Posted by Fin Fang Foom apologizes, as humor isn't his genre, and he was exhausted/getting ready for vacation when he wrote it on July 23, 2001 at 17:50:19:
Evil Monkey Special
Suburban Warfare
Flawless blue skies draped over Parodiopolis, just as the sun rose. In the rolling, residential hills to the west of the city, birds awoke and garage doors hummed open. They could barely be heard over summer sounds:: bicycle bells, the laughter of children, and the fast-pitched grind of skateboards and rollerblades on concrete.
Automatic sprinkler systems popped out of the ground, and went to work on perfectly-kept lawns, hedges, and trees, all in fairly-large yards. Warm air drifted in from the coast; it was already sixty-five degrees farenheit. Traffic, as ever, was hopelessly clogged--it was the white-collar employees (going to work) versus the teenagers (going to the local mall).
A chorus of honking horns sounded off in the distance, but it didn't disturb Alex Tandell: he used to live in LA, just along the coastal interstate. He'd never pictured himself living in Parodiopolis, let alone the suburbs of it. But when Bautista Enterprises had sparked an influx of West Coast computer talent, he found compelled to come along for the ride. Now, at the age of 27, he was actually married--married!--with one little girl, and another on the way. He still didn't look much like a traditional family man: short but spiky blonde hair, and a goatee.
This area of east coast was quickly becoming like California: the cities were growing into each other, creating one giant mix of cities and suburbs. Alex liked that.
As he did every day, he went down his twenty-foot-long front walk, and picked up the newspaper. While some fathers did that in their bathrobes, he preferred knee-long khaki shorts, and his "Bautista Enterprises: Ride the Wave of the Future" grey t-shirt. And, when he remembered, sandals.
Today, he'd forgotten. But it was his day off, so he could be barefoot as long as he wanted. As he turned to go back inside, he saw his new neighbor getting his own paper. So far, Alex hadn't gotten that warm of a reception to the neighborhood: "his kind", i.e., those who didn't look and dress like it was the 1950's, tended to be looked down on.
So, he was surprised when the man in the scarlet, black-flecked bathrobe waved to him. At least, he thought it was a man--whoever it was, they had long blonde hair. Both approached the hedge that separated their yards, and he saw that it was a kid, probably about nineteen. He had a puffy black scarf sticking out of the neckline of his robe, and a giant, old-fashioned pipe was hanging out of his mouth. He was wearing jeans underneath. It looked like the kid had raided the wardrobe of a super-old PBS "Masterpiece Theatre" announcer...
"Guv'nor! 'ello there, wot's the good word, eh wot?" It was the fakest British accent that Alex had ever heard.
"Um, hi...I'm Alex Tandell."
"M'name's Willington Pritchett III, but me mates call me Will."
Alex tried to think of something to say, other than "So, did you kill the real estate agent and move in?", or "How long has it been since you were released from the asylum?"
Will just stood there with a giant grin on his face, bubbles coming out of his pipe.
In an attempt to avoid laughing, Alex asked the first question that popped into his head. "So, who do you work for?"
"Little bit a'everyone. I telecommute, I do. Consult on this and that."
"That's, that's cool." Alex was briefly distracted by voices that sounded like they were coming from a faint loudspeaker--they definitely had an electronic quality to them. "Do you hear that?"
"Prob'ly just pranksters again. The li'l scamps're everywhere, they are!"
A cloud of smoke puffed up from behind Will's house, and the melting, metallic roof of what had once been his shed landed just a few feet away from him.
He forced laughter. "Haha, those wacky American youngsters! I'd best chase them off and drag them back to their parents, eh?" He pulled a high-tech, single-barrel shotgun out from underneath his robe, cocked it, nodded goodbye, and ran off screaming about robots.
Alex had liked it better when he was the weird new guy on the block...after running inside, he announced that he'd be going to work today, after all...
-----------------------------
"Sir, it's happening again."
The synthesized voice echoed across immaculate white carpeting, eventually reaching the dim grey leather sofa and chair that were right in front of the bookcase. A soulful combination of jazz and grunge played softly in the background; while the occupant of the chair sipped brandy and politely nibbled on elegant pastries. He was clearly ignoring the voice.
