“Comrade Crunch wouldn’t lie,” Tadpole asserted as if he were defending his own grandfather.
“Guys! Comrade Crunch is the one who is behind all this!” I finally blurted out my suspicion. “And I think it’s time we learned a little bit more about him.”
I pulled out my copy of the Li’l Hero’s Handbook and flipped it open to the letter C. The Codpiece, Collapso, the Collector, the Comforter . . . ! Concreto! He wasn’t there. For the first time ever, I had found someone who did not have an entry in the Li’l Hero’s Handbook! How could that be? Unless it wasn’t his real name. But then who was Comrade Crunch?
Just then pandemonium erupted all around us, and it looked like there were people everywhere! Our heads were spinning as we tried to focus on them. Then, just as quickly, they all came together in the form of a single person standing in front of us—a very fast person. One that none of us was happy to see.
“It’s my brother’s friend Zitty,” Stench said, completely enraged. “Get out of our headquarters, you creep!”
“The name is Zippy,” the teenage delinquent said as the acne on his face merged into a bright red flush of anger. “And don’t forget it, Fart Face.”
The speedy jerk whipped back into motion and attacked Stench from all sides at once. He was too fast for Stench to get hold of, and Zippy had soon maneuvered him to the entrance of our tree house. There Stench had no choice but to climb down to escape the older boy’s pummeling blows. I clenched my own fists in frustration. If I had still possessed my Meteor Boy jet pack, Zippy would have been no match for me. But my brief stint having a power was behind me.
The four of us were left alone in our headquarters, but not for long. A second later Stench’s brother, Fuzz Boy, popped his head through the same entry that Stench had just been driven out of.
“What have we here?” he said as he lunged for Halogen Boy. He soon had his hands all over Hal’s face and body, and blond hair began to sprout everywhere.
“Stop it, you creep,” Plasma Girl screeched, but Fuzz Boy just reached out and covered her mouth with his hand. She instantly reduced herself to a pool of goo and escaped.
Fuzz Boy looked at his empty hand in surprise. A moment later that expression turned to shock as Tadpole’s tongue snaked around his torso, trapping his arms against his body. The clever move backfired, though, when Fuzz Boy got an arm loose and grabbed Tadpole’s tongue. As hair began sprouting, Tadpole loosened his tongue in panic and Fuzz Boy got his other arm free, too. Then, to Tadpole’s complete horror, Fuzz Boy began working his way hand over hand up the length of the tongue.
“Let’s get out of here, guys,” I hollered in desperation. I guided a dazed Halogen Boy through the door in the floor and followed right after him. Tadpole finally freed his tongue from Fuzz Boy’s grasp and came tumbling after us, while Plasma Girl oozed her way through a crack in the floor.
Outside, amid the piles of scrap in his dad’s junkyard, Stench was still warding off blows as Zippy darted around him.
“Stench,” I yelled. “Retreat!”
He heard me and reluctantly ran after us. By the time we reached the street, Zippy had stopped pursuing. He’d probably gone back to plunder our tree house with Fuzz Boy.
“We gotta go back and take care of those creeps!” Stench fumed.
“No way,” Plasma Girl said in disgust as she rematerialized. She only then realized that she had a thick beard where Fuzz Boy had covered her mouth with his hand. “Look what that creep did to me! He even got my lips!”
“Wht abt me?” Tadpole mumbled as best he could. He was holding about six feet of furry tongue that he refused to draw back into his mouth.
“I look like a giant fuzz ball,” was all Hal would say.
“We can’t go back without a plan,” I insisted. “And we can’t make a plan until the effects of this attack have worn off. What use would Hal or Tadpole be in their current condition? For now let’s just get as far away as possible.”
Considering how strange some people in Superopolis look, we didn’t get too many stares as Stench and I accompanied our hair-covered trio of friends toward downtown and Lava Park. That seemed as good a place as any to hang out while we waited for them to return to normal.
