Sue Dibney and Penny Powers were strapped to separate
gurneys. Sue woke up first, wincing in pain at the throbbing
in her head and the bone from her cracked rib digging into
muscle. She gritted her teeth and tensed her arms and legs
against the leather straps that held her in place and instantly knew
she was not going anywhere. She craned her head and looked at
her surroundings. The room was large and decidedly ominous,
in a super-villainy sort of way. She was happy she
wasn’t alone, but wasn’t pleased at her
comrade’s condition.
Penny was next to her, unconscious and also strapped to the
table. Fresh cuts and darkening bruises covered her
attractive face.
Her husband Ralph was in a small electrically charged cage, its bars
sparking at any flying dust mote. He was hunched over, trying
to avoid the dangerously humming bars. Dibney’s
eyes were scanning the space between the bars, the sparking lock, and
the wires that hung from above, looking for any method of escape;
finding none.
Plastic Man was in a large rectangle Plexiglas container that was
connected to three long black hoses, which were connected to three
large tanks. Each one had a label, but due to her angle, she
could only make out part of the name. Whatever was being
pumped in the tank was colorless, but potent enough to render the hero
into a near liquefied condition.
Sue relaxed her neck and winced as she slowly laid her head
back. She sighed. Nothing
to do but wait
for an opening, she thought.
Plastic Man’s eyes were crossed.
Literally. One orb hung from beneath his goggles and had
crossed over and rested on the opposite cheek, while the other did the
same. Teach me to try to look
at two directions at once, he
thought to himself. His mental voice sounded like it was
miles away, coming from the inside of a well. Whatever that
gas was that Argon was pumping in, it was doing a number on
him. He probably would have said that aloud, but in his
semi-solid state, his rubbery butt had flipped over and pressed against
his lower jaw. His limbs were all twisted and coiled, along
with his upper and lower torso. When he tried to reassemble
himself, or obtained a modicum of cohesiveness, he became suddenly
tired and apathetic. He resembled that backyard hose you were
supposed to put away or a bowl of heavily tossed spaghetti.
“Let me tell you,” said a voice,
“You’re a mess.”
With a great deal of concentration, Plas moved his eyes in the same
direction and landed on the face of Mike Bell, whose head was coming
out of the ground. With even more concentration, he dislodged
his jaw from his hanging posterior and rested several seconds before he
spoke.
“Iffff yer here to bush nads,” Plas said through
over-stretched lips, “gimmmee a rain sheck.”
“Pull yourself together!” snapped Mike, now pulling
the rest of his body through the floor and hanging in the air in front
of the tank.
“Plas?” croaked Sue Dibney from across the room.
“Shhuuuu?” answered Plas.
“Look, lady,” broke in Mike the Ghost Boy,
“I’m tryin’ to have a conversation
here! You two can talk shop when I’m
done!”
“SUE!” cried Ralph, trying to twist around in his
cage. “Are you okay?”
“Where am I?” asked Penny from the gurney, followed
by a sharp intake of air when a spasm of pain hit her.
“Well someone had to ask it,” sighed Mike, rolling
his eyes. He floated in the air between the three of
them. “Now do me a huge favor and shut up a minute
while I talk to Eel here, okay?”
“Who the heck are you?” asked Ralph, his nose
twitching and rubbing against the charged bars, causing him to wince
when rubberized flesh met electrified bars. “And
how are you floating?”
“Long story,” he replied. “Now
shut up a . . . “
“But . . . “ began Ralph.
Mike sighed. “Michael Bell. I’m
a ghost, meaning I’m dead. Eel shot me years
ago. I’m haunting him.”
“It wasshhhs an assident,” protested Plas.
Mike glared at him. “Yeah, it was an
accident,” he agreed. “When he was Eel
O’Brien, before the change. Don’t
matter. Okay now? Satisfied?”
“He shot you years ago and you’re just haunting him
now?” asked Ralph.
“Look!” barked Mike. “This
ain’t ‘Twenty Questions’,
okay?!?! What part of ‘shut up’
didn’t you get!?!?” He turned to
Plas. “What the heck is wrong with this
guy?”
“Heese a detectif,” replied Plas.
“Well, beat me daddy, eight to the bar, and
la-di-freakin’da!” groused Mike floating closer to
the Elongated Man’s cage, his face a blank slate.
“Here’s me; not impressed. Now shut
up!”
“But . . . ?”
“Look, pal,” began Mike, “Unless you have
other ideas in mind, the only mug that’s gonna get you and
the frails out is Eel. And the only way he’s gonna
do that is if you let that cut under yer nose heal, zip the lip, clap
the trap, clam up, put a cork in it, shut your pie-hole, stifle
yourself, . . . “
“Shtifle
. . . ?” repeated
Plas.
“Sue me,” said Mike, snapping him a look,
“I’ve been watching TV
Land.”