Despite the early hour, he was well-dressed. A double-breasted black suit, white shirt, and black tie adorned his person. He removed a small pocketwatch, glanced at it, and then put it back.
Evil Monkey sighed. "Never, NEVER, before nine o'clock."
"Sir, please," Webmonkey pleaded. "It's the robots."
If Webmonkey had inhabited a body, instead of the house's computer system, Evil Monkey would have forcibly reminded him who was in charge. But as it was, he was hiding in Evil Monkey's own resources, which would be needed in his continuing mission to take over the world. So harming them was out of the question. He'd built it all himself, and while he could do it again, he had to focus his energies elsewhere.
Webmonkey continued. "Young Randall is dealing with them as best he can, but they brought along gel rifles..."
"Tell him to come back here. No use in an unplanned, unnecessary confrontation. And, was he still playing the role of Willington?"
"Will do, sir. And yes, he was. That should belay any suspicion that a monkey owns the house."
Evil Monkey literally hopped out of the chair, and began his usual pacing. His hands were folded behind his back, while his tail scratched his forehead questioningly. Despite the bright, open quality of the room, he couldn't escape the fact that he was hiding. He was actually in the sub-basement of the home he'd bought only a few weeks ago. He wouldn't be hiding forever, though. Someday, the humans would hide from him. It would only be a matter of time before he completely dominated the supposedly-advanced species.
He looked like your average talking monkey: light brown fur, about a foot and a half tall. No-one knew anything of his past, and he enjoyed the mystery and rumors surrounding him. The media was obviously trying to cover up the threat of his mere existence, as they never talked about him. Sure, on a slow news day, they'd speculate on his connections to a certain political monkey, and to an alleged man-monkey on the other side of the Pacific. And there was supposedly a hidden kingdom of them, somewhere.
"Webmonkey, I'd like some updates."
The large terminal near the fireplace spoke. "Yes, sir. Your plasma experiment in test-chamber four continues to progress. The security system isn't picking up any robots, or any other possible threats on the block. I've placed an order for a new shed. Calls to the police--about the explosion--have been rerouted, and I think I did a pretty good impression of a bored 911 operator."
"Very good," Evil Monkey said. "Bring up the Zoom-Monkeys."
"Of course, sir." A picture flashed on the computer screen--it showed a group of monkeys who were almost glowing yellow, but they were all passed out on the floor of a windowless room.
"They're still tired after last night's chemical factory raid?"
"Chemical factory, sir?"
"...the pre-packaged snacks bakery."
"Yes, but they managed to retrieve the extra-large mixer, as well as a delivery truck."
"Excellent, just what I need. I'm going down to the garage, to look over what our winnings. Get the Zoom-Monkeys ready, we'll need them shortly."
"Yes, sir. And the robots? Perhaps...we should move elsewhere? I could easily--"
"NO!" Evil Monkey calmed himself. "I'm not running away from this. They think they're the future replacement of humanity, while monkeys obviously are. They're just mad that we raided the chemical factory before they could. But if they want to fight over who has the right to take over the world, that's fine by me. Art's already hit them, they just don't know it yet. And it'll hurt more than any explosion."
-----------------------------
"You're standing on my face! Off! Off!"
There were times that Art wondered how he got into these things. As he ran around a bedroom filled with pink and white lace, trying to put his clothes on, he seriously questioned his judgment. He'd been awake for all of five seconds, only being woken up by someone pounding on the door.
The girl he was with wasn't naked, in the traditional sense--that is, no skin was showing. But that was because she was still in the process of putting it on. She was one of the robots who'd recently moved in, just down the block from Evil Monkey. Unlike her silvery parents, she was tinted a very dim, buffed-out grey.
He finally noticed that his toes had gotten stuck in the eyeholes of her "human mask", and kicked himself free. She picked it up, and it flopped loosely in her hand--it was made of a flimsy material, not unlike rubber gloves.
Fists that presumably belonged to her father continued pounding on the door. "Misty!! Hurry up!! The dinner is only in a few hours, and that stupid monkey beat us to the ingredient mixer! Your mother needs you to help her find a caterer!"
"Be right there, daddy!" she lied. If her father saw her without her skin on, she'd be in serious trouble. They were trying to fit in as much as they could.
