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“Cute-looking sphinx though,” she thought.

“Hah! I'm too smart for the likes of you,” Fried Chicken Wing Guy taunted her. “You're gonna have to get up very early in the morning indeed to get one over me. No, siree, you can't fool me into revealing that the oh-so-obvious evil master plan my mistress concocted to corner the garlic salt market and thus bring the city to its knees was actually one big ruse and the her real target was the Kansas Fricasseed Chicken chain of restaurants all along. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“I understood nothing of what you just said,” Mallet Girl replied. “But it sure sounded might incriminating. I'm bringing you in!”

Fried Chicken Wing Guy blinked. He was confused but only for a moment. It quickly dawned upon him and he realized what he had just done. “Gaaahhh!” he cried, pulling at his hair in dismay. “You tricked me! I can't believe you tricked me! You're gonna pay for that!”

He thrusted both arms forward and held them straight, hands wide open, palms aimed at Mallet Girl. “Tofu Chain of Death!” he shouted. “Haaiiieeee!”

Mallet Girl instinctively braced herself. She had sensed the sudden rise in his fighting spirit and her body reacted before she could even think about it. She threw up her hands, her mallet still held tightly in one, and crossed her forearms defensively in front of her. “Waaaahhhhh!” she went, her eyes tightly shut.

But nothing happened.

“Huh?” she said, opening one eye to take a peek.

Fried Chicken Wing Guy was equally baffled, maybe even more so for he had practiced that very move countless of times until he had gotten it down pat. He could perform that move even in his sleep. There should have been very little chance that it would have failed him as miserably and as embarassingly as it had just now. “What?” he asked himself thus, even as he stared in disbelief at his hands.

It was only when his eyes strayed down to his body that his fatal error became evident.

“Gaaahhh!” he cried out loud, a horrified expression on his face. “I totally forgot! I'm not wearing my ninja henchman uniform!”

Mallet Girl couldn't help herself. For some reason, the situation just struck her as extremely hilarious that she began to giggle uncontrollably. “What an idiot! What an imbecile!” she chortled, pointing at Fried Chicken Wing Guy with her thumb whilst clutching at her stomach. “What a morooon!”

“Nooooo!” he went. “You shut up! You've made a fool of me for the last time, Mallet Girl. I was gonna take it easy on you and finish you off quickly with that move but seeing as how I can't do any more special attacks without my official ninja henchman gear -- patent pending -- I'm gonna have to settle this fight with basic henchman moves and you'll be oh-so-sorry cuz now you're going down hard.”

“Oh, bring it on!” Mallet Girl excitedly replied. She raised a clenched fist, challenging him to do just that. “I've tangled with tougher blokes than you. And that's way back in grade school. I'm not afraid of a little rough foreplay!”

“Grrrrr...wait.” Fried Chicken Wing Guy paused. He blinked. “What?”

“What?”

“Um...”

“Oh, never mind!” Mallet Girl exclaimed. With her trusty mallet clenched with both hands, she charged. “It's Mallet Time!”

Fists at the ready and poised to attack or defend, Fried Chicken Wing Guy responded in kind.

“Graaaaahhhhh!!!” he shouted.

“Yaaaaaahhhhhh!!!” yelled Mallet Girl.

And as the distance between the combatants shortened, a deep, thunderous voice suddenly boomed. “MALLET GIRL versus FRIED CHICKEN WING GUY – FIGHT!!!”

But it was all lost upon the two for so focused were they upon each other they heard not one word of it. They pounced upon each other as soon as they got within striking distance and proceeded to unleash one attack after another.

“Crescent Mallet Strike!” Mallet Girl hollered as she leapt up and struck Fried Chicken Wing Guy with a down mallet swing on her way down.

“Elite Henchman Salute!” cried Fried Chicken Wing Guy. He stepped back, saluted with his right hand, and then swiftly lunged forward for a karate chop to the side of Mallet Girl's neck.

“Tornado Smash!” Mallet Girl responded, spinning like a top for multiple hits with her mallet.

“Henchman Uppercut!” went Fried Chicken Wing Guy, the move basically a jab-jab-uppercut boxing combo.

“Babe Ruth Home Run Special!” Mallet Girl swung her mallet like a baseball bat.

“FPJ Fists of Flurry! Fried Chicken Wing Guy viciously clapped Mallet Girl on the ears then delivered a flurry of punches to her stomach, finishing the combination with another clap attack to her ears.

“Nutcracker--” Mallet Girl stopped in her tracks. Something had caught her attention. “Wait. What the heck is that?” she asked as she pointed at the space just above Fried Chicken Wing Guy.

“Huh?” He looked up. There, floating in mid-air, was long, red-outlined rectangle. “What the...!? What is that? Wait. Is that...? Hey, it is!” He looked at Mallet Girl. “It's a lifebar.”

Mallet Girl was perplexed. “A what?”

“A lifebar. You know, those things in arcade video games that tell you how much more damage your character can take before going down.”

