Plaz leaned forward to where the cursed half-breed son of Dracula whose
human and vampire natures eternally war with each other and who
struggles to do good in the face of overwhelming evil was working in the
hall closet. "Say... Alucard. Just uh... what are you doing?" 

"I'm sound-proofing the closet," the cursed half-breed son of Dracula
whose human and vampire natures eternally war with each other and who
struggles to do good in the face of overwhelming evil stated matter of
factly. 

"Oh, okay." Plaz stood and turned to leave. 

Alucard paused and spoke in a manner that classified anything said as
more of a demand than a question or request. "Aren't you going to ask me
why I'm sound-proofing the closet?" 

Plaz sighed and turned, "why are you sound-proofing the closet?" 

"I dunno," the cursed half-breed son of Dracula whose human and vampire
natures eternally ware with each other and who struggles to do good in
the face of overwhelming evil shrugged. "Something to do, I guess." 

*	*	* 

A man walked out onto a set made up of painted balls that supposedly
were meant to represent the solar system. He wasn't what you would call
"attractive" or "intelligent-looking" but he did have the look of a man
who used to be on some cheap sci-fi TV show that no one cared about. The
jet black Sci-Cop uniform he wore bore no contrast at all to the dark
backdrop of the set, making him seem eerily like a floating head with a
badge hanging down to one side. Taking his seat upon the lone stool on
the set, the man began his disertation. 

"Good evening ladies and gentleman," the man began, speaking in a thick
Russian accent. "In the fine tradition that this story has apparently
established by doing the same tired joke over and over for no apparent
reason except for, possibly, lack of creative inspiration at the hands
of half-wit writers that don't really care about character development
at all, but are only interested in showing off their many creative ways
of placing canon characters in awkward situations of a sexual nature
and none, really, all that original, mostly just simple contrivances of
different shows or movies that they had laid witness to previously." He
paused and turned to face another camera as the shot switched. "Good
evening, I'm Walter Koenig. You might remember me as Bester from that
'hit' television series-" 

A roller-caption popped up on the bottom of the screen reading: "Said
series was not actually a hit, thus it was cancelled to bring you, the
viewer, more high-quality low-brow humor." 

"-Babylon 5. Boy, when I think back to the days of..." 

A voice whispers loudly from out of shot, accompanied by the sounds of
someone gesticulating extravagently. 

"Er, I mean... Pavel A. Chekov from that OTHER 'hit' television series-"

Another roller caption appears. "This series was so not a hit that it
was cancelled halfway through the third season, so we could bring to you
more quality situational comedy programming." 

"-Star Trek, and all those 'blockbuster' movies-" 

Yet another roller caption runs. "Nothing this man says has any basis in
fact." 

"-whose names I can't recall at the moment. Tonight on Castlevania 1970:
Disco of Evil, we, together as one cohesive unit, are proud to bring to
you, a very special holiday special. It is to honor a great American
hero, Martin Luther King Jr. on this, his day of birth--"

"That was LAST month! This is Black History Month!"

"--I mean, this, the Month of his History... of Blackness."

Off camera, someone was heard facepalming.

Oblivious to that, Koenig continued. "Martin Luther, The King, as many
scholary types referred to him as, was such a great man, who shared all
he had to offer with every man, woman, child, and repressed member of
the working class around him. His goal was that of unity, where no
human, no matter what their gender, race or sexual preference was, would
be dominated by another man. Where all were equal, and everything was
shared equally. No longer would cockasians-" 

A quick roller caption popped up reading: "Misspelling due to heavy
accent. No, really." 

"-many of whom owned big businesses that freely exploited the working
class, be the so-called superior race. No, the opressed minorities,
would rise up and take what was rightfully theirs. We would all be
united for one common cause: serving the mother coun-- I mean, the
United States, bringing it into a new era of prosperity and global
dominance-- Er, world peace. No man would be greater than his fellow
man, be they woman or handicapped. And once this glorious state of
Utopian Society had been attained, we shall all..." 

*	*	* 

"Dude, what is he doing?" the cameraman leaned down and whispered to the
producer, in the crew area. 

"Shh... let him keep going, he's good." 

"Yeah, but he was just supposed to mention the theme and let us show the
titles." 

"Calm down, his speech has a nice ring to it. It's seems very American."

*	*	* 

"... Together, my people," Koenig was now standing on the stool, sweat
beeding on his brow, his arms help enunciating every syllable. "We shall
take back what is rightfully ours! No longer will the corporate leaders
dominate our lives! We will be free! We will rule the world!" Shaking
his fists in the air at the last sentence, his voice develops a
powerful, moving tone. Calming a bit, he sat back down and went back to
looking serious. "That, my comrades, is the lesson that Martin Luther
King Jr. wanted us all to learn." With a solemn look on his face, Koenig
finished his speech. 

For a moment, all was silent. Then, like the coming of the tide,
applause erupted from the studio as crew members rushed forward and
embraced Koenig and lifted him on high, above the crowd. Cheers and
praised rained down on the washed up actor as the crowd carried him of
the set. The camera remained fixed on the set. 

