Baron Zemo's Lair. - <font color="lightslategrey" face="Lucida Sans Unicode">Untold Tales of the <B>New</B> Lair Legion</font>

Baron Zemo's Lair

Untold Tales of the New Lair Legion
Sunday, 25-Jul-1999 18:36:01
195.92.194.13 writes:

Troia 215 returned from her vacation and stepped through the large hole in the Lair mansion living room wall. Troia had done rather well on the vacation front since she started working as the Legion’s secretary. There has been the Vacation after Her First Day on the Job, followed by the Vacation after Her Date with Finny. There was the Vacation after the Business with the Wrestling Match. That was followed by the Vacation after the Incident where Banjooooo Asked for Coffee, and the Vacation after the Unfortunate Accident with the Adamantium Stapler. So far in over a month of working for the team, Troia had actually worked about a day and a half.
But now she was determined to do things differently. She wielded her spear in a far less threatening manner, and kept reminding herself that most office administrators didn’t need a filofax to keep track of the maimings.
The amazon administrator was a little surprised to see the mansion in quite such a mess. The walls were carbon-scored and bloodstained, several of the internal partitions were wrecked, a large part of the upper floor was now the lower floor, and nobody had tidied up the dishes from the Hallowe’en party. “Must have been some bash,” Troia considered.
The redhead sauntered over the wreckage to her office, moved a supporting beam that had fallen across the doorway, and went in. HALLIE’s terminal was filled with static fuzz, and the best Troia could get out of it was “This unit is recompiling. Please bother some other supercomputer.” The Lair’s back up system died when it asked her where she wanted to go today.
“Yeesh! Whatta mess!” a grizzled voice commented from the doorway. Hallie looked up to see a poorly-shaven man in a blue jumpsuit and eyepatch sucking a non-regulation stogie in a designated no smoking area. On the other hand, there was no ventilation problem until somebody replaced the roof.
“May I assist you?” Troia asked politely. She wished she’d had more time to classify the files because so far she’d only got as far as Appendage Man, and whilst she was glad this wasn’t the many-limbed menace, she was utterly unsure that he wasn’t a supervillain beginning with anything from B onwards.
“Relax, doll. I’m here with a job for the Legion, that’s all,” the stranger told her. And somehow, miraculously, he had the gift of calling women like Troia doll and not being handed his spleen. Troia found she actually quite like it when he called her things that that in his sort-of-Bogart-y way. “Name’s Drury. Dan Drury, Director of SPUD.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Troia bluffed, hoping that she would remember whether SPUD was a terrorist organisation, an alien warlord, or a tenants and residents association before her ignorance showed.
It showed. “Super-menace Principal Undercover Directorate,” Drury explained. “We’re the Men in Dark Blue. And like I said, I’m here with a job for the Legion.”
“Well, Mr Drury, if you’d care to take a seat I’ll see if I can locate Mr Jarvis for you,” Troia said rather desperately, noticing as she spoke that none of the seating was intact just at the moment.
“Mr Jarvis isn’t available at the moment,” a new voice announced from another hole in the wall. A handsome young man in a cut-off mailman’s outfit hopped over the rubble and went to meet Drury. “Mr Jarvis isn’t going to be available for a very long time.”
Four more spandex-clad youngsters, two of them siblings by the look of them and sporting dragon motifs, a young woman who was proving that it was somehow possible to wear even less leather than Lisa, and a youth with his face in a McBurger sauntered in behind him. “Who is Sam Hill the blankety-blink are you yahoos?” the Director of SPUD demanded.
“Good question,” Troia agreed. “Although I would like to check up on the exact nature of yahoodom later on if you don’t mind, Mr Drury?”
