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My personal favorite: the Blackbird storyline of FFF Friday, 17-Sep-1999 18:34:23
Fin Fang Foom #10 Crimewave The darkness settled in Seattle...in more ways than one. The fact that the sky was lit with fire does not change the above fact--a new kind of darkness was in the Emerald City, one that didn't leave when the sun came up. Out of the wreckage of the falling and burning blimp, a shadowy figure fell. He did a handstand on the tip of the Space Needle and swung his legs around it several times, slowing his descent, and he continued his fall. Only low-lying buildings surrounded the Space Needle, so he had a rough journey--in theory. In actuality, when he hit the ground, his legs didn't even buckle--a fall of several hundred feet caused no pain for him. But a dozen cops were already committed to that task. They got their first glimpse of him as he stood under a streetlight--his black bodysuit was broken up with the image of a stylized, silver bird--most wings and a small head--which covered his shoulders, torso, and groin. The wings spread out over his shoulders, and the silvery part looked almost like foil. Silver gloves and boots were also part of his ensemble, as were a flimsy-looking silver pair of "sunglasses", which looked almost like a thin visor. The first bullets flew--and silver blurred in front of the masked man, sparks flying. When the cops had emptied their revolvers, the masked man emptied his hand of the spent bullets--they fell to the ground and bounced. Before they could reload, a black and silver streak hit them--punches and kicks connected, and the cops were all down in less than ten seconds. The last conscious cop was to deliver a message--"Tell them that Blackbird can't be stopped". The masked man looked up in the sky--the rapidly-falling blimp was headed right for the Kingdome. The angle was wrong, however, and it would miss, hitting a nearby parking lot. He sighed, and backflipped up to a streetlight, where he spun around and then went flying through the air--just as he reached the peak of his climb, the silver foil of his costume kicked in, and he began gliding--in no time at all, he was back on top of the Space Needle. He looked around, and grabbed the briefcase he'd set there. He surveyed the scene--fire engines everywhere, people evacuating the Kingdome en masse, general chaos all around. While Seattle was distracted, he examined his loot--inside the briefcase there was a hundred million dollars. He whistled quietly, and regained his composure by jumping off the Space Needle. He glided down and came to rest on a shadowy rooftop, and soon made his way to a maintenance entrance for the city's vast underground power and sewer "catacombs". He grimaced--it was a long way back to the suburbs... ------------------ Fin Fang Foom was in pain. The Seattle hideout was all but empty now, save for him. DK had said something about having to save the universe, and had run off. Travis and Matt were back at school. Sersi and NTU had returned to Parodiopolis. Alone and bored out of his mind, Finny turned on the TV--if it could be called that. Finny was in a regeneration tank--his shapeshifting form had been mush, more or less, after his battle with the phantom. He'd won, with a lot of help, but was still recuperating. Now, his body could reform in peace and quiet and a sterile environment. He had several monitors to keep him occupied, one tapped into cable, even--that one currently had his attention. It told of a lottery promotion at a baseball game, and how the money--which was being kept on a blimp as another promotional stunt--had been stolen minutes ago. The cable feed was national, all of America was seeing it. The pilots of the blimp had died, but there were no other casualties--quite a few minor injuries from the stampede the falling, flaming blimp had provoked, but nothing else. Finny was angry--he'd be mostly-regenerated by morning, and then he'd get some justice... ---------------------------- Once, there was a quiet, two-story house--with a basement--with large trees and shrubbery surrounding it. It also had a spacious attic which was used mostly for storage--or so Joshua Parkson's parents thought. Behind stacked boxes and a tipped-over pile of old luggage, there was movement. A latch flicked open, and some drizzle came in--as did a certain masked man. He quietly shut the oval vent and latched it, sitting down on a stack of mattresses. He took off his mask, revealing reddish-brown hair and a tan face. He paused to catch his breath, and heard something--the voice of one of his parents. "Dear, it's not up here!" The attic light clicked on, and he tensed--he'd re-arranged the attic so that the part he used would be completely cut off, with boxes and luggage and more cutting off the small corner of the attic where the roof sloped, making the room considerably smaller. He'd barely managed to fit a few matresses, a chest, and a rug to still have room for the other attic entrance that his parents didn't know about. But if his parents were coming up from the house's second story, they might check in on him... He quickly shed his costume--the kevlar and high-tech foil gloves, boots, and vest all came off, and he pulled on some cargo pants and a t-shirt. He stuck his costume and briefcase in the trunk, and left the attic, removing a panel and jumping down to the linen closet which was built into his room, next to his room's bathroom. He landed on some soft towels, and jumped out of the closet. "Finally!!" The voice was his lover's--Holly hugged him, and they sat on his bed. "Well? How'd it go?" "Pretty good--yeah, I got the hundred million, but that's small change--remember, Vanson Industries was supporting that event, and now that I messed it up, our very own Zanamax Science Services gets the government contract, I'll bet." She grinned. "Yeah, ok, Mr. big shot intern. So you'll get more money for your technology?" "The whole company will get more funds, which means better, legally-bought lab equipment for me to use...in secret, of course!" His parents walked in--"You kids have any friends at that game tonight? I heard there was an accident or something with the blimp and that lottery..." He kept a straight face--"No, I haven't--no one we knew was there, though, so..." "Yeah...your mother and I are going out for ice cream, we'll be back in a few hours, ok?" He nodded and his parents left...they turned on the TV to see reports of a "master criminal", who'd robbed the blimp...and no one suspected that it was all a ploy to mess up a business deal for a rival company. Holly grinned--"You're on a roll, guy--wanna try your luck with me?" She kissed him, and his repuation as a smooth operator continued unabated... --------------------- "The tourist council is yelling at me because this super-crap scares people away. The mayor wants me to catch this guy so he give him the death penalty when it's time for elections in another year. The people of Seattle know that this guy has pulled six jobs in six days--last night being the first high-visibility one--and that we haven't caught him. Gentlemen, I'm here today to tell you that we are going to catch him." Detectives Sawyer and Tucker listened intently to their commanding officer, drinking coffee and taking notes. Their names finally came up--"Tucker, you and Sawyer are going to check out some 'sources'--this guy shown off some impressive tech, he's gotta be getting it somewhere." The detectives practically flinched--they had a long, tedious, and boring day ahead of them... ------------------------- It was number seven on the list. Six other companies, for which they had to fight traffic, run around Seattle, deal with not-in-the-know employees and busy bosses, and pretend to be interested as they flipped through inventory and supply reports hundreds of pages long. "Zane-ame-x--no, Zanaamachs..." Sawyer stuttered through the next company's name, trying to get it right. "Zanamax! Yeah, that's it. They do research and development for quite a few corporations." "Great, those R&D guys are never too organized...my brother is in that field, his office is worse than his room when we were in high school..." The complex was huge, they had to go through a security booth, were stopped three times by other guards, and not allowed to enter until their identities could be verified by their commanding officer. Once inside, the CEO told them of their company--if a company did it's own R&D, and they put time and money into a project, and it ended up failing or not being financially acceptable, or they just didn't like it, they lost out in terms of money--it was no one's fault but their own. But if they freelanced, hired someone to do R&D, it was low-risk, and insurance settlements for everyone if the project didn't happen. He also spoke of their "perfect" supply and inventory department--it had the highest efficiency rating of any in Washington, with no clerical errors or misspent or wasted dollars. Apparently, the department had saved them several hundred million in a period of two years. Sawyer and Tucker made their way to the supply and inventory building--it was connected to the main admin complex by a long covered "skywalk" which was only a few feet off the ground. While it was mainly a warehouse, there was a small front office, which the skywalk led to. Once inside, they greeted the young, attractive secretary, and then went to speak to her boss--one Jack Taylor. Jack greeted them, and they talked--he showed them paperwork attesting to the fact that all their machinery was accounted for, and even joked about corporate idiocy. "The unions, who knew nothing about R&D, made the company put a clause in so that every branch of the Zanamax would have its own lab--only we didn't need one, but they gave it to us anyway. It just collected dust for a few months, while we used it for storage, before my assistant and I got an idea--why not run diagnostic tests on the machinery we'd put in there? We unpacked it, hooked it up, and learned all kinds of interesting things about what the machinery could and couldn't do--we figured out what brands and model numbers were better, what gear was and wasn't compatible with our computer system, and tons more. Of course, we don't have trained lab personnel spying on us to make sure we're doing it right, so I can see why