Author's Note: The home stretch continues. I think you guys will like this one, for the ending of the chapter leads to an interesting turning point. Keep the criticism rolling. :)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Damn…it's like a war-zone down here."
"Man, we shouldn't even be out here! We should be hiding like everyone else!"
Boris Wiltzer, the television news reporter, drove his media van cautiously through the various casualties of mass destruction. His cowardly cameraman sat in the passenger seat, visibly shaken by Townsville's scenes of chaos.
"As appealing as that sounds, Billy," Boris replied as he squeezed the car through the space between two burning hulks of metal, "We have to get the story on this. If we run away now, the suits will fire us for sure!"
"I know, I know; but there's something about dying a horrible, gruesome death that really bothers me, you know!" Billy blurted out, squeezing the very life out of his rubber stress reliever.
"Get a hold of yourself!" Boris snapped, "If we go live with you all jittery, the footage's going to be- OH SHIT!"
Boris floored the brake pedal, causing the van to skid wildly down the road before stopping.
"Get down!" The reporter shouted to his cameraman, as the two of them tore off their seatbelts and dove out of sight below the windshield.
Boris' eye had caught the sight of a horde of hysterical human beings rounding a corner ahead of the van. Had those panicked people caught sight of Boris and Billy, they would've swarmed the van like flies on crap, crying to the newspeople for rescue before stealing the van for themselves. Instead, they stampeded right on by, flowing around the vehicle like a river of flesh.
Once safe, Boris and Billy rose back to their seats. The cameraman's stress reliever had now been strangled to death, its spherical shape ruined. Boris wiped the sweat off his forehead, doing his best to regain his composure.
"That was too close for comfort," the reporter sighed in relief.
"Can we go home now? Billy eeped, "I need a new stress reliever."
"We can't go back now, Billy, we're already in too deep as it is," Boris snapped, reassuming control of the wheel.
"Need something…to squeeze," Billy droned.
Boris hastily shifted gears as the van began to accelerate down the road again.
"Billy, think about what will happen if we get this event on the air," Boris said, trying to calm his co-worker's nerves, "There'd be enough action and excitement to rival a Jerry Bruckheimer film. You'd be sure to get a pay raise, if not a full promotion."
"Must…squeeze," Billy droned.
"Come on, Billy! Don't phase out on me now! I promise I'll buy you a new stress reliever. Just don't panic!"
The cameraman suddenly fell silent.
"Billy?"
A gleam coated his eyes as a psychotic grin emerged on his face.
"Billy? Are you listening to me? Say som-"
Upon diverting his eyes from the road to look at his partner, Boris Wiltzer's breath suddenly escaped him. To his horror, he realized that the occupant in the passenger seat was eyeing him like a pound serving of filet mignon.
"Must…squeeze…NOW!" Billy shrieked, before his hands shot to Boris' manly breasts and clamped onto them with the strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Boris, at once physically violated and enveloped in unspeakable, horrible pain, cried out numerous profanities as his right arm started to frantically punch the cameraman. At the same time his left arm barely kept control of the van, so the vehicle swerved left and right, barely avoiding the debris. Then, to make matters even worse, the van sped through a tremendous oil slick. The sudden loss of friction spun the vehicle like a top, forcing screams of despair out of both occupants. On the plus side, however, Billy regained his senses, so he was no longer violating Boris' chest.
"If we survive this, remind me to kill you!" Boris yelled as he made a futile effort to avert an imminent crash.
Billy had no chance to respond, since the van suddenly smashed head-on into a brick wall, smothering his face with the airbags as a result. Upon recovering from this sudden loss of momentum, Boris and Billy literally fell out of their seats and onto the open road. Flirting with danger had done a swell job of taxing their health. However, they still had the sense to check the van for damage.
"Wonderful," Boris commented, "Just wonderful."
The van, for a lack of a better word, had been totaled. Its front half got crushed much so like a tin can, damaging the engine well beyond repair.
