Nuklear Age

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Nuklear Age Page 61

by Clevinger, Brian

“I’m not!” The Hero said as ten Dakaels pummeled his own fists against his torso.

  “But you are. Don’t you see? Only a crazy person would keep hitting himself.”

  “I’m not crazy!”

  “Oh, but you must be. Because you won’t stop hitting yourself.”

  “I’m not hitting myself!”

  “But you are. It’s behavior that is contradictory to one’s own interests. No one likes to be hit, yet you are doing it to yourself. Why is that? Why can’t you tell us? Perhaps it is because you are so crazy from hitting yourself.”

  “They’re making me do it!”

  “No, don’t you see? They’re trying to stop you. Why do you insist on hitting yourself? You can’t fight back if you’re hitting yourself.”

  What little grasp Nuklear Man had reality snapped.

  __________

  “We’re gonna be late,” Angus grumbled as his beard swayed in a breeze of motion.

  “You know how Shiro is,” Norman said as he pulled up next to the Surly Scot.

  “Aye, Ah do. But it don’t make no sense!”

  “I think that’s part of it.” Norman started to fall behind Angus. “Besides, these rickshaw things are pretty cool. Plus, we’re practically flying past traffic.”

  Their three speedy rickshaws bounced along the sidewalk toward the mall. The vehicular traffic filling the roads next to them hardly moved at all.

  “Ah still say we’re gonna be late.”

  “He likes to travel in the tradition of his ancestors.”

  “He ain’t even Chinese!” Angus yelled.

  “Hai!” Shiro chimed from Angus’s left. “Time of brothers. The now is inflation with positivities.”

  The Mall’s Managerial Tower was just visible up ahead. It pierced the horizon and rose into the sky like a blade thrust in slow motion at the clouds.

  __________

  All he knew was the maddening and never-ending cycle of hitting himself. Had there ever been a time before hitting himself? Was there anything in existence outside of hitting himself? He could see the great vistas of the universe, horizons stretching beyond infinity and looping back into one another as they played themselves out in his mind. Oddly enough, they looked a lot like Silly Sam.

  And he was hitting himself too.

  But yes, in fact, there was a universe, a vast chasm of being, and it existed only so that Nuklear Man could hit himself. Everything there ever was only existed for this one triumphant moment. The clarity of it all was blinding. He could see every particle racing to this instant. But as suddenly as enlightenment had dawned, it receded: banished by its own brilliance, a light extinguished from its own radiance.

  Even if the universe was specifically built for this singular moment, that’s all it was. A moment. There would be another immediately after it. All Nuklear Man had to do was concentrate. Just concentrate, and he could see through hitting himself.

  “No!” he bellowed. The Dakaels were scattered and multiplied from the force of a spherical Plazma shockwave repelling them from Nuklear Man’s self-beaten body.

  Nuklear Man stood. And he was not hitting himself.

  “Impressive,” Variel unremarked.

  “Admit it. You’re worried.”

  “Hm.” Variel’s back seemed to straighten. “The battle continues.”

  The Dakaels stood and brushed themselves off. “You can’t win,” they roared as one. “We outnumber you thirty-six to one!”

  “Never tell me the odds!” Nuklear Man shot back.

  They rushed Nuklear Man again. The Hero dropped to one knee and put up his hands, like any given statue of Atlas, as the first wave reached him. Nuklear Man was lost in great pile of Dakaels. The mass of bodies jerked and heaved up like a single entity. Nuklear Man held them over his head. The Dakaels were a giant ball of squirming limbs poking out at odd angles and curses screeching out odd phrases.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ve had just about enough of you guys and your crazy hijinx.” He turned to Kadael who was still casually leaning against a tipped over cement truck. He now showed a bit more interest in the goings-on.

  “Here ya go,” Nuklear Man said with a little, “Hup!” as he tossed the Dakaels.

  “Hm?” Kadael said He was eclipsed by his cloned and airborne brothers. The impact knocked the lot of them into the cement truck which merely added its mass to their own as they all tumbled out of the construction area with an unhealthy amount of momentum and rolled out of sight.

  Nuklear Man dusted off his hands. “I do hope there’s more of them. ‘Cause damn, that was easy. Other than the part where I was pushed to the brink of madness. But my sanity, and good looks, prevailed in the end.”

