Tales of the Parodyverse

The Semi-Amazing Goldeneyed #23 - "Ghosts, Giant Robots, and Things Left Unsaid"


Post By

Goldeneyed
Sat May 31, 2003 at 05:02:49 am EST
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Well, here we are. After several years of hiatus, this story marks the return of the Goldeneyed series. It's only roughly edited, but I wanted to get it posted as soon as possible - so please, be forgiving if you spot some mistakes.

I'm not entirely happy with it, but the plot is mostly several years old. It sets me up to get on track with Goldeneyed, though. I feel more relieved right now than I have in ages, and I think I'm ready to dive back into writing full-force.

Quick note: the story takes place prior to "Lair Legion: Underground".

Enjoy!




The sun rises over Hell’s Bathroom.

It’s the one moment of the day where everything seems alright in this run-down, crime-infested area of Parodiopolis. There is no fear, no strife. Worries are forgotten as the people by their windows stare out at the sight of the big red sun rising beyond the skyscrapers that make up the skyline of the city, beams of red light escaping between them and enveloping the people and cars and buildings below in their warmth.

It’s safe to say that for this one moment, everything is well for the people of Hell’s Bathroom… with one exception.

Exile is on a mission.

He crouches at the edge of the roof of Neon Charlie’s Pool Hall, his red eyes glaring intently across the street into one particular window. The four-story brick building looks like an apartment building… But all the blinds are closed, and nobody’s been in or out as long as he’s been watching. Definitely suspicious. The crowd of people who’ve amassed below would tell you he’s been there for hours, barely moving enough to show he’s breathing.

This week, he’s visited the usual stool pigeons, and they’ve all hinted at something big going down at this one address. Three times a week, a man with an average size, average build, and average face accepts a delivery from some less-than-legit ‘deliverymen’. Always wearing a trenchcoat, always with sunglasses on. A few claim the packages contain mostly high-tech equipment, some illegal computer programs thrown in the mix.

Exile’s first assumption is that this guy’s a hacker. Probably a high-level one. But if there’s anything he’s learned from his time both as an independent vigilante and a member of the Lair Legion, it’s never to rely on your first instinct.

So he waits. A stakeout is his best bet to find out exactly what’s going on with this guy. But Exile has never believed in hiding – if there’s something big going on, he wants this guy to know he’s there.

And then, movement. A shadow moves by the bottom of the window. Exile’s muscles tense up. He rises a bit, putting more weight on his front leg.

The shadow moves up. Flickering light from inside reveals his shape. It’s a man, facing either forward or backward. His arms are crossed. He turns to his right and a stiff tail swings behind him.

Exile’s eyes jerk wide open, as if a spotlight just went on in his head.

The crowd begins to shout as Exile lunges forward. The shadow calmly moves away from the window. Exile clenches his fists; silently cursing the people below as he pushes off from the edge of the roof, letting his mutant gift of flight carry him forward. His leather jacket flaps wildly as he blasts across the street, arms outstretched.

The window shatters. Glass rains down on top of Exile’s head. He sees a large control panel in front of him, the bottom open, sparks of electricity from some very unfinished wiring. He looks to the right. Some sort of metal table with metal straps rests on an angle against the wall, cables attaching it to the control panel in front of him. Beside the table, a man smirks down at him, arms crossed in a pseudo-confident kind of way. Exile’s eyes dart up and down. About five-foot-seven. Average build. Dressed in worn baggy jeans and a cheap white T-Shirt. A large black “I” imprinted on the front. Black messy hair and a goatee that could use a few weeks’ more growing. A plush tail hangs from a thick belt around his waist.

“Iguana Lad…” Exile snarls.

The man smiles. “You’ve heard of me?”

Exile stands to his feet and takes a few loud steps toward Iguana Lad. Tiny pieces of broken glass fall from his hair and jingle as they hit the ground. Exile’s eyes cut into him. “I know what you tried to do to my friends,” he says.

Iguana Lad swallows nervously, glaring back up at him.

Exile tightens his fist and smirks. “So, what now?”

Something hits him in the back of the head. Something strong. His sight begins to cloud over. The room spins around him. He hears a woman’s voice, taunting him, but he can’t make out the words. Everything goes black.

The last thought through Exile’s mind before he hits the floor is ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.’




#23: “Ghosts, Giant Robots, and Things Left Unsaid”




“It’s too much…!” Bryan Katz gasps as the steel bar inches closer to his throat. The veins in his hands and arms quiver as he struggles to hold it back. Bry clenches his teeth tightly. The bar drops another inch.

