“Now then,” he said into the properly aligned Danger: Phone. “Helloooo?”
“Nuke, what was all that about?”
“Norman, the Nor-Man, The Phunkmaster W, M to the fourth, the—”
“Yo, Nuke. Calm down.”
“Righto.”
“What was all that commotion on your end?”
“Danger: Computer Lady got confused.”
“Ah.”
“And they call this progress. It’s enough to make you sick.”
“Right. Anyway, I was just callin’ to check up on you since Atomik Lad ain’t around. You haven’t managed to burn the place down, have you?”
“Not as yet.”
“That’s good.”
“Ooh! But I did get some fan mail, and all Sparky got was a bunch of hate mail.”
“That’s cool. I guess I’ll check back in a couple—”
“I’ll read it to you!”
“No really, you don’t have to...read...Nuke? You there?”
“I’m back. Ready?”
“Actually, I’m kinda busy over here. Ima’s—”
“Good. Ahem. ‘Greetings. You are Hereby Commanded to be and appear before the Court of Metroville in the Court Building of Metroville on Monday to testify before the State in the case brought against you by a one (1) Dr. Veronica Menace concerning the matter of Destruction of Property at One Abandoned Warehouse Way in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and herein fail not under penalty of law.’ Pretty cool, huh?”
“Nuke. You’ve been sued.”
“I think she likes me.”
“No, Nuke. You don’t seem to understand. You’ve been sued by Dr. Menace for destroying her hideout or something. Read back that part with the address.”
The Hero scanned his fan mail. “Was that before or after her confession of eternal love for me?”
“What?”
“No, wait. I think it was around the paragraph where she goes on and on about her cape fetish.” He squealed. “We have so much in common!”
Norman sighed. “This isn’t working. Look, I’ll just come over to help you out.”
“Help me with what?”
“I’ll explain when I get there. Geez, where’s Sparky when you need him?”
“Right. I’ll let you bask in the fan mail when you get here. A little bit, anyway.”
__________
Rachel twisted in her seat. “This movie is terrible.”
“It’s not too bad. I guess. I mean, I’ve probably seen worse, maybe. But it’s a close call.”
She grabbed Atomik Lad by the collar and shook him. “Why won’t the damn boat sink! It’s called Lusitania, it has to sink!”
Atomik Lad removed her death grip. It was quite a feat too. She had Gamer Fingers. “I think this is the plot part.” He looked back at the screen. “Of course, you can only develop two-dimensional characters for so long, and I think they sailed right over that line about an hour ago.”
“Sink the boat!” she yelled to the screen.
A pathetic, sobbing, middle-aged, unfulfilled woman in the row ahead of them immediately responded with, “Shhh! You’re ruining the movie!”
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid the writers beat me to that.”
“Well I never!”
“You know,” Atomik Lad whispered to Rachel, “I don’t get the big deal about this Leonardo DiTurtlo kid. They could’ve had a monkey play his part.”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying to watch the monkey drown at the end!”
“Yeesh.”
“Get to the end! Give me the watery retribution for which I yearn!”
“You picked this movie, you know.”
“I didn’t know it was going to be this bad for this long. Lord, the damn boat wasn’t at sea this long, and the two cliché star-crossed lovers are just now talking for the first time. Shoot me!”
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“If it were a book, it would’ve taken nearly two hundred pages for them to get that far.”
“I could always put a book down, but a movie. You can’t just leave. It’s different.”
“Why not? The ZMAX cops gonna strap us into our chairs?” Atomik Lad jokingly said as he half rose from his seat.
Automated restraints zipped around Atomik Lad’s chest and strapped him against the seat, painfully squeezing the air from his lungs. “Gasp!”
Too absorbed in hating the movie to notice Atomik Lad’s plight of respiration, Rachel continued heckling the screen. “ARGH! ‘I’m rich.’ ‘I’m poor.’ ‘We’re German, you’re dead.’ The end! Come on!”
Atomik Lad struggled against his bonds but found that every movement only made the straps constrict further. “Can’t. Breathe.”
