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Untold Tales of the Return of the Lair Legion Friday, 13-Aug-1999 06:32:41
Untold Tales of the Return of the Lair Legion In a place of darkness, ravens, and destiny, the awesome Shaper of Worlds, author of the narratives which give reality form, spoke with a voice which thundered like the crack of doom, and herein unto she spake: “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bloody kill him!” The Chronicler of Stories was older and more experienced in his office than the new Shaper, and brought his wiser head to bear. “Now you know you can’t do that. He has very cleverly not contravened the rules this time. If anyone has trespassed where Man Was Not Meant to Go it’s the Lair Legion. Not the Hooded Hood.” “He set them up,” Shaper objected. She gestured to the great swirling cauldrons in which the situation on the Earth of the Parodyverse was being reflected. The former Shaper of Worlds, Carrington, had favoured chesspieces as being both traditional and practical. This Shaper preferred a more organic theme. “He tweaked reality so that Lisa and Goldeneyed would travel back in time to find out about Wilbur Parody to counter the sidekick epidemic. That unleashed the curse of the Celestians on the modern-day Lair Mansion. Then he tricked the sidekicks into exiling the heroes into Comic-Book Limbo, incidentally freeing the Hood from where we had imprisoned him. Now he’s got two galactic empires fighting over who gets to discover the Secret hidden by the Space Robots since the dawn of time. And all the time he’s laughing at me, thumbing the nose at my authority. I didn’t authorise this story!” “That’s free will for you,” the Chronicler shrugged. “Characters go off in different directions than the one you had planned for them.” “He’s going to bring the Celestians down on us all!” warned the Shaper. And, returning to a theme much on her mind, she added, “I’m going to bloody kill him.” “No secret lasts forever,” the Chronicler of Stories considered. “The Lair Legion had to find out the truth sometime.” “Yes,” agreed Shaper with a sigh. “I suppose I was just hoping that the Parodyverse wouldn’t be destroyed on my watch.” The Voyeur came back to life to find himself in the middle of a circle of fat bald men in togas. This would be a shock for anybody’s system, but since the last thing the Voyeur remembered was being fried to ashes by the Prince of Fibs Mefrothto, and since one of his most vivid memories was of this very circle of Cosmic Observers stripping him of his Infinity Binoculars and rank because of his unhealthy addiction to Saturday morning cartoons, the likewise twelve-foot-tall bald be-togad fat man nearly died again of cardiac arrest. “You people!” he spluttered. “Uumpty, we have need of you,” Observer Prime declaimed. The Voyeur folded his arms. “Oh, so now you need me. Cast me off like an old loincloth and then come sniffing back, resurrecting me from the dead, just because you need me!” Somehow this sentence didn’t come out as good as it sounded in the Voyeur’s head. “We can always un-resurrect you,” Observer Prime pointed out. “Your choice.” The Voyeur considered this. “What’s the mission, sir?” he asked smartly, with a keen eye to continued existence. “It’s the community of superheroes on Earth,” Observer Two sighed. “They’re smack in the middle of a Skree/Skunk war and they’re about the uncover the Secret at the Heart of the Parodyverse.” “So?” the Voyeur asked. “I thought you placed golden boy Uatu in Baron Zemo’s Scourge organisation especially to have first hand info and a ringside seat when all this happened?” This was delivered with the sort of pique that only someone who had got the lowest interview scoring of all time for that choice assignment could manage. “Uatu is… unavailable,” Observer One admitted. “Unavailable?” the Voyeur repeated. “It’s his primary purpose for being on Earth.” Observer Two scowled. “He got himself caught in a damned stasis field by those pesky sidekicks, like all the rest of the Scourge,” the bald cosmic being spat. “That’s why we need you.” “Apart from him you are the only one with personal experience of these people,” Observer One pointed out. “Reluctant as I am to use so poor and pathetic a tool as you for something of such epochal importance I have no alternative. We need an Observer who knows the turf.” “So I’m hired again?” the Voyeur checked. Then, thinking further ahead he added, “I don’t suppose this comes with a pay rise, does it?” “Visionary, this is not how I envisaged sorting out the back yard,” Cheryl complained as a Skree war-platform thundered overhead, rattling the roof of the condo that had so recently been returned to the Parodyverse after a sojourn in Comic-Book Limbo and a period as an adornment to the lawn of Avengers Mansion in the Marvel Universe. Unfortunately, in dimensional-jumping back to the co-ordinates from which Exile had transmitted the signal the house had materialised across the main road thoroughfare in Hell’s Bathroom, the seediest neighbourhood of Paradopolis, which was currently even more of a war zone than usual due to an alien invasion fleet seeking to occupy the city. “We have superheroes here, you know,” Cheryl warned the hobo who had wandered into her kitchen and was sorting through the contents of her rubbish bin. “Gleep,” contributed Goldeneyed, staring at the little figures of the Hooded Hood which were dancing round his head. Bry had used his dimension-jumping abilities to navigate the immense leap which the exiled heroes had made back home, and it had placed him under quite a lot of strain. Visionary had piled him on the sofa next to his stunned cousin Exile, who had successfully sent the homing signal that had pointed the Lair Legion home just before the Skree had dropped a building on him. Next on the somewhat crowded sofa was a man in his boxer shorts who had likewise been felled when the Skree had renovated the slum tenement. None of the Legion knew that this was really the Falcon, whose epic rearguard battle had already gone into Skree history as the Budgerigar’s Last Stand. Finally, sleeping off his gunshot wounds from his recent adventure with spiffy, Paste Pot Pete twitched and drooled onto a cushion. It had probably been unfair for the Abandoned Legion to check him out from the hospital and wheel him into a combat situation in the first place. Space Ghost eased the brown paper bag from the hobo, took a sip of meths, and watched the little Hoods dance around Goldeneyed. The condo shook as a Skree assault craft learned that it was not Donarproof. “Visionary, do something,” Cheryl threatened. Just outside the main porch NTU-150 staggered out to face the half-dozen killbots that had assembled to annihilate the occupants of the house. “I may be as weak as a kitten from powering the dimensional jump we made,” the armoured hero warned them, but as long as you fight fair and refrain from using your main energy cannons I’ll give you a run for your money.” The six kilbots cycled up their energy weapons and blasted Enty at full power. The LEDs on NTU-150’s armour glowed brighter as his energy-absorption grid recharged his reserves back up to maximum. “On the other hand,” the Lair Legion’s technologist warned, “you could give me an energy boost up to peak capacity and then it’s no contest.” Repulsor rays that could level a building targeted six Skree robots in rapid succession, leaving nothing but some interesting bits for later. “Save some of that junk will you, Zebulon?” Enty called to the lab technician elf who was sheltering under Cheryl’s coffee table. Visionary pulled Goldeneyed up off the sofa. “Bry… Bry, you’ve got to get us out of here. You’ve got to get us home.” “Home,” G-Eyed muttered, admiring his fingertips. Space Ghost tapped his socks together. “There’s no place like home,” he contributed. Cheryl supposed that SG’s socks, while not exactly emerald, could be assumed to have a certain greenish hue to them. “Is any of this getting through to him, Tina?” Visionary asked the Lair Legion’s consulting telepath. “He’s pretty out of it,” Tina admitted. “But keep trying.” “Home,” Visionary persisted. “H-O-M-E.” Something of this conversation penetrated Goldeneyed’s stunned haze. “Home,” he murmured, his golden eyes glowing brightly as he manifested his time/space jump powers. “Wait a minute,” Melissa suddenly realised. “Where is home to G-Eyed? It’s hardly going to be Dullard’s Corner.” “Oh, crap,” Visionary realised. “G-Eyed… wait.” But two things were already happening. First the young golden-eyed superhero leaned forward and was spectacularly sick over his cousin Exile. Space Ghost joined in to be sociable. Next G-Eyed triggered his time/space jump. Cheryl and Visionary’s house, and all the people in it, vanished in a bright golden flash. Contessa Imke Ilsa Zemo, Zemette to her ever-diminishing circle of friends, stood before the Portal of Pretentiousness and admired herself in its reflected surface. Her trim, pink-and purple clad form pleased her. Being the triumphant future queen of the universe pleased her more. Zemette had managed to betray absolutely everyone. Her father the Baron and those cute-but-gullible heroes of the Lair Legion had been exiled. The remaining heroes of the planet were locked in stasis. The sidekicks who would be replacement Legionnaires were all imprisoned in the dungeons below, ready for her sinister pleasure. Even the Hooded Hood, who had set in motion the plots that Zemette sought to usurp was unaware that the Contessa had appropriated his Herringcarp Asylum stronghold for her own. All that remained now was to set the Skree, the Skunks, and the Hooded Hood on paths of mutual destruction, and to claim the powerful and ancient Secret that was hidden beneath the Lair Mansion. Zemette felt a peal of evil laughter bubbling up from inside her. It was in her genes. Down below in the fetid darkness of the Asylum dungeons Meggan Foxxx shrugged off her straight jacket and looked for a way out. “Hey! How did you manage to do that?” Boy Wonder demanded, looking on amazed as CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s mom stood up free of her handcuffs. “I’m supposed to be the escape artist.” “Hon, when you’ve starred in Genital Hospital 1 through 4 you learn a thing or two about handcuffs n’ straight jackets,” Meg told him. “And being double-jointed sure helps in my profession.” “Get us free then,” E-Male urged. “We can still stop Zemette before she goes too far.” “Uh huh. I’d sure love to do that, sparky, but I’m rememberin’ that you’re the skuzzes who tried to hurt my l’il boy Dream, so I’m afraid instead I’m just going to have to kick the s&*$ outtah you.” About twenty minutes later, Meggan made her way up through he damp stone corridors seeking Zemette to give her more of the same. The Baron’s daughter had far too much hair on her scalp for Meggan’s liking. Her twisting path brought her apparently by chance to the main doors of the sanatorium. There was a heavy thumping denoting someone seeking entry. Meg opened the huge wooden door to grant whoever it was access. “If you’re from Avon you sure picked a bad time to come callin’,” she advised the visitor. Meggan had no way of knowing that the special nature of the Hood’s retcons on his stronghold were supposed to prevent unexpected guests from dropping in like this. But this was no ordinary unexpected guest, and getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be able to was one of his specialities. “Take me to my daughter, tawdry female,” Baron Zemo instructed her. “The Masked Monarch desires a reckoning with his prodigal offspring.” “Why you back-stabbin’ crotch-itchin’ yella-crawed excuse for a doggy-pile,” Dan Drury, Agent of SPUD (Super-menace Protection Undercover Division) called as the two Skunk security agents held him back. “Ya mucus-mouthed, backside-burpin’, hog-swogglin’ traitors! Ya can’t just sell the Earth out like this! You can’t!” “Restrain the former SPUD Director,” the President of the US instructed the two green shapeshifting aliens. “Gag him as well.” “Ya rectum-reekin’, goat-glottin’…mmmph! Mmmph!” “I do so apologise for the lack of courtesy from my former security agent,” the President told Imperiator P’Rawn of the Skunk Infiltration Force. “Some people have no vision for the future. Proceed, Mr Garrick.” It was history in the making. Herbert P. Garrick leaned on his crutches and watched the first ever trade agreement between Earth and an alien nation be tabled for signing. At first the precise civil servant had misunderstood the role the President had assigned him as Alien Affairs Liaison. He thought he was being asked to keep a track on the unpleasantly high number of foreigners who came to the shores of his great country. Now he realised that the Supreme Commander had a higher role for him to play, brokering the contract between the peaceful people of the Skunk Infiltration Fleet and the planet Earth. “All this seems to be in order,” the President considered, looking cursorily as the papers in front of him. “And are you ready to witness this legally binding agreement in accordance with galactic law, Mr Voyeur?” “I wouldn’t miss seeing such a historic occasion for a chance to get my hands on the three suppressed episodes of Twin Peaks”, Uumpty asserted. After all, it wasn’t every day an Observer could witness a planet sold into slavery. “Very good,” the President answered. “Pen.” “There are just a few details to iron out,” Garrick tried to point out. “The full employment guarantee that our honoured partners are offering us. It does seem to involve relocating about 98% of the world’s population into work camps, Mr President.” “Yes,” hissed Imperiator P’Rawn of the Skunks. “At one stroke you eliminate unemployment and homelessness.” “And no more national security problems with a Skunk protection unit on every street corner,” the Chief Executive noticed admiringly. “There… there are a few questions about the actual value of the Skunk merchandise we are receiving in return for the planet’s mineral wealth, sir,” Garrick persisted. “We appear to be receiving,” (he checked the document) “new burger recipes for our fast food concessions, personal electronic ID tags for all citizens, and advanced lobotomising techniques for the masses.” “Don’t forget that we are also willing to take control of that nuisansical group you refer to as the superhero community. You must agree that such loose cannons cannot be allowed to continue interrupting the performance of good governance?” P’Rawn reminded Garrick. This was the telling argument for the man whom Messenger had dropped down a lift shaft less than a week before. “Sir, I recommend we sign up right now, Mr President,” Herbert Garrick urged. Imperiator P’Rawn and the Chief Executive of the United States of America seemed to exchange secret little smiles. The President picked up the pen. “Er… about the nuclear weapon you launched at Paradopolis, sir?” Garrick ventured. “We need to send a message to the Skree,” the man in the Oval Office answered. “And we have plenty more cities.” He leaned forward to sign the treaty. Imperiator P’Rawn held his breath in anticipation. The bulletproof Oval Office windows shattered inwards under the impact of an angry fern. The Abandoned Legion had arrived to save the world. Xander the Improbable and Con Johnstantine sat on a tenement rooftop and watched the Lair Legion battle the Skree invaders. Johnstantine lit up one of his cheap cigarettes. Xander unpacked a bundle of cheese and chutney sandwiches. In the sky overhead the vast draconic form of Fin Fang Foom was flaming his way through the assault vessels. One slash of his massive tail was enough to send the Skree vessels toppling out of the skies. Then Banjooooo stepped on them. A little way further off Starseed, DarkHwk, and Hatman were making a little fortification out of broken killbots. Beyond that CrazySugarFreakBoy! was playing hide and seek amongst the tenements with elite Skree shocktroopers. High up in the clouds the Skree Troop Carrier was quizzing its battle computers over what to do when being wrestled by an Ausgardian hemigod. “They’re very… enthusiastic,” Johnstantine considered as a bloom of flames rose from one of the heavy weapons pods. “They can’t win this way, of course,” Xander pointed out matter of factly. “That mothership in orbit could vaporise the city at the push of a button.” He examined his half eaten sandwich. “I don’t like cheese and chutney,” he noticed. “So why are you still here, mate?” Johnstantine challenged the master of the mystic crafts. “If there’s no hope?” “Oh, I didn’t say that,” Xander shrugged. “Only that they won’t win that way. The Hooded Hood has made a mistake.” “And that is?” Xander pointed his sandwich down to where Jarvis was orchestrating the action. “Him. The butler. Recently Jarvis has been having flash-forwards to a future personality. A nasty chap called Sivraj. The Hood has suspended that sub-plot for the duration of his masterplan. Like all villains, he assumes that the nastier character would be the more dangerous one.” “And you’re sayin’ that old Jarvis Classic is more effective?” “In this case, yes. Jarvis will use teamwork, will plan to get the best out of the Lair Legion. Sivraj never would. And he’s got a sense of humour. And that’s the best chance they have of stopping the Hood.” “All connected up?” Jarvis asked NTU-150. Enty had reconfigured his battlesuit in transmitter mode. “Ready,” he replied. Jarvis grasped what he hoped was a microphone protruding from Enty’s armour. “Jarvis, Leader of the Lair Legion, to all slimy alien invaders,” he began. “I’m giving you notice to quit the planet now while you can or take your tentacles home in a bucket.” “He never did complete that course on diplomacy, did he?” asked Lisa. “Yo thinks cute-Jarvis is to be making nasty invading-peoples very much angry,” Yo considered. “This is the most stupid plan in the history of the planet,” the diabolical Dr Moo complained. “I can’t think why you would contemplate doing this, Lisa.” “Because I’m the good one?” the first lady of the Lair Legion suggested. “Repeat, this is Jarvis of the Legion, warning you to shift your sorry asses off the planet before we cover them in superhero bootprints.” That got a response. “Insolent worms. F’Lush of the Skunk Infiltration Division warns you that your feeble mouthings mean nothing to us,” a sibilant reptilian voice hissed back over NTU’s speakers. “Soon you will be naught but ashes, and your world another slave colony of the glorious Skunk consortium.” “Got a fix,” Enty reported. “I’ve got the exact transmission co-ordinates.” “You sure about this, Lisa?” Jarvis asked his leather-clad deputy. “Hey, Yo says physical contact terrifies Skunks. I reckon that makes me our weapon of mass destruction,” the first lady of the Lair Legion replied. “Alright.” The butler concentrated, activating his power of teleportation to send Lisa to the co-ordinates pinpointed by NTU-150. “Primitive humans, this is Fleet Commander Rox-Hoff of the Third Skree Invasion Fleet. Our victories are as numerous as the sands upon the seas of Carcosa, our fame and glory…” “Your mother wears combat boots,” Jarvis told him. “You will regret your insults when you surrender your world up to me, human,” Rox-Hoff promised. His mother only wore combat boots these days for ceremonial occasions. “Surrender the Earth? Get it yourself!” “Got a fix,” Enty reported. Jarvis concentrated and teleported Yo to speak to the Fleet Commander. Lisa appeared on the disturbingly organic command deck of the Skunk Stealth Vessel that hovered over the White House. F’Lush passed out in the first minute of his wrestling match with the advocate but Lisa had no mercy on him for some time afterwards. As soon as all resistance was quashed Lisa looked around. There was a lot of alien technology which looked biological in nature which was well beyond her abilities to understand. Lisa smiled. She was the good one. She had no choice. Really. “I summons Moo!” she proclaimed, invoking her super-power of drawing any known person into her presence. Lisa’s diabolical sister appeared and called her a bad name. “Never mind that just now, you big cow,” Lisa replied. “Take a look at all this bio-tech stuff.” The diabolical Dr Moo decided that Lisa could live for a while longer. “Christmas,” the evil geneticist grinned. “Hello big evil world conquering nasty. I am being Yo, and am here to be delivering a message for to you.” Many security klaxons suddenly burst into life on the bridge of the Skree Star Destroyer Painful Disembowelment as the Zorro-impersonating thought being shimmered into view and waved happily at Fleet Commander Rox-Hoff. Yo casually ignored the laser fire – s/he was convinced it wouldn’t harm him/her anyway – and trotted over to the platform before the big monitor screen where Rox-Hoff stood. “A Yo-creature!” the Skree leader snarled. “I thought all of your kind were confined to your godforsaken lapine-loving planet!” “Yo is holiday-making with Yo’s Lair Legion friends,” Yo explained. “Yo is to be learning tricking and treating. So far Yo knows lots more than before about Halloweening. Yo knows about day-tripping to Limbo, and meeting cute Avenger-friends, and now Yo is here to be to giving you a message from cute Jarvis-leader.” “Where’re those damned thought energy suppressers?” Rox-Hoff snarled at his panicking aides. The Skree Military Handbook had this to say about encounters with Yo-beings: don’t have them. “Cute-Jarvis says to say nahnah-na-nah-na,” Yo reported, taking the leader of the Lair Legion’s words rather literally. “Cute-Jarvis says that all Skree are big bully cowards to be always hiding behind robots and gianting space-crafts. Cute-Jarvis says that Skree Commanding Person hasn’t got the regenerative organs to be coming out of his big spaceship and be taking on Earth’s chosen champion in honourable single combat.” Rox-Hoff had gone beetroot red. “Your leader demeans my courage? Mine? In front of my men?” “Cute Jarvis says…” Yo paused to make sure he got the wording exactly right, “Come and have a go if you are thinking you are hard enough.” The Supreme Commander of the Skree Invasion Fleet had heard enough. “Prepare my combat armour. Ready the teleportation beam. I shall make this… this Cute-Jarvis rue the day he challenged me to single combat. Worlds will tremble for centuries hereafter when they learn of my opponent’s fate.” “Cute-Jarvis will be so happy,” Yo assured the seething Rox-Hoff. “This is treason!” the President warned as the Abandoned Legion stormed the best defended stateroom in the world. “I didn’t vote for you,” Cobra answered, dropping the two burly security guards who were expected to take a bullet for the Chief Executive. “Actually,” Cap announced, dodging round the two shapeshifting Skunk bodyguards and knocking the President backwards off his chair, “I don’t think anyone voted for you. Am I right, Sorceress?” “His aura’s not human,” the AL’s resident witch confirmed. “Not human?” gasped Herbert Garrick. Dan Drury took advantage of the confusion to kick his Skunk warder in the nodes and struggle free. “Yeah, that’s right, Garrick! Yer boss is one’o those slimy invadin’ Skunks.” “But… he put such nice things on my personnel assessment!” Imperiator P’Rawn was not amused. “Kill all the humans,” he ordered his companions. The Voyeur watched with interest as the two Skunk bodyguards morphed into huge armoured multi-tentacular killing machines. This was far more interesting than covering a treaty-signing. He delicately lifted his toga out of the way of Cobra wrestling with bodyguard one and stepped up onto a chair so as not to interfere with the fight. “Free men don’t go down as easily as all that, do they Skunk?” Cap challenged. His recent exposure to Captain America seemed to have filled him with a new confidence. Of course, he was still a man with a triangular shield taking on an alien killing machine. But he was going to die with confidence. spiffy dived through the window to avoid the hail of bullets from the Presidential security guard. “They seem to have a policy of better-to-kill-all-the-terrorists-even-if-you-shoot-the-Prez-as-well,” he noted, testing