Halo's up! And let me just say… I have very mixed feelings about this chapter. Also, this was Halo's idea. She wrote this. Don't kill me.
Why would they kill you? You're the nice, sane one! If anyone's gonna die, it'll be me! Readers, I ask this in complete faith of your mercy- please do not hunt me down after you finish reading this chapter. Please.
Moving on to a less ominous note, reviews!
UltimateCCC: Hate to break it to ya, pal, but Manic is not that type of person. He won't be doing the do with anyone unless that special someone's got a ring on their finger- one that he gave them, mind you. (Dude. This is a PG rated fanfiction. Honestly, we're not those kinds of people. If you're looking for that, then you ain't gonna find it here.)
Gwencarson126: Oh, the subject of Chaos Emeralds will be coming up soon enough. (Stealing a Chaos Emerald… Not exactly.)
Autumn: Yup, Manic's a poet and everyone can know it. (*facepalm* HALO! WHY?)
StarlightSparks: No, no, don't apologize- I have just become the subject of a pun! One more thing to check off the bucket list. (That's on your bucket list? As for the pun, relax, it's the ERA of puns. And that was a really bad one…)
Matthew's POV:
Tech Scrambler? Check.
Lock-picking set? Check.
Boyish Charm? Triple-Check.
Twas the night of the big heist that we all had been planning for months (pardon my poetic license), ever since June when Ricky (remember him?) clued us in on the big plans his buddy Keith had for a certain empty penthouse on 8th Street. I had been excited to find out that Rick wanted me to come help out on the raid. This was a big deal for me; I might be a seasoned delinquent, but I was still the youngest member of the gang and thus the lowest-ranking in terms of seniority. Recognition equals respect, and respect is everything.
Rick had gotten us a basic floor plan of the penthouse, a ritzy five-roomer with a balcony and view of the city. Snazzy. It was on the borderline between uptown and downtown Station Square and on any one turf, so if we get seen by another gang they ain't gonna bother us- unless they're Meerkats, but those guys are demon spawn so they don't count.
'Sides me and Rick, there was also Mitch coming along to drive the getaway car and keep an eye out for the fuzz. Curtis and Gabe were coming too- they were there for 'acquisition of valuables' (swiping everything that in sight). Me? I was going to do what I do best: hack. Sure, I was only sixteen, but even guys twice my age can't step to me when it comes to computers. Probably why I got recruited for this job in the first place.
We had to keep it small; the apartment was close enough to the nicer neighborhoods that with one call from a suspicious neighbor, we'd be busted, and if we got caught by the cops, that's a guaranteed six months of jail time, which none of us could afford at the moment, least of all me. I'm still underage so I go to juvie, which is cool and all but it gets old pretty fast. And escape plans and manhunts are very annoying things to deal with.
The plan was that we would meet Ricky and Keith at the target house at around two in the morning. I'd crack the alarm and unlock the doors then, after scoping out the area to double- check that the coast was clear, I'd let the boys in to go nuts.
My knapsack was packed with the essentials: Tech scrambler, lock-picking kit, one or two smoke bombs, swiss army knife, mini-crowbar, bolt cutters, leather gloves, ceramic spark plugs, and a bag of jelly beans. Sounds like a lot, but it's what you want if you don't wanna get busted.
"Let's get a move on, Maniac," said Curtis. We had been hanging around in his apartment for most of the night, preparing for the heist. He was wearing a tight black tank top and black ski mask, leather gloves covering his fingers. A crowbar was hitched in one of the belt loops of his jeans and he carried with him an extra-large pillowcase. Standard work clothes, in other words. "Mitch is waiting out in the van."
"One sec," I said, checking for the millionth time that I had gotten everything. I didn't wanna mess this up; if I became the reason we got caught because I forgot something (again), then I might never get recruited for another job.
Mitch was blaring his horrible surf music (why? Why?) and picking at his fingernails with a blade, turning to us with a grin and gesturing for us to hop in. Rick sat in the backseat, smoking a weed. I wrinkled my nose at the scent but said nothing- it didn't matter anyway, he'd just blow smoke in my face for mentioning how much I hated that smell. Mitch revved the engine and in moments the tires of the second-hand van were screaming in protest as he tore down the road, and I felt a sudden fondness for whoever invented seatbelts. We stopped off to pick up Gabe from his house and arrived at the penthouse in minutes, even though it was miles out of our neighborhood.