“Ooh! I think that was the submarine. Schnell! Schneller die Deutsch!”
“Ribs crushed. Movie. Too slow. Atomik...Field...uncooperative. Gasp.”
“Damn, it was only a stupid harmless iceberg.”
__________
The Tungsten Titan slowly touched down on the Danger: Launch Pad and the blue lines of his Magno Force faded away. His armored hide turned to flesh as he landed and announced, “Yo, Nuke.”
“I’m in here!” the Hero’s unmelodious voice sang from Danger: Nuke’s Room.
Norman walked across the Danger: Living Room “MREOWR!” nearly tripping over Katkat.
“Oh, Katkat. I’m sorry, boy.”
“Mreowr yeowr meow!”
Norman leaned down to skritch Katkat under his chin. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”
Katkat purred his forgiveness.
“What’cha got there?” Norman asked, picking up a sheet of paper with paw prints all over it. “Ah, answering some fan mail. Seems like there’s a lot of that going on.”
“Mew!”
“Well, here you go. Have fun.” He returned Katkat’s reply letter to the Danger: Floor, right between the Danger: Letter Opener and Danger: Inkwell.
“C’mon Mighty, uh, Lazy Laconic, um, Lman.”
“How’s that?” Norman asked as he entered the Hero’s quarters.
“Shut up, Norman.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s goin’ on here?”
Nuklear Man stepped to the side and revealed his fan letter framed and mounted in a rather central position among other accolades on his Danger: Wall of Accomplishments.
“No, Nuke. This isn’t a fan letter.”
“Yeah, it’s more like a poetic expression of true love.”
“How does Atomik Lad do this every day?”
“It has a certain musical quality, you know? Like a song.”
“A song?”
“Especially the chorus comparing her love for me to the life-sustaining love of light that delicate flowers have, which really makes sense.”
“Does it?” Norman asked while tiredly rubbing his eyes.
“Y’see, I am likened unto the sun in this metaphor because I can oft be found in the sky and I’ve got all those brightly shiny Plazma Powers.”
“Nuke.”
“Whereas she, my future wife, is the delicate flower because women have—”
“Nuke! Listen to me. That’s a subpoena. Dr. Menace is suing you.”
Nuklear Man gave a knowing and patronizing laugh. “Oh, Norman, Norman, Norman. You don’t have to be jealous just ‘cause I get all the fan mail and chicks. Whereas you do not.”
_________
Meanwhile, back at the Magnopad, the bathroom door opened and a thick cloud of steam poured from it. Dr. Genius walked out, her shapely form covered in a towel. She was adjusting another towel around her water-darkened and slightly uncoiled hair. She made her way to the kitchen while humming a little tune based on one of the more esoteric equations she invented in a Ludicrously Advanced Quantum Theory independent study course from her old university days. Her musings were cut short however. “Hm. A note. ‘Hey hon, I’ve got to check on Nuke. I’ll be back soon, we’ve got some unfi
nished business to attend to. Love, Your Ebony Stallion.’”
She set the note back down. “Well phooey.”
__________
The fan letter was displayed on the Danger: Kitchen Table. Its broken frame stuck out of the Danger: Trash Can thanks to a series of valiant and deceitful actions on the part of Norman and a lot of crying on the part of Nuklear Man.
“Okay, Nuke. What is this?”
“What, you mean the fan letter?”
Norman clawed at his face.
__________
“Why won’t the Germans sink the damn boat!” Rachel asked God as she writhed in agony. “The end needs to hurry the hell up and be nigh!”
“Oxygen. For brain,” Atomik Lad croaked. “Also good for. Metabolic processes.”
__________
“All right, Nuke. Remember. Subpoena.”
“Fan letter.”
“Sub...”
“Fan...”
“...poena.”
“...letter.”
Norman shook with rage just like Angus. Only four feet taller. And black.
“ARGH!” he screamed. His patience had withstood the Nuklear Onslaught far better than most people, but it could withstand no more. Having completely lost his cool, Norman sputtered a few half-words of anger, unconsciously turned his body to tungsten, and punched Nuklear Man to the Danger: Floor. Mighty Metallic Magno Man stood, stunned and panting, for several seconds as the rage boiled out of him.
