Chapter 19: Ace's Predicament

Ace Ventura sat tied to a chair in the middle of the dimly lit warehouse. Around him, a group of masked thugs were taking turns punching him. Ace's face, though slightly bruised, wore a smirk that refused to quit.

"Is that all you got?" Ace taunted as another thug swung and landed a glancing blow. "Wow, that punch was so soft, I almost fell asleep! Are you training with the Pillow Fist Academy? The My Pillow Guy has trained his students well."

The largest thug cracked his knuckles and took a turn, landing a harder punch. Ace's head whipped to the side, but he quickly turned back with a grin. "Oh, now we're talking! That one almost registered as a tickle. Who's next, Tiny Tim?"

Another thug stepped forward, this one wearing a poorly fitting mask with eyeholes that were unevenly cut. Ace's eyes lit up. "And what is that on your face? Did your mom crochet that mask for you? Because it screams 'Arts and Crafts Day at the Home'!"

The group muttered angrily as they resumed taking swings. Ace continued his commentary unabated. "Gentlemen, I've been punched by more intimidating Girl Scout troops! And let's talk about these masks—what is this, a clearance sale at the discount Halloween store? Oh, wait, I get it. You're trying to hide from fashion police. Smart move!"

Meanwhile, Stanley, Tina, and Milo arrived at the warehouse. The building loomed large, its metal walls reflecting the faint glow of nearby streetlights. Milo sniffed furiously at the ground, leading Stanley to a receiving tag dropped near the entrance.

"This has to be from here," Stanley whispered, holding up the tag. "Whoever grabbed Ace must have dropped it."

"Then we're in the right place," Tina said. "Now what?"

Stanley glanced up at the warehouse's roof. Memories of Ace's earlier acrobatic instructions flashed through his mind. "We're going up. Just like Ace showed me."

Tina hesitated, but Stanley had already found a drainpipe and began climbing. Milo stayed on the ground, growling softly, as if sensing trouble. Tina followed Stanley, and soon they reached the roof. Crawling carefully to a skylight, they peered inside.

Through the window, they saw Ace tied to the chair, still running his mouth as the masked thugs surrounded him.

"Look at that," Tina whispered. "He's still joking."

"That's Ace," Stanley said. "Now let's figure out how to help him."

Tina moved to another window, her eyes scanning the warehouse interior. She froze as she spotted a familiar figure in an office space separated from the main floor. Dorian Tyrell. Her breath caught in her throat.

Dorian stood tall, holding the mask in his hand. He appeared to be in a heated discussion with a woman. Tina squinted, but she didn't recognize her. The woman had her back turned and was gesturing animatedly.

Tina crept back to Stanley. "You're not going to believe this. Dorian Tyrell is here. And he has the mask."

Stanley's face paled. "Dorian? Isn't he… wasn't he supposed to be…?"

"Dead? Yeah, I thought so too. But there he is, and he's not alone. There's some woman with him."

Stanley took a deep breath. "Alright, here's the plan. We sneak inside, find some masks that look like the ones the thugs are wearing, and blend in. That way, we can get close to Ace and figure out how to get the mask back."

Tina nodded. "What about Milo?"

"He stays here and keeps watch."

Milo barked softly, as if acknowledging the command.

Back inside, Dorian and the woman left the office and walked toward the group of thugs surrounding Ace. Dorian held the mask like a trophy, a sinister grin on his face.

"So, you're the famous Ace Ventura," Dorian said, his voice dripping with mockery. "I've heard a lot about you. Mostly bad things."

Ace's eyes flicked to Dorian. "Ah, the prodigal villain returns! I thought you were fish food by now. Guess I was wrong… or maybe the fish just have bad taste."

The thugs chuckled nervously until Dorian shot them a glare. The woman at Dorian's side remained silent, her back still turned to Ace.

Ace's gaze dropped, catching sight of something in the back of her pants. His jaw dropped in exaggerated shock.

"Wait a minute…" Ace leaned forward as far as the ropes would let him. "I'd recognize that bulge anywhere! Lois Einhorn! Or should I say… Ray Finkle!"

The woman stiffened, then slowly turned around. Sure enough, it was Lois Einhorn, the disgraced former detective. Her face twisted in a mix of fury and embarrassment.

"Shut up!" she snapped.

"Oh, I'll shut up," Ace said, grinning. "But first… nice to see you again, Einhorn. Or should I say… LACES OUT!"

Lois screams, "LACES WERE IN!" and backhands Ace with a force that rattled his chair.

Ace, shaking off the slap, smirks at the masked goons. "See that, fellas? *That's* how you deliver a proper 'man's' hit. Take notes. I think I even felt my molars tap-dance."

The masked goons exchange confused glances but grumble indignantly.

As Ace regains his composure, his eyes lock onto the peculiar mask glimmering in Lois's hand. It looks different from the standard issue the other bad guys wore—more ornate, almost pulsating with an eerie glow, and a dark pink hue that screamed *"villain with flair."*

"What's that you've got there?" Ace asked, squinting dramatically. "Ooh, is it Bedazzled? Or did you win that in a cereal box? Either way, you're rocking it, babe!"

Lois leans in close, her face inches from Ace's. "You want to know what I've got, Ventura? I've got *revenge!*"

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Revenge, huh? Obsessed much?"

Lois snarled, gripping the mask tighter. "You wanna see obsessed? I'll show you obsessed!"

Before Ace could muster a comeback, Lois grabbed his face and planted a massive, lingering kiss on his lips. It was aggressive, theatrical, and horrifyingly thorough.

Ace's muffled screams filled the room as the goons watched in stunned silence. When Lois finally pulled back, Ace turned his head to the side, spitting frantically.

"Blegh! Blegh! Somebody call poison control! I've been *contaminated!*" Ace shouted, wriggling in his chair like a fish out of water. "I don't know whether to cry or gargle with bleach!"

Lois stepped back, smirking with satisfaction. "Still think I'm obsessed, Ventura?"

Ace grimaced, wiping his mouth on his shoulder. "Obsessed? No. Completely unhinged? Oh, yeah. If crazy were a sport, you'd be the MVP every season. Congrats, champ! But I'll tell ya one thing… You're better at this than you are at… kicking a ball. Let's hope you don't buckle under the pressure this time."

Lois gave a menacing glare. "Pressure. What would you know about pressure?"

"Well, I have kissed a man… TWICE!"

The room fell quiet, save for the snickering of a few goons trying (and failing) to suppress their laughter.

Ace's eyes darted back to the mask Lois held. "By the way, love the whole *supervillain Barbie* look you've got going. What's with the pink mask? Is it accessorized for… evil prom?"

Lois narrowed her eyes, holding the mask up for him to see. "This mask is *special.* It's designed to amplify everything—your strength, your speed, and your darkest desires."

Ace's smirk returned. "So, like Instagram filters, but for psychos. Got it."

Lois, her patience wearing thin, hissed. "You're about to learn exactly what it can do. And when I'm done with you, not even *you* will be able to make jokes about it."

"Oh, don't be so sure," Ace quipped. "I've been known to joke under extreme duress. It's a talent."

Lois took a menacing step forward, the mask gleaming in the dim light. "Let's see how funny you are after this!"

To be continued...