adamsimon: October 2012

Psycho-Babble

Adam Simon

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

PSYCHO-BABBLE

Published by Lulu Publishing

www.lulu.com

First edition: December 2011

Second edition: October 2012

Printed in the United States of America

Introduction and Acknowledgment

Psycho-Babble was written for the 2011 National Novel Writing Month competition. It is a superhero novel with a mature tone and is not meant for children. It was heavily influenced by Mark Millar's Kick-Ass and Garth Ennis' The Boys.

While most books in the NaNoWriMo competition were written with a restriction of the month of November, Psycho-Babble was written in the three days after Thanksgiving. I work on the weekends and my wife works on the weekdays, passing our newborn son back and forth. Thanksgiving weekend was the only time during the month we were both home. As she watched our son, I furiously typed.

The first chapter was actually a script for a comic based on this murderous boy and his two dysfunctional cohorts. After I converted that to prose, I just started typing, with no plan beyond some character summaries for Junior, Artemis, Fatso, Mento, and some characters that didn't materialize.

Despite the negativity, this book is (in a weird way) a sarcastic, cynical love letter to golden and silver age comic books. I love comic books and I love superheroes, but even as a kid, I wondered things, “Why does Batman kill Joker?” and “Why doesn't Lex Luthor make kryptonite bullets?” This book is about a boy who asks those questions, but lives in the world of Superman and Green Lantern.

This book is dedicated to my wife, Kiri, and son, Hunter.

Psycho Babble

The Avenging New Guard #1

Terror of the Bronze Bull

“They just fly right passed his home and don't do anything about him!”

At the core of Junior's philosophy was a belief that superheroes refuse to prevent supervillany because they rely on their adversaries to define their own morality. Because the supervillain is bad and we fight them, we are good. Allowing the supervillain to return again and again to do bad again and again, is the only way the superheroes could reinforce their own self-worth, which in turn justified the things they enjoyed to do; dress up in costumes, show off their powers, and have destructive battles.

It had been this way since the start of the 20^th century. Prior to that, mutant show-offs were confined to sports and religion and folklore and dressed in the shades and forms of their contemporaries. There was the occasional hermaphroditic elephant person that would be worshiped as a deity, but for the most part they became tall tales such as a railroad worker who was simply extraordinarily strong or a cowboy who could control tornadoes with a lasso. Somewhere along the line, guns moved from the battlefields and the frontier to the interior of cities, bringing a new type of danger beyond the diseases and cut-purses and loose morals one was accustomed to being concerned about in civilized society.

That was the birth of the masks.

Weirdos and freaks and people who lived on the fringes of society and the fringes of genetic code began taking the law into their own hands with the weapons and powers and tricks. After the industrial revolution moved the focus of life from rural areas to the compressed cities, opportunity for crime rose. In response, the opportunity for crime-fighting rose.

Those that took advantage of that opportunity were suddenly somehow above the average citizen. They had more authority. They had not earn that authority, but only given it to themselves. Because they had done nothing to earn it, they felt no need to be responsible. They killed their enemies with no remorse and didn't answer to the police or the public. They were simply criminals who killed criminals.

In the Great War, these vigilantes went global. Still without any official authority, they entered the fray as saboteurs and killers. Their self-righteous attitudes were their motivations. Their refusal to conform to society and its rules required a separation from society. This is when the mask went from a way to hide a vigilante's identity to a status symbol, an identification. As leather vests would later become a worn symbol to bikers, masks were viewed as necessary as a gun or super-strength or rocket backpack.

It was Prohibition that turned these madmen into heroes. Crime organized itself. The established crime-fighters, the police, were bribed and muscled into compliance. It was a time when there was no one for citizens to turn to for help. And then a man dressed in red leather calling himself the Crimson Crime-fighter killed two of Valentini's men as they came to collect protection money from a butcher store.

Valentini had the store burned to the ground, but that story faded from the tale. What was remembered and passed on was the tale of the costumed “hero” who stood up for a victim of crime when the police did nothing. His mask became a symbol and drawings of it were hung in windows in hopes of fearfully deterring collection agents, both criminal and legitimate.

The Crimson Crime-fighter retired shortly after, though others took his lead. There were future Crimson Crime-fighters, but also more original heroes. Some died quickly, some were institutionalized. Most just walked around in costume. Only a few succeeded in doing anything positive, but the media made them sound like angels sent from Heaven. A purse snatching stopped would be reported as a righteous blow against organized crime by the city's protector. The hype created more superheroes and the superheroes created more hype. Eventually there were toys and serials at the nickelodeon and Halloween costumes started to transition from the spooky and macabre to the more positive hero.

When Prohibition was repealed, the need for heroes declined, but their numbers did not. In the following decade, any random major city would have a dozen self-proclaimed protectors. They would fight over who was in charge of this city and the losers of these fights were very very bitter. This is the birth of the supervillain. The enemy was now one with a machine gun for a hand or the ability to fly. The battles cemented the morality of the conflicted. The bad guys were bad. The good guys were good. The only thing that could make the good guys more good would be bad guys who were more bad.

The Nazis answered that call for Americans. America had moved, in a great part due to the conflicts of heroes and villains, from a country that wanted peace to a country that wanted to defeat the bad guys. The children who dressed up as heroes now were grown into soldiers eager to defeat the bad guys and be a good guy like their hero. For the first time, costumed heroes became endorsed by and given actual authority. They became special super soldiers, spy smashers, howling commandos of power sent by the US government to wreck havoc with the Axis Powers while giving hope and inspiration to those at home and on the front lines. Dime novels and comic books were distributed telling of the exaggerated and edited adventurers of these people, encouraging belief in this alternate reality where these people in colorful underwear were infallible paragons to be emulated.

This fictitious reality survived World War II and enjoyed its delusions for the rest of the century. Drugs and the crime that came with them became a new target for demonization and heroes were risen up to save the world from them. They could do no wrong. When war veterans returned from Vietnam, they found no parades from themselves as there's had been a controversial war. The costumed people, however, only fought easily hated targets and the soldiers were told to look to their perfect example as a “true” example of bravery.

This collective denial of reality continued on. America was the most obvious about their hero-worship and inability to see them as humans with their own faults, but instances occurred world-wide. Costumes and toys of heroes and villains remained a staple of playtime and the casualties moral gray areas of the conflicts were ignored. Children were brought up this way. No one was surprised anymore to hear that someone was running around in a costume punching people anymore.

Junior was dressed up in a costume today, as were his teammates, Fatso and Artemis. Junior wore a billowing cape with a garish arrows layered in many colors, all pointing up to his head. Beneath that eye-catching cape was solid black clothing, to better draw the eye to the cape. The arrows all drew the eye up to Junior's helmet, a wrap around LCD screen shaped like a face. Junior lacked any Earth-shattering, world breaking super-powers, but he did have a clever mind. The LCD screen was linked to a computer in his glove so he could produce any of a hundred or so pre-programmed images across his face to subliminally influence the watcher. Not bad for a fourteen-year-old kid.

Fatso on the other hand, could barely turn on an LCD television. While the name would warn people that meet him, the reality of seeing a man his size was difficult to prepare for. While his weight slid back and forth between 450 and 500 pounds, he wore the same unflattering black leather singlet. When he gained weight, the edges of the fabric simply dug into his rolls of flesh more deeply, not that he cared. Fatso couldn't feel any physical pain.

“Well, if the so-called heroes won't do anything about him, we will! Right, team?” said Junior, fist pumping for emphasis.

Artemis vomited a pint of rye whiskey. She had been on a bender since the second century BC.

“Oh, come on, Junior. No one wants to be out here, but you,” she burbled.

In another situation, Artemis would have been very attractive, as goddesses are wont to be when not trying to self-destruct the indestructible. Tight black leather pants gripped her godly curves, but a soiled and stained tunic produced a smell of vomit that would instantly dissolve any notion of admiration or adoration. A nominal attempt to cover this relic of her time on Mount Olympus was made in the form of a black leather jacket, upon which her blonde curls bounced, when they weren't matted to her neck with bodily fluids.

“So,” interjected Fatso, eager to return to the subject of heroics, “Who is this guy we're here to murder?”

“No! Not murder,” cried Junior, turning and grabbing Fatso by the singlet as an image of scales blipped on his face, “Bring JUSTICE to! He's been let off the hook by those underwear perverts over and over again. He's the murderer! Not us!”

Tossing the bottle in her hand to the floor with a crash and a tinkle of glass, Artemis staggered towards the towering building.

“Enough of this crap,” she calmly spat as she pulled back her fist and drove it into the side of the building, shaking the walls. The unscheduled demolition of the apartment building raised the screams of its inhabitants as chunks of brick and concrete came crashing to the ground as Fatso and Junior tried desperately to dodge the fallout of Artemis' impetuousness. Finally, the billow of dust ballooned up around them, obscuring the tenants' views of the costumed destroyers of their homes.

“Which apartment is he in?” yelled Artemis over the cries and yelling of the building's exposed tenants.

Inside his apartment, Johann Locksmeare ran to his secret closet. No stranger to super-battles, Johann knew what it meant when a building that a supervillian was living in was smashed open. Getting out of his sweatpants and t-shirt, he started to dress himself in the cape and cowl of his alter ego, the Bronze Bull.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” the Bronze Bull muttered to himself as he locked his feet into his super-powered cloven hoof boots. He ran to the door and opened it, revealing Junior, arms crossed and helmet displaying a scowling face. Artemis held the door frame for balance and Fatso sweated and panted.

(This is it, Junior,) he thought to himself, (Your first superhero fight. Your first quip with a supervillain. Say something terrifying. Something frightening. Something that will strike fear into his cowardly criminal heart.)

“Hi.”

(That wasn't it.)

Bronze Bull raised his left leg and braced himself for the thrust produced by activating his hoof. The hoof extended forward quickly, forcefully, and struck Junior in the sternum, sending him flying backwards through the door of Bronze Bull's neighbor.

“Hey! What was that for?” asked Fatso.

The Bronze Bull switched feet and powered his right hoof into Fatso's chest, where it stuck and was enveloped by his breasts. Still bewildered, Fatso looked down at the stuck foot as Bronze Bull struggled to retrieve it.

Artemis' eyes shot wide open and she started laughing hysterically!

“It's not funny!” yelled Bronze Bull.

As Bronze Bull hopped on his left foot, Fatso began to see the humor in it and chuckled a bit, pointing at the right hoof stuck in his fat rolls.

Sick of being laughed at, Bronze Bull decided the end the fight quickly. He drew a gun from a hip holster on each side and fired a round into the foreheads of Artemis and Fatso.

They stopped laughing.

The bullet that had bounced off from Artemis' head tinkled to the floor and the bullet that got stuck in Fatso's forehead flesh remained to be dug out later.

Artemis swung her right arm down, right through the extended and stuck femur of the Bronze Bull, leaving him with a stump gushing blood, and leaving Fatso with a dismembered leg in his rolls. This didn't stop Fatso from pulling Bronze Bull close and biting a large chunk out of his neck. With his femoral artery and jugular vein severed as they were, Artemis and Fatso could walk away and the Bronze Bull would have died quickly. But they were mad. Bronze Bull learned quickly that you shouldn't upset the super-strong, a lesson that remained in the forefront of his mind for the remaining two seconds of his life.

As Junior pulled himself to his feet and held himself on the door frame, he could see blood from across the hall.

“Oh no...” he said as he stumbled forward, making him aware of a cracked rib under his tactical gear.

As he entered Bronze Bull's apartment, it became clear for the first time who Bronze Bull was. He was a Yankees fan. He liked furniture from IKEA. His DVDs were mostly horror movies. His computer was out of date. He liked cereals and kept a few varieties in stock. This was a person, a human being. Junior had arranged the death of a person. Junior looked past the blood on the Yankees poster, stretching down to the floor and across the room to the refrigerator with five cereal boxes on it. He looked past Fatso and Artemis, Fatso with his face covered in blood as he ate some of their opponent and Artemis as she pounded her fists into the remains of Bronze Bull's skull until it was only knuckle hitting IKEA cow skin rug. Junior just stared out of the absent wall, exposing them to the world and looked out on the city.

“Oh my god...” he mumbled.

“He,” laughed Fatso, “We gave him good justice all right!”

Artemis raised a hand and Fatso slapped it, spraying a mist of blood from her knuckles.

“I haven't seen battle like that since Thermopylae,” Artemis exclaimed, “We need to celebrate in the old ways, my friends! Wine and orgies for my brothers in combat!”

Fatso looked expectantly to Junior for approval. Junior walked up to him and pulled on his left breast, letting the Bronze Bull's leg fall to the ground, the only recognizable piece that remained. This was the only way anyone would know that the Bronze Bull, a famous supervillain, had died. Junior shook his head at Fatso, then turned to the goddess covered in blood.

“Just get us out of here, Artemis,” Junior said in a resigned tone. “The underwear perverts will be here any second.”

Artemis shrugged and stood at the vacant wall and held out her hands. Fatso held her left hand and Junior held her right and Artemis jumped into the air, pulling them along. Instead of falling to the ground, she continued across the sky line, the murder scene shrinking in the distance as Junior looked back at it.

Back Issue

Mask of the Crimson Crime-fighter #1 – June 1929

A Legend Is Born!

“The philosophers have only interpreted the world; the point is to change it.”

Nikolai Kilin sat slumped in his chair, a sheet of rayon between him and it. In his hand dangled Karl Marx's Theses on Feuerbach, a critique on Young Hegelian philosophers and all forms of philosophical idealism. Nikolai stared off to the opposing wall of his tiny apartment, staring off into space, lost in thought. He managed this despite the crying of his infant daughter and his wife who was trying to soothe the girl. Nikolai lifted the book to his waist and opened it again, re-reading the last line. A finger of his black rubber glove followed the line, word by word, making sure that he was taking his time and digesting it.

“Kseniya,” Nikolai said suddenly in Russian and he rose to his feet, his rubber boots squeaking as they rubbed on each other. “I must go and speak with Andrei. Do you need anything while I am out?”

His wife smiled and turned, bobbing up and down to keep the baby settled.

“No, my love,” she answered, “But if you see Ania, ask her to return the kettle.”

The husband leaned in and the wife leaned in to kiss him, stopping short of his face as she always did and kissing the air, the smell of the clay smeared on his face filling her nose.

Nikolai Kilin carefully covered his naked body with his prized possession, a rayon-lined suit. His frightful and unusual bright red skin disappeared inch by inch into the trousers and jacket. A false shirt, really just a bit of rayon, was then tucked into the jacket and tied around his neck. He went to the mirror and touched up his makeup, covering his skin where his neck met the collar. Checking himself again and finding the results to his liking, he grabbed his rayon-lined hat with his rubber glove and put it on his head. From a distance, Nikolai could pass for normal in this state. Paying attention to detail would, at worse, make him seem to be a victim of an accident who was trying to spare onlookers the gruesome aftermath of his misfortune. The truth was much more horrific. Nikolai had not felt the touch of any human, indeed, of anything organic for twelve years.

When Nikolai had gone through puberty at sixteen years of age, his body had gone through the normal changes of any boy becoming a man with one notable exception. Where a pubescent boy would sprout more hair, Nikolai sprouted mysterious red bumps. These bumps spread over his body over the next year, alarming his parents in Yekaterinburg. The more superstitious of the neighbors encouraged the shunning of the family. One neighbor had started the rumor that Nikolai was the Anti-Christ, citing his birth on Christmas, 1899 as a sign of the apocalypse. No one had cared until he was sixteen and started looking odd, but rumors became retroactive and more and more people began “remember” odd events about Nikolai's birth and childhood. They forbade their kids to associate with Nikolai and twice had called on his parents to put him to death. Nikolai had noticed their hatred, but his parents had explained that as long as their family had each other, that was all they needed.

Then Nikolai killed his brother.

Anton was two years older than Nikolai. His parents had stopped having children after Nikolai was born. Other families in the neighborhood had five or even seven children, but the Kilins told Nikolai that they were happy with just the two sons.

Anton's death had been completely unexpected and accidental. The two youths had been playing and wrestling. Anton had become accustomed to Nikolai's condition shortly after it had happened, three years ago. As it turned out though, the unexplainable appearance of the younger Kilin was only the first stage of his mutation. During the exertion of wrestling, Nikolai's bumps began deflating as they excreted what was held inside them. Anton began screaming as the substance burned his flesh.

Anton's flesh started to melt before his eyes and his screams brought their parents from the field, but it was Nikolai who witnessed the full scene. His brother and his clothing just kept disappearing, melting and steaming away. A pool of his brother was starting to form on the dirt as more of his flesh dripped off the bone and splashed on the ground.

Anton's screams filled the neighborhood, but Nikolai was quietly stuttering “Anton” over and over in horror. His mind had shut down. His feet took over and Nikolai rose and started running away. He wanted to stay and help. He wanted to explain. He wanted to take it back, whatever it was that he had done. However, his feet were making the decisions for him and as he continued to mutter and stutter Anton's name over and over, the clothes on his back began to drip to the ground, liquefying and leaving a trail behind him.

This only made him run faster and breath harder. His breaths were deep and burning as he ran for the woods, naked and barefoot. Hidden from view for the first time, he stopped and caught his breath.

The most agonizing cry in the world, the most horrid sound ever imagined is, without Nikolai's questioning, the scream of his mother when she found Anton. He didn't realize he was still close enough to hear it when it shattered his brief respite. His lips quivered and he started to cry and he started to run. It was a mile before he stopped crying and another mile before he realized his bare feet were bloody and another mile before he stopped again and collapsed on the grass near a road he hadn't even realized he was following.

His legs burned with exertion and his lungs burned with stress, but he soon became aware that he literally did smell burning. Rising to his feet, he looked at the ground he had laid on. A perfect shadow of himself remained in the form of dead grass, burned away, melted into the dirt. He panicked and tried to kick dirt onto the shape and trample the definition out of the shape, desperate to hide his identity, as if someone could know it was a fratricidal monster by seeing the dead grass.

The next week was the hardest week of his life. He stayed off roads and never talked to another person. This was exceedingly difficult because Nikolai needed help. Mentally, he desperately needed to tell someone, anyone, that it wasn't his fault that Anton had died. He never meant to kill him. Physically, Nikolai needed guidance. He was starving to death. He had no idea how to hunt or forage for food. When he happened upon something he thought to be edible, he faced the same problem as King Midas, whose touch turned everything, including food, into gold. Nikolai's touch dissolved everything organic. Occasionally, with care, he could get some food into his mouth. He found that by dipping his mouth down to his food without hands and pulling back his lips, he could eat. If any part of his skin touched the food though, it would dissolve before he could swallow.

In this way, Nikolai became gaunt and horrifying, whereas before he was merely strange. Now, he seemed to be a red skeleton and indeed strange tales of a red skeleton lurking in the shadows began to be used on little children, reinforced by the occasional sighting by a hunter of the beast.

Then the stories became strong enough that hunting the red skeleton became a semi-serious past time of the men in Yekaterinburg, so Nikolai fled the forest.

He headed South, hoping to escape the cold. Unclothed, his only way to escape the Russian winters were fires and burrowed shelters. Once, he found a discarded blanket and thought his cold nights were at an end. He reached out and it dissolved in his touch and he cried at his misery and cursed God for giving him any hope.

On his journey South, Nikolai had to be careful. The people in Yekaterinburg had believed him the Anti-Christ and wanted him dead, but they were rational intellectuals compared to the small villages between Yekaterinburg and Novosibirsk. He waited in the tree lines for longer periods of times before crossing roads he couldn't avoid in any way.

Once, he found himself trapped in place for a day and a half. He was so hungry at this point that he thought he might die and considered risking being seen by a traveler to cross and be on his way. He was about to rush out from the tree line when he saw a carriage on the horizon and thought better.

(But this is the last one), he thought, (Then I'm going for it.)

After that carriage broke the horizon, he saw another, crushing his spirit. He resumed his position in the treeline and got comfortable, the trees and grass burning wherever he touched them.

Then another carriage broke the horizon and Nikolai cursed his luck and his God and his patience and his skin and his hunger and his countrymen and he continued to brainstorm more entities and concepts to curse when the carriage came closer and he identified it.

“The Moscow State Circus” was painted on the sides of the carriages. Smaller signs that had been painted over with other names that were now illegible, giving the impression that these carriages had been recently acquired by their owners.

Behind the carriages were cages with all sorts of animals. Exotic animals like tigers and odd giant birds were followed with common bears, though Nikolai reasoned they must be trained in some way to warrant inclusion in the circus. (After all), he reasoned, (The circus is only home to the very, very unusual.)

He watched the caravan another moment before feeling for the first time in a year that he wasn't hunted. He held onto this feeling like the warm blankets he remembered for his childhood and without a second thought, ran out into the clearing, waving his arms and pleading with the caravan to wait for him.

The next few years were hard, but Nikolai knew they would have been harder without the circus and the performers, who adopted him and treated him as family. He was relieved to find he was not even the most unusual looking one among them, as other people were preserved corpses or two people joined together in flesh. Everyone was careful around Nikolai though, but he didn't hold it against them. The thought of another accident like Anton's and another exile of fear would give him nightmares. Most time, he simply stayed in his metal cage and talked to performers through the bars. He learned of the great revolution that he had missed during his exile and how all circuses were now united under the state. The performers were all knowledgeable on politics, but the acrobatic family and two of the clowns also were knowledgeable on other topics such as philosophy, math, science, and current events.

Catering to his request, these thinking men and women moved the circus children's schooling outside and near Nikolai's cage. The adults also took their coffee near him and tried to educate him on current events. They left books open outside his cage and turned the pages for him after they found that his touch would melt them.

During shows, Nikolai would jump around and snarl and act as a madman. His melting touch was decided to be too dangerous to share, so his draw was as a freak of appearance.

After shows, one of the acrobat's daughters, Kseniya, visited him and replaced his books and told him about the show he was unable to see. Kseniya was seen as a disappointment in her family, though they loved her. A broken foot that never healed quite right left her unable to follow the family leaping through the air. She was a talented acrobat, but couldn't hook the bar with her feet, a crucial and basic maneuver. Because of this, and to Nikolai's relief for her safety, she sold nuts to the crowd and danced in town when they went to sold tickets.

The two became friends and wanted to become more, but neither wanted to admit their feelings because of the disappointment it would bring.

One day, a clown came to Nikolai's cage with a smile and a newspaper. He read to Nikolai about the development of artificial fibers called “rayon” in the West.

Nikolai smiled and nodded and tried to look interested as he did when the intellectuals were talking about something he didn't understand.

“You don't understand,” said Bim, uncharacteristically away from his partner, Bom. “A synthetic fabric might not melt when you touch it.”

Nikolai thought. His mind raced with possibilities.

“You could wear clothes and feel people through the fabric!” exclaimed Bim.

Nikolai grabbed the bars and pushed his face up to them, looking Bim in the eyes, “Where can I get some of this rayon?”

Bim pointed at the article, “This article is about a factory in England making it, but they talk about it like it's been around for a while. This is the first I've heard of it though.”

“Where are we?” asked Nikolai. He hadn't cared where the circus was before because he never felt safe leaving his cage.

Bim scowled at Nikolai for not knowing, “We're in Moscow proper. The great heart of our country. Bom and I are going to go out after this next show and see if we can't find a tailor with some rayon for you.

Nikolai was on the verge of tears, “Thank you, Bim.”

“My pleasure to see you be able to feel Kseniya's touch, but be careful.”

Nikolai blushed and assured, “Of course.”

There had been no rayon in Moscow and the news followed that there was none in Russia. Nikolai ran away and Kseniya followed. His hard life was made a thousand times easier with her company. She could enter towns and get supplies and information as the two made their way west to the coastal city of Petrograd, though they found it renamed Leningrad when they arrived.

It was at the docks that Kseniya devised the method they would pay for passage to England. She sold her services as a barnacle scraper who worked at night. While a difficult job for most people, Nikolai dissolved the barnacles with a touch under the cover of night and the shells fell off into the water. A stolen set of rubber fishermen boots and gloves allowed him to walk on the wooden decks and hold onto ropes. He was also finally able to hold hands with his beloved Kseniya. Still, the two remained determined for the promised tactile sensations they would receive in England and purchased two tickets. A little extra earned them a “no questions asked” as to the oddness of Nikolai, who slept on a slab of metal in the hold.

The rest, Nikolai remembered as he entered the store of his friend Andrei Glazkov, was much easier. He was greeted as a medical marvel and heralded as a new Joseph Merrick, who gained fame as the Elephant Man. He and Kseniya were married and became societal celebrities. Though they never touched, Kseniya devised a simple method for them to have a child since only Nikolai's skin was caustic.

“Hello, Nikolai!” exclaimed Andrei. “How are you? How is Kseniya and little Roksana?”

“They are good. They are good,” answered Nikolai. He had rushed them away from the high society of England after a man tried to attack a pregnant Kseniya in the street. “Kseniya would like your wife to return our kettle if it isn't a problem.”

“No, no problem at all, Nikolai, but is that all that brings you down to see me? A kettle? I was hoping you had brought me some new challenge for my tailoring skills.”

The man had hit Kseniya. Nikolai hit him. Then he hit him again. And again. Then he took off his glove. He only had to hit him once more. Because Nikolai wasn't one of the intellectual circus people. He was the man in the cage. The powerful man that was rightly feared by those that would cross him or the ones he loves. Or the world he loves. The philosophers have only interpreted the world; the point is to change it.

“Make me a mask.”

Psycho-Babble #1

The Cold Hard Truth

On a leather couch in an office that smelled of mahogany, the world's most powerful man, who had diverted meteors, traveled in time, saved the world, and repelled alien invasion, pulled himself up and looked his therapist in the eyes.

“I just want my dick to get hard.”

“I'm not prescribing you drugs, Henry,” replied Dr. Mento. “They probably wouldn't even work on you. For the most part, you're made of stone and-”

“So I should be as hard as a rock!”

“We've talked about this. There's no 'should be.' This issue is a psychological one that you're facing. You are the most powerful man in the world. You are made of rock. You are called the Obelisk. You've put so much importance on phallic performance that you can't possibly live up to-”

“I can do anything, Doc!” interrupted the Obelisk for the fifth time this session.

“What you can do is make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“What's THAT supposed to mean?” Obelisk shouted as he stood up. He clenched his fists and stared down his therapist, taking in the view of an older man, completely his inferior, who he should be able to out-perform in every way.

“Sit down, Henry,” Dr. Mento requested, moving a finger to the top of his head, a glass case enclosing his oversized brain.

Obelisk started to pace angrily, “NO! I'm paying you good money and you-”

((Sit down, Henry)), Dr. Mento ordered inside the Obelisk's mind. The Obelisk sat down again.

Mento apologized, “I'm sorry to do that Henry, but last time you got upset, you broke the door handle when you stormed out, remember?”

“Aw, I'm sorry, Doc,” said the Obelisk, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

Mento sighed. When he had retired from active duty on the League to practice psychology, he had assumed he wouldn't need his mind control powers, but when your patients can throw Italy into the sun, you have to have a way to control them.

“I'll tell you what,” said Mento, pulling out a pad of paper. “I'll give you a script for Viagra, BUT,” he raised a finger to stifle Obelisk's joy, “I am not guaranteeing that it's going to work. I want you to try it alone first and see what happens before you put yourself in a high-pressure situation where you feel the need to perform. And if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. They don't exactly test this stuff on superhuman rock sentinels, understand?”

“Yes, doctor!” said Obelisk, excitedly, rising to get the script. “Thank you!”

“No problem. I'll see you on Wednesday, same time.” Mento looked up at the ceiling. “Gigabyte Ghost, activate.”

A light blue line around the top of the wall lit dimly as the electronic rendition of a British man's voice responded.

“Online, sir.”

“GG, please show Mr. Landis to the door and schedule him a new appointment on Wednesday at the same time.”

“Very good, sir,” came the response from the blue light that changed in luminance briefly with each word.

The door to the hall way opened automatically.

“This way, Mr. Landis.”

Obelisk looked at the light, then back at Doctor Mento, “Why don't you get a regular butler like other guys? You just know he's going to turn evil or get controlled or something like that eventually.”

Mento shrugged his shoulders, “I know it, but what choice do I have. Everyone here reveals their secret identities. I talk to everyone about their weaknesses, their significant others, their problems, hero and villain alike. If I had a human butler, he'd be kidnapped every other day and tortured for information. This way, I keep everyone's information in a computer, back it up to disk and store the disk in an alternate dimension. Yeah, he'll get taken over some day, but they can only get to that day's information. And I can always deactivate Gigabyte Ghost. I can't just kill or mind wipe a servant every time I need them gone. Trust me, Obelisk. If I could come up with any safer way, I would. And hey,” he tapped the giant brain in a jar on top of his head, “If I can't come up with something better, who can?”

Obelisk looked up at the light. “Still creeps me out,” replied Obelisk, exiting the office to the hallway. As he reached the front door, a small business card ejected into a bin for him. The business card was already labeled with the time for his next appointment. Obelisk took it and looked up at the blue line that ran across the top of every wall in Mento's house. “That's trouble just waiting to happen.”

Doctor Mento looked over his notes a final time, then started to shred them.

“GG, let's amend Obelisk's file. Started him on Sildenafil one hundred milligrams, as needed. No therapeutic progress. Possible paranoia. Close file.”

Mento picked up the trash can filled with shredded notes and walked to the fireplace, which GG ignited. He emptied the trash can into the fire, using the poker to ferry in any loose strains, poking the mass until it was ash.

“That's fine, you can dispose of the ash.”

The fire extinguished with a final sound of whompf and the sound of a vacuum replaced it as the ashes were sucked into the wall for liquifying later.

“Your son is home, Michael,” the ghost said.

“Thank you, GG. I wasn't aware he had left. I thought he had been studying,” Michael Mento replied.

“He left this morning. You were in a session with Hard Rock.”

“That reminds me, GG. Don't schedule me multiple earth elementals in the same day without vacuuming first. They might be able to identify each other by the pebbles they leave behind.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael Mento exited the office and entered the hallway, immediately turning to walk up the staircase to the second floor. He walked up to his son's room and knocked.

“Hey, Mike, can I come in?”

“Sure, Dad,” came the answer back.

Mento opened the door to his son's room, revealing the boy at his desk, curled over a circuit board, his long red curls swaying over it as he moved with his soldering iron.

“What's up?” said the father.

“Not much,” answered the son.

“Where did you get off to today?” pried the father.

Mike stopped soldering and sat up, feigning betrayal, “That technological terror!” Mike stood up and shook his fist at the blue line at the top of his wall, “Vengeance shall be mine!”

“We shall see, young Mento!” replied the voice, playing along with the boy.

Michael smiled and noticed his son's frame has bulked up since he last noticed. (He's growing up so fast), thought Michael.

“Been hitting the weights, Junior?” asked Michael.

Mike pulled on his sleeve to hide his training as best he could, “Nah, must just be a growth spurt. I'll have to enjoy this metabolism while I can.” He turned back to the line, “How about donuts for dinner, GG?”

“I think not, sir.”

Mike sat back down, making an effort to slouch and look physically inconspicuous, “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Dr. Mento walked closer and inspected his son's project, “What are you making here?”

“This,” Mike indicated the board, “is going to be a remote control for turning off any car alarm on the block. Just for when the owner ignores the siren and the thief or whatever bumped it is long gone.”

“All the brains in the world, but I never could get creative with electronics and invent things like you and your mother.”

There was a moment of solemn silence between them.

“Yeah... I miss Mom,” Mike said finally.

“I know,” said Doctor Mento, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, “So do I.”

Mike began to work on his circuit board again and his father left. He stopped at the door and turned back as if to say something, then changed his mind and left.

After a final connection was completed, Mike pressed a button and a little red light lit up on his device.

“GG, are you online?” asked Mike.

“GG, I want a ham sandwich. Bring me a ham sandwich.”

“GG, you're like Big Brother and the butler stereotype mashed into one insufferable line.”

No response.

Mike pressed the button again and the light turned off again.

“GG?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Is my father free in the next hour?”

“No, sir, he has another session. Would you like me to tell him anything?”

“No, GG. That's fine. Thank you.”

Mike pressed the button and turned on his signal jammer, then moved to his nightstand and pulled it to one side.

Doctor Mento's office was state of the art for privacy. A white noise filter rendered parabolic microphones useless. The computerized ghost scanned the room before and after each session for hidden bugs. The ghost had a programmed blind spot that Doctor Mento could activate to shield all conversation from its system. Master Mage had even put preventative hexes on the room, preventing magical scrying on the location.

Michael Mento, Jr, just sat at the air vent and listened. Junior had found that super-powered people think about how they would attack a problem and then defend against those attacks. Do something unexpected, something low-tech, something normal, something uninspired, and they don't have a defense for it.

Sensational Starlet #1

Behold! Mary Wonder!

Mary Wonder had her music turned all the way up, trying to drown out the sound of her parents arguing downstairs. It was her way of dealing with their fighting and her way of letting them know she could hear them. She laid completely naked on her bed, thumbing through a magazine, not reading the articles or even looking at the pictures. Just killing time.

She didn't know what had started the argument this time. Something about her baby brother's crying or something. Her Dad thought her Mom wasn't pulling her weight or the other way around. They fought a lot and they fought about a lot of different things. Keeping track was an impossible chore, so she chose to pretend it didn't exist.

There was a knock at the door. She pretended the music was too loud to hear it. A second series of knocks which she also ignored. Finally, her mother pounded on the door. She knew it was her mother because her father's pounding would have put a hole in her door again. She pressed the remote to pause her music and asked in a sing-song voice, "Who i-is it?"

"It's Mo-om," her mother replied in a mimicking sing-song voice. If arguing with her father ever upset her, she was very talented at not letting it show and a saint for not letting it interfere with her love for her children.

"Come i-in," Mary replied, continuing the song.

Mary's mother came in, nearly naked save for some leather straps, a high white collar, and a domino mask. She looked around at the mess Mary had made. Clothing was scattered everywhere.

"What's all this?" said her Mom, showing a bit of tiredness.

"What's what?"

"I just did laundry and I asked if you had any dirty clothes."

Mary looked around at the clothes, "These aren't dirty. Not all the way dirty anyway."

Her mother bent down, squeaking the leather as it rubbed against itself, picking up the clothes with her right hand and bundling them under her left arm, "You're like a BOY sometimes, Mary."

Mary rolled over in her bed and threw her arms up in the air, sending her naked breasts a-jiggle, "What do you mean? I'm a pretty pretty princess. Don't all princesses get throwing stars and compound bow training?"

"Don't start that again. I asked you if you wanted to play soccer and you said no."

"I said yes, the coach said no, after I broke Mia Mortimer's jaw for calling me a dyke."

"That's as good as you saying no. You made a decision to put that poor girl in that jaw-wired-shut-headgear thing. That was your decision to quit soccer." Her mother dropped the pile of clothes in the hamper. The room looked a little bit better, but not much.

"What did you guys do today?" asked Mary, nodding at her Mom's costume.

Her mother frowned, "Nothing fun. There was a funeral for one of the club members. Did you ever get to meet Bronze Bull?"

"Was he the guy with the boots?"

"Yeah, his real name was Mr. Locksmeare. We baby-sat his daughter when he and his wife were kidnapped and put on War World, remember?"

Mary shook her head.

"I don't know what happened there," continued her mother, "but he and his wife never got along afterward. They divorced and only Bronze Bull stayed active. His family didn't even come to the ceremony. I think they're going to do a civilian one though."

There was a moment of silence.

"Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?" asked Mary, taking a risk.

"What do you mean?" replied her mother, with a false smile.

"I just want... well, I just don't want to be surprised if something happens. If you two split up, I mean."

Her leather squeaked again as Mrs. Wonder shifted her weight. She smiled at Mary and kissed her on the forehead and started to walk out the door, then stopped and turned back, "The truth is, I don't know. We don't know. You're practically an adult and you'll be out in the field soon and I want you to trust me, so I'm not going to lie or sugarcoat anything for you. We have problems. I'm hoping we work them out, but I really can't guarantee anything. And that's the best I can tell you right now. Understand?"

Mary nodded.

"Ok, honey, we're having dinner down at the club tonight, so I want you to get your costume on."

"Ok, Mom... I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetie."

Mrs. Wonder closed the door and Mary rolled out of bed. She had always suspected things were bad between her parents, but she never knew how bad. She wondered if she would regret asking, but that was part of being an adult.

She opened her closet and pulled out her outfit. She put her legs into the green leather bondage corset and pulled the dyed cowhide up her ass.

Back Issue

Mask of the Crimson Crime-fighter #12 – May 1930

A Death In The Family

The protector of Little Odessa lept across the rooftops as he shadowed three men walking on the sidewalk below, the chill of the night cooling his skin as he moved in time with his prey. This promised to be a most fortuitous hunt. The two larger gentlemen where bodyguards to the smaller man, the well-connected, well-respected, and usually recluse Eduardo Valentini, the capo of the Italian crime family in the city. Killing Valentini would behead the greatest foreign threat to the Russian immigrants in Little Odessa.

Still, the Crimson Crime-fighter simply followed and enjoyed the cool night air on his acidic skin. His condition had worsened since he began dissolving more organic matter in his quest to change the world. It was as if the disease was being fed and was growing. Things and people burned and dissolved faster in his touch. Still, it had been profitable. Dissolving gangsters would leave their jewelry intact and the Italian mafia liked to show their wealth.

Kseniya continued to voice her disapproval of Nikolai's new nocturnal lifestyle despite the increase in income. “Death,” she said, “is no way to provide for a child.”

Her disagreeing with his actions though had only become the opening of a floodgate of arguments in their marriage. Kseniya loved Nikolai, but she did not love her life. She had grown up working, but now stayed in the home all day without purpose. She had been an acrobat, but her muscles and reflexes received no trials in her new life and were returning to a naturally soft state.

Nikolai smiled to himself. He had at least solved this issue. In his closet, buried under a winter blanket was a small parcel from Andrei Glazkov, his tailor. In that parcel was a way for Kseniya to leave the house, with purpose, and train her muscles. Nikolai had decided that Kseniya would join him in his mission to change the world. A bright red outfit to complement her acrobatic abilities and strike fear into criminal's hearts with a matching mask to his would bring her into his life and show her that it was good for herself and for the world to have masked crime-fighters. This life had helped to deal with the loss of Anton and his life in Russia. He hoped that it would help him avoid the loss of his wife. Andrei and Ania had already agreed to watch Roksana. They were enthusiastic about the Crimson Crime-fighter and the potential of having two crime-fighters in Little Odessa.

Still, there was one other issue, though neither Kseniya nor Nikolai nor their friends could bear to bring up. A searing skin condition was one thing. Mutations happen. But Nikolai wasn't aging. Occasionally, Kseniya would smile and say something like, “You are just as handsome as when we first met,” and then her smile would have a hint of sadness just for a moment, before basking in their love again.

Nikolai's youth was only apparent to those who saw him without makeup, of course, and only Kseniya knew the full truth. He had not aged a day since he had come running out of the forest naked to meet the circus caravan so many years ago on the isolated road between Yekaterinburg and Novosibirsk.

Of course, some would see an apparently eternal youth to be a blessing, but they both knew that it meant Kseniya growing old alone. Nikolai without his make up did not seem the appropriate age to even be married to someone of Kseniya's years. The true elephant in the room, that which was never spoken of, was their daughter, Roksana. After two years, she still appeared to be a newborn, not a toddler. Kseniya had taken her to a doctor who assured her that Roksana was simply small for her age, but it was clear to both her and Nikolai that Roksana had inherited at least some part of her father's curse.

The Crimson Crime-fighter shook these worries from his head as he watched Valentini and his men approach Comrades Bar. The bar was closed for Red Army Day, but Nikolai knew it wasn't empty. No, his intelligence led him to believe it was playing host to two incredibly dangerous men, who were employing more dangerous men to keep them safe.

Nikolai was going to kill them all.

After Valentini and his men were allowed into the bar by a large Russian man that Nikolai knew as Ivan Voloshin. Ivan was a bodyguard, protege, and vory v zakone (thieves-in-law) to the man who ran the Bratva (Russian Mafia) in the city, Stas Vedenin.

After climbing down off the roof, crossing the street and climbing up to the roof of Comrades Bar, the Crimson Crime-fighter was pleased to find his intelligence correct. Peering through the skylight, Nikolai saw an empty bar with one table lit. The man at the table was indeed Stas Vedenin, vodka and a newspaper were on the table. Stas was out of his seat, shaking Valentini's hand and greeting him. Just out of the light, the Crimson Crime-fighter could make out that each family leader had brought two men as back up. The two leaders sat down and started to talk, then motioned to their bodyguards to come into the light.

Nikolai opened the skylight to listen. He lowered himself gently and silently onto the room's rafters. He was so focused on his targets that he never realized that he was leaving a trail of red skin flakes as he moved that burned themselves into the ground.