Nothing happened for several minutes. 

One of the planets in the background broke from its string and bounced
off the set. 


-_-_^_^_-_-_^_^_-_-_^_^_-_-_^_^_-_- 

Improfanfic brings unto you, the humble working class:

Castlevania 1970: Disco of Evil 


Chapter 24:
          Hecubus has a Dream	

		    or 

          What? We're not implying anything! 


Written in part by:
          Undersekst a.k.a. ELRutt & Rags 

Edited by:
          The Squishyball 

Conspiracy originated by:
          Gaijin Dan Ministroni

-_-_^_^_-_-_^_^_-_-_^_^_-_-_^_^_-_- 



The desert sands blew steadily across the dusty road in Krelachischaq,
Iran. Squat, clay building held fast against the savage wind storms on
the desert. The town was small, but boasted one of the most exotic
street markets in of the middle east. Booths of all makes and sizes
lined the bustling street running through the middle of the town. In
such a place one can find items from all over the globe. It was truely
an experience all unto itself to travel through this bustling bazaar. 

One such figure was enjoying the experience immensely. The figure had
rags wrapped around his face, masking his appearance from the people
around him and shielding his face from the blowing sand. The head of the
being stood out over the crowd as it searched around for the vender he
traveled to so far to locate. Even though nothing could be seen of his
appearance, one could tell by the way he used his walk, he was a woman's
man, no time to talk. His manner carried with it an air of great
respect. The people crowding the street gave him a wide path for him to
walk down, without distraction. 

Turning on his heel, he moved towards one booth. Under the cover of the
tarp over the top of the stall, the figure removed the material over his
face and smiled at the vender, his teeth glistened and sparkled as only
teeth can that have been meticulously maintained with brushing three
times a day along with a thorough flossing. 

"Can I help you, Mr...?" 

"You may address me by my first name, for I..." 

The tall man paused dramatically. 

"... am _Sancho_." 

"Oh, Mr. Sancho, what can I do f--" 

"No, no. It's _Sancho_." 

"I thought I _said_ Sancho. I am sorry. I do not speak English very
good."

"Very _well_, and my name is _Sancho_. Say it with me now, _Sancho_." 

"_Sancho_?" 

"Yes." _Sancho_ quirked an eyebrow at the man. "Now _Sancho_ is looking
for an object. One that will help accentuate all that is _Sancho_.
Something that, when people gaze upon it, they immediately think, 'Ah,
that must belong to _Sancho_ for only he, could own something so
magnificent.' Do you have anything of that nature? _Sancho_ needs to
know." 

"I think I know exactly what you are looking for. Hold on a moment,
_Sancho_." 

The old man, who looked remarkably like the old man from Kung Fu: The
Legend Continues, not that it mattered any, disappeared into a back
room, while _Sancho_ waited for him to return as only _Sancho_ can. The
old man soon returned and in his arms he held a treasure beyond
possession. A mirror whose exquisite wonder was only paled by _Sancho_
himself. 

"_That_ is what _Sancho_ has been looking for. _Sancho_ must have it,
old man." 

"Be warned. Though this mirror carries with it an undefinable beauty, it
also bears a terrible curse to the one who owns it. A curse that has
plagued many a man throughout the centuries. A curse so awful that it--"

"_Sancho_ worries not about your mystic speak. How much is it, old man?" 

"20 shiny foreign coins." 

"... Kick ass." _Sancho_ smiled quietly to himself as he handed the man
his money. Surely a mirror such as this would have cost have thousands
upon thousands of American dollars, and even with the currently inflated
prices on shiny foreign coins, he was still getting himself a sweet
deal. One that could not be passed up even for nastiest of curses. 

"Beware!" the old man said as _Sancho_ started to walk away. "Beware the
mirror's curse! To gaze upon is to gaze deep into one's own self!
Beware!" He danced around in an elaborate way in order to convey the
seriousness of the situation. "Ooooohhh.... curses scary..." 

A young boy walked up to the old vender, interrupting his moment. 

"Papa, who was that man?" the boy asked, pointing at the departing
figure of _Sancho_.

"Glabaskach," the old man said the boy's name, making a sound like he
was hacking up a wad of phlegm, "That was the magnificent _Sancho_." 

"Ooh... Papa, will we ever be in this story again?" 

"Only time will tell, my boy, only time will tell." 

Suddenly, a huge plot hole appeared above the booth and swallowed up
everything, city and all. Except for _Sancho_, of course. 

*	*	* 

Sleep is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Currently, Bob was seeing just
how much he could get into it... And subconsciously stroking the whip
next to him. No, that is not a metaphor. 

"...zzzzZzzzzzZzzzzzzZzzz..." 

Undoubtably, Bob was having a wonderful dream. Probably something to do
with fragile light fixtures and bacon. 

"... mmm bacon... auauuauuughghhh... zzzZzzZzzzz..." 