Momentarily swallowing his ego, Art ran Misty's feminine-looking brush through his reddish-brown hair. She was still struggling to get her arm-skin on. He did a visual check of himself, making sure he had everything. He was in a black shirt and cargo pants, as he'd been dressed for nighttime maneuvers. "Uh, have you seen my other sock?"
"It landed on top of the mirror," she mumbled through a mouthful of t-shirt, as she tried to get it over her head.
"Gotcha," he sighed. While he put it on, he glanced at the open window: fresh air was making the curtains billow. When he took a step towards it, to consider his upcoming escape, an explosive shell punctured her wind-chimes.
Her mother's voice could be heard outside. It was the tone of voice she reserved for Mindy's younger brothers. "What did I tell you about blowing stuff up without asking us first!?!? What!?!? What did I tell you?? Now you've got that monkey's friend shooting at us!!!"
He could see Randy outside, armed with one of their standard-issue, single-barrel electronic shotguns. It was mostly pressure-powered, so it made very little noise. Some robots (with skin-suits) were shooting at him, it looked like gel-rifle fire. He reached for his keychain and activated a digital signal, to warn Randy that a "Friendly" was in the bedroom. That sort of thing kept him from getting his head blown off, be it by a friend or by Evil Monkey's security system.
Misty was fully dressed now: she'd gotten a white tanktop and denim cut-offs on, not to mention all of her skin. Her long, curly black hair framed her face, and she smiled at Art. "You'd better go...my dad won't be too happy if he sees that I have a monkey in here, even if his brain is in a human body..."
"Uh, yeah..." Art loved teenage rebellion. Misty's parents warred against monkeys, so of course she'd fall for one. Of course, he'd never actually been a monkey, but when a beautiful girl thought he was, and wanted him because of it, he wasn't going to tell her anything that might screw it up. Besides, Evil Monkey had asked him to infiltrate their household, and this was his personal favorite way of doing it. He'd found out quite a bit of information about her family and their activities. Where she'd gotten the idea that he was a monkey, he had no idea.
She pressed into him and gave him a kiss. "They just don't understand...they're so locked into the monkey vs. robot thing! It's just like Romeo and Juliet, we'll show them how things can be different!"
"Of course...um, someday..." He didn't much like the idea of having her entire family gunning for him. And he remembered how that play ended. "We better just, y'know, get used to each other and stuff before we tell them..."
Her father had started pounding again. Books were falling off their shelves by the window, thanks to stray blasts hitting the wall outside. She wasn't letting go. "No...now..."
She was hot. Evil Monkey would pay him a lot for the information. But was she worth getting shot over?
They kissed again. He tried to pull away and head for the window, but it wasn't working. He could hear her younger brothers trading verbal slams with Randy, between bouts of gunfire. During a pause, she whispered in his ear. "I want them to know. I'm tired of hiding! I want to...to shock them! To show them that their little girl is all grown up, so they'll stop treating me like a kid!"
"Um, if they've taken a look at you lately, I'm sure they know you've, um, matured into a young woman...best of all, that way involves a lot less potential death and dismemberment for me..."
Laughing, she dug her fingernails into his back and kissed him more. The priority of getting out of the danger zone faded from his mind.
Her father kicked the door open, and she chose that exact moment to jump in his arms and happily cry "Yes, of course we can move in together! I thought you'd never ask!"
Art briefly considered telling her father that she'd made that up on the spot; and that last night was her idea, both of which were true. But he seemed to be in the Daddy's Little Girl Can Do No Wrong mindset, and Art didn't see anything changing that. Thankfully, her father's brain had a temporary overload, giving Art time to toss her on the bed, dive out the window, roll down the roofing, and land in the bushes.
Randy was ducking behind the robots' trampoline, and clear, oozing liquid was raining down from afar. "Geez, man, it's about time! They blew up the shed!" He'd ditched his "old British secret identity dude" robe and pipe back in Evil Monkey's yard, and was now wearing the blue jeans and white t-shirt that had been underneath.