He returned his attention to Ralph, who was still trying to put two and
two together. “And if you didn’t catch my
drift,” added Mike, “Please, if you don’t
mind, SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET ME TALK TO EEL!!!!!”
Ralph’s eyes bulged at the force of his scream.
“Thank you!” said Mike and floated next to
Plas’ tank. “Now you,” he
began, “Get your act together!”
“Can’t,” replied Plas.
“HORSEFEATHERS!”
blasted Mike.
“Horse . . . “ began Penny.
“Don’t make me come over there, lady!”
Mike said without turning. Penny suddenly regarded the buckle
holding her midsection in place. Mike paced in the air in
front of the container. Plas’ eyes rolled in the
ghost’s direction, then back, following him a step
behind. “You think you’re so
smart,” muttered Mike. “Big time
super-hero. Look, ya pinhead, your body is twisted like a
pretzel, so you are probably only using part of the air in your
lungs. Focus on the air that you haven’t used and
breathe that! You breathe un-gassed air, you get your
strength back. You get your strength back and you can get
yourself, the two dames and Chatty
Cathy
here out!” He pushed his head through the glass
tank and yelled “DO I HAVE TO DO ALL THE THINKING AROUND
HERE??!?!?”
“Wait a minute!” cried Ralph.
“That doll came out during the 50s, and if you died before
Plas became Plas . . . “ Ralph’s jaw snapped shut
when Mike floated closer to the cage.
“You’re beginning to annoy me, shamus,”
warned Mike.
Plastic Man was concentrating, so much so, beads of perspiration formed
on his face. C’mon, Eel,
he said in his mind. You can
stretch any part
of your body you want to, so find that damned pocket of air!
Slowly, ever so slowly, he located his folded lungs and re-directed his
breathing in small measures. His eyes began to retract,
sliding across his muscle-less face and behind the goggles.
The door began to turn and Mike abandoned Ralph to slide through the
floor and out of sight.
Argon and his wife walked into the room, followed by Artie and
Anderson. Mrs. A had changed her clothes and was now wearing
a very tight hot pink dress (with a plunging V neckline that would give
you vertigo) that hung to her knees with a split up one side that
stopped around hip area. She wore a milder pink pair of
stiletto heels and had a small matching handbag in the crook of her
arm.
Ian Argon was wearing a tailored gray single-breasted suit (and
stylishly matching gray shoes) with a black mock-turtleneck sweater
underneath. He ran a finger through his thick hair and
flashed a pearly white smile.
Anderson was wearing his usual lab coat, and holding a silver tray with
a towel over it, while Artie wore an ill-fitting spandex jumpsuit.
“Greetings everyone!” called Argon.
“I sincerely and deeply apologize for the interruption to
your . . . well, you’re not really doing anything, are
you?” He chuckled.
“You’re experimenting on human beings, you
bastard!” snapped Ralph.
“Human
beings?” said
Argon. “You call these excuses for sentient carbon
based life forms human beings?
They are the reeking vile excrement of society!” He
looked over to Artie, who still wore his whipped puppy
expression. “Present company mildly
excluded,” he said. Artie was too busy being
captivated by the Pink Lady to hear him. Argon sighed,
“I retract my exclusion.” He looked back
at Dibney. “Anyway,” he began,
“We’re just here to extract a little more of Mr.
O’Brien’s precious fluids. Seeing our
breakthrough with Artie here, our need to experiment is now
over. We just need to refine the formula a tad.”
“And then what?” asked Sue.
“Shut up, bimbo!” snapped Mrs. Argon.
Sue’s eyes narrowed and dropped about thirty
degrees. “Avoid mirrors lately?” she
asked flatly.
Mrs. Argon took a step forward, only to be halted by her husband.
“We really don’t have time for this,” he
said firmly. He looked back at Sue. Then he
smiled. “I guess this is where I explain my
‘nefarious plans’,” he said, walking over
to the tank that held Plas. He rapped the wall a few
times. “That’s according to the
super-hero/super-villain confrontational bylaws, isn’t it,
Mr. O’Brien?” He chuckled again and
walked over to the gurney Sue was strapped to. He reached out
to her face, but she pulled back. His hand closed into a fist
and he dropped it to his side and walked to the middle of the room.
Though he was facing in a different direction, Ralph Dibney’s
eyes watched his every move.
“There are traders in firearms, explosive devices, biological
weapons, all servicing little pocket fiefdoms in their wars,”
Argon said. “Weapons of mass destruction are being
bought and sold every single day, millions of dollars are freely given
and thousands; hundreds of thousands of lives are lost! I
feel I have a better way.” He paced in a small
circle, his hands folded behind his back. “An army
of shapeshifters,” he said quietly.
“Soldiers who – with the proper training - can
become virtually anything! Part of an airfield’s
runway. A jeep. A rug in a room. Maybe
even the room itself! Send in an army of Plastic Men and
catch the enemy by surprise! With their guard down, you
capture them, not kill them! The ultimate sneak
attack! You take the country and no one has to die in the
process. A win-win situation.”
