Episode VI: The Fight For Freedom (COMPLETE)

The last part of Scratchead Thunderbolt's adventure is about to begin. The end is never sudden - it is gradual, it is eventful, and it is, unfortunately or fortunately (depending on how you look at it), lengthy. I thank you for your patience, and for your readership. - Decipher, 22nd August 2006

I never thought I would go beyond three episodes, yet when I began Episode VI I thought: how could I end? For me it has been a thoroughly enjoyable experience from writing this. - Decipher, 8th November 2006 (end)

Back in the same normal house in London, a normal sunrise peeped into the dusty windows of Harold Smith's room, shining to awaken the man who had fallen asleep while holding his son's hand in weariness.

You ruddy useless bum, he thought to himself, and was a little shocked to discover that he had said it out loud as well.

He still held his left hand in his own, ruffling his hair and smiling. It was not a smile of happiness - Harold was feeling something far from joy at the sight of his unconscious son lying so peacefully on the bed - but more of a smile of resignation. As he stood up to leave the room, he bent down to kiss his son's cheek, struggling to fight away the tears that had welled up in sadness and tiredness.

"Son," Harold muttered, half to himself, "You will get well. I promise."

As he opened the door, he saw the door opposite the room open as well. Peter's room. Melanie stepped out from the room, and jumped in slight shock when she saw her husband standing on the other side of the floor.

"It's early," Melanie adjusted her scarf and apron, seeming to be a little frightened. "How is Peter?" This time she looked to be more than just afraid, though. She seems to be hiding something.

Harold stared at her, a penetrating gaze that he gave whenever he thought Melanie was up to no good. Hell, she's still a beautiful woman. Staring her down, he saw that she seemed to be hiding something in her right hand. Without a word, Harold roughly raised her hand, to reveal a small spanner. A spanner that looked small enough to adjust nothing but... a computer system.

"Why in the bloody hell are you using that friggin' small spanner for, anyways?" Harold's voice was never gentle, but he did try to moderate his tone - it had nothing accusatory in it.

Melanie's eyes avoided his gaze for a while, but when she raised them they looked as if the fear was gone, replaced by determination and satisfaction.

"Believe me, Harold," Melanie's voice still sounded sweet - "What I have done is for our son's own good."

She's done something to our son. Harold's face made a wrinkled frown especially above his nose, between his eyes, and wondered to himself where he had seen that bloody spanner before. Abruptly his eyes widened when he remembered the scene.

"It's a server," said Peter, smiling as he placed what he called "the final piece of my jigsaw" on what looked like a black box that occupied around half his table. The room was littered with bits and pieces of wire and tools - and Harold, shaking his head, sighed in resignation. Limited access was given even to parents of Peter Smith in his room, and it was a rare opportunity where Harold thought he might have played some catch-up with his son.

But all Peter spoke of were languages that he never understood - computer languages. He shook his head again, and was about to walk out of the Gate of Transformation (or so Peter said), when he heard a voice calling behind him.

"Dad," Peter asked, seeming not to care about Harold's leaving even though it had been a week since he last saw him, "Can you pass me that small spanner over there?" He pointed to a spot right below Harold's left foot.

Harold stared at the ground with his penetrating gaze - nothing escaped them - and he picked up a miniature spanner smaller than the size of his palm, with bright red handles and zinc coated on the steel ends, and passed it to Peter. He grinned in thanks as Harold closed the door behind him.

"He was lost, Harold," Melanie's voice took on one lecture-like tone, while Harold's fists were clenched looking for an explanation, "And the only way, I thought, was to fight fire with fire. Let him suffer a setback before he returns to our world." The smile never left her face, the pretty smile that now made Harold feel more sick than ever in his stomach.

"What - What setback?"

"You will never understand, Harold," Melanie said in a slightly reproachful manner. "You never made the effort to understand what our son was talking about." She looked at the spanner in her hands and her smile widened. "But I promise you that our son will come back a better person, if he survives."

If he survives? Harold's fists shook with the effort of resistance, and he could suppress it no longer. In less than a fraction of a second Melanie found herself pinned onto the wall, with Harold's unwavering grip as the only strength holding her above the ground. The smile on her face never lessened.

"Whatever you've bloody done," Harold's face twisted into an expression of pure fury, "LET OUR SON GO!" He pressed harder, in such an iron-like grip that Melanie's face should have contorted in excruciating pain, but it did not. She coolly spoke again.

"Not till you let me go."

**

Scratchead Thunderbolt stared blankly at the black ring surrounding him. It was in a regular polygonal shape which looked impossible to enter until Sunshine had accidentally pulled a black circular handle the exact colour of the ring itself, and suddenly they had found themselves inside the ring itself, without an exit route in sight.

Looking closely at the grooves and rougher edges of the ring, he realised that the intricate patterns that covered the walls were actually made up of rectangular bricks that had some kind of handle sticking out of every single one of it. What made the ring even more curious to look at was that every single handle was unique - no two were the same. And Scratchead Thunderbolt wondered if this was the server that the Lifeforce depended on in the cyberworld.

What in the world am I supposed to do here? He sighed wearily. Is this where my destiny ends?

His thoughts were cut short by a sharp clearing of the throat from Sunshine. "209," she spoke for the first time in a clear voice that made Scratchead Thunderbolt jump. "It has to do with that. It is incredible how this insignificant number has played such a... significant part in your life." With that, she kept quiet again, but stared at the walls of the ring, wearing an expression on her face that revealed nothing at all.

"Sunshine..." This time, however, all serenity was broken. She jumped in surprise at Scratchead Thunderbolt's voice. "It's odd, but... but..." The words did not want to come out of his mouth - though it wanted to rush out of his heart - I like you! I like you! I don't know why, but I do! - "You know what my feelings are for you." He swallowed, keeping his sweat from falling too dramatically. He was helpless, even more helpless than before, even more than when he was lost in the cyberworld.

He expected a response - he did not know what - but when Sunshine's expression failed to change at all, he knew that it was not the response that he was looking for.