A leather gloved hand pressed a folded white cloth to his mouth and held
it there. A message box appeared over the hand-held cloth, with an arrow
pointing at the cotton knit; it read "CHLOROFORM". His eyes fluttered
open as he struggled to get up from his bed, but only momentarily.
Within seconds he was back into unconsciousness. 

*	*	* 

Hecubus looked around and smiled quietly to himself. At last he had
found his Shangri La. No more war, no more famine, no more pain,
destruction, car payments, lawyers, death... well, there was Death. He
was right over there to the left. But that wasn't the point; the point
was that at last he was free. Nothing could hurt him anymore. All that
was remained was a profound sense of inner peace. And folk dancing. Lots
of folk dancing. 

Evil Minions as far as the eye could see, folk dancing. Except they were
no longer evil and no longer anyone's minions, but one had to call them
something. Everyone was there and everyone was happy. 

The whole crowd stood in a grassy field, with shiny green grass
stretching as far as the eye could see without the aid of a vision
correction device. Flowers bloomed in such a way as to make the prairies
of the land of Oz look bad. The sky shown blue as far as the eye could
see and gold where the sun hung on high. This was all only a backdrop to
the beautiful rainbow that played across the edge of the world. 

"Damn, Hec! Good work, my jive brotha'!" 

Hecubus was pulled from his trance to see Dark Priest Shaft standing
before him, not to belittle or berate him, but to congratulate him on a
job well done. "Shaft? I uh- I... Thank you, Shaft!" 

"It ain't nuthin', you da man, Hec! You da MAN!" 

"HECUBUS! TURN SO THAT I CAN SEE YOU!" Dracula's voice demanded.

Just then, a long-nailed hand grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him
in place one-hundred and eighty degrees. "WHA?!" 

The evil one himself looked down upon his former minion. "Hecubus,
you've driven the minions out of my control and robbed me forever of my
idealistic dream of a cold, dead world devoid of goodness and light." 

"Boss! I- I didn't mean to cause you any inconve-" 

"I LOVE YOU, MAN!" 

"-nience! .... huh?" 

And then, with tears of joy streaming down his pasty cheeks, Dracula
hugged him. 

Suddenly, the scene changed. Everyone was still there and still folk
dancing, but now the scene was a grassy hill with a cliff facing out
toward the ocean. Crystal white waves crashed against the glistening
rocks below and a crab ate something. Hecubus frolicked with his cohorts
and former bosses until activities such as volleyball and badminton
broke out amongst the croud. 

On one side of the net, Hecubus, Shaft and Dracula took positions, ready
to return the other team's serve. 

On the other, Alucard, Bob and Plaz readied to serve the ball. Alucard
raised the volleyball in his hand and deftly struck it over the net to
the other team. The game continued on from this point, with each side
scoring eventually and it all lead up to a climactic ending having to do
with a bruised elbow and a huge grass stain that Mr. Clean's entire
family would have no hope of defeating. Afterwards, the two teams met in
the middle of the court to shake hands and congratulate each other on a
game well played. 

Alucard approached Hecubus, his hand outstretched and a look of
comradery on his face. Hecubus picked him up and threw him off the
cliff. 

Shaft waved a proud fist. "Way to go, Hecubus! Get down wit' yo' bad
self!" 

"It doesn't bother me a bit that you just threw my son off a cliff and
that it's daylight and I should technically be dead! I LOVE YOU!" *hug* 

"Alucard was such a downer anyway, you're MUCH more sexy that he was!" 

Then Plaz jumped in and cheered, "yeah, you're so cool, Hec! I'm going
to stay with you forever!" *glomp* 

Hecubus blushed profusely and scratched the back of his head. "AWW, you
guys!" 

The feelings of fondness and good will soon spread throughout the
legions of ex-minions as well and before he ever realized it, Hecubus
himself was standing hand in hand with a pre-adolescent boy with a
developing bondage fetish and transexual tendencies, swaying back in
forth with a rythym that seemed to swell from deep within his soul to
everyone elses and back again. 

Together, they sang: 

"o/~ Good morning, Starshine....o/~ 

"o/~ The Earth says, 'Hello'... o/~ 

"o/~ You twinkle up above us... o/~	

"o/~ We smile below... o/~" 

*	*	* 

Sleep is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Currently, Plaz was seeing just
how much she could get into it... And subconsciously stroking the
cucumber next to her. No, that is not a metaphor. 

"...zzzzZzzzzzZzzzzzzZzzz..." 

Undoubtably, Plaz was having a wonderful dream. Probably something to do
with tall, bishounen, half-breed son of Dracula whose human and vampire
natures eternally war with each other and who struggles to do good in
the face of overwhelming evil and bacon. 

"... mmm bacon... auauuauuughghhh... zzzZzzZzzzz..." 

A leather gloved hand pressed a folded white cloth to her mouth and held
it there. A message box appeared over the hand-held cloth, with an arrow
pointing at the cotton knit; it read "CHLOROFORM". Her eyes fluttered
open as she struggled to get up from her bed, but only momentarily.
Within seconds she was back into unconsciousness. 

