The flames from the torches cast a harsh glare on the scene below. Well, what would shortly be a scene, but was currently waiting, dormant. The man in black grinned. All of his planning had finally paid off. Other heroes went around fighting crime. Amateurs. Far better to wait in a likely spot and make a plan. That way you saved the day in a far more, exciting, dramatic, and above all, stylish manner - even if you had to incite the trouble yourself. He gazed in fondness at the activity below. It was his favourite. There was a woman tied to a stake, surrounded by a mob, complete with pitchforks and burning torches. It had taken him years to set up a fanatical cult, desiring to return the world to a dark age of castles, witches and villiens. In fact, due to the amount of time it took to arrange a day to be saved, this would be only his third in 5 years of heroism. The ritual below ended. The woman had her choice of last meal (sausages, sausages or sausages), had been ceremonially taunted, and the anthem sung. Ah, the anthem. It had taken him ages to write, and it brought tears to his eyes every time he heard it sung – it was a good song, but no matter who sung it, he only ever heard the first verse and a shouted last line. He re focused his waning attention on the stake - it was about to be lit. As the first screams rent the air he glanced at his reflection in his handheld mirror, adjusted his hat one final time and leapt down onto a cunningly placed box.
"Stop!" he cried dramatically. "Put that fire out, and you won't get too badly hurt."
Fifty pairs of eyes turned to stare at him in amazement.
The man drew his sword. He was going to enjoy this. Unfortunately, the cultists all drew their Berettas.
"Run!" yelled one of the cultists, seeing blue lights in the distance.
As the cultist left in droves the man swung over their heads, smiling a glistening smile, and seized the woman from the fire as he went past on his expertly positioned rope. He landed, posed, and began carving his symbol into he wall. He was still carving an hour later when the police arrived.
"Now," said the custody sergeant. "Name."
"The Amazing Dontesque."
"Name"
"The Amazing Dontesque."
"And I'm Fred Flintstone." He nodded to one of the other officers. "Name."
"Robert Taylor." Said The Amazing Dontesque, head ringing from the slap just given to him.
"You are under arrest for one charge of kidnap, incitement...."
"What do you mean kidnap, they were about to... What do you mean incitement?"
"Shut up. And one charge of vandalism."
"Vandalism! What vandal..." The image of a 3-foot high rendering of his name and symbol loomed in his mind.
"Take him away."
He's faster than a speeding bullet; he's the man of steel. He's also as thick as two very short planks. He's currently flying at mach 2 towards the site of a mugging. He's also invading US airspace and is due to meet two F18's. But that isn't for a while. For the moment he looked around in amazement at the sea and sky around him, as if it was the first time he saw it. And yes. He does have the memory, and attention span, of a... of a.... There was a white seagull flying ahead of him, whose only role in the story is to die with a humorous squawk and flying of feathers, but that wouldn't be happening for a while yet.
Superman's super hearing heard voices from two aircraft miles in front of him...
"Unidentified aircraft, you are violating US airspace. State your intentions."
Superman looked around for the aircraft.
"Unidentified aircraft, turn to heading 12.3 and maintain straight and level flight immediately, or we will be forced to open fire."
Superman looked around frantically, he didn't want to miss the fireworks
The F18's fired two sidewinders, which exploded on impact. The seagull squawked. Superman fell in a red and blue and white spiral. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was the ground.
Superman was thrown to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. He looked around with his perfect blue eyes, gradually realised that he was not alone in his cell.
"Can it talk?" said one of the figures.
"I've no idea." Replied another voice from the shadows.
Superman made an inarticulate noise.
"Was that a hello, or a ' sorry for landing in your cell' or..."
"I think," said the second voice. "That it was probably either 'where am I' or 'who are you'. Those are the traditional words."
"Oh, it's one of them. Oh well." Whoever it was sighed. "Er... Right. You've been captured by an evil megalomaniac who – I can't believe I'm saying this – is going to take over the world by taking the superheroes powers etc. etc. I'm Isabel," she said as she stepped forward into the light from the lone, high window. "But I've no idea why I'm here – though it might be something to do with the way I killed one of his henchmen with my claws.