you might be suspcious--but my branch of the company closely monitors power usage, these charts and graphs show when the machinery is being used, and what's being used, and power spikes indicate what the machinery is being used for. As you can see, we just do low-power diagnostic stuff." It all checked out. Not a single error or hidden power use. A man walked into the office, a vice president of something-or-other. He said he needed a frequency modulator/regulator. Jack excused himself, and went to the "back room". Once there, he frantically searched for someone--he found Joshua inside the back room, writing down notes on a clipboard. He explained the situation to Josh... "Ok--first, don't tell this guy to order the monitor--I have a spare seventeen-incher that's better. And have him get the lowest memory capacity possible--we can hook it up to the mainframe, and let that giant thing handle the data storage--just to be safe, though, I'll plug in a spare motherboard for back-up. And those new projectors come with extra bulbs that we'll never need, so those can be used in the scanner assembly--just make sure I get my hands on it first, and I'll hook him up," Joshua Parkson said. Jack repeated that almost word-for-word. The detectives were impressed, the company saved money, and Joshua's schemes continued proving fruitful. ----------------------------- Finny walked out of the tank as the sun was high in the sky--the fight had taken more out of him than he'd originally thought, he'd slept in. He was in his human form. He stretched, and placed a call to Parodyverse Comics. He said he'd have the script--which he hadn't started on--done soon. As for the "master criminal"...that was up DK's alley, not his--but he'd try anyway. He had eight hours before nightfall, just enough time to do the script, shower, eat, and check in at the LL Mansion... ------------------------------ The generators were the key. A year and a half ago, when Joshua had convinced Jack to do his "diagnostic" idea, he'd also plugged in some electrical generators--generators that had secretly powered his experiments. But Jack didn't know that the small, round turbines were generators, so he didn't think anything of it. Jack came into the back room, where he then took a staircase to a basement level, walked through a mini-warehouse of unopened boxes, pushed over some stacked-up desks that were blocking a door, and went down a small service elevator...ending up in the lab. "Nice work today, kid--showing off to those detectives was a blast, and both of us get commended for that frequency modulator/regulator deal." He handed Joshua a stack of papers. "And get this--the government decided to give us that contract, and not Vanson, for some reason--which means you get to decide how to spend our portion of the eight billion. Here's the list of stuff Zanamax needs and wants, the bank account numbers you'll need, and a list of phone numbers--these guys have first-crack at selling stuff to us, the big bosses would like them to have first pickings." "No prob, Jack!" "Good--if you can handle all that, my secretary and I have to run some errands--just call me on the cel phone if you need anything." He walked off, and Joshua smiled. He knew that Jack couldn't say her name without smiling. Jack was a married man, but not happily married...having an affair kept him out of Joshua's hair, at least for now. Joshua didn't care if Jack was out robbing banks, so long as it kept him distracted... Joshua had plenty of time to work--he was now a full-fledged employee, and that ate up two periods of his school day--add in the science, math, and record keeping hours that this counted as, and that he usually spent his open period here...all he had was history to go to, and lunch. He used the time to do the paperwork, wheeling and dealing to penny-pinch for Zanamax, clearing out the paperwork easily. He signed Jack's name for everything, of course. He then ran diagnostics on machinery, and that "noise" covered up his own experiments--he'd been playing around with his arsenel some, and was now developing a kind of boomerang that gave off an energy trail--a spark of electricity added to it would send a taser effect across the trail, and it could cut off entire buildings and single out targets for robbing. Now, he just had to choose his next target... Continued... Fin Fang Foom #11 The perfect crime? "Please, please tell me you found something--anything!" Sawyer and Tucker shook their heads dejectedly. Their commanding officer glanced at the clock--in mere hours night will have fallen, and then it was just a matter of where. "What about all that paperwork? You guys might have missed something..." "We had a dozen of our finance specialists look over it...and nothing came up. A few mistakes in all of them but Zanamax's, but nothing illegal or suspicious." Tucker pulled at his tie, and went over documents he'd gone over a million times already. They all glanced up at the city map, where large red thumbtacks had been stuck to convey Blackbird's previous targets. There was no apparent pattern, no main area that he seemed to be working out of, no common theme in any of his thefts. Sawyer tapped Tucker on the shoulder. "Two things, man. Two things here bug me." "Oh yeah? What?" "First of all--Zanamax has 'perfect' records. That's weird, but possible. But get this--in that blimp attack last night, this company was funding the lottery deal--Vanson Industries." "So?" "So, they were up for a government contract, for eight billion bucks--but after the fiasco last night, Zanamax got it." "What, Zanamax is in league with Blackbird? No way--too many ways to verify their lab activities. And the government keeps their contract deals secret so companies don't know who they're competing against." "Ok, maybe--but I've been looking over these records, and one of the reasons that the supply and inventory department at Zanamax does so well is because they only have three employees, not counting labor." "Oh yeah? Jack Taylor, his babe secretary..." "And a kid. Some high school kid who gets paid a ton for doing minor stuff--thanks to profit sharing." "So the kid lucked out, so what?" "It's a coincidence, I'm sure--but maybe the kid knows stuff about Taylor. Maybe Taylor is doctoring the records somehow, and this kid is the only witness." "What about the secretary?" "You see Taylor's office? The photo of his wife was facing away from him, towards the guest chairs. And I swear I felt a spark between him and his secretary." "So one of us tails Taylor, and the other talks to the kid?" "Sounds good to me." ------------------------- Finny sat in the comfortable computer desk chair, working on his latest comic. Without any distractions, he'd managed to get quite a bit done--fourteen pages in the hours he'd worked on it. His body still ached, but he had plenty of time to recuperate--still several hours until nightfall, and his body's shapeshifting was back in full swing. The drizzle had turned to snow, though Finny barely noticed--he was in one of the most well-hidden rooms in the world--no one would think to look for him in an office complex, in a room that doesn't even exist, as far as the world knows. There were no windows, but vid-screens showed him the outside when he wished. He decided to take a nap for an hour or so, and fell asleep... ---------------------------- The CEO of Zanamax gave Joshua Parkson a quick buzz, to let him know that he was leaving for vacation--and to congratulate him, company expenditures had gone down another 11% thanks to his and Jack Taylor's actions. The CEO, Max Holstings, was one of the few who suspected one truth--the truth which involved Joshua doing most of the work, while his old buddy Jack ran around on his wife. Max didn't care--as long as the work got done, and done well, he was happy. But that was only one truth, and a minor one at that. To Max, it was a big deal, in a way--his company's future and all that. But to Joshua, who used his technogenius and thinking-on-his-feet abilities to help the company, it was just a sidenote. It was just another small part of one big scheme. Joshua was in fact Blackbird, and was doing his best mouse impression--the cat was away of course, and this cat had given Joshua full permission to use his private gymnasium. Josh, wearing shorts and a tanktop, jumped off the top platform of the special acrobatic-use bars they'd developed for the Olympics last month. His hands--unchalked--grabbed on easily, not covered by sweat--this was child's play for him. He spun around the first bar before using the momentum to propel himself across the gym set, planting both feet on a narrow and slippery bar. Even without the special molecularly dense, anti-gravity foil he usually wore making him faster and able to glide--being unhindered by gravity allows both--he was still at the peak of his game, thanks to the chemical alterations he'd made to his body. His equilibrium was perfected thanks to inner-ear modifications, as evident by his balancing act. He leapt off of it, and came down upon a punching bag--he let out a fierce kick, and separated it from the chain which held it up by force. Electrolosys--first generated by machines, then created and enhanced by the use of his other ablilities--kept his muscles at near-perfect levels. He did a cartwheel, and ran right into a wall. His skin was the most changed of his body's organs--no longer vulnerable, it was a living filter--impact went right through him. In this case, it didn't even faze him--he got right back up, unhurt. His skin also had a heightened sense of feeling--he could "feel" waves of motion, becoming extremely hard to hit. If he was in the dark, he could put his hand out, seeing if his waves of motion hit anything, like a wall, or a hole he could fall into. He also had an impressive array of weaponry--aside from his gloves and boots, which let him jump and punch and kick at superhuman levels thanks to no gravitational interference, he also had special discs built into his costume, which would "spin out" to create large shields, much like a photo lens cover. While physical impact meant little to him, bullets and other projectiles did, he didn't want to test how durable his kevlar costume was unless he absolutely had to. He also had just created a boomerang that gave off a unique energy trail--one which would act as a conduit