Elected Command: “Big game!”

“Big game!” shouts Sammy, tepidly crawling into the smokery doorway. “Sav-“

The Mayor darts onward before allowing the junior Mafioso to finish. Brashly bounding ahead, he speedily surveys the area.

There!

Sprawled on the alleyway’s befouled ground, the unregistered child from before! Focusing his gaze, the sizeable man draws his attention onto the passed out guttersnipe.

“Now SharkBus, let us engage in a spirited debate!” proclaims The Mayor, before scooping the street urchin from the dirtied surface. Still lacking the fundamentals of consciousness, the scruffy child is bolted upright by The Mayor’s robust grip.

HONK HONNK.

Rapidly closing in, the wheeled predator flashes its lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Doll eyes.

Carefully placing his sizeable footing upon the unkempt youth’s box spring prosthetic knees, The Mayor stands perfectly vertical. Pressing firmly down onto the sloven tot’s shoulder blades, the box springs reflexively coil inward. Exerting his exceptional spinal strength, The Mayor proceeds to mightily lift.

As the springs uncoil, both The Mayor and Tiny Titus ascend into the morning sky.

And then plummet back down.

Ascent.

Descent.

Ascent.

Descent.

Sammy watches on from the relative safety of the smokery doorway, mouth agape.

The Mayor is using Tiny Titus as a makeshift pogo stick.

Snapping away one of the three lit cheroots, The Mayor coyly flicks the burning stogie into the foul pool of leaked Punky Princess fuel. Undeterred, the SharkBus recklessly accelerates, now merely a single body length away.

With honed reflexes, The Mayor ascends once more, Punky Princess wildly exploding from behind. The pressurized force from the motoscooter’s blast vigorously rockets The Mayor and Pogo Titus high enough to clear the SharkBus’s jagged roof.

Deftly flipping, The Mayor clasps the erect SharkBus fin, readily hanging on. Smoke drenched wind whipping past, Tiny Titus snores loudly, arms spread wide.

Seizing his musky top hat from briskly blowing away, The Mayor squints forward.

A perpendicular cement bridge rapidly approaches, hanging high enough to allow the SharkBus clearance, excepting its massive oscillating dorsal fin and roof-riding occupants.

Commands:

1. Slide off SharkBus.
2. Enter SharkBus through windshield.
3. Enter SharkBus through rear exit.
4. Pogo over bridge.

Elected Command: Alert The Mayor.

HONK HONNNK.

“Only one way to stop dat decker monsta.” exclaims Sammy, thinking aloud. Erratically stumbling, the young man focuses the remainder of his drained energies toward the solitary smokery entrance.

HONK HONNNK.

The grumbling horn grows closer, gilled wheels effortlessly shredding cobble brick.

“Yo, Mayooo-“ shouts Sammy, twiggish arms rising for the grimy door handles, only to be brutally smacked back. Gracelessly collapsing, Sammy grasps his now sprained wrists, tongue bit. Gathered in the now swung open doorway, The Mayor squints, a husky trio of lit cheroots perched upon his lip.

“Ah, Sammy. The groveling look does not suit you.” obliviously proclaims The Mayor. Tongue sharply numb, Sammy vehemently responds by furiously kicking in the direction of the fishy transport.

“What specimen of beast be this?”  inquires The Mayor, neglecting Sammy’s disorderly wallowing.

“…Shark-k. B-bus!” spits out the billowing young man.

“Bus? For what purpose does such a creature serve?” further queries The Mayor.

HONK HONNNK.

Plowing ahead, the carnivorous contraption centers on the unconscious Titus.

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Commands:

1. “Public transport!”
2. “Big game!”

Elected Command: MYSTERY ACTION.

The Mayor swiftly ushers the near cationic Uncle Gonzo into the lonesome smokery.

A bubble of nasal mucus expands and retracts as the sleeping Tiny Titus curls up.

Combustible fuel from the Punky Princess foully drips onto the cobble brick.

Sammy decides that the time has come.

The time for action.

Sammy… Picks his teeth.

A trivial mob of scrowpions pass overhead, hacking up their signature mating coughs.

HONK HONNNK.

Without a glance, Sammy recognizes the sound instantaneously.

An intimidating horn, evolved from ages of unchecked collective ownership, and merciless predatory instincts.

Barreling down the sloped alleyway, its enormous frame pitilessly shreds apart the walls of second-hand storefronts and barricaded fire exits alike.

Cast iron placoid scales. Oil soaked serrated teeth. Oscillating dorsal fin.

It shows no signs of slowing down.

It appears primed to devour.

The SharkBus cometh.

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Commands:

1. RUN AWAAAY!
2. Alert The Mayor.
3. Drag Titus to safety.
4. Ignite the Punky Princess.

Brand new character sketch by Angel Angelov.

An even tougher concept project than last time, as Tiny Titus had no formal sketch beforehand. Working off fragments and miscellaneous instructions, the final design proved to be a massive enhancement over the original materials provided.

Great attention was given to Titus’s trademark prosthetic legs, seen here as both minimal yet plausible. The artist made further (fantastic) additions, such as a stitched sleeve, rope belt, and over-sized workman’s gloves to balance perfectly with the adult boots.

Wow-wee-wow-wow-wow.

Meanwhile, props to Detonator for pointing out Paste Magazine’s Obamicon application. Perhaps a more refined version is on the way?

Elected Command: Cry.

Try as he might, the unkempt child of unknown years succumbs to the visceral pain and confusion that now overwhelm his remaining senses.

Titus begins to cry.

Tears flood freely from his bulbous eye, thick mucus congesting his already troubled airways. Murmuring, the saline fluids flow, further obscuring the remainder of his already compromised vision.

Before sputtering out utterances of mercy, he faintly hears the pleading shouts of a familiar Mafioso in the alley’s distance.

Huffing, the worse for wear Sammy clamors onto the scene. Practically falling to his scuffed knees in justifiable exhaustion, he hovers over the now unconscious gamin.

“Ah, Sammy, how favorably fortunate. Your impoverished and inadequate organs managed to withstand those flickering flames.” quips The Mayor.

The young man examines Titus’s faint pulse, beads of sweat covering his own forehead. Sammy regretfully recalls Sister Mister gleefully educating on remedial practices learned from The Order, dispersed between her games of drink and blades.

Turning, Sammy witnesses the vacant stare of the upright Uncle Gonzo as The Mayor examines his modern pair of scale covered boots; dense mustache unquestionably blotted with thin gobs of the Povertoid jelly.

“I wished not to sully my modern fittings on such an urchin, but no matter. Gonzo, our gentlemanly compatriot, appears to possess open tabs with every establishment in sight.” proclaims The Mayor, still admiring the razor sharp toes.

“You gobbled up my bosses’ key to regaining sanity, fled, went window shopping, and knocked out a vital resource to finding my dear friend.” deadpans Sammy.

“And brought a sense of humility to the squalid residents along the way. A productive morning, no doubt.” boasts The Mayor, neck cracking.

Sammy responds by gently closing his eyes, and placing his dirtied face into the palm of his free hand.

“My, my. Those insufficient lungs of yours beseech the soothing comforts of a fine smoke. Stay here, The Uncle and I shall fetch a quality roll.” offers The Mayor, commandeering Uncle Gonzo toward Stan Still’s Savory Smokery ‘N Smokes.

Discerning beyond the now peacefully sleeping, snot covered Titus, Sammy is alerted to the Punky Princess abundantly leaking fuel across the way.

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Commands:

1. Follow The Mayor inside.
2. Smack Titus awake.
3. Salvage the Punky Princess.
4. MYSTERY ACTION.