The desperate cry had evanesced and died within the tight covet sandwiched between sealed doors. Fortunately, the pile-on had itself began to die. An liquid crept, near-invisible past the mass of alien lifeforms, along the floor. The ones that lived, scattered. 

In a flash, the vagrant, newly-exposed, struggled to stuff a writhing mass down its throat. A barrel flashed, and he looked up into the blast. 

[center][img]https://s18.postimg.org/87psoda7d/frozen_kirbster.png[/img]
[h3][color=#F5A9F2]Introducing: Kirby![/color][/h3][/center]
What a wonderful, spontaneous adventure this had proven to be. Kirby himself had a stifled memory, but in his short-term were fast-fading memories entailing clones and brawls and apples and such. Something he had no responsibility to remember, nor intention to engage in. But the universe at large apparently needed Kirby more than Pop Star did, and he found himself sucked into a maelstrom of rejected content, spat out into what appeared to be intergalactic strife: the inevitable result of betraying continuity. He might have been presumptive in his attempt, but it was hard for Kirby to really gauge himself; he wasn't a fan of introspection. Yet, doing anything else was rendered difficult when the superstar found himself incapacitated like a round, rosy-cheeked ice cube. There was nothing more humiliating. 

[color=#F5A9F2][b]"Po... yu..."[/b][/color] He resigned and hoped the predicament might solve itself.