AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fanfic was inspired by the Disney movie "Something Wicked This Way Comes." The Impossibles and Big D belong to Hanna-Barbera. All other characters belong to me. Also the Impossibles and Big D's real names belong to me, since they were never given on the cartoon.
It was a Saturday afternoon in the city of Megatropolis. The Impossibles didn't have any scheduled gigs, and crime had been a bit slow worldwide, which was a good thing. It allowed the boys to take a break. This particular Saturday afternoon, Fluey was practicing some martial arts moves, being coached by Big D.
"I want you to try that shoulder throw," Big D said. "I know you've used it before, but you still need a little work in that regard."
"I don't know, chief," Fluey said, a little hesitantly. "You actually want me to fling you over my shoulder?"
"If you want to earn that black belt, yes," Big D said.
Fluey stood there and thought about this. For as long as Big D had been teaching him martial arts, never once was he able to get the drop on his grandfather. Big D was an expert in all the martial arts, and he never let his guard down. Whenever Big D tested his grandson on his skill, Fluey would do pretty well blocking most of Big D's attacks, but he eventually wound up on the floor.
"You know I'm not going to let you beat me," Big D said. "You'll never learn anything that way. And you'll never learn anything if I go easy on you. Now come on, boy, hit me with your best shot!"
"Okay," Fluey said, shrugging. He and Big D sort of stared at each other for a few moments, preparing themselves. Then, Fluey shouted something in what sounded like mock Japanese (like in old cartoons when a character is doing martial arts), grabbed Big D by the wrist, and successfully flung him over his shoulder and onto the mat. The minute he hit, Fluey cringed.
"Ooohhh," he said. "Uhhh . . . . . heh. Sorry about that, chief."
"Well . . . ." Big D groaned. "You're definitely improving, that's all I can tell you."
"I thought you said you weren't gonna go easy on me."
"I didn't go easy on you. As I stated already, you're improving."
"Need some help getting up, chief?"
"What do you take me for?"
"Well, you landed pretty hard, you know, and the last couple of times we've done this, we had to stop because you . . . . ."
Fluey didn't get a chance to finish that sentence. As the chief was starting to get up, he heard a slight cracking noise, and suddenly felt a painful sensation in his lower back.
"Threw your back out," Fluey said, finishing his sentence, and rolling his eyes. "You did it again, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did it again," Big D said, sounding a little impatient.
"What are you guys doing down here?" Fluey's half-sister, Phyllis, asked, as she came downstairs to the basement.
"Nothing much," Fluey said. "Big D just threw his back out during the martial arts lesson."
"Again?" Phyllis asked. Then she sighed, and turned to the chief. "Are you all right, chief?"
"It's nothing a couple of Aspirin and a long shower won't cure," Big D groaned, as both Fluey and Phyllis helped him to his feet. "I never had this problem when I taught you this, Phyllis."
"Well, that was almost ten years ago," Phyllis said.
"Yeah, you know how it goes, Big D," Fluey said. "Things like this just sorta develop when you get old."
"For your information, Fluid, I'm not that old!" Big D shouted.
"But you're getting there, right?" Fluey asked. "You gotta be up there in years, like maybe what? Sixty, sixty-five, something like that? Close to seventy, maybe?"
"Watch it, young man," Big D warned, glaring at his grandson. Then he groaned, and went to hit the showers.
About an hour later, Big D finally emerged from the shower, and went downstairs. His back was still a bit sore, but that was nothing new, considering the last two times his back gave out during a martial arts lesson. A couple of Aspirin usually provided some relief.
"You didn't use up all the hot water again, did you, chief?" Phyllis asked. "Like the last couple of times this happened?"
"Very funny," Big D said.
"Maybe we should just skip the whole martial arts training," Fluey said. "I think I know enough to get by, and I do have superpowers, after all."
"And you also have a knack for landing yourself into trouble," Big D said. "Caught without access to those superpowers, I might add."
"Yeah, well . . . . ." Fluey said, shrugging. Luckily for him, the doorbell rang at that moment.
"Saved by the bell," he said.
"I'll get it," Phyllis said, and she walked over to the front door. When she opened it, she found the Secret Security Headquarter's chief mechanic (and her current boyfriend), Mike Rogers, standing there, holding a bag from a Chinese restaurant downtown.
"Hi, Mike," Phyllis said. "What's with the take out? I thought we were going to the movies tonight."
"Yeah, but the only movies playin' are slasher flicks," Mike said. "I know you don't like those, so I figured I'd just come over for dinner, and I'd provide the dinner."
"Well, Chinese may not have been a good choice," Phyllis said. "Big D was showing Fluey one of those martial arts moves, and he threw his back out."
"Again?" Mike asked. "Is it me, or does his back go out more than he does?"
"I heard that, Rogers!" Big D shouted from the kitchen.
