“Another job well done, hero!” one of the officers said as he patted Captain Rescue on the shoulder.
Dr. Malevolent’s voice emanated from the cab, “Listen here, copper, that halfwit had nothing to do with our unfortunate luck. My very own halfwit was apparently daydreaming while driving.”
“Would you stop hitting me already?” Boris whined as the police watched him try to push her off.
“Alright, get those sorry criminals outta there,” said one of the cops, “and thanks again, Captain Rescue, for all your hard work!”
“Just doing my part to make the world a better place!” the hero said with his hands firmly on his waist, the hot dog squished between him and his belt.
“Just how do you do it?” One of the police officers asked, obviously a fan.
“Do what?” Captain Rescue replied, clueless.
“Selflessly protecting the innocent and bringing dangerous criminals to justice day in and day out.”
Captain Rescue placed a hand upon his shoulder, smearing the hotdog into the officer’s uniform, “It’s just what I was bred for.”
One of the other police officers grabbed Captain Rescue’s number one fan, and led him to the getaway van. They had work to do. The police hugged the cold steel of the getaway van and prepared to open the back doors, unsure of what awaited them. One brave police officer lifted the latch and pulled open the pair of large metal doors. Inside, still faintly green from skunkification and covered in vomit, the crooks posed little threat to the police officers, unless you considered projectile vomiting a threat. In many ways, it probably was. The police kept their guns on the criminals as they led them out one by one.
“How many times will I have to single handedly bring you simple minded crooks to justice before you finally learn that crime doesn’t pay?” mocked Captain Rescue as he paced back and forth near the van. Dr. Malevolent only rolled her eyes at his act.
The cops ordered the criminal masterminds to vacate the van or they would be promptly filled with lead, a task more easily said than done since the passenger side door towered above the duo’s heads. Inside the cab of the van, she and Boris rested snugly on top of each other. Slowly, Dr. Malevolent glanced down to Boris and shrugged ominously. In her eyes, a faint glimmer of remorse appeared and then disappeared just as quickly.
After taking a deep breath, Dr. Malevolent repurposed Boris’ face as a stepping stool and pressed her heel into it. As the weight bore down, his cheeks collapsed into some amazing fish-lips. This fact not lost to him, he began to mimic a fish opening and closing its mouth in its search for yummy krill. This went on for a few seconds, but since he only had so much patience for fish tales and face massages, he grabbed both of Dr. Malevolent’s feet and launched her out of the cabin. With arms flailing, she tumbled through the air until landing at Captain Rescue’s feet. He smirked down at the super villain, holding his hand out to help her up. With her pride tucked deep within her bosom, she rose to her feet and lifted her hands into the air, surrendering to her higher power.
“Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head!” One of the voices shouted from cluster of police officers. They all had their guns fixed firmly at the criminal ready to make Swiss cheese of her. She did what they asked and the police officers rushed in to surround her.
Unknown to Dr. Malevolent, Freight, a nickname given to the biggest officer on the force, crept up behind her and smacked her in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, rendering her unconscious. Freight used the butt of his gun only because it was far less damaging than his sledgehammer of a fist. This man had won the award for Police Brutality Picture Boy of the Month six times running and despite this, knocking super villains over the head was normal police procedure. These blows were probably the main reason criminals had an inability to turn from a life of crime, though no research has linked the two together—yet.
The police officers carried Dr. Malevolent and led her lackeys into the police station one by one, doing their best to manhandle them along the way. Inside, inundated by a slew of smelly and sick crooks, the front desk began booking everyone. Police officers then led them to a large open cell where they could freely mingle with each other to talk about the fun times they had tonight as well plan for their escape.
Chapter 5: There’s No Place like Home
Captain Rescue suddenly remembered the hotdog still squished between his waist and hand. The meaty treat rose victoriously to his face and he proceeded to make oral love to it, a sight nobody in his or her right mind wanted to see. The experience ushered onto him a euphoric daze, just as any good hotdog should. As the last bite slid down his gullet, he glanced around and saw that he stood alone in the parking lot. Loneliness: the only state worse than hunger—or they were at least tied. Immediately, tears began to well in his eyes. He shivered, wiped them clean, and shuffled towards The Rescue Machine, head hung low.
