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killer shrike
Fri Mar 17, 2006 at 04:34:18 pm EST
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The Adventures of Alcheman #29 Part Three
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The Adventures of Alcheman #29, Part Three


“Seduction of the Innocent and Others”



Honor is a samurai’s most important possession, Toshiro Makazawai had been taught. Without it, he was suppsedly nothing.

The Brass Bushi knew that was a lie.

Samurais were warriors. And there was no honor in war. At least, if you expected to win. What mattered was the perception of honor.

For a ronin such as himself, the masterless swordsman could only expect to be hired if his clients believed he was a man of his convictions and code.

That he was an honorable man.

Unfortunately, Toshiro had lost his reputation in single combat to the person he now held in captivity: Chiaki Bushido. It had been shameful enough to lose, but to lose to a woman, who chose to spare his life, and refuse to allow him a chance to redeem himself through another duel; well, the situation was untenable. Any other samurai would have committed seppuku rather than face such shame.

But that wasn’t how the Brass Bushi operated.

As he strolled the paths that circled his dojo, brushing away the occasional cherry blossom petal that drifted onto his kimono, he mused at the elegant simplicity of his plan: force Chiaki into battle by threatening her own sense of honor. His scheme had even paid additional dividends, as it had given him the support of an ally that was willing to pay good money to anyone interested in besmirching the name of those who called themselves “hero.”

The Brass Bushi halted his tread and looked to the northern end of Spider Skull Island, at the grim, foreboding stonework of his neighbor’s fortress jutted from the cragged cliff’s side…..

“Not long now,” he mumbled happily.

Soon the name Brass Bushi would carry weight again.

*****



Jenni Wooster eyeballed the cotton-polyester blend tee shirt that was stretched over the traditional uniform of an agent of the world’s foremost terrorist group, “ HERPES: The Disease and the Cure,” she read the slogan emblazoned across it.

Different agents wore different shirts with different logos. Hail HERPES!, Kill All Heroes! (complete with caricature of a rampaging Drednot), Cannon Fodder and a Che Guevara inspired portrait of Count Wolfgang Fokker were four of the more clever, which spoke volumes. In addition to the shirts HERPES soldiers wore trucker hats, bandanas, sweat pants, and other accoutrements.

“You… want me… to model that stuff?” Jenni asked Greta Fokker somewhat incredulously.

“Jä, our market research indicates you vould appeal to the correct demographics our fashion line is attempting to cater to: girls 12-17 and men aged 18 to 34,” Madame HERPES stated.

“We also hope that you could use your influence to get your family’s store to carry our clothing,” Hans Fokker said, “An exclusive contract.”

“I don’t know…. This seems more like something you would buy at Hot Topic than at Wooster’s. Besides, my family doesn’t really run the company anymore, so we don’t get much say in what’s going on.”

“I’m sure you could persuade the board of directors if you were so inclined,” Greta said unctuously as she took one of the HERPES berets and fitted it atop Jenni’s head.

The young heiress chewed at her hair absently as she stared at her reflection in the empty silver fruit platter on the breakfast table. The hat did have a jaunty look, but still….

“Well, you’d have to change all the anti-hero slogans. I can’t model that stuff in, um, good conscience.”

“No!” Hans objected, “Ah, our researchers say that the message of our brand will sell very well with the rebellious and disaffected youth of your country. It is key to the indoctrination, ah, I mean… campaign.”

“Oh,” Jenni Wooster reluctantly took the beret off, “I guess that’s the deal breaker then. No way I can be associated with something that says bad things about superheroes.”

Madame HERPES shared a look with her brother.

“There is a vay,” she said to their captive with some menace, “Plan B.”

*****


Earlier, at an undisclosed location


“Awright, let me explain sumpthin’ to you snot-nosed, bright-eyed, wet-behind the ears dilettantes!” Trickshot the Marksman growled to the assembled Joy Corps. The archer had the team of outlaw heroes lined up in a row and he was pacing before them like a leopard on the prowl.

“He’s right about the wet part, but you don’t got any ears, HL,” Smooth Operator whispered to his teammate Holotheredia Lad.

“Shh,” the sea cucumber/human hybrid hissed, trying his best not to leak.

“No talking in the ranks!” the Legionnaire stormed down to where the two men stood for inspection, “If you want my help in this, we do it my way!! No making mistakes, no shilly-shallying, and no back talk!! Got it, lumpy?!”

“Sir, yes, sir!!”

“Good! Now, we’re about to go up against one of the most pernicious band of scumbags yer ever gonna face! This ain’t no cotillion we’re going to, ladies, so if any of youse wants ta back out, do so now so I don’t have ta waste my breath letting you know how things are done.”

Michael Wooster slowly raised his hand, “Er, Trickshot? While I’m sure we all appreciate the, ah, zeal you’re bringing to this endeavor, I wonder if perhaps you could curtail the, ahm, chauvinistic oratory?”

“What are you jawing about, Niles?!” Trickshot went to parlay with the Elemental Adventurer.

“Your use of ‘ladies’ as a form of derogatory address.”

The archer was not chastened in the slightest, “What’s that, Klinger? You want to wear a dress?! Well, that’ll certainly keep ya outta this man’s army. Go ahead, then, and slip into sumpthin’ frilly so you can stay home and keep the, uh, home fires burnin’ while those of us who got a pair go out and save the day and the girl!”

“A pair of what?” Brick House’s exquisite brow furrowed, “Who is this strange little man?”

Bendist broke ranks and confronted Trickshot, “I’ll tell you who; a pipsqueak of a superhero whose sole claim to fame is fighting with a weapon that might have been hot s*** at the Battle of Crecy, but is so useless now Geena Davis nearly qualified to compete with one in the Olympics.”

“I love Commander in Chief. Those powers suits she wears are boss,” Whitney Spheris added in non sequitur.

Before Trickshot had the opportunity to challenge Bendist’s assertion with a string of colorful rejoinders Alcheman intervened, “While I may not agree fully with Trickshot’s, ahm, linguistic tact, the fact is the Joy Corps needs him. He has the skills, the resources, and the contacts to help us rescue Misses Wooster and Bushido.”

Carl Bastion was secretly quite touched by the vote of confidence the Chemical Crimefighter had given him. Of course, there was no way he was going to show it, “Listen to Alchema’am here, Cueball,” he glared up at the bigger, balder Bendist, “Now that I’m on board, this jamboree is ready to join the big time.”

Michael Wooster shifted uncomfortably, “Yes, well. Have you been able to come up with a strategy to help us track down the kidnap victims?”

Never taking his eyes off of Bendist, the Annoying Archer grinned and nodded manically, “Oh yeah, I got a plan alright. Line up, kids, ‘cause we’re about to take a side trip to Manga Town!”

*****


The doors to the subterranean labs under Castle HERPES hissed open, allowing Hansel and Greta Fokker entry to the highly polished chrome and steel lab of the terrorist group’s premier torturer.

“Ah,” Dr. Mindwasher quickly dropped to one knee, “Milord, milady. You grace me with your presence.”

“Suppress the Old World theatrics, Mindwasher; we’re on a tight schedule,” Hansel groused.

The Aryan Afflicter of Agony rose. He was a well-muscled man, bare of chest and cranium with the exception of thick handle barred mustache. A flamboyant purple cloak was worn draped across his broad shoulders, “Of course. You have the subject?”

Madame HERPES rolled her eyes, “She’s coming. She had to stop and use the restroom.”

As if on cue the doors swished open again and a pair of agents frog marched in a very put out Jenni Wooster.

“These two wouldn’t even let me reapply my mascara,” she mewled in protest before being dumped unceremoniously in front of the Doctor.

Mindwasher chuckled ominously before cupping the ingénue’s chin and raising her eyes to meet his gaze, “Don’t worry, my dear, where you’re going you won’t need mascara.”

Jenni looked around, “Is it to the beach?” she asked deseperately, “Because my make up is water-proof. No smudges, streaks, or-“

“No it is not to the beach, you imbecile!” Hansel roared from behind her, “Haven’t you figured out yet we are about to forcibly indoctrinate you into joining our cause!”

Jenni Wooster, unsure of what the term meant, kept silent. Doctor Mindwasher, however, continued his throaty titter.

“Indeed you are, my dear. Behold, the Mindwasher 9000!”

With great pride the Teutonic Torture Master gestured to his greatest invention: a massive array of wires, dials, and jimjams set around an ergonomically designed recliner. After a dramatic pause Mindwasher began to exposit.

“After being subjected to the brain altering theta waves of the 9000, Fraulein Wooster will become HERPES’s most pliant slave. She will do anything we ask of her,” his eyes narrowed, “including shill our organization’s clothing line.”

“Yesssss,” Madame HERPES agreed sibilantly.

Jenni looked at the machine, then Mindwasher. Then she cocked her head, “Kind of like in The Muppet Movie, then?”

“Um. What?” the Doctor asked.

“Sure. Remember, when Kermit refused to endorse Doc Hopper’s chain of French fried frog legs, Hopper had Mel Brooks try to hypnotize him with a machine to change his mind. Your machine is bigger, though. And shinier.”

Hansel Fokker’s handsome features darkened considerably. He glared at Mindwasher, “You’re. Stealing. Plots. From. A. Puppet. Show?!”

“Muppets, not puppets,” Jenni said graciously.

Dr. Mindwasher removed his monocle and began to polish it against his cloak, “I assure you, mein Fuehrer, I had no idea-“

“Silence!!!!” Hansel look to the agents in the room, “Strap her in to that damn chair!” then he pointed to Mindwasher, “You! You make this work! I’ve wasted enough time with this crap!”

“Yes, mein Fuehrer,” as the HERPES soldiers struggled to put Jenni into the Mindwasher 9000, its inventor began hurriedly pushing buttons and pulling levers to prime it.

Hansel Fokker patted the energy Luger he wore as a sidearm, “My sister and I have an appointment to watch Makazawai slaughter that other woman we broke from prison. When we return, your damned machine better have done the job, Doctor, or I’m putting you in it!”

“Just like in the movie!” Jenni observed as the buckles were fastened around her lithe frame.

The co-head of HERPES turned a deep shade of purple, said something untranslatable in his native tongue, and stormed out, his nervous sister tailing behind.

Jenni looked at the crowd of technicians, soldiers, and torturers that scurried about the lab to make their master’s wish a reality, “This is probably a bad time to say this, but I really have to go to the bathroom again.”

Next: The Joy Corps versus ninjas. Alcheman versus Akiko Masamune. The Psychic Samurai versus the Brass Bushi. Trickshot versus Dr. Mindwasher. And a bunch of other versuses I haven’t thought up yet. The Adventures of Alcheman #30, “The Big Bad Battle Issue,” out soon.











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