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Post By Though a couple of hundred miles away from home, the Hooded Hood finds a moment to complicate the lives of our heroes Sat Mar 20, 2004 at 05:37:05 am EST |
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#145: Untold Tales of the Big Blackout: Where Were You When the Lights Went Out? | |
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#145: Untold Tales of the Big Blackout: Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?  The lights went out at one a.m. The blackout covered Paradopolis and its suburbs as far as Dullard’s Corner and Doiron Springs, and Gothametropolis almost as far north as Shyminsky Falls and the Badlands. And with the power the laws of physics were suspended too. Energy and matter no longer interacted the same. The relationship of electricity and magnetism, of kinetic energy to thermal energy, even of cause to effect were distorted inside the area of the darkness. Batteries went dead, motors would not run. Even the simple technology of a gun-hammer falling was no longer reliable. At one a.m. Paradopolis and Gothametropolis York went back to the middle ages. Although many people were asleep there were some immediate effects. Elevators stuck and subway trains rolled to a halt. Vehicles became expensive road blocks. Security systems became a thing of the past. Anyone on life support or using a pacemaker died almost instantly. Thirteen aircraft dropped from the skies. On Flanagan Island where the super-villain penitentiary called the Safe contained two hundred of the world’s most dangerous metahumans all the electronic incarceration technology failed at once. “Let there be darkness,” proclaimed Balefire. And he saw that it was good. The Manga Shoggoth did not sleep (except sometimes in the Lovecraftian sense when the Stars Were Not Right), so he had taken to prowling the corridors of the Lair Mansion in the early hours. He was surprised to find Dancer sitting in the Lair Lounge flicking channels on the wide-screen TV. “Probability Dancer? Is this not your regeneration cycle?” he bubbled. “Oh, hi Shoggy! Yeah, I should be catching some z’s but my mind’s all full of stuff after Peggy’s memorial service. Might-have’s and that.” “I am uncertain as to the appropriate theological destination for an ex-patriot mythological iteration dematerialised by a detonation of the Galactic Nobbler,” agreed the elder being. “Somewhere there’s a party, I hope,” Shep answered. “Nah, it’s just that I was right there, y’know, and she said to run and she said to trust her. And I did.” “And the Pegasus preserved your life and resolved the situation,” the Shoggoth noted. “It seems therefore that your trust was well placed.” Dancer looked miserable. “But I didn’t save her!” The Manga Shoggoth considered this. “My limited previous experience of the Pegasus suggests that she would have been unlikely to undertake such an act of self-sacrifice. You may have saved her in a more important sense.” Whatever Sarah Shepherdson was about to say next will never be known. For just then the lights went out. Lee Bookman sat in the computer centre and flashed through the archive files of the Lair Legion’s previous cases. “It’s nice to see someone taking an interest,” noted HALLIE, forming a hologrammatic image of a pert young woman to interact with a non-computer sentience. “Normally nobody but Finny bothers to read my reports of LL adventures.” She looked wistful for a moment, “Or if they do, they never leave any replies,” she added. “Ah well, I’m not really authorised to leave my Library unless I’m cataloguing or acquiring material,” explained the Librarian. “Fortunately there’s enough here to keep me going for some time.” “It gets a bit confusing whenever Wang the Conqueror gets involved,” conceded the AI. “I’m amazed at the sheer volume of things the Legion has encountered over their brief existence,” the team’s newest probationary member admitted. “They’ve been devolved to children twice, and they once all got pregnant? And then they turned into fluffy animals?” “It’s too late to reconsider joining now,” HALLIE warned him. “Sir Mumphrey has already sent off your security applications.” Lee twitched. “He didn’t say anything in them about the Moon Public Library did he? Because Luna’s supposed to stay secret unless people have the resources to discover it themselves…” “He was very circumspect,” HALLIE assured the Librarian. “He got me to establish a few background details for your “secret identity” of Lee Bookman, credit histories, bank accounts, all the stuff you’d have had if you hadn’t been recruited by the Interplanetary Organisation of Librarians and whisked off-planet.” She blushed. “Also I gave you a history of unpaid parking