Episode LIV

“Sir, the telephone is ringing.”

“Answer it you idiot!”

“Hello? Yes Frank, he is here. Okay.” Distracted by too many neurons firing at once the henchman hung up the cell phone and turned to his master. “Frank says the police are close to finding you.”

“I was afraid of this,” Acidity muttered just loud enough for the henchman to overhear. Then he realized how melodramatic he sounded and ordered the henchman to forget what he had just heard. Unfortunately this henchman was George, one of his original two followers. Acidity had utilized George more than any of his other “employees” and had thus had to inject him more than anyone else. The command was interpreted a bit too literally and George stood in front of Acidity with a blank look smeared across his face. Cursing the stupidity of his followers under his breath Acidity started over.

“If we are going to move we will need money. Go back to the Bates Hotel and retrieve all of their files. I especially want all of the credit card information they have.”

“Yes, sir, Lord Acidity” George haltingly responded, trying to remember his mission perfectly.

“Now make sure nobody sees you, nobody alive that is. The police have captured you before and I can’t take the chance they want you again.”

“With a final nod and “yes, sir” for his master George left the makeshift compound and headed towards the north side of Daze Springs.

* * *

With a groan Frodo awoke. He stretched and immediately wished that he hadn’t. His arms encountered slimy garbage—the remains of too much spaghetti he suspected. At once he was outraged. Who would dare to do this to Frodo Baggins?!? He would make them pay! But then he remembered. He was no longer Frodo Baggins, he was simply Jeff Smark.

After a momentary letdown Jeff decided not to let anything keep him down. He had risen through the structure of Elfaeran’s massive hierarchy until he had budgetary control of Q Lab. Perhaps his fellow (well former fellow) Q Labbers had betrayed him, but Jeff knew he could get back at them. The first thing he needed to do was contact his financial advisor. A quick call and—his hand slapped against an empty belt. Of course, he berated himself, they had taken all of his equipment, no matter how mundane. Even his wallet was gone, though they had left his glasses. Perhaps out of pity he though. But his glasses were not as ordinary as they appeared, though they would even fool Xanga’s vaunted sensors. None of their features would do him any good here though.

When an attempt to clean his glasses only smeared the filth around Jeff sighed and sat up. Thankfully the dumpster was mostly full and he could see out from this position. The dumpster was in a dingy alley behind what appeared to be a rather rundown restaurant, Tony’s Bistro. After probing his memory for a few moments Jeff remembered the establishment. He and Prince John—no, he reminded himself, no more pseudonyms if he could help it. He and Dick Löwe had used the place once during Q Lab’s early years as a place to meet a Canadian agent. Since that time the neighborhood had decayed and had been absorbed by the north side slums.

“Of course they’d dump me in a place like this,” he muttered. “They just—” But then he froze, for he heard footsteps coming down the alley towards his dumpster. Jeff debated hiding below the rim of the trash container, but on a whim he decided to ask the approaching individual for help. He determined that the stranger was a tall man in his mid twenties with long red hair. Jeff called out. “Hello, my good man, can give you give a brother a hand?”

“Master said I mustn’t be seen,” the man muttered in a dull voice. “Have to kill this one.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jeff replied. “No need to kill anybody. I’m worth more to you alive than dead.”

“No, you can’t live.” With that dire pronouncement the man picked up a nail encrusted plank and advanced upon the dumpster.

“Wait, you can’t be serious,” Jeff protested. “I-I have money! I’ll pay you not to kill me!”

The man paused and appeared to be considering the offer. “Money? You can give money to the master?”

“Um, yeah, sure. I can give money to your boss no problem. Now where should I send this money?”

“No sending. You will come with me to hotel and then we see the master.”

With a shrug Jeff levered himself out of the dumpster and walked towards the man. At this point anything was better than the dumpster. Then he paused as something about the man struck him as familiar. Wait, hadn’t Q Lab just started investigating reports of slavish goons in Daze Springs? This man could be a follower of the creature calling himself Acidity. Jeff grinned, if this was true then his day was definitely looking up. He might be completely on his own, but this Acidity character certainly had an organization already in place. He resumed his walk towards the man and grinned. “What’s your name buddy? I’m Jeff.”

“George. Don’t talk any more. Follow me.”

* * *

Acidity was contemplating the merits of sending more minions after George and had decided to have someone call Frank for him when the entrance to his makeshift throne room burst open. George pushed past the two minions standing guard, trailing another man behind him. The middle-aged stranger was of average height with greasy blond hair and thoroughly unremarkable features. Acidity was sure he had never seen him before, but he still seemed familiar.

Abruptly Acidity sat upright as he realized what was familiar about the stranger. He walked and moved just like the scientists at the Daze Springs Scientific Studies Lab, with all the arrogance that modern society’s addiction to science could give him.

“George!” the acid lord began. “What is the meaning of this?”

As he listened to his own voice Acidity truly began to warm to his new persona. This is who he was meant to be. No more for him the days as mild mannered James Faulkner, successful businessman and world traveler. Instead of traveling the globe Acidity meant to rule it! But first, of course, must come his control of Daze Springs, and he could never accomplish this with only idiots like George. Perhaps if he had a few more underlings like Frank Evans…

Suddenly Acidity realized that George was answering his question.

