Gadget awoke in Dizzy’s suite. He knew it was Dizzy’s suite because of the large, open steamer trunk in the middle of the floor. Someone had removed his cosplay and put him in his pajamas. God, hopefuly it wasn’t Zo?, Belladonna, or Sailor. That would be really embarrassing. Just how big of difference was there in the size of his penis when it was erect versus the size of it when it wasn’t? It had to be fairly substantial. Oh well. Even if someone had seen Mr. Willy Wonka in one of his “depressed” moods, at least he was still alive. The Helm, malfunctioning like that, could’ve killed him, or at least could’ve given him severe brain damage. He was fairly certain he didn’t have any of the latter. Well, maybe. Okay. Count to ten. One, two, three . . . Okay. Count backwards from one hundred by sevens. One hundred, ninety-three . . . Okay. Now take square roots . . .

  Okay, yeah, no severe brain damage.

  What had happened though, there at the end?

  Oh Jesus! Belladonna! She —

  He sat up quickly. “Shh,” came a pleasant, soothing, female voice, and a cool hand on his forehead. “You’re safe now. Just take it easy. It was so brave of you, trying to rescue me like that.” It was — oh — Belladonna. She sat down on the bed next to him and kissed him on the forehead. Warmth rushed into his cheeks. God she was unbelievably sexy. Why on Earth would someone like her be interested in a dweeb like him?

  Why indeed? asked the Beast. Ah, yes. The Beast. No brain damage at all if that bastard was still kicking around in there. More was the pity.

  “What — what happened?” he asked. “We were — shit! Trixie! Zo?! Misto! Are they safe? And Dizzy! We have to repair the Helm! Quickly!” It was then that he reached up and felt his head and realized the Helm was missing. “Where’s my Helm?”

  “I took it off you,” she said. “It’s over there, on the table.”

  He looked to his right. Misto was lying down on the other bed, still in his wolf-form. Zo? sat in the corner at the table with Sailor, quietly talking. Every now and then one of them would laugh or giggle-snort at something the other one said. Great. They were probably talking about him. Well, maybe not. They probably had more important things to discuss. Like how the hell they had survived the onslaught of the Teenage Mutant Cybermechazoid Samurai. Speaking of which . . .

  “How — how did we make it out of that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “We had help,” said Belladonna, with a sultry smile. “From someone you know. Or rather, somebody who knows you. Somebody who knows you really well. I can’t even believe I’m saying this — God, this is so freaking out-of-this-world unreal, like, literally, but — ”

  “Hello there Gadget,” said the voice of a shadowy figure who, Gadget now realized, had been looming in the doorway that led to the other half of the hotel suite. He leaned on the doorjamb, just out of the light. Now just who the hell was this? He looked to be about the same height as him, and roughly the same build. And he wore a dark jacket and tie, and dark slacks, helping him blend into the shadows. And his face . . . something awfully familiar about his face . . .

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Gadget gasped as the figure stepped into the light.

  It was him. Except for the scar running down his left cheek and the subtle age-lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, and the slight whitish twinge to the tips of his hair, yes, it was a perfect copy of none other than Gadget himself.

  Gadget awoke in Dizzy’s suite. He knew it was Dizzy’s suite because of the large, open steamer trunk in the middle of the floor. Someone had removed his cosplay and put him in his pajamas. God, hopefuly it wasn’t Zo?, Belladonna, or Sailor. That would be really embarrassing. Just how big of difference was there in the size of his penis when it was erect versus the size of it when it wasn’t? It had to be fairly substantial. Oh well. Even if someone had seen Mr. Willy Wonka in one of his “depressed” moods, at least he was still alive. The Helm, malfunctioning like that, could’ve killed him, or at least could’ve given him severe brain damage. He was fairly certain he didn’t have any of the latter. Well, maybe. Okay. Count to ten. One, two, three . . . Okay. Count backwards from one hundred by sevens. One hundred, ninety-three . . . Okay. Now take square roots . . .

  Okay, yeah, no severe brain damage.

  What had happened though, there at the end?

  Oh Jesus! Belladonna! She —

  He sat up quickly. “Shh,” came a pleasant, soothing, female voice, and a cool hand on his forehead. “You’re safe now. Just take it easy. It was so brave of you, trying to rescue me like that.” It was — oh — Belladonna. She sat down on the bed next to him and kissed him on the forehead. Warmth rushed into his cheeks. God she was unbelievably sexy. Why on Earth would someone like her be interested in a dweeb like him?

  Why indeed? asked the Beast. Ah, yes. The Beast. No brain damage at all if that bastard was still kicking around in there. More was the pity.

  “What — what happened?” he asked. “We were — shit! Trixie! Zo?! Misto! Are they safe? And Dizzy! We have to repair the Helm! Quickly!” It was then that he reached up and felt his head and realized the Helm was missing. “Where’s my Helm?”

  “I took it off you,” she said. “It’s over there, on the table.”

  He looked to his right. Misto was lying down on the other bed, still in his wolf-form. Zo? sat in the corner at the table with Sailor, quietly talking. Every now and then one of them would laugh or giggle-snort at something the other one said. Great. They were probably talking about him. Well, maybe not. They probably had more important things to discuss. Like how the hell they had survived the onslaught of the Teenage Mutant Cybermechazoid Samurai. Speaking of which . . .

  “How — how did we make it out of that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “We had help,” said Belladonna, with a sultry smile. “From someone you know. Or rather, somebody who knows you. Somebody who knows you really well. I can’t even believe I’m saying this — God, this is so freaking out-of-this-world unreal, like, literally, but — ”

  “Hello there Gadget,” said the voice of a shadowy figure who, Gadget now realized, had been looming in the doorway that led to the other half of the hotel suite. He leaned on the doorjamb, just out of the light. Now just who the hell was this? He looked to be about the same height as him, and roughly the same build. And he wore a dark jacket and tie, and dark slacks, helping him blend into the shadows. And his face . . . something awfully familiar about his face . . .

  Gadget gasped as the figure stepped into the light.

  It was him. Except for the scar running down his left cheek and the subtle age-lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, and the slight whitish twinge to the tips of his hair, yes, it was a perfect copy of none other than Gadget himself.