Art pulled out a small blaster pistol, it was shaped like a triangle--the flat part was the handle, while the point had a small barrel on it. "Sorry, but she distracted me...she's on that 'good girl being bad' kick! Only I take the fall for it, while she's the one starting it...her parents will still treat her like a princess, but they'll put a hit out on me..."
"Whine, whine, whine. Shoot it or shut it, wuss!"
Pulling the trigger, Art fired a blast of white-blue energy towards the arcing gel. It froze the blobs in mid-air, and they fell to the ground, shattering. "Let's go!"
They both took off, running for Evil Monkey's yard. After clearing a fence, more gel-shots rained down around them, while they were in the midst of a stranger's backyard. They hid behind a tree, and then started for a near-solid hedge, which they hastily crawled over.
Art couldn't believe it. Why was he doing this? A year ago, if someone had asked him if he'd ever buy into one of Randy's schemes, he'd have laughed in their face. A perpetual slacker, Randy had been a pizza delivery boy for as long as he could drive. They were best friends. But Randy always had some get-rich-quick scam in the works. The most recent one had sounded crazy--doing odd jobs for a wealthy weirdo--but when Art saw the money, he'd agreed to it. When Art saw the monkey , he seriously reconsidered his sanity. Most people their age were in college, while he was being shot at by robots.
A guard-dog poodle was yapping at them. It chased them as they ran through a sprinkler, past some sunbathing women, and finally stopped when some gel hit it. By itself, the substance was heavy and wet. But if it touched anything, it would adhere instantly. The dog found out the hard way when it rolled on the grass, trying to get the stuff off. Now, its legs were sticking up in the air, and it was trapped on its back.
They screamed at Evil Monkey's tall, wooden fence, activating the voice-identification system. A seemingly-solid portion of the fence swung open for them, and they ran through. It closed shut behind them.
They collapsed in the charred area that had once been a shed. Art was getting paid to do THIS?
"Ewww, man..." Randy had been hit by a gel-rifle shot, it was making his leg stick to the ground.
"Hold still..." Art shot the gel with his ice-gun, until it was brittle enough for Randy to chip off with an ash-coated hammer, one of many tools lying on the ground.
Knowing that he only had a few seconds to relax before Evil Monkey yelled at them, Art laid on his back and stared up at the sky. Was it worth it? If Evil Monkey did conquer the world, he'd promised that Art would be given Australia. That was all he wanted out of life: the ability to rule the continent that his ex-girlfriend had left him for. Moving to an exciting new place, can't be tied down, long-distance relationships are too tough, blah blah blah. He'd make it into a living hell.
Whenever things got tough, he imagined what that would be like. He had it all planned out, trying to decide what to do was like figuring out which presents to open first on Christmas: so much to choose from, where to begin?
He knew that there wasn't much chance of any of it actually happening, but it was a nice thing to hope for. Besides, just trying to take over the world was fun. Evil Monkey had a different mission for them every few days; it was a thrill a minute. They were always being shoved into the middle of an insane set of circumstances. The money was good, free room and board if they wanted it, the opportunity to be seduced by sexually repressed robotic teenage girls...
Randy was mumbling to himself. "...Bond. James Bond. Secret-agent, pretend-British dude, that's me!" He went back to practicing his Willington Pritchett III lines.
Their keychains beeped. "Mmmmmhh," Art groaned as he sat up. Falling off that roof had hurt a bit. "C'mon, it's time for the morning meeting."
"Killer, I hope he has doughnuts again," Randy said enthusiastically. "So, are you and that robo-chick still gonna be whatever?"
"I guess...assuming her parents don't kill me, and that she isn't mad at me for taking off on her."
"Yeah, shut up, at least you've got a robo-rebel-nympho-girlie after you. The rest of us are stuck with, uhh..."
"Humans?"
"Yeah.
"I can't blame you for forgetting what we're called, we seem to spend most of our time around other species..."
-------------------
The conference room was a buzz of activity. The Zoom-Monkeys were crawling all over the chairs, beginning to get some of their energy back. Art and Randy were sneaking as many doughnut holes as they could. Evil Monkey was fidgeting with a tiny black box, and telling Webmonkey to get the air conditioning right. An ornate chandelier hung from the high ceiling, it was also the main light source in the rom.
