Nuklear Age
Page 10
Nuklear Man felt a tingle crawl up his leg. It stopped at his knee and he swore he could hear someone clearing his throat. It was a spider. “Bug” he told it.
“Flesh-sack,” it responded, much to Nuklear Man’s complete and utter terror.
“Ack!” He instinctively brought a mighty finger to the arachnid to flick it away.
Somewhere, somehow, the transaction of kinetic energy and momentum had gone terribly awry. In a flash of confusion he was on his back between the Danger: Couch and the Danger: Coffee Table. He was surrounded by a sea of shadow.
__________
“Maybe a video game system?”
“No, he’s still trying to figure out Pong.”
“Now, c'mon. Even Nuke isn't that slow.”
“It’s not that. He can’t get past picking Player 1 or Player 2.”
“What do you mean?”
“He says he can’t tell which is the hero and which is the villain.”
“Ah. Yeah. I guess he would, wouldn’t he.”
__________
“I am Alan, chieftain of the Children of Arachnor, and now is the Time for Vengeance against you, the Destroyer!” a tiny but determined voice cried from atop the Danger: Coffee Table.
“Vengeance?” Nuklear Man asked like he had no idea what was going on. Mainly because he didn’t.
“Don’t play stupid with us!” Alan snapped. Before the Hero could respond with the traditional Who’s playing? line, the spider continued. “We know what you did to Larry!”
“Larry?”
“Larry” he repeated.
“Was that the guy whose car I blew up by accident when I blasted Mechanikill?”
“No, he was—”
“The leader of those cheese people I sneezed into oblivion? You kinda remind me of him.”
“Shut up, you bipedal buffoon! Larry was our patron god and creator, Arachnor!”
“I thought you said his name was Larry.”
“Well, yes, his name was also Larry, but that’s not exactly a striking and powerful name for a god, now is it? So Arachnor is mostly a title for effect.”
“I see.”
“I mean, I'm certain your name isn't really Nuklear Man, right?”
“Well, actually it is.”
“Enough of your stalling, endoskeletal bag! Now is the Time for Retribution.”
“I thought you said it was the ‘Time for Vengeance.’”
“Well, yes. The Time of Retribution is right after the Time of Vengeance while the sun in is the fourth house of—I don’t have to explain our time keeping methodology to the likes of you!”
“Just askin’. Sheesh.”
“You slew the great Arachnor, Lord of the Spiders, our master, our patron god and creator.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that.”
“And in the throes of death, he gave birth to us, his Chosen, who exist for a single purpose.”
“And that purpose would be...?”
“To avenge our master’s death!”
“And you're going to do that how, exactly?”
“You shall be devoured by our ten-thousand maws, hungering for your blood, Anti-Arachnor.”
“I see.”
__________
“A book?”
Atomik Lad didn’t dignify the suggestion with an answer.
Norman scratched his nose. “Right. How about a movie?”
“Nuke’s attention span isn’t exactly built to endure a movie. And it doesn’t help that his daily life and overactive imagination are more exciting than most movies anyway.”
“He collects comic books, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but he only gets Captain Liberty and the Squad of Diplomatic Immunity comics and they canceled those after the Dragon’s Strike.”
“A CD?”
“I'm not putting up with ‘Polkarama’ again.”
Norman grimaced. “Ooh. Yeah, that must’ve been rough.”
Atomik Lad’s face became a sullen mask. “You have no idea.”
__________
“But let it not be said that we are not a civilized race,” Alan said while pacing across the Danger: Coffee Table. “You may have one last request.”
“Okay. Don’t kill me?”
Alan took several steps back in alarm. “Er...”
“Well, you did offer me one.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d ask for that! I was thinking more along the lines of a final meal or something.”
Nuklear Man sat up with his back against the Danger: Couch. “Feh, guess you weren’t thinking much at all.”
“Aww, c’mon,” the spider pleaded. “No one uses ‘don't kill me’ as their last request!”