“And you profit from it,” said Penny, craning her
neck up to look at Argon in the face.
“Ah, sleeping beauty has awoken!” he
exclaimed. “Nice of you to join the
party. I do so hate people coming into a movie late and
asking what happened.”
“This is not a movie, creep!” said Ralph
angrily. “You killed God-knows how many people to
create Arnie . . . “
“Artie,”
muttered Artie, who then dropped his eyes to the floor.
“Sorry,” replied Ralph. He craned his
head slightly in the tight sparking cage in order to look directly at
Argon. “You . . . “ he began.
“Before you go on about how many people I killed in order to
achieve my evil goal,” said Argon in a highly bored tone,
“Ask yourself this: if left to their own devices, what would
the lives of these derelicts entail? Eating tiny scraps of
the garbage we toss as their daily meals? Living in their own
filth? Crawling on their hands and knees before us, begging
for the smallest handout with the idea of getting a real meal, getting
off the streets, or as beginning to start their lives anew, only to
make that desperate run for the bottle, the pill or the
needle? And once the poison of choice is gone, start the
whole ugly circle over again? And what follows the years of
this type of existence? Painful debilitating illnesses due to
years of abuse? The loss of more of their reality to where
they are no more aware of their surroundings than a cucumber?
And what would come next? Probably by an excruciating
death! And what have they given back to the society that they
abandoned? Nothing!
And who would be there to morn them? Their fellow addicts and
mental cripples, that’s who! Well, I have given
them something to die for!”
“Shouldn’t they have a choice?” spat
Penny.
Argon grinned. “Right, Penny,” he said in
a sneering tone. “Give these creatures a choice and
they would remain on the streets. They were given plenty of
choices in their lives and they always turned in the same destructive
direction! No! They’ve lost the right to
decide when they chose the path they’ve taken. You
need someone like me to guide them! Someone with
imagination! More imagination than the average
person.” He took a step towards her.
“And that my sweet, is the reason for my success,”
he said softly. “My imagination. I think
of things larger than life and make it so.” He
pointed a straight arm at Artie who flinched at the sudden
attention. “Would someone of average intelligence
conceive of that?!?!”
“Someone wake me when he starts on the I-will-rule-the-world
portion of the monologue,” yawned Sue. She looked
at Penny. “That’s a sure sign
they’re just about done with the speeches.”
“Don’t test me, Mrs. Dibney,” Argon
warned.
“You’d fail the special
needs
test, bubbie!” returned Sue.
Argon simmered quietly. He looked at Anderson.
“We’ll be in my office,” he said
softly. “Let me know how the modifications
take.” He turned and walked out of the room.
Mrs. Argon shot Sue and Penny a wicked sneer and followed behind her
husband. She poked her head through the open door.
“ARTIE!” she screamed shrilly.
Artie was regarding the cracked nail on the big toe of his bare foot
and snapped his head upward so fast, his neck stretched three feet,
then returned to his shoulders with a loud moist snap. His
eyes crossed in momentary discombobulation then shambled after the Pink
Lady and closed the door behind him.
Anderson, who had yet to say a word, continued his
‘ode’ to silence and placed the silver tray on the
edge of a workstation. He pulled back the towel to reveal
three very large syringes. Their sharp pointed needles were
the circumference of a turkey baster. He placed a gasmask
over his head and walked calmly to the tank holding Plas. He
pressed a series of buttons on a panel on the side of the container and
the locks holding the cover in place disengaged. He hooked a
rack on the side of the tank and placed the tray on it. He
then opened the tank’s lid and reached for a hypo.
When he turned around, Plas’s face was directly in front of
his, his lips swollen to the size of two beach balls. He
reached out, pulled off the gasmask and planted a moist (and noisy)
kiss on Anderson’s entire face. When he released
him, Anderson fell backwards to the floor.
Plas stretched out of the tank and reformed in the middle of the
room. His arm snaked out and he ripped the wires attached to
Ralph’s cage, turning off the juice. Ralph snaked
out from between the bars and slid over – reforming on the
way – to the gurneys holding the two women. He
undid their harnesses and Sue and Penny sat up, both releasing a
two-part chorus of groans.
Anderson stood in front of Plastic Man, still holding the large
syringe.
“Look, buddy,” Plas said smiling.
“Game’s over. Put the bad pointy thing
down.”
“I need a sample of your material,” answered
Anderson simply. “We need to know why Subject 23 .
. . “
“Who?” asked Sue and Penny, still doing their
two-part choral act.
Anderson stopped and his eye slid to one side, then returned to
Plas. “The one called Artie.”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Ralph.
Anderson’s head turned slightly to the Elongated
Man. “When the last test batch gave Subj . . . Artie
malleable powers, it removed the toxins from his system and also
elevated his brain functions; gave him a higher level of
intelligence. It seems that every time he uses his powers, he
reduces that level to where he is at present. A semi-mindless
drone whose only function is to follow orders. I need a
sample of your material,” he repeated.
