“Berbilled”

By RD Rivero

November 30, 2001

**final version**

Look at me! Look! By Jagga, look at what they have done to me! What? Can’t you recognize me, old friend, can’t you tell that it’s me? It’s that bad, isn’t it? But you know very well I wasn’t always like this. No. I was once a lion, damn it, fierce and mighty.

What is this? What is it? My arms, my legs, my body and now even my mind do not feel like themselves. Hot blood throbs and pulsates through veins that like my outer and inner parts are mine but not mine.

Hard to imagine, you’d have to be insane to contemplate the fatalistic reality of my situation. I, for one, can’t believe it, I can’t understand it. It just- I feel dizzy. I must rest a moment. I can’t go on like this but why don’t they kill me? Why do they let me live? I’m sorry, I do need to sit- but wait, I’m already seated, aren’t I? Will I ever get used to this condition?

Where was I? Memory fades, attention wanes from time to time but I suppose that’s part of their plans, their methods. I must be quick, I fear, or I might leave this tale unfinished- and it is important that you know exactly what happened. I was not allowed to speak my side of the argument and I will not allow myself to be silenced anymore.

I was accused of trying to kill Liono- I will not plead innocent, you know me too well and there’s nothing innocent about me. That said, I have no memory of the fateful day, except for my usual trip to Fianna’s pub and my arrest- or at least fragments of my arrest. I was intoxicated, I’ll admit to that, too, but then that was the usual outcome of my usual stop.

Whatever happened in between that morning and that evening, Liono did not die. He was angry, I suppose, hard to tell, though. He’s not exactly the best actor around, but then, he’s not exactly the best of anything. Perhaps I had tried to kill him, perhaps not. No one ever bothered to discover the truth and there wasn’t much time to gather evidence.

The trial was that very next day- it was speedy and brief with no witness beyond Liono. His story had more holes in it than Cheetara’s hair net- he got up to the stage and cried into his paws about how I had gone too far, how I had tried to shave his mane and that, had it not been for Panthro’s intervention, I would have emasculated him with his own sword. Had it not been for the Thundrainium ropes tied around my arms and legs, I would have smashed his head in and bolted out of the front doors. Such as it was, I was helpless, smiling, laughing, I must have left quite an interesting impression on the jurors.

Fianna owed me a few favors and he quickly arranged for Chockrin to defend me but it was useless. Even as weakened and constrained as I was, I knew what the whole trial was about. Liono wanted to get rid of me because as a lion- as a superior lion- I was the ultimate threat to him. So obvious, so pathetic and that the others simply swallowed his lies whole just about speaks volumes, doesn’t it?

I was found guilty that afternoon. My lawyer didn’t even have the chance to get up and say anything. Even the Thundercats weren’t done with soppy Liono- he kept breaking down in tears so often that the court kept taking ten minute breaks for five hours. The jury just stopped the proceedings without notice and declared me guilty, just like that. It was a trick, a cheap trick and I had fallen into the trap the perfect victim. I had been framed but nothing could be done about it. Fate was stacked against me.

The audience broke out in applause, gasps. Photographers took snapshots, reporters stampeded out of the chamber. Shark wailed and vowed revenge. The Amazonian guards, who held my leash, stood me and drew me to the back of the courtroom, to Mandora’s office- Chockrin wasn’t allowed to come with me. Since the trial was over, why bother continue with the charade?

Tygra was the only Thundercat that had bothered to show up, I guess either he was the brain of the operation or the others simply did not have the spine to face me. Liono, he told Mandora, was still too ‘sensitive’ to be too near me. I suggested aloud that next time he ought to try a lubricant- as you could imagine, that didn’t go too well but I was amused.

The Striped-One had a problem.

“Officer, I looked at the jury’s sentence and I’m afraid that exile simply is not an option. First, we would have no guarantee that his exile would be permanent. Second, that,” his voice trailed into a series of ‘blah, blah, blahs.’

Mandora nodded and looked over a pile of papers.

One of the guards who held onto my chains began to speak about Berbils. Whatever it was it seemed to interest the tiger and the judge.