"Well, that settles it. We're screwed. Totally screwed. With our car out of commission, there's no way we could do a live feed. Dammit Billy! why'd you have to lose your marbles?!"
Billy bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Boris. I don't know what came over me," he said. Then he suddenly pulled his head back up. "Hey, who said it had to be a live feed? We can just make a videotape for the six o' clock showing!"
"Hey, you're right!" Boris agreed, "Well, don't just stand there, get the camera out of the car!"
The cameraman fulfilled this command, the aforementioned object resting upon his shoulder moments later.
"The camera's all ready, Boris. Should I start filming?" Billy asked.
"No, you fool! Not now!" The news reporter snapped, "We need to get to where the action is!"
"Boris, man, you're crazy!" Billy exclaimed, "It's bad enough you wanted to drive into this hellhole, but know you want us to go to ground zero BY FOOT!? That's suicide!"
"If all we film is the aftermath, the footage is going to suck. Big time. And besides, who said we had to be on foot? With any luck, we can hitch a ride."
"What!? You're definitely crazy! Who's going to come this way? There's a rampaging robot and a superhuman battle royale down that way!"
In one of those freaky moments of impeccable timing, a single, white station wagon wildly turned a corner, popping up suddenly in view of the two reporters. Tires screeching, the family car stopped as quickly as it appeared, saving the unsuspecting cameraman from a potentially horrible accident. The loud noise did prompt Billy to turn around, however.
'Well, I'll be damned!" Billy cursed.
Boris didn't waste any time. Running up to the driver- a square-jawed man in a white lab coat with a little girl as his passenger- Boris pleaded, "For the love of god, sir, please give us a ride!"
"I have no time for this," The man replied anxiously, "My girls need me! Please get out of the way!"
"What, you're going to just leave us here?" Billy asked, "That's not very neighborly."
"Sir, if you allow us to ride in the back, I promise you my cameraman and I will be as unnoticeable as possible," Boris said, "Besides the people deserve to know what's going on. Surely you can set things straight?"
The driver hesitated, looking at the news reporter, the little girl, the cameraman, his steering wheel, and back to the news reporter. Finally he replied, "Oh alright, then. Get in quickly!"
"Thanks, professor," Boris said with a grin as he and Billy hopped into the back seats.
"Now would be a good time to turn on that camera," Boris whispered to Billy.
"Right," Billy said meekly, pressing a button to begin recording.
"You two better buckle up," The professor warned, "The ride's going to be rough."
He underlined that statement by flooring the gas pedal, rocketing the station wagon down the abandoned city road. What they'll encounter down the road is anyone's guess.
**********
"YEARRGH! TAKE THIS, YOU FREAK!" shouted Buttercup as she swung a lamppost down upon the Rowdyruff's head. He barely dodged the attack, the head of the post grazing his face as another crater was formed at the point of impact.
"Darn it, what's it going to take to bring you down?!" The brunette cried, as she continued her smashing with the lamppost, keeping the pressure high on her enemy.
The silver-haired albino surely would've replied; but he was never going to get a moment's rest to do so. The Powerpuff girls –Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup- have been ganging up on the menace with unparalleled ferocity. Problem is, either he is tremendously lucky or ridiculously skilled, for he was always one step ahead of their offenses. Every attempt to confront the Rowdyruff up-close resulted in staggering blows that knocked the girls back like golf balls. That didn't hinder the Powerpuff's resolve, however: That Rowdyruff HAS to tire sooner or later. It is all a matter of keeping up the pressure.
And indeed, the tables were certainly turning. Despite the power of his punches and kicks, the Rowdyruff's numerous scars outnumber the wounds of the three girls combined. Many of his older wounds had been painfully torn back open during the combat. If it were not for the charcoal cloth, the resulting view would've been nightmarish. Bubbles certainly would've fainted upon seeing such a ravaged body.
