The Purple Pimp or Kneel

Note: I have played the last two Saints Row games and found them to be insane, vulgar, irreverent, gloriously stupid, violent, non-sensical, impartially istic, loaded with swear words and way more fun than should be allowed while maintaining grown up values. I hope some of that comes through in this fan fiction.

Warning: There is a lot of swearing in this story.
Warning: I have not edited this story. It needs it, but wanted to get it posted today for the contest. Sorry.

~o~O~o~

“Birk's right - we traded our dicks in for pussies. Seriously... Movie deals? Commercials? The Saints name used to mean more than body spray and some ass-tasting energy drink."

Johnny Gat, Saint’s Row: The Third

~o~O~o~

So I’m in the plane doing my thing. You know beating the shit out of a pack Morningstar goons. They just kept charging at me, like they didn’t know who I was. Almost enough to make me feel sorry for them.

But since they just tried to rob us, corpse one tried to shoot me, and their boss stabbed me, it did not seem the right moment for my stunted sympathy gene to burst forth and turn me into a new man. Instead I grabbed the next contestant on everybody’s favourite game show, Who Wants to Meet Johnny Gat’s Fist, gave him a good shot to the gut, followed up with a couple jabs, a nice right hook, and then the grand prize, a sneaker to the balls before tossing him to the floor like a bag of garbage.

Just in time to grab the next bozo and toss him into a third guy. The third guy, in pink sunglasses, flopped like a soccer player, but bozo appeared made of sterner stuff and stayed upright. Well, at least he did until I slammed him to the ground and stomped his head a couple times.

That finished bozo, but gave pink sunglasses time to charge, banging me into the wall. Now that I did not appreciate. I gave him an elbow and a five knuckle sandwich, but, all soccered out, he tried to wrestle.

“Johnny we’re about to jump!” Shaundi said, her voice coming through the intercom.

If you know me, then you know technology is not my strong suit. I knew I should push a button to respond, but maybe I shouldn't have elbowed and spun pink sunglasses around to slam him head first into the intercom. Still, I tried to answer.

“Right on, I’ll see you in Stilwa-.”

Don’t say I'm not willing to thank those who help me. And in that moment, two of the Morningstars worked together to save my life. First was that French, I mean Belgian bastard, Phillipe Loren, who couldn't aim a TEK Z-10 SMG worth shit and so missed me with his first few shots. Of course, it probably did not help his aim to have his left eye buggered up from when I slammed his face through the window, at the beginning of the fight, decompressing the plane. But since I’m in a generous mood, let’s thank him anyway for missing. Though not as much as pink sunglasses, who worked as a wonderful meat shield when Phillipe dialled in his aim.

Even better, pink sunglasses, when I threw him forward, waffled that Belgian right onto the ground. Opening him up for ground and pound time. Ground and pound, baby.

One! Two! Three! Four! Five!

Then I found my concentration broken by someone clapping, despite my not being in an actual octagon. Looking around I saw him. A giant mutant alien, hulking over top of us. Zinyak, fucking emperor and warlord of the Zin empire, dressed like he planned a night out of BDSM.

“It would seem your reputation doesn't do you justice.” Zinyak said. “You truly are the Earth’s most puissant warrior.”

You can guess how kindly I took to being called a piss ant. Plus I somehow knew the nightmare he intended for me, so I launched myself into a Superman punch meant to put his head on backward and...

Fuuuck!

I remembered this moment, lived it uncounted times before. The syndicate plane and the fight aboard it belonged in the past and my punch never connected. At least not with its intended target, Zinyak’s face. Instead, it connected with the front of my cylinder prison, which shattered the glass and caused me to spill forth in a wave of the pink goop that seconds before held me in suspended animation.

How come, of the dozens of cells into which the authorities place me, did I find the most high tech the easiest to escape? I never even needed to try, just reach this moment in my memories and bang I sprawled, naked as a jaybird, upon the floor of the central cell block in the middle of Zinyak’s ship.

So easy, I felt sure he kept letting me escape so that I would get rid of his most incompetent followers. A theory that gained weight with the knife Loren used to stab me always waiting on a ledge right next to where I sat. Nor did any alarm sound, which meant no Zin rushed in during the few moments it always took me to sync mind to body, stand and pick up the knife.

Also time to pump myself up with a simple truth. I am Johnny Gat, they aren't. Sucked for the Zin waiting for me to pounce upon them like a starving, though still immensely powerful and magnificent tiger. Just like it sucked for them that Zinyak seemed more interested in keeping me alive than them.

The first step of my potential escape waited on the other side of either hatch into the cell block. Since I went left the last time and did not want to become too predictable, I once more walked to the left, mostly able to ignore my reflection in the glass of all the empty cylinders. Seemed Zinyak did not trust me around other prisoners. Definitely not the first warden to feel that way, but no time to think about that. Another step and the door would spring open. The question, would a guard wait within easy reach?

One way to find out.

I took the step.

How could soldiers react so slowly? They all stood or sat away from easy reach, but none turned their focus away from the big screen, which showed some Zin sport that seemed like a cross between roller derby and jai alai. Amazing how often I found them watching that game.

It left me with the question of how best to introduce myself. My favourite is to go all Nicholson and yell out, “Here’s Johnny!” But they always siphon off some of the fun by not getting the reference.

Maybe better just to barge into the room and start shining them one at a time. An approach that always proved enjoyable. Or try to sneak through the room without them seeing me, but if that worked I only hurt myself by not being able to hurt them. That’s no good, so I whistled.

Twenty Zin freaks turned as one and stared. The smart ones quaked with fear, others started to inch forward. Both those groups I ignored, because there would always be an idiot or two or three who charged towards me like they thought I was the ice cream man. This time I only needed to count to one before I creamsicled the snot out of my first guard of the day. As I let him fall to the floor, using his body to ensure the sliding door could not be locked shut, I found myself transported to my happy place.

Hard not to break into song.

It's the hard-knock life for us! As I smash your face, no fuss.

It's the hard-knock life for us! Excuse me while punch you in the nuts.

‘Steada treated, You’re defeated.

You get tricked! Then kicked.

'Steada kisses, your fist it misses.

You get kicked! Again, you get tricked.

It's the hard-knock life! Let me stab you with my knife.

What? You expected something different? I’ll tell you, I was down with Annie long before Jay Z made it cool. Her and her little orphan homies would totally belong to the Saints if they lived in one of our hoods.

Forget that for now, let's return to Dancing with the Zins. At this point I found myself surrounded by a nice little pile of Zin, though I admit they helped me in its construction. These assholes made the cops of Steelport look like they all belonged on the sniper team. Probably the reason Zinyak armed them with some piece of shit phaser that only stunned, didn't kill. But like fucking Star Trek, they were meat and should have been dressed in a red uniform.

They tried to shoot when an open shot appeared, but I knew that. In a fight I know everything that is going on. It’s one of my gifts, along with looks, personality, and being a spectacular lover. Because of the first of these skills, I pretty much knew when the next numb-nuts would shoot, which allowed me to dodge behind another numb-nut before that shot happened.

