IV – Awaken the King of Thieves! You are all S-C-R-E-W-E-D!

Previously on ‘Sonic Boom: The Ice Age’:

Thanks to an intervention from Sophia Marchesi, a relative of the Anti-Glitcher mayor Judge Marchesi, Edward escapes from Macro!

Yet as the boy arrives at school, he hears Macro talking to ‘Brandon’, a supposed member of the Cubs (a powerful gang of Chicago), about having a debt that he is unable to pay. ‘Brandon’ threatens Macro’s little brother, Joey. Maddened, the punk recklessly leaves school to go confront the Cubs all by himself.

Edward, determined to help Macro even if it means fluking a test and getting beaten, decides to help him.

Was it a poor choice? Yes, it was. What will happen now? Let’s find out!

-| Glitch - |

“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” buzzed the phone that Edward held against his right ear.

“Listen,” he replied, “my friend is gone mad. He’ll confront the Cubs by himself and he might die—”

“Give me the address.”

Edward peeked behind a wall to see where Macro was headed. He described what he saw:

“It’s a basketball court in an alley, Meserole Street Number—”

“Give me the name of the neighborhood.”

“I-Is It really important?” he faltered. He knew that there were many areas in Chicago where the police refused to go.

Yet the attendant did not reply his obvious question.

“Okay,” resigned Edward. He closed his eyes and crossed the fingers. “It’s Jefferson Park—”

The attendant hung up on him. All that he heard were beeps.

Edward groaned, “Come on! Can’t they at least pretend that they’ll do something about it?”

Macro’s voice echoed across the alley:

“I’m here, Brandon!”

The boy peeked behind the wall. He spied upon Macro’s meeting with the Cubs.

“Hey! I’m here! You blind?” yelled Macro. He stood by a sports court where three men played basketball. “I’m talking to you!” he repeated himself.

The punk snorted. The sound of bouncing balls, laughter, music and barking dogs at the basketball court drowned out his voice. Yet Macro insisted, “Drop this ball and come negotiate, you son of a—”

“Son of a what?” replied Brandon with a basketball between the hands. He was a tall man who wore so much silver jewelry that he could decorate a Christmas tree. A silvery wolf stamped the man’s bandana, representing The Cubs. “Better not start the sentence you lack the balls to finish,” he said as he faced Macro.

“I’m here to end this.”

“Really?” asked the gangster, smirking.

Two shady men, both wearing bandanas of the Cubs, stood by his side. They laughed at Macro’s insolence.

Brandon continued:

“If you wanna die, wait until I’m done with my game. I don’t want any of your filthy blood tainting my basketball court. My homie here might get dirty”—he kissed his basketball. Signatures from dozens of legendary players covered the object’s surface—“this #&% is worth more than you. &$¨%*, I’d have to bring your ass back to life just so you can lick it clean.”

Macro snorted in protest, “I don’t care about your stupid game”—he removed his broken golden watch and threw it at Brandon—“I’m paying my debt so you can leave me and my brother alone.”

“Oh, Macro. Did you steal from your grandma just for me? How sweet!” remarked Brandon as he experimented Macro’s watch. “It looks pretty good,” said the man as he stretched his arm, “who was the owner?”

“It was mine.”

“And how’d you get that? Mom and dad left you more than a burnt house?”

Brandon’s subordinates laughed at the quip. Yet Macro’s scowl only became uglier.

“It’s none of your business,” replied the punk.

“I see…” Smirked Brandon as he bit the watch to test the integrity of the cold. “This is no cheap copy, though. Even a connoisseur like me got impressed. There’s only one problem with it all—”

“No buts, Brandon. We had a deal—”

“We had. And I’m not saying this watch won’t pay some interest, ‘cause it will. But only until next week.”

“N-Next week? What?”

“That’s how it goes, Mark. This &$#% will go straight to a pawnshop. Sorry,” he said, storing the watch in his pockets. “If Boss catches anyone else wearing gold, we are dead. Rules are rules.”

Veins pumped on Macro’s forehead. “Screw that, dude!” he screamed. “We had a deal, you mother—”

One of the Cubs sucker punched the boy’s chin.

“Argh!” moaned as Macro fell to the ground, hurt. Blood trickled down his lips. His vision was blurry. All he saw was Brandon looking down to him with both arms crossed and a large grin between the cheeks

“We had a deal,” explained the gangster, “and now I’m changing it. You, Mark”—Brandon grinned—“ better comply or I might change it again. Think about Joey, your little bro. I talked to him today on his way to school…” Brandon chortled as he saw the punk’s skin reddening with anger. “Good kid, that Joey. But he still thinks his bro is a hero. Might as well believe in Santa Claus—”

Macro sprung from the ground and jolted his fist at Brandon. Yet the Cubs held the punk by the arms.

“Go…” Growled Macro. He faced Brandon with eyes that were as red as the ones from a mad bull. “Go to hell!”

A couple young women giggled. They sat on benches by the basketball court to watch the Cubs play. Yet the suffering from Macro was a much more entertaining event.

“This kid looks so pissed, Brandog,” remarked a girl with her eyes narrowed at the punk, “why don’t you invite him to play? Poor kid might calm down.”

Brandon smiled.

