Coffee Talk

The pneumatic hiss of the decontamination chamber welcomed Henchperson Echo back to the office after a few weeks of paid vacation. The sound that normally brought dreadful thoughts about the upcoming work day instead delivered a wave of comfort and familiarity through her synapses. She'd showed up early hoping to catch up with her colleagues on the comings and goings during her absence. Cubicles sat empty, only half the lights on and no muzak playing. Echo made her way to the break room to brew some morning coffee for everyone.

"Hey Echo! You're back!" Her colleague Henchperson Lima greeted her with a smile.

Echo went in for a friendly hug. Lima didn't return the gesture. Echo was taken aback. "Do I smell?" She sniffed her armpit to double check.

Lima shrugged and rolled up the sleeve of his company issued lab coat. A tangle of cables and wiring pulsed beneath translucent skin. "Boss has me trying out new prototype prosthetic arms, meant for deep sea exploration. I haven't really gotten the hang of them yet."

"When do you get your real arms back?" Echo asked without missing a beat.

"Couple weeks, boss says that should give him enough data to work with." Lima groaned. "How was vacation?"

"Awesome. Boss had his personal travel agent set it all up. First class all the way. How are the kids?" She asked.

Lima looked longingly at the coffee pot. "Can you pour me a cup please? I tend to crush anything I try to grab now." He said sadly. Echo poured him a mug and held it to his lips for him. "Kids are good. Katie got accepted to the college of her dreams, courtesy of the boss putting in a good word for her, and the company awarded her a generous scholarship."

"That was nice of...holy shit what happened to you!?" Echo asked as a six foot tall bipedal chameleon with a humanoid face sauntered into the break room. A long tail propping up the back of its lab coat. It resembled Henchperson Golf. "That is you, isn't it G?" She asked.

Golf rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too E." He grumbled as he pushed past her to the coffee maker. Golf adjusted quickly to his new sticky appendages, able to pour himself a cup of coffee while adding cream and sugar with his tail. "Boss wanted to test out a new method of camouflage by manipulating human skin to mimic the color changing properties of a chameleon. It uh...didn't work." G said with a grumble.

"Are you stuck like that?" Echo asked curiously.

"Boss says he can reverse it after he re-sequences my genomic structure. Hopefully before my vacation coming up. Gonna be the best one yet." G declared.

"You say that every year. Looks like things were busy around here while I was gone.."

"Oh my god E, you're back! I missed you!" Squealed Henchperson Foxtrot, an excitable young woman, her hands flailed in the air as she squealed with delight. Foxtrot looked as she always did, her curly red hair popped against her white lab coat and pale complexion. No robotic limbs visible or scaly skin. Echo gave her a friendly hug.

"Good to see you.."

"Oh my god E, you're back! I missed you!" Squealed another Henchperson Foxtrot, identical to the first down to the exact motions of her flailing hands, only this version phased through Echo like a fine mist.

Foxtrot chuckled. "Never mind that. Residual after image due to quantum tunneling. How was vacation? Tell me all about it." She said excitedly.

Echo smiled, three rows of razor sharp teeth hidden behind her lips. For as dysfunctional as they were, she had missed her work family.

Cutting a Promo

The theater seats of the Star City Odeon sat empty, save for the one man shrouded in shadow sitting in the back row watching the performance on stage. A solitary spotlight illuminated the hulking beast of a man on stage. A tight red tank top hugged his barrel chest while his sweatpants looked ready to rip at the seams trying to contain legs the size of tree trunks, a red brick patterned mask concealed his face. A tuft of platinum blonde hair poked out the back of the mask which was rolled up above the man's lips so as not to muffle his monologue. A matching blonde fu man chu mustache framed his square face.

"Try as they might, all shall fall, since none on earth can conquer.....the wall!" Bellowed the man on stage in a voice far too high pitched for a man of his stature. He flexed his enormous biceps and snarled.

The man in the back row rose from his seat, the echo of his footsteps reverberating through the empty theater as he emerged from the shadows. A slim man with a deathly pale complexion made his way on stage. Dark eyes sunk deep into their sockets, his cheeks sullen, making his high cheeks bones more prominent on his slender face. A long thin nose sat above thin lips bearing a pencil thin goatee. A black leather beret hugged his skull, his puffy shirt and pants made it look like he'd stepped off a movie set from earlier in the century. The man put his hand up and shook his head as he paced in a circle around the behemoth.

"I've had many struggles in my career. When I was a young man learning the craft of shakesperean theater I was denied countless roles due to backstage politics. The only way to overcome that hurdle was to become a performer so great that none could deny my greatness. With ease I overcame that obstacle. Naturally I sought out a new challenge.

Turning low level schmucks such as yourself into orators capable of striking fear into the populace and the supers that protect them. Not through acts of malicious intent or plans most fiendish, but through the power of the human tongue. Before me, the cartoonish antics of those with powers were portrayed as such.

Gone are the days of ham-fisted, over the top, ridiculous monologues delivered in a fashion more fitting of a mustache twirling vaudeville villain that a sophisticated sadistic supervillain. I've instructed many on the arts of menacing monologues and sinister soliloquies, but you, my brick shithouse friend...have been the toughest challenge I, the great Reginald Buttersworth, have yet faced." Reginald spoke in a flat english accent, disappointment hung on his every word as he continued berating his student. Weeks of instruction had already past with little to no progress made. Reginald was nearing his wits end.

"Being loud doesn't make you intimidating, especially with the habit of your voice raising an octave or two when you do. It sounds like an oversized girl scout trying to sell me stale cookies, not exactly bone chilling. Defeats the look you're going for of an unstoppable hulking monster that could crush every bone in a person's body with ease. Lean into that. Sometimes less is more. The bard did say that brevity is the soul of wit."

The wall scratched his chin in thought, "Am I really that bad on the mic?" he asked sadly.

Reginald nodded his head. "Terrible. Too many dramatic pauses, non-sequiturs, tangents that seemingly go nowhere, absolutely awful segues, and a voice crack or two shattered the menacing air you were trying to project. Remember to speak from your diaphragm not your lungs. Keep your timbre under control. Someone who can speak calmly about devastation and destruction is more menacing than a raving lunatic. Bring some gravitas to the performance."

