"Hello?" yelled Bender, his voice echoing off the Planet Express spaceport's walls. "Is anybody here? Don't make me shout louder!"

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary other than the ship's absence, Bender trudged toward the lounge, and immediately noticed a shiny object sprawled on the counter next to the coffee machine. It's Hermes' gold watch, he realized. It must have come off his wrist during a struggle. What if the person who attacked him is still here? After rotating his head to satisfy himself that no one was hiding in the lounge, he quietly picked up the watch, opened his chest cavity door, and thrust the timepiece inside.

He wandered into the medical clinic in search of more abandoned loot—and was stunned by what he saw. Not only had one of the beds been knocked onto its side, but the floor was littered with red chunks of chitin. "I'll be buggered," he said aloud. "Someone took a hammer to Zoidberg's claws. 'Bout time."

Maybe they all turned on each other, he thought. Let's see what the security cameras have to tell me.

Once in the main office, Bender punched a few commands into the viewscreen console, and the black-and-white security footage began to play. The first thing that appeared was a silver robot furtively snatching a gold watch in the lounge. "D'oh!" he grunted, slapping his head.

After a few seconds of rewinding, he arrived at a more informative scene, one of Zoidberg and Mildred in the sickbay. The lobster and the distraught-looking redhead exchanged words, but there was no audio track. "Well, that's something," remarked Bender. "Zoidy's got Fry's girlfriend shackled to a gurney. I'll bet he's about to perform an unauthorized and unethical medical procedure, like snipping off her legs at the knees. Oh, how I wish these security recordings had color."

An instant later Mildred screamed noiselessly. Leela had crept into the clinic, and was readying herself to pounce on Zoidberg from behind. The lobster whirled, but too late…

"Oh, my nonexistent God," said Bender in horror.

Half a dozen blocks away, Foss was stealthily watching from behind a mob of break-dancing teenagers as the person who appeared to be Leela took her place in line at a transit tube. She seems so calm and untroubled, he thought. But Hermes made it sound like all hell was breaking loose.

A petulant voice called out from his cell phone: "Hey, loser! Pick me up! I long for the warm embrace of your ear. Not."

The entire crowd of teenagers turned to glare at Foss. "Yo, dawg," said one of them. "You dissin' the wrong posse, man."

Ignoring the boys, Foss raised the phone to his ear. "Yes, Bender?"

"Foss!" came the robot's urgent voice. "Keep away from Leela! She's gone stark raving psycho! She gassed Zoidberg and smashed his claws!"

The teenagers regarded Foss curiously as he spoke with Bender. "I gotta get me one o' dem bitchin' phones," was typical of their comments.

"She took out Goldilocks, too," Bender continued. "Then she carried them off like a couple of big feathers with feathers for arms and feathers for legs."

"Sounds like she's got superhuman strength, whoever she is," said Foss quietly. "I may need some muscle to back me up in case I have to confront her. I'm at the transit tube on Commonwealth Avenue and…"

"Hey, don't try to drag me into your battles," said Bender sharply. "Just because I don't feel pain doesn't mean I don't feel fear, ya know."

Foss sighed as he stepped up to the end of the line, eight people separating him from the oblivious Leela. "If she kills me, you'll have my blood on your hands," he said into the phone.

"Metaphors involving human bodily fluids mean nothing to me," said Bender, and the call was disconnected.


As the production credits rolled by on Raven's viewscreen, Zoidberg swiveled in the captain's chair and addressed Delta. "The poor man, having to walk through life on two left feet," he reflected, looking down at his broken claws. "I can so identify with him."

Delta turned her head slightly away from the console. "I'd love to make small talk, John," she said flatly, "but the effort of cracking Raven's command protocol is requiring my complete concentration."

"Fine," said Zoidberg, standing. "I'll find someone else to commiserate with."

It wasn't hard. Halfway down the staircase that led to the lower deck, he began to sniff the air. "I smell anguish," he stated.

He followed his olfactory glands to Amy's quarters, where the Asian girl lay face down on her pillow, weeping bitterly. "Perfect," he said, sitting down next to her feet.

Amy rubbed her nose and cheeks on the pillowcase, then glanced up at Zoidberg, who was crying into his stumps. She sniffled a bit, then wailed, "Leela asked me to kill her!"

"I have no claws!" the crustacean lamented.

"The professor's probably dead by now," Amy sobbed.

"I'll have to eat with my tongue," Zoidberg moaned. "Have you ever seen me eat with my tongue? It's like how a frog eats, but with tiny little needles."

"I'll never see my mom and dad again," said Amy tearfully.

"A Decapod without claws is ten times more likely to be swallowed by a whale than to find a mating partner," said Zoidberg miserably.

Amy shot him a look of bemused impatience.

Zoidberg suddenly smiled behind his mouth flaps. "I've never felt so close to you, Amy," he said wistfully.


Foss charged into the reception area of the All Saints Lesbyterian Hospital, his breathing heavy. He nearly collided with a white-haired man in a hoverchair on his way to the desk. "Excuse me, ma'am," he inquired of the nurse on duty. "Did you see a woman with purple hair and one eye pass through here?"

"Yes," replied the middle-aged brunette. "A woman fitting that description asked about a patient—one Philip J. Fry."

"Fry!" exclaimed Foss with relief. "Where is he? What's the room number?"

In room E-576, a pair of female physicians was attending to Fry, who lay unconscious, electrodes sending signals from his punctured chest to a cardiogram device. His tongue still dangled over the corner of his lower lip. The medics had tried to move his tongue back into his mouth several times, only to see it hanging out again upon returning from their breaks.

"At his current rate of healing, he should be out within two weeks," one of the physicians commented. "The sooner the better, if you ask me. I find his body revolting."

"I thought you were straight," said the other physician.

"I am," said the first.

Leela stepped into the hospital room, her face set with determination. "I'd like a moment alone with the patient, please," she announced.

"I'm sorry," one of the medics told her. "Visiting hours are from 5 to 7 on Thursdays."

"How do you get your hair like that?" asked the other medic. "I've tried all kinds of dyes. Is it naturally purple?"

Leela bounded forward with uncanny speed, wrapping her fingers around the throat of the woman who had inquired about her hair. As she lifted the wheezing physician several inches from the floor, the other woman fled in fear, screaming for help. Once her victim had blacked out, Leela relaxed her grip, allowing the medic to fall into a heap.

No sharp instruments had been left out, so she settled upon a sterile white pillow. Without wasting a second, she laid the soft object over Fry's nose and mouth…

…and at that instant Foss flew across the room, striking the pseudo-Leela with his entire body. The impostor lost her balance and was thrust head-first against the wall, as Foss' glasses tumbled to the ground and shattered. The professor aimed a right hook at Leela's chin; it achieved its target, but the pain suggested that Foss had damaged his hand more than he had hurt his opponent.

The cyclops deftly regained her footing, rotated like an axle, and pushed outward forcefully with both hands. As his feet lost contact with the floor, Foss experienced the uncomfortable sensation of going down a hill backwards on a roller coaster.


To be continued