Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator: to Heir is Human...

I got to the castle and the Doom Nanny showed me to the nursery.

“The Heir is in here,” the robot said monotonally.

“I hope so, I need it to breathe, ha ha get it?” I laughed and slapped my knee at the super funny joke.

The Doom Nanny stared at me blankly.

“Oh yeah, you robots aren’t programmed with a sense of humor are you?” I asked.

“Thankfully no,” it replied dryly. With its finger, it punched the code to open the nursery.

“Hey 1-2-3-4, that’s the combination some idiot might put on his luggage!” I called out ecstatically.

“Indeed.”

“Hey, remind me to have the code changed on my suitcase,” I added.

“Were I programmed to appreciate your inane comments, I assure you that I would. This way.”

I stepped through the doorway and my jaw dropped when I saw what I was looking at.

“What the hell are you looking at?” the fat kid growled at me.

“Er, you, obviously,” I replied. I then turned to the Doom Nanny. “He’s huge.”

“It’s glandular,” the kid snorted back.

“I bet,” I replied. But the kid didn’t say anything in return; he just ran up and started sniffing the cargo pocket on my pant leg.

“What th--? Hey kid, don’t be creeping up on me like that, yo.”

“Do you have any foodstuffs on you person?” the robot let out a robot-like sigh.

“Yeah, I have this Snickers bar here.” I pulled it out of my pocket. “Normally I don’t carry candy bars around in my pocket like this, you know, ‘cuz I try to keep in fighting shape on account of I’m an intergalactic gladiator and all, but I didn’t get to my breakfast this morning because, well, let’s just say that Cyclops gets a little gassy when he has mushroom omelets, OK?”

“Gimme gimme gimme!” the fat kid yelled. With a shrug, I handed him the bar.

“No, don’t!” the robot warned but it was too late as the Heir scarfed it down. Suddenly, his eyes glazed over and he let out a horrendous cackle.

I looked at the Doom Nanny and then back at the kid.

The kid leapt up and tore around the room laughing maniacally and tearing down the tapestries, upsetting furniture, and breaking anything fragile in his path.

“You should not have fed the Heir the candy,” the robot said dryly. “He suffers from Hyper Glucosemia.”

“Suffers from it?” I asked. “Looks more like he’s enjoying it. I’m surprised someone that fat could move that fast.”

“I’m not fat!” the kid yelled as he sped past a chair, knocking it over. “I’m retaining water.”

“Yeah, retaining water in his fat cells,” I muttered. The kid didn’t hear me as he sped past and the robot appeared to have ignored my comment.

“More more more!” The kid ran up to me and held out his hands. He was panting and his eyes were glazed over.

“Sorry kid,” I shrugged. “I’m all out. I think there’s a snack machine down the hall, though.”

The Heir laughed and sped down the hall.

“If the Heir of Doom comes to any harm, I have been programmed to disintegrate you,” the robot announced casually.

“Now you tell me,” I said as I chased after the fat kid.

I rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. The fat kid was held in the clutches of two gunmen.

“Hi,” I said. “And you are--?”

“We are the Latverian Liberation Army and the Heir is ours!”

“You’re the what?” I asked. I looked back down the hall and saw the robot trundling towards us. Something tells me that I have to end this confrontation fast before that thing turns us all into smoking pile of ash.

“We are the Latverian Liberation Army!” the man repeated. “We have a list of 28 grievances against Dr. Doom and his rule of evil!”

“Take it to the UN,” I snapped back.

“We have,” the woman answered. “They said they’d get back to us in 8 to 12 weeks. That is why we are kidnapping fatty here until our demands are met!”

“I’m not fat I’m big boned!” the kid screamed.

“Shut up tubbo!” the man growled.

“Look, we don’t have time for this,” I explained. “There is a robot coming down the hall that will disintegrate us if that kid is in jeapordy.”

Their only reply was to level their weapons at me and start dragging the kid backwards and away.

I cursed under my breath and gassed the three of them with my knockout gun. They slumped to the floor just as the robot turned the corner.

“The Heir is damaged,” it said and weapons immediately popped out of its arms and from around its back.

“Wait wait!” I waved my arms. “He’s OK, just knocked out!”

“You will be deleted.” The Doom Nanny trained the weapons on me.

“Wait wait!” I yelled.

“You will be deleted!” it repeated.

Much later, I was sitting at a desk reading (you know, looking casual and stuff) when Dr. Doom strode in.

“Where is the Heir of Doom?” he demanded in a metallic rasp.

“Right in here,” I punched the code to the room. The door slid open and the fat kid was lying in bed, breathing deeply in sleep and letting out an occasional rumbling snore.

“Doom must change that code,” he sighed. “But Doom is pleased that the Heir looks well. He did not cause you any trouble?”

“Oh no, the kid was great,” I smiled and shrugged innocently. “He’s just so tuckered out from running around all day. I do have to report, however, that the Doom Nanny doesn’t work anymore, a little, uh, unfortunate business with an electromagnetic pulse.”

“That is unfortunate,” Doom said. “But what is the worth of a machine when the Heir is treated so well?”

“Oh I agree, sir,” I nodded. “Oh yeah, also, I captured a couple of members of the Latverian Liberation Army. They’re in the dungeon right now, I was going to torture them myself but I figured you might want to be hands on with this case and all…”

“Doom is very pleased,” the monarch said with a bit of admiration creeping into his voice. “Tell me, are you available to babysit the Heir this Saturday night?”