“We,” Wormlad announced, stepping forward, “are the new Lair Legion.”
“The new, improved, Lair Legion,” Lisette clarified.
“That’d make us your boss, doll” Hat Kid noted to Troia, twitching his eyebrows suggestively.
“He can pull off stuff like ‘doll’,” the amazon administrator explained gesturing to Drury as Hat Kid tried to get the remains of his burger out of his nostrils, “but my advice to you is don’t try it until you’ve started shaving.”
“New Lair Legion?” Drury exploded. “What happened to the old one?”
“They fell into Baron Zemo’s trap,” E-Male (the postal youth) explained. “They were wiped out. Zemo too, fortunately. And we as their sidekicks decided to carry on their… tradition.”
The remaining members of the new Lair Legion filed in now. Thunderstroke, Fashion Accessory, and Boy Wonder all perched on piled of debris to hear what was happening. L’il Buttie thoughtfully brought Drury a drink.
“Thanks, kid,” the old soldier acknowledged. “Well lissen up, juniors. We got some major league trouble and it’s the sort only super-guys can sort out. Seems we got us an alien war on our hands.”
“Aliens? What colour?” Fashion Accessory checked, with an eye to co-ordinating for the fight sequence.
Drury looked a little bit embarrassed. “Well, ya might not know this, but there’s this microchip tagged to the President t’stop shape-shifters and the like taking his place. But I recently found out that the tagging faction actually tagged an alien instead of the real Prez.”
“How could something like that happen by accident?” Boy Wonder objected.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly by accident,” the SPYD agent admitted. “See, the feeling was that given the President’s recent record, not least of which was that debacle with the Hood’s takeover of the planet, it was actually worth givin’ this alien guy a shot. He couldn’t screw things up any worse.”
“Point,” agreed Thunderstroke.
“Anyway, turns out this alien wasn’t the alien everyone thought he was. ‘Stead of some last survivor of a doomed planet, rocketed off the Kansas of all places by his parents just as their world exploded, this little booger’s an advance scout for an alien takeover by some shapechangin’ race called the Skunks. And now their mortal enemies, an even bigger an’ nastier warrior race called the Skree have got word of it, so they’re bringin’ their armada to claim the Earth first.”
“This is all very well,” Wormbait objected. “But I don’t see what it has to do with us.”
“Aren’t you hearin’ me too well, lady? I just told you an alien war’s gonna start up right in our backyard, with green slimy shapeshifters fighting blue pointy-headed stormtroopers to decide who puts us into the slave camps!”
“Well, you’ll have to deal with it without us,” Wormlad shrugged. “Maybe the older generation was into this kind of thing, but we’ve got other stuff to get on with. We’re young, we’re cool, and we don’t do ‘60’s alien invasion scenes.”
“What?” Troia objected. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! First you claim the old Legion’s gone, then you can’t even be bothered to fight for your world against a terrible menace! Isn’t that what the Lair Legion is all about?”
“Tell her what the LL’s about,” E-Male suggested to the others.
“It’s about being the coolest of the cool,” Wormlad answered.
“It’s about making society change and grow into the better world we know it can be – whether they like it or not,” offered Wormbait.
“It’s about money and power,” Boy Wonder snorted.
“And never being pushed around again, if you don’t mind be saying so,” added L’il Buttie.
“And free dinners,” mumbled Hat Kid, from behind a hot dog.
“And being the idol of millions,” Lisette flashed.
“And kicking the butt of anybody who thinks different,” snorted Thunderstroke.
“And looking good while we do it,” concluded Fashion Accessory.
E-Male turned back to Dan Drury and gave him a dismissive shrug. “Sorry, Gramps. Looks like you’re gonna have a war and nobody came. Give our regards to the aliens.”