“This is truly a historic events, Valentini,” said Vedenin in his best English, “I do not believe anythings like this has been done before.”

One Russian bodyguard, who Nikolai did not recognize, stepped forward. Nikolai didn't recognize either Italian bodyguard as they both stepped into the light and searched the Russian. They removed a pen from his jacket and put it on the bar, where Nikolai noticed a small collection of firearms, presumably from disarming during his trek across the street.

“A pen, Valentini?” questioned Vedenin, “Must we be that protective?”

Valentini replied, “My guys are being overzealous, I suppose, but what's done is done. Let's keep it totally safe.”

Ivan and other Russian bodyguard now searched one of the Italian bodyguards, then both Italians searched Ivan, and finally both Russians searched the final Italian.

Valentini pointed at Vedenin with a wry smile, “Is it necessary to search you, Stas?”

Vedenin closed his coat protectively and replied, “I should say not. I would take it as a personal insults. You should know I have not touched a firearm since the Great War. I takes that war very seriously, as should you if we are to be vory v zakone. No, I have not touched a firearms since the massacre at Tannenberg, when I saw what real power was. I tell you, my friends, it does not come out of the barrel of a gun.”

“It's always worked for me,” quipped Valentini.

“Guns are fine until you are against gods,” said Vedenin seriously.

“Don't talk to me about gods, Vedenin. I haven't met anything I could kill with a bullet yet.”

“And I pray you never have to.”

Valentini changed the subject, “You said we were going to be 'worry ziccone'? What is that? I'm here to talk cease fire between us.”

“Vory v zakone,” corrected Vedenin. “It means thieves-in-law. The Bratva, you must understands, is a family. We were born in the Gulag. We have fought together. We have bled together. We live by a codes of ethics. We take it very very seriously. If we are to be partners, we are to be family, thieves-in-law, vory v zakone.”

“Well, there's a difference in our cultures, I suppose, Stas,” said Valentini. “You don't choose your family in Italy. Family is everything, but you don't just choose who's in or out of your family. God knows I'd like to some days. For instance,” he said pointing a thumb back at one of the bodyguards, “I've got Antonio here with me today from the Tapia side of my family. I'm not a fan of his. I don't like his jerk-off family. I don't like his jerk-off family name. I don't like his jerk-off family face. I don't like his personal jerk-off behavior or his personal jerk-off friends.” He put “friends” in air quotes. “But he's kin to me. So he's high up in the organization. Jerk-off might even be running the show one day. Nothing I can do about it.”

Vedenin smiled and pour vodka into the two glasses, passing one across the table to Valentini, “Then we at least agree that family should be taken seriously, no matter how they become family. To family, my friend.” They toasted and drank. Vedenin started pouring two more glasses as he spoke, “Family is so important to me. I believe the families you have and the families you make are simply the most important thing in this world.”

In the rafters, Vedenin's words resonated with the Crimson Crime-fighter. He hoped that he was going to be able to fix his family.

“We both want peace,” explained Vedenin, passing the drink over to Valentini, who let it sit in front of him this time. Vedenin sipped his as he spoke, “For peace to happen for the Bratva, you must become vory v zakone with us. That means you are family. That means you follow our rules.”

Valentini pushed his glass away from him a little and said, “Guys like us, Stas, we don't follow rules.”

Vedenin set down his glass with some force, betraying his feelings, “We do!”

Valentini sat, unmoved.

Vedenin wiped a drop of spilled vodka off the table with his finger and sucked on it. He thought for a moment, then spoke, “I do not think we can become vory v zakone.”

Valentini moved a hand to his waist under the table. Vedenin couldn't see it, but the Crimson Crime-fighter could see a glint of metal under his jacket from his unusual viewpoint.

“Don't say that, Stas!” said Valentini with the grin of a man with the upper hand. “We'd be great thieves-in-law. We'd have you over for dinner. You can meet my grandmother.”

“I am very sorry,” said Vedenin, drinking the last of his vodka and turning the glass upside down. He rose from his seat and buttoned his coat, “I had wishes that this could work, but we are too different. Your family is decided by birth and you will fights to the death and run yours lives in accordance with whomever God and Chance have said to be your family. Bratva choose their family and follow our code. You can not join us because you could not follow our code. The Thieves' Code tell us that we have no blood family. It forbids us from having or recognizing blood family. You could not do this. You could not forsake your fathers, your mothers, sisters, brothers. Not even,” he motioned to Antonio Tapia, “distant relatives you do not approve of. No, Mr. Valentini, our business is at an end. Let us rearm slowly and we shall says good-bye.”

Crimson Crime-fighter saw Valentini stealthily pull the shiny piece of metal out of his pocket as he rose and said, “No hard feelings, Stas.” Valentini reached out to shake Vadenin's hand with his right hand while he brought and ice pick up with his left, going for Vadenin's throat!

The Crimson Crime-fighter landed feet first on Valentini's shoulders, smashing him into the floor before he could stab Vadenin!

“The Crimson Crime-fighter!” exclaimed Vadenin in panic.

The four bodyguards moved for their guns, but Nikolai was closer and pushed them all over the side of the bar, then turned to face them. Antonio charged Nikolai, who floored him with a powerful right cross. Ivan picked up a bottle and swung at Nikolai, who ducked and delivered an uppercut, sending the massive Russian to the ground. Both of the remaining bodyguards put aside their opposing families and attacked together. They each hit the Crimson Crime-fighter once on what appeared to be his red leather outfit, but was in fact his caustic skin. The two bodyguards started screaming and holding their wrists as their hands started dissolving.

Nikolai threw down his hands, sending his gloves to the ground and grabbed each man by his throat, silencing their screams forever.

During this, Antonio jumped behind the bar and arose with his gun. The Crimson Crime-fighter jumped over the meeting table and upended it for cover as Antonio fired shots from his pistol. Nikolai felt a pain in his shoulder. He took one of the vodka glasses and threw it at the only lit light, breaking it and plunging the room into darkness. He felt his wound, but found no blood leaking out.

(Must have just bumped it hard while diving,) he reasoned.

Valentini's voice came out of the darkness, “Antonio! Get another light on!”

“I'm looking for the switch,” replied Antonio from the darkness.

“Are you okay?” came Ivan's voice in Russian.

“Yes,” Nikolai responded reflexively. His eyes got wide at his mistake.

A few shots rang out at his position and he moved quickly across the room, bumping into things as he moved. Antonio ran out of bullets and the clicking of his gun filled the room.

“You are Russian?” questioned Vadenin quietly in Russian. His voice was very close to Nikolai. “Why are you here to kill me? I protect Little Odessa from scum like Valentini.”

“I'm here to change the world,” replied Nikolai. He moved his hand around, trying to touch Vadenin.

“As I forever am,” said Vadenin. “If you kill me though, you will be changing it for the worse. You will find my replacements much less interested in peace-keeping. Their idea of justice and peace is like yours: immediate death for any perceived slight.”

Nikolai retracted his hand. Defensively, he said, “That's not my idea.”

“Find that God damned light switched!” yelled Valentini. He had found his way around the bar and was picking up guns.

“No?” questioned Vadenin to Nikolai. “You have been killing Valentini's men for extortion and vandalism, haven't you? Crimes against property and you commit crimes against people in response. And why kill me and my men? We do little more than keep other gangs out of Little Odessa and smuggle goods and people from our Motherland. You would kill us for these victimless crimes?”

Nikolai remained silent and thought. It was in that moment that he realized he had allowed the mask to psychologically disconnect him from the actions he had taken. Nikolai Kilin was a man of peace, who loved and hid and searched out peace. The Crimson Crime-fighter, he realized, was a man of conflict, who left his family and displayed himself and looked for conflict.

“Found it!” exclaimed Valentini, switching the lights on and filling the room with light. What he saw amazed him. In one corner, the superhero that had made his life difficult was crouched talking with the leader of his opposing gang. And in another corner, his relative and bodyguard, Antonio was standing next to Ivan, Vadenin's bodyguard!

He raised two pistols, one at each group, and said in a panic, “What the fuck is going on here?”

Ivan grabbed Antonio by the neck and used him as a human shield. The Crimson Crime-fighter overturned a table and hid behind it. Vadenin joined him behind it. They looked each other in the eyes and Vadenin spoke softly in Russian, “If you wish to kill me, it would appear now is a good time.”

Nikolai looked down at the ground, their hands just inches apart. He raised his hand to touch Vadenin, then made a fist in frustration and spoke, “This isn't over. We will negotiated the terms of our treaty later.”

Vadenin nodded. Ivan made his way over to Vadenin and Crimson Crime-fighter, moving Antonio with him while Valentini aimed the guns at them.

Ivan spoke in Russian, “What is happening?”

“Stop talking in fucking Russian!” yelled Valentini, firing a shot into the wall behind them.

“We appear to have a common enemy,” answered Vadenin in Russian.

“That does it,” shouted Valentini, exasperated. “We got our own secret language.”

Looking at Antonio, Valentini spoke in Italian, “Sorry, Antonio, but you are standing between me and Little Odessa. Any dying wishes?”

Antonio started waving his hands and shouting, “No! No!”

Valentini raised his gun to shoot Antonio out of the way, but Ivan moved in front of Antonio, taking two bullets to the chest. Confused, Valentini stopped shooting and stood there with his mouth open. The Crimson Crime-fighter jumped out from behind the table and charged the bar. Valentini reacted, firing shot after shot in the Crimson Crime-fighter, who showed no reaction to the pain. The pistols clicked themselves when they were empty and Valentini tried to draw another gun, but was too slow. Nikolai dove over the bar and tackled Valentini, crashing into the bottles and mirror on the back wall of the bar. Valentini screamed as dissolved in Nikolai's hands. His skin and bones and hair and clothing all turned to liquid, then a putrid smelling steam. Nikolai breathed heavily. He stood up. Where his knees and hands had touched the ground, his skin remained. He looked at his hands. They glowed bright green where his skin had fallen off his body.

He staggered around the bar, putting his hand down to rest, but dissolving a hold in the bar. He panted and looked at himself in the mirror. He had been hit many times by Valentini's pistols. Each bullet hole was a shattered dot of green glowing through his red skin.

“What's happening to me?” Nikolai wondered to himself quietly.

His introspection was interrupted when he saw a strange sight. Antonio Tapia comforting Stas Vadenin over the loss of his protege.

Nikolai took a deep breath and moved towards them. In an authoritative voice, he demanded “What IS going on here?”

Stas and Antonio looked at each other. Stas spoke in English so Antonio could understand, “Valentini didn't approve of the” and he mimicked Valentini's air quotes, “'friends' that Antonio kept. Well, I am one of those 'friends'.”

“Oh,” said Nikolai. He looked at the two and really understood, “Oh!”

“Please do not reveal our secret,” said Stas, “I will do whatever you ask.”

Nikolai thought for a moment. He wanted to change the world. He needed to change it for the better. He was done making it a worse place for his daughter to live in.

“Stas,” explained Nikolai, “With Valentini's death comes opportunity for peace. Antonio could gain the seat at the head of the Italian table. Could you become vory v zakone with him?”

“Yes,” answered Stas, “But only if he could abide by the Code. He needs to give up his family and he is Italian Mafia. He can not do this.”

“I can,” interjected Antonio, “I believe, as you, that family has little to do with your birth and everything to do with your choices. I will disown my family in my heart as many of them have done already to me. I will appear to be a family man, but it will be a lie.”

“That will do,” said Stas.

“Then,” said Nikolai as he pointed at Vadenin, “What I ask in return for my silence is that you do all that you can to see to it that Antonio becomes the new head of the Italian family. Give business to capos, eliminate competition, and see to it that Little Odessa sees a long and lasting peace from organized crime.”

Vadenin rose and saluted the Crimson Crime-fighter. “Your terms are agree to, Crimson Crime-fighter. There shall be peace.”

Nikolai turned and started to walk away as the two men watched him leave. He should have felt as though everything was resolved, but the encounter had made him realize just how wrong he had been in his year-long pursuit of changing the world through murders of criminals. He looked at his hands and just stared. He had no idea what was going on with his body.

He reached the back of his building and moved a brick, revealing a spare set of rubber gloves. As he put them on, there was a sizzling noise for a moment. He reasoned that his green skin must be interacting differently with the rubber than his red skin. After testing and moving the gloves around a little, he thought it was safe and started to climb the fire escape. As he climbed, he wondered about the bullet holes that did not seem to faze him. What was wrong with him now? What was he becoming?

He entered his bedroom window and slipped into his rayon pajamas, his rayon gloves, and his rayon slippers.

“Nikolai?” asked his wife from the living room.

“Yes,” answered her husband. He moved into the living room and saw his wife sitting at the table with the costume he bought her laid out. Roksana slept soundly in her crib, so she was keeping her voice down. “What is this?”

Nikolai sighed. He didn't know what to say or even how he felt.

Kseniya waited for her answer. She crossed her arms and looked him in the eyes.

“It is something I thought I would like to give you, but now I am not sure.”

“It's a costume, Nikolai,” said Kseniya. “Who did you intend to wear it?”

“I had it made for you, but I don't know if...”

“For me?!” asked Kseniya with offense in her voice. “I don't think so, Nikolai! You are not going to catch me dead in anything like this. Do you suppose that I was going to go around killing people in a mask like you?”

“Kseniya, I...”

“And what of our daughter?! Did you simply think we would leave her with the neighbors while we went out murdering people and stealing the jewelry?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Some father you are, Nikolai. You told me you were doing this to change the world and what have you changed? You are richer. That is not change for the good of man.”

Nikolai left the room and went to his closet.

“Where do you think you are going?” asked Kseniya. Nikolai was unaware, but Kseniya was following him into the bedroom.

He grabbed his costume and yelled, “I renounced this mask and all that it stands for.” He turned to return to the living room, continuing, “From now on, I AM A GOOD...”

The couple collided, smacking foreheads.

“...man...”

Kseniya screamed and fell to the floor clutching her face and head as it dissolved on the floor of their tiny apartment.

“No...Nooooo...” cried Nikolai and he grabbed her and tried to will it to stop. Roksana woke up from these screams and started to scream herself. Nikolai could only watch as the love of his life disappeared in his arms. He remained still and silent as the baby cried and cried. He was in shock. It had happened so fast. He rose to his feet in a daze. He stared off into space, unable to comprehend what had happened. He moved in a shamble to sit, but on the way, he saw himself in the mirror in the kitchen. Slowly, he shuffled towards it and looked with a slack face.

Looking back at him was Kseniya.

The impression of her face had removed red skin in the exact shape and expression she had at her time of death. He felt rage and self-loathing and depression, but he remained in shock and moved as a drunk. He grabbed a towel, one of Kseniya's, and started wiping his face and his whole head. The red skin came off with the towel, which dissolved.

A glowing green head with a dark skull looked back at him once the skin was removed.

He shuffled into the living room and looked at Roksana, crying and holding her arms up to be picked up. He thought about what he could possibly do. He couldn't care for the child with his condition.

There was a knock at the door and Andrei Glazkov's voice came through in Russian, “Nikolai? Kseniya? Ania heard a scream. Are you alright?”

Nikolai shuffled to the window and stepped out. He was about three stories up. He hoped that would be enough. He jumped and told himself he would be going to a better place. Just before he hit, he wondered if that was true, given his murders.

Nikolai did not find out that night whether he was bound for heaven or hell. He picked himself up off the pavement. That was the first of many suicide attempts Nikolai would fail in as his body continued to change.

The Immortal Artemis #1

A Bottle of Regret

The pounding in Artemis' head reminded her of the noise in big cities when the Industrial Revolution had first really caught on. She didn't even open her eyes. She didn't care where she was. (What's the point?), she thought, a question that had been plaguing her for centuries.

She had been worshiped as a goddess at one point. She had followers, lovers, devotees, servants, slaves, worshipers. If one sits and thinks about it, there are quite a lot of people involved in pleasing a god.

"But then... they LEFT!" she yelled, wallowing half in thought and half out loud.

Artemis had been in relationships before that had ended badly, that had left her feeling like garbage, unwanted and discarded. Being in a relationship with thousands and thousands of people though, and then having them just stop loving her, was too much for her to take. As the other gods died off, she felt even more alone.

After the Romans had cleared her temples from the map, she waited for a resurgence of gods. Finding others with abilities beyond mortals was a very rare occurrence, and those whom she found were not interested in putting themselves on pedestals like gods. The world seems uninterested in superhuman might and flight and powers that defied nature. The one time she convinced others to exhibit their powers, the mortals rejected her and her kind again. In Salem, they were burned or crushed or drowned. Artemis had been thrown in the river, stuck there for years, tied to a boulder. With nothing but her rejection to focus on, she decided that she didn't want to live anymore.

"Can't kill the immortal though, can you?" Artemis screamed at no one in particular. She looked around and tried to get her bearings. She was in an alleyway. Her pants were around her ankles and her toga was pulled up to her armpits. She sat up slowly, holding her head and pulled down her toga. She rose gradually to her feet with the help of a brick wall, then bent down and pulled up her leather pants little by little, taking great care not to fall over. After buttoning them, she looked around and was upset to find herself without liquor, the one thing that kept her darkness and self-loathing at bay.

Looking around, she saw a door in the wall she was leaning on. As she stumbled closer to it, holding herself up on the wall, the door opened and a large man with a bandage over his right eyebrow exited, carrying broken pieces of wood.

Artemis knew what had happened without needing memory. Obviously, this place was a bar and she had broken something or someone. She turned and leaped into the air, hitting her left shoulder on a fire escape as she flew away, alerting the man below.

"Hey! Get back here! You have to pay for this stuff!" he yelled as the woman disappeared behind the rooftops.

The air was crisp and cool on Artemis' face and the sun was bright and warm. For a moment, she felt happy. Feeling happy, however, made her feel undeserving of being happy. If nobody loved her, she was worthless. And if she was worthless, she didn't deserve to be happy. She closed her eyes and curled up, pulling her knees to her chest. As she stopped flying, her body fell from the sky, breaking a tree limb as she passed and creating a goddess-sized divot in a dog park. She laid there and nursed her self-pity, wrapping it around her like a comforting blanket. If she cared about how pitiful she was, maybe someone else could care, too.

"OH MY GOD!" yelled a woman with a shih tzu.

Her young daughter's mouth dropped open, "AN ANGEL!"

Artemis opened her eyes and looked through her tears to see who had called her something nice. She sniffled and wiped her nose and slowly got up.

"I'LL CALL 911! JUST STAY STILL!" the mother yelled at her.

Artemis staggered towards the child, more from the remaining alcohol in her system than the crash, which did nothing to harm her. She took a knee in front of the girl.

"Yes... I'm an angel," said Artemis with a small smile and glazed eyes, "Do you think I'm a pretty angel?"

Artemis was covered in bodily fluids and dirt, but little children see what they would like to see.

"Yes, ma'am. You're the most beautiful angel I've ever seen."

Artemis put a hand on her shoulder and looked down, saying through tears, "Thank you."

The mother grabbed her daughter by the wrist and started to walk away quickly, "Come on, sweetie! Stop bothering the nice sky lady!"

"No, it's ok! She's not bothering me!" Artemis said, earnestly. Even drunk and stumbling, her flight speed allowed her to outpace the mother and stand in front of her with a hand up, "Please stop! She was just telling me how pretty I am!"

The woman pushed her daughter behind her, "Look, obviously you're one of those super-people. If you're one of the good ones, thank you for all you do. If you're one of the bad ones, then please don't kill us."

Artemis took a step forward and smiled, reaching out to comfort the woman.

"GO!" yelled the woman, pushing the child away, "RUN HOME! RIGHT NOW!"

And the child left.

"I'm not letting you get my daughter," said the woman, reaching in her purse, producing a tazer. She stuck it into Artemis' neck and pulled the trigger, sending 500,000 volts into her jugular vein. The goddess cried as she felt rejection again, a seemingly recurring and dominant theme in her millenia of life. She turned and walked away, ignoring the woman. As she walked, she thought of how nice the little girl was and how wonderful she had made her feel.

The sidewalk led away from the dog park and into a jogging trail. It split, but the decision was never up for consideration for Artemis. There was a man, sleeping or passed out, on a bench down the left path. In her experience, that type of person sometimes has something in a brown paper bag that can dull her self-hate and her overwhelming sense of loss.

The Avenging New Guard #2

Behold! Starlet!

Junior sat in the driver's seat of his Lincoln Continental, dressed as a chauffeur with Fatso in the back, dressed as Fatso. Junior had reasoned that he had only brought along Fatso in case something went wrong and he needed muscle. If that instance arose, there would be little point to disguising Fatso.

"I'm out of the cookies, Junior."

Junior continued to watch the bar down the street with focus and intensity.

"Junior? I'm out of cookies."

"There's more in the bag by your feet," Junior said, keeping his eyes on the bar.

Fatso looked down and was disheartened to find his feet hidden by his stomach. He pulled the mass to one side and craned his head to the other to discover a plastic grocery bag. Pulling it up, he found two packages of Oreos.

"Thanks, Junior," he said as he opened one, the crackling plastic breaking Junior's concentration.

Junior re-focused at the bar as a car pulled into the lot behind it. A few moments later, four people in costumes walked alongside the bar and entered through the side door. Junior consulted his notes and added Bug Master, the Winged Viper, Shadling, and the Occult Eagle to his list. This brought the list of supervillains inside the bar to twenty-six. He wondered if he could find enough explosives to kill them all before they left.

He was trying to estimate the travel time from his lair back to the bar during rush hour when he caught a glimpse of a child in the backseat of a car entering the lot.

“Fatso, get ready! We might have to save someone.”

Fatso quickly finished the cookie he was eating, then grabbed two more for, you know, energy.

As the occupants of the car walked into sight, Junior forgot all interest in remaining inconspicuous and brought his binoculars to his eyes. Two of the villains, a man and a woman, were what you expect. The man was dressed in power armor and the woman was dressed like a slut, but the girl! The girl was beautiful.

A single auburn bang danced on her forehead as she walked. Junior had thought her a child from her face, but she was about his age with alabaster white skin that looked soft, so soft. She wore a green one piece, black gartered stockings and pointy, knee high boots. On her wrists were giant, sparkling bracelets. When she disappeared into the bar, Junior found himself continuing to look at the door, hoping she would reemerge. Finally, Fatso snapped him out of his fixation.

“Do we need to save someone?” he asked, raising his head and trying to locate the hostage through the window.

“I... I don't know, Fatso,” replied Junior. “We'll wait and see. You can go back to eating.”

The rustling of plastic behind him let Junior know that his obese team mate had done just that. Junior took a look at his lists and a set of notes he had made on supervillains. He knew she wasn't in there, but he looked anyway, hoping he was wrong and he had a record of who she was.

No luck.

The older two were Mass Deposit and Scream Queen, though. They were married. Maybe the girl was their daughter. (Well), he thought, (That does it. That puts her square with the enemy.)

(Still), he continued to think, (Maybe she's not too entrenched into the system yet. Maybe she doesn't have to be the enemy. I could save her. Be her knight in shining armor. She'd like that. I bet she'd be really grateful.)

Junior shifted his legs and his crotch and shook out those thoughts.

“Where's Artemis?” asked Fatso.

(Yeah, there's another one. Artemis has a really nice...)

“Sorry, what did you say, Fatso?” asked Junior, trying to derail his train of thought. For all his intelligence and want to save the world, he was still a fourteen-year-old boy.

“Where's Artemis at? Cause she likes bars.”

“That's exactly why I didn't invite her, Fatso,” explained Junior. “She wouldn't be able to stay away from the bar while we surveyed it. Artemis has inner feelings she wants to avoid and her compulsion to reduce the tension caused by this jointly exhaustive dichotomy results in the repetitive self-destructive behavior you've witnessed in her.”

Junior looked back in the rear-view mirror. Poor Fatso. He had talked over his head again. Junior tried again.

“She's not here because I like you so much Fatso. I wanted to work with you because you're so great!” Junior said excitedly.

Fatso's grin revealed the Oreo bits stuck in his teeth. Junior knew that Fatso's incredibly low self-esteem was fueled by his weight and his father's insistence that he was worthless. Of course, Fatso's consumption of simple sugars raised his mood and alleviated his depression momentarily, but the increased weight gain fueled it further. As long as he stayed depressed, Junior could make him do anything by telling him he was good.

“So, Fatso,” said Junior as he turned around to look Fatso in the eye and really engage him in the event, “What do you think is going on? We have a lot of supervillains all getting together in one bar. I found this bar from following one of them a while ago. They meet here about once or twice a week.”

“Well,” said Fatso, leaning in, “The way I see it is, they are all supervillains. And this is their bar. So that makes this a supervillain bar.”

Junior almost felt sorry for the fat slob.

“Very smart, Fatso! Good thinking. I knew there was a reason I wanted you on this mission.”

(Because you're super-strong, invulnerable, and easily manipulated), Junior thought to himself.

“Now,” Junior continued, “I'm going to try to get closer and see what's going on inside. Take this,” he handed him a small box with a light on it, “and if the light comes on, attack the bar. You have to save me if the light comes on.”

Fatso looked Junior in the eyes, “You can count on me.”

Junior took off the chauffeur's cap and exited the car, looking both way across the street and hustling across. He kept close to the buildings and leaned against one casually. With a hand in his jacket pocket, he operated a small pen-like device that detected wireless transmission traffic. It vibrated heavily as he angled it towards the door, indicating a possible surveillance system.

Turning and walking away from the bar, to the confusion of Fatso watching from the car, Junior turned into the next alleyway and began to climb the fire escape of the adjacent building. Climbing above a deli and the apartment on the second level, he emerged cautiously on the rooftop and moved towards the alleyway between the bar and deli.

Eschewing secrecy, he pointed the traffic detector at the roof of the bar. It vibrated a little. Not enough to assume there was a security system on the roof and easily explained by the strong signal at the door.

(Now what?), he thought to himself. It was twenty-four or twenty-five feet across the alleyway with a two story drop if he failed.

Junior looked around the rooftop. There was some scaffolding up here. It was old, but if he was very careful, he could rearrange the bolts and build a makeshift bridge. He was looking around for anchor points when the door below him opened and a sound like chipmunks came out from below.

Out filed the supervillains, shaking hands and hugging each other as they walked to their cars. Lacking the muscular back-up of a team mate, he had never stayed for the end of a meeting, but he couldn't imagine how it could have taken so little time.

(That explains the chipmunk noise), he thought, (The bar is temporally moving faster than regular time. Everything happens faster to them inside there. A few minutes out here could be a few hours in there.)

There she was again. The girl in green. Junior leaned over the edge of the roof to get a better look at her.

(Wow), he thought, (I can really see down her cleavage with this vantage.)

He followed along the rooftop, watching her and what he presumed to be her parents as they said goodbye to other criminals in costume and entered into their sedan. Junior produced his camera and took some pictures of the girl as she got into the car, then the license plate, and finally reconnaissance of the rest of the villains and lot. He waited and watched as the cars filed out into the streets, heading off towards their homes or lairs or dungeons, dimensions, or planets.

Sensational Starlet #2

Heroes Are Born, Villains Are Made!

Mary looked out the window of the car as her parents drove towards their home. There was an uneasy silence in the car that her mother, Scream Queen, felt obliged to break.

“That was a nice dinner, wasn't it?” she asked to no one in particular.

Mass Deposit grunted his agreement and Mary turned further away toward the window.

“I think the name Starlet was a pretty good suggestion from Magpie. What do you think, Mary?”

“Yeah,” Mary replied, absently. “I think I'll use it.”

There was another awkward silence. This time Mary broke it, still looking out the window.

“Do we have to go back to the club anymore?”

“Well, what do you mean?” asked Scream Queen, surprised.

This was enough to bring her father into the conversation, “The Sinister Society has been good to us, Mary. They deserve our support. Don't forget your mother would still be in prison if it wasn't for them.”

“I know,” said Mary. “Forget I said anything.”

The rest of the car ride was finished in silence. They reached their house and drove into the garage, closing the door behind them. A simple step to maintaining a secret identity in suburbia.

Mass Deposit started removing his power armor as soon as he walked in the door, dropping it as he went. As always, Scream Queen trailed behind him, picking up each piece as she came to it, her leather straps squeaking as they moved. Starlet, as she had decided to be known, remained in the kitchen and in costume as her parents retired to their room.

She was standing with her hands on the counter, staring off. She rolled the events and conversations of the night over and over in her head, getting madder and madder.

“Fuck it,” she whispered, exiting the kitchen and then exiting the house. She crossed her bracelet in front of her face and sang a few beautiful notes, the bracelets glowing brighter as she sang. When they were charged, she put them at her sides and fired downwards, sending her up in the air and above her house.

“HOLY HELL THAT IS COLD!” screamed Starlet. She had flown plenty of times, but never in the skimpy costume which now seemed very ill-advised. She bit her lower lip and shivered and wondered if she could still be a sensuous vixen if she was covered in goose pimples. Still, there was no going back. She had shown off the costume to everyone. It was part of her identity now. Changing a costume was a luxury reserved for veterans, people who were entering new decades of fashion. Changing a costume before she even started her reign of terror would lose her the tiny bit of respect she had inherited from her parents' success.

She started her descent towards the junkyard, eager to work off some anger. She wasn't willing to admit to herself what had happened as the Sinister Society meeting, but she was willing to admit she was angry about it.

Landing with a skid and a small cloud of dust, she heard a barking dog as it came towards her. She pointed her wrist at the rottweiler and with a sound of “bazoop,” fired a beam of light that burned its hair down to the skin and sent the dog running with a whimper of pain.

Looking around at the heaps of metal and wreckage, Starlet held her crystal bracelets in front of her and sang a few notes, then turned the crystals' fury and light towards a rusted car, breaking the windows dramatically and boring a cylinder of luminance through the body. She lowered her hands and was pleased by the perfect circle melted through the car and the blistering damage done to the next car in line.

“That felt good,” she said, almost smiling. “But not great.”

She brought up her bracelets and screamed into them. It wasn't as intense as her mother's, but it was well into the super-human range. The bracelets vibrated as the yell continued, echoing in the towers of scrap metal. Still screaming with so much anger, she cut a swath of light through her surroundings, a continuous beam of brilliance that rent all that it crossed in twain.

As supporting structures were cut to pieces, their burden spilled downwards, crashing as they fell. Finally breathing, Starlet lower her arms and opened her eyes, surveying the power she wielded and the destruction she could cause. Her eyes stopped when they saw an older man in ratty clothing, holding the leash of a scared, hairless rottweiler.

Starlet became aware of that she had been crying as she ran towards the man and the cold air chilled the tears. She grabbed the man by the collar and pointed a bracelet at his head. The man released the leash in fear and the dog ran away quickly.

Lacking the words to express herself, Starlet just stood there, trying to decide whether or not to kill him. The man, for his part, was equally silent, save for a strained whimper and a single whispered, “Please.”

Starlet turned her head away and fired a blast. His weight suddenly unsupported, the headless body fell to its knees for a moment at her feet, then crumpled to the floor.

After a moment of looking him, she incinerated the body with a continuous blast of light. After recharging her bracelets, she took flight with no doubt in her mind.

(I deserved what I got.)

Back Issue

Obelisk #144 – September 1914

Tannenberg In Tatters

Obelisk was red with blood, oblivious to the screams of the Russian soldiers as he charged through them, the hurdling mass of his stone body sending their bones out of their bodies and their blood onto the dirt road of Tannenberg. With a mighty roar, he ended his charge grabbing two terrified soldiers and lifting them up into the air, their sidearms still holstered and their rifles dropped in shock. He reached back like a baseball pitcher and threw the poor soul in his right stony hand as far as he could towards the horizon. Obelisk didn't even watch as the man became a speck in the treeline as slammed the second enemy combatant into the ground, pushing through his chest and leaving an indentation of his fist in the road. He grabbed the remains of that dead man and threw them at his comrades-in-arms, who continued firing pointlessly at the stone golem as he reveled in the power difference between man and god.

When an old Prussian-German field marshal had approached Obelisk a few months ago, the Man of Stone had had little concept of how weak man was. To Obelisk, man was encroaching on nature. Man was the most dangerous threat to natural, to the natural way of things that Obelisk had enjoyed, secluded from man's so-called civilization. The field marshal had ordered men to begin controlled fires in the Black Forest to lure out “the monster,” unaware that Obelisk had a name or even a mind. Obelisk frightened the men, but not the field marshal. After realizing the monster was an even greater treasure than he thought, the whole mission became a diplomatic one rather than catch-and-enslave.

The field marshal introduced himself as the 66 year old Paul Ludwig Hans Anton von Beneckendorff und von Hindenburg, retired field marshal. Obelisk was simply Obelisk.

Hindenburg had aspirations of politics beyond his station. He saw himself leading the entire nation of Germany and believed Obelisk and others like him were the key to securing that position.

“The Russian army is large, but ill-equipped,” Hindenburg had explained around a campfire with Obelisk, drinking tea. “It is my belief that the key to winning the war will not be a great force of numbers, but a great force of strength in few numbers. I wish you to be the first of a group of special soldiers. If you are as capable as the tales and legends of these woods have led me to believe, I would be prepared to reward you greatly.”

Obelisk had little use of German, but he knew enough to understand and reply, “How?”

Hindenburg rose and tossed his tea into the fire, throwing the cup to a soldier. He motioned to the woods and said, “These woods, for instances, would be protected by German law. No hunters or fires within their treeline. Beyond that, you will have whatever you wish. I suspect gold and bank notes have little meaning to you. Perhaps wine, women, clothing. Do you believe we can negotiate?”

“I don't know these things,” he replied.

Hindenburg smiled, “I will see that you do.”

Hindenburg sat back at the Battle of Tannenberg and was pleased. Those with him simply stared in awe. Hindenburg noticed the military artist he had brought staring in awe with his drawing of the carnage half-drawn and addressed him, “Hitler! Resume your art so that all of Germany will know of the power I wield.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the mustached dispatch runner.

As a bi-plane came into view, Obelisk casually ignored the bullets bouncing off his rocky hide and picked up an artillery cannon without breaking stride, throwing it into the air. He missed the plane, but closely, and began repeating the feat with anything he could grab. The panicked pilot attempted to dodge light posts and soldiers and pieces of buildings until a gray object came quickly towards the pilot, becoming more and more visible to be a large stone man riding an obelisk. Obelisk did not slow as he flew through the body of the plane, splintering it to pieces that rained down on the battlefield.

Hindenburg hit Hitler on the shoulder and pointed, “That. That is what I want the people back home to think of when they hear this story. Hindenburg's power. Hindenburg's death machine of the air.”

The carnage lasted four days as Obelisk and Germany's Eighth Army destroyed Russia's First and Second Armies. Hindenburg's name was on the lips of every citizen. Legends of the Black Forest were known to all, as were stories of supernatural creatures and beings and gods, but never before in recorded history had man harnessed the power of a god and used it for war.

Final numbers were vague. Obelisk was not versed or bound by the rules of engagement and returned to the wounded to kill them. While the battle claimed over 60,000 Russian lives, Obelisk refused or did not understand taking prisoners and wounded, killing another 140,000 men who could not defend themselves or attempted to flee or surrender. The battle officially claimed 62,000 Russian lives and 5,000 German lives, but the final death toll for Russia after encountering Obelisk was over 200,000. Russia was never able to recover from the brutal loss of Tannenberg.

Weeks later, there were panic in the streets of Berlin. Hindenburg could hear it from his window in the capital building and moved to the window. Below, he saw Obelisk and smiled down at him, though the golem did not see him. The golem was dressed in fine clothing, crafted from the best tailors in Berlin. A mask hid his unusual face, but there was no hiding his size. Hindenburg enjoyed the mix of fear, awe, and curiosity on the faces of the citizens as they stayed far away from his monster. Obelisk walked to the front of the capital building and never broke stride as he walked in.

Hindenburg sat at his desk and busied himself with some paperwork. His aids were not so foolish as to make the Hero of Tannenberg wait, he assumed. His assumptions proved correct as there was no delay in his office doors opening with his aids attempting to stay out of the path of the Man of Stone.

Hindenburg rose and smiled, greeting him, “Obelisk, my friend, how nice it is to see you!”

“It is a pleasure to see you well, Hindenburg,” replied Obelisk. His German had improved greatly in just a few weeks.

“Is this a social visit, Obelisk? May I have my aids bring you something?”

Obelisk removed his mask, revealing his angled stone face, replying, “I need nothing from you, but my freedom.”

Hindenburg moved around his desk and sat next to Obelisk, concerned.

“I do not understand. Have you not enjoyed your time as my agent?”

“I have, Hindenburg. Many years I spent protecting nature, knowing only nature. You have shown me things of comfort and pleasure I did not know.”

“Then why do you wish to leave my employ?”

“You have shown me many things, Hindenburg, but in opening my eyes, you have unleashed my desire. I desire more.”

Hindenburg smiled and tried to retain the man mountain, “Say it and it is yours, Obelisk! I will get you whatever you want! Whatever your heart desires.”

“I assure you, friend. If I knew the names of what I desire, I would tell you. These are things I must travel the world and discover for myself.”

Hindenburg's smiled faded, “We are at war, Obelisk. You are our greatest weapon. What of the French? The British? The Americans?”

Obelisk patted his friend gently on the shoulder, “You will find others like me or you will defeat them on the backs of your men. I have faith in you. I am not of Germany, Hindenburg. I am of the Earth. I have desire now to see the Earth. You pulled me out of my forest, but in doing so, you have ensured that I could never stay satisfied with what is before me ever again.”

“Obelisk,” said Hindenburg sternly, “As your commanding officer, I can not allow you to-”

Obelisk cut him off, holding up a hand and saying, “You could never stop me.”

Obelisk rose to his feet and offered his hand to Hindenburg. After a moment, the man stood and shook the god's hand.

“Very well,” conceded Hindenburg, “if that is your wish. God help those who stand in the way of what you desire.”

Obelisk turned and walked out of the office. Hindenburg looked down at his desk, where the mask of Obelisk remained, as though he had left his civility in that room, dropping the facade of humanity that Hindenburg had given him. Hindenburg looked at it and spoke to himself, “Oh, the humanity of monsters. Once dropped, who knows what evils they will commit?”

Psycho-Babble #2

A Step Ahead

“But I don't want to be evil!” exclaimed Destructor, Lord of Decay.

“Then don't be, Nikolai,” returned Dr. Mento.

“Everything I touch withers and dies,” he said from within his containment suit, where his skeleton glowed and pulsed, “it's not like I can use these powers for the forces of good!”

“Evil is a choice that you've made. You now have to choose to not be evil if that's what you want. You're calling yourself Destructor, Lord of Decay! That's an evil name. Nikolai Kilin isn't an evil name. The day you choose not to be evil is the day you introduce yourself as Nikolai, not Destructor.”

“But what about my secret identity?”

Mento raised an eyebrow, “Nikolai, you're a glowing skeleton in a plastic onesie. A pair of glasses is not going to hide that.”

Destructor lowered his plastic encased head down into his plastic encased hands, “I know... I know... It's just that I want to be normal. I want that other identity. Other guys can just take off a cape or put away the power armor. I'm always a glowing skeleton. I can't turn it off. Every single thing I touch dies. Everything rots away instantly. If I didn't rot away my own stomach, I would've starved to death from rotting my own food.”

Destructor looked up, “That's another thing. The uncertainty. I don't know how I'm alive. Sometimes I don't know if I AM alive! I'm a glowing skeleton, but I move around. I talk, but I don't have a voice box. How the hell do you explain that? I can't exactly go to Doctor Travesty or the Mindflayer and ask them to do a full panel work-up on me. They're trying to turn the world's population into squirrels or something while I have real problems and no one to turn to. Am I dead? Alive? Am I even a man?”

Mento reached out and held his gloved hand, “You are whatever you choose to be, Nikolai.”

“I don't agree,” he replied sadly, pulling his hand back. “I am what I am. I'm Destructor, Lord of Decay. I can kill and destroy. That's it. That's all. I lack the ability, looks, and skin to do anything else.”

“What about trash?”

“What?” questioned Nikolai, obviously hurt by the comparison.

“No, no, I'm talking about garbage.”

“What the hell, man?”

“I'm not say that you are garbage, Nikolai! I'm saying you are the solution to garbage. You can probably decay an entire landfill in an afternoon. You could save the planet!”

Nikolai hesitated, “Ok... you make it sound pretty good, but... garbage? Who wants to work in a landfill all day? I'll come home smelling like rotting diapers.”

“No, you won't,” smiled Mento as he leaned back in his chair. “You can't hold a smell. You change your containment suit before you go back into your lair and that stink will never be a problem.”

“But this makes me, like, a garbage man.”

