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Chapter 6

The shrouded figure threw down his hood, revealing the piercing glare of Tim Duncan. Tim Duncan had put two and two together, from the stream of phone calls from all his friends in the Virgin Islands, who was pretty much everyone. All day long, Tim Duncan's phone had been buzzing, and he had busily been jotting down notes, which he collated and fed into his Supercomputer, which spit out a piece of ticker tape explaining the situation.

“Those who would trespasseth in the realms of necromancy must face the wrath of I, Tim Duncan!” he said, raising his oak staff to the sky. The deep light amber moon below shadowed his face nobly and dramatically. Even Mike Gravel, usually not one to step cautiously, especially after having his mind overcome by a cursed sword, was taken aback. But only for a moment. They both rolled for initiative, and even though Duncan rolled high, it didn't matter --- whoever holds HELL BREAKER gets automatic initiative. Mike Gravel yelled “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” and brought his blade down towards Duncan, who held up his oaken staff to block it.

“Your blow doeth bring me to my knees!” exclaimed Duncan, although actually he was still standing. His staff was damaged though, but only slightly. Although HELLBREAKER could make someone be able to walk along the bottom of the sea, and influence someone's personality, it was actually pretty shoddily crafted from the standpoint of metal with an edge used to cut things. Tim Duncan did what any professional athlete who was seven feet tall and muscular would do when confronted with an elderly man: he picked him up in a fireman's carry, and started spanking his bottom, but not in a sexy way. Duncan was tired out from traveling, so he stopped into an all night convenience store, trying to find a beverage flavored with natural sugars, and was at first disgusted that they were all so expensive, before realizing that he was rich, and he deserved to treat himself after defeating evil in the middle of the night.

Mike Gravel yelled out, at the confused cashier “I WANT SOME WHITE OWLS. I PREFER REAL CIGARS, BUT I KNOW WHERE I AM AND WHAT IS REALISTIC”, which meant that Gravel, even in his very confused state, was ahead of many people in the world.

So they walked down the street, late at night, Duncan drinking his 5 dollar bottle of not-from-concentrate orange juice, and Mike Gravel over his shoulder, puffing on a White Owl. Duncan, in a rare oversight, had left the cursed blade, HELL BREAKER, just lying on a Miami sidewalk at like 4 AM or whenever, and it will probably come back to bite us in the ass, but I decided to stop writing about that sword because writing in CAPS is too hard, which is also why I don't give Mike Gravel too much dialog.

Which is why we will just explain that Mike Gravel explained to Tim Duncan everything that was going on, which we already know, so no reason to reencapsulate it in Gravel's trademarked dialog style, especially since at this point, we know more than Gravel knows, since when all the important plot developments were going on, Gravel was at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, in the middle of the night, which doesn't give you a very wide view of the world's events.

But Duncan knew he had to do something. He knew that robots were bad news, ever since a short circuit in Yao Ming had caused his hair to frizz and split, and he had to spend an entire day reconditioning his air, and it was a Sunday, and he had to disappoint his friends by telling them he couldn't DM that day. Robots: problems, was the first part of a SAT analogy in Duncan's mind.

He pushed aside the doors of the Democratic Convention hotel with one hand, still holding Gravel over his shoulder.

“People of Miami! People of America!” he intoned “I have come to deliver you from a grave threat!

Mike Gravel to the Edge of Panic: Chapter 5 --+-- Mike Gravel to the Edge of Panic: Chapter 7

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