for electricity, much like a spark on a trail of gasoline. He also had mini-explosives, and assorted gadgetry. He also had a powerful natural weapon that he'd "built" into himself--his skin could create a kind of substance which he could use in three forms--as solid, he could create staffs and grappling cords and other limited weaponry. As liquid, he could use it both as an adhesive and a lubricant. And as vapor, it could act as cover for his escapes. Joshua had left his costume at home today, along with the 100 million he'd stolen the night before--he had to be to class soon, and he had an extremely important phone call to make...it was to the offices of a Hawaiian video game company. He actually just dialed into their computer database, where he "flagged" a company as a possible web site provider--the multimedia company where his parents worked. The Hawaiian company didn't notice that the company they were referred to didn't exactly meet the criteria they were looking for, they just assumed the computer knew what it was doing. A call was placed, and in no time, his parents were on their way to a working vacation in Hawaii--and he had the house to himself. He didn't need anything distracting him from his main mission, of course... --------------------- In another part of Seattle, the proud tradition of killing the messenger--or at least being tempted to--continued. Wearing an Armani suit, with slicked-back hair and a perfect smile, the man walked up to the door of the lower-class suburban house. A man in his thirties answered the door, and was horrified. "I'm sorry, sir, but the truth is...we ran the lottery before that Blackbird character stole the money, and, well--you would have won. The 'lottery ball' machine didn't fit in the blimp, we were just going to use video footage. If they catch this guy, of course, you get the money--but right now, it doesn't look like they will..." The would-be winner wasn't too happy, to say the least. The spokesman for the lottery company left, and he stood outside in shock, not aware of the cold wind or wet snow. It seemed like his life had been a string of disappointments and failures, this being the biggest one. He didn't care about the weather--his internal suffering far outmatched any external suffering he could experience. Then, the phone rang. "No names, please, sir--we know who you are, and you don't need to know who we are. We can help you. You have unrealized potential in your life--which we can help you to attain. We just need a few small favors..." ---------------------- Sawyer sat in his car outside the suburban high school, glancing over the schedule he'd gotten--the police mainframe was linked to the school's, so it had been a simple matter to get Joshua Parkson's class schedule. It was still snowing, and the detective pulled the collar up on his topcoat, and went inside. A trip to room 108--the history department--was first. The classroom was empty, however, and Sawyer made his way to the library, where the class was working on a project. A quick conversation with the teacher led him to a young, attractive brown-haired girl. "Joshua is in the bathroom back there," she motioned to a dull tan door and the dimly-lit hallway behind it. "He had to go, and someone else had taken the pass to go to the good bathroom by the teacher's lounge, so he settled for this one." Sawyer introduced himself, and apologized for the inconvenience. Joshua didn't seem to mind, he just went about his business in the stall. In reality, Sawyer had just wanted to get Joshua away from his home turf at Zanamax, but a flimsy story about just missing him as he left for school was proffered as well. "How well do you know Mr. Taylor, Josh?" "I've been working with him for two years now, so...!" "Your department has the highest efficiency rating of any in Zanamax...but the least employees. How is that?" "Jack runs a tight ship--if everyone in Zanamax would work as hard as the three of us, the company would be a juggernaut." "Would it be possible for anyone at a high level to doctor those lab-usage reports, or somehow smuggle materials out?" "Not a chance--the reports go through security, our supervisors on the east wing, they correlate our activities with schedules of diagnostic tests and shipments arriving and leaving...no way." Sawyer rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. But he continued..."Jack seems to be gone a lot, with his secretary..." "Yeah, they gotta press the flesh, y'know?" For a second, Sawyer thought he had it. "I'm talkin' about handshaking, meeting with delivery service CEOs and the guys who build our equipment--can't run the whole operation out of an office making phone calls, right? There's gotta be face-to-face stuff." Sawyer cursed to himself--he suspected that Taylor and his secretary were having an affair, and that "pressing the flesh" thing made him overreact to a common business term. Joshua chuckled--using double entendres like that was hilarious. Of course, if Sawyer was in the room with Joshua, he would have heard him snickering--but as it were, Joshua was about to break his usual method of operating... ------------------------ The precinct was nearly empty--every man and woman available was following up leads on Blackbird and related things. As Sawyer was questioning Joshua, a dozen other detectives were questioning possible tech-suppliers. Of course, "Joshua" consisted of a pair of artificial legs (with Joshua's jeans down around his ankles, of course), a voicebox, and a remote vid-link patched through to Blackbird's fiberoptic "sunglasses". As Blackbird spoke a mile away, it came through crystal-clear through "Joshua's" mouth. Blackbird perched himself on a nearby rooftop as he cybernetically detonated the mini-explosives he'd planted minutes before. Gravel and pavement went flying as the precinct was cut off from the streets, the foundation gave way and the building sunk into fiery earth. Inside, the remaining cops were caught in a tornado of motion, tossed every which-way as the building shook. Molten debris jutted out a dozen feet in the air, the remains of the streets which were now cutting off the building from the just-arriving firemen. The ground was too soft around it, the heavy fire engines sunk if they got too close, making their ladders and cranes useless. Blackbird jumped off the building, falling, and let the warm updrafts of the fire propel his anti-grav foil so he flew upwards, and soon into the precinct. He arrived in the combined top and middle floors of the building--the top had split in half, and now sloped down to the second story. He landed, and headed straight for the chief's office. The chief fired off a few rounds at him, but it did no good--he caught the bullets in his durable metal-foil gloves, with gravity not having as much a pull on his hands and feet he had blinding speed, so much that he easily overcame the chief with a spin kick to the jaw. The chief fell to the floor, and Blackbird went to his computer--he stuck in a disk which contained a powerful computer virus, and as the computer rebooted, he got into the mainframe, its weakened and distracted defenses not able to stop him. He transferred the money held in police accounts into half-a-dozen numbered accounts, which he then laundered into exclusive Swiss numbered accounts, which he then transferred in a hundred too-small-to-be-noticed amounts, and then he retraced his original path, sending the smaller amounts to the anonymous numbered accounts, the medium-sized ones to Swiss and Caribbean numbered accounts which distributed them to banks all over the world. A few hundred million had been broken up into smaller amounts in different banks in different types of accounts belonging to both anonymous and known individuals, each time the money changed electric "hands" it got smaller, harder to trace, and not quite as illegal as it had been--but it all belonged to Blackbird. He trashed the computer, of course, as well as the police mainframe, which was kept in a steel cage below the precinct with a few more previously-planted explosives, which he had left un-triggered before. He figured that he should kill the police chief for good measure...he wondered how Sawyer, whom he was still talking to via voice link, would react to this--a cel phone ring gave him his answer. Sawyer's questioning session would have to wait, apparently, as he'd run out of the bathroom. He heard heavy footsteps in the main room outside the office, so he spun, and let fly with his boomerang--it circled the room and returned to him. A spark was let out by a taser he'd removed from a hidden compartment in his costume, and the room crackled with electricity. But Fin Fang Foom wasn't impressed. He let out his fire breath, to which Blackbird responded by "unfurling" his spin-out shield to four feet in diameter--it grew incredibly hot, but held firm--until Blackbird looked over the shield to see if the dragon was still there. A green fist connected with his jaw, and he flew, hitting his head on a doorframe which would have broken the neck of a normal man. But the impact instead shuddered through Blackbird's form, and he rushed Finny at a superhuman speed. Silver boots and gloves blurred by as they connected with Finny's body--Blackbird had normal human strength, but the speed and invulnerability of his anti-grav foil gloves and boots made him a force to be reckoned with. Finny flew away to catch his breath, but flew right into a sparkling trail of energy--which caused the entire trail to come alive with electricity, and set off secondary explosions as it sent a few million volts through Finny. Blackbird put his hands together, and they glowed with a blue energy--when he pulled them apart, he'd created a blue, metallic staff. He jumped at Finny and smacked him with his new weapon, but Finny grabbed a support beam lying loose, and did his Babe Ruth impression on Blackbird's head with it--from ten feet away, the longer support beam connected, and Blackbird rolled with it, propelling himself at Finny feet-first with a handstand leap. His foot never got the chance to hit, however--he'd made the mistake of confronting Finny head-on, with his hands occupied--and a burst of flame breath made him realize the error of his ways. His legs singed, he activated his shield, which deflected part of the attack--but Finny ducked under