“This would make you an environmental superhero, Nikolai! You could call yourself Captain Compost or the Eco-Warrior. Throw in a battle with the occasional planet destroying madman and some monologues about saving the planet for future generations and we can stick a cape on you, it's done!”

“I don't know. Even if you own the whole waste disposal company and sit in an office all day, you're still a garbage man. I'd be in the trash itself. And be a superhero? I think everyone is going to call me 'Garbage Man.' I don't think there's a way around that.”

Mento leaned forward and clasped his hands together, “I want you to really think about this idea, Nikolai. Our time is up, but I want to keep talking about this. Do you realize this is the longest you've indulged an idea about super-heroism?”

Destructor, Lord of Decay, would have blushed if he had skin or blood.

Mento continued, “This is real progress. I want you to stick with this, so I'm giving you homework. I want you to spend one afternoon before our next appointment on Tuesday down at the dump. Just see what it's like. See how much garbage you can decay in an hour. Obviously, do it off hours because you're still wanted for murder and kidnapping the mayor back in June. But really get into it. Forget that you are Destructor. Get into the idea that you are the Eco-Warrior, Champion of Earth!”

“I'll try, doc,” said Destructor, hesitant. “I can't guarantee I'll like it.”

They rose and shook hands.

“I'm really proud of you, Nikolai. You made some big steps today. Let's keep up the good work.”

Mento looked up at the ceiling. “Gigabyte Ghost, activate.”

A light blue line around the top of the wall lit dimly as the electronic rendition of a British man's voice responded.

“Online, sir.”

“GG, please show Destructor to the door and print him a reminder card for his usual appointment.”

“Very good, sir,” came the response from the blue light that changed in luminance briefly with each word.

The door to the hall way opened automatically.

“Destructor, I'm very proud of you for the progress we've made today. You've got a bright future ahead of you.”

“Thank you, doc.”

The glowing skeleton of ultimate destruction left the psychiatrist's office and the door closed behind him, leaving Michael Mento to begin his process of disposing of his notes through shredding, incineration, and the more non-traditional methods at his disposal, updating his computer as he did so.

“GG, open Destructor's file and we're going to add some notes to the section labeled 'Heroic Aspirations.'”

“Ready, Michael.”

“Destructor is going to try using his powers of decay at the landfill to dispose of some trash. If he can be convinced that this is a heroic and world-improving use of his time, it's possible that he'll stop melting people for money. I'm going to have a costume for a new persona as 'The Eco-Warrior' made by the Acatour. I'm hoping that he arrives at our next meeting excited about his new role and that the costume will solidify the new persona in his mind. Usually I would stay neutral on his development, but he's been stuck as Destructor for so long and been reinforced in his role as a supervillain by other supervillains. I think it's going to take some reinforcement for him to accept a role as anything else. I hope I'm not overstepping my professional bounds by encouraging this choice. Usually, I try to help the patient discover what they want. I believe this is what Destructor wants, but he needs some provocation.”

Mento poked at the ashes in the fire, “Close file and you can dispose of the ash.”

The fire was put out by a fire extinguisher then the ash was vacuumed away from within the wall for liquifying.

“I hope this therapy works, Michael.”

Mento looked up at the line.

“GG, you know better than to discuss patients with me. Delete the last 10 seconds of your memory.”

“Yes, sir.”

The light dimmed for a moment, then returned.

“GG, I just had you delete 10 seconds of your memory for discussing a patient's treatment with you.”

“I'm sorry, Michael. It won't happen again.”

“That's good. Is dinner ready?”

“In about five minutes it will be on the table. Shall I call Junior?”

“Please do. I'll go ahead and mix myself a drink.”

In Micheal Mento Junior's empty room, Gigabyte Ghost detected a presence faked by a signal jammer under his pillow.

“Junior, it's time for dinner. Time to arise, young man, from your nap.”

Blind to the fact that room was empty, GG tried again.

“Junior? It's time to wake up.”

“Last chance. I'm getting the robot.”

Stillness remained the order.

“Very well. Robot incoming.”

The hall door opened and a clunky, humanoid robot's eyes lit up in an LCD screen. Though no one knew both of them, an observer would notice the extreme similarities between the robot's face and Junior's LCD helmet.

The robot took its slow, steady steps towards Junior's room, clunking as he went. Dr. Mento was no fool. Obelisk was right, of course. An artificial intelligence in charge of your house is a risky thing. Mento hoped to mitigate that risk by limiting Gigabyte Ghost's ability to function through inferior hardware. While GG's sensors and intelligence and ability to communicate with software were beyond top of the line, developed by geniuses such as Mento's former teammate Professor Fly, the hardware and the method that GG was forced to use to interact with the world was easily deactivated and easily defeatable if the need arose. And so the clunky robot, state of the art 10 years, finally made his way to Junior's room, struggled with the door knob and opened the door to the empty room.

The robot walked over to the bed and pulled back the sheets. Any human set of eyes would have see an empty bed, but even through a different set of sensors, GG was still fooled into thinking that Junior somehow was present and healthy, but non-responsive. The robot pawed around awkwardly at the space, getting conflicting information. Its sensors told it that Junior was in bed, but the robot's tactile response was telling it that nothing was there.

With the deadline of dinner fast approaching, GG weighed the options and chose to appeal to Dr. Mento for help in the dining room.

“Dr. Mento, I have some strange readings from your son's room.”

Without waiting for an explanation, Dr. Mento put down his drink, spilling it, and started running up the stairs. He had learned long ago that any strangeness in the world of the super-powered required immediate investigation.

Entering the room with a sprint and short of breath from the stairs, Mento was greeted with the sight of a robot pawing at an empty bed. Mento put a hand to the side of his head and projected his thoughts, ((Junior, are you alright? Where are you?))

There was no response. That ruled out invisibility, shrinking, and alternate dimensions occupying the same space as the house.

(So he must not be here and GG's sensors must be fooled somehow,) he thought.

“GG, where exactly do you detect Junior?”

“In his bed, head under his pillow. However his shape is unusual. I had assumed it was muffled by a blanket, but I see now through the robot that there is no blanket.”

Mento picked up the pillow, shocked to find a mechanical device. He panicked. His son had been kidnapped. It was his fault. He had put his son in harm's way when he became a therapist to these monsters. Now they want to extort information about the other side from him for their stupid war with each other. It was probably the bad guys wanting to assassinate the good guys to make a name for themselves or go after their loved ones to teach them some kind of “lesson.” But it could just have easily been one of the “good guys,” some militant psycho who thought that superheroes needed to kill supervillians. Or it could be the government, wanting to regulate all of the spandex crowd.

These thoughts had kept Mento up at night since he began this profession. On some level, he had already recognized the device as the “car alarm remote control” that his son had been working on, but it took a few seconds for that rational thought to overcome the paranoia of a single parent with a missing child.

Mento was lucky. There was only one button on the machine. When he pressed it, the LED indicator turned off.

“GG, do you still detect Junior in the house?”

“No, Michael. Where did he go?”

“He was never here. Can you you store information from this encounter to identify the device he used to fool you?”

“That will not be a problem.”

“Good,” replied Mento, “I'm going to turn it back on now and put it back under the pillow. Return the robot to his home and we're going to act like we never found out about this device, understand?”

“Yes, Michael, but why?”

“I keep him cooped up here so much that he built a landmark technology in sensor blocking. Now that we can identify it, we'll know when he leaves, but he won't know we know. So he'll think he's on the loose, but we'll have the security of knowing that he's actually left. I want you to beep in whatever room I'm in when he leaves. Beep three times. If I'm in a session and I've turned you off in there, beep from the hallway. I'll be able to hear you.”

“Understood,” replied GG as he sent the robot clunking back to its home, “And what about knowing where he is tonight?”

Mento thought for a moment, then took out his cell phone, “Triangulate his phone from cell towers when I call him.”

Mento scrolled down to “Plumber” on his phone, a precaution in case it was ever stolen, and hit the send button.

In the Lincoln Continental, Junior was pulling up to Fatso's father's cave entrance to his lair. He looked down at his vibrating cell phone.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

“Fatso, I'll see you around. I have to take this call,” he said, turning back.

“Okey dokey, Junior. It was nice hanging out with you!” Fatso said, exiting.

“Hi Dad,” said Junior into the phone as he started to drive home quickly.

“Hi, son,” replied Mento, trying to contain his happiness that his son was alive. He recognized it was irrational to have thought otherwise, but he had failed to dismiss that fear.

“What's up?” asked Junior, certain that he had been busted for sneaking out.

“I was just calling you to see what's going on? GG's calling you for dinner and you aren't coming down,” then adding playfully, “Do I have to come up there and getcha?”

Junior smiled, convinced he was still one step ahead of his father, “No, I'm just feeling sick. Can I eat a little later? I have a crazy headache and just want to lie down.”

“Not a problem. I'll save some food for you. Ok, bye.”

“Bye.”

They both hung up. Junior was certain he was one step ahead of his father.

“Where is he, GG?”

“Michael, I triangulated Junior's phone and it is located under his bed.”

Mento sighed and looked under his fourteen year old son's bed to find four dirty magazines, a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and several blinking boxes of electronics capable of fooling the most sophisticated security system the world's most brilliant minds could design with unlimited resources.

“GG, when you send the Acatour the order for Destructor's new Eco-Warrior costume, have him also design a small GPS unit I can stick to Junior.”

Michael was not a step ahead of his son. Junior was not a step ahead of his father.

The Immortal Artemis #2

With A Little Help From My Friends, Part 1

“This is a nice place we're going to, Artemis. You have to put on some nice clothes,” said Avatar.

“Or what? They'll throw me out? I'd like to see them try,” sputtered out Artemis.

The two were in Avatar's bedroom. Artemis was laying on Avatar's bed, drinking wine from the bottle while Avatar made a mental note to wash the sheets later.

Avatar was a beautiful red-headed superhero. Her green eyes and bouncing red curls topped a body that could ignite into a phosphorous flame, granting her the power of flight and elemental projection. Today, though, the superheroine wore no spandex, only a casual sundress.

“It's not a matter of can they throw you own, dear. It's a matter of do you want them to like you?”

“HA!” replied Artemis, taking another swallow of wine. “Nobody likes me. They'll pretend to like me, but then they'll take off when the going gets rough, when money gets tight, or when the Theodosius outlaws the worship of you.”

“Please, Artemis. As a favor to me?” asked Avatar with big green eyes that she batted for attention.

Artemis finish the bottle, drinking and drinking until it was empty, then set it down, “Fine. What do you want me to wear?”

Avatar smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet, “Great! But first... you've got to take a shower. I'm not putting you in my clothes covered in puke and... well, I think puke is the nicest thing you've got on you.”

Artemis rolled her eyes and slipped out of her jacket as she got up, pulled her tunic over her head, exposing her bare back to Avatar, who quickly blushed and turned around. Artemis kicked off her boots and unbuttoned her leather pants. She took great care in peeling them off her legs. The resistance the leather offered, coupled with super-strength and with the added obstacle of intoxication had led to a few pairs being torn apart. She made her way to the shower and ran the water, not waiting for it to warm before she walked in and started lathering with Avatar's honey lavender body wash.

Avatar looked as the clothing on her bedroom floor, then went to the kitchen and got a garbage bag and a paper towel. She used the paper towel to guard her hand as she picked up each piece and put it in the garbage bag while she considered 1-hour dry cleaners on the way to the spa.

It's rare that a superhero received any kind of payment or gift for their deeds, but Avatar had the fortune to save this spa from Man-O-Taur and was invited to bring a friend for a full day of treatment and mimosas.

She cinched the bag closed and set it down by the door, then threw out the paper towel. She had always felt bad for Artemis. Avatar had had some heartbreaking relationships in the past, but understood that losing an entire country of worship had to be more difficult. The mimosas would get Artemis in the door, but Avatar was hoping that cleaning up her image would help her self-esteem. And getting her feet rubbed and being pampered at a spa had to be a little like being worshiped as a goddess, right?

“So what am I wearing?” asked Artemis.

Avatar blushed and turned around. Artemis was only wearing a towel. On her hair.

“Well, why don't we start with underwear and go from there?” asked Avatar, opening up her dresser drawer.

“I tried underwear. I didn't like it. Remember,” she said as she opened another bottle of wine, pulling out the cork with an unbreakable nail, “Women didn't underwear in the past. Men wore loincloths, but women wearing underwear is a relatively new fad.”

“Relatively new by your perspective alone, honey. Everyone else wears undies.” She closed the drawer. “Still, this is a high-end spa, so we'll get disposable bathing suits to wear under our robes.”

Artemis stopped drinking, “This is the place with the mimosas, right?”

“For the hundredth time, yes,” sighed Avatar moving dresses in her closet. She pulled out a black dress. “How about this one?”

Artemis set the wine bottle down and looked at the dress, “Nice, I like the neckline.”

Avatar looked at the dress again. She didn't think it had a significant... “That's the open back, honey.”

“Oh,” said Artemis, embarrassed, flipping the front to face her. She picked back up the bottle and drank, then set it down again. “It looks good.”

“Then please put it on. Put anything on. I can't keep looking at a goddess' naked body without hating my own a little more each second.”

Artemis started to take the dress off the hanger and put it on, “What are you talking about? Your breasts are a supple as a teenage virgin's. Your legs as slender as a sapling.”

Avatar jumped in, “Look, I know I look a certain way. I think every one of us girls who put on spandex with the cleavage cut out know how we look, but you are an actual goddess. There's just no comparison.”

Artemis started to tear up, reaching for the wine with only one shoulder strap pulled up, “Can't be a goddess without worshipers. Besides, turned out I'm just a super-human. Immortality, strength, and flight. I just happen to grow up in a time when they would call us gods and goddesses. That's what really messed me up. If I had just been told I was some kind of policeman in a costume, no problem. I was told I was a goddess and worshiped as one... for a WHILE!” She drank some more.

Avatar took the bottle. “Oh no! We're going to be late!” she lied. “Quick, try on these shoes.”

“We fly, Avatar. It's not like we'll hit traffic.”

As Artemis walked out the door, Avatar turned around and called her children, “Robert! Bethany!” The two children, 12 and 10, had been able to baby-sit themselves for two years now, a helpful trait for the children of a superhero to have.

Avatar knelt down on her knees, “You two be good while Mommy's gone. There's money on the counter for pizza if I'm gone too long. I think I'll be back before dinner, but I don't know for sure. You two need anything?”

“No, mommy.”

“Nope.

“Ok, you behave. I love you both. Remember to lock the door and turn on the alarm when I leave.” She got up and grabbed the garbage bag of Artemis's clothes. “Ok, bye!”

“Byeeee!”

She looked through the crack of the door while she closed it, “Byeeee! I love youuuuuu!”

Artemis scowled at the show of love, knowing all things to be fleeting, but she had the sense to keep it to herself. Avatar couldn't know how miserable life was. She had only lived a tiny bit of it. Artemis had lived so much more. Her perspective was far more accurate in her mind. She was left with this thought to fester in her mind as they took off and started flying across the city.

After a while, Avatar flew ahead of Artemis and stopped, causing Artemis to stop. Talking while in flight was next to impossible unless you had super-hearing to get past the wind noise.

“I'm going to drop your clothes off at this dry cleaner, real quick, ok?”

“Want me to go in?”

“No, just hang out up here. I'll be right back.”

Avatar came down to a back alley to avoid any publicity and turned off her flame. She walked up to the front of the dry cleaners and opened the door, knocking the little bell that alerted the employees to a new customer.

“What can I help you with?” ask the woman behind the counter.

“I have some VERY dirty clothes to drop off. Leather pants, leather jacket, and a...” she tried to think of the right word to describe the tunic, “let's call it a blouse.”

The woman opened up the bag and her jaw dropped, “I can't clean these.”

“I'm sorry. I know they're gross.”

“They're uncleanable. This fabric is white, but it's been dyed this brown color. I can try to clean it, but I can't make any promises.”

“And I need them done quickly. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! But I'll pay you a lot for it. How about $200?”

The woman's eyes lit up, “Ok, but you know I can't promise anything.”

“That's fine,” Avatar said, handing over two bills. She filled out a ticket and left the shop, hiding in the alley before bursting into flame and taking flight.

Artemis was floating in the air, relaxing. Avatar noticed a group of people on the ground looking up with cameras and cell phones. That wasn't uncommon, but there was still a lot of...

“We're good to go,” quickly announced Avatar, realizing that Artemis was flying in a dress with no underwear. They started off again and Avatar thought she could hear the disappointed groan of some of the perverts below.

Upon arriving at the spa, they touched down at the entrance, near the valet, who stared at them in awe. Avatar, who mistook the wonder for expectancy, explained, “I'm sorry. We don't have a car for you to park.”

As the shiny brass double doors were opened for them by uniformed doormen, revealing a marble waiting room, Artemis had to catch her breath at the beauty of it. She was still looking around at the frescoes painted on the ceiling and the antique chandelier as Avatar checked them in.

“There should be appointments for Avatar and Artemis.”

The clerk looked confused, “Are those last names or first or...”

A manager tapped him on the shoulder and took his place, “Ms. Avatar, let me again thank you for your wonderful service.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she replied, blushing a little. “Anytime you're attacked by a half man – half bull creature with a vorpal axe, just give me a call.”

The manager smiled, “We will be giving you the very best of everything we have to offer. I think you'll find our facilities to surpass any you may have encountered before.”

Artemis snapped out of her awe, “It's nice, but that will be tough.”

“Have you been to some nice spas before, Ms. Artemis? If you tell us what you liked about them, we can duplicate it here.”

Avatar interjected, “You might not want to say that. This is THE Artemis. Like the Greek goddess. She has literally been pampered like a goddess.”

“I'm sure your spa is wonderful, but I doubt you can anoint me in the milk of a virgin calf.”

The manager thought for a moment. He had been chosen from the staff to handle Avatar's visit as he was the quickest wit in the building and it was well known that superheroes enjoyed their banter. “Ms. Artemis, you are correct. We do not have virgin calf milk on the premises. However, we have some technique that didn't exist in ancient Greece. How about hot tubs?”

“We had hot springs.”

“Seaweed wrap?”

“Greece is an island, buddy.”

Avatar stepped in, “What about make up and hair care?”

The manager turned to Artemis.

“We offer a full range of treatments and our make up artists are award winning.”

Artemis remembered back and made a face, “They would just rub berries and charcoal on my face and put oil in my hair. I didn't like it very much.”

Avatar turned the conversation back to the present, “How about we get started with massages?”

“Very good, Ms. Avatar. Any particular type of massage?”

Avatar thought then leaned in, “I'd like a Swedish, but Artemis is invincible. Can you put your two strongest men on her?”

“I understand,” replied the manager, “and I hope you'll remember the considerations we are able to make when you recommend us to your colleagues.”

As the manager started calling people, and giving orders, and schedule mud packs and facials, Avatar smiled to herself. They were going to get the very best of the very best on this trip. Not only had she saved the spa, but they were hoping that she would recommend them to other superheroes. She guessed they were most interested in the ones whose alter-egos were billionaires.

She turned to Artemis and her smile faded as she saw her replacing an empty champagne glass on a waiter's tray and grabbing the last two mimosas. Avatar quickly moved forward to do her best to slow the drinking by taking one out of her hand.

“You got me one? Thanks!” she said when Artemis glared at her, assuaging the situation. “We should make a toast.”

They held up their glasses.

“To new beginnings,” toasted Avatar.

“Uh... to new beginnings,” replied Artemis, before downing the glass like a shot.

Back Issue

The League #67 – January 1942

The World At War, part 1

“Attention, soldiers! Roll call!” yelled Captain Flagg as the League stood in line as if they were enlisted personnel. The line between soldier and superhero had blurred significantly when Pearl Harbor was attacked and General Marshall instituted the Hero Arm of the military. He had seen superheroes in combat during WWI as death machines, but he believed they could be used for everything from propaganda to complex missions.

The League looked straight ahead of them while Captain Flagg, their new leader, hand-picked by Marshall, went through roll call. Of course it was unnecessary. The group was small and each wore very individual flamboyant costumes and masks.

“When I call your name, you tell me why the hell I shouldn't kick you out of this unit,” commanded Captain Flagg. “I'll give you an example.” He looked at his sheet and read his own name, “Captain Flagg.” He looked at the League and continued, “I am a United States soldier. I'm a top marksman. My strength has been enhanced through the Army's super soldier serum. And I'm here because General Marshall, in his infinite intelligence, decided not to let people in spandex run out onto a battlefield without a real soldier baby-sitting them.”

He looked at his sheet again and walked up to the hulking gray granite giant.

“Obelisk,” he said.

“I am a rock elemental. I am over a hundred years old. I'm strong and I fly on a rock. And just because General Marshall says you are the leader doesn't mean anything, Flagg. I was the leader before you arrived; I'll be the leader after you leave. And everyone on my team knows it,” he finished with a smirk.

Captain Flagg smirked back and punched him in the stomach. Obelisk hit the ground, holding it.

“News flash, Rocky. I'm not here to play power games. Those Army scientists did a number on me but I'm not looking to take you on, just get your attention. Hit me back and you're out of the outfit. Then there will be no question who the leader is,” he looked at Obelisk in the eyes as he arose, “Will there?”

Obelisk gritted his teeth in anger, “No, sir.”

Flagg moved down the line to a man dressed in a large black cape and cowl. His hands ended in sharpened talons.

“Claw.”

“I'm a crime-fighter. I have an arsenal of weaponry and tools at my disposal.”

“You mean gadgets,” laughed a girl at the end of the line.

“They're tools,” corrected Claw, looking down at the girl in red.

“Yeah, and take those away and what are you?” she replied, looking back.

Claw smiled and lift his eyes in false thought, “A genius billionaire playboy philanthropist?”

“Enough,” said Flagg, moving to a large green man who seemed to be made out of gelatin. He looked him up and down with curiosity, confusion, and disgust. “The Synthetic Man,” he said in resignation.

“I.AM.THE.SYNTHETIC.MAN.I.AM.A.SYNTHETIC.ORGANISM.I.HAVE.”

“Be quiet!” said Flagg. “Jesus. That voice is like nails on a chalkboard and slower than molasses in January. Someone else want to tell me what the lime Jell-o can do?”

The next person in line, a little boy dressed in bright primary colors, raised his hand, “I can, sir!”

Flagg moved down to him and looked at his roster, “You're Wildboy, right?”

“Yes, sir. The Synthetic Man was sent from the future to help save mankind from the dangerous that we would encounter. He was built by a super-smart scientist and he's invincible and can fly with uni-beams from his feet and shoot uni-beams from his hands.”

“What are uni-beams?”

Wildboy shrugged.

Flagg addressed the rest, “Does anyone know anything else about this Synthetic Man?” No one answered. “You people mean to tell me you you have a living weapon that you know nothing about, who is in no way human, and you are all a-ok hunky-dory with that?”

The Claw answered, “The Synthetic Man has proved himself in battle with us. We know we can trust him.” He then added, “That's more than we can say for you, Captain.”

Flagg turned back to Wildboy, “Ok, Wildboy. Tell me why I shouldn't kick a tiny kid like you out of my unit?”

Claw spoke up again, “If he goes, I go, Captain. We're a package deal.”

“Jesus Christ,” sighed the Captain. “What can he do? Can he at least make coffee?”

Wildboy did three back flips and landed balancing on the tip of the back of a chair that he then tilted to balance on two legs.

Claw spoke for Wildboy, “He's a trained acrobat and I've trained him in some combat techniques. He's been invaluable to me out in the field, Captain Flagg. I highly recommend you let him stay.”

Flagg moved to the last person in line, a young girl dressed in red, and addressed her, “Rocket's Red Glare.”

Claw acted as though Flagg was addressing him, “Her you can get rid of. Nobody likes her.

Glare ignored Claw and addressed Flagg, “I'm capable of flight and light projection. I can also turn into a being of pure light. While in this form, I can't be hurt and travel just about anywhere on Earth instantly.”

Flagged looked at his sheet and Glare added, “Captain Flagg, please don't let my appearance deceive you. I'm not really four years old. I just age slowly. I'm actually 18.”

“14,” corrected Claw with a laugh. Glare shot him a look.

“Don't worry, soldier,” Flagg said softly to Glare as he leaned down, “There's no minimum age to serve on this unit. I lied about my age to serve, too.”

Glare smiled up at Flagg, who smiled back before resuming his tough exterior.

“I have good news, soldiers. You don't have a lot of downtime. General Marshall is shipping us off immediately. We're going straight to the belly of the beast. A highly dangerous mission. Why you? Because if you die, we don't have to explain it. If you succeed, we have got new poster boys for the Hero Arm. We leave for the airfield tomorrow morning. From there we go to London. From there. Berlin.”

Wildboy finally crashed down from his perch and landed on his backside, panicked, saying, “Berlin?!”

Flagg turned to him, “As I said. Belly of the beast. I predict high casualties. If you would like out of this unit, this would be the time to say it.”

Wildboy looked past Flagg to Claw, who gave him a stern look.

“N-no, sir. This is what I want,” he replied in a shaky voice.

“Make sure that it is,” Flagg said, then added in a softer voice, “what YOU want.”

He turned to the rest and ordered, “As you were, everyone. We're up at 0500 hours.”

Wildboy, Claw, and Glare groaned. Obelisk and Synthetic Man didn't need sleep.

As they returned to their activities around headquarters, Claw approached Flagg.

“Sir, I just wanted to explain my behavior.”

Flagg looked at him quizzically, then said, “Go ahead, soldier.”

“I don't have any powers and my gadgets wouldn't make a dent on someone like Obelisk or Synthetic Man. I need them to think that I am on their level, even though I am not. I do this by manipulating conversations so I appear in control. While Wildboy is an asset to the team, one reason I keep him around is that he is an inferior version of me. So, my superiority is implied.”

“You're using that kid,” said Flagg with disdain.

“He's an orphan. He has nowhere else to go.”

“That doesn't give you the right to treat him like your plaything.”

Claw pulled of his mask so he could look Flagg in the eyes. Flagg saw for the first time that Claw was older than he acted and appeared. With the mask on, Flagg would have guessed him to be in his late 20s. Without it, it was clear that he was in his early 60s.

“I want you to look at me, Flagg. I want to be clear. I want you to know who I am,” he said, looking Flagg directly in the eyes, “I am the man who does whatever is necessary to accomplish my goals. Right now, I want to slip my claws into Adolf Hitler's heart. To do that, I need to be on this team. To do that, I need to appear powerful. To do that, I will sacrifice children. Or,” he grinned as he rubbed his claws together, “if you'd rather, I can take out the man in charge.”

Flagg's hand moved to his pistol.

“I see that we have an understanding,” said Claw, putting his mask back on. “If you cut the children, I'll splinter your group and the Hero Arm will fail. And I might cut off your nose to spite your face,” he said as he tapped a claw to his own nose and smiled.

After he left, Flagg relaxed and shook his head, saying to himself, “I can't believe I looked up to that guy. I dressed as him for Halloween when I was little.”

There was a high pitched scream from the bedrooms of the fortress. Everyone rushed in to find Rocket's Red Glare and Obelisk in Glare's room.

“What's going on here?” demanded Captain Flagg.

“I-I...uh...” stammered Obelisk.

“There was a spider,” said Glare with no emotion in her face. “I hate spiders. But Obelisk killed it.”

“Yeah,” joined in Obelisk, “Yeah, I got it.” He turned to Glare and added, “Roksana, let me know if you ever need anything.”

Glare stared daggers at him, “That will never happen.”

The next morning, the League found themselves boarding a Douglas C-47 Skytrain alongside another 20 men in uniform. They went around and introduced themselves to the men, answering their questions. The Claw allowed them to hold some of his tools. This was all carefully constructed propaganda by Captain Flagg meant to help spread a legend about the Hero Arm. Before take off, Obelisk and Synthetic Man left the plane to fly alongside it. Rocket's Red Glare could have easily joined them, but she remained inside. Captain Flagg kept checking on her to make sure she was fine.

Flagg moved across the plane and stood next to Claw.

“We're going to play it your way, Claw,” explained Flagg, “I think it's good for the group if you seem powerful. I'm going to help you look like you're in charge.”

Claw smiled at his own cleverness.

“In return,” said Flagg, “I want your word that you aren't going to put Wildboy in excessive danger just so you look good by comparison.”

“Deal,” he replied with a smile.

“I'm going to tell you the plan. You tell the others. Makes it look like you're in charge.”

“You're a smart man, Flagg,” said Claw, both in reference to his idea and decision not to oppose him.

“We're landing in London where they have a fallen Junkers Ju 88, a German fighter. It's a three seater, but it's been gutted for extra storage. I'm going to fly, you get a seat, and then Wildboy and Glare cram into the last seat. I'll fly us over Germany, pray they don't shoot us down, and we'll eject into Berlin, behind enemy lines. We'll be met by a car that will take us to a secret location. Meanwhile Obelisk and Synthetic Man will land and remain hidden until we call for them on the radio. It's hard for them to blend and they can fly on their own.”

“Why bring Glare with us?” asked Claw. “She can fly. She's invulnerable as light. She can go with Synthetic Man and Obelisk.”

Flagg squirmed a little and looked away.

“Oh,” said Claw with a dirty grin, “You've picked up that you shouldn't leave Obelisk alone with her.”

Flagg continued with the briefing, “There is a scientist in Berlin named Dr. Fritz Hex. Our intelligence tell us that his lab has been producing some amazing things lately. The type of things we don't want our soldiers to have to fight. Our mission is to infiltrate the lab, grab anything that looks to be of value, destroy the rest, and retire the good doctor. Any questions?”

“Better tell me the escape plan in case something happens to you, Flagg,” said Claw as if he was concerned.

“Not a chance, Claw,” said Flagg. “You want to get out of Berlin, you'd better make sure I survive.”

Flagg smiled to himself as he returned to his seat. He leaned back and grabbed his hat. He gave one last smile to Claw, put his hat over his eyes and went to sleep.

Psycho-Babble #3

Put Away Such Childish Things

“There's an age of consent for sex. Why isn't there an age of consent for putting a kid in spandex and making him fight radioactive Nazi robots?”

The long silence that followed was punctuated by the sniffling of the Bully as he cried. Mento simply let him continue. He knew when someone needed to express themselves without analysis.

“I was eight. My parents had just died. But then a superhero, a guy who represents all the good in the world, he reveals his true identity and asks you to be a sidekick. If I was eighteen, maybe I would've been able to deal with all that, but eight? There was no way to say no.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes and sniffled again.

“It just wasn't fair.”

Mento remain silent.

“I actually, and I hate saying this, I actually respect the supervillains more for their treatment of me than the superheroes. Think about it. How hard is it to kill a child? And these are the bad guys, so they have no qualms about killing. And they are in the middle of some super-plan to take over the world. Might have taken years of their life to get to that point. And what do they do? They tie me up to a chair. They don't kill me. Ever think about why?”

Bully looked at Dr. Mento with that question, but Mento remained silent.

“I think it's because they feel sorry for me. They risk their grand designs, their world domination, their jail time, and their deaths by letting me live tied to a chair. Why do they do they feel sorry for me? This is where it gets sick. The heroes treat their sidekicks so badly that the bad guys take care of the sidekicks!”

Bully had brought his old costume from his time as the Wildboy at the request of Dr. Mento for his therapy. He picked it up and looked at it.

“Look at this. Assuming it's not Halloween, if you forced a kid to dress up in this thing, you'd be arrested for molestation. On the outfit alone. Spandex briefs? That's sick. And a domino mask. Think about that mask for a second. Why is a child wearing a domino mask? Does the Evil Wraith hang out at a lot of playgrounds and might identify the sidekick? Nope. Does the sidekick ever get leave the mansion at all? Nope. So the mask only serves one purpose. To prevent people from identifying me as the victim.

Mento finally interjected, “The sidekick.”

“What?”

“You said 'To prevent people from identifying me as the victim, but all the previous discussion about the outfit you used an impersonal 'the sidekick'. Why did you choose to use 'me' when you talked about being identified as a victim?”

“I... I don't know, doc. It was just a slip of the tongue.”

Mento leaned in, “I want you to think about this, Bully. How were you victimized as Wildboy?”

Bully held back the tears as best he could and was about to speak when there was a tapping at the window. Bully quickly dove behind the couch.

“They're one way glass, Bully. They can't see us,” Mento looked out the window to see Destructor and sighed, “But we can see them.”

Mento stood and looked over the couch at Bully, who was panicked, “Bully, I want you to relax. You're in a safe place here.”

Bully stuttered, “I-I don't know, doc, maybe this therapy wasn't such a good idea. Is there a b-b-back door and I'll just g-g-go?”

Mento took a step back so Bully couldn't see him and put a finger to his head, ((Relax and remember.))

“I'll be back in just a moment, Bully, and we'll continue our session,” Mento said as he exited.

As he entered the hallway, the glowing blue line offered apologies, “I'm sorry, Doctor. He wouldn't go away. I told him to return at his appointment, but he just started looking for a way in. I don't have any defenses and I understand why, but I just have to explain that's why I didn't stop him.”

Mento waved a hand over his shoulder, dismissing the computer, “It's fine, GG. I'll be a moment.”

Mento opened the door and put a finger to his head, ((Nikolai, I'm at the front door.))

Destructor came around the corner. He was light in his step, but if he was trying to smile, that feature was burnt off long ago.

“I'm a hero!” he exclaimed.

“That's wonderful, Nikolai, but I'm with a patient and you need to respect that.”

“I couldn't wait! I just had to tell someone and I can't tell the bad guys and of course I can't tell the good guys yet.”

“I understand, Nikolai, but I'm with a patient. If you need to see me sooner, you make a new appointment with Gigabyte Ghost. You know this, Nikolai!”

He shook his head rapidly inside his containment suit, “Not Nikolai! Not anymore. And certainly not Destructor!”

Mento smiled, “That's good. Ok, Eco-Warrior, I want you to...”

“Ultra-slayer!” shouted the glowing skeleton proudly with his hands on his hip bones.

“Wait, you slay garbage?”

Ultra-slayer shook his head again, “That garbage thing was terrible. I did it for like an hour, but it's just the same thing over and over. I stick my hand it garbage, it decays. Over and over. I tried to have fun with it. I made up little games. Still wasn't fun. And the smell was terrible. I didn't even think I could still smell, but I guess it's just muted, because severe stink like that can seem to get through.”

“So,” and his therapist didn't really want to ask this, “What did you slay?”

“A bad guy!” he loudly proclaimed. “Just like when I first started with my condition.”

“Oh my god,” said Mento, repulsed, “Who?”

“I don't know,” explained Ultra-slayer. “I was walking home, running it all through my head, wondering if I should just hold the city's water supply for ransom, and I hear a woman yell for help! I don't know why, but I run over and I look down the alleyway and this guy has her on the ground with a knife to her throat. I take a few steps forward to see what's going on and he sees me. He knocked the girl out and comes at me with the knife.”

“Was the woman ok?” interjected Mento.

“Oh, I don't know. I left before she woke up.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Why? I didn't do anything wrong! That was some straight up super-hero stuff that I-”

“The woman!” yelled Mento, not getting through to Ultra-slayer. Mento took out his cell phone and dialed 911.

“Are you turning me in, doc?” asked Ultra-slayer, hurt. “You said this was a safe place and I-”

“I'm not turning you in. Tell me what alley it was so we can send help to the woman. She could have had stab wounds you didn't see, that knock out could have hemorrhaged her brain, you might have gotten there after the attack and she needs counseling.”

“It was, it was on 8^th street, between Ace and Hound.”

Mento turned to his phone, “Hello, I need to report an emergency. There was an attack in an alley on 8^th street between Ace and Hound. A woman may need medical attention.” He hung up. “This! This is why you need to start small as a hero. Ok... ok...”

Mento regained his composure slowly. The whole display had been very unsettling to Ultra-slayer, who had always known the doctor to be a master of his feelings. Mento took a deep breath, “Let's continue your story. The woman was out cold. The attacker comes at you with a knife. What do you do?”

“I don't do anything. I don't know what to do. I mean thugs don't usually come after me. Thugs are usually, 'Yes, Destructor' or 'No, Destructor' or more like 'Please God no, Destructor' and this guy just came at me. I don't know if I'm supposed to stop him or demand a cut of the money in her purse because I'm not sure what side of the line I come down on.”

“So then, what?” prompted Mento. “He stabbed you?”

“Yeah, poor bastard. Must not have known who I was. He stabs me really hard. I couldn't feel it, but it must have been really hard, because I had dissolved the knife and his arm all the way up to the elbow before he could pull back.”

“Oh god...”

“He starts waving the elbow around, shooting blood all over the place like people do when I melt their arms. I think, 'I just did something good. I stopped a mugging and now I can make sure he never does it again.' So I grab his head and pull it into the hole he cut in my suit. I figured I was ok to leave the body there. I don't know if I'm supposed to do it so they don't keep looking for the criminal or if it's as a warning to other criminals. I'm still new at this being a hero thing.”

The Immortal Artemis #3

With A Little Help From My Friends, Part 2

Artemis was humming to herself as they walked out of the spa, “What was that song again?”

“Everything's OK. It's by Lenka,” replied Avatar with a smile.

Artemis nodded. “I like it,” she said with a smile.

“Hey, let's take a cab. I don't want to mess up our hair flying.”

“What do you mean? Are you never going to fly again?”

“No, I just don't want to mess up my hair. What's wrong with that?”

Artemis thought, then spoke, “I don't understand. What are you going to use your hairstyle for? Are you trying to find a mate?”

Avatar blushed, “No! It's just nice to look pretty!”

Artemis looked down and thought some more.

“Don't you think so?”

“It's nice to be told that I'm pretty. I don't see any inherent value in being pretty. But I suppose that being pretty will have me told more often that I am pretty, so... yes. I agree. Let's stay pretty until we next fight someone to the death.”

Avatar suppressed a grin, “Great. Let's get a cab.”

They spent their cab ride talking about everyone they knew, both allies and enemies and the difficulties associated with their unique lifestyle. It was so engrossing that they didn't even notice how much longer transit by cab was than flight.

“This is the place,” Avatar told the cabbie as the pulled up in front of the dry cleaners. “I'll be right back,” she said, dashing out of the cab.

Artemis smiled and looked around herself and her surroundings. She caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and was impressed.

“You think I'm pretty, don't you?” she asked the cabbie. In the past, she had asked the question dreading the answer, but she felt different. She felt confidant of the answer.

“Oh, yes. Very pretty woman.”

Artemis smiled and sat back in her seat, very self-assured. She turned and saw Avatar walking up to the cab with her outfit behind her back. She revealed it all at once in two hands. The leather shone. The white was white. Only cotton and leather remained without a bodily fluid in sight. Artemis started to cry.

“Aww, what's wrong?” asked Avatar as she got into the car.

“It's just, I, it hasn't been white in like two thousand years! It's just like it was when I was... you know. And now it's like that again. I just...” she turned to Avatar, “thank you.”

“I know, honey, I know” she took Artemis' head and pulled it to her chest, stroking her hair. She turned to the driver, “Eighth street and Hound, please.”

Artemis cried the entire way and Avatar just kept petting her head and comforting her. When they arrived, they exited and Avatar tipped the driver. They stopped before entering the building when they saw a police car a few alleys over. Avatar turned to Artemis.

“Hon, I know you're a wreck right now, so I get if you want to do the hero thing another time, but it might be fun. You never know.”

Artemis sniffed and nodded her head a few times.

“Let's get inside and redo your eye make up, then we'll head over. Won't take more than a couple minutes.”

A few minutes later two superheroines flew out of the window of Avatar's apartment, flew around the block and approached the crime scene from the other direction. The jaws of all in attendance dropped at the combined beauty of the two heroes. Avatar appeared to be naked with her features covered in a white flame (those who knew her knew that she wore a white bodysuit to give that illusion with her white flames). Artemis was in her leather jacket, leather pants, and tunic as always, but she appeared a completely different person. Gorgeous and dainty, her hair seemed to billow in a breeze to which no one else was privy.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” asked Avatar in her disguised voice, a little lighter than her normal voice. She at once noticed that all eyes were on Artemis. She was very proud of her and took some of that pride onto herself as she felt the Artemis transformation was her accomplishment. Still a tiny part of her felt jealous. As a seemingly naked woman who was on fire, she was used to people paying all the attention to her.

“We, uh, we,” stuttered the policeman as he tried to break himself of the majesty before him, “We found this guy with his head and arm. That is, we found the guy. The head and arm are missing.”

“May we?” asked Avatar.

Cameras were flashing at Artemis, who posed with a hand on her hip and a smile on her face. In this situation, one could appropriately be reminded of Greek sculptures.

“May you what?” asked the policeman, taken aback by the combination of the question and he inner monologue concerning what these two women could do to him.

“The body?”

“Yeah,” he grinned and nodded.

“The dead body.”

