Futility

<Snip>
So, for some reason, he’d turned into a Cat-hooded White Mage with Power Sneakers. He wondered what Gummy Jaxx, Silky Eve, Jammy Liquorice and the others had changed into. He also wondered what had happened to little Jade Blackjack. He thought he could remember playing kiss chase with her once. Where was that wild haired little boy, too? Also, what had happened to Little Jay after he’d gone off with all those spiky people after him?
Li’l Plisky was pointing again, this time at some of the spiky people who were heading towards them down the track.
"They're coming..."
</Snip>
“Quick!” shouted Al as he bundled Lil’ Plisky into his own, much faster cart.
“But my train!” cried Lil’ Plisky as Al stamped his foot on the accelerator, the kart shooting forward with a speed un-natural to the common or garden go-karts of the real world. Wait, this was the real world. Lil’ Plisky shook his head as he tried to wash those confusing thoughts away.
“Don’t worry Plisky,” said Al kindly, “We’ll find Artie! He’ll be able to fix another one up! And if not, we’ll come back and get it.”
“Oh, okay,” said Plisky as he sat down in the passenger seat, because all go-karts have passenger seats.
The big mean spiky people were still nipping at their heels, however. The tall Tesla Towers that had been raised from the ground were not strong enough to penetrate the thick armour plating of the vehicles. A ridiculously large cannon burst from the roof of one of the pursing cars and began to belch out huge black bullets that had little arms and an a pair of eyes.
“Pliskey, can you do something?” said Al as he swerved to avoid a banana skin that had been dangerously left in the middle of the road.
“I’ll try,” said Plisky as he pushed the brim of his hat up out of his face and pushed his sleeves up so that his hands were free. He tried to think of spells. How had Eve done it before? Had Eve done it before? Plisky closed his eyes and put his whole mind to work at thinking of a spell. But his hands were getting itchy. He quickly scratched them on the surface of his coat and went back to thinking. But they just got hotter, very much hotter.
“Plisky!” shouted Al.
Lil’ Plisky’s eyes burst open and he stared at the violent flames that danced on his hands. He was mesmerised by the playfulness of the flames, the quick and light movements of the fire. But then it slowly sunk in that his hands were on fire.
“Ah!” he cried as he waved his hands about, trying to put out the blaze. One of the balls of fire shot from his hand and collided with the large bullet. Al cheered at the success.
“Look Al, I did it!” But in Plisky’s distracted state, another bullet launched and smacked into the rear wheels of the kart, spinning it out of control. The kart flipped and tumbled off the cliff, taking the two boys with it.

The kart landed on the outskirts of a battle zone, a viscous war was being waged in the once beautiful land of candy. Tall, armour clad super soldiers battle grey and blue husks of men and sword wielding busting elves lead charges of small, clock work powered plumbers against armies of dragons and tall metal squids.
“Plisky?” said Al from under the kart, his voice strained and painful.
A low groan came as his reply.
“Hang on, I think I can help,” Al put his hands together and let loose a display of white light and silly sparkles, complete with a little jingle and numbers bouncing above their heads.
“Thank yoo,” said Pliskly happily as he bounced to his feet.
“You welcome.”
The toy boys looked around at the strange world in front of them. They could be far from the others or not, but they had never seen the Candy World, their Candy World look likes this before. It was dark, night time. In the sky was a moon with a large angry face and deep, red eyes. It slowly seemed to come closer to the ground but the two boys did not have time to observe such things.
“I’ll go have a look,” said Al and he rushed off, using his fast speed to its full capacity. Lil’ Plisky sat down on the upturned kart, fixing his hat once again and waiting till Al got back.
Plisky sat for a short while, swining his feet and singing the theme for the Tweenies. But the sound of marching feet and the rumble of convoys of cars ground along the floor. Plisky turned and saw a huge army of black armour clad men marched towards him.
“Cahm on Al,” he whispered.
“THERE SIR, A BLACK MAGE!” cried one of the men.
A green uniformed general shouted something to his men but Plisky couldn’t hear it over a large explosion from a large blue beam that descended from the sky on the battle field far off. Soldier rand to Plisky and roughly scoped him up, bundling him into the APC.
“HEY!” shouted Al bravely, “Give him back!”
“Sir, a white mage!”
“Grab her,” order the general.
“HER?!” shouted Al angrily. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t fend off the soldiers and he too was put into the APC with Plisky.