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Gazpacho guffawed in maniacal amusement and mirth. “You'll give me the money and like it! I expect you to smile and thank me you hand it over. Be grateful! I could have easily asked for twice or even thrice that amount. You'll give me the money or you'll never see your precious darling Camille again. Unspoiled at least! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”

“You fiend!” the man cried. “You're nothing but a heartless, depraved monster!”

And Gazpacho laughed some more. “My, such flattery pleases me but it will not get me to lower my price. Oh, and do not bother contacting the police or having them trace this number. They will only trace it to the 7-Ate-9 convenience store on Aphid Street and I am nowhere remotely near that location. So says I, Gazpacho of the Andes! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”

And so he laughed and laughed and laughed until he could laugh no more and then he slammed the phone back on the rotary dialer on the table beside him. Slowly, he turned around to regard his two captives with slate-like beady eyes. There in the far corner of the sparsely-furnished room, both gagged and bound, were a little blond girl in a horseback riding outfit and her pretty pink pony.

Gazpacho of the Andes was a Latino man of average height and built, in his late twenties and with hair that was an impressive voluminous coif supported by copious amounths of extra-strength glossy wax; it was nearly as third as tall as he was. His chin and jaw were quite large and prominent and his straight mustache, very long and pointy. He was wearing a plain, white, V-necked T-shirt, torn and faded jeans, and a dirty pair of tennis shoes, which he donned without socks. He had on a cape and what a cape it was! Luxurious red velvet it was, with gold trim, a tall collar the height of his head, and long, pointy, crooked shoulders that reached more than a foot above his ears.

Rubbing his hands together, he grinned wickedly at the hapless, little girl and her pony, both of whom could only stare back at him with wide-eyed terror. They were both thinking pretty much the same thing, “Oh, please! Oh, please! Don't molest me! I'm too cute to be molested!”

Gazpacho continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Minutes passed. Still he continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Many more minutes passd. He glanced at the black cat clock hanging above the door. A quarter past eleven, it said. He went back to his gloating, grinning wickedly and rubbing his hands together.

Finally, he declared, “Ah, noon at last! Excellent! I always do my molesting on an empty stomach. Food always taste sweeter after a good molestation.”

“Noooooooo!!!” the little girl and her pony thought in unison.

Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed, dust and debris flying everywhere, and into the room tumbled Mallet Girl and Fried Chicken Wing guy, the two locked in deadly combat, exchanging fists, elbows, and knees as they fell.

They were instantly on their feet, standing at opposite ends of the room with the astonished Gazpacho staring at them, unable to move an inch. He was so shocked at this sudden interruption of his lunchtime plans that he simply stood there, rooted in place, and watched in silence as the two combatants sized each other up and considered their next move.

Mallet Girl stared at her opponent. It was clear that he was already exhausted and injured to boot. His fried chicken wing suit was all torn and ripped in several places. Still both the man and his costume had fared quite well all things considered. This man, this Fried Chicken Wing guy was better than she had anticipated. He was definitely trained in the finer arts of hand-to-hand combat.

Not that she cared much for the martial arts disciplines, being self-taught herself. Still she couldn't help but be impressed by the man's prowess. He had a critical eye and decent reflexes. And a strong arm, too. And his face wasn't all that bad looking. No wonder he had his own super villain name and costume. No doubt he'd also had his own them music and even a sidekick or a henchman or two. Yeah. He was just the kind of guy she could fall for.

Mallet Girl sighed. If only he wasn't wearing such a silly get-up.

“Feh, what am I thinking!” she thought to herself then. “Focus, girl. Focus! Now's not the time for such silly fantasies. A good cup of coffee is at stake. He's good. Yeah, but I'm definitely better.” She wiped sweat and grime from her left cheek and a little blood from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. “Heh. Heck yeah, I could take him. Just underestimated him a little, is all.”

Mallet Girl reckoned she could bring him down in five seconds flat. Less if she really put her hip into it. Yeah, she was just that good. She was enjoying the fight far too much to end it all too quickly though.

Still it had been quite the long morning and she badly needed a caffeine jolt, and sugar rush as well, to bring her back to her old perky self. Thus she decided to end the fight in thirty seconds instead of five, all in the name of fun and generosity.

She had lost her mallet on the rooftop so she drew another one from her back. “Alright, buster,” she said, “listen up. This is your last chance. I know you know something so you better fez up.”

“Hah!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy spat out vehemently. “I ain't telling you nothing! I'm taking all my secrets to the grave!”

“Oh, yeah?” Mallet Girl retorted. “We'll see about that! Better fez up already if you know what's good for you. I'm getting the location of that cafe out of you even if I have to beat it out of your brain. So make it easy on yourself and get with the talking! A girl's got a right to her coffee, you know.”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he responded in turn. “Stop talking nonsense!”

“Whaa? Nonsense? You're the one who's making no sense whatsoever. I was just asking for directions. You're the one who suddenly started acting and screaming all crazy-like.”

“Hah! I'm on to you!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy smiled triumphantly, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You're just trying to confuse me, aren't you? You're messing with my mind! Well, I'm not falling for it, you hear? You, you, you sphinx you!”

