Chapter 7: A Masked Revelation

Ace's scooter puttered down the darkened streets of Edge City, its engine making more noise than progress. Stanley clutched Milo tightly as the wind whipped through his hair, his anxiety mounting with each passing block.

"Ace, do you even know where we're going?" Stanley yelled over the sputtering engine.

"Stanley, my dear doubting dandelion," Ace replied with a grin. "Do I ever know where I'm going? And yet, here we are… thriving!"

"Thriving?" Stanley shot back. "We're being chased by a crime syndicate, we're harboring a magical mask, and I'm wearing yesterday's pajamas!"

Ace glanced back, giving Stanley an exaggerated look of mock offense. "Pajamas? My good man, those are lounge couture. Own it!"

Before Stanley could retort, Ace veered sharply onto a side street, coming to a screeching halt in front of an abandoned theater. The building loomed like a forgotten relic, its marquee missing letters and its windows boarded up.

"This is it," Ace declared, hopping off the scooter and striking a dramatic pose. "Our sanctuary! Our command center! Our… reasonably priced Airbnb!"

Stanley stepped off reluctantly, his knees wobbling. "What is this place?"

"Theater of the Absurd," Ace said, gesturing grandly. "Literally. It closed down after a disastrous one-man performance called Mime Apocalypse. But don't let the cursed history scare you off… much."

Stanley shook his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Ace pushed open the heavy doors, revealing a cavernous interior filled with dusty seats, peeling wallpaper, and cobweb-covered chandeliers. Milo trotted in ahead, his nose to the ground, while Ace marched toward the stage.

"Alrighty then," Ace said, clapping his hands together. "Let's lay low here for a bit while I put the pieces of this puzzle together. Milo, keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. Stanley, try not to hyperventilate."

"I'm fine," Stanley muttered, though he clearly wasn't.

Ace ignored him, pulling out a tattered notebook from his coat pocket. He began scribbling furiously, occasionally muttering to himself. Stanley, unable to sit still, wandered the theater, his anxiety growing by the second.

"Ace," Stanley said finally, "what happens if they find us? Those guys Louie talked about… they're not messing around. This is 'Super Bowl' big, remember?"

Ace looked up from his notebook, his usual playful demeanor softening just a touch. "Stanley, let me tell you something about bad guys. They may have the muscles, the weapons, and the creepy vans, but they don't have the one thing we've got."

"What's that?" Stanley asked.

Ace grinned. "Me. And Milo, of course. And… okay, maybe you, too. But mostly me! Like you said, this is Super Bowl big, and I'm Joe Montana, baby!"

Before Stanley could respond, Milo let out a sharp bark, his ears perked up. Ace froze, then turned toward the sound. "What is it, boy? Did Timmy fall down a well? Or is it something more sinister?"

Milo barked again and darted toward the stage. Ace followed, crouching low and peering into the shadows. "If this is a ghost, I'm gonna need some backup. Stanley, bring your pajamas and your courage!"

Stanley hesitated but eventually joined Ace, who was inspecting a trapdoor in the stage floor. Ace rapped on it with his knuckles, his face lighting up. "Hollow! Just like our opponent's heads! This, my friends, is the sound of opportunity knocking."

He pulled open the trapdoor, revealing a staircase leading into darkness. A faint green glow emanated from below, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat.

Stanley's eyes widened. "That's… that's the mask. I'd know that glow anywhere."

Ace turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Oh, so now you're an expert in magical artifacts? Why didn't you say so?"

Stanley ignored him, staring at the staircase. "We can't go down there. It's probably a trap."

Ace grinned. "Probably. But when has that ever stopped us?"

Without waiting for an answer, he descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the narrow passage. Stanley groaned but followed, clutching Milo tightly.

At the bottom of the staircase, they found themselves in a cavernous underground chamber. The green glow came from a pedestal in the center of the room, where the mask sat, radiating power. Surrounding it were symbols etched into the floor, their meaning unclear but undoubtedly ominous.

"Well, well, well," Ace said, approaching the pedestal. "If it isn't the star of the show. Looks like someone's been putting on airs… and glowing ones at that."

Stanley's breath caught. "Ace, don't touch it. It pulls you in."

Ace held up his hands. "Relax, Pajama Man. I'm just… admiring." He leaned in closer, studying the mask. "You know, this little number has caused quite a ruckus. I think it's time we find out why."

As he reached for the mask, the room began to shake. The symbols on the floor lit up, and a low rumbling filled the chamber. Milo barked furiously, and Stanley grabbed Ace's arm.

"We need to get out of here!" Stanley shouted.

But it was too late. The mask's glow intensified, enveloping the room in blinding light. And then, everything went still.

When the light faded, Ace was standing perfectly still, the mask in his hands. He looked at Stanley and Milo, his face unreadable.

"Ace?" Stanley asked nervously.

Ace slowly turned the mask toward himself, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, Stanley," he said, his voice dripping with dramatic flair, "it looks like it's… showtime."

Without another word, he donned the mask, and the room exploded with energy.

To be continued...