Hilarious every time. The way the target crumbled to the ground, how the shooter always shouted in dismay, and the crackling sound when I stepped on the befuddleds neck so he would never get up.

Though none of them ever laughed with me. I guess some Zin, just like some people, don’t have a sense of humour. But why did the sourpusses always want to hang around me. In particular, the one guy standing behind the rest, the one I really wanted to meet, seemed more angry than amused. He shouted for his buddies to quit shooting.

“Good choice, bub,” I said. “That’s totally going to inconvenience me.”

Despite zinese not being included in the numerous languages I spoke, I totally knew his response consisted mostly of swear words. That did not help him move into my good books.

Back to him in a moment. For now, let me just paint the scene for you at that moment.

So twelve corpses lay or twitched upon the ground, while I found myself with seven more between me and potty mouth. Not unusual, but usually I could hear reinforcements coming by now. Even they seemed to expect it, as they continued to look nervously past me at the door opening and closing on their dumbest dead buddy. I thought I could hear action in the distance, but, if so, it felt like someone else's story. While mine remained here.

How should we do this? Should we go through every punch, stab, leg sweep, suplex, elbow, head butt, curb stomp, noogie and wet willy? I know, how about I let you imagine most of the fight, using the moves I just mentioned, meanwhile I will describe my favourite encounter? Good?

First off, let me apologize for the advertising, I hate that shit. But Pierce is all about capitalizing on the brand and sold a sponsorship deal before final editing, lucky I got to put this blurb in at all. Which probably makes you wonder why I didn't stop it. See, Pierce took Professor Genki's money before I found out and Professor Genki is fucking nuts. If it was me or the boss, I would take his money, not live up to our part of the deal, and tell him to shove that pink, furry cat head he wears so far up his ass it would be looking out his own eyes. Unfortunately he made the deal with Pierce, would hold a grudge against Pierce, and would likely light Pierce up with a rocket launcher if he is not baby sat by the boss or me. Since neither of us want to be babysitters...

Professor Genki's Kill of the Fight came with only me, potty mouth and three of the soldiers remaining the fight. The three who remained were the smartest of the bunch, making sure to stay as far away from me as possible while pretending they participated. Now they knew that would no longer work and started chattering away in zinese. They followed this by raising their phasers and shooting.

Smart idea, poor execution. Instead of aiming where I stood, they should have shot where I wasn't. Maybe one had a horseshoe buried up you know where and would have caught me as I dived out of the way. Course they didn't and I ended up running around the room, phaser bolts flashing past behind me.

Like some idiot Western bad guys, the fuckers stood together and started to laugh. Maybe not as smart as I thought, what made them think they had me before they had me.

I didn't run for my life, but instead to build up momentum and give them time to group closer together. When that moment came, I did not hesitate, running towards and up the wall, using that energy to fling myself right towards them with a body block. Which taught them not to watch jai alai roller derby instead of the greatest form of entertainment not involving stripper poles, the WWF. And fuck the world wildlife pussies, those initials will always stand for the the World Wrestling Federation.

You should a seen the looks of awe on their faces as I flew towards them. Awe that turned to horror just before I slammed into them, knocking them all to the ground with their rib cages shattering like they were a bowl of Rice Krispies.

Thunk, thunk, thunk went my knife, leaving me alone with potty mouth. Though I need to give him two thumbs up for not pissing himself.

Some of you might think my next actions unfair, but you need to remember I don’t give two fucks about fair or unfair. Thus. I took the phaser from one of the rib crunched three and shot the lone survivor in the leg, causing him to flop forward like Chevy Chase impersonating Gerald Ford. And if you think that simile is too old for me, just remember, I'm all cultured and shit.

Well there I stood, potty mouth inching along the ground, escaping to nowhere, when the door opened fully to let someone else in. I might have let a fleeting smile cross my face, as I stepped forward and slammed my knife in the back of potty mouth’s skull and took my sunglasses off his face.

Standing there, placing the sunglasses in place, I watched the pink haired, barbie doll of mayhem come towards me.

“Fuck. Yes,” The Boss said, gripping my hand to pull me into a quick hug. “Johnny... what the hell happened?”

“So I'm in the plane doing my thing...”

“No, when did you get turned into a chick? I wouldn't have recognized you if it weren't for all the corpses.”

“Oh, that,” I said. “Think it happened after my fifth escape from the tank, before they came up with the current security mechanisms.”

“They were almost enough to take me out, in fact I ruined my nail polish. See.”

“Bastards,” I said, in commiseration. “Well I almost made it to Zinyak’s throne room, scared him so much that he X’d out my Y chromosome. He thought it would make me less dangerous.”

Frowning, the Boss said, “That’s stupid as fuck, look at me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Chauvinistic prick, we should kill him.”

"Definitely. By the way. Nice gams, Gat."

“Nice gams, butt, breasts, hair, face, I even have cute feet. I'm a babe. Not that I would have expected anything else. Could use some clothes.”

“Mine should fit.”

“Thanks, Boss. You have always been a snappy dresser.”

“Ummm...you know...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you got that whole cute sexy thing going with what you wear. Tight, short, high heels, what have you, accessorized with the biggest weapon you can find. But you look good and I’m going to look good. Besides I've always wanted to try a spinning back kick with heels, it impresses the shit out of me when you do it.”

The Boss said, “Only do it when wearing boots, you need the support. And make sure not to buy from a shitty shoe store, you want them well made.”

“I was thinking, I could connect a blade between the heel and the sole, you know like with those shoes you wear around a pool.”

“Wedges?”

“Yeah, wedges. Look at me learning all about being a girl. Well a knife blade pair of wedges would be kick ass.”

“Totally,” the Boss said, staring off into her happy space, probably imagining wearing such wedges.

“But don’t worry about your clothes being too much for me. Think about it, how many women and men wanted to be with or be me in the past? I'm guessing about forty eight percent. But now looking like this, all those who missed out before will get the same opportunity. You could say my change is for the good of humanity..”

“About that, Johnny. Zinyak blew up Earth.”

“That fuck, what the hell did I miss.”

“Well we took over Stillwater, then I stopped a terrorist attack on Washington involving a nuclear bomb and used the acclaim garnered over that incident to become the President of the United States. During that time, Zinyak attacked, kidnapped a bunch of us and blew up Earth.”

“We should kill that fucker.”

“That’s the plan,” the Boss said, pausing as if waiting for a question. “Aren't you going to ask what that involves.”

“I got it, Boss. We kill Zinyak, what more do I need to know.”

“I missed you, Johnny. Now let’s get the fuck out of here, my closet had has a tube dress and a pair of Loubotin's that you could totally rock. I will be so pissed if you wear a different size of shoe. That would be like the worst tragedy ever.”

