Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Fri Nov 24, 2006 at 03:10:52 am EST
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Bad Genes, Part Three
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Bad Genes, Part Three



“Birdie,” Baby Oppenheimer cooed, proudly displaying the vivisected Emperor penguin for Masterstroke. The still-twitching creature was laid out on a miniature operating table that was part of the treaded chassis the young genius traveled in.

“That’s…. great, Opie,” the costumed mercenary acknowledged, “Now, how about those coordinates?”

From the multitude of limbs that waved around Baby Oppenheimer’s “carriage” a set of waldoes snapped up the animal carcass and skipped it across the permafrost terrain. The child then slammed his pudgy fingers on several buttons on the console that ringed his command chair. In moments a laser from the machine pointed out a spot not far from where Masterstroke’s party stood.

“How far down in the ice?”

“Oooonnnee, Twwoooo, Ohhhh, Ohhh,” the Terrible Infant sing-songed a reply through his transport’s intercom.

“About a quarter mile then,” Masterstroke, huddled in his parka, turned to the man who could survive the frigid Antarctic temperatures in only red and gold spandex, “You can handle that?”

Conflagro grinned and willed a nimbus of flame around his arms, “Easy as Parcheesi, boss.”

Cole Hauer winced behind his skull mask, “Good. Start tunneling. But be careful when you near the target. Intel says this guy was nuts before being buried underground for ten thousand years.”

Concentrating on the spot Baby Oppenheimer marked, the Peruvian Pyrokinetic caused a section of the ice shelf to melt away to vapor. Conflagro sped up the thaw by blasting down the hole. A huge geyser of steam shot up from the round, saturating Masterstroke and his heavy winter gear.

“Teapot!” Baby Oppenheimer enthused when he heard an accompanying whistle to the haze.

But Masterstroke knew what was happening, and how much danger they were in, “Move back!” he shouted to Conflagro as he broke and ran for their nearby transport.

The trill increased in volume and timbre. Fissures in the ground spread from the hole, a widening gyre of splintered ice.

Conflagro ceased tunneling and clutched the sides of his head. He staggered as the earth buckled beneath him, falling into the vast crevasse formed by the high-pitched shriek.

“Uh oh!” Baby Oppenheimer simpered before activating his hover jets.

From below the shrill sound was replaced by an explosion. Gouts of superheated plasma tore through the ice, melting it, creating a smooth basin where at the bottom the villains’ objective stood revealed.

Eight feet tall and half as broad, the creature was covered in a layer of fine orange hair. It was naked except for the piles of chain that shackled him, and the muzzle that was bolted to the monster’s face. When Masterstroke peered over the side of the valley its button-like eyes registered him almost immediately. Ignoring the pinning, the beast stretched back its lips and hissed, and the shrill whine filled the air once again.

“Hit him with the rockets, Opie,” the mercenary ordered.

Baby Oppenheimer fired a barrage of missiles from his carriage. They slammed into their target, coating it with a silver dust. A preternatural quiet filled the hole.

“Yay me!” the Terrible Infant enthused, pleased that his vibratum powder attack did its job, “Cookie?” he requested to Masterstroke through his intercom.

“Later, kid,” the cyclopean soldier promised before silently slipping down the basin so he could confront the creature that had atomized Conflagro with just a whistle.

Masterstroke reached the floor and withdrew a tablet of paper that carried the message Factor X wanted to convey to the monster, in a language it would understand:

We have the key to your chains and the tongue the Austernals carved from your head before burying you here. We can give you both, in exchange for your help. What do you say, Bombaast?

Bombaast, the Living Outburst, scanned the Austernalian script warily. Then, despite the heavy clamps burrowed into his face, he smiled.

*****


Katarina Allen slid the knee-high boot up her leg, then stood and took a few practice steps.

“OK, these are going to take some getting used to,” she stated to the woman sitting on the edge of her bed, “Why couldn’t Supergirl wear flats? I mean, who is she trying to impress with these heels?”

April Alice Apple chuckled, “Well, Kara can fly. She doesn’t have to worry about the effects of gravity.”

“Lucky her,” the petite blonde muttered.

“Your cape,” April rose and pinned the red accoutrement to her friend’s leotard.