When we reached the park, we headed for the entrance near the Inkblot’s newspaper stand. As we passed by it, something caught Tadpole’s eye and he stopped and reached for a display of disposable razors.
Just as I was about to advise him against shaving his tongue, a small headline near the bottom of the front page of The Weekly Daily caught my eye. It announced RED MENACE PAROLED. There was something awfully familiar about that name, and it suddenly came back to me that I had heard a number of older heroes mention it in passing recently. Given the slowness with which The Weekly Daily reported the news, I knew this parole could have happened a while ago.
“It’s high time they let him out,” the Inkblot spoke, interrupting my thoughts. “After all, he never really did any harm.”
I glanced at the article. It stated that the Red Menace had been sentenced to 1,636 years in prison, but had just been paroled for good behavior after serving only fifty. Maybe I’m naive, but criminals who do no harm normally don’t get put behind bars for 1,636 years.
“But just a couple of weeks ago, you told us he was one of the worst criminals in the history of the city,” Plasma Girl pointed out. She was right—it was the Inkblot himself who had first mentioned the Red Menace to us the day we were here searching for one of the elusive Professor Brain-Drain collector cards.
“Oh, I’m sure I didn’t say anything like that,” scoffed the Inkblot. “The Red Menace only had good intentions when it came to the people of Superopolis.”
“Then why does he have the word ‘menace’ in his name?” Halogen Boy asked with a perplexed look on his furry face.
The Inkblot glanced at him and the rest of our team, and a frown creased his face.
“The only menace to this city is young beatniks like you, with your crazy hair and far-out notions.” The Inkblot raised his hands, fingers spread wide, and began waving them crazily. “Wild hair and wild ideas will be the ruin of society.”
Well, he had a point about the hair. But before we could explain our run-in with Fuzz Boy, he continued with his rant.
“The Red Menace wanted to unite all Superopolis behind a single glorious vision, and with the help of Captain Radio, the greatest hero of my generation, he almost succeeded.”
“But his plan was foiled, wasn’t it?” I added.
“Yes, dabnab it,” he replied, “by that consarned League of Goodness.”
“But they’re the real heroes,” Stench insisted. “You thought so yourself just a couple weeks ago.”
“He’th been brainwathed,” Tadpole managed despite his hair-coated tongue.
Tadpole was right. Well, not about the Inkblot being brainwathed, but he most certainly had been brainwashed. It was a pattern that was becoming all too familiar.
I reached for my Li’l Hero’s Handbook, and flipped to the Red Menace. I found an entry that described a villain who was the exact opposite of the hero that the Inkblot was attempting to portray. While the picture showed a somewhat younger man, there was no mistaking what I was seeing. The Red Menace and Comrade Crunch were one and the same.
LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK
PEOPLE
NAME: Red Menace, The. POWER: Able to bend all to his will and compel them to do his bidding. LIMITATIONS: His power can be overcome by sound thinking and common sense, making him practically invincible. CAREER: His attempt at total domination was ultimately thwarted by the League of Goodness. CLASSIFICATION: One of the most dangerous villains ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
Chipth in Clath
When I got to school on Monday morning all my classmates were carrying cans of AI’s PseudoChips. They eagerly chatted among themselves, extolling the perfection of these stackable potato snacks.
“It’th a thientific fact that pota
to chipth tathte better when they’re indithtinguithable from one another,” Melonhead was asserting as I took my seat. No one was paying any attention to him.
“I can stack ’em up and eat fifteen at a time,” Cannonball bragged as he proceeded to do just that.
“Now you can get even fatter in a fraction of the time,” I pointed out.
Cannonball glared at me, but his mouth was so full of chips he couldn’t respond.
“Look, I’ve arranged mine like the petals of a flower,” Plasma Girl announced. Her chips were indeed laid out in a circle. Plucking one of the “petals” she raised it to her mouth. “I do love AI’s Pseudo-Chips,” she said popping the chip into her mouth. She instantly reached down for another. “I don’t love AI’s Pseudo-Chips,” she declared, causing the class to let out a collective gasp before she ate that one as well.
