ward, his glum father sitting beside the bed, he was intensively seeking for a getaway. Zora was recovering more quickly, and would bark buh-byes to the hospital the following morning.

"Only wish I hadn't sold my Capital Planet quarters now, would've fit us nicely... Even though I'm aware that moving there would confuse poor Yoka again. But everything's better than this... I'm quite certain she believes our house to be possessed. There's no returning there, she'd go permanently off the rocket..." Lightyear sighed misty-eyed, fiddling his beard. "...Quiet and distant she is, still in a shock of some sort. Asked me yesterday if half-demons really can die... thinks the accursed foe was some kind of a higher being... Poor thing, at least she's talking to me a bit now, and doesn't try to kick me if I come nearer..."

The Emperor's brow furrowed. "Do not worry, son. There is always room for you in my glorious palace. I shall order the Grubs to prepare you some unused, but dandily purple rooms in the cellar floor. I--" he clutched at his bandaged side with a hairy hand, "I, unfortunately, am not in a condition to go and gather your possessions... -and to remind you about your horrid taste of colors, boy, do get rid of the ugly green-white furniture, eygh, such iffy things shall ruin the nefarious touch of cranberry with which I have so carefully tinted my empire-, but I am positive that Agent Z-- eh, Darkmatter with his lackeys can handle the moving. I only need your keycard and the house's contract... Eh, I shall sell it, shan't I?" he lastly asked, not fully assured.

"Blasted hovel, it may go", the younger man grunted. Relieved because he would have at least a tiny calm haven amidst these tumults, he cared a flying maggot's poo about Zoxedaszeĉ's out-of-place side comments. "Thanks, dad. And oh yeah--" he lowered his voice so that no extraneous ears would catch his whispers, "Had a vidcall with Zeb this morning... mainly asked how I was doing, but he mentioned he's sorting out your accident. I don't know if you've heard from your parole intendant yet, but there's no case against you. You weren't arrested in the first place, and they're definitely not going to put you in prison for this."

A small smile lingered on Zurg's lined visage for a moment.  

---Two days later, Kaon---

Night slowly descended. The air was full of dewy grass' fragrance and soft wail of evening birds, the atmosphere almost ridiculously mellow. The sun's last kiss, a warm, bright-orange halo, was still lingering upon the rooftops.

A thumb pushed a button on a remote control. A set of Venetian blinds zoomed down to cover a petite window, through which the last remains of the evening's luminosity still were filtering. White, round lights fastened in the ceiling were switching automatically on. The hand jostled the remote aside, and picked up a small electronic notepad instead.

"Lessee... today's case..." A bored grunt playing on his visage, a middle-aged man leaned backwards in his chair, scrutinizing the green lines in the holo-monitor. Very tall, yet round-shouldered and rather bony, he had greasy tufts of ginger hair growing on his balding head, a pair of glasses sitting on his thin and pointed nose, flecks of stubble of the same color strewn across his somewhat weak-looking, clefted chin. A white laboratory jacket hung loosely on top of a set of rather uncared-for-looking garments. A lopsided nametag reading 'L. S. L.' was pinned on the breast pocket. In overall, the whole appearance of this male was breathing some sort of lazy ennui towards life. But mostly it could be read from his brown, bloodshot eyes, whose expression seemed to be stuck on the cynicism gear for forever.

He typed something onto the notepad, took a glance at the clock, and stood up. His steps meandered out of the mediocre office, across a gleaming white but empty hall, into an elevator that was soon speeding softly down with magnetic levitation.

"Fifth cellar floor: Mortuary, Cryo-chambers, and the Department of Pathology", a cold, electronic female voice drawled. The male scowled.

Why did it always have to repeat the level names? Imbecile computer... He had worked here for years, what were the odds that he would not find his way around? As though he had suddenly become a blind slug that was recovering from lobotomy...          

These premises, where this man currently swore the retardation of present day's automatics, were a part of Kaon's one and only hospital. Not too far away, some of the Nex Crucio hell's victims were still resting. This wing, however, stretched itself most towards the lake.