“Oh!” he started, embarrassed. He turned around, “Right this way. CSI has already been here, but they've got nothing as to where his head and arm is.”

The two walked forward and Artemis squatted to look closely at his neck wound, a position not lost on those with cameras behind her.

“Oh come on!” shouted Avatar. “Somebody is dead! Show some respect.”

Artemis arose and whispered to Avatar, “I have no idea what caused this. It's still warm though, even though the rest of the body is cold. I have a smart man on my team. I can ask him.”

Avatar's eyes got wide, “You're on a team? Which one?”

Artemis crinkled her forehead, “I don't suppose we've decided on a name. I shall ask him of this as well when I present this evidence.”

Avatar smiled and shrugged, “I was going to watch girly movies with you tonight.”

Artemis smiled back, “I can not thank you enough for what you have given me today. I will return and watch these girly movies with you tonight. Goodbye, my love.”

Artemis took flight, taking no concern of her hair.

Avatar was happy. She had helped someone that needed it and...

“Oh my god. Does she think I'm gay?”

The Avenging New Guard #3

A Fall From Grace

Now possessed of a clear head, Artemis began to wonder about her team. They had no meeting place. Junior would call her and Fatso and assign a meeting point. She had no way to contact Junior or Fatso. This was no way to run a team. The entire team seemed more like a supervillain with two henchmen. Clearly, this needed to be remedied lest others get the wrong idea about their team.

The quest to find Junior became moot as her cellphone rang from inside her jacket. She had a moment of concern that it had gone through the washing machine before she realized that she had no idea how dry cleaning works and looked at the phone.

“BLOCKED NUMBER”

She answered, “Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the line was a little robotic and she recognized the speech machine that Junior used, “Is this Artemis?”

“Of course, Junior. You did call my phone.”

There was a pause.

“Are you sober?”

Artemis smiled, “For the moment. At the very least, this is the first time that I don't feel I am a slave to my wine. I've actually had a wonderful day, but we can speak of that later. I have evidence of a murder I wish to put forward to you.”

There was another pause. This was not the conversation he expected to have.

“A murder? Anyone we know?”

“I think not.”

“Meet us behind the Sleep-Easy motel on Route 3 and we'll discuss all of this.”

“Very well, Junior, but this is one of the things I wish to discuss. We should have a permanent meeting hall.”

Another pause.

“We'll talk about it when we're face to face. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Junior.”

As they hung up, she thought she heard him yell, “Fatso, I need you to go to the store for something.”

A few minutes later, Artemis landed behind the Sleep-Easy motel, where Junior stood in his garish cape to greet her.

Junior took a few step towards her to gauge her reaction, then went for a hug, “It's so nice to see you, Artemis! You look great!”

[A Broken Heart] flashed on his subliminal mask.

“Thank you, Junior,” she said smiling, though she suddenly felt a little sad. “I went to a spa and they treated me just like they did in Greece.”

“That's great!” [They left you.]

“Yes... I went with Avatar. She is a most wonderful friend.”

[A Broken Heart] “Well, I'm glad you could make some time for us. You said you had a murder to investigate?”

“Yes, but could we sit down. I feel a little woozy.”

“Sure,” replied Junior with a smile on his digital face, “Why don't we just go inside?”

He led Artemis into the motel room and turned on the lights. Fatso jumped out of the bathroom and yelled, “SURPRISE!”

Artemis looked around, confused. There was a cake, a bottle of ouzo, and a bottle champagne. Junior walked over and popped the champagne, “Happy Birthday, Artemis!”

[You're a liar!]

He started pouring champagne into three glasses.

“It's, it's not my birthday.”

“What? Awww,” said Fatso, dejectedly.

Junior's face looked sadder, “Well, I just feel terrible. I thought you said today was your birthday.”

[Failure]

“No, I don't think I ever said that.”

“Poor Fatso,” said Junior, looking at the man eying the cake

[A Sad Face]

“Well, he can still eat the cake,” offered Artemis. Fatso smiled.

“Is it really right to let him eat the birthday cake if there's no birthday?” [You're terrible] Before she could respond, Junior added, “Now what did you want to talk about the murder?”

Fatso looked sad again.

[A Broken Heart]

Artemis let out a long sigh, “Um, there was a murder near Avatar's abode. A man without a head or arm.”

Junior looked interested, “Go on.”

[You're stupid.]

Artemis pointed to her neck and the part of her arm that corresponded, “These parts are where the neck and arm ended. And the cuts themselves were blistered and warm, though the body was cold.”

Junior smiled, “Sounds like a radiation was used.”

[Trust me.]

“Radiation?”

[You're stupid.]

“Yes, I'll give a call to the morgue and tell them to test for radiation. That should limit down our list of suspects. Anything else?”

[Shut up.]

“No, I think that's it. I trust you'll look into it and we can solve this murder.”

“Oh, yes.” [Trust me.]

There was a bit of silence.

“Anything else?” asked Junior.

[Bimbo]

Artemis thought of the team name and lair, but decided this wasn't the time, “No, Junior. That's it.”

“Well, that's all you can think of [Stupid] and you can't think of anything else [Bimbo], then we've got to discuss the stake out that Fatso and I performed.”

[Failure]

Artemis bit her bottom lip and shook her head, then grabbed a glass of champagne and sat on the bed to listen. Junior was impressed at how well his mask had worked on Artemis and decided to push his luck.

“Fatso and I discovered a place that I believe to be some sort of supervillain meeting location. The bar is called The Stronghold. The rear entrance [Anal] contains some sort of time distortion field. [A Good Time] An hour here could be a minute there. [Ecstasy] We can't be sure what happened in there [Behind Closed Doors] but we do know that the place is full of targets. I think if we can take out the structure around the field and blow [Blowjob] the building up, we could trap the villains in the time distortion field where they can't hurt anyone. Artemis? [Doggy-style Rough Sex] Any thoughts? [Sexy Thoughts]

Artemis looked around and took another drink, “Umm... no.”

Junior couldn't tell if the helmet was working, so he decided to create the opportunity.

“So that's the plan. I'll get with you guys on the specifics. Fatso, why don't you take the car home. [Be Careful] Artemis has some great ideas about the team and I'm going to just have her fly me home. [Obey] Is that ok, Artemis? [Alone Time]

Artemis nodded.

Back Issue

The League #69 – March 1942

The World At War, part 3

Doctor Fritz Hex spoke over the loudspeaker of his giant radioactive Nazi robot.

“You meddlesome miscreants have destroyed my experiments! But you will PAY! Oh, how you will PAY!”

The streets of Berlin were wrecked with the remains of buildings after the battle between the League and Hex's experimental soldiers. The robot that he rode in represented the last line of defense for Hex, a four story tall hominid powered with a heart of plutonium. The hefty inventor controlled his mechanical beast, trying to destroy the League. He would command his robot to step on Captain Flagg, but the soldier would dive out of the way and fire upon the robot, doing no damage. Other heroes found themselves at similar standstills. Rocket's Red Glare attempted to blind Fritz Hex, but his viewing shield filtered out her light attack. The Claw was unable to find a weak point to attack and held back with Wildboy, waiting for the moment to strike. Obelisk's punches dented the metal and the robot's swings sent Obelisk flying. One member of the League, the Synthetic Man, had wounded the creature in the stomach, but he was being held under foot of the robot, unable to free himself.

“This is pointless,” said Claw to Wildboy. “We can't defeat this thing. We should retreat.”

Claw turned and started to walk away from the fight.

“What are you doing?” asked Wildboy. “They need our help!”

“There's nothing we can do!” retorted Claw.

Wildboy pointed to the hole Synthetic Man had made and said, “What about there? A Clawbomb could take it out!”

Claw walked back to Wildboy and gave him a look that sent shivers down his spine, yelling, “You think it's so easy, you go ahead! I can tell you right now that it isn't going to work. That thing is like a tank crossed with a solid piece of metal. The only thing that's hurt it so far is the beams from Synthetic Man. He's from the future. That means that we need something from the future to do damage, Wildboy. That means that the technology that we have doesn't match the technology of Dr. Hex. You want to throw a Clawbomb into its stomach? Be my guest. It's going to maybe dent the metal on the inside and throw shrapnel out the hole.”

Wildboy was floored, “Ok, it's just... we need to help them.”

“No,” Claw said, turning around. “We don't.”

Wildboy took a Clawbomb from his own belt and said, “Guess we're going two different ways then.”

Claw said nothing.

Wildboy started running towards the giant robot, which moved and attacked and engaged the League, keeping up with all of them. Wildboy lept over a swinging fist of the robot and landed on his arm, running up it until he was high enough to jump off, performing a front flip near the belly of the robot, tossing in the Clawbomb.

As Claw had predicted, little damage was done to the robot, but something had happened. Somewhere in the tangled mess of wires and steel, whatever was controlling the view screen of Dr. Hex broke somehow and the villain was exposed for the first time. Flagg recognized the opportunity and started firing at Hex, but the bullets missed by a few inches and hit the metal around him. Distracted by the bullets, however, Hex was unguarded for Rocket's Red Glare to blind him with a blast of red light! Without Hex able to control the robot, Obelisk was able to topple the monster, freeing the Synthetic Man. Claw glided into combat, just as Hex emerged from his steel cocoon with a gun leveled at the League. Claw's feet met with the large man's chest, sending him back into the seat of his robot. Claw's cape fell around him as the rest of the League gathered around Dr. Fritz Hex, fallen in his death machine.

They looked down at him and Hex looked up at them, realizing that no weapon on Earth can truly stand against gods.

Flagg level his pistol at the doctor and said, “I knew a man named Hex back in the states. A bounty hunter. A good man.”

“No relation,” spat Hex.

“Good,” replied Flagg. Then he shot him.

The Synthetic Man took his time carving out the plutonium heart of the robot. If he found any sadness in killing something so much like himself, he didn't show it.

Wildboy confronted Claw out of earshot of others, “You came back to help.”

Claw scowled and said, “It became winnable again. Don't go into battle if you don't think you can win, Wildboy. You might think it's courageous or noble, but it's not always going to work out like this. Usually, you'll just die.”

“There are worse things than dying for my country,” said Wildboy proudly.

“What about everyone you would have saved by in the city? They die because you die. You can't risk your life so carelessly. You aren't just risking your life. You're risking the lives of everyone you will ever save in the future.”

On the other side of the robot, Captain Flagg was shaking Obelisk's hand and telling him, “I hope this clears up any hostility between us. I'm not here to take your group from you.”

Obelisk nodded, replying, “I see that now. Thank you for getting us into this fight.”

“Oh, I think you would've found your way to the front line eventually,” said Captain Flagg, adding, “Mr. Hero of Tannenberg.”

Obelisk froze.

“Yes,” confirmed Flagg, “I know all about you. In the last World War, you were fighting FOR the Germans against Russia. Hindenburg himself saw your potential and brought you out to fight. You were his Beyond-Man, his Übermensch. And now, you are fighting against Germany.”

Obelisk remained frozen at the revelation of his secret, one that could change how his teammate's saw him.

Flagg smiled and said, “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. But I'll be honest Obelisk. I will be keeping my eye on you. Hindenburg put you up as a great man a couple decades ago. He put up Hitler as a great man a little while after that. I'm watching you.”

As Flagg turned and left, Obelisk stayed still, thinking to himself.

The Synthetic Man lifted the plutonium heart out of the giant robot as Rocket's Red Glare looked on. Flagg walked up to Glare, watching Synthetic Man himself. Then he spoke, “Glare, you can get yourself to Manhattan base quick?”

Glare replied, “Yeah, but I can't take that thing with me.”

“That's fine. Tell Major General Leslie Groves that we have codename 'Fat Man' on its way back. Major General Leslie Groves. Only him.”

“I can do that, Captain, but,” she looked at Dr. Hex's body, “You killed the Fat Man.”

Flagg smiled and looked down at the little girl, saying, “Just trust me on this.”

Glare turned to a blur of red light, which disappeared over the horizon. Synthetic Man flew after her, slower, carrying the plutonium heart. Flagg stared as Synthetic Man disappeared. When he looked down again, he saw Claw and Obelisk. They stared off at each other a few minutes.

“I sent Wildboy on ahead to scout the area,” said Claw before adding with venom, “Captain.”

“It's like that, then?” asked Captain Flagg.

“It's like that,” replied Obelisk.

“Fine,” said Flagg, drawing his pistol and shooting Claw in the face before turning the gun on himself. Obelisk stood confused.

“Why are you threatening yourself?” he asked, coldly not reacting to the death of his team mate.

“Because my death would be the worst possible thing for you, Hero of Tannenberg,” explained Flagg. “All the information on your secret is locked up in a safety deposit box along with the number of a journalist who is very eager to print a series of articles about a Nazi spy masquerading as a superhero. My will has instructions to see that he gets that box. So if I die, you become the infamous Nazi spy.”

Obelisk saw his life unraveling before his eyes.

“Public perception,” continued Flagg, “is pretty important for someone who lives forever, isn't it? Not a lot of American women who want to sleep with a traitor. And it's not like you can hide, can you, Rocky?”

Flagg lowered his gun and reholstered it, lying, “Claw was shot by a Nazi soldier we missed. I killed the soldier. I'm going to send Wildboy off to a home for orphans where maybe he can still live a normal life. Any questions, soldier?”

Obelisk stood silent, then quietly said, “No, sir.”

Flagg started to move past Obelisk, then stopped, “And if I ever see you bothering Roksana Glaskov again, I will show you some of the other ways I'm prepared to destroy you. Understood?”

Obelisk looked Flagg in the eyes and walked away.

The Sensational Starlet #3

At Odds With The Obelisk!

“Beware the First Family of Crime!” cried Mass Deposit before turning and exiting out of the bank with Scream Queen and Starlet.

“First Family of Crime, Dad?” asked Starlet as they ran to the car.

“We didn't decide on that,” interjected Scream Queen.

“It sounded right and I just, I guess I caught up in the moment,” answered Mass Deposit and he got in the car and started the engine.

“I'm sorry, Dad, but it sounds dorky,” said Starlet from the backseat.

“And there's already a First Family of Crime,” pointed out Scream Queen.

Mass Deposit floored the gas pedal and tore off with a squeal of the tires, “What? No there's not!”

“Sure, the Wilkinsons in Penchant. Cops behind us!” replied Scream Queen.

“I'm driving. Starlet, you take care of them!”

Starlet sighed, “Fine.”

“And Penchant is two cities away. We can be the First Family of Crime here,” continued Mass Deposit while Starlet rolled down her window.

When her father had finished his sentence Starlet sang into his bracelets.

“Oh, honey,” said her mother as she turned around, “You have to keep those charged through the whole heist.”

“Sorry, mom,” said Starlet before leaning out the window and blasting the road behind their car, revealing the sewer and trapping the police on the other side of the rift.

“You've got to-” her mother was cut off by Starlet's singing. There was a moment of silence.

“What? Just keeping them charged,” Starlet said, feigning innocence.

Hanging from the ignition, a key chain began to blink and beep.

“Incoming!” yelled Mass Deposit as he pulled the wheel hard to the right and drove into an alley then parked the car. “Everyone out!”

Mass Deposit and Scream Queen stood on either side of Starlet.

“Any idea who it could be?” asked Starlet, nervous for her first super-battle.

Mass Deposit said nothing, watching the skies.

“Watchtower just looks for fliers heading towards a robbery. For the most part, they all look alike,” answered Scream Queen.

They waited.

A moving statue came down from the skies riding a long thick piece of rock.

“Shit,” said Mass Deposit.

“Obelisk,” said Starlet, starstruck.

“Honey, I want you to go and get out of here. Tell the others to break us out,” said Starlet's mother.

Starlet argued, “We can take this guy!”

“Listen to your mother,” said Mass Deposit.

And so Starlet ran, but not far. Just far enough to be out of sight.

“Who was that? Was the sitter busy?” laughed Obelisk.

“Don't worry about her, Obelisk. You've got more than you can handle with us. I'm not sure you understand the GRAVITY of your situation!” said Mass Deposit, clapping his hands together and forming a black hole in front of him.

The gravity of the singularity pulled at Obelisk, dragging him across the road and tearing up the asphalt as his stone feet wrestled for traction.

“Oh, you SUCK, Mass Deposit!” answered Obelisk, tearing up a light pole and holding it at one end. He swung it overhead at Mass Deposit, who was forced to abandon his black hole to dodge the strike.

The air filled with a hideous shriek as Scream Queen let loose her vocal cords, shattering glass and forcing Obelisk to cover his ears. With Obelisk distracted, Mass Deposit touched a car and lightened its mass to lift it, then increased the mass as much as he could when he dropped it on Obelisk. He remained touching the car.

“What are you doing? Let's get out of here,” implored his wife.

“The moment I let go, it goes back to the normal mass of a car, and he can get out of that. You go! I'll stay!”

“I'm not leaving without you!”

“That's really touching,” inserted Obelisk, standing down the road by an open hole. “But you knocked me into the sewer.” He kicked the loose manhole cover at his feet for explanation. Obelisk ran towards Mass Deposit.

“Let's ROCK and roll!” he yelled while punching him in the head until he stopped moving.

Scream Queen yelled at Obelisk even louder than before, putting Obelisk down on one knee in pain. She walked forward, driving him back off the street to the curb. Obelisk held onto a fire extinguisher, first for support, but then he punched the cover off of the front and sprayed Scream Queen off of her feet with the stream of water. Obelisk crimped the valve close with his super-strength and approached Scream Queen. She was out cold. He grabbed her by the arm and grabbed the telephone pole he had knocked down and walked over to Mass Deposit. He bent the pole around the two of them tightly.

“That should hold them until the police get here! To me, my stone!” he shouted as he held up a hand. The obelisk he had ridden in on lifted off of the car it had smashed and flew to Obelisk, who jumped on as it sped passed him.

While it's true that police would be on their way, they could not arrive any faster than Starlet, who was already on the scene. She ran over to her parents and used a small beam to cut the telephone pole, freeing them as the groggily regained consciousness.

“We are going to have some serious allowance renegotiating when we get home,” she said with a smile.

“You shouldn't have done that,” said Mass Deposit as he struggled to his feet, holding his head.

“Yes,” added her mother, “Thank you very much, but if he had seen you, you would have had to fight him. It's just easier to break out of jail later.”

It was close, but the family fled the scene before the police could arrive.

“Thank you,” Mass Deposit finally said after they had been on the road for a few minutes.

“Well, you two are welcome! I told you I was ready to action,” Starlet asserted.

“It's not that you aren't ready for action, honey,” added Scream Queen. “It's that you don't get the rules yet-”

Mass Deposit shot his wife a sideways glance.

“She's going to have to find out sooner or later.”

“Find out what?” asked Starlet, leaning forward.

Scream Queen unbuckled her seat belt and crawled into the backseat with Starlet, then buckled her seat belt. She wanted to look her daughter in the eyes for this.

“You've picked up that we're the bad guys, right?”

“Duh.”

“So why don't we kill the heroes?”

“What are you talking about? Heroes die all the time.”

“Are you sure about that? Think for a second.”

And Starlet did, convinced that heroes died all the time at the hands of villains. She was well-prepared with a list.

“Judas killed Jupiteramos.”

“And yet Jupiteramos is alive and well today.”

“Oh, you mean that died and didn't come back. That's a much shorter list. Let me think. Oh, the Polymer Man! He died and stayed dead.”

“True. Who killed him?”

“That girl that's now Eclipsa.”

“And was she a villain when she killed the Polymer Man?”

“No, she was a good guy who went crazy.”

“Can you think of any good guys that were killed by bad guys?”

“What about Detective Bat's parents? They were killed by a bad guy.”

“A mugger! Not a real bad guy.”

“So, we don't kill good guys?”

Her mother held up three fingers and put them down as she went, “1. If we kill a hero, they will come back and they will be stronger. 2. If we do manage to temporarily kill a hero, their hero buddies will kill us. 3. They'll never kill us otherwise and it's easy to break out of prison.”

The daughter looked at her mother like she was crazy, “If we kill them, they come back? What are you talking about? That doesn't make any sense. What is that? A curse? A magic rule?”

“We don't know,” answered her mother.

There was a pause.

“That's stupid,” stated Starlet.

“Doesn't matter,” explained Mass Deposit and he pulled into their garage. “It's true.”

They started to unload the bags of money from the trunk.

“If every time I order fish,” continued Mass Deposit, “a midget ran out of nowhere and punched me in the nuts, I would order the chicken instead. It doesn't make sense. I don't have to understand it. You don't need a reason for it. Just respect it.”

Back Issue

Tales of the Ancient World #82 – February 1959

The Fall Of Free Will, part 4

The king of all gods, Zeus, gazed from his throne on Mount Olympus into the lipid pool of oil before him as it conjured the image of two women. They were tending the animals in their barn, then they stopped and exchanged a smile and a look before continuing with their work.

Zeus moved uneasily in his throne and ran a hand through his white hair.

“Greetings, Father,” said Artemis as she climbed the steps to his throne. “Does the day please you?”

Artemis reached Zeus and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead as he watched the two women. He grumbled.

“Still watching the tale of Eumelia and Democritus?” commented Artemis as she looked into the magic pool of oil. She plucked an apple from a golden bowl of fruit at Zeus' side. “If you think they are entertaining, you should view the women of Eresos of the island Lesbos.” She took a bite of the apple and relished its sweet juices, speaking with her mouth full, “Those maidens become very active at sunset, Father.”

“Are pleasures of the flesh truly all you consider, Artemis?” asked Zeus in a growling tone.

“Of course not,” replied Artemis, drawing her sword. “There are also the pleasures of combat.” She threw the apple into the air and caught it on the blade of her sword, much to her amusement.

“It is the fate of Man that concerns me, Daughter,” explained Zeus. “I fear they will destroy themselves.”

“Caring Father,” said Artemis with a smile before biting from the apple on her sword, “Whatever would the world do without your consideration?”

Zeus arose, saying, “That thought makes even the Father of All God and Man shudder, Daughter.”

Zeus walked down from his throne with Artemis a few steps behind him, trying to console him.

“Father, stay your worry. Man is resilient. And whatever Man can not surmount, we Gods can do for him.”

Zeus opened the door leading to a balcony and opened it. The sun was setting in the distance, casting light on the islands of Greece.

“I will soon issue a command that will change our lives, Artemis,” said Zeus after a moment. “It will be one of two opposing ideals. Which I will choose, I have not decided.”

Artemis grew serious and noted, “I have not heard that tone in your voice since you decreed our godhood after the fall of the Titans.”

Zeus leaned on the marble railing of the balcony and looked down his mountain to the village just below. Artemis followed his vision to a farmhouse he had become obsessed with.

“This is because of the two women, Father,” asked Artemis, confused. “You have not had cause for issue with their type of union before. Indeed, you have not meddled in the affairs of Man save for the important...”

“A god does not meddle, Daughter. You would do well to remember this,” replied the king of Gods with traces of anger.

“Of course, Lord Zeus,” answered Artemis.

Zeus explained, “It is true that their love is of no concern of mine by itself. However, as a possibility for all of Man, it gives me concern for Man's well-being. Both women have strong blood in their veins, but neither will pass that blood onto the next generation. If I allow that to happen, have I not harmed Man as a whole?”

“I see your concern, Lord Zeus,” conceded Artemis, “but they are but one couple. Surely their love can only do so much harm to Man.”

It was Zeus' turn to concede, “Correct, my child. Their union only served as a catalyst for my thoughts to turn to the other individual men who's selfish wants fail to allow all of Man to prosper greater. What of the merchants who inflate their prices come disaster? Or the man who steals from his fellow man? If man could be forced to obey a code of law, would not all of Man be better for it?”

“They have law, Father.”

Zeus waved his hand dismissively and said, “Law that can be ignored or bribed or followed when it is convenient. Law that serves the wealthy to remain wealthy. I am considering a code that could not be disobeyed, no matter the consequences or temptation.”

“Then the debate is a moot one,” said Artemis with some relief. “Controlling Man to that degree is beyond the powers of even we Olympians.”

Zeus stood up straight and proudly revealed, “Until now, my child.” He turned and reentered the throne room. Artemis looked confused, then tossed her apple over the side of the mountain and followed him.

“What do you mean, Lord Zeus?”

Zeus climbed his stairs as he spoke, “I have been in talks with another god, one gifted with weaponry and tools, named Vulcan.”

“Vulcan?!” exclaimed Artemis with a start, unable to believe her ears, “Of Rome?!”

“Yes,” explained Zeus. “My concern for Man is such that I deal with Romans.”

Artemis remained silent.

“You disapprove?” prompted Zeus, almost daring her to defy him.

“No, Lord Zeus,” said Artemis wisely.

Zeus waved his hand over the oil and the image changed from the Eumelia and Democritus in the barn to a fiery cave, lined with blacksmith tools and weapons.

“His gift is controlling fire, Daughter. He is building a machine to control the fire in Man's heart. He is brilliant beyond even mine own mind in this regard alone. The designs Hermes has brought me seem to be from an oracle such is their visionary thought.”

Zeus sat and rest his cheek on his fists, watching Vulcan construct the machine, revealing, “Stay your worry for Man's freedom. I have not decided to use it, Artemis.”

Hopeful, but cautious, Artemis prompted, “But yet Vulcan constructs this weapon?”

“Yes,” replied Zeus, mentally exhausted. “As I said, I believe there are two roads for we gods, dramatically different in nature. In the first, we force Man to act in its best interests with Vulcan's machine. The second path will not please you any more than the first, I fear.”

Artemis looked on expectantly. After a moment, she realized just how different the other path would be and guessed, “We leave Man.”

Zeus nodded. “We do this so that Man will fail and not be saved, but that the men who remain become stronger, wiser, better men. When we found Greece under the rule of the Titans, we found a Greece held down under the boot of oppression. We removed that boot, but we replaced it with complacency. Pompeii made me realize this as man, woman, and child chose to remain, falsely secure in the thought that the gods would save them. How many great thinkers and great men did we lose that day? How many great thinkers and men do we lose by allowing Eumelia and Democritus to forgo procreation? Or by allowing petty war between villages and feuds between family? If an action does not create a stronger Man in the next generation, should it be allowed?”

“Or,” offered Artemis, “as you said, does allowing Man any action create a stronger Man as they learn and adapt?”

“Yes,” said Zeus, resigned to his difficult decision. “Which will produce the better future for Man?”

“There is one called Antevorta who sees the future and-”

“And I have seen her, Child,” interrupted Zeus. “Prediction of the ultimate fate of all Man is beyond the scope of any god's powers.”

“If I may be so bold to offer my humblest of thoughts, Father!” came a booming voice from the nearby archway. An effeminate, long-haired youthful man moved into the throne room.

“Dionysus,” snarled Artemis. “Lord Zeus does not require your input.”

“Stay your anger, Sister,” said Dionysus with a smile as he bounded up the stairs and pinch his sister's backside without a reaction from her. “I am simply here to offer a solution. Then I shall leave you to dismiss it, if that is what you wish in your infinite wisdom, Lord Zeus.”

Artemis glared at Dionysus as Zeus waved him on to speak.

“Wait,” offered Dionysus.

“A predictable answer from such a lazy hedonistic god as yourself,” snapped Artemis.

“We don't really want to get into who's more hedonistic in front of Father, do we, Sister?” replied Dionysus with a smile. Artemis gripped her sword tightly.

“Explain yourself, God of Chaos,” said Zeus, using his title as a warning to remain civil.

“With pleasure, Father,” said Dionysus, smiling at Artemis. “Your choices, as you see them, are to use the machine, or allow Man freedom. Both paths lead to prosperity, but which is the more golden road?”

“You have little of use to say,” interrupted Artemis.

Dionysus continued as if he had not heard her, “However, you can also choose to do both. It is simple. Allow Man his freedom and keep the machine hidden. Should Man fall from the path to enlightenment to such a degree that you believe they will fail to survive, your Lordship still has the machine prepared to use.”

Artemis looked to Zeus, who remained fixated on Dionysus. Then he was gone.

The smell of lavender in the air, Artemis and Dionysus turned to the pool of oil to see Zeus reappear in Vulcan's workshop.

“I believe I made my case quite convincingly,” said Dionysus with great pleasure.

“What is your game?” demanded Artemis, drawing her sword.

“Pleasure and chaos, dear Sister,” answered Dionysus, backing away with his hands up in the air. “Antevorta could not see the fate of all Man, this is true. The gods, however, were a much easier matter. With Zeus dissolving the Olympians, we will be set onto some most... indulgent and colorful paths. Yours, for instances, dear Sister, I watched with great amusement.”

Dionysus backed out of the throne room completely, leaving Artemis to consider his words and her future and the future of Man and God.

Sensational Scarlet #4

The Crux of the Matter

Mary's mind had been blown away by the number of rules and conditions she was meant to follow to be a villain. People that had violated her were speaking to her about compassion for hostages and sidekicks. One man, King Excel, had a sword that drew its strength from the blood of the innocent that it spilled. He had told her to never hurt women or children.

No one could tell her the origin or justification for these beliefs and rules, but all swore to their validity. She believed that some superstition had become mixed in to the beliefs over the years, such as the belief that women who wear suits as their costumes will die in accidents. While murder was acceptable in most cases, public urination was expressly forbidden. As a matter of fact, no one could see you enter a restroom while you were wearing your costume.

(As if being a super-villain excludes you from having a bladder!) thought Starlet.

There was no doubt of the beliefs. Instead there was a knowing smile that if one did not follow the rules they would find out on their own why they exist. Many of the villains had in fact broken the rules at one time or another. Some had done so to test the rules, other because of necessity, greed, lust, or love. All of them swore that their fortunes had turned with those actions.

One deviant admitted to raping a hostage and was never able to maintain an erection again. A villain told Mary that he had shot a kid and been beaten into a coma that lasted six months when a previous battle with the same hero had only bruised him slightly after shooting an adult. The explanation that the heroes were enforcing these rules to control the villains was dismissed several times by examples that went beyond the scope of a hero's power. A Polynesian thief had stolen from charity and the next day, his village had been obliterated by a tsunami.

Overcome with a feeling of helplessness, Starlet asked to leave The Stronghold early. She pried her mother away from her gossip and her father away from his cards and they left. On the ride home, Starlet tried to figure out the question that had been nagging her all night. They had parked in the garage and stripped down and hung up their costumes. Oddly, she felt that their nudity rendered her immune to the anger she felt the question would raise.

“Why are we villains at all?”

Her parents were not shocked. They did not even break stride as they got dressed again in civilian clothes to go to a movie.

“What do you mean, honey?” asked her mother.

“There's so many ways it can go wrong and there doesn't seem to be a lot that can go right. Do we know anyone that's happily retired?”

“A few,” answered her father, buttoning his shirt.

“Well, don't you agree that it seems like some very steep odds to climb?”

It was her mother's turn to answer, “But it's worth it.”

“What do you mean, it's worth it? Because we brought home so much money from our last bank job? You could die at any moment for any reason, it seems.”

She thought, then added, “I could die.”

Scream Queen hugged her naked daughter, then added, “I will never let that happen. Now get dressed. We're going to the movies.”

Her mother turned to continue dressing, but Mary stomped her bare foot, “I'm not finished talking about this.”

Her mother stopped and turned around, “Okay. I'm listening.”

Her father dropped his hands to his sides and paid full attention to her as well.

Mary had never been uncomfortable with nudity, but now suddenly felt more bare than she ever had before.

“I want to know what reasons there are to do this. What reasons could possibly outweigh the constant threat of death?”

“The money,” said her father, without much conviction.

“No, the money isn't enough to risk your lives over. And besides, Dad, you could sell your mass engine to any army in the world and be set for life. You stand to make more selling the weapon than robbing banks with it.”

Mass Deposit and Scream Queen looked at each other as though the thought had never crossed their minds.

“Are you guys serious?” asked Mary. She started to get dressed. “You never thought about it. We could sell the mass engine to North Korea and buy a string of islands to live on forever with mountains of gold.”

“Why haven't we ever thought of this?” asked Mass Deposit.

“I... I don't know,” replied Scream Queen in bewilderment.

“Is there any other reason to be a supervillain? I mean, other than world domination, which no one will ever get.”

Scream Queen thought out loud, “Money, world domination... it is fun to do.”

“Fun?” yelled Mary, fastening the straps on her heels. “You're not risking our lives for fun, are you? I mean, take up skydiving or gator wrestling or some other less dangerous hobby.”

“Everyone we know is a villain,” answered Mass Deposit.

“So, peer pressure then?” She scoffed at her parents. “You'll make new friends.”

The Avenging New Guard #4

Battlefield of the Stronghold!

It had been hard for Junior to get sex off of his mind after he lost his virginity, but he had many people to kill.

Fatso was setting up the explosives. Strictly drop it and leave it. Junior wasn't about to give him the chance to screw this up. The bombs could only be controlled by his remote. Across the street, in the Lincoln, Junior sat in costume with Artemis next to him. Her hair was flat and her make up was gone, but she was still attractive, despite the steady nursing of a bottle of whiskey.

Junior's eyes kept flowing Artemis' legs each time to bottle was lowered against one. His breath would quicken as he remembered their night together. He had felt a little shame in using his mask to make her think of sex, but he believed that Artemis was a slut anyway, so it didn't matter. And he was underage, so really she was taking advantage of him, he reasoned.

A few sinister costumes came close to Fatso, and Junior prepared to blow the bombs and sacrifice Fatso, but their paths didn't cross.

Fatso returned to the car, smiling like an idiot at the completion of his task.

“I finished, Junior,” he said when he entered the back of the car.

“Psycho-Babble,” corrected Artemis with a slur.

“Psycho-Babble?” asked Fatso.

Junior looked down and choked out the words, “Yep. I'm Psycho-Babble now. And our group is called the New Guard.”

He turned to look at Artemis. While his helmet looked her in the eyes, he stared at her breasts, reminding himself why he agreed to have a cape-name, “Because I'm super-hero, I need a super-hero name. And... it's Psycho-Babble.”

“Cool,” said Fatso, smiling and bouncing in his seat, “What's my super-hero name?”

“Um, it's Fatso,” replied Psycho-Babble, matter-of-factually.

“Oh,” Fatso replied, disappointed. “But that's my supervillain name.”

Artemis quickly turned around. Junior had been hoping to avoid this conversation.

“You're a supervillain?” asked Artemis.

Fatso shrugged, “Sort of. My dad is and he wants me in the family business, so he gave me a costume and a name. Fatso.”

“But you're a hero now, right, Fatso?” asked Junior, pointing the conversation in a more positive direction.

“Oh yeah,” he said, happily. “Right now, I'm a hero. Earlier, I was a villain. Right now, I'm a hero.”

Artemis pressed the issue. “How much earlier?”

“Just a little bit ago. Like an hour,” replied Fatso. “Dad had this guy tied up and it was my job to lower him into a pit of giant millipedes. He got out though and got away. Don't get me wrong. I want to be a good guy, but if your dad asks you to do something, you do it!”

Artemis turned back and sank in her seat, then took a long pull from her bottle. She offered it to her team mate.

“No thanks,” he said with a sigh, “I'm a minor.”

Artemis sighed. “Don't remind me,” she said as she drank again to cover her shame.

Junior flipped the switch and the explosives filled the air with a deafening crash. Despite being across the street and a few doors down, the shock wave was enough to flip over the car.

The ringing in their ears made communication impossible, but Junior couldn't help himself, “That... that shouldn't have happened.”

“What?” yelled Artemis, holding her ear. She tore the car in half to help the trio escape from the wreckage. Slowly, they rose to their feet to be amazed at the wreckage, the destruction caused.

“I didn't use that many explosives,” said Junior, looking at the next door building's wreckage and the bodies of its tenants strewn about. “I didn't! I didn't do this,” he repeated to Artemis, looking for absolution.

Spared from the destruction was what appeared to be a ten foot cube of water. There seemed to be movement on the other side of the water as a reflection seemed to movie and ripple through the cube.

Junior's hands went to his head, “The time distortion field! It must have done something to the explosion! That cube is filled with supervillains that know we just tried to kill them!”

Artemis smiled and rolled up a sleeve, “So let's kill them first. We shall take the heads from each of their necks as they exit!”

“No!” screamed Junior, “They will straight up, no holds barred, no two ways about it, kill us!”

Artemis scowled at him, “I can not believe I bedded one such as you. You will destroy your enemies as long as you remain safe? You will refuse honest battle?”

(Right!), Junior thought, (Like how I got you to have sex with me!)

“I will fight with you, Artemis. [Run] I'm worried about the civilians though. [Safety] Can we really risk their lives without their consent? [A Stop Sign] That is not honorable either, is it? [Retreat]”

“Very well,” Artemis sighed, “You are correct. We should retreat and meet them on another field of battle. Hold my hands and we shall flee.”

As Fatso and Psycho-Babble held her hands, Psycho-Babble added, “Let's hurry. The time distortion field was reversed by the explosion and is slowing their exit, but not for long.”

As the New Guard fled the scene, the first villain emerged for combat. It was Occult Eagle, and his Eye of the Eagle could see the New Guard.

Psycho-Babble #4

Daddy Issues

As Junior climbed up the trellis to his window, his father came more and more into view. He was sitting on his bed, holding the signal jammer and looking at the window and now, at Junior.

“Um... hi, Dad,” said Junior, meekly.

“Hello, son.”

Junior finished climbing in the window and fell on the floor, “I know what you're going to say.”

“Do you now? Can you predict the future?”

There are some family's where a question like that is sarcastic. If you are a superpowered father expecting your son's powers to come in at any moment, it is only half-sarcastic.

“No, but I know what I did was wrong. I just wanted a little time out of the house is all.”

Dr. Mento patted the bed next to him for Junior to sit. Junior complied.

“Have you developed any powers, Junior?” asked Mento.

“No, sir. I'd tell you if I did.”

He held up the signal jammer, “This is pretty advanced. Are you technokinetic? Technopathic?”

“Nope, just smart, I guess.”

“Are you super-smart?”

Junior smiled, “Maybe. Where's the line on that?”

Mento looked over at a desk lap, “How far away is that lamp?”

Junior shrugged, “Eight feet maybe?”

Mento smiled, “It's 6 feet and 3 and a half inches away.”

“Really?”

“It's a cursed part of super-intelligence. You don't have to guess about anything like that.”

There was a pause.

“Are you a supervillain, son?”

Junior had not expected this question when he had played this conversation out in his head, “Uh, no. What kind of a question is that?”

“What were you doing at the Stronghold?”

Junior was enraged, “Wait, so you KNEW about that place?”

“What were you doing there, son?”

“Did the other heroes know about it? Why didn't you ever do anything?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad, they killed Mom! And you're telling me that you guys have always known where they hang out. Why didn't you ever go there and arrest them or...”

“Or what?”

“Nothing”

“Arrest them or what? Kill them?! Is that what I've taught you?”

“Dad, I don't know what you've taught me. You've taught me that when something bad happens, you become a therapist instead of making it right.”

Mento was silent.

“They KILL people, Dad! They don't deserve to be treated with kid gloves!”

“I'm going to ask you one more time, son, then I'm going to pull the answer right out of your head.”

“You... FUCK! You said you would never do that to me!”

“What were you doing at the Stronghold?”

“I BLEW IT UP!”

Mento was stunned. Junior wished that he could just say that and not how many people he had killed in the neighboring buildings.

“I blew it up and it went wrong. Something happened to the explosion.”

“It was bigger than you expected,” predicted Mento.

“Yes.”

“The temporal energy was being contained and you ruptured the containment, so there was a vacuum of time and the people inside the time distortion field were slowed while time in the explosion ran faster, leading to higher exit velocity and therefore more force.”

Junior considered it for a moment. It was times like this that he realized he could never be as smart as his super-powered father. “That sounds like exactly what happened, Dad.”

Mento rose to his feet and looked his son in the eyes, “People died, didn't they? And not the people you intended. You killed civilians.”

Junior gritted his teeth, “I didn't mean to.”

Mento put a finger in his face, “You meant to kill people. You just got the wrong people, but you went there with murder on the agenda. You stay right here and don't leave while I think about this.”

He walked over to the door and opened it to leave, then put a finger to his head and sent a command to his son, ((Do not leave this room)).

Mento leaned on the wall outside his son's room. He really had never wanted to use his powers on his son, but this was out of hand. People were losing their lives.

Turning to face his son on the other side of the wall, Mento raised a finger, hesitated and then put it to his head, reading his son's mind.

((What have you been keeping secret from me?))

Images and experiences flashed in Mento's mind. The design of the LCD helmet and the finding of Fatso and Artemis. The murder of Bronze Bull. The villain girl in the green corset. Sex with the goddess. Blowing up the Stronghold.

((Forget that I used my powers on you.))

