The Random Adventures of Splick

  Splick woke up.
  This was not an overly extraordinary event unto itself.  In fact, one might go so far as to say Splick woke up every morning.
  However, this time was different.
  This time, Splick was not in his bed.
  He took a moment to take in his surroundings.  He was in a small, dark, empty room.  The walls were painted a jet black hue, which made it look even smaller and darker.  Its only furnishings were two uncomfortable-looking metal chairs, a small metal table that had been secured to the floor, and a very dim lamp hanging from the ceiling.  The lamp was so dim that it was nearly impossible to differentiate between its “off” and “on” states.
  Presently the black door opened and in stepped a man in a fish costume.  “My name is Bromt.  You, I believe, are Klipsc?” said the very strange little man as he sat down.  “Please, sit down.”  He gestured at the chair opposite him.
  “No, I’m Splick,” said Splick as he took the indicated seat.
  The man whose cruel parents named him Bromt pulled a clipboard out of his gill and looked at it.  “Ah, yes.  I see.  Sometimes I get mixed words up.  Er, words mixed up,” he said.
  “Where the fuck am I?” asked Splick.
  “Um, you’re in a small black room in the dungeon of the Huquon.”  The Huquon was the home of his Imperialness, the Lord High Inquisitorial Viscount of Zookhoria.
  “Why am I here?” inquired Splick in a very jumpy manner.  He knew that he had jaywalked accidentally the day before, but the traditional punishment for that was to be pummelized underneath the tracks of the Imperial Limousine on sight.  Splick was mind-numbingly confused, which is usually the way one’s mind feels when in a state of confusion.
  “Now, I realize that you are mind-numbingly confused, which is usually the way one’s mind usually feels when in a state of confusion, but try to remain calm!”  These last few words were shouted.
  It took a moment for the echoes of his outcry to die down, which Splick thought was quite odd, seeing as how the room was the size of a small broom closet.
  Finally, Bromt spoke:  “I will be your executioner.  Would you like a glass of water?  We want your stay here to be pleasant.”
  “What did I do?” asked Splick.  “I was lying in my bed at home, and I woke up here.”
  “Your execution is scheduled for 22:07:31 Thursday evening,” said Bromt, completely ignoring Splick.
  Now, the planet on which all of this is taking place is called Zookhoria.  Zookhoria has a rotation that is nothing at all like that of our own planet, but the days are still twenty-four hours long.  The planet rotates in such a way that every season is experienced over the course of every day.
  Zookhoria turns around three axes at once, as opposed to our own planet, which only turns around one.  In addition, Zookhoria is an ellipsoid, not a sphere like ours.  All of this means that the average day on Zookhoria is pretty fucked-up.
  By now I’m betting that the reader is now either thinking to himself (or herself) or yelling at the screen (depending on the reader’s state of mentality), “Yes, but what does this have to do with the story?”  Well, the answer is simple:
  Nothing at all.
  Anyway, Splick was beginning to get slightly annoyed.  It was an emotion that annoyed him, and so he switched to a mild sort of fury.  “WHAT IS GOING ON?  I have done nothing wrong!” he yelled.
  “Ah, but you have…I think…yes, it says here that you walked into the Huquon last night drunk and covered with high explosives before finally blowing yourself up.  The penalty for this is death by being killed.  And, as this act falls under the category of terrorism, you do not have the right to a fair trial.  Would you like something to eat?”
  “No, I would like to know how I could possibly have blown myself up last night and be perfectly fine today!” raged Splick.
  “Are you sure?  The food here is good,” said Bromt.
  “Why on Zookhoria am I in here?  I have never even seen the Huquon before!  I live on the other side of the planet!  Now, you’re telling me that I’m a suicide bomber who tried to destroy the Huquon last night?  Why am I still alive then?” Splick continued to rage.
  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?  I’m serious, the food here is really good,” said Bromt calmly.
  At this point in time I feel it is necessary to describe Splick.  Splick is 24 years old, with black hair and blue-gray-green eyes.  He is roughly 6’2” and weighs 160 pounds exactly.  He is also not entirely human.
  When he was a child, he lost his eyesight, legs, arms, and all feeling below his neck in an accident involving an active volcano and forty pounds of cucumbers.  He received prosthetic limbs, artificial eyes, and an artificial spine after the incident.
  Splick was also an inventor.  He specialized in shrinking technology and robotics.  He liked to tinker with his own bionic implants.  After 14 years, he had modified himself to the point where he was incredibly strong and he could see in every wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum (UV, infrared, visible light, microwaves, radio waves, etc.).  He also invented an electrified sword that could shrink to fit underneath his tongue.
  He was, in addition to all of this, a ninja of sorts.
  This is all important because at the moment when Bromt said, “I’m serious, the food here is really good,” Splick went into a sort of furious rage, which added to the 2.18 layers of anger underneath.  He spat something into his hand and leapt out of his seat as it expanded into a 3 foot long blade shooting sparks like a taser.  With one quick swing, he slashed straight through Bromt’s fish costume and electrocuted him.  Splick, realizing what had happened, quickly collapsed his sword, braced his arms and legs against the walls, and scrambled up near the ceiling.
  The door burst open, and three lightly armed security guards wearing black uniforms, black armored vests, and black helmets and wielding maser guns appeared over the threshold.  Splick dropped down behind them when they entered and silently left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.
  He looked at the empty hallway he was now in.  The aforementioned guards were banging at the door, trying to get out (a reasonable desire given their current situation).  The hallway was long, straight, and narrow, with doors on one side and windows opposite them.  Outside there was a dark forest.  It was nighttime, and the windows were at ground level.  “Perfect,” thought Splick.
  He smashed out the nearest window and moved silently down the hall to an air-conditioning vent.  He climbed up and waited, making sure to close the vent behind him.  Just then, he remembered what the now dead Bromt had said to him.  He had told Splick that he was in a dungeon in the Huquon.  “That’s odd,” thought Splick.  “It looks more like a clinic to me.”
  Before Splick could get any further on the subject, the guards broke free.  Splick decided to figure all of this out when he got out of here and to instead pay attention to what was going on.  He listened as one of the guards suggested they get a search party and comb the woods for Splick.  He chuckled to himself.  When all three guards had left the hallway, he dropped out of the ventilation shaft and climbed out of the window.  The building he had just left was one story high and made of brick.  It also had a flat roof.  Definitely not the Huquon, but easy to climb.
  Splick reached the top of the building as the guards came into sight.  They, however, being stupid, did not look at the building itself, but at the woods.  Splick walked along the roof as silently as a bacterium, and found that there was a helipad with a helicopter on it.  He got in and started the chopper, having learned how to do this in an instructional video he had watched.
  It was times like these that he really wished he had watched more than just the first ten minutes of that video.
                                            To be continued...