The building was a bit shorter than your average apartment building, but it still projected an air of privileged superiority. I could practically smell the cash from where I was; nothing like the smell of money in the morning- two in the morning, to be precise.
Outside the building's front doors was a male squirrel, about in his mid-to-late twenties. His fur was scruffy, a muddy shade of brown, and two buck teeth peeped over his lower lip in a permanent scowl along with a limp but still smoking cigarette. He was wearing only a ratty pair of blue jeans, his arms and chest dotted with various tattoos. I could tell he was the Keith Ricky had been talking about, but not because I could read him- all I could make of him was that he was a heavy smoker and long-time gangster, one of the loners who hops around from gang to gang, trading loyalties for cash. Not exactly my favorite type of person, but I've never had any real beef with a loner before. Pretty chill guys, for the most part.
Rick walked forward first, dropping his worn out cigarette on the sidewalk and crushing it into a pile of ash beneath his boot. He and Keith bumped fists, exchanging muttered greetings.
"Guys," said Rick, "This is Keith. He's the guy who got us this job inna firs' place."
" 'Sup," said Keith.
"Uh, so..." said Rick, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. "Yeah. He like, knows what to do, so y'know… listen to him. Yeah." Way to speak with conviction, Rickster. Bravo.
We turned our attention over to Keith, who spat out his cig onto the ground and kicked it aside. He crossed his arms, his beady black eyes looking us over with scrutiny. He paused at me, scanning me up and down; I felt like I was was going under an X-Ray machine.
"Who's the kid?" he asked Rick in a deep, gruff voice. Kid?
"Oh, him? S' Maniac. Told you 'bout 'im."
"Aw yeah, I remember,"
I wondered briefly what Rick had told him about me, but figured it was most likely the good stuff since I was allowed to come. Still, I didn't like the way Keith had been looking at me, like I was nothing- less than nothing, just because of my age. Who was he to judge?
"Come on, we've got work to do," barked Keith, turning around and walking briskly to the side of the building. He reached one long, muscled arm up to pull down the fire escape ladder, climbing up and nodding his head for us to follow (Mitch opted to stay in the van and alert us if the cops show). He repeated this until we all made it to the roof, on which were a few generators and a door hatch that presumably led down to the living spaces.
"You. Maniac," he said abruptly, snapping his fingers for me to come. I walked over to where he was standing, next to a generator with what appeared to be a metal fuse box on top.
"Do your thing, and don't screw up. The mark is Room D-13." Keith said gruffly.
Real nice, this one. "Will do." I replied dryly, retrieving my tech scrambler from my bag. I couldn't find any proper outlets to sync up with, so I activated the magnet connection and set it down overtop the fuse box.
The scrambler was able to hack through the fuse box to access the main files of the building, including the burglar alarms for the entire fourth floor. I zeroed in on D-13, silencing the alerts for the room and destabilizing the window padlocks. Piece of cake.
"Good to go," I said cheerfully, setting a timer for the alarms to turn back on in five hours, then unhooking the scrambler. Keith, who had been staring over my shoulder for most of the time, nodded curtly and gestured to the door hatch. I tossed my lock picking kit to Curtis, who busted open the door in less than two minutes. Nice.
All of us crept down the stairs silently, barely making a creak. Floor D was on top, so all it took was the boys keeping watch through the hallway as I picked the lock. The door clicked open and I peered inside, squinting to get a good look at my surroundings.
Illuminated by the glow of my flashlight, I could see that the folks who lived here were definitely not living on a dollar a day. The furniture was posh and sophisticated, hardly a speck of dust atop the sleek leather cushions and velvet pillows. The mahogany coffee table shone with polish, a sixty-five inch flat screen TV acting as the centerpiece of the room. Several pieces of abstract sculpture were placed in key areas, and through an arch next to the sofa was a hallway leading to the bedrooms and kitchenette. I slunk into the hall, careful to make sure that my gloves were properly on before touching anything.
The kitchen was state-of-the-art, and I immediately spotted some appliances I knew would bring in a bundle of cash apiece; better point 'em out to Curtis and Gabe when they get in. The bedrooms were just as luxurious- whoever lived here had great taste, even if it was a bit fancy for my liking.
The first one on the right seemed to function as a guest room, as there were no personal effects lying around like you would see in a frequently used bedroom. I was reminded of the upscale hotel room I once spent the night in when I was fourteen, before I got arrested for impersonating the mayor's nephew. That was a fun night.
