The Illuminati… wonder how those string pullers will be playing with the Task Force.
Hope to read mo… oh, you know what I am going to say. I always finish with that statement.
Lets just go with bibbly doog for something new.
Wow, that was actually… moving! No, seriously! Your stories may tend to be dark sometimes, but it’s moments like that which keep me reading them. Thanks Gallo! sniff
Alright, this one turned out to be shit, as usual. Forgive me, I’m kinda moving into unfamiliar territory with this story, trying out a couple new things and all that. Please see the following post for more information about what is to come.
Issue 26: The Falling Darkness
ONE MONTH AFTER THE CANDIAN RIFT INCIDENT…
The small tenement was an ancient structure, at least by the standards of RPGCity. Its cracked brown exterior was coated with spray painted graffiti, as well as a few other writing substances best left unmentioned. The neighborhood surrounding it was not much better, filled to the brim with porn theaters, numerous brothels, a few street workers, and worst, the 3DO company headquarters. Oh, and the building was on fire. That’s probably important.
There were no fire trucks, no ambulances, nothing to be found for miles. So many resources had to be committed to rebuilding the ruined cities and towns that there was no emergency resources left for the city itself. That, and the RPGCPD never bothered to finish that fire fighting training course, which was free. And only five minutes long. And constituted making a firefighting hat out of construction paper and white glue.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Task Force Mobile pulled up to the curb. Within seconds, the doors popped open, and all four Task Forcers charged out like a herd of rampaging buffalo. Mabatsekker and GG Crono quickly made their way to a side door, while Pierson and demigod stopped next to a dumpster underneath a raised fire escape. “Mabat! Crono!” shouted the Brit. “You guys get as many people from bottom floors as possible. Demigod and I will take the top floors! Meet back at the car in fifteen minutes!”
With a nod of approval, Mabat smashed down the door, and the two quickly charged inside. Meanwhile, Pierson jumped onto the dumpster, grabbed the bottom of the fire escape, and flipped hand-over-hand over the railing. Demigod, for his part, simply floated alongside him, his eyes scanning the building for any signs of life. Fortunately, much of the structure was abandoned, saving everyone a whole lot of work.
MEANWHILE, AT BILL SINISTER’S EVIL TENAMENTS OF OMNIMOUS DOOM…
A single middle-aged man, dressed in a wife beater shirt and brown loafing pants, peered at the burning building. His eyes slowly followed the heroes entering the structure, making sure he was out of plain sight. Finally, once all were inside, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small radio. One uneventful (but EVIL) turn of the dial later, he said, “Four little chicks have entered the barn. Hatch the eggs.”
MEANWHILE…
A few minutes later, Mabat and GG Crono were still on the first few floors, having found absolutely no one to rescue. In fact, there wasn’t a single sign of life ANYWHERE. Even more so, the smoke was far less severe than the other fire-related emergencies they had responded to in the past. Frustration finally led to Mabat pulling out his communicator and buzzing Pierson. “Hey, fearless leader! Found anything?”
Pierson’s voice crackled over the channel. “No. demigod can’t even sense anyone here.”
“And the-”
The words died in Mabat’s throat as something slammed hard into his throat. The impact was coupled with a massive electric shock, sending waves of paralyzing power surging through every part of his body. GG Crono moved forward to help, but was struck from behind with a pair of long, needle-like projectiles. Within seconds, both were down on their faces, while figures in blue combat armor moved in…
Meanwhile, several stories up, Pierson continued to ring the communicator. “Hello…hello…HELLO! Mabatsekker! GG Crono! ANYONE?”
Then they heard a loud, rushing sound, similar to an overclocked vacuum. Demigod turned towards the source of the noise…just in time to see a massive beam of energy slam into him, sealing him inside a glowing yellow sphere. Pierson ran towards the source of the energy…and right onto a fake floor, sending him tumbling into a small closet a floor down. The hole above him resealed itself, and the closet door itself was locked from the outside.
OUTSIDE…
A silent beep emerged from the radio, followed by a static discharge of dialogue. “Harvest complete. Taking the produce to market.” With a final approving nod, the man flicked a switch. The roaring flames suddenly died out, leaving virtually no trace of their having existed at all.
SOME TIME LATER, IN A HOSPITAL…
Mabatsekker slowly pulled himself back into consciousness. The inky blackness gave way to a blurred vision of various masked doctors standing overhead, looking him up and down in quiet contemplation. He tried to move his arms, but they were obviously strapped down. “Ugh…guh…”
One of the doctors suddenly craned his neck to the distance. “Sir! Subject 34 is moving!”
A gruff, aged voice, far outside Mabat’s field of vision, was the first to respond. “Very good. Once they are fully healed, have them all escorted to my quarters.” A series of heavy, oddly-paced footsteps followed, eventually fading down what sounded like a metallic corridor. The doctors very carefully undid the straps and pulled the superhero into a sitting position. The blue mage’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of his horrid new position.
He was in a completely metal chamber, obviously a hospital of some kind. The walls and floor were sterilized to the point of reflecting, with only a few small air vents overhead allowing for any sort of noise. Pierson and GG Crono were in the beds to his left, slowly but surely returning to consciousness. Demigod, meanwhile, was already awake, but had been placed inside a stasis chamber, much like those on the Prison Island. His eyes reflected a cold, detached anger; or maybe that was cold, detached hunger. It was hard to tell with the guy sometimes.
The doctors themselves were dressed in pure white smocks, their faces completely covered by white, skintight masks. Even their hands were buried underneath matching gloves, leaving not a single trace of skin visible. Besides the fact that one had breasts, there was absolutely nothing to visibly identify them, at least in any real detail. “Wh…What?”
One of the doctors patted Mabat on the back reassuringly. “Relax, son. The drug should be wearing off soon.” Finally, Pierson stirred enough to attract attention. “Nurse, deal with those two. Our escort should be here soon.” The woman nodded in approval, and quickly took up a position next to the waiting duo.
The Blue Mage felt like punching the doctor just in case, but rational thought finally overrode those urges. “Who are you? What happened at that building?”
“There…was no fire,” said the doctor. Mabat felt his leaning slightly, in spite of himself. “We had to find a secluded area to bring you aboard. A false emergency felt only natural for ones of your profession.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, FAKE?!” shouted GG Crono, now very awake and very angry. “You mean you were just gonna fry anyone in there to get to US?!”
The nurse shook her head. “The building had already been vacated the night before, and was guarded until the time came to begin. The flames and smoke were merely Illusion Glyphs, activated remotely from a safe location. There was never any civilian danger, and in the eyes of anyone watching, you simply managed to put the fire out with your powers. That is how our organization functions.”
Pierson pulled himself out of bed, only to slip and fall unsteadily on his still-weak legs. Fortunately, they were still in costume, or there would have been a slew of crack jokes. Mostly coming from demigod, but that’s a story for another time. “This…doesn’t make sense.”
The doctor seemed ready to talk again, only for a barely-visible door to open. The next person to enter this exposition jamboree was an older man, obviously in his late sixties or so, clad in a red-and-black military uniform. His head was completely bald, with only a metal band serving as any sort of decoration. His eyes reflected an unnatural internal force, as if he could destroy everyone in the room with but a simple thought. The doctor and nurse both fell back in absolute fear, while the Task Force just looked on in shock. The man simply nodded towards them.
Pierson leaned over to GG Crono, grunting slightly as he did so. “Wait a minute. Doesn’t this guy look familiar?” The two quickly racked their minds, trying to pinpoint exactly where they had seen Ming the Merciless’ even eviler-looking brother before…
MEANWHILE, IN PUERTO RICO…
The poster was faded from age, but the scene was still plainly visible. Standing in front of the United Heroes Lair was the World League of Superheroes, one of the last superhero groups to disband following the UN Incident. Buried amongst the mass of faces was the wizened Mindscape, the femme fatal demon slayer Baroness, burly geomancer Earth King, the spectral Space Case, the lovely plant controller Rosebud, the ancient but ingenius Red Fox, and of course, spunky sidekick and mage-in-training Wilfredo Martinez.
Wil didn’t even know what motivated him to glance at that old relic. It wasn’t like it was the only piece of memorabilia he had left. It also wasn’t like he particularly enjoyed his time on the team, especially as far as the less-than-subtle racist Earth King was concerned. He wasn’t even there very long; the team disbanded a year after he joined, after Baroness was killed by that…demon, or whatever it was. All he got out of it was a bunch of bruises and all the liquor he could sneak out of the building. Still, he could feel something was wrong.
Then he heard Ivonne (his daughter) running into the house…followed by an angry mob. Sighing to himself, he set out to correct her latest screw up.
BACK IN THE HOSPITAL…
“Wait a minute,” said GG Crono. “That’s Mindscape! From the old World League of something-or-others! I thought he was dead!”
If Mindscape noticed the bickering behind him, he paid no heed. He simply raised a single hand, his forehead burrowing in modest strain. The entire stasis pod suddenly started to drag itself along the floor, hovering only a few inches above the solid steel. Demigod gave a look of mild amazement, but was otherwise still cold and detached. “You will come with me. Deviate from the path, and you will be killed. No exceptions.”
A FEW MINUTES LATER…
Mindscape continued to lead the Task Force down a series of blue-white metal corridors, all just as sterile as the hospital they had only a few minutes ago left. Blue-uniformed soldiers ran left and right, only giving quick glances towards the out-of-place party. “So…any ideas, Pierson?” said Mabat.
The Task Force’s leader shook his head sadly. “Not right now. If Mindscape is really powerful enough to move an entire stasis pod, he could crush us all before we could free demigod. Without him, we’re seriously screwed.”
GG Crono nodded in response. “We just play along for now, right.” Pierson replied affirmatively.
The rest of the quick tour was as silent as the grave. Wherever they were, it was obvious the organization in charge ran a tight ship. Every workstation was manned around the clock with uniformed figures, displaying a surprisingly large number of ethnicities even for a presumed North American organization. It seemed like just about every country on Earth was somehow represented, a fact that only served to heighten everyone’s anxieties. Just how powerful were they, anyway?
Finally, the trip ended in front of a large metal door, ornately decorated with the gold symbol of a pyramid encased in a single perfect circle. The door slid open automatically, revealing a lavishly-decorated office. Large bookcases and a liquor cabinet decorated the wall opposite the door, while an oak desk sat in the center, shined to a brilliant hue. Behind the desk sat a puffy black chair, its back rotated towards the door for the perfect Bond villain entrance. A few seats were set out in front of the desk itself, obviously waiting the group’s rears.
The pod was the first thing to enter the office, followed by the controlling Mindscape. The Task Force also followed in silence. A hand from behind the desk motioned towards the chairs. “Set the pod down. Gentlemen, take a seat. Mindscape, resume your normal duties.”
“At once, General,” said the “hero.” He put his right hand on his stomach, bowed quickly, and then left the room. The door clanged shut behind him, an obvious lock clicking shut in the process. The chair finished its role in this little drama, slowly turning to reveal yet another uniformed man. He was about the same age as Mindscape, if not a few years younger, and wore every year of his life on his face. His skin was bronzed and scarred, showcasing a lifetime of combat experience. His outfit was more spectacular than the others, reflected in a puffed-out shirt and the small sun of medals hung around his breast pocket. On his lapel were two pins: one was the same pyramid as on the door, and the other was an Israeli flag. The Task Force, for their part, were silently seated (except for a still-peeved demigod), waiting whatever obvious proposal they would reject out of hand.
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE INFIRMARY…
The two doctors were quickly packing up supplies, making beds, and preparing for whoever was doomed to come in next. In particular, the female doctor was next to the far wall, where demigod’s stasis pod was previously held, trying desperately to drive out whatever demigod looked like under that cloak. The male doctor, meanwhile, was non-suspiciously leaning against a corner wall, attaching an obviously not-sinister device to the security camera. He had just finished when the female doctor finally spoke. “How do you think this one’s going?”
“Well,” grunted the male doctor, even as he reached into his pockets for what was certainly a good, non-violent reason, “if the previous meetings were any indication, the morgue will have a few new bodies in five minutes.”
The other doctor nodded in agreement, oblivious to her companion’s slow approach. “That Mindscape, I swear. I know the 1990s fried a lot of hero’s brains, but to think he-”
Her thoughts were cut short as the unsatisfying payoff for this bout of verbal diarrhea came to fruition. The doctor stabbed a previously-hidden device, resembling a straightened inhaler, into the side of her neck, his free hand clasping around her mouth in the same sweeping motion. A quick rush of air emerged from the device, and within seconds the woman was completely unconscious. His task finished, the doctor threw off his disguise, revealing the familiar form of PC Glenton. With a quick bow to his former associate, he jumped up to the ceiling, pushed open the only vent large enough to enter, and crawled into the inner workings of the structure.
BACK AT THE OFFICE…
“Gentlemen,” said the general, “I am sorry we could not meet under more fortuitous circumstances. Unfortunately, the situation has grown desperate.”
“Desperate enough to justify kidnapping and public endangerment?!” snapped Mabat. GG Crono quickly reached out in a “calm down, it’s not worth it” manner, and the blue mage slinked back into his chair.
The general, for his part, was unfazed. “I am General Damascus. You have already met Mindscape, one of our oldest Metahuman members. And you are Pierson, Mabatsekker, GG Crono, and…erm…demigod, am I correct?” Pierson nodded, his eyes fixed on the man. “Yes…now that pleasantries are out of the way, we can discuss brass tacks, so to speak. Quite frankly, we are impressed with your service record.”
EVERYONE was surprised by this. They hadn’t exactly been popular since the Canadian Rift Incident. Sensing their surprise, General Damascus slowly rose up. His movements were stiff and unnatural, and he looked like he was in danger of toppling over at any second. He stopped by a nearby window, overlooking a sea of clouds. At last they got one answer: this high up, and at this size, they had to be on an airship.
“We do not throw away good soldiers, even after such trials. I’ve served as a military advisor in every major military action since the Catgirl Wars, and I cannot tell you how often metas such as yourselves have saved the day.” He humphed to himself, laughing at a small private joke. “That is why we want to finance you.”
NOW things were getting interesting. Pierson finally spoke up. “You mean…this is a corporation or something?”
“You…could say it’s something like that,” said the General. “After the second World War, a few politicians gathered some bankers and business owners to help consolidate and control the rising war debt. In the process, they discovered that together, their combined wealth and military access could allow them more control than any legitimate force on Earth. They started to recruit from across the globe, and by 1970, they had most of the world at their beck and call.”
“Your…corporation,” said Mabatsekker. “It wouldn’t happen to be called the Eye, would it?”
Damascus would have done a spit take, had he been drinking. Or had the strength to spit. “The Eye is little more than a bunch of very rich drug runners and smugglers. When we first began to show ourselves as a threat to their power, they tried to destroy us. But we had one advantage. You see, unlike them, we embrace the Metahuman. They are the keystone to our successes, the point of our sword, our very eyes and ears.”
“And that’s why you want us, don’t you?” said Pierson. “You give us some extra funding, and in return, we just do whatever you want us to do. Is that right?”
Damascus nodded in acknowledgment. “Indeed. A simple proposition, my good men, one that all manner of teams have accepted. With our backing, you will be able to truly make an impact on the world. Once we have reigned in rogue elements, we can focus on rebuilding a newer, stronger civilization. Together, we shall rule from the background, forever guarding a world free from fear, death, and sorrow!”
It was at that point that the Task Force realized exactly what they had been sent to: the unholy union of a rousing speech and timeshare sales pitch. And like both, they could easily read some hidden truths and hollowness in Damascus’ words. They were the words of a thousand mindless Messiah Complex sufferers. Still, considering they were being held hostage, they didn’t exactly have a say in the manner. “So…answer now, or later?” asked GG Crono.
Damascus pressed a button on his desk, sending out a loud buzzing noise. “I believe the situation has presented itself well enough. What is your response?”
The word “No” could not escape their lips fast enough. Except for demigod, who couldn’t speak, and had no visible lips anyway. Damascus looked slightly nonplussed, but otherwise retained his calm demeanor. “Very well. You are, after all, not the only ones to reject our proposition. For quality reasons, may I ask why?”
The Task Force looked about each other for about thirty seconds before giving their response. “Because,” said Pierson, “we’ve been around long enough to see through something like this. The Illuminati is just like any other giant, superhero-controlling body. We get more toys, but you get to call the shots. We’re supposed to be saving the day, not serving a bunch of assholes that think just because they’re richer than everyone else, they have a right to tell the world what to do. Oh, and you got us here by staging a disaster, kidnapping us, holding us against our will on an airship, and are no doubt sending in a small squad of fallen superheroes to kill us oh God why did we think this was a good idea?”
The office door suddenly slid open, revealing the form of Mindscape, accompanied with a dozen soldiers. Damascus stood rigidly straight, hands clenched behind his back, chest stuffed. “Mindscape, these gentlemen have decided to reject our offer. Please…escort them to the surface.”
With a quick nod, Mindscape suddenly raised both hands, his eyes locked on the Task Force. All, that is, save for Mabatsekker, who was in the middle of preemptively charging Damascus. His fist was within inches of the general’s chin when everything around him went black.
THAT VERY INSTANT, BACK AT THE FORMERLY-BURNING BUILDING…
The Task Force suddenly found themselves standing outside the very same building that had begun this whole mess. “Suddenly” was the key word in that sentence; it was almost like they had simply blinked and were off the airship. Unfortunately, forward momentum continued to curse their existence, and Mabat’s uppercut instead connected with the dumpster, sending it flying into the stratosphere. “…The hell was that?” muttered the blue mage.