As he walked, he thought back to his butler and longtime friend, Alfredo, who was still back at his super-secret base. He took Captain Rescue under his wing after his parents died during a scuba diving vacation when a group of dolphins randomly attacked and killed them both. The act was unprecedented and shrouded in mystery. Never before had dolphins killed humans so viciously and without provocation. This left Captain Rescue wielding a lifelong grudge against the creatures. So much so, that he abandoned his former life and had his name legally changed to Captain Rescue, hoping to rescue any other humans from the wrath of the dolphins. When the hero realized that most dolphins were, in fact, quite docile creatures, he turned his focus towards being a super hero.
Obviously, there are many similarities to make between the famous Batman and the not-so-famous Captain Rescue. Hell, he could have very well been Batman had his life taken a different route, a route with a quality education and strict self-discipline, instead of a route with snack foods and 8-bit video games. Captain Rescue and Batman were both the only child of wealthy parents who died when they were young. Both had family butlers that cared for and looked after them during their time of need. And both wanted nothing more to avenge their parents’ deaths. While the world’s greatest detective manufactured his persona to strike fear in the heart of criminals, the world’s worst super hero found his purple spandex suit cheap on the internet.
The man, defeated by loneliness, climbed back into The Rescue Machine and sped off into the sunset. As the glare singed his retinas, he suddenly realized that his super-secret hideout was, in fact, in the other direction. Over a decade ago, when Captain Rescue had finally determined that being a super hero was a full time gig, he went about trying to find the perfect place to build his base of operations. After an exhaustive search one Friday afternoon, the hero finally found just the spot: an unknown cave beneath a urinal cake factory. It was the perfect cover. Hardly anyone that worked there bothered with the place—even if it did offer free tours. In addition, these workers were not in a rush to explore everything the factory grounds had to offer; whether it be the 250 different types of urinal cakes or the hidden underground base of a super hero.
As Captain Rescue neared the urinal cake factory, he turned down a rarely used back road and pressed a large purple button under the dashboard. Noting happened. Perturbed, he tapped the button again. Still, nothing happened. Captain Rescue pulled the vehicle over, pushed the seat as far back as it would go, got to his knees, and started slamming his forehead against the button. It still refused to cooperate. He pressed another button on the dashboard, one that functioned properly. The cockpit to The Rescue Machine released with a rush of air as the pressure normalized. Why the vehicle was even pressurized was anyone’s guess—it would have definitely not been at home on sea or in space, and calling it a street worthy vehicle was a stretch. Captain Rescue hopped out of the hardly worthy vessel and stepped onto the road.
Any witnesses to his imminent actions would have assumed the man was crazy, and in many ways, that was a sure diagnosis. Captain Rescue walked around in the middle of t
he road, scratching his head to induce brain activity while on the lookout for something. Eventually, he must have found what he sought, because he started to slam his foot against the pavement. Not one to give in easily, the street creaked and groaned, but did little else. This battle, however, had only just begun. Captain Rescue threw it into high gear, stomping with as much force as he could muster, very nearly rupturing a blood vessel. Finally, he ended his asphalt assaults by body slamming against the street. This did the trick and the entire contraption crashed into the ground, sending the hero tumbling into a hidden tunnel beneath the road.
He shook it off and looked upwards towards the street, where The Rescue Machine teetered dangerously. As he lay there, his next thoughts were a vain attempt at remembering whether or not he engaged the parking brake. The answer was a resounding “no” as the vehicle tipped forward and headed down the hill. Captain Rescue rolled to the side just as it whooshed past him, coming to a stop a little ways down the tunnel. The hero picked himself off the ground and jogged after it. Once he reached The Rescue Machine, he kicked its wheel in retaliation for its attempt at flattening him. Captain Rescue then leapt into the cockpit, sealed it shut, and threw the car into gear, breathing a sigh of relief now that the ordeal had passed by.