“And how long would that take?” one of them asked.

“About a month or so. It’s a slow process for obvious reasons but once it’s done it’s permanent-”

“Yes and think about it, Tygra, how much harm could a Berbil do?”

“I’ll have to discuss this with the rest,” he said, getting up. “But it does sound like a promising solution.”

I confess that the world was, for the most part, one hazy blur- but it wasn’t my fault. I was escorted out of the smoky room into a temporary prison cell. The Amazonians helped me to bed and untied the yellow ropes. Too tired to resist, all I could do was lay there over the mattress and watch them leave. I thought that in time my strength would return but I was shocked to realize that nothing of the sort was happening.

That was when I noticed that my bed throbbed and that a certain kind of warmth came up from beneath it. I managed to take a peek- electric, Thundrainium coils just over the cold, stone floor kept me in check. The effect was not too much that it could kill me, but just enough that it would keep me groggy.

I was fighting the urge to sleep when the device beneath the bed turned off. Gradually and by degrees, I was regaining my composure. Rubbing my eyes, I saw too late that Tygra and Liono were in the cell with me. The two had snuck in while I was in the throws of emerging consciousness.

The cub had a lustful look in his eyes- he stepped forward and ran his hand across my cheek. He fondled my chest and circled his fingertip around my nipple- he had artfully removed the top of my shirt and his drool dribbled onto my exposed fur.

I was enraged but the Thundrainium had done much to exhaust my energy.

“It’s a shame,” he said, “just an awful shame I never got to enjoy it.”

“ThunderWolf’s not worth the trouble,” Tygra grunted.

I looked to the side- the tiger’s hands were pressed over his crotch. The cell was too dark, too engulfed in shadow for me in my weak state to tell for sure what he was doing.

A cold, clammy grip clasped my flesh- I reacted with a shiver of shock and sat up. Liono had undone my shorts and exposed me completely to him, like groom unveiling his bride.

“What will they do with it?” He stroked and petted: “I mean, just what do they have, anyway?”

“I never bothered to look,” Tygra stammered. He took Liono by the shoulders and drew him away from my straddled legs. “Quick, let’s go before he regains his strength.” He led the youth out to the open bars of the cell. “Starting tomorrow, we’ll never have to worry about him again. Never!”

The door slid in place and locked shut with a click.

Tygra hugged and kissed Liono so hard I thought he would devour the cub’s face but apparently the two enjoyed it- their purring echoed through the hall as they vanished. In their wake the Thundrainium coils reactivated before I could get my pants on again- bastards.

The bed was as hard as a board but despite the intense discomfort- compounded by the cold draft around my crotch- I fell asleep. I was rudely awoken in the middle of the night by the sudden and persistent giggling coming from my court-appointed Amazonian guard. My eyes fluttered open- the cell was bright white and the glare was painfully intense- is saw the women. One was tying the Thundrainium ropes around my arms, the other was hovering over my legs, simultaneously propping up my shorts and covering her smile.

I was led out of the prison through the back exit, into an old cart-and-horse wagon. I was put in the wicker and bamboo cage and covered in a dense mound of hay. The burning, dry vegetation stank of seasoned horse and made my fur itch. It was beyond humiliation, old friend and every moment of my ride in that rickety vehicle, bouncing and careening with the unpaved road’s bumps and ruts, my mind reeled with thoughts of vile revenge. Damn my Thunderian weakness, damn the unnatural strength of those Thundrainium ropes!

Was it by design? A master plan forged in the very depths of hell by the devil himself? I had time to think- it wasn’t Liono, he wasn’t smart enough to have concocted that scheme. Tygra, Jagga- a whole host of names came to me but one by one I found reasons enough why it couldn’t have been anyone of them, anyone of them except the Thundercats.

I remember looking up. I could see through the top and sides of the cart. It was a starry night complete with a yellow moon that dangled above the distant line of swaying treetops. It was undeniable, it was clear, any notions that it could have been a dream, any hopes that it would end swiftly, happily vanished without so much as a puff of smoke. I was being driven into the wilderness, my place of exile, without a last good-bye to my friends or a parting glimpse of my beloved, my one and only Shark- have you seen him? Is he here with you? I must-

The dizziness again- what a life I lead now- forgive me my momentary lapse. It’s just that if you’re here then maybe, just maybe, he might be here, too.