Demigod, now free of the stasis field, quickly scanned his eyes across the sky, but saw nothing. “There is no sign of the vessel. Either we have been temporally displaced by a failed teleportation, or Mindscape is more than a mere empath.” GG Crono simply shrugged at the suggestion.
“In ANY case,” said Pierson, quickly taking control yet again, “we have a new problem. We need to regroup at the HQ, call in the reserves, and start figuring this out.” The team slowly made their way back to the waiting Task Force-Mobile. “We may be facing something bigger than anything we’ve fought before or will ever deal with again. And frankly, I’m tired of getting caught off-”
As if the Powers That Be had been following some sort of hidden “take a dump on me” keyphrase, the Task Force-Mobile suddenly exploded, the team a mere few steps from the vehicle itself. Had Mabatsekker, demigod and GG Crono not thrown up a combination of two energy shields and a Shell spell at that moment, the entire Task Force would have been burnt worse than a thousand KFC dinners. Coughing and wiping their eyes from the smoke, the heroes saw their beloved wheels, and consequentially the rest of the car, lying in a smoldering wreck.
Everyone simply stared straight ahead, completely in shock at their close call. Their concentration was broken only when they heard another, distant explosion. Looking at the mountain line in the distance, they could see their headquarters in flames, along with the entire missing top of the hill. As if to top all this off, a small piece of paper suddenly landed in front of Pierson. Silently, furiously, Pierson bent over and retrieved the document. It was a simply message:
“This is a simple demonstration of our power. You have twenty-four hours to reconsider.”
THE END OF ISSUE 26
Next Time: At long last, the mystery of Auntie McFrank’s Pie Shop will be solved! How will it help the RPGC Task Force? And what is Damascus’ next move? Stay turned for “Living in Deep 14!”
PLUS…
Zachary’s life has not been in good shape recently. Then he runs into a face from a hero’s past…one that will have a profound impact. Such is the way of “A Nice Lady.”
See you June 24th, true believers!
Alright, here’s what’s going down.
I have a massive amount of material planned out for the RPGC Task Force. However, given the current update schedule, the site will be even deader and buried if I keep up at this pace. So, I’m enacting on a few changes to make things flow a little better, hopefully.
-
Updates will now have set dates, and will be once a month, much like an actual comic. Not that this is one, but I’ve always envisioned the story as being in such a style. This is unlike the Sagas, which were always envisioned as being a television series or anime, and thus flowed a bit more in that direction.
-
B-Stories. The fact is, there’s a lot of smaller storylines that set up future plot points, delve into characters and events, and generally provide a little more fun. The first B-Story was going to be in Issue 26, but because of the sheer length and importance of the story I decided to move it to the next one.
-
There is a definite status quo change involved. The Task Force is forced underground. Heaven’s Soldier and the RPGCPD must actively hunt them down. The Illuminati is now pulling the strings, while the Eye is beginning to emerge as a more immediate threat. Needless to say, there will be a few betrayals and alignment turns along the way, some obvious, others hopefully more hidden. And that’s not getting into the continuation of the Iona storyline, which will serve to make Gemini’s life more miserable.
Yes, I do love torturning my brother. Can you tell?
Well, that’s it. Hope you few remaining readers enjoy this little romp.
Sorry about how shitty this issue is. I ran into a long series of real life problems, and was barely able to crunch it in before the deadline.
Issue 27: Living in Deep 14
SHORTLY AFTER THE HORRIFIC DESTRUCTION OF THE TASK FORCE-MOBILE…
The small desk monitor, coupled with the rather precarious positioning of the spy cameras, made it rather difficult to truly capture the absolute spectacle of the scene. For his part, however, Damascus didn’t seem to mind. The Task Force’s sheer shellshock displayed just the reaction he was hoping for.
His view was cut short by a small ringing noise, emitting from a control panel on the other side of the office furniture. Sighing angrily to himself, the general casually flicked the button. The monitor’s image quickly switched to an almost pitch-black chamber, bearing absolutely no distinctive features compared to the three trillion other shadowy chambers that dominated the planet. The other caller was completely obscured by the darkness, and even then, his clothing consisted of a black helmet, black armor, and other such cliché but still useful devices. His voice hissed and crackled, was obviously lowered a few octaves, and even without the masking would probably not have resembled human speech. “Shadow Command Inquiry. Status Report, Skycrasher-3.”
Damascus moved his entire chair forward, grunting in pain as he did so. “General Damascus reporting. Recruitment operation is entering second stage.”
MEANWHILE, BACK ON THE STREETS…
Normally, such an explosion would have drawn a large crowd, especially if local favorites like the RPGC Task Force were involved. However, such was not the case, mostly thanks to an impromptu science demonstration at the RPGC Civic Center that wasn’t important enough to bring up until now. In any case, the heroes had no home, no ride, and were running out of time to strategize.
“Okay…so we have an entire worldwide conspiracy on our heels now,” said GG Crono. “Not…something we normally deal with, but…”
“If I may make a suggestion,” said demigod. His tone was rigid and formal, for quite possibly the first time in months. He pointed towards the nearby Auntie McFrank’s Pie Shop aka the only restaurant seemingly still operating in RPGC. “Stating our plans out here is pure folly. Inside, we might have a better chance at secrecy.”
MEANWHILE, AT THE CIVIC CENTER…
Sinistral stood on the stage, a large device at his side. “And that is why this prototype Matter-Transference Device will be able to predict and control seemingly divine, plot-convenient events. Observe.” He flipped the on switch…
MEANWHILE, ON BOARD THE SKYCRASHER…
Damascus’ reports to Shadow Command complete, he quickly turned back to the spy cameras…and saw nothing but static. He switched from camera to camera, but none of the pictures were coming in at all. Finally at the breaking point, he picked up a nearby radio. “Ashford, what’s going on here?”
“Sir, there’s been a power overload in RPGCity. The cameras were forced to power down, or we would have knocked out the entire grid. We’ll have control in twenty minutes.”
“You have ten!” shouted Damascus. “They know of the Illuminati! They cannot be allowed to run free!”
A SHORT TIME LATER, IN AUNTIE McFRANK’S PIE SHOP…
The Task Forcers sat in a single booth, their eyes locked on their coffees and a la mode pies. “Alright, we can gather the reserves in a few hours at the most,” said Pierson. “From there, we can petition the UN, maybe…”
“IF they don’t already control everyone there,” said GG Crono. Mabat nodded in agreement.
“But…we can’t surrender, can we?” gasped Pierson. “I mean, do you really buy a word that Damascus guy said?”
“No…but we cannot fight them,” said demigod. “Even with the reserves, we will be hopelessly outnumbered. Our best chance is to go into hiding, work to undermine their organization.”
“Agreed,” said Mabat. “But that’s another problem. We can’t even get to our headquarters right now, and given how the whole hillside was blown apart, I doubt that will serve as an ideal base camp.”
All four returned to looking downcast, their angst preparing to bubble through their cracking facades of competency and general adjustment. That was when their hostess arrived: an obese man dressed in a dress that looked like it came straight from Aunt Bee’s closet, with an incredibly bad wig that did nothing to cover his obviously white hair. His voice certainly didn’t help manners; he was so desperately TRYING to sound grandmotherly that every word came out more condescendingly “cooing” than the last. “Ah, are we enjoying ourselves today, gentlemen?”
All four scooted a good six inches towards the wall. “Um…yes, yes we are,” said Pierson. “I mean…this pie is so good, we…”
“WONDERFUL!” shouted the transvestite, nearly shattering their ear drums with the sheer shrillness. “Well, you boys just enjoy your dessert. Auntie has to use the little girl’s room.” With that last bit of extremely disturbing imagery forever cemented in their brains, the she-male ran off into the back room, leaving the heroes completely perplexed, confused, and suffering from a few hundred other adjectives.
A few seconds later, GG Crono shot to his feet. “I’ve had it!”
“Had…what?” was the general reaction.
“Look, you can all just sit here and…worry about pies or whatnot, but I’m going to do something about this! I’m going to march INTO THAT ROOM THERE, and I am going to find out who the FRICK that guy is!”
Pierson and Mabatsekker were upon him in seconds, desperately trying to calm the amnesiac warrior down. Demigod, for his part, simply sat there and did nothing, silently amused at the spectacle. “Come on, man, wait!” said Pierson. “The Illuminati’s more important than this!”
“Don’t you think some things aren’t worth finding out?” said Mabat. “I mean, this guy could be a serious nutball! Have you checked for any barber shops upstairs?”
Without so much as a pause, GG Crono threw his companions off, stopping only to pose dramatically when he got to the door itself. “Everyone, the Illuminati is gonna get us no matter WHAT we do. These will either be our last hours alive, or our last hours free. And by the Powers that Be, I WILL have at least one answer! If it’s the last thing I do, I WILL KNOW THE TRUTH!”
His fist swung out at his last words, hitting the swinging door…and slamming it right into the transvestite’s face, sending him tumbling backwards into some flour. Everyone simply paused, GG’s confident smirk shaking and collapsing onto itself. Finally, all four approached the entryway and pushed the doors open.
Their target was still unconscious, white powder covering his face. A sliver of droll was quickly mixing into the flour, further increasing their horror at the hideous sight. The rest of the room was filled with the various pie ingredients, ranging from canned fruits and starch to the glazed ham used in last month’s disastrous special. A side door led to the kitchen, but besides that, there was absolutely nothing of note in this dark and seedy underbelly of the food industry.
Pierson quickly moved over to the downed transvestite. He was still breathing, and there was no sign of gaping wounds or other injuries to deal with, but he was still out like a broken lightbulb. “Okay, GG,” he snapped. “You just clubbed the poor guy, now get with the snooping!” His companion shrugged slightly and walked closer, bending down to take a good, hard look at his most recent victim. There was something about him that seemed almost familiar, like some small repressed memory in the back of his skull…
FOUR MONTHS AGO…
Pierson, GG Crono and Mabatsekker were all seated on the couch…or more accurately, strapped to the furniture via metal bands and lots of duct tape. Their eyes were held open in the traditional Clockwork Orange manner, their mouths stuffed with socks to stifle their screams. Meanwhile, right in front of them, Galloway was busy fumbling with the VCR, searching through a pile of VHS tapes he had dug out of his room. The last team member was currently away, seeing over some crucial business at the RPGCPD Station.
“Alright, my little hostages,” said Galloway, “which will it be tonight? ‘Final Sacrifice’ or ‘Castle of Fu Manchu?’”
BACK IN THE PRESENT…
“Wait a second…” GG ripped off the horrible wig, revealing a mop of white hair, leading off in a small lock over his pudgy forehead. There was no mistaking it; the restaurant’s owner was none other than TV’s Frank. “Isn’t this that…guy from that show? You know, the one d kept making us watch against our will EVERY NIGHT HE GOT THE TV?”
Mabat slapped his forehead in sudden remembrance. “Oh…right. Ah, the memories.” Suddenly, the sheer implication of their discovery came crashing down. “Wait…you mean a TELEVISION CHARACTER has been running a pie shop? I mean, a FICTIONAL character?”
Everyone simply stared in disbelief at the blue mage’s words. “Sekker, last year alone we went into a children’s anime, an abandoned video game property, an internet cartoon, a television series from the sixties, and so on. Martinez has apparently dated every female superhero in both DC and Marvel continuity. And that’s not mentioning all the other copyrighted material that keeps waltzing in and out of this city.” Their eyes now all shifted to Pierson. “Um…look, Wil probably has some stupid explanation for all this. Let’s wait until we talk to him before we start doubting our existence, okay?”
The entire team nodded in agreement, and started to leave…until Pierson tripped on a poorly-placed banana peel. The force sent him tumbling back into Pierson, who slammed into GG Crono, who fell onto demigod, who then slammed against a far wall. As luck would have it, the ethereal being’s shoulder struck a hidden switch, causing the whole portion to suddenly flip around 180 degrees. The Task Force, still disoriented from the chain of events, quickly found themselves getting flung along with the doorway, landing with a heavy thud on a large metal elevator. The wall quickly flipped back into its normal positioning, leaving no evidence of its recent activities.
Grumbling to himself, GG Crono climbed to his feet…and hit a nearby switch. A metal door clanged shut, completely sealing the elevator. Within seconds, the familiar sense of descending shuddered throughout the metal carriage. Demigod, throwing the other two off of himself with enough force to send them slamming into the machine’s ceiling, leveled his half-hidden eyes on his nervously smirking companion. “GG Crono, if we survive this day, I will see you destroyed.”
A FEW MINUTES LATER…
The elevator finally stopped with a sudden lurch, nearly throwing the recovered party to the floor once again. The doors slid open, revealing a massive cavern of dark blue stone, fluorescent tubes, and various mishandled wires. A few small side passages led to other caverns, with small hanging signs showing pictures of beds, bathrooms, and dining areas. The main cavern was filled with a myriad of oversized, outdated, and generally cartoonish computers and machinery, all of which exuded a sense of malice tinted with a pinch of helplessness.
By this point, there really was no choice but to go forward. So the Task Force did. (The author then beat himself senselessly for that sentence, but that’s another story.) “…Wow,” said Pierson. “Nice collection of antique trash.”
Suddenly, a previously-hidden door opened, revealing the cave’s other occupant. It was a tall, slender man, wearing a green labcoat with a small triangular patch reading “14.” His hair was a crazed mess of brown with a white streak through the middle, the kind only really pathetic mad scientists ever bother to wear. Once again, long-repressed memories came smashing forward, recognizing the figure as Doctor Clayton Forrester.
His head was bowed, currently focused on a clipboard in his hands. He barely seemed to even recognize their very presence in the chamber. “Canister sixteen isn’t responding well. The cockroaches aren’t even half drunk yet.” His head started to crane up. “FRANK! Did you get those Red Bulls I-” Within seconds of seeing the Task Force, he realized that A) they were not Frank, and B) he should probably be worrying at this point. “…Alright, if this is about that sattelite, I told you life support failure was NOT covered under the warranty.”
Everyone just looked around in confusion. “Um…we don’t…know anything about a satellite,” said Mabat. “We…kinda tripped and…”
“Look, what are you doing here?” said Pierson. “You’re a television character!”
Clearly outmatched, outgunned, and without his manservant, Forrester simply decided to launch into the inevitable monologue. “Well…after faking my death to escape that dominating witch of a mother, I drifted around the scientific world for a few years. Then I learned Frank was fired from his Soultaker job for…some reason, he’s never been clear about it. We chatted about the old days for a while, had a few too many margaritas, stumbled into the old lab, and old Booby upstairs TURNED ON the Matter-Transference Device. Next thing I knew, we were stuck in some parallel dimension, with a broken-down machine and a few pieces of equipment that got sucked in, too.”
Not that they cared anymore, given this rushed conclusion to the mysteries surrounding the pie shop down the corner, but GG Crono. “So…why a cross-dressing restaurant?”
“Oh, that was Frank’s idea, bless his twisted little heart,” said Forrester. His deep-buried rage immediately came to the surface, his hands effortlessly snapping the clipboard in two. “We had to sell what was left of the Matter-Transference Device to some spikey-haired doctor just so we could build another satellite. But then we didn’t have the funding to launch the thing, so we had to sell THAT to another spikey-haired guy just to recover half of the investment. By then, we just gave up on going home, bought a restaurant, built this place fourteen stories down to avoid lawsuits, and set up the business as a front. As for the drag…that was all his idea. Frank just wanted an excuse to wear makeup, I guess.”
At long last, the exposition ended, relieving our heroes of yet another tiresome burden. “Now,” continued Forrester, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you. No hard…”
ONE PUNCH LATER…
Dr. Forrester was out cold, thanks to Pierson’s sharp right hook. Finally, TV’s Frank came back down, now dressed in his traditional black suit. “What did you do to Dr. F, you-”
ONE PUNCH LATER…
Now both were out cold.
MEANWHILE, ON THE SKYCRASHER…
The image on Damascus’ screen finally came in clear once again, revealing the lonely street corner where the Task Force once stood. The general quickly picked up the radio yet again. “Any reports on their location?”
“Negative, sir,” crackled the other voice. “Land units were unable to get a hold on their position during the outage.”
“Very well,” said Damascus. “I want 24-hour surveillance of RPGCity and the surrounding countryside. Monitor all network traffic going in and out. Have our mages keep tabs on any and all teleportation wavelengths. If the Task Force makes a move anywhere in RPGC, we will know.”
A FEW HOURS LATER, AFTER A RATHER UNEVENTFUL RECOVERY, APOLOGY, AND NEGOTIATION…
“So…you’re on the run from the Illuminati,” recapped Dr. Forrester. The Task Force nodded in agreement. “And you need a place to stay for now?” Cue the nods. “Alright, I think we can work out a deal. Six hundred a month room and board, no guests or pets (besides Frank).”
With that little bit down, Pierson shaked in agreement, all while handing them the credit card he “borrowed.”
MEANWHILE, AT VALKYRIE ESKER’S PLACE…
Val was in the middle of adding to her computer’s porn portfolio when she noticed something missing: her credit card. Or more importantly, Odin’s credit card. As the heavens above roared in anger and unholy rage, the best she could stomach was a small “eep.”
STORY A END
B-Story: A Nice Lady
A FEW WEEKS BEFORE OUR FEATURE STORY…
The school bell at RPGC Elementary rang out its last shrill cry of the day, a sigh of relief for the many kids within and an executioner’s ring for the parents awaiting their sugar-hyped youngsters. Within seconds, the entire school came rushing out like liquid from a burst blister, screaming and hollering in a strangely beautiful celebration of life. Even the catbeings were noticeably more cheerful than they were a few months before, having molded into their own clique based upon their shared suffering and humiliation.