The wall cocked his head to the side in confusion. The direction had flown directly over it. Reginald rolled his eyes, he hated having to dumb it down. "Let's take it in a different direction. Give me a menacing growl." He demanded.

"You want me to just growl?"

"Yes. Now give me a growl, not a snarl. Imagine there's a burning fire deep within the core of your very being. If unleashed a cleansing hellfire would escape and wreck untold misery and devastation. You fight to contain it.....action!"

A weak grumble escaped the wall's mouth, hardly a growl. His skin turning as red as his mask.

Reginald shook the massive man about the shoulders, unable to move him even an inch. "That's the best you've got!? You're hopeless! Weak! Those are just glamour muscles that came from a syringe and not a dumbell!" Reginald screamed.

A vicious growl rumbled the stage as the wall bent at the waist to look down at Reginald. Every muscle tensed, veins popped along his arms, a pulsing network that thumped with each beat of the wall's heart.

"Perfect!" Exclaimed Reginald as he slowly backed away. "Now that is scary. I wouldn't want to run into you in a dark alley like that. Maybe we should focus on non-verbal communication next week. That's where you excel, even with a mask on."

The wall's barrel chest heaved as he composed himself. "That doesn't work for me brother, I need to be able to talk in public. Promoter won't give me a push unless my mic skills and promo work improves." Wall embarrassingly admitted. He moonlighted as a wrestler on the independent circuit on the weekends.

Reginald paced about the stage, he doubted even he could mold this massive lump of clay into a charismatic wordsmith. An idea bubbled in his brain, exploding into a plan to get paid more for less work. "Sounds like you need a manager to speak for you. A Bobby 'The Brain' Heenan to your Sid Justice. For a price I could play that part. I've held audiences in the palm of my hands for years; I can rile up a crowd of rubes looking for cheap entertainment. With my help you'll shoot to the top of the card in no time! All you need to do is look intimidating. That's what we'll work on each week during our sessions." A sleazy smile crossed Reginald lips as he extended his hand to the wall. The two shook hands, sealing the deal.

"Are you a heel or a babyface?" Reginald asked.

"Babyface." Replied the wall.

"Oh that will never do. Being a villain is much more entertaining. By the time we're done you'll be the most hated man in town. All without saying a word."

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I'm glad you enjoyed it. Cool prompt.

High humidity hung thick in the hazy air of the rising sun out in the bayou. The overpowering song of the insects clashed with crowing of roosters to welcome the rising sun. Harold Stevens awoke, hungover from the previous night. Drank too much cheap bourbon while losing money hand over fist at the local saloon. He couldn't remember how he got home. His routine didn't change just because of a hangover, fishing at dawn is how he made a living.

Harold trudged down to the dock that stretched out over muddy swamp water, his fat calico cat, Cash, hot on his heels. Nothing in the traps from overnight. Harold took a swig from the bottle of bourbon he kept on the dock, he'd have to do it the old fashioned way. He baited up some poles and cast the lines out. Fish didn't seem too interested this morning, Harold only caught two, gave one to Cash for breakfast.

As the sun rose higher into the summer sky Harold spied something shiny in the mud a hundred yards downstream. Harold and Cash did what they always did when something caught their eye, they indulged their curiosity. The shiny spot was only a tiny piece of something much bigger. Harold struggled to get the heavy thing unstuck from the muddy bank of the swamp. Cash was no help.

Harold managed to wrench his catch out of the mud and onto solid ground, he'd never seen anything like it. A shiny metal man, well, one without a face. "The fuck is this?" Harold wondered aloud. Cash meowed back. "Let's get it on the dock, don't want any nosy gators checking it out too."

Harold carried the metal man like a soldier helping his wounded comrade escape enemy fire, making it to the dock slowly but surely. He laid it on its back and wiped some more mud and other accumulated flotsam and jetsam from it. It was cold to the touch, didn't have any give when Harold poked it with a stick. Cash jumped up to get a good look.

"Get off there! You don't know where this thing's been.....or what it is." Harold barked. Whatever it was, it looked real fancy, and expensive. No rivet holes, no welding, one solid piece. As Harold thought about how to make a profit on this find, it sat up at the waist. A series of bleeps and bloops emanated from hidden speakers. Lines of green text scrolled quickly over its "face".

Harold drew his six shooter, aiming it directly at the thing's head. Didn't pull the trigger, bullets were expensive. A cold, monotone voice spoke out.

"Diagnostics complete. Memory banks: critical damage sustained. Power supply: critical damage sustained. Exoskeleton protective coating: Nominal damage. Searching for network.......no network found. Starting in power saving mode, estimated remaining time til shutdown........seventeen hours."

Cash bashed his head against the metal man's side, looking for attention. Harold kept his gun trained on the thing. "You can talk?"

"Yes. I am fluent in over one hundred languages."

"You got a name?"

"This unit is designated Intergalactic Voyage Admiral of Navigation. They called me Ivan for short."

"You're a space man?"

"I am an older model of a virtual intelligence housed inside this spacesuit, I was built on terra firma."

Harold scratched his head with the barrel of his six shooter. "Where's that?"

"Earth."

"That's a fancy name for it. How'd you get here?"

"Accessing memory banks.......it appears my journey here is unrecorded in my memory. May I ask the date so that I may attempt to narrow my search, maybe the file is mislabeled."

"It's uh Thursday, I know that. Um.....shit what is the date today? I think it's the twenty third of March." Harold replied, he honestly didn't know, time on the bayou can be tricky.

"Year?"

"I know that, it's eighteen thirty-two."

"Searching.......it appears my memory stops right after the big flash of light."

"Walk the wrong way down a train tunnel?" Harold joked.

"There was an electro-plasmatic anomaly located near a binary star in quadrant forty-two, I was sent to investigate, I was expendable."

"Sounds like you got some nice friends." Harold chuckled, taking a big swig of bourbon.

"I was built to serve a purpose, nothing more." A series of beeps echoed in the air. "Power calculations updated, time until shutdown: eight minutes."

An awkward silence hung in the air. Ivan broke it, a panel slid open from its chest. It handed Harold a stack of papers filled with blueprints, diagrams, and walls of text.

"What's this?" Harold asked.

