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https://plainviewmanesy.carrd.co/#

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CEREBELLE RAGSDILL: What're your opinions on wine?

MR. MAXILLA: ....

He looks at the ground. At what remains of his metal chariot.

MR. MAXILLA: I can't say I've ever liked it.

A voice comes over an intercom.

TV BRANDENBERG: AAAAND THERE WE HAVE IT, VIEWERS!

Mr. Maxilla gets startled, his hand twitching.

TV BRANDENBERG: A CLEAR WINNER.

TV BRANDENBERG: SO, O GREAT CARTOONIST...

A floor panel shifts under Mr. Maxilla, much to his surprise.

TV BRANDENBERG: GET OUTTA HERE.

A spring loads under his section of the floor, and he goes soaring through the roof in a puff of smoke.

MR. MAXILLA: Wh---

MR. MAXILLA: Whguh?

ROLLED A 6.

The pitch builds...

and builds....

and builds.....

builds some more....

then-

GRHGHRHGRHGHRHGRHGRHRGHGRHGRHGHRHGRHAAAAOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAUGH!!!

Steel debris starts crumbling from the top.

I quickly unhand the TulseTurn and grapple my way out of there.

I hop out.

My feet hit the ground,

and I look back.

After swelling up substantially, far too full of steam and blaze to contain in it's frame...

KABOOM.

ROLLED A 5.

I don’t let up, striking again at the heart. This time, I dig my blade into it, holding it there so it doesn’t move. Sparks fly out from the open gash, and I can faintly hear a rising tone start to build and build.

ROLLED A 3.

I hit the weak spot with the thrust of my blade.

While I hit it right on the mark, the disc goes flying out of my hand - ricocheting against Hamzilla's internal workings.

I’m in it’s interior.

Before me - a giant heart of coils and tubing.

The weak point.

I listen closely, probably not for very much longer at the rate her connection is sabotaging itself.

SHELBY PRESIPENCE: KS--K-SK-KH-KS--H-----IT'S WEAK - - - GET INSIDE THE MACHINE.

ROLLED A 1.

I throw a TulseTurn towards the apparatus. The fragile disc of light meets its surface and bursts apart.

SHELBY PRESIPENCE: KSKSKSK-HKS-K KH-KS-HK-S---S-S--SK-H--H--SK-H--SK- - -- CERE---B---S-K-K---S--S--S-H-- LISTEN.

My flight response kicks in. I try to dash to the side, but both sides are blocked off by an unseeable wall. My body clunks against it.

I suppose I’m playing by his rules now.

ROLLED A 1.

I slide to trip his feet, leaving the driver's seat wide open. To this, he leaps over me and takes his place as the pilot of the gerbil-mech-hybrid again.

I scramble to a sitting position and hold on tight. It's then that I realize his oversight:

CEREBELLE RAGSDILL: HEY, GENIUS!!! WHY'RE YOU DRIVING THIS THING IF I'M ALREADY ON IT?!

MR. MAXPROFIT: THAT'S THE THING, DARLING.

MR. MAXPROFIT: YOU WON'T BE.

Suddenly the steel panel I'm sat atop bounces up in a spring-loaded act of ejection, sending me catapulting back onto the stage. It takes me a while to gather my senses.

I look up to Hamzilla, now stalling. 'Maxilla' has a defiant look of victory to him, even for how weathered and tethered this fight has left him. It makes him look more deranged. He could very well just charge forward and win this battle, but no. He halts. I can only wonder what he has in mind.

MR. MAXPROFIT: BOO-HOO. YOU'VE FALLEN OFF. AGAIN.

MR. MAXPROFIT: HOW'S THE BITTER TASTE OF DEFEAT TREATIN' YA?

CEREBELLE RAGSDILL: I-

MR. MAXPROFIT: AND~ IT'S NOT GOING IN YOUR MEMOIR.

CEREBELLE RAGSDILL: Are you dumb? I haven't lost! I'm still here, see?

He pauses. A grim smile on his face.

He folds his hands under his chin smugly.