Amidst this crowd exited Zachary, youngest member of the RPGC Task Force and master of static electricity. His hair was still wet from the swirly he received during second recess, his old backpack reaching its threadbare point thanks to the sheer weight of his textbooks, and his eyes reflected the right level of despair for this no doubt angst-ridden story. He looked around the school gate for either of his parents, but saw none. At least the last time his dad got laid off, he had the courtesy to show up after school, even if he was wasted half the time.
Before taking a single step outside, he quickly glanced to his sides, searching for any sign of kirokokori. Fortunately, the catgirl was nowhere to be seen for once. Maybe she finally got the hint and gave up apologizing for, you know, “outing” him and everything. In any case, this just meant more time to try out that whole angsting thing. He had to have it down before junior high, after all.
Then he saw her, standing just outside the gate, her eyes locked at the school door. She was an adult woman, with strange green eyes and brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her skin seemed an almost unnatural color, although this was most likely because of the sunlight reflecting off the school building. She was wearing a cheap Target sweater and blue jeans, complete with a brown Trenchcoat-O-Mystery©. In one hand was a steel briefcase, which she clung to with completely gloved fingers.
Zachary completely froze at the sight of her. There was just something about how she kept staring straight ahead, completely unfazed by everything around her, that seemed almost frightening. After a few minutes, however, his father finally pulled up, for once sober and dressed. Sighing to himself, he ran to his family’s car and rode off into the sunset, the woman still watching the school.
DAY TWO:
The woman was still there, still staring at the school entrance. And once again, it seemed that Zachary was the only one to notice her. Not that she seemed to be paying him any attention.
DAY THREE:
She was still there, wearing the same clothes, holding the same briefcase. At long last, the boy hero had had enough. Maybe it was just the swirly and Indian burns talking, but he wasn’t screwing around anymore. He had to know what she was doing here.
Without so much as a second thought, he stormed up to the woman, stopping only scant inches from her. To his annoyance, her eyes STILL locked on the building. “EXCUSE me, but can I help you?”
The woman didn’t move an inch. Even more frustrated than before, the kid superhero continued. “You’ve been standing there, after school, for three days! Are you waiting for someone? Are you one of the parents here? Just…”
His constant jabbering finally caught her attention. She slowly crouched down, taking the moment to squeeze every last drop of tension out of the scene. As she did so, the kid could finally notice something else off about her: her left pupil seemed to be twirling in a perfect circle, completely independently of anything else on her body. Zachary quickly realized this was probably not the highlight of his short superheroism career. “Do you know me?”
Zachary quickly started taking steps back. “Um…ah…no…I…”
“Did your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” said the woman. She quickly began to walk forward, rapidly closing the gap between the two. Zachary finally fell flat on his butt, scared tears running down his cheeks. “If I were you, I would keep my little mouth shut.”
In a blind panic, Zach frantically rubbed his hands together. Just as the strange woman was nearly nose-to-nose with him, he slammed both hands on her cheeks. A rush of electricity surged through his fingers, pounding into the woman like a jackhammer. She winced in shock as the blast sent her flying a good ten feet back, slamming through the wrought-iron fence in the process. Without so much as a second thought, he ran right past her and as far from the school as he could.
DAY FOUR:
Zachary came lurching out of the school, his body covered in cuts and bruises from his most recent round of bullying. The woman was still there, of course, her cheeks still singed from his last power display. Some things just didn’t seem to change these days.
One thing that was different this time, however, was the appearance of another unwelcome guest. Kiro was sitting on the school steps, obviously waiting for someone. When she saw Zachary’s condition, she immediately jumped up and ran towards him, much to his annoyance. “Zach! What-”
The youngest Task Forcer, still in the grips of his early emo phase, simply started past her, completely ignoring her attempts at pity and apologies. The catgirl, for her part, continued to dog after him. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have told everyone you were Meta! It’s not like school’s been heaven for me! Come on, would you please talk to me?”
Just a few steps from the gate, Zachary finally stopped…because that same strange woman was now blocking the passage. “Hello, little boy,” she said. “Do you remember me?”
BOTH Zachary and kiro quickly started walking backwards. This time, however, the woman just stood in place, looking down on them. “That was an impressive light show yesterday. You must be quite the top dog at this little sinkhole.” Her eyes turned to kiro. “Oh, and a lover boy at that? Man, did I peg you wrong or what?”
“IT’S NOT LIKE THAT!”
Everything was still for a few seconds, allowing for the voices to echo about uninterrupted. Finally, Zachary continued. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but if you hurt ANYONE here, I’ll…I’ll…”
The woman suddenly grabbed Zachary’s arm, pulling his usual long sleeves back. Her grip was incredibly cold and unexpectedly strong, much like when he had accidentally wedged his arm in his dad’s vice. Kiro quickly jumped at the attacker, only to be grabbed by the paws and suspended eight inches away. Zachary tried to build up some static on his clothes, but nothing was generating fast enough.
Strangely, however, the woman’s suspected child rape stopped at the sight of the bruises on the kid’s arms. They were small but widespread, covering a wide range of ages. “The other kids…do they like you?”
Once again tearing up despite himself, Zachary shook his head. Kiro managed to wiggle free, only to be then held upside-down by the tail. “Do you expect them to like you?” Another shake, this time with a small touch of whimpering. “So, you are more powerful than they are, and you let them walk all over you? Not a good strategy in life.”
She finally let go of her hostages, and both were quick to start pulling back. “You two need to learn something. You let these kids keep steamrolling over you, you’ll be walked on all your life, powers or no. You don’t have to make them like you, but you need them to respect you. If they pull this same stunt tomorrow…” She pointed to a small part on the back of her neck. “Shock them right here. Goes right through the spine, blasting every inch of their body. They will NOT mess with you after that. Now, go meet your parents already. I have some more waiting to do.”
The two quickly got up and dashed around her, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the woman as possible. “Um…who was that?” said kiro.
“I don’t know,” was his only reaction.
DAY FIVE:
The woman was still there when Zachary actually came running out, this time alongside his classmates. This being a Friday, obviously, meant absolute freedom for the kids, and horrible payback towards their parents for forcing them into that prison for five days straight. Once again, he was banged up, but this time around the face. For a split second, he swore he could see some sort of concern on her face, before returning to her typical stoicism.
“Well?” she asked. “What happened this time.”
“I…did as you said,” said Zachary, a mixture of pride and self-loathing in his voice. “I shocked their leader along the spine. Last I heard, he’s still in the nurse’s office. I got three weeks lunch detention because of this.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said. She was about to say some other inspirational, most likely Dark Sided things, but was interrupted when a crowd of students suddenly rushed Zachary. She couldn’t hear every snippet of their conversation, but they were obviously cheering him on. Apparently, the incapacitated bully was none too popular amongst the rest of the student body.
A FEW MINUTES LATER…
The crowds finally broke apart, leaving a totally confused Zachary. Kiro finally emerged as well, flashing Zach a quick smile before hastily departing. “Um…what just happened?” he finally muttered.
“You took out a parasite,” said the woman.
“But…I don’t feel so good about this. I mean, I may have just…”
“He won’t die, but by God, he’ll wish he did.” The woman crouched down next to the child. “He’s probably been terrorizing everyone he could in this school. You finally showed him there was someone a lot more powerful out there, a very good lesson in life.”
“But…”
The woman stood up and extended her hand. “My name’s Allison. What’s yours?”
The boy looked at the extended limb for about ten seconds before finally taking hold and shaking. “Zachary.”
A car horn suddenly beeped, interrupting the tranquil scene. “Oh crap, that’s my mom!” Zachary tore down out the gate and to the waiting vehicle. Allison simply watched him depart, and once nobody was left, she glanced back at the school. “Just one more thing left to do.”
THAT NIGHT…
Allison walked out of the school library, completely drenched in blood. Her briefcase was in hand, small droplets of red liquid dripping out of one corner. Inside the room itself, the school librarian, a Japanese man who had just transferred to the school from another district, was laid out on the floor. A massive wound extended from his lower jaw to his crotch, torn open by what looked like a circular saw. There were no witnesses, ever since the last round of budget cuts knocked down the night custodian’s work hours.
In any case, her job was done.
THE END OF ISSUE 27
Next Time: The Task Force must now find a way to move around undetected. Unfortunately, the only ones that can help them in that regard also happen to be a race of tree-hugging hippies. It’s “Into the Woods” for our heroes!
-Plus-
Before his days as a model superhero/Casanova, Martinez was…just another young punk trying to get into the business. But then he ran into a fiend so legendary, his entire reputation would be forged from just one battle! Can he withstand the might of…”The Baron of Science?!”
Coming to you July 29th!
I’m probably witnessing something that seems like an incredible transformation from a hotblood yell-out-all-attacks hero to a straight man who still goes into the chaos face-first and hopefully comes out victorious after everything.
(P.S. Give Zachary static defibrillators. They are always hilarious.)
Martinez has apparently dated every female superhero in both DC and Marvel continuity
Hey! That’s a gross exaggeration. OK, I dated quite a few, and I’m not allowed in Paradise Island anymore, but that’s far from EVERY female hero! (Yeesh, you want Wolverine to kill me or something!?)
But otherwise, I like your new approach, especially the “Old Hero Mythology” you’re building up. Keep the good work, but don’t let the deadlines get to you, OK? 
Sorry, but…I gotta push this back two days. I’m almost finished, but I still need more time to finish proofing the damn thing until I’m satisfied.
He can charge them and yell CLEAR! before blasting his enemies! :hahaha;
Well…here it is. It sucks, to be sure. I’ll explain why later.
Oh, and I split the main story and B-Story into separate posts, to make it a bit easier to read. I hope it works.
Issue 28: Into the Woods
A FEW DAYS LATER, IN DEEP 14…
“…daring spree of jewelry store robberies…”
BZZT!
“…still baffled by the librarian’s grisly murder…”
BZZT!
“…building a Del Taco inside the RPGCity Museum…”
Now depressed beyond all reasonable measure, Pierson switched off the small television set. They had been literally living underground for the last few days, trying to find some way to secretly enter and exit the hidden shelter. The front door was out; the elevator was way too slow, and even if they could get upstairs in time, the streets were no doubt being monitored. They thought about digging a tunnel to a more secluded area of town, but that was little more than a temporary solution.
And even then, they had no vehicle anymore, thanks to the Illuminati. Their communicators and CSAs were all connected to the UN’s central database…which was probably also Illuminati controlled. Demigod could teleport the team anywhere, but that could easily be tracked…
Then it hit him. After pulling himself from under the fallen boulder, Pierson quickly ran back into the main cavern.
INSIDE THE MAIN CAVERN…
The Task Force sat huddled around a small table, a number of vehicle blueprints scrambled about. Dr. Forrester stood behind them, his back turned, tinkering with what resembled a pile of pointy, glowing Tinker Toys. Frank was still busy in the restaurant, and thus was not privy to this conversation.
“And so,” said Pierson, “we need a new means of transportation.”
Everyone looked around for a few seconds, before returning their attention to their esteemed leader. “So…what’s the plan?” said GG Crono.
Pierson pointed to an old blueprint of the Task Force-Mobile. “I figured that we could follow the exact same design as before, with some modifications.” He grabbed a pencil and started drawing on the paper, finally stopping to reveal crossed-out rocket launchers replaced with a stealth field generator. With some changes to the engine, we should be able to power the thing without too much difficulty.”
The other Task Forcers looked around for a few seconds, trying to rationalize the scheme in their heads. Fortunately, Dr. Forrester was not in the mood for candy-coated deconstructions. “And just HOW do you plan to build this thing?”
The heroes looked at their new landlord, once again raking their brains for a solution. Mabat was the first to speak. “Um…we could just…borrow stuff from the junkyard…”
“You apparently can’t even go outside without some sniper blowing your brains out,” said Dr. F. “And don’t even bother asking us to help! I already took you do-gooding heroes in; I don’t need any more brownie points!”
An uneasy silence fell over the cavern. GG Crono was the first to actually speak up. “Well, we can’t drive, and we can’t walk. Obviously flying’s out of the question.”
“The ground here is too thick to tunnel through, not without sending all of Deep 14 crashing down,” said demigod. “And even with this shield generator you are proposing, the Illuminati could still detect us.”
The deep thinking session continued unabated, with everyone trying desperately to figure out something, anything, that they could use to escape their underground prison. After what seemed like an eternity of this increasingly dull meeting, Mabatsekker finally shot to his feet, toppling the entire table onto GG Crono with his momentum. “I know what we can do! We can TELEPORT!”
Pierson looked up from helping GG Crono escape his captivity, a look of confusion plastered across his face. “We can what??”
Mabat spun around to Doctor Forrester. Despite the madness behind him, the mad scientist was STILL working on his little pile of toys. “Quick! Do you have a phone down here, preferably with a signal scrambler?!” The doctor motioned to a small rotary phone, sitting on a shelf at the other end of the chamber, right next to a strangely-colored toaster. “Pierson! Give Martinez a call!”
MEANWHILE, IN PUERTO RICO…
Martinez was halfway through a pretzel when he heard a buzzing noise on his counter. Sighing at yet another ruined meal, he pulled himself up and grabbed his cell. “Hello, hola, whatever,” he muttered.
A bunch of static erupted on the other side, before being replaced by Pierson’s distant, scratchy voice. “Wil? Wil!”
“Um…yes, this is him,” said Martinez. “Just one second.” He quickly rushed into his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and closed down any source of incoming light. Had this been twenty years ago, his siblings would have been pounding on the door for whatever smut he brought in that weak. “Where the hell are you?!” he snapped, trying his best to speak in hushed tones. “I heard the headquarters was destroyed, and-”
“No time to explain,” hissed Pierson. “We’re barely able to hold this jamming signal together. We just need something that avoids standard teleportation detection.”
Martinez shook his head sadly. “I can’t help there. Pretty much any low-level mage worth their salt can pick up on any spells big enough to move four people. If…whoever is watching you detected the source, they could follow it all the way back to your hideout.”
“Th…why we need you!” The other side was getting worse; they couldn’t hold it together much longer. “Do you know someone…nyone…that ca- help?”
Martinez’s response was immediate. “There’s one…slight possibility. I’ll send a courier in fifteen minutes.”
“…snap…Auntie…crackle…Pie Shop…pop,” and the other side died out, replaced with an ever-familiar dial tone. Martinez stared at the phone for a few seconds, trying to figure out just what was going on. Finally, he just plain gave up, turned the small device off, and raced to the large antique chest at the foot of his bed.
BACK AT DEEP 14…
Pierson kept shouting into the phone, long after everything snapped into a dial phone. “Hello? Wil? Can you hear me?” Finally frustrated beyond belief, he slammed the phone down, growling and snarling under his breath. “God damn phone scramblers!”
“You didn’t have to pay for it, remember?” said Dr. Forrester, finishing his radioactive scale model of an amusement park/death trap.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER…
A small intercom next to the elevator suddenly started buzzing. Doctor Forrester quickly abandoned his most likely cancerous sales pitch, practically tripping over an impatiently waiting Task Force, and finally slammed down on a big green switch. A voice emerged from the squawk box, its speaker talking in a hushed tone. “Um…Steve? There’s this weird chick up here, keeps mumbling about meeting some people down here?”
“You didn’t invite someone over for dinner again, did you?” said Dr. F. “We don’t want a repeat of the Sandy Frank incident, do we?”
A series of pathetic whelps answered back, followed by the same hushed tone. “But…she’s saying some guy named ‘Wil Fred-o’ or something sent her! It might be important!”
BACK IN THE RESTAURANT…
Frank, still dressed in his Auntie McFrank disguise, stood staring at the kitchen’s intercom. Around him was a complex system of automated cooking devices, quickly preparing the day’s food stock faster than any human conceivably could. That, and it kept down on the total number of potentially disloyal employees, while also providing a quick and easy disposal option. Dr. Forrester’s voice finally buzzed over the system. “All right, they said send her down.”
Without as much as a second thought, Frank switched off the intercom, fixed his wig, and walked back through the double doors into the main restaurant. Between the small army of customers running in for a sugar high, as well as the FDA inspectors looking for a sizeable payoff, stood Ivonne. The half-elf girl was clutching a small bag to her chest, her eyes darting to and fro as if afraid someone was going to slit her throat any second. “WELL, DEAR!” shouted Auntie McFrank, practically sending the poor girl jumping through the ceiling. “We absolutely LOVED your resume!”
“Um…uh…but I didn’t…”
Frank grabbed the girl in what looked like a normal shoulder hug…but might as well have been a kung-fu action death grip, and started herding her towards the shop’s back area. “Now, we’re all ready to hire you and everything, but we still have to go through the interview process. Just some formalities and all, you know, hon?”
“Are…you really a male?” whispered Ivonne. Frank wisely ignored that question, instead choosing to push open the doors to the storage room. Once he was sure nobody else was looking, the not-so-sweet transvestite flipped the hidden elevator switch, flipping open the secret passage. At the same time, the elevator slowly lumbered back up, coming to a grinding halt just as Frank was shoving Ivonne inside. “Wh-What the hell are you…?”
“The Task Force is at the bottom,” said Frank. “Just hit the button, and it’ll do everything else. And buzz me before coming up, please?!” With that, he gave a quick wave before the wall flipped back, shutting Ivonne inside. The elf dropped the bag and charged at the closed wall, trying to pound away in hopes of hitting the door switch. Unfortunately, in the time since the wall sealed itself, it also sprung up an electric fence; upon contact, she was sent flying backwards, into the elevator. Her foot caught the bag’s strap, dragging it along behind her. As she pulled herself up, her hand accidentally pressed the switch, closing the elevator doors and sending the carriage downwards.