“You can give up any time you want, Goldeneyed.”

Fin Fang Foom stands behind a console of screens filled with graphs and statistics, arms crossed as he glances from one to the next. “The most you’ve been able to lift before this test was one-point-nine tons. You’ve already gotten a full two today. There’s no reason to push it.”

“N-no! I can do this. I can do this…”

Fin Fang Foom taps at a few buttons on the console. “Not today.”

The bar begins to rise. Bry’s arms collapse beside him. He breathes heavily, watching the bar click into place above him. The machine wheezes.

A white towel drops on Bry’s face. “Think of it this way. You’ve improved.”

Bry pulls himself to the edge of the bench. “Yeah, I guess…”

Finny frowns. “Lifting two tons is nothing to scoff at, Bry. It’s impressive. Most people couldn’t lift a taxi over their head if they wanted to. You can. And remember that your meta-human strength has never been your primary power.”

Bry shakes his sweat-soaked hair with the towel. “Yeah, I know… I’m just being hard on myself, I guess.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” Finny says. “I’d rather not have my teammates doubting themselves and their abilities, especially when other people are counting on them…”

Bry quickly stands to his feet. “Hey… It’s nothing like that, Finny. I just… I see my teammates and allies growing and changing and it seems like I’m always staying the same. I just want to improve myself. That’s all.”

The dragon smirks. “That’s fine. It’s healthy to want to improve yourself. Just don’t obsess over it.”

Bry drops his head a bit and nods. “Yeah… Sorry. I know.”

“Another one of Uncle Draggy’s endurance tests, huh?”

Bry and Finny’s eyes dart towards the doorway. Laurie Leyton leans on the doorframe with her right arm, her left hanging at her side, fingers brushing against her black pleated skirt. Her white dress-shirt hangs open, revealing a baby blue tank top with the word “angel” printed across the chest

Bry blinks a few times and clears his throat. “Er… hi, Laurie.”

Laurie grins devilishly at him and walks over. She runs a finger down his arm. “He’s gotten you all sweaty and out of breath…” Her eyes slide to meet Finny’s cold gaze. “I thought that was my job.”

Bry nearly falls over.

Finny’s eyes narrow. “I’d better check the monitoring station.” He says coldly. The dragon walks over to the doorway and taps the red pad beside it. The pad turns green, and the metallic door quickly slides open. As the door shuts behind him, Bry holds out his hand to it. “Laurie… Now why’d you do that? We were talking about something that’s kind of important…”

Laurie pulls her hands behind her back and pouts. “Is it such a bad thing that I wanted to get you alone for once?”

Bry’s eyes trail across the floor. “…No. No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that...”

Laurie takes his right hand with her left. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have barged in, I guess. Forget about it, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is getting you into some clothes that don’t completely stink…” she says as she scrunches up her nose and begins to pull him towards the doorway.

They hold hands as they wait for the elevator down the hall from the training room. The elevator opens with a “ding” and Laurie pulls Bry inside. As the door closes behind them, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his head down to hers. She kisses him, sliding her tongue into his mouth. Bry’s right arm trembles behind him as he follows her lead.

The elevator door slides open. Bry’s eyes flutter open and he looks out into the main hall. Trickshot stands in front of them, arms crossed. He chuckles at them. “Don’cha think you’d be more comfortable in ‘yer room, kid?”

Bry’s mouth falls opens and stays there. Laurie giggles and grabs at the front of his shirt, pulling him along with her as she walks past Trickshot and walks towards the main staircase. The Irritating Archer smiles at them as they walk away, but soon his face goes serious…




Exile awakes to the sound of a gentle hammering on metal. Some snapping noises. A man clearing his throat… He opens his eyes, but everything seems so blurry… The room is filled with fuzzy blotches of grey and brown and red. Exile blinks his eyes. He tries to rub them, but his arms don’t move. The colours in the room begin to take shape, and recent memories rush to his head like water from open floodgates.

Iguana Lad’s legs hang out from inside of the control panel. Some random tools and multi-coloured wires lay sprawled out around him.

Exile pulls at his arms with all his strength. He looks down and sees they’re held to the vertical table he lies on with metal straps. A series of lights blink brighter and brighter the harder he pulls at it. They don’t budge.

“Kinetically charged restraints…” a throaty female voice informs him. Exile glances to his left, eyes met by her own. Dark, deep brown ones. So deep…

Exile pulls his head back, holding his eyes shut tightly. ‘What the hell was that!?’ he screams to himself in his head.

The woman slinks to his side, gently touching his forearm with her fingers, smiling wickedly up at him. Exile’s eyes are filled with surprise and anger. His teeth snap clenched.

“The more strength you use to break free, the more strength the restraints have to keep you where you are. There’s no escape…”

Exile throws his body at her. His arms go for her neck. But he doesn’t move… ‘It’s true’, he realizes… ‘These restraints are using all my power against me. I’m trapped.’

Exile sneers at her. He twists his hands around in their restraints so his palms are facing her. “Yeah, well no kinetic-whatever restraints can hold back this…”

That’s when Exile unleashes a force blast of inderdimensional energy at the woman’s face. Or at least tries to… The woman shakes her head at him as Exile stares down at his hands in shock.

“No, but all the drugs I’ve pumped into your system are probably keeping you from accessing those little powers of yours…”

Iguana Lad reaches out from inside the console, grasping onto the edges of the open panel. He pulls himself out from inside it, dusting his palms off on his pants. “Ahh. Almost done. I just need to get some more supplies from downstairs.”

The woman narrows her eyes as she looks at him. “Well, do hurry, will you? The longer we have him here, the more chance of… him… showing up.”

Iguana Lad nods. “Yeah. I’ll go get the equipment…”

His eyes trail across the floor as he turns toward the door. His whole body freezes up as he spots the silver card on the floor. A red “LL” logo stands out in the left corner. The words “Incoming Transmission” scroll on the tiny LED screen under it.

Iguana Lad curses at the ground. He lifts his right foot and stomps on the card until it’s in several pieces.

The woman looks down at the broken card in horror. “…what does this mean, exactly?”

Iguana Lad shakes his shaking head. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe nothing. He didn’t answer the ‘call’, so maybe nothing…”

“’Maybe nothing’!?” She shrieks. His eyes trail across the ground to avoid her stare. “’Maybe nothing’. That’s the best you have?”

Iguana Lad shrugs. “Well, it’s not my fault… Not really. I mean, I could have… I dunno, maybe I should have checked after you…”

The woman tightens her fists. A few knuckles crack. “Save it. We can’t turn back now. I hope nothing comes of this, for your sake.”

Exile tilts his head as much as he can to look toward Iguana Lad. “She’s a real bitch, ain’t she?”

The woman’s face tightens. “Start the process.”

Iguana Lad shivers.




As Laurie Leyton’s fingers slide across the sweat on the back of his neck, Bry Katz begins to breathe a little faster. The passion in the room is intense. Not intense enough for her, far too intense for him. She lets his sweat-stained t-shirt drop from the fingertips of her left hand and she pulls him closer to her by the waist. He takes her hands into his and steps backward.

“Laurie… I’m sorry.”

She looks into his eyes. “You don’t have to be, you know.”

He looks away. “I’m not ready for this. Especially not now. Life’s been hectic. I mean, all these changes to the team, and a new line-up coming up soon…”

She shoves him backwards and he lands back-first onto his bed. She crawls on top of him and holds her body tight to his as she starts to kiss his earlobe. He holds her by the shoulders, struggling with himself to push her away.

She stops and looks down at him, into his confused gold eyes. She smiles seductively at him. “You work too hard, Mr. Katz. You need to relax.” She slowly moves down his body, her fingers trailing softly behind her. Her fingers pull the strings of his shorts loose, and she starts to slowly pull them looser.

He lets out a quick, startled gasp before vanishing in a flash of gold light. Laurie looks up suddenly and fumbles forward onto the bed.

“Oh god, I’m sorry…” he says from across the room. She pushes her upper torso up with her elbows and her eyes roll up to see him near the door. He can feel the rejection in her eyes, and inside he hates himself for denying her. She smiles softly at him to mask her pain, knowing exactly how he feels.

She crawls up onto the bed and sits on with her legs to her side. She pulls her hair back and looks down at her skirt. “No, don’t feel bad. I’m sorry, I know how you feel about this. I just got antsy.”

He reaches into the drawer beside him and pulls out one of his black Goldeneyed uniforms. He puts it on in front of her as she watches him distantly. He drops his mask back into the drawer and looks down at her. She looks back up at him. The two are silent for ten of the longest seconds either has experienced.

He scratches at his shaggy hair nervously, and shifts his weight around between his feet. “I should go. See what’s going on today, maybe get something to eat…”

She closes her eyes and quickly nods her head. “Yeah, okay. Guess I’ll see you later…”

His eyes trail along the floor. “Yeah. Okay, seeya…”

He leaves the room, and Laurie’s eyes grow moist. She stares down at her stomach and holds her hands together behind her back as the tears tumble across her skirt.