Both ends of the street were blocked off by policemen while Blossom and Bubbles circled around the enemy, effectively boxing him in. Buttercup kept up the attacks, swinging repeatedly at the Rowdyruff's skull as the asphalt below them gradually turned into gravel.
"Keep it up, Buttercup!" Blossom shouted, "He's starting to wheeze!"
Upon hearing Blossom's words, Buttercup's cockiness grew to astronomical levels. She swung the lamppost as far behind her head as possible, preparing for the coup le tat; but before she could unleash her attack, the Rowdyruff seized opportunity by quickly grabbing the head of the lamppost and swinging the other end mightily into the pavement. The counter-attack worked perfectly, smashing Buttercup face down into the pavement. Before the realization of what just happened even registered in the other girl's brains, the albino whipped the lamppost around in a half-circle, catching Blossom on the neck. The red-head flew all the way to the police cars blocking off the road, smashing into the car door of one such vehicle before crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll.
For Bubbles, time had suddenly stopped. Something suddenly clicked. Buttercup wasn't moving. Blossom didn't scream when the blow was struck. They were out cold. Or worse. No one remained at her side. No one. She was alone. All alone.
Alone except for him.
The Rowdyruff turned to face Bubbles, lamppost in hand. His face showed the expression of internal pain.
**********
Pathie Zimbogous turned to face the blonde, the long shaft of metal firmly gripped in his hands. Guilt tore at his conscience as he saw the girl tremble with fear.
I hate all this, I really do.
He wiped the mixture of blood and sweat off his forehead.
There's no way I can leave her to the mercy of a foreign world. But I'm running out of options.
He stood the post upright, leaning upon it to rest his fatigue, all the while keeping his eye on the blonde.
If I don't leave for home soon, I will find myself truly alone. If I go now, she will be alone, and at the mercy of those empty souls who manipulate her.
I can't accept that. She deserves life. She is pure. I can't prove it; I just know it. No one with a corrupt mind could have an aura as innocent as hers.
Now, The time to ask is now.
Pathie dropped the metal shaft upon the ground. It clanked loudly on its ends before it laid silent and lifeless. The blonde did not even twitch. Fear had visibly petrified her.
"Young miss," Pathie began, "I…I don't want you to suffer anymore. I am tired of giving you grief…"
The scout took cautionary steps forward, wiping his forehead again as his own anxiety caught up with him. The blonde began to slide back.
"My mission states that I must do what I can to ensure the survival of our kind. Everything I've done so far has been for the purpose of fulfilling that mission. But I had nearly forgotten how one single person could outweigh the importance of an entire race."
The blonde now found herself pressed against a brick wall. Her eyes opened wider as she watched Pathie slowly close the gap between them.
"Back home, even before the pandemic started, I had always felt alone. Sure, I had family and friends, but all they can do is be your companions. I wanted something they could not provide. I wanted to be loved.
"But love never came to me. The girls back home…they're so vicious. They just want someone else to be the breadwinner. That's why I eventually left the planet entirely. I figured I'd be better off alone than at the mercy of heartless witches.
"But you…You're not like them. It's like…you're like…a child of heaven. Only a demonic soul could ever find anything at fault with you. You're so…perfect!"
Pathie suddenly collapsed to his knees, his position just a few feet from the blonde. His head bowed low as he began to choke on his tears. He didn't care how pathetic he looked; only the girl mattered.
"I don't expect you to love me back. There's no way I could ever atone my wrongdoing against you. But for the love of god, don't let yourself waste away on such a god-forsaken rock! Don't you see that there's no benefit in living a lie? Stay here and you would know how it's like to be alone. But come back home with me and your angelic posterity would benefit the Malukians more than all the Estrox in the universe!"
Pathie slowly lifted his head. He saw that the blonde no longer pressed against the wall. She was now looking at Pathie…with confusion?
It didn't matter to the scout however. He outstretched a single hand. "Young miss, will you please come home?"
The blonde cocked her head to the side.
"What the heck is a Malukian?"