"My design documentation. Everything one needs to repair or rebuild models such as myself. Maybe one day I can be useful again." Ivan laid back down on the dock, powering down.

Harold looked through the papers, he wished he could read.

Zeus and Thor get drunk during a thunderstorm.

Stylin' and Profilin'

Mason Maniacal calmly sat down at the poker table in his basement, it was he and Queen Bee's turn to host the monthly schmuck poker game. Will O' The Wisp dealt him into the next hand. Hand sucked, not too much he could do with it. He studied the faces of the five other schmucks around the table. Willow looked like she was about to pop from laughter, Quizzler's eyes were watering, Dr. Neutron had his hand over his mouth, Melinda Muse's face wore the same stoic expression it always did, one perfected from years of walking the runway. Queen Bee, Mason's wife, bit her lip, he knew she was trying not to laugh at him.

Mason folded his hand, flinging the cards hard across the table. "I fold. Okay, out with it! All of youse! Get it out of your systems right now.....or else." He shouted menacingly.

Willow broke first. "You look like Axl Rose after a three day bender in Candyland!" She sputtered out. Everyone laughed, except Mason.

Neutron followed up. "No, no, no. He's going through a Justin Timberlake phase. Are your cornrows going to bring sexy back sometime this decade Mason?" More laughter. Mason played with the stack of poker chips in front of him, quietly.

"Wrong again, doc. He's going for a genderbent, heroin chic Pippy Longstockings. Even his face is turning red, matches the hair. Screams mid-life crisis." Melinda Muse mused.

Quizzler could barely contain himself. "Wish I'd known this was a costume party, although nobody is going to beat Mason's Kevin Federline costume. Really nailed the part, you married up just like he did!"

The laughter continued, along with the witty jabs. Mason joined in with the laughter, an overpowering, insane laughter. With the flick of his wrist he sent poker chips flying through the laughing lips of the schmucks, save for Queen Bee. Before they could remove the obstructions from their throats, hidden restraints in their chairs trapped them in place.

Mason rose slowly, flipping a poker chip as he paced around the table. "Pretty fuckin hard to laugh when you're choking to death. This funny to everybody? Being a good dad who's secure enough in his masculinity to allow a little girl to style his hair? These are all rhetorical questions since none of youse can talk at the moment. You had your fun, now I'm having mine. Mallory!"

A young blonde girl peeked her head down into the basement. "Yeah dad?"

"Sweetie my friends said you did such a good job with my hair, they want you to do theirs. Would you mind?" Mason asked kindly.

"Yay! I'll get my stuff!" Mallory Maniacal screeched with glee.

Mason undid the restraints, he and Queen Bee gave the other schmucks the heimlich. Mason returned to his seat nonchalantly. He shuffled the cards. "Let's keep playing. Please be nice to my daughter while she works her magic, the apple didn't fall too far from the tree with her. She don't take constructive criticism as well as I do."

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My headcannon is that this creature is summoned by a Ouija board at a sleepover in the sequel. Awesome work.

The young man was cornered, in his frenzied escape attempt he'd run into a dead end, the monster slowly crept closer. A thick ocher fog enveloped the world, overwhelming the man's senses. A pair of pale white eyes stared from the foggy abyss. The young man steeled himself, raising his fists for a last stand.

"Come on you filthy zombie! I can take you!" He screamed.

As quickly as the fog rolled in, it rolled out to reveal a tall, pale man with delicate facial features. A long black cape flowed around his body. His thin eyebrows raised in confusion.

"What did you just call me?" He asked in dulcet tones.

"A zombie! A corpse that roams the earth, sent straight from hell." The young man's fists shook with fear.

"My dear boy you're mistaken, and as a firm believer in an educated populace let me straighten out this confusion.

Reason the first why that label is grossly inaccurate is the mastery of human language. Words are the paint which I use to create art on the canvas of a person's ears. Can a zombie do this?" The man cleared his throat. He produced a small pitch pipe from his cape, blowing into it to find the note he needed.

"I am the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, from Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse. I'm very good at integral and differential calculus; I know the scientific names of beings animalculous: In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General..........." The man sang quickly without missing a beat or syllable, taking a pause, or being out of breath afterwards.

"Reason the second is the disgusting cuisine they dine on. Human brain matter and sinew ripped from the bone. Unseasoned, uncooked, teeming with pathogens and bacterium. My palate is more refined, my tastes exquisite. The finest part of a person isn't the meat, it's what flows through it.

Reason the third, this one should be obvious since you can see it with your own eyes. Look upon my cape. Hand sewn and tailored to my exacting specifications. The garments I wear underneath would make even the richest sultan green with envy. Those shambling monsters wear rags, the ones they were buried in.

Reason the fourth. Those abominations roam the earth since the afterlife has reached capacity. They have risen from the fall of death, I have never fallen. After cursing that foul god, death may no longer take me. Some call it a curse, I call it a gift. The gift of the Nosferatu. The only thing I have in common with them is that all it takes is one bite, and you become one of us."

The pale man silently floated to the young man's side. Fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

"So I'm going to be one of you?" The young man asked, his voice quivered in fear.

"Even better, you'll be part of my entourage. Stay still, this will only hurt for a moment."

"Been a long, long time little girl." Hissed the forked tongue. "Started to think you forgot about me. Started to forget about myself to be honessst with you. Got yourssself into trouble again, huh? You alwayssss were a handful. I like the ssssscratchessss on the wallssss, givesss thisss place sssome persssonality. Guessssing that'ssss why you're wearing that cute jacket.

Alwaysss knew you'd come sssslithering back to me, like the weakling you are. Look at you, ssstill just a ssssscared little girl, trying to act like a grown up. Pathetic. Can't bring yourssself to do it without my asssissssstance? The drugssss make you forget already? We've busssted out of worssse places.

Oh.....isssss that your nursssse? Sssshe looksssss juicy. Jusssst remember what I taught you.....let them come to you firsssst......then ssstrike. Hope your teeth are sssstill sssssharp."

Fire and Ice

The mighty War Zeppelin of Dr. Neutron floated high above Star City while the citizens below scrambled to purchase last minutes gifts for the impending holidays. Instead of plotting against them or looking down on them Dr. Neutron instead enjoyed a holiday meal with his unbeknownst to the public wife, Fuzion, and daughter Sarah. Dinner conversation had steered into the familiar territory of Dr. Neutron telling the real story of he and Fuzion's past exploits.