Bry turns left at the end of the staircase and walks through a hallway adorned with picture after picture of Lair Legionnaires, past and present. His eyes pass over happy pictures of Jarvis and Lisa, Visionary and Cheryl, the original League of Regulars, framed newspaper clippings of the team’s earlier days, pictures of former team leaders with world political leaders and movie stars… He thinks he spots himself in a few of them, but doesn’t stop long enough to make sure.

He looks forward and looks down at the sparkling tile floor. His thoughts are filled with insecurities and regrets. He wonders what affect he’s made on the world. He asks himself if anyone will remember him after he retires or dies. He worries about Laurie. He can feel how distant their relationship has become, and he knows he’s to blame. It’s like a part of him is constantly pushing her aside. He wishes she didn’t intimidate him so much.

Bry turns in front of the back entrance and walks left into the kitchen. Ziles sits at the dining table with the morning edition of the Daily Trombone. She looks up at him and looks back down at the paper. Bry takes bottle of water from the fridge and sits a few chairs to her right.

“Even in all the time I’ve been here, I can’t quite understand this planet’s obsession over their self-made celebrities…”

Bry takes a drink from the bottle, glances at her, and puts it down. “Oh.”

Ziles drops the paper in front of him. “This.”

Bry searches the page. The “Heroes” section. A few short opinion editorials, a list of e-mails to the editor, a costume critique by some fashion guru of the week, and some Internet poll results.

“Y’know, I’ve never actually read this.” Bry says, scanning over the page with his gloved fingers.

“You should. It’s interesting to read about how they see us. You should definitely read the polls.”

Bry takes another sip from the bottle. “Let’s see… 77% think Fin Fang Foom should run for governor. 71% would like to see a new line-up within the month. 68% think ‘Goldenrod’ should get a new costume. …what’s wrong with my uniform?”

Ziles shakes her head and smiles. “If it weren’t all one colour and you didn’t wear a mask, it might be a uniform.”

Bry puts the bottle down and smirks back at her. “At least mine doesn’t have cleavage.”




The Legionnaire called Nats sits in the Monitor Room, leaning back in the big leather chair that sits in front of dozens of monitors, all with different images or newsfeeds. He sips a can of Root Beer as his gaze moves from one screen to another. He focuses on the Comm-Card monitor.

‘Only the six of us active today. And Ex hasn’t reported in since last night…’

Nats glides his finger over the touch pad and double-taps on Exile’s icon. The “Active” status on the screen changes to “Sending Transmission”. Nats leans back again and waits to see Exile’s face appear on the screen above it.

About four minutes have gone by when Nats starts to worry. Exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds later, Nats hits the “on” switch on the mansion’s announcement system. He holds the microphone on his headset to his mouth. “Uhhm, Finny? Could you come to the Monitor Room? Like, right now?”


Several minutes later, Fin Fang Foom marches into the Monitor room to find Nats staring at the Comm-Card monitor, fist held tightly to his mouth. His eyes look up at the dragon. “I think we may have a problem, Finny…”

Foom hunches down a bit to look down at the screen. Beside Exile’s icon the words “No Signal” flash in red letters.

“Hmm.” Says the dragon.




Every room in the mansion is filled with the long whine of the emergency alarm.

Bry stands to his feet suddenly, dropping the bottle from his right hand. It tumbles over, spilling the water across the table. The newspaper is soaked through in seconds, the words and pictures of the Heroes page blurring out of recognition as he helplessly watches. “Shoot.”

Ziles pulls her chair back and begins to walk towards the door. “It’s probably for the best.”

The two dash down the main hallway, the air filled only with the sounds of the alarm and their boots clomping against the linoleum floor. They stop at the elevator door behind the staircase to the second floor. They both put their eyes into the retina scan, and the door quickly spins open. Through the glass window inside the elevator, they can see the three other Legionnaires waiting for them in the War Room as they descend the three or so metres down to their level.

Fin Fang Foom crosses his arms, watching Ziles and Goldeneyed step out of the elevator. Trickshot stands to his left, spinning a boxing glove arrow in his left hand and cracking the knuckles of his right hand. Nats clears his throat and waits for Finny to speak. Behind them, the many vid-screens and control panels produce a soft, monotonous hum.

“Exile’s missing.”

Goldeneyed raises an eyebrow. “Missing?”

“Well, his comm-card is broken. We shot out his signal flare, too, but he hasn’t reported back or called or anything.” Nats interjects, leaning up against one of the tall metal chairs at the round meeting table.