~o~O~o~

With my release and the rescue of the other Saints members, we went on the attack, blowing up a bunch of shit inside Simulation 31, inconveniencing or killing Zins by the thousands. And whenever we finished a mission, it was back to the ship for some rest, food, and to wait until Kinzie or Matt chose the next target for someone to attack. Someone usually being the Boss or me.

After one such mission, while we hung out in the ship's lounge, I realized something. “Hey, when are one of you fuckers going to help me take my girl bits for a ride?”

“Even though you scare me, Johnny, I volunteer,” CID said.

“You’re a floating metal ball.”

“Don’t worry, I am fully equipped to pleasure you.”

“Someone else?” I asked.

“Ok, let’s go.”

Yep, my girl bits worked just as excellently as my boy bits used to work. Not that it surprised me, but definitely good to get the proof in the flesh.

A fun interlude, before returning back to the war.

Yada, yada, yada, we continued to blow up shit, slowly taking over control of the simulation. You could tell that Zinyak felt nervous when he made the deal with Keith David, but we survived that and everything else thrown at us. Then Kinzie, who I have a thing for, if only I could get her in a schoolgirl costume, me too of course, and then we would...hey, where was I? See Kinzie came up with a plan involving a whole bunch of technical shit. I would explain it, but if the technical shit doesn't blow other shit up, it bores me.

First off, the Boss went out with Shaundi and Pierce to destabilize the program, then with Ben and I to bring it down. The third prong again involved the Boss, Asha and Matt who headed for Zinyak's ship. I wanted to be with them, but the Zin were constantly attacking and she wanted one of our two best fighters defending. Sucked I guess, but if I don't want to be the boss, and I don't, then sometimes I have to follow the fucking orders as she so eloquently explained.

We fire-balled everything that came close, as we head for Zinyak's command ship. Picked up Matt and Asha when we arrived and then followed in the Boss's wake of destruction, hurrying to catch up since she already found herself in a fight with the Emperor of Dicks.

Shit, I can't believe I missed most of that fight. Sure we got updates from the Boss, when she could, and we watched the replay later, but it really seemed like one of those you needed to be there fights that everyone talks about forever. We did arrive just in time for the grand finale, would have been so pissed if we missed it, when the Boss blasted Zinyak out of his mech suit, suplexed him, stomped on his head four times, and then ripped his head, spine and all, off. Fucking epic!

Then how badass did it look when she ascended to sit on the throne, the screens all around the theatre showing Zins across the universe kneeling before their new empress? Super badass!

“So do I get a manservant or what?” the Boss asked.

From around behind the throne came a Zin, dressed different than the regular soldiers slash corpse-wanna-bes, who knelt and said, “Excellency, I’m Zinjai, your personal steward.”

“Alright ZJ, I need you to level with me. How technologically advanced are the Zin?”

“In our experience we are the most advanced culture in the known universe.”

“Zinyak told a friend of mine that he could restore Earth, was he lying?””

“A half truth, your Excellency. Earth has been atomized, there is no undoing that. However, time travel would allow you to see Earth again before it’s destruction.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa... Time travel?” the Boss asked, stopping himself from sitting on the throne.

“Zinyak was fascinated with Earth culture, he made it a point to go back and build a menagerie of his favourite humans.”

No way the Boss could trust that suck-up, nor believe the Zin empire gave in so fast. We all knew a thing or two about turf wars. Taking out their boss is always a great start, but you know he will always have henchmen who think they can take his role or break free from the control he held. Then there are all those paying protection who think they no longer need to pay.

Dealing with that shit can take longer than winning a war. So we spent the next few years solidifying the situation, helped mightily by the Zin army being sick of wearing nothing more than bandoliers and black underoos. They totally bought in to the whole saints’ purple and styling apparel.

And somewhere along the way I accepted everyone calling my Jonny Gams. Seemed appropriate, what with my legs being spectacular and how I made sure to put them on display. Mary Hart would just die, if she were alive.

Finally we could look out over the more appropriately named Saints Empire and say, with more than bravado, that we own this shit. Not that I am saying there is anything wrong with bravado, I love me some bravado. And I’m not the first, the dude who wrote the Art of War, included a passage that said, When you look over some shit and want said shit, then you should proclaim you own that shit, and bravado will take you eighty two percent of the way to owning all the shit you want.

What? You think I should know his name? Dude, that’s racist, just because I am of Asian doesn’t mean I know every other Asian. Particularly some knob who writes books for middle management types who want to become executives. Ask Pierce if you want to know, he’s the one who gave me the quote.

Victory achieved, we held the best party the universe ever saw.

Holy shit were the Zin and their subject races ever in need of a party. Those fuckers let it all lose. We learned that Zin chicks can defy gravity when working a pole and that nobody is more likely to say ‘hold my beer and watch this’ than Zin dicks.

Maybe I am getting old, but at a certain point I found myself partied out. A few shuttle and a courier ship rides later, sleeping the entire time, found me back to the Saint Mother Ship. There I learned Asha, Shaundi and Ben were off doing Empire business, Pierce was working on some universal marketing deal, the Boss still partied, and Keith David was running the show. He liked to be in charge, so he worked out a deal with the Boss to do all the work, while knowing what would happen if he tried to screw us over. Everyone was happy, particularly the Boss who liked being both the power behind and the lazy-assed sitter upon the throne.

That meant only Kinzie and Matt were available to greet me. If you call being immersed in their computer shit available?

Which I did, so I headed for Kenzie's cabin, flopped down upon her couch, and waited for her to talk to me. She would try and ignore me, like always, but all I needed to do was stare. For some reason, that always makes people nervous. Even friends. After a bit she started to fidget, in that cute uncomfortable manner of hers. At that point I had her.

"What?" She asked, not attempting to hide her exasperation.

"You're the only one around to tell me what's been happening."

"You can read the reports, Jonny."

"Sure I can," I said. "But I'm still hungover from three months of partying. I would prefer to lay here and get caught up, while listening to your dulcet tones."

"Seven months."

"What?"

"You have been partying for seven months," Kenzie said, awed outrage in her voice.

"I guess I really needed to let loose. Barely remember any of it."

"Not even your tumultuous affair with the Prefector and Prefectoress of Dauphin Eight? It was all over the tabloids."

"Of course I remember that. Dauphins are one of the few non-ugly alien species and the two of them were at the top of their species, gene wise that is. Too bad they got all selfish, both wanting me for him or herself, and had that duel that resulted in their mutual deaths. Why could they never understand that I am too much for only one of them? Well it's done, no use worrying about spilt blood. How about you, did you go all Captain Kirk with any hot aliens?"

"Not answering."

"Your cute blush tells me all I need to know. Tell me about the hot alien or give me an update. Your choice."

"Well we are dealing with drought on Demix and Srlkijfd."

"Boring! What else you got, Kinzie?" I asked, catching the pillow she through at me and stuffing it behind my head.

"Is there something that you are particularly interested in?"

"Any rebellion in need of quenching? Planet not paying their tribute? You know, anywhere that needs my set of skills?"

"Nope."