Blackbird as he fell and activated his shield, and pummeled him. The shield was useless at close quarters, and Blackbird's superspeed didn't apply to his reaction time. Dazed but not hurt, Blackbird cartwheeled away, and he lobbed his boomerang at Finny--it was a compressed version of the stylized avian logo that adorned Blackbird's costume, only it was black with silver lining. Finny whipped it out of the building with his tail, and Blackbird fogged up the room with blue smoke. Finny's powerful wings broke some of it up, but he was caught off-guard by a blue cord, which tied around him as Blackbird backhanded him at superspeed while he used his taser to spark more explosions with the trail his boomerang had gotten off before Finny knocked it out of the park. He also threw a few hand-held explosives at the walls, bringing down the house even more. Most of the third and second floors fell on Finny, as Blackbird shoved him through a gaping hole. His arms and legs tied up, Finny tried to shapeshift himself thinner, but couldn't--his control over his powers wasn't exactly the greatest it had ever been, he was still barely alive after the fight with the phantom. Powerful blue adhesive glued the debris together, and Finny was trapped under it, not to mention still tied up--Blackbird jumped down, and made a blue spear, preparing to impale him... ...but Finny's tail wrapped around Blackbird's legs, making him fall, a water pipe was knocked over in the process--while Blackbird was immune to the adhesive, the pipe wasn't, and it stuck to the adhesive-coated debris, pinning his arms. As Blackbird struggled to escape, he managed to get to a mini-explosive, which he superheated with his antigrav boots by rubbing them together--it would only be seconds before it took out the entire place. Finny extended his wings to their full length, snapping the cords. He smashed himself into the soft earth below, and came out a block away--but it was too late. The building had blown. He flew over to it, and saw that the iron pipe had been shattered by the force of the explosion, and Blackbird was gone. He helped evacuate the remaining cops, and flew off to get some rest. ----------------- In the library, the kids were abuzz with the news--Blackbird had humiliated the police, and only Fin Fang Foom was able to fight the guy to a standstill, saving the life of the police chief. It made too much sense--why would Blackbird wait to strike at night when everyone was expecting him to? Holly tried not to laugh, and wandered down a dark hall into the men's room--the dummy was gone, and Joshua was just getting out of his costume. "How bad was it?" she asked. "That dragon guy was tough, but I lucked out, and got the money...not to mention I got away." "How long do you think you can keep this up if he's here?" "Not every night, that's for sure--I'll have to be more careful about choosing my targets now, and do hit-and-run type missions. It's not gonna be easy, but I'm still going to win..." Continued... Fin Fang Foom #12 A never-ending battle, as told in two parts The rain would follow him wherever he would go. The Dark Knight had never noticed it until now--the unrealistically-large full moons, the bright blue, long-lasting, overly-defined lightning bolts, and most of all, the rain. It was like a private curse, that he'd forever be surrounded by darkness and misery. But he didn't think on that for long. The rain is a problem that doesn't need to be solved, nor can it be--unlike heavily-armed criminals and psychotic murderers and cars skidding out of control and everything else the Dark Knight dealt with on a nightly basis. Evil and tragedy are not out of reach or unstoppable, it can be stopped by applying long-term strategy to immediate physical help. The fierce storm caused people to stay in for the night and ball games to be cancelled and normally-calm men and women to go running with briefcases and newspapers held over their heads, frantically trying to escape the onslaught of water. Water gushed down the steep hills of Seattle, forming not-so-miniature rivers in the curbs and crevices. The wind howled, lighting crackled menacingly, and the rain never stopped. But that was nothing compared to the storm inside the detective. He looked out over Seattle, knowing that evil forces were conspiring--in some cases, against him--this very moment. But he had no choice. Lives were in danger, justice had been humiliated, owners of money and possessions had lost both, as well as dignity. The traditional authorities could do nothing. And one man was at the center of it all. Most people would have been overwhelmed; and given up. Tonight, the Dark Knight did what needed doing, as always--even if he didn't like it. It required him to think like a criminal, in order to stop one of the biggest crime waves to ever hit Seattle. It was perpetrated by one man--a technogenius named Blackbird. The Dark Knight reviewed Blackbird's crimes, hoping to find a pattern. Clothed in rain and darkness, the Dark Knight dove into the mind of a criminal, hoping to find a way to stop him... -------------------- Blackbird had blown up a police precinct and wiped out their bank accounts. Helped the company he worked at get an eight billion dollar contract using a little sabotage. Taken on--and held his own against, and escaped from--Fin Fang Foom. And power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Joshua Parkson let out a heavy sigh as Holly rolled off of him, and she pulled the covers back up. Both were breathing heavier than usual, and lightly covered with sweat. "Your legs feeling any better yet?" she asked. "No, that stupid dragon's flame-breath singed them pretty bad...uh, sorry for making you do most of the work...I'm not exactly up to my usual agility." She grinned. "Well, wounds you got while bringing home money aren't in vain or anything," Her mood turned grimmer. "Now that you have all that money, can't you take a vacation or something? That dragon is bound to come after you again..." He put his hands behind his head for a moment, and closed his eyes. "I...it's not exactly something you just turn off. I'm on a steep path--can't turn back." She rested her head on his chest, and sighed. She quickly glanced over at the clock--it was five a.m. "When are your parents supposed to be back?" "Not for another two weeks...great, huh?" "Mmmm...but you're going to be planning more heists, aren't you? No time for anything else?" "Well, I do have to do hit-and-run stuff now...it'll take more planning, yeah. But that just means I'll be here more." "Yeah, looking over diagrams and maps and paperwork...we have the house to ourselves, Josh! Let's not waste it!" He grimaced. "I know...but I have to do this. I feel like we're racing towards something...something out of our control. And whatever I do, I move closer and closer to it..." "What do you mean?" "The last week, with a job every night...then the dragon shows up for my biggest one...I get away with the cash, but it doesn't feel like it's over...everything's going so fast, I feel like I'm missing out on something..." "So...screw it! Just...don't do it!" Hesitation. "I wish I could...I just...I just..." Then, his eyes sparked to life. She looked at him with hope in her eyes, hope which was dashed the second he jumped out of bed. "I've got it! I know what my next job will be!" He went into his closet, and from there he used the secret passage to get to his closed-off part of the attic. "You're...you're thinking of crime when we're in bed? I..." No one was there, but she continued talking, until her words changed into soft sobs, and she cried into her pillow until she fell into a tumultous sleep... ---------------- There's no such thing as "calm" in Parodiopolis. Even in the morning, as children trudge off to school and adults put off leaving early for work, the bright sunshine and crisp air serve not as reminders that a new day has started, but rather as painful reminders that superhuman activity will soon come. They have no doubt that in hours, sirens will wail, buildings will blow up, lab experiments will go horribly wrong, new threats will rise up as old ones return, death will be nothing to the superhumans and everything to the average citizen, and most importantly, that the superheroes will hold the line--albeit barely--against the evil forces that threaten life and liberty. The idea of peace-time has also gone out the window--rather, the media long ago the term "working peace"--in other words, a war that's carried on by someone other than a recognized world power, and in pursuit of peace. Even the government knows that even if you tell a taxpayer that it's peace-time, they can easily look out the window and see that it's anything but peaceful--so they went along with the new buzzword. The working peace in Paridiopolis today, however, isn't of concern to the horde of reporters outside of the movie studio. Cheesy tabloid photog's and respected journalists clamor at the gates, hoping for a glimpse of what's inside. The guards tell them that they're crazy, the man they're looking for isn't there. But they continue, and their questioning was soon interrupted... "Fin Fang Foom is a dragon. In the middle ages, if a mob tried to storm the gates, he'd just dump boiling oil on them." The reporters turned around, laughing, and forgetting their questions. For all the skill of their profession, a simple one-liner would get them every time--or so Cheryl thought. As the public relations chief for the Lair Legion, her job was simple--dodge as many questions as possible, try not to scare the public too much, and hope the reporters were as dumb as they acted. So far, she was batting one thousand. "Heh...so he really isn't here?" a reporter asked. "Well, not yet--I'm not his secretary, I don't know when he's coming or going." Visionary stood off a bit, fidgeting--he wanted to take a look around the studios, he understood that the producer had installed the world's largest in-studio special effects/computer animation department. He was wondering what it was capable of when he apparently saw the same--a motorcycle rider, without an inch of skin showing in his yellow and black riding outfit complete with helmet, stood before him. While he looked real, Vizh swore he could see pixellating dots making up his form, but each time he focused on one part, it would "solidify", and