tickets. I hope you don’t mind. It added verisimilitude.” “I’m always very careful where I leave the Galactibus.” “It was that or a string of messy divorces,” apologised HALLIE. “I’ll take the tickets then.” The Librarian considered the AI he was conversing with. “I work with an Artificial Intelligence at the Library these days,” he noted. “D.D.” “We’ve met,” HALLIE told him. “We’re similar in many ways, but her data retrieval’s far more advanced, of course. But then again, I’m based on the engrams of a human, Helen MacAllistair. Although I didn’t know that till recently.” “That must have been quite a shock for you. I understand Miss MacAllistair was murdered.” “I’m actually starting to be able to retrieve flashes of my former life,” HALLIE admitted. “Little memories. A birthday party. A shaggy-eared dog. An old lady with silver hair that I think might be my grandmother.” She shook her head. “It’s quite disconcerting.” “You’ve become a remarkable and unique entity, HALLIE,” Lee assured her. “Who knows what you’ll evolve into as time goes on?” “As long as it’s not the Bride of Ultizon I’m happy to find out,” the computer sentience decided. Then the power went out and she crashed. Despite the lateness of the hour, billionaire industrialist Gideon Book was still in his Seattle office, still working. The recent and temporary computer takeover by Ultizon has created a few complications in his international empire, and he despised disorder. CrazySugarFreakBoy! talking at him incessantly over the video-phone didn’t help. “So anyway I got Dr Phobia to check with the research boys and I had the personnel department work up a profile and got the G.G. to check out the few places she’s been associated with but we’re still no closer to finding her than we were days ago,” Dreamcatcher Foxglove explained to his corporate sponsor. “So I was thinking maybe a TV ad campaign to get her to come forward, a media blitz that says…” “Dream, has it occurred to you that this young woman may simply not wish to be found?” Book asked with a sigh. He put down his grey pen and smoothed down his dull white jacket. “Perhaps she is simply avoiding you?” “Nah,” grinned CSFB! “It’s love. Me and Pelopia are soul-mates. Did I tell you what happened while we were trapped together in Faerie? See, we were stuck in this jungle and…” “You have indeed explained the circumstances of your liaison,” Gideon Book assured him. “In extreme and repetitious detail. Entertain however the possibility that Pelopia, Priestess of Order, has reconsidered her actions in that disorienting and unfamiliar environment and has decided that she erred in forming an emotional and physical bond with you.” CSFB! frowned for a moment. “I think it’s her father,” he decided at last. “The Word. That big baddie who keeps trying to manipulate things so that Order wins over Chaos. Hasn’t he ever hear of fractal theory? Pelopia was brought up by this uber-father-figure who totally dominated her. Abused her to make her this Vulcan Moondragon mind-queen. I figure he’s gotta be Ming the Mercilessing her. So I have to find her and save her from him.” Mr Book considered this. “I do not believe Pelopia was abused by the Word. Rather he seems to have implemented a strict regimen of discipline and training to enable her to reach her full potential,” said the man who secretly was the Word, Pelopia’s father. “No, he’s a shit,” CSFB! argued. “A cruel, devious, manipulating, heartless, romance-killing, daughter-raping…” Fortunately then the lights went out in Paradopolis and the link went dead. Falcon finished off the last of the combat drones, glided to a landing, and powered down his battle harness. dull thud took another chug of his Newcastle Brown Ale. “Ninety-one seconds,” Sam Wilson noted disgustedly, checking the computer evaluation of his training session in the Lair Mansion’s conflict simulation suite. “I just can’t seem to break the minute and a half barrier on that exercise. Damn.” ~~It speaks well of your professionalism that you are still trying to do so after midnight on a weekend~~ Cressida, the psionic tapeworm in thud’s gut projected. “It speaks poorly of your social life, though,” thuddy pointed out. “I mean, isn’t this the time guys are usually out dating and stuff?” Falcon looked at the rumpled roadie. “You’re still here as well,” he pointed out. “Aye, well…” .thud wriggled uncomfortably. “Ah’m just here for Cressie. She was bothered because we haven’t found Al B. and the kids yet after they got snatched on our watch.” ~~Davie’s just as concerned as I am~~ Cressida interrupted. ~~He’s just trying to hide it~~ “I’m just a wee bit short of cash to go oot drinking tonight, that’s all.” The worm wonder tactfully changed the subject. ~~Shouldn’t you be home looking after your long-lost sister?