“That’s because they don't have the benefits of my Nuklear Intelligence,” he said in a haughty tone. And while this was true, they probably wouldn’t complain about it.
“It’s an unwritten code of the last request!” Alan half yelled. “You don’t ask not to be killed! That’s not how it works! If that’s allowed, then the entire practice of last request becomes pointless!”
“You asked for a last request. I requested not to be killed. The end,” the Hero said. He crossed his mighty arms over his barrel chest.
Waves of dissent rippled through the shadow sea of spiders. Their leader darted his complex eyes nervously as he realized what was going to happen. It was law. The same law that demanded they avenge the death of their god. The same law that required they kill anything that impaired that avenge...ance. Alan backed away from the mob of his followers.
“You’ve bungled our plans for the last time, Alan!”
“Steve, my most trusted advisor? How could you?”
Another spider spoke up, “Don’t use your petty nostalgia on us, Alan. You have failed our mission of holy vengeance. And now, as it is written in the Book of Arachnor, you must pay!”
Alan turned dramatically to the new voice, “Et tu, Tom-ey?”
The sea of shadow rose against its leader with a barbaric ferocity. They flowed up the Danger: Coffee Table and devoured Alan. The Law of Arachnor would allow nothing less. Alan’s final tortured scream clung at Nuklear Man’s heart the way Hunger gripped his stomach. At long last, Alan plunged into the darkness eternal.
Or wherever dead spiders go.
Hunger, on the other hand, latched at the Hero’s stomach as staunchly as ever.
Nuklear Man contemplated Alan, his position of power, his responsibilities, his tormented demise. “Ew.”
“Judge us not, puny creature. I, Steve, proclaim that on this day, the Children of Arachnor shall have their revenge!”
Not aware of how totalitarian governments work, Nuklear Man asked, “Hey, who made you lead spider?”
Steve mumbled his response, “Well, er...I mean. You know, I led the revolution against Alan. Sort of. It only makes sense I should take his place as dictator.”
“I would have liked to proclaim this day the revenge of Arachnor’s children,” Tom pouted.
“Tom? You're just a treasurer! I’ve been Alan’s top advisor from the beginning. I have the experience to lead. Stick to the books, number-bug.”
“Excuse me,” Nuklear Man interrupted. “But if you were Alan’s advisor, and Alan was found to be unfit to lead, then isn’t his cabinet unfit to lead by extension?” he commented in a strangely lucid moment.
“He’s got a point,” Tom said while rubbing what the Golden Guardian could only assume was the spider’s chin.
“What?! You're agreeing with the Destroyer, the sworn enemy of our race?”
“Maybe you guys could set up some form of democracy?” Nuklear Man suggested. “A parliament or something.”
“I found our old system of government rather oppressive,” a faceless spider said from the sea of shadow. He received murmurs of consent and dissent from his companions.
“Old system?” Steve blurted. “There is no ‘old system!’ What are you thinking? You are following the heresy of the Anti-Arachnor!”
Cries rang from the spider sea, “Hurrah! Down with the establishment!”
“Heretics!”
“Viva la freedom!”
“Do not follow the words of the Destroyer!”
__________
“How about a set of towels? We could emboss them with that ‘N’ thing of his,” Norman said while drawing a little “N” in the air.
“Ah, no. Nuke doesn’t trust towels.”
Norman had no idea how to answer and simply stared at Atomik Lad.
“I don’t know either.”
“Well, then how does he dry off?”
“He uses his, and I quote, ‘Evap-o Plazma.’”
“How very strange.”
“Trust me. You don’t know the half of it.”
__________
Nuklear Man stood and dusted himself off as the spiders divided into two groups. Arachnor's Chosen, led by Steve, and the second, The Spider's Front of Arachnopodia, rallied behind Tom. Banners rose, speeches were made, battle cries erupted, threats were hurled, and the air filled with the smell of battle to come.
“Ahem,” Nuklear Man asserted himself over the din of pre-war that was spreading like wildfire across his Danger: Coffee Table. Both armies stopped and stared at the Golden Guardian towering over them. “Could you guys take your little war somewhere else? It’ll mess up the furniture and I’m trying to watch TV.”