"This is...
"The Amazing Dontesque," said The Amazing Dontesque, bowing (and checking his moustache, but the less said about that the better).
"Aka Bob. We've honestly no idea why he's here. As he has no 'superpowers' or anything extraordinary, apart from his ability to annoy. That's unparalleled..."
"You say the most charming things Senorita," Bob whispered into her ear.
"The most likely reason, however, is that he was locked up for his own safety," Bob started to open his mouth. "Don't. Just Don't. And remove the arm."
Bob quickly changed the direction of the conversation. "So, do you have any other questions?"
"Do you have any vocal chords?" spat Isabel.
Isabel stalked back to her corner, followed by Bob – who was trying to get as close as possible without being slapped. Needless to say, he failed. Bob was saved further embarrassment by a scrabbling noise at the window.
A figure blocked the light for a moment, and then blew the window to smithereens, coating the incumbent Superman in dust. The mystery man then dove headlong into the cell, landing with a somersault – on Superman.
"Beg your pardon," the man said. "Just dropping in."
"Not another one!" stormed Isabel. "Can't we have some peace in this cell. Who's writing this? First I get the black clad idiot here, and then there's that waste of space..."
"I'm Brian, I'm here to rescue you!" the newcomer said over-enthusiastically.
"What was that about rescuing?" said Bob, after a long silence, looking up from the puddle of blood at his feet.
Brian smiled. He was saving the day again! And then Isabel spoke:
"So, how are we getting out of this cell then? Seeing as you've alerted all the guards with your explosion?"
"Well," Brian replied, grinning. "We climb up..."
"With a rope..." Isabel said, beginning to smile.
"Yes."
"That is currently sitting outside the window." Isabel replied cuttingly.
"Ah. I'll be partaking of your hospitality then." Brian said, turning a lovely shade of purple.
"You mean to tell me, that this, this. He forgot the rope!" Bob fumed.
"So, shall we start again then?" said Isabel sarcastically.
"Yes," murmured Brian, laying his arm on her. "Let's get better acquainted."
"Good grief, you're just as bad as he is." Hissed Isabel.
"I'm far superior to him, Isabel." Bob whispered. "At least I keep my hair immaculate, and my moustache neat – unlike the scruffy mass on his head."
"Yes," Isabel smiled wickedly. "But then that's because you preen yourself in a mirror every other minute. And don't try to deny it." She added, as the mirror was discreetly dropped.
Brian removed his watch and fiddled with it. "Of course, if you have any taste and pride in your appearance you'd take a wardrobe with you as well." Brian said as his watch expanded into a walk in wardrobe, complete with mini-bar and make up, sorry – shaving – mirror.
"I take it all back. You're even worse than he is. Stop that!" she snapped as she caught sight of Bob gazing at the make-up mirror. "Anyway, welcome to our cell, you've been captured by a megalomaniac. I'm Isabel, that's Bob..."
"The Amazing Dontesque," insisted Bob.
"That's Bob," said Isabel loudly. "And the floor covering is Superman. Allegedly."
"And you are?" asked Bob.
"The name's Brian," said Brian, lifting his head from his washbasin with the gold taps. He looked around – everyone still seemed to be waiting for something more. "Just Brian."
"Not Brian the amazing? Not Brian the almost indestructible? Not Brian the insert stupid tag here ?" said Isabel, with even more venom.
"No. Who's running this hotel anyway?"
"No idea. He wears black – not that that narrows it down, as all villains wear either black or white. Though I've always found people who wear black to be particularly manic and dangerous. Not to mention having delusions of grandeur"
"You've missed out 'incredibly handsome' from your list," called Bob from the middle of the wardrobe.
"Isn't it useful to have a perfect example on hand," said Isabel brightly.
Brian sauntered over to the door. "Room service! Room Service!" He pounded on the metal.
Isabel rolled her eyes.
The door hissed open.
