If it was your mission to save celebrities in peril or fight an army of manufactured zombies, but could choose any of your heroes as allies, whom would you call? In this tale, a cousin of the "STARGAZER: A rock satire" series, an accident causes man...
'Let me out, you bastards!' —this order was underscored by a fierce rattling of the bars. 'I am citizen of the United States of America...'
'Me too, pal, but they don't give a shit,' cut in a sombre voice from a corner of the same cage.
'¿And who the hell are you?' roared the former, without turning, still clenching the bars.
'Name's Freddy,' replied the other.
'I have to get ready for an appointment. You listening, motherfuckers?' insisted desperately his companion, albeit there was no one else on sight.
'I can help you,' declared Freddy, sardonically. On saying which, a tinkling was heard. The incensed guy turned around a bit and caught a glint.
'Yes, that will do,' he spat, anxious, on discerning a long knife that Freddy rapped over the lock of their cage.
'But first, tell me, what is your style, my good...' and he waited for his companion to introduce himself formally.
'I'm Blackie, and I'm in a hurry, so let's talk no more. Show me your knack.'
'There!' cried Freddy. '¿Happy now?'
Utter silence. Blackie could not understand how he had wound up there. Everything had happened so fast: a light engulfed him while he dozed in his seat on a plane bound for Bleakstone, and suddenly he found himself in a cage. Then his cellmate, a scrawny chap in a striped jumper and straw hat, had volunteered to force the lock with a knife, and right when he began his work a thousand flashes dazzled Blackie again. On recovering his senses, the door remained shut and Freddy beheld him satisfied.
'Holy crap!' cried Blackie on remarking the charred face of his companion. 'Did they do that to you?'
'If you mean our captors, no,' replied Freddy. 'This was courtesy of some rustic neighbours, but they haven't done anything to me here.'
'Yet...' panted someone in the hall, and in a few seconds a shaggy lad appeared. Wearing jeans, running shoes and a t-shirt with the cover of the Thin Lizzy album Jailbreak, he looked evidently agitated to judge by his countenance. He was followed by a rough and stout man carrying a massive shotgun.
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'They haven't done anything to you yet. But fear not, we're going to rescue you,' said the lad, noticing that Blackie retreated before the armed man. Nevertheless, Blackie retreated rather in astonishment than in dread, as in the shades of that man he saw his own reflection. And he didn't like what he saw; or, rather, he was thoroughly dismayed by what he did not see.
And so preoccupied he grew, reckoning himself amid a Nightmare on Elm street, that he did not descry the creature that watched them in the distance and that snuck away once the cage was opened. What he did observe were the sharpened steel blades jutting out of one of Freddy's gloves when the latter patted his saviours on the shoulders; and then Blackie realised what had occurred a minute before.