"Scratchead Thunderbolt," she began, a crease becoming visible on top of her smooth forehead, "You understand the cyberworld. You do, and you know that there is one rule above all else - that this cyberworld may be so real when you make it, but you can never make it so real that it becomes the real world! Do you understand?" She sighed, and looked cute even doing that.

I know, he thought sadly to himself. To think that the poor Scratchead Thunderbolt is such a stubborn mule. He understood now - and he let his last candle of hope abandon him. He could never fall in love with a person in a world that barely existed.

209. The number kept flashing in his mind, in different fonts, colours and patterns. Different styles. Different ways to put it into form - writing, typing, arranging... And suddenly, Scratchead Thunderbolt's eyes widened in a flash of inspiration.

He began to pull open the drawers on the walls, and with every opening a gold mist blew in the wind. When he finally finished pulling the drawers to form the number '209' after opening 209 drawers, the mist seemed to pull itself together. It seemed to be forming something out of thin air.

The mist formed an arch, sparkling and fizzing, as it completed its transformation. As Scratchead Thunderbolt's jaws dropped in wonder, Sunshine only gave a grim smile of triumph. She must be thinking that I am the great that she imagined me to be, Scratchead Thunderbolt thought to himself, laughing quietly as he did so.

"Peter," She spoke of him as though he was a mere pen-pal, nothing else - "My mission, as instructed by Tigerblade, was to get you to face off the threat of the Lifeforce. Now it is done. I'm returning to where I belong, now." A moment passed, and Scratchead Thunderbolt could have sworn that Sunshine was fading into the mist as well. How the...? "Goodbye."

"NO!" Scratchead Thunderbolt reached out to grab her hand, but it had all grown soft and almost non-existent. He needed answers. "What - what are you? Who are you? Why are you here?"

He could barely make out her smile now, and even her voice seemed to slow down in the warping golden arch. "You should have figured out, Peter. I am merely a program. A tool of Tigerblade. Love was never meant for the cyberworld; there are some things that cybertime can speed up, some the cyberworld can amplify and make more efficient, but love is not about speed and efficiency. Surely you understand that, Thunderbolt.

"I am programmed to say this - I barely understand what it means. The real world conquers all, do you understand? You must - must - you must!" And with that, she disappeared completely into the shining arch, now turning bright silver in the middle, seemingly like a glorious river of mercury.

I understand, Sunshine. Uncle. He took a deep breath, and plunged into the ice-cold arch.

**

Melanie Smith fingered the bakelite-covered box in front of her. It was around the length of an average shoe box, but much thinner. Her eyes seemed intent on focusing on the green and yellow lights flashing inside the server, which she could just make out from the vents in the box. She smiled, not for the first time since they were inside the blue-painted attic, and turned her attention back to Harold.

"That's where our son is?" Harold asked incredulously. It still seemed so strange, with Melanie's frenzied explanations that this "cyberworld" madcap contraption that she had dreamed up of "in her free time" had got hold of their son and is now "teaching him a lesson". She's crazy, Harold thought. Not for the first time, either.

"There's only one way to find out," Melanie flashed one of her winning smiles, those attention-attracting ones that Harold used to love so much, but the smile didn't mean anything to him now. Not when my son is inside that bloody box. Melanie reached for a pair of earphones, and looked to connect the wire plug into one of the sockets on the black box...

"NO!"

A sudden crack and a flash of light engulfed the room. It was so bright that Harold was engulfed completely in it, and he could see nothing except for whatever was in front of him. Even so, he had to shield his eyes to ensure that he would not be completely blinded by the light.

Bloody hell... Melanie! Where the hell is she! Harold was about to search, albeit helplessly, about the room when he heard another crack not so different from the first, and an abrupt, deafening explosion.

Yet the light never wavered; Harold was still unable to see anything but pure whiteness in front of him, an angelic light in normal circumstances, yet he felt so strange that it might as well have been total darkness.

Suddenly a voice spoke, seemingly from nowhere, but echoing from all four corners of the room at once. Am I even in the room? Hell, I can't see anything!

"Harold..." The voice rumbled all across the room that Harold found himself in, deep yet clear - "It has been a long time."

The light was just as bright as he could make out, yet Harold saw a shape begin to form out of nothing but dust particles as it settled into a recognisable human shape. A person that he knew, from a long time ago. A close relative.

"Darren!" Harold gasped, falling on the ground as he spoke. "Where... what is this place? Why are you here? Didn't you... I mean, didn't you d-d-d-..."

"Die, you mean?" The echo across the room was much louder this time, so loud that Harold cupped his ears, though it was all in vain. "Tigerblade doesn't die. Tigerblade... I apologise. You probably do not understand the, er, pardon the pun, light of the situation - " Darren adjusted his glasses and smiled, baring a perfect set of teeth. "I cannot die... not now. I am... the cyberworld. And the cyberworld is me."

Harold frowned, in fear, confusion and worry all at once.

"How long was it? Five years ago? I disappeared on the top floor of one of my laboratories in London. The research was finally getting somewhere, but no one dared to experiment with this work. I had already tested the new system with several plants and rats, and found that they could fully... interact with the cyberworld, shall we speak. Hence I tried to do what I had done to the rats..." Darren's eyes gleamed, almost tearing in pride.

"It was successful. That day, I managed to fully upload myself into the cyberworld. I am now an entity of the cyberspace. But I knew it had to happen. Peter Smith would, one day, eclipse me as the master of the cyberworld. Yet what he doesn't know that it is even more risky a place to conquer than the world that he came from.

Melanie did something that I had never expected her to ever think of. She removed one of the important transistors from the black box that Peter used to upload himself into the world. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise - Peter didn't manage to completely upload himself, and hence he could return - but the transistor also helped to transport Peter back.

So Peter found himself stuck in the cyberworld, and I had to guide him every step along the way. There was an alternative gateway that he could use to return to the real world, and he has successfully done so. He should be expecting you upstairs right now."

Harold stood up once more, trying to walk over to his brother. Yet he found that no matter how much he walked, the distance between him and Darren remained the same.