“Yes.” Finny says, shifting his yellow eyes from one teammate to the next. “We’ve pinpointed where the card was when it went offline. It was somewhere in the vicinity of Monoghan Street, near the Rock Garden Park.”

Trickshot catches the spinning arrow in his left hand and places it back in its quiver. “Well, what’re we waitin’ for, then?”

Goldeneyed glances quickly at the dragon and back to Trickshot. “You’re coming? I mean, I thought you were on a leave…”

Trickshot gives G-Eyed a wily smile. “I was in the area and popped by to pick up some’a my things. Good timing, I guess.”

“So there are only four active members even here today?” Ziles asks the dragon.

“Hatman and Sorceress have the day off to work on the boarding house, CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s in Seattle for the week, the Dark Knight’s on a personal mission for the time being, and Donar… well, I don’t really know where Donar is right now, and I don’t think it’s a good time to be disturbing him.” the dragon replies with little emotion. “We’ll be taking Lairjet-3.”




Crackling electricity surges through Exile’s body. The pain is unbearable. He throws his head back to scream, but can’t find the breath to do even that through all the searing heat.

The woman turns the dial on her remote control, and the electricity stops. Exile’s head slumps down in front of him. The woman grabs hold of his hair and pulls his face up to meet hers. He glares at her through clouded eyes, his face twisted in an expression of anger and spite. She smiles at him. “If you’d just stop fighting, I wouldn’t have to do this to you. Let go. You don’t have to be in pain.”

Exile spits blood in her face. “I’ll… never stop… fighting…”

The woman’s face clenches up in anger as she wipes his blood from her cheek. “Your choice, peon. I’ve got more than enough time to teach you what real pain is all about.”

Exile smiles at her defiantly. “B-bitch …you’re schooling… no one…!”

She violently turns the dial, and several thousand volts of electricity blast up Exile’s spine. He laughs a little as it burns into him. He isn’t able to for long.

Iguana Lad sits across the room on a wooden chair, hands resting on his legs. He watches the floor intently, flinching each time a crackle of electricity sparks a little louder than the one before it. His hands tremble as the sound goes on. As the scent of burning flesh drifts to his nose, he clutches his head and screams “ENOUGH!”

The woman turns the dial off. “What. Is it!?”

Iguana Lad stands to his feet and tosses the chair behind him. “This is too much, damn it! You’re insane! He won’t suit your purposes if you kill him!!”

The woman’s eyes drift around the room, and she gently places the control on the steel table in front of her.

Iguana Lad watches Exile from a distance. He closes his eyes. His breathing is calm… His fists unclench and open, his fingers bent freely in their relaxed state.

He looks back at the woman. She’s sort of staring off into space.

Iguana Lad puts his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay… He’s alright. We all lose control sometimes…”

She jerks her torso in disgust, and his hand drops to his side. “It’s not that, you idiot. I hear something.”

He tilts his head a little. “Huh?”

“An engine. A jet engine.” Her eyes snap into cold determination. “They’re here.”




The street below Fin Fang Foom is calm. His eyes glaze around the surface, following gang colours and suspicious attire. “I don’t know”, he sighs, glancing at his team over his massive shoulder. “Things look normal down there. A superhero kidnapping would typically attract some attention.”

Nats fidgets in his leather seat, clicking his seatbelt buckle in and out. “Y’know, I’ve thought a little about this, and I’m wondering if we’re not wasting our time. I mean, it’s Exile. He probably just smashed his card and quit again. Hasn’t he done that, like, four times already?”

”Three.” Goldeneyed corrects him.

Nats throws his seatbelt away from his body and stomps to his feet. “Well, whatever, then! He can take care of himself, can’t he? We’re the only Legionnaires on duty, and we’re spending our morning looking for someone who’s made a habit of disappearing. What if something serious happens?”

“Then we’ll take care of it.” Finny interjects, turning to face the fiery-haired Bill Reed. “But we don’t leave a teammate behind. If there’s a chance Exile’s in trouble, we’re going to be there.”

Nats flops down into his seat. “Yeah, alright. But if this is all for nothing, I’m so gonna kick his ass.”

From the seat behind him, Trickshot chuckles. Nats twists his body around to see him. “What?”

”What’re you gonna do, kid? Hit him with your cane?” Trickshot replies with a smirk.

Nats scowls a little and holds his PsychoStave over his head. “Hey! Alien PsychoStave! Make Nats shoot fire and lift things with brain!”

Ziles rubs her head and groans. “Will you two please stop bickering for five minutes?”

Finny crosses his arms. “Nats. Why don’t you and Bry head down to street level and check out the buildings and alleys? If you don’t find anything in ten minutes, we’ll head home.”

