The lights that hadn’t blown yet flashed cheaply in and out. A hulking prison warden struggled to unlock a gate labeled “Top Secret”.

Edward was held in a vice grip while he struggled to breath, and was practically comatose due to being only out of open heart surgery for 72 hours. His remaining long hairs moped down hallway after hallway hauled by the end of his straitjacket. The walls were blank, and everything looked identical inside the labyrinth within the facility.

The warden knew exactly where to go, each step of his colossal feet quaking underneath them both.

“Me hungry” Simon said, diverting course, with sudden impulse.

“Yo man we got time to keep while being tracked by that big boss witch up above,” scolded the high heeled lady following the parade with a whipping shrill that resembled an old bell in a school cafeteria.

A rumbling stomach whaling hunger pains overshot her authority. Simon danced forward in a lumbering trance, with bloodshot eyes twitching for a fix.

His massive chest was muscled out to the maximum, and glistened with sweat. He must have been juiced to the gills, and severely addicted to something strong that was wearing thin. A green trail of intoxicating scent led his nose on strings. He burst into the next room bypassing the keycard by brute force.

“Mmmm” Simon said, drooling on Edward’s head.

The scent carried them into a kitchen that was a mess. The chopping block was covered in maggots, and sour bones, and the cleaver was rusted. The fridge was open, and everything was spoiled inside. The table was overturned, and the complementary stock family portraits smashed.

Simon ignored all this to head to a spooky corner. A vintage vending machine lit up the darkness all of sudden engulfing them. The thing blinding him from the neon screen was some sort of contraption flying out of the atmosphere. Edward closed his eyes while he hung from his feet. The sound of change jingling began to tear into his eardrums.

“Clink”.

The coin slot sound repeated until impatient slamming of the desired selection interrupted. Loud gears rotated into commotion, sending aluminum tumbling like Jack, and Jill.

“Let it rip!” he cried, picking up the drink.

“Clssssssooooonk” air escaping from the pull tab ripped apart by brute strength.

A gurgling stomach as acids mixed, with who knows what other artificial chemicals. The name of the drink was numbskull_deathmetal, and the heavy liquid was sorta golden colored. The can size was XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!

Simon chugged the concoction, and his brain was sent into maximum overkill. He raged at nothing, then toppled the fridge, and crushed it underfoot. Meanwhile, one of his diseased hands grabbed hold of the giant cleaver from the cutting board.

“Aaaaaahhaha!'' he said, beating his pulsing chest like an ape, and feeling extra manly again.

Simon paced the place, and eventually tweaked into another room. The shag pile carpet began to smoke as he zoomed back, and forth. The liquid slowly flooded his brain until he shook in celebration. Simon's face looked punch drunk, while he strutted forward with utter confidence. .

“Playtimes over boys. It's jail time now!” scolded the piercing voice towering overhead.

The lady’s heels had extended in the blink of an eye like switchblades. Her hair was red, lab coat spotless, and well worn jeans wrapped around thick thighs built like a junkyard crusher. She cradled an electric whip.

“Crack!”

Sparks flew out on extension, forming fake hearts above Edward’s eyes. He was stunned into feeling normal, as the freshly implanted heart of dubious quality kicked into propper gear again.

“Grrrr” he growled.

“Alright Lady, my thirst is quenched for now,and the prisoner is weighing me down,” said Simon.

“Let’s go slowpoke” barked the Lady like a chihuahua at them.

Edward howled back at her like a wolf.

She cranked the device into turbo piledriver, and cracked him comatose off the giants back and onto the floor.

Simon retrieved the brain damaged man and headed towards the door without a care in the least. Edward’s ears were ringing with reverberating tinnitus caused by a career as a musician, and the weaponized electromagnetic shrieks. Additionally his head was pounding from the surge of impacting jigawatts jump starting his reinforced crystal scaled skull. In fact his consciousness wasn’t even on this planet anymore. He was a far out man.

Simon grunted hunting for something new. A gizmo was pulled out from the pocket half the size of the man dangling near it. It was probably a tool of brutal torture. That was the best rated brand in this season of the royal gossip rag. A raging clue that it was a scam. Simon activated a trigger, and a miniature robo dick unfolded. He vaped that shit straight into his lungs, and blew the smog into the hallway like a smoke machine.

His miner helmet lit the halls while he hummed with pleasure.

The inmates tended toothbrush scrubbing inmates dressed in rags. The color of their prison garbs matched the long hair of the Lady on the prowl like a cougar. Simon was shaking more, and more under the spell of the witch’s experimental energy brew. His body jolted out of control, and boogied down a staircase.