"See, just because he's a megalomaniac doesn't mean he's not civilized."
"But he probably isn't, as a basic requirement is not to wish to take over the world," Isabel said, as a hand shot out at neck height and dragged Brian away.
Brian's escort came to a halt and ceremoniously threw him to the floor. He slowly lifted his head, and got the shock of his life. The person in front of him was wearing a bright blue and red coat, with painfully bright yellow trousers.
"You really have no taste, do you?" Brian quipped.
"What?" the man barked.
"Well, the red and the yellow, you know. You look like Rupert the bear."
"This is coming from the man who decided to go, of his own accord, into a cell with no means of escape. If I'm stupid, what does that make you hmm," the man paused as they went through the door and began marching down the corridor. He started talking quietly into Brian's ear. "Now, for some reason He – that is, his Lordship – has decided to torture you. I'm afraid He's a bit of a traditionalist, so scream anyway – make it easier for yourself. You are going to be locked onto a table, and then He will slowly slice you in two from the bottom up using a laser. What will actually happen is that there will be a red light moving up, as we can't afford a laser that powerful. But I will be under the table with a smaller laser, following the light. Remember, I can't actually see what I'm about to destroy." The man grinned maliciously. "Just tell him what he wants to know."
A door opened ahead of them. Brian felt sick as soon as he entered. The clinical smell, stark white walls and metal table, complete with blood channel reminded him as the lair of a modern day Victor. As he was locked onto the table he spotted whoever this He was, contrasting nicely with the walls in the regulation black cloak and cowl.
"So, you will be the fool who broke into our cells," the figure pronounced.
"Does everyone know about that?" Brian muttered to himself.
"Oh, yes," said the voice of the man, Brian had christened him Rupert, under the table. "The security team was in hysterics."
"Let's start," said the man, who had moved to the side of the table. "We have a lot to talk about."
"Do we?"
"Yes. Let's start talking about you."
"Oh," Brian paused, temporarily wrong footed. "My name's Brian, I'm 27 years old and I'm from Bois!"
"Wrong answer," whispered Rupert. "Try saying something like, oh, I can shoot laser bolts from my eyes."
"Let's try again," stated the man, who had moved over to a lever sticking out of a consol on the wall.
"Er... I can shoot laser bolts from my eyes," said Brian, gingerly.
"Good," came the gloating voice. "What else?"
"Er... I can turn invisible."
"Wonderful. What else?" said the man, with a note of greed in his voice.
Brian gave a metaphorical shrug. He'd swallowed everything else. "I can lift an iron bar with my teeth."
The man thrust his hands out and a burst of blue lightning hit Brian, arcing to earth in the table, causing him to jerk and shudder as the electricity caused convulsions in his body.
The man pulled the lever back up, muttering about shorts, and how you couldn't hire the staff these days. "You're about to learn the penalty for lying to me. I just hope you'll be able to tell the tale."
"Well, it'll shock people, but I think I'll manage," Brian quipped. The Man paused in fiddling with the laser to hit him. "It's an electrifying experience." He said, around the blood and bits of chipped enamel.
The man turned on the 'laser'. "You have 3 minutes to tell me what I want to know."
"The moon's made of Swiss cheese," said Brian, the bravado in his voice sounding forced – even to him.
"You have two minutes."
"Tell him something," came a frantic voice from below. "I don't want blood on my clothes again."
"I blew the wall apart."
"You have one minute"
"I can walk through walls." Brian said glibly.
The man reached up and turned the laser off. Unfortunately the beam between his legs didn't disappear.
"Uh turn it off," whispered Bond. "Turn it off!"
"I can't find the button, I'm going to get blood on me!"
Brian looked at the red beam, centimetres from his body. "I'm going to die!" he shouted as the red beam went out. "Tomorrow." He said, fear pouring away.
After a few moments Rupert turned up at the door with his guards. Rupert moved round the table unlocking the manacles, finishing with his left hand. Brian slammed his fist into Rupert's nose, seized his coat and shoved him into the man, knocking them to the floor, before leaping at the guards. He was then hit with a rifle butt and slipped into unconsciousness.