It was well past morning when I arrived at the Berbil Village. The whole trip took ten hours, a little more, a little less, but just about ten hours. The two Warrior Maidens stopped only intermittently to relieve themselves- my needs, of course, were no one’s worry. The Thundrainium had reduced my metabolism and I found that the common, biological urges had been tempered. Yet, when I was taken out of the cart, my shorts were soiled- apparently, I had wet myself but either the stench of the hay had masked the scent or my own sensory impairment had altered my control of it.

We were greeted by the town elders. The Amazonians listened to the local tongue of beeping and wheezing as if they could understand the annoying creatures. I gathered that I was to be turned over to the fur-jobs. Laughing aloud at what I perceived was a fortunate turn of events, the others turned to face me, visibly alarmed. I laughed harder and in the process thoroughly weakened what stamina I had had left.

So Liono had agreed to send me to the Berbils- what a brave and resourceful cub the Thundercats have at the seat of power! I could have smashed those toys with my little finger. Escape would be trivial, it was not even a matter of time as far as I was concerned.

The ladies kept on talking but frustrated that their efforts were going no where, they supplemented the electrical dialect with their own versions of absurd and obscene hand gestures. A pair of tiny bears turned to look at each other, their faces and mouths lit up in fierce conversation. They finished and waved at others in the village to come closer and before I knew it, I was surrounded by a mob of robotic subcreatures.

My escort-guards gave the elder villagers a sack of what appeared to be gold or silver nuggets. With that they returned to the vehicle and left without a look back. I watched the pair dissolve into the mist and haze of the awakening forests. A sense of despair and anxiety overwhelmed me and, now alone, I inspected the villagers. The natives pointed toothpick-like weapons at me from a safe distance, too afraid to get close to me.

A larger Berbil- perhaps the largest one the village had- appeared with a whip and cracked it open over the bare ground. I was shocked for a moment- I had always been told that the bears were ultra-pacifists and, seeing the whip, I began to wonder about what sorts of activities they might engage during the cover of night. The rugged leather of the leash wrapped around my neck with a flick of its. That was certainly not a productive way to endear itself to me.

It dragged me to the center of the village while other Berbils directed the masses to dig a hole in the ground. Immediately the whole lot of able robots buried their hands into the soil and, like machines of non-stop labor, excavated a ditch large enough for three of me to occupy. Another group of Berbils joined the mix- carpenters. They carried wooden boards and tools- they constructed a room for me that was nearly completely underground. Steps fortified for me but built for them led down from the lawn of the town’s forum to the cold and clammy cell that was to be my new prison. A sturdy roof was perched above it like a cherry that tops the dessert.

Again I laughed- hadn’t those Satanic subcreatures been warned about who they were dealing with? Did it matter? I was not about to protest, to be honest. One could be imprisoned in worse places- or so I thought at the time. And indeed, am I not still correct even now? I mean- what’s the worst prison to be trapped in than a body? A- well, you can see that for yourself, can’t you?

I would have never thought it, it would have never dawned on me. But I get ahead of myself.

Still believing that Liono was a fool, I led myself into the semi-subterranean chamber. I even let them secure the Thundrainium ropes from around my wrists and arms to the sides of the cell where hooks shaped like hollow eyes had been put in place for just that sort of thing. Again I wondered about their true nature, their nocturnal activity that to my knowledge had never been completely documented. My legs were kept free but the room was so small that I had little space to maneuver.

A pair of Berbils were my only company for those first, few hours. The two, I suspected, were the only ones small but large enough to fit into what was left of that cell. Long, rectangular slits on the ceiling, merely inches above my head, provided them with light since for the moment at least it would have seemed to them that introducing a fire or a torch might be too dangerous.