"Fuck, I'm not meant for peace. How about that whole time travel shit, did you find anything about it?"

"Of course I did and of course nobody believes me. Just like nobody believed me about the Zin coming to earth. Everybody thinks I'm such a conspiracy nut, but I am always, well mostly, okay sometimes proven right. Like how, once we got into the White House I finally could show how right I was about the JFK's assassination. But once again, everybody is all Kinzie's crazy, Kinzie is exaggerating."

"Well are you?"

That stopped her rant. Instead Kinzie got up, hustled over to me, sat crss legged on the floor, arms wrapped around a pillow not thrown at me and said, "I don't think Zinyak told Zinjai everything."

"Zinyak probably didn't tell himself everything. As far as Zinjai, how would he hear anything with nose buried so far up..."

"Are you going to let me tell you this or not?"

"Sure, go ahead?"

"And are you staring at my breasts?"

"I'm trying to, but it's hard when you are wearing a hoodie. See how much easier it is to look at mine?" I asked, thrusting them upwards. "But don't worry about it, besides staring at your breasts will help me understand what you found out about Zinyak's time travel."

"How? Oh, never mind! Well he did go back in time and kidnap a bunch of Earth's historical figures, but if he just took them they would never leave their mark it would change time, no one would remember them, and his menagerie would plummet in value. He needed replicants, who would live the lives of those he took. That is easier considered than done and explains why he did not trumpet his success."

"He fucked up?"

"Not completely. It mostly worked, but even a divergence of point eight percent could make big changes. First amongst these, there always were anomalies in the replicants' behaviours. Jonny, history is not as we know it. But worse, the material he used for these replicants broke down faster than real flesh. The people he replaced died faster than they should and the fumes they gave off totally destroyed the b-ozone layer that surrounded the earth. The layer that would have diffused the laser he used to destroy Earth. What do you think?"

"Instead of a hoodie, what's wrong with t-shirt? It doesn't even need to be particularly tight."

"I am wearing a t-shirt, but I get cold easily. But focus, Jonny, do you have any questions about what I just said?"

"Nope."

"Really?" Kinzie asked, eyes widening in surprise.

"Sure. How do we fix it?"

"We need to replace the replicants with the real people in Zinyak's menagerie. Which requires someone to take them back in time."

"Fuck, yes. Count me in. Let’s get started."

Nervous for the first time, Kinzie asked, “Shouldn’t we wait for the Boss?”

“Nah, she likes us to solve problems on our own, how do we start?”

“It’s on your head. First we have to unthaw a member of the menagerie, then use that person and their memories to establish a vector into the past to which we can create a wormhole through the 4th dimension.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“Really?”

“Of course not, I haven't understand half the shit you said, since I showed up. But I’m bored and want to do something new and interesting. So lets go manage the menagerie. Like how I phrased that?”

The eye roll, I expected, but not the cavernous hold that Kinzie led me to, which contained a huge number of prison capsules like the ones that never held me. Hard to choose where to start, there were so many hot naked chicks I wanted to meet. Finally I settled on a brunette, one of the few whose name I recognized. Probably because I prefer to make history, rather than read it.

“Her.” I said, walking over to a capsule and knocking on the glass.

“Why her, do you know who she is?”

“Of course, she was in a movie with Gwyneth Paltrow. Though don’t ask me which one, because I only saw her in Ironman.”

Another eye roll. Guess I didn't recognize her as much as I thought. Fortunately Kinzie grew tired of correcting me a while back, instead she moved towards a console and started typing.

The pink goo, inside the tank, disappearing down a drain, the prisoner’s eyes bursting wide open in shock, anger and embarrassment as the doors slid open. The embarrassment diminished, somewhat, when she saw Kinzie and I, no swinging dick between us, but the shock and anger remained.

Jane Austen said, “You’re not that beastly, Mr. Zinyak. Who are you?”

“No, we killed that prick,” I answered. “But we still need you to help save the world from him.”

Note to self, maybe let anybody else - except the Boss or Kinzie - explain what’s going on to the next twinkie we unthaw. It took a few days, finally we brought in Matt to help her understand, after which she quickly agreed. Fucking English, sticking together.

~o~O~o~

Heads up, this section is boring as fuck, because it mostly involved Kinzie and Matt doing science shit. And though everybody says that I should interweave the exposition, had to look that word up, into the story, it's not really part of my story. Besides, why, if they have met me, and all of them have, do they think I would give a fuck about writing rules. I'm gangster as shit.

Feeling all petty and wanting to spite them, I just about used bullet points instead of paragraphs. But then decided if I used paragraphs you can pretend it's crawling text like at the start of a Star Wars movie.

Kinzie and Matt hacked dead dicked Zinyak's computers, and learned that before he started fucking around with our timeline, Jane lived until 1817. However, in our world her stuff got published after she died in 1806, rumours how range from sudden illness to an opium addiction to a dual.

So we needed to go back before then, but after her last memories, which involved moving to Bath in December of 1800. Jane wanted go soon after that time, not wanting Zinyak's Jane to fuck up her future life anymore than necessary. But we couldn't chance switching the real one out. Which of course raised the question about Zinyak making another switch. That thought made Kinzie curl up in a little ball and twitch for a couple of days, but we decided to chance it.

Knowing how much Zinyak's prison tubes can fuck with a person's memories, Matt rigged up some pigeon drones to send back to a different week, from that point forward, to look for an anomaly. In the second week of June 1802 we found it. Jane disappeared from her home in Bath. We had our go date, the week before.

So loaded with costumes and more counterfeit guineas than a pig could carry, Jane and I popped back in time and puked our guts out. Holy shit, but does time travel ever fuck with your system. It would have been okay, but we found out she had actually been missing for a few weeks.

We could have jumped forward than back, but the whole gut puking prompted us to go a sleuthing. Communicating with Kinzie in the future via Matt's flying rat drones.

~o~O~o~

"Jesus fuck, Jane, could you hit any more potholes? Lucky I'm holding on or I would have flown the fuck off this wagon and split my skull. What a way to go, survive gunshots, stab wounds, lasers, and uncounted other shit and then die on a horsie ride."

"I have never driven a curricle before, only a phaeton, so it is faster than I am used to, but quite exhilarating. That is due to everyone considering a phaeton more appropriate for a lady. It is kind of interesting, almost fun, to find myself dressed as the dapper young gentleman instead, though I would prefer a pretty dress like you. And that dress designates you as a young lady, none of whom curse like a ruffian."

"Don't swear. Don't show the girls during the day, but at night it's okay. Always wear something on your head. Parasols aren't supposed to have swords built in, that's for canes. No Jonny, you can't take a flame-thrower with you into the past, never-mind a parasol with a flame-thrower built into it. How can you stand it, Jane?"

"Oh, there are ever so many delightful pass times. You can spend time with your family. Or read, playing the fortepiano, sewing maybe a garden or dance party, go for a carriage ride, read, or, when I am lucky, write. What's wrong, why are staring at me like I have grown an extra head?"