Mallet Girl paused. “Sphinx?” An image of the Egyptian Sphinx but with her head instead and holding crossed mallets in its pause sprung to her mind amidst the sounds of a cricket chirping. A large bead of sweat formed on the side of her head. She was not amused. Not one bit.

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“Oh, indeed it is!” the man replied enthusiastically. “The unique blend of herbs and spices and the meticulous attention and care given to the way it is cooked all combine together into a delicious medley of fried chicken and sauce that can only be described as a gastronomic roller coaster experience that your taste buds will sure to be thankful for.”

“Oh, my!”

“Why,” he added, “the Corporal himself came personally and personally endorsed the dish to restaurant patrons this very morning. The restaurant will be holding an event this evening to officially introduce the dish and all are invited to attend.”

The woman laughed. “I'll be sure to tell my husband then. If there's one thing that man really knows how to appreciate, it's a good chicken dish.”

And with that, the woman left. The man was set to hand out flyers again when Mallet Girl called out to him.

“Yo, Fried Chicken Wing Guy! There a place around here where a girl can get a good cup of joe?”

Thus he was dubbed and known henceforth and forever more as Fried Chicken Wing Guy.

But unbeknownst to the good citizens of downtown Axion Plus, he was in reality none other than Henchman#626! The ninth strongest member of Alpha Phi Omegatron Delta Force, the elite ninja army created by the super villainess mastermind Delicious Victoria Delight, Tofu Mistress of Mystery, to infiltrate fastfood restaurants throughout the world and replace all their meaty ingredients with tofu-based substitutes. Mu-ha-ha-ha!

Fried Chicken Wing Guy froze. He recognized the voice instantly. He could never forget that terrible voice. How could he? It sent an arctic chill of absolute horror up and down his spine. M-M-Mallet Girl? It couldn't be!

The Alpha Phi Omegatron Delta Force had tangled with Mallet Girl once before. With disastrous consequences. Half the army decimated and years of careful planning and preparation ruined and flushed down the crapper. What's worse, their beloved skull-shaped tofu factory was destroyed, lost to a giant sinkhole that Mallet Girl had inadvertently caused. That's what she claimed at least.

It was all an accident she said. It wasn't her fault. Who knew striking that massive pillar at the particular spot would cause it to fall through the floor and send it crashing down three levels into the basement, setting off a chain reaction of events that resulted in the formation of that massive sinkhole? Talk about shoddy workmanship.

None of them believed her, of course. This monster girl. This demon in girl's clothing.

Slowly, Fried Chicken Wing Guy turned, praying as he did to all the tofu gods, both real and imagined, that his ears had deceived him.

But they hadn't. It really was Mallet Girl!

Years of rigorous martial arts training and eleven and half weeks of danger assessment and workplace sensitivity seminars kicked in. Dropping the flyers, he leapt back and took a defensive combat stance, much to bewilderment of Mallet Girl.

“Whaaa...!?” she ejaculated.

“Mallet Girl!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy confronted her. “I don't know how you've found us out this time but I won't allow you to ruin our plans again!”

Mallet Girl was quite dumbfounded and she could do naught but stare back at him.

Understandably, the man's mind was racing. He had to do something. Fast. “Aaahhh, do something!” he implored himself. “Do we fight? Or flee? Think, man! Fight or flight? Fight or flight, Fried Chicken Wing Guy, I mean Henchman#626? Fight or flight?”

He considered the blank look Mallet Girl was giving him. It really didn't take him all that long to decide.

“Aw, crap!” he cried out loud. “Flight!”

And with that, poor Fried Chicken Wing Guy bolted. He fled as fast as his sinewy legs could take him, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“What the...?” Mallet Girl exclaimed. “Hey! Come back here! I don't know what's going on here but that sure looked mighty suspicious. Come back here and answer my question!”

She drew a mallet from the holster at her back and ran after the costumed man.

Alias Uno had been talking to a convenience store worker and, thus delayed, was just now arriving. He had missed everything that had just transpired and was completely surprised to see Mallet Girl chasing after a screaming Fried Chicken Wing Guy, her weapon drawn and poised to strike.

“Huh!? Mallet Girl!” he shouted. “Where the heck are you going? I thought we were getting lunch!”

But Mallet Girl paid him no heed and just kept on running.

He watched her disappear in the distance. “What the heck just happened?” he wondered out lout, scratching his head in consternation.

The bystanders around him could only shrug in apology. They may have witness what had happened but they were, all of them, pretty much in the same boat. They were just as confused as he was.

Meanwhile just a few blocks away, Gazpacho of the Andes was in his run-down apartment, watching the clouds lazily drift by in the bright, blue sky through the only window in the room. He was on the phone.

“You have twenty-four hours,” he was saying. I'll contact you again and tell you when and where to drop the money.”

“This is outrageous!” the man on the other end of line protested. “I can't possibly put together that much money in such a short time!”

“Give us back our baby!” a woman's voice could be heard weeping.

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Alias Uno threw up his arms in exasperation. It's made of fiberglass!”