The lightning down here radiated just the same soulless coldness as the quarters themselves, with pale yellow orbs that contrasted somewhat sickly with the dull gray walls. Death was a permanent guest here, its form only changing slightly as bodies were carried in and out. Silent was this department; Kaon after all was a small town, and not so frequently autopsies were made. Criminality was sparse, the citizens healthy and of the long-life type. Now, however, the issue of Evil Buzz had brought a fresh case in. Star Command was requiring detailed data about the cause of death, for it was a wanted super-criminal in question.

The male in question was one of the very few pathologists dwelling in Kaon; reckless maybe with the most aspects of his life, but very accurate in his work. Thus... it was not a surprise why such a misanthropic mien had been permanently burnt onto his gaunt, sunken face. Rot and decay seemed to be his sole friends, from year to year... Indeed, something had to be very wrong under that balding crown, as to enjoy such a macabre job as this. Some kind of ill interest towards the curse of the mankind, mayhap...

And yet, something in this person was yearning for change. Life had become so dull in this minuscule city, where everyone and everything seemed so out of reach. Tomorrow was the perfect copy of yesterday, and the hours pounded onwards like the tedious beat of a ramming machine. Perhaps he had his few daily discussions with the hospital colleagues, but there was his social life: superficial and just as monotonous as the speeding years. Change... but that was nonexistent.

The partly shadowed operating room reverberated his steps on the metallic floor. On a flat hover table, under a thin plastic sheet, was lying the corpse of Buzz' mirror universe twin. Some time ago, it had been removed from the Cryo-chamber, de-frosted and dried for the necropsy. The pathologist worked alone as often as possible. According to him, any company was only distracting the studies. And this case was supposed to be as though stealing a lollipop from a toddler: a heart attack caused by a plasma blast was trivial to diagnose with a bit of dissecting. So, no need for meddling colleagues.

Silent... a few sallow lamps above the operating table pulsated their tiresome light. Clank, clank, clank, the man approached the body, pulling on lime-green plastic gloves and adjusting the respirator mask over his mouth and nose. He removed the covers spread over the foe till the waistline. Not a single wrinkle deepened or smoothed out on his apathetic face, even though the view below was swimming in plain nastiness. The cryogenic freezing had of course ceased the natural processes for a while, but still an ugly-looking gangrene had started crawling up the villain's left arm, not to mention the other disgusting bruises.

"So... this is the famous Evil Buzz Lightyear..." he only mumbled, "...and so crumbles the fame..."     

On a petite aid table beside the carcass lay an assortment of surgical tools: laser knives for cutting, tweezers, spare gloves, tissues, and so on. The pathologist picked up a session recorder in order to switch it on. Yet, now the facial indifference was shooed away. Frowning, he examined at the gadget. It looked as though someone had recently dropped it and attempted repairing it with severely poor engineering skills. How had he not noticed its odd condition while bringing in all this apparatus? Shrugging, he inserted a nanodisk in, and pressed the 'record' -button.

"Aiiieeh!" the male interjected, as the widget suddenly sprung to life far more vividly than it was supposed to, sizzling and rattling ominously, several blue sparks flying out of the energy supply case. His shocked hands lost their hold, and the recorder leapt in the air, crashing next onto the operating table. As it rebounded from the metallic frame, it shattered in several parts. The minuscule crystallic fusion shard and the electrolyte where it floated, were spilled out with a splash.

Nonetheless, this was not the end. The spark-spitting thingamabobs could have less liked the metallic operating table, now that even the 'battery' was on the loose. And as the capacity of these space-age energy supplies were far more something else than the archaic AA-alkalines... Blindingly blue streaks shot out of them, in a nanosecond circulating the whole table, enclosing it into a high-voltage embrace. They hit its hover mechanism, and thus, even more lightnings darted to accompany the flock of existing ones. So forceful the fizzling cage of bolts was now, that it made the corpse twitch. The drooping lank hair began to stand on end, and the beard curl. The sheet, fireproof material as it was, lounged there as though perfectly nothing was occurring.