"Reading? Sewing? Writing? Fuck, I can't believe...right, I got it, I'm not supposed to say fuck. How about shit? No. Poo?"

"Drat," Jane offered.

"Really, Jane?" I asked. "Okay, drat it is. Drat, I can't believe writing would stop me from going dratting crazy. You'll never dratting catch me doing that drat."

Okay, I guess that deserves a me or capa. You're probably saying to yourself, 'but Jonny I am reading this biography of yours, for which I paid $24.99, that states on the cover that you wrote it''. Well Sherlock, I just talk, meanwhile my assistants, Ken and Barbie, and yes they more than live up to their names, though my dolls come complete with the bonus of functioning parts, record what I say and feed my wisdom into a computer.

"Maybe don't talk."

"Wasn't that the entire reason behind our disguises? Because these chauvinistic pricks... That okay? No. Because these chauvinistic drats look down on women. And because we needed your local knowledge since these racist drats look down on Asians."

"And because people know me, so I need a disguise. Plus, we couldn't make you look like a man."

"You should have seen the old me, Jane. I would have turned your bloomers...drat it don't look at me like that. I would have made you swoon, is that better?"

"Yes. But you are supposed to call me Mr. Darcy."

Got to admit it. Annoy me though they used to, Kinzie taught me eye rolls have their use and this seemed a perfect time to use one from the stock I acquired upon joining the hotter sex. Maybe it even caused Jane to drive more carefully or the road improved, because we didn't hit any more ruts. Not that I let go of the death clench, encased in a delicate lace glove, on the seat's railing. My other hand held a parasol that, with enough whining, came equipped with a built in rapier.

Pretty, but functional, just like me. It also left me feeling less naked. Without it I only came equipped with a spring loaded punching dagger strapped to each arm under my flowy, attached sleeves. While a pepperbox revolver, modern day manufacture, sat in each holster wrapped around my thighs. Better than nothing, but not enough for maximum chaos. Hopefully enough, supposedly we were visiting a friend.

"So who is this Hastings fellow and why didn't we just go find you with your family?" I asked.

"Matt explained all of that before we came back. Did you not listen?"

"His voice is so whiny, I need to filter out most of what he says or I find myself caught up in fantasies of punching him in the face. Instead I got Kinzie to fill me in on the most gossipy details. Like how he was a a drug runner, corrupt politician type and was your aunt's sugar daddy, while she was his baby mama. Oh, what am I thinking, of course a guy like that will have all types of information."

"Governor-General Hastings is a gentleman of the highest order who has always been extremely kind to myself and my family. Please do not besmirch his and my aunt's name in such a fashion."

"Why, Mr. Darcy, I only spoke in admiration. He seems like my kind of guy. And, a bit of advice about manners. Don't purse up your lips so prim and proper when someone makes you angry, glare. Or punch them, but not me, cause I'm a girl, a delicate flower if you will."

After regaining her calm, Jane said, "The Governor-General and I regularly corresponded. Based on Mr. Miller's surveillance, it appears my double continued this tradition."

"So you're thinking the new you replaced your Aunt under his covers? Maybe he has a thing for Austen women. Hey, that's better, that's a great glare."

"I do not believe he would so take advantage of me, but he may know what did happen."

"Will he see us?"

"We received an invite from him, after I sent him the introductory letter stating Mr. Darcy is a friend who is much travelled, that is where you as a companion provide further corroboration, who will soon be venturing to India and is interested in gaining s interested in writing about Governor-General Hastings’ time in India."
After this, we mutually decided to enjoy the ride in silence. When the sun grew warm I opened my parasol a sunshade, spinning it over my right shoulder. Ladying that shit like a mofo, until we pulled up to Hastings' estate in Gloucestershire, Daylesford House.

Sugar Daddy had some money.

It doesn't shame me to say I felt a stab of jealousy when Jane jumped down from the wagon seat, something that I could not do in my dress. Which probably makes you wonder how I could fight if needed? Well, have you ever seen a stripper, I sure the hell have and they aren't hampered by anything they wear. All it requires are some snaps, Velcro and a quick yank and you're good to go. Furthermore, I looked precious as fuck. A real Zhang Ziyi in a regency style, afternoon dress, white with a pattern of Saint's fleur-de-lis, and my hair looking fetching in a chignon with a flower wreath ornament. If I needed help down, well sometimes it's worth whatever it takes to look so good.

Parasol a twirl over my shoulder and left hand up Jane's arm, we approached the house introduced ourselves to the butler who answered and were then led to the gardens where waited Hastings. And with him sat another guest, a fat, sweaty mess going by the name Mr. Dudley Crokinole.

After the men (including Jane) all exchanged their names, she said, " And may I introduce my travelling companion, Miss Gam Jin-ae."

Don't ask me what that name means, Kinzie came up with it, but Jane meant me when she used it. More important than the name, when she introduced me as her travelling companion, she may as well have said bed buddy. Something that provided both men the out they needed to look on with great interest as I curtseyed my greeting. Doing so, I noticed how it placed me at a perfect height to deliver a nut shot. I didn't but had to fight my natural inclination when acknowledging Crokinole. He had the look of a bruno, the type who would do more than look.

Remember how Jane advised me not to talk? Well the conversation made that easy, fucking mind numbing. And I am too nice a person to inflict it upon you. Even Crokinole's eyes glazed over, leading to him taking his leave not long after we arrived.

But people saying nothing can still tell you lots. Reading this nothing is important in my line of work, you wouldn't believe how many upstanding citizens try to lie to you when you're collecting protection from them. Babble though he did about the inconsequential, he did steer away from certain topics. Midway through a discussion about the mutiny on the Bounty and the Black Hole of Nantucket into which all the officers were thrown, I reached my breaking point.

"So how much do you owe him and what's the vig?" I asked.

They both stared at me, Jane gesturing for my quiet, while Hastings asked, "Excuse me?"

"That thug Crokinole, he was as out of place here as a dancing walrus. The question, why was her here?"

"He is just a friend and..."

"Bull drat, Mr. Hastings, you surely have better taste in friends than him. You might deal with his type, but not invite him for tea. Shh, shh, let me make three guesses and you can say whether I am right or not. My first two involve Jane Austen, l of whom you steer the conversation away from, whenever Mr. Darcy mentions her name. My first guess, you paid Crokinole to kidnap Jane for you and he is asking for more before he delivers."

"Why I never..."

"But I don't believe that, if I did I would be more persuasive," I said, springing the right knife from under my sleeve into my hand. "It is more likely that he kidnapped her and expects you to pay the ransom. That's my second guess, but if true he is one of the dumbest criminals I've ever met and I've met a lot. Which leads to my third guess, the one I believe the one closest to the truth. It all goes back to your trial, it must have cost a dratload to finance, it must have put a dent in your lifestyle. A good time to for someone on the shady side of the tracks to make a deal with you. Probably you were confident it would all work out, but it never does for the guy in your shoes. I just can't figure out what it has to do with Jane."