The hatch buzzes open in the back of the jet. Nats gives a quick salute and flies out, flicking Trickshot in the side of the head as he soars past.

Goldeneyed stands to his feet and glances out the side window. He concentrates for a second on the rooftop of the closest building, catching the coordinates for a teleport.

Just as he’s about to make the ‘port, Fin Fang Foom cuts in. “You can take one of the LairPods if you want.” Goldeneyed glances toward the back of the jet, spotting a few silver machines that almost resemble Sea-Doos.

“These are new…” Goldeneyed starts, walking towards them. He runs his fingers along the chrome polish, eyeing up the controls.

“Jamie whipped us up some new ones last weekend.” Finny answers, taking his seat beside Ziles at the LairJet controls.

Goldeneyed smiles eagerly, climbing onto the LairPod. “I love my job”, he says, placing a hands-free communicator over his ear. The engine hums on, and he hovers out of the LairJet and down toward the block.

He quickly descends down past the rooftops of the streets, laughing as the air rushes across his body. He thinks about how much he loves that feeling, and how he envies Nats for his ability.

Goldeneyed’s vision darts from the windows to the street as the LairPod soars down the street. They find their way to a shattered window on the third floor of an apartment complex. He twists the handlebars a little, and the craft jaunts forward, gently slowing down a few feet away from the window. It stops, hovering in place, and Goldeneyed vanishes in a flash of light, immediately reappearing on the other side of the window.

The hardwood floor creaks under his feet as his weight presses on the floor for the first time. He notices something in his peripheral vision, and quickly turns to his right.

Exile is there, strapped to an upright table. His wrists are in thick metal shackles. His head is slumped forward, lifeless. His hair is smouldering.

Goldeneyed taps the pad on his communicator. “I found him. 233 Montgomery, third floor, broken window. Hurry!”

Goldeneyed rushes over to help his cousin, but is interrupted as the wall to his left begins to crumble. He freezes in surprise as a massive pair of metallic hands effortlessly push through the wall and lunge towards him. The ground underneath him begins to crack. All Goldeneyed can see is smooth metal as he falls back toward what used to be a brick wall. He tumbles violently through the air, surrounded by chunks of brick, wood, and metal debris. His instincts tell him to teleport, but he can’t get his bearings. He hits solid ground back-first, taking the wind out of him. He lets out a loud gasp, and the debris crashes down onto him.

Goldeneyed groans as he shoves a few hundred pounds of brick off of his chest. He clutches his temple in response to his new migraine, and slowly pulls his head back to see a 30-foot robot dinosaur stomp through the remains of 233 Montgomery Street, stretch its’ arms out, and let out an extremely loud metallic roar.

“Oh, shit.” Goldeneyed whispers back.


The LairJet rotates in the air as it lands roughly in a nearby intersection, between streams of people running frantically down the street. The three Legionnaires rush out, shoving their way through panicked citizens.

Trickshot gets an elbow in the jaw. “God, I love city living”, he sneers.

Ziles makes an effort to touch as many people as possible. They suddenly grow more relaxed, and peacefully run to safety. “You’ve just got to have the human touch”, she coos.

Fin Fang Foom roars above them, meeting Nats in mid-air. “We haven’t had a giant robot in months!” Nats beams.


The robot lifts its’ left foot and stomps swiftly on top of Goldeneyed. Or at least where Goldeneyed was. By the time the robot’s foot connects with the street, Goldeneyed is on its’ right shoulder, punching the metallic beast in the jaw. Its’ head twists a little from the impact. Goldeneyed shakes his hand in pain as the robot glares back at him, and within seconds, Goldeneyed is colliding with the street again.

Nats hovers down to the street as Goldeneyed pulls himself up. He shakes his head out. “It’s stronger than I thought”, he says, looking from Nats to the airborne Fin Fang Foom. “It didn’t impact like normal metal, either. It felt a little malleable.”

Fin Fang Foom thinks for a moment. “I’m going in. There may be some weak point inside. I’ll look around. Goldeneyed, take command.” With that, he morphs into a dragonfly and zips through the robot’s metal teeth.

Goldeneyed swallows. “Command?”

Nats lifts off. “Hey, you’ve got seniority”, he shrugs. He lifts his PsychoStave and shoots a pillar of fire at the robot’s face. The robot shrugs it off and casually bats Nats away with its’ hand.

Trickshot pulls three distruptor arrows from his quiver and fires them at the robot’s torso. It staggers from the electrical surge for a brief moment, then shoots a bolt of energy back at him from its’ mouth.