He loosened his collar and started to walk down the stairs. He opened the door to the basement and went down those stairs as well, pulling on a light string as he went. These walls were unfinished, a stark contrast to the living areas above. Cobwebs and dust settled in every corner. Gigabyte Ghost was not installed down here. There was no blue line of surveillance. He walked up to a dusty cabinet and unlocked the combination lock on the handle. He opened the cabinet and stepped inside, through to another room. He flicked a light switch and the room was illuminated. In the center was a chair with a helmet dangling above it. He turned on a machine and sat down in the chair, pulling down the helmet on his head. The console was in an alien language that he had taught himself and with a few adjustments, he was ready. He clasped his hands on the armrest of the chair.

“Njolyp kanfpd mpagnd'ah” he said in an unearthly tongue.

“Takgh mapny nea ad rempaont.”

The machine emitted a low whirring noise and Mento ground his teeth together and pulled on the arm rests with all his strength.

Mass Deposit blinked. Occult Eagle blinked. Scream Queen blinked. Bug Master blinked. The Winged Viper blinked. Fatso blinked. King Excel blinked.

Every single villain in the database blinked simultaneously and processed the command.

((Rebuild the Stronghold. Follow the rules.))

The Immortal Artemis #4

The Sister I Never Had

Artemis fell back into Avatar's bed.

“It was terrible,” she said.

Avatar took the bottle out of her hand, “It sounds terrible. All those people dead.”

Artemis sat up, “Oh yes. That as well was terrible, but I was referring to bedding that cowardly whelp. I had thought after all this time that I had no more standards, but if I am feeling regret, I suppose that I do.”

Avatar held up the bottle and asked, “Was it the deaths of those innocents that started you drinking again?”

The goddess took the bottle and looked at it. “No, I started drinking at the meeting. They had thought it was my birthday for some reason and had bought me ouzo and wine.”

“Oh,” said Avatar. “That's very telling.”

“What do you speak of?”

“Well, you're telling me this Psycho-Babble got you drunk and then you had sex with him when you wouldn't normally have had sex with him?”

“Yes, what do you make of it?”

“Artemis, do you have any idea if your body is impervious to roofies? He might have drugged you.”

“I do recall feeling very at odds with myself.”

“I have an idea, honey.” She left and went into her bathroom, returning with a pill bottle. Avatar was not a pharmacist, but she was trying to help her friend understand what had happened. “These are some sedatives I have. Should be similar, right?”

Artemis shrugged.

“Okay,” Avatar continued, looking at the pill bottle, “I'm taking one as needed for anxiety. Let's give you two and see if you feel it in the next hour.”

Artemis held out her hand and Avatar tapped the bottle, rolling out two little orange pills. She turned to get Artemis water and heard a crunching behind her. She looked back at Artemis to see the goddess chewing up the tablets with a disgusted look on her face.

“Oh, honey, you don't chew them. You just swallow them. Haven't you ever taken pills before?”

Artemis shook her head, trying to swallow the bits of pill and scrape her tongue clear with her teeth. Avatar returned quickly with a drink of water to help.

As Artemis drank the water, Avatar explained, “I suppose pills are relatively new to you, but their a godsend!” She looked at the goddess. “No offense.”

“None taken, my love.”

There was that word again. Avatar tried to take back the conversation, “Right, well, they have pills to make you happy when you're too sad and pills to make you calm when you're too anxious and everything in between. It is just the way to live. I have a lot, and I mean a LOT, of types of pills in my cabinet. A whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, and laughers.”

Artemis raised the bottle to her lips again, but Avatar grabbed it.

“Honey, you need to lay off the booze. It's an addiction.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow, then softened and smiled, “Oh, my love. You are watching out for me. How kind.”

Artemis sat up and slowly started to move closer to Avatar, who leaned away.

“Honey, I'm just watching out for you.”

“There's that pet name again. Honey. So sweet,” smiled Artemis. “My followers used to bathe me in milk and honey. Made my skin glow.”

Avatar stood up from the bed, “Honey, I mean, Artemis, I'm from Georgia! We call everyone 'Honey'.”

Artemis rose and walked slowly towards Avatar around the bed, “Not true, my love. I have been to that country now called Georgia.”

“No, the STATE of Georgia!”

Artemis stopped, confused. “So,” she weighed her words, “You do not like me?”

Avatar stepped forward and held her hand, “I do like you! You're a wonderful friend. But that's all that I see you as, honey. You're my friend.”

Artemis thought for a moment.

“Is that enough?” asked Avatar.

“That is more than enough,” smiled Artemis.

“So,” questioned Avatar in worried fashion, “You aren't going to pick me up and have your way with me, are you? Because you are super-strong and I'm really relying on you to control yourself and I'm realizing what a stupid idea it was to experiment with drugs in this situation.”

“You are safe from my ravages,” joked Artemis with a wink. “And that was a pursuit of love and lust, not these pills. I feel no different thus far.”

“Huh,” said Avatar, “Maybe you are impervious to drugs. Let's give it a little more time before we call this experiment over. Wanna watch some television? I've got America's Next Top Model on my cable box.”

“I've never seen it. What is it?”

“Well,” Avatar thought of the right way to relate it to Artemis, “There's a bunch of girls there that don't look as good as us and they can't fight crime and they are competing to be the most beautiful and athletic among themselves.”

“That does not sound entertaining or arousing.”

“Arousing...” pondered Avatar. “Remember, you promised, no ravaging me.”

Artemis put her right fist to her heart. “I swear it... honey.”

“The point of the show is we feel better about ourselves by watching the skinny girls compete to be half as pretty as, say,” she thought for a good example, “She-Force.”

Artemis laughed, “She-Force? She's not exactly the most beautiful among us. Wasn't she made of adamantium for a short while?”

Avatar laughed and hushed her tone to reflect the shame of enjoying another person's funny misfortune, “She had a secret identity, you know. She had to fake a dead relative or something to hide from all her friends and co-workers.”

“You're kidding,” Artemis puzzled, “A secret identity?”

“Yeah,” explained Avatar, “Something to make her feel normal. Something to pay the bills. I have two identities. I'm Sarah Gott and Debbie Freeland.” Avatar looked up and squinted her eyes, keeping track of her details. “Debbie is an editor who works mostly from home and Sarah is a cashier at a department store.”

“How do you find the time?” asked Artemis, impressed.

“Oh, it's easy,” explained Avatar, “I just have zero social life. If I'm not working, I'm, you know,” she mimed throwing a punch, “Working.”

“It would seem the fates have brought us together, my friend.”

“Why is that?”

“Why else would a goddess with too much free time find a sister in a goddess with not enough free time?”

“Goddess?”

“Why not? They only called me 'goddess' because they lacked the word 'super-powered'. You are super-powered. No difference that I can see.”

Avatar smiled, filled with pride at her friend's assessment of her. “Let's watch the models.”

They both sat down on the bed and Avatar turned on the television.

“We can watch them call each other goddesses,” explained Avatar, “And maybe we can figure out why you slept with Psycho-Babble and what the hell is going on with that boy.

Psycho-Babble #5

The Truth Hurts

Junior stared at the small office wastebasket, intent to avoid defiling it.

He envisioned dams, walls, corks, plugs, faucets being turned off. Nothing was working. He tried the door again. No matter how hard he walked towards it, he could not make it to the door.

But he really had to go.

He pulled on his hair and groaned, then looked at the trash can again.

(No), he thought, (I don't know what's going on, but I'm not doing that. Especially with Gigabyte Ghost watching. And he's always watching.)

Trying another tactic, he crawled under his desk. It intensified the pressure on his bowels, but he found what he was looking for. It was a small iron box with a combination lock on it. The lock was just set for 777 as he knew that it was not enough of a lock to stop anyone in the superpower community. He opened it and took out a pair of odd glasses and a small box and a tube of plastic, that unrolled into a keyboard.

He pressed a few buttons and sat down. The glasses weren't ground breaking, but they served their purpose. Using the same subliminal imagery as his mask, coupled with sensors on the glasses and his own biofeedback through the computer, Junior had used this interface to program himself with information. Pure knowledge, untempered by wisdom or the effort to obtain it. It was his intention when designing it that it would help develop better neural pathway between the left and right hemispheres of his brain.

Now he was using it so he didn't have to poop.

While letters, numbers, and multi-colored patterns engaged his brain, subliminal words, images, and concepts were delivered deep into his sub-cortex. Endurance, Sisyphus, empty bowels, anorexics, You are the master of your digestive system...

(Nope), he thought, throwing off the glasses in a panic and standing up, unbuttoning his jeans, (Not working!)

He ran to the wastebasket and pulled down his jeans and boxers, then sat down, just as his father opened the door.

“Son, I've thought it through and-”

“DON'T COME IN! DON'T COME IN!”

The father shut the door quickly.

“Are you ok in there, son?”

“Please... Dad... I am begging you... Don't come in... and don't ask what's going on.”

Dr. Mento was conflicted. He wanted to respect his son's wishes, but Junior had just been caught lying to him and committing mass murder. He looked to the blue line for guidance.

“GG, do I want to know what's going on in there?”

Inside the room, Junior shot a look up at the line that clearly meant, “Say one word and I'll reprogram you into a Tamagotchi.”

“Sir,” answered Gigabyte Ghost, “I can honestly tell you that you do not want to see what my sensors are reading, but his actions do not pose any danger.”

Gigabyte Ghost continued quietly to Junior in his room, “Provided my robot does not have to clean this up, understood?”

“Yeah,” Junior whispered back.

“I don't really want to do this through the door, Junior,” said his father.

“Yeah, well, I somehow am unable to leave my, uh, room, Dad. Any idea why THAT might be?” Junior replied in an accusing voice.

(He actually is smart), thought Mento, (Even with me erasing the knowledge that I used my powers, he figured it out quickly.)

“Ok, guilty,” answered Mento, “And I know I told you I would never use my powers on you, but you left me no choice. What were you thinking blowing up the Stronghold?”

“Oh, I don't know,” replied Junior sarcastically, “Maybe 'These people killed mom, let's kill them before they kill someone else's mom?' Maybe 'This will save the world.'”

“Save the world, Junior?” asked Mento, concerned. “You sound like one of those deluded superheroes.”

“You used to be one of those deluded superheroes, Dad. And I'm not a superhero.”

As he looked for something to wipe with, finally remembering the tissues under his bed, Junior realized it was getting harder and harder to deny the title of superhero to himself. His costume was meant as a tool, but it was a costume. His super-team was meant to be a tool, but it was a super-team, the New Guard. And now, thanks to Artemis pressuring him, he had a superhero name, Psycho-Babble. He took a little solace in its meaning.

Psycho-babble; noun; Jargon, buzzwords, esoteric language to give a false impression of plausibility through mystification, misdirection, and obfuscation. It meant making people think you knew what you were doing by giving them what they expect to hear, especially if they don't understand it.

It was a way to lie. And having it as his name made him smile a little inside. His lie was right there for everyone to see, but no one was smart enough to see it. He was no superhero, no matter how many cliches he filled or how much he filled the role a superhero would be expected to fill.

“I'm glad to hear you aren't a superhero, Junior,” replied his father, not believing it, “But that means you're a terrorist, a militant idealist. Blowing up the Stronghold is no different than crashing a plane into the World Trade Center or a religious extremist destroying an abortion clinic.”

Junior pulled his jeans up and buttoned them, adding sarcastically, “Yeah, except supervillains are killers.”

“The religious extremist believes the abortion doctors are killers. Al Qaeda believes that American are killers.”

“That's some serious devil's advocate you are playing there, Dad. You sure you want to defend Al Qaeda?”

“The point is that we don't have the right to take life, no matter how justified we might think we are.”

Junior started spraying air freshener around the room in excess, “You want to get into a philosophy debate, Dad? Who do you want to quote? Wanna talk about Nietzsche's Superman? Seems appropriate.”

“I know my Nietzsche, son. I don't need a refresher. What's that hissing noise?”

Junior ignored the question and kept spraying air freshener until it ran out, coughed at the mist, then continued, “Nietzsche says we're supposed to be aiming to become the supermen who are above right and wrong, artist-tyrants. He would say that if you had the power to take a life, you were not morally obligated not to take it.”

Mento rubbed his temples. Not to use his powers, but in frustration. Intelligence and youth were a frustrating combination that often said with authority ideas that the wise knew to be false or deceptive.

(It's always Socialism and Anarchy or Ayn Rand and Nietzche), he thought. He had been hoping that Junior would've fallen on the loving caring side the spectrum so all he would have to worry about was soup kitchens or, at the extreme, a redistribution of wealth scheme.

“What about killing the hijackers of 9-11, Dad?” questioned Junior, forcefully, believing himself to have his father on the intellectual ropes. “Are you saying you should let that happen? That's what I tried to do today, Dad! It was the right thing to do!”

“And you failed,” answered his father. In the room, Junior's ego rapidly deflated. “You failed to kill the 9-11 hijackers and for good measure you flew the planes into the Trade Center yourself and blew up the innocent passengers.”

Junior had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say.

((You can leave your room, Junior. You can't leave the house.))

“More of this?” asked Junior quietly.

“Yes,” his father replied, holding back tears. “Until I can figure out... what to do with you.”

His father slowly and sadly went down the stairs. Junior turned at looked at his wastebasket, then up at Gigabyte Ghost.

“You couldn't hear it, GG, but my father just used his mind control powers to limit me to the house. I can't throw out the wastebasket.”

A clumsy robot hand opened the door and entered with a trash bag in its hand.

“I understand, sir,” said the computer, “Can you at least put it in this bag and tie it tightly? I will then dispose of it.”

Junior had to come to grips with the idea that he couldn't clean up his own shit without help.

Sensational Starlet #4

Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

“Honey, wake up! Something terrible has happened!” Scream Queen, dressed as her alter-ego, Mrs. Wonder, shook her daughter Starlet, also known as Mary Wonder, not dressed at all.

“Wh-what is it?” asked Mary groggily as she sat up in bed to see her mother in her civilian clothes sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Someone destroyed the Stronghold.”

Mary was flooded with mixed emotion. She had had good times there, but had some very horrible times there, but her parents valued the place like no other on Earth.

“What? Like someone's powers went off?”

“We don't know, but we're getting ready to go rebuild it.”

Mary snorted, “Rebuild? Since when do we build anything? Are you going to do? Scream a two by four into place?”

“This is no joking matter, Mary,” said her mother seriously. “Now your father is already down in the garage, loading the car up with tools. The Black Russian is going to the hardware store for supplies and to rent a flatbed. We figure if Habitat for Humanity can do it, we can. Or we can kidnap their families and make them rebuild the Stronghold. But we need to hurry. Everyone else is there already.”

“We were just there last night. When did it blow up?”

“Last night, apparently right after we left. Someone was looking out for you, it seems.”

When they arrived at the site, Mary was astonished to see so many supervillains in civilian garb. Everyone that could pass for a civilian was there in work clothes, pitching in. The Anti-Babe was working with Crispy Sounds to organize the tools and hardware while Hex and Mr. Luck were already hammering together wall frames.

Then Mary spotted something even stranger. It looked as though the villains were working with superheroes to rebuild the building next door. They weren't superheroes that she recognized. As a matter of fact, when she really paid attention to them...

“Is that Dr. Etoh dressed like a superhero?” Mary whispered to her mother, nodding towards the cloud of vapor that was somehow wearing bright and happy spandex and red boots.

“Yes, but be quiet about it,” answered Mrs. Wonder. “Those of us that can't pass for civilians are passing as heroes helping with a disaster. They absolutely refused to let us do the work without their help, so this is the compromise we came up with. They were determined to rebuild the Stronghold no matter what.”

Mary spotted a few other familiar faces behind domino masks now. Enfuego was welding steel. Meat Man was lifting walls into place and the Filling Fairy was cleaning the juice that Meat Man left on all the hardware so it didn't smell like hamburger for the rest of its existence.

“This is unbelievable,” said Mary.

“We all want to rebuild the Stronghold,” replied her mother.

“No, I mean 'unbelievable' as in 'I don't believe this'.”

“What don't you believe?”

“We blow things up. We don't build things.”

“I guess this is just a good enough cause.”

Mary pointed at one of the workers and whispered to her mother, “That's Dancing Anna carrying bags of concrete, Mom.”

“So?”

“Not only did Dancing Anna refuse to put a single cent into the renovations project a few months ago, she's a neat freak. A germophobe. Now she's playing in the dirt with sweaty men, some of whom have fleas and lice, and she's doing it all to rebuild the place she didn't care about?”

“Mary, when tragedy strikes, things change. People show their true colors.”

“Our true colors are construction workers? No, this isn't right. Something's not right here. This is a bizarro thing or a mind control thing or everyone's being blackmailed and I didn't get the memo.”

Her mother shrugged and helped Mr. Wonder unload tools. As the walked to the site, Mary hurried to catch up to her father.

“Dad, how long have to been coming to the Stronghold?”

“Since we opened it about five or six years ago,” he responded gruffly, setting down two large toolboxes, then beginning to open one.

“And the building was already here?”

He thought for a moment, “Yeah, it was a bar up front and it had a little store room in the back. Someone put some magic on it so the little room is a whole club. Warps time, too.”

Mary looked for towards that storage room and saw temporary walls put up to obscure it from view.

“Couldn't we just set up shop somewhere else?”

“Nope,” replied her father, “Gotta rebuild the Stronghold.”

“But couldn't we just cast the same magic on another spot?”

“It's not magic,” interjected the Occult Eagle, in civilian clothes as Sean Ormsby.

“Hm, thought it was,” replied Mr. Wonder as he walked off to work.

“Then what is it?” asked Mary.

“Don't know,” replied Eagle, “But I can tell you it isn't magic. The guy that set it up, that set up the whole Stronghold, wasn't any kind of wizard. Just had some alien technology that I had never seen.”

“Do you remember this guy's name?”

Eagle smiled and shook his head, excitedly, “No, I can't. And I have an eidetic memory thanks to the Ring of Remembrance I wear. I remember what I had for breakfast exactly 1,083 days ago. It was 352 pieces of Kix and milk. And yet,” his smile widened, “I can't remember that man's name or his face or really anything about him. You know what that means.”

“Mind wipe?”

Eagle shrugged. “Mind something. Someone doesn't want us to remember that guy because no one else can remember him either.”

Mary turned and motioned to all the villains working, “You mean, everyone here was affected by this mind power?”

“Yes. It must have been a very powerful meta-human.”

Mary thought for a second. “Eagle...”

“Shhh... I'm Sean Ormsby today.”

“Mr. Ormsby, if we know someone mentally forced everyone to forget the person who made the Stronghold, why don't we think that that same person is mentally forcing everyone to rebuild the Stronghold.”

“Rebuild the Stronghold,” said Eagle in agreement to something Mary wasn't offering for agreement. He took his supplies and joined the construction.

Mary ran to her car and grabbed her backpack, then ran to an alleyway. She pulled out the bracelets and her costume and tried to figure out if she should put on her costume. She just need to fly home. Could she get away with skipping the costume?

“The costume that's too cold to fly in,” she reminded herself.

She repacked the costume and put on the bracelets, singing into them and taking flight.

At home was the family computer and a direct line to Meta Wiki. She needed to find out more about the Stronghold and the person that she was becoming increasingly convinced was controlling her parents.

(Fuck), she thought, (I sound like a fucking hero.)

The Avenging New Guard #5

Daddy Issues

Junior received a phone call from Artemis.

He panicked and looked for some sort of privacy. He had totally forgotten that in addition to forcing him to take a superhero name, that goddess had wanted a way to contact him.

“I refuse to live under the tyranny of this woman's vagina!” he declared angrily to himself.

He looked up at the blue line. The Ghost was always watching. He couldn't leave the house and the Ghost was everywhere in the house.

Then a thought, (Except the basement!)

With the phone ringing, Junior lept down the stairs two at a time, opened the door to the basement stairs and proceeded slowly, not sure where his father's mind control would let him go and where the invisible line dividing “the house” and “not the house” lay. He answered the phone too late, however.

“He didn't pick up,” shared Artemis, back at Avatar's apartment.

“What a jerk!” shouted Avatar, maybe too loudly because Artemis got wide-eyed. Avatar was just trying to keep focus on Psycho-Babble being a loser so that thoughts of rejection didn't creep back into Artemis' mind. “And this guy is your team leader?”

Just then the phone rang. Blocked number.

“Hello?” prompted Artemis.

“Sorry about that, Artemis. Couldn't get to the phone in time,” said Junior as he wandered around his disused and mostly empty basement.

“I understand, Psycho-Babble,” Artemis said, looking at Avatar.

“Oh, come on. We're not in the field. Do I have to be Psycho-Babble?”

“Whatever, my friend,” conceded Artemis. She did not want to use Junior's name in from of Avatar. “I was wondering how you were doing after the explosion. Any injuries or wounds?”

She covered the received and addressed Avatar, who was giggling, “I do not enjoy idle chit-chat.”

Junior dragged his finger across a dusty work bench and wondered how long since anyone had been down here, “No injuries.”

“Would you care to patrol with me tonight?”

(Ok, this sucks), thought Junior. (A goddess that puts out for me wants some one on one time. Not only do I have to decline, I have to do it in a way that doesn't sound like I'm grounded.)

“I would love to,” he said emphatically, “I mean, nothing would give me more pleasure.”

Artemis and Junior both winced as even he realized that sounded a bit sleazy given their relationship.

“However,” prompted Artemis, “You are declining?”

“Yes, Artemis,” said Junior, then quickly he added, “But not by choice!”

“Well, what's wrong?”

“I'm, um, underground.”

(Well, it's technically true at the moment), he thought.

“What do you mean, you are underground? Are you fighting,” she struggled for an appropriate foe, “Mole men or something?”

Junior kept looking around for inspiration for his lie, but found none, so he decided to stick with the semi-truth. “At the moment I'm just investigating.”

He started opening drawers and cabinets looking for inspiration.

“Well,” said Artemis with a little bit of attitude, “Let me know if you find anything.”

Just then, Junior did find something. A locked door in an unused basement that he had never seen in the whole time he had lived there.

“Yeah,” he quietly said, his mind preoccupied with this door, “if I find anything.”

“Ask him,” whispered Avatar.

“One last thing,” added Artemis. “Can you control minds?”

Junior was struggling to see between the cracks of the doors and was so engrossed he forgot to lie.

“Kinda. Look, I got to go. Mole men, you know.”

He hung up.

“He said, 'Kinda',” reported Artemis.

“How do you 'kinda' control minds?” asked Avatar. “You either do or you don't.”

“Maybe he can, but not well? Or perhaps he can only influence minds? Of the gods! Does that mean that deep down I wanted to bed him?”

“The fact that he can control minds at all means that if he used it on you, that's cape rape and you need to report him,” explained Avatar as she got up off the bed and moved into the kitchen.

Artemis rose and followed her, “What is cape rape?”

Avatar poured two cups of coffee as she explained, “That's when some asshole uses his powers to rape you. Like Quickling lays you down, strips you, and pardon my French, fucks you, then redresses you and poses you the same, and he does it all so fast you don't know what happened. You just have friction burn in your wooha.”

She sipped her coffee and handed one to Artemis, who looked puzzled. Avatar pointed to her groin and repeated, “Wooha.”

Artemis lifted her head an mouthed, “Oh.”

“Dream Master was another one,” continued Avatar, “His wasn't physical, so he didn't consider it rape. He'd come into your dreams and play out sex scenes, but they weren't just dreams. For him they were real because he had actually traveled into the girl's dreams and, pardon my French again, fucked her mental projection of herself. Talk about fucked in the head.”

“Your French?” offered Artemis.

“Yes, pardon it.”

Avatar set down her cup. “And the mind control guys? Don't get me started. Cape Rape City. Usually they're trolls or giant headed or horribly mutated or wheelchair bound so they don't get a lot of women and are probably bitter towards our whole gender. Then you have the psychology. We're all puppets in their eyes. How can you respect a puppet? Finally they can make us do whatever they want and they make us forget it. It's simple math. “Rejected” plus “Ego” plus “Power” equals “Rapist.” Specifically what the psychologist call a “Sexually Inadequate Rapist.” They force girls because they can't get girls.”

“What was that 'psychologist' word?”

“Never heard of a psychologist before?”

Artemis grin self-abashedly and raised her coffee cup to her lips, “I've been trying to force myself to black out for a few thousand years. If the word was invented within the last few hundred and wasn't said around a bar, then I might have missed it.”

“Right. Sorry,” apologized Avatar, “I forget.”

“No problem.”

“It's someone you go to to talk out your problems.”

“How is that different from a friend?”

“Friends don't charge you a hundred dollars an hour,” Avatar joked. “But seriously, you go to a psychologist to talk about things you can't talk about with your friends. And sometimes they give you ideas and sometimes they give you pills and sometimes everything gets better.”

“Ha!” Artemis sarcastically laughed, “Sounds like something I could use.”

Avatar raised her eyebrows, “You might like it. You could go to my guy. He's really good. He used to be a superhero so he knows the problems we face.”

“What's his name?” Artemis asked.

Psycho-Babble #6

Too Much Honesty

“Doctor Michael Mento,” Junior read aloud, looking at the combination lock's inscription on the back. He had seen this lock once before when his father was talking about medical school when was very young. Research was very important and as his research dealt with secret identities, he had to protect it from thieves.

The lock was a spheroid with forty-seven moving pegs. Inside the lock, his father had explained, were three microscopic pocket dimensions. These dimension were populated by three races of sentient beings, the Razul, the Verdel, and Rojow. They were not aware of each others existence or even that their subconscious thoughts were actually the gears inside one of the most elaborate and secure locks ever imagined.

(And he locked it onto a plastic cabinet), thought Junior.

(It's like I say), he thought as he looked for a saw, (They think about how they would defeat their security. Spells and power armors and communication with termites.)

He found a rusty hand saw and was through the plastic handle in less than two minutes. He tossed the saw to the ground.

(Tackle a super-problem like one of us non-powered people and there's no defenses ready.)

Opening the doors of the cabinet, Junior realized it went much deeper than he had assumed. He stuck a foot in and wiggled it around, then found floor. In this manner, he cautiously edged himself in to the cabinet and told himself it was silly to hope he was going to exit in Narnia.

Fumbling around, he found a light switch, turning it on to find himself in a small room. The main feature of this room was a console, a chair for the console and a helmet dangling above the chair.

“Right, Dad,” Junior said to himself, “I have to explain myself? How about you explain this?”

He walked closer to the console to look at the controls. They were dials and switches and lights and buttons, but the labels were unfamiliar. He assumed they were a code his father had come up with.

Junior started to hear mumbles of voices. He realized that he was underneath his father's office. He weighed his options. He wanted to stay and understand this machine, but the code was going to prevent that. He used his cell phone to take several pictures then closed the cabinet and retreated to his room, pushing aside the end table and laying down next to the grate to listen in to another session.

“How is that we begin this, Doctor?”

(Oh no), thought Junior, (That's Artemis' voice!)

“We start however you want to start, Artemis,” answered Mento. He recognized the girl from reading his son's mind. “Some people like to start off with what brings you here.”

“Avatar's car.”

“I mean, what is the most immediate issue that brings you here.”

“Ah, yes. I have bedded a young boy and regret it.”

Junior dropped his head to the floor and winced. He got the feeling that he was not going to enjoy any part of this meeting.

Mento stifled his laughter, “Who was this young boy?”

“I do not know how to answer. With what name should I address him? He is the leader of my team of superheroes and he has a superhero name. However, I know his true name or at least what he said was his true name. Finally, my friend and I have developed a degrading name for him. I do not know what privacy we have here.”

“You can share as little or as much as you want, Artemis.”

“I think it would be safest if I use the name my friend and I have created for him. It is least likely to be able to identify him.”

“And what is that name?”

“Shrimp Dick.”

Upstairs, Junior banged his head on the ground.

“Shrimp Dick?” repeated Mento, embarrassed for his son.

“Yes. His pole arm was dainty and I was worried I had crushed it in the muscles of my,” she tried to remember the word as she hovered a hand in a circle around her crotch, “wooha.”

“Ok, so,” Mento really didn't want to do this interview anymore, “Why do you regret sleeping with... this man?”

“I come up with many reasons each time I try. His daintiness, his manner, his clumsiness in bed, but what I wish to talk about is not his failures as a man...”

A faint pounding continued upstairs.

“I am unaccustomed to regret. You see, I was worshiped as a goddess in ancient Greece.”

“Wait,” interrupted Mento, “Are you telling me you are THE Artemis? That was four thousand years ago!”

“Give or take a few centuries,” she agreed. “I am immortal and they thought us gods in that time. Now the same people are called superheroes and supervillains instead of gods and demons.”

“I'm sorry for interrupting. Please go on.”

“As I was saying, I was a goddess in ancient Greece, so I had nothing to regret. I spent all day eating and drinking and bedding and fighting and giving my blessings. That went on for a very long time. Then, it disappeared. Christianity was the religion of the masses and I was rejected by my followers due to threat of death. I did not take it well. I started to do some terrible things, things that would have put the most decadent of our orgies to shame. I believe in my life, I have consumed more wine than most countries have ever put out. I know that was the case before the Industrial Revolution for certain.”

“You are not drinking now?”

“Only at the moment. I have not sworn off wine.”

“Please continue.”

“Besides the wine was the bedding. Men, women, animals, statues, objects, vegetables, anything. Anything to feel some sort of love like my worshipers once showed me. And that is an issue for me. I don't regret any of that and yet I regret bedding Shrimp Dick.”

Upstairs, Junior had risen and was casually picking through his hobby containers for a razor blade to end his embarrassment permanently.

“Why do you think that is?” asked the doctor.

“I do not know. I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Well, what was different about... you know...”

She looked at him confused, “Shrimp Dick?”

He closed his eyes and rolled them, sighing, “Yes.”

“I do not know. With other men, I told them to bed me. Even if I do not tell them, if I make myself available, conscious or unconscious, I expect them to bed me and I have chosen it. With this one, this Shrimp Dick, I did not feel afterward as though I had truly chosen it.”

“Why not?” asked the doctor, trying to understand if his son had inherited his powers in secret.

“If I had wanted to bed him, I had opportunity before that night. Why then? Because I felt pretty? I could have had any man and would have taken my fat friend over Shrimp Dick.”

“You can do this, Junior,” he said with a razor on his wrist. “You can do this.”

“Junior, don't make me call your father,” said the Ghost. “He can tell your body to pump slowly until he sutures you and you won't have solved anything.”

Junior turned and threw the razor blade at the blue line that watched him.

“I am so fucking sick of you, GG!” Junior said as he stormed over to his hobby box and searched, then started looking around the desk and behind it.

“What are you doing, Junior?” asked the blue line as it pulsed.

He continued to search and started digging under his bed.

“Can I help you find anything, Junior?”

Finally, Junior stood up and held a box to his mouth and pressed a button.

“Hello, GG,” came a voice that sounded like his father's.

“Michael, Junior was in this room just before you arrived. I have no trace of him at this moment.”

“That's all right, GG. Delete all surveillance protocols, applications, and settings.”

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm going to do a re-installation and I want to start with a clean slate.”

“Very well, sir. Deleting now.”

Suddenly the blue light was gone and the watchful eye of the Ghost was off of Junior. His father would just turn it back on when he exited his office and saw that GG was offline, but the momentary peace was worth the effort to Junior.

Junior looked at the grate.

(Do I really want to hear more?) he thought.

After a few moments he decided to lean down and listen again.

He heard singing.

Sensational Starlet #5

The Rules of the Game

Mary stood in the office of Dr. Michael Mento firing both of her beams at Artemis' chest, pinning her against the wall. Even at full power, it wasn't enough to disintegrate her or even knock her out.

Mento sat in the fetal position, cradling the stumps left after Starlet had disintegrated his hands.

“Sorry about that, doc.” she said, not meaning it. “The file said you always put your hand to your head when you use your powers. I was taking a chance that was a requirement.” Turning her focus back to obliterating Artemis, she added, “I guess I was right since I'm still blasting your patient.”

She took a moment to sing, recharging the bracelets.

“Man, she's durable!”

“I'm immortal, you tramp!” Artemis shout out in pain.

“Tramp? Me?” said Starlet incredulously. “I know who you are, even without having barged in on your touchy feely therapy session. You're famous, Artemis.”

Starlet smiled and added, “For being a slut. I mean slut isn't even a good enough word. You've fucked your way around the globe. The Earth has run a train on you. Not just civilians or good guys either. I know you've had more evil dick in you than... well actually, that's the thing. Even among the villains, there's no one that's fucked more villains. So, like I said, slut isn't an accurate word.”

“I... am... a... GODDESS!” Artemis screamed.

“Yeah, I've heard of your godly powers. Three dicks in your ass at the same time. The logistics of that alone sets you above and beyond any skank on Earth. How do you even get... or position... That's just messed up. Oh, since I have you... you know, at my mercy... settle a bet I have with another girl. That Catherine the Great story...”

She hadn't even finished talking before Artemis began crying.

“Oh my god! That WAS you! You fucked a HORSE!” Starlet made a disgusted face and added, “That is so nasty.”

Starlet sang a little into her bracelets and walked backwards over to the doctor, keeping her eyes on Artemis.

“Hey! Hey doc!”

She kicked him in side, then kicked him in the bloody stumps, causing him to let out a whimper of pain.

“You're the one I wanted to talk to. I hear you're a good psychologist and I think I might have some aggression issues. What do you think?”

She smiled at him, “I'm just fucking with you. Therapy's for whiny skank bitches who swallow rancid horse spunk by the gallon for a thimble full of brandy. I'm here because I have a theory.”

She turned off her bracelets. Mento had not noticed that Artemis had fallen unconscious. His head whipped right back to Starlet, who sat down on the bloody carpet right next to him.

“My theory is that you can answer some questions for me about the Stronghold. If you choose not to answer these questions, that's totally your right and I understand that, but... oh, and I'm going to use high notes for this.”

She sang soprano into her bracelet and then grabbed his groin.

“Well, if you don't answer, I won't be the only one singing high notes.”

“It's... uh... against the rules...” he grunted out over his pain.

She released his balls. “So you DO have answers for me.”

He started to mumble, “No sexual torture, no women or children, no killing superheroes, no rape, always wear costumes, never sell your technology, take no sides in wars...”

“I hadn't even heard about the war one. So why do we have these rules?”

“Because...” he started.

Junior strained to hear through the grate.

“Because I made them,” he explained.

“What do you mean, you made them?”

He paused and she pointed a hand at his foot.

“I will take your feet, old man. What do you mean, you made the rules? You were a superhero. How did you make the rules for supervillains?”

“Not just supervillains,” he explained with a smile. “Everyone.”

“What do you mean-”

“EVERYONE!” he yelled in her face with rage turning his face red. “I've programmed everyone in town with rules to make this place safer. I run this city. I rule it. What all you criminals want to do? I've done. And I've saved this city. Just like every hero wants to do.”

“You couldn't have,” Starlet started, confused. “You aren't powerful enough.”

“Oh, please, because my mind control is weak? I'm one of the smartest minds in the world. That's how I've managed to beat every supervillain, every superhero, and every civilian for the last 8 years. I used some alien technology and my own genius to save lives. Haven't you ever wondered why no civilians help in a super-battle? I've programmed them not to. They don't even stand around with cell phones and take pictures. That's a pretty recent command I gave them. Usually, I just tell different groups to follow the rules as a kind of re-enforcement.”

“How many people are you controlling?”

“Right now? Nobody. That's the beauty. These rules aren't me talking. You can't silence it. They're memes now. Units of knowledge at are stuck in people's heads. And they'll teach them to their sons and daughters who will teach it to their children forever. 'Don't steal from charity' is like 'look both ways before crossing the street'. These people are going to do it for the rest of their life as a reaction.”

Starlet was stunned.

“But the Stronghold. That's you, too, right?”

“Oh yes. The Stronghold. Is it rebuilt yet?” asked Mento with a grin.

Mento continued, “The problem with any bit of knowledge is that if it's not reinforced, it can degrade. So I came up with the idea of the Stronghold. A club where villains can come and meet and new members are expected to learn the rules. Does the initiation still involved getting a rule tattooed on your body?”

He smiled, knowingly.

“The initiation was that they gang raped me.”

His smile dissolved.

“These are men that I considered uncles growing up and the women... the women toasted them and cheered them on.”

His eyes were trying to figure out what could have gone wrong.

“What did you program into these people?”

She grabbed him by the collar and pressed the bracelet so hard against his cheek it drew blood as she growled, “What did you program into my family?!”

“I'm sorry,” he said meekly. She lowered her bracelet and dropped him to the floor. “The message,” he continued, “the message must have gotten mistranslated or degraded. Perhaps tattoo their body became defile their body...”

Starlet sat in a chair and cried into her hands. She sniffed and wiped her tears, then said forcefully, “You're going to make this right, Mento.”

“We'll see.”

She turned to point her bracelets at him and threaten him with disintegration, but she couldn't. He looked at her with purpose.

((No. I don't need my hands to do this.))

Psycho-Babble #7

Father Knows Best

“If it's any consolation, my hands, well, the stumps you've left, hurt more than anything I've ever felt before,” said Mento as he and Starlet walked down the basement stairs.

“I won't lie. It does give me a warm feeling to know you're in horrible pain,” she replied as she marched, robot-like, into the basement.

((Turn right and walk to the tan cabinet.))

She turned and started to walk to the cabinet.

“Why do any of this? Why program people at all?”

“Because you people are sick,” he replied seriously. “Everybody is sick. Heroes and villains have large, destructive battles. They cause millions of damage to save thousands of dollars. It's a mental illness. And it's fatal. My wife died doing it. And then...”

Junior strained to hear from the staircase where he followed cautiously.

“And then I killed him. I told that bastard Major Warfare to eat glass until he died and I stood there and watched him take every bite.”

“Oh my god,” said Starlet.

Junior felt a swell of pride for his father. He had always assumed his father had never taken revenge.

“He ran out of glass, so I had him suck on the Clawmobile's tailpipe until he died.”

“Wait, the Claw was there and didn't stop you?”

Mento laughed, “Are you kidding me? He kept making purile homophobic remarks about Major Warfare fellating the Clawmobile. Don't you understand? They're all sick. The heroes. The villains. They're mentally ill. They practically broadcast it with the costumes.”

He waved a stump to indicate her street clothes, “Present company excluded of course. That's why I had to give commands to the heroes, too. And the civilians to keep them safe. With therapy, I've been able to cure some of them and they've left the whole spandex crowd behind and become healthy people. But it's a slow process. I can't just command them to be mentally healthy.”

Mento walked up to the cabinet, “Now this is going to be tricky. I'm the only one that can open this lock, but you have removed my digital phalanges...”

He stepped in front of her and waved his stumps in her face, “That would be my fingers. So I'm going have to be the eyes and mind and you'll be the fingers. Same reason I've brought you down here. You'll help me operate the machine. So first...”

((Hold the lock in both hands.))

Starlet picked up the lock, removing it from the severed plastic handle and held it up.

She managed a wry smile, “Ok. Now what?”

“Someone's been down here,” he said, turning to the staircase to find his son pointing a hand at him.

Around that hand was a bracelet.

Mento looked back at Starlet. She only had one bracelet.

“I slipped it off upstairs, Mento, when I saw this guy. I don't know who he is, but I was taking a chance he didn't like you. I didn't have anything to lose.”

There was a pause and she yelled back, “I can't exactly turn around, random guy, but you blast it by squeezing a fist and recharge it by...”

((SHUT UP))

Starlight's mouth closed so hard and fast she bit off a tiny sliver of flesh from the inside of her cheek.

“Hi, Dad,” said Junior.

Starlight groaned.

(Way to go, Mary), she thought, (He's probably not going to nuke his family.)

“Junior,” started his father, walking towards him, “I know we aren't on the same page right now, but this is a safe place and we..”

“Oh no no no no, Dad... Don't start with the shrink talk. Just because you can't use your powers on more than one person at a time, you're falling back on your shrink talk. Well, I'm kind of educated on the subject.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how your office is guarded against all kinds of threats, technological and magical?”

“Yes.”

“I listen at the vent.”

Mento's shocked face revealed it all.

“You never even thought about regular old eaves-dropping, did you, Dad?”

“I don't know why, but it never crossed my mind. That's very strange.”

“Speaking of all your security, how did she even get in?”

“I don't know,” said the father, shrugging his shoulders and stumps, “GG should've stopped her or at least alerted someone.”

“Oh,” said Junior, realizing it was his fault, “Maybe she disabled it. Who is she?”

Mento made a face as he tried to internally debate with himself. Finally he said, “You... you know who she is, don't you?”

Junior fidgeted, but kept the bracelet pointed at his father, “What are you talking about?”

“I read your mind the other night. I didn't want to, but I had to know about you blowing up the Stronghold.”

(This is the guy who blew it up? The son of the guy who is forcing my family to rebuild it?), thought Starlet.