Jane just held her head in her hands, but the GovGen turned as white as a ghost, before he asked, "Who are you?"

"Gam Jin-ae, warrior princess of the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon clan.” I said, feeling momentary of guilt for not being able to use the Saint’s name, but this seemed more appropriate. “We're here to help. Mostly ourselves, but if you are willing to help us, we might help you."

"I believe you should leave."

The left knife sprung out, his eyes grew big, and I said, "I really don't want to get my pretty dress dirty."

Maybe a bit heavy handed, ok a lot, but he struck me as a man wanting to get a load off his chest. He just needed a push start. And though I looked like I should be in the driver's seat, forgetting to take my foot off the break while my boyfriend tried to push us out of the puddle in which he got us stuck, I'm a good pusher. A few more shoves, ones I don't want to describe - I might need to use them on you one day - and he caved. I knew he would. It’s a lot different being tough as a member of the British East India company than alone.

"It began about three months ago, when Miss Austen sent me a letter describing the dire financial straights her family had fallen into, how she had a plan to extract them from that situation, and asked if I could help her. The best I could do was try to talk her out of her out of her plan, but Miss Austen has recently changed. She has grown more impetuous, I feared she would proceed with or without my help.”

Jane asked, “What was her plan?”

“She knew some people who wanted to open a salon, in Bath, where the gentry could smoke opium, so they did not have to use some rat sty of an opium den. I wish we only traded it to foreigners, but there are those without my morals who bring it to England and many are now prey to its demons. Miss Austen’s friends thought they could make it safer for those of good breeding, who are caught, and in turn I felt my participation could keep her safe. Using my contacts within the company, she and I acted as an intermediary between the supplier and those who own the salon.”

This fell right in my wheelhouse, I said, “Let me guess. Crokinole fronted that supplier, the shipment went missing, and Crokinole is now wanting his money.”

“Yes,” Hastings said, admitting defeat

“You know it’s likely him that stole it?”

“Yes.”

“So where has Jane gone?”

“Your second guess is also correct, they have taken Miss Austen as further insurance against my paying, plus for a ransom. But I do not have the money and they expect it within two weeks.”

“Ok, here is what we are going to do.”

~o~O~o~

“You know, Jane, you really didn't need to come with me. In fact it probably would have been better if you had not come."

"I cannot allow you to travel alone. It would not be proper."

"Maybe not for a young lady, but I'm now a warrior princess," I said. Honestly, that brag really grabbed a hold of my being, in the two days since our meeting with Hastings I could not get past the feeling how I was a modern day Xena. Modern day, back in time sorta whatever. So I dressed the part, no longer Miss Regency 1802, I now wore a full length, bell sleeved cheongsam, in Saints' purple embroidered with a golden dragon. Hair cup on held in place by two sticks capped with tiger heads. That was the princess part, the warrior aspect came from the high slits on the side, which allowed me to move quickly and displayed the lighter purple silk pants that would protect my modesty in a fight.

"Even warrior princesses should be accompanied by a chaperone."

"What about Syeed Amir Ali."

Jane hesitated, before she said, "He is a servant, besides he is, I am not sure how to say it."

"A viscous looking little drat?"

"Yes, though Governor-General Hastings swears by his loyalty."

"And it is a more comfortable ride with him controlling the horsies, rather than you."

At that moment, late in the afternoon, the two of us road in an ugly yellow wagon, Jane insisted on calling a post chaise along one of the shitty roads between London and Bath, the aforementioned Syeed riding one of the horses and controlling our progress. All part of my master plan. Around about here is where Hastings' first shipment of opium went missing. So around is where I expected the second shipment to go missing. The one we supposedly carried.

Supposedly, because even with our counterfeit riches, we didn't have time to obtain a chest full of opium in such a short time. Just needed to hope Crokinole didn't know that. We also needed him to have heard the rumour about how Hastings hoped to raise some cash with another shipment. And that he lived up to my reading that he was the type unable to stop digging his claws ever deeper into his victims.

Easier if we knew where the sleazeball hung his hat. But without that knowledge, we needed him to come to us. Hence the shipment decoy. And I am the trap.

Warrior Princess!!!!!!

"We'll remember, if the drat hit the fan. Stay out of the way and try to stay hidden. Make the ground your lover if you need too."

She nodded, a bit of fear in her eyes, but Jane is a good homie and I knew I could trust her. But as we jostled along the shitty road, I found myself worrying I could not trust Crokinole.

"Halt! Stand and deliver."

What magic words those were, they left my stomach all a twitter with excitement. Particularly since the bellow sounded like it came from that fat fuck Crokinole.

They knew their shit, I will give them that. Good terrain, trees on both side stopping us from being able to turn around. Aggressive, but but not out of control. Fast, but not in a rush. Our wagon came to a halt as one of the highwaymen grabbed the bridles of the horses to keep them still, while the others surrounded us. One of whom looked into the carriage and saw us.

"Boss, passengers," he yelled, not looking away from us. Pointing the big ugly bore of a blunderbuss at us, he said, "You two, out!"

In the ranks of where to start a fight, a box ranks near the bottom. So I happily obliged the walking dead man, dismounting from the post chaise with my arms raised. Not stretched way over my head like the class nerd demanding the teacher pick him to answer every question, but just in an L shape with my hands on level with the bun on top of my head. <<<< Foreshadowing alert.

"Why if it isn't Mr. Darcy and the lovely Miss Gam Jin-ae. I had wondered where Hastings acquired the money for another shipment. How unfortunate for you to get Mr. Darcy, but what an unexpected bonus your companion will prove."

"Boss, the chest is empty," one of the henchmen shouted.

Good, I won't take that away from them, but the best expect the unexpected. These lugs didn't. The surprise of caused the four of them to glance towards their shouting buddy. More than enough time for me to yank one of the tiger headed hair sticks from my bun and plunge it twice into the neck of the blunderbuss wonder.

Pushing Jane down so she collapsed to the ground, I dove in a shoulder roll. My long hair flowing loose as I pulled the second stick as I rose to my feet in front of my next target. Bam, now you see me, now you have a stick plunging eye-ways into your brain.

Just something about a fight that slows the world down for me. With the momentum built up from my roll, I spun stick eye around as Crokinole fired his pistol at me.

One thing you need to know about weapons of that time, they sucked donkey balls. His shot killed a chunk of bark on some tree, but it didn't come anywhere close to me or my meat shield. It did, however, bring about Professor Genki's Kill of the Fight. And it didn't belong to me.

Now I don't know much about horses, in fact my only experience before going back was when I once knocked a cop off his horse during a riot. But I did know how easily they could be spooked, because I watched of Westerns. And spooked they were by the sound of that gunshot. The two pulling our wagon raised up on their back legs, pulling the bridle holder off balance, just before those legs crashed back to the ground and they took off at a run. Unfortunately for bridle holder he took a hoof to the noggin, knocking him down. Luckily they didn't step on him, but the wagon was not as particular where it put its wheels.