Without much to look at in this narrow tunnel, Captain Rescue watched the lights that lined the walls. Almost instantly, they had a strobing effect on the hero and he thought for a moment that someone had teleported him into a dance club. He gasped and shut his eyes to keep from having an epileptic seizure, a disorder the internet had convinced him he had—even though dozens of doctors begged to differ. Fortunately, the tunnel was completely straight, or this would have been quite dangerous. That and The Rescue Machine would have beeped angrily at him if he showed any signs what-so-ever of crashing.
After a dangerous few thousand feet, The Rescue Machine beeped at Captain Rescue to signal the end of his journey. A neon sign marked the entrance to The Rescue Base, which read: “Captain Rescue’s hideout. If you can read this and you aren’t Captain Rescue please turn back now.” As Captain Rescue craned his neck to read the sign, the message eluding him to this day, he almost crashed into the side of the tunnel, saved only by a string of beeps from his trusty steed.
After surmounting the neon sign obstacle, the Rescue Garage came into view. Just as the name implied, it was a large room for the storage of vehicles. His armada lined its walls, save The Rescue Machine (which was currently in use). There was The Rescue Boat, The Rescue Plane, The Rescue Chopper, The Rescue Hovercraft, The Rescue Hang Glider, and of course, The Rescue Unicycle. Captain Rescue parked his vehicle in its preordained spot and engaged the parking break.
The cockpit of The Rescue Machine swung open, depressurized once again, and Captain Rescue hopped out. He pressed a button on his utility belt and the security system beeped on, assuring the vehicle’s safety against any carjackers that found their way into his secret garage. His arms flew into the air and Captain Rescue stretched, sore after the tiring seven-minute ride back to his base in addition to the four minutes he spent rolling down hills and being nearly run over.
“Hello, Sir,” a voice echoed from the entrance to the garage. His butler, Alfredo, stood at the ready, platter in hand. On it sat a glass of pink lemonade and some sugar cookies. Captain Rescue cheered with glee, sprinted over to him, snatched up the glass and cookies, and shoved a handful of them into his mouth and chewed away. Crumbs spewed from his lips, and before bothering to swallow, he poured some lemonade down the hatch and nearly choked to death, sugar cookies erupting from his mouth. Alfredo kept the platter steady, sidestepping the moist remains as they flew past. Most of Captain Rescue’s meals went something like that.
“How did the night’s battle against crime go, sir?’
Captain Rescue replied through a mouthful of cookies, his words barely discernable, “Great! I single-handedly put that menace Dr. Malevolent and her right-hand man behind bars, where they belong!”
His butler was no fool, and he knew that the hero was rarely the direct cause of his victories. When faced with a boasting and choking Captain Rescue, Alfredo did the only thing humanely possible—he smiled and nodded. For a man who had spent the greater part of his life keeping an eye on the hero, he did not have the heart to crush the poor man’s spirit with something as earth shattering as reality. That was not to say Alfredo thought that Captain Rescue was a complete mess, he knew that every now and then the hero got something right. Something like skunk extract—it did not directly cause the criminal’s apprehension but was still damned cool.
Captain Rescue shoveled the last few cookies into his mouth and chased them with lemonade; miraculously he did not choke this time around. The two finally made it into The Rescue Base, better known as the bachelor pad as imagined by a 13-year-old boy. Plastered above his cabinets of crime fighting tools were posters spanning the pop culture trends of the last two decades, from music, to movies, to random things that have since fallen to utter obscurity—like Pogs. Then there were his life preservers, since becoming a super hero he had collected these beauties. He very well could not be Captain Rescue without them.
This childlike mentality extended into his bedroom, where a dozen stuffed animals covered a racecar bed. He’d had it since childhood, and when it broke a few years back, he searched far and wide for an exact duplicate. Every night as he slept, he pulled the sheets up to his neck, letting his feet poke out. No amount of arguing would have convinced him to get a bed his size. His was cool and Captain Rescue knew it.