“—has money Lord Acidity.”

“Is this true?” The acid lord quickly cut George off and turned his full attention to the stranger.

“Of course Mr. Acidity, I have plenty of money. But perhaps if you tell me a bit more about your present difficulties I can determine how to best help you. You see I know all about you. Some former associates of mine were quite fascinated by your emergence. If you gain much more power they may start seeing you as a threat.”

“Wait,” Acidity growled. “Who are you that I should listen to you?”

Ignoring the question the stranger posed one of his own.

“Where is your minion Ed?”

“You know too much.”

“No, wait. Ed disappeared after an incident in Westwood, right? But he eventually came back. Why?”

Slightly intrigued by this brash man Acidity decided not to throw the stranger out and tried to humour him instead. “Of course he returned. Everybody returned, they cannot resist me. I am more addictive than the Borg!”

“That’s what we wanted you to think. Sci-fi clichés aside, your acid treatments are extraordinarily addictive. But…”

“But?” Acidity prompted in his deep voice.

“But we managed to beat it. I’m not sure how, that was Batman’s department. Look, we can talk all day, but I can produce proof for you. My former associates know everything that Ed knows. Not knew, everything that he knows and learns. By this time they’ve probably already gone to the police.”

“I’ve heard the police are close to me, but not why.” Acidity paused in his pronouncement. “I must investigate this. You will stay here tonight under guard.”

“May I at least have a shower and some clean clothes?”

“Yes. Fenton and George will take you to a room. You will remain there and not attempt to escape.”

“Yessir bossman. I’ll stay put. By the way, my name is Jeff.”

* * *

The room Jeff was lead to was far from comfortable, but at least it was clean and dry. After a long cold shower he stretched out on the room’s cot. Apparently the compound had water and sewer connections, but no electricity or amenities like water heaters. Or, he mused, perhaps that was just for the “guest quarters.”

As the former Q Labber wasn’t at all tired he tried to plan out his future. He’d known he wanted revenge against the rest of Q Lab, or at least the mutiny’s leaders, but he’d never imagined he would have the good fortune to run into someone as capable as Acidity. Tomorrow, once he had convinced the acid lord he would have to contact his financial advisor.

For the past twenty years Dr. Gordon, in addition to his own eccentric activities had managed Jeff’s investment portfolio. Initially Zagreb Investments had been rather small, but once Jeff entered Q Lab he had found many opportunities to divert funds. He always told himself that he wasn’t stealing, just taking what was rightfully his from the patent money Q Lab controlled. After all he had helped to develop several of the gadgets and drugs and even helped to concoct the cover stories.

Jeff wasn’t sure exactly what the doctor was up to these days. It had been nearly five years since they had met face-to-face, though seven years previously they had begun secretly communicating over Xanga’s satellite. Jeff still remembered his astonishment when he discovered that they were routed through Telstar 42. He hadn’t known there were more than thirty of the communications satellites, including classified models. Obviously he couldn’t connect to the satellite away from Q Lab, or Gordon’s facility (wherever it was), but with broadband access to the internet he should be able to send a secure message to the doctor. Then, once he had access to his finances he could bankroll Acidity and perhaps even direct the monster’s energies against Q Lab.

Unfortunately Jeff realized that gaining access to his money might not answer all of his problems. He couldn’t let himself believe that Nightrider would really ignore him—even after this she would surely monitor his actions. In fact, he sat upright as the thought struck him, she might have left a GPS chip in him. He had no way to check his suspicions without resorting to a lab, and he didn’t dare risk the chance of leading Nightrider somewhere he might use as a base of operations. Cursing Nightrider and her ilk Jeff ruffled through several drawers until he found a pencil and pad of paper. Hours and seemingly reams later he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Acidity was definitely not a morning person, though as James Faulkner he had needed to rise early most mornings. Now that he had set himself up as a self-styled acid lord he set his own schedule as much as possible and expected the world to conform. This morning he had tried to sleep in, comfortable under the surface of his acid spa. His rest was disturbed however as George tossed a small rock into the bubbling acid.

“Frank called, master.”

“Well? What did he say?”

“The police are coming here.”

“WHAT?!? When? How many? Why didn’t he find out sooner?”

Overwhelmed George failed to answer any of his master’s questions. Frustrated, Acidity finally managed to restrain and calm himself. “How long do we have George?”

“He said it would be a few hours yet. The psychic’s drawings weren’t too clear.”

“Psychic? What the—” He broke off as the stranger strode in through the open door. No, wait, his name was Jeff

“I finally convinced George here that I needed to talk to you again. What’s wrong?”

“Apparently the police have a psychic helping them to find this base. I might be able to fight them off, but I can’t chance loosing my minions—you on the other hand…”

“Wait just a minute buddy,” Jeff interjected. “I told you about the police, remember? Look, this psychic is just a front. I’m sure he is the one my former associates have used before. This time they probably fed him information from Ed. The police will eventually come right here and know exactly what to do.”

“I agree. What can you do to help me?”

“George took credit card information from that hotel, right? If you give me some of that data and at least one actual card then I’ll be able to contact my financial advisor. I can get the funds from him to lease a building in town—probably something next to the slums. With your construction minions and other discrete people that we can hire we’ll be able to retrofit the building to accommodate your unique needs.”

“Hmm…a most ambitious plan. But I approve. Take George and make your plans. Once you have access to the building go there and call me.”

“That sounds good sir, except that I don’t think I should go near the building any time soon. You can take care of Ed by firing him, or whatever you do to former minions—but I suspect my former associates might be able to track me. Now don’t panic, I have my towel and I’m sure they can’t hear or see what I do, but they might have implanted a GPS locater chip. Until I get access to better equipment I won’t be able to know for sure.”

“I will certainly deal with Ed. Your former associates will not get any more information from him after tonight. But I find this most suspicious. What guarantee do I have that you will honour this bargain?”

“Well you don’t,” Jeff quickly replied. But I can make assurances. I’ll have George with me, or any of your other minions if you prefer. I’ll also give you further details about my former operations. I have to ask that you don’t act on this information unless something happens to me though.”

“Hmmm,” Acidity rumbled. “Very well, I shall consider your terms. Now what is this information?”

“I was employed at a large government facility underneath the Mammoth Mountains. I am not sure where the main entrances are anymore, but it is within mere minutes of Daze Springs. The area I worked in is known as Q Lab—if anything happens to me or you are attacked then know that the one known as Nightrider is responsible.

“Also,” the former Q Labber continued. “My financial advisor is located somewhere in the area—his name is Dr. Gordon. Tell him that Captain Kirk sent you to look for more tribbles and he should be able to help you.”

“How can I find this Dr. Gordon?”

“That I don’t know, not exactly. But you can’t mistake this one for anyone else. He is quite secretive, but flamboyant. He is running his own lab somewhere in the valley or nearby. He’ll probably be hiding in some grand dramatic place where nobody would look for him unless they knew him very well. Oh, and when you tell him about Kirk don’t say ‘live long and prosper’ whatever you do.”

“You seem to have a fascination with Star Trek,” the acid lord remarked dryly.

“Occupational hazard in a job that seems like science fiction.” Jeff shrugged. “I’ve never liked the show myself though, I just enjoy using it.”

“Very well, you and George will leave in twenty minutes. Take the black Land Rover in the corner of the compound. The rest of us will move out into the countryside and wait for your signal.”

“Take care pardner.” With a jaunty wave Jeff left the hall. Acidity hoped that he had made the right choice. If not he was determined to hunt Jeff down and turn him into the most mindless minion imaginable.

* * *

“Turn in here George.”

“Why?” The minion was surly. Even before his baptism by acid he had never enjoyed driving. Now he had to devote more resources than ever to the task.

“Because I’m hungry and they accept credit cards, that’s why!” Jeff retorted.

“Okay. Master put the card in there.” He pointed to the glove box.

“Really?” I wouldn’t think he could get in a car without ruining it.”

“Special suit.” George grunted as he pulled to a stop.

“May…take…der?”

Jeff spoke loudly from the passenger seat. “Two double Dharma burgers, one extra large fries, and a peanut butter shake. Oh, and two fortune cookies.”

“Tha…e…eight fifteen.”

Unlike some of his fellows Jeff hadn’t left Elfaeran Base in several years, and he had sorely missed Island Burger’s fast food. Once he paid and took the food from George he tossed the driver one of the fortune cookies.

“What does it say big man?”

“Can’t read while driving. Here.” With that George dumped the cookie into his mouth and chomped down. He pulled the fortune from between his teeth and gave the paper to Jeff. “You read it.”

“Um, okay…” Jeff’s voice trailed off as he desperately searched for a napkin. Finding none he gritted his teeth and unfolded the paper. “ ‘No man’s knowledge can go beyond his experience.’ Hmm, I wonder if that is still true in the information age. Eh, whatever. Now, what dose mine say? Oh, ‘Good laws lead to the making of better ones; bad ones bring about worse.’ Now wasn’t that enlightening old buddy?”

George grunted and didn’t speak until they reached the public library. Once inside Jeff made a beeline for the nearest computer. After creating a new Hotmail account he sent a message to another long dormant account and downloaded the file attached to the automatic reply. If Q Lab tracked him to this computer he was sure Mouse Tail would be able to recognize his own handiwork even as he was unable to pull any data from the computer. Once past the library firewalls and filters Jeff was able to access one of his many secret e-mail accounts. It only took him a few minutes to compose a message to Gorgon and send it on its untraceable way.

As the two men walked out to the Land Rover George asked what they would do next.

“Wait. Well, buy a cell phone with the number I gave to Gordon. But then we wait.”

* * *

“Dr. Gordon?”

“Yes Miss Christianson?”

“You have a message from a Jeff Smark, sir.”

“Thank you. Please forward that to my internal e-mail and then delete your copies.”

“Yes, sir.” Once this simple task was done Susan turned her attention back to her blog. She was sorely tempted to drop Lakota’s blog from her blogroll. He hadn’t posted anything about his new job in nearly two weeks! For a brief moment she thought about changing jobs herself, but she couldn’t really. Even if Dr. Gordon had lost his medical license years ago the board hadn’t been fair about it. He was a nice old man and deserved better. Of course from Susan’s perspective forty was old and sixty was positively ancient.

* * *

As he walked into his new headquarters building under the cover of darkness Acidity craned his neck up. The building had a good look to it, even if it was run down. He even appreciated the large neon sign, currently powered down to mask his entrance. Yes, the old Star Tribune would provide the perfect cover for his operations. If he could start running the paper again he might even be able to use it against that cursed Marla woman!

Episode LIII

As Dennis Brown walked out of the Island Burger and started down the street toward the old industrial district, he wondered if he had made the right decision in not confiding in the woman he had met. Surely not endangering more people was the right thing to do, but he seemed to be rapidly approaching a no-win scenario. I’m just a kid, he thought. I’m a lonely computer geek who can hear people’s thoughts, and I have to go confront a psychopathic killer who can shoot lightening, magnetize things, and who knows what else. He’s got Carry, he knows I’m coming, and he’s going to try to fry me as soon as I walk in the door. I’ll hear it coming and dodge, but how long can I keep that up? And how am I supposed to fight back? It all seemed so unfair. In movies, the superheroes always appeared outmatched for a while, but they had cool powers and they figured out a way to win. Dennis didn’t feel like a superhero; he felt like a condemned man. He was walking into certain death for both himself and his girlfriend, with no guarantees that the scriptwriters were on his side. As he got deeper into the seedy part of town, streetlights became scarce and then nonexistent. In the fading light, every building and alleyway looked sinister. Dennis hoped he’d live long enough to get himself killed.

* * *

Earlier that afternoon, a pair of students in the chemistry building at MSU were working on a final lab project. Although both had contributed to the necessary work, the experiment was the brainchild of just one of them. Aaron Kroeder was the top student in the senior-level class, and Greg Farrell considered himself lucky to be his lab partner. However, he was less than thrilled about the current project.

“Are you sure this meets the guidelines?” Greg asked for the third time that day.

“Will you stop asking that?” Aaron retorted with irritation. “We’ve got to get this done by tomorrow, so we have time for the write-up.”

“I’ll stop asking when you answer the question.”

“Okay, look.” He put down a test tube and talked with measured tones. “We may not be precisely within guidelines. But we’re exceeding expectations, not failing to meet them. If this does what I’m hoping it will do, everyone in the scientific community will be talking about us for months. Dr. Thomas knows genius when he sees it. He’ll have no choice but to give us an A.”

“But what if it doesn’t work like you want?”

“Then we’ll do the write-up on why it didn’t work, and we’ll still get an A.” He picked up the test tube again and continued working.

“Unless he fails us for not meeting the guidelines.”

“He won’t do that. Anyway, there’s no time to come up with a new project. If you were so worried about this, why didn’t you say something before today?”

“I didn’t understand what we were doing before today. I spent the last three nights studying up on it.”

“See, what did I tell you? It’s genius. Now that we’re done with this part, we have to let it sit for a few hours. We’ll put up a sign so no one bothers it, and come back later to finish up.”

* * *

In the women’s dormitories on the other side of campus, Marcia Silverberg had spent an unfruitful hour trying to study after hanging up with Dr. Pettigrew, when her phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Marcia? It’s Pam.”

“Oh, hi.”

“Are you okay? You sound upset.”

“I’m fine. Just trying to study.”

“Well, are you ready to go work on that lab project? It’s not due ‘till Thursday, but I thought maybe we could get it out of the way early in the week.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you in the lab in fifteen minutes then?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay, bye.”

Marcia and Pam were lab partners in a lower-level class with the same professor as Aaron and Greg. They met in the lab, laughed at the sign – “Aaron and Greg’s Genius Project: Do Not Touch!” – and got to work on their own experiment. A couple of hours later, they were finished with everything, including the report, and started packing up to leave.

* * *

One consequence of Darth Onion’s rise to power was the unification of the majority of the Mammoth City gangs, which submitted to his leadership. Another consequence was the semi-unification of the remaining gangs, who continued to defy him. They didn’t unite under a single leader, but they did stop almost all fighting among themselves, concentrating their efforts on defeating their common enemy. The war was going badly for them, but the discovery that Onion’s lightening sometimes didn’t work (although they had no idea when those times were) had caused a resurgence of energy and hope. The various gang leaders had actually met together to discuss strategies for defeating him.

On this Monday night, an unprecedented opportunity had presented itself. Darth Onion himself was in a known location: The abandoned factory on 42nd street. This was fairly close to a more civilized part of town, where the gangs didn’t rule so fully, and some distance from his usual headquarters. Furthermore, he only took a few of his boys with him, and the ones he didn’t take were sticking to their own turf. The rival gang leaders had no idea what Onion was doing there, but they saw it as perfect time to attack, and maybe take him out for good. Their plan was to surround the factory, watch it for a while with the hope of finding out what was going on, then attack at midnight, or sooner if Onion started to leave. Thus it was that as Dennis approached the factory, his feeling of being watched from the shadows was accurate.

* * *

Aaron Kroeder was pretending to read a book for his English class, but he was really thinking about his “genius experiment,” and whether it would work as planned. Despite his outward show of confidence to Greg, there was still something nagging in the back of his mind. For the umpteenth time, he mentally went through the series of reactions that were currently taking place. Suddenly, the metaphorical light bulb turned on over his head and he realized what it was he’d been missing. With this realization came a feeling of panic as the implications became clear. Picking up his phone, he quickly dialed his lab partner.

“Hello?”

“Listen, there’s a problem with the experiment. I was thinking at through, and as soon as the reaction—”

“Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you calling for Greg?”

“Yes! I need to talk to him!”

“I think he’s at the library. Can I take a message?”

“Never mind!”

Rushing out of his room, Aaron quickly ran out of the dormitory and down the steps. As he started across campus, the sudden sound of an explosion, accompanied by a bright magenta mushroom cloud over the chemistry building, told him he was too late. “I’m going to get an F for sure,” he said to no one in particular.

* * *

Dennis heard them coming before they even started to move towards him, and preemptively broke into a run. He might have gotten away if he’d turned around and run back in the direction of civilization, but he was desperate to get to the factory, if only to see Carry one last time before he died. Before long he heard that his pursuers were about to grab him, and turned around to fight at the last second. He lasted rather long for a computer science major fighting street-hardened gangsters.

Once they knocked him down and got a good hold on him, they tied his hands behind his back, then dragged him down one of the sinister alleyways, across a street, and into a broken-down house. He could hear several more of them in the house before he was shoved inside. The room was well lit with candles. Trying to make sense of the cacophony of thoughts as he waited for his eyes to adjust, Dennis singled out a single mind that was more forceful and chaotic than the rest. He guessed correctly that it belonged to the leader. The thoughts coming from it were rapid and disorganized, but if he concentrated he could pick out the general flow.

“What are you doing here, white boy?”

Anger. Nostalgia. Jealousy. A big building with rooms and hallways. More anger.

“Look at me when I talk to you!” Still blinking from the light, Dennis forced himself to look up at the speaker. He saw a young, well-dressed Hispanic man, probably a year or two older than himself.

”What were you doing in that part of town?” A young Hispanic boy with a black eye and a bloody nose is looking up at a middle-aged white man. He remembers running down the street, being chased by white men. Emphasis on the white. Anger.

“Are you deaf, white boy?” With a start, Dennis realized that the previous question was spoken aloud as well as remembered.

“N-no. Sorry, I was distracted.”

The boy is being caught by the white men. They start to beat him up. He’s remembering what they did in his house. His parents were there. His father answered the door; the men came in. A wave of emotions. The memory is forcefully stopped, only to be replaced by another. The boy is older, living in the building with the rooms and hallways. He is happy. Then he is in a small room, with another white man. The man looks at him, and—Dennis sensed what was coming and braced himself against the images even as they too were forcefully stopped.

“What are you doing here? Where were you going? You aren’t a street kid; you were in this part of town for a reason.”

Dennis realized that the questions were coming from a different part of the man’s mind that he couldn’t hear; the emotions and memories drowned everything else out. Listening for a moment to the other men in the room, he further realized that he’d better pay more attention to them and to the conversation if he wanted to live.

“Why do you care where I was going?” Dennis didn’t expect a verbal answer to this, but he immediately got several nonverbal responses, which told him they knew he had been headed towards Darth Onion.

“I’m the one asking the questions here!” The man took a step closer, making it harder to ignore his thoughts.

Dennis started trying to think up a good answer, then abruptly decided that since he was so bad at lying, he might as well quit. His hands were still tied behind his back, but he struggled to his feet.

“You know where I was going and who I was going to meet.” He glanced around the room. “You think I work for him. I don’t. Not since he tried to kill me.” He heard incredulity at the idea that Darth Onion had tried to kill anyone and failed.

“Then why were you going to meet him?”

“I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell anyone; it’s too important. If you kill me it won’t matter; I figured on dying tonight anyway.”

“Do you want to die?”

“Not really.”

“Then you’d better tell us something we can use. What is he doing in that factory? How long will he be there? How many men are with him?”

Dennis realized that Eduardo, who’s name he had picked up from the other men, was purposely not using Onion’s name because he still didn’t know if Dennis was bluffing. Dennis decided to show some of his cards.

“Darth Onion is waiting in that factory for me.” With a bit of surprise, he realized that the men believed him. “I don’t know how many are with him, but I’m he’ll have at least enough to be sure he can kill me when I get inside.” In response to unspoken questions, he continued. “Last time I had some luck in dodging his lightening. He won’t take any chances.”

For the first time, someone besides Dennis and Eduardo spoke. “Did the lightening just stop working?” A teenager standing in the back asked. Dennis was shocked to hear in his thoughts that this had indeed happened previously. Some members of another gang caught Onion off guard and beat him up. But of course! Dennis knew that gangsters had attacked Pettigrew, just before he announced his intention to run for mayor. He just hadn’t thought about that since he discovered who Pettigrew really was.

“No. The lightening worked, but I hid behind a dumpster.” He could hear that the level of respect for him in the room was increasing. He could also hear that Eduardo was going through some kind of internal debate.

“Okay, untie him,” he finally ordered. One of the boys did so. “We’re going to go after Onion together, all right? If you try to double-cross me, I will personally slit your white throat, and we’ll probably kill you later anyway. But not until Onion is dead.” Dennis nodded. “Now tell me why you were going in there by yourself.” Dennis took a deep breath.

“I have to go in there, because he’s got my girlfriend. His goons kidnapped her this afternoon. But that’s not the most important thing I should tell you. If things don’t go as planned tonight, and you’re still going to fight him, you should know this. I can tell you who Darth Onion really is.”

“Okay, who is he?”

“He’s Dr. Gerald Pettigrew, a history professor at Mammoth State.”

“A history professor? Is he a white man?”

“Um, yes.”

“Figures.”

* * *

Darth Onion was faced with a dilemma. He had been mulling it over for several minutes, and couldn’t decide between two options. His forces were clearly under attack, but it was unclear how to ward off that attack while at the same time advancing his own interests. Also, he suspected a trap. Maybe there was a third option…

“You gonna move or what?” Carry glared at him from the chair in which she was tied.

“I am thinking,” he responded, his voice sounding like James Earl Jones because of his voice synthesizer.

“You’ve been thinking for ten minutes. If you don’t hurry up and move, we won’t get this game finished before Dennis rescues me.”

“Your level of overconfidence is astonishing.” Pronouncements like that sounded so dramatic with the synthesizer that he made them whenever possible.

“The knight or the rook! Just pick one!”

“Very well.” He moved the knight.

“Finally! Now I am moving my white bishop to—” She was interrupted by a member of Red Death who ran into the room, chains clanking.

“Darth Onion, he’s here! The guy you told us to watch for is walking down 42nd.”

“Excellent. Double-check that only the main doors will open. Allow him to enter the building, then jump him once he is well inside. If possible, bring him to me alive, but do not let him escape.”

“Can we rough him up?”

“Feel free.”

As his minion left the room, Onion turned to Carry and saw tears in her eyes. “Do you still feel so certain of being rescued?” He asked.

“Bishop to King Square Six. Check.”

Feeling a sudden urge to finish the game quickly, both players began to speed up their moves. It had been evenly matched, but Darth Onion was gaining the upper hand. A few minutes later, they were interrupted again by the same messenger.

“Darth Onion, there’s a problem!”

“What problem?”

“That guy we were watching for got nabbed by Eduardo’s boys.”

“And you didn’t stop them?”

“We didn’t have enough guys! Anyway, you said to avoid other gangs tonight.” The self-proclaimed Sith Lord rose from his seat, extending a black-gloved hand. “Look, I’m sorry, man! We’ll go after them if you want.”

“Phone.” Carry winced as electricity shot from Onion’s fingertips, surging through the teenager in the doorway and making sparks off his red chains. The charge only lasted a few seconds, and the boy, who had been shocked before, recovered quickly. “You will take half the men who are here and pursue them. Don’t worry about bringing back Dennis alive. Just kill him. Deliver the same instructions to the men you leave behind.” The shocked youth nodded and hurried out the door. Darth Onion returned to his seat and looked over the chessboard. “Who’s move was it?” He asked.

* * *

The band sent out by Darth Onion met the bulk of the attacking force halfway. A gang fight of this magnitude had not happened for some time. Due to his lack of street skills, Dennis had been kept in the back of the advancing force. Once the fight started, he stayed hidden and gradually worked his way toward the factory, using his telepathy to tell him when it was safe to move. When he finally reached the building, the battle was still some distance away. Approaching the main doors, he listened carefully for minds on the other side, but didn’t hear any. That probably meant they were hidden inside, watching but not visible. He thought about looking for a side entrance, but decided that Pettigrew would have covered all his bases. The only thing to do was move forward and hope his luck continued to hold.

Dennis entered the building, closed the door behind him, and found himself in a large dark room, littered with rusty equipment. He walked forward softly, gripping a big stick Eduardo had given him, and continuing to strain for any sound of the gang members he knew must be inside. He was halfway to the back wall when he finally heard them coming and realized he was in a trap. They rushed at him from all directions, and he barely had time to climb on top of a large machine. A desperate game of King Of the Hill ensued.

* * *

The gangsters fighting outside saw it first: A brilliant magenta light, shining into the sky like a spotlight, and moving rapidly in their direction. It got close, rounded a corner, and they saw its source: A shining figure, shaped like a woman but floating half a foot about the ground and apparently made of pure light. It came to a stop several feet from the combatants and dropped to the ground, rapidly dimming and resolving into a woman. She was wearing a flashy costume of the same color as the light (which was now gone), including a mask, which hid her features. Everyone stopped fighting to look at her.

“Where is Darth Onion?” She demanded in a haughty, regal tone. No one spoke. She raised her arms and gave a yell. A ball of magenta light appeared in front of her hands and shot forward, hitting two of the gangsters. They screamed as the intense heat scorched their skin and clothing before it dissipated. “Where is he?” She demanded again. Someone quickly volunteered the information. She transformed once more into the shining figure and rushed off in the direction of the factory.

Dennis was just beginning to think that he wouldn’t last much longer, when the main factory doors collapsed in a burning heap, revealing the shining figure in the doorway. The gangsters took one look at her and ran, disappearing through a door at the back of the room. The figure floated over the fire, then resolved into human form and began purposefully but unhurriedly walking after them. As she passed the machine, on which Dennis was still standing with his stick, she paused and commented, “I’d teach you a lesson, except that’s what Darth Onion would want.” She continued on and disappeared through the door herself.