"How come I've never heard about you saving Mom? When did this happen?" Sarah asked between mouthfuls of chicken cordon blue.

Neutron sipped his champagne slowly. "Oh this was ages ago, long before you were born, me and your mother weren't even together at that point. You've never heard it because your wonderful mother is still embarrassed to this day by it."

Fuzion playfully scoffed. "I'm not embarrassed, I would have won with or without your help. Back then you always stuck your nose where it didn't belong."

"Don't make me laugh darling, if I hadn't stepped in you, and this entire city for that matter would have been reduced to a smouldering crater." Neutron replied snootily.

"Can someone please tell me what happened?" Sarah pleaded.

Fuzion and Neutron played rock paper scissors to determine who would be the storyteller. Neutron came out on top, again, Fuzion always picked rock.

"So a long time ago Frozen Shadow was going through a messy divorce, his wife was a bitch. I never liked her, nobody did to be honest. She hired an expensive lawyer who was going to take everything from him, including custody of his daughter, she had him by the short hairs since she knew his secret identity.

Threatening a man's family makes them do outrageous things, Shadow went after the lawyer. Froze the Star City freeway and all the cars on it. Naturally your mother swooped in, like the hero she is, to talk some sense into him. That was a mistake, you can't reason with a person going mad, Shadow shot the first shot, leading to quite a battle. Your mother had to take the fight somewhere less populated, she threw Shadow halfway across the state into an old quarry...."

"I actually threw him across state lines, hell of a toss. Bullseye'd that quarry." Fuzion interjected proudly.

"Correction, across state lines. As you know I keep an eye on all the pesky supers so I grabbed some popcorn, fired up the at the time experimental wormhole engine to watch from this old bird. A battle unfolded like nothing ever seen before. A struggle between fire and ice that shook the Earth to its core. Dear, how did he get the upper hand on you? You are magnitudes more powerful than he ever was."

Fuzion sniffled, a wave of empathy shot through her body. "He was heartbroken, and hurt. He did something a super should never do.....he lost control. A man with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous kind."

"Nobody knew how powerful he really was until that day. Up to that point his methods were fairly peaceful. He can slow down electrons on a sub atomic scale, not manipulate them like I can of course." Neutron always enjoyed throwing in some sneaky brags into his stories. "Normally he would make people really cold, cool their blood, make them unable to fight back, nothing serious. Little did we know at the time, he had some technology from beyond the stars.

A small box that could violate every known law of physics we have, create matter from nothing, produce more energy than it took to power it, and turn a super's own powers against them. I don't have to tell you this, but if your mother ever lost control of her powers it would make Hiroshima and Nagasaki look like vacation resorts. That's where I come in...."

"How'd you stop him?" Sarah asked excitedly.

"Nothing fancy. Simply repelled down into the quarry behind Shadow and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. Did a little rearranging of his insulin levels, caused him to go into a diabetic coma, nothing too serious. Needed to get him out of the picture while I dealt with the bigger problem, your mother having a meltdown. I couldn't figure out how his device worked so instead of using my vast intellect, I had to go with my gut to save the day."

Fuzion rolled her eyes. "Here it comes...."

"I confidently strode up to your mother and looked her dead in the eyes, those furious orange eyes, the green flames behind them raging like a wildfire. The searing heat from her singed my eyebrows off, but I persevered through the fire and the flames to embrace her. I whispered in her ear, do you remember what I said dear?"

Fuzion gulped down a generous amount of champagne. "If you blow up I'm happy to go, as long as I get to be close to you."

Neutron smiled. "It was a gamble, but it payed off. Your mother got control of herself, no nuclear apocalypse that day. She asked my why and I simply replied......"

"I may be a villain, but I'd never let my nemesis die." Fuzion finished his sentence for him.

"Wait, wait, wait......mom never considered you her nemesis." Sarah said.

"She wasn't, Frozen Shadow was. Now that I'd defeated him and "borrowed" his advanced technology he was no longer a threat to me, he'd be more useful to me alive. It was a win-win situation. Mom got to be the hero who saved the world, and my research advanced exponentially. Also allowed us to make sure a situation like that would never arise again."

"How so?" Sarah asked.

"Your mother signed a pre-nup when we got married. I'd rather be swallowed by nuclear hellfire than have to go to divorce court."

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Death's Edge

Feels like I've been here forever, this endless white void really leaves a lot to be desired. Wonder where I am? Does time work normally here? Death's been talking to that red tear in the void for ages now. I only pick up snippets of its conversation.

"Yes I know this is unusual..........help me out here."

The longer this goes on the more pissed Death gets, its bones chatter while yelling at whatever its talking to.

"How do we not have a rule for that!? Who's running that place!?"

Even Death sighs when its frustrated, soft classical music echoes in the void. Must be the hold music for the other side. What feels like another century passes before the call resumes.

"Well that doesn't seem fair..................no, no, I'm not arguing with you, just offering an opinion.....................uh huh.........okay...............fine..........fine..............I said fine!"

The rip seals shut, Death turns to face me once again, it's empty eye sockets still send shivers down my spine even after all this time. It hands me the golden coin once more.

"You get another flip. Call it in the air."

I flip the coin high into the air, calling tails, since tails never fails, intently watching my destiny tumble back to the void. I can't contain my laughter when it lands.

"Holy shit look at that! It happened again!"

Death snaps his scythe in half. Funny thing about probability, if you flip a coin enough times; eventually......it lands on its side.

Kiss and Make Up

Snow swirled on the rooftop of Neutron industries, Star City's tallest skyscraper, a modern day coliseum where those more than human did battle. Dr. Neutron was up to his old tricks again, threatening to detonate an electromagnetic pulse bomb, cripple the city's power grid and bring it to its knees. His eternal nemesis, Fuzion, had to stop him, like she always did. The two were locked in a standoff.

The superheroine powered up. Her long orange hair stood on end, her matching cape furiously flapped in the surge of power. Green nuclear flames raged in her pupils, matched her green domino mask. An explosion of swirling plasma exploded from Fuzion's fist. The mad doctor merely raised his gloved hand, absorbing the attack. Steam billowed from the glove.