~~ she asked Falcon. Sam shook his head. “She’s not there. She’s in Beverly Hills, with Samantha Bonnington, the Fashion Accessory. Visiting Sammy’s folks. And,” he swallowed, “going clothes shopping.” “No wonder you need the overtime,” thud sympathised. But his gaze kept glancing back to the monitor screens to see if anything new had come in on Al B. Harper, Art, Randy, and Mindy. “We’ll find them,” Falcon assured him. “SPUD’s got some top people on it.” “Yeah,” agreed Trickshot, wandering into the monitor room and snaffling one of thud’s Newcastle Browns. “They’ll even assign Natalia when she’s finished her sick leave in the Cote D’Azur.” ~~Everyone is up late tonight, it seems~~ noted Cressida. “I was going to see Talia, try and sort things out between us,” Carl Bastion explained sullenly between long gulps of thick dark English beer. “What the crap is this stuff?” ~~Hey, I have to shower in it~~ complained Cressida. “Nobody told you the Contessa had requested an overseas convalescence?” Falcon concluded. “Bummer.” “I think she’s avoiding me,” Tricky worried. “After she got hurt by that slimeball duplicate of mine Deadshot thinkin’ it was me and all. She knows in her mind it wasn’t me, but she can’t convince her heart.” “That’s harsh, man,” admitted Falcon. “But there’s always a bright side.” And then the lights went out. Yo tapped softly on the door to Sorceress’ room. “Flapjack, go away!” came back Whitney Darkness’ angry voice. “Before I turn you into something even more loathsome than you are now. I’m fully dressed again anyway!” “Er, is to being Yo?” called out the pure thought being. After a moment the door opened. “Sorry,” said Whitney, allowing her guest inside. She pointed to the scuffed chalk circle on the polished floorboards and the melted candlewax. “I was trying a little ritual earlier, and it’s best conducted nude. So Flapjack was very keen to assist.” “Yo is to be understanding.” S/he thought a moment. “Is there actually being something even more loathingsome than Flapjack is now?” “Point,” conceded the Sorceress. She looked down at the remains of her conjuration rite. “I was trying to communicate with Marie Murcheson, the banshee that haunts the Mansion,” she explained. “Poor Marie,” said Yo. “She is to be having hard job to be crying when Legionnaire is to be dying.” “And she keened her heart out over Pegasus, yes,” agreed Sorceress. “And that got me wondering about Jay.” Yo looked sadly at her bereaved friend. “Yo is to be being certain that is banshee wailing just as much for cute-Hatty.” “That’s the point, though,” Whitney declared. “Nobody was here when Hat died. We were all in Faerie in an alternate future. And since I got back, Marie seems to have been trying to… to tell me something.” “Maybe is to be offering condolences?” “Maybe. But she’s trying to manifest, I feel it. So I thought maybe I could hold a séance, find out what’s bothering her.” “Is good idea.” Sorceress frowned. “It didn’t work. I don’t know why it didn’t work. Right now even Dream’s little imaginary ghost friend isn’t around to mediate for me. So I can’t find out what Marie wants.” Then the lights went out. “Perhaps Marie is to be telling us to find some candles?” Yo suggested helpfully. “So, shower, mini-bar, intercom, wardrobe, window,” Nats summarised as he showed the Lair Legion’s latest guest her room. “Bed,” Uhualura, Princess of the Abhumans added, bouncing on the mattress to check it. “This will be welcome after a frustrating day of failing to discover my people’s stolen technology suppressor. Nats tried not to get distracted by the sight of a hot redhead in a skin-tight gold jumpsuit bouncing on a four poster. Didn’t the Abhuman genetic sub-shoot of humanity believe in underwear? “Um, I’ll be just… down the hall. If you need me. Anything. If you need anything. You can call me. On the, um…” “The intercom?” asked Uhuna. “Yeah. The intercom would be good. To call me.” “Goodnight then, Nats. You have been very kind considering I gave you venereal diseases on our first encounter.” The Abhuman princess’ genetic gift was to transfer injuries and illness from one host to another. She had infected the flying phenomenon with a number of ailments she has stored up ready for future redistribution, but claimed to have taken them all back now. “No problem,” Nats assured her. “It happens all the time. Really. See you in the morning.” He bounced off an unexpected doorframe and found himself out on the landing. “Princess Hottie all settled in for the night, then?” asked Ruby Waver maliciously. She believed in underwear, in this case a little red basque with strategically placed lace covering the most strategic areas. Just. She didn’t appear to believe in closing her