Brawe is my Middle Name
Hello our dearest Backers!
Today we have a very special treat for you, a short story about Kaptain Brawe's youth written by the creative talent behind Kaptain Brawe 2: A Space Travesty - Steve Ince himself!
As you may have already heard, Steve has worked on some of the biggest adventure game classics such as Broken Sword, Beneath a steel sky, So Blonde etc.. It's a privilege and an honour to have him write the game's story!
So, without further ado, enjoy the short story :)
Brawe is my Middle Name
By Steve Ince
Sitting at the back of the class worked best for young Brawe. That way there was never the chance that someone behind him could slip a Kirtellian meal-slug inside his collar. And he could take the occasional nap if the teacher was particularly short-sighted.
This preference continued at the interstellar police academy and in one especially memorable week he’d slept at the back of lecture room seven for three days straight before anyone noticed. Even then he’d only come round because someone slipped Kirtellian meal-slugs into each of his boots. For some reason they love the taste of over-ripe socks.
The reason this came to mind was because Zorok Paralobium, who’d captured Kaptain Brawe and his robot sidekick, was currently boring them to tears with his description of how he was going to take over the galaxy (with diagrams) and all Brawe could think about was how he’d like to sit at the back of the class wearing a new pair of socks. As usual, Rowboat was no use and not for the first time Brawe wondered if it was because he didn’t wear any socks.
Paralobium appeared to be winding up his tirade at last, but he couldn’t help but finish with a good old, evil villain cliché. “You’re not so brave now, are you?”
“Brave is my middle name,” Brawe said. He never liked the way villains always seemed to sneer at him.
“Release me from these weird tentacles and I’ll go and fetch my birth certificate,” Brawe said and grinned.
“Ooh, nice try.” Paralobium’s sarcasm was way over-cooked. “You think you’re so clever.”
“Clever is my middle name.”
Paralobium turned his back in exasperation and fiddled with some buttons on a console that looked like it was working perfectly well.
Then suddenly Brawe noticed it and instantly became fully alert. It. The thing. The whatsit that had a button you press and shot things with. The gun! Of course, the gun. Honestly, my mind is all over the place at times. I blame the medication myself but I guess I should expect problems when I get it cheaply off the internet. Still, I suspect Brawe would have appreciated any kind of medication that took his mind off the pain in his arms, caused by them being bound above his head by strange, metallic tentacles.
Having a gun just out of reach didn’t help his pain and Brawe was sure Paralobium had placed it there just to tease him.
He’d ask Rowboat to get the gun for him but the mechanical guy’s hearing wasn’t working properly at the moment. The last time that happened he’d been oiling himself and overdone the ears. Brawe had told him he’d oil him up any time he wanted – he was always happy to oblige with a bit of oily manipulation. However, because the robot’s hearing was not fully functional he’d misheard this last word and had edged away from Brawe quite rapidly.
But perhaps he could use this hearing problem to his advantage. He simply had to phrase his words just right...
“Rowboat,” Brawe said, “Can you get me the bun?”
The robot looked at him in a way that only a mechanical face with no expression can. But for all of that, Brawe got the distinct impression that Rowboat was puzzled by the request.
“Get me the bun!” Brawe ordered.
“There are no buns here,” interjected Paralobium without turning round. “You’re a fool, Brawe.”
“I still want the bun,” Brawe said, trying his best to point at the weapon with his eyes.
The robot would have shrugged if it had possessed the freedom of movement in its shoulders to do so. Instead, as if reaching into some kind of multi-dimensional pocket, it pulled out a huge weight, clearly marked with the label “1 TON” and held it aloft.
“You idiot!” Brawe declared, now worried that his chances of escape were diminishing rapidly.
However, holding the weight aloft was too much for the robot’s dodgy balancing servos and it promptly fell over, crushing the life from Paralobium as the weight dropped on him like, well, a ton weight.
“Oh, well done!” Brawe said. His previous insult was now an embarrassing mistake. Or it would have been for anyone who had the slightest bit of humility to them. “My plan worked perfectly!”
The robot picked itself up.
“Now, cut off these tentacles, will you?”
The robot paused for a moment, then pulled out a menacing pair of sheers and approached Brawe, aiming way too low.
“Tentacles!” screamed Brawe. “I said TENTACLES!”