Nuklear Man shot up, his cape draped over his face, “Norman!”
“Oh man, Nuke I—”
“Silence your blather, simpleton! I’ve been sued, we’ve got precious little time! I need a lawyer and four dozen monkeys, stat!”
Far more stunned than before, Norman answered with two blinks.
“Well!” The Hero demanded while flinging his cape into a more natural and suitable position.
“Four dozen monkeys?”
“Good gravy, man! I haven’t the time to discuss every detail of The Plan with you. Suffice it to say, we need us some monkey power.”
“Right.”
“Gah! There’s no time! We’ll have to divvy up the tasks. Look. You get the monkeys, I’ll get the lawyer. Now go, my werewolframite chum! There’s precious little time!”
“Yeah, you just said that.”
“Never mind that now. Just think monkey!”
“Four dozen?”
“Exactly!”
__________
“How long can it take to sink this boat!” Rachel growled at the screen. “They’re using torpedoes, for the love of all things holy! Let the boy drown, already!”
“Sympathy. For male lead. Growing.”
“Water + lungs = dead. It’s a simple equation, people.”
“Ghkkkk!”
“Geez. Sparky, how can you just sit there and watch this crap?”
“Vision. Tunneling.”
“Ugh. Wish mine was.”
“Suffocating!”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“I don’t. Gasp. Think so.”
“Watching this damn thing is like having a vice grip squeeze your soul dry of its capacity to love.”
“Oxygen.”
“What, oxygen? No, you’re thinking of the lungs. You see, the soul doesn’t breathe.” She turned to him and shook her head. “Oh, Sparky. Stop goofing around.”
“Not goofing. Asphyxiating. Tell Nuke that I—”
She pushed a little button on the restraints. They immediately retracted. Atomik Lad crumpled over and gasped for air.
“What was I supposed to tell Nuklear Man?” she asked with a sweet smile.
“Huff, Never, puff, mind.”
“C’mon, sit up. You’ll miss the drowning sce—dammit! The boat is still sinking!”
Atomik Lad was so dizzy from the lack of air that he had to hold onto the arm rests to keep from falling onto the floor. This had the rather beneficial side effect of putting his hand on top of Rachel’s since hers was already occupying the armrest between them. She tried her best to hide a smile, failed completely, and beamed brightly.
“Of course, in order for the film to complete its narrative cycle, a longer ending might not be such a bad idea,” she said.
Atomik Lad felt the weight of his body return with every breath of sweet air. The stars around his periphery vision were slowly fading, his extremities tingled with that “we’re still here” feeling, and a warmth returned to his torso with a dizzying and sickening pace. His face flushed and he tightened his grip on the armrests to keep from catapulting into the couple in the row in front of him. Rachel’s drop-dead gorgeous smile deepened into an obliteratingly beautiful one as she hid her face in her free hand. “You sly devil, you.” She leaned over and gave Atomik Lad’s ear the slightest little nibble.
Suddenly, Atomik Lad found all was right with the world.
__________
Issue 34 – Drinkin’ Buddies
Across town, in the luxurious Pub District, Angus stumbled into a bar. The atmosphere of the place was a thick cloud of noxious cigarette fumes tinted obscene shades of red, yellow, and orange from a multitude of neon signs in varying states of functionality. He stumbled, not from inebriation, as no good Scotsman worth his weight in liquor would have that problem…so early in the day. Nay, Angus stumbled from the extremely awkward backwards arrangement of his Iron: Battlesuit.
“Bah!” Angus snapped at his Iron: Bagpipe Thrusters after trying, unsuccessfully, to get the damn exhaust pipes out of his face. He stomped up to an empty barstool and crossed his arms with an angry huff. Unfortunately, due to the Iron: Bagpipe Thrusters being located in what could be called Prime Arm Crossing Territory, crossing his arms produced a quick splurt of a most unflattering sound. Angus simmered in the broth of his anger as he felt every pair of eyes in the bar burning straight through him.
