Taking a second to consider everything the former “king” of Mars has just told you, very quickly you come to the realization that he’s either a liar or an idiot. Maybe both. He’s a janitor, not a king. The idea that he could have gone from ruling an entire planet to wiping poop stains from the jet toilets in the bathroom outside the Mars-A-Bon seems so idiotic you can scarcely believe you even took the time to listen to him babble.
You need to focus on the task at hand –the assassination of President Womack and how you can prevent it. This is all that matters. Milling around in the crapper with a lowly janitor isn’t going to accomplish anything.
Off in the distance you watch as members of Team Earth step into a spacious Transporavator, lean forward and press the button for the sixty-third floor.
Your body moves before your brain can even complete the thought, and suddenly you’re running full speed in their direction, “Waitaminute! Hold that door!”
Charles Barclay wedges his rather sizable body between the slowly closing doors, keeping them open just long enough for you to slide inside. A bit out of breath, you thank Charles and move toward Michael Jardin and Patrick Pewing near the rear of the glass enclosure.
“No problemo.” Barclay answers back before stepping inside and allowing the doors to close. “What floor?”
“Hey no kiddin'? Guess that makes us neighbors. Hope we don’t keep you up too late tonight.”
Leaning back, Charles playfully elbows the comically large afro of Julius “Dr. P” Perving and chuckles heartily, “I know it’s turrible but we party as hard as we play, and Julius here didn’t get his nickname just because his last name is Perving…if you know what I mean.”
Julius sends a confusing wink in your direction. Immediately you try to pretend it never happened.
A moment later the crystalline glass surrounding you begins to glow. A thousand colors emerge from the nothingness, swirling, twisting, and slowly moving from the panes containing them and into the crowd of players. You look down and watch as an orange band of light whips around your leg like the tail of a cat before quickly spreading upward. Within a matter of seconds the glowing shapes have engulfed you completely. A second after that you no longer exist. All that remains of you now are a series of microscopic particles traveling sixty-three stories upward at the speed of light. It’s an admittedly odd sensation that you don’t particularly enjoy.
Stupid Transportavators – you’ve always hated them.
When the particles arrive at their intended destination the Transportavator pieces you together once again, and the mass of swirling lights retreat into the surrounding glass. The moment the doors in front of you open, you leap through, lean against a nearby wall and begin to gag.
Stupid Transportavators – such a dumb invention.
“Hey, you gonna be okay?” Barclay asks while patting you stiffly in the center of the back and chuckling just a bit at your reaction to what is essentially a rather common piece of technology.
While wiping hot bile from your lips, you manage to nod in his direction.
“Hey, when you’re feeling better why don’t you join us at the party tonight? We’re in room 6012…Penthouse suite…real swank and stuff…real classy. It’s got one of them new holographic hot tubs. Them things are great when your back is feelin' turrible after a hard game…” He nudges you in the ribs playfully and adds, “…among other things.”
Looking up you notice that Barclay is winking at you the same way Julius did moments ago. You aren’t sure what to make of it, and not sure you want to make anything of it.
He could lead you to Womack though, and it’s because of this fact that you agree.
You need to save Womack. The life of Womack is all that matters.
Plus you’ve always wanted to see a holographic hot tub.
Thanks to the copious amounts of highly illegal Martian Ale the team makes available to you, the rest of the night is sort of a blur. At some point Martian prostitutes of all three Martian sexes become involved. You don’t think you did anything with them, but you’re one-hundred percent positive Barclay didn’t share your reservations. You think there might have been an alligator involved somehow – even though that doesn’t seem plausible. At one point you can clearly recall a drunken “Dr. P” shaving his afro, gluing the mass of hair to his groin, and asking you to comb it for him.
When Barclay said they liked to party hard, he wasn’t kidding.
When you finally wake up the room is a disheveled mess of liquor stains, overturned tables, and unconscious prostitutes. Even the holographic water in the holographic hot tub has managed to spill onto the tile – which makes no sense.
There’s a Telescreen on the opposite end of the room that was left on, and a newscaster is reporting about the assassination of President Womack at the Earth Vs. Mars game earlier in the day.
Apparently a war has broken out as a result.
Outside you hear an explosion, which is followed almost instantly by a terrifying set of screams.
Nice job, dipshit.