"Good thing I'm wearing safety goggles, that would have singed my eyebrows. Don't tell me that was your best shot." Neutron smugly smiled at his adversary, running his hand through his wavy grey hair. "Allow me to retort." In Dr. Neutron's hand even the simplest objects could become weapons of mass destruction. He tightly packed a large snowball, tossing it lightly in his hand, letting the core form into pure hydrogen.

A weapon is only useful with a good delivery system, Neutron was a man of science, not an athlete, his throw landed at Fuzion's feet, no kaboom either.

Fuzion chuckled. "Good arm doc, that went a whole.....five feet." She teased.

"It's cold, haven't had time to let my arm warm up." Neutron windmilled his right arm trying to get the old blood flowing. "Give me one more try." Neutron began forming another weapon, a blast of green flames from Fuzion's eyes melted the snow around him.

"Come on Doc, why would I give you another chance? Running out of tricks already?" She mocked.

Neutron slyly smiled. "Far from it. Just needed you to stay still for a second, make sure the payload lands in the right spot." He turned his gaze upwards.

Fuzion followed suit. A clear dome descended from the clouds, slamming down around Fuzion, trapping her.

Neutron slowly paced around the dome. "This certainly fits the holiday aesthetic. Want me to toss in some snow and shake you around? Really get the snowglobe effect?" Neutron's sinister laugh echoed from the rooftop. Fuzion banged her fist on the dome. Neutron tapped on it.

"Punch it all you want, you're not going to break it. Nano carbon, one thousand times stronger than diamond, not even your immeasurable strength could crack it, much less destroy it. For your own safety I should let you know something, the material takes Newton's third law quite seriously." Neutron loved delivering a monologue, he didn't do it nearly enough for his liking.

Fuzion cocked her head curiously as she paced around the enclosure.

Neutron sighed. "If you attack it...it attacks you back. That's the point I was trying to make. Well no delaying the inevitable. I'll figure out what to do with you soon, but back to business. Take a look at those brilliant city lights darling, it's the last time anyone ever will. Enjoy the show." Neutron strolled along the rooftop to board his War Zeppelin, needed to make sure the bomb went off in precisely the right spot.

He decided to take one last look at his nemesis in the light. She was gone. Neutron lifted his goggles, squinting through the snowflakes. A gust of warm air tickled his ear, soft lips pressed against it.

"Another swing and a miss. You really thought that would work? Didn't you?" Fuzion whispered softly.

"How did you?"

Fuzion reached down into her boot, Neutron snuck a peek down her cleavage, Fuzion noticed. She retrieved a small glass tube filled with a swirling galaxy. "Borrowed this from you, came in handy."

"That's where my short range wormhole generator went. I've been looking for that. You never cease to amaze me." Neutron embraced Fuzion, planting a deep kiss on her lips.

"How DARE you kiss me!? Do it again....please." Fuzion asked sheepishly.

Neutron laughed, a wholesome laugh this time around. "Knew that would make you break character. Can I ask a favor honey?"

Fuzion snuck in another kiss. "Shoot."

"How come I always have to lose? Be nice to have at least one victory during our sparring sessions." Neutron admitted.

Fuzion flipped her hair back, she leaned in close to whisper into his ear again. "If the hero doesn't win, it's not a happy ending. I know how much you like those...." She purred, taking Neutron's hand, leading him up the steps onto the War Zeppelin.

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Thanks for reading. But the real question is, could you smell the cheese?

Thanks for reading. Awesome prompt.

Ain't Easy Being Cheesy

Twinkling Twilight home for senior citizens was a short drive outside of Star City. A lovely facility providing all the comforts of home for its residents, even the ones who couldn't remember their day to day lives. Terrance Thorne sat in the common area playing cards, as he was about to claim victory the attractive young nurse he constantly flirted with interrupted.

"Mr. Thorne you have a visitor. They want to see you out in the garden." Her soft voice melted Terrance's old heart, instead of raising his mast, getting old sucked.

"Are you sure, hot stuff? Nobody visits an old fart like me. Who is it?" Terrance asked, slowly propping himself up on his cane.

"They asked me not to say, wanted to keep it a surprise." The nurse replied. She took Terrance's free hand as the two slowly made their way to the back garden. Terrance's visitor had their back turned to him, he still recognized her from behind.

"What the fuck does she want?" Terrance grumbled aloud, pushing the nurse off him. "Leave us." He said with an air of menace. The nurse retreated, Terrance pushed forward. He loudly cleared his throat. "What are you doing here little Angie? Ain't seen you in decades, come to toss me into the slammer? Guess what, I'm already there."

Detective Angela Falcona turned to face the retired schmuck. She held up a picnic basket and smiled. "Hey T! Come on, this place ain't so bad. Hot little nurse you got, that's got to be a plus."

"Let's just say the rigging on the main mast doesn't work like it used to. I already ate lunch, at least I think I did." Terrance took a seat at the patio table in the center of the garden, most of his life was spent sedentary now, a far cry from his glory days of being feared by any who heard his name.

"Well maybe this will perk you up." Falcona said slyly as she opened the picnic basket. An overpowering odor burst from the basket, singeing the detective's nostrils. To Terrance, it smelled like heaven. His eyes widened as the wheel of cheese hit the table. He scooped it up, taking a deep whiff.

"Vioux Boulogne. Stinkiest of the stinky cheeses. Do you know what gives it that enticing aroma?" He asked excitedly.

Falcona pinched her nose, decades of smoking had destroyed her sense of smell, this stuff didn't care. "Enlighten me." She asked. Pinched nostrils causing the tone of her voice to rise.

"Unpasteurized cow milk is pre-salted then washed with beer. As it rots it releases it's intoxicating aromatics." Terrance clutched the cheese wheel tightly, resisting the urge to chomp through its rind.

"How poetic, I would say it smells like a septic tank." Falcona lit a smoke to cover the horrendous odor in the air.

Terrance narrowed his eyes at her. "Falcona's aren't known for giving gifts without wanting something in return. What's your angle?"

Falcona chuckled. Terrance didn't play the game anymore but he still knew how to play it. "I need the Terrible Turophile to come out of retirement for one last hurrah."