“Well scratch that, Cuddles!” said Plas.
“You ain’t using that pig-sticker on me!”
“Regardless of your opinion,” said Anderson, moving
forward, “I need a sample of your material.”
Anderson moved forward with blinding speed and thrust the point of the
hypo at Plas’ midsection. Plastic Man’s
center anatomy stretched backwards and barely out of the
needle’s point, its tip glistening in the light.
Anderson continued to move forward and Plas swept a twelve-foot arm at
the man’s legs, meaning to trip him. Anderson not
only leaped straight up and over Plas arm, but when he landed on his
stretched arm, he ran up it and jammed the hypo into Plastic
Man’s upper shoulder. Plas let out a loud scream
and bucked and rippled his body, sending Anderson and the syringe
crashing to the floor. Anderson simply stood up, went to the
tray, took another hypo and advanced again on Plastic Man.
“Talk about your one-track mind!” yelled Plas as he
backed away from the scientist.
Ralph gave Sue a peck on the cheek, rolled into a large ball and rolled
himself at Anderson. Anderson again leaped and landed on the
rounded Ralph Dibney and, like a trained Pekinese at a circus, began to
ride the Elongated Man. He altered his direction and went
straight for Plas. At the last second, he pushed off and went
flying in the air, the hypo held before him.
Ralph’s hand enlarged and caught him in mid-air, then snapped
him back in the opposite direction. Anderson flew across the
room and landed hard against the upper part of the wall and slid down
the rest. He bumped his back against the doorframe and landed
hard on the floor.
Anderson stood up, adjusted his lab coat and walked towards Plas, his
determined expression unchanged.
“What’s wrong with this guy?” asked Plas,
reforming next to Ralph. “What part of
‘no’ didn’t he get?”
“Double team,” said Ralph, smiling.
“Lead on Mac Ralph!” cried Plas.
Both men stretched across the room and wrapped themselves around
Anderson’s arms and legs; Ralph took the man’s left
side, while Plas took his right.
“Now that we’ve got your attention,”
began Ralph, but that was the only thing he got out before the screams.
Theirs; not his.
Anderson’s body suddenly surged with electricity and sent
currents into the rubbery heroes. Both Plas and Ralph slid to
the floor. Anderson adjusted his lab coat again and turned
his attention to Plas. He checked the hypo and leaned forward.
The wide metal belt buckle from the gurney’s harness collided
with Anderson’s face, sending him backwards and to the
floor. He sat up and held the wounded side of his face and
looked at Sue Dibney, who was holding the harness in both hands,
waiting to deliver another blow. He dropped his hand and
Penny, who was standing behind Sue, gasped in shock. A
section of Anderson’s skin was torn away to reveal a hard
metallic surface underneath.
“Robot,” sighed Sue. “It
wouldn’t be complete without a robot.”
“This happen a lot?” asked Penny.
“You have no idea,” replied Sue.
“Robot, eh?” said Plas from the floor.
“That makes it easy!” He looked at his
prone partner. “Quick! What do you do
after every Thanksgiving turkey dinner?”
“Grab the wishbone and . . . “
“MAKE A WISH!!!” both men screamed.
Both Plas and Ralph slithered across the floor and like twin anacondas
(Plas even went as far as to morph his face into a giant snake head,
complete with rippling scales and pointed fangs) and wrapped themselves
around Anderson’s arms and legs. For support, Ralph
extended his free arm and leg and curved his arm through the bars of
the floor-bolted cage across the room. He then returned his
appendages to intertwine around Anderson’s right arm and
leg. Plas had changed his body to resemble an over-muscled
Superman (with S-curl) and flashing a pearly white grin gave a quick
nod to Ralph and pulled sharply.
Both men’s faces were locked in concentration, directing
their full strength to their limbs. Held above the ground,
Anderson’s head twisted back and forth in confusion, while
trying to pull against the two supermen. He sent another
surge of electricity into Ralph and Plas, but both men were expecting
it this time and simply pulled harder. A loud wrenching sound
filled the room as the robot’s arms and legs snapped off,
along with the electrical current. Anderson’s torso
hung in the air for a second before dropping to the ground with a loud
thud. His head turned from side to side, now looking at his
twitching arms and legs writhing on the floor. He stared at
the arm holding the syringe and it flexed. It continued to
flex as it slid across the floor to Plas who was reforming
himself. He looked down as the wrist lifted to drive the hypo
in his foot. Plas’ hand snaked down and lifted it
by its twisting wrist.
“Okay,” said Plas. “For the
last time, no means no!” He ripped the hypo out of
the hand and reached out to grab the harness Sue was still
holding. He dropped the thick leather harness on the floor
and grabbed the other writhing arm. He then brought the two
together and bound them with the harness. He looked up and
grinned, the top of his head forming a ten-gallon cowboy hat.
“Six second, y’all!” he said in a Western
twang. “New ro-deo
record!”