SOME TIME LATER, IN DEEP 14…
“HIS DAUGHTER?!”
For about the fifteenth time that day, the half-elf was practically thrown across the room by sheer vocal power. The Task Forcers, meanwhile, were more concerned about exactly why their “beloved mentor” decided to hide this important piece of information. Doctor Forrester didn’t have any idea what was going on, but until the girl was out of his lair he had to keep an eye on her.
“Well…it’s a long story,” stammered Ivonne. She then looked down at the bag, and remembered the reason she came in the first place. “Oh yeah, Wilfredo sent me to give you this!”
She dropped the bag on the table, its top flap coming undone on impact. From inside, she pulled out a map of the Very Scary Forest of Bad Things and small glowing rock. “What…does the Very Scary Forest of Bad Things have to do with anything?” asked Pierson.
“Father said you needed a teleportation device,” said Ivonne. “As far as he knows, there’s no way to build such a thing with current technology. There is ONE thing we can use, though.” She grabbed the small rock and held it up for all to see. As she touched it, green runes and glyphs began to etch and ebb through the stone, forming a seemingly ever-moving weave of characters. “This is a piece of the Waypoint, the same relic we elves used to come here in the first place.”
Everyone simply stared at the small, seemingly dancing inscriptions…except for Doctor Forrester. In the most stereotypical of mad scientist behaviors, he simply scowled at the whole spectacle. “Oh, please! You expect us to believe this thing is really magical?” That was what he would have said, had he not actually tried to touch the thing. He didn’t say much else after a few thousand volts raced through his body; he just looked at everyone in a bemused rage, smoking and sizzling all the while. “…That’s it. You guys have fun, I need to take a long bath.” With that last little bit of unnecessary squick, Dr. F ran off.
With that distraction gone, everyone’s attention returned to the task at hand. Demigod was the first to notice the flaw in their cunning plan. “If this stone came from an ancient teleporter, it might still work. How much power still remains, though?”
It seemed to take Ivonne a few seconds to fully digest everything demigod had said, and even then, it took more than a few head cranes to make out his inhuman voice. “Not…really. We need a larger piece of the waypoint. Fortunately, what’s left is still fully charged.”
“So…all we have to do is go in and grab these rocks?” asked Mabat. Ivonne’s head bowed slightly in response. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
“That waypoint…is holy ground. It’s the one link we have left to our heritage, before the humans slaughtered us.” Nobody knew what she was talking about, but they did not like where the conversation was going. “We might…MIGHT be able to convince them to give you a larger piece, but after that, you’re on your own.” She held the stone over her head, and started chanting in some sort of unearthly sweet, yet also menacing language.
“Shanna kaie, ohka mis tre. Shanna kaio gre ny ireh ope.”
ROUGH TRANSLATION: “Return to me, gateway of my forefathers. Take me to the land of our ancestors.”
After a few rounds of chanting, a green shield appeared over the waiting heroes. Before anyone could rationalize what was going on, the entire field suddenly blinked out of existence, taking them with it.
AN INSTANT LATER, AT THE VERY SCARY FOREST OF BAD THINGS…
The entire group appeared deep inside a dark, scary forest. A VERY scary forest, in fact. The only things to travel with them were the clothes and armor on their backs, the forest maps, and the stone (now looking like nothing more than a grey pebble). After a few moments of disorientation, everyone started to look to and fro, desperately searching for some clues as to their current location.
“Wait a minute,” said GG Crono. “Did…did that thing just work?”
“Looks that way,” said Ivonne. She regarded the stone with no small sense of sadness. “The spell used up almost all the piece’s power, though. We need to find the actual waypoint, and fast.”
MEANWHILE, ABOARD THE AIRSHIP…
Damascus was halfway through filling out a day’s worth of reports when his comm system suddenly started buzzing. The video screen was filled with a picture of a young man, dressed in a stereotypical mage outfit (right down to the pointy hat and crook staff). The only sign of a uniform was an upraised collar and a few rank insignias, designating a lieutenant. “General Damascus, sir?”
Damascus grunted in reply. “Yes, Pariah?”
Pariah cleared his throat, as if unsure of what to say. “Sir…we’ve detected some sort of magical disturbance. It’s practically covering the entire US-Canadian border.”
“Sounds like the Task Force,” said Damascus. “Pinpoint the source, and prepare…”
“That’s the problem, sir,” muttered Pariah. He buried his eyes under his hat’s brim as he continued. “There’s no single source. It’s hitting over two dozen locations, all of them with an extremely weak signal. They keep moving, too; we can’t keep track of everything.”
Damascus simply stared at the screen, seemingly totally lost on what his next step should be. Seeing his bewilderment, and not wanting to get on his bad side any more, Pariah quickly switched off the live feed.
MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE FOREST…
“And a few months later, the blessed event,” finished Ivonne. The Task Force simply nodded in acknowledgment, more than a little amazed at Wil’s former sexual prowess.
They continued to march through the forest, using the maps to slowly but surely work through the confusing woods. “So,” said GG Crono, “this is our first time meeting any elves. What are they like?”
Ivonne cleared her throat, preparing for the usual cultural posturing. “Well, to be quite honest, we’re obviously superior to you humans and metahumans in every way possible. Why, when you primitives were still trying to figure out flint and tinder, WE were using laser weaponry, magic totems, and even robots! ROBOTS!” Her face morphed into that usual “oh look at me I just verbally owned you” look that so often precludes a crushing ego deflation session.
“Well, that’s well and good, but what was that about ‘humans slaughtering you all’ or whatever?” asked Pierson.
Ivonne’s mood quickly dropped. “Well, there were these two guys, Grok and Mok I think. They didn’t see how we were improving your lot, so they…kind of destroyed the waypoint. We couldn’t leave after that, and the humans went crazy and started killing anyone with pointed ears. The ones that survived went into the forest.”
“And…what were you doing, exactly?” said demigod.
“Why, we were teaching you your place in the universe!” said Ivonne. “Do you think humans would have developed that whole ‘We’re so special’ view if they actually KNEW how insignificant they were?”
Nobody knew quite how to respond to that. Well, Mabat had an inkling, but he figured Martinez would object to receiving his daughter’s spleen in the mail. That, and he couldn’t afford the shipping costs. Fortunately, GG Crono was, as always, able to interject. “Do the elves STILL have all their cool toys?”
Once again, Ivonne’s mood darkened. “Um…no. We lost most of them during our escape, and we couldn’t gather the parts to repair them.”
“And you can’t rebuild your waypoint?”
“…No.”
“And these…inferior stone age humans practically wiped you out?”
A long sigh from the half-elf. “Yes, in a typical violent primitive sort of way.”
“And this was AFTER you enslaved the entire species, just because you could?”
No response this time. Ivonne wasn’t even looking at him anymore.
Finally, everyone arrived at a large, empty clearing. Pierson looked back at the map, and noticed a large red X over their current location. “Well…according to this thing, we’re here. Everyone split up and start searching for…”
His words were interrupted by the most usual of forest-dwelling traps. A net, cleverly hidden by the underbrush, was quickly pulled up by invisible strings. Despite the entire troop weighing over five hundred pounds combined, the sheer web of hidden cables proved to be enough to not only lift the net over their heads and encompass their entire bodies inside, but were also capable of jaunting the whole thing into the treetops with a single quick motion. Only Ivonne was standing far enough away to avoid the net, and thus remained alone on the forest floor. Her eyes locked on the distant tree tops, a look of grave concern on her face.
“Everyone,” she whispered, “please forgive me.”
THE END OF STORY A
Martinez: I am sorry. I am SO sorry.
B-Story: The Baron of Science
GOING BACK, BACK INTO THE RECESSES OF TIME, TO THE LONG, LONG AGO OF 1990…
“And now, on ‘Where Are They Now?’, we are proud to present…and I use the term loosely…the story of Baron von Bad Guy.
“First appearing in the early 1960s, Baron von Bad Guy was a technological genius who, for whatever reason, chose not to sell his inventions but rather to rob banks. At first, it was a simple matter of flamboyant disguises and death rays, but by his third robber he had evolved to using robotic battle-suits to commit his increasingly daring crimes. Many of the world’s greatest superheroes tried to stop the villain, but he escaped capture every time.
“Most famous, however, was his final battle with premier mystic The Great Madlov. The so-called sorcerer had called together every other magic user he could find to stop Bad Guy’s latest weapon, a super-magnet capable of flinging meteors on any city he wanted. They managed to destroy the device, but the Baron himself managed to overpower them all. Most infamously, it was revealed that Madlov and his assistants were, in fact, nothing more than stage magicians, their tricks nothing more than sleight of hand and special effects.
“And so Baron von Bad Guy, having crushed one of the once-greatest superheroes of all time, vanished without a trace. And now, back to Oprah.”
IN CABO ROJO, PUERTO RICO…
Young Wilfredo Martinez paced around the inside of his apartment, constantly checking his watch as he did so. “Oh come on, come on!” he muttered. “What’s taking that stupid mail?”
(Just to clarify some differences, the svelt young Wilfredo Martinez was certainly a handsome sight to behold. He had yet to let a decade of magic use and misuse wear away the skin texture and recede his hair line, and still had that youthful spark that made his hundred girlfriends jump on him with almost spring-like precision. Oh, and since he was still a nobody at the time, he didn’t have to worry about the dozens of vengeful supervillains trying to kill his family or burn down his hometown.)
Finally, there was a knock at the door. In a dash that the Flash would think was a little excessive, Martinez flung the door open, grabbed the envelope from the hapless mailman, and slammed the door shut again. He then opened the door again, threw down a few bucks as a tip, and slammed the portal close yet again.
Like a child at Christmas, Martinez tore open the small document, revealing a detailed series of police reports. Sure enough, it was all the evidence he needed for his latest sting operation. At long last, he could handle something OTHER than random muggings and bank robberies…
MEANWHILE, BEHIND THE LOCAL MUSEUM…
The last of the armored trucks came to a stop a few feet from the museum’s back door. The museum curator was already waiting, along with a small army of armed security guards. The instant the truck’s engine stopped, the drivers jumped out of their vehicles, raced to the back, and opened the steel doors. Inside were a series of wooden boxes, all marked as containing “Bananas” and “Oranges.” Were it not for the sheer overt zeal of the transportation methods, the disguise might have thrown potential thieves off the trail.
The guards and drivers started to unload the trucks, carrying the boxes into the museum’s storage area. One of the men, the last driver to arrive at the scene, walked up to the curator, a manifest in his hands. “Alright, boss. What do you want with this stuff?”
The curator practically snatched the document out of the poor man’s hand, scanning its contents for one specific item: a small jade dagger. “And you are SURE the knife was in the shipment?” The driver nodded in response. “Very well.” The old man signed the document, ripped out his copy, and shoved the rest into the other guy’s face. “Hurry up. We can’t let anyone know what we’re doing here.”
MEANWHILE, AT CAL POLY…
Doctor Harold Metzger, esteemed Mechanical Engineering professor and all-around genius, sat in his cozy corner office, reading the day’s newspaper between classes. Around his little abode stood the various trophies of his long career: various degrees, numerous trophies and awards, and pictures with nearly every important engineer of the last forty years, all tales of a life fulfilled. As for the man himself…well, he was just reading the newspaper.
Suddenly, his phone started to ring. Sighing to himself, he picked up the receiver. “Hello?” A few seconds later, his eyes suddenly flew open with rage. “He bought WHAT? You KNOW that dagger… Yes, yes, I’ll be over there tonight. Oh, and I’ll be bringing the nice suit. Just thought you should now.”
THAT NIGHT, AT THE MUSEUM…
The museum’s storage room was filled with all manner of wooden boxes, creating a practical maze of priceless artifacts and treasures shoved where nobody remotely interested would ever see them again. The curator, meanwhile, was sitting at a small table at the far end of the room, examining the same jade dagger he was so interested in previously. Sure enough, the thing’s authenticity checked out; it really WAS the so-called Dagger of Mesulah. How a jade weapon got into medieval Germany was anyone’s guess, but he could easily spin the story for the next buyer.
MEANWHILE, IN THE MUSEUM PROPER…
The only thoughts to cross Martinez’s mind was, “This place sucks.”
The museum was a small affair, bearing your typical display of native artifacts, expressionist paintings, and the occasional exhibition. The only people that really came here were either elementary school students, or simply brow-beat by the summer heat into heading indoors. Besides, it was technically free, which was actually just slightly out of the superhero’s price range at the moment.
That, and there was the tip-off about the curator being part of the antiquities racket, selling a few pieces or two on the side for quick profit. It wasn’t anything vitally important, but it sure beat taking out random muggers. His uniform and staff were shoved into his Bag of Holding, leaving our hero in his usual casual attire. For the most part, his drab outfit was perfect for the usual rounds of Clark Kenting that went into “true” heroism; all he needed was an annoying (beep) of a girlfriend trying to wring out his secret identity, and he’d be set.
After a few minutes of studying some kind of pot, Wil saw his chance at an opening. The back offices were guarded by a single security guard; the rest were busy patrolling the gift shop after yesterday’s great license plate robbery. Standing at the other end of the room was a young mother and her snot-nosed child, the latter holding a cup of grape juice dangerously close to a very, very old chair. Martinez stealthily raised one finger, sending a quick, concentrated gust of wind to blow up the woman’s skirt, just as an obviously leering man was walking by. Enraged, the woman let go of her son’s hand and slapped the guy right across the face. The kid, sensing trouble, let go of his juice cup, sending the liquid spilling onto the man’s fine shoes.
Now fully enraged, the man grabbed the kid by the ear. The mother responded by kicking him in the balls. By the time both were on the ground, kicking and screaming, the guard was already on his way to break up the battle. For the last time, Martinez regarded the destructive scene before him.
“Oh. No. I missed,” he said, in the most dry, monotone voice possible. With a final adieu, he slipped into the back area.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, INSIDE THE STORAGE ROOM…
The old curator was on the phone, talking impatiently with a potential customer. “Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s genuine! Alright, five hundred thousand, but that’s as low as I’ll go! … Okay, it will be on the next plane to New York. Now…who did you say I should talk to, this Rei-”
The line suddenly went dead, replaced by the ever-familiar ring tone. Surprised, the curator turned about…and saw Martinez standing overhead, swinging the phone cable like a lasso. “Hello, good sir. May I ask what that was about?”
A FEW MINUTES LATER, BEHIND THE MUSEUM…
The curator was still unconscious, the victim of a very potent sleep spell. Martinez, for his part, was simply glad this whole mess was over with. His target had confessed to the whole crime almost instantly, he had the priceless dagger he planned to sell (wrapped up in a towel and stored in his bag for safe keeping), and most of all, he caused a massive riot that would probably lead to more costly destruction than whatever it was he just saved.
“I’ll…probably have to write that last bit out of the official history,” he sighed. “Still, everything went smoothly, and absolutely nothing will come out of the blue and ruin this day. Yep, there is no way anything can possibly go wrong. I am SO sure that nothing will happen that I’ll just leave the curator down here while I call the police.”
He was just walking around the corner when he heard something roaring ahead, like a jet fighter flying way too low. Suddenly, a loud crash was heard from behind the museum. Turning on his heels, Martinez arrived just in time to see the noise’s originator. It was a large, pure metal robot of some kind, standing about ten feet tall in total. Its torso was almost totally spherical, except for a flattened backside hosting a number of rocket boosters. Both of its arms were mounted with Gatling guns, its right hand shaped into a long metal blade. Its legs were bent at a 45 degree angle, ending with a tank tread on each. Finally, there was the matter of the missile batteries underneath its carriage. Needless to say, the thing looked absolutely ridiculous, like something a writer with no understanding of structural mechanics would slam into a poorly-written fanfic. And yet, it seemed to be moving perfectly.
The machine walked up to the curator, now awakened by the impact. The old man’s face practically lit up with pants-wetting fear. “No…It…I…”
“You stole my dagger,” said the robot. Its voice was heavily distorted, sounding more like a drive-thru speaker. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to steal that thing in the first place? Give it back, NOW!”
“EXCUSE ME!” shouted Martinez. Both spectators turned around at the superhero’s calling. “Sorry to interrupt your little get-together, Mr. Roboto, but can you PLEASE tell me who you are?”
The robot looked back at the curator, then at the superhero. “What are you doing here, boy? This is a private matter!”
Seeing his chance, the curator jumped to his feet and ran off. Cursing his own stupidity, Martinez quickly threw out a Force Bolt, slamming into the back of the old man’s head and knocking him unconscious. “Ah, a superhero! I haven’t seen one of your kind in SO long! Not since that charlatan Madlov, anyway.”
The mention of the disgraced hero’s name was enough to finally jog Martinez’s memory. “Wait, I know you! You’re Baron von Bad Guy, the Baron of Science, the Scourge of-”
The robot suit’s fist slammed into Martinez’s face, sending him bouncing back a good fifteen feet. The mage slowly climbed up, disoriented but otherwise not badly injured. Von Bad Guy charged forward, blade arm extended for a final strike. Wil quickly rolled out of the way, firing a lightning bolt as he did so. The electricity simply passed over the suit’s armored exterior, cackling and sizzling but causing no obvious damage. “Do you really think your little parlor tricks can impress me, worm?”