Necks aren't supposed to bend that way.

No time think about it, what with Crokinole charging towards me. However, I had something up my sleeve for him. Not the knifes I showed to Hastings, instead a gift from the Boss. Given to me soon after we reunited, when she said, “Here, you’ll need these, since you lost the old ones.”

Much better than throwing a knife, never my best skill, and light years better than a throwing star. A brass ball, one inch in diameter, dropped into each hand and like a side arm pitcher, I let him have them.

One left. But when I looked in that direction, I saw Syeed standing behind him, a look of rapture on his face as he tightened the beige, or was it yellow, cloth around the man’s neck. Never a pleasant thing to watch a man get strangled to death, so I walked over to help Jane off the ground.

“Don’t look. Drat!”

“What’s wrong, Jonny?” Jane asked, her voice and body trembling.

“I dratted up. Just wanted to hurt Crokinole, but my aim was off. Maybe subconscious, always hated rapists, but I got him in the throat, he’s not saying anything before he dies.”

Syeed came up to me, a look of worship on his face, and asked, “What should we do with them, Mistress?”

“What do you recommend?”

"Search them for valuables and hide their bodies in the woods. I am good at hiding bodies."

Note to self, don't let Syeed stand behind me. But he didn't scare me, I just said, "Good idea, start with the henchmen and feel free to keep anything you find that doesn't tell us about their allies. Meanwhile, I will check the fat one."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Nothing for it, but to search the fat fuck, unpleasant though it might be. A few coins, a mickey, but the piece de resistance was a folded piece of parchment. A red wax seal, in the shape of a flower, once held the contents private, but Crokinole must have opened it. I read the note aloud.

“That’s my writing,” Jane exclaimed, when I passed the paper to her.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. But I know someone who might.”

~o~O~o~

I guess it's because I'm such a doll, but chicks always want to play dress up games with me. Not that it bothers me, unless they have bad taste, since it boosts the chance of undress up games later on. And though this Eliza must have been close to forty, she had this whole MILF thing going on that made me quite willing to play.

She also, in her pixie like frame, encompassed all the hypocrisy hidden behind all the pride and prejudice felt by the gentry I encountered. Eliza de Feuillide, the daughter of Philadelphia Austen and Tysoe Hancock, but maybe Warren Hastings, her godfather. Widow of self styled French count, who died on the guillotine. Cousin to Jane, yet married to Jane’s brother. A survivor who thrived on looks and knowledge, intelligence and relationships. We used one of those, her close relationship with Hastings to gain an audience and had him broach the topic, though Jane and her had always been close.

Eliza took one look at the letter, in particular the seal, and said, “The Pimpernel Society.”

“What’s that?” Hastings asked.

“It formed after the French Revolution, in honour of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his band. Everyone wanted to attach themselves to their glory, pretending they were members. For the first number of years, the society remained quite exclusive, but new things constantly replace the old. It is still exclusive, but much less fashionable. The meet at a place called Black Knee Manor, where rumours speak of gambling and other even less savoury practices.”

“We need to get inside,” I said.

That task we left up to Hastings and Eliza to arrange. Something requiring some of our counterfeit coins, which we used to pay off the debts of a member of the club, pathetic and desperate, he provided an invite.

However, it required another look. Neither my warrior princess or precious as fuck look would work, the club operated under dress regulations that mimicked what the French nobility wore before they all grew a head shorter. That meant a corset and holy shit do they suck, plus cleavage from here to almost there. At least they didn't expect me to powder my hair, just get it looking all bejewelled and spectacular.

Eliza, with the help of a maid, worked all day to get me decked out in what I thought of as my hey, Monsieur Noble-Dude, need a hot mistress look. Jane got off a lot easier, though the way she wore those white stockings, below her short pants, made it even harder to pull off the mister thing. In fact, I think Eliza figured out who Jane actually was, but she seemed the sort who would be good at holding secrets so I said nothing.

We started to wonder if our host would screw us over, when he showed up in a carriage well after dark. Apparently the society existed during the time of day while easiest to hide debauchery and when the cracks in the wallpaper of Black Knee Manor did not show. If not for my dress, I would feel totally comfortable there.

Our host ditched us almost immediately, heading for the opium room - I wonder if they currently smoked Hastings’ wares. That left us to wander. Lots of drinking, definitely gambling, and a wide variety of ladies. Like me, a number came accompanied. But the number of waitresses and working girls definitely outnumbered the wives and girlfriends.

“Hey, Jane, I think I'm going to talk to the smoke show?”

“Pardon me?”

“The blondie over by the harpsichord. With the two puppies barking so loudly to be let out.”

“How did you know it was a harpsichord?” Jane asked.

“Well it’s definitely not a spinet. Focus, Jane, we’re not here to discuss the ancestors of the modern piano, we’re here to find evil you. If we need to slap around some pimps to do it, I’m game. But knowing how violence is not your thing, I guess that leaves seduction to get me into the back rooms. And blondie is at the top of my current seduction list."

“But you are female.”

“Yep, so? Just means we need to figure out who is at the driver’s end of the strap on. I'm good either way.”

“I cannot believe you can be so crude.”

“What about you, will you be ok if I leave you alone. Maybe you better come along. You might not know this, but guys always want to watch their girlfriend get it on with another chick.”

Likely pushed it just a bit too far there, Jane turned red and pranced off. Not in manly fashion at all and it definitely caught the eye of one or two older gentlemen. Their predatory looks made me a bit nervous, so before I went to talk to blondie, I talked to a waitress and bought the two of them another drink. They didn't need to know I put some knock-out powder in their glasses. Always good to have some knock-out powder.

Let’s be honest, when seduction comes down to payment, it’s not the most difficult thing in the world to accomplish. Sharing the same bits could cause problem, but I’d seen couples and a single woman walk through the back door while we explored the public area. And blondie had check me out when I arrived.

Hard enough for me to fighting, one of my two great skills, but at least it is mostly about the external and big movements. Sex, my second great skill, is harder to describe. It’s internal and smaller, perfect movements.

But we did get it on and, as expected, fucking amazing. Form your own pictures.

Lasted longer than I planned, too. Before I left Suzanne’s room she helped me get dressed, but returned to bed instead of going out for another customer. I felt a few nervous moments trying to find Jane, but finally found her playing cards in a small room.

Finishing a hand, she came and asked, “What did you learn?”

“Well I definitely prefer flesh first, then rubber, but I can’t complain about how Suzanne worked her ivory wand. Oh, you meant about the manor. Well there are a number of guards in back area. I got to the second floor, but the third is blocked by a gate.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“I suspect the third floor holds the answers, everybody wants to know what is there. There are so many rumours.”

“So, should we go find out what’s there?” I asked. “Most of the guests are gone. The thugs are likely sleepy and I'm floating on an after sex high.”

“I don’t know. It seems dangerous and you aren't dressed for it.”