Ralph took a few steps and stared at the robot, his eyes narrowing in
thought. “Are you one of Argon’s
creations?” he asked.
“Oh, geeze!” moaned Mike emerging through the
floor. “He’s gonna start with the
questions again!”
“Hey!” grinned Plas. “Nice of
you to show up in time for the commercial break!”
Mike folded his arms across his small chest.
“Yeah,” he sneered.
“I’d do wonders against a robot with my ghostly
powers. NOT!”
“Way too much television,” said Plas, shaking his
head. He stretched his head towards the ghost boy.
“Thanks a lot, little buddy!” he said
sincerely.
“For what, you jerk?” Mike asked.
“Tellin’ you something you already
knew?” His eyes widened and he snapped his fingers,
which made no sound at all. “Thanks for reminding
me!” he said with a grin as he slid through the
floor. “There’s a Gilligan’s
Island marathon coming on in
a bit. Gotta catch it!”
“Aren’t you going to stay and help us?”
asked Penny.
He stopped about chest level and stared at her and gave her a warm
smile. “You’re pretty as all get
out,” he said, “but you’re dumb as a
brick. No offense.”
“Maybe you should check out the History
Channel
instead?” suggested Plastic Man.
He looked up at Plas and frowned. “Naw!’
he said. “That’s for squares!
Catch ya on the down stroke!” he said and humming the TV
show’s theme song slid through the floor and out of sight.
“Can you hear me?” asked Ralph, his nose twitching
like mad and his neck stretching towards the jittering torso.
Anderson’s head suddenly snapped front and center and stared
at the Elongated Man. “I can hear you
perfectly,” he said, his voice coming out in a hollow
metallic rasp, sounding slightly annoyed. “I was
assessing the damage. I was the first attempt in his world
domination scheme.”
Sue sighed and glanced at Penny. “Told you that the
I-will-rule-the-world monologue was coming.”
“But,” continued Anderson, “he felt that
my programming was better suited for research than battle. He
made no more of my kind.”
“If you’re a robot then why the gasmask?”
asked Sue.
“If Ian Argon’s competition found out that his
research was done by an android,” answered Anderson,
“he would be discredited by his peers when they find out he
stole my technology from a Dr. Ivo.”
Plas, Ralph and Sue groaned. Penny looked at them, not
understanding.
“Long story,” replied Sue.
“Tell you later.”
Penny suddenly frowned and tears filled her eyes.
“The experiments on those poor people,” she said in
a soft shaken voice. “All those needless
deaths. All to take over the world?
That’s . . . that’s crazy!”
“Ian Argon is a sociopath of megalomaniac proportions, with a
clearly identified homicidal streak,” said Anderson.
The four turned slowly and looked at the robot.
“Based on clinical data,” assured Anderson.
“You know this and
you still work for this guy?” asked Plastic Man incredulously.
“Argon Chemicals offers great benefits,” replied
Anderson. “They have an excellent 401K
plan.”
“A 401K pl . . . for a robot!?!?!”
exclaimed Ralph.
“One must plan for the future,” answered
Anderson. “Nothing lasts forever, you
know.”
“Now what?” asked Penny.
“We now bring you to the testosterone-enhanced section of our
broadcast,” muttered Sue Dibney to Penny.
“We stop this madman and bring him to justice!”
answered Ralph, a hard look on his face.
“While we give him a good stomping, just to show we mean
business!” Plas added, changing his feet into a size 84 Wide.
“See?” muttered Sue Dibney to Penny.
“We’ll take the lead,” said Ralph to the
two women.
“While you hold up the rear!” added Plastic Man,
enlarging his posterior to Aretha Franklin levels (which keeps growing
and growing) and dropped it in Penny’s midsection, backing
her up a foot. Plas’ neck stretched backwards to
stare at the size of his butt. “You may need a
wheelbarrow for that, babe!” he said with a grin.
“Let’s do this,” said Ralph, heading for
the doorway.
Plas changed his face to resemble Teddy Roosevelt’s and
yelled, “CHARGE!”, rushing forwards on extended
legs.
The ladies, shaking their heads, followed behind.
“Excuse me?” called Anderson to the empty
room. “What am I to do?”
Plas’ head stretched back into the room.
“Let’s see,” he said, his neck craning
around to look at the android’s face.
“Since you have no arms and legs, and you’re lying
in the middle of the room, you can be Matt!
See ya!” Plas’ giggling head pulled back
and zipped out of the room.
Anderson stared up at the ceiling lights and sighed.
“Droll ‘Super-hero humor’ at its
best,” he said flatly. “I must program
myself to laugh at a later date.”
Ian Argon‘s eyes were positively glowing as he stared at the
computer screen. He had just replied to a question on the
instant message he had received from a general in charge of a distant
country (one that will remain nameless in this story).