Now slightly teed off, Wil charged at the robot. The robot raised both arms into a firing position, launching a rapid stream of bullets from his chain guns. The mage quickly raised a shield, weaving back and forth to try and dodge the death wave. When he was a few feet away, he launched himself forward, flipping onto the back of Bad Guy’s suit. He quickly raised both hands, channeling ice power into both hands and slamming down hard on the jet pack. A wave of frost erupted from the impact site, freezing the boosters solid…until the ice instantly thawed a few seconds later. At the same time, Bad Guy, realizing what Martinez was doing, threw his entire suit backwards. Wil jumped off at the last possible second, barely avoiding getting smeared on the concrete.
The boosters suddenly fired back up, propelling the suit back into a standing position. Bad Guy turned about, facing the increasingly desperate mage head-on. “It seems we have a little fighter here. Too bad your magic isn’t real.”
NOW Martinez was really getting peeved. “I blasted you with lightning and summoned ice with my hands. What do you MEAN that wasn’t magic?” In his rage, the mage tossed a baseball-sized fireball, only to have it pointlessly bend and break on the seemingly invulnerable armor.
“It’s all just a matter of slight-of-hand, a showstopper.” The suit continued to approach its target, ready to finish this whole thing. “There is no scientific basis, no functional explanation for how these ‘spells’ work. You can’t explain it like metahumans or even the dragons. You cannot theorize it without breaking every known physical law of the universe! Now, how do you intend to stop me, wizard?”
Martinez was running out of options. His regular spells simply wouldn’t work on this guy. He could rain down more powerful stuff, but given the armor involved, anything strong enough to puncture the suit would most likely kill him, von Bad Guy, and half of the town. There was only one option left. He would have to resort to the ultimate of all cop-outs.
“Well…”
(One lengthy summation of magic that I wrote in the Guide to the RPGCVerse and really don’t feel like copying down here…)
“And that’s all I can tell you about magic.”
Von Bad Guy simply stared at him, unable to figure out what to say next. “That…was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I can understand your skepticism,” said Martinez. “Besides, I was just distracting you until the police arrived.”
Suddenly, a few dozen cop cars came roaring down the road, taking up a defensive formation around the museum. The police quickly exited, and having been alerted about Baron von Bad Guy’s presence, were armed with various heavy weapons, including anti-armor rockets and assault weapons. “What…what?”
“You can’t escape this one,” said Martinez. “Just…”
Von Bad Guy quickly fired up his rockets and blasted off, vanishing into the night sky. Martinez thought about pursuing him, but finally decided against it. He was hot, tired, and had to go to work in the morning. Besides, he was sure everything would work out eventually…
THE NEXT MORNING…
Martinez’s hands shook as he read the paper. “Local superhero bungles battle, lets villain ESCAPE?!” He threw his coffee cup against the wall, as if a cue for the “Mwah mwah mwaaaaah” music to start playing. Any moment now, his family would start calling, recommending a few dozen shrinks to cure his “personality disorder,” the police would be pinning the entire night’s disaster on him, he’d be ragged on all day at work, and worst of all, he had no idea when or if he would face Baron von Bad Guy again.
Martinez let out a small sigh. “I wonder if this is how Batman got his start.”
THE END OF ISSUE 28
Next time: Into the Woods concludes! Our heroes are now at the mercy of the vengeful elves. Can they complete their mission, or will our heroes meet their ends? And where will Ivonne’s loyalties fall? And what of Martinez? Stay tuned August 31st for the thrilling conclusion!
Well, here’s the conclusion to last issue’s story. Enjoy.
Issue 29: Into the Woods (Part 2)
INSIDE THE NET…
The RPGC Task Force continued to hang around in the net, somehow completely incapacitated by the oldest and simplest of tricks. Even if they decided to cut their way out, they would be faced with a no doubt fatal fall back to Terra Firma. All they could do for the moment was hang around, swinging in the light breeze, hoping that the mutant Teletubbies from their last trip couldn’t climb trees.
Rather embarrassing way to start their day, in any case.
Strangely, there wasn’t any sign of nearby platforms or anything. There wasn’t even one of those “treetop village” deals that usually accompanied such pedestrian fantasy as elves. In fact, there wasn’t even any real life to be found at all; only a heavy overcast of ancient tree branches marked any sign of growth and vitality in the region. A few birds and other small animals could be seen at times, but none ventured anywhere near the net, or where the clearing’s boundaries could be found.
After several minutes of having Mabat’s rock-hard elbow shoved into his face, Pierson was reaching the breaking point. “That’s it! Demigod, can you get us out of here?”
Demigod shifted himself from under GG Crono’s left foot. “I cannot. The net is enchanted somehow. It seems to be holding back my powers.”
Now curious, Mabat slowly moved himself over, sending his foot down on GG Crono’s poor nose and his elbow up into Pierson’s eyes. Hapless to his teammate’s screams of pain, he held one of the net’s many chords. Upon squinting, he was able to make out another series of runes, much like those on the stone. “I guess this is standard for Elves. I’ve never seen magic like this anywhere else.”
“PHFERY PHISS!” mumbled GG Crono. Finally realizing what he just did, Mabat lifted his foot, freeing Crono but slamming his knee joint into Pierson’s lower gut. The amnesiac hero quickly began to breath in sweet, non-foot fungus air for the first time in thirty seconds. “Okay, let’s find a way out of here, people! We still have a waypoint to find!”
The minute he said “waypoint,” the net began to shudder slightly. This was followed by a slight falling sensation…which was accompanied by a very literal fall. The heroes responded the same way any sane, rational person would: they screamed like babies. Except for demigod, who seemingly didn’t care. Their panic only stopped when the net itself halted, a few feet from the ground. The runes suddenly intensified, glowing at ever brighter degrees. Meanwhile, the sound of guns cocking emerged from the surrounding bushes and trees. Ivonne was nowhere to be seen.
Beads of sweat began to pour down Pierson’s forehead. “Um…I…don’t think this is good…”
His words proved true almost immediately. About two dozen figures shambled out of the growth, slowly venturing into the clearing and surrounding their targets. They were elves, no doubt; all bore the traditional pointy ears. However, nothing else seemed to match the corresponding lore. Instead of either elegant, physically impossible clothing or camouflaged outfits, they wore thrown-together pieces of armor and soup bowl-esque helmets. A few managed to have some sort of actual protection (mostly some bulletproof vests and old metal costumes), others simply pounded together a few loose pieces of scrap iron, a couple of bolts, and on occasion, strips of leather and fur. Instead of swords or bows, everyone was armed with more modern firearms.
“More” being the key word. They were certainly guns; the heroes could make our pistols, shotguns, and even a few assault rifles in the mix. However, they were obviously in horrid condition. Many were partially or completely rusted; quite a few had bent or busted barrels; and worst of all, they could even make out a handful that were completely missing firing pins or triggers. Either the Elves had no idea how to actually use a gun, or were simply incapable of maintaining their weapons. In any case, the Task Force wisely decided to keep their mouths shut for the moment, figure out how to get out of this mess, and of course, still get that waypoint.
One of the elves moved out of formation, zeroing in on Pierson. Judging from the more polished appearance of his uniform (only fourteen dirt smudges), his rifle’s more pristine, functional exterior, and the general arrogance he presented as he approached, he was most likely the leader of this little band. In any case, his twisted, serious face made it perfectly clear he wasn’t messing around. That, and he was damn near 6’8”. A Keebler he was not.
The elf stopped about three feet from his captives. As if on cue, the net suddenly popped open, depositing all four Task Forcers on the ground. “Metahumans, you have trespassed on holy ground. Explain yourself.”
The heroes slowly pulled themselves up, only to be greeted with an assault rifle to the face. Well, it was technically in GG Crono’s face, but everyone else was implied. “We…wanted to ask a favor.”
“The waypoint,” grunted the elf. “We could hear you from the moment you stepped into this accursed wood. You seek to steal our most treasured artifact?”
“Steal?! No!” shouted Mabat. “We just…wanted to borrow a small piece of it.”
Demigod nodded in agreement. “We did not wish any additional harm.”
“Wait! Hold it!”
Ivonne suddenly came running out of the crowd of soldiers, panting and heaving for breath. She stopped beside the heroes and their elf opponent. “I bring word from the High Priestess. She wishes to see the intruders.”
“And how were you planning to bargain for the waypoint?” said the elf.
Nobody was sure of just what was going on, but they rolled with it anyway. “There’s a group out there, called the Illuminati,” said Pierson. “If nobody stops them, they’ll eventually find where you guys are. The elves can’t win…” He motioned to the poorly-equipped squad before him. “ESPECIALLY with soldiers like this.”
GG Crono continued, eager to get the rifle off his nose as quickly as possible. “If we have part of the waypoint, we can stand a chance of defeating the Illuminati. Your people will be safe, our people will be free, and everyone will be happy.”
“That’s nice and all, but can we PLEASE see the High Priestess now?” continued Ivonne.
“The Illuminati is a human organization. We have dwelled on this forsaken world from before the first primates learned to walk upright, and you expect US to believe that a bunch of humans can stand a chance against us?” The surrounding soldiers immediately burst into laughter at the sheer notion. The Task Force, meanwhile, was too busy trying to figure out which was worst: their arrogance, or their stupidity. The commander simply continued to stare stoically, as if contemplating what horrible fate to subject his captives to.
Beads of sweat were trickling down Ivonne’s forehead. This was starting to go very, very badly. Running on a combination of fear and sheer adrenaline, she impulsively grasped onto the elf commander’s left arm. “Please, we have to get-”
What happened next took less than a few seconds, but resonated in everyone’s mind for the rest of the encounter. The elf commander’s face twisted into an incredibly cruel scowl, his fiery eyes locked on the girl. He flipped the rifle up a few inches, spun his hands open, and grasped the weapon so the butt was facing his left. With a quick lean and jerk, he pulled back and slammed the weapon, full force, into Ivonne’s stomach. The half-elf spat up some saliva and let go, doubling over from the sheer agony of the blow. Before she could recover from even that, the commander grasped the barrel with both hands and swung the firearm like a club, uppercutting Ivonne square in the jaw with a sickening crack.
Ivonne, the half-elf daughter of Wilfredo Martinez, the person trying to lead the RPGC Task Force in a peaceful endeavor, was now lying on the grassy earth, sobbing uncontrollably, blood trickling from her mouth. Mabatsekker let out a bellow like that of a raging bull and moved forward, only for Pierson to raise his arm, blocking his path. The blue mage looked at his group’s new leader with confusion and rage, but the former thief was shaking his head disapprovingly. By the time the commander had returned his attention to the group, Mabat’s anger had subsided enough to keep things moving.
“What the hell is your problem?”
Unfortunately, Pierson had forgotten to cover Crono’s big fat mouth. The elf commander raised the gun back to nosepoint, visibly shaken by what had happened. So was everyone, to be honest. “That…thing touched me. I have never been so insulted.” He glanced back at Ivonne; by now, the girl had climbed to her feet, still clutching her gut. “If the High Priestess wants to see you, she will…”
A collective gasp suddenly emerged from the surrounding guards. The commander turned about, to see a pair of elven maidens emerge from the woods. They were dressed entirely in long, lacy white robes; you know, the ones seen in millions of horribly generic fanfics the world over. The soldiers quickly fell to their knees, their eyes not even looking upon the figures before them. The commander, meanwhile, took one look at Ivonne, another look at the maidens, and quickly gave one of the most satisfying “oh crap” expressions the heroes had seen in a long time.
“Commander She’ore,” said the maidens, speaking in what appeared to be one monotone voice. “The High Priestess has requested your presence. Why have you neglected your orders?”
“I…uh…was protecting Lady Ivonne from these…these…METAHUMANS, yeah!” Pierson quickly blocked Mabat’s body with one hand and covered Crono’s mouth with the other. Demigod, meanwhile, was still observing the ever-increasing carnage around him. “If anything were to happen to her…”
“Take them to the High Priestess,” said the maidens. “Fail this time, and she will not be so merciful.” With that, the two melted back into the forest, almost as mysteriously as they had first appeared. The elven soldiers quickly surrounded the Task Force and Ivonne, weapons raised in a rather cute attempt at being threatening. With much reluctance, the heroes followed their new captors.
A SHORT TIME LATER…
The Task Force now stood inside the fabled Elven Village. Such a sight should have been the epitome of amazing. They were standing on ground humans had not tread since Martinez’s temporal incident, and for thousands of years before that. Here, there could be all sorts of amazing stories, ancient elven tales and myths of old. It would have made the trip worthwhile, even with what just happened.
Instead, they found what amounted to little more than a shantytown. There were buildings here and there, but most were constructed from nothing more than regular garbage. Pieces of metal and cardboard boxes were fused together with old cement, super glue, or in a few cases a rather more foul substance. The few places not built out of a landfill were instead made from what was probably once find old wood; now, it was a mess of rotting timbers and rusting nails. The whole thing was more pitiful than anything else.
The crowd of soldiers dispersed, leaving the Task Force and Ivonne standing in the middle of the small village. Already, some of the residents were coming out, curious and awestruck at the figures before them. Their appearances were a bit better than the earlier soldiers; their faces were washed but rough, their hair clean but often wild, their clothes still functional but often tattered or patched. The elf commander, realizing he was in serious trouble, simply decided to step aside at that point, leaving the heroes at the mercy of the village’s residents.
“Well…they seem friendly enough,” whispered Pierson. He looked over at Ivonne; she was still battered, but the bleeding had subsided significantly, and her sobs were reduced to an occasional moan. “Are you all right?”
The half-elf looked at the Task Force’s leader, slight confusion in her eyes. Apparently, nobody had bothered to ask that question before. “I…I’m fine. Thank you, though.” She quickly turned away, electing a small whine as she did so.
Suddenly, everything went deftly silent. From a small path at the other end of the village entered about a dozen of the maidens from before, marching side-by-side. They were all dressed in exactly the same robes, sporting exactly the same hairstyles, and even blinking in unison. The whole spectacle was more creepy than anything they had encountered by that point. The procession stopped about ten feet from the heroes; the maidens quickly moved to their respective sides of the road.
The elf following them was even more impressive. It was yet another woman, dressed in similar robes. However, her clothes sported more elegant designs, even showcasing a few of the elven runes that seemed so damn important and magical. Save for the maidens, the other elves quickly started to back away, some falling to their knees as they did so; whoever this was, she was obviously of great importance. The newcomer halted in the very middle of the makeshift columns, surrounded by a group of followers the Task Force quickly realized they probably did not want to mess with.
Everyone simply stood there, totally silent. The elves were apparently in awe and afraid of the new elf; the Task Force didn’t want to end up swiss cheese, and Ivonne was shuddering slightly. Finally, the commander raised his rifle once again, aiming it at the side of Pierson’s head. “Well…” he muttered. “Bow down, you insolent curs! Do not dare disrespect the High Priestess like this!”
“High Priestess?!” snapped back Pierson.
“The greatest amongst us, and far above you and your dog.” Pierson’s “Urge to Kill” meter quickly started to fill. “Now, if you wish to leave here with your HEADS, you will bow. NOW!”
At that moment, the High Priestess finally broke her silence. “Commander She’ore.” The commander quickly lowered his weapon and spun about, practically crapping his pants in fear. “I distinctly remember requesting your presence quite some time ago.”
“Ah…yes. Well, you see…”
“I do not tolerate excuses, She’ore.” The High Priestess raised her right hand, the limb now practically swimming in a shining white aura. The commander looked ready to run, but was still frozen in fear. He let out one last scream as white flames spontaneously engulfed his body, leaving him screaming and roaring in agony inside. The Task Force unwittingly took a few steps back, very eager not to get roasted in the same blast. After about ten seconds of the madness, the flames suddenly subsided, and the commander fell to the ground, his body completely uninjured but his eyes almost as wide as dinner plates, his body convulsing and pulsating with perpetual agony, a small yellow trail trickling down from his pants leg.
If any of the heroes ever wanted to know what elf urine looked like, well, now they did.
“Um…what the hell just happened?!” snapped GG Crono.
“That wasn’t magic,” said Mabat. “I don’t know what it was, but it certainly wasn’t magic.”
Ivonne shook her head sadly. “The sentence for disobeying the High Priestess is death, but we have too few people left to possibly allow executions. So all elves are branded with runes at birth, ones that connect to their central nervous system. When the High Priestess wants to, she simply activates the rune.” She looked down at the commander. “He’ll be down for weeks.”
The High Priestess, no longer glowing like a fluorescent light bulb, lowered her arm…only to raise it directly at Ivonne. “And you, Ivonne. Why have you led these metahumans to our most holy of sites?”
Pierson took a step forward. “I am Pierson, of the RP-”
Two guards immediately jumped out from the crowd, guns raised. The team got the message very, very quickly, and started to back down. Ivonne cleared her throat, eyes lowered as she approached the Priestess. “Father told me to send these metahumans here. They are fighting the same evil that threatened our home before, and must have a piece of the waypoint.”
The elves immediately broke into a cavalcade of whispers and murmurs, none of them exactly congratulatory for the Task Force. Or Ivonne. Or the commander. Or that strange guy in the back that kept talking about making cookies or something. The maidens were as stoic as ever, but the High Priestess’ previously cold demeanor was briefly ignited, then frozen down to sub-zero levels. “Ivonne…do you have any idea what you have done?”
A few hundred piercing gazes slammed right into the half-elf girl. She felt little more than a few inches tall at that moment. “I was just…”
The High Priestess walked over to the scared girl, as detached as ever. “I sent you there to keep an eye on things, to monitor the metahumans, to make sure Martinez kept his promise. By all accounts, you have failed each of these tasks. And now you bring the enemy into our last refuge?”
