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This message Premiere #32: Breaking Point - the readable version was posted by The Hooded Hood takes it to the bridge and pushes it off the parapet on Wednesday, September 25, 2002 at 10:32.
Premiere #32: Breaking Point
Premiere Archive (Previous episodes)
Who's Who in the Technoverse
The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom
Who's Who in the Parodyverse
Every television screen and computer monitor in the planet flashed to life, whether it was plugged into a power outlet or not. The Red Watchman, de facto ruler of Technopolis, leaned forward in his chair and waved the severed head of the Secretary General of the United Nations at his viewing public in genial greeting.
“Hello, people of the planet Earth. Do not adjust your sets. We control the vertical. We control the horizontal. And we can deliver lethal power discharges if you try to turn off this message, so think twice about hearing me out.”
The image changed to show the devastation of the combined fleet in the Indian Ocean. “This is what’s left of your best military force after a visit from some of my boys and girls,” the Watchman noted. Now the picture changed to show a scene of bloody massacre in a former tropical paradise. “And this is what’s left of Bali after a celebratory victory visit from my troops. I gave them the island as a little reward for a battle well won.” And now the screens showed the slow torture of the world leaders that had been in the Harrogate headquarters which had been transported to Technopolis. “Oh, and this? This is what’s become of your brightest and best military and political minds. Everything they know I now know. Security codes, defense plans, concealed locations, contingency arrangements, spy deployments, the lot.”
The picture changed back to Assak Malevi. This time the camera pulled back to show him stood next to Dr Zalas, leader of the science council. Zalas was still bleeding from an untreated eye wound but appeared unable to disobey the Watchman enough to attend to it. “Now Dr Zalas here, he tells me our projections indicate that fully 78% of your armed forces are neutralized or occupied, and that a military takeover of your world using the most efficient means available to us would take something less than nine days, with an estimated 32% civilian casualty rate. I hold this to be quite acceptable.”
The Red Watchman leaned forwards. “But,” he smiled, “I’ll offer you an alternative. I will be killing at least five percent of your populations to teach you all proper obedience, but those nations which signal their surrender by midnight tonight and accept a few simple conditions of fealty will be spared. Or more properly, I shall allow each of those vassal nations to nominate another nation not on my privileged list from which I shall take the equivalent number of sacrifices. “ He leaned back again and winked at the camera. “This is a one-time offer, and the clock is ticking.”
Every screen in the world changed its image to depict a time clock counting down to midnight.
___________________________________
On the control deck of the SPUD Helicarrier in drydock at the Sheldon shipyards of Parodiopolis Dan Drury swore. “And just like that he shatters the alliance of nations arrayed against him. It’s only a matter of time before some of the countries cave in. Before India fingers Pakistan or China shops Taiwan or vice versa. And then the floodgates will open. Divide and conquer.”
“I agree,” Contessa Romanza conceded. “Then again, he does appear to have, well… won. We have the last creditable combat force on the planet arrayed protecting Parodiopolis and Gothametropolis, and it’s nowhere near strong enough to break through that force screen surrounding Technopolis or to face the full Technopolitan war machine. Our struggles so far have cost us high in terms of material and personnel. Even our superhero contingent is smashed to hell. Realistically, can we now stop him?”
Al B. Harper looked up from the weapons control bank he was frantically rewiring. “Realistically, can we afford not to?”
And the countdown clock continued.
___________________________________
In the Lair Legion conference room a bandage-swathed Messenger scowled at the same countdown clock. “Damn. This is looking bad. What’s the status on the fight with Thermonuclear Man?” he asked HALLIE, the sentient computer matrix.
HALLIE piped through some fuzzy high satellite shots of the battlefield in the radioactive badlands northwest of Gothametropolis. “Donar engaged the malefactor for around an hour and then Hatman took in Enty, Trickshot, CSFB!, Exile, Chronic, and dull thud to join in,” she reported. “I don’t think anybody’s pulling any punches.”
“Any word from Cap and the west coast team?”
“Not since Technopolis started scrambling all long-range communications but their own.”
“Anything from Miss Framlicker and ICT on establishing a conduit back to the Technoverse so we can hook up with our people there?”
“Apparently there’s some kind of counter-wave being generated from Technopolis that makes it near-impossible,” admitted HALLIE.
“That’s not the same as impossible,” grumped the postman. “Tell them to keep on it. Sir Mumphrey and Asil?”
