He looked down. The streets and sidewalks are choked with them. The buildings are stacked to the clouds with them. The tunnels underground are teeming with them. The air is saturated with the nonsensical roar of their useless little voices reaching out into space. Through time. The great Galactic Territories were built with the very stones of their pettiness. Their one crowning achievement is being the anti-inspiration for a civilization that now spans half a galaxy. And they don’t even know.
Nihel paused several hundred feet above a cramped six lane street that ran between a bank to his left and a lawyer’s firm to his right. He faced the bank. His cape wafted lightly in exhaust-driven updrafts from the unmoving traffic below. He watched the bank rot. He could see its very walls crumbling to dust, the windows eroding back into the sand they once came from. He saw through the façade to decaying bodies living themselves to death. Skin falling off. Cellular genocides. Bacterial invasions.
And what’s worse, they are no different than any others. He kept walking. Countless things suffocating the cosmos with their existence. And none of them, though they may hope or even suspect it, none of them truly know that they are their own masters. As fragile, temporary, and ignorant as they are, they are the ones who possess the only power in the universe.
But not anymore. Even if Arel has lost his memory, he will do as he was designed. I cannot, will not live under the edicts of Fate any longer. Arel will tip the scales. He will bring forth his fire.
He turned. Nihel could see the Mall Tower stabbing out of the horizon ahead of him.
__________
Atomik Lad, Rachel, Angus, Shiro, and Norman walked through the Mall. They passed a Shirt Junction, a Pants Junction, a Shoe Junction, and an Electronics Junction at which Shiro came to a dead stop.
“Ah-so,” he said. “Looking at the box of words that travel on light and sound at speeds of time!”
The others stopped and looked at him with stares of incomprehension.
“Nuklear Powaa Man! Supaa heavy with action,” he clarified while pointing at the TVs stacked in front of Electronics Junction. His comrades grouped around the televisions to see what the hubbub was about. Angus had to shoulder his way through a forest of knees to get in front of them so he could see too.
“This is Erica Erikson,” the televisions said. “I am reporting to you live from downtown Metroville at the site of Nuklear Man and Superion’s fateful battle one month ago. But it would seem that lightning has struck this area twice, as this afternoon Nuklear Man fought a foe or foes who was or were trying to destroy or take over Metroville. The battle just concluded moments ago.”
“Wouldn’t you know it?” Norman said. “The one day we take off, and that’s when something actually happens.”
“Details of the battle are sketchy,” Erica said. “As you can see behind me, Überdyne has quarantined the area surrounding the fight.” The camera panned to show an Überdyne van parked beside a barricade with flashing lights on it. Two Überdyne employees with clipboards waved into the camera. Erica continued. “According to Überdyne officials, the quarantine is for our own good. They report, and I quote, ‘There is evidence which leads us to believe that there may be an energy or energies given off by Nuklear Man’s opponent or opponents. The energy or energies could potentially be hazardous to electrical equipment or equipments and pose a serious lethal threat to living entities.’ End quote.”
“Well, looks like Nuke was able to handle it,” Atomik Lad said. “Probably just some punks with supped up light guns trying to cause trouble.”
“Aughk,” Angus huffed. “Is we gonna stand around here gawkin’, or are we gonna get to eatin’!”
“Hai!”
Angus shook. “It’s a bi-conditional query, ye daft empty-headed horse’s arse! Ye cannay answer it by just sayin’ ‘Aye’! It don’t make no sense!”
Shiro pondered at length and finally answered, “Hai!”
“Ah’ll back hand ye so ‘hai’ into the air, ye won’t come back down in the same time zone!” the Surly Scot quaked.
“Okay,” Norman said. “Time to get movin’.”
“Hai!”
“Rarghble!”
__________
Meanwhile, deep within the dark innards of a not-so-abandoned warehouse…Dr. Menace leaned heavily on her Evil: Computer Console. The Evil: Screen was filled with windowpanes that spewed data, arcane formulae, and simulations set up on repeating cycles. Afloat in this ocean of information was a windowpane displaying Dr. Genius’ face. She looked unusually pale. Neither woman had spoken for nearly a minute.