“You don’t understand, mother, I-”
(Insert standard jaw drop)
The white aura once again surrounded the High Priestess’ arm. Ivonne quickly started to back away, shuddering at her oncoming fate. The other elves were whispering and snickering amongst themselves, apparently readying for a good show. “I cannot allow such treachery amongst our ranks.” The hands shot back into position. Almost immediately, Mabatsekker flexed his muscles, crouching down in preparation for a pounce. “Let this be-”
Her words died in her throat as Pierson’s fist connected with the side of her face. The High Priestess collapsed in a heap, gasping and shaking in surprise. All noise, nay, all movement of any kind ground to a halt. The elves were frozen in shock, Ivonne was absolutely horrified, the maidens were unsure of exactly what just happened, and the Task Force was simply dumbfounded. Even Pierson had a look of “What the hell did I just do?” plastered all over his face.
The initial surprise quickly faded, and every single elven soldier raised their rusted guns; this time, it was obvious they weren’t playing around. The maidens rushed around the injured High Priestess, forming a protective barrier between her and these murderous invaders. The Priestess herself was bleeding slightly, a strange ichor of bright green mixed with dark purple. It wasn’t pleasant to look at, even in such small quantities. “How…DARE YOU, metahuman! No one has ever struck at the High Priestess before!”
Despite placing everyone into immediate danger no less than ten seconds ago, Pierson decided to rattle on again. “Look, miss. I don’t care WHO you are, but I’ve had enough of this bullshit for one day! Floating nets, nerve-cracking runes, ALL OF IT! And just so you KNOW, I’m HUMAN, NOT META! STOP CALLING ME THAT!”
The High Priestess’ expression soured even further; any more, and she would have probably sent him straight to Hell with a glance. “A…human? A slave DARES to strike one of our society’s highest members?!”
“Hey, Pierson!” shouted GG Crono. “I know you’re busy getting us killed and all, but can you get your butt back here!” Eight guards quickly closed in, firearms raised, licking their lips in anticipation. “We don’t exactly have much longer to work here!”
Pierson sneered at the High Priestess for a few more seconds before making his way back to his companions. They only had a few seconds left to figure something out. “Any ideas?”
“Let them fire,” said demigod. Everyone gave him a confused eyebrow. “Just listen to me.”
“I have heard enough!” shouted the High Priestess. “Kill them!”
The guards pulled the triggers in unison, just as demigod threw up a barrier around the heroes. The guns buckled for a half-second…and then nothing. Confused, the soldiers pulled the trigger again. Nothing. The humiliating affair continued five more times, before they finally just grabbed the barrels and swung them like clubs. Before a single blow could land, however, the barrier exploded out, propelling the elves away like sock puppets.
Even more guards ran forward, desperately trying to get their weapons to fire. Each time, the things simply refused to work. Seeing their opportunity to escape alive, GG Crono, Mabat and demigod quickly went to town on the oncoming enemies. Pierson, meanwhile, made his way to the still-trembling Ivonne.
THE FIGHT…
Two leaner guards met Mabatsekker first, charging forward like banshees out of hell. They were met with a straight fist to the gut each, slamming into them like a hammer press. A single guard managed to run up the right side of the battlefield, shotgun raised to club GG Crono’s skull. The amnesiac warrior quickly drew his sword and parried the oncoming attack. He followed it up with an almost immediate swift sweep to the right leg, sending the elf tumbling to the ground. Finally, a few others decided homing in on the scary cloaked guy was the best strategy. Demigod didn’t even bother to give them a glance as he mentally crushed their weapons into small balls of metal and wood.
Seeing that their modern weapons were useless, the next few attackers resorted to more primitive weaponry. The typical swords, daggers, maces, and bare fists that accompanied such fantastical societies found their way into the hands of the guards, each perfectly happy to not share their companion’s fate. Three of the oncoming figures, wielding two swords and a dagger respectively, were the first to meet Mabatsekker. However, even then there was something completely off. The blue mage wasn’t the fastest hero in the Task Force; however, even he was able to effortlessly dodge the elves’ clumsy strikes. The sword swings were practically in slow motion, swirling about in a feeble attempt to connect with his head. The dagger stabs were a bit better, but the bulky armor made it almost impossible to get any real distance.
A large elf, wielding a massive two-handed spiked mace, strode towards GG Crono. With a glint of murder in his eyes, he raised the weapon in preparation of a single killing blow. However, as the medieval armament neared the top of its arc, his entire body started to lean significantly backwards. He had, by all appearances, never even bothered to train with the thing, or at least in his current equipment. Meanwhile, another elf came sneaking around the back…well, as much as “crawling forward wearing disjointed, clanging metal armor” can constitute as sneaking.
Finally, the attackers, realizing the cloaked guy might be the most dangerous person in the group, quickly threw themselves around demigod, desperately trying to keep it pinned down. A combination of swords, axes, knives, whips, and arrows leveled themselves at the mysterious figure, all hoping to somehow kill the thing and make it through the day alive.
WHILE THAT WAS GOING ON…
Pierson quickly made his way towards Ivonne, his eyes darting around for any sign of oncoming soldiers. A few took steps towards him, but the sight of their brothers and sisters getting their asses handed to them by the others quickly attached their attention. The maidens, meanwhile, continued to stare him down, but otherwise took no action to move away from their High Priestess. Whatever fearful power they held over the other elves, it was most likely connected to those runes again; in other words, not of the sort that would bother the human in their midst.
After a few moments of tip-toeing around, Pierson finally reached Ivonne, still just standing there. “Alright, now all we have to do is-”
(SLAP!)
The blow knocked Pierson clear to the ground. Above him, Ivonne was glaring with a hitherto unseen inner rage. “You…you idiot! You’ve killed us all!”
“Wh-What?!”
“Birth rate be damned, even TOUCHING the High Priestess is punishable by death! I can assure you, actually striking her does not make our situation any better!”
Pierson climbed to his feet, once again making sure nobody was planning on dog piling him. “Listen, princess, they were going to roast you alive, just like the other guy! Did you expect me to just let them slam you around like that?”
Ivonne shook her head. “Listen, she would not have done that. She needs me alive.” He looked at her mother, shaking her head sadly as she did so. “We only have one more chance…”
BACK AT THE FIGHT…
The whole spectacle had gotten pretty damn sad by this point; all three Task Forcers decided to end the whole thing in unison. Mabat flipped over the stabbing elf, shoved him into his companions, and then Whirlwind Kicked the whole lot. All three came crashing down like a pile of wooden toys. GG Crono grabbed the sneaking guard, threw her into the mammoth of an elf mid-swing, jumped over the falling mace, and slammed the guy in the head on the way down. He fell forward, falling unconscious while also pinning his fellow soldier. Demigod just melted his attackers’ weapons before splitting the ground open, creating a series of conveniently elf-sized pits. All of his opponents fell inside, just in time for their weapons to meld into metal/wooden bars, sealing them inside.
The sight of all three things was enough to convince the elves to drop the subject. The few remaining soldiers wisely backed away, while the civilians quickly ran for cover. The maidens reluctantly spread out, revealing the High Priestess’ form yet again. Whatever bruise Pierson may or may not have departed upon her form was gone; were it not for her narrowed eyes, she would have looked exactly like she did coming in. “I am impressed. If Ivonne is to betray her people, at least she picked the right people for the job.”
Pierson quickly moved back to the rest of the Task Force, making doubly sure to keep Mabat the hell away from the High Priestess. Ivonne, meanwhile, took her place next to them, arms crossed. “Mother, I did not betray us.
This was just a demonstration.”
“Of what, impudent child?”
“Of our chances to win.” Ivonne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small batch of folded-up documents. She tossed the papers to the High Priestess, who quickly unfurled them. Inside was a list of RPGC’s most prominent occupants, with red circles over the names of metahumans/special humans. “I already scouted out everyone in RPGCity. They’re far stronger than any of our projections.”
The High Priestess looked up from the document, shaking her head in disbelief. “And…what else have you learned?”
“According to Martinez, there are over ten million metahumans in the world. Of those, an estimated five hundred thousand are powerful enough to be a significant threat. And as you can see, three metahumans are capable of defeating our entire race. Do you really think your invasion plan will work?”
There was silence. Then the High Priestess slowly walked forward, flanked on all sides by her maidens. She stopped in front of Ivonne, the maidens circling around the Task Force. “Nevertheless, you have…led these metahumans here. Our traditions have been spat upon, our people will take weeks to recover, and you still claim to be loyal.”
“I am,” said Ivonne. “That is why we need part of the waypoint. With it, we can keep any other metahumans from entering the forest.” She pointed back at the heroes. “These guys are not our enemy. If you help us, they can protect our people from our other enemies.”
There was yet another period of stilted silence. Finally, the High Priestess lowered her head. “You win, Ivonne.” She turned to her maidens. “Bring them a piece of the waypoint at once.”
A WHILE LATER, BACK AT THE CLEARING…
The Task Force and Ivonne now stood in the clearing, holding a large piece of marble-like stone, covered entirely in runes. The High Priestess and her entourage stood deeper within the forest. “This will accomplish your goals, metahumans. The runes will be enough to bring you to your home base and back. They will only require one day to recharge.”
“Thank you, High Priestess,” said Pierson, more than a little embarrassed by what happened a few hours ago.
“And…I’m sorry about everything, mother,” said Ivonne. “It will never happen again, I promise.”
“You are right,” said the High Priestess. “It will never. Happen. Again.”
Suddenly, the trees around the elves glowed bright yellow with a series of runes, just in time for vines and branches to shoot out and block off the passage. Quickly realizing what was happening, Ivonne darted for her mother, but it was too late. By the time they stopped, there was absolutely no way of going down the same path as before. She was finally reduced to pounding on the thick wall of plants, crying and begging for forgiveness.
LATER, AT DEEP 14…
The Task Force (and Ivonne) emerged from the sewers, covered in various pieces of sludge and other unspeakable liquids. Dr. Forrester gave them a quick nod before darting out the door, desperate to show his new deadly theme park designs to the Disney corporation.
A FEW HOURS LATER…
“And…there!”
The waypoint was sitting on a small pedestal, hooked to a series of computers. The monitors showed various satellite images of RPGCity, the Very Scary Forest of Bad Things, and other areas of the countryside. The Task Force, Ivonne, and Martinez watched as the stone’s runes ebbed in and out of vision, until at last they reached a dim, fairly stable level of lighting.
“So…all we need to do is chant some words, and bam, we’re good?” said GG Crono.
Ivonne shook her head. “No, I’ll still have to activate the waypoint manually. The runes have to be read very precisely, or we might send the entire city to the Fifth Layer of Xenu. So…”
“Stay here,” said Martinez.
Everyone was more than a little surprised at the sharpness of the suggestion. “Um…Wil?” said Pierson. “Not to sound rude, but our lease-”
“But…I can just do it over the phone!” said Ivonne. “All we have to do is-”
“ENOUGH!” Everyone quickly shut up, Mabatsekker secretly wondering if Wil had been replaced by aliens or something. “Ivonne, I’m sorry, but you’ll be more useful here. And that…is…final!”
Martinez suddenly disappeared, leaving almost no trace of his even being there. Sighing in defeat, Ivonne took a seat at the computer monitors. “I’ll be your mission control from now on,” she said, her voice a total monotone. “I will alert you of any trouble that comes up. If you need me, I’ll be here.” There was nothing else to be said, no words that could resolve the situation. At least, they had some way to fight back now.
THE END OF ISSUE 29
Next Issue: The latest disposable teen pop sensation comes to RPGCity, complete with her…deadly pedophiliac stalkers? But is there something else going on? And how is the Illuminati involved? Tune in next time for…TWEEN BOP!
-Plus-
The origin of General Damascus!
BWA HA HA!! Gallo, that “Baron Von Bad Guy” thing was the funniest I’ve read lately. VERY effective parody of Silver Age comics. And very well written too. Thank you! 
On the other hand: you gave me a DAUGHTER!? O_o Oh well, you gave yourself a female duplicate, so I guess something like this was bound to happen. :hahaha; Two things, though: first, if these elves are so blasted Xenophobic, how’d I ahem get close enough to impregnate the High Priestess? And why would I let such a bunch of assholes raise MY daughter? Unless… was Ivonne created on purpose, as some sort of deal with the Elves? There’s still some story here, and I’m very much looking up to it.
Very good work with the details here too, I especially liked how the Elves recreated their “glorious city” with garbage. Nice touch.
Elves… avatars of all things arrogant, rude, and everything that I want to wipe out about hippies and smug people.
Pity you didn’t wipe out the whole species, but I guess ‘heroes’ have to impose some morals. A shame.
Still, look forward to more, d.
Sorry to bother everyone with a content-free update.
The issue is going to be a little late; it’ll be hitting on October 3rd. In between school and work, I have had no time to finish researching and writing the damn thing. (The B-Story in particular is a pain in the ass.) Furthermore, things at work went to absolute shit (about five minutes before my shift ended, to boot), and I’ll have to spend most of the weekend finishing assignments and kissing every manager’s ass in order to avoid losing my job. So…stress.
You know what? Forget I said anything. See you in October!
Here’s Issue 30. Story B was cut and moved to a later issue. A commentary post will follow either tonight or tomorrow.
Issue 30: Tween Bop
A WEEK LATER, IN FRONT OF THE RPGCITY AUDITORIUM…
Weiila, Zachary, and Allison were walking down the sidewalk, their eyes locked on a map leading to the Pie Shop. The child was running in the lead, incredibly excited about reuniting with the long-thought-lost Task Force. Meanwhile, the two adult women were slowly following, trading knowing glances at each other. “So…are you still a white mage?” said Allison.
“Yes, I am,” said Weiila. “Speaking of which, I heard somebody murdered the elementary school’s librarian. Any idea who that was?”
“None. And just so you know, I have no intention of killing anyone today.” She slowly turned her head towards the angel. “Unless you want me to finish my last contract.”
Weiila was about to enact some Dio-esque vengeance when they were interrupted by the most annoying sound in the world: pre- to early-adolescent girls screaming in unison. Outside of the RPGCity Auditorium, a small convoy of vans were slowly working through a throbbing, howling horde of girls, their all-consuming mass resembling an all-absorbing amoeba more than any sort of normal human crowd. Behind the vans rode a large bus, bearing the many bangs of tiny fists and scraping fingernails beneath its bright blue-and-metallic grey paint job. Across the very center, in large Sans Font letters, was a banner proclaiming the new act in town: “Kimberly Adjective and the Spoons.”
Zachary let out a very audible moan at the sight. “Oh no, not her!”
The two older women simply stared in stunned silence, unable to comprehend this…thing they were witnessing. “Who is this ‘Kimberly Adjective’ person, anyway?” asked Weiila.
“Oh, she’s just some annoying singer, always talking about how much she likes boys and how she’s richer than anyone at school.”
“In other words, yet another factory-produced pop singer,” said Allison. “Well, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend. See you all later.” With that, the mysterious woman vanished down a side alley. Zachary gave her an enthusiastic wave goodbye, while Weiila simply watched in quiet condemnation. It wasn’t long before the kid finally noticed his companion/babysitter’s general mood. “Is there something wrong?”
“We have a history. That’s it. Now come on, we have to get-”
While the previous events had been going on, the massive crowd had managed to congregate fully around the bus, making it impossible to open the doors. Burly security guards were quickly exiting the back of the vans, trying desperately to wedge out enough room for the band itself to get out. It was just then that one of the back vans exploded, sending out waves of debris and searing flames flying in all directions. Although the vehicle was far enough way that nobody was caught in the immediate blast, the raining destruction was still enough to slam into several girls and bodyguards, critically injuring them and scaring off the others.
Weiila and Zachary made a beeline for the injured, the white mage already mentally preparing whatever spells she would need for this emergency, and the young superhero simply trying to figure out exactly what he should be doing. The remaining crowd quickly dispersed, leaving their former friends and acquaintances to die slow, agonizing deaths like any good preteen would. The angel bent down next to an eleven-year-old, her legs and lower torso battered, bleeding and burnt, and quickly started chanting a basic healing spell.
The bus, meanwhile, suddenly pulled to a stop. The doors opened, allowing Kimberly Adjective herself to step out. She was very pretty for a sixteen-year-old, long brown hair tied back, blue contact lenses, typical complexion, and of course, the finest clothes a ten million-a-year contract could buy. Behind her were the other band members, a disheveled group of obvious stoners and apparent milkduds, dressed in the kind of stuff you would find in a thrift store. Oh, and they were all guys. Go figure.
Weilla and Zachary were too busy to care, at any rate. “So, if I just rub my hands together, I could-”
The white mage’s head spun around so quickly, Zach could swear he heard it crack. “No. Static defibrillators will not work. You will only burn them.” The kid superhero simply hung his head in defeat. “Just…try to keep everyone calm. And remind me to punch that blue mage when we see him.”
“Um…excuse me.”
Weilla looked away from the recovering girl to meet Kimberly’s eyes. The pop singer was clearly horrified at the sight before her; her bandmates were seemingly less shaken. “I-Is there anything I can do to help?”
To say Weiila wasn’t expecting this is an understatement. “Well…I guess you’re welcome to. Just…make sure everyone’s wounds are elevated. If you have any first aid kits in the bus, get them. The ambulances should be here in a few minutes.”
Kimberly nodded enthusiastically. “Sure!” The band members ran back to grab the supplies, while Kimberly herself made her way to an eight-year-old girl, her body covered in third-degree burns. Just as Weiila was making her way to the next injury, she could make out some…song coming from the pop star’s direction, a cooing and strangely soothing melody. It certainly didn’t sound like the usual catalog for this kind of thing, that was for sure.
Before long, the ambulances finally arrived. Weiila gave Kimberly and the Spoons a quick “thank you” before grabbing Zachary and continuing on their way. The singer simply smiled and waved, before heading back into the bus. As they were leaving, however, Weiila caught a glimpse of the third-degree burn girl.