Each camp dispatched a diplomat that approached Nuklear Man.
“We are dignitaries, an impartial negotiation party, to decide a battlefield for our war,” one informed the Hero as the other spider nodded in agreement.
“Uh. You could use that Danger: Storage Room,” he said, pointing to a nearby door aptly labeled Danger: Storage Room. “Sparky emptied it out last Spring. He said we didn’t need ten thousand 20Watt light bulbs. Go figure. I just let him have his way. He gets a little weird about some things, if you know what I mean.”
“Thank you, Destroyer. We will wage our war in this ‘Danger: Storage Room’ of yours,” the second spider said cordially with a little spider-style bow.
“Glad to be of service.”
“When we establish a stable government, we will hunt you down, and we will devour you,” the first stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh. Well, um. Thanks?”
The two spiders scuttled back to their respective camps. Within a minute, both mighty armies marched to the Danger: Storage Room. Nuklear Man held the futuristic automatic sliding door open until the final spider-soldier had entered. “Good luck with your little battle for supremacy,” Nuklear Man cheerily said as he waved.
“Death to the Destroyer’s minions!”
“End the Orwellian domination of Arachnor’s pawns!”
The door FWOOSHed shut and cut off the crossfire of taunts.
The Hero sought out his favorite gift: the Quick-B-Labeled. What once was the Danger: Storage Room became the Danger: Religious Differences.
__________
Issue 12 – They, Robots
A couple hours later the sparkling pimp-daddy purple Magnomobile screeched to a halt outside the Silo of Solitude’s main doors embedded in the sweet and only slightly radioactive earth.
Atomik Lad got out of the car, “See you tomorrow at Larson Beach.”
“Right, at 11:00. You just make sure he gets there.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” He waved as the Tungsten Titan turned his car around and zoomed off with a large cardboard box sticking out of trunk with the “This End Up” arrow pointing to the right.
__________
Nuklear Man wallowed.
Junk food wrappers that looked like they’d been torn apart by some ferocious beast of consumption, the crumbs of said junk food, junk food yet to be attacked, soda cans in various stages of emptiness, magazines one would normally only associate with teenage girls, reprints of Captain Liberty and the Squad of Diplomatic Immunity comics, and several boxes of Kleenex were piled around the Danger: Couch. Nuklear Man wallowed with such attention to the art, and what he did with wallowing was an art, that he didn't notice when the walls hummed as the Danger: Main Doors opened or when the sun bathed his wallowing in noonday light, and, in fact, barely noticed Atomik Lad standing over him with that “Again?” look.
“Er...” the Golden Guardian eloquently explained as he shifted his girth and caused a small junk food avalanche in the process. “I bet you’re wondering what this is all about.”
Atomik Lad didn’t move for the exact amount of time it would take the laugh track to die down on a poorly written sitcom. “Oh yes.”
“Well, I was watching Silly Sam’s Cartoon Marathon-a-thon o’ Fun, like I do every morning.”
“Naturally.”
“And then Days of Our Generally Bold Lives in Another Beautiful Hospital World came on.” Atomik Lad nodded. “How could Celeste do that to poor Drake?” he blubbered and reached for another handful of tissue paper.
“Well that explains the Kleenex.”
Nuklear Man blew his nose with a distinct HONK. “And Carl SNURK. He's new, how was he supposed to know about Victoria’s conniving against Bill? He’s an innocent pawn in the game of chess that is Days of Our Generally Bold Lives in Another Beautiful Hospital World!”
Atomik Lad shook his head. His face was filled with disapproval. “And to think they call you ‘Hero’.”
“They don't know the horrible truth,” he said meekly.
“It would turn their stomachs.”
“I’m a pathetic slob!”
Atomik Lad squat down and picked up a magazine sticky with dried soda and the dust from some kind of artificial cheese snack. He bent a curious eyebrow while examining the cover. “Teeny Bopper Dreamboat Weekly?”
