(Muttley)

    "There's no such thing as bad luck," Bryan Taft told himself emphatically, as he hobbled out of his bedroom. He had knocked over his favorite statue of Adonis from the side table. Now his foot hurt like hell. "There's no such thing as bad luck!" he told himself as he gritted his teeth and shoved his swollen foot into his boots of Spanish leather. To take his mind off his discomfort, he thought of the date he would have that night with blond blue-eyed Tiffany. And tomorrow, on Valentine's day, he had red-haired green-eyed Mimi. It made him feel *so* much better, thinking about the two beautiful women. Yes, he was positively gleeful.

    Taft was late for an appointment with Daniel Cassian at his hotel near the hospital. They were investigating a recent mysterious outbreak of patients suddenly going berserk and running down the corridors without their hospital gowns. Taft refused to believe it had anything to do with the full moon. There had to be a logical and scientific explanation for it. There is no such thing as bad luck, even on Friday 13th, he firmly told himself.

    Taft started his Harley and roared down the road. He knew a shortcut to the hotel.

    And he suddenly found himself in a traffic snarl. A car had rammed into the back of a truck, which in turn had wrecked the back of another car in front of it. Bryan could see cars and other vehicles stuck for about a mile behind the scene of the accident; however, he wasn't worried. He had a bike. He'd soon weave through the mess and get out. A pity, Taft thought. He should have noticed how irate some of the drivers were. Yelling and gesturing out of open windows.

    He carefully wound his bike around the vehicles, with a smug smile on his face. Bryan was feeling very clever...until someone threw a chocolate-stained wrapper out of the window right onto the visor of his helmet. Temporarily blinded, he stopped his bike to remove the offending wrapper and wipe off the muck as well as he could. He could see through his visor but everything looked a little distorted and blurred. He wasn't worried though. He knew himself to be an excellent rider. He moved on...and screamed when a snarling Doberman with huge teeth leaped out of an open window at him. He was lucky to get away with losing just a part of the right sleeve of his leather jacket.

    Taft was near the end of the jam of vehicles. He heaved a sigh of relief. Too soon, however. Someone flicked a lit cigarette butt out of a window and it made a very neat hole on the left leg of his jeans. Inexplicably, his jeans caught on fire. He yelped very loudly and stopped his bike. He hopped up and down, beating on his jeans and someone came to his rescue by throwing a huge flask of coffee on him to put out the fledgling flame. Very hot coffee. Bryan yelped and jumped up and down some more. He had to rip off his shirt. He couldn't do anything about his jeans. He fanned himself mightily until the wet mess cooled down enough for him to continue his journey. Absorbed in his own misery, he didn't notice the grins on the faces of the amused drivers nearby.

    Bryan's ordeal wasn't a complete disaster though. It was an amusing distraction for the drivers of the cars nearby and helped them to forget that they were stuck in a jam. Besides, they hated that smug look on his face. That was before he started to look a really sorry sight in his torn leather jacket and coffee-stained burned jeans. He could hear their chuckles as he rode away. He was very tempted to show them a very rude sign.

    His journey to Cassian's hotel continued without further mishap. The worse must be over. "There's no such thing as bad luck!" he grated as he parked on the grass verge in front of the hotel. He took off his helmet and got off the bike.

    And promptly stepped in dog pooh.

(Behemoth)

    He didn't have to look at his foot. He knew from the nauseating odor just what he had stepped in. What a sight he made there in front of the hotel in his shredded leather jacket, no shirt, and coffee stained charred jeans. He scraped his feet on the grass like an angry bull ready to charge. He repeated over and over, " There is no such thing as bad luck!" Taft looked at his watch. He was late. Cassian would be furious. He walked quickly around the building to a rear entrance. A huge black cat ran across his path and almost tripped him. In his haste, he failed to notice a garbage truck lifting a large trash receptacle. Inexplicably, the receptacle shifted, spilling some foul smelling slop as Taft hurried by. He jumped out of the way, trying to avoid the spill but hit his head on the dumpster, knocking himself out cold.

    When Bryan regained consciousness, he realized he was in the hospital. There were people standing over him with masks covering their faces. He recognized Cassian and a nurse. Maureen was her name. The look in her eyes wasn't exactly one of pity. He had stood her up a week ago when an old girl friend had called to say she was in town for an overnight and had invited him to dinner. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He was imagining her anger. It was the blow to his head. He'd make it up to her as soon as he was up and around. Taft tried to move. Why was he in traction and why was there so much pain? With a cruel laugh, Maureen explained that when the emergency team was rushing him into the hospital, an ambulance that was backing into the emergency entrance hit the gurney he was on. It sent Taft crashing against the brick wall of the hospital. He had suffered a broken leg and arm. He had also sustained a concussion from his meeting with the dumpster. Maureen produced a large and angry looking hypodermic. He thought she said something about a tetanus shot. Before he could protest, she jabbed him none too gently in his backside. He jumped, causing more pain and let out a loud yelp. Maureen just smiled. Cassian stood in the doorway, observing the goings on with a strange smile plastered on his face. If Bryan didn't know better, he would have thought that Cassian was enjoying his torture. Taft wondered what he could possibly have done to deserve such a day. After all, there was no such thing as bad luck. Maureen left the room with Cassian but glanced back briefly at Brian. He thought he heard her say something about him getting his "Just Desserts."