The nearly-finished chess game, which Onion was about to win, was interrupted a third time by all of the gangsters trying to rush in at once. “What is the meaning of this?” Their master demanded, happy for a chance to use that phrase, which he’d been practicing. His underlings all started talking at once, but he quickly gathered that something dangerous was headed his way. He found out what when a shining form floated into the room behind them, then resolved into the form of a woman in a flashy costume.

“Get out,” she said, motioning to the gangsters. “This is between me and him.” At a nod from their leader, they happily hurried past her, closing the door behind them.

Darth Onion rose from his chair, and the two costumed figures stared at one another for a long moment. “Who are you?” He finally asked.

“My name is M’Jenta,” she replied. “That’s em, apostrophe, capital jay e en tee a.”

“How clever.”

“It’s better than naming myself after a vegetable, Darth Onion.”

“Have we met before? I feel certain I would remember you.”

“Let’s just say your reputation precedes you.”

“Indeed. Phone!” As the lightening shot from his hand, M’Jenta changed back into light and rushed across the room, resolving again behind him. Before he could turn around, she raised her hands and hit him in the back with an energy ball. He fell to the floor, his outfit smoking.

“Ha! That was far too easy,” she gloated, hitting him with another ball as soon as he got up. When he started toward the door a second time, she let him go and turned to Carry. “I’m only doing this to get back at him,” she said, as she untied her.

Dennis met a smoking Darth Onion on the stairs, and almost forgot to dodge the halfhearted lighting bolt, he was so surprised by the thoughts he was hearing. A moment later, he met M’Jenta, who flew straight through him. A moment after that he met Carry, and forgot all about everything else.

While Dennis and Carry were becoming reacquainted upstairs, and the gangs were getting as far away from the factory as they could manage, Darth Onion and M’Jenta were coming to a realization. At first they both thought it would be over in moments. She caught up to him in the main room, and shot a huge energy ball, intending to half-kill him. In an act of desperation, he shot lightening and made her cry at the same time. The lightening barely reached her because of the distance, but it did reach her, and to his delight the energy ball veered to one side, missing him and damaging some equipment. Quickly moving forward, he shot lightening again, continuing to make her cry, but this time she changed into light and it didn’t hurt her. She moved to a new spot and shot more energy, but as soon as she took physical form she started crying, and was again unable to control the direction. They did this half a dozen more times and started a few fires before Darth Onion said, “Stalemate.”

“What?”

“Stalemate. I can’t kill you and you can’t kill me. The game is over.”

“Then what do you propose?”

“I propose that we discuss a truce.”

Meanwhile, Dennis and Carry, having become thoroughly reacquainted, had quietly gone down the stairs, out a back door, and back into civilization.

Episode LII

"Good evening Mr. Lake!" the nurse said as she entered the room. She almost sang it, she seemed so happy.

Luke was confused...why isn't she fuming about the stinkbomb I put in my lunch dishes... "Umm, good evening nurse... everything's going ok, I hope."

He noticed a slight scowl cross her face, but she seemed to quickly humor herself with a personal joke and replied, "Oh, well, there was some uproar about that gift you left us with your afternoon meal, but now everything is just fine..."

Luke was appalled. Gift! That was the best I could come up with, it took me a lot of time to convince my sister to smuggle that thing in here...maybe the nurses ARE trying to poison me, maybe that's why she's so cheerful...
"Oh, about that... I..um... I'm sorry... uh..."

"Oh, it's ok, let's just put that behind us... would you like to eat your pudding now?"

"umm..ya..uh, I'm not really hungry right now, but.. uh...if you would just set that here..."

"Oh, ok, but you really should try it, it's our specialty around here, made from scratch!"

Luke wondered how chocolate pudding could be made from scratch... but decided not to press the point, lest it really be poisoned and she decided to force feed it to him. "Uh... well, I'll see what I can do to get something down... in a little bit..."

"Ok!" The nurse tidied up a bit and began heading out of the room cheerfully.

Luke thought fast, I have to know why she's so happy!
"Nurse, uh... you seem unusually... cheerful, this evening..."
Ok, that was stupid, but I guess it might get me somewhere.

The nurse stopped in the doorway and said with a mischievous smile, "It's hard not to be when a problem leaves you..."

That really made Luke wonder...he glanced at the pudding and was sure he saw something like little pieces of pill, but on further investigation he decided were probably just dandruff from the nurse's hair... still, he wasn't going to risk it, and put the pudding back onto the nightstand by his bed.

Luke didn't have much time to wonder at the nurse's attitude, within a couple of minutes a doctor walked in, a man with medium-length salt and pepper hair, with a large salt and pepper mustache to match. He was not particularly tall, though would not have seemed short if he walked upright. As it was his stature was thin and slow, portraying a weakness that didn't quite match what his age looked to be. The doctor shuffled up Luke's bed and began unhooking the various pieces of monitoring equipment around Luke, leaving only the I.V. of various antibiotics that was in Lukes foot.

"Hey, um, doc. How's my leg... I mean, I feel ok, am I allowed to walk on it? Can I call my mom now?"

