“I know not of speed limit and this ship carries no gold, God dammit!  I’ve had enough of buffoons interfering with my travelling, musing and my going back home.  Pass your way or I’ll slice your lungs so small you won’t ever have a shot at breathing again.”

“I’m immortal.”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

“You’re walking on my turf.  I can smell golden beverage from anywhere.  Tell me about it.”

But, in a quick succession of stages, the old woman gathers anger and strength as her hair stands on end and she once again expresses what she knows best: the desire to conquer and win.  Her tentacles rise and signal their discontent with some spark.  Her face turns green, her fingernails darken and extend as her body takes on a more muscular and sinister shape.  Her guards too begin to transform until the three of them, once more embittered and irate, threaten their surroundings with their nauseating breath, scornful words and vile, threatening gestures:

“Wanna piece of me, Colonel?” she says, one of her tentacles reaching for the Policeman’s neck, “try this!”

But a monkey’s rope snaps the air, catching her tentacle mid-way and the Colonel, being exactly who he is, a ranked policeman, well fed, well-liked by his superiors and a talented and skilful master of zen arts with a taste for gadgets and polka dots socks, robs her of her powers in an instant with his precious baton, as is customary with all those who trespass his territory, or turf as he likes to put it.

To be continued…


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