the limits of his fern to protect him from heavy arms fire. “Makes sense when you think about most Presidents.” “Hello, spiffy,” the Voyeur called out happily. “I haven’t seen you since we possessed Visionary together.” “Voyeur! Now I know we’re in dire trouble!” the fern-wielder moaned. Horrible images of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were forming in his mind. The bit at the end. The last stand. “You may think you’re so armoured that no weapon can get through,” Cobra told her opponent, “but it’s only a matter of time.” “You might be… oof… beating the… oof… out of me, but… agh… we have right on our side…” Cap offered to his Skree adversary. “No you don’t,” Sorceress warned as she saw the alien in the President’s form trying to sneak out on his hands and knees. With a gesture she caused him to ripple back into his true Skunk shape. Before he could protest Dan Drury brought the heavy Presidential seal down on his scaly green head and G’Ump went sleepybye. Drury had wanted to do that for a very long time. spiffy noticed that both Cobra and Cap were losing. Their opponents had perfectly adapted to the heroes’ attack forms. “Hey, Cappy, Cobby… change villains!” he shouted. Cap vaulted over his own opponent and downed Cobra’s enemy with a two-footed kick to the pressure-points at the back of its neck. “Good strategy, spiffy,” he called back. Cobra had no less than eight different weapons piercing Cap’s foe before it had time to shift shape into something more knifeproof. “Call me Cobby again and you’re next, fern-boy,” she told spiffy. The battle was nearly over. All that the heroes had to do was convince the White House security team not to kill them and explain about the impostor President. Then they could worry about the giant Skunk spacecraft over Washington and the nuclear missile heading for Paradopolis. “Um… where’s that Skunk leader gone?” spiffy wondered suddenly “He changed into an insect and went out of the door as soon as the fight started,” the Voyeur reported. “Your taxi driver went after him.” “Taxi driver?” Drury puzzled. “Hey, someone had to get us here from Paradopolis,” spiffy objected. Imperiator P’Rawn transformed back into his own slimy green self once he was safely away from the combat zone. He seethed at having to flee from these human scum. He would teach them a lesson they would never forget. “P’Rawn to Stealth Vessel,” he called into his communication device, but it only made an unpleasant raspberrying sound back at him. “Imperiator P’Rawn to Stealth Vessel. I command you to respond! Where are you, F’Lush?” “Nobody’s home,” a chilling voice spoke in the Skunk’s left ear. P’Rawn swung round to see the midnight cape and cowled countenance of the Dark Knight. As spiffy said, someone had to get the Abandoned Legion to Washington, and the Knightjet was hardly going to be bothered by a few alien fighter craft. The Imperiator suddenly felt very, very frightened. This was the proper reaction. “See, I told you there were three non-Skunk sentiences on this vessel,” Dr Moo quibbled with Lisa. The diabolical geneticist had done her work, infiltrating a terrible lactose intolerance into the organic systems of the Skunk Infiltration Vessel. Before leaving, Lisa had insisted they rescue any prisoners that might be caught on the ship. The two figures they had found weren’t actually prisoners. They had been hiding out in one of the storage bays, but the sound of their arguing led the sisters straight to them. “I didn’t need rescuing. I hate being rescued.” “You should be grateful that I bothered after you were stupid enough to get caught.” “Keep it up and you and me are going to have words.” “Bring it on, human, I’m ready for you.” “Will you two shut up, you’re giving me a headache. And that’s pretty hard, since being a knife I don’t have a head.” Lisa and Moo rounded the bulkhead. Lisa recognised one of the two stowaways. “Pearson’s Porter!” she snarled, reacting with lighting speed and lashing her whip round his throat in a deadly chokehold. “The last time we met you zapped me with some love-ray and I ended up almost having to marry Grim Reaper! You are so toast!” “Now that’s my kinda gal!” Knifey told ManMan. Lisa gradually became aware that Pearson’s Porter wasn’t paying any attention to her lethal attacks. He was staring past her with wide, awe-struck eyes. The advocate followed his gaze but all she could see was Moo, who was gazing back at the alien with a similar bizarre intentness. “You’re Lisa of the Lair Legion, aren’t you?” ManMan realised. “Nice to see that Cheryl’s PR is paying off at last,” the first lady of the Lair Legion smiled. “I, uh, I own your action figure,” ManMan admitted. “It’s the one with the detachable clothing,” Knifey added helpfully. “Why have you got yoghurt on your Elvis suit?” Lisa asked. The shaking of the ship helped them all realise they had about eight minutes to make good their escape before Washington was covered six inches deep in alien spaceship goo. “We’d better get out of here,” suggested Pearson’s Porter. “Yes,” agreed Moo. “Yes,” agreed Pearson’s Porter. “Come on then,” ordered Lisa. “PP…Here, you can carry my sweet little kitten.” The terrible sounds of war ceased in Paradopolis. A fragile truce held for the length of time it would take Rox-Hoff, Supreme Commander of the Skree, to crush the champion who would dare to challenge him. “Bring forth your warrior!” he thundered at the Lair Legion. “Bring forth the best this puny world has to offer that I may demonstrate the superiority of the Skree.” “You want me to sneak off and try and find the Yurt?” Hatman whispered to Jarvis. “Pah! Let me teach yon blowhard a lesson he shalt not soon forgetteth,” Donar urged. “Most especially when he is sittething in the dentist’s chair having his teeth replacéd.” “Hey, get in line,” Banjoooo argued. “You’re only a Prince of Ausgard. I’m King of the Sea-Monkeys. I should get to kick his butt first.” “Gah! Leave him to me Jarvis,” Starseed urged. “I’m pretty much in the mood to deal with him too, Jarv,” Fin Fang Foom