“Now that’s a good idea, Melina,” remarked the gangster as he blinked at the women. He touched Macro’s hurt chin. “Macro, kid,” he began, “you’re damn lucky I’m a man of the ladies. I got love in the heart and look at that: there’s even some for you. So come here, let’s play,” said the gangster as he stepped back and dribbled his basketball. “Let’s play a bit, come on, man. Come on!”

The two Cubs faced Brandon, hesitant.

“Bran, you sure we let him free?” they asked.

“Yeah, why not?” asked the gangster, smiling. “Didn’t the Romans let lions out in the arena? You guys are scared of some &%¨$% kid? Come on,” he shouted at them, “it’s just a game! He can stand by himself.”

The Cubs exchanged sights, confused about what their boss planned. They moved away from Macro and scattered around the basketball court.

Macro staggered, disoriented. He felt as if a hammer had mauled his head. The punk was so dizzy that he punched the air, imagining that Brandon stood near him.

The gangster beamed at the scene. “Since my boy here seems aggressive, we’ll let him start. Catch!” He said as he heaved the basketball at Macro’s hurt cheek.

The punk faltered, “W-What—”

The ball slammed his wounded head and knocked him back to the ground. “Argh!” bewailed the punk, agonizing.

The Cubs burst out laughing.

“Come on, man! Ha-ha!” partied Brandon. “It’s just a bruise, don’t be so dramatic! Stand up! Let’s play!”

Macro gritted his teeth. Veins pumped on his forehead. His trembling arms pushed himself up. He saw the sweat dripping off his hair as he rose his head from the ground. “You”—he moaned in pain as he struggled to lift himself off the dirt. Rage fueled his actions. He eyed the throats of the Cubs like a predator—“I’ll make you pay for this!”

Brandon rose his voice yet again, “Hey, Macro! Watch your left flank, man!”

“What—”

One of the Cubs kicked him in the stomach.

Macro’s body hit the grime yet again. The punk spilled blood and sucked air. Brandon and his subordinates burst out laughing at his suffering. The punk’s suffering was like a comedy spectacle.

“5 seconds playing and you’re already tired?” teased the gangster as he took a pair of metal knuckles from his pockets and dressed them. “Stand up for us to play more, kid. We are having fun.”

Edward looked away as yet another of Macro’s screams echoed for all the neighborhood to hear. “I must do something!” said the boy. Tears filled his eyes. “They will kill him!”

He ran to the basketball court without hesitation. Yet a pressure grew in his head and stalled him. “W-W-What?” he faltered, falling to his knees. He felt as if his brain steamed.

Thief Queen spoke in his mind,“You know that not only they are much stronger, they also outnumber you? They are cruel, toothpick.”

“Argh!” bemoaned the boy, agonizing. He endured the pain and opened his eyes to see the path ahead of him. He ignored the voice in his head and followed Macro’s screams.

The woman insisted for him to stop:

“Think, toothpick. You’ll get skinned alive—”

“If we only fought when we had chances to win, no one would stand up for anything!” replied Edward, persisting. “M-Macro’s waiting for me!”

“Cute, yet stupid,” she provoked him. “You are aware that this city belongs to the Cubs? Even if you, by a bloody miracle, succeed; they’ll still find out who you are and come after you. There is no way you can win. Joining your friend will only multiply your incompetence.”

“Then what do you propose? Abandoning him?” protested Edward. “If you don’t have a better idea, just shut u— ”

He felt as if his head were in flames. The pain was like a mountain that he carried over his shoulders.

“What you’re feeling right now,” argued Thief Queen, “is less than a fraction of the pain that they’ll make you feel. If you truly care about Macro, you won’t do what makes you look good, but what will save him. Listen to me,” she began, “I can do this. I see your reality as someone who is trying to wake up from a dream. But every time I try to awaken, you pull me back down. I just need you to let go, and I’ll save your friend’s life,” she promised.

Edward could not rise off his knees. He faced a puddle as tears fell from his eyelids and smudged his reflection. He confessed, “I-I’m pathetic.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this. Give in.”

“N-No!” he said, gritting his teeth. “I just wanted to be courageous and do what’s right for someone else! I wanted to do something that matters!”

“I’m giving you a chance to do exactly that.”

Macro’s scream echoed across the alley. They served Thief Queen as the perfect argument.

“Your chancing is passing you by, toothpick,” she reminded him. “You want to honor that ring from your dad?”

Edward glanced at his Airborne-Paratrooper ring. The ring did not fit the boy: neither physically, nor spiritually. He took a deep breath and resigned, “Do what it takes, whatever you are. Just”—he sobbed—“just save Macro.”

“Now we are talking.”

The boy’s head burned. He rose his eyes to the skies to cry in pain, yet he had no voice. Thunder moaned in the sky as if the incoming storm cried out in his place. Water fell from the clouds, but Edward could not feel the cold touch of the rain. The boy was gone. Thief Queen had taken control of him.

“I have returned,” she told herself, raising from the ground and facing her reflection. She had become neither herself nor the boy.

She had become a young man with an ominous aura. His eyes carried a fluorescent purple luster. He looked like a perfected version of Edward: taller, stronger and deeper voiced. His curly hair displayed even more curls. Numbers hovered over his reflection in the puddle:

“This shall suffice,” he rustled to himself as lightening painted a white stripe across the skies of Chicago.

Tables for the Table Gods:

Spoiler: Spoiler

Edward's Stat Cards:

Edward (Thief King Mode)'s Stat Card: