Superheroes and Villians

Episode Hiatus

2006-09-07T08:08:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately the only remaining episode in our buffer still needs to be edited and finalized. I could post creative non-story material here, but not today. I will still post such material, but for the time being there will be no new episodes on this blog. We need to establish an acceptable buffer and figure out how to keep things on task. As I said you will definately want to check back for news and extra material during this hiatus.

~Matt

Episode LXIV, Part II

2006-08-31T19:40:00.000-07:00

We return to our story in progress. Jeff Smark (formerly Frodo Baggins) is still on the loose, and Nightrider is slowly going nuts as she tries to track him down. Without access to the codes inside his head the upcoming budget hearings for Q Lab will not go well and they will not have the finances they need for the upcoming year.

* * *

“Any progress?”

“No. Poe is still searching.”

“Blast. Must I ask every day how hard it can be to track down a penniless bum? I feel like an idiot mindlessly repeating myself. Can we—” The voice broke off into a cry of pain as a door opened and flooded the pitch black closet with bright light.

“Oh, so sorry. I did not know.” The offending janitor beat a hasty retreat as soon as he recognized Nightrider. She could hear him muttering “Don’t disappear me,” as he backed away.

Blackbird rubbed his eyes. “So much for security. Can we what?”

“Divert any other resources to help Poe in his search?”

“Not really. His disappearance was ruled an unsolved mystery, just as you wanted. We can’t very well use official funds to pull him in for questioning.

“Ah, I hate it when you’re right.” Nightrider raised her flask to her lips and took a long pull.

“Look, if he somehow found money I’m sure that he is using cash so we have no way to trace him via a financial paper trail. All we can do is put out probes that will let us know if he uses any accounts that he created using our internet connection. I’m sure Mouse Tail can work on programs to sniff such things out. But on a positive note recruitment is up as you requested. I’ve initiated Geo—”

“Ah, ah! Only code names.”

Unseen in the new darkness Blackbird rolled his eyes before speaking in a normal voice. He would have protested but he was too glad that his distraction had worked. “Bogart, Ali Baba, Dulcinea, and Toucan have all passed their background checks.”

“Very good. Do they have initial assignments yet?”

“No. I wanted to consult with you first,” Blackbird admitted.

“Understood. Send me their dossiers and I’ll get back to you.” Nightrider stood up and led the way out of the closet towards the newly completed Annex lounge. Some wag had already scrawled a sign over the door. The Asylum, Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

As she walked across the threshold she turned back to Blackbird. “Wait—where did you interview them?”

“Here in the Annex of course. The main systems haven’t been debugged after the weekly sweep yet.”

Nightrider nodded in approval as she filled a clean tumbler with brandy. “Good. The sweep may delay us slightly, but I think that overall it will be beneficial to evaluate our security procedures so frequently. Now, I may want you to keep running the new recruits out of here. If we can get the access glitches worked out soon I definitely want them based here.

“Let me see, was there anything else? Oh yes, how is Damien doing?”

“Quite well actually. We’ve been running him through simulators at quite a rapid rate, and so far he has held together quite well. Of course we may need to develop some new enhancements in the future, but for now we are just awaiting an opportunity for a live fire test.”

“That is excellent news. At least some things around this place are running as planned. Perhaps soon we can start brainstorming more fundraising schemes—Xanga hasn’t come through with anything recently.”

Though momentarily pleased Nightrider soon refilled her glass yet again and slumped back in her chair. Blackbird was concerned to see her drinking so much, but he knew that she was sensitive about the topic and wouldn’t appreciate a query. He was somewhat sure that things weren’t out of control yet and he didn’t want to jump the gun. If he needed to shake her up he wanted it to be for a darn good reason, not just because she’d had a bit much to drink one evening.

“I was married once,” Nightrider offered several minutes later.

“Hmm?”

“Aye. Johan was a nice man.” Her voice trailed off into reflective silence. Though she refilled her glass several more times she didn’t say another word until Blackbird assisted her back to her quarters sometime after three in the morning.

* * *

Jeff didn’t understand his luck. His apartment complex had kicked him out, but the Acid Springs Resort clerk hadn’t batted an eye at his wad of cash. It had taken him a couple days to batter down his security obsessed mind’s objections to staying in a publicly accessible hotel, but eventually comfort had won the argument. He had spent his first day sleeping, trying to recover from a night of driving up and down every street in Daze Springs. Now with time to relax Jeff thought that he could try to contact Gordon again. All of his recent e-mails had bounced and he hadn’t had enough time to decipher the mystery. At last he had both the time and the proper high speed connection. He might have to mess around with quite a few of his e-mail accounts, but he was confident that he could solve the problem.

* * *

Nightrider wasn’t even sure that she wanted to get up. She’d begun chasing her hangovers away with a glass of rum and handful of aspirin, but her body was starting to adjust. Truthfully it only postponed the onset of symptoms, but she had never been a morning person and the extra time was worth the later problems. Another useless day she thought, theorizing that she would spend most of it trying to track down Jeff Smark.

* * *

As part of his new morning routine Jeff’s computer turned on quickly and connected to the resort’s network, but everything went downhill from there. In a matter of seconds after he hit the net his laptop’s memory was maxed out. Instead of panicking Jeff checked the security programs that he had laboriously reassembled—they were all functioning. Then he realized that it was probably Mouse Tail. If anyone could set up a virus that could exploit the very programs sent to defeat it, it would be Q Lab’s computer genius—the one who had designed the programs in question.

The resort had required a valid e-mail to register so that Jeff could receive communications and special offers. The desk clerk said something about it being a procedure instituted because of the low number of staff. Uncertain if all of his hidden accounts still functioned Jeff had supplied an address more closely linked to his real name. He had figured that even if he ignored any advertisements he would want to read any official communications. Jeff wasn’t sure why the office couldn’t just call him, but he had been too tired at the time to argue.

He now bitterly regretted that hasty decision. It took him more than an hour to ensure that his computer and the resort’s network were clean. He even managed to destroy Mouse Tail’s programs before they could report anything substantive back to their master. He had to chuckle when he discovered the names that Mouse Tail had assigned: Nemesis and Paul Jonas. Nobody in Q Lab could give up sci-fi references, even obscure ones.

* * *

This time Blackbird encountered five separate warnings before he met up with Nightrider—and two were from the new recruits. The closer he got the more he felt as though he were on the set of a bad sci-fi flick. Nightrider was acting the part of an evil overlord perfectly—the part of a thwarted and impotent evil overlord that is.

“Why can nobody find him? WHY?!? Is everyone in this department an idiot?” As she ranted Nightrider began to throw small objects from her desk across the office.

Blackbird quickly moved forward and swept the part of the desk directly in front of Nightrider clear of any remaining ammunition. “Calm down!” he barked. After he shut the door firmly he turned around and began to berate the furious woman.

“What on earth are you doing acting like such an idiot? You’ve read the evil overlord list—you’re acting just like a failed despot. Ditch the horrible plot and start acting intelligent. Did you ever work better as an intern when Frodo yelled at you for making a mistake? I remember you telling me that you would never repeat the mistakes he made with you. It looks like never isn’t very long after all. Now you can kick me out like we did to Frodo if you want. But if you don’t then just tell me that you’re ready to start talking rationally and I can sit down.”

Instead of the sobs or sighs that Blackbird half expected Nightrider nodded, sat down, and closed her eyes. After several deep breaths she leaned further back.

“As usual you are my voice of reason, Blackbird. I have allowed this problem to consume too much of my time. Please forgive my actions.”

“Of course, I’ve seen you frustrated before. But I doubt that Dulcinea or Ali Baba has—they’re the ones that might permanently scar.”

Nightrider grinned along with Blackbird. “Your point is well taken. I will of course remember to speak to them later. Now, if you’re done calming me down, is there any news of Jeff?”

“No, Mouse Tail says that he has no idea how far away he is from cracking Jeff’s codes. The problem is that Jeff used much more than a random number generator and innovative passwords. He apparently rewrote sections of Mouse Tail’s programs so that they would better dovetail with other security programs and create nearly unbreakable problems for us. Our best bet for a speedy resolution is to capture Jeff once again. I only wish that we had implanted some form of tracking device in him.”

* * *

Curtis Dangerfield didn’t really practice medicine anymore—he didn’t have time after all of the in (and out of season) fishing expeditions up the river. “Look, I’ll let you look at the X-Ray yourself,” the doctor exclaimed. “But I’ve already examined it three times—there isn’t anything back there that I can see.

“Sure whatever,” Jeff responded dejectedly. He had hoped this appointment would have cleared up his problem—instead he was worrying more. He was now speculating that the supposed tracking system might be built into his body, or into a non metallic frame. Jeff knew it was even a risk coming to Dr. Dangerfield, but he couldn’t stand not knowing. Furthermore he had rationalized that only Dick Lowe should have known of Dangerfield, and even then he didn’t know that the doctor and Jeff were now close friends.

* * *

“We have a lead,” Blackbird reported. “Poe managed to track down a police officer that stopped Jeff from sleeping in his car a few nights ago. He hasn’t been spotted since, so the police are thinking that he skipped out of town—but I’m sure that the car is solid enough. Our people now have the details of the car. If he doesn’t ditch it we should find him eventually. We both know Jeff; he’ll never venture out of Daze Springs until he can come after us.”

“True enough,” Nightrider mused. “Keep me apprised of any further developments.” With that directive she retreated into her office. A well-used dartboard now decorated the wall opposite her desk.

“Curse you Fro—Jeff!” she snarled as she flung several knives and darts towards the board decorated with Jeff Smark’s face. “Everything has been worse since I kicked you out. I still can’t make a profit, because of you. I can’t avoid rules, because of you. I hate you!” Each exclamation was punctured by the hearty thud of steel into wood. Nightrider kept up her rant for at least twenty minutes until she felt just a bit calmer.

She knew that she was letting Jeff get the better of her temper, but on the other hand it was impossible to ignore him. She had thought that her coup would simply remove him from the equation and make life much simpler. Instead it had complicated matters beyond all belief. If she had it to do all over again she mused, she probably would have simply have put up with his idiotic procedures. Anything would be better than the preoccupation that was causing Q Lab’s productivity to grind to a halt. Nightrider would give anything to eliminate Jeff from the picture.

Nightrider glared across the room and picked up her three biggest throwing knives.

“I,” the first thudded into his right eye.

“Hate,” the second blade sliced open his left eye.

“You!” the last blade sank deep into his forehead.

* * *

“I’m coming for you Nightrider,” Jeff murmured. He typed several more lines of code as he mused reflectively. “No rest for the wicked. Hah, I think you’ll really enjoy this new virus.” The former Q Labber grinned evilly as he attached the file to an e-mail he knew Nightrider could never resist opening. Dawn was just breaking as he clicked the send button.

Date: July 04, 2005
From: ninefingers@onering.net
To: Nightrider@QLab.elf
Subject: What can the night
Message: never catch?

Location, Location, Location

2006-08-29T11:08:00.000-07:00

Here only a few hours late for your reading pleasure, is our Monday column.

What is the most important part of real estate? Now don't cheat and go read the title. Bah, I said don't read it. But you're right, 'tis location, location, location. We have many featured locations within the Heroes and Villains story, and I'll tell you about a few of them today.

Each of these locations has been created by a different author and given a profile. Those profiles help us (the writers) as we revisit these locations. The profiles contain vital information about each location. They may be short, or quite long. Today we'll look into parts of Mammoth City.

Mammoth City was our first region, and my how it has grown. So many episodes have been set within its boundaries and we have only begun to scratch its surface. In the first far off days of this story we didn't know much about the city.

Mammoth City: A really big city, with tall buildings and a high crime rate.

Can you see what I mean? It wasn't really too much to go off, but it hasn't stopped us from exploring the city. We've gone from Mammoth University to the Zoo, to the slums, to Community General, to many different houses. But today I want to look at the universities specifically. Yes, that isn't a typo. If you recall in one episode Abby Gillis was sent to a university in Mammoth City that wasn't Mammoth U, 'twas Titan University. It hasn't been visited since, but hopefully it will be in the future.

Mammoth University (quite simply named) was the city's first created university. MSU is big and is known for chemistry, computer science, and engineering. As with the city that isn't much to go on, but as I said before that has never stopped up. Its history department is nothing to sneeze at, despite the meglomaniac tendencies of the department chair, Dr. Pettigrew. Yes, in areas apart from temperment (he never tried to kill me) Dr. Pettigrew is (very) loosely based off the chair of the History Department at The Master's College. I worked for three years as his TA, and so some of Dennis' experiences were either inspired or the descriptions enhanced by my experiences. The analysis program that Hegel devised for him really exists, created by Fibonacci.

I'm not sure when, but with Carry in the mix as a main character I'm sure that we'll get an opportunity to explore other departments of the college. Hopefully Pettigrew isn't the only faculty member that we'll know very well.

The other (currently known) institute of higher learning within Mammoth City is Titan College. From the start you must realize that the name is a humorous reference. Within the Star Trek universe William Riker, always first officer under Captain Picard on the Enterprise finally took command of the USS Titan in Star Trek: Nemesis. Hence the president of the school (hopefully not based on Dr. MacArthur) is Dr. Dean Riker. In contrast to Mammoth, Titan is known for its history program, perhaps Jean-Luc Owen could be the History Chair at Titan, ;-). Also to make things interesting for Abby I indicated that there is a fierce cross-town rivalry between the college sports teams.

That is all for now, but next week we'll be back to explore another aspect of this fascinating universe. Until then, enjoy reading about our Superheroes and Villains.

~Matt

Episode LXIV, Part I

2006-08-24T23:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, for the first time the episode will be serialized! Read part I this week and come back for part II next time on Superheroes and Villains! :-)

“Don’t drink the Kool-Aid,” Batman whispered to Blackbird.

“What?”

“Nightrider. She’s on a rules and regulations kick.”

Blackbird stopped and directed a very skeptical gaze at the biological wizard. “Nightrider? She’s never followed The Book in her life. What happened now, did aliens take over her body?”

“Well that would be interesting, but unfortunately no. I think Frodo’s attack really freaked her out. You know how insecure she is…”

Blackbird thought for just a minute before replying, then he reflected that they weren’t near a water cooler. Under Frodo’s old arbitrary rules they couldn’t be gossipers because they weren’t at the water cooler. Nightrider hadn’t enforced anything, but neither had she removed any of Frodo’s rules from the “Official Q Lab Rules and Procedures” notebook. “I was there when she, eh removed, Jeff, so I understand her nervousness. But—” He abruptly stopped talking as Nightrider approached behind Batman.

“Batman, will you excuse us for a minute? Thank you.”

The short, heavyset Korean politely nodded and walked toward his cubicle.

* * *

“What do you mean ‘Q Lab isn’t safe?’ ”

“Did you remember to send the signal to wipe Jeff’s memory before we pulled his chip?”

“No, but you—”

“No. I didn’t either. Not only did he leave this time bomb before he left, but he still knows who we are!”

Blackbird sighed and mumbled something under his breath in response.

“What was that?”

“Only wondering what might have been… If only we had simply killed him instead of dumping him. Now, what options do we have available?”

“Well he shouldn’t have been a problem. We had no way of knowing he had left such a nasty program behind before he left! But as for now we cannot completely abandon Q Lab itself. I myself have too many experiments tied up in those labs. Besides we dumped him with no money, no identification; he can’t do anything more to us.”

“The annual budget is next month. Can’t we just—” He broke off as Nightrider’s expression twisted into horrified recognition.

“Frodo had budgetary authority! It never mattered because we could always persuade him, well up until right before he left. But we got rid of him with so little planning that we did not just forget to wipe his memory—we forgot to extract his passwords and codes.”

“Yes, that is bad, though in my defense I never took How to Overthrow Your Boss 101. But can’t Mouse Tail break into those accounts?”

Nightrider chuckled. “Neither did I. I do not think such a thing has ever happened in Q Lab before. There must be a first time for everything, even stumping Mouse Tail. I hope not, but…

“Bah, forget that—I’m sure that he can—eventually.”

“You are probably right, but do not forget Jeff’ penchant for security. It could take Mouse Tail weeks to crack the proper accounts. Unless we had Jeff right in front of us to give directions it could take forever to…Hold on, we must bring Jeff back in long enough to break him. Then we might as well dispose of him, unless we need to extract any more information.”

“Shall I contact Poe?”

“Yes, by all means. Jeff may be penniless, but I don’t doubt that he will have tried to hide from us. Have him fly in as soon as possible. He can land at Mammoth International and drive to Daze Springs. Tell him he’ll be paid over his normal rate, I’ll leave it up to you to negotiate the actual price. Don’t forget a bonus for healthy delivery; we need him in good enough shape to be breakable. But make sure it is small enough that we can divert the necessary funds without Jeff’s codes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Nightrider laughed. “Shut up.”

“Yes ma’am.”

* * *

Jeff knew that he couldn’t keep running forever, the stress alone was doing unpleasant things to his body. He couldn’t help it, but every time he thought about Q Lab his back developed an itch right between his shoulder blades. It was only his imagination Jeff was sure, but he could not banish the irrational conviction that a tracking device lurked in that exact spot.

With a groan Jeff rolled over, or at least he made an attempt. The front seat of his battered Honda was not within light years of the word “comfortable.” For some reason his last check had bounced and his apartment had evicted him. He couldn’t understand it; he had only missed one payment—unless something had gone really wrong with the money transfer from Gordon’s accounts.

So for the past two nights he had parked his car under working streetlights outside of the North Side Slums and tried to sleep. All of his anti-Q Lab activities were suffering as he caught up on sleep in internet cafes and bars throughout the day. After several minutes of tossing and turning the past few days of exhaustion finally caught up with him and Jeff fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Is it ready?”

“Yes ma’am, I mean Nightrider, sir!”

“Shut up,” the Q Lab leader grinned.

“Shutting up. But please don’t bake me in a pie.”

“Hmm…okay, but there aren’t enough of you anyway. Isn’t it four and twenty?”

Blackbird laughed. “Well here we are. We’ve strengthened that entrance that the Magenta woman broke through—I don’t think that a Mack truck would even make a scratch now. Those rooms over there are new labs, though for now they only have subsidiary experiments to projects on-going in the main Lab.”

“I like it. But what do we call it?”

“Look over the door.”

Nightrider directed her gaze up to see a large sign that read “The Q Lab Annex.”

* * *

A sharp knock on the passenger side window startled the man awake from the first real sleep he’d had in a week.

For a moment Jeff flashed back to the last night he’d been so rudely awoken—his last day as Frodo Baggins. He was not in a good mood as his eyes cracked open. The sight of light glinting off a silver badge was enough to penetrate the rage of his sleep fogged brain.

“Yes officer?” he wearily queried as his window rolled down all of the way.

“You can’t sleep here buddy.” The officer sounded at least slightly apologetic.

“What? Why not?”

“Ah.” Now Jeff saw a sheepish grin flicker briefly across the observing visage. “I’m not exactly sure. They tell me it is an old ordinance, and Chief Quinsa has just announced that it must be enforced. No exceptions.”

“Even if I’ve been doing this for a couple of days already?” Jeff was nervous. Not only had this spot boasted a working streetlight but it was in range of an unsecured network. He hadn’t found many similar sites near the Slums.

“I’m afraid not. You’ll need to move. The hotel a couple streets over would be best.”

“What about the park? Are there any free benches there?” He didn’t really want to leave his car with his computers inside, but he knew of a network that overlapped part of the park’s parking lot and he was desperate.

“Nope. Those are reserved for bums. You have a car, so you’re no bum.”

“Okay sir,” Jeff sighed. He climbed into the driver’s seat and inserted his key into the ignition. Before he walked away the policeman offered one last piece of advice.

“Don’t just pull around the corner and park. I’ll be watching and your plates are flagged now.”

“Thanks,” Jeff mumbled before shifting the car into gear.

* * *

Nightrider leaned back into her stuffed easy chair, and raised her tumbler of brandy. “I don’t know. Are you sure we did the right thing?”

“Hmm?” Blackbird looked up from the old book he was perusing. “What right thing? Dumping Frodo?”

“Yes. Do you ever have any regrets that perhaps we were too hasty? Perhaps we upset the balance of Q Lab too much with a coup d’état…”

“No!” Her companion was decisive. “If anything it was Frodo that was upsetting the balance. For years everything had run smoothly, even if he did control the budget. Didn’t you notice that it was only after Xanga began to contact us that he changed? I think that he was jealous of the importance that everybody placed on Xanga’s ideas. Heck, if he’d had more power at the time I daresay he would have derailed Queen before we were able to test it.”

Nightrider sighed as she drained her chilled glass and then walked over to a side table to pour herself another. “I suppose that you are right. His budgetary authority was imposed only two days after we began testing on Damien. Hah, there is another point. What didn’t he like about that boy? Don’t you remember when he put his foot down on helping him? He was so irrational and arbitrary.”

“Aren’t they all? The bad ones I mean.” He raised his own glass. “Here’s to your reign, may it be long and peaceful.”

“Hear, hear.” Nightrider grinned before slumping back into her chair. “As soon as we can find him and extract the codes we’ll dispose of him. He is entirely too much of a distraction at large. I know that he can’t do anything—heck, we even deleted his Social Security account, right?”

She took another contemplative swallow of brandy before continuing. “Bah! I know he can’t hurt us, but I cannot stop thinking about him. This should be my time to steer Q Lab towards greater success, but my life is preoccupied with Jeff. First we find his time bomb, then we discover that we still need him, and finally we cannot find him. What is next? Will he fly out of the sky like Superman? How hard of an operation can it be to track down one programmer?”

“Hmmm, speaking of operations have you kept up with the Acidity reports?” Blackbird did his best to distract Nightrider from Jeff whenever possible. He reasoned that such an obsession as she had developed couldn’t possibly be healthy. Sometimes thankfully she allowed herself to be sidetracked, at least for a time.

“No, how is surveillance of that creature going?”

“Not well. You remember when our Queen subject died, of course. I still can’t believe the bad luck we had that he would fall in front of that truck. Of all the people controlled by that monster… We haven’t been able to capture anybody else so that we can implant Queen. It almost seems as though the minions have all disappeared.”

“That won’t work. We have to redouble our efforts to find them. I want to keep on top of the situation, and it is simply impossible without a spy in their ranks.”

“Understood. I’ll look into assigning some of any new recruits.”

“Oh yes, recruits.” Nightrider mused for several moments. “Keep me apprised of the recruitment situation, but please handle the details yourself. I simply cannot stand conducting normal interviews, let alone Q Lab sessions.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Shut up Blackbird.”

“As you wish…ma’am.”

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...

What will happen next time? Will Nightrider continue to lose her mind? Will the fire burn down Q Lab? Oh wait, sorry, wrong script. Please ignore that last question.

Hegel Jeremiah

2006-08-21T23:06:00.000-07:00

Haven't you always wanted to know more about your favourite minor character Hegel Jeremiah? (Psst...the only correct answer is yes, so please say it now. Thank you.) He made his first (oblique) appearance in the first Elfaeran Base episode: XVIII. There he was referenced as a computer genius friend of Damien Valiant that had written several programs for him. As I continued to write about Damien I explored the possibility of meeting Hegel. Consequently I had to develop him beyond his name.

Yes, before you ask he was based on Miah, at least in name. That much should be obvious. I don't remember where the Hegel came from, but I thought it sounded fun--definately an unusual first name. I don't remember if I intended Jeremiah to be his last name, but when I was writing the character profile I decided that it was too unusual. Hegel Jeremiah at that time appeared to me to be more of a nickname. I have an aunt whose first name is Mary and middle name is Jean. Nobody calls her Mary however, she is always Mary Jean. Before coming up with Hegel's last name I determined that he had a Scottish ancestry (at least partially). When I set him at Peters Community college I realized that I could have great fun with a pun by naming him McGonagall.

Now to his ethnicity, it is complicated. Both of his parents are naturalized American citizens, and both came from the far east. His mother immigrated from India in 1968 and chose to be named Elizabeth rather than her (currently unknown) birth name of Indian origin. His father was born in Hong Kong, but beware, this is where things get complicated, ;-). Hegel's paternal grandfather was a British soldier stationed in Hong Kong who chose to remain in that (now former) British colony after the end of his term of service. He was originally from Scotland, and his surname was obviously McGonagall (though unquestionably purely of Muggle blood). During his service in Hong Kong he met a woman from mainland China whom he later married--she being Hegel's paternal grandmother. Hegel therefore is half-India Indian and one quarter Chinese--he is far more Asian than European. Oh yes, his eyes are brown and he has the typical Mongolian epicanthic fold.

His complexion is probably darker than most Scotsmen and he wears his black hair long, usually in a pony tail. Think of the prototypical rebellious scientist (Riff's hairstyle from Sluggy Freelance). At the time we first see him he is 26 years of age, weighs approximately 148 pounds, and is five feet eleven inches in height. Besides his surname his height is apparently his one concession to his Scottish ancestry. I don't know his birthday yet, so I can't tell you when Hegel will next age--but don't forget that in the Superheroes story we are still in the summer of 2005. I've heard from a fly on the wall that the story was originally to be set without times, or even in the near future--but one reference to the release of Episode III forever changed the nature of the story, and thus it remained buried in time.

Hegel is currently not in a romantic relationship, and may not be ready to pursue anyone for a time. The love of his life was his girlfriend Libby, to whom he was about to propose. The two were on a camping trip in Michigan when they took a boat to Isle Royale (in Lake Superior). There in an incident that Hegel still refuses to talk about Libby died. As far as is known it is only mysterious so far that Hegel has refused to discuss it--he is not under suspicion of murder, and she may have died of natural causes. It may be because of this incident that he finally moved from Mammoth City (where he had attended college in a term that overlapped with Damien Valiant and included tutoring Dennis Brown while he was in high school) to Twin Peaks where he began teaching at Peters Community College.

~Matt

Calling all fans

2006-08-21T22:43:00.000-07:00

I know that we have at least a few readers, though they don't always comment. That is fine, you don't always have to comment. However, it is nice to know that episodes are being read, ;-). Anyway, I want to see if any of you are interested in participating in this project a bit more directly.

Have any of you ever contemplated producing anything fan related? Are you any good with artwork? Have you ever imagined drawing one of the characters you've read so much about? Are you literary? Have you ever thought about producing a poem or short fan-work concerning something from the story? If you've ever thought of doing something like this--or even if you haven't, but would like to, then please contact us. E-mail me (lakotawolff at gmail dot com). We'd love to hear from you.

I'm also planning to launch these stories on a website sometime in the future. I think that a full website would be a great way to interact with the stories and include extras such as writer commentary or summaries. It could also, of course, include a fan art or other fan produced section--but only if some of our readers would step up to the plate to produce something. Now remember, no pressure, but if nobody does it then nothing hapens. A story is a terrible thing to waste.

~Matt

Superheroes and Villains: The Movie

2006-08-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

Yeah, we skipped from soap opera to movie. Some people complained that the soap opera wasn't quite soap operaish (yes, that is a word, because I say it is!) so we've gone right to the silver screen. We cannot let you discover everything that happens at once, but I think it is time to let y'all have a sneak peak at the auditions, at least day one. It was a long process, but our faithful scribe AllonOak has recorded what transpired.

Please note that this transcription of actual events bears no resemblance to reality or to any persons living, dead, or reanimated. Please direct all slander and libel suits to the law firm of Onion, Acid, and Associates. Call or drop by, they'd love to chat with you! :-)

Auditions:

“So Black Wolff, what’s the audition schedule look like… does it look like ‘big fun’?”

“Tons of fun, Fibonacci! We’ve got… let’s see… a valley girl at 9:00… a history professor at 9:30… high school sweethearts at 10:00 and 10:30, and at 11:00 computer nerd who refers to himself as ‘Rubber Snake’…

‘Great… this is the last time we sign a contract to do all of our casting for a movie in backwoods Nebraska!!”

“umm… we’re in Wisconsin…”

“Whatever… it’s nowhere-ville! *sits down* “Ok... let’s get on with this… maybe we can save on paperwork if we file for bankruptcy ahead of time…”

******

9:00

Fibonacci: “So…uh… Marsha…”

“…the name’s Marcia”

“…Right. So, Marsha, what role do you see yourself filling in this film… I mean, what’s your goal?”

“Well, I, like, really had hoped to be a superhero, who, like, saved people from fashion disasters. Ya, and… um…, I was thinking I could, like, change outfits super super fast, and, like, uh, be able to uniquely identify all shades of color between pink and violet, and, like…”

“Wait. Wait. Wait… Just hold on a sec Marsha…”

“It’s Marcia!”

“Whatever… how do you plan to integrate this into the stated storyline of…’superheroes and villains battle for supremacy over a crime-ridden city…’ … how do you plan to do that Marsha?”

“Marsha! Marsha! Marsha! It’s always Marsha! Why can’t they see me for my real name…”

*Marcia runs out angrily*

Black Wolff and Fibonacci stare after her as she leaves…

“um… ok… put her down for villain…”

***

9:30

Fibonacci: “So, uh… Mr. Pettigrew…”

“That’s Lord Pettigrew to you, young man!”

“…right, so Pettigrew, what do you see yourself doing in this film… what’s your goal?”

“...As with all Sith lords… live… galaxy…”

“I’m sorry sir, could you please remove your apocalypse cloak, we’re having trouble hearing you…”

*still wearing cloak* “I said… ‘As with all Sith lords, I live to rule the galaxy!’”

*Black Wolff glances at Fibonacci*

“You know, I’d be laughing at this guy if I didn’t know somebody like this…”

“Oh? Who’s that?”

“well… actually… my dad…”

“ ”

“I’m sorry sir, please remove the hood from your cloak so we can hear you!”

“I said… *pushing back the hood* ‘Black Wolff, I am your father!’

*Black Wolff looks up stunned*

“Dad! That’s impossible! I saw you get on that flight to the history convention myself!”

“Well… ya… but what you didn’t realize was that it was a ‘history of Star Wars’ convention… and it was just a few miles from here…so I figured I’d just…”

“Dad, can we please talk about this later, we have auditions to do…”

*Drags Mr. Pettigrew out of the room*

***

11:00

Fibonacci (exhausted): “So… uh… Rubber Snake… what did you have in mind for this film?”

“Well... I work for a certain organization… and we’re ‘interested’ in the premise of your story. But I was thinking it needs a few… ‘modifications’ to make it more believable.”

“Right…So, what do propose we do?”

“Well, we have this really interesting piece of technology… call it… ‘the spoon’… and we were just wondering if you could test your film equipment…”

“I see, so you want us to film this… ‘spoon’”

“Well... don’t try to ‘film’ the spoon, that is impossible… only remember that…”

‘There is no spoon…”

“Well, actually it’s just invisible…”

“That’s it… I’ve had it! OUT! I’m sick of this!!”

“We’ll be in touch!”

“I need lunch…”

“Black Wolff… who do we have after lunch?”

“umm… we don’t have anyone after lunch…”

“WHAT?! That’s IT?!? Oh… we’re dead… we’re so dead… we’re bankrupt… might as well paint a big ZERO on my forehead… heck, why don’t we make me a crazy math professor and write me into the film, too, because I’m certainly not directing this circus…”

Monday's Lack

2006-08-15T16:25:00.000-07:00

I must apologize, but I'm new enough to our publishing schedule, that I did not have anything prepared for Monday's scheduled post. I should have time later this evening to come up with something, or you'll wait for next week. But I promise you that if you wait it will be well worth it. :-)

~Matt

Episode LXIII

2006-08-10T22:33:00.000-07:00

Marla Stewart and Molly Murphy got along like oil and water. Except oil and water separate because they are different; these two were too much alike. Each of them was used to being in charge and used to getting her way, and neither was prepared to back down or compromise if it could be helped. However, since they were stuck with each other for a while and Agent Murphy couldn’t leave her post as a “resort employee”, Marla did what she could to ease the tension by leaving Acid Resort as much as possible during business hours. Agent Evans, who was posing as a guest, was still able to follow her and provide “security”.

Marla had another reason for leaving the resort: she was determined to do her own investigation to try and discover who had been spying on her. The difficulty with this was that she had to do it with a bodyguard in tow.

The first line of investigation she tried was regarding the Mammoth City gangs. She hadn’t paid much attention to them since the murder trial she had testified in that had earned her a place in the Witness Protection Program. She had, in fact, done everything she could to avoid anything relating to her former life. Thus far this had seemed to be a working strategy, but now things were changing. She was beginning to have doubts about how long her current life as a quiet resort owner would last; this time, however, she did not intend to run and hide.

The Daze Springs Public Library had years of newspaper archives from the major Mammoth City newspapers. While Marla pored over years of news articles, trying to understand what had happened in the city since she’d been gone, Agent Evans stayed within sight of her, reading a novel. After a few days of this, she developed what she thought was a coherent picture of things. The information was not all explicitly printed, but for someone who knew the city it could be found between the lines.

Over the past couple of decades, the crime rate in Mammoth City had grown slightly faster than the population, while the police force had grown steadily more corrupt. An unofficial truce of sorts had developed between the gangs and the authorities: the city was divided into two halves. The upper half – in elevation as well as affluence – generally belonged to the law-abiding citizens. This part of the city was properly policed, and crime there, while not unheard of, was kept in check. The lower half of the city, however, was mostly ruled by the gangs. The police made nominal patrols of the area, but regularly accepted bribes to keep their activities to a minimum. Meanwhile, the area controlled by the gangs had gradually grown larger as the years passed.

All of this was interesting, and it felt good to get back up to speed with what was going on in her old home (even if the news was depressing), but she didn’t find any useful information about the more recent changes in gang behavior. There were a few references to the gangs acting with greater unity, and since the recall election was in two weeks there were a lot of references to the new mayoral candidate who was running on an anti-gang platform, but no there were no details that seemed relevant to her situation. Belatedly, it occurred to Marla that the Witness Protection Program had better intelligence sources than newspaper archives, and that she wasn’t likely to find out much that they didn’t already know through traditional research channels.

Around the time that she gave up on the library, Marla began to notice something that had been going on for a while. Her appetite had been gradually increasing, and she had also been having specific cravings, mostly for vegetables and dairy products. Mostly she thought this was strange since she had been spending so much time sitting down and reading, getting less exercise than usual. At least the cravings were for healthy things.

Not knowing where else to turn in researching Mammoth City gangs (short of actually traveling to Mammoth City, which Agent Evans would surely protest), and not knowing who else from her past life might be spying on her, Marla decided to shift her attention to a more recent problem. It had been a while since she’d had any run-ins with Acidity, but she knew better than to assume that she’d seen the last of him. Monster rumors continued to circulate (though thankfully without reference to her resort) and “zombie” rumors were starting to become more frequent than the monster ones. Really, it was surprising that Daze Springs hadn’t made any national tabloid headlines yet.

Not that Marla was likely to see the tabloids if they did. Another thing she discovered while finding reasons to leave the resort was that the public bathrooms there were not the only places she couldn’t go anymore without getting a debilitating headache. The list of such places included grocery stores, department stores, fast food restaurants and gas stations. Not all of them, just a lot of them. So far she hadn’t found a pattern, but shopping was becoming a genuine adventure.

Trying to track down Acidity seemed like it ought to be easy. He had to be the most recognizable entity in the town – even in the state, as far as that went – and the people who worked for him were highly noticeable as well. But wandering around hoping to run into one was a highly frustrating activity. After trying it for a while, she reflected that even if she did find one of his goons, she didn’t know what she’d do. Randomly grabbing a person off the street and demanding that he take her to see his master was another one of those activities to which her bodyguard might object. As was trying to follow someone unobserved.

But surely, she thought, someone else must have noticed what’s going on. All those zombie people have to have friends and family; he can’t have nabbed everyone they know or he’d have half the city by now. There’s got to be someone else either looking for him, or at least trying to find out what’s going on with those people… That’s when it hit her: There were other people who knew about Acidity: the employees at D.S. Scientific Studies Lab. The last time she’d tried to contact D.S.S.S.L, they’d denied that Acidity existed, but that was when they still had him in captivity. Maybe now that he was on the loose, they would be more willing to talk.

The lab site was still in a state of semi-chaos in the wake of the explosions and fires. Construction of new permanent buildings was in progress, but meanwhile the employees were carrying on their work in temporary structures. It took some effort just to figure out who she should talk to. After nearly two hours of waiting (punctuated by loud demands to speak to whoever was in charge) Marla finally was granted an audience with Dr. David Jockner. She remembered him as the man she had spoken with the morning they originally captured Acidity. As soon as they were alone in his office, she decided to remind him of this.

“Dr. Jockner, you and I both know that we’ve met before, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t pretend otherwise,” she began.

“Why would I pretend otherwise?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

“You tell me. Last time I called here, you guys pretended that you’d never spoken to me before.”

“Ah. Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “When did you call? Before the explosions?” She nodded. “I can see how that might have happened. It’s my own fault for not setting up better lines of communication. As you can imagine, we didn’t want a media circus over your monster, and thought it best to keep it as quiet as possible. Very few of our own people beyond those who helped with the capture were in the loop, and we did what we could to keep rumors to a minimum. Whoever answered the phone had probably heard nothing of any such creature, and if they checked, there was no mention of you in the files.”

“You could have arranged for calls from me to be forwarded to your office.”

“And I should have; as I said, this was my fault. To be honest, it didn’t occur to me that you’d have a reason to call again.”

Marla shrugged. The man might or might not be telling the truth, and at this point she didn’t care. She was ready to forgive and forget if he’d help her out now. “Fair enough,” she said aloud. “I assume you are aware that Acidity was responsible for your explosions, and that he’s still loose in the city?”

“What did you call it?”

“Acidity. Are you telling me you had him in here for weeks and you didn’t even find out his name?”

“I’m a bit confused. Assuming this is a name you’ve given to the creature, how would we—”

“I didn’t name him! What do you think I am, his mother?”

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’? Anatomically the creature does appear to be male, but we only discovered this on close inspection, which was difficult due to its – his – other peculiarities. I was under the impression that you hadn’t seen it up close.”

“Oh—well, I have since he escaped, but I knew before then because that’s how his minions refer to him. But even without, well, looking, you could tell it’s a ‘he’ by his voice.”

“I think I need to sit down; feel free to take a seat yourself; I think we’ll be here a while. And slow down please; one startling revelation at a time.” Marla sat as requested while Dr. Jockner did the same. He took a deep breath, and then asked, “Minions?”

Ninety minutes later she had related the entire history between herself and Acidity, with some slight modifications to avoid discussing her own “peculiarities”. It felt good to be able to finally talk with someone about everything, but as with the newspaper research the end result left her no wiser than before. The flow of information was almost all in one direction. Still, he gave her contact information for a lab employee named Abby Gillis, who she could call if she wanted to discuss things further. Abby, he explained, was currently working from Mammoth City, but made trips to Daze Springs two or three times a month. Marla felt certain that he knew more about Acidity than he was letting on – they must have discovered something about him at least from a physiological perspective – but she decided it was no use pressing the issue just then. Promising to keep in touch with Abby, she thanked Dr. Jockner and left.

Although she had already eaten lunch, Marla went to a restaurant (one that didn’t give her headaches) after leaving the lab, and ordered a large meal. She was nearly finished with it before she realized that it was her fourth large meal of the day. All this eating is going to make me fat, she thought. But she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself; she was just so hungry lately. When she stopped in to check on things at the resort, she weighed herself in her private bathroom (which fortunately she could enter without trouble) and found that she had, in fact, gained over thirty pounds. But I don’t look any different! Where is all that mass going? She wondered if she could visit a doctor without revealing her superhuman strength.

With regard to Acidity, Marla was running out of options. If the people at D.S.S.S.L. didn’t even know that he could talk, it seemed unlikely that anyone who hadn’t been injected knew much about him at all. This put her back at her original plan of hunting him down herself. The problem, she reflected, was that she knew next to nothing about detective work. Plus, it was hard to do anything clandestine with Evan Evans following her around. But perhaps there was another option. If detective work needed done, maybe she could hire a detective. It would have to be someone who didn’t mind dealing with the shadier element of the town, someone who was used to dealing with unusual cases, and above all, someone who would take the case and keep quiet about it without asking too many questions. Could such a detective be found? Probably not in the phone book, but maybe if she asked around in seedy places like pawn shops…

Early that evening (after another big meal which she fixed back at the resort to save money) Marla found herself inside a small office well hidden within a run-down building. There were no signs advertising its presence from the outside; Frank Evans (no relation to Evan Evans, who was curious about what she was doing but polite enough to accept that she wouldn’t tell him) only accepted business that came to him by word-on-the-street advertising. For her own part, she’d used a false name in setting up the appointment and wore a hood that concealed her features. Before the incident with the expired chemicals, Marla would have been nervous to enter a place like this, but now she was just pleased to see that the detective didn’t look like a zombie, although if he had it might have saved her some time.

“Who’s the guy outside?” He asked as soon as she came in. Marla was impressed that he’d noticed.

“He’s just my bodyguard,” she answered. “Don’t worry; he’ll leave us alone.”

“A bodyguard? Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I don’t trust you. But if I thought you were a physical danger just now, the bodyguard would be in here, not out there.”

“Touché. What can I do for you, Miss…Smith, was it?”

Marla hesitated, but decided that if he were as good a detective as she’d been told, she wouldn’t be able to keep her identity a secret from him. It was just as well that she hadn’t used her real name while asking around, but now it seemed reasonable.

“My real name is Marla Stewart,” she said, pulling back her hood. In the dimly lit office she failed to notice the look of shock and panic that momentarily passed over his face. “I want you to track down information on someone.”

“That’s what most people want from me. Who’s the subject?”

“I assume you heard the rumors a while back about a monster living in the pools at Acid Resort?”

“Yes,” he said without inflection.

“And you’ve heard more recent rumors about a monster living somewhere in the city, as well as the ones about people who act like zombies?”

“I hear all the rumors. Get to the point.”

“The two monsters are the same, and his name is Acidity. The zombie people work for him.” She paused, unsure whether he was taking her seriously.

“Go on,” he said in the same monotone.

“I want you to track down information about Acidity: where he lives, how many zombies he’s got, what he’s up to, anything you can find out.”

“I see.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Does it matter?”

“What I mean is, if you take this case, will you take it seriously?”

“I take every case seriously. Let’s talk about finances.”

Before she left, Marla made arrangements to meet the detective again in ten days. Three days before that appointment, she discovered that her appetite was returning to normal, but that she had gained a grand total of ninety-one pounds. She even bought a new scale to be sure. This is ridiculous, she thought. I still look the same as I did a month ago. There’s no possible way I could be hiding that much fat. At least with her super strength, it was no problem hauling the extra weight around.

Return of the Fibster

2006-08-07T16:34:00.000-07:00

Here we are again, another Monday already! Are you ready for the rest of the interview? Oh, you're not? Okay, I can just make this paragraph the entirety of the post. That would be okay with me--less effort really. Do I hear a clammoring of dissent? Ah, well in that case I might be persuaded to grace you with the rest of the Fibionacci interview. Enjoy!

Black Wolff: Now is there anything that you don't like about the project? (Besides having to proofread my long and comma lacking episodes)
Fibonacci: Trying to smooth internal politics between authors.
Fibonacci: The current issue is that we are developing two distinct factions: Those who like Q-Lab and those who don't.

[I like Q Lab, though you might not be able to tell from my episodes]
Fibonacci: Part of the intention of the most recent rule change is to merge the disparate plotlines so that this can't remain an issue.
Black Wolff: How do you think the increasing complexity of the plotlines will impact the future of the project?
Fibonacci: Two things come to mind.
Fibonacci: One is that we may end up with bigger continuity issues.
Fibonacci: Another is that the next change I make (generally I try to wait until the effects of the previous one are clear) will be to introduce the possibility of main characters dying and/or being removed from the plotline.
Fibonacci: Another rather fuzzy idea that just occurred to me is that we might give multi-episode story arcs a bit more official recognition / coordination.
Black Wolff: Can you give an example of that second point? e.g. can you point to a current such arc?
Fibonacci: Well, that's the trouble.
Fibonacci: They don't usually exist, because of the way the story is written.
Fibonacci: Let me put it this way.
Black Wolff: Ah, you want to institute such arcs? I thought you meant recognize existing ones.
Fibonacci: Can you point out a story arc in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy that doesn't span the entire five-book trilogy?

[In retrospect I think he meant to type “does” not “doesn’t”]
Black Wolff: I haven't read the books in a while, so I can't think of anything offhand.
Fibonacci: To quote from The Princess Bride, nothing comes to mind.

[A more quotable movie would be hard to find]
Fibonacci: :)
Fibonacci: Those stories were written in a similar manner.
Fibonacci: Radio episodes, where the author had no idea what next week's episode would entail.

[If you like sci-fi try to find copies of X Minus One and Dimension X, two excellent old radio shows! Many were adaptations of short stories by those now acknowledged as twentieth century grand masters such as Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke, and Isaac Asimov.]
Fibonacci: *shrugs* I'm not sure how this idea might be implemented.
Black Wolff: So you perhaps might be looking for something like the episode groupings in Enterprise's fourth season?
Fibonacci: I'm just thinking that something will have to be done to prevent the complexity from branching out indefinitely.
Fibonacci: Maybe
Fibonacci: It will be several episodes down the road before I'll seriously consider anything.
Black Wolff: Okay, well to get back to the characters dying. Would you envision then that this story could have characters leaving and entering (to some degree of regularity) so that all individual plotlines don't continue for too long and become too complicated?
Fibonacci: The new plot generator is currently working overtime to balance out powers and weaknesses between nemesis pairs. Until that balancing is accomplished, we won't see it operating normally.
Fibonacci: It's either that or put a stop to new character creation.
Fibonacci: The choices appear to be keeping the characters static, or establishing some sort of dynamic equilibrium.
Fibonacci: I think the latter is a better idea.
Black Wolff: Who is your favourite character? (Minor or major)
Fibonacci: That's too hard to decide.
Fibonacci: My favorite hero is Dennis Brown.
Fibonacci: My favorite villain is Acidity.
Fibonacci: My favorite minor character is Frank Evans.
Fibonacci: Wait.
Fibonacci: Except he's a sidekick now.
Fibonacci: Or always was, I suppose.
Black Wolff: I believe that Fibonacci created both those first two, am I right? ;-)
Fibonacci: Yes.
Fibonacci: Frank Evans is my favorite non-super character.
Fibonacci: There we go.
Black Wolff: If you could live anywhere that has been visited by the characters so far, where would it be?
Fibonacci: With or without super powers?
Fibonacci: I think the Marcia Silverberg's hometown sounds nice.
Black Wolff: Do you have an answer for both? If not then without.
Fibonacci: There you go.
Black Wolff: Twin Peaks?
Fibonacci: Yeah.
Fibonacci: Small, beautiful country, no psychopathic Sith lords running around...
Black Wolff: lol
Black Wolff: Well I think that I've exhausted my questions. Do you have anything else that you'd like to say--err, type--before we wrap this up?
Fibonacci: Well, come to think of it the character that you modeled after me is living in Twin Peaks.
Black Wolff: Ah yes, Hegel. He is a fellow math-nut, isn't he? ;-)
Fibonacci: I can't think of any clever or inspirational closing remarks at the moment.
Fibonacci: Oh, here's something:
Fibonacci: At some point, I intend to write an episode in verse form.
Black Wolff: Like the (I've heard you and Carstairs speak of it) Buffy singing episode?
Fibonacci: I'm just waiting for the right assignment to come along.
Fibonacci: Except in that case the singing was actually taking place as part of the plot.
Fibonacci: In this case, I just think it would be fun to have an episode that was a poem.
Fibonacci: Ideally either a Dennis Brown / Darth Onion or Marla Stewart / Acidity conflict without a lot of extra plot threads cluttering it up.
Black Wolff: That sounds great. I'll look forward to reading that episode. Well Mr. Fibonacci, thank you for taking the time to talk--err, type--with us today. I hope you didn't tell us any fibs.
Fibonacci: Iambic pentameter would be ideal, except I can't write in that.
Fibonacci: No problem. :)
Black Wolff: *end of transcript*

~Matt

All My Villains

2006-08-03T20:16:00.000-07:00

Episode I: Days of our Super Lives

Remember Episode LIII? The chemistry students with their experiment right next door to Marcia and her classmate?

" 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. "

Well here you can see what really happened during the production of this episode. I assure you that it was a long and difficult process to get the scene exactly right. We owe a great debt of gratitude to Allon who recorded it all for posterity.

Scene 55, Take: 36

Director: "Ok ladies and gentlemen... one more time from the top, let's not mess this up again... annnnd ACTION!"

Marcia: *Walking with friend toward chemistry building lookalike* "...so anyway, this guy's got this terrible girlfriend... I mean, she does not look so good... and the stuff she's done... well, let me just tell you..."

*Steps into building*

*Building explodes in a purple plume*

Director: "dang it! Where's that technician... I told him the building does not explode until the next scene... AFTER we get the actors out...we're running out of Marcia lookalikes..."

*Marcia's trailer goes up in purple plume*

"...You know what... that's it. that's it, I've had it... Find that technician, he's playing Marcia in this next scene... and I get to be the technician..."

*remains of chemistry building explode in another purple plume*

"AHHH!!! That's it!!! I want his pyromaniac head on my lunch platter!!! You hear me??!! HEAD ON STICK!!! "

"I'll be in my trailer!"

*Director's trailer explodes in purple plume*

"GAHH!"

What will happen to the cast and crew of the SaV soap opera? Will they ever stop the crazed purple pluming pyrotechnic technician? Will the director ever recover from the purple attack? I have no idea. But tune in next time when you will discover the true story behind another amazing scene from Superheroes and Villains, the soap opera!

~Black Wolff

Fibbing Interview, part I

2006-07-31T07:25:00.000-07:00

As promised I am hereby starting our regular Monday behind-the-scenes feature. This week our main feature will be part one of an interview with the project's creator, Fibonacci. No, he isn't obsessed with numbers at all, why do you ask? Well then, without further ado I present to you, (Drumroll please), our faithful readers (you are out there, right?) THE INTERVIEW!

Black Wolff: Shall we begin? Please state your name (or writing alias) for the record.
Fibonacci: Fibonacci.
Black Wolff: Upon which planet do you reside?
Fibonacci: Sol Gamma.
Black Wolff: Okay, I promise, I'll be serious now (maybe). ;-) Where did you first come up with the idea for Heroes and Villains?
Fibonacci: It was inspired by two things.
Fibonacci: One was the "pass around the book" thread, and the other was Ridureyu's post with profiles for an entire superhero team he invented just for fun.

[The threads in question are from our private forum where this project was born and continues to be organized. Pass the book involved responding to previous posts with your own sentence or paragraph to continue the story in progress.]
Black Wolff: Did you imagine at the start that we would still be going now or that some episodes would be the length they are?
Fibonacci: I thought the project would have to get restarted at least once to modify the rules, but it turned out it was possible to modify them without breaking the flow.

[For the record one RPG that Fib started did die, one has almost died, but H&V (or SH&V) has been a rousing success]
Fibonacci: As to how long it would continue with or without restarting the plot, I wasn't sure whether or not author interest would hold.
Black Wolff: How do you think the rule changes have changed the story, all for the better?
Fibonacci: With the most recent ones, it's too soon to tell.
Fibonacci: The last overhaul of the rules was rather extensive.
Fibonacci: The intent of most of the previous changes have been to make the random episode assignments less random.
Black Wolff: Can you give a brief example of a change for those who have never seen the behind the scenes process of episode production?
Fibonacci: When the project first started, each new assignment began with a randomly picked character; each character had equal likelihood of getting picked each time.
Fibonacci: I thought that on average they would all get featured about the same; according to the "Law of Large Numbers" from statistics, the percentage of episodes featuring each ought to get closer and closer to being even as the number of episodes written approaches infinity.
Fibonacci: The trouble with this is that infinity is really big.
Black Wolff: Is this countable infinity or uncountable infinity we're talking about here?
Black Wolff: ;-)

Fibonacci: Countable. You'll notice the episodes are numbered.
Fibonacci: With integers.
Fibonacci: The thing is, on the way to infinity there will be some imbalances.
Fibonacci: Specifically in our case, Dennis Brown was getting featured a lot more than his fair share.
Fibonacci: The first plot generator change that I made gave each character a weighted likelihood of getting picked.
Fibonacci: When a character gets featured in an assignment, their weight drops to 0 (although it used to drop to 1). Every time they *don't* get picked for an assignment, this weight increases by 1.
Fibonacci: So, for instance, if Carry Hobson hasn't been assigned for 8 turns, her weight is now 8.
Fibonacci: If X is the sum of all the weights for all the characters, then her probability of getting picked next is 8/X.
Fibonacci: At least, that's how it used to work. After the most recent upgrade, it's a bit more complicated because of character groups. :)
Black Wolff: So being featured is a great weight loss program? Now, I know you're not a telepath (at least I hope), but how do you think the writing process is different for you than for the other authors? Or is it likely to be the same?
Fibonacci: Well, I imagine it's a bit different for everyone.
Fibonacci: But I don't think my being the moderator influences it much.
Fibonacci: The rules are mostly mechanical, such that they could be administered by a computer program.
Fibonacci: I try to avoid anything requiring a judgment call.
Fibonacci: I suppose it's easier for me to ask for a deadline extension.
Black Wolff: Aye. Now do you go through any set process when you write an episode?
Fibonacci: Well, first I look at the two available options and brainstorm for ideas.
Black Wolff: Any lightning involved in those storms?
Fibonacci: Only if the episode is about Darth Onion.
Fibonacci: *cue the band to give a musical sting to indicate a joke*
Black Wolff: *band plays requested number with gusto*
Fibonacci: Once I get a general idea for a plotline, I go ahead and roll up the next assignment so I can inform the next author (e.g., you) what the new options will be.
Fibonacci: Okay, so I guess the process is a *little* different for me.
Fibonacci: I also have to try hard to pretend I don't know what that new option is, if whatever I'm writing might influence it.
Fibonacci: Usually it's not an issue.
Black Wolff: How can it be an issue?
Fibonacci: Well, if I knew that what I wrote would influence the details affecting the new assignment, I might be tempted to alter what I write, knowing what you would likely do with it next.
Fibonacci: This is why I keep the sneak preview of the next assignment restricted to just me and whoever the next author is.
Fibonacci: The current author isn't supposed to know the future.
Black Wolff: Ah, so after you temporarily erase part of your memory, where do you go from there?
Fibonacci: Usually I think over the assignment for a day or two, getting my ideas organized.
Fibonacci: Then I just start typing. Often the plot will take unexpected turns when I think about how the different characters might react to situations.
Fibonacci: In the last few episodes I've done, it's been a bit different.
Fibonacci: Because things have gotten so complex.
Fibonacci: Lately, I'll have a grocery list of loose ends I want to tie up.
Black Wolff: Do you ever reread previous episodes before writing to refresh your memory? Or do you just access your freakishly computer-like memory banks?
Fibonacci: Oh, I refer to prior episodes all the time. You know that "character reference thread" that I haven't updated for about five turns?
Fibonacci: I made that because I needed it.
Black Wolff: Just for the record I've been updating my table of contents after each episode, :-).
Fibonacci: Incidentally, your indexing of characters was superior to mine.
Fibonacci: Oh.
Fibonacci: GMTA.
Black Wolff: :-D
Fibonacci: Feel free to transfer that to the thread in question.
Black Wolff: So what has been your favourite part of the entire project?
Black Wolff: (I shall do that when I get a chance, by the way)
Fibonacci: Seeing various authors with various idea of where the story should be going actually work together and produce something worth reading.
Fibonacci: Oh, I just realized that the writing process *is* different for me.
Fibonacci: Because part of my job as moderator is to keep things running smoothly so that the project continues.
Fibonacci: Sometimes that means sacrificing what I would like to do in an episode, and would do if I were just another author, and substituting that for what I think will be best for the overall plot structure.

You'll have to come back to this section next week to find out how Fib's mind really works--find out which characters are his favourite! You may be horrified, you may be thrilled, but you'd better be here, because you won't find this anywhere else.

And now, in a hint of future possibilities I offer you a paragraph of humour. Early on in this project's history Fib decided to translate some episodes into Engrish to see how they turned out. The process is simple, but quite humorous. Start by entering your text into Babelfish and translating them into another language, Japanese is a good choice since that country is the origin of the word Engrish. Then you take that translated text and translate it back into English. The results are fun and often hilarious. Here you can see the first paragraph of our opening episode. First in the original English, and secondly in Engrish. We may feature more of these Engrish episodes in the future, so consider this a sneak peak of things to come.

English:
It was a cool spring Monday morning in Mammoth City. The sun struggled to shine on the massive skyscrapers and the people rushing to work, but only managed to pierce the thick cloud of pollution in a feeble sort of way. Business executives drove to their office buildings, children rode yellow buses to school, police officers sat down to their morning coffee and doughnuts, while gang members made sure their illegal weapons were in order before beginning the day's illegal activities.

Engrish:
That was the morning when Monday of the spring of the enormous city is cool. It fought in order to shine with large multistoried building and people where it hurries the sun in order to work but but in order to bore the hole through the cloud whose pollution of method of feeble type is thick doing. The member of one group verified their illegal weapons, drove to the officer who sits down in the coffee of the yellow bus and their mornings when but enterprise staff the office building, rode in the child in the school before beginning the illegal activity of day in order, was a doughnut.

Please, leave us comments and questions. I would really like to know how y'all react to this feature, and what you enjoy--or what you would like to see that we haven't provided yet. Thanks for reading!

~Black Wolff

Episode LXII

2006-07-28T08:16:00.000-07:00

“It doesn’t make sense, none of it! The casts, the fake smoke, the vial, and the girl—it doesn’t make sense.” Straining to see in the fog, Luke saw nothing, and was surprised to hear the loud pop of pistol fire. “Bullets!” The sound sent him back several years, bringing to mind the sound of sirens, shouts, and a gun...

Two more shots shook him awake and made him reach for his ears as the sound reverberated in the close quarters of the hall. Luke tried to shift his weight about trying to get a better view of the fighting, but with his casts he found it extremely difficult to rotate his legs. Man, I wonder how the Tin Man did it—forget a heart, I would have been content with some oil and a way to pick myself up! Luke chuckled at the thought of the Tin Man slipping on a banana peel and falling on his back, unable to pick himself up because of his sheer bulkiness.

“Luke! C’mon, let’s go!” Sarah’s commanding presence brought him back to his present situation, along with that recently familiar sense of confusion. Sarah lifted him from the ground rather skillfully, conjuring a funny little picture of Dorothy trying to raise the Tin Man from his precarious situation. “Give me your hand!” Not waiting for him to respond, she jerked his arm around her shoulder and started walking, half-carrying, half-pushing Luke down the hall. Something was different with the way she was acting now—it seemed her patience was gone, replaced with a sense of determination that would have matched Evel Knievel before trying to jump the Grand Canyon.

“Concentrate! You’re not lame, so stop acting like it!”

“I can’t help it; we’re going too fast!”

“No, we’re going too slow, now pick it up!”

Luke struggled with his bulky feet, certain that they had been replaced with concrete blocks. “What’s going on? I heard gunfire!”

“Someone,” Sarah paused for a moment, letting the alarms fill the silence for her, “someone went too far.”

Too far? What’s that supposed to mean?? Before he had a chance to ask, Luke’s right leg kicked into something, sending him flying forward, this time going unaided by Sarah as his arm flew from around her neck. As he braced for impact, Luke noticed that the ground rushing toward him was not the metallic blue of the hallway, but green.

Thud. The impact hurt, but not as badly as Luke had expected. Clinging to the ground, he mentally took inventory of all his teeth, making sure his jarring landing hadn’t made any permanent impressions. “Someone should put tape on those steps to...” Luke paused as he felt the ground beneath him give unusually well as he tried to lift himself. Lifting his torso Luke examined the ground beneath him. “That’s funny, this ground is camouflage, no wonder I didn’t see it.” He began to chuckle uneasily, trying to lift himself from his awkward position. That’s when he felt it: warmth. The ground was warm! “Ahhyehh, oh goodness!” Luke screamed in surprise and horror at the realization that his soft landing was not carpet, but bodies.

As she hoisted him to his feet again, Sarah shouted something about hurrying, but she remained motionless as Luke looked at the bodies strewn about. “They’re not,” he nodded at the body he now stood by, “are they?”

“Dead? No.” Sarah’s eyes locked on one body as she stared distractedly, “not most of them.”

* * *

”Reception to Dr. Gordon. Dr. Gordon please call three five zero. Call three five zero.”

“Oh, where’s that danged phone. Keep an eye on her, she’s moving faster than normal, and the upper floors aren’t ready yet. In fact, send another team in to keep her occupied!”

“Doctor, she’s entering a patient’s room—incredible! It seems she’s bringing the patient with her!”

“She what??! Let me see that tracking screen! This is unbelievable; she’s never done this before. Sometimes I’m worried that she’ll hurt the patients, but take one with her? Keep her covered, see if you can’t catch a glimpse of them on one of the remaining security cameras.”

“What are you planning Miss Marshall?” Dr. Gordon glanced around distractedly, as if looking for something; suddenly remembering the phone, he rushed to his desk covered in charts and electronic equipment, sweeping half of it onto the floor in search of the receiver. I really ought to keep this thing neater. One of these days there’ll be an emergency— it would be a grievous mistake to try to dial 911 on a motherboard.

Seeing the telephone, Dr. Gordon grabbed the receiver and started pounding numbers. “Three-two-seven. No, what is that extension again? Ummm, three-nine-seven...no! No! No! Dang it! Where’s that list of extensions?” The man pushed more equipment off his desk, hoping to somehow reveal a small slip of paper, but only exacerbating the disorder.

“Doctor, that extra team is reaching the floor now.”

“Dang it! I’m missing the most interesting development in years, does anyone know Miss Christianson’s extension??!”

One of the guards by the elevator door piped up, “Three-five-zero!”

Gordon gave half a smile as he glanced at the young man, “I figured you would know.”

Punching the appropriate numbers Dr. Gordon raised the receiver to his ear just as shouts of panic and tranq-fire broke out over the command speaker. “What’s going on?! Someone tell me what the heck is going on up there!”

“I’m not sure sir, all the tracking signals are too close together. Let me see, it seems she’s left the patient in the hall and has engaged the team.”

”Hello? Yes Miss Christianson, what is it? I’m a little busy down here right now with the current exercise.”

“Doctor, the body stats on three of the men show signs of tranqs hitting their system—now four!”

The command speaker continued to broadcast the general lashing that his men were receiving...

Gordon covered the receiver and hissed loudly, “She’s obviously got them cornered, so tell them to pull out, now!”

Gordon returned distractedly to his phone conversation.

”Yes, yes—wait! Did you say twenty? Blast! We won’t be done down here for another forty, minimum!” Dr. Gordon took a deep breath trying to calm himself and sort out the facts in his head of these two critically important projects. “Okay, I need you to do something for me—something very important.” Gordon paused until Susan had her notepad ready. “At the time of my appointment with Mr. Underhill, go to my computer. Open the folder on my desktop entitled Cirith Ungol. Run the program named Operation Sharkey. After that leave the computer, and in fact you can go home early. Did you understand all of that?”

Pop. The sound made Dr. Gordon freeze. That sound— it sounded like. “Who the heck authorized the use of firearms!?!” The room was silent as Dr. Gordon glared at his command crew. Dr. Gordon realized he was still on the phone just as two more shots came over the speaker “Man down! I repeat we have a AHH! My leg!”

The whole room sat in silence, waiting for anything from the other end of the command speaker, but greeted only by the constant whine of the alarm. “Sir, Parker’s stats just redlined.”

Gordon glanced down at the phone in his hand in stunned silence. How did this happen, what about the weapons checks? Once again realizing he was still on the phone, the doctor mumbled a quick goodbye and reached to set the receiver back on its hook. A frightened scream coming over the command speaker startled Gordon from his daze, bringing him back to the gravity of his current situation. “What was that? Someone tell me who that was!”

“The computer indicates it came from Lyle’s radio, but he’s been unconscious for several minutes now. Someone must have depressed the call button.”

The command speaker continued to broadcast some quiet mumbling in the background, but it was inaudible over the wail of the alarms.

“Clear the teams homing signals from the computer, I want to be able to see where Miss Marshall’s at!”

“No need sir, Marshall and her guest just entered the elevator.”

“A camera! We’ve got a camera in that elevator, I want it on this screen, now!”

Dr. Gordon paused with a huff as the technician patched through to the elevator camera. Looking at the surveillance screen Gordon stared at Sarah Marshall’s face. “Boy does she look ticked.” A look of panic swept across his face as he examined the face of her patient. “Mr. Legs, is it. How could she have... No, she doesn’t, he was just... Dang it! What is she up to?” As if drawn by his shout, Sarah’s eyes panned upward, spying the camera and locking gaze with Doctor Gordon through the viewscreen. Suddenly her hand came up and the screen turned to static as her stolen firearm obliterated the small surveillance camera.

“Shoot! Can’t she at least let me have my cameras during this exercise?”

“Sir, you did tell her to act like this was the real thing this time—not to pull punches.”

“Yes, but she knows it’s still an exercise. Who do we have on the next floor?”

“Well sir, we’ve got two—wait! Wait! Something’s not right!”

“What! What is it?”

“Well sir, as far as I can tell, she’s not going to the next floor.”

“What do you mean she’s not going to the next floor?”

“I mean sir, I think, I think she’s coming down here.”

* * *

“DOWN! Are you crazy?! We’ve got to get out of here! We’ve—”

“QUIET!”

Luke’s ears winced as she shouted him down, adding to the ringing his ears had gotten from her firing that pistol in the elevator.

“Now you listen to me. I’ve been here a long time, and I know what Gordon is like. He won’t let us just waltz out of here—you can’t just take the express elevator to the top, it doesn’t work that way. Besides, he and I need to have a little chat.”

Luke watched Sarah in stunned silence as she looked around thinking. Glancing upward, a look of deviousness came over her face and she proceeded to grab the taser from beneath her jumpsuit. Luke stared in wonder as she disassembled the thing piece by piece, removing a simple-looking silicon board from the center of the weapon and tossing the rest of the taser aside. “What are you doing?”

“Do you get squeamish around blood?”

Luke chuckled, “I’m a skater. It’s in my line of work.”

“Good.” With that Sarah dug the corner of the board into her forehead, pressing it into her skin with hardly a flinch, her eyes set with a fierce determination that hid any knowledge of pain.

“What are you doing?” Luke gushed. “What is that going to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Sarah reached up with her gun, placing the butt of it against her forehead, and pushed toward the cut she had made with the edge of the board, carefully, but firmly, as though a skilled surgeon.

To Luke’s amazement a small pill-like chip gradually emerged from the gash, followed by a fair amount of blood, which Sarah only half-successfully slowed by pressing the cut closed with the butt of her gun. Dropping the circuit board, Sarah clutched the chip tightly in her hand, until she felt that her forehead had quit bleeding as much.

“Why did you—”

“Quiet, just. Just quiet, okay?”

“Sorry.”

“Hold out your hand.”

“What, I—”

“Now!”

As Luke held out his hand, Sarah dropped the chip quickly into his palm and clenched his fist with her hand.

“Hold this. Whatever you do, don’t let go until I tell you to, understand?”

“Umm, ok.”

“I mean it, I’ve got a plan, but you have to hold that until I tell you that you can let go!”

* * *

“What do you mean her heart skipped a beat?”

“Just that. The computer showed her going under some serious head trauma, then her heart stopped... then it started again.”

“I have had her in this lab for nine years. Nine years! Never has her heart come close to stopping from a little head trauma.”

“This was not a little head trauma; this was serious damage to her forehead!”

“How does she get serious damage to her forehead in an elevator you idiot? It only goes up and down! Your computer is obviously going haywire, along with everything else in this experiment!”

Gordon continued shouting, this time barking orders at the guards standing by the emergency staircase, “You! Get over here, you help those two cover the elevator. She is not to get in here, understand!”

The two men rushed around the central command pit and stood in front of the elevator, forming a half-circle with the other two men.

“Where’s she at now?”

“Four floors up. Three floors...two...one! Wait!! She’s stopped the elevator at the floor above us, and she’s just sitting there—both of them are just sitting in the elevator.”

Gordon paused anxiously, hoping silently she would not continue downward, knowing she would be very upset, and knowing how impossible it was to deal with her when she was like this...Gordon ran to his desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out a small pistol, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary... ‘What is she doing dang it!’

“Ok! Wait, ok the elevator’s moving again—down. She’s here.”

Gordon heard the ding of the elevator and glanced up to see Luke sitting silently in the elevator, just as Sarah kicked open the door from the emergency staircase.

Pop Pop. Two of the guards sank to the ground as tranquilizer darts struck them squarely in the back.

Pop Pop. The other two guards spun around just in time to receive one each in the chest, and join the other two in a lump on the floor.

“What’s going on!”

Gordon watched as his technician slumped in his chair, leaving his question unanswered except by the sound of an empty tranq gun hitting the floor.

The doctor spun to see Sarah standing in the door holding a very real firearm, and glaring at him with a look that made him wish he could sink to the floor unconscious like his men.

“Dang it Sarah! What are you doing here, the exercise dictated you were suppose to go up to the next level!

“I’m sick of your exercises. In fact, I’m sick of being here—of being your guinea pig!”

“Alright, alright. Calm down, you know you’re not supposed to kill anyone.”

Sarah hissed in anger, “They weren’t supposed to use real bullets!!”

“You’re right, you’re right They were out of line—I didn’t tell them to But now you are out of line.”

“Oh yes, I’m very out of line!” Sarah smiled evilly, “What’s more; I’m getting out of here!”

Gordon shook his head, “You know you won’t last very long.”

“I’m willing to take my chances!”

“You know you need this, without it you don’t stand a chance.” As he spoke Gordon slowly pulled a vial, filled with green liquid from his coat pocket.

“I already have everything I need, and you and, and that,” she said, gesturing toward the vial, “are not needed anymore!”

“Oh...? Are you so sure? You know what happens when you—”

With that Sarah fired. Again and again she pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger, destroying screens, speakers, medical equipment, as much as she could until her gun was empty.

“Now I’m leaving, and if I so much as see another guard... So-help-me I will kill them. Then I’ll come back down here and kill you! Now let me go! You hear me?! Let! Me! Go!”

“Ok, ok, no one’s keeping you here. Leave when you want, but know that if you ever want to come back, you’re welcome here. You’re welcome home.”

Tears fell from Sarah’s eyes, as a look of hate covered her face, “This is NOT MY HOME!!”

* * *

Luke had watched all of this from the doorway of the elevator, and, seeing the glint of a pistol in the doctor’s hand, realized that neither of them intended to let the other live. He won’t be able to kill her first, she’s too fast. But if she kills him I may never discover why I have these casts!

Glancing around, Luke noticed a small, open-sided cart that could be used to transport boxes or equipment, or maybe even—lumber. That’s it! Just like the ones at Home Depot that we used to roll around back in the back corner by the Sheetrock! Crawling quickly over to it, Luke grabbed the cart and slid onto it like a belly board. Using his hands off the sides and front, Luke directed himself toward the command pit and the Doctor, and propelled himself with his hands as hard as possible. The Loon was back at it!

Gordon turned just in time to see the cart flying toward him off the edge of platform above the command pit.

Panicking, Gordon raised his hands, one with the vial, the other with the gun, and cried something inaudible right before the cart struck him square in the chest causing him to drop the gun and knocking him to the ground unconscious.

Luke cringed as he felt a pain in his left arm right before landing on the ground, rolling over top the doctor and into a nearby computer terminal. Groggily he glanced down to see a tranq dart lodged in his shoulder, and turned his eyes to the dart gun in Sarah’s hands. Shifting his weight off his right leg, Luke pressed his hand to his right thigh and blacked out.

* * *

“Luke! Luke! We’re in Westwood! I need to know where your house is. Luke!”

Luke felt a jerk as the vehicle stuttered to a stop. Scenes from his recent abduction ran through his head as he recognized the familiar sound of a van. Shaking his head wearily, Luke opened his eyes to see a red light—a traffic light! Thank goodness, it was just a dream!

“Luke! C’mon, I know you’re awake, I need directions here!”

Luke turned his head and opened his eyes to see a familiar face. Where do I know that face?.

“Hey, talk to me here—that’s an order!”

Suddenly it clicked. Sarah! Luke sat up and looked around. He was in the passenger seat of a van that looked just like the one he had been taken to the lab in.

“Hey! C’mon, do I turn right or left here?”

Luke looked up to see the familiar T-square intersection of Westwood Main and Pine. “Uhh, left.”

Luke was further awakened by the sound of honking and looked back, noticing the large white pickup that had just been cut off. “Hey, watch what you’re doing, you’re going to get us killed!”

“Hey! It’s not my fault I can’t drive; I don’t exactly get out much!” A joyous smile crept across Sarah’s face. “But I’m out!”

“Right.”

“No really, its—”

“NO! I MEAN TURN!”

Luke closed his eyes as he heard tires squeal.

“It’s ok, we’re good. Now, where to?”

The directions to Luke’s house took them several more minutes of chaotic driving accompanied by several apologies for the wayward tranquilizer dart, and when they arrived Luke was just as happy to be stopped on solid ground as he was to see the simple tree-laden yard of his mom’s house. Sarah hopped out, helping Luke steady himself as he climbed down out of the van. Once he was down she watched as he slowly waddled toward his front door. “See, you’re getting it!”

Luke turned slowly and looked at her inquisitively, “So aren’t you coming in?”

“No, I have some, some things to do. But before you go, can you give me a hug?”

Luke was shocked. This same girl that tried to break his hand, accidentally hit him with a tranq dart, wanted a hug?

“Uhh, sure.”

Sarah approached and reached her arms around him in a simple embrace. Just as Luke started to believe it was possible that she really did just want a hug, Sarah grabbed his right hand and started twisting it, shouting at him angrily, “Where is it?! What did you do with it?!”

Luke nearly sobbed from the pain, “With what? What are you talking about?”

“The vial—what did you do with it?”

Luke was shocked. She was after the vial after all. Painfully he reached across under his robe and pulled the vial from his right cast. “I, I just switched sides, that’s all.”

Sarah released his hand and grabbed the vial. Rushing to the van she muttered something that sounded like either an excuse or an apology and hopped in. Staring after her in confusion, Luke watched as she swung the van out quickly, narrowly missing an old Mustang parked on the side of the road. As the van squealed off into the distance, Luke reached his arm back to his right cast to reveal the other vial he had tucked there.

Why was she so desperate for this? What makes it so important to her? What did that doctor guy say? She ‘needed’ it??

“I better call Aunt Abby, she’s a chemist. I bet she’d know something about what this is.”

Oops

2006-07-27T11:34:00.000-07:00

Oops, Episode LXI was accidentally posted again--my fault really as I reminded Disiance to post the episode when he had already posted it two weeks ago. Episode LXII should be up later today for your reading pleasure. However, I'd like to take this time to tell you about some new features.

As Fib has already informed you we are instituting a policy of posting alternative features some weeks, to ensure that we do not run out of episodes to post. I will also be starting a (hopefully regular) feature of posting on Mondays. The Monday material will always be of the non-episodic variety, but should vary in type. This is your opportunity as readers to greatly influence what we publish. If you have questions that you would like addressed in length then please submit them here for consideration in a Monday post. Or, if you have anything that you'd particularly like to see just let us know. Thanks!

~Matt (Black Wolff)

Service Announcement

2006-07-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

That's right, folks! As the moderator of this writing project it is my sad duty to announce to you that due to a variety of factors, in posting here every week we have nearly used up the buffer of episodes available to be posted. Once this buffer runs out, there's nothing to post, and the creation of new episodes is currently not quite as fast as one per week.

Our plan is to still have some sort of update here every week, but it's not always going to be a new episode. We have a few ideas, which should be entertaining. It's possible that after a while we'll run out of ideas, but I guess we can burn that bridge after we cross it.

For this week, I'd like to try and help out with an issue that was brought to my attention by one of our faithful readers. It seems that because of the scattered nature of the plot sequence (which I may talk about in a future post) it can be difficult for readers to keep track of the various plot threads, or even the various characters. We the authors have detailed profiles on all the characters (at least, all the ones with profiles) which may be displayed here in subsequent posts, but right now I thought I'd just give a list of the main characters (in reverse alphabetical order) with brief descriptions:

Sarah Marshall -- A child who was raised in the lab of the Dr. Gordon. She has unknown physical and mental enhancements, and known training in martial arts and other forms of combat. She recently escaped from the lab. Maybe she and Acidity should start a club.

Nightrider -- Known only by her Q-Lab codename, this mysterious woman was recently promoted to a high-ranking position in the lab, after arranging a coup and getting rid of her boss. She has not, I repeat, has NOT been infested with alien life forms. Nor is she one-quarter Elf. Honestly.

Marla Stewart -- No connection to the famous interior decorator. Really. She is the owner of Acid Resort, where Acidity was spawned. She is also working on becoming the female equivalent of Mr. Incredible. So far she's got super strength, hyper-sensitivity to fluorescent light, and the inability to touch gold without going limp. She doesn't really think of herself as a hero at this point, but she would be happy to rid the world of Acidity.

Marcia Silverberg -- A history major at Mammoth State University who works for Pettigrew/Onion, and is one of the few people who knows his true identity. Their relationship has changes somewhat since she got caught in an explosion in the Chemistry building and developed superpowers. She now has her own alter-identity: M'Jenta, a flashy villainess who can transform into pure energy and throw plasma balls. She is also the only super-being besides Darth Onion to have a costume. As M'Jenta, she has established herself as a rival of Onion who has grudgingly agreed to a cease-fire. She has the advantage, though, in that she knows his secret identity and he does not know hers.

Luke Lake -- A seventeen-year-old skater punk who broke his leg then got kidnapped by Dr. Gordon. The good news is we probably won't have any skatboarding episodes for a while.

James Faulkner -- He has not been called by his given name since the first episode in which he appeared, when he was transformed into the evil monster Acidity. Covered in green scar tissue, he has a face that even a mother couldn't love. He continually secretes highly corrosive acid from various glands on his body, and has to sleep in acidic water at night. He reacts badly to substances with high pH. By injecting people via a spine-like appendage on his arm, he can turn them into nearly-mindless minions, who obey his bidding provided he continues to give them regular injections. He has recently developed the ability to telepathically broadcast his thoughts, particularly to his minions. He really, really doesn't like Marla Stewart, partly because she owns the resort with the acid pools in which he'd like to still be living.

Frank Evans, PI -- This unscrupulous detective makes his living off the shadier element of Daze Springs. He currently has a working relationship with Acidity; he provides information in exchange for not being turned into a zombie.

Dr. Gerald Pettigrew -- A mild mannered history professor by day and an evil overlord by night, Gerald Pettigrew aka Darth Onion has been a part of the story nearly as long as Dennis Brown. His powers include the ability to shoot lightning from his hand like a Sith Lord, the ability to temporarily magnetize anything (or anyone) just by touching it, and the ability to instantly make people cry (hence the name). His weaknesses include rap music and cats. His costume includes a black cape, a Darth Vader mask, and a voice synthesizer that makes him sound like James Earl Jones. He currently rules over roughly half the gangs in Mammoth City, and as Gerald Pettigrew he is preparing to run for Mayor on a platform of promising to end gang violence. He is the mortal enemy of Dennis Brown.

Dennis Brown -- Dennis has been a main character ever since Episode I (and I'm not talking about the Phantom Menace). He is a geeky computer science major who just finished his freshman year at Mammoth State University. He has the powers of passive telepathy and shapeshifting, and is paralyzed if he hears the howl of a wolf. Just before the end of the spring semester he discovered that Professor Pettigrew, who he was working for as a T.A., was really Darth Onion, Dark Lord of the Juvenile Delinquents. Since that discovery he's done a lot of running and hiding, but with his recently acquired shapeshifting ability he may be able to fight back a bit more.

Damien Valiant -- A young employee at Elfaeren Base. His life was forever changed when he came into contact with a Cleaning Rag of Doom, transforming him into a superhero known as The Flying Squirrel. Around the same time, he was used by Q-Lab as an unwitting test-subject for the experimenatl (and possibly extraterrestrial) Queen Device. His powers now include flight and the ability to generate personal energy shields. His one weakness is an allergy to pine scent. For possibly nefarious reasons known only to Q-Lab, he has recently been made the nemesis of M'Jenta.

Carry Hobson -- Carry has been a recurring character since very early in the story, but was only recently promoted to main character status and given a full profile. She is Dennis Brown's girlfriend, and provides him with regular advice and support. She is also of African-American ancestry, a fact which has not to my knowledge been made clear in any episode.

Abby Gillis -- Abby hasn't been featured in many episodes, but she's already had a run-in with Acidity. She works at D.S. Scientific Studies Lab, which once held Acidity captive, and has recently been promoted to a position within the lab that allows her access to its deepest secrets. She has also been appointed as Marla Stewart's contact within the D.S.S.S.L.

Episode LXI

2006-07-13T11:07:00.000-07:00

It had taken a full week before Q-Lab was fully restored. Most of the data systems were backed up every other day, so the virus which had managed to enter the systems wasn't much more than a big pain to deal with. The question was who had unleashed the attack, and everyone knew the question's answer: Jeff Smark. Every password in the base had been changed as a result of the attack, and tape backups were now mandated to occur daily.

*****

After some discussion between Rubber Snake and Nightrider it had been agreed to fill Damien in about the Queen Device. Q-Lab's two leaders purposefully "forgot" to mention that they could tap into his every sense, however. The implications of the device's presence in his body quickly dawned upon Damien, who now sat with the Q-Labbers around their secret boulder entrance. The men - and Nightrider- had been trying to decide on the best method to helping The Flying Squirrel fight M'Jenta. Everyone wanted to add some gadget or another to The Squirrel's abilities; Nightrider was insisting upon some offensive weapon when Damien interrupted.

“Nightrider, I've seen M'Jenta's energy balls at work, and while I would love a real weapon, I would like something defensive at the moment."

Rubber Snake agreed with Damien's point and Nightrider also agreed after a brief discussion. Everybody turned to Mouse Tail for his techie defense ideas.

"Well, the best way to counteract M'Jenta's energy would be energy itself. What we need is a dense expanding energy sphere, which I just happen to have."

Thirty minutes later, the idea had been tested and found completely successful. An additional hour of patience was required for the energy shield generator to be planted in Damien and connected with the Queen Device. The time had come for instruction in its use, which Mouse Tail was happy to give.

"All you must do,” he said, “is pretend you have an arm in the very middle of you. Just think about extending that arm in a direction, and the shield will develop around you, with the center of its force in the direction you expanded that imaginary arm.”

"So, umm. What did you just say?" Damien asked.

"Look down at your stomach,” Mouse Tail replied. “Pretend you have another arm coming out from your navel. Good, now think about -- picture that arm extending in front of you."

Suddenly there was a soft light and a low hum emitting from Damien. Startled, he jumped back and the light/noise combination ceased. After taking a few moments to regain his composure, Damien was ready to try the procedure again. Slowly, he looked down at his gut, imagined an arm, and pictured that arm rising out in front of him. The hum and light started again, but this time Damien didn't lose his concentration.

The next 45 minutes were spent testing and experimenting with the power shield, and it was determined that the shield could last around five seconds without interference until it faded away. Damien also began to wear out after seven minutes from near-constant use of the shield, as the Queen Device had to begin tapping into his body's energy. The group agreed to meet again in an hour and disbanded for lunch.

*****

Forty minutes later everyone was back, anxious to continue observations with the energy shield. Rubber Snake suggested a game of Nerf darts with one rule: everyone shoots at Damien. Twelve minutes later the game ended on account of every dart being incinerated by Damien's shield. Q-Lab's newest project was declared a complete success and they all retired back to their rooms.

Episode LX

2006-07-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

“Dr. pHinn?” Damien knocked on the hard alloy doorframe, then swiftly withdrew his hand. Small things that had never bothered him before now frequently caused small twinges of pain. The lab assistant resisted the impulse to put the knuckles in his mouth. It didn’t hurt that bad, and what was he, a little kid? Rapping on the Plexiglas of an experiment cabinet Damien called out again.

“Dr. pHinn, are you in here?” He knew the doctor had to be around. As paranoid as the doctor was Damien knew he would never have left the lab door unlocked, especially with so many on-going projects. Finally he peered into his supervisor’s office. pHinneas was hard at work beating Metroid II for the umpteenth time, accompanied by the strains of music vaguely familiar coming from his stereo.

Before disturbing the doctor Damien tried to identify the music—finally decided that it was Hans Zimmer’s score to Pirates of the Caribbean. No wait, it was somebody named Klaus that scored the movie, wasn’t it? And this music didn’t sound exactly like the CD Damien had bought. It couldn’t be from the sequel, could it? No, that wasn’t due out until next summer. Curious now, Damien tapped Dr. pHinn on his shoulder.

Without missing a beat pHinn killed a Gamma Metroid, flipped off his earphones, and swiveled in his easy chair. “How fares the brave explorer?”

“Well enough. Dr. Framen gave me a clean bill of health. I don’t have to report for check-ups any more.”

“Good, good. Did you bring that sample I asked for?”

“Of course. But first,” the assistant paused with the vial halfway out of his pocket. “Where is that music from?”

“Q L—I mean Quentin Larento, an old friend of mine. He conducts the Mammoth City Symphony.”

“Oh,” Damien commented, extending the requested biological sample. “It sounded sorta like Pirates of the Caribbean to me.”

“Ah, yes, it does at that,” Dr. pHinn replied shortly, clearly eager to drop the issue. “Well my boy, we should get back to work. I have some new samples over here we need to test.”

“Certainly Brain” Damien wisecracked. “Ready to take over the world!”

“So you’re thinking what I’m thinking?” pHinneas continued without waiting for a reply. “Very good, I do so enjoy CSI. Their machines are science fiction everywhere but this lab.”

“My boy, did you see today’s newspaper?” Dr pHinn asked while staring through a tank full of three-legged frogs. Such an abrupt change of flow within a conversation was not exactly unusual for the good doctor.

Damien almost replied “which one” before remembering for the umpteenth time that officially there was only one newspaper in Elfaeran Base. The Faeran Times, usually called the Fairy, consisted of official base news and stories culled from the AP and Reuters wires. It was printed daily and faithfully recycled, just like a “regular” newspaper, sans advertising, but heavy on editorials. “Um, no,” he finally admitted.

pHinneas rummaged around his desk for a moment then tossed a roll of newsprint at Damien. The assistant unrolled the package to see a headline scream at him.

“EXPLOSION IN GREY BARRACKS!!!”

Security Director Among Dead

“When did this happen?”

“Last night. Well, it was staged last night.”

“Staged?”

“Of course. They said it was an accident in a depressurization experiment, but those are always done in the Red Zone. And Director Rasmussen? I happen to know that he was missing in Sector 17 last week, not last night in the barracks.”

* * *

Five minutes out of Daze Springs Marcia was lost. She knew that she could simply transform and fly ahead, but she didn’t really want to leave her car in the middle of nowhere. Thanks to two X chromosomes Marcia had no objections to asking for directions, but she generally figured that it made more sense to ask a person than a stalk of corn. It wasn’t her idea to be out here anyway, but she knew she had to take part of the blame—it had been her decision to go through with the idea.

While Dennis and Carry had escaped, M’Jenta and Darth Onion had indeed discussed a truce. Onion at first tried to insist that M’Jenta leave Mammoth City entirely. He had quickly given up on this idea when she burned his chessboard before he could make her cry. After that false start the two villains had settled down to business.

Since she couldn’t hurt him directly and didn’t look forward to a perpetual Mexican standoff, M’Jenta had agreed to listen to Onion further. Darth Onion had proposed that M’Jenta begin by respecting his sphere of influence with his gangs. Marcia remembered M’Jenta snorting in derision as she wondered how that could possibly benefit her. They had continued on for several minutes until M’Jenta proposed that a door be opened to allow cool air into the now stuffy area of the warehouse they occupied. Onion had paused for so long that M’Jenta had suspected him of playing possum or preparing another attack.

Finally the villain had stirred and M’Jenta had heard the grin creasing his face as he spoke.

“Secretary of State—“

Impatient, M’Jenta cut him off. “Coli—no, Condoleezza Rice, right?”

“No, 1899. John Hay. Bah, never mind! Only a historian would understand.” Thinking that her anonymity might continue to prove useful, M’Jenta bit her tongue as Onion explained the turn of the (last) century American position on China.

“It was called the Open Door policy and was meant to ensure that European spheres of influence within China retained Chinese sovereignty (in name at least) and open access to other western powers. America was new come to the Far East with her Philippine colonies and didn’t want to be left out of the riches of Chinese trade.

“I propose that we divide Mammoth City between the two of us, but perhaps we can leave some for the police.” He laughed before continuing. “Obviously it would be exhausting for us to hold actual fiefs against all comers, besides if we did I’m sure the federal government would eventually try to step in. However, we could definitely influence matters behind the scenes if we don’t have to compete…” Onion trailed off suggestively.

After two hours of poring over detailed maps of the city (previously liberated from the city planning office) the two villains finally parted. They were not friends, allies, or even close, but they weren’t trying to kill each other. They might be plotting how they could break the alliance to their own best advantage some time in the future—but they weren’t actively killing each other. Yet.

After several more miles of reminiscing Marcia finally saw a mud-splattered sign at the side of the road, almost hidden by foliage. It read “A bl Farm” above an arrow pointing down a narrow gravel drive. “Finally!” Marcia exclaimed, figuring that for a while at least she wouldn’t be as bored as she had been in most of her junior college classes. Other people talked about underwater basket weaving as if it were a joke with no basis in fact—they could never understand. Perhaps though the little girl in the yard could help.

Marcia rolled down her window as her car came to a stop. “Excuse me, are your parents around? I’m afraid that I’m lost.”

The girl looked up from where she was playing with a small pig and nodded. She swiftly disappeared behind a row of ferns and emerged a moment later with a man in overalls. In fact, and Marcia couldn’t believe it at first, he had an actual corncob pipe clenched in his teeth.

“Can I help you miss? My daughter says that you’re lost.”

“Yes, thank you. I need to get to Twin Peaks. I attended Peters Community and they’re having a get together this week. The only problem is that I’ve only ever been there on the school bus, so…”

The farmer chuckled and grinned knowingly. “Aye Miss, I’ve heard that afore. Head back out of here, turning left. When you pass the third cow turn right through the open gate. Once across the pasture you’ll see Kyle’s Lane. From there you’ll turn right and the road will dead end into Route 23.”

“Is there a route that doesn’t go through a pasture?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind another ten miles and six turns?”

With a groan Marcia repeated the directions twice, thanked the farmer, and drove off down the dusty lane.

* * *

Damien entered the laboratory promptly at eight, for some reason certain that he had overslept. Instead he found the entire suite of rooms deserted. In all his months working with the good doctor Damien had never arrived at the lab before pHinneas Q. Dinglethorpe. Even if this was unprecedented Damien still had experiments to conduct and data to collect. He was especially looking forward to watching blue tomatoes grow.

Damien had just begun to turn on the computers that would monitor the progress of tomato growth when Dr. pHinn breezed in through the main doors.

“Damien, I didn’t expect you to be here. Didn’t you receive my message?”

“No, sir.” Damien focused on the computers to activate their software links to the scanning devices then turned back to the doctor. “What was it about, sir?”

“Today. Um, you didn’t need to come in today.”

“What?” Damien’s hands continued to operate the manipulators controlling the planting of tomato seeds. He continued on autopilot as the doctor explained.

“Do you know how I started out here at the base?”

“Uh, actually no, I don’t think you ever told me Dr. pHinn. I just assumed that you started out as a lab rat sometime in the dinosaur age.”

The doctor laughed. “Not quite that far back. I started out as a security guard working in the science sector—that would be Sector 13 now. It was, actually come to think of it I don’t remember what year it was, but that doesn’t really matter anyway. I spent a couple years patrolling corridors and generally watching many of the experiments that were being conducted. In those days there weren’t quite as many private laboratories so we really had the cream of the crop of scientists here—except that we were more top secret than the Manhattan project. Finally I approached my supervisor and asked him if it would be acceptable if I snuck to the surface and took some science classes at Peters Community College.”

“Peters?” Damien interrupted. “Where is that? I didn’t know anything was near to the base.”

“There are many things you don’t know. I think I showed you the valley side of the base when you first came here—there are some spectacular views from the balconies concealed in the cliffs—but most people don’t ever get to see any more than that. The eastern sectors of the base actually now go under some populated areas. They are remarkably low density, but still populated. Heck, the tunnels in Sector Omega are under the town of Twin Peaks. Perhaps you noticed how the ceilings are lower? After some citizens in the town started complaining of sounds in their basements the decision was made to heavily soundproof that area—and with people already wary it wasn’t possible to use digging equipment to enlarge the tunnels before the soundproofing was added. Anyway, to cut a long story shorter Peters Community is located inside of Twin Peaks. I think there might even be a tunnel up to one of the science laboratories where a former Elfaeranite works, but none of that was around in my day.

“Occasionally we peons were allowed up to Twin Peaks in remarkably small numbers on ‘vacation.’ On one trip I’d noticed Peters, then recently built by Harold Peters, millionaire.” The doctor paused in reflection. “He might actually have been one of the first billionaires. He was a real-life Jed Clampett and made it his mission to improve the town of Twin Peaks. He did build the college and name it after himself, but he never could attract many people to the town. It might have had something to do with base agents; I’m not really at liberty to say.

“Well, my director eventually approved the request and two years later I graduated with my associate of science degree. Then I had to fight for another year before they would let me transfer to Yale. I had to promise to return, but they let me go long enough to complete my bachelor’s degree and my doctorate. I even had time to put in a three year internship at the CIA before coming back here. I bumped back and forth between the security and science directorates until I ended up in this lab five years ago.

“As of last night I’ve been offered the Security Directorship to replace Rasmussen. I have enjoyed working with you Damien, but I really feel it is time to get back to Security, and I cannot give up this opportunity. You know how often I have groused and complained about the lack of security around here—this is finally my chance to do something substantial about it. However you needn’t worry about the lab. Dr. Moody will be coming in to take my place—though he may want to restructure some of the existing experiments. I hear he favors orange tomatoes more than blue.”

Damien’s mind spun for a moment as he digested all of the information the doctor had thrown at him. He couldn’t understand orange tomatoes—blue made sense, but orange?? Then the rest of what the doctor said hit him. “Wait, Dr. Moody? Isn’t he, well…”

“Yes, he is a bit touched, but aren’t we all to work here?” Dr. pHinn laughed.

* * *

“Reception to Dr. Gordon. Dr. Gordon please call three five zero. Call three five zero.”

Susan waited for two minutes then reached for her phone to page her employer again. Just as her fingers closed around the handset the phone rang. With a start she jerked her hand back until her mind processed the fact that line one was lit—extension 350. She shook her head, exasperated with her short nerves. Susan wasn’t sure why, but lately she had been uneasy while at work.

“Dr. Gordon?”

“Yes Miss Christianson, what is it? I’m a little busy down here right now with the current exercise.”

Susan could hear many voices behind the doctor. It was obvious that he was calling from his command center. “Sir, I just need to remind you that you need to call Mr. Underhill in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, yes—wait! Did you say twenty? Blast! We won’t be done down here for another forty, minimum!” Dr. Gordon took a deep breath clearly audible over the phone line. “Okay, I need you to do something for me—something very important.”

“Of course sir.” Susan pulled a pad of paper out of her desk drawer and reached for a pencil.

“At the time of my appointment with…Mr. Underhill, go to my computer. Open the folder on my desktop entitled Cirith Ungol. Run the program named Operation Sharkey. After that leave the computer, and in fact you can go home early. Did you understand all of that?”

“Yes sir. I will get it done.”

“Thank you Miss Christianson. Now I must run.” Just before her employer hung up his phone Susan thought she heard a scream.

* * *

Marcia drove into Twin Peaks in a foul mood. The farmer’s directions had been quite good, but after she arrived at the highway the government signs hadn’t been as helpful. It was after sunset by the time Marcia passed the town limits. She almost passed up the first lodging sign she saw before she remembered that it probably was the only. The Shepherd’s Rest didn’t look like much, but on second thought the collection of rustic log cabins looked quite welcome after a day in her small car. Thomas, the clerk at the front desk was happy to inform Marcia that yes they had several vacancies and quickly assigned her to Room B in the Maple Grove cabin.

Once her bags were inside the room Marcia flopped down on the bed and thought seriously about just falling asleep right then and there. Then her stomach growled and she realized she might fall asleep, but she would surely wake back up quite hungry in a few hours. With another groan she half-heartedly started to throw a few angry words in the direction of Mammoth City. The day after M’Jenta’s encounter with Darth Onion, Professor Pettigrew had still been ignorant of the identity of his nemesis. She decided that she would exploit the professor’s ignorance as long as it was useful—since it surely wouldn’t last very long. So when the professor suggested that she travel to Twin Peaks to investigate if there was any gang activity in the area she acquiesced.

The professor hadn’t mentioned much about his gang activities prior to the latest meeting, but at that time he had gone into great detail as he ranted and raged about M’Jenta and the monkey wrench that she had thrown into his plans. He revealed that he was desperate to insure that his plans succeed and was looking to expand his operations as far as possible. He had even been reading the Daze Springs newspaper and was almost as upset at all the reports of the local monster. He’d connected the dots better than the newspaper editor and was worried that such a monster might actually be possible competition. Surely the fact that it hasn’t been caught indicated intelligence, and it certainly wasn’t acting like a law abiding citizen might.

Since the evil professor had decided that penetrating Daze Springs had the potential to be quite difficult he had decided to concentrate on other communities in the vicinity of Mammoth City instead. He had already sent one of his top henchmen into Westwood and had decided to send Marcia to Twin Peaks, knowing that she had attended Peters Community for a year.

She would walk somewhere to dinner, Marcia suddenly decided. Though she had tried to wipe most of her memories of the town out of her mind, some had lingered. She remembered that every place worth visiting was within walking distance of Main Street and she didn’t think that the cabins were too far from Main Street. Even if they were she could just fly if she absolutely had to—she wasn’t too worried about being mugged.

* * *

Damien wandered back to his room. It hadn’t taken long to help Dr. pHinn pack his few personal items, and after that the doctor had closed down the lab. He assured Damien that he would instruct Dr. Moody to contact him when the lab was open again, which would surely happen within the week or so. In the meantime he assured Damien that he could still visit him in his new position; in fact, the doctor encouraged Damien to visit, explaining that he really appreciated the young man’s insight.

Once he closed his door Damien slouched down in his recliner and thought about turning on his television before noticing that the remote was again lost. He didn’t have enough energy left to search for the remote, let alone turn the TV on manually. Instead he picked up his cordless phone and dialed a familiar number from memory, though it was one that he had not called in months.

“The number you are trying to reach is not in service. Please hang up and try again.”

Damien laughed, thinking back to his time in college and the time that Hegel had recorded that very message onto his voicemail.

“Very funny Hegel, now pick—”

“The number you are trying to reach is not in service. Please hang up and try again.”

Damien reflected, perhaps it wasn’t a message. The number might actually be out of service, though he couldn’t think why. Actually though, when he reflected he remembered that he hadn’t talked to Hegel since right before his friend had left for Yellowstone. For some reason in the many weeks since he hadn’t talked or communicated with Hegel, though it wasn’t as though he’d been busy learning about a new superpower or anything like that.

“The number you are trying to reach—” Damien hung up the phone before the message could repeat itself again. After ransacking his memory for several minutes he remembered that Hegel Jeremiah had a universal voicemail account. Although he had to actually extend his left arm to pick up his PDA Damien though the effort well rewarded several minutes later when he unearthed the number he was searching for.

“This is Hegel. You must be special because I don’t give this number to everybody. Leave me a good message or else!”

Damien quickly left his number, or rather the ordinary looking number that the Elfaeran tap into the phone system would route to his quarters even faster than most phones connected.

What seemed like a mere minute after he hung up the phone Damien was startled awake by the harsh ring that signaled an outside line.

“Hello?”

“Hah, you sound like you just woke up in one of Dr. Moray’s history classes.”

“Very funny Hegel, I never fell asleep in one of his classes.”

“No? Well you should have. If I had to listen to another lecture on the effects of medieval monasticism I don’t know what I’d do. But enough of that, what is happening old friend?”

“Where are you Hegel?”

“I’m at home, where else would I be Damien?”

“I tried calling you there but the line was disconnected.”

“Eh? Oh you must mean my old apartment, but I moved out weeks ago. Don’t you remember?”

“No I don’t. You never told me you were moving.”

“I was sure that I had. Strange… Well I’m now living in a tiny town quite a way north of Mammoth City called Twin Peaks.”

Had Damien been drinking anything he was sure he would have spewed it hallway across the room. As it was his next words came out slightly strangled. “What are you doing there?”

“Teaching at the junior college actually. I’m sure I told you that I finished my math degree; well I want another masters degree before I go for my doctorate. This school, Peters Community just focuses on the physical and social sciences, except for the one thing that it is famous for—forestry. Actually it is their sole masters program.”

“Ah, that would make it a perfect fit,” Damien interjected.

“Definitely. I was already considering applying when I met the dean on my last Yellowstone backpacking trip. He ended up offering me a job teaching math and I just couldn’t say no. So what are you up to Damien?”

“Still at the same lab, but my supervisor was just reassigned; I’m not sure who I’ll be working with now. You know though, I suppose I could get a couple days off. How about I come up to Twin Peaks for old times sake?”

“That sounds great—but we’re not old yet!” Hegel laughed. “So your lab is down in Mammoth City, right?”

Damien hated to lie, but he knew there was no chance he could tell the truth. No, I’m only about a mile away from you, several hundred feet down. “Yes, but my car is in the shop. I’ve been using the city buses to get to work; do any busses run up to Twin Peaks?”

“Actually there are a couple—two or three a week if I remember. They all run on Wednesday and Saturday.”

“That sounds good. I’ll give you a call when I decide on a day.”

“Perfect. Hey, I hate to cut you off but I need to get back to grading papers.”

“No problem. I understand. Bye.”

“Later, Damien.”

As soon as he heard a dial tone Damien dialed a cell he’d long ago memorized. “Dr. pHinn it is Damien. Something came up; can I come down to your new office? Thanks, I’ll be there in twenty.”

* * *

Jeff leaned back against the headboard of his bed. With only two hotels in town he hadn’t dared to check into either; instead he had found, after extensive searching, a small studio apartment available to rent.

The first two days he spent shopping—furniture, transportation and a computer were all critical to his continued campaign against Q Lab. The car and furniture were all rather nondescript but he had spared no expense on his new laptop. The only hardware he missed was a hybrid hard drive. He read that public companies had just finished prototypes but didn’t expect to see commercial production for at least another year. They had had their own version of the drives in Q Lab for four months already, running flawlessly with their own custom operating system. It was that versatile OS that Jeff missed the most, but he might be able to get a copy—if he played his cards right.

If all had gone according to plan Dr. Gordon would have unleashed Operation Sharkey several hours before. Utilizing the doctor’s secure connection with Q Lab via Xanga’s satellite the program would use Jeff’s knowledge of unexpired internal codes to break into Q Lab’s most secure computers. It was possible codes had been changed, but Jeff thought this was extremely unlikely given Nightrider’s arrogance.

The first stage of Sharkey included a Trojan horse that Jeff could exploit over normal connections at least one time in the future before it was detected. He didn’t ever plan to utilize Dr. Gordon’s connection again, deeming it too great of a security risk—especially with the doctor valuing his privacy as much as he did. The first stage would also release a little present entitled Khan’s Revenge. This program would insinuate itself in the system’s core files and appear to be a surprise that Jeff had set before he was “fired” and equipped with a deadman’s switch. Khan’s Revenge was designed to create mass havoc with the base’s security systems and perhaps allow a henchman of Acidity time to slip into the base itself. The program would not be triggered until Jeff sent an e-mail to a specific account, however, and once it was activated it would scrub away all evidence of its control via remote.

Jeff wasn’t sure exactly when he would activate Khan, only that it would be soon. He knew that he might get only one shot—and even his other Trojan Horse might be discovered in the aftermath—so he wouldn’t move until he was perfectly ready.

The next part of his plan was almost ready, ready to execute at the same time as Khan to cause the most confusion. Unbeknownst to most in the government techies within Elfaeran actually ran many of the federal government’s websites. Mousetail, before he had joined Q Lab, had been head of a team responsible for nearly a dozen websites. Now that he had joined the hallowed ranks he had been cut off from his former team, but he still managed to run four sites. The US Air Force, NASA, CIA, and NSA pages all ran under his exclusive control.

Jeff had been planning a denial of service (DOS) attack against Mousetail for some time as a security test. Once he had been evicted from Q Lab Jeff had decided to use the planned attack as a diversionary method. In order to keep suspicion down he had also targeted Homeland Security, the Navy, and the Patent Office. If all went according to plan Mousetail and his cronies would be so incredibly busy with their websites that they would be kept away from Elfaeran’s central computers until it was far too late to do anything.

Logging into a long dormant and untraceable Gmail account, Jeff read the two messages in the inbox and grinned. The messages confirmed that everything was indeed proceeding exactly as planned. “I love it when a plan comes together,” he quoted. Now he could sit back and watch a couple of horror movies to more enjoyably pass the time. He decided to re-watch The Grudge and Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho after some lengthy contemplation.

* * *

Damien opened the locker and put his Elfaeran ID inside along with the other items that the security guard had warned him were forbidden past the exit door. He was allowed to take his cell phone, but had to remove the security chip that allowed it to work inside of Elfaeran. Though he sure the guard had seen many people leave the base, Damien was nervous Damien. He did his best to not let it show. The lab assistant had never before applied for permission to leave and had actually only left to fly, and those times he had either accidentally avoided security or had Q Lab’s help to do the same. This time though he had a pass personally signed by pHinneas Q. Dinglethorpe, Security Director.

The pass hadn’t been that hard to procure. Dr. pHinn had been quite accommodating and understanding about the entire matter, especially when he discovered that Hegel was teaching at Peters. Not only had he expedited Damien’s leave paperwork, approving it on the spot, but he had helped Damien to concoct a proper cover as well. He arranged for an Elfaeran operative who closely resembled Damien to leave Mammoth City on the earlier bus then leave the bus at its last stop before Twin Peaks. Damien would be transported to that stop in time for the next bus where he would produce the proper ticket and explain that he had missed making it back to the previous bus. Whenever he decided to return to the base the process could be repeated if he decided that he needed the extra level of protection for his cover identity.

None of this was foremost on Damien’s mind as he passed through the last checkpoint and met the waiting 4x4 that would take him to the Alice Springs bus stop. The ride was quite boring as the driver didn’t say anything, subtly rejecting all of Damien’s attempts to start a conversation. Once he arrived he wondered why the bus stop even had a name. It wasn’t anything more than a concrete bench and plastic overhang alongside a deserted dirt road. He had brought a book to amuse himself on the dusty ride into town and he was sure he would need it. Leaning back against the back of the bench he thumbed to the first page and began reading.

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

* * *

Damien wasn’t sure why he had worried as he watched the outskirts of Twin Peaks move past. The bus driver had accepted the explanation that he had wandered off into the wilderness and let him onto the bus with only a brief examination of his ticket. The young man wondered if perhaps the driver was convinced that nobody in their right mind would ride his bus anyway so he didn’t worry about passengers that wandered off and missed their bus. He didn’t have much time to ponder as he exited the bus for he almost immediately ran into Hegel and greeted his old friend quite warmly. On the ride back to Hegel’s office at Peters they talked about many things, just two old friends chatting after too long apart. It didn’t matter especially if they talked about math, computers, or even old professors—it just mattered that they were talking.

Hegel opened the passenger door for Damien as the young assistant hadn’t quite yet figured out the trick required on the used truck when a student walked by, almost running into the door. “Sorry Professor McGonagall!” he called out.

At the mention of the name Damien almost did a double-take before he remembered that yes indeed, that was Hegel Jeremiah’s last name, though he had never allowed his friends to use it around him.

“I know,” the young professor sighed. “Every time I hear that I turn around and expect to see Harry Potter standing there. I don’t think it fair for Rowling to steal my name like that, even if Minerva was a professor first.”

Chuckling Damien followed his friend into the nearest building, clutching the backpack that contained the package Rubber Snake had slipped him so many days before. Once inside he darted into Hegel’s office and firmly shut the door behind himself. It was only after he prevailed upon the young professor to close his windows and blinds that Damien dared to speak.

“I ran across and old friend of yours on-line, well actually his girlfriend. His name is Dennis Brown. I recently procured this package and was informed that I would need the services of another nerd when I opened it. You were the first one that I thought of, but you were off in Yellowstone at the time, so my only option was this Dennis Brown character that I found on-line—since I thought I remembered you mentioning that you had known him in his undergraduate program. I’ve sent him several e-mails and I haven’t heard back yet, so I decided that I needed to contact you after all.”

“Actually I knew Dennis while he was in high school, he is only a freshman this year. I tutored him for a while. And now that you mention it I haven’t heard from him in a while. It is strange really, we used to talk all the time. I’ll tell you what, I’ll take a look at this equipment, but I’ll also give Dennis a call. He really is the better one if you’re looking for a hardware expert.”

“Thanks.” Damien breathed a sigh of relief. He had been half afraid that he had had Dennis Brown’s name wrong after all and had been trying to contact a complete stranger.

Before the two young men opened the package Hegel laid his hands on his desk and stared steadily at Damien. “Where did this come from? What can you tell me?”

“Um. Well you don’t quite know everything about the lab I work for. I’m not allowed to talk about what I do there. But someone there gave this to me, someone that has some very neat…toys. I’m pretty sure they’re trying to help me, but I can’t say anything more than that.”

“Okay, I’ll trust you. But please tell me anything you can. Now, what is in here?”

As Damien unwrapped the package Hegel whistled. “Wow I feel like I just stepped into Batman Begins. I don’t know what this stuff is, but it looks better than anything Bruce Wayne has.” For nearly an hour the two examined the contents of the package and actually failed to make heads or tails of most of it—the only thing they could decipher was that one device had a component that required liquid nitrogen.

“I think that I can get some liquid nitrogen from one of the science labs,” Hegel ventured. “We could get it tonight and take this out to test it. I know of an old field where my students say they used to go as highschoolers to goof off. I’m sure that we won’t run into any other adults there, so it would be the perfect place to see what this thing actually does.”

“That sounds perfect to me,” Damien responded. “But what do we do in the meantime?”

“The campus theater is playing a movie.”

“Oh, remember those movie nights in college?” Damien interrupted. He, Hegel, and other friends had often gone to the house of Dr. Hippocrates Noah, biology professor, to watch classic movies.

“Yeah,” Hegel chuckled fondly. “Well here they actually get movies on time—I think it is because this theater is the only one in town. Heck if not for the college I doubt if this town would even exist, so I’m not in the habit of complaining about such strange things. I’ve wanted to see this movie for a while, Mr. and Mrs. Smith with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie—it looks great!”

For a moment Damien was in a quandary, but he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to see the movie again. He had actually already seen it three weeks earlier in Elfaeran when it opened before its normal theatrical release above ground. “It sounds interesting. Any idea what it is about?”

“Yeah, apparently this married couple are actually assassins…”

* * *

Professor Pettigrew hadn’t given Marcia much to go on. All he knew about Twin Peaks was that it was a small town that was unlikely to have any real gang activity. But both of them knew that there were always juvenile delinquents in any community, it was only a matter of ferreting them out. In this case it took Marcia the better part of a day to determine that the local hooligans were extremely tame. However, when up to whatever mischief they got up to they could be found in the field behind the abandoned Douglass barn. Once she had finished dinner she waited around “downtown,” walking between the few shops on Main Street until night finally started to fall. Under the cover of darkness the college student recently turned super villain made her way back to her cabin. Once there she took out the costume she had so recently purchased in downtown Mammoth City and after inspecting it for rips and tears proceeded to don the flashy outfit.

M’Jenta was afraid that she wouldn’t find anything worse than a couple of teenagers sneaking a forbidden cigarette behind the old barn, but she held out hope that she would run into some kids that she could actually blackmail or otherwise persuade to follow her. This was her chance to create a power base that was completely independent of Darth Onion. The two villains had divided up Mammoth City, but M’Jenta harbored no illusions that she was anywhere near an equal footing with Onion, who had had many weeks to forge various gangs together into his own personal army.

As used to the city as she was M’Jenta hadn’t counted on it being as dark as it was when she finally arrived at the abandoned barn. She didn’t want to turn into energy form yet. In Mammoth City it hadn’t mattered what the fighting gang members had seen, but here she didn’t want to alarm people or alert her quarry that she was coming early. Therefore she spent several minutes stumbling through the cavernous structure before she came to the back wall. The villain crouched there listening to see if she could hear anyone in the field out back.

“Okay, pour that in here. Yes, that should be perfect. Now we’ll turn this one.” She heard an audible gulp. “Are you ready?”

“Of course, it can’t be any worse than that time we, eh, had that explosion happen in the chemistry lab?”

“Well true. Wow, that was a while ago, wasn’t it? I think it was while I was taking college classes in high school and you were just hanging out. Heck I think it was even before the chemistry department had its own building. If I recall the explosion was part of the reason that it got its own funding to move into a separate building.”

“Ah, old memories. You know, with that most recent explosion we might have to form a Chem Lab Exploders Club!”

“Yeah, but we don’t want anybody to find out we were the second group to qualify for membership.”

“Amen to that.” M’Jenta wasn’t at all sure who she had run into—but it sounded like they had something to hide, so they could be perfect candidates after all. “Here goes nothing.”

At that exact moment M’Jenta burst from the barn’s rickety rear entrance and sent a ball of flames directly towards the two figures. The nearer one immediately cried out in alarm as the ball of flame hit something that he was holding in his hands.

“Watch out!” the other one yelled. “That stuff can’t take much heat.”

With a loud cry the first figure threw his flashlight at M’Jenta and ran past her into the barn. Momentarily disoriented she shook her head for a moment then turning into her energy form she quickly gave chase. The fleeing individual slung whatever he was carrying over his back and practically flew up a long ladder leading up to the barn’s immense haymow.

The villain transformed back into physical form. “You’re not getting away that easily,” she muttered. In rapid succession she sent several balls of energy at the ladder—but unfortunately all missed their intended target. They did succeed in setting the ladder on fire and eventually breaking it into several pieces—but not before her target had finished ascending. With an exclamation of frustration M’Jenta blurred into energy form and rapidly ascended towards the loft. Once she was there she transformed back and rapidly searched for the figure. When she finally found him he was hiding beside a back window, obviously under the mistaken impression that he could actually hide from her.

“You’ll not get away that easily. I won’t let you go until I’m good and ready.” Without warning M’Jenta sent another fireball directly at the figure crouched in the shadows. Unfortunately for a second time she managed to hit the device that he once again clutched in front of him like a talisman. This time though it started to spark when the fireball hit it. He scuttled forward into the light, his features quite alarmed. Without any warning he threw the device at M’Jenta and threw himself out of the window.

The villain tried to dodge, but there simply wasn’t enough time to do more than move enough so that she could see out of the window. She was about to turn into energy form when the device exploded and a burning coldness enveloped her. Her last sight before she lost consciousness was her assailant flying outside the window.

* * *

“What in the blue blazes was that?” Hegel almost shouted.

“Um, I can fly. And I’m not sure who that woman was—but I don’t have time to talk. I think that device might have frozen her when the liquid nitrogen was released. But I don’t have any idea what else it might have done—that was a superconductor in there powering whatever it was. We need to get out of here—especially before this barn really starts burning and attracts more attention. Look, I’ll call you later—but right now you have to get back to your apartment.”

“But,” Hegel tried to interrupt.

“Please, just trust me,” Damien pleaded.

“Okay,” the math professor finally managed to choke out. “Take care of yourself, and call me soon.”

“Of course,” Damien replied with more cheerfulness than he felt. As quickly as he could he ran off into the shadows looking for a tree that he could climb. He needed speed right now to get back to Elfaeran and the only way he knew was to fly. He only hoped that he could get away before that insane woman could wake up and track him.

* * *

At last he was ready. It had taken Jeff several weeks to get all of the pieces into place, but at long last he was sure that everything was ready. With almost trembling fingers he sent the commands that would start his DOS attack on various government web sites. Then he paused and forced himself to wait a little over a half hour. Once he was sure that he had the attention of Mousetail and all of his counterparts he sent the e-mail that would activate Khan’s Revenge. He knew that it would be quite a while before he saw the fruits of his labor as all communication out of the base should soon be shut down, but he was sure that nothing could possibly go wrong at this point.

* * *

Once again Rubber Snake was alone in the satellite monitoring room. “I need to stop volunteering for these shifts,” he muttered. “First that incident with the webcam in Scotland and then Damien and Queen. What’s next? Another fireball like that one over Mammoth City? Bah, I shouldn’t ask, I’m sure that Murphy has an answer.” When an alarm started beeping he was almost afraid to turn around, sure that indeed something had gone wrong. Of course he was right. The satellite currently tasked to examine the territory surrounding Elfaeran Base had picked up a glowing figure flying over the ground. In excitement Rubber Snake hit the emergency button that should summon Blackbird to the control room. It appeared to be the same figure that he had seen examining some recent footage over Mammoth City. At the time he had been afraid it was just an isolated anomaly, but if he was seeing it repeat then he definitely wasn’t crazy and Q Lab might even be able to investigate.

Seconds after he pushed the button half of his screens flickered and died. The Q Labber groaned. The external security systems must be down yet again. Thankfully they’d finally moved the satellite systems to a completely separate network the week before. He hammered the button again, mentally willing Blackbird to hurry.

* * *

M’Jenta was furious. Not only had the kid, though come to think of it she wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, managed to escape her, but he had frozen her. It hadn’t been a comfortable experience. Only when she regained consciousness had she managed to shift into energy form and escape. She was now tracking him, though it wasn’t an easy process. He was flying far enough ahead of her that she could barely see him. When he finally disappeared she tried to go faster, no longer worried that he would spot her, but she realized a moment later that she needn’t have worried.

He had disappeared into a door in the side of a massive boulder. Strips of camouflage netting and electrical wiring hung in tatters from where he had forced his way through. She paused to shift and examine the entrance carefully. It looked as though it had been built to withstand a nuclear bombardment, but though she could see several apparently automatic devices surrounding the door none were operational. With a shrug she shifted back and glided through the entrance. She might not understand why her quarry had rushed into an abandoned bunker but she wasn’t about to retreat, not when she was this close.

The only warning she had was a far off voice shouting “fire!” She blacked out seconds after hearing that one word as a feeling of intense cold descended throughout her entire body, worse even than when the liquid nitrogen had exploded over her.

* * *

Little grey men, probes, bright lights. Her dreams were filled with all of the traditional memories of a UFO abduction and worse, much worse. The only things that repeated were three words that she heard again and again. The Flying Squirrel. She couldn’t make sense of anything beyond those three words and she clung to them with as intense a grip as her mind could manage.

With a start Marcia sat bolt upright in her bed. She was covered with sweat and her heartbeat was racing. It was all a dream. But no, it couldn’t have been a dream. She remembered going to Twin Peaks. She remembered the figures in the field and following one of them to the bunker. After that she remembered nothing, nothing… But wait, there was something. She remembered “The Flying Squirrel.” The budding villain growled in anger. He must have been the one to lure her into that trap. She would still struggle against Darth Onion but this Flying Squirrel, he would command most of her attention from now on. She couldn’t let anyone humiliate her like that. She had to have revenge.

* * *

“What did you do?” Damien almost screamed.

“Calm down,” Rubber Snake cautioned the young man. “We saw her coming after you so we laid a trap. She looked like a fireball so we figured that something extremely cold would stop her.”

“No, I understand that. I’m talking about all the experiments you ran. You kept repeating the name I gave you—and then you let her go!”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet kid? You’re a superhero—and ‘The Flying Squirrel’ isn’t a bad name. But what does every superhero need? Besides kryptonite, besides your Achilles Heel, every superhero needs a villain. Now this Magenta woman is your nemesis.”

Episode LIX

2006-06-29T17:05:00.000-07:00

Carry Hobson's alarm went off at six on Saturday morning, as it did every morning unless she was sick. Carry didn't function well at night, a trait that generally frustrated her boyfriend, who was more likely to stay up past midnight and sleep in until nine or ten if he didn't have to be somewhere earlier. She showered, dressed, and arranged her hair before any of the girls she was staying with were awake. She was just sitting down to breakfast when her friend Laura came into the kitchen, still wearing pajamas.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning," Carry replied. "I made coffee."

"Wonderful." After pouring herself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, Laura joined her friend at the table.

"Do you have work today?" Carry asked.

"Yeah; I go in at ten. Listen, we need to talk about something."

"What's up?"

"Have you found any job leads?"

"I haven't really been looking yet. I told you, I've got to lay low for a while."

"You make it sound like you're running from the law. No listen," she said as Carry started to interject. "I know you if won't tell me what's going on, there must be a good reason, and I'm fine with that. But as much as I love having you here, we can't keep dividing the rent just three ways all summer. There's another girl who's interested in moving in here, and I need to know what to tell her."

Carry sighed. "You're right; this isn't fair to you. Let me think things through and I'll let you know one way or the other by tomorrow night."

"Fair enough. I hate to put you on the spot like that, it's just that..."

"It's okay; I understand."

They continued eating in silence, trying to project cheerfulness. Carry was about to try and make small talk when the phone rang and Laura answered it.

"Hello? Oh, hi Mrs. Hobson! Yes, she's right here." She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "It's your mom." Carry pushed back her chair, walked over and took the receiver from her friend.

"Hi Mom."

"Hi sweetie, how are you?"

"I'm fine, just eating breakfast."

"Any plans for the day?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll probably call and see what Dennis is up to."

"Carry, when are you going to come visit us?"

"Mom, I have some things I've got to--"

"Things to take care of, yes you told us that. But it's been a week since classes let out, and you don't sound like you're too busy. Dennis's parents say they haven't seen him either. What is going on with you two?" There was a long pause as Carry tried to decide how to answer. "Carry? Are you there?"

"I'm here, Mom. Look, I want to tell you what's going on, but it's complicated."

"What do you mean, complicated?"

"Look, it's not what you think. I promise you, I'm not pregnant or anything like that. I just..."

"Just what?"

"I'll call you back tomorrow, okay? And I'll explain things then."

"Why can't you explain now?"

"Please Mom, just trust me on this. You've waited for me for a week; just wait one more day."

"Alright. I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

"Thanks Mom; I love you; bye!"

Laura looked at her from the sink, where she was washing out her cereal bowl. "Are you really going to tell her what's going on, or are you buying time to make up a good story?"

"I don't know," Carry shook her head. "Life is confusing right now."

"You sure you can sort it all out this weekend?"

"I'll figure something out." As her friend left to go take a shower, Carry picked up the phone again and dialed Dennis's new cell. The voicemail message kicked in after the first ring, indicating that it was turned off. He must be doing more detective work, Carry thought. I wish he'd at least leave it on vibrate.

"Hi, this is Dennis Brown's voicemail! After the beep, you'll have thirty seconds to convince me to return your call. Good luck!"

"Dennis, it's Carry. We've got to talk, today. I don't know about you, but I can't keep going like this. Call me as soon as you get this, or better yet come pick me up. I'll be here at the house."

Carry knew that if Dennis was playing the spy he might leave his phone off for hours, so she began doing household chores to pass the time. By the time Laura had left for work, her other two roommates were also gone, and she was running out of ways to keep busy. She checked her email for the fifth time, was unsurprised to find no new messages, and finally took out a drawing pad and started working on some new Enrique cartoons. She had abandoned the web-comic when her life got busier during the previous semester, but now she seemed to have nothing but time.

At the point where she had left off, Enrique had just located and photocopied several top-secret documents, deep inside the Intelligence Building of the United Rodents for World Domination (URWD). He was now setting a Swiss cheese bomb (that is, a cheese bomb manufactured in Switzerland) to explode right about the time he got back outside, providing a distraction while he escaped. Unfortunately, his exit route from the building was being blocked by a janitor rat, who was mopping the floor in the hallway he'd planned on using. The janitor finally put up a "wet floor" sign and left, but before Enrique could run out the door, the bomb exploded.

Carry was in the middle of drawing a cheesy mushroom cloud, when it occurred to her that in the aftermath of escaping from Darth Onion and avoiding campus as much as possible, she had never heard any followup news about the explosion in the chemistry department. Setting the drawing pad down, she went back to the computer and looked for information on a local news site. She found out that this was the third major chemistry-related explosion in the history of the school, but only the first to occur since the department had gotten its own building. Because the accident (if it was an accident) happened after-hours, there weren't many people in the building at the time. Only two students were near the center of the blast: Pam Andrews and Marcia Silverberg. Pam was seriously injured and still recovering at Community General Hospital, but Marcia was miraculously unharmed. One more detail caught Carry's attention. The students who witnessed the explosion gave varying accounts, but all agreed on one point: The light coming from the blast was bright magenta.

Carry tried to tell herself that the whole thing could be a big coincidence, but found that she no longer seriously believed in coincidences. She walked back to the kitchen and dialed Dennis's number again. After the beep she said, "Dennis, it's me again. Something just came up and I've got to drive over the hospital. It's about quarter to twelve now, and I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. If I'm not back at the house when you get this message, look for me there. I'll be visiting a patient named Pam Andrews."

Upon arriving at the hospital, Carry learned that Pam Andrews had only been out of the ICU for a day, but was able to receive visitors. When she got up to the room, she recognized Pam as a girl from her American history class from the fall semester -- a class she had taken from Dr. Pettigrew, as she recalled with a shudder. Of course, that was before she had a reason to dislike him.

"Hi Pam, do you remember me?" She asked, approaching the bed.

"You look familiar. Did we have a government class together?"

"American History with Pettigrew."

"Oh, right. He's kind of a nutcase, isn't he? Running for mayor and everything?"

"You have no idea."

"I don't think I ever really met you before."

"I'm Carry Hobson." She extended her hand.

"Pleased to meet you. It seems like I've heard your name somewhere before."

"I help out with campus theater."

"Maybe that's it. So I guess you saw my name in the paper?"

"Just this morning on the internet. Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about the accident."

"What about it?"

"Well, according to the news story, there was a girl named Marcia Silverberg with you when the explosion happened."

"Yeah; she was my lab partner -- hey, that's where I've heard your name before! Marcia was jealous of your boyfriend or something and kept talking about you!"

"I hope you didn't take anything she said too seriously."

"No." Pam smiled. "When she gets moody the best thing to do is just give her some space and let her rant. She took it pretty hard when her boyfriend broke up with her last year."

"Well, I don't know Marcia directly, but is it true that she walked away from that explosion without a scratch?"

"Yeah; it was amazing! All I remember after walking out of the lab is hearing a loud noise and hitting my head on something; the next thing I knew, I was waking up on a stretcher. Marcia was there and they were asking her questions. I guess she carried me out of the building."

"Did you notice anything -- strange about her?"

"No. Why?"

"I guess it just seems really weird that the same explosion nearly killed you and left her untouched."

"What, you think she's a superhero like in that Bruce Willis movie? What was it called?"

"Unbreakable?"

"Yeah, that's it. Like maybe she can bench press five hundred pounds and shoot lasers from her eyes -- hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing; that's just a disturbing image."

"Marcia with laser eyes? That would be disturbing. Well, there's nothing to worry about, right? I mean, stuff like that only happens in movies."

"Yeah, nothing to worry about."

"Hey, is that your boyfriend?"

"Carry!" Carry turned around just as Dennis walked up to her. "I just got your messages. Sorry I couldn't come sooner; I was tied up. Not literally," he added in response to her questioning look.

Carry turned back to the bed. "Pam, this is my boyfriend Dennis. Dennis, Pam." They shook hands.

"Are you a friend of Carry's? I don't think I've met you before."

"We just met, actually. She saw my name in the paper and decided to come visit me."

"She was hurt in the explosion in the chemistry building," Carry explained.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Dennis. "I've been a bit out of the loop as far as news goes the past couple of weeks. Carry, we need to talk. It's important."

"You're telling me we need to talk? Maybe if you'd leave your cell phone on..."

"Right. Um, Pam, it was good to meet you. I hate to run off, but--"

"It's okay. You two lovebirds go have your argument. Give my best to Marcia."

"Marcia Silverberg? What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Dennis."

"But if she knows something about Marcia--"

"I already talked to her. Let's go, okay?"

"Right. We're going. Bye, Pam."

"Bye!"

Dennis and Carry didn't speak again until they got out to the parking lot.

"We need to talk," said Dennis.

"Yes, I think we've established that," said Carry.

"Okay, where? Are the girls you're staying with at home?"

"One of them will be back soon. What about the guys you're staying with?"

"Two of them have the day off. They've been in and out."

"Okay, where to then?"

"We need someplace quiet, private, and with a bit of room to maneuver."

"Room to maneuver?"

"I'll explain when we get there."

"Where?"

"The history department."

"What? We've been avoiding campus to stay away from Pettigrew, and you want to just waltz right into his building?"

"It's a Saturday. He won't be on campus. No one will be in the building except maybe the janitor, and I've still got my classroom key."

Carry blinked. "That's insane, but I think it could work."

"Good. Let's drop your car off at the house, then we'll take my car to campus."

They made it onto campus and into an empty conference room without meeting anyone. "Okay," Dennis began. "You called me first. So what do we need to talk about?"

"Pettigrew or no Pettigrew, we can't keep hiding from our families and we have to get on with our lives." She explained about the conversations with her mother and her roommate. "Even if we could stay where we're at, he'd find us eventually. It just isn't going to work this way."

"My parents keep calling me as well," said Dennis. "My dad knows I'm hiding something from him, and he's not happy about it." He sighed. "So what was the thing about that girl in the hospital and Marcia Silverberg?"

Carry explained her suspicion that "M'Jenta" was really Marcia. "It all fits," she said. "The color of the light, the fact that she didn't get hurt by that explosion, the way she seemed to know both of us and Darth Onion."

"So where'd she get that outfit?"

"Downtown, probably. There's a big costume place where you can find just about anything. They'll even customize outfits. I bet that's where Pettigrew got his getup as well."

"Well, next time I'm close to either Marcia or M'Jenta, I'll pay close attention to their thoughts to try to figure it out for sure. Meanwhile, I may need to visit that costume shop myself."

"Dennis Brown wants to go shopping? This I've got to hear."

"You remember I said we needed maneuvering room? Well, watch this. Bear with me; it takes a lot of concentration." He stood up and moved away from the table, then closed his eyes for a minute or two. Suddenly, he began glowing with white light, and his features were obscured. Carry stopped herself from screaming as his form changed, shrinking down into the shape of an animal. When the light faded, she saw that it was a basset hound. The dog gave a friendly bark and ran up to her, it's tail wagging excitedly. She laughed and patted it on the head. Then it ran back away from her, started glowing again, and changed back into Dennis. "What do you think?" He asked.

"What is it with you and obscure super powers? Pettigrew gets the ability to shoot lightening, and you get the ability to change into a hound dog?"

Dennis laughed. "It's not just the dog. I can change into all sorts of animals. I can do inanimate objects also, but they aren't much fun because I can't see, hear or feel anything. It's like being a disembodied spirit out in space or something. Really hard to judge how much time has passed, too."

"So how'd you get this power? Another cell phone accident?"

"Nope. Bad Italian food at Papa Mario's."

"Really? Can I eat there?"

Dennis glared at her. "Don't even think about it. The same thing that gave me the ability to shapeshift could kill you, just like that explosion almost killed that girl Pam."

"It probably doesn't do either one most of the time, anyway. Otherwise there'd be a whole bunch of shapeshifters running around."

"Not that many. The food is really bad. Anyway, there's something else I should show you."

"Another new trick?"

"No, just a couple of emails. They're both from this guy named Damien Valiant. He says he knows a friend of mine, Hegel Jeremiah, and he wants my help with something involving computer skills. I read the first one earlier this week and wasn't sure what to think about it, then he sent a second one today. He's pretty insistent, but he's not giving any details. Just wants to meet me, preferably in Daze Springs."

"Who's Hegel Jeremiah? Did I ever meet him?"

"Maybe not. He tutored me in math a few times when I was in high school and he was in college. I haven't talked to him in a while; I guess I'll send him an email and ask him about this Damien Valiant guy."

"Sounds good. So what are we going to do about our parents?"

"I think we should tell them the truth."

"They're won't believe us."

"They will when they see me change into a basset hound."

"My mom hates dogs; better make it a cat. But is it safe to tell them? Pettigrew tried to kill you when you found out about him."

"I don't think we have a choice, Carry. Pettigrew might go for our families to get to us anyway."

"So what do we do, just invite everyone together for a barbecue and tell them everything? I don't know if it's a good idea to tell my little sister or my little brothers."

Dennis thought for a few minutes. "I think we should start with just my dad. He's pretty level-headed, and he can help us decide how to proceed from there."

"Okay, when do we tell him?"

"He's not working today. You promised to call your mom tomorrow, and there's no time like the present." He took out his cell phone and dialed his father's cell phone.

"Hello, Dennis?"

"Hi, Dad."

"You know I'm home today; why didn't you call the house number?"

"I wanted to be sure you answered."

"Oh? Are you ready to talk to me about why you've been avoiding us?"

"Dad, I'm really sorry about that. I want to tell you everything."

"I'm listening."

"Look, this is something we -- Carry and I -- need to discuss with you in person. We haven't done anything wrong, but we have a problem and we need advice. Do you think you could come meet us at the history building on the MSU campus? That's where we are right now."

"I thought you quit your T.A. job."

"I did but they, um, never asked for the keys back."

"You just finished telling me you haven't done anything wrong."

"Dad, please. This is important."

"Alright, Dennis. I'll be down there in about twenty minutes. How will I get in the building?"

"Call me when you're outside."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"Oh, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I, um, it's just that, well, I'll see you when you get here."

"Okay, bye."

Carry looked at him. "What were you trying to say?" Dennis just looked away as he pocketed the phone.

Twenty minutes later, Mr. Brown pulled into the parking lot closest to the History department at the same time as another car. He was about to take out his cell phone, when he recognized the man getting out as his son's old employer. He quickly got out of his own car and approached the man. "Dr. Pettigrew?"

Pettigrew turned to look at him. "Have we met?"

"Briefly. I'm James Brown, Dennis Brown's father."

"Ah, yes. I remember now; we met at a basketball game."

James Brown nodded. "I understand that Dennis got bogged down with finals and had to quit his T.A. job. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience."

"Not at all. How is Dennis? I haven't seen him since last Monday."

"Actually, that's what I'm here to find out. Dennis asked me to meet him inside."

"He came here?"

"He said he still had his classroom keys. Is he breaking any rules by being here?"

"Ah, no, not precisely. But you say he's inside the building, right now?"

"I'm supposed to call him to let him know I'm here, but I guess you can let me in, right?"

"Well, yes, of course. No need to, ah, call him. I'll unlock the door and you can come right in."

Episode LVIII

2006-06-22T07:58:00.000-07:00

Luke's ears woke up before the rest of him. As he lay there subconsciously, he heard a quiet whirring that he couldn't quite place. it sounds familiar; where have I heard that before?

As he became more conscious, he began to analyze the sound, noticing that it would drop in pitch quickly for a short period of time, then return to its original pitch.

Next he tried to recall where he was. His mind distractedly searched his clouded memory: the hospital... The man with the mustache, he had drugged me... Kidnapped me! Luke tried to shout, to scream for help, but his lips refused to move, still under the power of the anesthetic.

Luke calmed himself. What next... what happened next... the vehicle... the struggle... the vast deserted wasteland... What did they call it...? The sand pit... what did that mean?

He felt a tingling in his leg as he heard the whirring drop in pitch again. Good, I'm starting to get sensation back, means I should be able to...

Luke froze as he began to recognize the sound: A drill! It sounded like a giant dentist's drill! What the...? The teen struggled in confusion and disgust. Struggling against the drugs, he forced open his eyes only to wish he hadn't. There before him was the mustached man, wearing a white lab coat which was now splattered with red. Luke gurgled in horror as he realized the sound was not a drill, but a small saw: the red on the coat... that's blood! That's... my...

Luke tried to scream with all his might, but all he heard was a small gurgle, which was barely recognizable as coming from his own throat. The doctor's masked face looked up in shock as he realized his patient was now awake. He reached for a syringe, but the teen was unconscious before the drugs hit his system.

Luke awoke gradually to flashing lights, smoke, and alarms. What's going on?? As he regained motor control, Luke turned his head about, searching for some clue, some sign that would magically inform him of where he was and what was happening: a post-op room, filled with several pieces of large equipment some of which were attached to smaller medical tools, and none of which he recognized... a fire alarm, flashing... a fire?!

Luke sat up completely, feeling the last bit of anesthetic retreat before a wave of adrenaline. Preparing to jump out of the bed, Luke yanked the blanket off of his legs, uncovering a very unexpected sight: his legs, the broken and unbroken were in large cast-like braces from the hip down, with a single joint for his knees: "What the...?" Even though he'd regained feeling to every other part of his body several minutes ago, his legs were still basically sensationless, except for a numb pain in front along the shins, and in back along the calf.

Luke gingerly swung his legs until they toppled off the edge of the bed, reluctantly responding to his commands. Gradually, he lowered himself off the bed, holding onto it carefully for balance and support. Well, I can stand, that's a comfort at least. He glanced down at the casts on his legs no wonder, my legs could be jello and I'd still be able to stand, with as big as these things are.

Luke tried to take a step forward, but, forgetting that his weak legs had to lift the weight of the cast as well as himself, he stumbled forward, tripping over his weighty foot. The teen fell to his knees, feeling a surprising shock of pain shoot up from his legs on the impact: Well, at least I know they're still there...

Pulling on the bed, Luke forcefully lifted himself to his feet, and was about to try again when he saw a figure in the doorway a few feet away. Not again, I'm getting sick of being drugged! Luke reached for a sharp instrument lying nearby, still unsure of what it was he was grabbing, but determined to defend himself. But before he could even touch his sole defense, his hand was clasped in a grip that made his fingers go limp with pain. He trembled with absolute dread, waiting for the familiar needle, but was surprised instead to hear a quiet voice behind him: "You won't be needing that..." It was a woman's voice, no, a girl's voice.

Luke twisted his torso and glanced over his shoulder to look into the face of a teenage girl, not much younger than himself, but with an expression that was far more mature than himself. Luke breathed in relief as she released his hand and smiled, this time clasping his hand in a handshake.

"The name's Sarah!"

"Luke..." he stumbled.

Suddenly the smile disappeared from her face, and was again replaced by that look of painful knowledge. "We gotta go, no telling how long before they get up here..."

She turned and began to walk out, as if she assumed Luke was right behind her. Luke hobbled around to face the door, "Wait!"

Sarah spun, staring at him in disbelief, "What is it?!"

Luke stammered, surprised at the impatient tone, "I uh, I..." gesturing to his legs, "I can't really walk all that well..."

The girl nodded her head knowingly and returned to his side. Though she was probably younger than him, he noticed that she was at least a half an inch taller than him. Reaching under his arms she began to stabilize him, reminding him of those war films where wounded soldiers were aided off the battlefield. "Now walk!" Though firm, the command seemed reassuring and empowering.

Luke took a step forward, again tripping over his bulky cast. This time, however, the girl kept him from falling, catching his weight so completely he wondered at how she could do it. Luke took another step, this time much slower, balancing his weight toward the girl as he lifted his heavy boot... "Bend the knee!" Luke bent his knee and found it much easier to get his leg off the ground, not at all like he would expect with a normal cast. Stepping forward his successfully placed his foot, and transferred his weight to begin again.

They continued slowly like this, slightly increasing their pace as Luke began to get the hang of it, and as Sarah's impatience began to show through. Luke glanced at her: this was not a normal impatience as she tried to convey... this was a fearful impatience, like a person seeing their only chance for survival slip away... Or more of, limp away...

Luke stumbled again, this time Sarah lifted his frame and kicked his foot into position, "Pay attention!"

As they worked their way into the hall, Luke wanted to look around, but instead committed himself to his feet. Sarah guided him down the hall, oblivious of the smoke and noise, obviously intent upon her goal. Suddenly she stopped him. "What is it?" He shouted, trying to be heard above the din of the alarms.

"Quiet!" She hissed, glancing about in frustration. Suddenly she swung him sideways, setting him harshly against the wall.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I said quiet!" Looking down at him she reached into her ill-fitting jumpsuit and pulled out two small pistols. This was the first time he noticed what she was wearing: a blue-black jumpsuit that looked about two sizes two big, with a yellow 'GL' embroidered on the right shoulder.

Realizing that he himself was wearing only a hospital gown, Luke quickly positioned himself into as modest a seating position as possible, given his bulky casts.

"Here!" Luke looked up just in time to see one of the small pistols land in his lap. Luke quickly grabbed the gun in wonder, realizing that it was not a pistol as he expected, but rather a tranquilizer gun. "Where'd you get this," he hissed in wonder.

"The same place I got the jumpsuit..." Luke looked up just in time to see her disappear into the mist, pulling something else out of her costume.

That's funny... Luke took a deep breath to confirm his suspicion: this isn't smoke... it's steam of some sort, like a smoke machine would make!

Suddenly, Luke heard the ding of an elevator, and strained to see what he hoped was his escape route. So that's where she was go... Luke heard shouts of confusion accompanied by the sound of bodies striking the ground and the blue flick of a taser.

Luke glanced around, looking for something he could use to lift himself off the ground. That was when he noticed it: tucked into the side of his left cast was a small syringe. Grabbing the container, he noticed that it was filled with a green liquid, something that was in no way biological, and likely not even medicinal. Luke thought back to when he first awoke: I don't remember seeing it when I looked at my casts...; the failed walking attempt... the figure in the door... the painful grip on the wrist...

There... that must be it... she must have slipped it into my cast when I was distracted about my hand...

Luke examined the gun: five shots, should be enough... for what?... for them?... for her?...

Episode LVII

2006-06-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

Finals are over.

The past weekend had left Dennis's brain and body completely shot. After the incident with Darth Onion, he had quit his job as Dr. Pettigrew’s assistant and managed to avoid him for the rest of finals. He had decided that the best way for him to recover and for him and Carry to stay safe was to be out of sight. It hadn't been hard to convince his girlfriend that she needed to avoid regular hangouts.

* * *
Thursday morning

Dennis had been doing some work on his laptop and researching anything he could find about gangs in the city. Well, he thought to himself, I guess there aren't very many technologically advanced gang members. The few pages he could find didn't have much information on the gangs. They contained little more than the creed of the gang and other non-relevant things. He also noticed that they didn't seem to have been updated for a while. As for a list of members, that was completely out of the question. Apparently they were at least that smart, he concluded. I don't know what I expected anyway, a home address and the latest crimes committed by each member, perhaps?

He'd opened that e-mail from whoever Damien Valiant was and glanced over it just to be sure it wasn't something he needed to see.

Hey,
I'm a friend of Hegel Jeremiah's and I was wondering if I could meet with you sometime, Maybe over lunch or a doughnut or something? I have a piece of equipment I'd like to ask you about. I think it might be kind of interesting for you too. I'll be talking to you.

~ Damien Valient

Dennis wasn't sure what he thought about that. He'd have to find out a little more about this Damien character before having anything to do with him. Having the ability to read minds didn't exactly make everyone like him. Especially certain ones, he thought to himself.

* * *

Later the next day.....

Realizing that computer skills can only go so far, Dennis decided he'd better do a little groundwork if he didn't want to move to another city and change his name, which he most certainly didn't. Donning a hat, sunglasses and a rather large coat, he took off to find out more about Dr. Pettigrew. He had decided earlier that his best chances for figuring out what exactly was going on was to find out about the prof. himself, since he didn't seem to do too well finding information online.

He pulled up to The Brother's Coffee shop, a favorite hangout for certain members of the academic community. Not knowing whether Pettigrew had ever been in there, Dennis was hoping to get a little more information from some of his colleagues. Slipping inside, he noticed another MSU professor who hadn't taught any classes that Dennis had taken. Perfect, he thought. Someone who won't recognize me but might still be able to help. Approaching the man’s table, he sat down.

"Excuse me, can I get you something to drink?" Dennis asked right off the bat.

"Um...."

Oh, that was smooth all right, he thought to himself, noticing that the guy already had a a coffee and a doughnut. Launching right into what he wanted to know seemed to be the best way to save a rather uncomfortable situation.

"Actually, I was wondering: do you know anything about a Professor Pettigrew? I'm looking on doing an article about some of the things he's been publishing and I would really like to learn a little more about him." Dennis didn't know if his prof had actually been writing anything, but he figured that was the easiest way to make the best of the situation. He hoped that the man didn't know Pettigrew well enough to call his bluff. Luckily for Dennis it seemed to go over well. He sensed the man's thoughts and heard him make the decision to tell him a little bit.

* * *

Well, that wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, thought Dennis as he walked down the street looking for a good place to eat. It was getting late in the day and he wanted to catch dinner before heading back to the house. About half an hour later he was getting pretty exasperated. The only thing he'd seen was a little dingy Italian restaurant about two blocks back. Well, I don't want to be a burden to the people I'm staying with, so I'd better eat here. Though it looks almost as if I'd be better off not eating dinner at all, he thought grimly. He walked in and ordered a large portion of lasagna anyway. After finishing it, he left and retired to his home away from home.

As he entered his room he emptied his pockets and kicked off his shoes. No sooner had he flipped on the light switch, than he collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

* * *

"That's pretty much all that happened," a gang member finished in a dark storehouse somewhere deep in the bowels of the great Mammoth City.

"So you poisoned his food with some kind of poison you've never heard of and you couldn't even think clearly enough to follow it up by seeing what happened?!" The dark-cloaked man asked, making the henchman start crying almost spontaneously.

"We barely even got it in the food! You wouldn't believe how protective of the kitchen they were in that stupid little restaurant!" Squeaked the excited henchman.

"And the cook was probably 350 pounds, not counting the fact that he had a cleaver at hand!" Another underling whined.

"Well, see what you can do about the situation anyway. I want you to find out what happened and find out now!" The gang lord named Onion sent the henchmen scrambling for fear of their lives.

Ah yes, this is how it was meant to be. Me with power over gangs only imagined by their so-called leaders. Had I been a Sith emperor it could have only been a slight improvement in the situation. He reveled in the small pleasure of making each and every slimeball that served him fear for his measly insignificant life. Onion reveled in this, although the irony was that his so-called insignificant minions were the source of over half of his collective power and influence in the large, ever-spreading metropolis.

* * *

While the dark forces of evil worked at their inner problems, a certain college student's body was undergoing it’s own amazing inner reconstruction at an amazing pace. Unfortunately for the henchman who had tried to do away with Dennis, he had swiped something from a medical truck to put Dennis's food that looked deadly enough but had a far different effect than what he expected. As Dennis laid there on the floor of his room his skin began to glow dimly and then brighter and brighter till it passed and Dennis awoke, somewhat sickly looking.

* * *
One more day has passed.

Darth Onion was suddenly disturbed by a messenger.

"Excuse me sir! I have urgent news."

"Just tell me," sighed Onion with his usual distaste for anyone and everyone.

"Just this: they've found the person you were looking for and he's currently at Foyer and Reed Blvd. and moving north."

After a quick moment, Onion replied with orders. "Have my main man assemble a strike group to take him captive. Make certain that there are enough people. He's a slippery character, and above all make certain there are NO mistakes! Did you get that?"

"Yes, yes, I'll go now?"

"Yes, now!" Onion gestured hurriedly. "We need to get him immediately... Oh! And one more thing, tell him to capture the target at all costs, do not spare any firepower and tell him not to worry about it being seen. Only that he must avoid getting caught."

"Yessir!"

* * *

Dennis walked up the street thinking about what had happened. He couldn’t remember anything after the moment he had gotten home. He'd woken up on the floor later with the feeling that something had changed and that he was somehow different. But maybe that was just an after-effect of the food poisoning he'd gotten from eating at the run-down restaurant. Definitely should have avoided eating till I got back, Dennis rebuked himself. I still don't feel quite right. Maybe this exercise will help.

He had been walking for about an hour already; not feeling too bad, and ready for more exercise, he kept on going. The day had become warmer. Forgetting his disguise, he took off his coat, glasses and hat and carried them under his arm. He continued walking.

About 20 minutes later.

"Hey!!" Somebody called out. Dennis ignored it and kept walking.

Suddenly out of a nearby alleyway; "Hey somebody help!!" Dennis stopped and turned back. Peering into the alleyway, he heard a muffled scream echo out, accompanied by sounds of a struggle. He hurried down the alleyway a little further.

"Help!" It came again, a little quieter this time.

Dennis slowed as he neared a corner in the brick walled dingy alley and thought about what to do. What am I doing?! This could be really dangerous! But there could be someone in danger! He battled his uncertainty. Wishing he were small enough to peek around the raw brick corner without being noticed, Dennis hurriedly thought about what would possibly be the best action, and the safest.

Suddenly the world around him became grey! The colors skewed and snapped out of existence! The ground rushed up at him and he found himself going down on his hands and knees. But, they weren't his hands! He felt his weight shift to all fours and the bricks in the walls and pieces of trash grew to his size. Looking down, he saw paws, not hands! Mouse paws! His heart began to beat quicker and quicker as he realized what had happened.

I've changed into a rodent?? Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with that food I ate. Well, now I can peek around the corner I guess. He scurried and took a glance around a paper cup. There were four or five towering humans around the corner with various weapons. He ducked back again. It was a trap! I should have known; this is Dr. Pettigrew's doing. I'd better get out of here and figure out what to do about this.... condition But then, as quickly as the colors had faded away and his vision had changed it returned and he grew again to his original size and shape. His heart still pounded wildly as he stumbled from the alleyway with a heavy sweat breaking out on his brow and he nearly tripped on the way out.

"Hey! You all right? It's getting warmer out all right, but it ain't that warm!" Dennis was just a little tongue-tied at that moment and dashed off crazily, without a glance back.

Probably some addict getting a fix, the at-first concerned man thought disgustedly.

Episode LVI

2006-06-08T07:55:00.000-07:00

It had been a long day for Marla. Evan Evans had turned out to be a burly African American and had a very nice and pleasant way with people. Marla had immediately liked him. Molly Murphy, on the other hand, was mean. If she said do something, by golly - or should it be "by Molly" - you better do it! Also, her last name seemed quite appropriate; Murphy's law certainly applied to this woman. Already she had her head slammed into a door and had tripped near the acid pools, almost splashing in.

It was late morning when Agent Evans had checked in. Ms. Murphy arrived that afternoon. Both were then briefed on the hotel's workings, and then both agents briefed Marla on the situation. Apparently some electronic bugs had been found around the resort and her home. Someone had been monitoring her phone and internet lines. This was not looking good. There was good news however, it did not appear that the gangs had anything to do with it. That was two days ago.

*****

Marla's alarm went off at 6 o'clock prompt, just as she liked it. Within an hour she was ready to begin yet another long day under the watch of two agents. They had been bothering her non-stop, insisting that one of them must always be near enough to her. What balogna!, Marla thought. I've done this well on my own for how many years now? And they still treat me like a newcommer to the agency. It was just as well though, Acid Springs Resort was still trying to recover from the monster sightings, so there weren't many people checked in to keep Marla occupied.

As she was thinking about the sudden onslaught of all these recent events it hit her. Same room, same thing. An extremely painful migrane in the resort's public bathroom. She stepped out of the room, and like the last time, the pain immediately subsided and was gone altogether within a few more seconds. Puzzled, Marla opened the door again and had a dull pain. The pain grew much worse as she entered the room, and it took a lot of effort to not let out a whimper. After a few more tests, she concluded the effect was limited only to the public restrooms, both the men's and women's. For the rest of the day she carefully watched everyone who entered those two rooms, but nothing happened to them, the effect only applied to her, it seemed.

Episode LV

2006-06-01T09:44:00.000-07:00

Peace and quiet.

Ok, so running a resort didn't normally give Marla that, but she made sure her quarters were far enough away that the general noise didn't reach her. And her staff knew that when she was in there with the door closed after hours, she was only to be reached in an emergency.

Since getting out of the hospital, Marla had been taking it easy, letting her employees do most of the work and hiding out in her room. And she was definitely leaving the monster to someone else. There was no reason that she had to fight him. If he were willing to leave her alone, she'd do the same.

The peace and quiet was shattered on the third day, however. The bad news came in the form of a phone call.

"Marla, it's Jane Harper from Witness Protection Services."

Marla groaned to herself. Everytime Jane called, it was always bad news.

Jane continued uninterrupted. "Someone has been poking around asking about you."

The smile that had been on her face froze. "What?!"

"So far, it's just been local. Your friends, the resort. Basically, your life in the last 25 years. We think it's connected to the attack that sent you to the hospital, but we aren't sure."

"So this person is no closer to finding out about my past."

"We don't think so, but there's more. The gangs in Mammoth City are behaving differently. Most of them are working together, including the two you testified against all those years ago. Somehow, this increased cooperation might have revealed a detail or two about you. We're still looking into the possibility."

"So what do I do? Is it time to move?"

"Not yet. We want to figure out what is going on. But we need to protect you. We'll be sending you two agents to work undercover, help protect you, and figure out what if any danger you are in. Agent Evan Evans will be checking in for an extended stay as a guest and Agent Molly Murphy will be a new employee of the resort. They will arrive separately in the morning. Will there be any problem?"

"N-no."

Jane barreled on. "Good. They will be available any time if you need to get in touch with us or are in any danger. You are to keep a low profile until we figure this out. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. We think this will blow over in a few weeks. Don’t worry."

And with that, Jane was gone.

Despite Jane’s parting line, Marla spent the night worrying about the phone call. She had always known in the back of her mind that her secret might come out and she'd have to move and take on a new identity again. But after so long, she become to think that she was safe from her past. Now here it was again causing problems in her life. Maybe. Either way, someone poking around wasn't good news. Despite Jane's order, she'd have to investigate. And she had her superhuman strength to help in an emergency. She wasn't the helpless woman she had been when she became Marla Stewart.

But there was something even more troubling that played through Marla's mind as she finally drifted off to sleep. What kind of parent names their son Evan Evans?

Episode LIV

2006-05-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

“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

2006-05-18T17:26:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-13T19:48:00.000-07:00

"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

2006-05-05T15:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Episode L

2006-04-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

Just as promised, Frank Evans returned to Acidity's compound exactly two days after he had last been there. To the minute, even - he had made a point of that little detail in the hopes that it would help curry a little more of his new employer's "good graces." Regardless, he got the same reception as before - armed guards and the typical display of power that so many would-be supervillains liked to revel in early in their careers.

As before, Evans had little difficulty concealing his utter disgust of the hideous, scarred monster in front of him. One of the first things you learn as a private eye is never to let on how you really feel about the people who pay your bills.

"What did you get?" Acidity asked, foregoing anything resembling a greeting.

"What did I get?" Frank repeated the question, momentarily confused. "Oh - what did I get on that girl, you mean? Marla Stewart?"

"Yes. Tell me now." The impatience in Acidity's tone began to deepen. Evidently, the monster hadn't had that good a day today.

Frank reached into his coat, producing a sealed envelope, which he began to hand to Acidity before, apparently thinking better of it, he gave it to one of the minions instead.

"Better keep the paper away from all that acid, right?" He commented. That comment earned him a harsh glare from Acidity.

"I've got records of her favorite hangouts, names and photos of her friends and contacts, the saved messages on her cell phone, and even where she likes to surf on the web. I've also acquired a few extra photos of Ms. Stewart's home, taken from several different angles, as well as photocopies of the place's original blueprints which are stored in the city archives."

Acidity nodded, genuinely impressed by the detective work, although he wasn't about to let it show on his face.

"Thanks for the compliment," Frank responded. "Glad to know that you think my work's still useful. Now, even with all of this info, I wouldn't recommend..."

"...What?' Acidity interrupted.

"What, what?"

"I didn't compliment you."

"Yes, you did." Frank shrugged, and continued what he was saying earlier. "I wouldn't recommend just rushing in and attacking the girl with all of the info that I gave you. She'd probably fight back, and she'd know that we know what she knows. I don't think we want that."

"No," Acidity responded. "We do not."

There was a moment or two of silence before the monster turned toward Frank Evans again.

"You may leave now. I want you to learn more about the contacts on that list, and I want you to scout out any potential allies that she or I might gain."

"Yes, sir." He replied to Acidity, making certain that his tone sounded "respectful" enough to keep him out of trouble. After he had left, Frank Evans barely took a moment to wonder what Acidity had been talking about earlier - he was certain that he had heard the monster say, "Thank you. I am really impressed with your work, Frank," but he had denied it so readily...

...The Private Eye didn't give it another thought.

Episode XLIX

2006-04-13T19:59:00.000-07:00

It had been a number of weeks since Xanga's equipment had arrived, and once again Q Lab had been forced to attribute the UFO/Alien sightings to some natural event.

Now Nightrider was fuming; Frodo Baggins had crossed the line. Once again he had gotten in the way of Q Lab's motto with his political baggage. It was time something was done about him. Nightrider and Blackbird had discussed previously what should be done about Frodo, but had never come to a conclusive decision until now. He was going down, and they were going to make sure it was a hard fall. Nightrider's watch alarm went off. It is time. Silently she stood and made her way out of her room and down the hall, where Blackbird was already waiting. Together, they proceeded to Frodo's room and gave his door a knock. The door opened, immediately followed by a bright flash and a low-pitch sizzle. Frodo fell.

The next hour or so was spent doing various things to Frodo, removing his "Q Prints". This included removing every mention of him from the security system, which itself included removing a special chip which had been implanted in the back of his neck. After everything was finished, Nightrider and Blackbird took Frodo's unconscious body a few miles away from Q Lab and dumped him in a dumpster. Never again would Jeff Smark, formerly Frodo Baggins, be able to enter Q Lab. The required documents to do so were given only by the project leaders, Nightrider and Blackbird.

"Well, that's that," said Nightrider.

"Indeed," replied Blackbird, "he should come to in a few hours. If he's lucky someone will find him before then."

The two proceeded back into the depths of Q Lab, determined to never again mention the now-fictitious 'Frodo Baggins'. At every turn, Frodo had been in the way of the Queen Device and it's soon-to-be use: fighting evil, or at least presumed evil. Nightrider allowed a small smirk with that thought, and continued the business of the day.

Episode XLVIII

2006-04-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

Frank Evans, Private Eye, sat at his desk reading his copy of the Daze Springs Gazette. Business was slow, and he was bored. Why else would he read the paper?

Frank was not known as the most ethical PI in the world. That's one reason why his little hole-in-the-wall office was in the North Side Slums. But it had been good for business. Everyone knew they could come to him to retrieve anything, no questions asked. He had made quite a good living at it over the years, keeping the cops off his back at the same time. They hardly dared venture into his neck of the woods.

Today, he was scanning the paper for any news of the latest craze in Daze Springs, the rumors of the monster. While the local media was treating it as rumors since there were no photos, Frank new better. He had seen the way several people in his neighborhood had been acting recently, and he knew there was more then a myth to this story. Plus, he'd been doing a little investigating on his own. The good rumor was that the monster was based just outside of town.

He checked his watch again. 3:15 PM. He decided to close up early and see if he could find out anything for himself.

***

Frank was marched into camp at gunpoint. He was rather embarrassed to have been captured by these drones, but he had to admit, they were good. Dumb, not much for meaningful conversation, but good.

He was marched straight to the main building and shoved inside.

The site that greeted him was horrific. The rumors of the monster were indeed true; Frank had confirmed them himself.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the monster growled.

Frank nervously rubbed his balding head. "I'm Frank Evans, PI, and I'm here with a business proposition for you."

"Why would I even want to do business with you?"

"Because I found you and know the truth?" Frank was nervous, but he couldn't help feel a little smug by his success.

"That will mean nothing. I can turn you into one of my minions and that will be the end of that." Acidity raised his arm.

Frank's smugness left just as quickly as it had come. "But that's why I'm here," he stuttered as he took a couple steps back. "Your minions have not gone unnoticed. While the papers won't report it, everyone is talking about the strange people in town who stare vacantly at everyone they meet. It won't be too much longer before your secret is out."

Acidity lowered his arm. "I'm listening."

Frank continued. "I'd like to work for you. Part time, on the side. I can be your eyes in town and learn things that the other minions won't. And by keeping all my bodily control to myself, I won't be detected."

Acidity was silent for several minutes. Sweat was poring onto Frank's brow by the time he finally spoke. "Very well. It will be as you say. I will expect reports from you every two days. And Mr. Evans?"

Frank allowed himself a smile. "Yes?"

"If I find out you are double crossing me, I will inject you. Or worse."

"Obviously, you have never heard of me before. I always treat my clients above board. It's everyone else I stab in the back."

"Very well. Your first assignment will be to learn all you can about Marla Stewart."

"The owner of the resort? Why?"

"Because, this woman keeps crossing me and winning. At our last encounter, she threw me for three blocks. It took two days of soaking in my acid bath to recover from that. And the addition of five more minions to cover up my sudden appearance from out of the sky as well. I also want to get more info on Abby Gillis."

"The recent lotto winner?"

"I see you keep up on the news. Very good. You may be of use to me. And if you aren't?" Acidity raised his arm threatening. "See you back here in two days, Mr. Evans."

On his way back to his office, the through crossed Frank's mind that he had made a deal with the devil. But he shrugged his shoulders and kept walking. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Episode XLVII

2006-03-30T19:35:00.000-08:00

Every time Luke thought about Kira or Brad, he got angry and upset. So, in order to stay sane until Saturday, he avoided both of them, and poured all his energy into skateboarding. The upcoming competition was to have three events. The first two involved skating a prescribed routine: Everyone did the same tricks in the same order, and points were awarded based on how well each trick was executed. More difficult tricks were worth more points. The third was a “best trick” contest: Each skater did one trick, the best he could land, and the highest scoring trick won.