“I do love AI’s Pseudo-Chips,” she repeated as she ate a third chip. The class let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. “I just don’t know why I love them so much,” she added in a low enough voice that only I heard.
Of course I knew why everyone loved them. It was because Comrade Crunch—I mean the Red Menace—had everyone in his power. Everyone, that is, except me. I was the only person I knew who hadn’t gone head over heels for this bland new snack item. Sure, I had felt the lure of the Red Menace’s power, but I always managed to break free of it.
“When did class time become snack time?” asked Miss Marble as she entered the room. There was almost always something that annoyed her first thing in the morning, and today it was a room full of kids munching on Pseudo-Chips.
“But they’re irrethithtable, Mith Marble,” Melonhead spattered. “I don’t think I can go a thingle, tholitary thecond without them.”
“I’d waste away to nothing,” insisted Cannonball.
“Me, too,” added Transparent Girl as she faded away to prove it.
“They make me stretchier,” Limber Lass piped in.
“They make me sleepier.” Somnia yawned as her head thunked onto her desk.
“And me bubblier!” Little Miss Bubbles giggled amid a bubbly eruption.
“What has gotten into you kids?” Miss Marble asked in exasperation. “The rules say no eating in class.”
“Then let’th change the ruleth!” Melonhead slobbered.
“Melonhead is right!” Tadpole said to my astonishment. It was the first time in memory that anyone had ever listened to Melonhead, let alone agreed with him. That was all the encouragement the drooling doofus needed as he stood up in defiance.
“The majority thould dethide, and the majority wanth to have chipth in clath.
“Chipth in clath! Chipth in clath! Chipth in clath!” He began leading the entire class in a chant. Miss Marble was taken aback by it all and clearly didn’t know how to respond. But as the Banshee joined in the ruckus with a high-pitched shriek, Miss Marble gathered her wits, and moments later the wailing and protesting was silenced as my classmates and I went as stiff as statues thanks to Miss Marble’s power.
“I don’t know what the big deal is with these chips,” Miss Marble said.
Finally! Someone else who hadn’t fallen under the sway of the Red Menace.
“But it’s funny that you mention majority rules. You see, the planned lesson for this morning is on just that subject. You are correct that in a democracy the majority does indeed make the rules. Of course, the mistake you’ve made is assuming that when you’re in school you’re part of a democracy.”
As she was saying this, she walked up and down the rows of desks plucking one canister of chips after another out of my classmates’ unresisting grasps.
“You’ll have plenty of time as adults to make moronic decisions in the voting booth. Politicians will lie outright to you and you’ll believe them. They’ll get caught, lie to you again, and you’ll still turn around and reelect them. You’ll vote for people not because they’re competent or have your interests in mind, but because they have the same favorite color as you.”
I would have considered this insulting if it weren’t true. She was silent for a moment as she dumped all the chip canisters she had collected into the bottom drawer of her desk.
“People are naturally gullible and will believe almost anything they’re told,” she continued. “There is nothing I can teach you here that will change that sad fact. The Superopolis Board of Education has never thought it necessary to include lessons for their students on how not to be suckers.”
The stiffness throughout my body began to fade.
“But what we will teach you is how this idiotic process works,” she said sarcastically as motion slowly returned to my classmates. “With the upcoming mayoral election going on, it seems like a natural waste of time to stage our own class elections.”
Despite his rigidity, Melonhead spotted an opportunity to promote himself, and creakily rose to his feet.
“If I’m chothen ath clath prethident, I’ll change the ruleth to allow the Amathing Indethtructo’th Amathing Theudo-Chipth in thchool!”
“I nominate Melonhead as class president!” Cannonball announced even as he strained to elbow his best friend, Lobster Boy.
“Uh, I second the nomination,” Lobster Boy said, as he stiffly raised his claw to follow Cannonball’s lead.
“And he’s nominating me for vice president,” Cannonball added.