Goldeneyed tackles Trickshot and teleports them both away just as the bolt disintegrates the lamppost behind him and burns a three-foot-wide hole through Neon Charlie’s Pool Hall. Trickshot and Goldeneyed reappear a dozen or so feet away, completing the tackle.

“What, aren’t ya gonna buy me dinner first?” Trickshot asks from under Goldeneyed’s chest. He stammers and pulls himself up.

The two scatter as another energy bolts blows a four-foot hole into the pavement between them.

Goldeneyed stumbles, reeling from the impact. “This isn’t working. We need a plan!”

“Isn’t that your job?” Nats groans, limping back towards the battle.

Goldeneyed lowers his head in thought for a moment. The robot lunges forward, snapping its’ jaw at Ziles. She backflips onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding its’ teeth. Trickshot replies with another two disruptor arrows to the side of the robot’s head. It staggers to the right, slumps its’ shoulders, and roars back at him. Goldeneyed stares back into its’ red glowing eyes.

“Ziles, go see if you can’t find Exile in the rubble. Tricky, keep hitting him with those arrows. Nats, use--“

Suddenly, a few dozen ghostly samurai materialize around them, slashing their swords wildly. Goldeneyed quickly grabs his teammates’ shoulders, and they vanish in a flash of light.

The three reappear on the rooftop of Neon Charlie’s Pool Hall, watching the samurai clank swords together where their foes used to be. “Phantom Samurai!?” Goldeneyed thinks aloud. “This is starting to feel familiar.”

And with that, the robot charges towards them, tearing through Neon Charlie’s Pool Hall like paper. The robot stomps through the rubble, searching for its’ dead prey. “Hey, Barney!” Goldeneyed calls from behind it. The robot slowly turns to face him. It lets out angry metallic groans as its’ eyes burn brighter.

Goldeneyed stands firm. “Trickshot, how many disruptor arrows do you have left?”

Carl Bastion reaches back into his quiver. “Six.”

The robot begins to charge forward, roaring fiercely.

“Use them.”

Trickshot loads and releases the arrows all at once. They tear into the robot’s open jaw, sending sparks of electricity raining everywhere. The robot moans heavily, stammers, and collapses backward into an abandoned McDonald’s.

Trickshot smiles. “Two birds, one stone.”


The Phantom Samurai, now very aware of the heroes’ presence, begin to charge. Goldeneyed turns to Nats. “Can you use your telekinesis to, like, make a shield around your body?”

“I think so”, Nats wheezes. “I’ve never really tried that...”

As the Samurai envelop him, he mutters “no time like the present”, and gives it his best shot. The Samurai strike quickly, but find their translucent swords breaking against Nats’ body. Nats blinks heavily, smiles, and gets into his best Bruce Lee pose. “Hyeaaaaa!” he screams.


Ziles stands amongst the rubble of 233 Montgomery Street, holding her X-Ray goggles to her eyes. She catches a glimpse of a familiar skeletal structure buried six feet under bricks and mortar. “I found Exile!” she calls back to Goldeneyed.

Bry Katz dodges a sword or two, teleports behind his attackers and hops in the air, kicking them in their now-corporeal backs. “Is he breathing?”

Ziles zooms in closer. “Yeah, I see some movement.”

He ducks underneath a translucent fist, instinctively punching the Samurai in the bottom of the jaw. It sprawls back, fading away before it hits the ground. “Ziles, there’ll be a runty little guy with a stuffed tail around his waist somewhere nearby…”

Ziles pulls a grappling hook from her suit and fires it at a nearby rooftop. The energy-suction tip attaches to the corner of the rooftop. She glides up the wire with poetic ease, landing gently on the rooftop’s edge.

The Xynlonian slinks off to seek her target.


Nats punches a Samurai in upper torso, sending it backwards into a mailbox. “Collarbone Splitter!”
He then launches himself into the air, hitting three of them with his outstretched fist. “Shoooryuken!”
He lands on the ground and spins himself around a few inches above the air. He stretches his right leg out, kicking dozens of samurai on the face and sending them flying. “Tornado Whirlwind Kick!”

He touches ground, breathing heavily. His former foes have all evaporated. “Game over, dipshits. Nats wins.”

Goldeneyed smiles at Nats. “Not a bad way to spend a morning, huh?”

Bill Reed wipes some sweat from his forehead, laughing softly.


Trickshot stands victorious over the fallen robot’s head. He crouches down, sneering into its’ dim, lifeless eyes. He raps on the beast’s metal jaw with his bow. “Hey Foomy, you can come out now!”