Hover-platforms containing fresh coffee floated around the large, circular table. They were being controlled by Webmonkey, who made sure to be careful around the Impressionist paintings which hung on the walls. The Impressionist was actually a good friend of Evil Monkey's, though he hadn't seen the new pad. He was currently trying to find his 17th century lost love, who had become lost in the sub-universe of paintings currently existing in a London museum.
Evil Monkey jumped up onto a flat-topped podium, and looked annoyed. A less-displicined individual would have screamed at everyone to shut up. But he was a true renaissance monkey--master of language, strategy, all the sciences; and above all else, well-cultured. He ran a hand down his chest, straightening his tie, and cleared his throat.
Everyone scrambled into their seats, and he suppressed a smile. "You all know about the robots' latest attack on us. Clearly, they're unhappy that we raided the chemical factory--
"--food processing plant," interjected Webmonkey.
"--before they could. This has disrupted their plans for the day, as they have an early dinner scheduled for this afternoon, which they needed an ingredient mixer for. Everyone from the neighborhood is invited. Except us, of course."
Art raised his hand. "Isn't that risky for them? What if everyone finds out they're robots?"
"If we can hide our existence here, I'm sure they can do the same. And as they have skinsuits that make them look human, they can hold up to more scrutiny than us. But back to the main subject. They're currently in the process of finding a caterer, as they can't make their own food quickly enough. I believe Art verified that on his, ahh, undercover operation."
He nodded. "Yeah, Misty's dad was screaming about that. Was that our only objective, though? To make them look bad in front of the neighborhood? I mean, if everyone comes and they don't have food...!"
Evil Monkey chuckled. "That's what we want them to think. On the surface, it looks the same as the other missions we've gone on against them. Just fighting over territory, and trying to win support from neighbors, who could be persuaded to invest in our 'companies'."
"Wait, it's like, how does that help us take over the world and stuff?" Randy asked.
"Well, obviously, we need money to do it. But so do the robots. They have to be getting their technology from somewhere--spare parts, ammunition for their weapons, that sort of thing. I believe they can get limited amounts of money, as well. If we make things harder for them, financially, they'll lead us to the people who are backing them--whoever's behind the robotic movement."
Art looked thoughtful. "Couldn't they just get money from their bosses, and not bother swindling neighbors?"
"I think our robotic friends are deep-cover agents. They have to try to generate their own revenue before running back home."
"Okay, so why do we want them to lead us to their bosses? Just to take them out?"
"Not yet--I'm hoping to seize some of the robots' manufacturing plants. You see, we, as monkeys, and monkeys in spirit--" he glanced at Art and Randy, "--have an advantage over our artificial enemies."
Randy perked up. "Tails??"
"That too," Evil Monkey said. "But I was referring to the fact that we can duplicate their strengths. Observe!"
He pressed on the little black box, and it popped open. A three-inch-tall, metallic monkey was inside.
"WHOA!" Randy cried. "It's...a robot...AND a monkey! Pure-sheer-genius, dude!"
"Indeed! When we get control of their robot-factories, an army of Micro-Monkeys, just like this one, will ensure our domination of the world! But first, we have to ensure that the robots' dinner party goes wrong, so they don't find any investors. After that, we just follow them to their supplier. Zoom-Monkeys, it's all up to you!"
They recognized their name, but were incapable of speaking or understanding what was going on. Evil Monkey looked forward to the day when the Micro-Monkeys would replace them. Then, Webmonkey and he could directly control the fighting arm of their conspiracy, instead of having to deal with these attention-span-less creatures.
"Don't worry, you'll find this mission is well-suited for your gifts. All you have to do...is eat."
They understood that last word. After hopping around and beginning to glow, they formed a line on the table. A hologram of a caterer's truck floated for a moment, and the monkeys stared at it. A painting slid to the side, revealing a small hole in the wall. The monkeys flew right into the echoing darkness.
Art wasn't sure about some of it. "Won't Mindy's dad--what name are they using, isn't it Pyrite?--won't he send someone to make sure the caterers arrive? I mean, after we stole the ingredient mixer they wanted, I don't see them taking chances. We've been fighting turf wars for the last week, you'd think he'd be careful."
