Wiggling like a limp noodle, Captain tasted Snippy's long delayed vengeance clearly, though they didn't quite understand the why or how of it. Were they not a good ruler? A benevolent governess to minions who needed guidance and the occasional hard knocks to achieve their true potential?

In any case, their thoughts were preoccupied by their painful jaw at the moment, and on Snippy's knee in their back. Bits of sharp clay were caught between the floor and their sweaters, but more importantly all of the junk that Captain had been filching was caught between the various layers of their sweaters and their babyish skin. The wrenched arm sealed the deal: Captain bugled a note of distress when they didn't see an immediate outcome to this travesty, but only a collection of bruised flesh and, worse, ego.

"Fire!" Captain yowled. Everybody knew that in the case of an assault, one was to shrill the most likely threat to damage nearby property in order to get attention -- of course, the method of shrilling was different between the ANNET-laced matrix of their past and the gloriously uncopyrighted free speech of Zion -- but Captain was very quickly running out of options. It might have been the first time that they ever truly considered options to begin with. "Fire! Fire in the disco!!"