And so, a new seed is born out of Chloroph’s fingernails as he shows it off with a menacing stare.

Captain Traumatic clicks his fingers and at once the hovering boxes unite as a platform that slides under Chloroph’s and CollectOrus’ feet.  Then, the platform, like a thick and compact Eastern flying carpet, sets off sluggishly towards the remaining filthy trail.

“Spread the news!” the Captain tells them, “we’ve got Rum, you’ve got Hooks and filth collecting ideas.  Find the crowds and I’ll strike deals with you.  We’ll distribute Rum to those you send us and we’ll provide you with empty barrels, dead alien material and body parts to toy with and create.”

“You know I will not be able to find you,” Chloroph remarks.

The Captain pulls a golden button from his jacket and throws it at Chloroph who catches it, nods and looks at it as if perhaps it might be made of the most precious metal he’s ever seen.

“Only a button,” he concludes.

“It’ll give you hope.”

“What do you take me for?”

“It’s a link.  When you see it shine, you’ll know where to find me.”

“Mate, your parrot is without feathers and you still believe we’re in a fairy tale?”

Incensed, Chloroph prepares to jump aboard the ship from his platform holding an open Hook ready to engulf the Captain in it but in doing so, Chloroph slips, separating the last black box from the platform which falls into the Hook.

To be continued…


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