"What's the rush, Scott?" I asked as he ran to the dropship parking lot. "We've got to wait thirty minutes."
"We didn't get yielded this time!" he hollered back to me.
I couldn't believe it. Somehow we escaped the yield.
"Why won't this thing fly?" I asked as we plummeted toward Earth in the metal hull assigned to us.
"It's not powered," Cyclops informed me. "Do you ever read the instructions?"
"This is a race! There's no time for instructions."
I managed to put together a small power generator out of some spare parts and tubes of astronaut food. It just needed one small, but essential, component.
I examined the crew and stowaways until I came across a fat man. "You there," I said to him, "you look like someone with heart problems. Do you have any nitroglycerin pills?"
"Uh, yeah, I do," he replied.
"Great! Give them to me."
"But what if I have a heart attack? I might need them," he complained. This is why nobody likes fat people: too much whining.
"Just fork over the pills, Fatty, or we all die."
"Yes, sir," he said handing me his medication.
The lights and engines powered on with a slight hum as I kicked on my generator.
"Wow," Cyclops commented, "your skills know no bounds."
"That is true," I responded modestly. "I happen to be very good at a lot of things. My superior knowle--"
We made it safely to the Latverian landing field. "Tandem bikes? Have the producers gone mad?"
A short tandem bike ride later, we arrived at Castle Doom and received the clue for the detour.
"Dead. That sounds fun," I said to Cyclops. "What do we do in that one?"
He read me the details.
"Bringing back spirits isn't what I had in mind. What's the other one?" I asked.
He explained the details of Red.
I responded, "Time traveling? No way! Once you start meddling with that, the plot never makes sense. Too many butterflies."
"I like butterflies," Cyclops added.
"Dead it is."
As we stood in the Transference Chamber awaiting our extra-dimensional trip, I turned to Cyclops and said, "Hey, Scott, go to Hell." I began laughing and suddenly we were inside Mephisto's bedroom.
"What are you doing here and why are you laughing at me?" the underworld overlord demanded.
"I'm not laughing at you," I offered, "I'm laughing with you." Then I noticed his Snoopy pajamas and added, "And your cute, little PJs."
We waited in his office while he changed. "Now," he said entering, "what is it you want?"
"We need you to release a spirit for us," I said.
"Which spirit did you have in mind?"
Cyclops and I glanced at each other. We didn't have a plan for this detour; we've just been winging it. I shrugged at Cyclops.
"Dick Cheney?" Cyclops suggested.
Mephisto rubbed his chin and replied, "He's not dead, plus he has no soul."
I offered, "Michael Jackson?"
"He's got soul," Mephisto said, "but he's not dead."
"I got it!" I announced. "Walt Disney?"
"I wish," Mephisto said. "He's not dead, nor is he alive. I've been waiting years for his soul, but he's being kept in a state between life and death somehow. I suspect this was that rat's doing. I don't trust vermin, do you?"
"Uh...we don't really know any," I replied.
"Darth Vader!" Cyclops shouted.
"Oh, that's a good one," I said. "How about it, Fisty?"
"That could be arranged. What's in it for me?" Mephisto asked.
It was time for some of my patented negotiating. "How about the soul of Walt Disney?"
Mephisto was hooked. I could tell he was thinking it over, so I added, "We'll thaw the Nazi out and ensure he dies completely. If we don't succeed, then you can have both of our souls."
"Oh, nos!" Cyclops cried. "I need my soul."
"Alright," Mephisto said and shook my hand. "You can have Anakin, but if I don't see Walt here with me by the time The Amazing Race 4 ends, then your souls are mine." He laughed semi-maniacally and retreated back into his bedroom chambers through a cloud of red smoke.
"Well, that was easy," I said turning to Cyclops. "So, how do we get back?"
Then, a Force Ghost approached us. "You the guys that released me?" it asked.
It was Anakin Skywalker in the flesh, sort of. In the Force flesh. "Hey," I greeted him, "we're both big fans of your work. But um, shouldn't you be older since, you know, you died in your forties or something?"
"Probably," he shrugged. "The Force works in mysterious ways."
"Can I touch you?" Cyclops said waving his hand through the ghostly Force ether. "Aw, guess not."
"So, now what guys?" Ghost Anakin asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "We just had to release you."
"Did my son send you? He needs help building the New Republic, huh? I knew he didn't have what it takes. Between you and me, all my confidence is in the girl. She's like her mother, that one. The boy....ugh, I just don't know about him. Have you seen him ride a Taun-Taun? He can barely stay on one of them. I don't see how he plans on rebuilding the Jedi Order."
"Actually," I said, "we're in a reality show. Releasing you was one of the challenges."
"Oh, so I'm not needed?"
"Nope. I think the era of Anakin Skywalker is pretty much over with."
"Oh," he said taking a seat. "I guess I'll just hang around here, then. Tell your sister you were right."
"See you later," I said.
Cyclops and I went back to Dr. Doom's Transference Chamber.
So, I just need to trade him a more desirable soul," Dr. Doom said handing us the Pit Stop clue. "I wonder if he'd be interested in Dr. Strange?"
The Pit Stop was nearby, in the throne room. Cyclops and I made our way there.
As we ran to the finish line, Cyclops asked, "So how are we going to kill Walt Disney so that Mephisto doesn't get our souls?"
"Oh, I don't know," I answered. "But, hey, it's no big deal. It's not like souls are real or anything."
And so we arrived at the Pit Stop.