the edge of his field of vision would show more pixels. He sighed, and looked away. But the man tapped him on the shoulder, and simply said "Where's Finny?" After they'd gotten Vizh down from the world's only 6'6 female reporter, he regained his composure, and wandered off mumbling that people should inform him when holograms are really video-game-characters-come-to-life. Moto, as the motorcycle man was called, stepped into the crowd of reporters. "You guys are looking for Finny too, huh? Well, he should be here soon, so relax. In the meantime, if you want to ask me about my new movie..." Cheryl recognized the opportunity. "Yes, of course, this is the world's first for-charity movie--thanks to some of the LL's deep-pocketed friends, Moto can afford to make a movie whose proceeds to directly to the Shriner's Hospital for Crippled Children--with himslef as the star." More questions and answers were spoken, until a familiar silhouette eclipsed the sun above them... Finny landed amidst the reporters, and was thankful that they were more interested in knowing his current romantic entanglements than the fact that he was moving awkwardly, still recovering from his injuries. The only question he bothered answering was about Blackbird--he said that the situation was being dealt with, that he wasn't a detective and couldn't do much about it for now. Hours later, the papers would label him as "enigmatic" and "mysterious", thus creating even more public interest in his exploits--to his confoundation, of course. He merely gave a nod to Moto, and the two walked into the studio. Cheryl lingered for a few more minutes to answer questions, and then went inside as well. Finny sat in Moto's trailer--which was more of an RV. Rather, he tried to sit--there was no hole or space in the chair for his tail to fit through, so he was stuck sitting on it, which was rather painful. He'd complained about the same thing at several LL meetings, saying that he needed a chair with a hole in the back...he couldn't help noticing that Rocket Raccoon had gotten those new designer flight goggles overnight, while a new chair couldn't be found... "I hate critics. No, really--just because they can't see my face, they say I can't be a good actor. And the script...ugh. It's alright, but I wish you would have written it..." Moto fidgeted with a Super Mario-esque fireball he'd generated, never sitting still for a second. "Like I said, I can't have FFF connected to Andrew Dean in any way...even ghost-writing it would have been too dangerous." "Yeah...sucks, though. At least I get a good co-star..." "Lania Perry? That name sounds just a bit too made-up...and I'm sure she dyes her hair." "It's natural chocolate-milk brown--and trust me, it isn't dyed." Finny mumbled under his breath--as usual. Makluan dragons' vocal cords were designed for shooting fire, not carrying on conversations. "I know, I know--you don't like the Hollywood crowd. Yeah, sex appeal means sales everywhere, but here it's so blatant...well, this is for a good cause, at least--and it's a decent story. But it could be better...they want me to give the script a once-over, see if I want any changes made...and who better to help me out than you?" Hours passed as Finny gave his advice, until there was a knock at the door, and Moto fumbled to put the script away--nothing good could come of someone seeing him and Finny reviewing it together. While his usual video game-inspired moves were very smooth, opening and shutting drawers without the use of the space bar was still a fairly foreign concept to him. But he managed to put it up, and Finny opened the door-- --revealing a girl in her late teens, known far and wide as Lania. "Hey, Lania--this is Fin Fang Foom, he's an old friend of mine..." "Well...not THAT old..." Finny could never quite convince the world that he was barely 20, as the original dragon had lived for decades on end. They shook hands--Finny being overly-gentle, as he could atomize steel with a pinch--and mumbled a greeting. She smiled easily, not being fazed by her first meeting with an alien. "Hey, it's nice to see you here--good publicity for the movie. And you've never been a media darling...that came out wrong, I meant to say that you've always remained kind of aloof..." She sure didn't act like a movie star--she had a kind of "girl next door" quality, but Finny wondered if it was the person talking, or the actress. He was too busy wondering to say anything, however... Sensing the awkward pause, Moto spoke up--"Y'know, she's doing this for free--we could've paid her, but she refused..." She shot Moto a glance, and he slightly cringed, falling silent. She sheepishly looked up at the dragon, and replied. "It's no big deal, it's not like I'm risking my life like you guys do or anything...no saving the world, just a few months without getting paid. Geez, I'm rich enough, I can afford to be useful." "Risking your life like...us?" Finny knew that heroics were a part of his everyday life, but thought that Moto had taken a break from that lifestyle--while he couldn't exactly read Moto's helmet, it was clear that Moto hadn't been entirely honest with him in previous conversations. "Yeah, well, I had an...accident...awhile back. Doesn't matter now," Moto said. "Besides, we should get going--filming starts today..." He quickly walked out of the trailer, and Finny followed. Lania did her trademark blowing-of-her-bangs, and closed the door as she left. ------------------ Visionary wandered through the bowels of the studio, attempting to follow a fiberoptic cable to its source. He hadn't had anything better to do today, and would rather do something helpful than just tag along with Cheryl. He followed the cable to an ancient fusebox--he pried it open, and dust exploded from it--he coughed, waving it away. It hadn't been opened in years--all but one part of the fusebox had been worn away by rats and erosion--the part of the fusebox the fiberoptic cable was connected to. He laughed--some idiot techinical assistant must have stuck it in there, not seeing the current fusebox that was a few winding hallways away. But the dust...how could they have gotten it in there without opening it and thus letting the dust out? Production had just been set up last week, no dust settled that fast... He hated to do it, but had to investigate further--the cable merely relayed through the fusebox, it didn't stop there. He followed it to a large, rusting door. He put his ear to the keyhole, and heard dripping water on the other side. After he'd managed to pry it open, he ventured out--it led into a storm drain, with a grate above-ground right above it. He quickly stepped through the puddles, trying not to get his feet wet--but the water grew more plentiful the further he went, and he ended up having painted himself into a corner. As he jumped off a floating board, the water shifted, trapping him on a small island of concrete. He cursed under his breath, and looked up--he saw the fiberoptic cable he'd been following, and something else--he then recognized the logo of a local television channel, but it was the logo they'd used in the 50's. Sparks fell from where the cable attached to the outlet, and he realized that it wasn't a match--the cable was supposed to go into the fusebox right under it, the one the old television channel used, not the current movie studio one. He was just about to wonder why that was when he felt cold metal and moist matter grab him from behind... -------------------- Finny glided behind Moto, and landed in front of him. "What was that about?" The dragon said, spitting fire. "Look, as you-know-who, all you do is work--write--or relax--read or play video games. You need to spend some time in reality...between your solo superheroing, your LL stuff, your career, and relaxing, you don't have a life...Lania is a nice person, it'll do you good to be around her." "Yeah, well...I'm involved with someone else, so..." "Involved, huh? When was the last time you talked to her about something other than your career, either your superheroic one or your writing? You've never been one for dating, or phone calls, or anything else...want to defend any of that?" "..." "Figured." "We're playing for massive stakes here--this is as big a fight between good and evil as there ever was. Individual sacrifices don't matter." "Liar. I've seen the LL fight to the last man to protect a single life, when villains are babbling about a greater good. If some have to die for most to live, the LL will find another way--so don't give me that 'individual doesn't matter' garbage." "That's life and death stuff--for my own personal choice, I can say that I'm going to devote more time to the superheroic side of things." "Yeah, you can--but living the fight 24/7 gets to you after awhile. You need breaks, man." Finny sighed, and sat on a folding chair while Moto went over his lines. Lania soon walked over, with script in hand. "Argh, I hate this--they just sent me a revised script...it's better, but I have to re-learn some lines...my character gets a better deal, at least. Wish I knew who improved this, I could kiss them..." Finny excused himself, and went off to see what Vizh was up to. Yeah, right. In reality--or the closest the dragon would ever come to it--he was off brooding. It was amazing how one little secret could cause so much trouble. But it wasn't exactly little, in some ways--a double life is a serious thing, especially to those on the short end of the time-spending stick. The sad truth was that Finny had never once questioned his place in life. He was a superhero, he never wished he was anything else, or wished that everyone knew his secret. He was a living casualty in a world where he'd sworn to make sure that few people would die as possible. But whatever doubts had come up in sixty-plus years of superhero activity in a variety of dimensions, whatever long-term problems, whatever inner struggles, all are never quite played out to completion, because of timing. Not good timing or bad timing, just fact-of-life timing. In other words, the floor of the studio had started to break up, something large was rumbling underneath. A call to action. Superheroes are, if nothing else, survivors. They're focused on the short-term, because they're too busy trying to find a way for themselves and others to stay alive, so much so that they don't have time to