"I think he's too distracted to consider it. Originally, I'd hoped he'd be slightly paranoid that Misty was seeing someone on our side. But after this morning, he must be going out of his mind. However, just to be safe, we're going to give him a diversion."
Before Art could ask "What's that?", he suspected the truth. When he saw Evil Monkey looking at him, he knew what it was. "Ohhh, no..."
"Yes. Everyone clear out, and get to your battle stations. Webmonkey will tell you what to do from there." Of course, "Everyone" equaled Randy and Art. Evil Monkey sighed. This was the best help he could get?
Who appreciated his tactical genius? Did they ever tell him how much they liked the weapons he'd designed? The Zoom-Monkeys were like most other monkeys--just sort of there, not very intelligent. Webmonkey was bitter and overworked, and Art and Randy were just in it for personal, non-monkey reasons.
Monkeys had potential! Sure, they were currently naked and in the jungles, but he could change that. Once he took over the world, he'd institute new forms of education for them. With some genetic tinkering, they could at least be able to talk. He'd lead his people to a new golden era...
But first, he had to annihilate something on the highway.
-------------------
"Hi, I'm Misty. C'mon in!"
In small clusters, the couples of the neighborhood filtered in through the Pyrites' doorway. Misty was there to greet them; she'd squeezed into a patented Little Black Dress, which perfectly matched her dark locks.
The house's front foyer was positioned in a large, round area. It was between two curving staircases on the right and left, both of which led to the second floor. Two rooms adjoined the foyer, their entrances were in the wallspace between the front door and the two sets of stairs. On the left was the family room, which had a television, two sofas, a recliner, and a fireplace. On the right was the dining room, complete with sliding glass doors behind it. People could be seen through them, they were out in the yard, talking and drinking punch.
Some had gathered in the rear of the foyer, near the back wall of it. They examined the oak etchings in the sides of the staircases, and looked at the decorative rugs that sat on the wooden floor. Normally, Misty tried to avoid her parents' elbow-rubbing, but she liked this neighborhood. If they were successful here, they'd stay for at least a year or so. And that meant more time with Art...
Out in the yard, her parents occasionally caught a glimpse of her, when she walked within view of the dining room's glass doors. Her parents were both taller than average, and each had brown hair, though her father's was much darker. They were in their finest clothes: a black suit for her dad, and a violet dress for her mom. They were letting the guests talk to each other, before they made their entrance into the conversations.
There were some tables set up by the fence, and stylish lawn chairs had been set everywhere. Her parents were standing off by themselves, near the garden.
"We should've locked her in the basement and never let her out," her father sighed. "If we didn't need another body to be a greeter..."
"But we do need her, Jack. Besides, she's the only one of us that can drive the hovercar while using the stupid thing's weapons." Her mother took a sip of punch. "Don't worry, you know how first loves are...your heart always gets broken. She'll come back to her own kind sooner or later."
He lowered his voice. "No, I don't know how first loves are...you killed mine when we were teenagers! She's nothing but slagged wire and metal!!"
"Not in front of guests!" she haltingly whispered through gritted teeth. "Unless you want to end up like your little friend, that is. I asked you if you wanted a girl or a woman, you told me, and I made sure you got it."
"Look, Kate, let's not get started with this...the point is, it isn't right! Her being with him just isn't natural! He used to be...one of them!"
"Better she gets some...experience...with people not in our social circle. Or would you rather have her sneaking into the bedroom of Platinum's son? 'Oh, I was going to promote both of you, but since my boy told me about how easy your daughter is, I've decided to give it to a family that's a bit more careful'. When the time comes to marry a promising young robot, at least she'll know what to do. And it's not like anyone will believe what the monkeys are saying about her."
"But--"
"Shush! Now go make friends!"
He shuffled off, grumbling. She checked her watch and wondered what happened to the caterers. Every day for the last week, she'd told him to storm the food-processing-plant, fix the swing on the front porch, and paint over that spot on the shed. Did he? Of course not! He put it all off and then claimed he'd never heard her ask him to do it. If they'd gotten that mixer, they could've made their own food, guaranteed that it would be good, and saved a lot of money.
And now they were in the hands of--she shuddered--humans. Certainly not known for their efficiency. If the food was even half-good, she'd be surprised. But she could say one good thing about humanity: they had money.