  “RARG!” Kadael thundered from off stage like an angry storm giant.

  “Odd. I wonder what pissed him off,” Nuklear Man said.

  Kadael stomped back onto the scene. He now towered just over two stories tall.

  “Oh my,” Nuklear Man said while completely engulfed in the giant’s shadow. “Aren’t you a big fella.”

  “It would seem Arel has resorted to his usual cruelty,” Variel observed from afar. “He used Kadael’s powers of matter absorption to destroy the multiplying Dakael. A cunning maneuver indeed.”

  “Yeah, but now Kad is angry. And I’ve never seen him this juiced up before.”

  “No doubt Arel plans to use Kadael’s rage at the ironic loss of his brother to his own advantage. If he succeeds, you may yet have your chance, Safriel.”

  Kadael back-fisted Nuklear Man. The Hero thought it rather absurd that the fist in question was taller than he was. “Unfair, too,” he said before shooting through a collection of office buildings just outside the construction site. He came to an abrupt halt midway between the seventh and eighth buildings. “What am I doing?!” he asked himself. “I can fly! I don’t have to stand for this.” And he shot back through the same buildings to his point of origin.

  Making all new holes along the way, naturally.

  Kadael pulled back one massive arm and slammed his gargantuan fist into the Hero’s face upon his would-be victorious return. Instead, Nuklear Man was rebounded through the same buildings as before but with even more force than his first and second trips through. Each structure was now branded with three holes on their east and west walls.

  Screeching halt. Return. Four holes.

  WHAM! Five holes.

  Screeching halt. Six holes.

  __________

  Atomik Lad and Rachel strolled through the second floor of the Metroville Mall. “No wait. We’re on the third floor. I think.” Atomik Lad searched the expansive Mall Map in his hands as they walked through the endless maze of shops. “Here, take a left at this next archway.”

  “You sure you know how to read that thing?” Rachel asked. She leaned over and inspected the map stretched out in front of Atomik Lad.

  “Well, I was doing really good at the You Are Here room. It’s been downhill ever since. It’s a good thing we came in at the entrance next to Game Junction. We probably never would’ve gotten Turbo Fighter otherwise,” the glossy bright orange Game Junction bag hung in Atomik Lad’s hand.

  They made a left at the next archway. It was a dead end.

  “Way to go, Magellan,” Rachel said with a playful poke to his ribs.

  Atomik Lad buried his face in the map. “There’s supposed to be a Taco Junction right here.” He peeked over the top of the map. “All we’ve got here is some off the beaten path ATM.”

  “Just as well. I should get a couple bucks for lunch.”

  “I don’t mind paying for you.”

  “And neither do I. I am a modern independent woman, you know.” She squeezed past him even though there was more than enough room in the hall to have passed without making contact. The minx. Atomik Lad went back to his map.

  Rachel stuck her ATM card into the machine and typed in her PIN. The onscreen display blinked the warning message DO NOT REMOVE CARD WHILE ACCESSING DATA. “I hadn’t
planned on it, thanks,” she told the machine.

  Atomik Lad pressed the map flat against a wall. “Okay. This should be simple. We started here,” he pointed to a room clearly marked You Are Here. “And that’s where I picked up this map in that treasure chest looking display. We went down the hall, past the Dungeon Master’s Arcade, through the corridor, down another hall. None of those are on the map.”

  Rachel pocketed her money.

  DO YOU WANT TO SAVE YOUR PROGRESS? the screen blinked.

  “What a strange way to ask for a receipt.” She hit Yes and a small slip of paper churned out of the wall telling her how many funds remained in her account. “Not bad.”

  The receipt and her money disappeared into her pocket. She turned to Atomik Lad. “How’s it comin’?”

  He traced a path along the map’s twisting corridors. “There is something seriously wrong with this map.”

  “Uh-huh, or the person reading it.” She examined the map for herself. “Wait. I don’t think this is right at all.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Yeah. See, we passed a Cutlery Junction and a Sunglasses Junction on the way here, but they’re not on the map.”

  “I don’t think this map is to the right floor,” Atomik Lad said.

  “Why would they provide a map that doesn’t correspond to the floor it's located on?”

  “I’ve heard things about the Mall Manager here,” Atomik Lad said. The light directly above them flickered.

  “Yeah, what’s his name? Mort something, right?”