This area was the sketchiest place yet. An orange hue from the emergency lights penetrated the dead air. The prison party continued down the tricky path to navigate brick steps. Eleven short floors later they reached what appeared to be the bottom. It was a trash room, and fenced from an alley exit. A set of three dumpsters had mostly finished decomposing the compost, and the floor was a puddle of mud.

Simon struggled to wrangle the tiny key into unlocking the path. Lady jumped through the air and snatched it to save time.

They were walking forward again through an underground prison yard. A hot spotlight was trained on them, and a dusty maroon carpet looked like it had been dyed in many workplace accidents. Prisoners covered in soot, and various stages of crystal mutations loitered around in chains waiting to die from overexposure.

Mining carts functioned automatically on rails crunching away any debris. The air quality was still a dangerously thick haze. Edward coughed a fit, rocking him even deeper into submission. A little further on the miners worked pickaxes on blocks, while their feet were shackled together.

“Let's get this over with” said Simon, speed walking past a set of industrial conveyor belts hauling multicolored rocks to the surface.

The walls were covered in a slick of dirty oil, and the entrance to the next area was marked cell block# 69.

A manencing slyman held a bully club outside the stall.

A skinny little old man held a valve and a pot bellied man dressed for executions held the fire hose.

“Thud!”

Edward’s noggin smashed a filthy toilet in a dead ended square bathroom. A pool of bloody water was in the center with a limp corpse for company. He was woken by the cold brown sludge and the metal teeth of a hacksaw tapping him over the shoulder. Unfortunately he was trapped in a soiled straitjacket and couldn’t cut himself free. Fortunately the sharp switchblade heels cut it away and shaved away the final piece of chest hair.

“Welcome to your final resting place,” announced Lady, with a wave of her hand she was gone.

However the floor still clicked from the departing rhythm of her thunder thighs as the water began to spray.

Edward was in handcuffs getting cleaned for his crimes. Filthy rock n roll was playing in the jukebox next door. A maniac was hitting the keys, the electric guitar had brought up two alternating twangs from the gutter, the bass was dirty, and the drums were swinging.

Edward was swinging sideways on the strings of the firehose that got cranked to 11. The onlookers were in primitive bliss taping their feet to the beat.

The-Ex emperor gritted a mouth that had been dethroned of all his teeth. The guitar got mean as a third note got added to the mix and screaming combined. His former band mate played from beyond the grave.

“MuaHahaha” the evil henchman cackled, while the water threatened to freeze him to death.

His brain was scratched up like an outlaw country record on a muddin muffin truck. Now he was drinking jail water, and it tasted very soapy. Edward was hauled underwater into a pool hundreds of cut off feet long drained of fluid, and half all skeleton.

It had become very sunny and the grass smelled sweet. The pavement was hot enough to cook an egg and the parked Crystalacs were reflecting. The houses were uniformly constructed and suburbia was in order. A few birds chirping, and hot barbecues smoking cured meats. A baby was cackling in a stroller in front of the cleanest car on the block. The woman dangled a pair of genuine felt dice as four little hands snatched at the prize. She heard approaching leather shoes and cut off the tickling just as it had commenced. The strangers stared each other down convinced they were somehow very familiar.

A whistle brought him back to the surface. Edward scales were cleaned and his pimples popped. A log hauler fetched him out of the river running down a dream.

Back in the hot suburbs he was grilling moose meat. It was a treat from his new stepfather. Who was a man of the woods. The mosquitoes were zapped by a flashy gadget hanging from the gazebo. In the crib a four armed creature gobbled the second dice. His spawn was a demon, and it needed a burping.

His woman had the tongue of a snake, and began unpacking frozen meat from a cooler. It was human flesh.

“I brought your favorite from the basement just like you requested,” she said.

The baby hissed as the father burped out clouds of toxic gas. Meanwhile the wife was dressed like a naughty witch and removing the fingers and toes from the garlicky marinade.

The kid had started throwing a tantrum. Its tendrils led to a mouth that looked just like a lobsters. It was crying while eating.

“Isn’t summer great?” cried the mother of the creature.

The picture went blank, and Edward was stoned into a coma. His cleaned body chained in a spotless cell. His heart barely kept him alive. Rocks and dust continued to rain in his nightmares, but the threat was all psychological terror.

Meanwhile upstairs Isebela the boss witch was on the phone to her gossip crew. They cackled as a full proof plan was hatched to guarantee jungle juice for the royal wedding. She packed her magic sack full of tricks and sped out of the open ceiling on her battle broom. The first order of business was a flyover of the desert. A sandbox where shapeshifters played more than anywhere else. This mission was going to be dangerous, but she was overpowered and would sacrifice her bottom witches if she had to in order to complete it.