When Sheffer grabbed the doctor's wrist to pry open the feeble old man's hand and coerce him to take something by force, a rather horrible looking implement with tiny claws and a central suction cup jutted out of his computer-equipped metal gauntlet on a spindly, cable-like nanotech tentacle, and in the blink of an eye, made a bite for a nice, tiny little patch of furry green flesh with one snappy, snake-like chomp. A specialist in the field of biotech by trade, Henshin was never without his Wildly Invasive Tissue Collector. Though a violent little creation, contact with the device was also accompanied by a humane, powerfully-numbing local anesthetic; if it stung even a little at first, it wouldn't for long. Actually, Sheffer probably wouldn't be feeling that arm much at all for a few minutes...

"That's the kind of sample I need! None of your silly, inert gravel," he celebrated with a ragged, old cackle. "If I wanted glittery rhinestones, I'd invade Power Mask's wardrobe. So, where were we? Did we talk about breakfast yet?"

"Oh, he won't even need a band-aid," Dr. Henshin assured Jack (quite possibly over the sound of rage or impending retaliation, depending on the nature of Sheffer's upcoming reaction). "My weekly nosehair grooming hurts much worse."

Another implement that looked notably like an electric razor shaped like a long drillbit, sparking with electricity for some peculiar reason, swung up from somewhere behind his shoulder to illustrate. Yeah, he was showing everyone his high-tech nosehair trimmer. Deal with it.

"The second option?" Henshin repeated uncertainly. His head cocked to the side. "I just got through explaining that while you were gone."

...

"Ah ha ha I kid. What was that option again?"

His midair HUD lit up once more, and he turned it so he could see it again. "Ohhh. Okay. Right. The location of the emerald!"

The wacky, ever so lovable (depending on who you ask) old coot whizzed over to the couch and plopped down for a seat. "MAIN SCREEN TURN ON," he demanded in a loud, monotone voice, then clapped twice. The flat-panel television dropped lower from the ceiling on a mechanical arm and swooped up itself closer to where everyone was seated.

"I happened upon this while I was recording my stories—you know, since we had that submarine mission and all, and I couldn't be here to watch them. Anyway, I can't be for certain whether or not this is the same emerald that was swiped out from under your noses by that little boy or not, but... watch."

And if any of the doctor's good company were to pay attention to said screen, they would come to bear witness to what was being passed off as the event of a lifetime.

The advertisement displayed an empty, black canvas on the screen, before a spotlight in the distance revealed a random joe-nobody... though, here... he was clearly a somebody.

Dun -dun-.

"He had worked himself to the bone..."

Dun -dun-. Dun -dun-.

The random joe in question was nothing more than a grey rabbit, now donning boxing gloves, as he started punching the air in front of himself with much strain and vigor.

"He had -paid- all his dues..."

Dun -dun-...

The rabbit utilized highly efficient slo-mo technology to send himself spiraling towards the light in an uppercut for the ages.

"And now... he will overcome the greatest challenge of his life!"

... And cue the poor thing taking a giant behemoth of a glove to the face, as he was strolling so confidently towards the viewer.

"... Unless -you- can get to it first!"

It was at this point that the commercial proceeded to have a trip, and, much like the unlucky lapine, would see stars, bright lights, and double rainbows as wild text flew about all over the place, indicating that, yes -- something -big- was apparently going down. Very big.

"This weekend, down at the very heart and center of Casino Night Zone, the hard-working host of every party, every bash, and every -celebration- is now playing host to a new event taking place at one of his finest facilities in the district! Our star figure, practically the Zone's -mayor-, invites you, your friends, your family, your teachers, and even your pet -rocks- to the biggest, baddest competition that the Starry Nights Colosseum has ever had! ... In the history of -ever-! ... EVER!"

The picture ceased its inane swirling of the color spectrum, to focus on a clip that was quite easily the complete opposite of the advertisement's prior nature. The camera panned in to a visual of the host himself, seated quite comfortably at his desk, a warm flame dancing in the fireplace behind him. Clearly, the advert's main intent was to draw attention. And now, that it had -secured- it, it was time for details. The porcupine in question donned a velvet smoking jacket, if only to accompany the fancy cigar he had placed neatly between his fingers.. He seemed to be quite a sophisticated figure, looking as calm as the breeze on a summer morn...

"Good evening to you all. For those who have the misfortune of being in the dark - I am Vince, the proud owner of the large-scale casino resort that takes its residence right in the center of Casino Night Zone, and I formally invite you to attend the first annual Starry Nights Colosseum -Boxing Championship-! This message goes out to all of my personal friends and patrons, but also..."

Puff, goes the cigar...