“Warrior princesses are dresses for it no matter what, besides Suzanne could not tighten my corset as much as Eliza's maid, so I am good to go. Or, are you nervous about meeting the other you?”

That caused her eyes to harden, though I had not meant it as a challenge. Only in concern for my friend.

“No, let us do it. My parents must be worried sick.”

“Do you have my weapons? Give me the brass knuckles first.”

Not brass, actually of a material discovered on another planet, they folded nicely within her tight pockets, but would more than do the job when I wrapped them around the fingers of my right hand. Hiding that hand in my skirts, left hand on Jane’s arm we walked to the door, behind which the working girls plied their trade. At that door a goon stopped us.

“You can’t go back there.”

“Suzanne is waiting for me again, this time my beau would like to watch.”

Brunos like the guard have a particular thought process. First off, he would spend a bit of time thinking about Suzanne and I getting it on, which brought a lustful smirk to his face. Secondly, he would remember that he was not supposed to let a client through the door when not accompanied by an employee, which brought a frown to his face. But only for a moment, when the smirk came back. He liked the idea of the two of us together. Then he would look at Jane, see her as a pathetic guy and realize he could handle her with a hand tied behind his back. The sneer that came at this realization of superiority was followed by him opening the door and waving us through.

Quiet back here. Though we did hear some action going on behind a door or two. Upstairs I guided Jane to Suzanne’s room, opened the door and wrapped up under a blanket asleep, no doubt feeling the affects of the knock-out powder I dropped in her water jug before I left.

“Here, Jane, help me out of this dress.”

“What will you wear?”

“I’m going to go like this,” I said, sighing my relief when the corset came off.

“But you are only wearing a shift.”

“Distracting?”

Jane said, “Scandalously so.”

“Perfect. Hand me one of my pepperpots and let’s go.”

Bad timing, we walked out just as a patrol walked by. Bad timing for him that is. While he gaped, I threw a superman punch right into his temple. The knuckle dusters worked. We pulled the unconscious thug into Suzanne’s room, but it sped everything up. He would be missed, but maybe and yes he did have a key.

Praying it was to the gate at the stairs, we hurried in that direction. I never figured out lock picking, if the key didn’t work, it would require a bang and all the goons would come a running.

Our luck held, the key worked and we stole our way to the top floor. Sneaking along, we listened at every door, but only one showed any light under the door. Stopping in front of that door, I whispered, “Me first.”

Professor Genki's Kill of the Fight came immediately after we burst into the room. Barely did I have time to figure out who sat where before I raised my pepperpot and fired. My fucking instinct was perfect one more time. None of the guys visible was the number one concern, but the guy on the other side of the door at the end of the room, who aimed his seven barrel volley gun through his door at us, met his maker before he could pull the trigger..

My sex high was further boosted by the kill. Do you how hard it is to make a door shot like that? Fucking near impossible, but as the thug crashed through the door, his gun falling to the ground, it proved itself not impossible for Jonny Gams.

Yeah me!

The other three goons in the room with the boss were simple. Bang, bang, bang. Down they went.

Of course that was followed by shouts and the sounds of people running up the stairs. A moment like this is when you need the biggest gun possible. Running on instinct, I scooped up the volley gun and stepped back into the hallway, just as the bruno, who let us through the door downstairs, and a buddy appeared at the top of the stairs. Kabloom. Fuck me, that gun had a kick like an elephant, slamming me back against the wall, down onto my butt. But at least I could get back up, not so the two carcasses.

I listened, but couldn't hear any more running towards the action. Just screams as people ran in the other direction. Not unusual, it doesn't take a lot of muscle to look after a place like this. And most of the rest of the employees’ pay checks didn't give them reason to show any interest in gun shots.

Sneaking to and down the the stairs, listening and watching as I did, until I reached the landing and the gate. At which point I locked the gate again and placed a number of vases in front as a warning system.

Then I returned to the room where Jane and the boss glared at each. The same glare, because we finally found Zinyak’s Jane Austen. But so much more fragile, skin yellowish and hate flowing from her eyes. Makes sense the creation of a megalomaniac would be so broken

“Wait outside, Jane.”

Looking down, I felt a tinge of sadness. She looked so much like our Jane, that I couldn't help but feel the loss that lurked moments away. I walked out into the hallway where she waited. I could tell that she knew what that final shot meant.

“Are you sure about this, Jane?”

“It’s my place, Jonny. It is wear I feel comfortable and I miss my family ever so much. Just as I am sure they miss me.”

“But...”

“No, your world is for you, mine is for me.”

“Will you be able to make it back to Eliza’s on your own?”

“Yes, I don’t think many things will stop me any more.”

“I will miss you,” I said, giving her a hug and a kiss. “Use the guineas wisely.”

~o~O~o~

Over my time travel sickness, I caught the pillow thrown at me when I walked into the inner sanctum without permission, plopped down on Kinzie's couch and said, "Your choice."

"What?"

"You pick the next Twinkie to unthaw."

"Me? Really? Ok, but, Jonny, don't you ever worry about the time continuum?"

"No. We're still here after putting Jane back in her place, besides it always works out in the movies."

"But this is real, Jonny, not a movie. Maybe we won't even be here in the new world we create."

"Do you think gravity will be here?"

"Of course, but...Wait! Are you comparing us to a natural phenomenon?"

"No, Kinzie, I'm comparing a natural phenomenon to us. Now pick somebody. Or the two of us can dress up as naughty school girls and have a pillow fight. I'm down to see where either option will lead."

“Don’t you want to learn about what happened to Jane first?”

“Bet she was even better than before,” I said, full of confidence.

“I can hardly believe it.”

~o~O~o~

* These characters, world and games are trademarked and copyrighted by Deep Silver Volition - http://www.dsvolition.com/
* The first section is based on and uses dialog from the following video taken from Saints Row 4 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmrgpSM567o. The beefy guy with the ponytail is the boss (i.e. the protagonist), which is the character you play. The version of the boss that I play is on the right. Hence, the pink haired, barbie doll of mayhem description used in the story.
* The second section is based on and uses dialog from the following video taken from Saints Row 4 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bib9iUX5uj8
* Homie - Jane Austen picture is based on the Homie - Asha Odekar picture - http://saintsrow.wikia.com/wiki/File:The_Case_of_Mr_x_reward...
* Super Homie - Jonny Gams is based on the Super Homie - Kinzie picture - http://saintsrow.wikia.com/wiki/File:Kinzies_adventures_rewa...
* Pride and Prejudice is based on the Anime Pack picture - http://saintsrow.wikia.com/wiki/File:Kinzies_adventures_rewa...
* Pimp or Kneel Complete is based on the Kinzie’s Adventures Complete picture - http://saintsrow.wikia.com/wiki/File:Kinzies_adventures_comp...
* The Professor Genki Kill of the Fight advertisement comes from - http://saintsrow.wikia.com/wiki/File:1024x768_GenkiSuit.jpg
* Everything else is inspired by the irreverence and insanity of Saints Row 3 and 4