All you need know is that aside from the reports that were leaked from
this country (the ‘leakers’ were later found face
down in a shallow grave in a condition best described as
‘unwell’), detailing the general’s habits
that included torture, ethnic cleansing, incest, pan-sexuality (men,
women, boy, girls, ALL animals, sea-life, a combination of the
aforementioned; anything with an available opening and a few minutes to
spare), and cheating on his taxes, the adjectives that proceeded his
official title ranged from ‘Mad Dictator’,
‘Paranoid Despot’, ‘Genocidal
Maniac’, ‘Terrorist’, and
‘Mass-Murdering F*ckhead’. Strangely
enough, the latter description seemed to be the media’s
favorite, causing the censor beep and the asterisk to get a lot of
action.
Argon typed in his fees and pressed SEND. He glanced over to
the computer station at the other side of the office and saw his wife
fuming at the information on the monitor.
“THAT IS NOT PINK!” she screamed.
“That is mauve, YOU! STUPID!
BASTARDS!!!!” She angrily paged down and clicked on
the ‘Contact Us’ link and began to write a very
hostile email.
Argon shook his head and sighed.
Artie sat in a chair; his shoulders bent forward, his head dipping down
between his shoulders, staring patiently at the floor, seemingly
waiting to be told to do something. From time to time, his
eyes strayed to the broken nail on his big toe alternating with the
shifting of his shoulders in his ill-fitting jumpsuit.
“Ian, baby?” she shrilled.
“Where’s the remote for the stereo? I
feel like listening to some Bowie.”
Argon glanced in her direction, then returned his eyes to the screen,
waiting for the response from the general. “On the
end table,” he said over his shoulder.
“To your right.”
The Pink Lady looked down and spotted the remote. She picked
it up and walked in front of the high-tech sound system that on
shelving built into a recess in one of the walls, aimed and pressed a
few buttons. David Bowie’s Young Americans
poured out of the speakers. She shimmied back to the computer
in time to the music and Google’d a search on pink lipstick.
Argon’s eyes followed his wife’s gyrating tuchas
and shook his head, returning his gaze to the screen.
Everyone rages and cries that the fast food chains are the cause of
obesity. He disagreed. Remote controls were a major
contributing factor. Remotes for televisions,
VCR’s, DVD players, stereos; car, home and office, ceiling
fans, air conditioners, heaters, radios, microwaves (You’re already
there! screamed
Argon’s mind) and too many other things to mention.
No one got up to do anything any more! Add that all
communication and information can be obtained by sitting on your
rapidly spreading duff and accessing it through your PC or notebook,
what do you expect to happen? You lose
weight???
You can order anything online, from the smallest part for your lawn
mower to your groceries to a home with beachfront property, enabling
you to avoid that tiresome chore of ACTUALLY GETTING OFF YOUR ASS AND
BUYING IT IN PERSON! Why go to a library when the text is a
downloadable keystroke away? Why discuss anything –
even something important - with someone face to face when you have
IM? Why go to a store to pick up a package of AA batteries, a
container of milk and a roll of toilet paper when it can be
delivered?
We
have turned into a society of lazy bastards,
he thought. He glanced at the syringe in its velour-lined
holder and ran his fingers up and down the needle. He
smiled. In time,
he thought, I will change everything.
A chord sounded through the computer’s desk speakers,
alerting Argon that he received a reply. He stared at the
screen, reading the note from the general. He continued to
stare at the message on the monitor for several seconds. Then
he began to grin and chuckle. He slapped his hands together
and leaned back in the seat. “Oh.
My. God!”
he exclaimed.
“Hmmm?” Mrs. Argon replied, paging down on a screen
filled with lip-gloss. Her ‘reply’ was
automatic, expected,
not out of actual curiosity.
“The general, my sweet!” he said.
“What about him?” she asked absently clicking on a
picture. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip
curled. “You stupid turds!” she spat at
the screen. “Don’t know the difference
between hot pink and a light maroon!” she hissed.
“He’s not only accepted my offer,” he
said, his eyes glassy. “But increased it by three
percent to hold a lead position on the shipments.”
Mrs. Argon’s fingers stopped typing and directed her full
attention to her husband, her eyes widening considerably with the turn
of her head.
“Three
percent?” she
whispered. “Why that’s . . . “
“Yes, dear,” Argon replied. “It
is.”
Her eyes jittered in her head like pinballs careening off the
game’s walls. “If we get other offers
like his, we’ll be . . . “
“The richest people on the face of the planet,”
finished Argon. “And the most powerful,”
he added to himself.
A shiver went down the Pink Lady’s spine and her faced
flushed a deep pink (of course).
“My God!” she said in a horse gasp.
“That makes me so hot!”
But connubial bliss was not on Argon’s mind at the
moment. Ultimate power was. Regardless, it had the
same effect.
“Yes,” he said typing his acceptance to the
general’s terms. “I concur. All
we need to do is drain off O’Brien completely. Then
Anderson can make as much of the serum as we need!”