reported. “Bring forth your champion,” Rox-Hoff repeated. “OK…” Jarvis considered. “In you go to take him on… CrazySugarFreakBoy!” “What?” the remaining members of the Lair Legion objected pretty much in unison. “All right!” the wired wonder beamed, leaping forwards to engage the invader. “About time this hyperkinetic attention-deficited hero-boy got something to do! OK, baddie, let’s rock and roll!” “Are you out of your mind?” Starseed asked Jarvis as CSFB! came to blows with Rox-Hoff. “That alien’s wearing state-of-the-art combat armour and has years of training in killing people.” “Yep,” Jarvis agreed. “And he’s facing CrazySugarFreakBoy! DarkHwk, get a video camera.” “Ah, there’s the one we need,” Xander pointed, directing Con Johnstantine to a young man clad in a red and purple heavily cabled superhero costume frozen in a stasis field in the very motion of reeling from a slap in the face from a member of the opposite sex. “Magnetic Techbird?” Johnstantine checked. “Isn’t he another failed Legionnaire? What’re we doing, recruiting a new all-losers squad?” “No, we’re protecting my shop,” the improbable mage replied. “The insurance rates are high enough as it is and there’s probably a nuclear weapons exclusion clause somewhere in the fine print. And I’ve just got the bathroom done.” “And we especially need this bozo because…?” “Because he has technologically-based magnetic powers, and it’s about time he did something useful with them. Now be a good chap and apply the sink plunger, would you?” “Um, you really shouldn’t be on our command deck,” the Skree Intelligence Officer told Yo. Not that he could do anything to prevent it, of course, but he had to try something. “Oh, Yo doesn’t mind. Yo is interested in to be watching those strange incoming blips on your long-range scanning scanners.” “What long range blips? Oh crap!” “This is not Dullard’s Corner,” Cheryl pointed out, opening the door to find out where Goldeneyed had transported her house now. “At least it’s not Hell’s Bathroom,” Zebulon shrugged. “Or cornfields,” added Visionary. “It’s Parody Island,” Tina realised. “We told G-Eyed to bring us home, and he brought us here. The mansion is just over that ridge.” “I don’t remember there being lots of dead aliens strewn all over the island when we left it through,” Melissa added with horror, looking at the devastation of what appeared to be a major battle. “Skree and Skunks,” Visionary noticed. “Do you think they killed each other?” “Oh no,” the shining figure that materialised in the middle of the living room told them. “It was me who was to be killing them. I am being Yo-ling.” “Yo’s sidekick?” Melissa gasped. “Yo-ling is to be killing anybody who is coming to this island. It is to be nice meeting you. Yo-ling will be killing you now.” “But… but Yo-beings aren’t like that,” Visionary objected. “Yo-beings are, well, nice, and soft and fluffy, and, and kind.” “This Yo-being isn’t,” Yo-ling answered. “Who is to be dying first, please?” This was a particularly unfortunate time for Exile to wake up. He wasn’t sure where he was, or why he seemed to be covered in sick, of who had put the jackhammer inside his forehead, but he did know that innocents were being threatened and he was a hero; and heroes had to do something when innocents were threatened. “Hold it there,” he called, trying hard to get his legs to work. “You only harm these people over my dead body.” “Ah,” Yo-ling smiled. “A volunteer.” Rox-Hoff fired his atomic disintegrator ray yet again, and somehow yet again CrazySugarFreakBoy wasn’t where he was supposed to be to get disintegrated; wasn’t even where the battle computers predicted he would be to get disintegrated. “Nice try, Roxy. Do you mind if I call you Roxy, only it’s sort of traditional for superheroes to call their baddies by cutesy little nicknames like Spidey calls Dr Octopus Doc Ock for example and Ock is allowed to call the webspinner things like meddling wall-crawler and stuff so if you want to call me something back that’s OK by me like maybe interfering dayglow-dreamer or something.” “Twenty minutes,” Starseed marvelled. “Twenty minutes and he’s still alive.” “Rox-Hoff hasn’t landed one punch yet. And now he’s lost his temper he’s really lost it big time,” Banjoooo noted. “Hold still and die!” the Skree Commander thundered. CSFB! grinned. “Hey, where’s the fun in that, Roxy? By the way, is that battle armour getting a bit sweaty by now, only you’ve been flailing around in it for a really long time and I guess it’s getting a bit ripe. Would you like a break in the battle for you to nip off and get a shower or something? I wouldn’t tell anybody, honest.” “There is absolutely no pattern to that boy’s fighting style at all,” NTU-150 considered. “None at all.” “Why do you think I put him in there, Enty?” Jarvis replied. “Are you getting all this on tape, DarkHwk?” “It’s in the can, boss,” the amulet-armoured hero replied. “Good,” Jarvis told him, “because I imagine Rox-Hoff is going to want to keep that tape quiet pretty badly…” “Hey, don’t hyperventilate, Roxy, just try to breathe naturally,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! advised his adversary. A clump of silly string clogged Rox-Hoff’s disintegrator glove, causing it to explode with a hand-shattering shriek. “I mean, you shouldn’t feel bad about not being able to make snappy comebacks, ‘cause not every villain’s built that way, like say Solomon Grundy or Godzilla, hey maybe you should just roar…” “I… will… kill… you!” shrieked Rox-Hoff. “That’s the spirit,” CSFB! approved. “But now I’ve gotta put you out, because I’m the good guy so I’ve got to win. It’s been a real slice, though.” And the fast-moving multi-hued hero slipped in past Rox-Hoff’s guard, somehow nudging the Skree’s one good hand so that the disruptor blast meant for CSFB! instead hit his own mirrored faceplate. Rox-Hoff bounced twice and then lay still. “The winner and still champion,” Dreamcatcher Foxglove proclaimed, bouncing up and down over the body of his opponent, “CrrrrrrrazySugarFreakBoy!” The sleek missile carrying