*	*	*

Hecubus woke up bright and early to a glorious Wednesday morning.
Everything seemed to have a new life to it. The pile of empty instant
ramen cups in the corner of his room no longer seemed rotting and
disgusting. In fact, they seemed to shine a brighter shade of mold
green. They were a testament to his survival! They were the proof that
he existed! For, if not he, then who would have eaten 63 cups of
microwaveable noodles and consistantly neglected to throw them away? Nor
did the 50 gallon drum holding all of his spent vodka bottles seem so
pitiful. It was a memorial to the shining ray of hope that is
inebriation! 

His eyes were like those of a child again. Colors seemed brighter!
Whites seemed whiter! In a flash, he deftly removed himself from his
Laz-e-boy recliner and ran into the bathroom to get ready for what the
day had to come. 

Hecubus rushed into the bathroom... Well, it wasn't a 'room' really.
Hecubus lived in a very large walk-in closet, actually. What Hecubus
called a 'bathroom' was really just a corner with a full length mirror,
a bowl, a bucket and a pickle jar. Anyway, after rushing
in/over/whatever he doused his face and gave himself a good long _stare_
into the mirror. It was the kind of stare that one stares when one has
just had a spiritual revelation and then goes to the bathroom to wash
up. Grinning, Hecubus stood to his full height, winked to himself and
flashed the V-sign. 

"Yosh! Today is a bright new day! Ganbatte, Hecubus!" 

*	*	* 

On a dusty back road, a figure emerged from a local bar and stumbled out
into the frosty night air. Wobbling this way and that, it moved down the
sidewalk, towards the parking lot at the end of the street. 

Mary moved like a drunken woman. Mainly because, at the moment, she
_was_ a drunken woman. A _very_ drunken woman. She was totally unaware
of her surroundings as she tripped on the edge of the curb and stumbled
off into the street. Fumbling around a bit, she tried to regain her
footing, but to no avail. She landed, face first, onto the middle of the
road. 

Time seemed to flow by without end or care. She knew not how long she
lay there, drooling a thick puddle and creating the only clean spot on
the entire street. After several moments of stupor, she clumsily worked
her hands underneath herself and attempted to push herself up out of the
road. Through much effort and even more bumbling errors, she finally
regained her stance. Slowly she took a step forward. Her foot crept
forward, trying to make a second successful step before it hit her. 

It being a tour bus going at upwards of eighty miles per hour. 

*	*	* 

"It's okay everyone, don't worry. I'm a professional driver and used to
driving this fast," Walter Koenig soothed the crowd as he continued
driving the tour bus at break-neck speeds through poorly lit backalleys.
"I even piloted the Starship Enterprise!" 

A kid in the back spoke up. "Wasn't that Sulu who did that?" 

"What do you mean Sulu? I was the pilot! Me!" 

"What was it like, acting with George Takai?" 

"What?!" 

"Can you get me George's autograph? Sulu's my favorite!" 

"Look! This isn't the fucking George Takai Tour Bus! This is MY tour!
Me, _Walter_Koenig_! We're trying to right the wrongs of the world and
follow the teachings of Martin Luther King Jr., like what it says in the
pamphlets I passed out!" 

"..." 

"..." 

"Can I get off?" 

"NO! Now quit distracting me, I'm trying to drive this bu--" 

*THUMP THUMP* 

A random voice from the back called. "What was that?" 

"I... uh, nevermind! Onward, to the rally!" 

And the tour bus continued on its merry way to Washington D.C. 

*	*	* 

_Sancho_ strutted into his domicile in the upper levels of the Disco of
Evil, arriving back home only a few hours after purchasing his new
mirror through the powers of the [SCENE CHANGE]. With infinite care, he
set the mirror against the wall to the left of his bed. _Sancho_
delicately removed the protective cloth covering from the mirror. 

The mirror's beauty filled the room with an irredescent glow as the
sheet was removed and its true beauty revealed itself to the world. It
looked so friggin' cool that it made every other object in the room,
from the tiniest bottle of lotion, to the lifesize portrait of Dracula
himself, pale in comparison, short of _Sancho_ himself, of course. 

_Sancho_ gazed deep into his own reflection and nodded approvingly.
Raising his manly, _Sancho_ arms over his head, he flexed his muscles.
His legs bent slightly to show off his perfectly shaped calves. From the
top of his head, down to the tips of his toes, his body glistened as if
it was freshly oiled. But no artificial means had be applied to the
_Sancho_, oh no. It was just his natural _Sancho_ sheen. Bending
forward slightly, he flexed his arms down in front of him, letting his
viens reveal themselves in all their _Sancho_esque glory. After
marvelling at his arms and pectoral muscles, he twisted his hips to eye
his back side. Looking at the rounded lumps of _Sancho_ flesh pressed
firmly against the back of his Daisy Duke shorts, _Sancho_ nodded
approvingly. 

In his deep, magnificently enunciated _Sancho_ voice, he asked, "Mirror,
mirror, on the wall who is the _Sancho_est of them all?" 

The _Sancho_ image turned to face _Sancho_, eyeing him in a very sexy,
_Sancho_ way and paused dramatically. 

