[color=#437C17]The roar of the engine ignited something primal in Ablendan. While it was a comparatively weak car, and to anyone acquainted to the automobiles of the period it would be seen as lacking, for Ablendan it was an impressive howl. He began experimenting with the controls once again-- many of them still did nothing. Until his foot found the gas pedal.

The abomination suddenly found himself pushed back into his seat as the horseless carriage screamed forward, faster than any of the carriages he had ridden before his descent. Ablendan frantically attempted to reorient the vehicle to try and avoid colliding with the row of grey-scale houses in front of him. Taking his foot off the pedal only seemed to cause the carriage to drift along-- eventually winding down to a stop, but not stopping soon enough for him. His foot found another pedal that brought the carriage to a screeching halt.

He went back to the wheel, twisting it left and right. As his foot slipped off of the brake, he found he could turn the vehicle with the wheel. The mechanisms involved in this contraption seemed absurdly complicated, and he would have much rather preferred a carriage, but he would have to settle for this.

Ablendan turned the car so it was at least roughly parallel to the road. The mechanical bird had mentioned someone named Junior when she told him to leave. There was little doubt in his mind that this request was facetious, but he saw little else to do for now-- consuming that last person had left him with a sour appetite. He wasn’t sure where Junior was, but he could not be that hard to locate. He stepped on the accelerator, speeding along the road in hopes of finding his assigned son.[/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]Now that Ablendan was gone, Kriok could finally work on developing her escape plan. She [i]was[/i] going to escape-- she knew that much-- but her plans had not been established past that.

She was faced with an engineering problem beyond what she had been used to or ever expected. She was stuck in a pocket universe and needed to escape-- something she had a [i]theoretical[/i] means for. However, there was no way to transfer this concept to something practical. Constructing an inter-stellar drive would provide a means to punch a hole through whatever boundaries this universe had, but it just wasn’t feasible-- the power requirements, the complicated construction set-up, and the fact that she did not have the blue-prints for an inter-stellar drive. The last problem was perhaps the largest problem.

And even then, there were other concerns. She was being watched by universes of viewers. A keen-eyed viewer-- or the managers of this death-match, no doubt they had their minds on their merchandise-- could note her escape attempt in progress and stop it before it even progressed to a feasible point. Even if they didn’t intervene directly, they did have the power to pluck her away from her home universe-- what was stopping them from doing it again?

Kriok did not like her prospects. She was far from the most experienced combatant, and her odds of escaping seemed extraordinarily slim. Countless years of mining and engineering had prepared her for a variety of situations, but not for [i]this[/i].

She focused on the capacitor array she was making. The capacitor was finished, but it wasn’t a complete power cell. Kriok grabbed a few more items off of her work-space, adding them to the fabricator arm’s construction area. The automated routines of the tool began once again, working towards completing the power cell. Te avian entranced herself in the beauty of the tool’s operation, the energy coursing along the tool as it re-arranged matter.[/color][/background]

[color=#814444]Tschichold could not stand the [i]affront[/i] of these paintings-- even in black and white, he could just barely barely perceive the hideous combinations of colors. Under any other circumstances, he would re-paint them, but the sheer revolt they induced was too much to bear. The artist stormed out, determined to find out just what else there was to correct.

Not surprisingly, the artist found there was quite a bit to fix. The walls were a repulsive off-white-- the artist felt certain that whoever had constructed this household had chosen this specific shade of off-white [i]solely[/i] to elicit his disgust. He cupped one of his hands, a small pool of orange-- that was the color he was thinking of, but it was hard to tell in this channel-- paint forming within the make-shift container. He dipped a brush in the paint and began running it across the wall, painting a pattern. He would need to re-decorate more thoroughly, but for now. As he ran his brush across the hallway, he saw the cybernetic avian from earlier.

While her biological components were fine-- he could almost discern the mixture of scarlet, yellow, and blue feathers-- the robotic parts she had would not do in their current state. The unpainted metals and plastics were functional, admittedly, but they were far from [i]aesthetic[/i]. They needed to match the rest of her body. His hand became coated in a rich red paint. It was just as he was preparing to paint over her arm that she noticed his presence.[/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]”What are you doing?” Her words were less of a question and more of an accusation of wrong-doing.[/color][/background]

[color=#814444]Tschichold didn’t care for her tone-- she needed to look [i]perfect[/i], and as long as her arm remained as it currently was he could only barely stand her sight. “Shh, I am [i]improving[/i] your appearance. Hold still.” He began to run over the sections of metal casing with his brush, blending them with the rest of her body.[/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]”You are interfering. Cease at once.”[/color][/background]

[color=#814444]”And you’ll be interfering if you keep [i]moving[/i], so stop.”[/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]Kriok briefly considered grabbing her javelin launcher from its container and launching a spike into Tschichold’s knee, but she noted that such an action would be a disproportionate retribution for a slight as minor as distracting her from her work. She settled for letting the painter continue his brush-work, and privately hoped the other abducted were not as murderous or frustrating as those she had already met.

Unfortunately, just as she was getting used to the painter, an old distraction returned.[/color][/background]

[color=#437C17]Ablendan entered the dining room to see the mechanical bird and what he assumed was another contestant-- a shadowy figure, painting over the avian’s metallic arm. The avian approximated a scowl, something difficult to do, considering both her robotic eyes and relative inflexibility of a beak in expressing emotion.[/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]”I thought my expectations were clear.” There was more than a significant hint of disappointment in her voice.[/color][/background]

[color=#437C17]”You told me... to pick up Junior. I did.”[/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]”I thought my expectations were clear.” There was more than a significant hint of disappointment in her voice. She hadn’t outright told Ablendan that she did not want him to return, but she had hoped that the implicit meaning of her words was understood-- which seemed to not be the case.[/color][/background]

[color=#437C17]”I only did... what I was--”[/color]

[background=black][COLOR="white"]”Mommy’s not following the script.”[/background][/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]Kriok turned to look for the source of the voice. It was then that she saw Junior. His eyes were completely blank-- there was nothing there except for [/color][/background][background=black][COLOR="white"]crackling clouds of static.[/background][/color]

[background=black][COLOR="white"]”Mommy’s supposed to sew and cook and clean. Mommy’s supposed to wear dresses and aprons and pearls. Mommy’s supposed to love Daddy. Mommy’s supposed to admonish Chad for indulging in that sickening art habit.”

“Mommy’s not doing any of these things,” Junior stared at Kriok-- his presence somehow amplified and intimidating, despite his small stature. “and Mommy’s going to be here for a long time if she doesn’t learn to [i]behave[/i].”[/background][/color]

[background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE]Kriok was not interested in any of this. She had her own set of priorities, none of which coincided with what the juvenile had said. She grabbed the completed power cell off of her workspace and edged her way past the assorted individuals. She made her way to the living room television, turning it on. She wasn’t in the mood to tolerate continued distractions such as this.[/color][/background]

[background=black][COLOR="white"]The television’s response was the crackle of static and a howling snow-storm of black-and-white flecks.[/background][/color][background=#708090][color=#B0C4DE] The cyborg turned to look at Junior.[/color][/background]

[background=black][COLOR="white"]Junior smiled back at Kriok, ever-so-slightly unnerving the avian.

“Maybe Mommy should start to listen.”[/background][/color]