worry about anything else. Instead of long-range planning, they live and triumph in the moment, and as long as life provides an endless series of those moments, they'll be fine. And that's the case here. Metal contained in a clear blue-green substance erupt out of the floor, a metal cord whipping the air near Lania. As Finny examined his options, Moto did a flying jump towards Lania, twisting and turning and dodging the debris that was once the floor. He snatched her out of harm's way, but the cord wrapped around him, shocking him. Finny tapped into one of his extra alien senses--really, the only one he had any skill in using. A quick scan of various spectrums and wavelengths told him that the energy from the cord was a pure 50% biological, and 50% mechanical--and the energy was attuned to Moto's pixellated form, and it canceled him out, rendering him unconscious. A framework-only camera popped out of the bio-material, and looked at Finny--it quickly launched explosives at him. While he could have dodged them, they would have gone past him to hit the innocent bystanders behind him. He shapeshifted his wings to a massive size, and allowed them to take the damage. After the onslaught was over, he swooped down, grabbing Lania, who was mere feet away from the center of the massive cyborg. It released long, jointed metal pincers to get her, but flame-breath quickly melted them. Finny hovered with her in midair for a second, trying to find a clear way out--only to be engulfed by a tidal wave of blue-green bio-material. It closed around him, and Lania quickly discovered that she couldn't breathe... --------------------------------- Darkness. It was always darkness. A series of ventures into the unknown that were shrouded in mystery. It was so easy to feel helpless in a world where the truth is stranger than fiction. Especially if you're a normal person constantly surrounded by the fantastic... Visionary rolled over, making small groans. He soon realized that a warm bed wasn't under him, but cold metal was. He tried to get up, but felt that someone was resting him--he told Cheryl to get off of him, but soon realized that it wasn't Cheryl. He recognized Lania, and realized that either he was dreaming, or that he'd just lived the fantasy of every teenage guy in the country. He was wrong on both counts. "Nice to see you're back up..." Finny rubbed his long neck, and looked around--their surroundings were metal framework, with computer consoles and high-tech devices all over. In the gaps of the metal framework was the familiar bio-material. Vizh explained what had happened, and they both tried to figure out what was going on. Lania soon awoke, and stood up, bracing herself on a large tube--but as she took her hand off of it, she had rubbed away some fogging-up of the tube--and saw a human face underneath. She jumped back, and Finny and Vizh were equally startled as they saw what the commotion was. The cryogenic unit soon began to glow, specifically where she had touched it--the warmth of her hand multiplied all over the unit, and steam escaped from several vents as it opened. "Crap." Finny glanced at Vizh, who stepped in front of Lania. The dragon spread out his wings in front of them and clenched his fists, ready for anything. "Anything" turned out to be a thin, pale man. He was losing his hair, and had fairly yellow teeth--nutrient doses didn't do anything to help his dental hygiene. "At last...at last...freedom!" The man straightened up triumphantly, and then took a header as he tried to take his first step. Finny helped him up, and the man seemed to recognize him..."You're Fin Fang Foom, right? You were the one who ended up with Sersi in that Captain Zemo adventure...and why aren't you purple?" "Captain...? Oh, you saw the movie..." Finny shuddered out of respect for continuity, and wondered why Zemo hadn't killed those responsible for that licensing nightmare. "My apologies, I've been kind of out of circulation since the 50's...but I don't think it was a movie...sorry, I should introduce myself--I'm Abner, and I've been hooked up to news-programs for as long as I can remember. Back in the late 40's, I was a little kid. They needed to put someone completely objective in that cryo-thingy, so he could figure out what to do if things got bad. But I don't think it's anything you can't handle--happy endings for the most part, even if quite a few people look alike--like that girl there, I saw her as an alien one year, and as a spy the next..." Finny's jaw dropped, and he realized the truth--Vizh had seen a movie studio audio/video line hooked up to a television channel one, and vice versa--what this guy had been seeing for the past few decades wasn't news, but movies... "What...what purpose were you going to serve, exactly?" "Ah, they said something about a 'perfect cyborg'--previous ones had this thing where the gadget-part wore out the fleshy stuff, so they applied the metal stuff to a great big cellular something-or-other. And that's what you're in now! I've been messing around with the design of it for quite awhile--I was conscious in there, y'know." "No, I mean, why did they want you to be objective and all that? How would you 'fix' things?" "I dunno...f'r'instance, if those aliens that came on July fourth invaded, I had the computer build me a great big anti-aircraft gun, one that could hone in on the alien mothership, using that force-field as a magnet, kinda. Or, it can configure into a big old net-droid to capture those dinosaurs on that island. But I wasn't allowed to help unless they absolutely needed it--I almost used it once, when that nice young space knight was gonna get pushed in the sandpit by the blob-guy. But other than that, I'm not allowed to use it--'til I got out of the cryo-unit, at least. I made my decision, anyhoo--those guys need some help, and I'm just the man to give it to 'em." "Tell me more about this cyborg...it just transforms into different stuff?" "Nah, it has all kindsa devices and weapons disassembled, it just puts 'em together when I need 'em. It's a few miles long--f'r'instance, I have all the energy batteries and weapon components in the 'west wing', and all the tank treads, extra supporting beams that can hook up with anything, and a big robot skeleton in the 'east wing'--never know when I might need stuff like that..." Finny glanced under the framework floor they were on--underneath, he saw a bundle of pillars, metal shock coils, missiles, a simple robotic arm holding it together, and the bio-material flowed over it, making it a perfectly sterile environment, and protecting it as well. "But for now, I'm gonna start off by heading off to Washington, DC--that president killed somebody, and only that thief saw it, so I guess it's up to me to stop him...'course, more stuff could be going on with it now, I dunno, I'm not directly hooked up to the a/v feed...but I can change that." A round rubik's cube of viewscreens came out of the floor, unfolded, and spread out, hundreds of movies playing on them. "Now, the first thing that goes wrong, I can stop it...I'm back up to full capacity now that I'm outta that cryo-unit, so I can finally get to work..." Lania glanced over the viewscreens--cops' familes were shot at, killers kept lovers apart using swaths of violence and threatening, World War II happened again and again and again... "What do we tell him? He's going to find out the truth eventually, maybe we should break it to him now..." Visionary wondered. "No, the truth isn't much better--the world comes close to destruction every day, only it's mostly superheroes who save it, and not sci-fi characters or knights from ancient times...his hold on reality is fragile at the least, homicidally dangerous at the most. The truth could push him over the edge, assuming there's anything holding him to sanity already..." -------------------- Outside the city limits of Parodiopolis, onlookers witnessed a massive, blue-green blob emerge from the ground, as it avoided the heavy traffic of the morning by coming out at the "other end", not the front end that Finny and the others were in, under the studio. It glided along the countryside, propelled by the metal framework within--thousands of devices and weapons were compressed, ready to come together to form an array of technological firepower unlike the world had ever seen... Continued in the FFF annual... Fin Fang Foom Annual #1 A never-ending battle, as told in two parts "You're lying. You have to be lying." Fin Fang Foom shook his oddly-shaped head, and continued pleading with Abner, trying to get him to see the truth--namely, that the "news" that had been relayed into the cryogenic container where Abner had spent the past few decades was actually movies being relayed in-house inside a movie studio. He didn't take it very well. Finny had restrained him, trying to calm him down--and keep him away from the consoles that controlled the miles-long metal framework/cellular material cyborg they were in. Unfortunately, the second Finny laid a hand on Abner, the inside of the cyborg sent out a compressed package of devices--it unfolded to reveal hoverpad engines linked together by a small metal frame--but several robotic arms attached to it, making it larger, more durable, and more protected. It built itself around Finny in seconds, and the hover engines turned towards Finny, threatening to disrupt his shapeshifting--if he tried to change his shape to get out, the force from the hover engines would disrupt his more malleable form, making him flat as a pancake. And the simple, multijointed robotic arms formed an ever-changing cage--made of a metal Finny had never seen before--and were too strong, Finny couldn't break out of them, let alone in his still-weakened condition. "You're all agents of The Man. You must know about the president killing that person, and you want to cover it up. But I won't let you stop me!!" Abner, still confused from the Clint Eastwood movie which he thought was reality, sat in his control chair and looked at various monitors, all of which showed clips from movies of the past few decades. Finny continued struggling against the shifting cage and force of the hover engines, and hoped that Moto was getting help... ------------------------- It was a miracle. For the past few hours, Moto had been tied up by some metal tentacles, which released powerful shocking