“Still in Europe trying to pull together whatever resistance they can. I don’t understand how they managed to get out of the Harrogate base when the rest of the people there were captured. Sir Mumphrey just said it was good timing.”
“And Technopolis itself?” Messenger swung round to the svelte Sov-Bloc agent who was straddling one of the chairs by the communications array. “Xanadelle?”
“No word from Premiere or the team that went in with him,” she admitted. “There was an explosion at one of the primary power plants about ninety minutes back and a fluctuation in the force shields round the city, but things seem to have normalized now. Your technology just isn’t good enough to scan what’s going on in there, I’m afraid.”
Messenger frowned. “I need to get back in there.”
“When Hatty gives the word,” spiffy agreed, appearing in the doorway. The fern-wielder looked dead on his feet, his chin darkened by two days’ growth of stubble, his eyes shadowed by sallow worry-circles. “We can’t afford any more mistakes. They’ve already cost us too much.”
“You’ve just got back from seeing Amazing Guy,” Xanadelle guessed.
“Yep. They removed the control chip. No sign that he’s ever going to manifest higher brain functions again. Damn it!”
“If the Science Council treated ManMan the same way and implanted an obedience device then he might have led Premiere, Ziles, HV, and Cobra right into a trap,” HALLIE worried.
Messenger snarled and struck his fist on the table in frustration. “It can’t end like this. What about the Sea Monkeys?”
“Too injured to continue,” spiffy answered. “Banjooooo’s literally in pieces. It could be months before he’s back in action.”
“The Austernals? The Abhumans? The Apes of Versalia? The Raccoon People, for goodness sake?”
“The Austernals are still in their omni-brain recovering from HH’s last plot. The Abhumans have retreated behind a negativity barrier and seem to be waiting it out. We haven’t been able to contact the Versalians, and we never did know how to contact the Raccoons. We have reports of some apes and some mysterious robots and even a sort of mobile swamp helping out here and there but nothing co-ordinated.”
“It seems that most of the criminal community has cut its losses and joined Technopolis,” HALLIE admitted. “B.A.L.D and H.E.R.P.E.S. and so on. We’re running out of allies.”
“The Abyssal Greye and his, um, colleagues are keeping Gothametropolis safe for now,” spiffy admitted. “The crime rate has never been so low.” He didn’t mention the little piles of half-chewed bones appearing in formerly crime-ridden alleys.
Messenger shook his head. “It can’t end like this. What if I somehow became the Parody Master? Surely his power would…?”
The war conference was interrupted as the wall of the Lair Mansion was blown in by Detonator’s explosive plasmoids, burying Messenger, spiffy, and Xanadelle in the rubble of their headquarters. In the west wing of the house Dreamripper and Moodswing teleported in to take care of Lisette, Flapjack, and Amy. Rimshooter’s E-M scrambler reduced HALLIE to random pixels.
“Sorry to break up this conference,” apologized Biohazard insincerely as Dimensionweaver shifted in Quake and Flashfry to back him up, “but according to our schedule it’s time for you to die.”
___________________________________
“Red Watchman here again, folks,” the world’s TVs told them. “Half an hour to midnight and the score so far is twenty-one nation-states swearing allegiance to the rule of Technopolis. I expect far more before the chimes of twelve. And to make life interesting I’ve released Deathspore, one of my more unpleasant allies, to do whatever he likes in South America. I’ve never liked South America. So I think it’s goodbye Brazil. I’d start hoarding that coffee if I was you. Oh, and a few more of your science heroes have died. That is all. Be seeing you.”
___________________________________
In the ruins of the Excelis district of Technopolis, Premiere battled on. The science police had brought out their big guns now, the stuff they reserved for the heavy hitters. Bombarded by particle accelerators and psi-rippers and dimensional drones the last science hero reeled under battery after battery. From the perimeter, the Telepath College focussed their attacks on his mind, knowing that if his will but faltered for a moment his invulnerability would be lost. In close, Blast Zone and Fratricide and the Iron Monk provided distraction while Steel Enforcer went in to finish him off.
“William, no!” coughed Premiere as those remorseless fists battered him down. “You’re fighting on the wrong side.”
“I’m fighting on the winning side, old man,” Enforcer told him. “You’re at breaking point. I can tell. You’ve put up a good fight, just like this planet. But now it’s over.”
And they piled on.
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