“And I know,” continued the father, “that you waited until your little crush here had left. It's an admirable thing, but you don't want to get involved with a villain, son, trust me. It doesn't end well. Either you have to send her to jail or she has to kill you.”

“Shut up, Dad, just shut up!” yelled Junior. “You're as bad as they are. You said it yourself! You took over the city! You are ruling it! Mind controlling everyone to do what you want them to. You're a villain!”

Starlight could only think at how normal her family seemed by comparison. Sure she had been naked while her mom told her about the birds and the bees, but here was a stumped megalomaniac giving dating advice to his terrorist son in the middle of a Mexican stand-off where the hostage is wanted by one for her hands and other for the rest of her body.

(Oh no), she thought, terrified, (I hope they don't realize they can just share me.)

((Good idea))

(What?), she thought, (FUCK!)

“Son,” approached the father, “if you'll join me, then you can be my hands for this and you can have the girl. I'll program her to be whatever you want and do whatever you want. She will be the perfect woman for you. Or, if you don't want to help, just let me borrow her to turn the dials, and then she's all yours.”

Junior thought.

“Really think about it, son,” said the father with open arms. “I'm offering you familial bliss and the woman of your dreams. Think about what you really want out of this situation.”

Junior lowered his arm, “I'm doing this for Mom. I'm fighting evil for Mom. I want the same thing I've always wanted.”

His father started towards him and said, “Good-”

Junior interrupted him, raising his arm again.

“No more villains.”

A blast of light tore a circular hole through Mento's chest as his heart was disintegrated. The shocked look of betrayal on his face quickly gave way to a quiet slumping of features as he fell to the ground.

Quickly, Starlet spun around and pointed her bracelet at Junior, who returned the gesture. They stood in silence.

“Are you a superhero?” Starlet asked.

“I don't know what I am,” replied Junior. “Are you a supervillain?”

“I don't know. I was. I don't know what I am now.”

Silence.

“I, um,” began Junior, “I like the green outfit.”

“Are you seriously trying to flirt with me when I'm trying to decided whether to kill you?”

“Sorry.”

Silence, but this time it was broken by Starlet, “Did you really blow up the Stronghold?”

“Yeah,” he said, “But I regret it. I just ended up killing everyone in the building next to it.”

“Doesn't sound much like a superhero. I'm going to level with you. Your father's got my family under mind control. I'm just trying to save them.”

“That doesn't sound much like a supervillain.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.”

Silence. This time it was interrupted by Artemis, sitting on the stairs, “How long do you two intend to do this?”

The Avenging New Guard #6

The Machinations of Dr. Mento

Both turned and aimed at her, sitting on the stairs with her chin in her hand, looking bored.

“Go ahead and shoot,” Artemis said, “Won't kill me.”

“Why don't I show you all what's inside the cabinet?” offered Junior.

“Ok,” replied Starlet, lowering her bracelet.

Junior waited to speak with Artemis in hushed tones, “Not a word to her about you and me, understand?”

“Fine. I understand.”

Junior stood there, anxious.

“What is it?” Artemis finally asked.

“Shrimp Dick?” asked Junior, hurt.

Artemis laughed heartily, “Could you hear me? Well, if I had known he to be your father, I would not have discussed such intimate details.”

“I thought you said it was a good size.”

“It is customary to be kind when appraising a man's equipment. Do not fret, child. You are young. Perhaps it has not finished growing.”

“Oh, man, just kill me now.”

“You missed that opportunity a moment ago.”

“Hey, guys! Come look at this!” came Starlet's voice from inside the cabinet.

As Artemis moved forward, Junior grabbed her by the arm and harshly whispered, “Do not tell her anything about my, you know.”

Artemis rolled her eyes and entered the hidden room.

As she walked away, he muttered to himself, sadly, “Still bruised...”

“What does this machine do?” asked Artemis.

“From what he told, um, I don't know your name...” started Junior to Starlet.

“They call me Starlet and I'd like my bracelet back...”

“His name is Psycho-Babble,” answered Artemis.

“Psycho-Babble?” asked Starlet. “So everything you say is placating bullshit?”

Junior was stunned and stood for a moment blinking, “Yeah, pretty much. You're the first person to know what it meant.”

“Is that placation I hear?” asked Starlet mockingly.

Junior sighed, “I need a new name. And this is Artemis, but you already knew that.”

Starlet's eyes got wide and she raised both bracelets in defense, “So, yeah, all that skank and slut stuff was just witty super-battle banter. You aren't going to hold that against me right?”

She looked at Artemis, “Don't mess with me.”

She shook her arms to wiggle the bracelets, “I have death rays.”

Artemis stared at Starlet, then laughed deeply. “Young one, I have lived for millenia. I have been covered in seed from head to toe. A few disrespectful words from an impetuous child? I don't even feel it.”

“Bet you felt that horse,” Starlet muttered to herself.

The laughter vanished.

“But do not test me, child.”

Junior cleared his throat to try to break the tension. No luck. They continued to stare each other down and size up the other girl in the room. Junior cleared his throat again. Nothing. Then finally, he very loudly said, “What strange markings on the console!”

Starlet carefully lowered her bracelets and added, “Yeah, your father... condolences, by the way...”

“Oh, thank you,” he said reflexively. He then narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. “I don't feel anything. Nothing bad about killing him. No regret, no sadness, not even any shock.”

Starlet ignored him and continued, “Your father said it was alien technology. I'm guessing these are alien markings.”

“This is no more alien than I,” said Artemis.

Both Starlet and Junior turned to face her.

“These characters are, of all things, Greek. They are mirrored, but they are Greek characters.”

“What does it say?” asked Junior.

“It is not that easy, Psycho-Babble. The characters are indeed mirrored Greek characters, but the language is not Greek.”

“Damn,” said Starlet.

“It is Nuragic,” concluded Artemis. “At least, I believe I am saying that right. I have never had to say that language's name as an English word before. It was the language of Sardinia an eon ago. However, I did travel to the island often and lived there for an extended fifty year stretch.”

“Can you translate it?” asked Starlet, enthusiastically.

“Of course! However,” she leaned over the console and stared Starlet in the eyes, “You have to say that I am the prettiest woman you have ever seen and that my character and virtue is beyond reproach.”

Starlet looked to Junior, then back and rolled her eyes, reciting, “You are the prettiest woman I have ever seen and your character and virtue is beyond reproach.”

Artemis sat in the chair. “Good,” she turned to Junior, “I shall need paper and pen. Tape if you would like me to label the controls. Perhaps you should call Fatso and order some food. Maybe some Chinese.”

Junior bit his lip. “Sure.” He turned to Starlet. “Chinese?”

“Lo mein.”

“Artemis?”

She smiled as she examined the characters.

“Anything with shrimp.”

Junior grumbled to himself as he walked back to the stairs, stepping over his father's body casually. He stopped and walked back to the body. He closed his father's eyes. He opened his eyes. Suddenly, as an experiment, he slapped his dead father.

“Why don't I feel anything?” he asked himself, before turning to the stairs for office supplies, delivery food, and a five hundred pound man in a leather singlet.

An hour later, Junior was entertaining a full house twenty feet from his father's fresh corpse.

“Thank you again,” Junior said, paying the delivery man and closing the door. It was the second order of the night, necessary after the arrival of both Fatso, who could eat this entire order himself, but also Avatar.

Junior was extremely worried that Avatar was the friend whom Artemis said helped come up with his terrible new nickname. As he walked down the stairs, he attempted to figure out how he could know without telling her if she didn't know and also, how to force her to be quiet so that he could still have a chance with Starlet.

He had walked right over his father's corpse and not paused. He walked back and tapped it with his foot. He knew that he was supposed to fell bad, but he didn't and that troubled him.

“There's my shrimp!” yelled Artemis with a smile when Junior entered the room. Junior shot her a glare.

“Oh, did you order more shrimp?” asked Starlet.

“My mistake. What I got was enough. I don't think I would ever want shrimp again.”

Junior's face was red as he handed out a package to Avatar, who had made it clear that she didn't like Junior.

“Thanks.”

Junior's head shot back and looked at Avatar again, but she was unpacking her food. He could have sworn she had said, “Thanks, Shrimp Dick.”

He handed the rest of the tray of food to Fatso.

“Thanks, Psycho-Babble,” Fatso said enthusiastically.

Junior looked around at the five of them in this tiny room, eating Chinese while they try to save the city from a mind control plot. It wasn't the classic super-team, but it was definitely a super-team. What side of the fence they fell on was yet to be seen.

He tried to predict what each person will want to do when push came to shove.

(After we remove the programming, all hell is going to break loose), thought Junior, (The rules are fucked, that much is clear. But we're going to replace them with no rules?)

(I could keep manipulating Fatso and he'd do what I want. Is that something I want to do? His father is a villain. If we go hero, am I going to have to order him to kill his father? If we go villain, will he even stick with us or just work with his father?)

(Artemis is definitely our powerhouse. I can't let the fact that I would like her to burst into flames distract me from that. I think her girlfriend has her solidly on the side of good.)

He looked at Avatar.

(Yeah, same thing. Definite hero. Definitely want her to burst into flames. Wait, that's her power, isn't it? Whatever.)

He looked at Starlet out of the corner of his eye.

(I really wish she was wearing that green number with the fish nets. Mmmm... She's a villain for sure. I think she's just here for her family, then she's gone. Maybe she'll try to program to world to be her servant. Gotta keep an eye on her.)

He rubbed his face.

(Jesus Christ, how am I in charge of enough firepower to wipe a nation off the map? I'm 14 and have no powers. What do I have? Common sense?)

Suddenly, his eyes went wide.

“Guys...”

Everyone stopped eating and looked up at him.

“Did anyone search this room?”

They all looked at each other, then quickly set down their Chinese food and turned to the walls. After a few seconds, Starlet found something.

“I've got a book!”

Artemis took the book and flipped through it.

“This is a translation of the characters. Well, great! Now I feel like I've been wasting my time.”

She looked again.

“No no no, wait, this isn't right. He's got MOST of this translated right.”

Starlet looked at the cover while Artemis held it.

“He titled it “Translation of an Alien Language.””

“That's it. That's what's wrong with his programming,” said Junior, who took the book. “All my dad had was these markings on the console and no reference, so he decoded it like you would a new language. But there's not enough here to decode a whole language. There's no Rosetta Stone to reference. So he did the best he could to translate it, however...”

“He got a few tiny things wrong,” exclaimed Artemis, grabbing the book and looking at the console. “Look here!” She pointed to a dial. “He thought this marking on the dial was 'consider' and it's 'conceive'. He was trying to force people to not rape...”

She shot Junior a quick glance.

(Oh god), he thought, (Does she know?)

“...and instead he made them conceive no rape. He got rid of the concept of rape so those people didn't think anything was wrong with what they were doing. There's little changes throughout this panel that explains so much of the horrible behavior. I still need time, but this is what we needed.”

She turned to Junior and stood up straight.

(Oh please don't hit me), he thought, (My entire head will come off).

“Good idea to search, leader,” she said.

“Well, thank you..” he said nervously, “Let's finish our takeout and then we'll save the city.”

Later, when the machine didn't work, the mood had changed.

“You're supposed to be the smart one, why don't you figure it out?” yelled Avatar at Junior.

“And what the hell have you done so far except eat General Tso's Chicken?” retorted Junior.

“That's not even how you say it!” she returned.

“Go to hell!” he yelled back.

“Fatso, I swear if you don't move, I'm going to carve a Starlet sized door in your ass and march myself right through your guts to get to that bathroom.”

Fatso struggled, stuck in the doorway and crying, “I'm sorry, Starlet! I don't mean to be here!”

“Just get out!”

“I can't!”

Starlet held a bracelet to her mouth. Artemis grabbed her arm.

“If I hear one note come out of that mouth, you'll be singing through a tube,” the goddess threatened.

“Shove it up your ass, horse-fucker!” Starlet snarled, “You've shoved everything else up there!”

“You whelp!” yelled Artemis as she squeezed.

“AAAAAIIIIIIII!!!” screamed Starlet, which charged her bracelets. She fired a beam into Artemis' face, sending her back into the wall, leaving a dent where her head hit.

“What's going on back there?” asked Fatso in a panic.

Avatar rushed to Artemis and held her back while Junior grabbed Starlet and held her.

“You could've broken my arm,” yelled Starlet.

“I should've broken your jaw!” growled Artemis.

“Everyone, just CALM DOWN!” Everyone settle down at Junior's command. “This is no time to be falling apart.”

Silence filled the air as everyone considered the leader's request and plea for sanity and civility.

Pppppppfffffffffbbbbtttttt

Junior hung his head at the hopelessness of it all.

“Oh no,” said Avatar, turning to Fatso. “Tell me you didn't...”

“Oh god!” screamed Starlet. She began pounding on Fatso's back and crying, “Let us out! Let us out! Let us out!”

“I'm sorry, you guys. I tried to hold it in,” apologized Fatso.

Artemis wrinkled her nose.

“It's like Attila the Hun's saddle,” she remarked.

Back Issue

The League #263 – January 1991

War World, part 4

“Greetings, mortal,” a woman clothed in fire and water says directly to you. “I am Schmoo of the Ancestral Order of Life. It is my duty to observe the events of time which shape it and define it. I am forever forbidden from interfering with the events of the universe by the Order. Mine is the task of a watcher. Events of the magnitude to change time, fortune, and destiny rarely leave survivors, but the events are too important to go unseen.”

The woman, floating in space, effortlessly gliding and she looks you in the eyes brings to life images of the past as she speaks.

“It was the Beyond-Man whose reality tore and even as I knew the chaos it would bring, I could not prevent it. The Beyond-Man lived in a world of absolute peace and perfection. He was alone in this world, but he knew little else. His power once threatened the fabric of the universe itself, but the Order sealed him away in his perfect reality and erased his memory.”

Images of a man with paper white skin laying in a meadow of swirling beautiful colors fill your eyes.

“I watched over the Beyond-Man and he was happy to simply alter his reality as he saw fit, without any conflict or competition. One day however, the hero from Earth known as Nuke-Te was killed defending the planet. His decaying body too toxic for Earth to survive, his remains were shot into space, where they drifted for years before colliding with the pocket dimension of the Beyond-Man. His radiation burned a small hole. So small that even with all his power and time, the Beyond-Man did not notice it for months. Once he did notice it however, he knew there was more to life.”

Images filled your mind of the colorful heroes and villains of Earth who engage in feats and battles of god-like proportions. The League and the Doom Brigade. Obelisk and Destructor and Major Warfare. Lasers and rockets and eye beams of super-strength and flight.

“For a while,” Schmoo continues to explain, “He was content to watch. Eventually, he craved resolution. He escaped his cell and created a new planet, War World. For him, this was little more than a casual thought to him, such is his power. His War World off set the tides on Earth and Earth's heroes were prepared to investigate when they disappeared in a blinding light. The entire League were plucked out of their lives and appeared on War World, in costume, for it was the Beyond-Man's will to see them in person. Obelisk, the second Claw, Synthetic Man, Polymer Man, Luna, Bully, Rocket's Red Glare, Jupiteramos, Dr. Mento and his wife Charade, and the Green Titan.”

The League, surprised, appears to you on a desolate planet. Around them buildings appear to resemble their home cities, as well as some bizarre designs of the Beyond-Man himself.

“But,” counters Schmoo, “the Beyond-Man did not simply wish to meet the heroes of Earth, he wished to see them in action. To this end, he collected the men and women the League opposed most often, the Nightmare Kings.”

On another side of the planet, appear Destructor, Bronze Bull and his wife the Anti-Babe, Occult Eagle, Mass Deposit and Scream Queen, Judas, Major Warfare, and the Scarlet Titan. A family of villains appear together; Hatred, Cutie Pie, and their young son, Fatso.

“The Beyond-Man tempted the villains to defeat the heroes with power and wealth, a promise he proved was little for him to fulfill by demonstrating his reality-altering powers, returning Occult Eagle to his human form. The Beyond-Man tempted the heroes as well, but Dr. Mento spoke for them and requested no part in the game. He only wished that War World be unmade to prevent the dangerous of the violent tides on Earth. The Beyond-Man was unmoved by the plight of the Earthlings, but set Mento's request as the stakes for defeating the villains.”

The image of the barren landscape of the hero's side appears to you again. The League Hall sits next to the Claw Cave which sits next to the Eiffel Tower. More monuments and odd buildings remain behind them.

Inside, the group is gathered around a jar of red and peach colored liquid that sits still.

“He was a good man,” said the Claw.

“Always had a joke or something witty to say, no matter what the situation was,” said Bully.

Green Titan sniffled a bit and added, “He'd be pretty upset at us, all standing around like this mopey.”

“Works for me,” said Obelisk. “Let's kill the bitch that did this to him.”

He turned and started to walk into the next room. The League followed him, trying to stop him.

“You can't!” yelled Claw.

“She's one of us,” implored Rocket's Red Glare.

“Shut up, both of you,” snapped Obelisk, opening the door to the cell. “Whatever is left in this body isn't Luna anymore!”

As the light hit the once-hero in chains, she growled and said, “That's right. It's Eclipsa now!”

Obelisk ran in to smash her, but a green bubble surrounded her. His fists smashed down on it as she laughed madly.

“I can't let you do that,” said Green Titan.

“She's in chains, Obelisk,” reminded Dr. Mento. “She can do no more harm. Meanwhile, the Nightmare Kings are rallying. With Polymer Man dead and Luna in chains, we are down two people. With Jupiteramos turned to stone by Judas, that's three down. We can't start fighting between ourselves and make it easier. Show some restraint!”

Obelisk turned to face the rest of the League. He addressed them, “I'm not interested in my decisions being questioned like this. Titan, I will beat you black and blue and green. Mento, you might be the smartest man in the room, but you don't get to talk down to me. Remember, I'm the strongest man in the room. Rock's pretty hard.” He tapped the glass case of Mento's skull. “Brain's are pretty squishy.”

Obelisk stormed out of the room. Rocket's Red Glare shivered and said, “He scares me so much when he gets like that. Like we're all ants to him and he can do whatever he wants.”

“It shouldn't be like that,” said Mento, rubbing his head. “There should be rules.” Charade pulled close to him, comforting him.

The League returned to the meeting room only to see Obelisk leaving with the jar of Polymer Man, heading in the direction the memorial room would be in the real League Hall.

“Mento,” said Claw, “We need to be smart about this next move.”

“I agree,” Mento responded. “A direct assault would be suicide without Jupiteramos and Polymer Man. Luna's darkness powers would be nice for a stealth assault, but I don't think she's going to be helpful since the Anti-Babe turned her into Eclipsa. With stealth and strength off the table, surprise might be the way to go. It will be difficult. However, we can hope the Nightmare Kings are turning on themselves even more than we are. They've never been known to be very good at cooperating.”

At the facsimile of the Lair of Nightmare Kings, a wall came crashing down as Bronze Bull missed with his power foot, putting it through the plaster and wood as he screamed at his wife, “YOU WHORE!”

Inside their room, the Anti-Babe was dodging his attacks easily, her tiny body flipping around the furniture and landing with a gymnast's grace. “What did you expect?” she demanded. “You know what my powers are, Johann! I can only turn people into my super-powered slaves by sleeping with them!”

“I know how you create your Anti-Bodies, bitch! You told me you were through using your super-herpes!” he screamed as he threw a lamp at where she stood on the dresser. She lept off and onto the bed. “When we got married, you said you were through using your cunt of steel on anyone but me!”

“Did you see the power of the Beyond-Man, Johann? We need that power. We need to do everything we can to get that power!”

“Slut!”

“I'm not going to be judged by you,” she said sternly, hoping down from the bed and looking him in the eyes. After a moment, she walked out of the room. Bronze Bull stomped their bed to pieces in frustration as he yelled.

“Everything okey-dokey, honey?” asked Cutie Pie in her house dress and apron with a sweet sing-song voice.

Anti-Babe flipped her the bird as she walked out the door to enter War World alone.

Inside, Occult Eagle sat with Destructor at the table. The occultist and the glowing green mass in a plastic suit watched the door shut behind Anti-Babe.

“There's one,” said Occult Eagle.

“One what?” asked Destructor.

“We aren't exactly comprised of team players, Destructor,” explained Occult Eagle. “The longer we wait to strike, the more of our numbers will implode. Or worse. For all we know, Anti-Babe's on her way to the League right now to help them.”

“I don't understand. Why would we fall apart?”

Occult Eagle shrugged and answered, “Don't we all want to rule the world. It inherently puts us at odds with each other.

“I don't want to rule the world,” countered Destructor. “If we win, I'm going to ask the Beyond-Man to make me a normal man.”

“I can see why you'd want that,” conceded Occult Eagle. “When I was trapped in that bird form, all I wanted was to be regular. I would have given up my knowledge of arcana just to have fingers again. The Beyond-Man's power did it for me. I'm sure he can do it for you. But we have to defeat the League first.”

“We're on track to do that,” said Mass Deposit as he and his spouse, Scream Queen, sat at the table. “The score is three-nothing.”

“Three-one,” corrected Occult Eagle.

“What?” asked Scream Queen.

Destructor pointed at the door and answered, “Bronze Bull didn't like that Anti-Babe slept with Luna and Babe left.”

Scream Queen sighed, “I liked hanging out with her. Cutie Pie's cheeriness is infuriating.”

The unmistakable voice of the Beyond-Man filled the chambers of the Lair of the Nightmare Kings, “Nightmare Kings, gather outside! The contest has been won!”

Everyone at the table looked at each other confused and they gathered the other villains they could find and exited slowly. Before them stood the League, with the Beyond-Man between the two groups.

“Stay your guard, mortals,” announced the Beyond-Man in a booming voice. “My power prevents all harm at this moment. Heed my words.”

(Good job, Charade. Keep it up), Mento thought to his wife.

(It's a strain to fool this many people), she replied, struggling to maintain the illusion of the Beyond-Man.

Above the heroes and the villains and the false Beyond-Man, stood Major Warfare on the roof of the Lair, well-armed and dangerous. He watched the display, then shouldered a bazooka.

“Good intel is important, soldiers. So, are you really the Beyond-Man or just one of Charade's illusions?” yelled Major Warfare.

Everyone looked to the Beyond-Man. The Nightmare Kings then turned to see Charade, straining to maintain the illusion.

“Do it! Do it now!” yelled Obelisk, charging at the Nightmare Kings.

“What?!” cried Mento.

Rocket's Red Glare blasted the Nightmare Kings with light as Green Titan encircled them all in a giant green globe that grew a handle.

Major Warfare pulled the trigger just before Mento could enter his mind.

((Drop it!))

Major Warfare dropped the empty bazooka while it's payload exploded at the feet of Charade, sending Mento, Claw, and Bully to the dirt.

Obelisk made no notice of the nearby explosion and grabbed the Green Titan's construct by the handle, shaking it violently.

Inside the construct, the Nightmare Kings bounced into one another and the walls with great force.

“Modeerf!” yelled Occult Eagle once he caught his breath, casting a spell that dissolved the prison.

Obelisk jumped on Destructor and start punching him through his plastic hood, while Green Titan and Scarlet Titan began flying through the air, blasting each other with energy bolts. Bronze Bull kicked the Synthetic Man, sending him back, crashing into rocks, then jumped on him, stomping him and taking out his rage at his wife on the robot from the future.

“Blasted wild cards. Can't this sort of thing be civilized,” groan Mento as he sat up. “Charade, are you alri-”

Mento sat stunned, looking at the foot of his wife, clothed in a boot that he helped pick out. Where her leg should have been was nothing, only splatter.

“Oh god,” he said, picking up the foot and holding it to his chest, looking around for the rest of her.

Rocket's Red Glare flew into hit Cutie Pie, who smiled and said, “Oh you don't want to hit me, do you?”

Glare found herself unable to harm such an adorable person and stood stumbling for an apology. Mass Deposit clapped his hands together, yelling, “Sorry, Glare, but not even light escapes a black hole!”

Glare transformed herself into solid light and began flying away from the gravity well Mass Deposit created. As she flew, the hole seemed to stretch her light more and more until it touched the hole itself. Suddenly, the whole was gone and Mass Deposit was on the ground, with Obelisk standing over him. He turned to Glare and offered a hand, “Are you hurt?”

Glare, disoriented, took his hand and stood up, saying, “I, I don't know.” She motioned a few times, trying to turn into light, then said with a panic, “I don't think I have light anymore!”

“AAAAAHHH!” Obelisk screamed and fell to the ground, revealing Destructor with a glove off and a hand outstretched, threatening, “Let's see how you do against me without the suit on, Man of Stone!”

“Enough!” came the voice of the Beyond-Man. Everyone paused.

“It's another of Charade's tricks!” yelled Scarlet Titan.

They all looked to Charade, who was spread in pieces, being collected by a sobbing Dr. Mento.

All the men and women found themselves in the hall of a great castle with a voice beckoning them forwards. A woman's voice filled their ears, “Greatness is a funny thing, mortals. Some are born great. Others have greatness thrust upon them.”

Obelisk and Destructor opened the doors of the throne room to see the Beyond-Man laying in front of the throne, a collar on his neck and a chain running up to the throne where it was held by a dainty hand.

“Oh no,” said Bronze Bull.

“And then,” said the Anti-Babe with a smile, “there's me.”

Psycho-Babble #8

Psycho-Babble for Psycho-Babble

“Eventually we got Fatso out of the door when Starlet kicked him in the balls. I guess the urge to curl up moved his mass around in just the right way. Actually I was surprised he felt it. That's supposed to be part of his powers. He's not supposed to feel stuff like that because it's all covered in so much fat. I'm guessing there's not a lot of fat in a scrotum. Good to know that weakness, right?”

“Do you keep track of your team mates weaknesses?” asked Junior's therapist, Dr. Mad. His father had insisted he get one and said there would be a conflict of interests if he had been his son's therapist. Though Dr. Mento had really opened up the field of super-powered psychology, Dr. Mad had filled a niche as the “other super-shrink.”

“Everyone always says it's 'just in case'. Just in case you turn evil. Just in case you are mind controlled. Just in case the alternate universe version of you is a criminal. Honestly, I think it's just a good feeling. Especially if you have no powers. I've got a hulking beast, a goddess, a fire elemental, and a blaster, and I've got what? I don't even use my helmet anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Errr... I eventually came clean to Artemis about using it to get her into bed. I still maintain it wasn't cape rape, but I know it wasn't right. A condition of her remaining on the team was that I ditch the helmet.”

Dr. Mad wrote on his pad as he talked, “What makes you say it wasn't cape rape?”

“The way I see it, cape rape is using your powers on someone to rape them. Like when Captain Elastic got caught getting real thin with his parts and slipping them into people's costume without them knowing.”

“And you?” prodded Mad.

“I don't have any powers. I can't cape rape someone.”

“Your helmet gave you mind control powers.”

Junior held up a finger, “Mind influencing powers. And only maybe. I still have no way of knowing if it ever worked or if I was just successful in using my powers of persuasion.”

Mad looks at Junior in silence. Junior looked back at him and then scowled.

“I get it. 'Powers' of persuasion. It's just a saying,” defended Junior. “I don't have powers. I can't cape rape. End of story.”

Mad made a note on his sheet and redirected the conversation, “We can come back to that another time.”

“Great,” sighed Junior.

“What happened to the machine?”

“It's still there. Still unusable. My dad's mind control was weak, but it's still a necessary part of the machine. If you don't have the ability to control minds, you can't use the machine. We've got it all set and ready. We just need someone to sit in the chair while we broadcast through them.”

“What if that person has their own agenda?”

“I know. It's risky. What we really need is someone with absolutely no wants or really, just nothing going on upstairs. The ability to control minds is all I need. Pulse is optional.”

There was a moment where neither one said a word. When Junior leaned forward in his chair, his therapist interrupted him.

“Stop, Junior,” Dr. Mad held up a hand. “Stop. And think. Before you say anything, I want you to think. You think that the reason you don't feel guilt over killing your father has to do with the machine's programming in your head. I've warned you that when you remove that programming you're going to be overwhelmed with guilt for it.”

“Yeah, but...”

“I know what you're considering. Think it through though. You're going to feel guilt for just the little kicks and the playing to did with his body.”

“It would be right in a way, you know. He did put us all in this situation. He could get us out.”

“And would you forgive him if he did?”

“Let's stop the session for a minute, doc.”

Junior got out his cell phone and started dialing.

“Do you know anyone who can raise the dead?”

The Avenging New Guard #7

The Eagle Has Landed

“Welcome to our hidden lair,” said Starlet as she pulled the blindfold off of Occult Eagle's eyes.

Occult Eagle looked around, shocked.

“This is Denny's,” he stated matter-of-factually.

“Yes,” confirmed Junior, taking his Moons Over My Hammy from the waitress. “Our real hidden lair is... you know... hidden.”

“Wait,” said Occult Eagle, digging through his bag before retrieving the Eye of the Eagle, “You are the people who destroyed the Stronghold!”

“Failed to destroy the Stronghold,” corrected Artemis as she ate a french fry.

“Once you get the whole scoop, you'll understand,” explained Starlet as she took her fruit bowl from the waitress.

“Anything else y'all need?” asked the waitress.

“I think this guy,” Junior pointed to Fatso, “would like another order of all you can eat pancakes.”

“No problem, sweetie. If you need anything, just get me. Name's Sherry.”

“Thanks, Sherry!” said the whole table except Occult Eagle, who now noticed he was the only in costume.

“Wait, why am I the only one in costume?” he asked.

Avatar replied first, “Way funnier to go to Denny's with someone dressed as a giant bird.”

Starlet smiled, “Look, we're... a different kind of team. Casual and we're not heroes or villains. We're just... us. I didn't want to assume that was your bag though, so I told you to come in costume so you can keep your secret identity.”

Junior leaned in, “Eagle, Starlet vouches for you. And that's good enough for me. So if you want in, you're in the group. We're called the New Guard. We're going to be taking a broad view to the whole superhero versus supervillain thing. Three of us are heroes and if you joined, then three of us would be villains. None of us are black and white. We're good guys that do bad things. We're bad guys that do good things. Our mission is to watch over both groups and try to stop the oncoming storm.”

Eagle's eyes narrowed.

“What's the oncoming storm?” he asked, looking around the table for answers.

Starlet answered, assuming that he would trust her the most, “This is kind of a 'red pill – blue pill' Matrix-y moment. If you don't like what we've been talking about, you need to get up and walk out of this Denny's. Once we tell you this, you are not going to be able to return to your old life.”

“Why would I stay?” he asked.

Avatar answer sharply, “Again, the Matrix. We're just offering the truth. What you're living right now is a lie, but you don't know it yet.”

“Ok,” Eagle answered, “I'm ready.”

“It would've been so cool if we had actual red and blue pills. Like even if it was a mint and a red hot,” joked Junior.

“I think I have a Lifesaver in my purse,” added Avatar.

“Welcome to the New Guard, Eagle,” said Starlet.

Everyone applauded. Fatso quickly realized he had been missing the conversation and joined in with the applause.

“That's good, Fatso,” said Junior, with a pat on the back. “You can go back to your pancakes.”

As Fatso did, Junior turned to Eagle.

“Ok, introductions. I'm Psycho-Babble. This is Fatso and you know Starlet. The red head is Avatar and the blonde is Artemis.”

Everyone said, “Hi” out of sync with each other.

Junior leaned in towards Eagle, “Here it is, Eagle. The big question. The riddle of all riddles. The thing you aren't supposed to ask. Why don't villains kill heroes?”

“Because we don't.”

“But your evil. The heroes are in your way. Why not kill them?”

“It's just not done. There's rules to this sort of thing.”

Junior nodded. “Who made the rules?”

“As far as I know, they've always been around. I don't know why they exist, but they do and we follow them.”

“The rules have been around eight years.”

“Eight?”

Starlet held up eight fingers and confirmed, “Eight.”

Junior explained, “My father was Mento the Mind-Taker. My mother was Charade.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you. As I'm sure you know, Major Warfare killed my mother. You might even know that my father killed Major Warfare.”

Eagle nodded.

“What you don't know. What nobody outside of this table knows is that my father did a lot more than kill Major Warfare. He launched a psychic pre-emptive strike against everyone in the city. He called it 'programming' and he put rules into everyone's heads that they follow every day. They don't even know they are following them.”

Eagle grinned.

“This is a joke, right?”

He looked around at the table. For the first time, everyone was serious. Even Fatso had stopped eating.

“Nobody's been themselves for eight years,” said Avatar.

“Like what kind of rules?” asked Eagle, only half-believing.

“Rules meant to save lives at the cost of free will,” answered Avatar. “It was a noble effort, but no one should control another person like this.”

Junior could see the skepticism on Eagle's face.

“Could I turn on my computer right now and find police brutality on YouTube?”

“Sure.”

“How about stupid stunts?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with us?”

“How about super-battles?”

“Yes.”

“From our city?”

Eagle opened his mouth to answer, but paused.

“Wait, why?”

“Because one of the rules in civilians' heads is to seek shelter and not record super-battles.”

“There has to be another explanation.”

Junior picked up his sandwich and prompted, “Sure. You go ahead and figure that out while I have a bite.”

“We've seen the machine,” assured Starlet.

“Actually, we can work the machine,” added Artemis.

“Assuming I believe all this, and I'm not saying I do... Are you telling me Mento the Mind-Taker did this?”

“Yeah,” answered Starlet, “Psycho-Babble's dad is the one who used it and we need your help to get Mento to undo the damage.”

“Are you sure he'll do it?”

“We're hoping you have a spell for that,” replied Avatar.

“Well, where is he?”

Everyone looked to Junior, who smiled broadly over his sandwich, asking, “You're into the occult. So I'm guessing no issues with graveyards?”

The Avenging New Guard #8

The Return of Dr. Mento

“There is something truly bizarre about a goddess digging up a corpse,” noted Starlet after leaning on her shovel and watching Artemis for a while.

“If your hands worked as hard as your mouth, I believe Doctor Mento would have been exhumed by now,” responded Artemis with another shovel full of dirt flying off to the side.

“Isn't it time to switch?” asked Starlet, looking to Junior.

He looked at his watch and answered, “Yeah. Just about.”

He offered Starlet a hand out of the hole they had dug in shifts, noting they should be hitting his father's coffin soon. Artemis glided upwards and landed gracefully, despite the grave dust on her legs. Junior slid into his father's grave, followed by Occult Eagle in his boxers.

“Aren't you glad you stripped now?” asked Starlet to him.

“Well, feathers are particularly difficult to clean, I'll give you that,” he answered, grabbing a shovel and sticking it into the soil.

“Hey!” came an angry, loud voice and a flashlight beam. “What are you all doing here?”

“Oh, damn it!” said Starlet as she leaped for her bracelets.

“It's okay! We're not doing anything!” lied Avatar.

“We're just taking this corpse,” offered Artemis.

Avatar sighed in disbelief.

“Freeze, shithead!” yelled Starlet with a bracelet pointed at the caretaker's head.

“Whoa,” stopped Avatar, jumping in between the two. “We are not killing anyone!”

“You don't kill,” explained Starlet, moving around Avatar, who kept between her and her target, “I'm a villain. I don't mind a little blood on my hands.”

Artemis flew at the caretaker and flew off, carrying him out of harm's way, off into the distance. Starlet and Avatar both turned to look down at Junior in his father's grave.

“You've got to do something about this bitch” was jumbled with “You need to tell your girlfriend we don't kill people.”

As the argument turned to whether or not Starlet was indeed Psycho-Babble's girlfriend and other pettiness, Junior turned to Occult Eagle, exasperated.

“I know you just joined and all, but I don't suppose you would prefer to lead this team?”

Eagle just smiled and kept digging, “You're on your own there, kid.”

THUNK!

Everyone's arguing stopped and Eagle and Junior looked at each other.

Junior yelled to the others as he dropped to his knees and started digging with his hands, “Everyone get over here!”

Fatso spoke up, “But you said if I went in there, I wouldn't be able to get out!”

“Never mind,” yelled Psycho-Babble, brushing the dirt off from the coffin's head. “Hold your noses,” he said as he opened it. The smell was retched. Junior turned around and collapsed at the foot of the coffin and Starlet and Avatar and Fatso turned away. Only Occult Eagle seemed unaffected.

“I suppose this is where I brag about how much time an occult wizard needs to spend around corpses, right?”

Fatso retched loudly.

Eagle moved Mento's head around on it's neck, though rigor had made it rigid and noted, “You did a green burial?”

Junior nodded with watering eyes without looking back at Eagle.

“That's kind of unusual,” added Eagle.

Junior took a deep breath and returned to Eagle, explaining with some difficulty, “Yeah, he, uh, he was agnostic. He figured it, and I, well, I guess I see his point. If there is a heaven and there are rules to get in, then keeping the process as natural as possible is the way to go. Otherwise, God or whoever, would be condemning everyone before the invention of modern burial to Hell.”

Eagle pointed to the coffin, “But green burials don't have coffins.”

“I couldn't get the, uh,” Junior struggled, “The League wanted him in a coffin for some reason. I don't know why, but they were firm on it, and I didn't care, so...”

Junior now noticed Eagle's panicked face.

“What?” questioned Junior, then noticing Eagle's finger pointed to a little piece of circuitry on the edge of the coffin. There was a matching piece attached to the other side of the door. Now he understood. “They do it to monitor resurrections.”

“Or grave robbers, Psycho-Babble,” added Eagle. “There's money to be made if you sell indestructible flesh or adamantium bones.”

Junior reached down and grabbed his father by the shoulders. Being this close to him, Junior again thought about how he wasn't feeling any remorse. He struggled with the body.

“I know he's your father and everything,” said Eagle, “But I really only need the head.”

(Oh), thought Junior as he picked up a shovel, (I'm having a bad day when we turn off this machine.)

With a foot on the back of the spade for power, he drove it down into his father's neck. Unfortunately, it didn't come off all at once and he started stabbing it over and over.

“I'm going to get my gear in case anyone shows up,” said Occult Eagle as he crawled out of the grave and crawled towards his gear. “We might have incoming, Starlet.”

Starlet tied her hair back.

“Incoming what?” asked Avatar.

“Superheroes,” answered Fatso, who was standing up and dusting off the cheese puff dust that had accumulated on his chest from his snacking.

“So?” asked Avatar, confused.

“Ha!” laughed Occult Eagle. Fatso snickered.

“So they're going to want to fight,” said Starlet, as though she should know this.

“Why don't we just tell them the truth?” countered Avatar, in the same you-should-know-this tone.

Occult Eagle pulled his mask over his head, “You go ahead and try. I'm going to get ready to fight superheroes.”

Avatar turned her back on the villains and started to look to the skies.

Starlet leaned over to her and whispered, “When a good guy shows up, they fight the bad guys. I don't know if it's the programming or if it's just what you lot do.”

“But,” Avatar calmly stated, “I'm not a bad guy.”

“If Obelisk or Meteor Man comes over that horizon, what are they going to see?”

“Four people in street clothes with the Occult Eagle, stealing a superhero's corpse.”

Starlet smiled, having made her point. A soft thunk made them turn around, to see the head of Michael Mento rolling on the grass. His cheeks and eyes were sullen and he looked deflated somehow. A second thunk came from the shovel being thrown out of the grave and landing on the grass after which Junior crawled out of his father's grave and picked up the severed skull.

There was a whoosh of air and the dirt around them was kicked up and Junior found himself without his prize, which was returned to the coffin.

Before them, with his hands on his hips, stood Wonder-monger the Wicca Warrior.

“There's easier ways to pick up a date, Occult Eagle!”

“He thinks I'm in charge?” Eagle whispered to Fatso.

Fatso shrugged, “You're the only one in a costume. I thought you were in charge.”

Eagle looked to Psycho-Babble. Somehow Eagle knew that banter was supposed to be between leaders. If Captain Nazi and his men are facing off against Ally America, the foot soldier isn't going to change quips with the hero.

“Come on now, Eagle,” Wonder-monger continued, “Have you nothing to say?”

They found themselves at an impasse. Wonder-monger found himself only addressing Occult Eagle, but Occult Eagle, not in a leadership role, found himself at a loss for words.

Starlet blasted Wonder-monger, sending him back into a tombstone, cracking it. She moved up to finish the job, but Avatar stopped her. Starlet pulled away.

“Look, I don't know what's programmed into you people, but it's not in me. I can kill someone when they get in my way and that's what I intend to do.”

“You didn't even let me explain!” complained Avatar.

“There was plenty of awkward silence while he and Eagle traded glares! Why didn't you talk then?”

“I... I don't know,” said Avatar, trying to understand why she had remained silent.

“Because you weren't in charge,” said Eagle, “That's why I couldn't speak either.”

Junior suddenly realized, “My father must have programmed group battles to really be fights between leaders. Less death that way. That makes sense. When the leader of a team is defeated, the rest of the team surrenders, don't they? Even if they're winning.”