“Are you certain thiz iz what you want to do?” Dr. Menace said at last without looking directly into the two-way screen.
“We have to do what we must to resolve the current situation. All else is secondary,” Dr. Genius said.
“You will be ezzentially trapped up there. We cannot know for how long.”
“It doesn’t matter. The Skyjumper has the world’s largest KI Articulation Drive and it’s mobile. If we don’t do this, we’re all dead. It has to be done.”
Dr. Menace let out a slow sigh. “Then let uz get to work. I should have a functioning Nega Bomb ready within the hour.”
“I have no idea how long it will take to recalibrate the Skyjumper’s KI Engines to produce the desired effect. They were specifically designed for flight, not to trick a hundred foot radius into believing it is several hundred thousand miles wide.”
“It better not take long. We haven’t the time,” Dr. Menace said.
“I know.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. They left their respective consoles simultaneously without a word.
Dr. Genius waited for the air lock to the Skyjumper to open. Her thoughts wandered. There is work to be done. The fate of the world is at stake. This is our routine. But working together after all these years of working against one another? It’s strangely comforting.
The air lock opened. She pushed herself through the portal and into the Skyjumper’s passenger section. She floated past the dozens of rows of empty seats to the engine access panel near the back.
__________
They walked along the Mall’s main corridor a little longer until the Food Court Junction spilled out before them like some kind of horribly damaged oil tanker full of odd niche fast food booths. The Food Court Junction was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. The five weary adventurers had completed their quest. The unbridled bounty of the Food Court Junction might’ve gone on for over a mile but was probably considerably less expansive. And beyond the Food Hutts was the Crystal Hall of Dining. It was a section of the Food Court Junction that was walled and roofed in glass to allow diners to view the beauty of the parking lot and nearby Mall Edifices. The adventurers took deep breaths simultaneously. The culinary aromas mingled into a singularly delicious olfactory soup.
“Okay, guys,” Atomik Lad said. “You get the food and Rachel and I will find a table.”
They synchronized their watches and nodded in agreement. The two teams split with regimented precision.
__________
“Okay,” Norman said. He smacked his hands together with a meaty slap and rubbed them together. “It’s our job to get lunch, right?”
“Aye.”
“Hai.”
“And we want to get something everyone wants to eat, right?”
“Aye.”
“Hai.”
“Then we’re agreed. Burgers it is.”
“Nay.”
“Negativities.”
“Hm,” Norman said. “Well, what do you want Angus?”
“Haggis!”
Norman’s face contorted from the mere mention of the word. “Good lord, no. Do you have any idea what that’s made of?”
“Aye, Ah do. And it’ll make a man out o’ ye, too. Ah guarantees that.”
“Assuming I survive getting my stomach pumped, maybe. What do you want, Shiro?”
“Shiro-kun now the got to sushi!”
Norman cringed. “At least they cook the haggis.”
“Heating the fires of heat for fire to heat is not wanted. Dead or a living.”
“Ghk!” Angus sputtered. “Where the bleedin’ hell did you learn to talk?!”
“Engrish the Shiro from regular American Joe movies.”
“You learned English from American movies?” Norman asked. “Were you…paying attention?”
“Hai. The word play from Engrish then over French then over Chinese then over on Japanese under-titles for the eyes to listen.”
“Well. That explains that,” Angus huffed. “Now let’s get that haggis.”
“Y’mean Burgers.”
“Conceptions of thought’s you intended, Sushi!”
“Bah! If’n Ah wants raw fish wrapped up in seaweed, Ah’ll dunk me head into the ocean!”
“Heh. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Angus. Remember what happened the last time you went to the beach?”
“Nay!” Angus snapped. “Nay, Ah don’t.”
“Really? ‘Cause there was this giant crab, I think Ima called it a Crushtacean, and it seemed to really like the sound of your Iron: Bagpipe Thrusters. It liked the sound so much in fact, that it—” The Tungsten Titan’s words came to a halt due to an unexpected Enemy-B-Smote held threateningly just in front of his face.