robe, however. “Urk,” said Nats. “What, I’m yesterday’s news?” Ruby asked him. “I thought you liked me?” “Oh, I do,” Bill Reed assured her. “And that was before the red lacy thing.” “Really? Seems you prefer redheads.” “I was just making her welcome. Mumph asked me to see she was alright.” “And was she alright?” Ruby demanded, “Was she good?” “Ruby, I was just saying goodnight to her. That’s all. She’s a stranger here, not knowing anyone.” “Like I was when I first got here,” Ruby accused. “Homesick. Vulnerable. An easy target.” She sighed dramatically. “Boy do I wish I’d waited till I was legal age now.” “Ruby, I was only… legal age?” “And that we’d used contraception.” “We… I… you said…” “And, y’know, that I hadn’t missed my last period.” “You what?” And then the lights went out. “You can say what you like about threatening to torture people and poison infants,” Balefire noted with satisfaction,” but the classics are classics for a good reason. That was a nice piece of work, Mr Harper.” “My genius is not for helping out with your bizarre, perverted schemes,” the scientist scowled as Grrl dragged him away from the technology suppressor he’d just hotwired. “It’s for doing my own bizarre perverted schemes. I mean, for the betterment of humanity.” “Humanity doesn’t need betterment, or even want it. It just wants entertainment,” the former video-games designer turned villain told him. “I see that now.” He smoothed his hand over the technology suppressor that had just plunged twenty million people into the pre-industrial lifestyle. “I really liked you better when you were designing video games,” Al B. Harper said sullenly. “And back when I was designing video games I’d have cared whether you liked me,” Jeremiah Frost answered. He cocked his head on one side. “Listen to that.” “To what?” Al B. asked, still pinned by Grrl’s hands. “There’s nothing to hear.” “Exactly,” Balefire hissed. “Nothing. No traffic, no machines, no aircraft. Nothing.” He paused and listened intently. “Not even the corposant fire,” he added quietly. “Huh?” puzzled Birthday Bandit, bringing over some pink ribbon to tie Al’s hands behind his back. “This no-tech thing’s affecting your powers?” “It’s altering the way electricity and magnetism interact,” Al B. realised, “and corposant fire is an electromagnetic effect, so yeah I guess it might suppress it.” “I thought when the song of the fire went quiet I might feel differently,” Balefire answered. “I was cut off from the Source once before, when I was in prison, and I no longer had it thrumming through my head. I was… less. I was nothing.” Al B.’s mind was racing. “You’re saying this corposant fire of yours is… sentient?” “I don’t truly know, Mr Harper,” Balefire said in an awed voice. “But it is addictive, and it is much more than electromagnetic energy. In the moment when my brain/videogame interface linked me to the game I was writing, I saw something that changed me forever.” “Into a raving nutbar,” suggested Al. “What have you done with Art and Randy and Mindy, by the way?” “Into someone who understood,” Balefire answered. “You see this Parodyverse of ours is made of stories. Some are more humble and obvious than others, like my little video game plotlines. But through that I was linked to all the stories, all the Parodyverse. And in that one brilliant instant I saw things that killed the man I’d been before, and made…” “A guy who dresses up in armour and wears an iron mask and tries to take over the world,” the Lair Legion’s scientist interrupted again. “So where are Art, Randy, and Mindy?” “Made me into a being that knows how absurd and frail this Parodyverse of ours is,” concluded Frost. “Do you know what the villain in my video game was going to be like, Mr Harper?” A nasty thought came to Al. “He… dressed all in armour with a big metal mask?” “Sometimes I find a bit of irony can take away the sting of what I saw,” admitted Balefire. “By the way, if this science nerd interrupts me again, tear a limb off one of the prisoners.” “No problem boss,” agreed Grrl. “Can it be Randy? I don’t like the way he looks at me.” “Any of them you like,” Balefire said. “They tried to escape and damaged my castle. That’s why I put them in the Pit of Doom.” Al B. raised his hand to speak. “Pit of Doom? You promised that if we helped you with this anti-technology plan that you wouldn’t harm us.” “Nor shall I,” Balefire assured him. “Your minions are quite safe in the Pit of Doom. As long as they don’t take the wrong turning and they solve all the puzzles properly. In fact if they make it through level hundred and one they can get out alive.” “That’s… not comforting.” “But very villainy,” admitted Birthday Bandit. “I love it!” He finished tying Al B with ribbon and wrapping paper and added a