“Those proton packs may prove useful for the confrontation,” I mused when Emmanuel finished. “Good work, you three.”
“Just doing our job,” replied Emmanuel.
“GET AWAY FROM THAT!!” boomed a voice.
“That was Rusty!” I realized. “Come on!” We followed the shout to see Rusty, Hiroki, Livia, Emu, and the Brigadier holding a young man back. The man was Japanese, from what I could see in the struggling, had a beige coat, a pair of jeans, a grey shirt under the coat, and mismatching sneakers. They were the same brand, but the right sneaker was blue and the left was red. He had tools in his hands and was about to dissect Rusty’s old shell! “HEY!” I snapped as I turned into Tora-Onna and hoisted the man up. “Don’t you know it’s rude to be poking around someone’s old shell?!” I growled. The man’s reaction surprised me. Instead of terror at the prospect of being lifted by a tiger woman with machinery sticking out of her, his face showed excitement at being in the presence of what would usually be a scientific impossibility.
“HOW COOL!” he cheered as he ran his fingers through his hair. “How did all of your machinery grow like this?!”
“Good question, not the point,” I replied. “How did you get here?! Who are you?!”
“That’s Sento Kiryu,” answered Hiroki. “He’s Emu’s successor, Kamen Rider Build.”
“And did your team have a hand in his arrival here? Along with Emu?” I asked.
“Actually,” clarified Emu, “some monster by the name of Caan did that.”
“Khan?” I asked, going off the pronunciation.
“Yeah,” confirmed Livia. “He spelled it C-A-A-N, and said he was part of a cult called the Cult of Skaro.”
“The Cult of Skaro?” asked Rusty.
“You know them?” I asked as I set Sento down.
“That’s just a myth amongst the Daleks,” answered Rusty.
“What’s this about Dalek Myths?” asked a British voice. Michael came in to say hi to Xiomara.
“Michael, do you know anything about a cult of Skaro?” I asked.
“I think you mean THE Cult of Skaro,” replied Michael. “A group of four Daleks that were given what Daleks consider a curse that Humanity is saturated with.”
“There are many aspects of Humanity the Daleks consider a curse,” commented Rusty, “you will have to be more specific.”
“Imagination,” replied Michael. “Those specific Daleks were to imagine like their enemies so they could better exterminate them. Thankfully, they broke up, like a band. Except, not, unless most bands resort to killing one member, the other two dying by their entourage, and the last survivor flying into the Time War to save Davros from the jaws of the Nightmare Child, only to die when Davros’ Reality Bomb was destroyed before it could wipe out all non-Dalek life in the universe. They were the only Daleks to have names.”
“What were they?” I asked.
“Sec, the one that was killed first, was a Black Dalek,” answered Michael, “Jast and Thay died by humans that they had spliced Dalek DNA into, and Caan was the one who saved Davros. It cost him his mind, but he could see into the future.”
“And is Caan spelled C-A-A-N?” asked Livia.
“…Yes, why do you ask?” asked Michael, suspicion forming in his brain.
“He’s alive,” replied Hiroki. “Our mission led to an encounter with him.”
“That’s impossible! I just said when he died!” wailed Michael.
“That’s a bit of a tale,” muttered Livia.
“Then tell it,” I directed.
“This is it!” cheered Heather as her spectral fingers worked with the internal mechanics. “I’m gonna do it! I’m gonna come back to life, pure and fully equipped!”
“All this,” snarked a voice, “just to get your old body back, but with ovaries.”
“I thought I told you to stay out of this!” hissed Heather as she turned to a monstrous looking humanoid. It had three tentacles on the back of its head with a single eye in the center of its forehead. Its armor was reminiscent of a Dalek. Its shape was that of a humanoid male.
“I don’t need to be a prophet to tell you that your plan will fail,” replied the monster.
“Go away, Caan,” snarled Heather. “This isn’t your fight!”
“Why can’t you just accept the fact,” asked the former Dalek Caan, “that this is going to backfire miserably?”
“Because I never saw your name listed as one of the prophets in the Bible!” argued Heather.
“No, because you can’t get your head out of your rear when someone who can see the future says that this is a bad idea!” snarled Caan.
“I need to come back to life and my own Apocalypse Driver will get me exactly what I want!” insisted Heather.
“And you’ll spread pure humanity when you do,” mocked Caan, “and your descendants will continue your mission of purity, and everything will be wonderful! Except, that’s where you humans get it wrong. You never knew purity and will never know that.”
“Says the mutant!” roared Heather. “I WILL succeed!”
“I’m the one that looked into the Time Vortex,” mused Caan, “I’m generally well informed in these matters.”
“Go away, I have work to do!” insisted Heather.
“Well, I DID foresee you not listening to reason,” sighed Caan. “But, I warn you, you’re about to unleash a force you cannot control nor comprehend. Toodle-oo!” He then summoned a portal and went through.
“Stupid Dalek,” snarled Heather. “What would THEY know about purity?”
“Failure, as I predicted,” sighed Caan as he arrived on Foundation Prime.
“Won’t that change things?” I asked as the picture switched off.
“Not really,” replied Caan. “The Vortex Riders’ little skirmish with Heather won’t affect us.”
“And if there’s a new person to arrive at the end of that skirmish?” I queried.
“Rest assured, Madame Igura,” assured Caan, “she won’t help much. She will be a newborn.”
“She?” I asked.
“Unimportant,” dismissed Caan. “The point is, she’ll be too busy deciding who she is to help.”