"You see?" Darren said, sadly. "There are some moments when I desire a hug, when I want a kiss - these things, I'll never be able to enjoy again in my life. I have not eaten for the five years that I have spent on the cyberworld. Perhaps, you should learn to treasure these little moments in life.

Melanie did what she did because she was obsessed with wanting Peter to return back to the real world - to the point that she became a little rocky..."

"WHAT? A LITTLE?" Harold roared. "She almost killed me with that bloody driver she was holding, damn it!" He spat on the ground in front of Darren, and jumped back in shock when the spit seemed to hit an invisible wall that surrounded him.

"Perhaps... But why did she go crazy? Think of how you've treated her all these years, Harold." Behind the glasses, Darren's eyes flashed a reproachful look that made even the stone-looking Harold feel slightly guilty.

"It might just be time to look after your family after all."

**

Peter awoke around noon, when the sun seemed to have baked his blankets to a temperature suitable for frying an egg, and found Harold sitting beside him, holding his hand, slumped on the bed looking exhausted.

"DAD! DAD!"

Harold jumped awake. Peter's smile and hysteria could only mean one thing. He's back. Without waiting for anything else that Peter wanted to say, Harold grabbed his son and knocked the air out of him with a hug that even a bear might have found slightly uncomfortable.

**

The bus trip to the hospital seemed much longer compared to the time that Harold and Peter had spent at breakfast. Harold pondered over the conversation that he had with his son.

"Scratchead Thunderbolt... that is a pretty cool name for you youngsters, eh?"

"Yeah, but I'm never going to use it anymore. Maybe it only belonged to that adventure I had in the cyberworld. Tigerblade was right, I don't belong there."

"Tigerblade..."

"Sir?"

Harold awoke from the distraction and apologised profusely, while paying for his ticket.

**

The doors opened in Ward 20, and there a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair looked up lifelessly in a straitjacket, seated on a white plastic chair with nothing beside her but an armed officer standing near the door.

"You're early today," the officer nodded to Harold as he walked into the room.

"How is she?" Harold acknowledged the nod. The officer shrugged.

As Harold walked closer to meet the eyes of Melanie, she gave the smile that she used to give him so often last time. He remembered - he still remembered, though Melanie thought that he'd forgotten - the beauty of Melanie Everett before she married him at the age of 19. It was always that radiant smile...

"I'm the Lifeforce." The smile was still present, but Melanie had opened her mouth to speak.

Harold nodded. "Of course..."

He stood up and was about to leave when Melanie started jumping about in her chair. "I'm the Lifeforce! The Lifeforce!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "Trust me, I'll be back for you, Scratchead Thunderbolt! Only then will Harold look at me again... Won't you, Harold?"

As the door closed behind Harold Smith, his eyes looked towards the light on the ceiling as he blinked a few times to prevent his tears from rolling down like water approaching a fall.

T H E E N D

of the Scratchead Thunderbolt series

All (C) 2006 Owen Tan, aka Decipher. All rights reserved. The Scratchead Thunderbolt series or any part thereof shall not be used without the writer's permission.

Episode V: Sunshine and 209

Yes, it's been a long time. Episode V took a long, long time. The circumstances have changed, and so has the story. The twists that I had imagined myself writing will probably not come into being. The story that I had planned out in my mind is crumbling even in its formation: this adventure of Scratchead Thunderbolt may well be his last. - Decipher, 31st July 2006

For those seeking a thrill in playing catch-up with the legend, please click here.

Episode I

Episode II

Episode III

Episode IV

--

Scratchead Thunderbolt, the great, once-revered personality of cyberspace, was but a pathetic figure in the immense cyberworld that he found himself in. He had hoped the meeting with the Keeper of the Land of Apologies might have enlightened him enough to rejuvenate him as well, but it was not to be; his arms and legs struggled with their own weight, pulling him down, wanting him to sink into the ground - a cyberground, really, where he could see every single pixel of the dirt he was stepping on.

The cyberworld was awful to live in, he now realised; his perspiration never really dried in the humidity, and though he was so exhausted that he had to summon every last ounce of strength to battle his failing muscles, he could not fall asleep - it just didn't seem possible here.

And he knew, now, that the cyberworld was a place where great things could be achieved, but if one were to immerse himself completely in this cyber-reality like he had attempted to do (but was, unfortunately, foiled by his arch-rival), he might just die in it. I might just die in it. I never considered that.

"No, Scratchead Thunderbolt, you'd never considered that. But you are a great, are you not?"

It was a girl's voice. He turned around, to see a girl with shoulder-length dark hair and big, brown eyes staring down thoughtfully at him. She's young, Scratchead Thunderbolt thought to himself, and the girl seemed to read his mind, smiling.

"Young? I'm not much younger than you are." The girl smiled again, and Scratchead Thunderbolt decided against answering her. She was cute - she looked barely sixteen, and her smile must have courted many a suitor even for her tender age, and the bright green dress that she wore made her look like a beautiful flower in spring, but she was part of the cyberworld. The cyberworld, or the Lifeforce's?

"Who are you?" Scratchead Thunderbolt demanded. The girl looked just like any girl he would have seen on an ordinary spring day back in London. Okay, maybe not just any girl - she was by far too cute to be considered one - but at least she looked normal. Not part of the pixellated, devilish cyberworld that he had no intention to conquer, after his landing.

"Well, Scratchead Thunderbolt" - she stuttered a little when she mentioned the name, as if it was a very important one to her - "I had never expected to find someone inside this cyberworld before me. I mean, really inside. I thought I was the pioneer of it all, but it seems that my idol has taken this glory with him."

Scratchead Thunderbolt wanted to correct the fact - it was Uncle Darren, after all, who had first entered the cyberworld - but the girl left him with barely any time to breathe, let alone talk. "Scratchead Thunderbolt... I am glad to see you, nevertheless, in person - if this is even real, of course! - so glad. In the cyberworld, they call me the Sunshining Rain." He was even more taken aback when the girl curtsied in front of him.