Herbert. P. Garrick was a man on his way back to the top. The President seemed to have forgiven him over the Hooded Hood takes over the Earth thing, and the voice in his head had stopped talking to him for now. Better still, the superheroes over whom he was tasked to keep control appeared to have vanished off the planet, leaving only a very few ineffectual sidekicks to worry about.
Garrick returned to his old office in the basements of the Paradopolis City Hall one last time. Tomorrow he would be back in Paradopolis Tower, enjoying the prestige that only a high level executive with the personality of a complete bastard could possibly enjoy. His new post as Alien Affairs Co-Ordinator was something of a mystery to him, but he was convinced he could do something about all those immigrants slipping over the borders; a camp or something.
The sharp edge that suddenly appeared at Garrick’s throat came as a complete surprise to him. Glancing carefully down he saw it was from a metal oblong shaped and engraved like an envelope. “It’s a razor letter,” the man behind him holding it warned him. “They’re my trademark.”
Garrick felt his bowels give way. “M-messenger!” he stammered. “You were arrested by the Lair Legion… for m-murder. You were put in prison pending trial…”
“I left,” the postman replied in a dangerous hiss. “I had a few things to do. And a question to ask you. And the question is this: what has happened to the Lair Legion?"

Troia 215 was still fuming about the new Legion’s decision and puzzling over what to do about it two hours later. She had just about cleared the worst of the rubble in her work area and was starting to try and get some sense from HALLIE about what had really gone down during the vacation period. It was starting to feel a bit more serious than just another attempt by Fin Fang Foom to avoid a date.
“Scuse me, hon,” the next visitor called, stepping over the door which lay like a welcome mat inside the charred doorframe. “Is my little boy around?”
Troia looked up at the largest pair of mammary glands she had ever seen, which is saying something for a girl raised on Amazon Isle. The aforementioned items were attached to the delightful form of Melanie Hastings, better known to the world at large as radio talk show host and exotic dancer Meggan Foxxx, and to the members of the old, don’t-we-miss-them-already Lair Legion as the mother of CrazySugarFreakBoy!
“I’m sorry. I haven’t seen any children here today,” Troia answered. “This is the Lair Legion mansion – well, what’s left of it. There aren’t any children around usually. Well, not physical children anyway.”
“Thanks for the compliment, hon,” Meggan answered, “but my little pumkin’s all growed up and a member of the Lair Legion. I’m Dream’s mom.”
“Oh… I’m so sorry.”
“No worry, hon. I was real young when I had Dream. A lot of people don’t think I’m old enough to be his mother.”
“No… I mean I’m sorry you are his mother.”
Meggan frowned. “Now you wouldn’t be badmouthing my little boy, would you, ‘cause let me tell you he’s the finest, nicest, kindest, and gentlest little…
“No. That’s not what I mean. I… I’m really sorry. I think Dream’s gone. Lost. Forever.” Troia gulped as she spoke and felt terrible as the woman in front of her paled.
“What you mean, lost forever,” Meggan asked dangerously.
Troia 215 explained what the new Lair Legion had said, and how Dan Drury had been turned away without the help he sought. “…and I still don’t really understand what’s going on. I’m just trying to take it all in. It’s only my third day…” she ended lamely.
Meggan considered all of this. Deep inside was a little chip of ice where her heart was which made her very, very dangerous. “Ah reckon I’d better go and get some sense out of these here sidekicks,” she decided. “Nobody hurts my boy and gets away with it. Nobody.”

Joe Wilson got home from a hard day at work looking forward to nothing more than a cool beer and a quiet evening relaxing in front of the tube on the sofa. When he got in he found someone else with the beer in their hand, sitting on his sofa, watching the ball game. “Who the f&$% are you?” he greeted the intruder.
“I’m the government,” Dan Drury answered, holding out an ID card with impressive shields and eagles and things on it. “And you’re drafted.”
“What?” Joe boggled. Then he noticed the Falcon uniform laid out on the couch next to the g-man and realised that his secret ID was up.
“Been doing a quick check of the available superheroes,” Drury explained. “Remarkable shortage at the moment. Those that haven’t just upped and vanished seem frozen in some kind of stasis field that’s giving out science boys screaming whoosits. So I checked the database and I’m scraping the barrel.”
“Thanks,” Falcon answered. Since he had salvaged his uncle’s design for a flight apparatus and converted it into an aerial combat suit Joe Wilson had largely confined himself to taking down street crime in his home neighbourhood of Hell’s Bathroom. But that didn’t give this cigar-smoking housebreaker the right to diss him. “And how many good guys have you been able to recruit with that sunny personality of yours?”
“Including you,” Drury answered, “one.”
“One?”
The Agent of SPUD shrugged. “We chased a rumour about a new guy called ManMan over in the suburbs, but in the end we decided he was too ridiculous to be anything but a joke. So it’s just you.”
Falcon folded his arms and asked the vital question. “OK, so I’m the last hero. What exactly do you need me to do?”
Drury took another puff of his cigar. “I need you to stop a couple of alien invasions,” he told Falcon with a nasty smirk.

