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Subject: "Hazardous Chemicals", a Saving the Future Tie-In |
Note: This story is a continuation of one of Visionary’s story snippets, specifically this one. But you should probably start here for a better grasp of things. Or maybe even here. All over the world, the villains were winning. The sudden absence of the Lair Legion had given seemingly every costumed malefactor and n’er-do-well the courage to come out of hiding and attack the people and institutions that held society together, especially those sworn to uphold the public good. The Age of Heroes was over, some villains boasted. As if such a thing were possible. Velcro Vixen stifled a cough and waved away the dust flung into the air caused when Clonar had dropped a wall on their former teammate, “The worst thing about putting up with her act all that time was that it wasn’t even funny,” was the termagant’s final observation on Mary Prankster, “Grit, shift through the debris and look for the body. If the clown’s still breathing yank her out and give her to Appendage Man.” “Funny fun fun fun!,” the multi-limbed nightmare chanted in expectation of the opportunity to play. But before the Granulated Man could follow through on the field leader of the Purveyors of Peril’s order a shadow fell across him and the other criminals. There was the sound of onrushing air and then Grit was swallowed up by the open end of a cement mixer. The sound of several tons of steel colliding with blacktop reverberated through the alley. “What the #$%^?!” Velcro Vixen scanned the sky visible in the narrow alleyway, “Clonar, get him out of there!” The Ausgardian Abomination complied, tossing aside the concrete filled receptacle with ease. But the damage had been done: “I’m stuck!” Brick Basalt slurred through the slurry that still clung to him. “Quiet! Appendage Man, stretch up to the roofs and see if our attacker’s still there. Razor Ballerina, Clonar, stay alert. We need to – Razor!” The exquisitely made-up terpsichorean stopped had finally stopped humming the overture from La Sylphide and was swaying with a startling lack of grace. Her head then lolled back and then she collapsed. A battered and burned figure in blue spandex materialized to catch her fall. Vicki Vee smiled. “Alcheman. Thanks for saving us the trouble of hunting you down. Not that it would have been too hard, Michael,” Velcro Vixen smarmed as she withdrew a rebreather from one of her belt pouches. Michael Wooster blinked in surprise upon discovery that yet another supervillainess knew his secret identity, but still had enough awareness to tap the chemical symbols on his bicep as Appendage Man fell on him. Three times for hydrogen, once of oxygen, and once for chlorine. The criminal screeched as his limbs burned in contact with Alcheman’s hydrochloric acid state. “Watch the hands, please,” Michael said flatly over the monster’s pitiful keening. Velcro Vixen stepped away from the hero even as he did press the tattoos to revert to his normal flesh and blood state, “You’re not going to be able to gas or burn Clonar, hero. He’s as tough as the real thing. Clonar, kill him!!” “Killeth!!!!” the grotesque mish-mash of god and metal strode forward, his war hammer high above his head, ready to crush Alcheman’s skull. Michael hit the tattoos that would allow him to assume the properties of solid rocket fuel and then initiated the chemical process that would allow him to release the substance’s potential energy. With a thunderous boom he launched to the skies, taking Clonar with him. The near mindless Purveyor roared and attempted to club his abductor, but Alcheman had the brute by his leg and was dragging him ass over tea kettle high above the city, through the clouds to a point where air was thin and gravity was weak. The Chemical Crimefighter slowed the reaction that caused thousands of pounds of thrust and thousands of joules of heat to blast into Clonar’s face until the two were flying by inertia alone. When they reached their apogee Alcheman waited for Clonar to grab him and pressed another symbol. Polonium. “KilAAAAAIIIIIGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” Clonar screamed as his body was bombarded by an incredible surge of alpha waves. The cyborg’s skin reddened and boils and sores began to form across it. “You’re my message,” Michael said as they fell, fairly certain the villain could not understand. It didn’t matter. The condition of the creature would get the point across to those who needed to be told. He assumed human form once the city became visible and pushed Clonar away so that his trajectory would send crashing in Paradopolis Bay. Then he assumed the properties of water vapor and floated back to where what was left of the Purveyors of Peril and their victim waited. Grit was still there, an immobile memorial of defeat, but the others were gone, replaced by a small crowd of rubberneckers. Alcheman began digging through the rubble. “Please! I need help! There may be someone alive under here!” he shouted, not bothering to look over his shoulder. There was a blur in front of his eyes as a loop of wire passed his vision. The Elemental Adventurer had just enough time to put his wrist in-between his neck and Velcro Vixen’s garrote before she could pull it taut. “You’re not the only one who can set up an ambush, Mister Wooster,” the former fetishwear model said. She drove one knee into his back while using her other leg to keep Michael’s arm pinned to the ground so he could not reach one of the tattoos of the periodic table that ringed his biceps. She kept pulling back on the garrote, drawing blood, “Remember what I told you? Your day is done, hero. You should just lie back and accept it.” Michael had done that once; never again. He tried to focus past the pain of his wounded wrist and figure out some way out of Vixen’s hold, but none of the moves his high school wrestling coach had taught him were effective counters against what the woman had picked up in what was no doubt a lifetime of sordid close-quartered grappling. He readied himself for one desperate, adrenaline fueled push… There was a thudding sound, and the garrote went slack. Velcro Vixen’s slumped forward, unconscious. Alcheman pushed her off and looked back to see who had saved him. A slim young woman, battered, bruised, and covered with the red flakes of crushed brick, stood there, “This is why I always carry a rubber chicken stuffed with bicycle chains. You never know when you’re gonna need one.” “Er, yes,” Alcheman agreed, noting her outfit’s odd combination of stars, stripes, and greasepaint with some curiosity. The woman dropped the reinforced poultry and got down on her hands and knees to shout at the unconscious super-villainess. “Howabout that, Vickster?! That funny enough for ya?” Mary Prankster asked in a dangerous octave. Velcro Vixen groaned and rolled slowly from the source of the scream. Alcheman pressed several of his tattoos and then kneeled down next to her. Tilting the woman’s head up, he covered her mouth with his own for a very long, very moist, kiss. “Uh, whoah. You probably don’t want to do that, Doctor Alchemy. No telling where she’s been. Of course, your powers let you be your own source of penicillin, so maybe-“ “I’ve assumed the properties of sodium thiopental: truth serum,” Alcheman said sheepishly when he had pulled away from Velcro Vixen, “I am merely, ahm, introducing it to her system.” “Truth serum, eh?” the incognito super criminal chuckled nervously, “That stuff really work?” “We’re about to find out,” Michael noted as Vixen’s eyes fluttered open. He had quite a few questions for the woman, and was dead set on getting answers. |
Wed Jun 04, 2008 at 08:57:05 pm EDT |
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