“Oooh, perfect!” replied Mallet Girl. “I have just the mallet for smashing fiberglass. Thank you, Steven! You're the best!”

“Mally, no.”

“What?”

“No. Just no.”

“Oh, alright,” Mallet Girl reluctantly agreed. “Hey! You called me Mally! I thought I told you to never call me by my real name in public!”

“What?” Aliast Uno stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to react. “Wait, Mally's not your--”

“Ssshhhhhh!” Mallet Girl went. “Not so loud. You know that and I know that but people around here don't.”

Alias Uno continued staring at her. She looked so serious. If she had been fooling around at his expense, she gave no hint of it whatsoever, which was quite unlike her. Indeed, Malled Girl was possessed of many skills, chiefest of which was, of course, wielding her beloved mallets, but poker face was definitely not among them. She couldn't bluff her wait out of a gullible people convention for the life of her. “What?”

“What?” Mallet Girl stared back at him, equally confused.

“Ungh,” Alias Uno muttered then, holding the side of his head with his right hand. His head was throbbing again; pretty soon he'll be suffering through a full-blown migraine attack if this continued any longer. Time and time again, he had reminded himself never to get into an argument or confrontation with Mallet Girl but she just seemed to have a knack for getting his goat, for provoking him.

Slowly, he shook his head. Again. “Just let me do the talking from now on. At the rate you're going, we'll be here all day. We've already wasted most of the morning as it is.”

“Hey,” Mallet Girl protested, “I'm a pretty good bounty hunter, I'll have you know!”

“Yeah? Well, I'm not the one who just spent a couple of hours arguing with the ordering console of the Mac-In-A-Cup drive-thru. I'm not the one who insisted on following those footprints, clearly just newly painted on the sidewalk and an obvious advertising gimmick, all the way to the old shoe flea market. And I'm certainly not the one who threatened that poor, blind fellow with grievous bodily harm.”

“Oh, come on,” Mallet Girl retorted. “You can't blame that one on me. He looked mighty suspicious to me and I'm still pretty sure he knew where that Pistachio guy was holed up.”

“Gazpacho of the Andes,” Alias Uno corrected her.

“Whatever. That guy kept on insisting he hadn't seen anything. I got angry. So sue me.”

“He was blind! He couldn't have possibly seen Gazpacho of the Andes. Or anything else for that matter.”

“Well, how was I suppose to know that?” cried Mallet Girl. “It's not as if he was wearing a sign or something.”

“He did have a sign on him!” Alias Uno exclaimed. “There was cardboard sign hanging from his neck. It said 'Pity the Blind Foundation'. He had on dark, blind man glasses. And he had a cane, not to mention the guide dog.”

“Oh, fine!” Mallet Girl pouted, folding her arms and turning her back on her sidekick. “We'll do it your way. But don't blame me if get nowhere. I was on the verge of a breakthrough, too. I could feel it in my gut.”

Alias Uno let out a relieved sigh. He should put this on his blog. It wasn't often he won an argument with Mallet Girl. Not without getting a mallet to the face anyways.

“But first, let's take a short break,” Mallet Girl said then. “Bounty-hunting's thirsty work. I'm parched! Hungry, too. Must be getting close to lunchtime already.”

“Mallet Girl...” Alias Uno muttered.

But Mallet Girl wasn't listening. She was already walking away. “I'm in the mood for some extra-extra-caffeinated mocha latte chino with coffee bean sugar bombs and nata. Yeah,” she declared. “And a family-sized bacon, ham, and cheese sandwich with extra wasabi mayo.”

Alias Uno let out another sigh. An exasperated one this time. “I give up,” he said to himself. “I suppose it is time for a little break.” Besides, Mallet Girl appeared to be in one of her moods again. Huh. Must be that time of the month again.

He groaned. Mallet Girl was nigh insufferable whenever she got impatient for her monthly copy of the Malleteers Digest to arrive in the post. He prayed that the magazine will arrive early this month.

Mallet Girl suddenly shrieked with delight and excitement. She pointed at something across the street. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed. “Look! A new hardware store is opening!”

“Don't even think about it, Mallet Girl,” Alias Uno cried. “You heard Jenna. No more shopping sprees until all the bills are paid.”

“Sigh... I know, I know. Until all the bills are paid. Whoopeee...”

In the meantime, a couple of buildings down the stree, just around the corner, a man in a full-body fried chicken wing suit was handing out flyers to passers-by. He was standing in front of the Kansas Fricasseed Chicken restaurant, the new one, not the old one, for things would have turned out differently indeed had it been the latter. For right beside the old Kansas Fricasseed Chicken restaurant were located the offices of the White Queen Courier and Laundry Services, the base of operation of the buxom, bonny lass Rivet Jane, self-proclaimed rival of Mallet Girl and doom of everything mallet-related.

A woman in a plain, blue dress and white apron stood in front of him. She carried a canvass shopping bag filled with groceries in one hand a flyer in the other. She was reading the flyer, a dubious look on her face. “Fried chicken wing caramel fricassee?” she asked. “Oh, my. Sounds...delightful?”