I peeked under the bed to see if there were any hidden goodies there; unfortunately, nothing but lint and what appeared to be a stack of old newspapers. Dang it. Usually people liked to hide their deep dark secrets under the bed or something. I reached to examine the newspapers, and before I had even gotten one in my grasp, I felt a pair of huge, burly hands grab hold of my ankles and yank me out from under the bed.
Whoever had grabbed me was definitely not my friend. He twisted my arms behind my back and kneed me in the small of my back when I tried to stomp on his feet, and if you don't think that hurts, you're crazy. I knew that Curtis and the others were still outside the door, and if thought that if I yelled loud enough, they'd come help me. I started to yell at the top of my lungs, but was quickly cut off by the burly hand that clasped around my mouth.
I bit down hard on one finger, tasting the blood as it ran through my teeth. My captor let out a cry and his grip loosened slightly, just enough for me to wiggle out of his arms. And I would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for those meddling-
On second thought, I wouldn't exactly call them kids. Not unless those poor children all suffered from gigantism (in which case I send them my sympathies). Seriously, even in the dark I could tell that the four guys who ran into the room were at least a head taller than me and way stronger.
But I still had the advantage of speed. I ducked down as one of them attempted to grab me by the shoulders, slipping between his legs to try and make a run for it, only to bang headfirst into the shins of another. He pressed one knee down on my back and the other overtop of my legs so that I couldn't move below my neck, kicking off my backpack in the process. Two of the other guys held down my head and arms, pressing my face into the carpet, and wondered briefly if I would suffocate before they did anything. That brought up an excellent question- what were they trying to do? All the physical contact should've given me some kind of reading, but I was so out of my mind with fear that I couldn't get a good picture on anything. All I could tell was that these guys were not warm and cuddly pacifists, which any moron could've figured out at this point.
And then something occurred to me.
These guys could be trying to kill me.
I heard a scuffling in the background, hushed voices and indistinct words. My heart was racing and I was on the verge of panic; struggling, I knew, would be useless, as I had three guys who were all bigger than me holding me down. The question was why. I didn't know what their problem was. Heck, I didn't even know who these guys were.
I felt a sharp prick in my neck and moaned as I felt something thick and painful being injected into my vein. My survival instincts kicked in and I tried desperately to summon the energy to break free, but it was as if my strength was slowly draining away. I was barely conscious of the fact that the three guys had finally gotten off me and were fastening something around my wrists and arms; I could hardly see straight and my hearing was going all fuzzy. In one of my last moments of consciousness I muttered a few choice phrases under my breath, and someone punched me in the face, the blow hard enough to rattle the insides of my skull.
And that's about all I remember before I blacked out.
Was I dead?
'Cuz I felt dead.
The hazy memories of the attack slowly came into focus. A bunch of guys jumped me, and then… that's all I got. I could tell that at the moment I was strapped to a chair, and even when I knew for a fact that my eyes were open I couldn't see a thing. I briefly wondered if they had injected me with some kind of magic blindness potion, then felt something itchy tickle my face.
"No way…" I said aloud, moving to raise my hand to scratch the itch but finding it strapped tightly to the back of the chair. "Is there a bag over my head? There had better not be a bag over my head." Someone flicked a light on, the dank artificial light streaming dully through the burlap sack obscuring my vision.
"He's up!" I heard someone shout. The scuffling of feet grew louder until I was mostly positive that there were two or three guys standing around me. My hypothesis was confirmed when the bag was yanked roughly off my head, revealing an overly muscled grizzly bear that I didn't recognize but was most likely one of my attackers, Keith, and… Rick.
"Okay. Joke's over." I said. "If I'm getting punk'd or something, whoever's hiding behind the potted plant can come out now. This isn't funny, guys."
Keith turned to Rick. "Isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?"
"Don't underestimate him," said Rick dryly, lighting up a new cigarette.
"Yeah, I'm not as dumb as I look," I said. "I may look all sweet and unassuming, but on the inside, I'm an animal. So… watch out!"
Rick rolled his eyes and Keith raised an eyebrow. "Definitely not the sharpest."
"What's it to you?" I asked.
The squirrel ignored me and turned to Rick, "Are you sure he even knows the days of the week?"
"He's Farrell's pet pickpocket. He knows everything."