“If’n ye value ye stinkin’ life, Ah’d suggest shuttin’ ye trap, laddie.”
“Ahem. Sure thing. No problem. That was the end of my story anyway.”
“The timing from now. On Sushi Junction!”
The massive club swung down to block Shiro’s progress. “Oh, no ye don’t.”
“Yeah. We already agreed on Burger Junction.”
“Fasting ball, leg puller on the Shiro-kun don’t know that.”
“It would seem we’ve come to somethin’ of an impasse, gentlemen,” Angus said. His beady little eyes shifted from Shiro to Norman.
“If only we could come to some sort of compromise,” Norman mused aloud.
“Diversion the onlookers. There’s the point to been!” Shiro exclaimed with a point directed behind his cohorts.
They turned.
“Hm. Who would’ve thought…?”
“Well, Ah’ll be a Frenchie’s uncle.” Angus’s brow furrowed for a second. “Step-uncle.”
Before them, the Sushi Stuffed Haggis Burger Junction seemed to give off a divine glow.
“They oughta turn down the wattage on their gaudy neon sign though.”
“Aye.”
“Hai.”
__________
“Uh, like. Next?” the Sushi Stuffed Haggis Burger Junction semi-literate high school drop out cashier said.
“Next he says,” Angus, who was indeed next in line, grumbled. “How am Ah supposed to order when there ain’t a menu to choose from!”
“Uh, like. Sir?” the cashier asked Norman who was, to his sharpened senses, the next customer in line.
“Hm? Oh, no. They’re in front of me.”
Blink. “Uh, like. What?”
“Logistically difficult overcome the angle,” Shiro suggested while motioning at the counter that towered over he and Angus and completely blocked their view of the illuminated menu on the wall behind the cashier.
“Oh, Ah sees how it is. ‘Oh, lookit wee Angus. What’s the matter, laddie? Ye say ye hungry? Well, ye could just go right on over to that Sushi Stuffed Haggis Burger Junction if ye was only three feet taller, but ye ain’t!’” The idiot cashier could see Angus’s whirling fists at the peaks of the Surly Scot’s enraged hops. “‘Ye be too short for food eatin’ folks! Why don’t ye just crawl under some rock and die like the midget freak ye are?!’ Ah’ll tell ye why, ‘cause Ah’m too busy bashin ye brains into pulp!”
“Uh, like. Do you want fries with that?”
Angus’ response was incoherent gibberish. It was the verbal equivalent of cracks racing across the face of a dam like little gouts of anger pushing from behind the crumbling barrier of sanity.
“Uh, like. That’ll be $8.75?”
Angus leaped up onto the counter and kicked the register into the neighboring Pie Junction. “Ah ain’t even ordered nothin’, yet arsewart son of a donkey-faced whore!”
“Uh, like. Please drive thru?”
Angus’ body shook at around nine point six on the Richter Scale. It sounded like a pot of water was boiling over. A kettle’s screeching wail pierced the air as Angus’ face flushed bright red.
The manager at the neighboring Tea Junction took the kettles off their burners.
“Uh, like. Next?”
“Must. Destroy. Arsewart. Laddie.”
“Eheh, excuse me,” Norman clamped his hands around Angus’ midsection and put him back on the floor. “Shiro, you keep an eye on him.”
“Hai,” the Tiny Typhoon leaned over and pressed his face against Angus’ Iron: Shoulder.
Angus pushed him away. “It’s just an expression!” he seethed through teeth clenched tight enough to split diamonds.
Shiro considered it for a few moments. “Hai!” He did it again.
“GRAH!”
Norman stood up. “Um, sorry about that,” he said. He scanned the menu over and behind the counter. “Let’s see. We’ll have the, um. The Party Platter.”
“Uh, like. Do you want fries with that?”
“Do you even sell fries?”
A dimwitted heartbeat or two later, “Uh, like. I’m going to have to get my manager?”
“Manager?”