She was completely uninjured.
A HOUR LATER, IN DEEP 14…
The reserves looked down at their new bracelets. They were simply affairs, red in shape and elastic. Were it not for the runes that covered them, they could be passed as simply fashion accessories. The rest of the Task Force (and Ivonne) were also there, as was Doctor Forrester and TV’s Frank. Only Bahamut Xero and Gemini were not present and accounted for.
Pierson finished snapping the device onto Zachary’s wrist, and joined GG Crono in leaning on the control panel. Ivonne, meanwhile, was sitting in her cozy office chair, keeping an eye on the still slightly confused reservists. Mabatsekker and demigod were on the other end of the main chamber, finishing up a small box.
“So…this ‘Illuminati’ is hunting us down?” said Weiila. “All because you turned them down?”
“Not quite,” said Pierson. “Galloway never actually submitted the Task Force Reserves to the UN. They know you’re all registered, but outside of being in the same city, we’re not actually connected.”
GG Crono motioned towards the Waypoint. “We’ve already got a teleportation network spread across all of RPGC. The bracelets will let us talk to each other, if trouble arises. We might also ask for your help on missions. You know, usual stuff.”
“And…where’s Xero and Gemini?” asked Omega.
Mabatsekker raised his hand in response. “We’ve already talked to Xero. He can’t really come into RPGCity without drawing a crowd, so demigod and I are mailing him his bracelet.”
“As for Gemini, we cannot locate him at this time,” said demigod. “We are travelling to Iona tomorrow to continue our search.”
“And that is all for today’s little meeting,” said Pierson. “Ivonne will call you if anything comes up.”
ABOUT THIRTY MINUTES LATER, AFTER EVERYONE LEFT…
Weiila and Esker stepped out of the building, marking the last of the reservists to leave. The landlords quickly returned upstairs, to finish their respective affairs in the actual restaurant. This left only the main heroes in Deep 14, sitting around the meeting table.
“So, somebody wants to kill off another vapid pop star?” said GG Crono.
“Not much we can do about this,” said demigod. “There is no way we can just start investigating a stage that large, without attracting too much attention.”
It was at that exact moment that Ivonne started motioning towards one of the monitor screens. The image was that of a teenage Japanese girl, holding up a large cardboard sign reading “TASK FORCE.” There was no sign of any Illuminati figures, nor was there anything outwardly suspicious about the girl herself. Of course, there was the fact that she was basically waving a sign in front of a security camera, an incredibly strange means of getting their attention.
MEANWHILE, ON THE ROOF OF THE RPGCPD STATION…
Heaven’s Soldier, Pokefreak and Fou-lu stared at the skylight in front of them. “So…we ordered a Task Force Signal…with no actual design on it?” said Heaven’s Soldier.
“Afraid so,” said Fou-lu. “So…who’s paying for donuts this time?”
AND NOW, BACK TO THE ACTUAL SHOW…
The Task Force simply…stared at the screen. “So…how are we seeing this, again?” asked GG Crono.
Ivonne quickly returned to her “I’m smarter than you” grin, the same one that made everyone in the room want to brain her with a sledgehammer EVERY TIME she did it. “Well, while you were busy crying about not being able to watch RPGCity, I decided to look over the RPGCity network. Turns out someone installed a bunch of cameras across the whole region years ago. I simply had to hack into the security network, bypass a few lockouts, and hook us into the live feed.”
The entire Task Force simply looked at each other. “When…did you get good with computers?” asked Mabat.
“Com…pu…ters? Oh, you mean the Magic Boxes!” The traditional face fault followed. “Yeah, we found all KINDS dumped in the forest years ago! This one’s a little stranger, but I could figure it out!”
“But that’s not the problem!” shouted GG Crono. “Why is she waving a sign in front of the camera?”
Pierson quickly went back into leader mode. “It’s obviously a trap…but at the same time, if she IS with the Illuminati, we might be able to shake some information out of her…” He turned to Ivonne. “Where is she, exactly?”
Ivonne punched up a large map of RPGCity. A blue dot was flashing on an apartment complex in the slums. “She’s on the roof of that building. I’ve already looked through the surrounding areas, and there’s nobody else there.”
“We’ll teleport into the sewer network, under the building. If we appear in front of her, she might be able to start deciphering our signal.”
A few key commands later, and the waypoint’s runes began to glow. The Task Forcer’s wristbands began to glow in unison, as well. A blinding white light swept across all of Deep 14, until the underground cavern looked like a solar flare. When the whiteness faded into a layer of mist, the Task Force was nowhere to be seen.
Doctor Forrester emerged from behind the elevator. “Just so you know, painting your evil lair like a light bulb is not a good way to stay hidden.”
AT THAT SAME INSTANT, IN THE SEWERS…
The landing turned out to be far less impressive than the take-off. The Task Force simply warped backed into existence. No blinding lights, no summoning sickness, no fanfare whatsoever. Besides a little dizziness, the entire experience was a fast, surprisingly pleasant trip. Until they fell into two feet of raw sewage. That part was decidedly less enjoyable.
(One HEROIC hosedown and a lot of boring climbing later…)
The last of the Task Forcers finally pulled themselves up from the fire escape, breathing heavily with every step they took. Pierson, in particular, was heavily covered in garbage, blood, and various unmentionable substances; his heavy panting only increased the threat of some of it going into his mouth. “Alright, we made it. Now let us never speak of it again.”
Sure enough, the Japanese girl was still there, sitting on the edge of the roof. Her sign was now leaning against the nearby doorway, along with a lavishly decorated purple school backpack. The girl turned around at their presence, revealing her to be a teenager, about sixteen years at the most. Her black hair was hanging loosely at around waist level. Her clothes, however, distracted from the attempted insanely creepy fanservice; they consisted of a garishly ugly hoodie with Kimberly Adjective’s face slapped all over, as well as a pair of skin-tight jeans adorned with various stickers and patches declaring her love for the latest disposable pop culture obsession.
And then there was her eyes. They were a fiery blood red, quite possibly the most unnatural color the team had seen so far.
Everyone simply stared at each other for a few moments, trying to rationalize exactly what they were seeing. Then the girl ran forward, squealing like either a mortally wounded guinea pig or a small baby being shoved through a de-boning machine. She finally stopped just short of trampling Pierson, eyes half-closed in the most adorable way possible. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god! You’re, like, the RPGC TASK FORCE!”
The heroes took a collective step back. Even demigod was starting to feel very uneasy about her…eagerness. “Y…Yes, we are,” said Pierson. He quickly wiped the goop out of his head; the strange liquid slammed to the ground, congealed into a small blob-like thing, and slithered away. “Now, how can we help you?”
The girl reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a small card. It was a pretty simple thing, pure white-on-white background with black lettering. It read:
Noriko Yamaguchi
Kimberly Adjective Fan Club President
Chapter 29
Mabatsekker suddenly broke into a cold sweat, muttering and cursing under his breath. GG Crono and demigod simply hugged each other for comfort. “It…It’s a fangirl!”
Noriko simply ignored their pure, unadulterated horror. “Well, it’s, like, awesome to meet real super heroes like you guys!” She reached into the backpack and pulled out a bunch of crumpled pieces of paper. “Anyway, the other girls were, like, digging through Kimberly’s garbage a few days ago, and-”
“You…dig through her GARBAGE?!” shouted GG Crono.
Noriko shook her head sadly in response. “Oh, of course I don’t. The others do it!” Back to diabetes-inducing cheerfulness. “Like I was saying, they were digging through the trash, and we found these things!”
Pierson opened one of the balled-up documents. It was a letter, describing all sorts of disgusting, disturbing, outright illegal actions the writer intended to perform upon Kimberly’s private areas. The others, in turn, went from vomit-inducing to outright homicidal. “So, some pedophiliac stalker has an obsession with Miss Adjective, and may have set that bomb off to kill her?”
“Well…yeah.”
“And…how can we help?”
She reached back into the backpack, and pulled out four security badges. “The guys in the van were apparently part of the security. Just put these on, and you can keep an eye on her!”
The Task Force looked at each other, silently agreeing to their shared disdain for what this job would entail. Unfortunately, that little thing called “obligation” quickly drove out those sentiments; like it or not, they couldn’t let anyone get killed because of personal disdain for their genre of entertainment. Besides, Noriko seemed to be on the up-and-up; if she was an Illuminatus, she had to be the dumbest person working for the conspiracy.
ONE HOUR LATER, AT THE RPGCITY AUDITORIUM…
Pierson, Mabatsekker and GG Crono walked through the backstage doorways, clad in neon yellow jackets and jeans. The blue mage and amnesiac also had a few pieces of fuzz attached, as well as some fake contacts, to help with the disguise. Demigod took the pass, but because of certain…physical differences, he was relegated to keeping a stealthy watch from the outside. Fortunately, the rampaging hordes of preteens, coupled with their Prozac-laden parents, were too busy trying to work their way into the building itself that they paid no heed to the “thing that should not be” hanging out on the roof.
Kimberly herself was still in her dressing room, preening over the latest changes in the night’s performance. Outside the dressing room door was a small army of goons, all very musculed-up and ready for anything the raging perverts could throw at them. Meanwhile, a vast array of security cameras kept watch over everything on the floor, as well as provided excellent material for the latest rounds of highly illegal Internet porn.
Pierson quickly made himself useful, climbing up a side ladder to the rafters above the stage. After a few minutes of searching, he finally found the sweet spot; a small shadowy corner, where he could easily make out the events going on onstage and in the audience without being spotted. After a quick jaunt to remember the exact placement, he scrambled back down, all without alerting the real security guards or the waiting audience.
Mabatsekker and GG Crono, meanwhile, started patrols around the various backstage areas of the auditorium. The blue mage quickly made note of the numerous storage closets, the manager’s office, and the green room, while the guy that doesn’t really do anything jotted down all of the possible entry points. Having finished their homework, the team quickly met back up…just as Kimberly was exiting her dressing room, talking on a cell phone.
“-don’t care what…Dad, this is…! Look, it was just an editing trick, we do it all the time here! Da…Da…Listen, I’m hanging up now! I- I’M HANGING UP NOW! WE’LL TALK LATER!” She slammed the “End Call” button down so hard the phone’s keypad started to crack. “Idiot.”
Her tantrum was brought to a close when a scrawny stage manager came running in, holding a stuffed clipboard. “Come on, folks! Five minutes to show time!”
The small hallway was suddenly filled with a tidal wave of band members, security details, technicians, janitors, stalkers, and roadies. Pierson quickly melted into the crowd, riding it to just the right spot to climb onto his hidey-hole. Mabatsekker took up a patrol around the halls, while GG Crono stepped outside to start his own search for their vaguely-defined targets.
MEANWHILE, ON THE STAGE…
The stage lights gradually dimmed out of existence, only to be followed by a long stream of purple mist and the rumbling of fog machines. Beneath the cover of darkness, Kimberly slinked her way into a large metal cage, which was then raised into position via a cable and pulleys. The other band members, meanwhile, took up their respective positions, their forms shrouded in a valley of hopefully non-toxic smoke.
The stage lights kicks back on, revealing the entire ensemble. The cage slowly lowered to the ground, all the while surrounded by the high beams and rolling fog. The cranking of the machines was muffled out by the ever-increasing roars of the crowds. The music climbed in volume, until it was practically an invisible avalanche of agonizing noise. Fortunately, Pierson had remembered to bring earplugs. Didn’t do a damn thing about the vibrations, though.
And then she started singing.
MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE THE AUDITORIUM…
“This is pointless.”
GG Crono continud to wander in circles around the building, checking every nook and cranny for the supposed stalkers. So far, all he found was a stray cat, a few birds, some small kids, Jimmy Hoffa’s body, an altar to Slaanesh, and the entire Denver Broncos 1996 lineup. All of which was pretty much standard for this neck of RPGCity, in any case.
It was during his third pass that he finally saw something scuffling in the bushes. Finally seizing the chance for action, GG slowly crept up to the brush, slowly drawing his sword as he did so. When he was but a few feet from the bush, he leaped forward, sword raised, foot extended. His heel came into contact with the onlooker’s face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Before he could even start to recover, Crono had already kicked him onto his back, grabbed him by the head, sat himself on his chest, and had lowered his blade to neck level. “Hello.”
The man was about forty or so, with a receding hairline, a few scruffs for a beard, a red flannel shirt, and outdoorsman pants. On hand was a camera, as well as several unspeakably disgusting photos of himself and…let’s just stop the description there, shall we? Needless to say, Mr. Peeping Tom was wetting himself with fear. Fortunately for GG Crono, said actions were more metaphorical than anything else. “Wh…What do you want?”
“Are you the one that set that bomb?”
The man simply clenched his teeth, making the best villain face he could in his position. “Yes, YES! That little skank was ignoring me, denying my true love! I had to have her, like I had all those others! So I blew up that van! I killed those kids, so she could see how much I loved her! And thanks to you, she will never know!”
GG Crono’s eyes simply widened. He started to look to and fro, as the man continued to ramble. “Do my words scare you, superhero? Yes, I’ve…”
“Shut. Up.”
The pedophile was about to continue…until GG Crono grabbed the photos. “These are photoshops. Not very good ones, either.” Cue renewed sweating from said captive. “What’s REALLY going on here?”
“I just TOLD YOU! I’m here to claim the object of my obsession!”
“Nobody walks around with a pretty little speech in their head, especially if they don’t intend to get caught.” Crono leaned in close, until he could feel the man’s terrified breath. “Now, tell me everything.”
His one chance at badassery quickly ended. The supposed pervert suddenly started convulsing wildly, his eyes dilating, his mouth quickly starting to froth over. GG started to radio for help, but it was already too late; within the space of five seconds, the man was dead. It was far too quick for a cyanide pill, and there was nothing he could have jabbed himself with…
MEANWHILE, ABOVE THE STAGE…
Pierson continued to listen to the music beneath him, to exactly what Kimberly Adjective was saying. Sure enough, the lyrics were absolute garbage, often amounting to little more than the traditional drizzle drummed out of the pop music machine every few minutes. It wasn’t her voice, either. She was no Wilfredo Martinez, to be sure, but her vocal ability was still lacking in at least five or six key areas. The performance wasn’t too terrible, with plenty of flashing lights and sound effects for those with two-second attention spans.
No, the real alarming thing was something behind her voice. It was a small murmur, to be sure, but there was some kind of power behind every word that left her lips. It felt like…magic.
“Look, it was just an editing trick, we do it all the time here!”
Pierson thought back to something Weiila had mentioned, about how a girl Kimberly was singing to was suddenly healed. Given that news crews and paparazzi were no doubt following the scene, it was possible some kind of magical use would have been filmed. But then, if it was white magic, Weiila would have picked up on it almost immediately. If anything, mages these days were far less subtle.
Finally realizing he had been ignoring his actual objective the whole time, Pierson quickly returned to his previous watch. Answers could wait until after the concert.
AFTER THE CONCERT…
The last of the lights dimmed on stage, replaced by the return of the more traditional lighting above. The fans cheered and roared outside, anxious to get an autograph or at least five seconds with their idol. Their captive parents, eager to see all this madness come to an end, quickly scurried off after them. The roadies quickly dismantled and packed away all the show equipment, while the other band members made their way backstage.
Meanwhile, the Task Force reassembled in the auditorium, once again dressed in their standard costumes. Even demigod was there, glad to finally be off that roof and back in the action. “So wait, you mean this whole thing was a set-up?” asked Mabat.
GG Crono nodded. “That’s what it looks like. We need to get out of here, before-”
“It’s not us they want.” Everyone turned to an anxious Pierson. “Their real target is Kimberly Adjective.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a few muffled giggles. “Come on, Pierce!” said Crono. “What would they want with a vapid little pop star?!”
“She’s a mage.” The joyous rapture of laughing quickly died down. “I don’t know what kind, exactly, but I can feel some kind of power behind her words. Whatever her style is, it seems to be activated by singing.”
Their little conversation stopped cold when Kimberly reentered the auditorium, surrounded by a posse of neon-clad security guards. The procession stopped when they got close to the Task Force, the entire small gathering looking absolutely dumbfounded at the ridiculous sight before them. Finally, one of the guards broke the silence. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but this is not a costume party. Please leave.”
The heroes looked at each other, trying to figure out the perfect thing to respond to that. Finally, Pierson stepped forward. “My name is Pierson. I’m with the-”
Realization finally slapped Kimberly across the face like a cold fish. “Ohhhh, you’re those local superheroes. RPGC Task Force, was it?”
“Um…yes.”
“That’s so awesome! Real superheroes actually going to one of my concerts! Oh man, I’ve gotta tell everyone about this one!”
“That…will not be necessary,” said another guard. “Come on, Ms. Adjective. Our ride is waiting outside.” The guard grabbed Kimberly by the shoulders, an act that brought severe discomfort and confusion to her face, and started to lead her off towards the stage. “The van is waiting outside.”
“I…thought she came in on a bus,” said GG Crono.
“And wouldn’t she still have stuff to clean up back here?” asked Mabat.
“And did you not already disable all of the vehicles earlier?” asked demigod. The Task Force gave him a confused look. “…You left me on a freezing roof for six hours. I noticed things.”
The guards suddenly hurried their pace. “Ms. Adjective!” shouted Pierson. “Are these your normal guys, or were they hired for this show?”