She really didn't want to go crawling back to Platinum and the council, especially for funds. And nothing, especially a well-dressed monkey, was going to stop her from charming this crowd.
Kate continued thinking that, until she saw her husband over at the fence's gate, looking into the front yard. He was ignoring people! Right before she began to march over, he opened the gate and took off. Were the caterers here? She decided to try to see what he was looking at, and was horrified to hear the sound of the hose being turned on, as Art skateboarded across the sidewalk in front of their house...
------------------
A white delivery truck made a last-minute swerve onto Exit 31, as the thirty-something driver screamed into his cel phone. "Okay, okay, I turned! Now what?"
"Keep going until you see a bank with a lot of glass doors, and then turn
right."
"You know that I'm just dropping off the food, right? If the
caterer-guys aren't there to get it ready, it ain't gonna get ready. Union
rules."
He beeped the phone off. It was bad enough they'd called him at the last possible second to do this, but he should've gotten the day off to begin with. It was a sort-of-holiday, and many people were getting out at noon, or not having to go to work at all. But not him, noooo. He just had to end up following badly-given directions, and getting lost in the Interstate maze outside Parodiopolis.
And they'd given him a sucky truck! He pumped the pedal, trying to hurry up. But the speedometer down instead...
"Huh? C'mon, c'mon..." He then noticed his gas gauge bottoming out. "Dammit!"
He'd hit rocks before, and gotten leaks, but never something that made it drain this quick. A glance in his rearview showed a wide trail of gasoline.
Something bumped the truck from underneath. "What--"
The sound of all four tires simultaneously bursting nearly deafened him, as did the following screech of bare metal on asphalt. Sparks flew into his windshield, bounced off and then back on, and cooled to black cinders.
By some miracle, the truck didn't flip over. He held on to the wheel, white-knuckled. When it finally came to a halt, it was still shaking. Something was banging around in the back. Had it all tipped over? But it hadn't been tall or heavy enough to fall that hard...
He jumped out of the cab, and saw that traffic was backed up for at least a mile. He cursed, ran to the back of the truck, and saw half-a-dozen small holes in the metal door.
"Umm..." He peered inside, and saw golden blurs ricocheting off the walls. Food was everywhere: it would explode, hang in midair, and then one of the blurs would fly by and make it vanish.
After realizing how stupid it was to be sticking his head in there, he began to pull it out--and right then, everything stopped. Beady-eyed, glowing monkeys hovered silently and stared at him. Globs of food rained down around them.
"Don't mind me...just...keep, uhh, keep going."
They looked at each other, chittered, and then went back to eating everything in the truck. His cel phone starting ringing: caller ID recognized the number as his bosses, probably wanting to know what was going on. He threw it into a ditch, and started running...
-----------------------
Squares of sidewalk rushed by underneath, as Art's electronic skateboard
hummed quietly and propelled him. Parked cars lined the streets: while some of
the Pyrites' guests lived on on the block, many were just from the general area,
and had driven instead of walked. He'd changed into long, off-white shorts, and
a black t-shirt. Apparently, the decoy had to be at least a little
brightly-dressed...
Hot air blew against his face. Why did he always get the dangerous jobs? Randy got to pretend to be British, the Zoom-Monkeys got to eat a lot of food, and he had to be the target of an overprotective, overly-violent robot dad. Admittedly, he was the best distraction because he'd gotten to sleep with Misty, but it still didn't seem fair...
The poodle--which had apparently gotten free--was barking at him from behind a distant chain-link fence. He was about to go by the robots' house for the third time when he saw the dad laughing to himself and turning on the water. He was flanked by two dark-haired twins--Mindy's younger brothers. In moments, he found himself on the wrong end of a hoze nozzle.
Thank God for cybernetic controls. With a thought, liquid metal straps locked his feet into place on the board, and then sealed solid. Secondary propulsion jets, as thin as pencils and half as long, fanned out and blasted him into the air.
He did a handstand on the roof of a Mercedes; right as a stream of hard, fast-moving water nailed the driver's side door. The car alarm started screaming, Art landed on the other side and ducked, and they tried to arc the water over. But he was at just the wrong angle for them, they were either hitting the car's roof, or the middle of the street.