The cashier disappeared into the Sushi Stuffed Haggis Burger Junction bowels. A woman of mammoth proportions, and perhaps heritage, waddled out from the back of the store. The walls shook with her every step. Plates, ingredients, and the like fell from shelves. She halted her glacial progression at the counter and leaned on it. The poor structure whined from the strain and the cash registers churned out nonsensical orders due to large amounts of lard pressing most of their buttons all at once.
Then Norman noticed that she wasn’t leaning. Her girth simply oozed that far from its source. She seemed to expand before his very eyes like a cancerous beast of pure fat growing out of control. He and his companions took an unconscious step back while uttering “Neh!” under their breath.
“What do you want?” she mumbled through a mouthful of several Sushi Stuffed Haggis Burgers in various stages of solidity.
“Um, we’d, eheh. We’d, y’know. We’d like a, uh, a um.”
“A what?”
“A P-Pa-P-Par, Party Pl-P-Pla.”
“A Party Platter?” she rumbled.
“Er. Y-yes. I think so. Yeah.”
Her stubby fat appendages waved and whirled about uselessly. “Chad! Hand me that Party Platter!” she vaguely motioned to the vicinity behind her which was quite a wide vicinity indeed.
“Uh, like. Where?” the imbecile asked.
She wheeled around dramatically. Or rather, her intent was to wheel around dramatically. The reality was that her incredibly fat head moved little more than three degrees. But it was enough. Chad’s dullard eyes could just make out hers. They focused on him. For some reason, footage of sharks bearing down on slow moving prey flashed—rather slowly—through his mind.
“If you don’t hurry, you’ll meet up with Brad.” Her stubby arms of fat waved somewhere in the wide vicinity of her stomach.
Chad was suddenly Hermes. If Hermes was all pimply, stupid, and dressed in the demeaning Sushi Stuffed Haggis Burger Junction uniform complete with the dignity sucking paper hat consisting of a burger with a fish’s head sticking out one side and a sheep’s rear sticking out the other. He practically leaped into action, reached out, and handed the bloated manager a Party Platter.
Her fatty fingers gripped the platter and set it down on the strained counter. Angus winced as she did so. He was convinced it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Luckily, it was not. The rotund manager had to fight her own vacuous urges to keep her fat fingers from snatching up the burgers
into her gaping maw of doom. As it was, Norman struggled against her vice-like grip on the Party Platter until she reluctantly relinquished the dish.
“That’ll be,” she checked the row of registers. “Seven hundred dollars and twelve cents,” she croaked fattily.
Shiro dug into his Tetsu: Pockets for some change. Angus smacked him in the back of the head.
“Look,” Norman began. “The party Platter only costs $10.99 on the menu up there. You’re reading the registers wrong or something.”
She turned the upper portion of her tremendous girth to read from the giant glowing menu behind her. Unfortunately, due to something of a weight problem, the layers of flab restricted her movement because she was such an enormous fatty fat fat who was very fat from being fat.
“I’ll have to take your word on that,” she grumbled under her breath.
“Here.” Norman slapped a twenty on the remarkably resilient counter. “Take it. Just leave us alone.” He put the Platter in the eager hands of Shiro and Angus and turned to the dining area.
“What did you do to her!” Atomik Lad’s voice bellowed from the dining area slicing through the clamor of ordinary Mall sounds.
The world screeched to a halt.
__________
Issue 55 – Turning Point
Earlier.
Nihel landed on the hot asphalt of the Mall parking lot. His cape settled behind him and draped itself over his shoulders out of habit. Shoppers flowed in and out of the Mall, in and out of their cars, and in and out of the parking lot. He stood among the churning clockwork of it all. Parking spaces, right of way, 4-way stops, and—
“They’re called sidewalks! Look it into it!” an angry voice yelled from behind him. A horn blared. “I swear, just because you guys go around wearing capes doesn’t mean you can make up the rules. Move it!”
Nihel turned around. A thick-necked gentleman was leaning out of the driver’s side window of a sports utility vehicle. The man seethed with every breath.
Nuklear Age Page 65