His response was immediate. Kimberly finally managed to wiggle out of the guard’s grip, push her way through the ones in the back, and get enough distance to safely turn around and reach for her pockets. One of the guards came sauntering back up to her…only to be greeted by a can of mace. The stinging liquid sent the imposter falling backwards…right into Mabatsekker’s knee. The other guards, seeing their act was up, quickly threw off their jackets, revealing heavy armor padding and various knives, cattle prods, and firearms.
The heroes formed a line in front of Kimberly. The fake guards marched forward in a typical stormtrooper fashion…only to suddenly fall over, convulsing and foaming at the mouths. Sure enough, they died the exact same way as the guy outside. At the same time, several dozen more figures, this time dressed in full commando uniforms and armed with assault rifles, crashed into the auditorium, weapons locked on the Task Force. At the same time, the front doors opened, revealing even more soldiers…and Noriko, now dressed in the same kind of uniform they saw on Damascus. The only different was a small Japanese flag pin on her lapel. In her hands was a small remote.
“Well, this has been entertaining. Gentlemen, I thank you for your effort, but I think it’s time we all took a little trip.”
Kimberly started walking backwards, running right into the Task Force. “Wait…you were part of that fan club!”
“Please, don’t remind me of that. That rabble of screaming, manically obsessed brats almost drove me to abandon the whole operation. Kids these days…”
GG Crono was ready to say something like, “So says the brattiest of them all,” but decided that it was not only lame, but that he shouldn’t insult the woman leading a small army. Pierson, instead, continued the conversation. “What do you want with Kimberly?”
“You felt it, didn’t you?” laughed Noriko. “I knew you would. That strange feeling whenever she sings, like some kind of power is running through the background, and you can’t tell exactly what it is. She’s a bard.”
An uneasy silence quickly followed. Kimberly slowly sat in one of the chairs, eyes downcast. “It’s true,” she muttered. “I am a witch. Dad made me promise never to use my magic for anything. But…whenever I sing, I just can’t help it.”
“A bard can do just about anything,” continued Noriko. “They don’t have the same genetic limitations of other mages, and then some. A bard’s power is all about feeling; as long as they can focus on the right emotions, they can do anything.”
“And that’s why you did all this?” shouted Mabatsekker. “Why you blew up that van? Why you killed your own minions?!”
“Well, there was YOU, of course,” said Noriko. “Damascus wanted me to make sure you guys were brought back in. Can’t have you guys running around, blabbing our secret.” The soldiers raised and readied their rifles. “Now let’s finish this.” The heroes looked for some way to escape, but found none.
Kimberly’s face seethed with rage, at both herself and her traitorous “fan.” Was what she saying true? Could she have been…influencing everyone without realizing it? And if that was the case, did she even deserve this?
“You have three seconds to surrender, Task Force. One…”
Kimberly knew what she had to try.
“Two…”
The pop singer/bard stood up and inhaled a great amount of oxygen.
“Thr-”
“Hold it!” shouted Kim. Or, to be more exact, sang Kim. Sure enough, EVERYONE simply stooped. Their faces went blank, their eyes almost rolling into their sockets. Only demigod remained unaffected; fortunately, he realized what was going on very quickly, and decided to see how things played out first.
Kimberly continued to speak in song, not even bothering to rhyme or anything like that. What she was saying came from the heart; that is, a heart that had so far today been involved in a bombing, was nearly kidnapped, and now seemed to have all her accomplishments torn to shreds in front of her. “You soldiers will leave at once! You will never come for me again! And you, fangirl, will NEVER look for me. You will leave me in peace!”
Noriko very, very slowly reached for her radio. “Men. Head. For. The. Extraction. Point. Report. To. Station. 17. For. Debriefing.” With that, every single (living) Illuminati in the room simply walked out. After a few seconds of silence, the Task Force quickly dropped out of their trance, completely flabbergasted as to what the hell just happened. Kimberly, however, realized what this all meant.
The Japanese girl was right. She was a fraud.
A FEW HOURS LATER…
The Task Force was back in Deep 14, heads hung sadly. Doctor Forrester was seated with them, reading up on how to blow up New Jersey and make a profit doing so. Ivonne, meanwhile, was still at her post, chowing down on pretzels. “So…what happened after the Illuminati left?”
“Kimberly just…went back on the bus and left,” said Pierson. “She wouldn’t even let us talk to her.”
“I don’t know how she’s gonna last after this,” said GG Crono. “I mean, she just had her hopes and dreams smashed in front of her. God knows what’ll happen now.”
“Oh, come on!” said Doctor Forrester. “Is that what this is all about?” The Task Force stared menacingly at the mad scientist/landlord. “Look, when I was in high school, I got kicked around by just about everyone in there. Then I came up with a giant death robot, built it in my mom’s garage, and started to rampage through the town. Do you know what happened?”
“You got arrested, your robot was destroyed, and you became the shell of a man before us today?” said Pierson.
“Well…of course. But the point is, my rampaging robot was destroyed, school got worse, and I spent five weeks locked in the cellar, forced to hunt rats for subsidence. But you know what? After a while, I got over it, picked myself up, and got a low-paying intern job at Gizmonic Institute. And here we are today.”
“You mean, after your world domination plans went up in smoke and you were forced to start a pie shop in another universe?”
“…Shut up.”
MEANWHILE, IN GENERAL DAMASCUS’ OFFICE…
Damascus sat at his desk, fingers drumming on his armrests. Noriko sat at the other end, cigarette in hand. “So…the operation failed.”
“Miserably.” She took a large puff. “I didn’t expect her gift to be quite that powerful. Right now, I would recommend we shift focus away from her and back to the Task Force.”
“There will be other opportunities,” continued Damascus. “But for now, you should return home. We will call you when we need you next.” Noriko nodded slightly, stood back up, grabbed her smokes, and walked out of the office. Damascus simply watched her leave, already planning out their next move.
THE END OF ISSUE 30
Well, what do you know? We’ve got five months worth of updates! And, give or take a few days, we actually stuck to a schedule! Hurray!
Anyway, since we’re this far in, it’s time to give some lowdown on all these chapters. What got cut, what got added in, how the planned arc got shifted around, and all that. Also, we’ll be going over the next few months worth of issues, so stay tuned! Or…just scroll to the bottom. Or…just close the browser. Any one of those is fine.
Issue 26 Commentary
Man, this one changed a lot. I mean, a lot.
Many of the characters and events were planned out months in advance, especially Damascus, the new Big Bad. I even planned out his origin story, with every intention of cramming it into his plot dump. Problem was, it didn’t work out. Besides the fact that every character in this crapfest is flatter than day-old pizza, there was just no way to make the whole spiel sound natural. That’s also the moment I decided on the B-Story concept.
Mindscape was another matter altogether. Originally, the Task Force would have met one of the upcomic villains, Geneva. Again, I ran into an issue: I hadn’t finished developing Geneva’s character yet. I have a better handle on her now, but she won’t be showing up until after the next arc. As for Mindscape, I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do with him. There was already another psychic villain planned, and I don’t want to stick with two. Besides, the other one seems like a more interesting person.
The World League of Heroes was the first hint at the greater world outside of RPGCity. THIS is what I’m excited about. The Sagas have generally been set in crossover mode, running from one licensed property to the next. Meanwhile, RPGCity simply showed up as a small hub of sorts, while the rest of the world was simply our Earth. The Naar Saga introduced the idea of “The Internet,” which meant that it was actually sent in the Internet as we know it. Of course, that was retarded (not to mention overdone), so instead, the concept went to a world where all creation more or less criss-crosses at some point. (Just…read the Guide to the Galloway RPGCVerse thread for more info. It’s confusing.)
And no, we will not be seeing anyone mentioned in that poster. They’re all dead. All of them. Except Mindscape. Maybe.
The ending was changed up a little. Originally, the Illuminati blew up the headquarters with a chemical weapon, causing a plague to sweep through RPGCity and framing the Task Force. This would have turned the public against them, forcing everyone underground. However, this was back when Galloway was going to be kicked out for kidnapping Weiila. When that escalated to a major geological disaster, there was no more need for that much carnage; the team’s reputation is already in the toilet.
(So far, there’s only going to be three major arcs, each one featuring a different headquarters. So…don’t get too attached to Deep 14.)
Issue 27 Commentary
I hate this issue. I really do. It was easily one of the worst in a long time. So, let’s not talk about it.
Okay, it’s just a massive shout out to/crossover with Mystery Science Theater 3000. There, we’re done.
The B-Story was originally planned for Issue 26; however, I felt setting up the Illuminati arc took precedent, and thus bumped it down. For a first attempt at the concept, I think it turned out all right. It was also fun to use Zachary again. I just love the little guy, even if he doesn’t really work for a lot of stories.
The real reason was to set up Allison, or if you’re perceptive enough to remember one line in the middle of the Final Saga, Yellow Tiger. Originally, she had absolutely no character. Nothing. After using her a few times, I thoguht she really needed a backstory. Problem was, I couldn’t figure out exactly what I wanted. When the name “Allison” came up, I was simply desperate for a real name. By the time I finally figured it all out, though, not only had I forgotten what I did, but the Final Saga was closing down plots. There was no time for another ridiculously convoluted storyline, so she got booted over to this series.
And by the way, the ending originally made more sense. The problem was, it gave away too much information about who the librarian was, and why Allison wanted him dead. Also, the beating of the bully was shown, but I was running short of time, so it got cut. As for Zach and kiro…just keep watching.
Issue 28 Commentary:
“Into the Woods” was originally one story. However, about halfway through, I realized it was just too damn long, and split it up.
Ivonne’s character changed as I was writing the story. Originally, she was just a sweet half-elf, caught up between two cultures. Furthermore, she was going to question her loyalty to her new father and friends, and her mother. Problem was, as I was writing, she became more and more of a jerkass. And I loved it. I just took what the elves would no doubt drill into her skull growing up, and showed it for the whole mass of lies it truly was.
If there was any real-world message there, it was purely accidental. It just seemed like how someone raised by an isolationist culture would behave in the real world: like a culture posturing idiot. GG Crono’s breakdown of her little dreamworld was also fun to write.
And remember the new Task Force-Mobile. It will come in later.
The B-Story was a blast, plain and simple. However, it mutated almost completely from its original form. Initially, Martinez was getting his “Superhero Wizard Starter Kit” from the Society of Wizards, thinking it would give him all sorts of hints and tidbits for improving his crimefighting. However, the real purpose for the kit was to force magic users to disguise their abilities as simple illusions and parlor tricks.
This would have explained two plot points. First was the story at the beginning, where Baron von Bad Guy defeated The Great Madlov. Madlov was, in fact, a real wizard; however, because of the Society’s rules, he was forced to act like a fraud in order to keep their Masquerade going. Hence, the Baron has no respect for magic users, thinking they are all fakes.
Second was that it would have emphasized how important Martinez’s actions at the end were. He just explained how magic works to a non-magic user. Furthermore, he actually knows more than many of the Society’s members, meaning he’s let out more than a few hundred sheltered secrets. In other words, he just single-handedly destroyed a conspiracy hundreds of years old.
The last thing cut was something I want to include later: Baron von Bad Guy’s daughter. Von Bad Guy is actually a divorced dad, and has a daughter. (About five years old during Issue 28’s B-Story.) As a result, she doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but it was also the Baron’s weekend with her, so he takes her along on the scheme. During the fight, she would have been cheering her father on, telling him to beat down the nasty mage with his funny robot. Needless to say, it just didn’t really fit in. IT WILL BE BACK, THOUGH.
Issue 29 Commentary:
This issue was important for a few reasons.
First, it has the one thing I’ve written that actually made me cringe: Ivonne’s treatment by the guard. Granted, it came off as Narmy, but when I wrote it, I actually felt more than a little uncomfortable. The initial idea was for the elves to simply point their guns at Ivonne, but that didn’t pack enough punch. So I had the guy beat her to a pulp for daring to touch him. Yes, that seemed appropriate enough.
All of this was done for one purpose: destroying the common fantasy of “superior elves living in a forest.” (Granted, it’s been done before, but I wanted a go at it, too.) The elves were already identified as planet-rapers, before getting their asses kicked by Grok and Mok. Then they were stranded on the same planet they subjugated, and fled into the forest simply to survive. From there, they were forced to become more and more isolated, until they were only able to survive by scavenging garbage. They once had lasers and flying cars; now they can’t figure out how to maintain a gun, or what a computer actually is. Think any civilization long after its glory days, and you have the elves.
The High Priestess also evolved. When she first appeared (all the way back in Issue 20), she was a motherly, saintly figure. Now, a hundred years later, she’s a bitter figure with her own agenda. (That is a topic for another day, though.) Ivonne, her daughter, was used simply to gather information on metahumans for a future invasion. As it turns out, though, the elves are nowhere near ready for actual combat, so her plans are shut down rather quickly.
The ending was…rather hard to settle on. Ivonne being banished from the elves was always planned, but I never settled on how to finish up Martinez’s involvement. Hence his sudden change into an asshole. He has his reasons, to be sure, but they’ll be covered later.
Oh, and the fight scene was awesomely fun.
Issue 30 commentary:
This one sucked. Hard.
I wanted to do a Hanna Montanna parody for years now. I even had the thing scripted out for a long time. However, when it came to actually writing it, I just couldn’t settle on a tone. Should it be funny? Sad? Action-packed? Dramatic? Besides that, I can’t write lyrics worth crap, hence the lack of actual singing.
The other band members were originally major character. Then they got cut for time. Sorry.
Noriko is going to be a major villain. I’ll apologize in advance; I screwed up her introduction badly.
It’s seriously hard to remark on this one, since I just wrote it. However, it’s just not very good.
Coming Issues:
Issue 31
Story A: A ritual is planned to bring back the First Matriarch. The only problem is, the thing requires a sacrifice…and the Matriarch wants Gemini! Can the Task Force rescue him/her before it’s too late?
Story B: Pierson’s Origin Story.
Issue 32
Story A: After the events of last issue, the First Matriarch, Ione, has returned…but not in perfect shape. Can the heroes get to the bottom of this, or is Gemini doomed?
Story B: It’s time for Nelimar to get her Apprentice license. However, such an event is an excuse for mages to get drunk, so the Society of Wizards is throwing a job fair! What will Nel find? And how does the Task Force factor in?
Issue 33
Story A: Martinez is running into financial trouble. Fortunately, he has ancient gold lying around; unfortunately, said gold is buried. Even worse, the Eye, the Illuminati, and PC Glenton want their hands on it, too!
Story B: Back in the 1960s, the Illuminati moved into Japan. One of their targets was Yamaguichi Industries, a burgeoning company. What is their real purpose? And how is Noriko tied to an event from long before her birth?
Issue 34
Story A: The Task Force decide to infiltrate the Illuminati. The problem is, they will all be ratted out very quickly. So, they send in the one person capable of pulling it off: Galloway! Three guesses how that turns out…
Story B: A tale from the Golden Age. Before World War II, a small group of heroes united to stop a global threat. Who were they, and what became of them?
Issue 35
Story A: An accident sends both the Task Force and the RPGCPD into a parallel dimension, run entirely by hard-boiled detectives! Can they escape this horrible place, or will they need the help of a certain slob of a figure?
Story B: Pierson discovers a criminal ring, but the rest of the Task Force is preoccupied. This leaves only him, Ivonne, Dr. Forrester and TV’s Frank to save the day!
Well, see ya later, true believers!
More and more issues! It’s a good thing to notice writing these isn’t an… issue for you punblasted
“Mabat, you never were a trained mage. You just call yourself a Blue Mage. What are you doing here, being so stinking drunk it’d make Bruce Lee in Drunken Master look like a Milk Bar Melee’er?”
“Ahm sorry, but they shee my miraculoush draunking abilitish ash masghic of itsch ownz… ssssso they gave me and honowary mascheg diploma… See? I’ve gots a liscense. You got an officer with that, problem?”
“Projectile vomiting isn’t considered an officially sanctioned spell, but it’s a pretty common sight in schools for magically inclined children. C’mon, let’s leave the Master of Malt Magic to his brew…”
“NO WHISKEY! IT MAKES MY GADOUKENS TINY! AND YOU HAVEN’T SEEN A TINY GADOUKEN BEFORE THAT!”
The next issue is delayed until November 30.
The fact is, the stuff I have written down now is…well…trash. Granted, everything I’ve ever said or done is garbage on some level, but this is worse. Characters are derailed in unbelievable ways, all so I can set up some lame gags. The actual conflict needs to be built much tighter. I’ve been stuck at four pages in for over two weeks, and feel my drive to finish the thing draining.
I’m taking the monthly thing very seriously. I want this to be a test of sorts, to see if I can release a new chapter every month. Sad to say, I’ve failed already. To make matters worse, my other projects are falling by the wayside; the Final Saga’s latest chapter is barely started, the rest of Absolution’s third sector is still being researched, and the Sonic Retrospective is halted around issue #90. I need to give those some love, too, if only to escape this Cliche Storm. (TV Tropes to ruin my life once again.)
So…see you later.
Yeah, your stuff is SO bad we can’t wait to see it, Mr. Negative. Heck, even reading your projected plans is fun!
You do realize you’re writing fanfiction, right? And that most Fic writers don’t worry half as much as you do? (granted they’re nowhere near as good either.) Remember the Cardinal Rule of Fan Writing, d: PLEASE YOURSELF FIRST! It’s OK to write for others if that is what you want but since the satisfaction of writing is the only pay get for doing it, you’d damn better enjoy it too! Oh, and write at your pace. That’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way; trying to fit a schedule just stressed me to the point I could not finish my stories. From now on, I’m writing only when (and so long as) I feel the impulse to do so. (Btw, I DO have plans for more stories, but as noted, I don’t know when they will come. Hopefully soon.)