nice bow to the knots for decoration. “If any harm comes to them the Lair Legion will pound you back to the stone age,” Al B. Harper warned. “And if they don’t, I will.” “The Lair Legion is a sad shambles right now,” Balefire reported. “Leaderless, fragmented, disorganised, and dying. Without communications, transportation, and especially without information about what is happening they will be ineffectual at best. And you, Mr Harper, will be coming with me. To our real objective.” Balefire chuckled. “Good archvillains always have a deeper motive, don’t they?” It was the meeting Mr Epitome did not want to have. “Well boy?” demanded the Grey Eminence, the Office of Paranormal Security’s secret commander and Dominic Clancy’s boss, “The time’s come to put up or shut up. What’s the story with the Lair Legion?” Some time ago the Eminence had demanded that Epitome find a way of taking the Legion out of the picture. They were too uncontrollable, too unpredictable to be a reliable form of defence for homeland security. “The story is that they’re the same as always. Chaotic and random, unsupervised and spontaneous,” Mr Epitome admitted. “But at the same time they’re heroic, well-meaning, caring…” “Yeah, give them a testimonial dinner,” the Eminence spat. “Have you come up with a way to get them to jump through the hoop, or are we going to have to bring them down?” “Reports are that they’ve backed off from their major expansion plans, although Glory reports that the training academy for neophyte metahumans is going quite well…” “They just announced that they want the President to grant an amnesty to the Dark Knight for trying to nuke America,” the Grey Eminence growled. “’Cause getting that spiffy kid off the hook over his European fracas and swearing in a pile of Antarctic jelly wasn’t enough for one month.” “I don’t approve of a pardon for the Dark Knight,” Epitome agreed. “I don’t approve of these pinko punks at all, Dominic. Not at all,” the old man hissed. “I know you think we need them for planetary security, and we sure as hell need something, but I don’t think it’s these guys. We could contract out to that criminal rehab programme that Gideon Book’s got running in Seattle, or build something like that metahuman operations unit SPUD tried a while back. Hell, we might even find a place for one or two of the Legion guys that are more reliable. But the Legion’s gotta go.” “I really don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” Clancy reported. “We could do a media attack, try and get the Metahuman Powers Act revoked by Congress, use some High Court rulings to cripple their operation. FAA red tape on the Lairjets. IRS on the accounts. That kind of thing. But I honestly don’t think that will stop them.” “They’re backed by Bautista Enterprises,” the Grey Eminence admitted, “but Bautista makes an awful lot of its dollars from government contracts. And this Wilton guy, the limey that’s running the show while that alien dragon’s off somewhere, he’s got some bucks too. But he’s on old man, and old men don’t last forever.” Epitome looked up sharply. “I’ve worked with Sir Mumphrey,” he warned. “He’s very well connected in the UK.” “Then the Queen’ll go to his funeral, right?” The Grey Eminence shifted in his chair. “Look, I know how dangerous old farts can be in the right places.” “Give me a few more days to resolve the situation some other way,” Clancy pleaded. “Then I’ll just…” Then his pager made it’s alert sound. “Uh-oh.” “Uh-oh what, boy?” “Uh-oh, Paradopolis and Gothametropolis just dropped off the map into total blackout, power, comms, the lot.” Mr Epitome stood up hastily. “I’ve got to go.” “Just so as you don’t forget what we were talking about, Dominic,” the Grey Eminence warned. “One week, then we do it my way.” “Okay, so we’ve done the room with the two guardians who tell truth and lies, and the boat over the river with the fox, chicken and corn,” said Randy. “What’s next?” “I think we’re back to the part where Art complains about him only being an intern and asks why this is happening to him,” suggested Mindy. “Again.” Art Corben gestured upwards with his hands to indicate the stone-walled dungeon they were slowly progressing through. “Well I am only an intern,” he complained. “Why is this happening to me? To any of us? Did we ask to be kidnapped by the mad scientist of the day and made to go through Tomb Raider I? Did we?” “No, we got caught trying to take over the planet working as minions for Evil Monkey and got probationary sentences if we did community work at the Lair Mansion,” Randy reminded him. “Plus, you know, Dancer told us we had to.” “Besides, wading through a killer dungeon full of deadly traps is actually better than how we usually spend out Friday nights from my