Eyes drawn wide with horror, the pathologist retreated towards the chamber's door. Metallic floor was perhaps easy to sanitize, but what a hazard, when exposed to electric charges. Clearly the pinions in the architect's scull had been covered with thick rust... Just when he jumped inside the tiny atrium, which at least was separated from the operating room with an insulating threshold, the table supporting the malignant one came rattling down from the mid-air. The body rolled away from it, and ended up lying out of the reach of the few lamps.

Holding his breath, an alert hand on the front door's handle, the pathologist stared at the vista. Everything seemed calming down now; apparently the large floor area was speedily discharging the electric storm. Grounded as it was, all charges would die down soon in any case. But the mess was atrocious. The operating table was completely wrecked, the supposed-to-be-dissected lying in a heap in the shadows, the surfaces littered with crooked garbage and cutting tools that had fallen from the aid table. The latter one was the only piece of furniture actually still standing intact, floating alone above the chaos.

The male cursed his infernal luck. Now what? He would need to call for help; he hardly would have strength even to lift that carcass up. And yet, how he loathed any interference... on his opinion, other people's presence would just make everything worse. And besides, how was he going to explain this foul-up to the head of the department? There was simply nothing more annoying than futile paperwork and inventing cover stories... Namely, this male was such an irksomely proud perfectionist in certain work-related issues that he would simply hate to admit that there had been even a minor flub in his job.

The fist on the doorknob hesitated. What if... Would he be able to sort this out on his own, after all? Down the hall, there were spare operating tables in a storeroom. And a cleaner bot... could he program it to assist him so much that it would lift up the dead one and carry this litter in the trash compacter without nobody getting a hint of what had happened? And whoever had so cleverly endeavored repairing the recorder... he or she would be sacked, as he knew nice and stealthy ways to avenge such insufferable dimwits. His thin mouth behind the mask curved into a sneering smirk, his pupils alight with malice.

The quick brooding came into an even fleeter conclusion. He would handle this on his own. Nonetheless, the amount of damage would have to be measured, how else would he know how to sweep all the boo-boos under the carpet? The floor obviously had sucked the electric charges by now, but still he did not want to get a free perm. There were some idle paraphernalia in the atrium, from among which he picked up some random metallic object and tossed it onto the main chamber's floor. It landed there with a hollow clonk, no angry sparks darting up.

It was safe.

Of course, that did not make the mini-pandemonium any less tangled. Nonetheless... it did not seem completely hopeless. The cleaner bot would definitely be able to eradicate the trash... maybe it would require some extra time, but always he could lie that the necropsy was a bit tedious... Slowly he slouched towards Evil Buzz, musing.

"What the---" escaped suddenly from his throat. No, it was impossible, his eyes had to be lying... Or were the shadows plain creating illusions?

It was as though the corpse had jerked an inch...

Confused, he adjusted his glasses, likewise squinting to see better. No, it had to be just some minuscule trash on the lens, now the dead one seemed just as immovable as it ought to be. He took a step nearer the body, shrugging semi-indifferently. Why did he not just take the ocular laser trimming, those did not cost more than a regular wristcom these days... foolish, he could get rid of the stupid glasses...

He crouched down to study how much the electric storm had damaged the already contused villain. Darned darkness, why the lamps had to be cluttered in that one single spot...?

What were supposed to be the earthy remains of Evil Buzz, were sprawling on their left side. Back against the pathologist, his head was bent and hidden somewhere behind the wide thorax. One gloved hand taking a hold of the body, the medical expert was about to turn it over.

But the flesh under his palm was not cold.

The electric shock could not have heated the corpse THAT much...

...or could it?

**********

"----UAAAUAAAAUAAAAUAAAAUAAAAUAAAAUAAAAUAAAAA----"

A fire alarm had burst into squeals somewhere. In the ward, Buzz startled awake from his dogsleep.

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To be continued... Comments?