With their own hands they tore off my clothing. I protested with loud, low grunts and a persistent tightening of the ropes. They responded with a crystal rod- yet another implement of their ancient arts that I was unfamiliar with. The rod glowed and when they touched me with it, soaring chills of pain spread throughout my body. That first tap made me pass out- no thanks to the Thundrainium- but I noticed that as they used it more and more often that its effects waned.

Perfect.

With a hose they bathed me- a drain between my legs caught the runoff. I was hand-fed puréed silky fruit and allowed to drink from a sponge. I took it all in stride, after all, I had severely weakened the Thundrainium ropes and for sure, in just a little while I told myself, I could break free.

Yes, if I could just get away from those ropes I knew I’d have a chance. And their only weapon was quickly become useless against me. Even half-groggy I could have my way with that whole village.

Dear god, what happened to me? What have they done?

I thought that, if given the right time, the opportunity of escape would present itself. I thought that I would be left alone or at least unsupervised for long enough that I could finalize my plans. But instead- the unthinkable- I was subjected to a full week of intense and forced reproductive activity. No, I am serious. Yes, I was shocked, too, disturbed even. And yet it was, undeniably true.

That very first night and every night following for seven times straight, I was greeted by a parade of what I was promptly made to understand were female Berbils. The women were escorted into my prison-room, one-by-one, by whip-bearing guards. The robots had a very particular and motorized ritual to sex that had absolutely no variation among individuals.

The torture sessions began with what I suppose they thought was ‘titillation’ or ‘foreplay.’ They’d run their hands over my chest and fondle my nipples, my rippled muscles. Perhaps if their fingers were soft, perhaps if their grip was warm, their bulky massage might have done something for me, but such as it was, my fur would often entangle in the gaps of their metallic joints and segments and whatever romance they pretended to instill in me would quickly fade.

If just to make them stop, I would stare off and picture my Shark in the nude or in a compromising position. And when they saw that their touch was at last having its desired effect, they moved down to that space between my legs to get it over with. However, since I was in a very constricted state and quite utterly repulsed by those specimens of femininity, I confess that even fantasizing about male bodies was not enough to excite me as much as I would have hoped. To compensate for my lack of vigor, the Berbil women would remove their plastic lips and switch that frontal, facial plate with what appeared to be a samophlange- carefully, the robo-bear would kneel before me and insert me into that new orifice. A strong vacuum ensued and the massive drop in pressure caused a rush of blood to flood my lionhood.

Whatever notions of unbridled sexuality, robust libido and unquenchable desire for the pleasure of the flesh were lost to me completely in a haze of terror that clouded my mind. You could not understand the utter terror that seized me- and how could I not be afraid? To have that, that most vulnerable part of my body, shoved into a machine whose internal gears and spinning cams I could feel sharply and acutely.

The actual mechanics of sex consisted of a brief moment of penetration and was followed by yet another vacuum upon orgasm. In between, rhythmic thrusting was provided by the apparatus on the female’s body that was the cybernetic equivalent of a woman’s conjugative organ. I can’t recall deriving any sort of ecstasy from the act, but I do remember pretending to pass out after climaxing- if only so that they’d leave me alone.

The Berbils took advantage of my frail weakness and, paradoxically, my feline virility as well, to milk me, literally and figuratively, of my genes for reasons that at the time I simply could not comprehend. Robots- robot bears. What would they need sexual reproduction for? Was it necessary or was it a mere, unshaken vestige of a past, un-evolved form, when they were more biological than electrical?

The mating sessions provided me with one advantage- I used the opportunity of inevitability to pull and strain at the Thundrainium ropes without arousing any unwanted attention. The restraints had begun to fray by the fourth night, but when I awoke the next day I found, to my horror and dread, that the guards had placed a second pair of ropes around my limbs to reinforce that first set that I had severely weakened.

I know what you’re thinking, old friend, why complain? I mean, what other prison in this universe treats its inmates with such loft privileges? But to do it with a machine? Cold, dead. But wait, just you wait, because I haven’t yet finished my tale.

On the eighth day of my captivity I awoke to the sudden and abrupt realization that I was no longer restrained to the walls by the Thundrainium ropes. Nevertheless, I remained groggy and weak, tired and sore. I assumed that the effects of my exposure to that deadly material had not yet worn away and dismissed my adverse condition without further thought.