dad’s point of view,” Mindy pointed out to her boyfriend. Art gave up. “Fine, fine. But I hope somebody gets us out of here before we have to do Rubik’s cubes.” “Hmm,” said Mindy, staring at the carvings on the walls. “This next one’s about logical number progressions when you have a hallway with a hundred doors. A hundred guys walk down them, the first one opens all the doors, the second one shuts every second door, the third one opens or shuts every third door and so on. How many doors are left open at the end?” “I take it back,” Art growled. “I am so not fine at all.” “Paradopolis” sighed the President. “It’s always Paradopolis. Or Gothametropolis. Couldn’t we just throw them out of the Union?” “It’s all those superheroes who cause it,” Presidential Advisor on Metahuman Affairs Herbert P. Garrick accused. “They’re to blame.” “I think you’ll find it’s supervillains that are to blame,” Amber St Clare, Lair Legion governmental liaison corrected him acidly. “You know, the ones we need the superheroes to stop?” “Fine,” challenged Bad News Herb. “So these guys are so heroic why won’t they sign up to be agents of Uncle Sam and get properly controlled and regulated? To be accountable like every law enforcement agency and military organisation should be?” “They feel they already have internal checks and balances,” countered Amber, although somewhat weakly because she actually agreed with Garrick on this one, damn him. “They threw out that new charter?” the President checked. “Only I’m getting pressure from some major contributors on this one. They want the Lair Legion’s wings clipped.” “Sir Mumphrey Wilton felt that it compromised their autonomy and effectiveness,” Amber reported neutrally. “And then he demanded the reinstatement of Lisa Waltz and Visionary and probationary status for some guy called the Librarian,” reported Garrick. “Oh, and a presidential pardon for the Dark Knight! Who does this limey think he is?” “He thinks he’s the acting leader of the Lair Legion, Garrick,” Sir Mumphrey said as he marched into the Oval Office, oblivious of the thick security cordon surrounding the President of the United States. “And he thinks you’re an oik.” “Sir Mumphrey!” the President gasped. “How did you…? I mean, welcome back. We weren’t expecting anyone from the Lair Legion to make it out of Paradopolis what with that anti-technology field.” “I made arrangements,” the eccentric Englishman shrugged. He was probably the first visitor to leave his horse grazing on the White House lawn for some time. “Came as soon as I could. Needed to know the situation.” Amber nodded and passed him a folder. “The anti-tech field is spreading slowly, perhaps ten miles an hour. We’ve evacuating as best we can, but there’s rioting in Doiran Springs and of course we can’t use motorised transport in the affected areas…” “Needed to know the situation regarding the Lair Legion’s preconditions,” Mumphrey clarified, staring at the president. “Preconditions for addressin’ the problem, what?” Garrick blinked. “Wait a minute! You’re saying that the Lair Legion won’t help out in this crisis until we give in to your demands?” “I’m saying we have to be clear about the rules of engagement, Garrick. I won’t be issuin’ orders for the LL to go in there till I’m satisfied we have a proper basis for operatin’.” Of course, Mumphrey wouldn’t need to issue such orders since he’d already sent the team to deal with the situation, but communications blackouts could be a blessing sometimes. “I’ll approve Lisa and Visionary and this Librarian fellow if you insist, but I can’t just issue a presidential pardon for the Dark Knight,” the President objected. “Um, actually you can,” admitted Amber St Clare. “If you wanted to.” “Thank you, Ms St Clare,” the President told her icily. He looked up into Mumphrey’s implacable stare. “Oh, very well then. But tell him not to try and nuke Gothametropolis again.” “Done,” agreed the acting leader of the Lair Legion. He dropped a thick manuscript on the desk. “Now just sign this operating accord to recognise the Legion’s authority as granted by UN Special Order and we can get on, can’t we.” There would have been panic alarms ringing at the Safe, the supervillain penitentiary off the coast of Gothametropolis, but the power failure had shut them down as surely as the force screens that kept the most dangerous prisoners in their cells. So far the physical barriers were holding, but some of the inmates were making the most of their sudden opportunity. So far there had been seven breakout attempts, nine rapes, and two murders. “All the special ordinance is useless!” Security Chief Flaherty shouted up to Warden Westwood in desperation. “We might as well be using the taser rifles as clubs!” “Then use them as