“Thanks,” Kat peeked over her shoulder to get a look at how the mantle set, “I don’t know… I want it to be removable, for dancing-“

“Slow dancing or fast dancing?” the zaftig bride-to-be asked, “because I can see keeping the cape on for slow stuff. But yeah, you probably want to ditch it for a full-on frug, otherwise you risk stirring up memories of Adam West spastically performing the Batusi, which, campy fun it may have been, doesn’t really seem to fit with your archetype as moral compass slash supportive caregiver. Of course, far be it from me to make statements that pigeonhole a person into stereotypical characterizations, since I’m of the opinion if a person wants to cut loose and let their freak flag fly, the rest of us should keep any judgmental, condescending, preconceived notions to ourselves.”

Kat smiled, “It’s hard to understand what Dream sees in you,” she tugged on the cape experimentally, “I’ll stitch on some Velcro. Otherwise, I think I’m ready.”

“I wish I was,” April flopped down on the bed and sighed, “I still have about a billion and one things to do for the wedding. It’s crazy what I have to deal with, though, given the fact I’m marrying the Champion of Chaos, I suppose that’s not much of surprise. You need to be Sun Tzu just to come up with an amicable seating chart for the reception. And don’t get me started on the RSVPs from the future.”

“Wang the Conqueror is coming?”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of round robin,” April quipped.

Kat sat next to her and began pulling off her boots, “Heh. Is there anything I can to help you with the wedding?”

“Want to take Pelopia and PAPG! off my hands for a fortnight? Or forty fortnights?” April asked hopefully.

“Er, just how long is a fortnight, exactly?”

“Don’t worry, Kat. Dealing with those two isn’t a job for Supergirl. Just for me,” the young woman reluctantly rose and headed for the door, “Thanks for letting me vent, though.”

It would not take Katarina Allen long to sew the Velcro patches on to the hem of the cape and the back of her leotard. Putting both on the costume once again, the young woman surreptitiously padded down the hall to get a full view of her work in the Lair Legion’s bathroom’s mirrors.

“Not bad,” she told herself after a few turns, “Not bad at all.”

There was a banging sound coming from the pipes under the sink. The entire appliance shook violently for several moments. Once it stopped Kat leaned over the sink in an attempt to diagnose the cause of the clamor.

That’s when the Sea Monkeys shot her with their net cannons.

To Be Continued

The Return of the Footnote:

Factor X, (Dr. Gregor Vassilych) the greatest foe Mr. Epitome never faced, former Soviet spymaster used his KGB connections to build himself a profitable practice as a middle-man between different criminal groups. If someone needs an army of cyborg mutants, Factor X would be the man to go to. If a cyborg mutant is looking for work, Factor X would be the man to call. Vassilych is suave, brilliant, and ruthless, so of course he looks like Vincent Price. X’s key advisor is a powerful telepath known as The Mind’s Eye (Nadezhda "Nadya" Prokofiev).

Masterstroke: showed up in A Fractured Fairy Tale as the first recruit to Factor X’s supervillain society. Cole Hauer is a kineseopath, able to read and mimic body language. In addition, the mercenary has undergone treatments to enhance his physical abilities, a fine tactical mind, and an arsenal of high tech weapons at his disposal.

Baby Oppenheimer: is Luthor level scientific genius with the id and body of a eleven month old child. His background is unknown as of yet, but was rescued from a Hungarian research installation by Factor X and put to work.

Bombaast, the Living Outburst: is another new character. A very old enemy of the Austernals who was captured, mutilated, and buried alive for ten millennia after attempting to destroy the god-like race. Bombaast is gifted with vast strength and is nearly indestructible, and possesses a voice that gives him a variety of destructive powers.

Sea Monkeys: Are a race of anthropomorphic brine shrimp (I think, though given the Parodyverse’s nature, I’m guessing their true origin is tied up with the Deviates or something) whose kingdom sits under the Sargasso Sea. Former Legionnaire Banjooooo! is their monarch. Currently unaccounted for Princess Uuuuukulele! wants to usurp him. Why the Sea Monkeys are after Kat Allen is unknown at this time, though this may have something to do with it.


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