Mrs. Argon, her mind filled with dollar signs and fleets of clothes and
cosmetic manufactures whose only colors in their library were shades of
pink, all under her control and by her design, had dipped a finger into
her ample and pushed up cleavage and was sliding it out slowly then
back in again. “Yes,” she
gasped. “But what about the others?”
Ian Argon smiled to himself, completing his business with the general,
signing off with a flourish. He turned in his seat and looked
at her. “I want to investigate the properties of
Mr. Dibney’s Gingold. If we can achieve the
same (and possibly cheaper) results, that’s pure
profit! Besides,” he added, “Mr.
O’Brien won’t last forever!”
Mrs. Argon hand fell from the edge of the desk and landed conveniently
in her lap.
“And the bitches?” she asked in a tone reminiscent
of a certain dancer’s request for the head of a certain
Baptist.
“Expendable,” replied Argon.
“They serve no purpose.”
“Oh, Ian,” she cooed. “Can I do
them?”
Argon sighed. “If it makes you happy, my
dear.”
“THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!”
she said, whipping her legs straight out under the desk.
“My pleasure, my dear,” Argon said, entering the
address for a president of a country that removed particular limbs as a
deterrent to crime. Amnesty International’s report
had a footnote mentioning that the country’s rape crimes were
in the single digit percentile.
Warm lips caressed the back of his neck. When the lips began
to nibble on the flesh, he felt a warm shiver go down his back.
“Let me finish this message, my dear,” he said in a
hollow voice. “Let me finish with this and
I’ll begin with you.”
“Mind rinsing off that whore-juice, Mac?” said
Plastic Man from over his shoulder. “Makes my gums
numb.”
Argon spun in his seat (across the room, the missus jumped in her seat
and adjusted her clothing that certainly needed adjustment) and saw
Plas’s grinning face directly over his shoulder while his
body stayed by the door. Ralph Dibney was presently opening
it and allowing Sue and Penny entrance.
“And talk to your cleaning people!” said Plas,
returning his head to his shoulders. “They never
clean that space between the door jam and the rug!”
He spat out a few rug strands for emphasis.
“Give it up, Argon,” Ralph said in a warning
tone. As he stared at the man, all Ralph could see were the
caged ‘experiments’. To him, Argon was
the Mengele of his generation and he had to be stopped.
“I think not,” he said.
“There’s billions and power to gain, Mr.
Dibney. And I am so close to achieving my ultimate goal, you
cannot stop me!”
“Told you he was going to say something like that,”
whispered Sue to Penny.
“Weird,” said Penny.
“You can make this easy,” continued Ralph,
“Or you can make this hard.”
Plas’s face and body took on a chubby kid’s
countenance and he bounced up and down, clapping his hands together.
“OH!” he cried. “Make it
hard! Please make it hard!”
Out of Plas’ shoulder came three-dimensional heads of the
cartoon characters, Bevis and
Butthead.
“He said ‘hard’,” sniggered
Bevis.
“’Hard’!” snorted
Butthead. “’Hard’!”
“Very well,” he said. “Anything
to oblige. I choose ‘hard’! MY
DEAR?” he called.
“ARTIE!” screamed the Pink Lady.
“GET ‘EM!”
Artie’s head snapped up and he snaked out of the chair and
sent two enlarged fists at Ralph and Plas’ head, connecting
and sending them flying backwards. His hand spread out and
enveloped Sue and Penny in mid-run and brought them close to his
drooling face. Sue and Penny fought uselessly in his
grip. The sides of his hand came up and over the
women’s head and closed around them. As he
contracted his skin, the women’s features became visible in
the flesh. Little pockets of air bubbled where their mouths
were. Suddenly a chair came whizzing through the air and hit
him in the back of his head, making a noticeable dent that reformed
seconds later. Artie released the gasping ladies and turned
to see Ralph loading a small filling cabinet in Plas’ arms,
his entire body now resembling a giant slingshot.
“Get your hands off my wife!” snarled Ralph.
“Penny too!” added Plas. “Even
though it was only one hand he was using,” he mentioned to
Ralph from the corner of his mouth, which were a second pair of lips.
Artie turned and slithered towards them. Ralph dropped the
cabinet and stretched to the right in a sweeping arc, while Plas did
the same on the left. Artie stretched out both of his arms
and wrapped them around their necks, jerking them towards
him. Plas grinned at Ralph who shot a wink back.
The two pushed their bodies forward and moved in circles around Artie,
tying the man up with his own arms and hands. Just before
they were ready to pull the limbs taunt, Ralph and Plas slithered out
from under and over the winded arms. Then they not only
pulled his limbs tightly, but Plas twisted his hands into a bow.
Artie growled like a rabid dog and pulled himself down and out of his
intertwined arms and (after undoing the bow) pulled himself back into a
humanoid form. One hand turned into a scythe and cut the air
in front of Plas, while his other turned into a large hammer and
smashed the floor where Ralph had stood.
Plas and Ralph stepped back, then suddenly stretched forward, pile
driving into Artie’s midsection, sending him back and to the
floor.
