“I love the smell of Edinburgh in the morning,” I muttered to myself for the fifteenth time as I moved swiftly and nimbly through the residential streets of the New Town. I was pleased to have made a remark that had such a badass ring to it, and was annoyed that no one had overheard me yet. I considered raising my voice and trying it for a sixteenth time in an effort to strike fear and awe into the hearts of the school children waiting at the bus stop across the road, but decided I should focus on the job in hand.
The task I was in Edinburgh to perform was to confront and defeat my nemesis; Jacq Kelly. We had been corresponding via email for a number of months. It took a mind as sharp as mine to realise that hidden beneath the seemingly casual remarks about Edinburgh tourism and popular culture, lurked a terrifying coded message that preached nothing but hate and destruction. It was time to put a stop to this monster, before it was too late.
I didn’t know exactly what she was planning, but I knew it was sinister. I was aware that she had something to do with an organisation known only as the LGBT. I couldn’t be sure, but my gut was telling me that it stood for ‘Let’s Go Be Terrorists.’ I also knew that she was in a relationship with somebody that went by the name of ‘Lena.’ What’s that almost an anagram of? ALIEN. You know where I’m going with this by now: Alien terrorists. That’s right. I was pretty shocked myself.
Turning a final corner, I reached the address I had tortured out of Ellie Hutchinson earlier that morning. I hadn’t wanted to do it; Ellie was an old friend. But she was the only person I knew that could lead me to Jacq. For some inexplicable reason, Ellie keeps a large sword in her house, which made forcing the information out of her much easier than expected. Her last words to me were, “Why didn’t you just ask me for Jacq’s address??” We’re all geniuses in hindsight, Ellie. Be at peace now, old friend.
Gaining entry to Jacq’s flat was the work of but a moment, once I’d found half a house brick to lob through the window. I found myself in what appeared to be a fairly standard living room. I had just executed a commando roll behind a coffee table (made somewhat clumsy by the five foot sword I had stolen from Ellie and tucked into my belt) when the door burst open and I came face to face, for the first and (I hoped) last time, with my nemesis.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU… Hang on… Matt..? You are Matt, aren’t you…?” Jacq said, feigning ignorance.
“Like you don’t know, Devil Spawn!” I hissed. This was met with a stunned silence by Jacq. Another badass comment unrewarded with the expected anguished howls, rolling of eyes and gnashing of teeth. I smashed a fruit bowl with the sword in frustration. “I can pay for that,” I said, because I have standards.
“What are you doing here? I thought we were meant to meet up with Ellie later on in the bar?”
“Ellie won’t be meeting anyone anytime soon,” I smirked and added, “except maybe IN HELL!” By this point I was pretty much over Ellie’s death and was happy enough making this kind of comment about her. I’d done my grieving fifteen minutes before.
“Uh, ok. So, seriously, why are you here? I suppose I can make you a cup of tea or something if you like?” and she turned on her heel and disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen.
“Tea would be lovely!” I called after her.
I was somewhat perturbed by her calm acceptance of my sudden appearance in her home. As I absent mindedly ground shards of the broken fruit bowl into the carpet with the toe of my shoe, it suddenly hit me that maybe she KNEW that I was coming. She was expecting me.
Just as I realised that I may be in danger, a shadow loomed across me and I turned to see Jacq coming at me with a large frying pan. Tefal, I think. 28 centimetre. A frying pan for the professional head smasher.
Luckily, I had drawn the sword in case I needed to pull off another commando roll, so I was able to parry the blow just before the frying pan made a Peter Beardsley out of me. I leaped back up onto the coffee table, and from there to the arm of a sofa, as Jacq came toward me, swinging the frying pan with each step.
“What do you know?!” she demanded, “what did Ellie tell you about Let’s Go Be Terrorists?!”
Over her shoulder I noticed a shadowy figure, which could only have been Lena, armed with what looked like a Le Creuset casserole dish. I realised that I was woefully unprepared for the attack. The quality of their cookware was far beyond what I had expected to face in a hand to hand fight.
“KILL HIM, JACQ!” screamed Lena, “I LONG TO TASTE HIS BLOOD!”
It was time to make a run for it. I ducked a final mighty swing of the frying pan before making a desperate dive for the smashed window. As I landed hard on the pavement below I felt a rush of wind by my ear, immediately followed by a loud clang as the thrown frying pan narrowly missed decapitating me. Looking back, I noticed Lena taking aim with the casserole dish and made a run for it.
As I disappeared round the corner of the street, I could hear the unearthly cries of triumph from my nemesis. Or, as they must now be called, my pair of nemesi. Nemesises? Nemesii? Nemeses? Ah. Nemeses.
Having gained confirmation of my suspicions, I could prepare more thoroughly for a second attack. I resolved to go home, lick my wounds and write Jacq a cheque for her window and fruit bowl. Standards.
The battle is lost. The war goes on.