At the mention of his mother, the man stiffened, then relaxed and slowly spoke, "Ahh yes, your parents... your parents are actually here, now. We have been discussing your treatment, and they feel it necessary to transfer you to... to a special facility that specializes in breaks of your sort."

This made Luke nervous. Not so much about his injury, but as to his treatment. This man seemed uneasy for some reason, and he'd mentioned parents as if he had two of them, though it'd only been he, his sister, and his mother for years, ever since his dad had run out on them... In addition, his mom normally worked at this time of night.

Luke thought carefully, then he got an idea, something he'd seen on some old WWII comedy show he'd seen on tv late one night,
"Oh goood, are my brother and sister here, too??"

The man paused, thinking, then smiled and looked up, "Yes. Yes they're here, too, they're waiting in the lobby while your parents fill out the paperwork."

Now Luke knew something was wrong... he didn't have a brother...'What do I do now? Am I being kidnapped? What's going on?'

Unfortunately the doctor must have caught wind that he had said something wrong from Luke's reaction, because he quickly reached into his coat and pulled out a small injection needle. Grabbing Luke's I.V. the man quickly injected the needle's contents into the I.V.

Luke tried to get himself up and away... out, anywhere... but before he even got the blankets off his lap, he noticed all feeling leaving his legs...then his waist, then...nothing.

**********

Luke came-to very gradually. At first he thought the numb pulsing in his body was just the drugs wearing off, but as he awoke he began to realize that he was in a moving vehicle, and the pulsing was that of the vehicle bouncing on a gravel road.

He very much wanted to scream, struggle, anything to fight against the feeling of helplessness caused by being kidnapped, but he realized the drugs had not worn off, and he would stand no chance whatsoever of escape while still disoriented and not in full control of his faculties.

Gradually, Luke opened his eyes, hoping that there wasn't someone standing over him with a knife or some other frightning situation that, until now, had seemed completely absurd ideas. As he glanced about he noticed various medical instruments and tools.
Of course, what better way to take me out of a hospital than in an ambulance?

Soon Luke felt himself slightly pulled to one side, as the ambulance turned into some parking lot or driveway, and then felt a pain in his leg as the slowing of the vehicle caused his weight to shift.
Shoot! I completely forgot about my leg... how in the heck am I supposed to escape?

In the back of his mind he was aware of the two men in front, and that the two of them had been talking the whole time, but only now did he really start listening to what they were saying:

"Well, we're here, best get that kid out of the back before he wakes up, you know how the doctor is about the security of this lab."

"Ya, ya, personally I think he's too paranoid. I mean really, it's not like anybody we're carting in there is ever going to be able to tell someone about the place anyway."

"True, but you'll have to bring it up with him, not me. Besides, it makes it easier to carrying them if they're not fighting.

Luke closed his eyes as he heard the back of the vehicle opening, and fell limp as he felt himself dragged onto a stretcher. Luke risked a peek once on his transport, and realized he was being pushed by two men, one in front and one behind. Without thinking, lest he should wimp out, Luke aimed for the face of one man with his good leg, and punched behind him with both hands in what an observer might have mistaken for a glorified stretch.

Luke smiled to himself as he felt his foot (and long, poorly-groomed toenails) connect with the chin of the one man, and grimaced in pity as his hands met with soft tissue and he heard the muffled groan of the man behind him.

Quickly, or as quickly as a guy with a broken leg can, Luke sat up and began exiting his stretcher, only then did he look around. In every direction was nothing but desert. In three of the directions all he saw were flat plains of cracked ground, and in the other was a range of dry, red mountains.

Before he could react, Luke felt a pain in his neck, and recognized the familiar paralyzing effect of the drugs... and all he caught as he began to black out was "hnh, welcome to the sand pit, kid."

Episode LI

Luke ended up in a small hospital in Westwood. The doctors weren't saying much, and he only hoped no news was good news, but after a while it started to drive him crazy. Man I must be really paranoid or something He thought to himself.
He sat in the sterile small room the westwood hospital, wishing a doctor would come talk to him even though he dreaded that every person that walked towards his room, might be the doctor bringing him bad news.

Most of the shows on the TV weren't worth watching and that was only when he could get the remote working. He avoided skateboarding and other sport shows, since it depressed him even more. The only alternative were soap operas and baking shows.
Being visited a couple short times by his sister made him happy but, was certainly not enough to keep him from the edge, where he dropped off into endless boredom.

The doctors finally came and told him what he really didn't want to know after what seemed like an eternity. His only recourse from any depression came from his appetite for something to do, anything to keep him from going comatose.

Utilizing a plastic spoon and a pea he managed to set off another patients alarm. He was hardly able to explain his red face from holding in the laughter to the nurse, who nearly insisted that he use the bedpan.
Every day he got better at finding something a little more mischievous and fun to do. So far, he'd kept his pranks small enough or untracable enough that the nurses hadn't blamed him for too much.
Soon, though,
soon they would find the best prank he'd ever played in his life. This one would be too hard to hide from and he would enjoy every minute of their surprise, even if it made them feel like poisoning his cold jiggly chocolate he got every evening at precisely 6:07 (and usually about 45 seconds).
He tried to hide a slightly evil, but mischievous grin as a nurse burst into his room with his jello.