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“Now then,” she panted, casually tossing aside what remained of the wooden dais, “just one more and I'll have gotten the complete set.”

She turned around to see the last remaining Nerd disappear down an open trapdoor in the stage floor towards the rear of the stage. It seemed that the man had discovered one of the secret passageways leading out of the building for the exclusive use of celebrities and star performers wishing to avoid the fuss and unwanted attention of rabid fans and paparazzis alike.

“What the--!?” Mallet Girl exclaimed in surprise. She was quick to recover however and drew yet another one of her wooden mallets from her back. “Hey! Come back here you! I said come back here! Oooh! Bond Nerd, I challenge you! You hear me? Hey!”

But the Bond Nerd was not listening. He had been shown the path to salvation, the way out of this horrible nightmare. He was not about to stop for anything.

He was the complete opposite of the super spy he adored and admired so much. A gaunt-looking, nervous little man, he was completely devoid of the suave, calculating deameanor of Agent 007. Why, he couldn't even pull off the legendary character's signature statement properly, not even if his own life depended on it.

Down the narrow staircase the terrified, little Nerd stumbled and into the dimly-lit corridor below. It was narrow, just as a little wider than the staircase, but it mattered little to the poor Bond Nerd. He just kept on running and running with nary a pause or thought as to where the dark corridor was leading to, visions of the rampaging devil woman nipping at his heels lending wings to his faltering feet and legs.

The corridor was long and winding but finally he found himself clambering up the short staircase at the end of it. He threw open the door and fell into a deserted alleyway, several buildings away from the veritable hellhole that had been Building 85. He was out at last and bathing in the fading light of setting sun.

But still he was not away far enough. Escape still remained but an elusive dream for he could still hear her calling out to him, calling out his name. Oh, that voice! That horrible, nightmarish voice! Not unlike the sound made by a tin can slowly being crushed but intensified a hundredfold. He would remember that voice for the rest of his life, such as it was.

“Come back here, Bond Nerd! Face your beating like a man!”

Shrieking in abject terror, he scrambled to his feet in all desperation. He ran and he ran and he ran, crashing into many a trash can, sidewalk sign, and occasional mime. Past shops and stores he fled. Past startled pedestrians who stared at him in wonder, completely oblivious to his plight.

Everything appeared distorted to his fevered mind. The people. The cars and buses. The neon signs. The fiberglass mascots standing in front of the shops. Everything, even the most mundane of objects, appeared to be dark and twisted versions of themselves, all seeking to put an end to his sorry, miserable existence.

“No!” he cried out. “Keep away! Oh, Jesus! Oh, sweet Moneypenny, save me!”

And so he continued running. And run he did until he could run no more, collapsing in a heap in a dark alley, sobbing and gasping for breath.

He lay there on the filth-ridden, slime-covered concrete, shivering and crying. With trembling hands, he covered his face as though to shield himself from the horrors, both real and imagined, but mostly imagined, that were besetting him.

It took him a while to recover, to regain enough composure and courage as to lift his head and look about him. And when he finally did, he found himself in the middle of a dark, deserted alleyway, the cold night air heavy with the stench of rotting garbage emanating from the dumpster nearby. Yeah, it was already evening. He must have been running for more than a couple of hours. Quite a feat indeed considering he was neither athletic nor possessed of a robust constitution; he had never ran even a fraction of a mile in his entire life.

But this amazing achievement was lost upon him for so concerned was he with his own safety, both physically and mentally. He looked here and there, left and right several times just to make doubly sure, until he finally allowed himself a sigh of relief. That woman was nowhere to be seen. He had succeeded in losing that monster and he was safe at last.

Slowly, he made his way out of the alley, shoulders slumped, head bowed, for though a great weight had just been lifted off him, he found himself at the very brink of exhaustion. He considered calling the cops, going to the precinct even. But then, he paused, if he did go to the police, that woman might take it as a personal affront; he could only imagine the vengeance she would exact upon him then.

The poor Bond Nerd shuddered.

She may only have been cosplaying Mallet Girl but she was still quite the formidable force to reckon with. No doubt the cops will be hardpressed indeed to bring her in. Why, they might even have to call in the real Mallet Girl to deal with her. If only she hadn't been so crazy, she would have been perfect to play Mallet Girl.

He noticed a diner to his right. “PAPAYA-RAMA-LAMA” the sign above the door said in bright red, orange, and yellow neon lights.

His stomach growled as if in response.

Perhaps a little bite to eat was just the thing he needed to help soothe his frazzled nerves and clear his head? Yes, a bite to eat. Oh, and a smoothie. He was parched. He'll make up his mind after eating on whether or not he should report the incident.

And so the Bond Nerd entered the Papaya-Rama-Lama Diner.

A small bell rang as he opened the door. Looking around, he saw that all the booths were occupied and he had no choice but to take seat by the counter. He waved at the waitress behind the counter as soon as he was seated. “Um, excuse me.”

The girl's back was toward him. His eyes widened as she turned around and greeted him with a perky smile.

