The robot fishes are punching

It was a dark and stormy night. An unnatural haze lingered over Stafford. In his bed, Rich shivered. For a summer night, the air was cold and the sky was black. It was almost as if something evil lurked out there in the shadows.

Rich rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind. Something was not right. No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his Cyberpunk T-shirt, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room.

The halls were silent as he walked in the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move on its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past his father's bedroom, past the dining hall, past the Basement, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Rich's right made him gasp in shock. A body!

'Good Heavens!!' Rich shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his clothes, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway and placed a gentle hand on the figure's menge.

Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young Menge of Space, a Sir by the looks of him, who appeared to be no more than 17 years old. But he was in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with meng juice. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Rich picked up the wounded Sir and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.

*****

'His situation is severe,' Wayne said in a worried voice. 'Whether or not he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but...' his voice trailed off.

Rich could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young Menge might die. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.

Wayne sadly shook his head. 'Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.'

'I understand,' said Rich. 'And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.'

With that, Rich turned and hurried to the room where the wounded Sir was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of whom wore the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the Menge showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Rich with a defeated sigh.

'It will be an uphill battle,' she said. 'We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.'

Rich nodded resolutely. 'I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.'

One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candle light, Rich dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured Menge's menge. Then, taking up the Sir's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.

END OF PART 1