I cut in the conversation again, "Well, I wouldn't say everything. I don't know his favorite color. Oh wait, yes I do. It's green. But I don't know whether or not he likes pepperjack cheese or the name of his third wife or what-"
"Do you ever shut up?" Keith demanded.
I smirked, "Nope." My eyes flicked over to the grizzly bear, "And I don't know you, nor do I recognize this basement. Or is it a warehouse? No, wait. Are we in an art studio? Oh, please say yes, I love drawing! Although I'm not very good at it. Except for stick figures. But I'd say I can make a pretty accurate flower-"
I was cut off quite rudely by the grizzly bear when he went and slapped me in the face.
"...Ow!" I said, my cheek stinging. "What was that for?"
"Listen up, Matthews," sneered Rick, crossing his arms and taking a drag of his weed. "I don't think it's a very smart idea for you to be joking around right now, hard as that may be to acknowledge for you. We ain't here to play games."
"Shame. I was hoping for Twister." That earned me another slap, this time on the other cheek.
Okay, clarification time. While on the outside you may see me cracking jokes and being an awesome and studly criminal mastermind, on the inside I'm praying for heavenly intervention because honestly, I'm getting desperate and cannot see any other way out of this situation.
Mom? Dad? Maurice? If you can hear me, please send help.
"Cut it with the jokes, kid!" shouted Keith, punching me in the stomach and knocking the wind out of me. "Now, I'm gonna say this real slow so you understand the first time- you know just about every tiny detail of how you and th' Strikers operate, an' you're gonna spill the beans. Got it, brain-dead?"
"It's funny how little you think of me. I'm a lot of things, pal, but I ain't no snitch."
"Let me rephrase that-" Keith punched me again but in the nose. I felt a hard, sharp pain, then the warm blood spurting out and dribbling into my mouth and all over my front.
"Either you tell us everything, or you ain't never gonna see the light of day again. Capishe?"
I wished one of my hands were free so I could wipe the blood away. I grinned up at him. "Aw, you're nice. How'd you know I hate it when the sun gets in my eyes?" I was rewarded with a punch to the gut. Yeesh, tough crowd.
"Sorry to disappoint 'cha, fellas, but I ain't saying nothing. Can I go home now?" Another sucker punch. Time for a new strategy.
"... That all you got?" I asked, my chest heaving. Dang, they could hit hard. "Put a little muscle in it! Or are you too soft?"
Keith and the bear looked at each other. I was getting really scared, but I could take it. I had to.
Dear Chaos (or the Neo Walkers, I guess. Or whoever the heck lives up in the sky and regulates the lives of mortals such as myself),
As I sit here in the process of being utterly pulverized, I ask forgiveness for all my sins, even the fun ones, and any I got away with on 'technicalities'. I'm really, really sorry that I haven't been to church in six years and I promise that I will repent and live a good and saintly life and obey authority figures even when they are clearly wrong and everything else that I can't think of but is key to me escaping from this living nightmare. Also, if at all possible, please prevent me from getting too mangled, as I'd really appreciate if I could keep this last shred of dignity intact, and having a beating heart is a privilege that I've really come to appreciate over the years. I ask this in complete faith in the mercy that you have the power to bestow.
Amen.
[Mid-Author's Note from Era: Sorry to interrupt here, but I need to clear this up now. The previous note above is a 'prayer' of sorts. Before any thoughts pop into your head, Halo and I are not quoting any religion that we are aware of. Certain lines may sound similar or even be taken from any real prayers of any religion, but we are not trying to be offensive or sacrilegious in anyway. (Most of the lines we got are from movies just slightly changed.) If anyone is offended by this, know that we did not mean to offend you and attempted to make it as neutral as possible to every religion. Halo and I are religious and respect other beliefs and established churches. We hope that any who are offended accept this apology and continue to read. Thank you.]
This was the first time I had prayed since I had run away. I mean, really prayed; I had thought I was going to die before, but never, ever, ever like this. But I was pretty sure that the big man up in the sky had more important things on his mind than the problems of a random, unreligious street thief. But I guess the religious habits kinda stuck with me even after I left Southtown. For once in my life, I was wishing I was back in that stupid hick town. At least there, there weren't gangs of thugs ready to smack you in the stomach with a baseball bat because you wouldn't sell out your buddies. I had taken it on as a personal challenge to keep smiling no matter what, at least in front of Team Neanderthal.
Oops, my bad. I meant the Meerkats.