“I'll be right there,” she replied. She refilled one of the cups on the counter with coffee. “Think fast, Gramps!” she then cried out as she gave the cup and saucer a quick push, sending them sliding fast towards the far end of the counter. Without waiting to see if the old seated at the far end caught the cup and saucer or not, she returned the carafe to the coffeemaker and then turned and stepped toward the Bond Nerd.

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“Get ready to move,” he continued. “We're going in!”

The security guards on the scene glanced at each other, unsure of what to do or say.

“Well? Don't just stand there like idiots! Get a move on!”

“Sir,” one of the guards eventually said. “Don't you think we should wait for the police?”

“Forget the police,” another guard mumbled to the one next to him, “we'd be better off calling in the army.”

The security head could not believe his ears. “Are you deaf, man? They are dying in there! We don't have time to wait! It's high time you really earned your paychecks, boys.”

“But, sir, it's Mallet Girl.”

“M-M-Mallet Girl!?” The man nearly fainted at the mention of her name. He had dealt with her before, back when he was still the president and owner of his own corporation. That had been a pure and unadulterated disaster and it was only because of his father-in-law's connections that he managed to get appointed to the prestigious position of head of security of all of Studiotown.

“Mallet Girl, you say? Aherm-herm! Uh, yes, of course. Quite right, we should wait for the cops to show up and let them handle this mess. Quite right. Good call there, Johnson. Carry on, men. Carry on!”

And with that, the poor man retreated to the relative safety of his car. He legs couldn't carry him fast enough. He wasted no time in driving back to his house. With that mallet-wielding calamity on steroids around, he was not about to take any chances. He quickly packed his clothes and hurried off to the airport. He can only hope that it wasn't too late already and that he can get enough distance between him and Studiotown before the proverbial shit hit the ceiling fan. Such was the state of mind he was in that he completely forgot all about his wife and children.

Meanwhile back inside Building 85, Mallet Girl was just about done. She had long since lost track of the time but it no longer mattered. She was just having too much fun. Why, she hadn't enjoyed herself this much since kindergarten. Yep, that day a couple of weeks ago sure was a hoot! Too bad Aunt Mitzy swore she'll never let little Mel take her to school for Show & Tell ever again.

Only two of the Nerds were still standing, still conscious and relatively unhurt, that is. Mallet Girl had chased them back to the stage and had cornered one of them by the five-tiered dais. She was just about to give the poor, cringing, gibbering fellow one more whack with a heavy rubber mallet when her eyes alit upon the words written on the Nerd's sash.

She paused.

“Hentai Nerd?” she murmured to herself. “Hentai Nerd...Hentai...” She pursed her lips in deep thought even as she tapped her chin with the mallet absentmindedly. “Hhhmmm...hentai...? Now where have I heard that word before? Wait...”

Her eyes widened as the realization slowly sunk through her thick skull and into her mallet-obsessed brain. She stared at her mallet and then at the Hentai Nerd and then back at the mallet.

The Hentai Nerd was a short and portly youth, no older than sixteen years of age. Bucktoothed, with small beady eyes hidden behind large, half-inch-thick prescription glasses, his black hair cropped short the shape of a rice bowl.

“Eeewww!” Mallet Girl cried out in utter disgust and dismay, letting go of her once precious rubber mallet as though it had been tainted with deadly plague. Or worse, cooties. “Gross! I can't believe I touched it with my mallet! Oh, my poor rubber mallet! It was custom-made!”

She pointed at the Hentai Nerd with a trembling finger. “Why you-you...you... Aahhh!” She pulled at her hair in frustration. “No fair! I'm not touching that!”

And so the Hentai Nerd looked quite relieved indeed. He had always known this particular hobby of his was going to save his life one day. He wiped the snot dripping from his nose with the back of his hand. “Oh, thank goodnesh!” he lisped.

But the young man's elation was short-lived. He watched in horror as Mallet Girl took hold of the five-tiered dais and proceeded to lift it off the floor. The dais, though made of mere wood and nails, was large and sturdy enough to hold twenty people. It was as heavy as a small car but even then the dais, creaking and groaning, began to rise slowly and with one final heave, she pushed it over her head.

“Hah!” she cried out triumphantly.

“Wait!” the Hentai Nerd shouted desperately. “You shaid you weren't going to toush me!”

“Well, duh!” Mallet Girl replied. “Fists and mallets are too precious to waste on the likes of you. This is more than good enough!”

“Waaaaahhhhh!” the Hentai Nerd screeched in terror, shielding his face with his arms as the wooden structure descended down upon him.

“Die-die-die-die-die!” Mallet Girl went, repeatedly slamming the five-tiered dais down upon the poor, wretched fellow.

“Oh, the pain! The agony!” the Hentai Nerd screamed. “Mashter Happy, make it shtop! Oh, make it shtop!”

Mallet Girl screamed as well. “Aaahhh, die already! Why won't you die!?”

“Aaaiiieeee!”

“Graaaahhhhh!”

Eventually though the poor boy did moving and he made no more sounds.

Mallet Girl was out of breath. That had used up more energy that she would have cared to admit but it was all well worth the effort, she thought. Suffer not the hentai to live as the old saying went. Or at least as she remembered it.