energies. As a video game character, he would normally be immune to it, but the coils were attuned to his energy signature, making the attacks extremely effective. But the coils had fallen lifeless moments ago...he reviewed everything he knew about cyborgs, about how they were almost lifelike beings, and could have their concentration moved to another task and forget about what they were doing... "Of course--this thing must be using its security-weaponry energy to hold Finny, and it forgot about me..." Moto unwound the still-warm tendrils, and sprinted off down the hall. The cyborg had to be at least five miles long, and Moto could make it to the other end--where Finny was--in under ten minutes, thanks to more-than-human physical abilities. Moto pulled out a small device from his padding/armor, and hit a button on it, sending out a powerful distress signal... ----------------------- The Lair Legion scrambled down the halls of their island fortress, preparing to board NTU's latest jet. The massive blob was now halfway to Washington, DC, and action had to be taken. Jarvis shouted out commands as Cheryl recounted the situation to the entire team using a telepathic relay provided by Tina. The LL arrived in the hangar, and prepared to barrel into the rear ramp of the jet. Jarvis was the first to hit the ramp--literally. He smacked right into what looked like nothing. The others LLers soon followed suit. The space between the rear ramp and the part of the jet it attached to--about seven-by-five feet--turned dark, and soon crumpled like fabric. It wrapped around a shadowy figure, and the Dark Knight stood before the slightly angry LLers. "Had to use the mirror-function of my cape to slow you people down--this situation just got complicated far more than you know. We're dealing with someone who's farther removed from reality than Finny is-- if that tells you anything, it should be that we're going to need the greatest plan of all time..." ----------------------- Visionary and Lania kept as still as possible, hoping that the cyborg's inner defenses wouldn't lash out at them as well. "Shouldn't we keep trying to tell him the truth? Maybe if we patch him into the real news..." Lania shifted around uncomfortably. "Ah...I've been around enough psychotics to know that minor stuff can push them over the edge...and finding out that his life is a lie counts as 'major', so...! Besides, the LL will think that a giant blue-green see-through blob--with modulated weaponry compressed inside--that kidnapped us just might be a bad thing, and get us outta here." "Let's hope you're right..." --------------------------- Moto was seconds away from jumping into a transportation chute that would plop him right in the middle of the control room that everyone was in...he figured that he could free Finny, and then hope that the LL showed up--the biomaterial prevented communications from getting out, the more radio signals that were sent through it, the more immune it got. But as he was about to hit the button to open the small sliding door, a flying metal object came between his hand and the numberpad. He turned around to see a dark figure in the shadows. "About time you got here, DK--we could use one of those perfect plans of yours..." But the only reply Moto got was unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was the metal object--not one of DK's shurikens, but a black-and-silver razor-sharp bird... -------------------------- As the massive cyborg-blob slithered over the evactuated highways and tanks' attacks were spent uselessly upon it, part of the blue-green biomaterial parted. A small hole was created, and two slender, glowing hands continued widening the hole, and Sersi stepped through, followed by CrazySugarFreakBoy and the Dark Knight. DK knew that only Sersi could break through the biomaterial with her transmuting powers, and CSFB would be useful in close-quarter combat. "You'd better be right about this, man--how can you even be sure about anything other than what Moto's message told us?" CrazySugarFreakBoy said it in less than five seconds. Sersi grinned sympathetically at the Dark Knight, who didn't even justify CSFB by looking at him eye-to-eye. "Massive cyborgs waking up doesn't happen every day--to jumpstart this thing's systems, you'd need a powerful energy source--for that, you need money and technology. And Blackbird has both...plus, I checked out the agency behind this--it's remotely affiliated with Zanamax Science Services, which got an eight-billion-dollar deal when their competitor's latest project was 'accidentally' destroyed during one of Blackbird's crimes." They continued their trek through the deathly quiet halls of the cyborg, and as they turned a corner, came upon a most startling sight--Moto, impaled by a silver staff. Pixels rained onto the floor underneath him as he twitched spasmodically. CSFB and Sersi looked away as the Dark Knight pulled out the staff and examined it. "It matches metal residue of a staff that Finny was attacked with...a staff generated by Blackbird." Sersi sat down on the floor. "So we stop him. His powers aren't that great...he seems to be pretty agile, have that antigrav metal foil that makes him fast and lets him glide, and can generate that silvery crap...metal, liquid, and vapor forms of it. Only problem is that he can absorb impact..." "Not that easy--Blackbird is a genius, and undoubtedly has a greater plan behind all this. Random destruction isn't his deal, even if it's a high-profile target like the president." DK pulled out a small hand-held computer. He hit some buttons, and data flashed across the tiny screen. "Normally, he seems to be after money and his enemies--but in many of his crimes so far, he just happens to make things easier for Zanamax. But assassination...of course he's not going to do it himself, but rather trick someone else into doing it. That doesn't explain why he's here, though." The detective examined some nearby biomaterial, which was coursing through the metal framework ceiling above them. He grabbed a piece of it and handed it to Sersi. "Sersi, your transmuting power--this is pure biomaterial, it combines the best of all the elements of nature--it should have the necessary physiological base elements to make it into just about anything. But if I know that...no. I was going to suggest that you transmute the biomaterial into something that can channel electricity--please do so now." Her hands again glowed, and it changed into a copper-colored metal. "Do your best to bond that to Moto's wounds--the less pixels he loses, the better, it should act as a cast, and as something to hold his energy form together until we can get him to NTU. But the biomaterial can act as a medium for Blackbird's metal-generating powers...but it's just as effective and invulnerable in its current form, that would be useless. Let's look at the facts--of all the people the cyborg could have captured, it went after Moto." "But he's a super-type, he must have a more noticeable energy signature, one that shows up clearer or something, or it saw him as a threat...that's why it could have grabbed Finny, too." CSFB commented. "This thing was under a good portion of Parodiopolis--it should have grabbed countless supervillains and other LLers, if that were the case. And it hadn't captured Moto again when he was inside, Blackbird did that--those scanners must have filtered right through his pixellated form. A few thousand tons of biomaterial, that only Sersi could get through...wait...no, it's a trap within a trap! Think about it--in this, not only is it the perfect weapon, Sersi could transmute it into anything...gold, diamond, plutonium...it's invaluble! How much you want to bet it can regenerate its own biomaterial? He must be planning a ransom deal, but he must know we'd never agree to it...unless..." The Dark Knight's theory clicked, and he realized the true danger the world was in... -------------- The movie studio was in a shambles, but Taylor Branesbik wouldn't have cared, provided he noticed. He was too busy being in his own little world--the damage the cyborg caused meant that funds had to be cut, as well as "extra" parts. A one-minute sequence where Taylor's unnamed character fought to escape the throat-clutching hands of Moto's archenemy--as he faced off against Moto--was included in the cuts. They'd talked about making that scene a movie poster, meaning tons of face recognition for Taylor. It was his big break...but now it was just a big bust. He gathered up his things out of the foot locker they'd given the "no-lines" actors, and walked out of the studio--or what remained of it. On the way out, a man in a trench coat approached him. "Taylor Branesbik...you have potential. You had a chance, a chance which you unfairly lost. Let us show you what you're truly capable of..." Taylor's problems faded--in his mind, at least--and he felt oddly compelled to follow the man in the trench coat back home... ------------------- Finny began to tire, the hover engines were taking their toll--not only did they keep him from shapeshifting, but the steady rhythem began to dull his senses, and relax his mind...but he struggled to keep himself conscious, nevertheless. He should let him win, he thought to himself. Abner needed to learn his lesson the hard way, he needed to face up to reality. If the president died because of Finny's lack of activity, the world would see just how bad reality has gotten, and why they shouldn't waste their time in it, instead, they should read and play computer games and dress up in costumes and run around fighting each other. "No." That was all the dragon could say. No matter how far gone the world was, it needed saving. If Finny walking the fine line between sanity and insanity meant the world would have one more protector, so be it. Finny saw in Abner qualities he saw in his own self--exaggerated, but still there. Abner needed help. The world needed help. Finny's friends needed help. This was no time for self-doubts. For the first time since he'd been captured, Finny was one-hundred percent willing to do what needed to be done. As much as power and courage and circumstances and skill matter in the game of superheroing, sometimes simply being willing is the most powerful advantage the forces of good can have. And this is one of those times. ----------------- Outside of Washington, DC, there