"Not you," It responded with an evil, yet still incredibly sexy and very
much in the way of _Sancho_ grin. 

_Sancho_ stepped back, suffering from massive amounts of Ego-shock, in a
way that only _Sancho_ can. Any normal man would have just flat out
fainted from such a blow from a seemingly inanimate object. But _Sancho_
was not a normal man. 

He was _Sancho_. 

*	*	* 

Death raced through the streets in a mad rush to find his partner in
Evil. The streets of Japan aren't notoriously quiet at any time of day,
and as expected, finding a single person would be akin to looking for a
needle in a warehouse of hay stacks while tied to a pitbull and wearing a
neckless of meat products. Luckily, a nameless minion who will not be
receiving any lines of dialogue in this part was good enough at his job
to inform him of Yoshitaka's whereabouts. And if Amano was there, then
Shaft wasn't far behind. 

Death paused at a streetcorner to get his berrings and tapped a fellow
pedestrian on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy. Can you point me to the nearest
Denny's?" 

"Oh sure, it's right overGURK-" He fell, lifeless, to the ground. 

"... ?" 

*	*	* 

_Sancho_ stares in horror at his reflection as it grins evilly at him
and steps out of the mirror. "I..." 

The reflection paused dramatically. 

"-am _Sancho_!" 

"IMPOSSIBLE!" _Sancho_ yelled. "Only _I_..." 

_Sancho_ paused dramatically. 

"-am _Sancho_!" 

Together they spoke: 

_Sancho_ bared his oiled chest to his reflection in with Arrousing
Intent. "There are many Toms and Jeffs-" 

_Reflection_Sancho_ advanced in a similar manner, sweat beading on his
brow from intense concentration. His eyebrow quivered under the stress
of it all. "-in the world. But only _I_..." 

They stood scant inches apart, face to face. Exact in every detail down
to the fingerprint, they even flexed their pecs at the same time. "-am
_Sancho_!" 

Then, physics took a lunch break. 

][ HARDCORE MATCH: MAY THE BEST _SANCHO_ WIN!
][ _SANCHO_ vs. REFLECTION _SANCHO_!
][ FIGHT! 

The tremendous amount of _Sancho_ energy being exerted upon the two
similarly polarized _Sancho_ fields caused them to repel apart, creating
a _Sancho_ space anomoly. This anomoly in turn, created small pocket
semi-verse inverted vacuums inside each and every sealed product
container in the room, instantly forcing said containers to eject their
lids with great force. 

Within seconds, every single bottle of KY jelly, Vaseline and corn
shucker's salve had rejected their coverings. Lids of varying sizes flew
about the room on suicide courses sometimes imbedding in walls, other
times flying threw windows. Property damage would become an issue if
this were not chibi. 

Neither _Sancho_ seemed to be making any headway. Errent bolts of
_Sancho_ energy careened out of the room to remove lids in the rest of
the Disco Infernal. Yet they both stood motionless with the exception of
their pulsating brows and pectoral muscles. Light spilled in through the
broken windows to sparkle across the oiled skin of their thighs and
calves. The _Sancho_ anomoly grew in size and strength which each
passing moment as each combatant poured more and more of their reserves
into the fight. 

_Sancho_'s furrowed brow, oiled chest and MARVELOUS legs were enough to
defeat any opponent... usually. But this was no ordinary opponent, this
was _Sancho_! 'How would _Sancho_ defeat _Sancho_?' He asked himself.
'There is only one way. May the great _Sancho_ in the sky have mercy on
this mortal _Sancho_.' 

*	*	* 

Hundreds of half-frozen Russian's waiting in line for chicken McNuggets
were astounded as great waves of bright purple _Sancho_ energy tore
through the heavens above them. The show didn't end there however, as
the Kremlin's massively phallic onion dome roofs rocketed off into the
sky only to ping out of the atmosphere a few moments later. 

It was unknown to anyone in the world at this time, but fifteen years in
the future on January 1st, the number of deaths from falling munitions
and buildings would drastically increase. 

*	*	* 

"I do believe that I am hungry," the cursed half-breed son of Dracula
whose human and vampire natures ever war with each other and who
struggles to do good in the face of overwhelming evil, stated to himself
prior to getting up out of bed in search of nurishment. He passed out of
his room, down the hall and entered the kitchen. 

"Young Belmont and Fernandez must still be asleep," he quoted for the
benefit of the reader. 

Alucard wanted a sandwich. 

"Hmm, I do believe that I want a sandwich," he said, looking around the
kitchen. 

He brought out the necessary items: a plate, a knife, bread and jelly.
Then he went to the cupboard for the peanut butter. 

"mmm peanut butter... auuaauuaughghh..." The author takes no credit for
this line of dialogue. 

Just as he set the jar of nutty goodness down on the counter the
container began to rumble and with a tremendous force, the lid launched
itself towards the ceiling at incredible speed, hitting Alucard squarly
in the face and nearly ripping his head from the rest of his body. His
legs took a few steps backwards, before his entire body slumped slowly
to the ground. 