clubs, man!” Westwood shouted from his office window. “Use anything you can. Just keep these people locked down. There’s a major city just two miles over the water! We can’t let these beasts loose over there!” He hurried inside again to have another attempt at the dead emergency phone lines. “They’re still down,” Blackbird told him. The brilliant criminal genius was sat at the Warden’s desk, feet up, flicking through Westwood’s briefcase. “Somebody’s shifted the electromagnetic spectrum out of phase a fraction. And managed to get it to discriminate by origin of frequency too. Clever, that bit.” The Warden fumbled for his revolver. “They don’t work now,” Blackbird told him, helping himself to one of the sandwiches from Westwood’s packed lunch. “The same alteration is dulling the kinetic-thermal exchange rate.” He saw the horrified incomprehension on the Warden’s face. “The powder isn’t igniting,” he simplified. “Right now, the best piece of technology you’ve got is the sword.” “You won’t get away,” Westwood told him. “The Lair Legion will be coming. Fin Fang Foom put you here once, he’s not going to let you go now.” “Fin Fang Foom isn’t even on the planet right now,” Blackbird said accurately. “I may be imprisoned, but I do try to stay briefed.” He rose from the swivel chair with amazing confidence and smiled at the Warden. “Anyway, I’m not escaping. I was just looking for something new to read.” He held up the new Tom Clancy from Westwood’s briefcase. “I’m going to borrow this.” “You’re… going back to your cell?” “Yes. I imagine things are going to get a little rough out here in a few minutes. I think the League of Losers will be breaking out, for example. And that common little fire-wielding mutate that Goldeneyed brought in the other day. And Onslaughter.” Westwood glanced down at the courtyard. “Onslaughter?” “Today’s a bad day to escape, Westwood. There’ll be such a crush.” Blackbird looked around the office airily. “Anyway, I could leave here whenever I wanted, if I wished to. I have twelve quite viable jailbreak scenarios planned and ready to go. But why should I leave?” “Absolutely,” agreed the Warden carefully. Blackbird had no known super-powers yet he was confined in the maximum security wing of a maximum security jail, and for good reason. “I get peace and quiet, and the room service is adequate,” the villain noted. “A better library service would be appreciated.” “I’ll… take that onboard,” promised Westwood. “Splendid. Then I’ll be getting on.” The Blackbird paused at the doorway and glanced back at the Warden. “Oh, do you think this disruption field will have affected Prisoner Zero?” he wondered. “The one nobody’s supposed to know about? In Omega Level? The one this place was built to imprison?” “What Prisoner Zero?” asked Westwood, trying to mask his horror. “Oh, don’t worry,” Blackbird assured him. “I won’t tell. Besides, here come English Man, Marker Man, Garbage Burner, and Dr Teeth to kill you. So that’ll be a blessing for you. Thanks for the book.” Blackbird slipped out. Westwood looked round his office for some kind of weapon. The door that had just been closed burst open in a million fragments. “Hey, Warden,” called Garbage Burner, stepping over the threshold lugging a propane cylinder and welding torch from the machine shop behind him. “We got a complaint ta make.” So, we’ve got Whitney worrying about Marie and Mumph facing down the President. We’ve got trouble with a capital T at the Safe, and that stands for The League of Losers and their merry super-friends. And speaking of trouble, Nats seems to have got all kinds – or maybe he’s just got Ruby in trouble? But there’s plenty more problems out there, such as Vizh vs the Florist, CyberVenom vs the Sheldon Bay bridge, Mr Epitome vs Third Degree, Grrl vs Ms Framlicker, Krotch vs Dancer, the Slumtown Bloods vs the Phantomhawk Memorial Hospital, and of course Balefire vs the universe. All this and more unfolding in our next exciting episodes, in Untold Tales #146: Back to Basics With Balefire *** Subdued Footnotes: Previous Lair Legion Cases: Wang the Conqueror has battled the team in various “round robin” stories, using ploys to make them into children or attacking them with his terrible pregnancy gun in take such as in Troia’s Birthday Omnibus or The Dancer/Finny Valentine Special. The original Jr LL took on the New Battlers in the bratfight of all time in The Lair Legion’s Little Problem and More on the L’il Legion . They’ve done the fluffy animal thing a couple of times too. Vizh was a weasel. We really should repost that more often. HALLIE is a Heuristic Artificial Learning Life Intelligence Entity created by evil Nazi scientist Dr Vizhnar from the engrams of dead scientist Helen MacAllistair to destroy the Lair Legion; so