“Hey, gran’ma, I haven’t the slightest clue what happened to your snotty kid, and I haven’t the slightest interest in finding out,” Lisette shrugged at Meggan Foxxx.
“Well you better start taking an interest, little punkass, ‘fore you find yourself shopping for a new set of lips,” CrazySugarFreakBoy’s mom warned her. “You think you’re hot stuff cause you dress the style an’ the hormone-boys here drool? Let me tell you, kid, you’re not even ready to get in the ring yet. Gran’ma? Watch this!” Meggan turned to the male members of the new Lair Legion. “I’m thinkin’ it’s a bit hot in here an I might need to loosen my clothin’. Perhaps one o’ you gents could fetch me a spot of juice an’ then he might be able to help me some more.”
There was a crash as the already-weakened doorframe gave up as the male new Legionnaires scrambled towards the kitchen.
“You can have half my burger,” offered Hat Kid, who was too engrossed in a Happy Meal to get up.
Fashion Accessory and Lisette scowled at Meggan. “The kid’s gone,” Wormbait snarled. “And since there’s nobody here but you to hear it, yeah, we were responsible. We lured them into a trap, a rift to Comic Book Limbo, so we could take their place and do it properly.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” smirked Fashion Accessory. “You may have the ‘tude but you don’t have the powers. I could hammer you through the wall with my little finger. In fact I think I might do that just… now.” And the almost Austernal fell to the floor with a thump.
“How… how did you do that?” Lisette asked, watching as Wormbait slumped onto the floor next.
Then Meggan herself fell over unconscious.
“What…?” Lisette gasped, puzzled and realising too late that the ruckus in the kitchen had also gone quiet. But she had no time to think about it any more, because she too slumped to the ground.
Contessa Imke Ilse Zemo strode into the room wearing a pink and purple gas mask. “Game, set, and match… to me,” she considered. Just because the new Lair Legion had no interest in battling supervillains didn’t mean that supervillains had no interest in conquering them.
By the time Troia got back from her lunch break there was no sign of Zemette or of anybody else.

Things were definitely quietening down, Troia considered. Apart from the desperate call from Drury an hour ago to say that a saucer the size of Paradopolis had just positioned itself directly over the White House and appeared to be counting down and a complaint from the cleaners about Space Ghost’s laundry things had been extremely quiet.
Then the archvillain called.
“Good evening,” the cowled crime-czar bade the Amazon administrator. “I am… the Hooded Hood.”
“Okay,” Troia replied, “Just give me a minute. I’ve almost got this rolodex sorted now. H.. H… HeadCase… Herpes Man… Hoedown Hitman… Hooded Hood – oh sh…”
“Yes, I am the ruler over retcons,” the grey-mantled villain introduced himself. “You must be Troia 215, the new secretary. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“The… the League’s not here right now,” Troia heard herself saying, “but if you’d like to take a seat – find a seat – they’ll be along to battle you any minute now. Don’t mind me holding this spear it’s… it’s a ceremonial thing, that’s it.”
“You have nothing to fear from me, my dear,” the Hood assured her. The Hood could get away with ‘my dears’ like Drury could do ‘hons’. “I am merely awaiting a minion who is to meet me here.”
And just then there was a brilliant flash of light and the forgotten member of the League of Sidekicks appeared. “Yo-ling is being here, oh Hooded mentoring figure,” the thought-creature from Yo-Planet reported.
“An evil version of Yo?” Troia deduced.
“Hey, we are not all to be stereotypically stereotyped as bunny-loving naive bunny lovers!” Yo-ling objected.
“It’s all a matter of thought for the Yo-people,” the cowled crime-czar explained. “A minor retcon to make this particular thought entity believe itself to be evil and it’s own powers made it so. And it has been a most useful minion. Report, Yo-ling.”
“I have been carrying out all the carryings out you wanted carrying out, mighty Hooded One. Yo-ling has helped young sidekicks be sending Legion and others to uncute exile-place, Yo-ling has tipped off Skree about Skunk plot to secretly be world-conquering this world so they send big space armada to be shooting up planet. And now Yo-ling has found secret room under mansion that has been protected for so long time, but is now not protected because uncute Oddhorn has been Mjalcolmed to death and nasty Shab-addaba-Dhu is distracted with sitcoms,”
“Yes,” the Hooded Hood smiled. “All is going according to plan. An alien war is imminent on Earth. The principal heroes of the Parodyverse are now gone, and there is no way for the Chronicler to bring them back. The great secret lies below us, ready for the taking… Sometimes it is good to be an archvillain.”
The Hood turned to strode down to the hidden chamber beneath the mansion.
Troia 215 blocked his way.
“You only get past me over my dead body,” she immediately regretted saying.
“As you wish,” the Hooded Hood replied. And his green eyes flashed.

Next episode: Absolutely nothing about the horrible fate of Troia. Falcon doesn’t take on the Skree and the Skunks single-handed. Messenger doesn’t lurk about in the background being psychotic. Zemette doesn’t get any further with her sinister plans for the new Lair Legion. And the Hooded Hood doesn’t learn the secret of the room with the Lair Legion carvings.

Instead, we examine what happens if you exile twenty heroes, four heroines, one villain, and one villainess in Comic Book Limbo with one bathroom between them. It’s going to get nasty.

A world without heroes from the Hooded Hood