  “According to this blurb on the back of the map, Mort Dakainen.” He read a little further. “Says here he’s Metroville’s oldest citizen.”

  “Oh yeah! Old Mort Dakainen,” Rachel said. “They always make such a big deal about his birthday because he founded the Metroville Mall. There’s a parade and sales and whatever. It’s huge. For a mall event, anyway.”

  “Check out the Mall Lore on Rach,” Atomik Lad teased while reading more of the informative Scroll of Mall History.

  “Shush.”

  “Wait, he’s still having birthdays and he’s the Mall Founder?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Listen to this,” Atomik Lad read from the blurb. “It’s the Mall’s motto. ‘The Metroville Mall, Giving You Ninety-Eight Years of Stuff.’ If he’s the Mall Founder, he must be over a hundred years old. Way over.”

  “He’s not still in charge of this place is he?”

  “I think so. I made the mistake of coming here during what must’ve been one of those birthday things last year to buy the latest Starblaster game. I saw him giving a speech. At least, I assume it was him. It was this really old guy. I mean old. He looked like an unraveled mummy propped up at a podium or something. He kept rambling on about his Sacred Treasures and weird stuff during the speech. Needless to say, I got in and out as soon as possible.”

  “Well, it makes sense,” Rachel said. “If he’s senile anyway.”

  “Great. The tower’s mad wizard.”

  “Who is also undead.”

  “Yeah.” Atomik Lad folded up the map. “It’s no good to us now, but maybe we can use it later.”

  “For now,” Rachel said, stepping back into the main hall. “We’ve only our wits to guide us.”

  “We won’t be going far, will we.”

  “No. No we will not.”

  __________

  WHAM! Seventeen holes.

  Screeching halt. Pause.

  “I’m starting to get the impression this isn’t working the way I’d like it to.” He charged up a, “PLAZMAAA BEAM!” The fusion-ish ray blast through the abused buildings and struck the enlarged and enraged Kadael in the neck.

  “Ow,” the mountain of alien said. “That stung. Come out and fight! I’m not through with you yet!”

  Unfortunately, by this time, Nuklear Man lay half-buried in the rubble of the top half of a building. His latest attack had finished off what his repeated trips through the load bearing walls had begun. Nuklear Man sat among broken masonry, pipes, and an exposed girder. A sheen of dust grayed his otherwise golden demeanor. He coughed a puff of powdery mortar, fixed his hair, and jumped up with a little I’m Ready pose. A mild burst of Plazma blast the dust from his carved physique. “Oh, it’s time to party.”

  He was a blaze of golden light arcing into the sky through the space that had previously been occupied by the recently toppled office buildings, down to the construction site’s battle arena, raced across its sandy grounds, and shot straight up Kadael to finish it all up with an explosive uppercut that sent the giant sailing. He landed on his back, utterly flattening a handful of parked dump trucks and bulldozers.

  Nuklear Man set down near Kadael’s feet. “The bigger they are, the harder they are to shop for.” He did a few calculations in the air. “Er. No. The bigger they are, the more mass per unit of volume they have. No, that’s not it. The more they, uh, eat! Well, now that one makes sense, but it hardly applies.”

  Kadael kicked Nuklear Man up and snatched him out of the air with one hand. He was completely engulfed in the giant’s fist. “It’s time to hurt, little man,” he taunted.

  “Mbl mm? Mm, mm Mblm mm,” Nuklear Man retorted.

  “Wah?” Kadael opened his clenched fist enough to uncover Nuklear Man’s head.

  “I said I’m not Little Man. I’m Nuklear Man. Little Man gained his powers by bombarding his body with Littleons. He was a spy hero for the Allies back in The War. He leaked information about the Nazi Deathbots to Captain Liberty. His premiere issue was #47. It was pretty cool, but his power’s kinda lame.”

  “What’re you babbling about!” Kadael roared. At his size, it was difficult to say anything without roaring.

  “Nothing really, it’s a basic stall tactic while I wrest my mighty arms free so’s I can Plazma Beam you in the face.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Kadael squeezed Nuklear Man even harder. It pinned the Hero’s allegedly mighty arms to his sides.