nuclear death oriented in on Paradopolis, shielded from the sensors of the Skree vessel it was meant to destroy by the sophisticated stealth technology of the Skunks. Unfortunately it wasn’t shielded from Ausgardian hemigods and Makluan dragons. “There is yon miscreant missile,” Donar shouted above the gale-force tailwinds that drove Fin Fang Foom along. “I shall smite it right mightily with one fell blow.” “I don’t think that’s an entirely good idea,” Finny suggested diplomatically, wondering how to introduce Donar to the concept of radioactive fallout. “Not if you have intentions of siring demi-hemi gods.” “Then Donar needs must call upon his other inheritance,” the Ausgardian considered. “Keep pace with yon rocket and bear me close so that I may work mine mother’s magics.” Fin Fang Foom swooped low over the missile with Donar in his talons. The Thunder godling was humming something in a weird half-key which put the dragon’s scales on edge. Then a crackle of electricity burst from the nuclear weapons and hammered into Donar’s chest. The missile tottered and dropped. Foom skilfully caught it in his other claw. “That was pretty impressive, Donar,” the Makluan admitted. “How did you do it?” “Donar goes to sleep now,” the Ausgardian answered, slumping in the dragon’s grip. Manipulating earth-forces took a lot out of him. Foom looked behind him and went cold. “But Donar… what about the other three?” As soon as the cease-fire began Messenger took the opportunity to make himself scarce. He picked his way through the exciting urban-renewal opportunity that was Hell’s Bathroom before any of the Lair Legion thought to raise awkward points like why wasn’t he in prison at the moment awaiting execution for murder. “Hold it, Messenger,” Hatman challenged, dropping down in front of the postman and changing from his Sherlock Holmes deerstalker to his Steelers cap. “You know we can’t just allow you to walk free.” “Why not?” Messenger answered. “I just saved the whole Lair Legion, maybe the whole planet. Who do you think arranged for the beacon signal you used to get back? So don’t you think I deserve a little slack?” “You killed somebody, Messenger. I can’t cut you slack, as you put it.” “He executed the scum who murdered his girlfriend,” Starseed pointed out, flying down to join the tableau. “If we send him back, we’re sending him to Death Row.” “I know that,” agonised Hatman, “But we can’t just pick and choose when we do what’s right. Messenger was tried and convicted by a judge and jury. The death penalty was harsh, but he chose not to appeal. We can’t just let him go.” “Yes we can.” Starseed replied. “Look, I’ve known Messy for a lot longer than you have. I was his friend, and I know what kind of guy he is inside. We’ve got to give him another chance.” Hatman shook his head. “No. We’ve got to take him in.” “I’m sorry about this,” the Gah! Master said. Then he turned his power on Hatman, holding him immobile so that Messenger could get away. “Go, Messy! Get the hell out of here!” Messenger dropped both Starseed and Hatman with stun letters. “I get the message, Legionnaires,” he told their inert forms. “And now so do you. Goodbye.” The fallen hero melted into the alleys. Exile was moments away from death. Even on a good day he would have been hard-pressed to take on a Yo-being. This wasn’t a good day. “Tina,” Visionary called urgently, “can you link me telepathically with that Yo-ling’s mind?” The young woman concentrated, bringing the soft fuzzy cloud that was Visionary’s brain into contact with the black coiling mass which was the tormented consciousness of Yo-ling. And Visionary thought. Visionary was Yo’s friend. Visionary knew all about Yo-beings, from their child-like delight in the world to their bright innocence and their loyal devotion. He loved and admired his friend Yo, for his/her kindness and compassion and joy. He knew that Yo was a perfect example of what it was to be of Yo-kind. The Hooded Hood had retconned this Yo-being to believe something very different of itself, and since Yo-beings are composed of pure thought then it was what it believed itself to be. Now, measuring itself and its actions against the yardstick of Visionary’s memories, it knew different. “Noooooooo!” the unhappy creature howled, and thought itself out of existence. “I could have taken it,” Exile murmured, slumping back down onto the disabled pile on the sofa. “Another thing we should hold the Hooded Hood to account for,” snarled Melissa with such venom that Cheryl stared at her. “We’d better get in to the mansion and see what’s going on,” Visionary suggested. “Fin Fang Foom to Jarvis. Houston, we have a problem.” “Enty here, Finny. Couldn’t you take out the nuke?” “Oh sure, I’ve got it here to keep on my mantelpiece. Nah, it’s the other three that are bothering me a little bit. Seems like the Skunks wanted to make absolutely sure on this one. And Donar’s down so I’m not sure how to handle this.” Then suddenly the nuclear missiles stopped. Fin Fang Foom had to do a sharp wing-turn to swing round and find out what was happening. His limited experience of nukes was that they didn’t suddenly go into park mode at 15,000 feet. A red and purple clad figure was hovering a little way off, sweating. “Magnetic Techbird?” Foomy recognised. “Maggie, is that you?” “No, I’m just leader of the Magnetic Techbird fan club and I thought I’d halt these nuclear weapons on my way to the Magnetic Techbird convention,” snapped MT through gritted teeth. “Do you think there’s any chance you could possibly give me a hand here before I sneeze or something and they all fly off again?” “No problem,” Foom replied, hooking his tail around the three missiles. “Just hold them inert for a while longer.” And massive draconic wings beat faster and faster as he took flight towards the glistening distant strand which was the ocean. “Sure I will,” Magnetic Techbird promised, still concentrating. “I actually enjoy nosebleeds.” “So let’s see,” Jarvis considered as Banjoooo picked up the fallen Rox-Hoff and dusted him down rather roughly, “The