Luke wasn’t worried about the first two events. None of the tricks were too hard for him, and if he practiced both routines enough times before Saturday, he was confident he could pull them off flawlessly. The hard part was deciding what to do for the third event. It was tempting to try and learn something really hard; if he could land a heelflip McTwist, it would be a guaranteed win. Then again, if he were that good, he would have a decent chance of winning at the next X Games. A compromise, then. He knew he couldn’t learn to do a McTwist before Saturday; he couldn’t get enough height to spin the full 540 degrees. But he had managed to do a backflip and land fakie, so maybe if he worked at it he could learn to do a 180 inverted aerial. Maybe even a kickflip 180 inverted aerial. That would be truly awesome.

Late Thursday morning found Luke practicing on the halfpipe as usual. In order to avoid a confrontation, he had waited to go to the skate park until after Brad left for lunch. After practicing the two preset routines several times, he was once again trying to land a 180. He had managed to make the full twist several times, but had not yet landed on his board without falling. He resisted the urge to become frustrated and kept at it, confident that he would succeed if he kept trying. This was how he had learned all his tricks; not so much innate skill as relentless determination.

The key thing was not to be afraid of getting hurt. Luke’s friends called him the Loon, partly because he skated without any helmet or pads – even without a shirt, more often than not, despite his propensity as a redhead to sunburn – but mostly because he would try any jump for the first time with as much confidence as if he’d been doing it for years. It was as if he didn’t know how much it was going to hurt when he fell. He suffered a lot of scrapes and bruises this way, but he also learned a lot of tricks. Luke’s description of his own technique sounded a lot like the Nike slogan: “I don’t think about it; I just do it.”

Nearly two hours and countless falls later, the Loon’s craziness paid off: He landed three 180’s in a row, to the delight of the local kids who were watching. Not too soon, either; the competition was in just two days. Now at least he had something to show, but it might not be better than whatever Brad was planning. What he needed to do was spice it up a little by adding a kickflip. No problem – just two tricks he knew how to do, both at the same time. Enough thinking; time to do it. He rode back and forth on the halfpipe a couple of times to pick up speed, then launched into the inverted aerial the same as before. To complete the trick, he had to rotate 90 degrees while upside-down, then another 90 after turning right-side up but before landing. But this time, while still in the air, he had to kick his board so that it also spun 360 degrees on an axis running lengthwise. He could do this while ollying over flat ground easily, but doing it while completing a jump he’d barely learned was more complicated.

As was typical for his first time trying a trick, he failed to land it. Not so typical was his failure to get up afterwards. The boys who were watching ran up and asked if he was alright, then started to panic when he didn’t answer. One of them was already running to go call 911 when he opened his eyes and said weakly, “Get…help…my leg…”

Episode XLVI

2006-03-23T00:00:00.001-08:00

Darkness cloaked the small settlement built in a small clearing on the outskirts of Daze Springs. It had been a few weeks since Acidity's last encounter with the general public, though this had not excluded him from stealing people away to join his forces. Though his forces had more or less doubled he realized that they could not continue growing indefinitly as he had to give them all injections periodically. He had made some builders build him a home base and was currently working on an acid spa for his feeding periods. Lately he had to resort to only using a tank; he'd had an employee of another lab buy it for him and set it up in the camp. As of yet the camp had not been seen, nor any suspicion thrown on any of his workers.

* * *

The next day near noon he crawled out of his tank with renewed vigor.

Where are my minions?!!

He wondered, about to work up a good fit of rage.
Suddenly a builder emerged out of a newly finish building and rushed over, stumbling in his haste.

"You called, master?"

What's going on? I didn't say a word, Acidity wondered again to himself.

"We finished installing the space heaters in the new barracks, master," the worker blurted out. "That's what you ordered, wasn't it?"

Yes, but..... Acidity still confused as to how the worker had come when he hadn't even spoke.

"Well, that's good. I don't need anything further, thank you. Please continue with your work."

The worker left and Acidity sank amazed and bewildered into his tank again. Breathing the water slowly, he thought to himself about what had just happened. Quieter thoughts this time.

I didn't even speak a word but he came running and answered my thoughts....

I must be getting more powerful.

Well, telepathy is certainly going to help me out. I will be able to plant thoughts in people's minds, if I'm careful.

I'd better watch what I think about to myself

Carefully he opened a mind link to his van driver and summoned him using his thoughts. Then he thought something to himself again at without letting anyone hear it. It was difficult but with practice his skills could be used without the world hearing his every thought.

Episode XLV

2006-03-10T13:58:00.000-08:00

Bright. Everything was always bright white. Now it's going to take some more time to readjust to color.

Marla hadn't wanted to go to the hospital, but she figured taking a bullet to her shoulder wasn't really that good. To streamline things, Marla had called 911 from her hotel. This ensured quicker medical attention, and also a police write-up of the incident. Fearing the monster rumours would pick up again, she didn't mention Acidity being back, and so only said two men were attacking her. The first, she said, slipped and knocked himself out, the second man got scared, shot, and run. The police had picked up the first man, still unconcious.

Now Marla was being released from the hospitol. She hadn't rushed to get out because the hotel employees said everything was running fairly smooth, but she wanted to check anyway. There was only one part of this whole adventure she really did not care for. One of the Witness Protection Program people had contacted her about the incident. It seems they feared the attack was linked to her divulging that gang information twenty-five years ago. Marla didn't believe Acidity was connected to that at all, but she was entertaining the idea in the back of her mind.

Episode XLIV

2006-03-03T09:46:00.000-08:00

The woman with the red hair sat down at the booth across from him. Dennis might have noticed she was pretty if he was paying attention to his surroundings.

"No, you don't know me," Abby said. "You just looked like you needed an encouraging word. What's wrong?"

"I'm having a finals week like you wouldn't believe."

"Let me guess, your professors are trying to kill you."

Dennis smiled. "Well, not exactly. It's a rather long, complicated story I'm sure you wouldn't care anything about."

"Try me," Abby said.

"No. I've already got one innocent person in danger. The last thing I want to do is have to worry about you as well." And with that, Dennis got up and walked out the door, leaving Abby to eat her meal in peace and wonder what that was all about.

All thoughts of the strange conversation vanished from her mind, however, when her cell phone rang almost as soon as she got back into her apartment. It was Maggie.

"You are all over the news," Maggie said as soon as Abby answered. "Remember that lottery ticket you bought last week? You won!"

"What?!" Abby looked for a place to sit down, but since everything was still in the trailer, she wound up sitting on the floor.

"You are filthy stinking rich!"

Abby laughed. "I hardly consider a million dollars filthy stinking rich," she said. "Especially after the government takes their share for taxes."

"Still, I just had to call and tell you!" And with that, Maggie hung up.

Laughing over her friend's weird phone habits, Abby found the number for the Daze Springs Lotto Office and called and confirmed the information. "The mayor would like to present you a check in front of the cameras day after tomorrow. Will that be a problem?"

"No, I'll be there." Abby may not be able to retire, but she wasn't going to pass up this money, that's for sure.

***

After spending a day unloading and trying to get situated, Abby drove back to Daze Springs. She received her check with much pomp and ceremony on live TV. It would, of course, be rebroadcast on the local news that night as well. It seemed like an awful lot of fuss, but they had just started the lottery, and she was the first big winner.

She was just getting back into the car when her phone rang again. "This is the lab. Dr. Jockner would like to see you before you leave town." Then the line was disconnected.

That was strange, Abby thought to herself. But she dutifully drove her car to the temporary trailers.

"I didn't call you," Dr. Jockner said when she arrived. "I'm sorry you detoured out here for nothing."

After stopping by to say "Hi" to Maggie, Abby headed out to her car again. She'd just reached into her purse to pull out her keys when two men grabbed her arms.

"You will come with us, now," one of them said in a monotone.

"Lord Acidity wishes to see you. He requires more capital," intoned the other.

They started to drag her toward the edge of the clearing. Abby could just make out a monster trying to hide in the shadows. It looked remarkably like the monster that had been rumored to be at the lab right before it burned down in the fire. If half of what she had heard was true, she knew this was bad news.

Never one to go along willingly, Abby struggled against her two captors. Naturally, she didn't get too far, but she was able to put her hand back into her purse. Feeling around, she found the pepper spray she had kept there for years and never needed. Flicking the cap off, she sprayed it at first one and then the other of her assailants. The stuff was still strong enough, and they released her and covered their eyes, screaming in pain.

Abby, turned and ran back to her car, hopped in, and drove out of town as quickly as she could, not even stopping at her bank to deposit the check. As Daze Springs faded behind her, she began to stop trembling. She wasn't exactly sure what had just happened. But she knew next time it happened, she would be ready.

XLIII

2006-02-23T05:49:00.000-08:00

Abby had just begun to settle into her new office after the chaos of opening up the labs in the makeshift buildings had begun. It wasn’t long after the firebombing and she still wasn’t sure who she was working with. While she and several other employees of the lab had either kept their jobs or been offered new ones several employees had received no such guarantees. In fact, two had been let go on Tuesday with no explanation that Abby had heard. She was worried, but not overly so as Dr. Jockner had specifically reassured her about the future of both her position and the lab itself. Therefore she kept working as best she could and tried to project an air of stability when working with less sure colleagues.

Shortly before Abby was supposed to meet with her coworker Maggie her phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it and go straight to lunch, but then the caller ID display resolved (some of the equipment had been salvaged from the ruins functional, or mostly so) and she saw that it was Dr. Jockner’s cell phone. Though she was tired and ready for some food and relaxation Abby forced a cheerful tone and picked up the handset.

“Yes, Dr. Jockner. What can I do for you?”

“Actually quite a bit Abby. You’ve been doing a great job at the lab, but I need you to run down some field work for me. Can you meet me at the architect’s office in twenty minutes?”

“Yes, on the corner of Chestnut and Vine, right sir? J. Farnsworth and Associates?”

“That is exactly the place Abby, I’ll meet you there in twenty then. Thank you.”

As was normal for him Dr. Jockner hung up abruptly, not giving Abby time to say anything else. With a sigh, after all she thought characters in stories always sighed when they received such news so why shouldn’t she, Abby called Maggie and cancelled their lunch date. On her way out through the muddy parking lot Abby glanced at her watch and realized that if she hurried and “kept up with the flow of traffic” she could swing through a McDonald’s downtown and grab a bite to eat. Fast food was definitely not her favorite, but it was better than nothing she rationalized.

* * *

Abby fervently hoped that she would never again have to go through a day as hectic as the previous twenty four hours, in which she thought she might have slept as many as two hours altogether. At the architect’s office Dr. Jockner had explained that a couple of the lab’s current benefactors and several potential benefactors were concerned about the quality of the staff. Of course the director assured Abby that he had every confidence in her, but she could tell that he said this mainly to reassure her and not with complete confidence. He went on to explain that one of the new benefactors wanting to sign on to lab sponsorship was Dr. Dean Riker, president of Mammoth City’s Titan College and owner of the fast food chain Island Burgers, which he added, was very successful against all competition in the valley. When he said this Abby felt slightly guilty for stopping at McDonald’s, until she firmly told herself that it didn’t matter and she couldn't have known.

Dr. Jockner had gone on to explain that in exchange for his patronage Dr. Riker had requested that the lab recruit first from Titan College’s chemistry students. He had also offered reduced tuition, and Dr. Jockner said that the lab would make up the difference, to current employees who would pursue accelerated degrees through the institution. Being quite loyal to her alma mater Mammoth University Abby had never imagined that she would become a Titan, but when Dr. Jockner explained that he not only wanted her to pursue her graduate degree at Titan but to head up the lab’s recruiting of students she could hardly refuse. Additionally if she were called back to the lab at times she could complete some coursework on-line and make other arrangements.

The only catch had been that Abby needed to move immediately before the end of finals week so that she would have her recruitment office established before the students left for break. Therefore with the help of Maggie and several other colleagues she had packed her essentials and crammed them into the back of her car. She knew that she would be able to return to Daze Springs as necessary, but Abby didn’t really want to forget anything so she had spent the night before packing instead of sleeping and only the infusion of a pot of coffee had kept her sane while her friends helped her load everything into her small car and attached U-Haul trailer.

Stifling a yawn Abby decided that she’d gone without food long enough. Only twenty minutes before she had dropped her trailer off at her new apartment on the edge of the Titan campus, but she didn’t feel like unpacking on an empty stomach. So she had wearily turned back onto Elephant Street and started looking for an eatery that was still open. Finally she passed 42 Street and spotted an Island Burger. It was rather rundown, but more importantly it was open, so she pulled into the parking lot. Aside from an elderly couple in a side booth the restaurant’s only other customer was a young man in a Mammoth U sweater, only a couple years younger than Abby. At first her gaze just drifted past him then she looked back. Despite his disheveled appearance he was rather cute she decided. He looked rather upset, but perhaps a conversation would help to wake her up. After ordering the Island’s signature Dharma burger with large fries she sat down in front of the young man.

“Hi, I’m Abby.”

Running his fingers through his hair the apparent student looked up with red eyes. “Oh, hi. Um…Dennis, Dennis Brown. Do I know you?”

Episode XLII

2006-02-17T20:17:00.000-08:00

Dennis knew he needed to move quickly, but when he reached his car he couldn’t resist the temptation to just sit for a minute and try to think things through. Anyway, the interior of a car was supposed to be a safe place in a lightening storm, right? Hopefully that applied to blue lightening shot from the fingertips of a homicidal history professor. Pettigrew didn’t seem to have followed him, but Dennis locked the car doors just to be safe.

His first thought was that he wouldn’t be able to stay in the dorm. He was scheduled to move out on Friday anyway, but he hadn’t started packing yet, or planned to before sometime Thursday night. Trying to go pack everything up quickly seemed like a big risk. Okay, so I just sleep somewhere else and stay in public places between now and then, he thought. His one advantage at this point was Pettigrew’s obvious desire for secrecy. He wouldn’t want there to be more witnesses than he could secretly kill. But where can I stay? Maybe with one of Carry’s friends – Oh no, Carry! Dr. Pettigrew knows she’s my girlfriend and – Marcia is probably working with him! That’s why she was trying to distract him. Oh no, oh no…
Dennis quickly took out his cell phone to call and warn her. Strangely, it wasn’t turned on. He pushed the power button and the screen lit up briefly then went dark again. Evidently the electricity, or the magnetism, or a combination of the two had fried it. Great. Where would Carry be this time of night? The two of them were supposed to meet for breakfast before going to their finals the next morning. Maybe she was at her apartment studying. He quickly pulled his keys out of his pocket and started the car.

* * *

Meanwhile back in the History building, Dr. Pettigrew had a roughly analogous, though inverted, series of thoughts. He knew that Dennis wouldn’t be able to make anyone believe him right away, but it wouldn’t do to have someone running around with knowledge that he was Darth Onion. The trouble was that it took a sustained shock to actually kill someone, and Dennis seemed to be much better at dodging the lightening bolts than any of the gangsters he usually targeted. A pity I have to destroy him. To be sure of success, he would need to get Dennis away from campus, and into the slums where the only witnesses were in his own employ. But how to do that? Dennis would surely try to stay in big crowds of people – and if he were smart, he’d soon move away Mammoth City without leaving a forwarding address. I have to get him to come to me. How?

Turning to his favorite role models, Dr. Pettigrew tried to think if there had been a similar situation in Star Wars. Of course – Darth Vader had summoned Luke Skywalker to Cloud City by capturing and torturing his friends. Luke had sensed their suffering through the Force, and come looking for them. Dennis Brown wasn’t sensitive to the Force, but a kidnapping note would suffice. The only question was who to kidnap. Carefully preventing himself from thinking about what he was doing, he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out his cellular communications device.

* * *

Marcia Silverberg was beginning to have second thoughts about working for Dr. Pettigrew. Sure, he had super powers, and he was going places. But he also frightened her, and carrying out his assignments was a full-time job. If she was able to do what he wanted and stay on his good side, she might be able to benefit in the long run, but the risks of angering him were significant. Unfortunately, opting out was also probably not an option. She doubted that he’d let her just quit, when she knew so much about him and his plans.

Currently his plans involved winning the recall election, keeping Dennis Brown out of trouble, and, inexplicably, recruiting Dennis Brown. Her job was to help with the latter two objectives, and it wasn’t going well. Outright flirtation had failed, and as a result Dennis was on his guard and further attempts at friendship had been met with polite indifference. Her attempts at spreading rumors were also less than satisfactory. There were girls in her dorm who were always ready to listen to gossip, but Carry didn’t live in the dorms, and it just wasn’t as easy to ruin someone’s reputation at a large university as it was at a small high school. For the moment, she’d given up on the project to study for finals, figuring Dennis and Carry would be doing the same. If only she could stop thinking about them long enough to study.

Marcia’s thoughts were interrupted when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Marcia, how are finals coming?” Wonderful, she thought when she heard the voice. I hope he doesn’t ask me for a progress report.

“Okay so far, Dr. Pettigrew.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I was hoping you could help me with something. It won’t take long; I just need some information.”

“What information?” She asked warily.

“Well, you’ve been trying to befriend Dennis, right?”

“Yes.” The less I say, the better.

“I was hoping you could tell me who his closest friends are. Who does he hang out with the most?”

“Well, he hangs out with all the computer nerds, but he spends the most time with his girlfriend Carry.” Why does he want to know this?

“He has a girlfriend? That’s right; I’d forgotten. Carry, you said? What’s her last name?”

“Hobson. Carry Hobson. What’s this about?”

“Well, my dear, Dennis has become a bit of a problem. You needn’t worry about befriending him any longer, and I’ve had to cancel my plans to recruit him.”

“So, what’s going to happen now?”

“For the time being, nothing I need your help with, but my plans are likely to undergo some changes. I’ll contact you again after finals are over.”

* * *

In another, less savory part of Mammoth City, four young men stood in an alleyway, smoking cigarettes and talking about nothing in particular. They wore black leather with red chains. This identified them as members of a gang called Red Death, but that identification had become increasingly meaningless over the past few weeks. Their gang had experienced the criminal equivalent of a corporate merger with over half the other gangs in the city. Although they all hated and feared their new leader, circumstances had generally improved for those he hadn’t electrocuted. The usual activities continued – robberies, vandalism, gang warfare, and so forth – but essentially they had become the largest gang in the city, which gave them a decisive advantage. Fighting among those who were loyal to Darth Onion was prohibited and severely punished, and all their efforts were better planned and coordinated. For the most part, they got to keep doing what they liked doing, but with a higher success rate. The only really annoying change was the new rule against rap music. In general, it was a good time to be a juvenile delinquent.

One of the young men reached into his pocket and pulled out a vibrating cell phone. “It’s the Big O,” he said before hitting the talk button. “Yo,” he said into the receiver. There was a pause. “We’re just chillin’. It’s not even dark yet.” Another pause. “Sure, no problem. Who’s the target? Okay, let me write this down.” After scribbling some information on a scrap of paper, he hung up.

“What’d Onion Man want?” One of the other men asked.

“He wants us to kidnap a chick.”

“Awesome! Is she hot?”

“He didn’t say, but I guess we’ll find out. We’re supposed to get her tonight and bring her to forty-second street. He said we can’t do anything to her, though. Just tie her up and take her to the hideout. He’s going to meet us there.”

* * *

When Dennis arrived at the apartment complex – much later than he would have liked due to road construction and backed-up traffic – there were police cars with flashing lights parked outside. Fearing he was too late, he quickly parked and ran into the building. Carry’s apartment door was open, and there were police officers standing inside. “You can’t come in here,” one of them said to him. “This is a crime scene.”

“I’m Carry Hobson’s boyfriend,” he said. “What happened to her?”

The officer paused a moment, deciding whether he should say anything. “We aren’t sure,” he finally replied. “She called 911 from this phone, and said someone was breaking into her apartment. When we got here, the door was open and no one was inside. Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt her?”

Dennis knew exactly who, but he also knew that it would do no good to tell the police. “No, I can’t think of anyone,” he said. “Excuse me.” He turned to walk back to his car, but knew, via telepathy, that the officer wasn’t buying his story. I never could lie with a straight face, he thought.

“Wait,” the officer said. Dennis turned. “Are you sure you don’t know anything?” Dennis had a sudden idea.

“Well, there is this girl named Marcia Silverberg who doesn’t like Carry very much, but I never thought she’d do anything to hurt her.” That was the closest he could come to telling them the truth. Maybe something would come of it.

“Marcia Silverberg?” The officer wrote the name down.

“Yes. She’s an MSU student.” He went on to give the officer his own name and contact information, then took the officer’s business card. “I’ll call you if I think of anything else,” he said, before the man had a chance to voice the thought. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone right now.” The officer nodded, and he walked back out of the building.
As soon as he was in his car, Dennis drove back to campus. He knew what he had to do. Pettigrew had kidnapped Carry to get at him, and the only way to save her was by confronting Pettigrew. He’ll probably kill me, Dennis thought. But I don’t have any choice. He parked his car, got out, and headed for the history department.

When he got there, he found Pettigrew’s office, and indeed all of the offices, closed and locked. Everyone was gone for the evening. What does he want me to do? How am I supposed to find him? I guess I could call him. Except my phone’s broken. Thinking he could use a phone in the Student Union Building, he headed down the sidewalk in that direction. This led him past the English department, where he ran into Dr. Gregerson, his English professor, who was just exiting the building.

“Dennis,” the professor exclaimed. “You’re the only student who hasn’t given me a term paper. I was about to go home.”

“Sorry, sir,” Dennis mumbled. “My paper is done, but I sort of dropped it and lost some of the pages.”

“You should have stapled them together. Did you print it out again?”

“Um, no. It’s on my laptop, but I have to –“

“Dennis, if you don’t give me that term paper tonight, I can’t give you credit for it. It’s worth thirty percent of your grade.”

“I know, but I don’t have time to –“

“Where is your laptop?”

“In my car, but –“

“I don’t want to see you fail this class. Let’s go get your laptop. You can print the paper out in my office.”

Unable to think of any believable excuse for doing otherwise, Dennis walked back to his car with Dr. Gregerson in tow and retrieved his laptop. Then they returned to the English building together, transferred the file to the professor’s computer, and printed out the essay. Dennis thanked the professor for his generosity, then asked for one more favor.

“Do you think I could use your phone? It’s kind of an emergency, and my cell phone just died.”

“Certainly. Just dial nine to get out of the building.”

Dennis dialed 9, followed by Dr. Pettigrew’s cell phone number. It rang once, then transferred to voice mail. Dennis hung up without leaving a message. “No answer,” he said. “Thanks again for your help.”

Standing on the sidewalk again and waving goodbye to Dr. Gregerson, Dennis tried to decide what to do. Dr. Pettigrew wasn’t in his office, and he wasn’t answering his phone. What options were left? He looked down at his laptop case. Email. What else was there to try? He walked over to the Student Union Building where he could get a good wireless signal, started up his laptop, and logged into his student email account. In his inbox were five messages. Three were spam, one was possible spam from some guy named Damien Valiant, but the fifth was from “Darth Onion”. His heart pounding, Dennis clicked on the message to open it. It was short and to the point:

Dear Dennis,
If you want your girlfriend to live, meet me at the
abandoned factory on 42nd Street. Come alone.
Sincerely,
Darth Onion