I tried to get up to my feet, but the little room that was that cell prevented me from completing that action. Instead, I shifted to the side, to recline along the wall, but I was stopped cold by a searing burn that ran from my ribs and spread to my abdomen. I nearly stopped breathing- the pain was incredible and I could have sworn that I felt my innards tearing and ripping apart.

My heart raced but in short time I calmed myself enough to react rationally. The terror that had engulfed me had passed and in its wake I could smell the adrenaline evaporate around my pores. I felt a certain wetness, too, along my left side- it didn’t seem to me that I had soiled myself. No, it wasn’t that at all. It was different.

With my right hand I reached over to that spot where the flesh was tender. Hard, cracked and wet- I pulled back in shock and examined my fingers in the bright, morning slants of light that seeped in through the upper, slit-like windows. Blood- it was blood.

I forced myself to look at my ribs. I pulled my left arm up and eased my head down. I had a slit from just under my armpit to my waist. The flesh around the wound had been shaved and the skin itself had blistered and wrinkled to form what appeared to be a pair of ghastly lips. The incision was kept shut by a series of buttons sewn in place.

I thought I was going to die. I thought that the Thundrainium had at last destroyed what was left of my mind. I hoped that it was all an illusion, I prayed that it was a nightmare I would soon awaken from. But no relief came to me, no absolution was at hand. I was at last free from the infernal ropes, but in the ultimate turn of irony, I had been left in a condition so mutilated, so horribly convoluted that I simply could not flee and survive in that state in the woods. Without chains, without even bars I was a prisoner, completely in their mercy.

What truly unnerved me was how they treated me that day- as if nothing had happened. Needless to say that there was no mating that night. I was thankful for that- I don’t think I could have lived through it.

I caught them at work once, one sleepless midnight. I opened my eyes to a sight I would have as soon as forgotten as to remember. I saw three Berbils in the cell with me. One held a rod against my flesh- it numbed the otherwise intolerable pain of my opened wound. The second had his gloved hands deep in my surgical incision- it was sifting through my abdomen, working on my innards. I turned my eyes away from the horror just as a large mass was thrown from the site of my slit, through the air, to the third robot in the back who caught it and placed it in a black bag. Despite the glow of the rod, I could scarcely see what was going on- I tried to close my eyes but sleep did not come.

For the next several days my initial shock wore away. The pain I had awoken to gradually subsided- the discomfort remained, if not entirely replaced by a new-found sense of dread and melancholy. I could feel things inside my body, moving, crawling- working. Sometimes I could see little wires swirl under my skin, sometimes I could hear gears turn and motors run. The gash along my ribs started to ooze a pink, gray pus that over the course of a week turned into a steady stream of vile, noxious goo. The hose that had been used to bathe me on my arrival was kept on at all times to wash the excess mixture into the gutter.

Now, you’ll ask, but why not flee? Why not escape? True, during that time I was left alone for long hours, but whatever they were doing to me, it was changing my mind, altering my reasoning. The hatred and lust for vengeance had ebbed, my temper had lulled. I was thinking but not thinking. Time flowed seemed to flow faster and faster and I, in turn, grew more and more tired. At the lowest point I had begun to fall asleep hours before sunset.

I was content about one thing. I knew- I could feel it, sense it- that Shark and my friends were out there, looking for me. And they would find me- I was sure of it. And look, you are here.

If you thought that awaking to find that wound was horrible enough, know that worse, far worse occurred.

Was it the middle of the second week? Was it the third? Did it matter? What is time, anyway? I thought there was something wrong that morning when my eyes fluttered and I felt a strong, annoying itch on my eyebrows. I motioned my arms up to my face but I could not sense my hands or my fingers coming anywhere near the damned spot I had intended to scratch. Spurred on by that bizarre sensation, I sat up and there, to my horror, I found that my arms had been replaced. Where once I had massive bulks of muscled flesh on bone, now I had, by comparison, tiny, furry limbs of metal and plastic.