“I am?” Melonhead sputtered. He turned to look at Cannonball, who glared at him threateningly. “Uh, yeah, I gueth I’m nominating Cannonball ath my running mate.”
After another elbow from Cannonball, Lobster Boy seconded the nomination.
“Melonhead as class president?!” Tadpole uttered in disgust. Apparently, he had gotten over his earlier moment of support. “That would be a disaster.”
I agreed, especially with Cannonball on the same ticket. There was only one solution.
“I nominate Tadpole for president,” I shouted. Plasma Girl immediately seconded the nomination.
“I’ll run for vice president,” volunteered the Spore eagerly. No one paid any attention, and a moment later, we chose Plasma Girl as Tadpole’s running mate.
“Very good.” Miss Marble clucked approvingly. “But none of you really needs to worry about whom actually wins. The class president has no power whatsoever—not that it will stop any of you from thinking that this is the most important election of your lives.”
She was right about that. The rest of the period was taken up with choosing candidates for other meaningless offices. Transparent Girl joined Melonhead’s ticket as their candidate for class treasurer, a position that would oversee the class fish food fund. At the moment it consisted of a jelly jar that held exactly twenty-three cents and two pencil stubs. To my surprise, Stench nominated me as our party’s candidate for the post.
The Spore had volunteered both times to be treasurer, but everyone ignored him.
We then added Little Miss Bubbles as our nominee for secretary, a job that involved doing absolutely nothing as far as any of us could tell. The Spore raised his hand frantically in an attempt to be nominated as the opposing candidate, but Cannonball didn’t even see him. Instead, he nominated Somnia for that vital role while she dozed at her desk unaware. Somnia’s ability to put people to sleep made her the perfect candidate for this position.
“So we have our candidates,” Miss Marble said.
“What about me?” wailed the Spore, looking like he might undergo meiosis.
“There are no other offices to fill,” she apologized.
“Nothing?” he wailed as Miss Marble looked exasperated.
“Oh, fine,” she finally answered. “You can run for . . . class coroner.”
The rest of the class was shocked, but the Spore couldn’t have been more pleased. Needless to say, no one wanted to run against him for that office.
With the slates all set, we gathered into groups to develop campaign strategies. By the time the bell rang for recess, the excitement of a class election was in full
swing.
It wasn’t until after we all left the room that I realized I hadn’t asked Miss Marble how she and I appeared to be the only people not affected by the commands of the Red Menace. I turned around to go back into the classroom but came to a sudden halt in the doorway. Unaware of my presence, Miss Marble had opened up her bottom drawer and retrieved one of the confiscated canisters. She was eagerly and happily stuffing the chips into her mouth.
LI’L HERO’S HANDBOOK
PEOPLE
NAME: Spore, The. POWER: Wherever he goes, mold and mildew are sure to follow. LIMITATIONS: Antibiotics could prove fatal. CAREER: A budding entrepreneur, the Spore has an unerring nose for sniffing out truffles. CLASSIFICATION: A tendency by others to mistake him for being dead could prove problematic for future success.
“Irresistible,” I heard her mumble faintly to herself as she chewed.
CHAPTER SIX
Transparency in Government
The second half of the day dragged on as Miss Marble described the electoral process until even I was thoroughly bored.
“And so the candidate with the most money then buys the most ads and thus wins the race,” she concluded. “And I assume that’s the way it’s always been.”
“Miss Marble?”
“Yes, Ordinary Boy,” Miss Marble responded in a way that indicated I was throwing her off her lecture plan.
“You said you assumed that’s how it’s always been,” I pointed out. “Can we talk about history for just a second?”
“Why would we do that?” she responded with annoyance. “It’s all in the past.”
“O Boy is just trying to keep us from focusing on the election,” Transparent Girl piped up. “He knows his side is going to get creamed.”
“Maybe if we look at things that happened in the past, they can give us answers to events that are occurring right now,” I proposed, ignoring my opponent.
The Great Powers Outage Page 3