"Brian?" the soft voice echoed around his skull. "Brian?"
Brian made an inarticulate noise from the floor. He then screamed when someone – Bob, no doubt – threw a bucket of water over him.
"What did you do that for!" Brian yelled. "Was there ice in that water?"
"Yes," Bob smirked. "Your hot water boiler is useless."
Brian turned to look at him, or to be more precise the pink monstrosity he was wearing. "That's my suit!"
"After my comments about people who wear black he decided it was time for a change." Said Isabel, hiding a smile.
"Where am I?" said Superman into the floor.
"He's a little slow, isn't he," remarked Brian.
"Is he?" came Isabel's predictable reply. "Can't say I noticed really. Where were we? Oh yes. Bob decided he needed a complete new wardrobe. Yours to be precise."
"So he decided to wear pink."
"Well, it took him a while to decide, the yellow shirt and polka dot tie was a winner for a while, but he chose pink because it goes with his nails and he thinks it makes him look confident. In reality it just makes him look effeminate."
"I don't look effeminate," moaned Bob. "And I don't paint my nails either."
Isabel grinned, "Then I'm sure you won't have any idea what this is then," she said brandishing a small bottle of nail varnish and a nail file.
Superman grunted.
"What..." started Brian.
"It just takes him a while to think. Wait a minute. Well, several minutes."
"Cut the bars," Superman stopped to think a bit more. "With the file."
"How are we going to do that with a nail file. It's a load of rubbish," scoffed Brian. "What bars?" he added, actually looking at the solid stone walls.
"You can't expect too much from someone who doesn't have the necessary brain power to get dressed in the morning." smirked Isabel.
"Eh?" grunted Brian
"What?" said Bob, looking at her quizzically from under his blond, shoulder length wig.
"He's wearing a blue baby grow with the hands cut off; has the first initial of his name on the front so he doesn't forget; and forgets to put his underpants on first. It doesn't give the impression of unbridled intelligence does it?"
"Well, whilst you lot have been sitting around and" – he shot a glare at Bob – "looting my wardrobe" – he looked up from his investigation of his mini bar – "and drinking my champagne, I've been getting ready to escape."
"Found a rope have you?" Isabel spat.
"What have you been doing?" said Bob sarcastically, looking at Brian's bruised, raw face. "Bribing the guards? 'Roll up, Roll up! Step lively now! Ten punches for you and your amigos. Oh did I mention you have to let me go? I didn't? Oh.'"
"You really ought to think about a career in stand up comedy, as you're so bad the audience'd leave before you finished your first 'joke'. While I was 'bribing the guards' I stole this from one of them." he said, taking out the laser.
"Well, hurry up and cut the door open," snapped Isabel.
Brian moved over to the door, shacking his head. They weren't supposed to be that sharp, though a least he'd always be able to be beat Superman – not that that was hard.
"Sir," the intercom droned. "The prisoners are escaping."
"Do I really have to tell you what to do?" snapped Rupert.
"Yes Sir,"
"Why? It's not as though it hasn't happened before."
"It's tradition Sir. Besides, it's procedure."
"Yes," sighed Rupert. "Why doesn't that surprise me? Very well. Seal the corridor they're in, and then reduce the air pressure. They'll fall unconscious and then dump them back in the cell."
"Sir?"
"Sorry, just a joke. Send a squad of Storm troopers after him. Oh, and activate all the silly traps that are supposed to keep them away from the control room." Rupert sighed. Working for a mad, evil, megalomaniac was bad enough without having to follow traditional, stupid procedures.
"Look, it's a cardboard cut out you twit." Isabel hissed.
"Isabel," Bob said. "I realise you like to be polite, and work by consensus, but now is not the time to discuss whether or not Superman here would like to move through the door in committee. Just get him through."
"We're not going to be able to hold them off much longer," said Brian, strain in his voice. "And Bob isn't going to last much longer if he keeps trying to use his sword. His Luck account must be in the negative numbers anyway."