“Oh my god!” I shouted in defiance. “I’ve been Berbilled!”

I couldn’t believe it, prosthetic arms had- no- I raged, I tried to stand but banged my head on the ceiling. At once a troop of Berbils surrounded the roof of my partly-buried prison. They flung in rods through those rectangular slits that served as windows and I did my best to dodge their glowing tips. I rushed to the open doorway and almost reached the steps but I was stopped cold in my tracks.

An elder Berbil appeared before me and held out a box with an antenna. It pressed a button and I froze. It wasn’t pain, it wasn’t a force field. I just literally froze me- I could not move. Though my mind was busy commanding my limbs to move, my body did not respond.

The old robot stepped into the confines of the little room and pushed me back to the corner. He positioned me flat on the floor and I was helpless. Absolutely helpless, I, I who had once been a mighty, fierce lion, I who commanded fear and terror itself had been reduced by those robotic subcreatures, by arts and sciences unknown to the world into- a mere machine.

Is it madness? What you see here, now, before you, is the end result of a process that lasted for no more than a month. They took my arms, they replaced my legs. For a whole day I lumbered about my cell like a slug, a thing with tiny, Berbil limbs that could barely stand or lean to the side. A panel was superimposed on the slit across my ribs- my captors used it to input instructions- to the machines busy working inside me- or to feed me nutrients.

I, myself, had no thoughts of food or drink. Sleep was a long forgotten memory and the rest of my biological functions had ceased to operate completely. Only my mind retained its sense of self but as more and more of my body was synthesized and transformed into a robotic contraption, I found myself isolated in ways I had never known before.

When at last my body had been turned to this blunt shape and form, to this Berbil fur and metal parts, I was overcome by feelings of satisfaction- I was content. Perhaps it had not struck me, the true nature of my metamorphosis, perhaps my brain had blocked out the extent of my traumatic change- or perhaps it was just a part, an after-effect of the surgery- but I was, for a few days at least, lost in hazy, cloudy denial. I stood in my cell, alone and thought aloud that everything was alright, I was normal, that there was indeed nothing wrong. I laughed- as I had so, so many days before- confident that I was free.

Yes, yes! For how long had I failed to notice it, I do not know, but I was free. Consciousness was indistinct and unfocused but I came to realize that I was by myself in that prison house. The guards had gone, the old Berbil that had directed my captivity and operation was no where to be seen. I approached the steps somewhat timidly. The light of the noonday sun shone down on my head- my metallic body heated but it was not painful nor debilitating. I reached the surface, I looked around.

The villagers tended to the chores while I was ignored. Again, I laughed and, by the sun’s influence, my mouth felt dry and I so desperately needed to drink. The sound of trickling water came to my ears and at once I headed toward its source.

I stumbled upon a lake next to the huts. Its virgin waters were crystal clear. I stooped before its edge and there I saw it at last. My mane, my head were gone. Dark, tan, bushy hair topped the Berbil skull that had been afforded me. My eyes glowed and my circular, unmovable mouth blinked as I wailed in horror.

I touched my face. It was not my face and it was. Panicked, stood aghast, lost in the agonies of my dissolution. An intense bout of fear caused my bladder to empty on its own- an instinctual reflex built into the very fabric of my brain- I heard the trickle and turned my gaze downward.

Fool! I had never bothered to check what they had done to my lionhood, the thought had never before occurred to me. A tube, a clear tube was what I had now. Its few inches of length coursed with throbbing wires, blue and red. Toxic liquids passed from it to the ground. I could not stop it and I had to wait about a minute before the tank inside me had emptied.

The old Berbil appeared. It used a cloak that it had wrapped around its arm to clothe me. I was given a candy fruit to digest- apparently, it juices provided me with the nutrients and lubrication my new, mechanical body needed. Almost immediately afterward my tour of the village began.