“Why are you doing this Artie?” said Plisky, almost crying from the trauma of the event.
“Yeah, Artie! Why are you being such a meany?!” Al snapped, trying to be braver than he really felt.
“SILENCE!” shouted Regent Supreme Artemis K. Pritchard VI, “I do not answer to you! Now I’ll ask again, where is the resistance?!”
“What’s a resisty stance?” asked Plisky for the 11th time.
“I swear on Terra,” said Artemis and he raised his hand.
But before he could bring it down, the APC rocked with an explosion, a whole bursting into the side of the vehicle. Smoke poured into the small room, blinding all present. Al saw his chance and grabbed Lil’ Plisky’s hand, “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.
Al zoomed out of the whole and up over the nearby hill that flanked the road.
Al panted as they came to a stop just over the crest of the hill, just out of sight.
“Shouldn’t you say thank you?” laughed a Gas Mask clad man in a thick Russian accent. Various homemade weapons hung from his back pack and a revolver cobbled together with various upgrades was held tightly in his hand.
“Thank yoo,” said Plisky happy, the message stranger danger clearly not taught in the land of Candy.
“Hey, who are you?” asked the more street (or Sesame Street) smart Al, not wanting to follow a potentially dangerous man.
“I’m Artyomn,” he said extending a gloved hand, “And welcome to the resistance.”

Meanwhile on a far away space station orbiting a large neutron star, a man dressed in a sharp 3 piece suit sat, legs crossed, in a simple, sleek metal chair in a clean, open room. The room was dominated by a large window looking out to the dead star outside. The room was long, a row of computer terminals recessed into the floor and divided by a narrow walkway stretched back from the chair and to a strong metal door. Dead eyed servants mindlessly stared at the orange holographic screens that displayed information at a rate that would confuse normal humans. Large grey wires hung from the ceiling and plugged into black sockets that burrowed into their bald heads.
“The ALTAR report is finished,” said a tall woman as she entered from the door, walking briskly up the walkway and ignoring the lines of drone workers tapping away silently on holographic keyboards. She carried a small datapad that contained all the information on ALTAR that was relevant to the events several weeks ago.
“What took so long?” snapped the man in the chair. He spoke in a smooth, upper class American accent- the kind of voice that was made for speeches and winning the hearts of the people. He didn’t look up from his stare at the neutron star, his eyes locked on the hypnotising movements. He took a deep breath and smothered his cigarette into a black ash tray and gently placed his glass tumbler onto a small table.
“Sorry sir, it can be hard to get information on an organisation that is spread throughout the multi-verse,” she reached out a timid hand and placed the datapad on the table. A thin lock of brown hair drifted off her shoulder and into the narrow beam of light that descended from the ceiling, the only clear light in the dim room.
“You’ve dyed your hair,” said the man, his ice blue eyes breaking the stare of the star and snapping up to met the woman’s terrified look.
“I-I-,” stammered the woman, “Doctor Mordonis said it would help me become and individual.”
The man lowered his gaze, giving the woman some respite, and turned his attention back to the star, “Yes, it is harder for pure clones to break free of their… primes.”
The woman backed away from the light, hoping the relative safety of the darkness would provide sanctuary from the man’s stare.
A tense silence developed like a thick soup, the air viscous with a nerve-racking atmosphere. The drones, oblivious to the conversation, continued with their work, he world limited to the screens in front of them.
The man reached into his inner pocket, the woman flinching, but he only produced a glossy lighter and a thin, high quality cigarette. He flicked open the lighter, the flame bursting into life. The woman was mesmerised by the event, her eyes locked onto his quick hands.
“Anything we can use from ALTAR?” asked the man, the woman almost jumped from the fright.
“No sir, the engineers have said that ALTAR technology is below our standards. Dr Mordonis said primitive.”
The man nodded, “What news of 64?”
“They are fighting a virus, sir,” she spoke quietly, constantly worried that she’d put a foot out of place.
“And 37?”
“He’s under Brittany.”
“Good, good. Be sure that she does not break his mind lock. She might be our enemy but she is not stupid.”
“Sir,” said the woman, turning to head back out the door, a quiet sense of relief floating over her.
“Oh, and 6 of 27?” The woman froze up, a sense of fear and dread shooting up her spine, “I like your hair.”
The woman kept her eyes forward and continued on her way- she was more scared now than ever.

<Tag Alex and Artie>