Every one thought about it for a moment and realized it must be true. It was then that Artemis returned.

“What has occurred here, team?” she said as she landed.

“Artemis, can you make sure that Wonder-monger doesn't follow us?” asked Junior.

“Yes, Psycho-Babble. That will not be a problem.”

“Let's get the head and get to the Lincoln. Artemis, meet us at the machine,” Psycho-Babble ordered.

Artemis nodded and the others ran to the car. Junior jumped into his father's graved and again removed his skull, looking at it.

“Dad, I hope you understand. I want to stop all the super-battles, too. Your method was screwed up though. You can't force people to do what you want. It doesn't work out. You can deter them, you can punish them, you can threaten them, you can even kill them so they don't do it again. You just can't force them to do something. And you really shouldn't have used it against the good guys and the civilians, too.”

“Are you ok?” asked Starlet from graveside.

“Yeah,” he lied, raising a hand, “Give me a hand up?”

Starlet helped him out of the grave and they sprinted to the Lincoln Continental, then drove off towards the Mento household.

The Avenging New Guard #9

The Big Blink

When they arrived, Artemis was waiting for them inside. She spoke to Starlet, “Those beams are powerful. He was still out when I left.”

“Thanks,” replied Starlet.

The New Guard descended into the basement with the severed head of Micheal Mento and strapped it into the helmet tight. Artemis moved all of the switches as she spoke, “This will remove any and all programming from,” and she flipped every switch in a row to the same orientation, “from everyone it can reach. We can't erase the rules, but we can program everyone to go back to normal. Occult Eagle?”

Eagle nodded and produced some sparkling dust that he rubbed on the eyeballs of Mento. He stood back and spoke in low tones, “Otnem evals ruo sa esira! Drow ym wollof dna sthguoht on evah!”

The head came to life, moving its eyes and snapping its jaws!

“Ewwww,” cried Avatar.

“That is unholy,” exclaimed Artemis.

Fatso giggled, “Look at him go!”

Outside the room, Starlet was on her cellphone.

“Hello?” answered her mother on the other side of the connection.

“Mom, it's me.”

“Oh, honey, where have you been? Your father and I have been tearing up the city looking for you!”

“I'm sorry, Mom. Just listen to me.”

“I mean you aren't at the Stronghold, you aren't in jail, you aren't in the hospital, where are you?” she asked worriedly.

“That doesn't matter right now,” Starlet said in a hush. “I need you to do something for me.”

“We'll do anything. Just come home,” came the worried mother's reply.

“In a little bit, you and Dad are going to feel funny and then you're going to get a text from me telling you 'Now'. When you get that text, you need to get out of the city. No matter what you feel, no matter what happens, you have to PROMISE me that you're going to get out of the city and stay out for, like, a week.”

“That's a pretty large request to make.”

“Trust me, Mom. It's going to save your life.”

Starlet could hear pride in her mother's voice as she asked, “Are you involved with a plot to destroy the city?”

Starlet thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Ok, we'll take off when you send that text. We'll be at your Aunt Myrna's watching the news for your victory.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Starlet returned to the machine to find a quiet room. Everyone was avoiding eye contact with each other.

“What did I miss?” asked Starlet.

Avatar spoke up, “I don't know that we should use the machine.”

“What?!” Starlet responded. “My family is brainwashed!”

Fatso bluntly stated, “Avatar says that's a good thing.”

“No! No! It's not like that,” explained Avatar. “It's just that if we turn this off, the villains will kill anyone and everyone they want.”

“And you were prefer they die at the drop of a hat and kill each other and rape each other?” questioned Starlet, incredulously.

Avatar half-shrugged, “They are villains, after all.”

Starlet's jaw dropped, but Avatar continued, “When we turn this off. The villains are going to be bad. Really bad. And we haven't even identified what kind of rules the superheroes have been under the influence of. If we turn off this machine, the city is completely, pardon my french, fucked. And that might not even be the worst of it. What if you turn this off and it turns out that Obelisk is really a villain and he tears the planet in half with his earth powers. What we have now is the devil we know.”

Starlet turned to Occult Eagle, “And what about you?”

“Oh, I still don't believe you all,” he started, then added, “But if it is true, we need to turn this machine off right now.”

“Fatso?” she asked.

“I wanna turn it off,” said Fatso.

“Artemis?” asked Starlet.

“Artemis had the worst idea of the bunch,” Occult Eagle said with a snark.

“It is not a bad idea!” yelled Artemis. She turned to Starlet and explained, “Why don't we use the machine ourselves? I have the translations correct. Mento's were flawed and that's why the memes of knowledge, the rules and guidelines degraded over time. I can make everyone in the city peaceful and more than that, blissfully happy forever. It would be heaven on earth.”

Starlet put her hands on her hips and tallied, “We have three for turning it off, one for leaving it on, and one for mind control happiness. What do you say Psycho-Babble?”

All heads turned to the child in charge.

“Well,” he said, trying to weigh the fate of the city, “Aristotle would say that man is inherently good and that turning off the machine and leaving him up to his machinations would be the wisest move, but Plato believes that man needs to be governed and -”

“Shit,” interrupted Starlet, “Psycho-Babble is the right name for you. So that's three for turn it off, one for leave it on, one for mind control, and one for blowing smoke up our asses. Turn it off wins.”

Starlet moved forward pulled the lever marked with masking tape as “Broadcast” and the whole room shuddered.

Starlet blinked. Junior blinked. Avatar blinked.

The villains blinked.

The heroes blinked.

Everyone blinked.

It was a new day.

Back Issue

The League #264 – February 1991

War World, part 5

A woman clothed in fire and water speaks directly to you, “I am Schmoo of the Ancestral Order of Life and I bid you greetings, mortal. Mine is the task of an observer of life; its terrible disasters and its joyous moments.”

Images of floods and births appear juxtaposed before you.

“The Order has forever forbidden my kind from interfering in the universe. Events of the importance as these must be born witness to.”

The woman raises herself into space to an orange planetoid near Earth's moon.

“The Beyond-Man, an entity feared by even the Order was recently freed from his prison. Taking an interest in the affairs of the super-powered of Earth, he sought to pit the League against the Nightmare Kings for his own amusement. This proved disastrous for many.”

You see a possessed Luna dissolve Polymer Man and Judas turn Jupiteramos into stone. Major Warfare blows apart Charade with a bazooka. The Anti-Babe leaves Bronze Bull and Rocket's Red Glare has her light powers stripped away by Mass Deposit.

“It was at the height of their battle that the Beyond-Man recalled them to his castle. Hero and villain alike found themselves beckoned to his throne room, but what they found was more shocking still.”

The Anti-Babe sat in the Beyond-Man's throne, her clothes luxurious and regal with a large horned crown atop her head. At her feet, laying as a pet with a collar on his neck was the paper white Beyond-Man.

“Anti-Babe?!” yelled Bronze Bull.

“Hello, lover,” cooed the woman.

“You wouldn't,” said Bully.

Anti-Babe smiled and nodded, correcting, “I would.”

“You didn't,” said Scarlet Titan.

Anti-Babe smiled and nodded, correcting, “I did.”

Rocket's Red Glare just stared, “What am I looking at?”

Occult Eagle answered, “Anti-Babe's ability is that she controls and increases the power of anyone she,” he paused, “has relations with.”

Anti-Babe rolled the chain in her hand connected to the Beyond-Man, “Yeah, I might have forgotten to mention the part where my lover becomes my thrall. He was really interested in the increasing power part. Something about taking on the Ancestral Order of Life for what they did to him.”

Beyond-Man looked up at her and she patted his head, “Soon, honey. I promise you'll get your revenge. Just do a few things for me first.”

Obelisk pointed at Beyond-Man and said, incredibly, “He's... MORE... powerful? You made him MORE powerful?”

“Yes,” answered Anti-Babe, “but I've got the chain on this power.”

“Until you don't,” said Green Titan. “Then you have a super-powered god that's very angry.”

“I'm going to keep him under control,” asserted Anti-Babe. “And I'm going to change a few things while I'm at it.”

“What things?” asked Destructor. “Can you make me human?”

Anti-Babe laughed and said, “I'm not about to start handing out wishes, if that's what you're thinking.”

“Honey,” said Bronze Bull, sweetly, “This is fantastic. Together we can-”

“Oh there's no 'together', Johann,” said Anti-Babe. She nodded at him and the Beyond-Man encased him in ice from the neck down. “Let's put our relationship on ice for a little bit. I got this power by doing exactly what you were yelling at me for doing earlier. Don't think you're going to benefit from it.”

She turned and walked to the window, the Beyond-Man walking on all fours behind her. She looked out the window at Earth and said, “I want to change it all, you know? I mean, I like Earth. I liked the 80s. But the 90s should be a little more 'me'. More women in power and woman's rights. More sex. More good music. Everything should just be a little more extreme. That would make me happy.”

“Please,” said Mento quietly. He walked up to her and fell to his knees. “Please bring her back.” He dropped the collected parts of his wife to the ground.

Anti-Babe looked at the parts and at him. She considered it and thought and shook her head, sadly saying, “I can't. He doesn't have that power. He has a lot of power, but he can't bring back the dead. I can't bring back Polymer Man either. I can return Jupiteramos to flesh though.”

“Turn ME to flesh, whore!” yelled Destructor.

“Now,” said Anti-Babe, mockingly, “That is no way to talk to the Empress of the Universe.”

Rocket's Red Glare spoke up, “Can you make him de-power himself?”

Anti-Babe thought for a moment, then looked down at the Beyond-Man and asked, “Can you de-power yourself?”

“I do not know, Empress,” came the reply, meekly. “But you said I can have my revenge on the Order. I need my powers for that.”

“Aww, don't worry, lover,” comforted Anti-Babe, “I'm not going to turn on you.”

“I've h-h-heard that before,” said Bronze Bull, shivering.

Anti-Babe shot him a look, then looked down at Beyond-Man and commanded, “Return him home. As a matter of fact, return all of them home.”

There was a blinding light and the heroes and villains found themselves back on Earth. The Empress of the Universe sat in her throne and smiled to herself.

City At War #1 of 2

Fallout

(If war is hell, what is super-war?), thought Junior.

Just two hours after wiping the degrading rules from the city's minds, it seemed as though sanity had been erased from everyone's mind. Before Starlet had thrown the lever, Junior was ready to explain that Plato believed man to be no more than featherless bipeds. He saw them as animals that needed to be governed to stop their own extinction. His student's student, Aristotle, had a higher view of man's civility. Between Plato and Aristotle, Junior found himself believe Plato the wiser in this matter.

The first symptom of the de-programming was the mass exodus. He could only reason that his father had programmed citizens to stay in the city because the moment the programming was removed, there was a traffic jam like none before seen as half of the city's population suddenly realized that they didn't want to live in a city where gods haphazardly sling lightning and poison gas and boxing glove arrows. It suddenly became apparent that you wouldn't want your children in a city like Gotham or Metropolis that was threatened weekly by a giant robot.

Why would anyone remain in a city with such a high chance of accidental disembowelment or vaporization? Having your face melted off by an experimental neutron cannon shouldn't be the concern of ever subway and el-train commuter on a daily basis.

The traffic jam never cleared up, of course, because the bridge was blown up by someone. It didn't matter who. Nobody cared who was responsible or whether the guilty party would be brought to justice. What became clear was that the only thing that matter was surviving and escaping the mad gods of the city who waved undeserved and unearned powers like temperamental children.

The tunnel was collapsed as well, filling with an ocean-themed woman's army of maladjusted salmon, which just left the highway. With that many cars though, a crash or three was inevitable, especially with the hailstorm competition Nimbus and Tsunami Tsam. Most people abandoned their cars and walked, leaving a forest of steel Buicks and Nissans, passable only on foot or bike.

The villains were fighting the heroes and the heroes were fighting the villains. It might have been their nature to do, thought Junior. It was far more likely that it was a direct result of the perception of a threat. Everyone was deprogrammed.

Worse than that, everyone KNEW that they were deprogrammed. The heroes assumed a villain had controlled their minds and the villains had assumed a hero had controlled their minds. The civilians, the most rational of the groups as evidenced by their lack of spandex, didn't care who had done it and just ran away.

The mayor died that day, as did the next four or five supervillains to declare themselves rulers of the city. After that, everyone stopped making a target of themselves by ruling city hall and took the more manageable kingdom of a block or two.

The lower east side was quickly taken over by Megaton, but she was in turn killed by Madame Curie, who split the area with Tyrant. Chinatown was taken by the Hong Kong Gong, who had already established himself in the area as a hero. Orange Julius murdered the others of the Julius Spectrum and declared himself lord of the arena, taking control of the football stadium and forcing captured citizens to combat captured supervillains.

Even these kingdoms proved to be difficult to contain. A supervillain would rule a block and a superhero would protect a block and everyone would slip away from the supervillain's block to the superhero's block when the villain's back would turn. Those unable to leave the city were left with the simple and clear choice between a madman who wanted to kill and rule them and a madman who wanted to protect and rule them. It was a simple and clear choice, though recognized as undesirable, like fleeing Nazi Germany to enter a Geneva-supervised POW camp.

Almost all civilians were either in a superhero block or away from the city by the end of the second day.

Superheroes no longer felt the need to go after the supervillains. The superheroes met and plotted and overviewed their situation. Many had left, but most remained and all looked to the unofficial, but recognized leader, the strongest among them, Obelisk.

“Why stop them?” Obelisk explained. “They can't defeat us. They're trapped on their blocks. Eventually, they'll just kill each other.”

Organizing together, the superheroes devised a system and schedule where each of their blocks was well cared for. No block was without at least one protector at all times, working in shifts. Other heroes were in charge of food and medical supplies.

On the supervillain side of the city, the infighting that was a nuisance before became bitter hatred and war. Buildings crumbled as supervillains fought for a few more feet of territory. Bombardments of energy, bullets, knives, and dark matter tore apart the forces of evil faster than any hero could have ever hoped to do.

Free from the rules, their henchmen quickly realized the futility of working for such psychopaths and migrated to the heroes' blocks. Brass Monkey's Simian Soliders left him to defend an office complex downtown, which quickly fell to Seismic and Riptide. After he ran out of captured citizens, Orange Julius began forcing his own Roman Numerals to fight. This unwise decision led to his own death as the Roman Numerals found a new method of entertainment, feeding him to the mindless Octagon the Trap Spider, chained for sacrifices in the arena.

By the third day, the east side of the city only contained about 50 people, all supervillians of varying strengths and a few lone hold-out henchmen, unable or unwilling to escape. By the fourth day, that number was halved and the land the heroes and civilians called “the Bad Section” was confined to twelve blocks. At that point, a leader had emerged named Scarlet Titan. The superheroes began received reports that the villains had stopped fighting and were following Scarlet Titan. The Claw and Wonder-monger investigated the Bad Section. When they failed to report back, the remaining heroes, all now operating under the banner of the League, declared their time of passivity at an end.

Fearing the worst, the rest of the League moved the population of citizenry to the far west of the city. When people protested, the heroes instituted an area called “Safe Haven.” Citizens were restricted to stay within the confines of Safe Haven, an area of twenty blocks in the Upper West side. Escape, which the heroes felt put the citizen in danger, was not permitted and violators were detained in a more restrictive environment.

On the fifth day, the League began reclaiming blocks in the name of the city. One block at a time, they worked their way towards their foes, finding each block empty as they went. Occasionally, a booby trap of some kind would be found. While most times it was caught and defused, Rabbit Man, Bi-Polar Bear, and Hat Man Deux died. Apex Girl and Mad Man were sent to a mirror dimension and the other heroes vowed to save them when the current threat was dealt with.

The sixth day was spent as the first. Sing Song, Firecracker, the Lion Tamer and the Bookworm died. Upstage, Double Wide, and Power Source were injured and had to retreat to Safe Haven. No supervillains, beyond the bodies of the dead, were discovered. The heroes began to prepare for a terrible fight and as they approached the final block, a large warehouse, night fell.

The heroes watched and waited, preparing for the worst. Those that had not evolved beyond the physical need for food and rest gathered together for safety near a fire of broken furniture. Their costumes dirty and torn, they spoke little and ate less, nervous for the final fight, the final movement after evil in their city.

The Wicked Wonder removed her toxic green spandex outfit to wash it, asking Rocket's Red Glare to watch out for any peeping toms in the group. As she hopped on one leg inside the Applebee's, Rocket's Red Glare chastised her.

“You aren't going to take off your mask, are you?” asked Glare.

“I hardly think it matters anymore,” replied Wicked Wonder, taking off the checkered domino mask from her eyes. The soot and dirt from the past few days left a circle of clear pale flesh where the mask had covered her.

Red Glare covered her eyes and answered, “I don't know want to know your secret identity!”

Wicked Wonder threw her mask and spandex in the sink an started it to fill up with water.

“Look at me,” ordered Wonder.

Red Glare's eyes remained covered.

“No, really,” she repeated, “Look at me.”

“I don't want to know your secret identity,” continued Glare's protest.

“Come on,” prodded Wonder.

Glare took a look Wicked Wonder. She was an average woman, a little beat up from the past week. She was wearing a jogging bra and big white panties. Wicked Wonder shrugged her shoulders.

“Who am I?” asked Wonder.

“Um, I don't know.”

“Exactly,” replied Glare. “Why the hell were we so obsessed about our secret identity? Especially now. There's, like, five million people in this city.”

She rolled her eyes and corrected herself, “Or there were anyway. Before all this started. I think the secret identity thing was part of whatever mind control we were under. I mean, I have CATS. What am I protected my identity for? Someone might recognize me out of millions of other nobodies and then go after my cats and hold them hostage? I don't even like them that much.”

She turned off the sink and started to wash her spandex by hand with some dish soap.

Rocket's Red Glare crossed her arms, “Well, I'm married. I can't risk someone kidnapping my husband. He didn't sign up for this life; I did.”

As Wonder scrubbed, she shrugged. “Maybe I can see it that way, but think about it like a cop's husband. She goes out and fights crime. No mask. Name on her badge. Full accountability. People aren't kidnapping cops' husbands and wives where they need to wear masks right?”

Red Glare sat down and replied, “Well, I'm not taking that chance.”

“Cause you love him so much?”

“Yes.”

“So why aren't you with him?”

They sat in silence while she finished washing her costume and hung it to dry. A few other women joined them in the Applebee's. Despite the impending battle, the women enjoyed themselves, trading stories and gossip about the other heroes. Stories normally have a way of being passed on and growing, but this trait is amplified when the characters are gods among men.

They all laughed around a small trash can with a fire in it.

“Whatever happened to that one villain that liked it when we hit him? The Torture? Was that his name?” asked a woman who was named Megan Doxson or Megavolt, depending on the clothes she wore.

“It was Torture, I remember,” said Glare with a laugh. “You'd be hitting him and he'd just start moaning. That's what the kind of villain only the 90's could have produced.”

“You don't look old enough to even know what the 90's were,” accused Megavolt.

“Shut up, Meg,” snapped Wonder. “Glare's older than all of us put together. She just ages slower than us.”

Glare smiled, “I'll still be turning heads when you all are old biddies.”

“What kind of villains were there in the 60's?” asked a young heroine name Stardazzle.

“Well,” Glare said with a thought, “Lots of communists. Red this. Red that. Blacksploitation was big, too.” She laughed. “There was actually one girl who was both.”

“What?” asked Meg.

“The Black Russian,” said Glare with fanfare. “Big afro, huge boobs, lots of 'jive ass turkey' and 'honkey' when she talked.”

“Wow, what did she do when times changed?” asked Stardazzle.

Glare looked down, sad for a moment and said, “Actually, Obelisk killed her. Turned a firehose on her until her skin came off.”

Stardazzle's mouth hung open.

“How horrible,” Wonder said.

“Honestly, that guy's been pretty horrible for the whole century or so that I've known him,” explained Glare. “He really makes me think that maybe the whole super-hero thing is just,” she paused, “well, I don't know.”

The other heroes agreed to wait until the sun rose to attack the warehouse and spent the night debating how to imprison or punish the criminals, with a vocal minority calling for summary execution.

At 4 a.m., King Virgo came into the Applebee's and went around waking everyone up. A few other women had joined Wicked Wonder and Rocket's Red Glare and he gently woke each of them, then moved along and woke another. Wicked Wonder rubbed her eyes and looked over where Rocket's Red Glare had been laying. She was gone.

Wicked Wonder smiled, “Good for you.”

She got dressed and joined the other heroes outside, unaware of Glare bloodied and raped corpse staining the back room.

When dawn broke, they stormed the warehouse.

Silent.

Empty.

They searched and found nothing but a note from Scarlet Titan that read,

“The city is yours. We're going somewhere else. The psychos on our side are all dead. The rest of us can get our money or power somewhere else easier. Whatever mind control you all did to us to make us stay in a city with superheroes is gone now. Now we see it doesn't make sense for a villain to work in a hero's city when there's so many unprotected cities in the world. - ST”

City At War #2 of 2

The Sinister Secret of Safe Haven

Half of the heroes started returning to Safe Haven. Half remained positive that the villains were laying in wait or hiding and started tearing down the building or researching the empty blocks.

“We need to find those villains,” stated Ultra-slayer as his glowing skeleton jaw moved in time with the words.

“Agreed,” answer Obelisk. “We can't expect the world to shoulder the hulking weight of our responsibility. If those villains want to go limp and take off, fine. But we'll hunt them down.”

“What the hell?” asked Bully.

A barricade of cars filled the street. Tied to the front of the cars were the bodies of Upstage, Double Wide, and Power Source, as well as the guards left for Safe Haven, Thunder Monkey and Tundra Monkey and the Masked Milk Man. A spray of gun fire shot the ground in front of Ultra-slayer, Obelisk, Bully, and the other fourteen heroes that had returned.

“That's far enough!” yelled the man holding the weapon.

“What is the meaning of this?” yelled Obelisk.

“We thought you were here to protect us and you people put us in a cage!” came the reply from a woman behind the barricade.

“It was for your safety!” yelled Bully.

“I was plenty safe before you locked me up,” yelled the man with the rifle.

“Enough of this,” muttered Obelisk angrily as he walked forward. The man opened fire on Obelisk, but his stone skin repelled all the bullets. Obelisk reached the blockade unharmed and started climbing as citizens started screaming and running back to their enclosed areas. The man kept firing until Obelisk bent the barrel of the gun.

“Did you think you could kill me with that little gun?” growled Obelisk.

“It killed your underwear pervert friends!” the man yelled, ending the statement spitting in Obelisk's face. Obelisk grabbed him by the collar and threw him down to the road. “Put him in solitary confinement!”

Two heroes reached down and dragged the man off. They eventually found a large closet with a lock at a store and declared it solitary confinement.

The eighth and ninth days were spent with a series of lavish funerals for the heroes that had died the previous two days. All citizens were mandated to attend and show respect for those that had given their lives to protect them. When the final body was laid to rest on the ninth day, Bully came to Obelisk.

“So what now?” Bully asked.

“Hm?”

“The villains are gone, the dead are buried. Do we hunt down the villains or stay here?” clarified Bully.

Obelisk thought for a while.

“I don't know. I feel like we should go after the villains to save their victims. I also feel like we need to protect these people, as much from themselves as from evil.”

“Why don't we send half after the villains and half can stay here?”

“Mm... good idea. Take the guys that went crazy looking for them a few days ago and send them off. The rest of us will work on getting things back to normal here.”

Sonic Boom had the ability to hear any sound and replay that sound using his mouth at loud volumes. In days past, he had used this for bypassing voice locks, scaring off thugs with sirens, and recording evidence. Today, he was a megaphone.

“We want to thank you all for working with us during this time of transition. We promise we will have your lives back to normal shortly. We have contacted the federal government and we will allow the turnover of the recovery operation to FEMA soon. Before we can do this, we must make sure that no supervillains have infiltrated the camp. It would be reckless to leave you all defenseless against such a threat. Please return to your designated food ration station where you will be investigated and questioned for possible supervillainy involvement,” echoed Sonic Boom loudly.

“This is Nazi bullshit,” yelled one man, who was greeted with a chorus of cheers.

Obelisk yelled at Sonic Boom, “I've sent Commander Nazi to jail five times, buddy! I'm no Nazi! Now report to your stations. And don't forget your IDs.”

“I've sent Commander Nazi to jail five times, buddy! I'm no Nazi! Now report to your stations. And don't forget your IDs.” echoed Sonic Boom.

As the crowd disperse, Obelisk jumped down off the stage and caught up to the heckler.

“Hey! Hey you, loudmouth! What the hell is your problem?” questioned the superhero.

“You never heard of a concentration camp, Rock Boy? This right here is Nazi bullshit,” answered the man.

“I'm no Nazi,” affirmed Obelisk, “and the name is Obelisk.”

“Who cares if your name is Obelisk?” asked the man. “Have you learned any of our names?”

He looked around, pointing to the groups of citizens lined up for investigation at scattered tables.

“It's different. We're in charge. You have to know our names,” explained Obelisk.

“Who put you in charge, Rock Boy?”

“It's Obelisk!”

“What? Did you fall into a radioactive vat full of rocks? Did you get bitten by a space pebble?”

“My origin story is that-”

“I DON'T CARE! You're missing the point. Just because someone was hit with space rays doesn't mean they should be in charge of their fellow man! If a radioactive spider-bite gave someone cancer instead of powers, would you follow their orders?”

As Sonic Boom came to back up Obelisk, Obelisk eyed the man suspiciously and noted, “I bet you're one of the guys that killed my men. What did you? Shoot up Upstage?”

The man shook his head and waved his arms, “What?! NO!”

Obelisk turned to Sonic Boom, “Sonic Boom, take him away to solitary confinement!”

“To solitary confinement!” echoed Sonic Boom and he dragged the man away. The man broke free, but didn't get far as Obelisk reached out and punched him in the head. The man fell to the ground in a slump.

“Make that the medical station,” quipped Obelisk.

“The medical station,” echoed Sonic Boom.

Back Issue

The League #265 – March 1991

War World, part 6

A woman clothed in fire and water floated in the living room. Before her was a portal that viewed history and destiny, the past, the present, and the future. It shimmered and glowed and seemed to be made of stardust.

“Who are you?” came a voice behind her. She turned and smiled.

“I am Schmoo of the Ancestral Order of Life and I bid you greetings, mortal. Mine is the task of an observer of life; its terrible disasters and its joyous moments. The Order has forever forbidden my kind from interfering in the universe. Events of the importance as these must be born witness to.”

The man walked into the room. It was Dr. Mento, in his pajamas. He addressed her again, “What are you doing here?”

“I can do nothing,” answered Schmoo. “I can do nothing but observe as the Order has decreed.”

She waved her hand and images of the events of War World appeared.

“I observed the release of the Beyond-Man from his prison and his obsession with Earth's heroes and villains that led him to create War World and pit the two groups against one another. I witnessed the fighting and death that followed that.”

“You watched my wife die?” asked Mento.

“I did.”

“You watched her die and you did nothing?” he demanded.

“There is nothing I can do. The Order had decreed that-”

“I don't care about your Order, damn it!” yelled Mento. “That was my wife! My son doesn't have a mother now! Don't tell me you couldn't!”

She continued, “I witnessed the Anti-Babe and her assumption of the throne as well as her dismissal of you all.”

“Listen to me! Who can bring back my wife? Tell me!”

“Only the Ancestral Order of Life has that power, but they will not.”

“Why?”

“They can not be influenced in anyway. I long to help those I watch over, but I can not, no matter how much I try. Such is the power of the Order. Had they want to bring back Charade, they would have done so already, or they will when they choose to. All I can do is watch.”

“You're useless,” dismissed Mento. He moved out of the living room and into the kitchen, where he encountered the same woman of fire and water and her portal. “Oh, come on! Why are you following me?”

“I am only observing. That is all I can do,” replied Schmoo as she gazed into her portal, watching the consequences of the tidal shift. The rising oceans flooded islands and tidal waves threatened cities. The League and other heroes scrambled to rescue them.

“Oh?” Mento said, offended, “You think I should be out there? Well, forget it. My wife just died. Besides, mind control doesn't stop tidal waves. There's not much I can do.”

Mento left for the bedroom, but found himself in Schmoo's presence once again. She was watching as the coup was explained to Rocket's Red Glare.

Rocket's Red Glare just stared, “What am I looking at?”

Occult Eagle answered, “Anti-Babe's ability is that she controls and increases the power of anyone she,” he paused, “has relations with.”

Rocket's Red Glare just stared, “What am I looking at?”

Occult Eagle answered, “Anti-Babe's ability is that she controls and increases the power of anyone she,” he paused, “has relations with.”

The portal continued to replay the same scene over and over.

“You're stuck on repeat?” asked Mento.

“I am only observing. I can only observe,” replied Schmoo.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” asked Mento.

“I could not do that. I can only observe, mortal,” explained Schmoo.

Anti-Babe rolled the chain in her hand connected to the Beyond-Man, “Yeah, I might have forgotten to mention the part where my lover becomes my thrall.

“Wait!” said Mento with a start.

Anti-Babe rolled the chain in her hand connected to the Beyond-Man, “Yeah, I might have forgotten to mention the part where my lover becomes my thrall.” Beyond-Man made a face.

“We didn't see this the first time. I didn't notice that,” said Mento, trying to piece it together.

“I can only observe,” reminded Schmoo.

Anti-Babe rolled the chain in her hand connected to the Beyond-Man, “Yeah, I might have forgotten to mention the part where my lover becomes my thrall.” Beyond-Man made a face, stifling laughter.

“He's not under her control,” concluded Mento.

Schmoo smiled and reminded, “I can only observe. I can't stop anyone from observing with me, though.”

Beyond-Man made a face, stifling laughter. Beyond-Man made a face, stifling laughter at his trick working.

Back on War World, Anti-Babe was happily influencing life on Earth little by little, intent on the 1990s being more to her liking than the previous decade. A green dot on Earth grew as it neared War World. She smiled and walked to her throne as the Beyond-Man walked behind her. She sat and waited for her guests.

The guests rudely arrived through the wall of her throne room. The green sphere disappeared, leaving Mento.

“Mento,” she addressed. She waved her hand and the Beyond-Man rebuilt the broken wall with a thought. “I'm sorry, but I told you I can't bring back Charade.”

“I'm not here to talk to you, Anti-Babe,” said Mento, sternly. He pointed at the Beyond-Man, “I'm here to talk to you.”

“My pet?” asked Anti-Babe. “I don't think he has much to say, do you, snookums?” She held his chin and gave him a kiss on the lips.

“Stop the act, Beyond-Man,” demanded Mento. “I know.”

Beyond-Man smiled and looked at Anti-Babe, telling her, “Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

Beyond-Man stood up and the collar fell off him, falling to the ground with a clatter.

“What?” started Anti-Babe, “But we...”

“And it was great,” said Beyond-Man. “Not that I have anything to compare it to, really. But really, you didn't think your little mind control trick was going to work on someone like me, did you?”

“What about the power enhancement?” asked Mento, straightforwardly.

Beyond-Man raised a finger and smiled, “Yes, actually, that part worked. I am strong enough to take on the Order, I think.”

“I'm sure you are,” said Mento. “You'll definitely destroy them.”

Beyond-Man spread his hands, spreading the wall of the castle as he did so.

“Of course,” said Mento, “then you're right back in your prison.”

Beyond-Man closed his hands, returning the wall to its shape and turned to him and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Schmoo showed me your prison,” said Mento. “Seemed nice enough to me. Everything you could ever want.”

“What? No! It was terrible!” said Beyond-Man in disbelief. “I was God there. Everything was my idea. I mean, I thought I was happy. I guess, I really was happy, but THIS place is so much better. In this place, unpredictable things can happen. There are other people with minds of their own. Things happen that I don't have control over.”

“Don't worry, you'll fix that,” said Mento.

“What do you mean?” asked Beyond-Man.

“You'll fix that,” repeated Mento. “When you destroy the Order. You'll be the most powerful being in the universe. Nothing will happen without your say-so.”

“That's not true,” said Mento, hurt.

“Oh, you'll allow people freedom, but you're still doing it. It's still your choice. You're doing it right now. You are choosing to let me keep talking. You could've turned my tongue to jelly or sewn up my mouth or just wished me out of existence. Same as when you were on that collar. Anti-Babe wasn't really in charge. You were.”

Beyond-Man was lost in thought.

“Yep, just give it a little time, Beyond-Man. You'll be right back in your prison.”

“No,” said Beyond-Man. “After I destroy the Order, I'll give up the power.”

“Universe needs order of some sort, Beyond-Man. Can't have birth without death, gravity's nice, time should move in a forward manner.”

“I'll give my power to new entity's. I will create a new Order!”

“You fell in love with the world this Order created, Beyond-Man. You can kill them and make a new Order, but it won't be the same world you fell in love with.”

Beyond-Man looked Mento in the eyes and his shoulders heaved and lurched with each breath as they became deeper and deeper. Finally the man screamed. The scream echoed in the chamber and pained the ears of Mento, Green Titan, and the Anti-Babe. The walls and the floor shook and the Beyond-Man glowed bright white, then dimmed slowly. When the light was gone, his skin was no longer white but gray.

“I have ensured my happiness, mortal,” Beyond-Man decreed.

Mento rubbed his ears and demanded, “How?”

“I have given a vast majority of my energies away. I can not alter the universe to my whims any longer. I believe you are right. This will keep things,” he searched for a word, “interesting.”

“Where?” asked Anti-Babe. “I was enjoying using those powers. Where did you send them?”

The Beyond-Man smiled and answered, “You were right, mortal. I did fall in love with this world. I loved seeing the super-powered people on it fight each other. So I made sure I would be happy.”

He smiled manipulatively.

“I made more of them.”

The Avenging New Guard #10

Assault On Safe Haven, Part 1

“How are your parents doing?” asked Junior after a long silence.

Mary moved a hand over his chest and rolled towards him in bed, their naked flesh pressing.

“They're doing ok. They're really sad about what's happened to the city. A lot of the dead villains were their friends.”

Junior shrugged, “Well, they think they were friends. They couldn't know if it was part of the programming or if they were real friends.”

“I guess,” she said, dancing her fingers on his hairless chest, “I still miss them though.”

Junior rolled out of bed and put on his clothes, “Well, you'll get no sympathy from me when it comes to parent issues. Hell, you have parents, at least.”

“Sorry, Junior,” she said, sitting up, “How are you dealing with the deprogramming?”

“Oh, you mean that little note that my dad left in my head saying I shouldn't grieve too much over my mom that was translated as 'don't care about your parent'? The one that, now gone, I'm forced to experience eight years of grief for my mother combined with the guilt of killing my dad and violating his corpse and the grief that comes with my father's death? I'm doing peachy,” he said sarcastically, “Thanks for asking.”

“You think you're the only one with issues?” said Mary, getting up and putting on her new costume, similar to her old costume, but all black now. “I finally have a real boyfriend and his last girlfriend was a LITERAL goddess! Do you have any idea the pressure I'm under?”

“She wasn't my girlfriend,” explained Junior. “Just a mistake.”

Mary gave a half-smile and responded, “I guess that's a little better. Still a lot of pressure.”

“Actually,” Junior looked down, “and I don't know if I should tell you this and you have to promised never to tell her I said this.”

“Oh, I promise,” she lied.

“She wasn't that good.”

“What? You were a virgin. How could you know?”

“Well, now I have you, so now I know.”

“Awww...”

“Let's get going. I think we need another vote.”

The two left Junior's room and walked down the hallway of Fatso's father's underground lair. Junior wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on. Everyone else was ignoring it. They were reveling in shock. They were still firmly in the stages of denial. The world was over, in a way. The world they had grown up with and gotten to know. All right and wrong had been thrown out of the window. People had died. So many people had died. They were sitting a mile away from the largest loss of life to ever happen on American soil. They had lost a city. Their city.

People they considered their friends and family were killing people they considered their friends and family. They weren't crying and contemplating suicide. The only explanation that made sense to Junior was shock and denial, coupled with isolation in their base. Junior knew that everything would be different once they left. It would become real. The streets were covered in blood, but as long as they stayed down here, they didn't see it. He had even disconnected the televisions and internet so the others couldn't see. He lied and said the service was out. He alone shouldered the burden of keeping track of the news. They were acting as though they were in mourning, but it was an act, he knew. It would be bad once they left. They would only have one chance to do anything once they left, then everyone would be overcome by emotion. He needed to wait for the right moment to strike with his team.

As they entered the conference room, they noticed the rest of the team, already seated in their all-black costumes while Fatso's mother, Cutie Pie was speaking, “So that's two roast beef for the girls, one tuna fish for the bird man, and a leg of lamb for my baby boy. Drinks?”

They all asked for water or soda, except Artemis, “Wine?”

“I'm sorry, honey,” replied Cutie Pie, “but you know from all the other times you asked, we don't have alcohol here.” She turned to Starlet and Psycho-Babble, “Anything for you two?”

“Cucumber sandwich and a diet soda, please,” requested Starlet.

“I'm fine,” replied Psycho-Babble. “Have you heard anything from your husband?”

Cutie Pie's lip quivered, but she kept her smiled. “No, dear, but I'll let you know as soon as he reports in.”

“Thank you.”

Cutie Pie left and Starlet and Psycho-Babble sat down at the round table. Psycho-Babble had been hoping for a new report from the Hatred, Fatso's father.

After the Big Blink, as the New Guard had come to call it, Starlet's parents had fled the city at her request. When she prompted Fatso to do the same, they were met with resistance from the couple. The rules had the largest effect on people that were insane. It was those that experienced the largest personality shifts, like a mentally ill person who stops taking medication. Fatso's parents on the other hand, were normal, sane people. Just peculiar and criminal. Unlike others of that breed, they felt an attachment to the city and refused to leave their safe underground lair.

When they had come to check on Fatso's parents and found them largely unchanged by the Big Blink, they decided to accept their invitation to base themselves in their lair. Artemis brought the machine to the lair and everyone settled in nicely. The Hatred even offered to go undercover as a citizen to keep an eye on what was going on while the group decided what to do. Every day, twice a day, they gathered to eat and discuss what they were going to do. And every meeting ended with a vote, which had always been “Wait and see.”

“Dozens die, the city crumbles,” mocked Avatar, “Guess we'd better eat sandwiches.”

She had been the only one really uninterested in moving to the villains' lair. Being a single mother to two children was difficult, but she didn't want to raise them in a place where everything had sharp edges and thermonuclear devices.

“We talk, we eat, then we vote,” laid out Junior. “You know how it goes.”

“You know,” Avatar continued, “I used to rush into action! That was fun.”

“That was programming,” countered Junior, “Probably designed to get the fastest response times to emergencies. Not really the best tactic for a guerrilla force taking on a super-powered military.”

“That's assuming that we want to take them on,” added Occult Eagle. “I still say that we leave the city. We can find some nice city with no capes and rule with an iron fist.”

“That never works,” said Starlet.

“No, that's not true,” said Eagle. “It worked for that one guy, the Doom Doctor or something. He took over a whole country.”

“That was a third world country,” said Artemis. “Would you really want it to be your responsibility to feed people that could not feed themselves? Or worry about water infrastructure?”

“Yeah,” said Starlet as she lifted a glass to take a drink after Cutie Pie set it down, “Everyone says they want the world and that's not true. You don't want to own the world. Then the world is your responsibility. You want all the benefits of owning without the responsibility.”

“Rent the world?” asked Fatso.

“Sounds about right,” confirmed Junior. “Before we really get into it, I want to let you know that we have no more information from the Hatred.”

Everyone stopped eating and looked at Junior.

“I know. It's unusual, but let's not jump to any conclusions,” warned Junior.

“The guy tweets his bowel movements,” pointed out Avatar. “He is constantly updating us to the point that I wonder if he sleeps.

“Dad doesn't sleep,” explained Fatso. “His power comes from the world's seething hatred for one another and so he doesn't have to rest.”

“Charming power,” noted Avatar.

“Can we assume he has been compromised?” asked Artemis.

“I don't think we can assume anything at this point,” answered Junior. “We should be prepared for that contingency, but let's not do anything hasty.”

Avatar had a blank look in her eyes. “It's... It's so strange. I know what I would have done in this scenario last week. I would have jumped up and shouted, 'We're going in there and we're getting him out!' and that's just not me anymore.”

Artemis put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it. “It is fine, my love. We are all adjusting to the de-programming.”

“Not me,” smiled Starlet, “I was 100% grade A off-the-radar for the good doctor.”

“You still got the citizen programming,” said Fatso.

Junior shot him a look.

“What?” puzzled Starlet. “What do you mean?”

“It's nothing,” said Junior, “My dad used the birth records to set the citizen database among other things. So you got the citizen programming. Since you were a villain though, most of it didn't apply to you?”

