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“Oh, yeah!” Mallet Girl nodded. “Those things. You know, I tried one of those new-fangled fight games once. It was a big disappointment. I mean, what a kind of fight game explodes after just one hit? What a gyp! I demanded my money back but the arcade manager threw me out instead.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” she then exclaimed. “How you still have half your lifebar? Those were pretty good hits I gave ya!”

Fried Chicken Wing Guy laughed with glee in response. “Tougher than I looked, aren't I? I'm not the ninth strongest member of Alpha Phi Omegatron Delta Force for nothing. I may not be the strongest physically or the fastest or the most skilled but I pride myself in being the toughest, in my ability to take damage. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Well how about that!” Mallet Girl said, indicating the lifebar floating over her head. “Mine's still full.”

“Gaaahhh!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy's eyes literally bulged out of their sockets almost to the verge of popping out completely. Such was his shock and utter disbelief at what he was seeing. “H-h-how is that even possible!? It can't be!”

It was then that Mallet Girl noticed Gazpacho of the Andes for the very first time since she and Fried Chicken Wing Guy fell into the room.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted him. “Sorry for dropping in all of the sudden and carrying on like that but this guy just won't quit.”

Still in shock, Gazpacho of the Andes simply stared back at her and said nothing. He looked at her and then at Fried Chicken Wing Guy, and then back at her again.

“I see...” he murmured finally and then more audibly, declared, “I see what you are trying to do, Mallet Girl.” He pointed at Fried Chicken Wing Guy. “And you, too, Alias Uno. I did not realize you such a master of disguise. You two almost had me fooled but this amateur performance of yours is simply too asinine I'd have to be a three-year-old to believe it. I have but one thing to say to that.”

Suddenly, her turned and leapt out of the open window. “I am no three-year-old! Nya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” he shouted as he scurried down the fire escape.

“What the...!?” Mallet Girl cried.

“You may have foiled my plans this time, Mallet Girl! But victory shall ultimately be mine! I leave now to molest another day! Wa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

It was then that the door burst open and Alias Uno came running into the room. “Mallet Girl!” he called out to her. “That's him! That's Gazpacho of the Andes!”

“What!?”

“Gazpacho of the Andes!” Alias Uno repeated. “His name's on the mailbox downstairs. I even confirmed it with the manager of the 7-Ate-9 convenience store out front.”

“Who?” Mallet Girl looked at him as though he had gone insane. What the heck was he going on about?

Alias Uno sighed. “That Pistachio guy we were--”

“Dang!” Mallet girl exclaimed. “Why didn't you say so in the first place? Come on! He's getting away!”

She rushed to the window, sheathing her mallet as she went, and hurriedly clambered out of the room.

“Go get him, Mallet Girl!” Alias Uno hollered after her. “I'll keep track of him from the rooftops!”

And with that, he, too, was gone, leaving Fried Chicken Wing guy, the little girl, and the pretty pink pony all wide-eyed and confused, all three of them thinking in unison, “What the heck just happened?”

“TIME'S UP!” the deep, thunderous voice bellowed. “MALLET GIRL WINS!”

INTERLUDE – BUSINESS AS USUAL

A sparsely-furnished room. Just a rectangular office table, a couple of wooden stools in front of the table, an office chair behind the table, and a steel filing cabinet in the corner. There's an old-style rotary phone on the table as well as a small glass ash tray that was filled to the brim with ashes and black cigarette butts. And there's a tall, green ceramic vase holding a daffodils set atop the filing cabinet.

Old, peeling wallpaper with light-brown puppy dog pattern covered the walls and hanging on the wall directly behind the table was an electric sign in bright ret and blue neon lights saying, “QUEEN OF HEARTS Delivery & Bounty Hunter Agency”.

Jenna was seated on the chair, leaning back with her heavily-shod feet resting on the table. She was puffing heavily on one of her black cigarettes, breathing out billows of light-grey smoke and filling the room with the scents of tobacco, chocolate, and cinnamon. It was shaping out to be just another day for the Queen of Hearts Delivery and Bounty Hunter Agency. As usual, the phone had been ringing nonstop all morning. Mostly, they were wrong numbers, calls intended for the restaurant downstairs.

There were several legitimate calls though she highly doubted that Mallet Girl will be all too excited to hear about them when she comes back this afternoon. They were all pick-up and delivery orders after all. They typically left that sort of stuff to Foul Ball McCoy and his trusty sidekick Bull Pen Jane. But the two had recently tied the know and were out of town on their honeymoon. Mallet Girl will just have to grin and bear it. Oh, no doubt she'll pout. She'll whine. She'll complain. She'll even threaten her with grievous bodily har most likely. Jenna knew her friend all too well. But money was money and there were bills to pay.

Jenna wasn't worried. She rarely was when it came to Mallet Girl. She had mastered a long time ago the fine art of dealing with her violet childhood friend. Most of all, she knew Mallet Girl's greatest weakness, her Achilles' Heel so to speak. But it won't have to come to that. Mallet Girl knew her as much as she Mallet Girl after all.

Besides, Jenna was confident Alias Uno will keep Mallet Girl in line. He always did. Well, usually. For the most part at least. Jenna grinned. She can't wait to see the horrified expression of the poor man's face when she tells them what their jobs will entail for the next couple of days.

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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.