*	*	* 

Waves of energy wafted through the intersection at which Shaft was
waiting in his car. Without warning his trunk opened, his hood popped up
and his Afro literally jumped from the strips of double-sided tape
attached to his smooth scalp. 

A nameless minion rushed to his car's side. "Your greatness! I've
tracked Yoshitaka Amano to the Denny's on Fourth Avenue and Grand! Also,
Hecubus is leading a rally on the step of the Disco Infernal!" 

"Is that all?" Shaft replied, his hair in his hand. 

"Yes sir! I'll get back to work now, sir, unless you've further
bidding?" 

"Close the trunk and hood." 

"Yes, sir!" The minion complied and did as he was told. "Anything else,
sir?" 

"No, I just wanted to make sure to get some use out of you before I
killed you to keep my secret of being bald and impotent safe." 

"Sir, I wasn't aware that you were impotent, sir!" 

"Yes, well," Shaft adjusted his hair in the vanity mirror to make sure
he had it on correctly again. "For the record: I'm not." Finding his
hair to be of satisfactory height and width, he muttered a incantation
in a long dead language. 

The minion burst out in a fireball of light and collapsed to the street,
immolated beyond recognition. 

Shaft smiled darkly and continued waiting for the traffic light to
change. 

*	*	* 

Bob awoke in a dark, cramped and strange smelling place. He blinked,
trying to clear the tired sleepy-time crystals out of his eyes. His
vision still didn't return. Rolling onto his side, he tried to reach up
and rub his eyes, but found he couldn't move his arm. It felt as if his
hands were bound together. His body wiggled around trying to extend
itself out of its hunched up form, but he only pressed his face into the
wall behind him. He couldn't stand, either. His legs had been bound as
well. 

"AAGH! WHERE THE HELL AM I? I CAN'T SEE A THING!" 

"Shh, Bob. It's okay. We're just tied up in a closet," Plaz answered in
a quiet, knowing voice. 

"Oh, okay then." 

*	*	* 

[Scene cut] 

*	*	*

The authors would like to apoligize for the lack of a scene depicting
Hecubus' rally of communist minions under the guise of a Martin Luther
King Jr. III march to wherever it was that he gave the speech where he
tells everyone about a dream that he'd had the night before and is
subsequently shot at by the entire cast of The View lead by Bobwa
Waltaaz whose cheeks were to be stuffed with cotton balls and a pair of
squirrels (cuz they have poofy tails you know). The scene promised to be
quite amusing as it entailed the deaths of every henchman on the balcony
upon which Hecubus would have given his speech and the annoying member
of the cast of The View but alas, it was never meant to be. 

And now back to your regularly scheduled chibific...

*	*	* 

All over the world, women's tops popped off. Never before in the history
of man had the emergency rooms been flooded with so many cases of blood
loss via nasal cavity. 

*	*	* 

Some time later, Alucard sat up on the kitchen floor, intense thought
played across the bruise that was his face, followed by the illumination
of enlightenment. "That's it! I never would've dreamed it would be so
easy to foul my father's evil plans and destroy him for good in such a
simple way! I must make preparations at the DMV at once!" 

*	*	* 

"ALUCARD! HEY! GET US OUT OF HERE! ALUCARD!! HEY! HEEEEEEEEEYY!" Bob
cried, banging against the door with his bound together feet. 

"Don't bother, Bob. Alucard sound-proofed this closet last night..." 

"Oh," Bob replied. After a moment, he blinked. "Why in the hell did he
do that?!" 

"I dunno," Plaz made a sighing sound. "Something to do I guess." 

*	*	* 

[Scene cut]

*	*	*

The authors would like to apologize again for the lack of a scene 
depicting Death's coming of age in his realization that by being 
'Death' he is legally entitled to harvest souls from their mortal
shells at will and subsequently went about town tapping people on the 
shoulder and asking for directions only to be let down time and time
again as they died instantly. Not that it mattered much anyway.

And now back to your regularly scheduled chibific...

*	*	* 

Alucard walked into a bar... 

*thud* "OWww..."

... and promptly lost consciousness. 

*	*	* 

"Listen, Bob. I've got a pocket knife in my back pocket, maybe if you
can reach it we can use it to cut us out of these restraints." 

"Ahh, okay.. Where are you?" Bob asked while pushing his head down onto
the lumpy object under his face, as he reached his arms up to feel
around him. 

"You know, your head is in my lap." 

Bob's hands pressed against something soft and tender to the touch. 

"... And those are my breasts." 

"That's you? I thought this was a sack of potatoes!" 

"... You are so dead." 

*	*	* 

Shaft pulled in front of Annoymous Denny's Number 5 and leapt out, in a
manly sort of way, of his Shaftmobile. He ran into the building to meet
up with his sexy sidekick whose name isn't important at this juncture.

With the top down, the keys in the ignition and the engine still
running, his car was easy prey for... PIGEONS! Yes, pigeons, the foul
and flighty wing demons from the nether regions of heck. And some other
stuff.

