This is a one-shot that I thought up while experiencing some painful shocks from my static-electricity-obsessed friends. They were so charged up you could actually see the blue little sparks dance between their fingers and the receptor of their cruel experiments. And it hurt.
Staticicity.
Zap. Bffst. Zap. Bffst. Zap. Long blue sparks the length of an outstretched arm traveled around the room, shot from the fingertips of two young boys. The room they were in was small, cube-like, and constructed entirely of metal. The lights were off, and a cylindrical stand with a silver ball on top whirred in the center of the room, a one hand from each boy resting on top. One of the boys, the taller one, with thick arms and a broad shest, removed his hand from the sphere and walked over to the side of the room, flicking a switch on the wall. As his hand had lost contact with the machine, sparks had continued to erupt from his hand, gradually coming to a stop. The lights flickered on, and the boy said, "Max, turn off the Van de Graff generator, I'm taking a break." He pressed a button next to the switch, and walked out of an opening that had appeared in the metal wall, which was filled a few seconds later.
The small boy still touching the machine, with barely visible sparks of bluish energy leaping from the fingers of his free hand, made no move to turn the generator off. In fact, upon closer inspection, he made no move at all, but was completely motionless. His eyes were closed, concentration etched across his soft, boyish features. Slowly, very slowly, he moved his free arm sideways, until it was vertical, and when it was facing the light switch, clenched his hand in a fist. It seemed to glow with a blue aura, sparks building up and racing across his knuckles. In one quick, fluid motion, he unclenched his fist, extending his pointer finger, and thrust his arm slightly forward. A large, crackling whip of deep blue lightning rocketed from his finger, reaching across the room to the switch. Bzzzpht. The overhead lights blinked off and on rapidly, before staying off. Through his closed eyelids, Max noticed the change. A slight smile played around the edges of his lips.
Max removed his hands from the generator, and flexed his fingers. His eyelids snapped open, revealing ice-blue eyes, piercing and sharp. Suddenly he raised both his arms and splayed his fingers out in the air. Sparks jumped from his fingertips, bouncing around the room and eventually dissipating. His smile widened, and he announced to the world, "I am Max Vericily, I have the power of electricity, and I can control it! I have superpowers! Fear me, and fear my name, for I shall one day control the world! I am…the Human Outlet!" Here the Narrator laughed out loud, clutching his side, until he regained control of himself. Holding back another laugh, he continued to watch the scene unfold. "Hahahaha, hahaha, haha ha ha ha haha!" Max's psychotic, deranged cackle echoed around the shining walls of the room, magnified so much it eventually grew unrecognizable. The Narrator shuddered.
Without a sound, the wall behind Max opened up, the same rectangular opening that had opened for his brother. A tall, skinny teenager stepped into the cube-shaped room, long curly hair reaching almost to his waist. He had a beard, a small goatee, and sideburns. He held a thickset boy slung over his shoulder, on the edges of consciousness. The long-haired teenager whistled. Max whirled around, startled and confused. His icy eyes widened in surprise, his jaw dropped, and he started stammering, "Wha- wha- wha- wh-"
"Run," choked the brother, on the verge of unconsciousness.
"Tommy! What happened?" pleaded Max backing away.
"This guy, he's much worse than that girl we defeated earlier."
"You mean the Human Water Bottle?" The Narrator couldn't take it anymore – he cracked up, falling off of his chair and toppling his recording device, but he didn't seem to care. He rolled around, laughing at the top of his voice, tears streaming down his face. When finally he had gotten control of himself, he climbed back up into his chair, composed himself as best he could, and resumed his job.
"The Human Water Bottle! Are you kidding me?" snorted the teenager. He shook his head in disgust.
"Be careful, Max," Tommy wheezed.
"Let's get this over with, kiddy," the intruder growled, dropping Tommy none-too-gently to the floor. Max looked like he was going to wet his pants. The Narrator threw his hands up in the air, groaning. This was no self-respecting story – this was a joke! Yet, he continued nonetheless, as was his job.
Max shakily raised both his arms, pointing his fingers at the stranger with the ugly face. The Narrator snickered. With the lights off, the sparks were easily seen, shooting from Max to his adversary. The Narrator shook his head sadly.
"Not gonna' work, man." The sparks were absorbed into the intruder's body, and his hair shot upward, standing completely on end. "Fear me, for I am…the Human Carpet!"
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," moaned Tommy, before blacking out. The Narrator not so silently agreed, falling off his chair once more, unable to regain his composure – or his breath. For five minutes, the laughing ensued, stopping only once the Narrator hit his head on the edge of his desk, his tears of laughter turning to those of pain. Wiping his eyes of both, the Narrator stood up, still chuckling. With a remark of 'I'm done with this, I can't take it anymore,' he walked out of the room, his body wracked with silent sobs and laughter. The Narrator of Narrators shrugged and walked out of his office, his job finished. The Narrator of Narrator of Narrators did the same. And so on, and so forth.