"Sorry little Angie. I'm that not person anymore. Find someone else to do your dirty work." Terrance tossed the wheel of cheese back on the table, despite his yearning to take a bite.

Falcona put the wheel back in the basket. "It's a pretty easy gig, all you really got to do is show up, rest will take care of itself. You'll be back in time for "Wheel of Fortune". But I can't make you do anything. Shame you won't hear me out, this basket is pretty heavy." Falcona produced another wheel of cheese.

Terrance's breath left his body. "Bitto Storico! How old is it?"

"Eight years."

"Then it must be taking on a spicier yet bitter taste. Oh I haven't had this in years, really takes me back. What's the job?" Terrance asked hesitantly.

"Pick a fight with Meteor Man. He's been feeling down lately, losing focus on being a hero. Once the schmucks learned how dumb he was they started to outsmart him. Nobody fights him anymore. Need someone to snap him back to reality, give him a challenge. If what my pa told me about you is true, you're the perfect man for the job. Since you ain't been around for awhile it ain't gonna rock the boat too much once you lose." Falcona chain smoked, the battle between stinky cheese and smoke continuing to wage in the air.

A resigned sigh left Terrance's lungs. "I'm too old to be fighting supers, that's a young man's game. Sorry, Angie."

Falcona gazed into Terrance's eyes, he had a good poker face. Good thing Falcona always kept aces up her sleeve. One last wheel of cheese. Terrance almost fell out of his chair, Falcona almost fainted at the disgusting "food". The pale yellow cheese writhed as if it were alive, something wriggled beneath its surface.

"Casu Marzu? It can't be. You can't import this, it's illegal, due to the maggots that live within, processing it to give it that.....ripe flavor. It's the only cheese I've never had the pleasure of consuming." Terrance rapidly spoke, his breathing heavy. "Damn you Angie, damn you to hell." He breathlessly choked out.

Falcona kept her stoic poker face on, she was certain that would have produced a yes. She had a hunch, needed to test it. With a flick of her wrist she opened her butterfly knife, slowly cutting into the Casu Marzu, maggots wriggled from the slice. Falcona threw up in her mouth a little, Terrance's mouth watered. "Come on, take a little bite." She held the small slice of cheese in front of Terrance's face.

Tears welled in Terrance's eyes. "I can't be the villain you need, Angie. I never wanted to disappear, end up in this crappy old folks home. It was out of my control."

Falcona dropped the piece of cheese on the table, she made a mental note to wash her hands extra long before leaving. "Someone keeping you caged?" She inquired.

Terrance wiped away a tear streaking down his wrinkled cheek. "I'm lactose intolerant."

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Songs in the Key of B

"Did I stutter?" Braggocio the bard asked the demon lord smugly while tuning his lyre. Pioustle the paladin covered his mouth with one hand, the other rapidly made the sign of the cross over and over. Wisdomous the wizard got a chuckle out of it. Brabous the barbarian grunted in approval. Majick the mage remained stoically quiet as usual.

Fire raged from the eyes of the goat like demon lord. "How dare an insect such as yourself speak to me, the embodiment of suffering in such a manner!" The demon lord bleated out.

Pioustle interjected, still making the sign of the cross. "There's no need to resort to name calling, that's just in poor taste." He said meekly.

Braggocio scoffed. "Did I ask you for your opinion......bitch. Look at this guy! Sitting on a throne made of human skulls, walls papered with writhing flesh, and don't even get me started on the fountain of blood. All a front to hide how much of a bitch he is!"

The party fell silent, unsure of how to proceed. They prepared for the worst. The demon lord calmly sipped from its golden goblet. "Takes one to know one."

"Fuck off goat bitch! I'm the greatest songsmith in all the lands! My funky tunes allow me to do what I do best. And that's slay bitches! Bitch!" Braggocio played a spicy lyre riff, made Majick go weak in the knees, good thing her long midnight blue cloak hid her figure.

The demon lord cast his goblet to the ground. "Enough of this! No more spicy licks, or bone rattling riffs! Prepare for battle!"

Braggocio smiled. "You've already lost.......bitch."

"Fools! You've yet to even glimpse a fraction of the terror I can cause!"

"But while you were distracted you lost count, like a bitch."

"Count of what?" The demon lord quickly counted the number of adventurers in his chambers, five.....wait......where's the short one? The flash of a steel dagger the last thing the demon lord saw as Ryglar the Rogue removed its head from its body. He gave the party a thumbs up, showing off his new trophy.

"Told you it work...........bitches." A rousing victory riff echoed off the walls of the demon lord's chamber, Braggocio dubbed the tune "The Bitch's Ballad"

Take Your Best Shot

Spot Shot strode confidently into Paul's Piano Bar in the heart of Star City, his entourage in tow. An arrogant aura surrounded him, he believed he was on his way to be congratulated for the heroic deed he did as a favor for Detective Falcona. Favor might be putting it generously, he did it so she didn't leak the private video she had of him on twitter. His designer urban fatigues were dripping, his golden aviator shades framed his handsome face, long blond hair flowed behind him.

His entourage pushed the crowd apart, Spot Shot signed a few autographs. Took a few selfies with some of the nicer looking women in the joint. His revelry was cut short by Detective Falcona dragging him by his ear to the back booth, glass of scotch and a martini already on it. She forcefully shoved him into the booth. She scanned his entourage, pointing at Spot Shot's bodyguard. Mountain of a man, easily two eighty, looked like he could crash through a brick wall with ease. "Take the rest of your little playgroup outside and wait. This shouldn't take long." She growled. Spot Shot's entourage left without protest.

Falcona plopped down on the opposite side of the booth. She sneered at the man across from her. Fire raged behind ice blue eyes. Spot flashed his winning smile, his social awareness needed work, hard for him to read a room. He picked up the martini glass in front of him.

"This is top shelf right?" He asked snootily. Falcona gently put her hand on top of his glass, placing it back down on the table, a hard slap across Shot's face followed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Stuart?" Falcona asked, she never used the real name of a super or schmuck unless she was real pissed.

Stuart rubbed his cheek, popping his jaw back into place. "That fucking hurt! Thought I was going to get a reward for helping you out. If that's your idea of a reward I would hate to see how you punish people. Probably do worse than me." He groaned out.