"Hmmm... but also, to all of those brave, formidable opponents who wish to partake in this momentous occasion... Anybody, within the appropriate age range, is permitted to compete, and all you have to do is give my resort a phone call at the number on display -now-... And provide us the appropriate information upon request."

Vince stood tall from his seat, and began to pace towards the viewer, taking in another soft puff from the cigar. "Heh... As this competition -is- within the confines of a casino district, it's no surprise that the first obvious prize is a high-dollar payout, given to you -personally- from mine own hand. In addition, a photograph of the victor and I shaking hands shall be taken for the press... But, of -course-, we can't simply dismiss the victor without the most obvious gift of all, yes...?" His short-lived journey ended, right alongside a metal masterpiece that was nearly as tall as -he- was -- several miniature pillars of gold, lined with swirling ribbons of silver right up to the peaks... but at the very center, nestled in the cup of the Cup... was a most radiant jewel, glistening with a lovely violet hue...

"The victor will receive their money, their photo op for the headlines, and, of course... the Starry Nights Cup, topped off with one of the currently most valuable gemstones in existence... A Chaosol Emerald!"

The porcupine leaned in just a mite towards the camera, his thin lips curling into a tiny smirk. "Was that enough to get your attention, I wonder...? My office looks forward to hearing from you...! We are going to make history with this event, my friends!" As Vince began to step away, back towards the loving warmth of the fireplace, he gave the viewers one last look... "... It will be a night to remember..."

---

... Once that bit ended, the commercial resumed its obnoxious visuals and voiceover, to round everything off at its conclusion. For those who had been watching, the really important part was already done and over-with. And what an important clip it was.

... that fellow had a Chaosol Emerald. And all anybody had to do was box for it.

That should be easy enough.

After being quite amused by Sheff's predicament, if only because of how ridiculous the doctor's behavior struck the shark, Mako turned his attention to the screen and raised his eyebrows.

"Errr... that was dramatic," he said, blinking a couple times as he rubbed the back of his head. He paused. "... so, uhh, doc, that thing that spiky was shilling is real, or...?"
So sue him, he had reason to believe it may have been a tad... hoax-tastic. He voiced this. "I think... y'know, maybe a bit... hoax-tastic? ... nevermind, that's a stupid word."

---

A good ways away, a rather stout, scraggly individual, who even as he watched television, gave off a distinct "look at me funny and you die" air, was lounging in a torn-up plaid recliner. As the group watched the commercial with the doctor, he was scanning channels, half-open eyes peering out from behind a can of cheap beer. Soap opera, infomercial, guy presenting a Chaosol emerald and talking about a tournament, soap-- what was that last one?
He pressed the channel-down button, and his eyebrows shot up as he watched it through to the end, before his television went back to yelling about the News At Eleven.

His attention had surely been caught.

"Not to be presumptuous, but I'm pretty sure that none of you know how to box," the doctor declared with unfitting brightness. "I used to be a real hitter in my day, myself!" (Really? Even in his youth, he couldn't have been taller than three feet.) "But now, all these cybernetic components, they'd never allow me... So that means it's up to one of you, anyway."

He turned to the biggest guy in the room. You know the one.

"I do believe we already have a heavyweight champion among us, though! ... If... the goal to be championed is being heavy, I mean."

"Ohhh ho, I don't question that for a moment!" replied the doctor with a devious edge to his voice—Only to suddenly stop and backtrack. "The thing about his... reputation, I mean. Not the thing about his nickname. He doesn't look like a wasp to me, either. My grandmother's half-brother's father on my mother's side was a wasp."

He stared vacantly into space for a moment as if lost in thought. (He was secretly investigating the syntax of what he had just said, and wondering if he explained the relationship correctly.) Eventually, he cleared his throat and continued.

"What I mean, though, is that yes, you are right. However, my sensors don't lie—There is an emerald on Westside Island now, and though it's hard to pinpoint its precise position without actually going there, it looks to be in about the right place."

(OOC: Just posting to keep this moving so it doesn't hang on a small question, but so Mako also gets his answer.)



"Oh, I already looked up the dates," replied the moth nonchalantly as if it was an unexciting detail. "We'll have about a whole week to make our arrangements. I'm not sure how many nights the contest will span, though... I suppose that depends on how many competitors they accept, speeeaking of which..."

He looked expectantly at the group, hands clasped together.

"Who's coming?!" he very nearly shouted his question, looking far too amped. "And more importantly, who's manning up for the fight? Oh, I've always wanted to be a boxing trainer...! One, two! Jab! Ahaha."

He was punching air in his excitement, but it looked more like he was feebly groping for invisible butterflies in the air, or something equally inane and impotent.