Skunk mothership is now an unpleasant-smelling mulch over Washington. The Skunk commander has been captured by Dark Knight and the Skunk pretending to be the President is in SPUD custody. DK has somehow convinced the Imperiator to give up a full and frank confession. Meanwhile at this end we have captured the Supreme Skree Commander and have videotape evidence of him getting his butt kicked by CrazySugarFreakBoy! so he’s agreed to call off his invasion fleet. And Finny’s just dumped the last of the incoming nukes offshore. All in all not a bad day’s work.” “I have the comm-link through to Rox-Hoff’s ship,” NTU-150 announced. “Anytime he wants to call off his dogs he can do.” “Ready to give the word, Supreme Commander?” Foomy asked, “Or do you prefer movie stardom?” “It’s gonna splice up beautifully,” DarkHwk promised, holding the vid-cam. “I… I will send our glorious imperial legions elsewhere,” conceded Rox-Hoff. That videotape could end his career. “This is the Supreme Commander. Heed my orders.” “Sir?” a voice crackled back through the comm channel, “We have incoming, sir. There are at least fifty of them, and they’re big, real big. Following standing orders we’re about to shoot to kill.” “There’s Klingons on the starboard bow,” CSFB! commented. “They look like some kind of giant Space Robots,” the voice on the communications channel reported. “Space Robots,” Banjoooo frowned. “Didn’t Lisa mention something about some big Celestian Space Robots from her trip through time with Goldie?” “They’re still approaching. Firing missiles,” the Skree Intelligence Officer reported. “They’ve noticed us. They…” And then the Third Skree Invasion Fleet ceased to exist. All of it. The Celestians had returned. Troia 215 had yet another problem. First the Lair Legion had been exiled beyond time/space. Then the new Lair Legion had refused to do alien-fighting. Then the new Lair Legion had mysteriously vanished. Then the Hooded Hood had appeared. Then the Hooded Hood had told her that she was his daughter. Then whilst she was shocked by that the Hooded Hood had entered the hidden chamber in the tunnels beneath the Lair Mansion. Then the Hooded Hood had surrendered to her. It was all getting a bit too much. “What do you mean, you surrender?” she demanded, her spear-point trembling a bit as she pointed it towards the grey-mantled archvillain. “I have seen what I came here to see. I have done what I came here to do,” the Hooded Hood answered. “Behold.” Troia followed the dramatically pointing finger to examine the friezes on the walls. Along with carvings depicting the historical exploits of the Lair Legion were images showing the events of the last few days. The penultimate carving showed the Lair Legion battling Skree and Skunks. But now there was an alteration in the last bas-relief of all. The carvings now plainly showed a group of heroes entering a mysterious doorway in the company of the Hooded Hood. “That is the pathway to the Secret upon which the Parodyverse is built,” the cowled crime-czar told the Amazon administrator. “The path is described in the writings of Wilbur Parody, a former Shaper of Worlds who for many years sought to master the Secret but could never find this room from which the path begins. And even if he had it would have availed him little, for none but those of the fellowship who guard this place can enter that strange doorway.” “You mean the Legion?” Troia checked. She liked to be current with the plot.” The Legion are the guardians?” “Of course. Why do you think they are called the Lair Legion?” “Well, I just… I never really thought that superhero names had to make any sense.” “The Secret attracts guardians,” the Hood reflected, “but the time has come for it’s hidden truths to be revealed. This bas-relief shows eight superheroes and myself entering the hidden door to uncover the Secret within.” “I, um, I don’t recall you being on that carving before now,” Troia 215 admitted. “In fact, I don’t remember the carving.” “A minor retcon,” the Hooded Hood assured her. “To ensure that none could enter without my being present. The whole of my scheme so far has been to ensure that I could come in here and make that one minor change.” “Wow, you sure do think big,” Troia admitted. “Who are the seven superheroes who go in?” The Hooded Hood examined the bas-relief. “The room here fills in the details as the stories unfold,” he admitted. “As yet the details are difficult to make out. I think we can safely say that that one is most definitely Lisa however. What a shame.” “A shame? I thought you sort of liked Lisa? You nearly made her an archvillainess once.” The Hooded Hood drew his cloak around him. “It is written in the Book of Parody that of all the heroes who enter the doorway, none shall return,” he explained to the Amazon. “The Celestians are now upon us. The only way to thwart them is for eight heroes to accompany me through the doorway to learn the Secret. For those eight this will be a suicide mission. But if they do not come it will mean the death of the world, perhaps the end of the Parodyverse.” “Gosh,” Troia gasped. “Well, we were due for a roster change.” Vast and unfathomable, the Celestian Space Robots positioned themselves around the planet. Then they waited for the right moment to destroy the Earth. In our nail-biting (probably) final episode: Which eight heroes will go on the suicide mission? Is the Hooded Hood’s masterplan really going to succeed? What has Zemo to say to his errant daughter? What is the Secret at the heart of the Parodyverse? And how is all of this spiffy’s fault? Featuring Donar vs his All-Daddy, the origin of the Sea Monkeys, Melissa’s choice, and a whole lot of other stuff that’ll make it really, really long. All in ”The Last Untold Story of the Lair Legion” Don’t miss it. A double-length penultimate helping from the Hooded Hood, featuring damn near every poster's character in the Parodyverse, even if some of them are unconscious for the whole episode. Sorry about that Falcon. Next time. |
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