“Uh...” Nuklear Man's sobs stopped like a heart attack.
“An Interview with the Manson Dreamboat Trio?”
“Um. Is this one of those things that’s so weird you’d rather not hear the explanation?”
“No, I think I have to know.”
“Nuts.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, you know as a Hero I have a responsibility to look as good as possible.”
Atomik Lad idly thumbed through the publication, “Of course.”
“I picked up some of those magazines to scope out the up and coming competition, such as it is. So, you can see how it’s perfectly normal for me to have those and not strange. Right?”
“But the average age of the readers of these things is something like fourteen.”
“I’ve got to keep up with the times. Look to the future and all that.”
“Hmm. This oldest Manson kid kinda looks like me.”
“Lucky duck!”
Atomik Lad’s quizzical look was all the inquiry required.
“Well, you know. Because girls think he’s cute.”
“Fourteen-year-old girls, Nuke. Though it should go without saying, that’s just sort of wrong. Besides, they’d think that goth Harriet Hanson freak was a dreamboat if he sung vapid lyrics about girls and homework or whatever it is soulless media machines sing about.”
“So you think that would work for us?”
“I don’t think we have to stoop to their level.”
“Feh! Easy for you to say, Mr. Lookalike.”
Atomik Lad sighed and set his Physics: The Way Things Should Be book on the Danger: Coffee Table. He looked to what should have been the Danger: Storage Room but noticed the old label had a new one proclaiming Danger: Religious Differences pasted over it. He didn’t have the energy to care. “Just have this mess cleaned up. I’ll be in my room.”
“Stupid mess,” Nuklear Man muttered. He kicked at the mound of filth he’d acquired over the few hours. He scanned his environs for a scapegoat to delegate the work to. Alas, with the closing FWOOSH of the Danger: Sparky/s Room door, the Hero was
alone.
__________
Nuklear Man slowly surfaced from the Danger: Main Entrance as if burdened by some incredible weight. And rightfully so because he heaved an enormous garbage bag as wide as the Silo behind him. The Hero majestically rose with his massive cargo. Until it got stuck.
“Hmmm. Dimension trouble.” he surmised.
__________
Atomik Lad raced down the streets of San Diego’s Balboa Park in his custom built Folkswagon Gnat. It sported a crimson paint job with blue racing stripes that almost perfectly matched the color scheme of his spandex. The ordinarily crowded streets were empty save for a few cars driving in excess of 120mph.
“Out of the way, grandma!” Atomik Lad yelled while zipping across the median into lanes of oncoming traffic. It was faster that way.
A sharp left turn was ahead. He was going at least 130mph. A fiery wreck was the only fate available to him. “What is that smell?” he asked himself. Atomik Lad’s sporty car halted its fatal tumble through the air mere inches from impacting a nondescript building as “Pause” blinked across the screen. “Door, open.”
Nothing.
Atomik Lad sighed with the weight of defeat. “Danger: Door, open.” The futuristic FWOOSH sound announced his door's obedience.
“Nuke!” he called out.
Nuklear Man was deaf to his sidekick. There was simply too much Danger: Filth stuck in the Danger: Main Doors between himself and the Silo’s interior for any amount of sound to get through.
Atomik Lad stalked out of his room and stopped short halfway out the door. “Where is everything?”
The Danger: Living Room was completely empty. Even the blinking lights that should’ve been all over the walls were gone. For the briefest second he suspected the Pearly Gate cult had gotten a stranglehold on Nuklear Man yet again. But an acrid smell scared off the thought like a skunk’s foe. He glanced at the Danger: Main Doors. In their place he saw a great stinking garbage bag wedged into the entrance far above him. It was labeled “Danger: Filth.”
“What has he done now?”
__________
Nuklear Man had dragged the open end of the garbage bag across the sparse vegetation that surrounded the Silo. He tugged a tug that tugged itself into a full heave. His feet dug into the ground and two small plumes of dust wafted along the earth. He left the ground and flew straight up with all the force of a rocket launch.