"Listen, Sunshine - please allow me to call you that," Scratchead Thunderbolt liked to give nicknames to his lesser-known fans, and Sunshine was no different - "I was - am - not the first person to enter the cyberworld. There has been at least one man ahead of me. And I am lost. I have been lost here for at least one cyberday, and it seems that my day would never end. I no longer want to conquer the cyberworld - it's a horrible place to be, to even think of."

Sunshine's big eyes went wide with amazement when Scratchead Thunderbolt said those words. It was almost like Carlos Santana declaring that he didn't want to play the guitar anymore, that he had forgotten how to play it - an idol who decides to give up on the very thing that made him who he was. Is.

"Why?" Sunshine's voice was as gentle and warm as her name.

Scratchead Thunderbolt, grateful that the question had been asked, began to tell his story of his adventure that went horribly wrong. He told her about how he had thought he got the world in his hands, only for his plan to be foiled by the Lifeforce's hack into his cyberworld, mutating it into a place that never stopped raining when it was cold and was dry as a desert when it was hotter. A hack only Uncle Darren - Tigerblade - managed to right, and the crossroads and his eventual choice. And in the end, the Keeper, the Land of Apologies, and the number 209. She scratched her head thinking about the events.

"If the Lifeforce plans to keep you in the cyberworld, you'd better keep walking," Sunshine said after a thought. Scratchead Thunderbolt thought it was the right idea, and they kept walking, down the road that he had chosen.

The road was long and never really seemed to end, while Scratchead Thunderbolt and Sunshine talked and talked along the way. Sunshine giggled at Scratchead Thunderbolt's jokes about the cyberworld and the cyberpeople he had met, while Scratchead Thunderbolt was so relieved and glad that there was finally a real person he could talk to, that he forgot about his troubles. Albeit for a moment, until Sunshine was suddenly struck by an idea.

"I remember now! 209... Your 209th post was the one that had condemned the Lifeforce to an eternity of doom in the cyberworld! Scratchead Thunderbolt, do you remember?" She laughed, a sweet, innocent laugh that made him want to laugh along as well. Her laughter stopped when the arms of Scratchead Thunderbolt hugged her.

"That means... I have to find the 209th post here! As long as I do so, and I bring this to the Keeper, the Lifeforce will be destroyed! Thank you, Sunshine! Thank you!" He was almost choking on his tears then, so happy that he had an avenue to leave the cyberworld, when he realised his arms were around Sunshine.

He quickly let go of her, patting down his clothes while trying not to look embarrassed. Sunshine certainly looked taken aback by the entire episode. Pretending nothing had happened, Sunshine and Scratchead Thunderbolt continued walking. And this time, they kept quiet all the way down the road.

The journey grew more and more demoralising without the constant cracking of jokes and stories that filled the earlier part of the walk. Sunshine still kept quiet, while Scratchead Thunderbolt felt confused himself. Surely I'm not in love with her, am I? His heart raced when he hit that thought, but he ignored it and walked on.

The Keeper stood, back facing them, in his great straw hat that gave shade to his tanned face, while standing on the huge granite bridge atop a huge river of words and numbers, that merged to form a giant sea of moving characters. The old man was making pulling and pushing motions with his arms, seemingly trying to modify some words that he found unsatisfactory, and putting them back into the great River of Communication in the cyberworld.

As if he had sensed Scratchead Thunderbolt's arrival, the Keeper turned to face him. Taking down his straw hat, he nodded at Scratchead Thunderbolt, also giving Sunshine a wink. His eyes were as brilliantly twinkling as ever.

"I see you've found a partner!" the Keeper exclaimed, and tossed his head back to roar in laughter. It seemed to last minutes, thought Scratchead Thunderbolt to himself, a little embarrassed at what the Keeper was trying to get at him. "So, have you figured out what your fortune cookie means?"

When Scratchead Thunderbolt explained what the number actually meant - with Sunshine surprisingly adding in a few extra details to make the answer as satisfactory as possible - the Keeper nodded and smiled.

"209... the Lifeforce never expected such a backlash from the cyberworld. But you are one of a kind, Scratchead Thunderbolt. The cyberworld rallies behind you like water ready to rush out of a dam. One post... and the Lifeforce was no more a power in the cyberworld, much less the real world."

The Keeper turned towards the right side of the bridge and pulled towards a block of words at the river. As he did so, Scratchead Thunderbolt was awestruck by words that were magnified to such an extent that the letters were almost the size of his head, and glowing as it floated in the sky in front of them.

209 SCRATCHEAD THUNDERBOLT VS LIFEFORCE

LIFEFORCE TINKS HE CAN GET RID OF ME. NOT SO EASY. I NOE BCOS U GUYS ARE BEHIND ME, BCOS I HAF DONE SO MUCH 4 THE CYBERWORLD. LET US STAND 2GT AND KICK THE LIFE OUT OF THE FORCE!

As the letters faded away into smoke, the Keeper said, "Thunderbolt, that was a legendary post."

He knew. Scratchead Thunderbolt's 209th post had caused a torrent in the cyberworld to begin, with supporters flooding forums and causing servers that even condoned the Lifeforce's attack on Scratchead Thunderbolt's contributions - the discovery of "cybertime", his inventing the famed black box that could transmit information online through basic words, so many other things - that he was stunned by the power he possessed.

The Lifeforce never really returned. Until now.

"What do I have to do, now?" Scratchead Thunderbolt asked.

The Keeper adjusted his hat such that he was again shaded from the sun, and gave a smirk. "The Lifeforce's hacked-into database is within fifty miles southwest. Get there, do the right thing, and you should get back to your world. When you do so..."

"Never come back?" Scratchead Thunderbolt suggested. The Keeper only smiled once again at his enthusiasm to leave, but nodded afterwards. "And you," the Keeper raised his hat at Sunshine, "Remember Tigerblade's advice," and raised his left hand, which gave off a strong golden light that disappeared when it touched her shoulder. Sunshine's eyes widened a little, as if with enlightenment.

"Now move, Thunderbolt," the Keeper raised his right hand this time, waving them away. "Remember what I said" - he lowered his hat and turned back to mumble to himself - "Both of you."