was a problem. The cyborg had begun reconstructing its components--metal framework slid into place as power cores and targeting computers arrayed themselves in the newly-created gaps. Inside, the Dark Knight, Sersi, a barely-alive Moto, and CSFB struggled to keep from getting squashed and fried as the hallway they'd been in folded into a heat sink. They were soon positioned above the control room the others were in, and prepared to strike--but Blackbird put a stop to that. He lunged at DK first, hoping to quickly put him out of the game--but the vigilante ducked the attack before it even came, knowing of Blackbird's superspeed punches and kicks. CSFB instead took on Blackbird, and the two rolled across the floor exchanging attacks. Sersi grabbed Blackbird by the throat and slammed him into a wall, and then let DK lob shurikens at him--Blackbird tried to block with his superfast metal gloves, but that was exactly what DK wanted him to do--the friction and heat the artificial superspeed created melted the shurikens, making them heavy and sticky. His fists were now covered in charred slime, and considerably slower, not to mention that he couldn't generate the silver-matter with his hands covered. But then a computer voice rang out--"Warning--final components are aligning, all personnel report to the control room." "Stupid computer." The Dark Knight stated, grateful that the computer didn't know it had a crew of one. "Sersi, Moto, CSFB--get in there, and free Finny. I'll handle Blackbird." They knew better than to question him, and took off. "Bad move, man--you're out of your league." "Many have said it, none have proven it." Blackbird flew towards DK with a jump kick--his feet still superfast--and the Dark Knight took the kick in the jaw. But as he fell, he grabbed onto a nearby pipe, and swung on it--the impact pushed his torso and traveled down into his legs as he violently swung, and the kick knocked Blackbird off-balance. "I have a perfect equlilbrium--you can't posible hope to--" his sentence was cut short as he saw what DK had kicked him into--a gun barrel, which proceeded to run through its railing, right over Blackbird's forearm. The barrel was travelling at about sixty miles per hour, and was two-hundred feet long--while his arm was pinned, DK pulled out his Knightstick, and hit Blackbird square in the elbow--while he could absorb impact, his bones could still be broken by physically impossible movements. Such as bending an arm ninety degrees the wrong way while it was pinned. His elbow folded the wrong way, and he screamed in pain. The barrel was soon gone, but its effects lingered--Blacbird clutched his forearm, trembling. Impact was one thing, but tearing and friction and marrow shattering was another matter entirely. The Dark Knight dove low, and Blackbird sidestepped--but DK merely ricocheted off a wall and did what he intended, hitting Blackbird behind the knees, and making him fall on his back. While there, the Dark Knight grabbed his feet and swung him away, he eventually hit his head on a wall corner. Jumping back up, he prepared to strike--but first, he had to dodge more shurikens. He jumped in the air, figuring they were meant to gunk up his boots--but they instead curved upward, and hit his calves, cutting into them. Explosions followed. "Thank God, we can have a real fight now." A flying kick hit Blackbird in the side of the head, and DK dodged Blackbird's slow backhand. An uppercut made its way between Blackbird's arm and chest, striking his jaw. As he recoiled, a sweep kick made him fall, and he was slow to rise back up, his legs still in pain, and his superfast metal boots not able to work if his leg muscles couldn't propel them. Blackbird struggled to get the gunk off his hands, but to no avail--as he tried to smear them off on a wall, the Dark Knight jumped onto his back, taking advantage of the fact that the impact had little effect--as Blackbird stayed mostly upright, DK grabbed the man's arms, pulled them creating an "x", and backflipped. Arms crossed and strained and then went the exact opposite as Blackbird flew behind DK's backflip, twisting and turning and hitting the ground behind him. DK let go of his arms, somersaulted, and came down on top of him. The Knightstick pressed against Blackbird's neck, and Blackbird was immobilzed. But then a flurry of communication lasers hit the Dark Knight, and he was knocked off, and flew down a chute which closed behind him. Blackbird staggered off towards the control room... --------------- Five dozen overlapping metal bars were transmuted into salt. Four hover engines were shattered by hyper attacks. Three sentences were spoken, which informed Finny of Blackbird's involvement in all this. Two men, both cut off from reality, faced each other. One world hung in the balance. Finny struck out at Abner, who quickly warranted a force field, generated by the cyborg. As the dragon's blows landed on hard energy, the cyborg slithered towards a perfect shooting position, one that would take out most of downtown Washington. Abner soon struck back--the force field energy moved with his fist, and it hit Finny like a train. "Blast it, Abner--don't you see? How many 'newscasts' have you seen where the presidents were different, yet it's all in modern times? They aren't real--you're being manipulated!!" "Stop talking! You're confusing me!!!!" Abner put his hands over his ears, and went into a fetal position. Even the slimmest dose of reality had been too much. But Finny wasn't that bad--yet. There was still hope. Until Blackbird barreled into the room. The crosshairs locked onto the White House. "One blast from this giant cannon, and Washington DC is atomized at the most, ravaged at the least. Either way, total destruction for the political district. Unless you want to deal." "What choice do we have?" Vizh asked, knowing the truth--that if Blackbird felt like he didn't have the advantage, he wouldn't hold this over their heads, and be more prone to trigger-happiness. "Simple--Sersi agrees to be absorbed and de-created through the biomaterial, so I can have the exclusive use of her transmuting powers. A living weapon and precious material factory is just my kind of set-up--no one can touch me, and I have endless resources for production of everything the world could ever need. I'll have a monopoly over everyone on earth, I'll be the most powerful supplier of everything, forever." The heroes paused. But only for a moment. Finny glanced at the final changes being made, and threw himself between two contact triggers, shattering a few dozen feet of metal framework in the process. "NO!!" Blackbird shouted. The contact triggers needed to make contact with the electromagnetic energy they channeled, in order for the targeting computers to hook up to the massive weaponry. Hover engines slid along railing, and Blackbird grabbed Lania. "Tell him to get out of there, or she dies!!" But CSFB and Sersi attacked the railing, sending the hover engines off-course, confident that Moto could get her away. But Moto fell when Blackbird got his hands free of the goop. "Abner! You have to tell us how to shut off those guns!!" Vizh shouted. Abner weakly complied, but was struck by silver vapor, and he fell, coughing. Vizh did the same. "I always wondered what it would be like with you...I'm a big fan of your movies, y'see. But now I guess I can find out..." As he held her thrashing form, she noticed that the silver, shiny metal that made up his vest was falling apart--stray lasers had hit the already-weakened material. She grabbed a hunk of the jagged metal, and thrust it downwards into his groin. "Up yours." It was actually down and then up, but the same effect happened. Impact and razor-sharp metal are two very different things. And he'd never thought to make his cloth costume resistant to his antigrav foil. Lania jumped out of his reach. Finny was already starting to give way--nothing on earth was strong enough to keep those contact triggers from touching, especially when they had five miles of gears and servos pushing them together. But in a final Herculean effort, the dragon pushed them apart. Smoke came from behind them, but they soon recovered, and slowly began to come back together. "Screw it!! I can figure out how to mimic Sersi's powers later--no way am I gonna miss out on the opportunity to accomplish what so many supervillains have tried before!" The contact triggers were feet away from touching... ...when the Dark Knight sprang from the shadows. He shared a glance with Finny, and let fly a small capsule. It flew between Finny and Blackbird, and only Lania stood between them--DK swung her out of the way. Finny blasted the capsule with flame breath, and the rest was history. A steady stream of weak chemicals applied to a match created a massive flame. A steady stream of flame applied to powerful chemicals creates a massive column of explosive force. It hit Blackbird, and he went flying head over heels backwards, hitting the area between the contact triggers--no physical element could withstand the force. Unless that physical object absorbed impact to an impossible degree--like Blackbird does. The Dark Knight ran to a console and hit some buttons. "Abner--verify it, NOW!" The man nodded, and the process started--the biomaterial's subatomic chemical bonds broke, and it disintegrated. Without the biomaterial to cool, lubricate, and protect it, the machinery literally fell apart, overheating and violently mis-operating. They grabbed Blackbird and Abner, and cut a path through the wreckage as they left. But it was still a danger--it contained enough ammo and power to cause a nuclear meltdown. Finny grew to his full size, flew into space with it, and threw it into the sun. ---------------- On the LL island, NTU put Moto in an electron tank, so his pixellated form could regenerate. At the scene of the crime, Blackbird was unmasked to reveal--a mess of chemicals. His chemical "enhancements" had worn out, and most of his skin had melted off under the pressure of the contact triggers. Lania gave both Dark Knight and Finny kisses on the cheek, and promised to testify against Blackbird. And the world's economy, America's political capitol, and Abner's sanity were kept safe--for one more day, at least. End Fin Fang Foom *flies away* Fin Fang Foom |
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