  “Erk!” Nuklear Man sputtered. “Well in that case, PLAZMAAA EYE-BEAMS!” A golden blast of energy erupted from Nuklear Man’s ocular region and knocked Kadael in the face with enough force to send his head back to the ground with an earth-shaking crunch. The Golden Guardian slipped from Kadael’s weakened grip and hovered above his giant foe. “Wow. I thought I was just bluffing. Sucker!”

  Kadael’s great hands clapped Nuklear Man. The giant stood up and examined the Nuklear Mess that was smeared across his hand.

  “Hammer. Dropping it. Paaaaiiiin,” Nuklear Man managed to say through his impact-addled mind.

  Kadael peeled Nuklear Man’s body from his hand and dangled him from his giant thumb and forefinger. “Aw, lookie there. I hit him so hard his widdle cape came off.”

  Nuklear Man’s confused gaze came to an instant focus. His cape was still plastered against the giant’s palm. Nuklear Man’s eyes burned with cosmic flames. White-hot pinpricks of light gathered themselves into his clenched fists. “NOVAAA BEAM!”

  Variel and Safriel craned their necks and watched Kadael’s now normal-sized body rocket over them into an empty lot that had been filled a month earlier. He landed and bounced twice.

  “Kadael had to convert all his extra mass in order to survive Arel’s attack,” Variel non-noted to himself.

  A golden, and more importantly, caped flash zoomed over them to the dirt cloud kicked up by Kadael’s impact.

  “Looks like it's almost my turn,” Safriel said eagerly.

  The cloud flashed like a storm cloud rumbling with Plazma lightning. Kadael was spit out from its depths all the way to the feet of his remaining comrades. He rose to one knee and stumbled up to them warily. He looked up at Safriel who was now over twice his size.

  “Don’t touch the cape,” Kadael advised with a high-pitched voice. “It just makes him angry.”

  Variel and Safriel nodded.

  Kadael absorbed the ground underneath him to gain back at least his normal mass and strength befo
re finding something else to give him a boost. “Uh,” he said.

  Safriel was still twice his size.

  The half-settled dust cloud split into two swirling corkscrews as a shaft of fusion-hot energy shot out from them. It carved a canal through the earth along its path straight to and through the diminutive Kadael.

  Variel placed his infinitely black hand on Safriel’s shoulder and stepped back with her. Kadael’s form dissolved into nothing inside the Plazma Beam.

  “He’d lost so much strength from Arel’s attacks that he didn’t have enough left to use his own powers,” Variel observed as the Plazma Beam dissipated. “Arel is quite clever. Are you sure you wish to battle him?”

  “Nice try, Var,” Safriel said. She brushed his hand off her shoulder and stepped forward to face the Hero. “But now it’s my turn.”

  __________

  Deep within the dark catacombs of Managerial Tower, a set of skeletal fingers rapped against a huge obsidian desk. The expansive room was lit only be a wall of monitors in front of his really, really big desk. Each screen showed a different Security: Camera view. The gray and white screens cast a pale light on the already pale figure of Mort Dakainen, the president of the Metroville Mall for each of its ninety-eight years. He hadn’t taken a single vacation or sick day in all that time.

  It showed.

  Mort was now little more than a shriveled up skeleton that refused to die. Patchy wisps of hair covered his bony scalp like a threadbare carpet. His liver-spotted skin was a Gordian Knot of wrinkles stretched across his age-weary bones. He had a nose reminiscent of a vulture’s beak and beady eyes that would have been sharp with hate if they weren’t foggy with cataracts. They focused, to the best of their ability, on two particular video screens. Each one was occupied by visions of particular people. There were five of them in total. He knew what kind of people they were. They all dressed alike. Flashy clothes, all, “Hey, look at me! I’m important, I’m special.” He despised them.

  “So this plucky band of heroes dares to invade my keep,” Mort’s voice was a wind whispering through graves crossed with the screech of a hunting hawk. “They were wise to divide their attack. But unwise to divide their resources for attack.” His frail hand stretched out to an enormous tome atop his pristine desk. He pulled it closer. Fingers like bone caressed its cool, smooth surface labeled “Mall Mail Order Catalogue.” They flipped through hundreds of pages as if by memory. At last, one small hand found the page it sought and flipped the book open with an echoing thud against the desk. His unfocused eyes scanned the exposed pages. “Ah yes. This ought to work wonders. One simple incantation is all it requires.”

 

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