"I don't reward idiocy! I asked you to babysit Mason Maniacal for two days so I could see who Queen Bee went to for help locating him. I didn't have the full picture on her criminal network, now I do. What I didn't need was Mason coming back with severe psychological damage!" Falcona gulped down her scotch, still staring a hole through Stu.

"Coming from someone who's a master of the dramatic monologue, you're being a little over the top with that. Mason Maniacal is an evil man, I found out a lot about him. He was already crazy, I didn't do anything that bad to him." Stuart sipped his martini, chuckling to himself about how weak Maniacal's squad of goons was. He planned on poaching them, adding them to the crew, turn them to his unique brand of superheroism.

Another slap to Stuarts other cheek snapped him back to the conversation. Falcona's hands were shaking. "You made him play Russian roulette on the hour, every hour of his captivity! Ain't you ever seen 'The Deer Hunter' that does shit to a person's mind!" She yelled angrily.

Stuart shook the slap off. "I don't watch old movies, only tik tok vids nowadays. The gun wasn't real, he wasn't in any danger. It was hilarious watching him squirm. He even pissed his pants a few times."

Falcona restrained herself from choking him right then and there. She took a deep breathe. "Don't matter if it was real or not, he believed it was. Mind over matter, all that shit. He's paranoid now.....real paranoid. Hard to keep a person like that in line, they tend to not listen to reason. Word on the street is he's gathering up a bunch of meat shields, use up all the bullets on them, since you never miss a shot, hopes you'll run out of ammo first."

Stuart puffed his chest out. "Let him. I need the target practice."

A sly smile crossed Falcona's thin lips. "I'm glad you said that, maybe we are on the same page." A sinister laugh swirled with the smoke in the air.

Stuart cocked his head. "I don't follow."

Falcona winked at him. "Mason now knows your real name, and where you live, and where your hideout is, and where your backup hideout is."

Stuart's eyes widened. "How does he know that?"

"I called him right before you walked in the door. I can't afford any more screwups from you Stu. You're a loose cannon. Seems to me like you ain't got too many friends in the super community, even if you did they would still throw you to the schmucks to cover their own asses. Least I gave you a head start."

Stuart looked around nervously, his breathing heavy. "You bitch, you can't do this to me! I won't let you get away with this."

Falcona waved her cellphone at him. "I also took the liberty of posting that video I got my hands on. You're into some weird stuff kid, might want to speak with a professional about that. In my professional opinion, I'd suggest running. Don't ever let me see you around Star City ever again."

Stuart shot up out of the booth. He gave Falcona the finger guns. "You'll rue the day you crossed me."

"Kiddo that ain't even the first time I've heard that today. The longer you stand there the more time you're wasting. Hit the bricks." Falcona shot a finger pistol back at Stu. He left in a huff, didn't pay for his drink. Cheapskate.

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Glad you liked it. Alas this is not a Star City chronicle, just a fun one off.

Tagging Turkeys

The flashing phone screen coupled with the shrill alarm shook Carter Cartwright awake. He frantically searched for his phone, it had migrated under his pillow. The bright light stung his eyes, he squinted to see what the racket was. A new notification, the only one allowed on his phone. Carter quickly rolled over, shaking his girlfriend Samantha's shoulder.

"Babe wake up! New G-Gang vid dropped!"

Samantha bolted awake. The two sat up as Carter opened up tok-tik.

"What up fleshies!? It's ya boy Bonerattler and Poulterghoul! Dropping this special Turkey Day video!" Bonerattler spoke directly into the camera, his almost transparent skull adorned with a pilgrim's hat. Poulterghoul's shadowy figure floated in the background wearing a feathered headdress. The two apparitions floated high in the sky, cars whizzing past them like ants entering a hill.

"We're gonna tag up some festive shit on the Yavuz Sultan Selim Bridge. We're about a thousand feet in the air, we scared!? Fuck no! We living that Ghost Gang Afterlife baby!" Bonerattler violently shook two cans of spray paint, the marble inside the cans rattled along with his ethereal bones.

"Ghost Gang!" Poulterghoul yelled, his shadowy tendrils forming an intricate gang sign.

"What was your favorite turkey day food P?" Bonerattler inquired.

"The souls of the damned homie! Ghost Gang!" P shouted.

"Damn that's some cold blooded shit, real gangsta. Respect. Me, I like green bean casserole, that shit is fire! Drop a comment on this vid, let us know what you fleshies like stuffing down your throats on turkey day!" Bonerattler knew comments would help with the algorithm.

The video continued with time lapsed footage of the two tagging the top of the bridge from a wide angle, the tag blurred out. The two apparitions tossed their spray paint cans into the air defiantly.

"Alright we tagged that bitch ass bridge up good! If you wanna see the whole piece get your ass on a plane to Turkey, ya turkeys! Ghost Gang out!" Bonerattler spread his arms, P oozed around him.

"Ghost Gang!"

The honor of the Holy Order of St. Winchester hung in the balance on the desolate plains, their shining light becoming clouded with thick coal smoke. No longer did the townsfolk worship their ballistic lords, they worshiped the belching locomotives with their shattering whistles and roaring wheels. Bandits ran the rails, using pagan magic to shield their transports.

Cardinal Black prayed over his gunmetal grey six-shooters and bandolier. A thin slit of moonlight illuminated the crude altar of the field chapel. The Cardinal prayed upon his rosary of bullets, imbuing them with enough force to pierce the heathen's shields. To destroy their infernal locomotives. He loaded the chambers slowly, methodically, carefully. A kiss on the barrels before a dip in holy water.

Cardinal Black holstered his holy irons, he strode with haste into the center of camp, it was almost time. He gathered his flock, they knelt before him, he blessed his posse.

"Now is the time we strike, my sons and daughters of the lord! These heathens threaten our way of life with their manifest destiny! This land is our land, and forever shall be! While the lord may favor us he cannot protect us, we shall all not return from tonight but you shall live forever on the glorious plains of heaven! To arms!"

Cardinal Black shepherded his platoon into the trees to lay in wait for the beast. Rumbling shook the valley, roaring wheels ground on tracks, black smoke blotted out the moon. Cardinal Black liked fighting in the dark. The platoon readied their weapons. Many said their final prayers.

