The Adventures of...           \_____
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            _mWWMWMMMmmw__               \___________  (c) Colin McEwan 1995
          wWM0^      ^^"P"                           \______
        ,#W#^                                               \___     Issue 2
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       #M0                 mW0WWMMWm_            _#W0_____            \____
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            ```^^^^""""   ^~^~"^^^~WP  ]MWMMWP   #W#my  

Another exciting day in Ditchwater City. A masked figure in a lycra body-
suit and cape creeps through the shadows along Boredom Boulevard, trailed by
another, marginally less ridiculous, although somewhat menial figure,
bobbing it's head up and down to some strange unheard, unfelt rhythm. The
first figure holds up his hand and gestures caution.


 Captain Prat>  Wait. Now, where exactly was it?



The other figure continues bobbing it's head, oblivious to the world,
Captain Prat, and the words he had spoken.


 Captain Prat>  Kevin, take the earphones 
 Kevin> WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU.
 Captain Prat>  There's no need to shout. Take the... oh, here!



In one swift movement, our protagonist yanks at two 

 Captain Prat>  Where is it we're heading? I've forgotten.

 Kevin> Hang on, I'll just rewind it to that bit. Right: "I'll be in my
        secret hideout / At the corner of Angst Avenue / and Boredom
        Boulevard...".

 Captain Prat>  Thank-you. Well, here we are on Boredom Boulevard, Angst
        Avenue is... about two blocks from here. Good. Let's go.

 Kevin> Actually, I quite like this song now. It's got a good bass-line and
        some clever samples, and, although the lyrics don't make much sense,
        the instrumental arrangement more than makes up for it.

 Captain Prat>  Well, thank-you Jo Whiley. Right, follow me.


On the move again, they soon reach Angst Avenue, drawing only a few mildly
strange looks from the passers-by. Outside a small record shop on the
corner, they draw to a halt once more.

 Captain Prat>  Look, Kevin! "Baaad Records"! This must be the place!



They saunter in, and thumb their way through the CDs on the racks. After a
brief pause to make it look convincing, they swagger idly up to the counter,
whereaft stands a surly looking bloke whose name-tag declares as being
called Steve.


 Steve> Hey, aren't you Captain Prat?

 Captain Prat>  Why yes, my good man. What gave us away?

 Steve> You have a very distinctive walk.

 Kevin> Nothing at all to do with the body-suit, and the Y-fronts he's
        wearing 
 Steve> Well,... Anyway, what brings the famous Captain Prat, arch enemy of
        Doctor Baaad, to our humble, independent, and absolutely nothing-to-
        do-with-Doctor-Baad-at-all record store?

 Captain Prat>  Do you have anything by The Sugarcubes?

 Steve> Certainly, through that door there in the "Icelandic Indie Rock"
        section.

 Captain Prat>  Ta.



The daring duo purposefully make their way through the indicated door.
  \ | /
 -SLAM!-
  / | \

 Captain Prat>  Wow, nightfall sure is quick in this part of town.

 Kevin> And it landed on something hard, too, by the sound of it.

 Captain Prat>  Feel around the walls, and see if you can find a
        light-switch.

 Kevin> Ouch!

 Captain Prat>  Never mind, I think I've found one.



Captain Prat flicks the switch he's found, and is somewhat disappointed by
the lack of light, and also a little concerned by the grinding noise which
envelopes them.

 Captain Prat>  What ghastly taste in music. Ah, hold on! I'll use my
        pen-torch, I have it here somewhere... no, that's a biro...
        incendiary device... fountain pen... homing device... automatic
        pencil... laughing gas canister... aha! This should shed some light
        on the situation!


Closing his Utility Bum-Bag and deftly twisting the pen-torch on, Captain
Prat is horrified to discover the full horrifying extent of their situation.
They stand for a moment dazzled by the reflections on the thousand or so
steel spikes protruding from the two shorter walls of the room. Walls of
death.


 Kevin> Is it just me, or is it getting smaller in here?

 Captain Prat>  Oh no, we're trapped in a cliche!