To be continued.

Episode IV: Keeper and Tigerblade

Catching up?

• Episode I here.
• Episode II here.
• Episode III here.

***

Harold Smith stared blankly into the air above the lifeless form of his son, lying on his bed. His mind was in a whirl. He barely remembered anything else except that Melanie had called while he was at his very normal workplace doing his normal routine of holding a cup of Earl Grey in his right hand, while sitting cross-legged on his normal working armchair, and balancing his copy of the International Herald Tribune in his other hand.

"WHAT?" Harold bellowed into the receiver of his mobile phone, the new one that he'd tried to show off to his colleagues only for it to unfortunately slip off his hand and have its screen cracked just the week before.

"Harold," - Melanie's voice sounded weak and unbalanced - "Peter's in hospital..."

The rest of her words seemed to fade into the background as Harold held on to the receiver, while warm beads of perspiration started to crawl down his temples. Found him, unconscious in the room lying on the black box... Heard him muttering to himself... Doctors say they don't know what's wrong... Harold! What is wrong with our son?

It was Harold who suggested that Peter be taken back home - the best doctor in London declared that he knew absolutely nothing about Peter's plight. "Normal," said Dr. Lenny Parsons, scratching his full-grown beard while staring intently at the machines tied to Peter and his bed. "Absolutely normal. This is extraordinary."

"Enough!" Harold roared. Dr. Parsons jumped, and flinched when he saw the raging, senior Smith start to smoke at his nostrils, his face turning purple uncontrollably with every word he uttered.

"I - WILL - TAKE - MY - SON - HOME - IF - YOU - CAN'T - DO - A - SHIT!" Harold uttered menacingly through gritted teeth, while his hands tugged away at every single wire that was holding his Peter down on the hospital bed.

***

Scratchead Thunderbolt was perspiring profusely. The devilish sun burnt through every single corner of the cyberworld, devouring strangers, friends and all else - he was now, feeling the heat, wondering what in the world Uncle Darren was trying to make out to him. The right one, or the easy one... Bloody hell, it didn't tell me to go left or right. In any case, our superhero had already chosen his way as the story progresses here - he had taken the left road, following the hand that he used to write.

And what exactly did that piece of paper mean? His brilliant mind tried to work out a series of permutations for the number 209, but nothing concrete came out of it. He might as well have given me a fortune cookie, thought Scratchead Thunderbolt miserably.

The only positive about the infernal climate was that his shirt had dried - so had the mud, so he was walking, at least, on dry ground now, though he soon began to dismiss this slight advantage with the heat of the ground burning through the soles of his shoes.

Now, I am not too sure how quickly cybertime passed, but I believe it must have been cyberhours since Scratchead Thunderbolt had found himself embroiled in a cyberworld that he would rather have washed his hands off about. He was parched - not just your typical parched, but more of an I'm-so-bloody-thirsty-I-can-drink-a-lake! kind of parched. He needed a drink, and he prayed to every single entity Up There that he would soon get to see a lake. Or a cyberlake - whichever came first.

His prayers were answered. Not caring whether it was a mirage, the not-too-great-looking Scratchead Thunderbolt sprinted once he saw the reflection of the sun from the bright blue waters at the right side of the road. Failing to maintain his balance, he let his tired legs fall like bags of sand, took a deep breath and plunged his entire face into the lake.

And as he finished his nth gulp of cyberwater - which, really, thought Scratchead Thunderbolt to himself, tasted exactly the same as normal water - he shook his head rapidly to dry his head. Yes, he was ready to take on the cyberworld with his newly-satiated self. Bet you didn't think of Uncle Darren, bloody Lifeforce.

The oasis disappeared behind Scratchead Thunderbolt as he continued down the road that he had chosen. Cybertime seemed to have clocked the rest of the entire day - the devilish sun seemed to be setting at last - when he approached a strange (what else?) bridge.

The bridge was made of cold, stony-white granite, and peaked at the middle - it looked plain and emotionless, and was built on top of what seemed a very deep river. As Scratchead Thunderbolt crossed the bridge, he stared down from its peak into the water, and was shocked to realise that the waves made shapes that read like words in the river. He was sure that one of them read hurt; another read sadness.

"Ah, so I see Scratchead Thunderbolt has arrived here," came a rough voice from behind him.

Scratchead Thunderbolt turned around to see a wizened man with a broad face whose blue eyes gleamed with mischief and excitement. He was dressed in a straw hat that was so wide it managed to keep his entire face in the shade, and in a long-sleeved shirt that appeared too thinly-cut. His trousers seemed to be over-patched, and all in all he looked most like a farmer in normal land.

"You look confused," said the old man. "Don't look like the great that Tigerblade mentioned."

"Tigerblade?" this time Scratchead Thunderbolt was genuinely confused, if not already.

"Darren John is christened Tigerblade in our world," the old man replied, adjusting his straw hat such that he could see the face of Scratchead Thunderbolt. "In any case, this is the cyberworld, and I can tell you that you and I are different. But I must introduce myself," he reached out to Scratchead Thunderbolt with a rough, thickened right hand that seemed to have been overworked. "I am the keeper of the Land of Apologies."

The Land of Apologies. This must either be a dream, or a very funny cyberworld. Scratchead Thunderbolt was unsure what he could ask, so he let the Keeper continue with his drivel. "Look all around you. This entire river does not stop flowing - you people are convinced that the computer can replace one-to-one communication, real-life, that is."

"BUT - " The Keeper cleared his throat - "It is not the case. Yes, Thunderbolt, this land stores emotions transferred through fibre-optic and copper cables. The true meaning behind your messages are never felt by the other side."

Scratchead Thunderbolt nodded, slowly digesting what the Keeper had just told him. "Do you mean that this river has stored every single emotion that we have tried to convey to the other side?"

"Not everything, of course," the Keeper smiled in satisfaction that his message had been told rather satisfactorily. "Emotions are funny things. And the computer is not everything in life - telepathy is still the most powerful method of transferring emotions, though it is difficult to attain."