Anyway, Shaft went in the Denny's, as most people do, through the front
door. Looking around, he finished looking around and walked forward.
Then he stopped. Shifting weight to one hip, he deftly scratched his
chin. As the scratching went on, it soon ceased. He breathed in deeply.
The air burned his lungs like a cat in the microwave. I'm not sure why,
but it worked out that way.

The nameless sexy sidekick bounced up to the dark jive master of funk
*handjob*...

Shaft gazed down at her. "Stop that, this is supposed to be a PG fic."

"Sorry, oh great disco lord whose macho hairdo is entirely natural and
whose wang stands tall like the mighty redwood."

"... Who have you been talking to? He told you, didn't he? I can't
believe how fast this gets out. Look, it's not my fault I was born--"

"SHAFT!" a new voice called out from behind Shaft.

"Yo' damn right!"

"What?" the sexy sidekick quoted the fights historical.

"Sorry, automatic response."

A buxom young lass called out as she trotted up to the dark priest of
funk *handjob*...

Shaft glanced down again. "You know, I'm thinking of having the censor
killed so that I can [CENSORED] with these [CENSORED] [CENSORED]
[CENSORED] hot [CENSORED] and put a banana in the [CENSORED]."

"Shaft," his sexy sidekick spoke up. "This scene is going nowhere! We
need to do something important!"

"I hear ya', babe," Shaft said as he punched the third party in the
nose, knocking her down onto the ground.

*	*	* 

[Scene cut]

*	*	*

The authors would like to apoligize once more for the lack of a scene
depicting Mary being viciously run over by a Tank driven by Walter 
Koenig.

And now back to your regularly scheduled chibific...

*	*	* 

"GAH! Dammit, don't do that! You're pinching my ass!" 

Plaz twitched under Bob, as his hands explored her posterior for the
object of their release. 

"I said I was sorry! The knife is in there really deep, okay? I can't
get my fingers in there. Why do you wear such tight clothing anyway?!" 

"Cuz I like to wear tight clothes, okay? Now just move over a bit this
way and I'll go this way and maybe that'll free up the knife." 

Plaz shifted herself up, so Bob could reach under her better. His hands
explored into her pocket; his finger tips barely brushing the cold piece
of metal contained with in. 

"Almosf derr..." 

"And get your face out of my breasts!" 

"Fowwy!" 

*	*	* 

[Scene cut]

*	*	*

That last one would've explained why Plaz and bob are in the closet.

And now back to your regularly scheduled chibific...

*	*	*

Alucard awoke upon the kitchen floor with an incredible headache. 

"This headache is incredible! ... Ow!" 

Cautiously, so as to avoid flying objects and bars, the cursed half
breed son of Dracula whose human and vampire natures eternally war with
each other and who struggles to do good in the face of overwhelming evil
rose to a standing position. The room threatened to topple him if he
dared move too quickly, however. So it was with an equal amount of
caution that he creeped to the cabinet insearch for what would be his
companion for the current adventure. 

"Excedrin, sweet sustenance. How thou art always there when I need thee.
How thou art in constant supply when mine Duram does pain me. I take you
up once again, dear friend! Unto me, Aspirin! Do thy numbing deed!!" 

... Well, maybe, 'creeped to the cabinet' wasn't the best choice of
words. 'Hobbled in a semi-conscious manner,' would suffice...

*	*	* 

"You'll never defeat _Sancho_!" With one hand, _Sancho_ slowly reached
towards his own torso and undid the only button on his shirt. 

Immediately, _Sancho_'s _Sancho_ field quintupled in size, forcing
Reflection _Sancho_ back three steps and nearly bowling him over. The
sudden burst of _Sancho_ force proved to be too much for Reflection
_Sancho_. His feet drug backwards across the shag carpeting as he
struggled against the ever relentless Unbuttoned _Sancho_ field. Just
outside, _Sancho_'s Personal Mariachi Band's leader, who was never
mentioned before now due to dramatic necessity, screamed in agony,
"NOOOOOO!! TOO SEXY!!" 

Supermarkets and liquor stores within the tri-county area all suffered
major losses as every patron inside was brutally slain by super high
velocity yogurt lids and other similar items.... and there was a big
mess too, but the numerous amounts of dead bodies seemed to overshadow
that fact. 

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Reflection _Sancho_'s last cry of any importance
whatsoever rang throughout the Disco Infernal as he crumbled to his
knees. His forehead and pecs permanently cramped into odd and obviously
extremely painful positions. His hair was no longer kept neatly tied
into a single oily ponytail, but hung doggedly about his shoulders like
so much un_Sancho_. 

"DIE!" _Sancho_ screamed in what would almost be called a high pitched
squeal. Reflection _Sancho_'s body shattered into thousands of tiny
glass pieces that subsequently fell to he ground and faded away. In the
background, _Sancho_'s new mirror could be seen for a brief moment
before it too shattered and disappeared. 

"I really liked that mirror, too...." Finally able to relax from the
intense concentration, _Sancho_ redid the button on his shirt and sighed
before crashing to the ground in an exhausted heep. 