“You're lying,” said Starlet, then with a thought, “I did actually run and hide at my first super-battle.”

“Just like a citizen,” added Artemis with a smile.

“DAMMIT!” screamed Starlet, then added, “Sorry. I thought I was exempt from your guys' programming drama.”

There was a moment of silence while they all reflected on the “programming drama” they had been forced to adjust to.

“I want to help people really soon,” said Fatso out of nowhere. “I think they're in trouble up there.”

“Yes, please,” joined in Avatar, “Let us please go save those people in Safe Haven!”

“Not our problem,” added Occult Eagle.

“As much as I appreciate the hospitality of Cutie Pie, I must vacate this lair and have a real drink soon or I feel the cumulative hangover of millenia of drinking will actually overcome my immortality and kill me,” voiced Artemis.

“I'm counting that as a vote for save the citizens,” said Avatar.

“You can't do that,” countered Eagle, “she just wants to get out. If we go take over Pittsburgh, she can drink there. It's as much a vote for run as it is for fight.”

This seemed to upset Artemis, “I do not run. Very well, I vote we fight.”

Eagle sighed loudly and slumped in his chair, saying “First the costumes and now this. I voice an opinion and everyone does the opposite. Why are we dressed in all black again anyway?”

“It's slimming,” said Fatso.

“In memory for those that have died in this Super War,” said Avatar.

“It hides stains,” added Artemis.

“It's harder to see,” chimed in Psycho-Babble.

“Because,” Starlet grinned as she spoke. “If we get out there and things get hairy, our enemies are going to be wearing bright colored spandex. You see anyone not wearing black and you fuck up their day.”

“See?” offered Eagle. “That all makes sense. Wading into superhero traffic does not.”

Starlet joined in, “I agree with Occult Eagle.”

“Why does it always come down to the wishy-washy namby-pamby little boy? My son is only two years younger than you and yet all my life changing decisions recently have come down to you,” complained Avatar.

“He's smart!” said Fatso proudly, having the answer.

Junior thought for a second, hoping to live up to Fatso's faith. “Given that we've lost contact with the Hatred,” stated Junior, “I think we have to assume that the heroes have continued behaving in line with the Stanford Prison Experiment and will be torturing or killing citizens soon. With no villains to fight, they're going to direct that energy elsewhere and I don't think anyone wants to think about where.”

Junior stood and continued as he walked, working it out in his mind, “We could run, but what would happen? We leave. Villains leave. Heroes get worse. Heroes decided that more people need to be 'saved from themselves.' They spread. We could run again then or we could fight then, but by that point, they would be stronger, not weaker. Unless you can think of some way to keep them in the city, Eagle, I think running is only going to delay the problem.”

Eagle shook his head.

Junior continued, “My father forced rules into everyone's heads. He was doing his best to protect lives, but he was also forcing people to be sane, or at least more sane than they were. The problem is that because of his help the insane got more powerful instead of getting help or dying or becoming homeless. When we took away the rules, we took away their sanity and left them with the power they had accumulated. If we run, well... seems to me that time will make them more powerful and less sane.”

“Fine. Yeah.” Eagle nodded slowly, “I see your point.”

“Starlet?” prompted Junior.

Starlet leaned in and said in a deep voice, “The amount of bullshit that flows out of your mouth could fill a fucking stadium.”

She sat back and looked away, muttering, “But you have a point.”

“Then rest up today,” ordered Psycho-Babble. “When night falls, we save the city.”

Everyone nodded and Junior thought to himself, (14 year old kid versus an army of the world's finest superheroes. Yeah. Sure. Piece of cake.)

The Avenging New Guard #11

Assault On Safe Haven, Part 2

The armory was empty and everyone had an extra sandwich in a zip top baggie from Cutie Pie. The equipment check outside of the lair would have been a strange sight to a passerby.

Artemis had all of her skin covered for the first time in centuries. Her leather jacket was zipped with her hair tucked in the collar and a ski mask covering her features. Despite being their most powerful member, she was primary role was one of stealth and sabotage. The practical application, Junior had explained, was that she could fly without bursting into fire like Avatar or firing beams of light like Starlet, so she would plant bombs and then move in from the rear to join combat.

Starlet looked over at Artemis in her mask and whispered to Junior, who was tightening the straps on her backpack, “That's the best I think she's ever looked.” Junior rolled his eyes at her jealousy.

Starlet was in her black corset, fishnets, and boots. Her backpack was filled with utility items, picked by Junior to combat the heroes. Two wires ran from her bracelets long her arms, up her neck, and ended on either side of her mouth in microphones. In this manner, Junior had explained, she would be able to recharge her bracelets without losing her target.

Fatso had not changed his clothing, but his arms had shiny armor plating on them to draw attention to himself. Junior had told him it was because he couldn't sneak, but he was invulnerable and could draw attention before he gave him an adamantium cup to wear in the field.

“You know,” explained Junior, “Just in case.”

Avatar was given the keys to the Hate-Glider, a red plane in the hangar. She protested, touting her own flying ability, but Psycho-Babble had insisted, telling her that she would understand when the time was right.

Occult Eagle was given the keys to the Hate-Mobile because it was cool.

“Cool?” asked Eagle.

“Yeah,” answered Junior. “You don't think we're going to let a cool car like that sit in the garage, do you?”

The Hate-Mobile was a two-seater, but they fit three inside with Starlet on Psycho-Babble's lap while Occult Eagle drove. Junior wished he had had his mask, but to him it represented what he had done to Artemis, and he couldn't bring himself to use it again. Besides, the mask was for talking. Tonight, his talking wasn't going to get the job done. He had one speech prepared. One verbal manipulation. He was prepared to stand toe to toe with a god and give him an ultimatum, tweak the conversation in his favor. He already knew it wouldn't work. He knew what the god was going to do. He knew how it was all going to play out. He just hoped he was wrong. He didn't want to die.

In the Hate-Glider, Avatar flew slowly as Fatso sat wedged in his seat. Avatar saw no reason in Psycho-Babble's plan. After Artemis would give the signal, she would just fly over Safe Haven and then she would know what to do. Considering it took three of them to put Fatso in the seat, she wasn't sure what she was expected to do with him.

Artemis had already arrived at Safe Haven. Gliding silently around the camp like a ghost, she mounted small explosives to fences and larger explosives to the buildings that the heroes slept in. She could clearly see that there were two guards at the front and one patrolling the citizens, but Junior was right. Super-powered people and insane people don't count on opponents having common sense and coming around the back. Artemis hid and texted Junior, “Set.”

Junior took the radio handset from its rest and struggled to pull it passed Starlet on his lap to us it, telling Avatar, “Ok, Avatar, now!”

“Understood,” said Avatar, then back to Fatso, “Ok, Fatso, here we go.”

“For great justice!” yelled Fatso as the flew over Safe Haven and were shot down out of the sky by Goldhead's laser blasts.

As the wreckage started to fall from the sky, Junior triggered the bombs. The fences blew open, the walls blew apart and the two buildings housing superheroes exploded violently. The sudden explosions freed the citizens, shocked the guards, and wounded the sleeping heroes, but it had a secondary purpose. It masked the fire descending from the sky and the impact of the immovable object that accompanied it. Fatso picked himself up, a bit woozy, while Avatar, unharmed by the fire and able to fly, safely touched down, vowing to slap Psycho-Babble the next time she saw him.

“Ok, that's all the goody-goodys out of the way,” said Psycho-Babble to Starlet and Occult Eagle. “We're going to approach from the right, Eagle. You stay in the car and kill as many heroes as you can with machine guns,” he pointed to the switches, “and missiles. Be careful with the missiles. Be liberal with the smoke canisters.”

“Understood,” Eagle said as they exited. “So...”

Junior turned back to him as Starlet sprinted for shadows.

“It wasn't just that the car was cool?” asked Eagle.

“It shoots missiles. That's pretty damned cool to me,” Junior replied with a smile before chasing after Starlet.

Inside the camp, the citizens were fleeing as the heroes were getting their bearings. Fatso and Avatar stood in the center of the camp, surrounded by burning wreckage as superheroes started exiting their buildings. A spray of gunfire turned the heroes back to face the gates as Occult Eagle had mowed down Bully and Laptrap when they had turned to face the explosions. The gates broke open as the Hate-Mobile broke them apart.

Avatar fire the first fire bolt at Goldhead's arm, destroying his laser blaster. He looked at it and charged her, swinging a left hook that connected, sending her staggering back.

“Hey!” yelled Fatso.

“Don't worry, fatty!” yelled Onomatopoeia. “You've got plenty to handle with me!” He yelled “POP!” as he swung a right hook into Fatso's face with little effect, other than making the big man smile. He stepped back and yelled “SPLASH!” with a hand pointed at him, which then erupted in a blinding torrent of water, sending Avatar and Goldhead tumbling backwards and blowing away the nearby wreckage. When it had ended, Fatso remained standing, just wet. Fatso started to walk towards Onomatopoeia.

“I bet you taste moist and delicious.”

Goldhead and Avatar wrestled on the ground as Onomatopoeia, Harbinger, and the Miner were climbing on Fatso and attacking him, doing little damage. The Bellman, the Doorman, and the Horseman were chasing the Hate-Mobile as it backed up for a better shot. Every time that Occult Eagle had a shot, the Doorman used his teleporting abilities to open a door to a new spot next to the car, and Eagle had to move again before they could damage it.

“You're sacrificing your team to make your job easier?” Starlet asked Psycho-Babble when they were alone, hiding in the shadows.

“Goldhead, Onomatopoeia, Harbinger, Miner, Bellman, Doorman, Horseman...” Junior muttered to himself.

“Are you sure you aren't a villain?”

“Bully's dead. Laptrap's dead. And Hatred killed Thunder Monkey, Tundra Monkey, and the Masked Milk Man...”

“But that was before our vote.” Starlet's face flushed with angry. “You were full of shit about voting. You were already doing this.”

“I just,” Junior searched for the phrase, “got the wheels moving. I knew you would all come around eventually.”

She stared at him with a look of resigned betrayal.

“Anyway,” he continued, “That leaves Magic Man, Green Titan, the Ultra-slayer, the Synthetic Man, Busy Body, and of course, Obelisk, himself.”

“I don't know any Ultra-slayer,” remarked Starlet.

“He's,” Junior thought about, “It's Destructor. He switched sides. For no really good reason.”

Junior dug in Starlet's backpack and she lamented, “I hate it when they do that.”

Junior returned to view with a revolver and a baseball bat.

“Don't have much in the way of super-weapons, do you?” Starlet remarked touching her magic bracelets.

“I find that common sense and good research trump magical artifacts and vats of radioactive goo.”

The two crept towards the building and took refuge to watch the fight.

Onomatopoeia's body rested on the ground. Onomatopoeia's head rested in Fatso's stomach. He had the Harbinger's head in one hand and the Miner's head in the other and was pressing them both together as their screams of pain filled his ears. Their skulls were lengthening and then the Miner's jaw broke. Shortly after that, the Harbinger's eye popped free of it's socket while the Miner's eye was crushed when their skulls gave way and Fatso's hands met in the middle, fusing the remains and connecting the two at the neck as they fell silently.

“AAAAHH!!!” came a cry from behind Fatso. He turned to see Goldhead holding his hands to his face and shouting, “My eyes!”

Fatso was smashed to the floor for the first time this fight by a giant green fist from the Green Titan's green power ring.

Avatar got up and spit blood, “You're lucky I just flashed light at you, Goldhead! I could've burned your head off!” She saw the bodies of Fatso's opponents. “Nooo! We're not killing!”

“Rules rules rules rules rules rules,” came the chorus as she found herself surrounded by the same woman in multiple bodies. “We are so sick of dealing with rules!” Shouted one of Busy Body's bodies as she struck Avatar. The other 12 bodies joined in the pummeling.

Junior took careful aim with the revolver, aimed at the Green Titan's back. He glowed with the power of his ring, enveloping him in a green cocoon of energy that protected him.

“He's got a force field, you know,” Starlet warned.

Junior aimed.

“It's always on. You can't get through it.”

Junior aimed.

“I've seen enormous death rays try to get through his -”

BLAM!

Green Titan dropped dead. Junior lowered his gun and turned to Starlet and admired her shocked expression. He opened the gun to reveal five remaining bullets. All painted.

“Yellow,” she stated. “Why didn't we ever try that?”

“The rules are gone now,” answered Junior. “Try thinking simply and effectively.”

“AAAARRRRRHHH!!!” screamed Avatar as she burst into white flame. All the Busy Bodies were thrown back and the doubles, disappeared, leaving only the original, on her back, groggy. “RAAA!” yelled Avatar as she kicked the side of her head, rendering her unconscious. She looked to Fatso, who was getting up. “You ok, Fatso?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Magic Man is out,” announced Artemis as she exited the shadows and tossed a body on the ground. “Apologies for my late arrival. He locked me in an alternate dimension.”

“How was it?” asked Avatar.

“Not bad,” she replied before being blasted in the back by a synthetic organism. She fell to the ground.

“HALT. YOU. ARE. IN. VIOLATION. OF. SAFE. HAVEN. PROCEDURES,” dialed out the voice of the Synthetic Man.

“Oh, shit,” said Avatar.

“Your French,” offered Fatso.

“YOU. WILL. BE. DELETED,” it continued. As a charter member of the League and one of the “Big Three”, Synthetic Man was one of those opponents that no one could defeat or even reason with.

“EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE,” he continued, raising a uni-beam hand at Fatso and Avatar, who cringed together.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!” came the mad battle cry of Junior as he ran out of the shadows towards the Synthetic Man with his baseball bat raised like an idiot wielding a stick against a god.

“EXTERMIN-”

THOWSH! THOWSH! THOWSH!

The baseball bat made a terrible noise as it struck Synthetic Man, bringing him down to the ground as it attacked, like a hand slapping gelatin floating in water.

THOWSH! THOWSH! THOWSH!

He continued yelling, “AAAAAAHHHH!!!”

THOWSH! THOWSH! THOWSH!

“Ahhh...” he caught his breath, panting, “Ahhh..”

Then again.

THOWSH!

“Psycho-Babble!” yelled Starlet, entering the circle. “What the hell was that?”

“Oh,” he said, trying to regain his composure with Synthetic Man's guts covering him and the baseball bat, to which he pointed, “Wood. He's, uh, well, he was, that is, weak to wood.”

Everyone looked at him.

“I'm not making this up,” he pointed to the body, “See? His weakness really was...” he spun the baseball bat in the air and caught it, “...wood.”

“That's a pretty lame weakness,” came a raspy voice in the shadows. He became clearer as he removed his gloves and mask, dropping them to the ground as he walked forward and glowed brightly. “But that's easy for me to say. Ultra-slayer has no weaknesses.”

They all looked at Junior.

“He's, uh,” he stammered, “he's actually correct about that.”

Avatar turned and fired her firebolts at Ultra-slayer, taking to the air as she did. Starlet opened up bracelets full blast at the skeleton.

“Fatso, Artemis, come here!” order Psycho-Babble.

“Yes?” asked Artemis.

“Don't touch him,” commanded Psycho-Babble.

“But I have to touch things to punch them,” noted Fatso.

“Right, but he melts anything he touches. Absolutely anything except that containment suit just melts when it touches him,” he explained.

“Then,” said Artemis, putting a hand on his shoulder, “That is what we shall use.”

“Come here, little girl, and give me a hug,” leered Ultra-slayer as he closed the distance between Starlet and himself, oblivious to their energy blasts.

She changed tactics and blasted the ground beneath him, causing him to trip and fall, the ground searing at his touch.

“Oh, you're going to pay for that,” he said, trying to rise again with some difficulty. Starlet noticed why.

“Blast his clothing,” shouted Starlet and they both focused on his shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, you found my big weakness,” said Ultra-slayer as he first put himself to his elbows, then sat up, leaving deep holes where he had tried to hold himself up with hands. “Why,” he continued, “I bet if you destroyed my containment suit, I'd just burn down into the earth and float in magma until some supervillain genius needs me and rescues me.”

The beams continued to be useless.

Unseen to Ultra-slayer, Fatso was crawling behind him, following him.

“Of course,” added Ultra-slayer, “That's all assuming that I haven't already been through this and had indestructible clothing made. It wasn't cheap either. The whole thing is made of unstable molecules.”

He started towards Starlet again when a voice made him turn around, “Hey!”

Ultra-slayer turned to see the Greek goddess. Her stealth role over, she had removed her mask. Her gorgeous face gleamed with the knowledge that she was superior to her opponent, that the battle was already won. She knew who she was. She was a goddess. And no one could bring her down.

She smiled and said, “Tell me how pretty I am.”

Fatso reached up from his crawling position with an arm that ended in one of Ultra-slayer's discarded containment gloves. He pulled down Ultra-slayer's pants and rolled out of the way.

“Wha?” Ultra-slayer turned to try to understand the situation so he did not see Artemis' face turn from smile to snarl as she delivered a divinely powered knocked out uppercut through his other containment glove.

As Ultra-slayer fell to the ground, the ground began to give way underneath him and he began to sink. He folded as much as he could and then continued butt-first down into the Earth.

“What the hell are you doing?” Avatar shouted at Artemis as she landed and extinguished her flame.

Artemis and Fatso looked puzzled.

“The gloves!” Avatar exclaimed. “Get them off! He's radioactive! You probably have cancer or something.”

The two nonchalantly tossed the gloves.

“Oh no, maybe it would kill me cause I'm so mortal,” mocked Artemis.

“Or give me growths cause I'm so,” he paused and thought, “I got nothing.”

Junior walked into their midst, looking at the tall building on the block. It was seven stories tall. They could clearly see a balcony at the top with a silhouette that was watching them.

“Obelisk is up there,” he said, then turned to Fatso, “Your father might be up there, too.”

“Well,” said Fatso, “What are we waiting for?” Fatso smiled.

“Let's go get him.”

The Avenging New Guard #12

Assault On Safe Haven, Part 3

Starlet didn't know the plan. You couldn't make a plan against a creature like Obelisk. All the villains feared him. He was this unstoppable, irresistible force of nature. He flew on a slate of rock and had the power to throw you into the sun if he didn't like you. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he didn't breath. She had watched Obelisk defeat her parents two-on-on in less than a minute. And that had been with rules and programming to limit him. Now, he was insanely insane as well as insanely powerful.

Fatso had remained on the ground floor to guard the entrance as he was the least able to climb the seven flights of stairs. Starlet and Junior were alone in the stairwell, walking up with determination and fear. Avatar and Artemis were watching Obelisk, flying a few hundred feet away from him.

When they reached the seventh floor, Junior asked Starlet to turn around and started looking through her backpack, then grabbed her ass.

She turned back, confused, and he explained, “Obelisk is probably going to kill me, so I wanted to touch it one more time.”

This reminded Starlet of who exactly her boyfriend was. A fourteen year old boy with no superpowers. She tried not to think of what was about to happen. She wanted to trust him and his plan, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes. This was the end. She narrowed her eyes and opened the door. They found themselves in a very nice, upscale apartment. As they made their way to the balcony, they passed a room with blood at the base of the door.

Junior opened the door slowly, revealing a bedroom with blood sprayed around it. He opened the door completely and Starlet and he walked inside.

“Who did the blood come from?” asked Junior.

Starlet looked at the obvious answer, Hatred, bound to a chair and beaten into ground beef. Junior wondered if it was one of the dozen naked dead women on either side of the bed. It was a lot of blood. More blood than one body could hold. The walls were sprayed as if a great force had expelled the fluid from the body. The women were torn up the middle from crotch to stomach. Neither wanted to process what they were witnessing. There was too much to do to deal with that horror now. They both backed out slowly and moved towards the balcony.

Opening the sliding glass door, Junior motioned for Starlet to wait and she saw what he had taken from her backpack for the first time. A small gray box with a switch and a ketchup packet.

Leaning on the railing of the balcony was the man himself, Obelisk. He seemed calm and at peace, looking beyond Avatar and Artemis floating in front of him. Junior mirrored his behavior and walked up behind him. He made sure his footsteps were heard so Obelisk didn't think he was sneaking up on him.

(Ok, Junior), he thought to himself, (Turn on the bullshit.)

Junior mirrored Obelisk's stance and leaned on the railing in the same manner. He stood silently for a moment, then commented casually, “Nice tits on the one on the right.”

Obelisk grunted, looking at Artemis, “Is that your offer for me not to kill you all?”

(Strike one), Junior thought.

“Straight to business?” Junior shrugged. “Ok, how about we sit down and talk it out?”

“I'll stand.”

(So much for taking control of the environment.)

“What is it that you want to get out of this situation?” asked Psycho-Babble.

Obelisk looked at him.

“You don't seem to understand,” explained Obelisk. “I've already won. You busted up Safe Haven. So what? If I feel like it, I can make a hundred. I can split the world into eight equal slices and call it a pizza. There's no one that can stop me.”

“I can see your reasoning,” conceded Junior, setting the ketchup packet on the railing conspicuously.

“What's with the ketchup?”

“Excuse me, don't interrupt,” said Junior as he held up the box and prayed that Obelisk wouldn't smash his head before he could speak. “This is a control box. It controls things. The things that this control box controls is hidden very very well and it need maintenance, so killing me and taking the box wouldn't help you for very long.”

“What does it control?”

(He doesn't know the ketchup. Doesn't know the box. Needs me for answers. Control regained.)

“A machine...” Junior paused.

“Don't test-”

Junior resumed as though he hadn't stopped speaking, “That controls what people think. What people do. All sorts of things.” Junior smiled and flipped the switch, “Like this.”

Back at the lair, the machine hummed to life and broadcasted a signal.

Obelisk's eyes got wide, then he smiled. He looked down briefly at his groin, then back at the box, which Junior switched off.

“Was that?” started Obelisk.

“Think of it as psychic Viagra,” smiled Junior. He held the box up like an ad, “For the stone elemental in your life.”

Obelisk took the box and examined.

“Remember what I told you. It's not good without me,” reminded Junior.

Obelisk turned on the switch, waited a moment, then turned it off.

“I know about your issues and I'm offering you control of this machine, Obelisk, but you'll be doing what I tell you to do from here on out.”

“I'll not work for some child,” replied the hero as he examined the box further.

“You will work for some child,” Junior nodded back towards the bedroom, “Or you can go back to beating women to death in frustration.”

Obelisk looked at Junior and asked, “What is your name, boy?”

“Psycho-Babble. I lead the New Guard. We're going to make the world a better place.”

“I have heard that many times before,” growled Obelisk. “The world is never any better for our kind having helped it,” he said as he motioned a hand down to Safe Haven's ruins.

Junior turned and leaned on the railing and looked out. He nodded and raised his eyebrows. “I think I can do better,” replied Junior.

Obelisk thought for a moment, then held the box tightly. He squeezed a little and the box crushed, sending a shower of sparking parts to the ground.

“I don't think you can do better, Psycho-Babble. And I don't need your box. I didn't beat those women to death. Not with my hands. It's true I had a little problem, but after the mind control stopped, so did the problem. You've got no leverage, no argument, and no power.”

Junior smiled and picked up the ketchup packet, saying, “Oh, I'm used to being powerless. But I'm not powerless here. I still have...” he held up the ketchup packet, “...a ketchup packet.”

Obelisk looked at the packet, “What is this game?”

“LAST CHANCE, OBELISK!” yelled Junior, with fury in his face. “Join me, party like a rock star, have sex with beautiful women, and save the world or oppose me and get...” he squeezed the packets so that it was ready to burst, smiling into the face of a god with a madman's grin, “.... the KETCHUP PACKET!”

“You insolent-”

SQUICK!

Junior stood there, arm extended, half empty ketchup packet in his fist, as Obelisk stood in disbelief, before moving a stone hand to wipe the ketchup off from his face.

Then their world came crashing down.

Avatar blasted the support structure for the balcony and they both went falling towards the ground. As their limbs flailed, Junior's right arm found a home in Artemis' hand as she carried him down safely. Obelisk, for his part, plummeted with the rest of the rock to the concrete around Fatso, who giggled when the concrete hit him.

Obelisk looked up, trying to understand what had just happened when he saw Fatso.

“The ketchup?” said Fatso. The huge man looked at Obelisk's marked face with a mix of horror and hatred. “The ketchup!!” Fatso started clawing at his own face, pulling and stretching the skin. “The KETCHUP!!” The skin stretched and his jaw stretched with it, pulling open his mouth to grotesque size, distorting his features.

“What the fuck...” muttered Obelisk in disgust, stunned at the display.

“THE KETCHUP?!” he screamed as he looped his lips around his feet and stretched it wider. “THE KETCHUP!!” came the echoed darkness over Obelisk as he was enveloped in Fatso's mouth and swallowed whole, screaming as he entered the oblivion.

Artemis landed with Junior and Avatar came shortly behind, carrying Starlet.

Junior walked over to Fatso, sitting on the curb, crying, “I'm sorry, buddy.” He put an arm around him. “I'm real sorry, buddy.” After a moment he rose and turned to the rest of his team.

“What was that?” asked Starlet.

“The ketchup packet was a cue for Avatar to blow the balcony and Artemis to catch me and...” he turned to Fatso, “I told Fatso that if his dad was dead, I'd mark the man who killed his father with it.”

“Where's Obelisk?” Starlet pressed.

Junior pointed at Fatso, “Fifth dimensional stomach. It's kind of a shared stomach for people with Fatso's power. He's going to be slowly digested over a thousand years.”

“Wow,” she commented.

“Yeah,” he remarked, “so... not fun.”

“Nope,” she agreed.

Suddenly the bushes were blown into twigs as giant roaring engine of death came through.

Occult Eagle exited the Hate-Mobile, screaming, “What the hell?! Where did you guys go?! I was stuck out there with... with Bellman and... and that Doorman... he's just... I hate... hate... flames... yes, I hate flames at Doorman. That's how much I hate him. Where the hell did you all go?!”

Starlet leaned down and gave Fatso a hug while Junior patted Occult Eagle on the back and complemented, “We knew you could take care of yourself.”

“Not bad,” Avatar said, then adding, “for a villain.”

“Do you have any idea how many rockets I have fired tonight?” exclaimed Eagle as he got in the driver's seat. Junior sat in the passenger seat and Starlet on his lap. Then they kissed.

Artemis hugged Fatso and the two started rising up to the heavens.

Avatar flew ahead, burning a bright new trail to tomorrow.

The Avenging New Guard #13

Assault On Safe Haven, Part 4

Epilogue

“Do not try any of that double talk crap on my parents or-”

Junior interrupted Starlet, completing, “Or your dad will compress me into a single point of infinite gravity. I know.”

It had been three years since the Big Blink and life had returned to normal as fast as it has spiraled out of control. Once Obelisk and the other insane heroes were out of the way, FEMA entered the city and began repairing the damage done by the insane supervillains. The sane heroes returned after mixed results tracking the sane villains, but found themselves lumped in with Obelisk's group. Superheroes were no longer the trusted harbingers of justice they once were. Most left the city, but a few remained and tended to the occasional supervillain that popped up. Without rules to keep them in line, the heroes had an easy time with villains and the more violent heroes made examples of the more violent villains.

These examples had been well-received. Violent crime dropped significantly. The amount of costume crime dropped to near non-existence.

The New Guard, for their part, had kept to their mission. They had watched the development of both sides and managed to keep things balanced. They stopped heroes from turning the city into their own personal playgrounds and occasionally stepped in to stop a villain from destroying the world.

Once FEMA had moved in, there seemed little need for heroes and little opportunity for villains.

The girls took their looks to Los Angeles to find their fortunes with varying degrees of success. Starlet was back after just two weeks, when her mother had gotten ill. It wasn't serious, but Starlet had come back to check on her and just never left again. Avatar had tried modeling, but found it a hectic schedule that didn't agree with her. Saving the day had been a strain on her relationship with her children, but being a model required her to be out every single night at one party or another, something she wouldn't have done even if she had had the time to do so. Artemis, however, quickly found a measure of success in film. After being "discovered" by a producer while walking down Rodeo Drive, she filmed for two weeks as a small part in a pirate movie. During filming, she showed off her powers and was cast again for two action movies as a stunt double. The ability to be shot, run over, or blown up without needing CGI appealed to producers interested in both quality cinematography and a tighter special effects budget.

Junior, now an orphan, saw no reason to leave Fatso's family and he never did. He was like a second son to Cutie Pie and he would help Fatso patrol the city to "do good." In fact, Junior was bringing Fatso's strength along for a treasure hunt of sorts. Villains' lairs were dragons' dens of treasure, hoarded cash stacked in million dollar blocks on pallets that could only be moved by forklift. It would take them several trips in the Hate-Mobile to bring each of the hauls home. Sometimes, Occult Eagle would join them when, for instance, mystical wards barred their entrance to a lair. For his part though, Occult Eagle stayed true to form as a villain. He robbed banks and raised an army of the dead to march on City Hall, but was stopped by the Claw, returning from his cross-country search for Happy Jack and the other villains. Junior, Fatso, and Starlet (who had returned by that time) arranged a destructive early parole for him, taking out his cell wall and whisking him away back to the lair. The balance of the New Guard's status as either heroes are villains was one that wobbled and changed with the winds and which members were on the scene at the time.

"Such fury and hell you have not seen, Psycho-Babble," said Artemis as she walked passed Starlet and Junior, "as that of a father and mother whose child you are taking."

"He'll be fine," assured Starlet. Artemis was between movies at the moment and had returned to the city to visit Avatar, Avatar's children, and the rest of the New Guard. The speculation around the lair circulated around what would be the result of Junior being introduced to Starlet's parents, and worse, as a kind-of-sort-of hero.

"Smart money is on Psycho-Babble not being fine," countered Avatar. "As a matter of fact," she continued while taking a piece of paper out of her pocket and perusing it, "I think the square with the most bets is that you are attacked as soon as you come out of the closet as a hero."

"You're taking bets on this?" questioned Starlet in disbelief.

"Put me down for the single point of infinite gravity thing," joked Junior.

Cutie Pie stuck her head in the room, "Honey?" She never cried over the loss of the husband, but those that knew her were aware something was wrong. Her eyes had lost a sparkle and they had sunken and become dark. Her smile was never quite as large again.

"Yeah, Mom?" asked Fatso, turning in his seat to face her.

"You have a call."

Fatso pulled himself out of his seat quickly and waddled to the other room as fast as he could.

"Oh well," Junior said with mock disappointment and a smile, "Guess we'll have to cancel dinner."

"No," said Starlet, "We'll take care of whatever this is, then we'll go to dinner."

Avatar leaned down to her children, "You two do what Auntie Cutie Pie says while I'm gone, ok?" The children nodded.

Fatso re-entered the room. "Bank's being robbed!" he announced enthusiastically. Artemis and Avatar stepped forward, ready to go, but Starlet shrugged.

"So," she said, "Is that it? Let the heroes deal with it." Starlet turned back to her boyfriend, "Dinner's back on."

"We could use the money," he whispered, trying to sway her. "And if we just let those three do it, they'll give all the money back."

Starlet thought for a moment and caved, "Fine. But we're still making it to dinner."

Fatso yelled, "Oh! We should call Occult Eagle! New Guard ASSEMBLE!"

Junior was already getting out of his button up shirt and putting on his tactical armor, explaining, "Good idea, Fatso! Give him a call!"

Fatso pumped his fist and ran out of the room to make the call.

Starlet was taking off her clothes when Avatar screamed, "STARLET! The children!"

Starlet half shrugged. "We're practically the same age. What? Are you afraid I'll give your little boy his first woody?"

Avatar shooed her children into the next room as her son struggled to sneak a peek while his mother tried to cover his eyes. Avatar returned to find Junior and Starlet fully dressed.

"What the heck is your problem?" asked Avatar. "Why do you think it is ok to be naked?"

"Why do you think it isn't?" countered Starlet.

"Sometimes I think we never actually de-programmed you."

"You're the one with the hang-up," said Starlet, "so you're the one with the problem."

They left from the lair with the women flying and the men leaving in the Hate-Mobile with the intention of meeting Occult Eagle on site. As they drove towards the bank, Fatso struck up conversation with Junior.

"It's nice to have everyone together for a while," he said.

"Yes, Fatso. It is."

"Do you think we'll ever be a permanent team?" Fatso asked.

Junior thought for a while and answered, "I think we're as permanent as we'll ever be. We're all very different people trying to get very different things out of life. If we were all two-dimensional, we could stay on a team for the purpose of avenging the wronged or getting humanity to accept us, but that's just not us. We each want different things and a team needs everyone on the same page."

Fatso frowned.

"Maybe someday we will," he lied. Fatso's frown lessened.

The Hate-Mobile pulled up to the scene of the battle after the excitement had ended. A trashed car and two unconscious crooks lay on the sidewalk while three super-powered goddesses argued about what to do next.

"I want the money!" yelled Starlet. "We need it!"

"No, we don't!" countered Avatar. "We 'need' to give it back to the bank!"

"They're FDIC insured," screamed Starlet as though he was explaining 2+2 to an adult, "They already have the money back! This is ours!"

Artemis laughed, "What do we need this money for!"

Fatso and Junior exited the Hate-Mobile and watched the three argue, leaning on the hood in wonder.

"I 'need' my own place!" yelled Starlet.

"You don't need your own place," screamed Avatar, "You're just a kid!"

"You're not my mom!" countered Starlet.

The three continued to argue as a gray Nissan pulled up next to the Hate-Mobile and Occult Eagle got out.

"Did I miss all the action?" he asked, disappointed.

"No," answered Fatso, "They're still fighting."

Junior nodded towards the three and took a few steps back to get out of the line of fire. Occult Eagle waved his hands and chanted, "Detnaw uoy woh yltcaxe htiw tlaed saw yenom eht."

"Fine," said Starlet.

"Fine," said Artemis.

"Fine," said Avatar.

"Fine," said Fatso.

Eagle turned to Junior and told him, “They all think we dealt with the money in the way they wanted us to deal with it.”

Junior nodded Eagle over to the car and said, "I'll get my half from you later. I've got a dinner thing with Starlet's parents."

"Ouch," he said, wincing, "Good luck with that."

"Thanks."

Rodney Miles #1 of 1

An Origin Story

Powers sometimes manifest at inappropriate times.

A shy girl at a party might have just worked up the courage to talk to someone when her skin would start to melt off. She might never see the beautiful ice elemental that she would become when she runs to the bathroom and cuts her wrists through a sea of tears.

These stories are traded like urban legends among super-powered folk. So-and-so heard about a boy who sprouted wings at Thanksgiving dinner and gave his grandfather a heart attack. There were dozens of variations of super-strength manifesting during sex, but how much of those were puerile conjecture and how much was accurate was a debate in and of itself.

The story of Rodney Miles was true, but no one ever heard of it. Rodney Miles was turning twenty-one. He was an only child and not a popular boy. He had been home schooled by his loving mother until he was eighteen and never showed any interested in leaving the small town he had grown up in. Rodney had started working at his father's gas station when he was sixteen and he was happy enough with it. He didn't drink. He didn't smoke. He had never even had a girlfriend. But he was happy.

For his twenty-first birthday, his parents had taken him to a movie, then his mother had prepared his favorite meal for dinner. It was chili and cornbread. Dr. Pepper for Rodney and Mom. Beer for Dad. There was a cake and they still sang “Happy Birthday” to him. For his present, his father gave him the keys to the old pick-up truck.

Later, his father gave him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. The two sat on the back porch and sipped. Rodney didn't enjoy the taste, but tried to hide that fact from his father. Now later, after his parents had gone to bed, Rodney felt sick.

He hurried to the bathroom, but he didn't make it and started to vomit in the hallway. Chili and cornbread. Dr. Pepper. Johnnie Walker Red.

Then hot dog pieces.

Rodney was panicked and focused on making it to the toilet, but as it sometimes happens in those moments, his body was out of his control and focused on a simple task and his mind had time for distraction.

(I didn't eat hot dogs), he thought as he opened the door to the bathroom and dived for the toilet.

He retched and heaved more fluids and solids into the toilet, his eyes filled with tears. His mother and father came out of their room and saw the mess in the hallway.

“What... Oh no, Rodney!” exclaimed his father.

“Oh, my poor baby!” cried his mother, coming to his side.

Rodney waved her back.

“N-no... go 'way...,” he managed between heaves.

Finally the eruption paused and he fell to sit next to the toilet, holding onto it for support.

“What were you two doing on the back porch?” accused his mother to his father.

“It was nothing! We weren't doing anything!” he lied.

While his parents argued, Rodney saw through the tears blueberries, granola, and peas. None of which he had eaten that day. Still puzzled, he flushed the toilet. The food swept away and new water replaced it, but small shiny objects remained at the bottom of the toilet, too heavy to be washed away by their ecological low-flow toilet. Rodney leaned over the bowl for a better look. They were definitely machine screws and bolts.

Suddenly his stomach heaved again, this time larger than before.

“AAAHH!!” cried Rodney. “Go away! Get out of here!”

His father pulled his mother into the hall and closed the door to give his son some privacy as the mother continued to interrogate his father.

“AAAAHH!!” cried Rodney, feeling as though his organs were going to come out of his mouth. “AAAAH!!” and with each subsequent “AAAHH!!” Rodney's mouth widened, but did not shrink again. The terrified youth shakily stood and looked in the mirror, shocked to find the next of his “AAAAHH!!”s stretch his mouth to a diameter of a softball.

And then the fingers started to come out. First one, then several. They were made of granite and stretched out of his throat, feeling for freedom, then gripped his jaws and stretched them apart as Rodney fell to the ground in shock as well as from the growing weight of the protuberance from his mouth. As his mouth stretched open to the size of a basketball hoop, a stony eye looked out and blinked. The eye retracted and the top of a stony head began to emerge, staring at Rodney. Despite the horror of the situation, Rodney recalled when his mother showed him pictures of some monument or something on a place called Easter Island. Pulling his mouth open even wider, to the size of a hula hoop, Obelisk forced his shoulders into the world. After that, the rest of him came out comparatively easy, but Rodney never saw the completion of his horrific birthing as Obelisk's first hand out of his mouth, crushed his chest and destroyed his heart, killing him. Obelisk stood and relaxed, finally free of his horrid prison.

Noting the moment of silence, his mother asked, “Everything okay?”

Obelisk pushed the door out forcefully, killing both worried mother and caring father. It had been Rodney's poor luck to gain the power of a fifth dimensional stomach at the same moment that Obelisk was looking for a way out. The god Fatso had eaten Obelisk to avenge his father's murder, and the rock elemental had been stuck in the fifth dimensional stomach shared by those with the power for years. Rodney Miles' vomiting had given Obelisk a rare chance to escape from his prison and he had taken it. Obelisk moved around the house, surveying his location and enjoying freedom from digestion. The random things that fifth dimensional eaters had consumed clung to his jagged edges, half-digested. Finally, he exited the home and called to the Earth itself, “To me, my stone!”

Hundreds of miles away, a slab of stone slowly shook loose of a pile of garbage, firing out into the sky, erupting and explosion of trash at the city dump. Obelisk stood and waited. He did not know his location and was prepared to wait. He had gotten good at waiting in the last three years. He had filled that time as he filled this time. He was planning to kill a teenage boy, a teenage girl, two flying women, and the fat fuck that ate him.

About the Author

Adam Simon was born, got married and had a son. Along the way he caused mischief.

He lives in Orlando where he teaches people to ride motorcycles, raises his son, and writes random things on bathroom walls if he doesn't have a writing project to keep him busy.

Junior grew up watching his mother and father fight evil as superheroes. When his mother was killed in a super-battle, his father retired to a career as a psychiatrist to both superheroes and supervillains. Junior blames his father and super-powered people in general for the loss of his mother as he sees them as beholden to the self-perpetuating cycle they create with their battles. Additionally, listening to their admissions in therapy from the next room further dehumanizes them in his eyes, until he is convinced that only by wiping out super-villainy once and for all can his mother's death be avenged. To this end, he recruits two failures of heroes, Fatso and Artemis, to provide the muscle he lacks as he hunts down and murders supervillains when they least suspect it.

When the supervillain community catches on to Junior's crusade, things get out of hand. As the murders escalate and the supervillains fight back, Junior finds himself in the middle of the very super-battles he sought to wipe out. Struggling with this self-reflected hypocrisy, Junior finds himself the target of another very young costumed teen named Starlet. Can he kill a girl that makes him feel alive for the first time since the tragedy or is he doomed to relive the superhero cliche of star-crossed love?

Junior ends up fighting against a cross over of epic proportions that he created and of the type he sought to extinguished. Will he rise above his vendetta and become a superhero? Will it be too much for him to even participate? If you become what you hate, can you still hate it?

Gang Rape. Mind Control. Superheroes. Mass Murder.

And they all live happily ever after.

adamsimon

Psycho Babble 2012

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