Yeah, I figured it out pretty quickly that it was the Meerkat gang who had planned the ambush. Apparently when I swiped that thumb drive back in June, I pissed them off something fierce. They had been banking on the information contained on the drive to help them with an important job, and I had ruined all their plans.
Thus, a vendetta was born.
Rick had been secretly working with the Meerkats for months, feeding them little bits of information about our gang here and there- just enough to help them out out, but not enough to arouse any suspicion about a possible traitor within the Strikers. That dirty rat was a key component of the scheme made to capture me. I had thought for years that this guy was my friend, and here he was, holding my limp head up for the grizzly bear to punch. Keith stood at the side, arms folded and a smug sneer on his face.
"I'm impressed, Maniac," he said coolly. "Most normal people would have cracked by now. But you ain't normal, are ya?"
Still shaking from the previous blows, I met his eyes with an only slightly wavering smile. "Nope... I ain't. Normal… normal is boring." My voice was only just above a whisper, and my chest heaved with pain even with those few words. I wanted to die (scratch that- I didn't wanna die. I really, really, really didn't wanna die).
"Sure hope we ain't boring you, then. 'Cuz we can keep this up all night if we have to." Keith nodded to the bear, who punched me in the stomach yet again. I wondered foolishly how many bones I must have cracked or broken at this point, then realized it wouldn't matter if I didn't get out of here alive. I stared up at Keith, the grin still on my face but hate radiating from every ounce of my being.
"Course, you could make this easy on yourself and just, y'know, tell us what we wanna hear. I promise you'll get home real safe. You'd like that, wouldn't 'cha, kid?" he said, his voice dripping with condensation. I gritted my teeth in loathing and because I couldn't think of anything bad enough to say, I spat at him. The froth landed a direct hit on his jeans, the look on his face absolutely priceless. If I hadn't been hurting so much I might've laughed.
Keith's jaw hardened and his beady eyes turned to slits. He walked over to me, and before I could open my mouth to say something witty, he walked over me, knuckles curled. In the blink of an eye his fist was flying at me in a lightning-fast sideswipe.
And then the world went dark.
Suggested Listening: "Down" by Jason Walker
I have no idea how long I was out. All I could tell was that when I finally came to, I was still tied to the chair, and I was all alone.
Our hero, the unjustly imprisoned Matthews "Maniac" Hedgehog, struggles to free himself, but his strength is sapped. The cords binding his arms are too strong and refuse to yield. How will our dashing hero escape this time?
It was dark. I couldn't tell if that was because I was blind or if wherever I was didn't have windows. It didn't matter; my head hurt too much to dwell on it.
I began drumming my stiff fingers against the back of my chair to relieve some of the stress that had been building up. The chances of me escaping at the beginning were slim enough. Now it would be near-impossible.
I didn't wanna die. I didn't wanna die. I didn't wanna die.
I tried to close my eyes to fall asleep again, just so I wouldn't have to think about my future anymore, but my head throbbed so bad that I knew I'd never be able to fall asleep. Not unless Keith went and punched me in the face again.
Sitting there by myself in the dark gave me time to think, lots more than I wanted. How did I get myself into this? All I wanted to do was ransack a house, I didn't sign up for getting abducted and tortured half to death.
But you did.
No I didn't.
Yeah you did.
Prove it.
You signed up for this the minute you joined the gang.
Okay, conscience (or whoever the heck is making me feel guilty), lemme explain something to you. The gang saved my life. If it hadn't been for the guys, I would've starved on the streets. That's not just drama, either, that's a stone-hard FACT.
You wouldn't have had that problem if you didn't run away in the first place. What would Sonia think of you now?
My brain paused.
And what about Maurice? Huh? He died to help you and Sonia. You were given the life he could've had, and look what you've done with it. You went and got yourself in a life of crime, and now you're gonna die 'cuz of it. You selfish creep.
That's cold.
It's true.
Shut up.
Truth hurts, don't it?
My miniature conversation with myself would have continued had I not heard the scuffling of feet outside the door. I quickly fell silent, hanging my head and shutting my eyes to imitate sleep. Good thing I did, because only moments later the door banged open and I had to force myself not flinch. With my eyes closed I couldn't tell exactly who had walked in, but I hated them already.
"He still out?" said one weaselly, unfamiliar voice to my left.
"Looks like it…" Rick's voice. Jerk.
"Yeesh, it's been an hour already. Keith musta hit 'im hard."