*	*	* 

Author's Notes: 

Rags: Man this was hard to write. Maybe if we weren't such lazy f@#$s
we'd have actually gotten this done. -_-

Rutt: I wish it to be known that the word 'penis' should have been 
used more often in this chapter and in life in general. 

Squishyball: Someone help me! Please! Anyone!! HELP M-

*squishingsounds* *muffled crying*

Rutt: Penis.

Rags: The squishyball signed waivers denying itself any right to sue 
on grounds of any sort of abuse, be it physical or emotional, on the 
part of the authors. Taking anything it says seriously will result in 
a severe mocking.

No prereaders were harmed in the making of this fic.

*	*	* 

The cabinet door flung wide open at his pull. Inside the cabinet reside
an assortment of bottles and boxes of varying sorts and sizes, all with
various logos and pictures of plants or members of the Sesame Street
crew or the entire cast of the Flinstones. Alucard's hands peeled away
the layers of useless non-aspirin or chewable tablet containers, all
mysteriously open and some having their contents sprayed about the
compartment's interior, until finally he came to the back of the shelf.
With care so as not to disrupt the delicate relationship between him and
his pain-reliever, he withdrew the last bottle within the cabinet and
read its label aloud in a manner not so much as to remind him of the its
contents, but more to declare his love of it to the world... 

"Herbs that make you poop." 

Wrong bottle. 

"...-_-;" He emoted. 

The fury of a Dan fan possessed by an ancient evil entity bent on the
destruction of the inhabitable world and Canada could not compare to the
severe disappointment of the cursed half breed son of Dracula whose
human and vampire natures eternally war with each other and who
struggles to do good in the face of overwhelming evil at that time. 

"Damned impulse buys..." 

Choking down what would've been a vary unbishounen noise for a cursed
half breed son of Dracula to make, Alucard replaced the bottle among
it's bottle'ish brethren in the cabinet and forever turned his back upon
stockpiled medicines. 

He struck out at the space imediately towards the center of the room,
"Excedrin, thou hast forsaken me! Whilst I suffer the torment of
pulsating agony you are no doubt off cavorting with thine drinking
partners! Forsooth! I shall besmurch thee!!" 

Alucard struck a pose of indignation before an audience unknown to him
as he continued, "I will purchase ANOTHER brand of Aspirin! BAYER will
be my companion on the long roads ahead, always by my side and forever
first to ease my suffering! You've shown to be an unworthy
pain-reliever, Excedrin... Good riddance!" Alucard would've spat if he'd
not been so damn bishounen and above such things as expulsion of body
fluids in anything other than a fashion shot or strenuous encounter. 

The trip to the nearest point at which to purchase over the counter
pharmaceuticals would be an arduous one, Alucard knew instincually.
"Undoubtably, I will be assaulted by hundreds of undead and monsters en
route to the goal of this next side quest..." he trailed off, ending a
line of dialogue necessary for the reader to get off author's case about
not writing certain preceeding scenes in this chapter. Assuring that
he'd stolen enough change from Bob's piggy bank (which he'd filled with
change for the express purpose of Alucard stealing from it) to procure a
bottle of aspirin, he headed for the hall closet. "Best to take the
violet cape." 

Equally glad to hear his own voice and saddened that he was forced to
exposit to himself, the curseld half breed son of Dracula whose human
and vampire natures eternally war with each other and who struggles to
do good in the face of overwhelming evil began, "Ahh, yes. An
adventurer's cape: perhaps the single most important thing he possesses
second only to his weapon and genitalia. The cape has been, for
centuries, a distinguishing mark for the public to recognize persons of
exceeding virtue and nobitility by. As far back as 835 B.C., capes have
been used by those out to make names for themselves in professions
ranging from polititian to purveyor of baked goods. First only produced
in black, person's wearing capes struggled to set them apart from other
cape-wearing individuals by enhancing their capes with an assortment of
precious metals or symbols representing how individually 'cool' they
were. Things continued along this path until one day, in 819 B.C., a man
named Blosificus Menudo wore a pair of capes simultaneously, one in
front, one in back. Afterwards, everyone continued wearing capes in the
traditinal manner. As time went on, capes became available in an
assortment of colors and styles which leads us to our present position
today." 

The door swung upen, presenting Alucard with all of its highly
fashionable and cool-looking contents. Capes, hung alphabetically by
color, crowded the coat-rack and all but obscured the tangled mass of
limbs underneath. He reached out towards the V-section... 

"No, lower!" 

Alucard froze. "Mmmf!" 

There, at his feet, lay Plaz, hands secured to the shoe rack by platic
restraints. Straddling her neck and facing backwards and almost
completely obscured by the hanging clothes, Bob wriggled atop her torso.
Short grunts and muffled sounds of what could have been pillow talk
emanated from amidst sections E through O. Alucard's brow twitched in
terror. 

The cursed half breed son of Dracula whose human and vampire natures
eternally war with each other and who struggles to do good in the face
of overwhelming evil wordlessly took his cape and shut the door. 

"... Al?"