Surely you didn't have to tell me that, thought Scratchead Thunderbolt to himself. But whatever the Keeper said seems to make sense... Apologies, confessions... they never did work online, did they? At least, they didn't work too well for me -

"But you, Scratchead Thunderbolt, you should have had some first-hand experience of this... ah... emotional filtering. Let's see," the Keeper put up his left hand to block the sun, staring into the distance, as if trying to find something very far away. "Ah, there!" his other hand pointed to the north-west, at some tiny waves from far away. The Keeper then made a pulling motion towards the waves, and Scratchead Thunderbolt gaped in surprise when they magnified into visibility, as if he was staring through a telescope.

But as he read the words the waves made, his jaw dropped further than ever.

Scratchead Thunderbolt, 2005.
Filtered: Sincerity, love.
Count: 5.

His mind drifted back to his past, back when he was staring in front of the computer, hands shaking and sweating, as he finished typing his confessional message to a pretty girl that he'd seen in class whom he'd never dared to speak to in person.

The reply from her was dry, tasteless, disgusted.

But the second reply was just the same.

Sorry.

It didn't help. It didn't help at all...

Scratchead Thunderbolt was deep in thought when the Keeper walked towards him and patted his shoulder. "It works both ways," the Keeper smiled at him, eyes twinkling as he took a piece of straw from his hat and started to munch on it. "The filter works on messages that are sent to and from you."

"Why is there a Land of Apologies?" Scratchead Thunderbolt abruptly asked.

The Keeper chuckled, while he threw the remainder of the straw into the river. "There is no why, son, there is none - this is the way the cyberworld works, and this is not what Tigerblade wanted to see happen to you. You have made your choice. Now please cross my bridge, and I wish you the best of luck."

Scratchead Thunderbolt was speechless. It was as though he had just learnt of something that he never would have imagined existed. He had so much to tell the Keeper, but nothing came out of his mouth. He decided, in the end, on a hug. The Keeper just patted him on his back. As Scratchead Thunderbolt turned to continue his journey in the cyberworld, the Keeper suddenly shouted in his direction.

"Thunderbolt, have you figured out what 209 is?"

He turned back, and shook his head, looking disappointed.

The Keeper smiled and shook his head as well. "It's not fortune cookie shit, all right?"

Scratchead Thunderbolt kept the smile on his face as he continued to face the road that lay in front of him. Even the Keeper of the Land of Apologies is such a nice person - there must be hope in this world.

To be continued.

Episode III: An Old Relative

Catching up?

• Episode I here.
• Episode II here.

(Decipher: Some small edits here and there, but won't impede this story's developments. Thanks for all your support.)

---

The floods of slush continued to pour on poor Scratchead Thunderbolt, as he finally began to stop pitying himself for his plight - and started to wonder whether he actually had a minute chance to make it out of the hellhole that he never had thought his arch-rival was capable of creating.

Maybe there might be a loophole in his hack? thought Scratchead Thunderbolt rather hopefully, as he continued bare-backed in the mud, squeezing his drenched shirt that was no longer recognisable from the costume he had always imagined himself to be wearing in the cyberworld.

BOOM!

Before Scratchead Thunderbolt had time to react, a deafening clap of thunder resonated throughout the entire cyberworld - at least, his cyberworld - and just as he was about to breathe again, a sudden flash of lightning erupted right in front of his eyes. The great thunderbolt started an avalanche; the last thing Scratchead Thunderbolt saw was a huge ball of mud rolling at the speed of light towards him - and then... darkness.

***

Wake up, Scratchead Thunderbolt.

This is no land for sleep.

This is not even a real place. DO YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS??

The last sentence was roared with the cyberpower of a Sennheiser subwoofer in maximum volume. And it had some effect on our superhero (have you forgotten? He is the protagonist of the story, as you'll remember), who stirred, his head still aching from the impact of the avalanche.

He opened his eyes halfway, but had to close them again - he could barely see past the smoky haze that had formed in the aftermath of the thunderbolt flash.

But as he opened his eyes again, he was blinded by a strange, white light that was so bright that its rays extended beyond every single corner of his cyberspace. Scratchead Thunderbolt would have marvelled in this spectacular show of illumination, had he not been blinded to such an extent that his eyes, now closed, were screaming in pain.

He dared not open his eyes this time, and was about to ask the strange entity what it actually wanted from him when it answered, in a booming voice, yet gentle - so familiar, yet so distant - he could have sworn it was one he had heard when he was a young boy.

Scratchead Thunderbolt - Peter - Scratchead Thunderbolt could not believe that this entity actually knew what his real name was - I am not real, as you should have realised... Wait. Why are you keeping your eyes shut?

Scratchead Thunderbolt pointed weakly to the sky and the rays of light that seemed to shine even brighter with every passing cybersecond. Oh, said the Voice apologetically. All right, open your eyes now.

When he finally did so, Scratchead Thunderbolt's jaw fell.

***

Behind a closed blue door in a London house, someone was keying in frantically, silently muttering and cursing that a certain person - or is it cyberperson? - who had disappeared off the radar.

***

The person in front of Scratchead Thunderbolt had a small build, old, round-framed glasses which could barely support a pair of thick lens that looked strong enough to be bulletproof, and was wearing a suit that looked so ancient that it might have been worn by his great-grandfather.

Peter Smith knew who this person was - Darren John Smith, the uncle who had never missed a single birthday for Peter, and never forgot to give him a present even though he moved to a foreign land after he was seven. And by giving him a computer on his sixth birthday, Uncle Darren set Peter on a path typically recommended by a leading network expert of his time - a path that would lead him to cyberfame, and unfortunately, a disaster at this very point in cybertime.

Uncle Darren was never really the most popular person at a party, but he was, beneath his introverted, nerdy exterior, a respected gentleman and a fiercely loyal friend, as he was to Peter. And this time, it seemed that his expertise at the computer had given Scratchead Thunderbolt a lifeline from the twisted, nightmarish cyberworld that he now found himself in.

