99 Don’t Yield
“Don’t Yield”
Sung to the tune of
“Staying Alive” from
the hit Broadway stage production
“Hamilton”
“Try all ya want, you filthy son of a Ga’ran, but you will never defeat Minister Inga!” Inga roared as he delivered a swift kick to the jaw of Dhurke’s corpse which was lying in a pool of its own blood on the cold floor of Amara’s tomb.
“I can’t believe this is happening!” Inga fumed as he angrily paced back and forth, not unlike a riled lion. “As if it wasn’t bad enough that cowardly asshole sucker-punched me unconscious, locked me in this damn tomb, and ruined the Plumed Punisher special that I spent the last three weeks working on, but now he’s stolen my new private jet to steal my orb and ruin my plans to finally free myself from my succubus of a wife! Damn Dhurke- taking away my Plan B to escape to a place where Ga’ran can’t ambush me in the bathroom if this orb plot fell through! What next, Dhurke?! Did you pay for an hour’s worth of commercials that consist of a single ad of you doing a happy dance in front of a banner that reads ‘Screw You, Inga’?!”
At that moment, as if on cue, a familiar boisterous voice could be heard from the television that the Minister had brought in days prior in order to appease his burger-loving captive.
“I hope that you enjoyed the special ending of today’s Plumed Punisher episode, people of Khura’in, because we’re not done.” Dhurke boasted, prompting Inga to rush over to the television and glare daggers at the rebel’s smug pre-recorded grin.
“Dhurrrrrke…!” Inga snarled as he gripped and squeezed the life out of the sides of the television, almost as if it would somehow hurt the rebel leader from beyond the grave.
“First, Ga’ran openly spat in the face of justice and human rights by creating the DC Act; then, she began using the secret police as a militia to swiftly dispose of anyone who dares to even slightly disagree with her tyrannical rule; and finally, we have the rotting cherry on top of the sundae of vileness and villainy that is Ga’ran’s rule: that crone having her husband create a t.v. show with the sole intent of brainwashing our youths- something that we will not stand for any longer!” Dhurke boldly proclaimed with a fierce look in his eyes and his arm extended out and fingers clenched to resemble a dragon’s maw. “Therefore, we, the Defiant Dragons, the last bastion of decency and morality in this holy land, have decided to fight fire with fire.”
As Dhurke finished speaking, a cluster of rebels stepped onscreen behind their leader, their faces obscured by darkness, as three others- Datz, a slender man who was wearing a long, flowing black robe and a crimson-red dragon mask, and a much smaller woman who was wearing a similar outfit to the other man- walked over to their leader and stood by his side.
After a brief pause to make sure that everyone was in position, Datz took out a remote control and used it to turn on a nearby boombox, causing it to play a funky beat before the dragon mask-wearing woman started singing in a voice that was clearly masked by a voice changer.
{Beh’leeb}
Don’t yield…
Don’t yield…
{Datz}
I never thought that I’d live to see you this enraged,
‘Til I saw Ga’ran’s new attack in this war we’ve waged,
Queenie says, “You’re a monster and a foe to kids.”
But to that I say, those are just nasty, outrageous fibs!
The Ga’ran Regime strives to corrupt justice, the truth,
That’s why they try to hunt us all down,
And poison the minds of youths!
{Dhurke}
There’s no need to get worked up.
{Datz}
But Dhurke!
{Dhurke}
Datz, please, there’s still hope left in the land of Khura’in:
Her people, good and pure.
{Datz}
For sure!
{Dhurke}
Don’t stand down,
Don’t take flight,
Fight for what’s right from morning until night.
{Datz}
We won’t stop until all of Ga’ran’s crimes are brought to light!
{Dhurke}
Don’t!
{Datz}
Don’t!
{Dhurke}
Yield!
{Datz}
Yield!
{Dhurke}
Bite down hard like your last meal!
{Datz}
Tell ’em, Dhurke!
{Dhurke}
There’s no shortage of fine folks to enlist,
And we’ll surround that cruel despot like mist!
{Datz and Tahrust}
Raise a fist!
{Tahrust}
I will head to the Bazaar and preach words of trust,
It may not be much,
But I do what is good and just.