All heroes have a schedule of activities performed daily to keep in tiptop crime fighting shape, and Captain Rescue was no different. He strutted over to the couch and plopped down in front of the television. His nightly dose of mind-numbing television would now commence. Any super hero would tell you that saving the world night after night is a job much easier to stomach with a numb mind. Things were just easier that way.
Thus, with his hunger satiated, he threw his feet onto the nearby coffee table, slid his mask off, and wiped the mascara away. He snatched up the remote, and his finger had almost landed on the power button when he stopped, sighed, and nodded to himself, having a conversation in his head. Captain Rescue leaned over and picked up his utility belt’s user manual. The thing did him well tonight, who knows how well it would do him if he actually figured out how to use it. So, he spent about fifteen minutes thumbing through the Spanish section before getting bored and putting it aside.
Satisfied with himself, Captain Rescue grabbed the remote and flipped on the television. In horror, he discovered only static. Frantically, he scanned through random channels and found only more static. He leapt to his feet and stood there, unsure what to do. Then, the unthinkable happened: a vaguely familiar ringing filled his ears. His eyes darted around suspiciously; perhaps some unknown enemy had infiltrated his super-secret hideout.
The ringing continued.
Perhaps someone had planted a bomb somewhere within these walls.
The ringing continued.
Just before this relentless ringing reduced him to tears, its purpose dawned on him. Someone had a real emergency—it was the rescue phone, his personal hotline for the authorities to use when they needed him, and this is the first time the hero remembered hearing it. The phone continued to ring as he assumed the most heroic stance. He thrust out his chest and raised his chin into the air, straining his neck. To complete the look, he placed his hands firmly upon his waist. The city needed him, and the time had come to answer its call, which was good, because if he dawdled for any longer, the city would call someone who could really help.
Captain Rescue reached for the phone but then stopped with the realization he no longer wore his mask. He grabbed the first thing he could think of, which just so happened to be the nightcap he adorned each time he went to bed. He placed it on his head, pulled it over his face, and answered the phone.
“Hello?” He asked, muffled through the nightcap.
> “Captain Rescue! This is Sergeant Pierce. The police station is under attack. We need your help immediately.”
Behind the hero stood Alfredo with a worried look on his face, the situation must have been dire for them to resort to calling Captain Rescue.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said into the phone and then hung up.
“Sir,” Alfredo began as he reached forward and pulled the nightcap from Captain Rescue’s head, “for future reference, people over the phone can’t see you.”
Captain Rescue chuckled, “Oh Alfredo, whatever would I do without you.”
“I hazard to guess, sir.”
He patted his butler on the back and darted into the garage with his goal firmly in his mind. He was going to save the world. First, he had to remember where he put his car keys. A jingle tickled Captain Rescue’s ears. He spun around, where Alfredo dangled a set of keys.
Captain Rescue snatched them from the air, “I really would be lost without you.”
“I know.”
Chapter 6: Lessons Your Mother Should Have Taught You
While Captain Rescue was at home enjoying himself, a couple of the police officers were going through the stolen goods from the bank heist. The general theme of the evening seemed to be straight money, but that did not mean other valuables had not found their way into the bags, from jewelry, to family heirlooms, to Monopoly deeds. Amongst these items, a strange glistening vial filled with a faintly green liquid was emblazoned with enough warning labels to make even the bravest think twice before touching it.
Frank and Phil, the two police officers cataloging the stolen goods, had been partners for years now. Frank picked up the green glowing vial and inspected it closely. Creeped out—and rightly so—he gently placed it back down on the table. As Frank turned around to go through other stolen materials, Phil picked up the vial and, without looking at it more closely, unscrewed the top and took a sniff. The sweet aroma tickled his nose hairs and brought a smile to his face.
Not Everything Brainless is Dead Page 3