Listen, Peter - Uncle Darren's voice sounded urgent - This is not a world to build your dreams and future upon. I've seen you grow, and I've seen you grow with the cyberworld. You may achieve great things, and you have, on this world... but it is not real! It is not real, do you understand?

Uncle Darren sighed, as he removed his glasses and started to wipe them with a piece of grey flannel that he fished out from his pocket. Peter realised he looked much older than he actually was.

If you put your faith in my words, you will get out of here alive and become a much better person... This place is curious, and you may find things that you want to keep in it - but trust me, Peter, the two worlds are not, and cannot be confused as one -

The image of Uncle Darren started to flicker now, slowly but steadily increasing in frequency, as he looked at his watch and gave an alarmed expression.

It is not easy - the image flickered once more - but there are two choices, but one thing you can do: the right one, or the easy one... remember, Peter! Scratchead Thunderbolt!

As the image faded down to nothingness, Uncle Darren pointed in the direction of a junction that now appeared straight in front of him, the stony road forming right in front of his eyes - and as he stood at the point where the road split into two, wondering which side he was to choose, Uncle Darren's cyberpresence exploded into a beautiful golden flame, burning down into a piece of notebook paper that only read:

209.

To be continued...

Episode II: In The Middle Of The Flood

Episode I here.

--

Back in the same normal house in London, it was a very normal morning for Harold Smith, who dug into his newspaper and his toast just like any other normal day. But on the first bite of his breakfast he spat the greatest distance he could possibly have done and snarled dangerously.

"That's some ruddy disgustin' toast you got there, y'know that?" Harold Smith roared into the kitchen behind the normal chair he sat on, as his face remained hidden by the day's copy of the International Herald Tribune.

"I... I'm doing my best," a voice haggardly answered, seemingly distracted from the numerous tasks that a housewife signed on to do together with the unfortunate marriage to a man who would do everything for a woman until they stayed together. Melanie Smith wasn't really that old - She was only 19 when she married Harold, and they already had Peter in her as they walked down the aisle to her mother who cried buckets and her father who couldn't care less. She still had a half-decent normal housewife smile, however, and it was the primary defence against Harold's abrupt attacks on her.

Harold frowned from behind the Tribune, as he reached for the TV remote control with one hand and balanced his read on the other. "And where's that bloody son of ours? Does he even need to have breakfast? Last time I spoke to him about chips he told me it was part of that bloody black box!"

"He'll be coming down," Melanie said, managing to take a break after finishing her routine wiping of the kitchen floor. "Give him a bit more time."

"Couldn't care less," muttered Harold. "Let him do whatever he wants. There's probably a reason why he got expelled - he's such a bloody useless bum anyways."

***

But Peter Smith wasn't really enjoying the journey - his physical self looked defeated, sprawled against that black box that he had assembled on his own, eyes closed as if in a deep sleep. Beads of perspiration continued to build and drip slowly into the ventilation shafts on the box, as sizzling sounds came with every drop.

Scratchead Thunderbolt felt every drop of perspiration from Peter Smith - for every drop, in the awfully-twisted cyberworld that he now found himself in, he would be drenched with a massive deluge of slush and mud. And judging from the appearance of the legendary Scratchead Thunderbolt now, he didn't look much like a legend; and the unexpected meeting - to say the least - with the Lifeforce had given his confidence a much-needed beating. The suit that he was wearing when he first arrived was one of golden satin trimmed perfectly for his size, together with shining silver sequins sewn beautifully at the sides. Right now, the suit had shrunk with the washing he had received from the floods and the sequins had fallen.

Not exactly having this much fun in this world, eh? A voice boomed once again, this time in his head.

Scratchead Thunderbolt gritted his teeth as he trudged forward in the slush. "You'll pay for this, Lifeforce... I swear you will!"

The Lifeforce guffawed so deafeningly that the cybertrees shook and the ground seemed to make way with every laugh. You should have expected this, Scratchead Thunderbolt... A life lived in cyberspace is just as vulnerable as one lived in the real world... Don't tell me the GREAT Scratchead Thunderbolt has absolutely no idea? HA HA HA!

He continued laughing in his vile manner, as Scratchead Thunderbolt continued to trudge through the strange, muddy land that the Lifeforce had modified for his unexpectedly torturous ride in cyberspace.

To be continued.

Episode I: The Cyberworld Awaits

Peter Smith was always just a normal child. He was born in a normal old hospital, carried by the normal nurses, drank the normal milk, got himself into a normal school, got beaten by the normal gangsters, and got into a normal high school as well. He looked normal - he had those huge, but normal glasses that were just so thick for a normal nerd. He treated his parents normally - he ignored them and kept to himself in a room, just as any normal teenager would do.

Now, what people didn't know was that Peter Smith had an extraordinary side to himself. Once inside his room, he will transform himself from being the normal nerd to an extraordinary one. He was a legend that contradicted the fundamental "normal" laws of cyberspace - because he was omnipresent and omnipotent in it. His other name was the Scratchead Thunderbolt.

Oh, you might say, what a stupid name this is! But that's because you are not in their world, this world is cyberspace... or is it "cybertime"? Thunderbolt crafted the very word, because he realised that in cyberspace, it seems as if time runs on a different clock as well. Cyberpeople worshipped Scratchead Thunderbolt - every chat forum he was in, they would rush to reply; every single blog he touched with his golden type ensured fame and fortune for the rest of that blogger's next generations.

Extraordinary! You might say now. Yes, that is the very word to describe it... a simply extraordinary achievement! And no one had realised that in the Smith family, where Mr. Smith had a day job in fixing old clocks and a night job in fixing his wife, while Mrs. Smith had a day job in being the housekeeper of the Smith family and a night job of being the slave, lay the very legend of cyberspace and cybertime - Scratchead Thunderbolt.

Just like any normal teenager, Peter Smith spent a lot of time in his room, and made sure that no one fouled the sanctity of the place by even attempting to go within a foot of the door, which was whitewashed and always maintained by Peter himself. Every single day, without fail, with or without sunshine, with or without rain, he would carry a small pail filled with water and an old rag that can still barely read 'PETER' on it and wipe this Gate of Transformation religiously and by himself. Yes, this is no normal door; this is extraordinary.