I wear my armband with much pride,
Since I know that right is on my side,
And that the Holy Mother watches me with eyes of hope and pride.
{Datz}
We fight the police,
We march in the street,
We go straight to the people and are always on our feet,
And every day,
We make Inga hear our pleas,
But every day…
At that point, a tall, lanky rebel who- with the exception of his beard, mustache, and dark, slicked-back hair that was tied into a ponytail at the back- looked nothing like Inga and was dressed in an ill-fitting suit identical to the one that the Minister of Justice wore awkwardly walked onscreen.
“WHAT!” Inga roared at the top of his lungs, his nostrils flaring and his face becoming tomato-red at the sight of this defamation of this character as he slammed his palms against the television with enough for to cause it to almost tip over.
{Inga?}
No!
{Datz}
He just sits back in his posh seat.
{Datz (Beh’leeb)}
Instead of fairness,
(For shame!)
He promotes hate and fear,
(What a jerk!)
And laps up his victim’s tears.
{Inga?}
I’m the Minister! Hee!
{Datz}
I don’t trust that guy to uphold the law.
{Datz and Tahrust}
He turns a blind eye to the horrors he saw.
{Dhurke}
Fair trials for all!
{Inga?}
Never!
{Dhurke}
Justice!
{Inga?}
Never!
{Dhurke}
What’s wrong with you, Inga?
Correct this error!
{Inga?}
Not while it benefits me!
{Dhurke}
If you won’t do something, we will!
Datz!
{Datz}
Yeah, Dhurke?
{Dhurke}
Speak the truth and don’t stand still!
{Datz}
Sure, Dhurke!
{Tahrust}
Hundreds of innocents are killed each and every day,
And only Ga’ran is allowed to have a say!
{Dhurke}
Inga’s just a puppet,
Ga’ran’s special little tot,
Sends him out to spout off things like this, but it’s just one big plot:
{Inga?}
Dhurke’s too dangerous to be allowed to be left alive,
Chaos and anarchy are where he thrives.
If he wants to help out the people of Khura’in,
He should just jump off of a cliff and become a bloody stain.
{All of the Rebels except Dhurke}
KAAAH!
{Dhurke}
Let him prattle.
Her Holiness knows what’s real.
{Datz}
Sure thing, Dhurke!
{Dhurke}
There’s still work we must do,
So we can heal.
{Tahrust}
Such hateful lies…
The royals must be shown the light.
{Datz}
We’ll do just that once the day’s been won!
{Tahrust}
That is quite true,
And with people like you, fairness will be lush.
{Datz}
Fellow rebel, you’re making me blush!
“That’s it! This day officially can’t get any worse!” Inga shouted as he turned off the t.v. and pressed his head against the screen with a sigh.
However, as the Minister was bemoaning his misfortune, his phone, which was still lying on the floor after he learned the news of his private jet being stolen and had been ringing for the past minute, went to voice mail.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Minister Inga Karkhuul Khura’in III. Leave a message after the beep… unless you’re Ga’ran, in which case, leave a message after you take a walk in oncoming traffic.”
“Inga! Inga! Where are you!?” Ga’ran snarled. “I’ve learned to accept that you can’t answer a woman’s desires to be ravished and satisfied in the bedroom, but I would have thought that even if you’re incapable of properly using what little the Holy Mother has given you to please me, you’d at least be able to answer the phone! I swear, Inga! Between this, your train wreck of a Lady Kee’ra plan, and these two television hijackings done by the Defiant Dragons in the course of a single day, I am beyond furious, and you know how I get when I’m furious! So mark my words, Husband, the moment you enter the palace, I will use you to vent out my anger in the form of a long night of passion so sensual, so intimate, and so, so hot that we’ll be able to make butter.” The Queen purred in a tone that was both sultry and sinister. “In fact, I think we’ll do just that. There’s plenty of cream in my kitchen we can use, and I still have that mason jar from our last night of amour when I….”
As Ga’ran continued her lewd tangent entailing what she was going to do to Inga that evening, the Minister of Justice started to sob like a defeated child, his tears streaming down his face and soaking the television’s screen.
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