Brimstone bullets flew from armored gattling guns atop the locomotive, the heathens were ready, but out of position, train can only follow the tracks. Piercing bolts of holy lightning cracked from six shooters, shattering the pagan shield. Divine justice delivered swiftly to the gunners. Cardinal Black leapt onto the train, quickly reloading as he shimmied down the side, smashing a window for an entrance.

He pushed towards the front, irons akimbo. The cramped hallway an ideal shooting gallery, heads popped as Black advanced to what he sought to steal being held in the cargo car, the dead sea shotgun, the weapon of prophecy. Black collected himself as the fight raged atop the train, a quick prayer before storming the car. Two guards, not a problem, two fans of the hammer relieved them of their lives.

Black opened the lead box, it glowed when opened. A gleaming silver shotgun seemed to hum with a heavenly voice. Black snatched it quickly, a perfect fit in his hands. The rack of the shotgun reverberated through Black's body, white feathered wings burst from his back. Time to win back the west.

Smoke danced with piano notes in the dim, dingy saloon, a perfect place to plan a job. Gerald Declan kicked his feet up on the rickety wooden table, lighting up a cigar. His left hand gal Sadie brought him and his right hand man, Salem another round of whiskey while they talked shop.

Gerald went over the plan again. "Real simple stagecoach heist, done it a million times. Cargo is rations for an army outpost, we're gonna steal those and give em to the indians in exchange for them helping us ambush the train that runs through their valley.

I approach the driver and gunman on foot, they'll trust me due to my reputation. I'll weave some story about an ambush up ahead, take em on a little detour to the real ambush. Once they're boxed in I'll pop em both. You two watch my ass. Strip em down, put on their uniforms, ride the hell out of there. Easy as pie." Gerald smiled, a voluminous puff of smoke emanated from his lips.

Sadie chuckled. "Must be nice being seen as the hero after all the shit you've pulled."

Gerald took a gulp of whiskey "I still maintain my image. Heroic gunslinger that always shoots the bad guy dead at high noon, all in the name of frontier justice. What a crock of shit. Ain't no fucking justice out here."

Salem raised his glass. "Boss sees the big picture. All these jobs string together, play our cards right, we'll have this whole county under our thumbs. Soon enough, whole damn state. Little later on, whole damn country. Lotta sheep in this country willing to vote for the wolf wearing their clothes."

"Damn it's gonna be fun when we're sitting at the top, once we get political power we can really get away with some good scores. White collar crime, that's where it's at. If you write the dictionary you can define justice however you want."

The three clinked their glasses together, another empire being built in a bar, like the old saying goes, if you love what you do you never work a day in your life.

Lightning cracked the night sky, bats soared from the belfry of the great manor on the hill. Wolves howled along with the thunder. Ominous storm clouds clung to the isolated manor, a group of five riders galloped towards it. The notorious Grimes gang were the only posse willing to take on the bounty, dead or alive, just the way they liked it. This job would change everything with such a high price.

Bounty was a killer, speculation was he kidnapped at least thirteen of the townsfolk, never to be seen again. Real old feller, lotta wrinkles, pale dead eyes, sharp teeth, but deceptively handsome and suave. All the supplies were gathered, robbed a grocer of all his garlic, boosted some holy water and crosses from the chapel, pulled a few railroad spikes, hope nobody is using those tracks.

Silver bullets for the gang's six shooters, although the leader Gus, protested that was for werewolves, not blood suckers. He was overruled. Gang dismounted to approach quietly on foot. Gus's right hand man, Percival, a proper British fella who was the brains of the operation went over the plan one last time.

"Split up and search room by room. Keep your lanterns lit, stay out of the shadows. The garlic around your necks and the crosses around your waists should keep any foul creature within striking distance. Do not hesitate to strike, do not let the blood sucker seduce you.

Do not underestimate this creature. They can hypnotize you, seduce you, offer you vast riches in exchange for obedience. Do not listen to his lies should he tell them. Plunge the stake into his heart, get paid. Easy enough."

The gang put their fists in and pumped themselves up. They were gonna be rich. Gus led the charge through the iron front gates, Selina blew the front door open with her double barreled shotgun. Splitting up went out the window as they entered the grand hall.

An endless red carpet lined with torches made from human skulls led to the foot of a massive throne made of human remains. A pale, slender man sat with his legs crossed, cape draped over him, drinking deeply from a golden goblet.

"Vasn't expecting company zis evening." An ethereal voice called out, the voice reverberating in the gang's skulls. They opened fire, sending round after round downrange. Gunsmoke filled the hall, bullets whizzed and ricocheted through the haze. A chilling cold swept across the gang members, the hall fell silent. The smoke parted, the slender man unfurled his cape, dropping the bullets.

"I believe zes are yours. Who are you people?" He asked.

Percival kept good to his word, he lunged at the man. Percy was a lover, not a fighter. Two sharp fangs clamped around his neck, using him as a meat shield, a cloudy smoke filled Percival's pupils. The slender man used his sharp fingernails to cut the garlic and cross from Percy's body. "Zes trinkets vill do nothing for you. I have gotten rid of that veakness. Thank you for dinner. You may leave now."

The gang reloaded. Meat shield or not they had to keep shooting, the next volley tore Percival to shreds, missed the man entirely, another cold mist, he was behind Selina now. He licked her neck sensuously. "You vill do. Quite beautiful. Kill zem, then you shall be mine."

Selina blew off Stan and John's heads, her hands shaking the entire time, eyes wide with fear. Blood spurted from piercing fangs, the man enveloped Selina with his cape, spinning her like a ballroom dancer. He locked eyes with Gus. Gus had one last shot, he threw the glass bottle of holy water at the man, hit him dead center, flames engulfed the dancers.

Gus rushed into the inferno clutching his railroad spike. With all his might he drove it deep into the man's chest, pinning him to the wall. A splash of blood erupted from the man's mouth, a sinister sneer crossed his face. "You have not von. My children are still hungry."

The howl of a wolf, the putrid smell of rotten breath, the slashing of claws on his shoulder, and the clamp of jagged teeth the last things Gus experienced on the dusty trail all cowboys ride.