MR. MAXPROFIT: Oh, Clarabelle, Clarabelle, Clarabelle.

MR. MAXPROFIT: You've already been fighting a losing battle.

He pulls a crank.

MR. MAXPROFIT: SO WHAT HURT COULD IT DO TO DRAW THIS OUT MORE?!

As his laughter and the wildness of the crowd overpower each other, I hear something in the area click.

Then, the ground once again begins trembling.

I gaze at the source of the noise, and see a part of the battle floor begin to move. Not just move, but rotate.

Like...

A giant hamster wheel.

ROLLED A 4.

Hamzilla roars and gets hot on 'Maxilla's' trail. He springs up - and when he does, I can see he still has the modified TulseTurn, only now it's all glitchy, colored cubed particles springing off it intermittently. Just this time, he's not the one with the advantage.

It gets so close as to nip at a part of his uniform, tearing a shred of it off as not-quite-Maxilla runs in the other direction.

As to be expected, this heavily modified version of him is evidently more concerned with the fact that a material possession of his was scuffed up rather than the fact that he could've died just now.

MR. MAXPROFIT: UGH!!! THIS FABRIC'S ONE OF A KIND, YOU BRAT!!! ONE OF A KIND!!!!

MR. MAXPROFIT: Y'KNOW WHAT, YA MISTAKE? YOU'RE REALLY IN FOR IT NOW!!!

He throws his TulseTurn towards me and hops on top of it, using it like a really big unicycle. Right when he's in close proximity to his former steed, he grabs the side of the hoop and thrusts it forward, indenting it in the machine's pink-tinted copper exterior and hauling his body on it's back.

He yoinks the glorified Frisbee out, and starts marching forward.

At first my immediate thought is to smack the weapon away from him, but then I get an even better idea.

ROLLED A 6.

I do end up smacking the weapon out of his hand and the knockback scrapes his snout. Then, while he's down and in a daze, I scale my way up to champion that giant hamster he's been piloting all this time.

I mount it and hit the 'ON' button sitting right in front of me.

It rattles into action, the light glowing from it's eyes.

Time to give him a taste of him own medicine.

ROLLED A 4.

With him lunging at me, I retrieve another TulseTurn.

He goes to jab his weapon at me, but I counter by holding mine up against it - tying us up in a bind, us holding our TulseTurns against each other's.

For once, not much happens - if only because I'm exerting all my upper body strength to keep his attack at bay.

He sneers at me.

MR. MAXPROFIT: LOOKS LIKE WE'RE BOTH IN QUITE THE PICKLE, WOULDN'T YOU SAY, CLARA?

I clench my mouth shut.

MR. MAXPROFIT: NOT A FAN OF SPEAKING ROLES, HUH?

MR. MAXPROFIT: HEH. THAT'S JUST SWELL.

MR. MAXPROFIT: ALL'S YOU'VE EVER BEEN IS ANOTHER EXTRA, ANYWAY.

I can feel him try to up the pressure on his grip.

MR. MAXPROFIT: I'M JUST SAYING - YOU CAN'T DO THIS FOREVER, CLARA.

MR. MAXPROFIT: AND I DOUBT YOU CAN DO IT MUCH LONGER.

He raises his eyebrows at the static bad reception sourcing from the mystery caller.

SHELBY PRESIPENCE: MAX, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??

She sounds more fed up than outright mad.

MR. MAXPROFIT: And who're you, lady?

SHELBY PRESPIPENCE: I'M YOUR PARTNER, YA FREAKIN' DUMMY.

MR. MAXPROFIT: ...YOU SURE DON'T SOUND LIKE MY BUSINESS PARTNER.

MR. MAXPROFIT: HE'S FROM POOLSTONE. YOU'RE FROM, UH. WHEREVER YOU'RE FROM.

MR. MAXPROFIT: EARS UP - IF YOU'RE TRYING TO LEAVE ME A SPAM CALL, STICK IT TO MY RECEPTIONIST. I'M KINDA IN THE MIDDLE 'F SOMETHIN' RIGHT NOW.

While they're going back and forth, I notice his grip begin to loosen.