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And with that, she drew a wooden mallet from the holster at her back and with a flip of her foot, she flipped up the wooden mallet lying on the floor, sending it spinning into the air. She had let go of that mallet when she dealt with Kawaii Nerd who was just too cute to be struck with a mallet. It simply wasn't done. Yeah. Fists were much better. Deftly, she caught the mallet with her free hand and then let out a wolf howl that could be heard throughout the whole building.

The blood-curdling cry froze the remaining Nerds in their tracks, like hapless animals caught in the headlight beams on a oncoming truck.

A group of them, seven in all, stood huddled in the corner of a backroom. They had barricaded themselves in, barring the double-doors with chairs and crates and all sorts of TV props. They had heard that horrible sound and nearly half of them fainted. Shortly thereafter, the horrific screams of their brethren began.

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh! Noooooooooooo!!!”

“Aaaaiiiigggghhhh-gllrrrggghhhh-kkk-kkk-kkkk!”

“Ack, noooo! Let go of me! Waaaghhh! Ah-hu-hu-hu! It doesn't bend that way! It doesn't bend that way!!!”

“Monster! She's a friggin' monster!”

“S-stay away, you! I-I have a slide rule and I'm nod afraid to use it! Don't come any closer! I'm serious! Aaiiieee, nooooo! She's taken away my slide rule and now she's sticking it up my--”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

And then there was silence. Silence so deafening that the suspense was just too much to bear for the frazzled nerves of the poor, hapless Nerds that a couple of them fell to their knees, clutching at their ears.

“Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god!” one of them went. It was the Silent Movies Nerd. “We're all going to die! I just know it! She's gonna kill us all!”

The others tried to quiet him down.

“No, no, hush up, man!” the Math Nerd desperately implored him. “She's going to hear you!”

“We're all going to die!” the Silent Movies Nerd continued to scream. “If only the real Mallet Girl was here! She'd save us from this monster!”

“You'll doom us all, you idiot!” the Super Villain Nerd growled under his breath, shaking a trembling fist at the prostrated man; the Silent Movies Nerd was now lying on the floor, flat on his face, his hands clutched together over his head in prayer to God and to Mallet Girl for salvation.

But it was all too late. The room literally shook when the double-doors were suddenly struck with a tremendous force from the outside. It was Mallet Girl.

“I hears you, my little mousies,” she cooed. “Come out, come out! And let's play a smashing game of croquet.”

She rammed the doors with her shoulder. Then she gave them a kick. And then another and another and another. Blow upon blow she delivered upon these wooden doors, each terrific blow rocking the doors that the very hinges themselves threatened to give way at any moment.

But the double-doors held. They seemed to be made of sterner stuff that she had anticipated. Something valuable must have been stored in this room at one time or another, she thought. Mallet Girl grinned. It looked like she was going to have to bring out the big guns after all. She had been slumming it all this while, taking it easy. It was time to get serious. What joy!

She reached back over her shoulder for yet another mallet, one of the bigger ones this time, fashioned from dark, heavy hardwood. She had the mallet half-drawn when she noticed something very interesting. She paused. “Hang on a minute,” she murmured.

“She-she stopped,” the Math Nerd stammered. He laughed nervously. “She can't get in. Ha-ha-ha! She can't get in! We're saved!”

“Oh, thank God!” the Silent Movies Nerd exclaimed.

“Alright!” the Video Games Nerd said as he faced the others. “You hear that, guys? She can't get in. She really can't get in! Ha-ha-ha! Whew! For a moment there, I really thought we were done for.”

“We're saved!” cried the Silent Movies Nerd, tears streaming down his face like a mini waterfalls. He was still lying on the floor. “We're really sa--”

The nervous, hysterical laughter of the Nerds were all cut short by the slow but very audible creaking of the doors swinging open. Wide-eyed with terror but still clinging to the fleeting hope that their ears were deceiving them, the Nerds turned around as one to see Mallet Girl peeking out at them through the half-open double-doors of the backroom. Grinning from ear to ear, there was a hungry look upon her face.

In their panic, in their haste to close the doors and bar them with whatever they could get their hands on, it seemed the Nerds had not only forgotten to lock the double-doors but they plum failed to notice that they opened outward into the corridor instead of inward into the room.

Mallet Girl licked her lips greedily. “I see you!” she whispered out lout and ever so slowly.

The desperate cries and screams of the Nerds could be heard from miles away.

Outside Building 85, a very large crowd had gathered. People from the game show's audience and studio staff. People from the other buildings. The Studiotown security had cordoned off the area and closed down the whole lot itself.

“My God!” one of the security guards exclaimed. “They're getting killed in there!”

“Alright, men! Listen up!” the head of security bellowed. He slammed the door of his car shut. He had just arrived it seemed and was in quite the dark mood for it. He had just been apprised of the situation. The one time this month he had decided to come in late and this happened. Clearly he needed to get a handle on this situation personally and quickly, else he'll never hear the end of it back at the club.

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“Mally, no!!!” Danielle and Roseanne shouted out in unison.

