Scar shouts, slamming his both fists onto the countertop. He swipes an arm, knocking over numerous chairs. With a ferocious roar, he drags his clawed fingers across one of the computer monitor screens, ripping out cords and wires. Sparks explode, electricity erupting from behind the shattered glass screen.
Stupid, worthless hyenas!
He asked them to do one job! ONE JOB!
Bring him the mermaid, and anyone else they can capture. How hard of a task is that!?
Apparently too hard for his braindead, idiot excuses of minions.
This has gone too far. That's four levels completed on the gamers part, with no progress to report on his side. They're winning– they're that much closer to escaping. If he allows this to continue, allows the mermaid to return to her enchanted town, he has no way of completing his mission. He can't follow her into Storybrooke; that stupid place is always protected by some kind of magic, keeping people like him out.
With another scream, he kicks away his own chair and marches around the mess he's created, halting in the doorway of the control room.
Those girls think they're so clever, showing his men just how well they can fight. Sending him a message, that they aren't afraid of him. Well, they should be. Everyone is. Everyone always has been. A bunch of female warriors with a group of little boys to back them up isn't anymore of a threat than his big brother Mufasa was, or even Simba.
He rests a hand on the doorknob, the other reaching for the walkie-talkie attached to his side. With the phone service down, this thing comes in handy. Thumb pressed on the device's button, Scar snarls into the speaker.
"Get upstairs. I need you to fix a bug in the system."
There's no reply, but why would there be? The silence is a satisfying reminder Scar's got a victim right where he wants him. A man to do exactly as Scar demands, no questions asked.
"We're going to change the rules of the game..." The former lion king continues, before tossing the walkie-talkie onto one of the desks left upright behind him.
Anger still boiling red hot in his veins, he twists the doorknob, easing the control room door open.
He's met with a wall of pixelated colors, a familiar scene; he may not like the game, but he's been through it, too many times to count.
These gamers haven't. They're new to these animated landscapes, new to the rules and goals and cheats and secrets. But he isn't. He has that advantage over them. He knows how to win; and he's not referring to the game.
It's time to personal introduce himself. It's time to eliminate the threat.
With sick, sinister smile, Scar enters the game.
º–º–º
People are bowing to Kristoff again. This is starting to get freaky.
Level five doesn't appear to be nearly as bad as the last. In fact, it seems much happier. Like they aren't going to be killing anybody. Besides, people are bowing. That is a plus.
It doesn't make it any less creepy, though.
A pure, starlit night paves the way for the gamers, more twinkling lights in the sky than Kristoff will ever hope to see in living in New York. Blooming, arching trees stretch into the night, with the glow of fireflies dancing between the leaves and burrs. Candlelit lanterns guide them with a trail of light, the soft glow reflecting on the smooth, stone path. This place is surreal. Beautiful. Kristoff's heart aches, wishing it were real. He would love to bring Anna here on a romantic evening out.