“WHAT!” he demanded. Everyone’s attention was simultaneously redirected.
Angus scowled at the barstool looming over him.
“Lookit that barstool. Just sittin’ there, lookin’ down at me. Thinkin’ it’s better than me. Bah!” He produced the Surprisingly Concealable and Wieldly Enemy-B-Crushed Named “Bertha” from what has been scientifically proven to be Thin Air. He bashed the barstool with a mighty two-handed overhead WHAM.
What he did not do, however, was take into account the padded seat atop said barstool, which caused Bertha to bounce back and WHAM into Angus’s Iron: Battlehelm. The Surly Scot wobbled a few steps back, teetering from the tremendous impact. He dislodged Bertha from his helm, adjusted the dented headpiece, and snarled., “All right, ye blasted barstool. Now Ah sees how ye are.” He stored Bertha wherever the hell it goes, dug his heels into the floor, charged the barstool, and tackled it head on.
What he did not do, however, was take into account that this was a revolving barstool. On impact, the Surly Scot was spun around by his own momentum and slammed against the bar. He blinked blearily from the bar floor.
“Ye days are numbered, laddie! The gloves is off!”
About half an hour later Angus managed to climb onto his barstool despite the Iron: Cast on his left leg. “Ha! Ye bloody stool! How do ye likes that, hm? Ye don’t, that’s how. Barkeep!” Angus called.
Barry the Bartender approached his stout customer while polishing a glass. “Yes?”
Angus perused the expansive wall-to-wall display of alcohol behind the bar. “Ah’ll take everythin’ on the left.”
Still polishing, “Everything on the left, huh?”
“Aye. I wants to start out slow.”
“Of course you do. Mind if I see some ID first, sonny?”
“What.”
“Look, I can appreciate what you’re doing, I used to try to sneak into bars all the time when I was younger, though judging by your height, I was at least twice your age at the time.”
“What.” Angus’s right eye developed a minor twitch.
“In fact, that’s probably why I’
m a bartender now. I’d sure hate to see a kid as young as you must be go down the same path I did. All you do is watch people drink their lives away. It’s quite draining, really.”
Angus’s minor twitch graduated into a Major Twitch.
“How old are you anyway, son? That fake beard is a nice touch, but there’s no way anyone’s gonna believe an adult is as short as y—”
Barry the Bartender would have to drink his meals for the next three months.
__________
Rachel and Atomik Lad walked out of the theater blinking and squinting against the blasted dayball. “Gah,” Atomik Lad said, recoiling as he desperately shaded his eyes. “Does it have to be that bright? It’s the middle of the day, people are out here, it’s dangerous.”
Rachel was about to reply when her stomach interrupted her with RRROWRRRWEORUPSAFD;JKLPOITWPOEIRUSDOWRR! “Well, that was freaky.”
“She’s gonna blow!”
“On the second date? Someone’s gotta high opinion of himself.”
Atomik Lad couldn’t even sputter incoherently. She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down the street. “Food now,” she grunted in her best cave person impression.
__________
Angus had found another bar. It was a bit flashier than he would ordinarily prefer, but it being the middle of the afternoon, there weren’t many bars open and beggars can’t be choosers. The music from the dance floor was a tad too loud, but catchy for not being bagpipes. He had been sitting at a table for some time, quite nearly content, which is saying a heck of a lot for Angus. This near contentedness was in part due to the fact that he didn’t have to battle his chair to earn the right to sit in it. But also, as luck would have it, this bar actually served his favorite drink. He was drumming his fingers on the table, his legs swinging back and forth, thinking, Hmm, Ah never did quite catch the name o’ this here place. He noticed a fellow patron walking to the dance floor and asked, “Hey, what be the name o’ this here place, laddie?”
“Oh, this is the Tool Box.”
“Ah thank ye.”
“By the way, I lllllove your outfit, you should’ve been here Friday. It was Dress as Your Favorite Village Person Nite. I bet you could’ve won first prize.”
Nuklear Age Page 34