Mark could only cover his face with his right hand and shake his head slowly.

“Oh, will you look a time1” George exclaimed. He indicated the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Didn't realize how late it was. We should get going, guys.”

Jenna regarded him with mild amusement. “You know what?” she replied with a slight smile at the corner of her darkened lips. “I think you are right.”

And with that, they all made a hasty retreat.

“Oh, Georgie, I don't think Mally knows how this game is played at all,” Roseanne commented.

“Graaahhh!” Mallet Girl growled as she charged towards the hapless Star Trek Nerd, her mallet held in both hands and poised to strike.

Everyone in the studio, from the host to the audience to the guy waving and pointing to the audience prompter screen, was just too stunned to do anything but watch in silence, aghast and filled with the morbid fascination that invariably infected people in the street who were about to witness a car accident. Time itself seemed to slow down as Mallet Girl barreled down upon her prey. She fell upon the Star Trek Nerd like a crazed carpenter, hitting him again and again, pummeling him senseless with her mallet. And all the while, the happy, snappy tune of the game show's theme music continued to play in the background.

A scream pierced the air. It was one of Geraldo's assistants, the one in the sexy Nicki-Nicki the Cultured Feline Girl costume. Her shrill, horrified voice was more than enough to set loose the brakes that been clamped upon the gears of time and the whole studio erupted into chaos. Panicking like a herd of cattle spooked by a sudden loud bang, the studio audience bolted and scrambled toward the exit signs, their screams and shouts mingling with those of the poor, terrified Nerds who had scattered in all directions trying to get as far away as possible from the crazy, violent girl and her mallet.

Her mallet. Oh, how wicked it looked to their fear-addled minds!

But there was nowhere to go. All the front and side exits were blocked, jam-packed with people trying to get out. All the windows were barred and shut. And it seemed that all the TV crew and stage hands had beat them to the rear exits at the back of the stage and, in their haste and terror, had blocked and barricaded the doors with crates and dumpsters and whatever else they could get their hands on; it never occurred to them, it seemed, that Mallet Girl was only interested in one thing. Beating the Nerds. It was name of the show after all.

Oh, yes. The poor Nerds were trapped.

Mallet Girl laughed out maniacally to the point of cackling, filled as she was with glee and overwhelming exultation. Now this was a game show she could truly sink her teeth into! Not like those other boring game shows. She stood triumphantly over the unconscious form of the Star Trek Nerd. Having made quick work of him, she was ready for more; she was far from done and satisfied for pummeling down the Star Trek Nerd to submission had only served to whet her considerable appetite for violence and destruction. She was just getting started after all and there were still nineteen of them left.

She caught sight of the Nerd nearest her, the Kawaii Nerd, a bespectacled girl with long pigtails who had tripped and fallen. The Sentai Nerd, a young boy no more than twelve years of age, was helping her up.

Mallet Girl grinned excitedly. Hah! Two for the price of one!

“You two!” she called out to them, brandishing her closed, right fist. “I challenge you!”

The Kawaii Nerd had barely stopped screaming when Geraldo stepped forwardd, waving his arms trying to get everyone's attention. “P-p-people, please,” he stammered out. “Everyone, please calm down!”

Fervently, he tried to think of what else to say or do to get the show back on track. He had to do something and he better do it quick. Never mind that he had nothing to do with Mallet Girl's violent and inexplicable outburst but the higher ups were bound to come down hard on him for this. They'd blame him for sure and he could kiss the career he had worked so hard to build goodbye.

But his pleas for order and sanity were cut short even before he could get started when the Sentai Nerd crashed into him, having been sent flying into the air by a well-executed roundhouse kick. And so the game show host and Nerd alike collapsed to the floor into one big heap.

Mallet girl let out a terrible roar, arms outstretched, fists at the ready. Seventeen to go. Seventeen more moles to whack. Oh, this was so much fun! What joy! Whoever will she challenge next? That, in itself, was just as fun as beating the crap out these guys.

But they were making it far too easy for her. They weren't even putting up much of a fight. They were just running around like headless cockroaches. Why, even her opponents were nigh hopeless. There were nowhere to be seen! She was going to win this thing for sure, hands down and without even breaking a sweat.

Oh, without a doubt that would be most grand indeed. But she had never the kind of gal to take the easy route. What kind of game show was this anyways? While she hadn't seen a single episode of the show, she was sure it was going to be much more challenging than this. Unless...

Unless it was all part of the game somehow? Oh, sure, these guys were weak as heck but maybe...just maybe...it was a time challenge? Yes! That had got to be it! Her opponents, the other two contestants, that Cutie Sammy geezer and that what's-her-name girl, were probably in some backroom or something awaiting their turns. Yeah. And the contestant with the shortest time will be declared the winner.

That was most probably it!

“Oh, yeah!” she exclaimed. “If that's the way the game's played, well then, get ready, boys, cuz here I come! I'll do you all in record time!”

Mallet Girl paused. “Wait. That didn't come out right.”

But she quickly dismissed the thought and shook her head. “Aw, who the heck cares? It's mallet time!”