Kevin pounds the door in despair while Captain Prat, keeping his cool,
fiddles around in his Utility Bum-Bag.


 Captain Prat>  Now, where is that pencil... Ah, here. Now... "Last Will
        and Testament of Captain Prat..." Kevin, I'll need you to witness
        this in a couple of minutes.

 Kevin> What? You're writing your will? How will anyone be able to read it
        anyway, it'll be full of holes, not to mention covered in blood.

 Captain Prat>  You've got a point. Ha ha! "Point"!!! Geddit?

 Kevin> Oh God...

 Captain Prat>  Oh cheer up, Scrooge. If I can't have a bit of fun when I'm
        just about to die, when can I?

 Kevin> But I don't want to die!

 Captain Prat>  Pah, spoilsport. Oh, alright then...


With that, the knicker-capped crime-fighter hurls his pencil to the floor.
The pencil jams in the corner between the advancing wall and the floor, and
halts the teeth of doom mid-bite.
 Kevin> We're saved! Hooray!

 Captain Prat>  But we're still trapped. Unless...


Casting the light from his pen-torch floorwards, Our Man In Trouble spies
the outline of a trapdoor.
 Captain Prat>  Here, give me a hand with this.

 Kevin> [Puff] It won't budge.

 Captain Prat>  Hmm. Ah, just a tick.


Rummaging around in his Utility Bum-Bag, CP plucks out a small, cylindrical
incendiary device, and hurls it to the floor...

Realising his error, the most intrepid man to ever sport a bum-bag blushes
slightly, picks the incendiary up, arms it, and tries again.

Wasting no time, Captain Prat and Kevin leap down through the trapdoor. By
the light of the bare bulb, they can discern a shadowy figure crouched over
a map on a desk.

 Figure>        Captain Prat! How did you get past my defences?

 Captain Prat>  Ha! Your defences are no match for the ingenuity of Captain
        Prat! Yes, I will always be here to stop he perpetrators of foul
        deeds, and put a spanner in the workings of the criminal underworld!

 Kevin> It was a pencil, actually...

 Figure>        Hah! Well, you'll never catch me! Computer, activate the
        force-field!


An eery, electronic voice floats from a speaker on the desk.
 Computer>      Command not recognized. Please speak slowly and clearly.

 Figure>        Ac-tiv-ate... the... force... field...

 Computer>      Force field acti...ABEND error. Core dump follows...


The computer bleeps once, and proceeds to recite an apparently endless
stream of hexadecimal numbers.
 Figure>        Curses! If I ever get hold of that salesman... You'll never
        catch me alive, Captain Prat, not as long as my name's Baaad Billy.

 Captain Prat>  Who?

 Baaad Billy>   Baaad Billy... You know, BAAAD BILLY! Oh, come on, I was
        even in the news a couple of years back. Don't you remember, that
        spate of newspaper thefts? That was me, evil criminal mastermind,
        Baaad Billy!

 Captain Prat>  Sorry? You mean that kid who nicked a copy of each issue of
        The Guardian for six weeks?

 Baaad Billy>   YESSSS! And you'll never catch me alive!

 Captain Prat>  Come on, Kevin, let's get out of here.

 Baaad Billy>   What, you're not going to arrest me?

 Captain Prat>  Nope. Sorry to trouble you, sir, and have a nice day!

 Baaad Billy>   Right, you'll never get out of here alive! Computer,
        activate the force-field!

 Computer>      ...77202C77 65726568 61786520 796C7463
        00000870 : 73617720 3F746920 540A0A0A 6F206568
        00000880 : 72656874 67696620 20657275 746E6F63

 Baaad Billy>   Aaaagh!!!



Aww, you have to feel sorry for the poor luv, don't you?



"The Adventures of Captain Prat", written by Colin McEwan, is FreeWare, and
as such may be freely copied and distributed, providing it is not altered,
and no profit is made by it's distribution. All other rights reserved.
Comments, etc. to CMcE, 11 Helen Way, Alexandria, G83 9PJ. Scotland.




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