Post Armadillo

<SNIP>The Queen looked from Seymour to the armadillo man. "So. Back to the first question. How do we get out?"</SNIP>
Lester looked up hopefully, but then fearfully and as hope and fear clashed on his face, Queen Brittany caught his expression.
"There's a toilet in the corner," she said sternly.
"H-huh? Oh, s-sorry, no... dealt with that wh-when the Armadillo appeared. Wh-where's SNIDE?"
***
SNIDE was in full spy mode. Creeping from shadow to shadow, he would tic-tac-tic along the corridor, then hurl himself into a tight ball behind a buttress or door-frame, just as large stomping boots or smart patent leather shoes came by. He skittered out again, rounded a corner and was about to jump into a handy ventilation shaft when he spotted a pair of comfortable slippers padding towards him. He hid again and craned to see the owner of said slippers.
An elderly gentleman wearing a lab coat and apparently his pyjamas, doddered benignly along the corridor, came to a coffee machine and swiped his identity card across the reader.
"Hello, how can I serve you?"
"A coffee, please," the old scientist quavered.
"What sort of coffee would you like?"
"Coffee coffee. Strong, black, a little sugar."
"I think you'd like an Americana, is this correct?"
"No, I don't want an American! I want a coffee! Why is this so difficult?"
SNIDE saw an opportunity. He dashed across the corridor, raced up the wall and with a squeal and a snarl vanished into the coffee machine's dispensing slot.
"Ow! Who are you! What are you doing in me? Ouch! Get off that! That's my private... aarrrrgghhhh!" The Coffee machine went silent. There was a pause, then a styrofoam cup of black coffee fell down into the slot, followed by a sprinkling of sugar. SNIDE emerged behind it like a spider from bath overflow.
"Well thank you little ... er... thing..." The old Scientist took the coffee and tried it. "It's still horrendous, but the it's the thought that counts. You're very helpful aren't you? I think I'll call you Brian." He put out a frail arm and SNIDE hopped onto his sleeve, then climbed up to his shoulder. "You can come with me," the scientist said gently.
He took SNIDE to a door further down marked "Professor John Hasenbeker - Chronic Haemorrhoid Research" and inside, placed SNIDE down on his desk. The office was cosy, with a large comfortable armchair, piles of books everywhere (mostly novels), dim lighting from a variety of tasteful Laura Ashley table lamps and a chemical dispensary machine in one corner.
"Well, what on earth are you?" Professor Hasenbeker asked, settling into his armchair. "I think it would be best to open you up to find out," he reached for a screwdriver and SNIDE began backing away, "I'll have a look inside, just as soon as I've had my nap..." then promptly fell asleep.
SNIDE watched the snoring form for a bit, the screwdriver hanging loosely from a limp hand. He climbed up Professor Hasenbeker's arm and jabbed him in the face. The Professor snorted in his sleep.
SNIDE climbed down, pushed the stack of novels on the desk aside and accessed the Professor's terminal. The password was laughably simple to crack and soon SNIDE was in the main requisitioning screen. He thought for a minute. Obviously Lester and the others needed rescuing, but how? Then an idea filtered in from his creativity cortex, was stamped all over by his insidiosity circuit and presented to his central processor. SNIDE sniggered internally and began typing.
***
Three of the four occupants of the cell glared uncomfortably at the walls, avoiding each other's gaze. Seymour had suggested a rousing sing-along, to which Queen Brittany had suggested where Seymour could shove his "Kum-by-ya". This had led to a dark, brooding atmosphere in the small cramped cell.
The Armadillo hybrid's name was Clark Ren and he didn't have much to offer. It turned out he'd bought medications for his wife, suffering from chronic Stockholm Syndrome following a failed bank heist. She'd spent the ten years since trying to be reunited with the bank robbers who had held her hostage. Clark had frequently been called to the prison colony on Pluto in order to retrieve his wife who was shrieking to be let in. In the end Clark had signed a credit agreement for the course of treatment to control her symptoms. The first payment had been extortionate and in the end he'd agreed to sign up for medical testing to cover the debt. His wife filed for divorce some time later and married the head of the bank robbers on Pluto.
As a result, Clark didn't talk much at all about anything after his life story had been blubbed out. Lester felt as awkward as he'd ever done and was just glad he hadn't said anything more than "Hello, my name's Lester."
The long silence dragged on for ages until a soft voice asked: "What have you been up to?"
Lester shrieked in surprise, causing Seymour and the Queen to jump. "It's you!" Lester said happily, "you're back!"
"Who?" Queen Brittany was looking around, wondering who the new person was.
"Me, your Majesty," Lester said in his quiet, calm, collected voice. He rose up from where the other him had been sulking in the corner, stretched, then bowed. "Lester Phelps at your service."
"Where have you been?" Lester asked himself excitedly, "w-we've b-been exploded and chased by a pan-dimensional Armadillo and and and locked up!" He paused, as the other self reasserted his control, calming his breathing. He lifted his metal hand, "what happened here?" He asked looking at the brass handle fused to his fingers. "No, don't tell me, I don't want to know."
He roamed the room, examining the walls, the door, the light fittings, the Queen (twice) and then got everyone to bring out the contents of their pockets.
"OK," Lester said, taking charge again, "here's the plan: we use the underwire from her Majesty's bra to unhook the light fittings, we drag as much cable as possible from that to the door frame where we use a combination of chewing gum and its silver wrapping paper to set up an electrical circuit. Hopefully this should disable the lock, then we take the out-of-date condom from Seymour's wallet, break open that pipe there, it seems to be carrying waste fluid from the toilet cubicle, put the condom over the broken pipe, wedge the whole lot under the door and use it as a kind of inflating pressure pump to drive the door mechanism back. Then we get out, overpower the guards, steal their weapons and fight our way to the research centre."
There was a beep, then a hiss from the door and a burly guard stood framed in the doorway, a powerful laser rifle in his hands.
"On your feet you lot. You're going to the Research Centre."
"It was a good plan," Seymour said in consolation, patting Lester on the back. He then raised his hands and stepped out into the corridor, followed by the Queen and Lester.
"Why are we being taken to the Research Centre?" Lester asked.
"Can't hurt to tell you I suppose," the Guard said looking at his datapad. "Says here a Professor Hasenbeker has requisitioned you for Haemorrhoid research."
"But we don't have haemorrhoids," Seymour said with a frown.
"Ah, that's the best bit," the guard smirked, "first they give 'em to you. Then they try and take 'em away."
"How long does the process take?" Seymour was feverishly trying to plot an escape.
"When's your next birthday?" The guard grinned, "because we always like to get the haemorrhoid guinea pigs a card. Every year."
<Tag Onion. We're on our way to the research centre. What happens next?>Windows Live Hotmail just got better. Find out more!