Jack wasn't thinking about the caterers. He wasn't thinking about his wife. He wasn't thinking about blowing their cover as normal suburbanites. No, he only thought about his innocent daughter, who'd been tricked by that consummating, conniving red-haired kid...
Misty had noticed, and was sticking her head out the front door. "Don't worry, we can still get together tonight, just like you planned! I'll wear the red lingerie, just like you begged me to! And we can talk about our honeymoon!!"
Of all the women to fall for, it had to be someone who was either a chronic liar or a manipulative, would-be rebel. Did she even care about what happened to him, as long as she got to tick off her parents? Then again, he was only in it for the undercover mission and "side benefits", so he wasn't one to talk.
The brothers were coming towards him, now. Both were dragging along the hose, which they'd uncoiled and extended.
Evil Monkey's voice crackled through the tiny, plastic comm-piece in Art's ear. "Don't run away too quickly, keep them busy!"
He peeked through the car's windows. The hose would easily reach the street. "Oh, great..."
A flurry of steam escaped from the underside of his skateboard, and he was on the move again. They fired short, rapid bursts of water at him, but ended up hitting the rows of cars instead. He feinted running away, and then sharply turned back, racing towards them. Smoke pellets fired out from his board, giving him cover.
While they sprayed each other in the confusion, he roared by, grabbed the hose, and jammed the nozzle down one of their throats. He flipped the metal half-ring that would keep the trigger locked in that position.
"MMMPH!!" One twin was screaming, the other was too panicky to think clearly. Being robots, they couldn't drown--but the sheer force of the liquid, as well as the fact that it didn't like electricity, would be enough to seriously screw him up. They were waterproof on the outside, and could do basic things like drink it...but that much water, that hard, that quickly...!
The waterlogged twin collapsed on the street, twitching. The dad was turning off the water as quick as he could. Art was victoriously circling their large driveway, skating all over their SUV. Kate was telling the guests why her husband had decided to have a spontaeous waterfight with his boys, and reassuring them that their cars were fine.
Pausing behind their SUV, Art realized that making Mr. Pyrite even angrier with him probably wasn't a good idea. He was already mad about one kid, now he was furious about two...
He pulled a cassette-sized square out of his pocket: it had thin, shiny netting attached to it. He slipped his hand inside, and it was a perfect fit: the rectangle was on his forearm, just behind the back of his hand. The net went from his elbow to going over his fingers, it was very taut.
A thin cord fired out of the front of the rectangle; it sunk into the roof. It pulled him up, but without cutting off circulation in his wrist--thanks to the supportive netting.
Having checked on his son, the dad had once again gotten the hose, and water was widely spraying out of its nozzle. Art got the man's attention. Time to end it. "Hey, mind if I call you 'dad'?"
Following a primal scream of rage, Jack blasted water up at Art. He weaved around it, skated up to the tip of the roof, and balanced. The water went higher and higher up the roof, until it was arcing over...
Art did several steam-powered leaps, making Jack shoot the water even higher. But he missed every time.
He missed Art , anyway.
A murmer behind the house escalated into a full-on choir of screams. Jack ran to the gate, and made eye contact with his soaking-wet wife.
It was then that he realized Art had nothing to gain by going out in the open and almost getting hosed, aside from what he'd just done. The caterers, of course...they should've been there by now!
It always worked. They went fishing for money, disguised as a "new to the neighborhood" party. Get some trust established, get money, and everybody (except the monkeys) wins.
Except this time.
By the time the roof-cannons had been activated, Art had leapt to the roof next-door, and was building up enough speed to make it home in one more jump. Kate tapped into the control frequency with her artificial mind, and ordered the cannons to retract. She didn't want any more weird stuff happening.
In the midst of a shocked son, an angry wife, a daughter he didn't understand, and money going down the drain, Jack fell to his knees and started pounding on the grass.
----------------------
Watching the events on seventy-two separate viewscreens, Evil Monkey smiled. He took out a small piece of paper, which had a list on it. "Destroy robots' financial flow" was number three--he crossed it out.
"Conquer the world" was number five...
The End
Fin Fang Foom
*flies away*