Isabel sighed. Things had been going well. They'd found a computer and downloaded a map, and were now, well trying to get away from the 'legions of terror', they were probably called Storm troopers or something similar. The 'traps' impeded this process. Most were mildly annoying, but the last was a pop up cardboard kryptonite crystal. Unfortunately Superman wasn't convinced.
"Look," spat Isabel. "It's made of cardboard. Bits of tree. It's not a crystal of kryptonite. Look..." – she pushed it – "It's floppy. A crystal is hard, and you can't bend it."
Superman kept writhing on the floor, so Isabel picked him up and threw him over the cardboard kryptonite and into a squad of troopers trying to get behind them. She dashed over to the door controls and opened the control box – closing and locking the door as the others dashed through – pursued by a half squad of his Lordships finest. She looked past the pile of battered bodies – all bearing the imprint of Superman's fists – at the security camera.
"Let's find a computer," she said. "No. Bob shoot – not stab but shoot – the camera, and then we'll find a computer."
"Why?" Bob looked puzzled.
"We're going to use the computer to shut down the cameras, so they can't track us and trap us." explained Brian. "But why shoot the camera? That leaves a trail."
"Yes," said Isabel. "But they'll see us through the camera anyway, and if we send you one way and Bob the other they won't know which way we're going."
"But how will we find each other?" said Brian
"That's the beauty of it," grinned Isabel. "I either lose you or Bob. It's a win-win situation. On a slightly more serious note, I'll meet you in this room here in 15 minutes." She pointed at the map.
"Okay, but who gets the goldfish?" Brian said, nodding at Superman.
"I'll take him," Isabel said grudgingly. Very grudgingly.
"We lost them, My Lord," reported the Storm trooper.
"What do you mean, lost them?"
"They've shut down the security system, we can't find on the cameras." Said the Trooper, cowering below the throne.
"Take him away and shoot him," he instructed Rupert.
"Er... My lord, who will run the security section when he's dead?"
"Oh... you!" he snapped at a passing cleaner. "You're now head of security. Find the escapees."
"But, but..." stammered the cleaner.
"Yes?" came the sinister reply.
"I... I've no idea what to do, I..." the cleaner swallowed. "As you wish."
"Good." Said his Lordship. "Get out, and don't come back till you find them." He gestured and all of the troops left at a run. "I want them Alive."
"That's nice," said Bob, stepping out from the shadows.
"Yes," agreed Brian. "I wouldn't want an enemy who wanted me dead."
"Why do you idiots always insist on making stupid quips when you could have shot him?" spat Isabel as she closed and locked the doors leading into the room.
"Fish. Whee!" said Superman.
Everyone turned to stare at him, momentarily united in wonder at the sheer stupidity of it. Isabel gave the universally recognised I'm not with them gesture. Brian stepped away as if it was contagious, and Bob... Bob preened his moustache in his mirror.
"Kill them!" his Lordship yelled.
Isabel pounced on the sole remaining trooper, slicing his gut open through his body armour and licking the blood off her claws. Bob was toying with the cleaner – using his sword to disarm him and then waiting as the cleaner scrambled to pick it up.
"What is he doing?" snapped Isabel incredulously.
"Just mopping up," said Brian, trying to stop grinning.
"That was not funny," said Isabel - even if they were in the middle of a battle, she had to get it off her chest. "You always come up with these sad pathetic one liners, and you find them funny. Have you any idea how predictable they are? Even a blind badger – heck a corpse wouldn't find them funny." She paused for breath.
Allowing Brian to slip another dire pun in, "Maybe a corpse wouldn't find them funny – they've got no sense of humour, they're always dead serious."
"You've done it again!" Isabel was colouring nicely by now. "Can't you keep your mouth shut?"
"Look, I've no wish to get involved in a..." Brian paused – to dive out of the way as Bob chased the cleaner, rather than from any dramatic reason. "Catfight. Just stop complaining. We have other things to do now. Though if you wish to go to a restaurant later to row... Okay, okay. We kill this lot and then leave and never see each other again. Is that what you want?"