I was led to a series of partly buried huts. The cells were similar to the one that housed me for so long except they were covered by bushes and shrubs so as to camouflage their presence. The old one helped me into the darkness. Within I saw one of the female Berbils I had been forced to mate with. Flat on the floor, a pair of robots knelt between straddled legs. Its sexual organ had been removed so as to provide unblocked access to its interior. A thin, long hook was rammed into it and jostled about- removed, it had a malformed infant complete with embryonic sack attached to its tip.

The babe was a lion-human hybrid and I gasped- its mane was of the dark hair that I recognized at once as being my own.

The premature cub was placed in a vat of clear fluids and covered by a dome of glass and wires that, I assumed, would allow it to continue to gestate. I was shown other huts where my offspring had grown beyond the natal stage and could walk about on their own. Lion-human, lion-Mutant, even lion-Wollo, each one was of my line but intermingled with the blood of another race.

It was clear to me- I had heard stories before of how the Amazonians would often kidnap able and healthy men to mate with for the had no males amongst their ranks. But the Berbils, too, being part machine, could not reproduce on their own. They had to abduct strangers and force them to undergo their ritual of procreation- but unlike the Amazonians, who were strong enough to let their victims live if they so wished, the Berbils were too weak, too entrenched in their notion of pacifism, to be safe from angry victims thirsty for revenge. So they had no choice, you see, they had to resort to transform their abductees into Berbils.

And that’s why the-

“For god’s sake, can someone, someone please make this thing stop!” RD shouted in disgust, flailing his arms up in utter frustration.

“I think it likes you, teehee,” Fianna chuckled, covering his muzzle with his forearm. “It wants to hump your leg! How cute!”

“Argh!” RD stepped away from the Berbil that had been beeping and following him for a half-hour, ever since he and his friends had arrived at the village. “Go! Go away!” yet the creature did not seem deterred by the madman’s wild gesticulations. “Man, even these things don’t give me respect.”

“Beep beep beep, blop blap!” the little, four-foot robot bear ticked and whizzed as it tried to get closer to the retreating, dark-clad human.

At once, from out of the blue, Shark’s harpoon appeared and swooshed through the still air. The sharp blade and blunt end of the implement of death crashed into the Berbil’s head. The metallic cranium shattered and imploded, spraying across the scene tiny bits of fur and battered electronics that were intermingled with squirming knobs of fleshy goo that passed for the subcreature’s brain.

The merman grimaced in revulsion- “That shut him up,” he scowled.

“Nothing?” the word passed RD’s lips as if through mindless reflex. He knew by the look on Shark’s face what the answer would be.

“Nothing and I searched through every hut,” he answered, matter-of-factly.

“Damn it!” he stomped his foot and kicked the corpse of the Berbil to the side.

Fianna stood beside the fish and wrapped an arm around his shrugged shoulders. “We’ll find him, don’t you worry about it, we’ll find him if we have to search every Berbil village in this galaxy.”

“And then we’ll get those Thundercat bastards-” RD added. He stopped, alarmed at the mob of robots that had amassed around them. The bears spoke to each other in that bizarre, computerized tongue of theirs- they seemed shocked and upset by the murder of one of their own. He waved his friends over to the awaiting vehicle- a quick and easy escape was in order.

“Hello?” the madman asked into his cell phone. Fianna, who sat before the steering wheel of the Hummer, glanced at the back seat through the rear-view mirror. Shark had rolled down his window, his ears perched, his eyes firmly pressed on the site of the fallen Berbil in whose head he had buried his weapon. “Another one, where?” The green caninoid turned on the engine, the ocean nymph watched as a troop of Berbils had had pickup the corpse and the many broken pieces of the head. “Zhie says there’s another village a hundred miles down the road. Let’s go get there before sunset, I wouldn’t want to be caught in the middle of the night among those things.”

“Agreed,” Fianna sighed, terrified of what ThunderWolf must have been going through- months alone with the annoying spawn of satanic evil.

Shark was overcome by a sudden sense of dread- Berbils were, as a general rule, expendable, but there was something about it, something about it that was- “I know we’ll find him, I know it.” Shark looked at his companions. “But I can’t help feel that he’s here, around here, somewhere, but that I just can’t see it.” He shook his head: “let’s just go, guys, there’s nothing for me here anymore.”

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