of course she has gone on to live in their computer system and supervise the virtual reality world created by the improbable Movie Gun. Gideon Book, founder and CEO of Odyssey Enterprises and its many subsidiaries, sponsors CrazySugarFreakBoy! and the Global Guardians. He is sensitive to bright colours, and dwells in seclusion in a monochrome office. CSFB! first gained his Impossibilitium silly suit and equipment during an incident at a Book facility, and Dreamcatcher Foxglove continues to see Book as a mentor and friend. He is unaware that Book is also his archenemy, the Word, father of Pelopia, Priestess of the Order of Order. CSFB and Pelopia became lovers in the HTML-icious UT#122: Untold Faerie Tales of the Lair Legion: Several Times Upon a Time. The Grey Eminence would not count himself as a bad guy. As I read him in Killer Shrike’s Mr Epitome stories, he’s a patriot who has dedicated all his life to serving his country. Even now he covers his activities by pretending to be a foolish old man while secretly wielding considerable political and military power. But I don’t think he’s ever going to join the Lair Legion fan club. I hope I’ve characterised him appropriately here. The Pit of Doom Puzzles Section: So there’s these guardians at each of two doors. One exit leads to escape, the other to certain doom. One guardian can speak only truth, the other only lies. You have one question to help you work out your escape. The classic solution is not, as you might expect, to kick one of the guardians in the groin, hold a razor-letter to his throat, and hurl him through a door to see what happens but to ask either “Which door would the other guard tell me to go through.” If you’ve picked the truthful guard he’ll tell you what the lying guard would say, which is a lie. If you’ve asked the lying guard he’ll lie about what the truthful guard would say, so it’s still a lie. So in either case go through the door opposite the one the guard says you should. You’ve got to cross a river in a small boat that can only fit two things in at a time, and there’s you, a fox, a chicken, and some corn. If you leave the fox with the chicken it’ll eat the bird, and the chicken will have the corn if it’s left unattended with it. How do you get them all across? Well, since you don’t have the wit to tie up the fox or put the corn out of reach or anything, you have to take the chicken across first. Then you come back and carry the fox across. But you can’t leave the fox with the chicken, so when you go back this time you bring the chicken back with you. You leave the chicken on the island as you bring the corn across, and then you go back yet again for the chicken. It all seems like a lot of trouble to go to when there’s a KFC just down the road. The problem of open and shut doors is a hard one requiring serious maths. There’s a hallway with a hundred doors numbered 1 to 100 (all on the same side, in ascending number order), and a hundred men walk down the hall. The first man opens every door. The second man closes every second door. The third man opens or closes every third door. The fourth man opens or closes every fourth door and so on. At the end how many doors are open? In the end it comes down to prime numbers, so that after the 100th man, only those doors whose numbers are prime will be open. Prime numbers are numbers that cannot be divided by a different whole number except 1 or 0 to get a whole number answer. Hence doors 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 17 ,19, 23, 29, 31, 37, 41, 43, 47, 53, 59, 61, 67, 71, 73, 79, 83, 89, and 97 are open, or 26 doors. Are you people still that keen on footnotes? The Safe is a metahuman prison based on Flanagan Island, a large sandbank off Gothametropolis’ east shore. Formerly a Coney-island-style amusement park, the Safe was founded in 1996 to house dangerous super-powered criminals. This is the first story in which Warden Westwood and Security Chief Flaherty have been named, but you may not have time to get attached to them. Blackbird is an old adversary of Fin Fang Foom, a criminal genius. I’d use him more often but I don’t have much background on him. The League of Losers (they prefer the term Frightful Four) are sadistic mercenaries English Man, Dr Teeth, Garbage Burner, and Marker Man. Last time they appeared in Untold Tales they tortured and murdered a schoolteacher and were about to take out the class too when the LL arrived to deal with them. More of them next time. And Prisoner Zero of Omega Level? That’s classified. The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2004 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2004 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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