"See," she said patronisingly. "Even you can work something out sometimes."
"Sorry to interrupt," the high, cold voice of his Lordship said silkily. "When you and your boyfriend have quite finished... Thank you. Have you any last words Catwoman?"
Isabel snorted. "Sure, though I'll be saying them in a good fifty years time..."
"It pleases you all to jest. Well, that time has now gone. What are you Catwoman? Man or Mouse?" he paused to gloat. "Watch and learn the power of my fully operational gun of removing superhero's powers from them and giving them to me..."
"Nice title," scoffed Brian. "Short and catchy, just like Mycobacterium Tuberculosis."
"Yeah," said Isabel. "It's as short as it is effective."
"Such levity and empty bravado. Fire when ready Rupert."
"Well, I need to eat and build a helicopter so.... How does tomorrow sound."
"Just shoot the cat!"
Rupert sighed and moved over to press the clearly marked, unmissable on/off switch followed by the bright red fire button. The lights on the console flickered and died.
"Oh," Bob said from the back of the room. "Shouldn't I have pulled this plug from the wall? Oh well." He sighed and drew his pistol.
"You four are clearly intelligent and resourceful," his Lordship said, stepping down from his throne – seemingly oblivious to the laughing from three of the four. "Join me. Take Rupert's place by my side."
"You evil villains are all so stupid, aren't you?" Isabel replied incredulously. "First of all, shooting is too good for your enemies – you leave them to die by various intricate methods that they always escape from; Secondly, when the prisoners escape you always send a group of stupid troopers to kill them, and then when they come back empty handed you kill the leader and send them out again – you'd think you'd all realise that it doesn't work by now. And what's the thing with the henchmen anyway? Do you fail the job application if you are capable of writing your name on the top?" Isabel took a deep breath. "Third, you always have easily identifiable buttons to turn off the super weapon – when you can't just pull the plug out." She laughed. "Then, when the prisoners reach your control centre you always offer them the top place in your organisation – even when the person occupying it is still alive. Is it any wonder you all always loose?"
"Isabel?" asked Brian. "I've done this before. This is the part where we kill him and he cries 'No! I am invincible' before dying. You don't give him a security breakdown. Kill him."
Superman's fist made an impossibly loud noise as he hit his Lordship. He then picked him up and scoured the area for a reactor core. He knew what to do. He wasn't stupid. Bullets started hitting his cargo as the others opened fire.
"No!" his Lordship cried. "I am invincible!"
"See, I told you." Brian said smugly.
"Brian, I think he was telling the truth."
Brian looked at the multiple holes in his Lordships head. "Okay, anyone have a new plan?"
"I do," Rupert's voice rang out evilly. "I'm leaving. Not even He will survive a nuclear bomb." Rupert stepped through a hidden door. "Goodbye."
"One hour till detonation," a mechanical voice stated calmly.
"Relax," said Brian, getting out his portable wardrobe. "We've got an hour till we push that button there" – he pointed to the big circular button bearing the legend 'turn off self destruct' – "and we walk out."
"One minute to detonation,"
"What!" Brian dashed over to the button and hammered it.
"Thirty seconds till detonation,"
"There's no point pressing that button," Rupert's recorded voice said. "Whilst his Lordship was a traditionalist I am not blinkered by everyone's expectations. You heroes have no idea what to do when presented with something new. His Lordship is dead, you're dead and I have risen. I am in control. You will all cower before me. You are the sole people who have witnessed this dawn of a new era; evildoers have had their re-birth. You will treasure this moment till you die – in 5 seconds. I am now the ultimate power. Mwha, Mwhaha, Mwhahahaha."
"The guy's nuts," Bob said.
"Do you think these henchmen have to share a brain cell?" asked Brian.
"If we weren't about to die I'd recommend you asked them if you could borrow it, I'd boost the net number of brain cells to zero." Quipped Isabel.
"Hurray!" shouted Superman.
The room exploded in a bright golden fireball, erasing all trace of their existence.