So the story has already begun. But the real story begins here.

It was a normal sunny day in London - and Peter Smith knew absolutely nothing about it, as usual. He was locked away behind the Gate of Transformation, where he was in his guise (or, Peter Smith will have you argue, his true self) of the legendary Scratchead Thunderbolt. His room was painted a dark shade of blue, where the luminous radiation coming from the monitor screen was the only source of light. He had long ago asked for his windows to be fitted with the darkest shade of black curtains.

Yes, people will say, Peter Smith was a bloody right nutcase.

But the fact that he was a bloody right nutcase was rather irrelevant; after all, cyberpeople who flamed the legendary Scratchead Thunderbolt will normally not see the light of cyberday in cyberspace after that. In fact, there is a real-life cyberexample: prior to the legend Thunderbolt, there was already a cyberlegend named The Lifeforce, though he was, at his prime, never adored throughout the cyberworld as much as even half the adoration that Scratchead Thunderbolt receives today. He much decided that he didn't enjoy the competition that the debutant legend, Scratchead Thunderbolt, was giving: and he publicly called him - that's right, a bloody right nutcase for all of the cyberworld to see.

Instantly, the will of the cyberpeople caused an amazing flood on the very forum that he swore on, and while Scratchead Thunderbolt was insulted, he survived, while the Lifeforce looked set to become a contradiction in itself - his lifeforce (no pun intended, REALLY!) had been sucked out, at least, in cyberspace, and it looked as if his cybertime was up already.

If you mention this incident to Scratchead Thunderbolt, he might just give you a cybersmile (like the :), you know?), but he probably won't remember much of the actual cyberincident. I mean, come on, this guy's a legend and you're trying to ask him to remember his own history? There are millions of cyberpeople out there who are typing his cyberbiographies! (At least, I'm one of them.)

But, today especially was no time for the Scratchead Thunderbolt to be thinking of such frivolous cyberevents: today was the day his genius had exceeded himself once again. He now had figured out a device that can instantly transmit his thoughts into every single forum in cyberspace. With that, and his already-adept control at travelling through cybertime (which we will talk about later, I promise), Scratchead Thunderbolt looked set to dominate the cyberworld once and for all! Now that the lifeforce has been sucked out of Lifeforce (sorry folks, I couldn't resist), there is and will no longer be a potential, capable enough competitor to stop him.

The machine - do I need to describe it? It was just a black, rectangular box, but anyone looking at it would instantly be drawn to it - the black was pure and so crystalline in its appearance. Peter Smith mustered just a normal smile, but inside you knew that Scratchead Thunderbolt must have been going "HA! HA! HA!" in all his majesty.

Peter Smith reached for the black box and felt around the sides for a round, green button. When he found it, he smiled once again, and proceeded to give it a push. He picked up his headphones that gave him his cybervoice, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Now, all he needed to do was think...

But something was wrong. He didn't feel his thoughts transforming into cyberwords - and he thought to himself frantically, as beads of perspiration fell from his temples, that he must have failed.

No, he thought to himself. Scratchead Thunderbolt never fails in his cyberconquests.

He opened his eyes.

He was no longer in his room. He was inside a forest - but the strangest one at that. There were no trees to speak of. It seemed that there were only bushes and shrubs around, but they were at least five times the size of normal ones. The flowers were all absolutely huge and pixellated. Only when he touched them with his hands did the pixels disappear and made them appear real.

Worse, he couldn't walk normally. The entire ground was filled with zeros and ones. Literally. Green ones, red ones, black ones... they all converged to make up a pool of numbers. Surely, Scratchead Thunderbolt wouldn't just be stuck here for ever?

He thought to himself for a moment. The legendary Scratchead Thunderbolt doesn't need to think for too long to come to a decision.

He stared hard at one red, big fat zero, and tried to see if he could move it with his mind. No easy task at all.

As the number slowly moved towards him, he smiled. No Peter Smith smile, that: it was the smile of the legendary Scratchead Thunderbolt. Now he knew how he could move through this weird fantasy world.

Or is it the cyberworld in real life? Or did I just make an oxymoron of the previous sentence?

He summoned up all his mind power to move the numbers like a wave towards him, and the numbers behind him to propel him forward. Soon, he was moving through the forest as though he was on a conveyor belt.

Scratchead Thunderbolt continued to admire the surroundings beside this conveyor belt of his: the marvellous bushes that were so exceptionally light green in colour and blended in beautifully with the strange chlorophyll sky. The flowers, he saw, were mostly red and bright orange with extraordinarily beautiful crisp petals.

No wonder they can survive, thought Scratchead Thunderbolt to himself. There are no animals around here.

Just as he finished that thought, the conveyor belt of his stopped abruptly. No way, thought Scratchead Thunderbolt. I can't believe my luck. I don't want to be stuck here. He continued to stare hard at the numbers below him, trying to figure out how he might just keep the conveyor belt moving.

Look up, boy.

A sudden cybervoice had invaded the cyberworld and penetrated every single corner of the forest, resonating as echoes in every other corner and increasing, exponentially, the power of the cybervoice itself. Scratchead Thunderbolt looked up, now frantic from his inability of fixing the numbers to start moving. His panting was uncontrollable as he turned, quickly, in all directions, trying to figure out where the cybervoice had come from.

You can't find me, Scratchead Thunderbolt? That's because you thought I no longer exist!

The last word was bellowed so loudly that Scratchead Thunderbolt thought he might have gone deaf if he hadn't covered his ears.

Now think... reflect... Did you think I would have just disappeared like this? Did you even imagine that I would, for a moment, think of relinquishing my seat so easily to you, power-hungry cyberscum?

Scratchead Thunderbolt realised, in a flash of lightning, that he might have made the greatest mistake of his life. That his ex-arch rival, someone he thought he had got rid of so cleanly in the Flood of the Forum, had disappeared for good.

The Lifeforce was still very much alive. And he was the one that was now keeping him inside this cyberworld of his.

to be continued...