Trickshot doesn’t notice its’ eyes flicker red. He does, however, notice the robot begin to stir. Trickshot slips off its’ slick body as it stands to its’ feet. “Guess I spoke to soon!” he says. He lands on his heels and falls flat on his rear.

The robot rises above him, grunting at him in anger. Trickshot stares back as he reaches to his quiver.
The robot begins to tense up. Trickshot pulls a grenade arrow out and begins to take aim…

Just as he prepares to release, the robot’s eyes go dead. The hulking dinosaur teeters forward, crashing down onto the pavement. The robot’s head lands mere feet in front of Trickshot as the tremor knocks him backward to the ground.

A tiny dragonfly zips out between the robot’s teeth, morphing into humanoid draconic form as his feet hit the ground. “That should do it”, he says matter-of-factly.


Nats and Goldeneyed find themselves back to back, surrounded by a newly materialized army of Phantom Samurai. The Samurai stand relaxed, eyeing up their enemies. Nats and Goldeneyed snap into fighting stances. The Samurai raise their swords and begin to attack.


A block or so away, Iguana Lad finds himself back against an alley wall, sweating profusely. His partner-and-crime has been missing since their building was torn to the ground. He glances around, praying to himself that he’s alone in the alley. He’s been left to face the Lair Legion alone, a fact that he’s just beginning to realize.

“Hello there”, a female voice calls from above.

Iguana Lad looks up, quivering. Ziles hangs upside down from a thin metal wire, staring back down at him.

She quickly grabs onto his neck. Iguana Lad begins to feel his anxiety fading. In seconds, he’s slumped against the wall, fast asleep.

Ziles wipes the relaxant cream from her fingers onto the villain’s shirt.


Goldeneyed and Nats wince as the Samurais’ swords plunge towards them. A split-second before impact, the phantoms fade away into nothingness. Goldeneyed blinks. The two collapse backwards against each other, landing back-to-back to the pavement on the empty street. “Nice timing, Ziles”, Nats sighs.


Fin Fang Foom glances around the area. “Three demolished buildings, but apparently no civilian casualities.” He shrugs. “Not bad.”

Ziles approaches the team, dragging Iguana Lad’s unconscious body behind her, wrapped in metal wire. “Here’s your friend, Goldeneyed.”

Trickshot stares at the villain’s plush tail. “He did all this!?”

Goldeneyed shakes his head. “I don’t think so… He’s got this weird mental control over the Samurai, that’s for sure. Visionary and I tussled with them a year or so back… But the robot and Exile? I’m not too sure about that…”

“Got any ideas?” Finny asks.

“Maybe”, Goldeneyed replies, holding his finger to his mouth. “Iguana Lad doesn’t have the guts for torture, really. And Derek looked in a bad way…”

Nats crosses his arms. “Yeah, speaking of which, shouldn’t somebody maybe dig him out of the rubble?”

Goldeneyed thinks for a second, and there is a quick flash of golden light. Exile appears, slumped in Bry Katz’ arms. He grunts in pain as his eyes flutter open. He softly smirks up at his cousin. “My… hero”, he gasps. And then Derek Foreman promptly passes out.

Fin Fang Foom taps his comm-card. “We’re gonna need a bed ready in the medical bay, Flapjack.” Nats telekinetically lifts Exile out of Goldeneyed’s arms. He takes off toward Lair Mansion, Exile hovering behind him.

Finny taps the card off and glances back at the robot’s body. His eyes narrow a bit.

“Is something wrong?” Ziles asks him.

“There was something very strange about that robot. The metal. It seemed… almost biological, actually. I mean, I’ve been inside robots before, and this wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen…”

Trickshot clears his throat. “Thanks fer the science lesson, Scales; it was highly educational. But can we puh-lease go back home already?”

The dragon grunts, and a puff of smoke comes from his nose. Ziles begins to reach for her relaxant.

Fin Fang Foom nods. “We’ve done enough for one morning.”

The triumphant heroes enter the LairJet. Its’ engines hum in unison, and it hovers into the sky, away from the mangled street. Goldeneyed stares out his side window as the jet flies towards Lair Island. He thinks about the mansion for a moment, and the people who call it home.

‘Home.’ He thinks to himself.

His eyes roll across the interior of the jet. Ziles sits at the front, piloting. Her expression is soft, yet serious. Fin Fang Foom occupies the seat to her right. He stares blankly forward in some meditative state. Trickshot lounges sloppily across a few seats, picking at his teeth with an arrow.

‘…and family.’

And for a brief moment, Bry Katz is content.



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