"Darn right he did. Out cold in one punch."
"Still ain't talking?"
"Nope. Maniac might be an annoying lil' prick, but I gotta hand it to 'im- he keeps his mouth shut."
"Exactly how long has this been goin' on?"
"Three hours. We nabbed him at two, woke him up an hour later. Been whacking him hard enough to get Chuck Norris to go crying to his mommy, but he won't say a word."
"He's either the stupidest or the loyalest lil' faggot I've ever seen."
"Loyalty don't mean nothing 'less you get something outta it." One of them jabbed me hard in the forehead. "Hey… Matthews. Matthews, you awake?" I hung totally limp. There was no way I was letting them start beating up on me again, at least not this soon. I needed time to recover, dang it.
The poking stopped for a moment and I thought (or rather, hoped) that they had gone away, but that dream was dashed when I was shoved roughly to the ground, my bound chair going down with me. I was so startled by the impact that I almost cried out, but bit my tongue and stayed silent.
"Huh," said Rick. "Guess he really is still out."
"I coulda told ya that."
"Thought he was faking."
"Nah, no one's that good."
" 'Cept this guy. I swear, pathological liar since he was ten." I take offense to that. Everything I say is true- or at least as true as it needs to be.
"What if he still won't talk? We can't keep him here forever."
"Quit your worrying, we've got it all figured out. If he's still quiet by tomorrow, Keith's breaking out the acid. That oughta loosen his lips." My blood froze. Years of slang-infested conversations had provided me a near-perfect knowledge of what he meant by 'acid'.
I was toast.
"And if it doesn't?"
"It will. Now shut up and stop being so paranoid."
Their footsteps grew fainter and fainter until I was enveloped in total silence and darkness once again. I was still on my side, my aching face pressed against the cold, hard floor. The gritty texture of the ground irritated my skin, and my hair was falling in my face and tickling it uncomfortably. I tried to blow it out of the way, but it just fell back. Eventually, I just stopped trying.
Uncle Chuck was right about me all along. I was nothing but a smart-mouthed punk who couldn't stay out of trouble to save his life. I was grateful the old geezer wasn't here to see me like this, to rub it in my face that I had never amounted to anything.
Sonia… I couldn't bear to think about it. She'd be so disappointed. When Uncle Chuck used to yell at me for failing a test or getting detention at school, she'd always be there to assure me that I wasn't dumb, that I wasn't a bad kid, a bad person, just because I could never seem to stop getting in trouble. She was a great sister. The best.
Sonia never stopped believing in me, even when things got really bad. I feel like the cruddiest person on Mobius when I think about the night I ran away, when I decided to be selfish, to let her fend for herself. I wasn't thinking about how much I would be hurting her by leaving. All I knew was that I had to get away from Uncle Chuck.
I shouldn't have done it.
I shouldn't have run away.
But I did.
And now I'm getting exactly what I deserve.
As our Hero laid on the cold concrete ground, he had a confession to make. Matthews Hedgehog was never our Hero. He was never a hero at all. All he was was a self-absorbed, insignificant street thief with no story left to tell. He's sorry for wasting your time.
Don't bother tuning in next time, listeners. This is the final adventure of Matthews "Maniac" Hedgehog. We had hoped for a happy ending, but we realize now that those are saved for the real heroes.
...
What are you still doing here?
Go home.
Show's over.
… I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY, MANIC! WHY DID I DO THIS TO YOU?
Because it's fun to torture your characters?
NOT THIS CHARACTER! NOT MY MANIC!
Um… I'm going to go cry now. And I apologize for the cliffhanger that will not be resolved for another few chapters.
In the meantime, you guys can join me in the corner while I mentally punch myself for doing this to my favorite character. I'M SORRY, MANIC!
Technically, the Greek Heroes never had a happy ending. Let's just call Manic a Greek Hero, shall we?
But the Greeks are losers. Manic's not a loser.
We are not starting this argument.
Too late. Greeks = geeks.
What's wrong with GEEKS? I'm a geek!
Yeah, but the Greeks were a whole new level of insane geekiness that I could go into detail about. They're worse than LARPers.
Okay, we're done here. No need to offend anyone.
I'm sorry! I just went through a lot of stress! I NEED TO BLOW OFF SOME STEAM BY MOCKING THE G(R)EEKS!
Review please! (I need to go calm down Halo… AGAIN.)