On the other side of the room, Sue and Penny turned to see Mrs. Argon
pulling a nine millimeter from the inside of her pink purse.
Both women dove to the opposite ends of the carpet as the first shot
was fired. Sue picked up a crystal statue and flung it at the
woman’s head. Mrs. Argon easily ducked under it,
but was not prepared for Sue running at her and at the last second,
diving under the computer station. When the Pink Lady bent
forward, Sue pushed the desk up, sending the hard surface into Mrs.
Argon’s face. Her head snapped back and blood
rushed from her nostrils.
“BITCH!” she screamed. “Wu
bwoke muhy noze!”
“Consider that a start,” said Penny as she pulled
the weapon from Mrs. Argon’s hand and tossed it over her
shoulder. Penny’s leg swung and caught the woman on
the edge of the chin, snapping her head back and sending her tottering
back on her heels. Before she could recover, Penny sent a
hard right into her already damaged nose, her scream of pain filling
the room. Penny moved forward and sent a hard fist into the
Pink Lady’s stomach, making her bend forward. Penny
grabbed a handful of her long hair and pulled it up sharply before
sending it back down, crashing her face onto her rising right knee,
then repeating the action with her left. Penny sent another
fist to her stomach and doubled the woman again. Penny
stepped back to look at her handiwork, then stepped forward and
delivered a sweeping uppercut to the woman’s jaw, sending her
straight up on her toes. Like a pink Redwood, Mrs. Argon
leaned back on her heels and didn’t stop until she hit the
floor with a large crash.
The room went quiet and Penny turned to see that Sue, Plas, Ralph,
Argon and Artie were staring in shock, all wearing an opened mouthed
and wide-eyed expression.
Only Sue was eloquent enough to utter a whispered,
“Daaaaaaammmmmmnnnnnnnn.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” said
Plas.
Artie’s eyes glazed over and he raised them to meet
Penny’s. “You hurt
Pink Lady!”
he whispered, the glaze turning into hatred. “You
hurt Pink Lady!” he bellowed and charged towards her.
“Time to end this,” said Ralph, moving forward.
“No arguments there, Ralphie!” Plas replied
following behind.
“Then follow my lead!” Ralph said and leapt at
Artie, widening and flattening his torso as he went. He
spread his body even further and became a sheet that wrapped itself
around the struggling derelict, winding his arms and legs around
himself. Plas came from behind and wrapped his own flat body
over Ralph’s. Ralph’s head popped out
from between Plas’ stretched legs.
“This is very wrong,” mentioned Ralph, staring at
Plas flatly.
“Betcha this won’t come up at the next JL
meeting!” he grinned.
Artie tried to stretch himself out from under the two heroes, but they
had all openings sealed tight. After several seconds of
limited oxygen, Artie stopped struggling and collapsed inside their
cocoon. Both men waited another minute before returning to
their normal forms and allowed Artie to fall to the floor unconscious.
“Sue,” began Ralph, his full attention on Argon who
had not left his seat. “Penny.
Quickly! Get Artie to the tank Plas was in and turn on the
gas.”
“On it!” said Sue, who grabbed Artie’s
lifeless arm. Penny joined her at her side and grabbed the
other arm. Both women pulled and rushed to the door, then
stopped. They found themselves three feet from where they
started, but Artie’s body remained were it was.
They looked down at the stretched arms in their hands. Sue
sighed.
“This may take a minute or two,” she said.
Sue grabbed hold of Artie’s legs and Penny grabbed his now
free hand and huffing and puffing, dragged the body out of the door.
“Playtime’s over, chuckles,” said Plas,
walking towards the still seated Argon.
“You have a lot to answer for,” said Ralph at his
side.
“You know why that cretin Artie was easy to beat,
gentlemen?” he asked, his legs crossed at the knees in a
perfectly relaxed pose.
“Don’t know,” said Plas taking a step
forward. “Don’t care.”
Argon finally stood and arched the kinks from his back.
“It’s because his mind was already soaked with
booze and drugs, and Lord knows what else,” he said coming to
his feet, his hands behind his back. “My mind, on
the other hand, is clean and pure!”
“You need to revise your definition of those words,
Ian-baby,” Plas said stopping in front of his desk.
“And I have something Artie doesn’t
have!” said Argon grinning.
Ralph stood at Plas’ side, glaring at the man, inwardly
preparing to pounce. “And what may that
be?” he asked.
A giant fist with jagged spikes on its knuckles swung from behind
Argon’s back and such a speed, they were unable to dodge
it. The mace-like fist struck them across their faces,
sending them flying back and across the room. The fist
enlarged even further and rose above their heads and came down with a
room shaking crash. Then again. And
again. And again. The hand returned to normal and
returned to Argon’s side. He walked over to the
fallen heroes and held up the empty syringe, dangling it on the tip of
his finger.
“Imagination, my friends,” he said
smiling. “Imagination.”