"Well, it's true, isn't it, chief?" Fluey asked.
"Watch it," Big D said, glaring at his grandson.
"Come on, boss, we're just teasing," Fluey said.
"I never liked wisecracks about aging," Big D said. "You may be smart about it now, Fluid, but just wait until you become my age."
"Oh, that won't happen for another . . . . . hundred years or so," Fluey said.
"Wise guy," Big D muttered under his breath. Then, he cleared his throat, walked down the hallway, opened the hall closet, and grabbed an overcoat from it.
"Where are you going?" Phyllis asked.
"Kelley's Pub," Big D said. "I need a drink."
"Promise you'll only have one, though," Phyllis said. "I know you can hold your liquor, chief, but . . . . ."
"I know," Big D said. "But you know the place is within walking distance from here, so I won't be driving. But if it will make you feel better, if I do wind up intoxicated, I'll call you."
And with that, Big D left. He walked downtown to Kelley's Pub, a usual hangout of his since he first joined the SSHQ. He and the man who owned the place, Shamus Kelley, had been friends for quite awhile. He walked into the pub, and took a seat at the bar.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," an older man with white hair said, as he cleaned off the bar. He had an Irish accent. "Didn't think ye'd be comin' in today, Dawson, ol' boy."
"Do not mention the word old to me right now, Shamus," Big D warned. "I'm in no mood."
"Hmm. That grandson of yers makin' wisecracks over yer age again?"
"That's part of it."
"Let me guess the other part. Threw yer back out again, didn't ye?"
"For the third time this month. Worse yet, my grandson finally got the drop on me during that self-defense training session. Quite literally, in fact."
"Well, as me grandmether used to say, with age comes wisdom."
"I know exactly what my grandson would say if I said that to him. He'd say that must make me the smartest person in the world. I don't know . . . . both of them . . . . . both my grandchildren make me feel old. The day my granddaughter was born, I felt old!"
"Shorin' ye can't be serious!"
"Want to bet on that? My granddaughter is twenty-one. I was thirty-seven when she was born. Thirty-seven! "
"Well, her father was sixteen when she came along. Never understood why the kids just couldn't seem to wait until they were married to go and have kids."
Big D didn't answer. He remained at the pub for about fifteen minutes, and then left. The wind was beginning to pick up as he was leaving. Pieces of the daily newspaper were blowing all over the place. As Big D was walking, a piece of paper flew directly at him. He grabbed it, and looked at it to see what it was. It looked like an old flyer. A very old flyer, yellowed with age, and old fashioned circus style print, advertising something called "Nightshade's Carnivale Fantastique," which was at the Megatropolis fairgrounds from October 20 through October 31, but the year was not specified.
"Strange," Big D said. "October twentieth is a little late in the season for carnivals. And judging by the looks of this ad, I'd say it's from a long time ago, anyway."
And with that, Big D threw the flyer into a nearby trash can and continued walking. When he arrived back home, he found Fluey, Phyllis, and Mike cleaning out the last of the take out cartons, before moving onto the fortune cookies.
"Hi, boss," Fluey said, grabbing one of the fortune cookies and unwrapping it. "Want a fortune cookie?"
"It's about all that's left," Phyllis shrugged, grabbing one of the cookies. "The boys practically inhaled everything else."
"You don't actually believe that nonsense, do you?" Big D asked.
"Heck no!" Fluey shouted. "There's no truth in the fortunes you get from a fortune cookie! It's just for a laugh, anyway."
Big D nodded, and took one of the fortune cookies. Mike broke his open first, and read it.
"Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six," he said. "Huh, my kinda fortune!"
"Those are the lucky numbers, you moron!" Phyllis shouted, punching Mike in the shoulder as hard as she could.
"I was just kiddin', Phyllis, sheesh!" Mike shouted. Then he turned the paper over to read the fortune. "It says help, I'm bein' held prisoner in a Chinese bakery."
"Mine says it's about time I got out of that cookie," Phyllis said. "Apparently, somebody at the fortune cookie factory has a strange sense of humor."
"At least mine's somewhat normal," Fluey said. "As far as fortune cookies go, anyway."
"What's it say?" Phyllis asked.
"It says something that was once missing will soon be found," Fluey replied. "Heavy."
"What about you, Big D?" Mike said. "You got a weird one?"
"Apparently," Big D said, giving the fortune an odd look. "It just says by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
"Hey, wild, man!" Fluey shouted. "A Shakespearian fortune cookie!"
"It doesn't really say that, does it?" Phyllis asked.
"Sure does," Mike replied, taking the fortune from the chief. "Since when do you find quotes from Shakespeare inside fortune cookies?"
"You know there's a rumor Shakespeare didn't really write all his plays," Fluey said, shrugging. "Maybe he stole that line from Confucius or something."
Big D didn't answer. He just left the kitchen and started upstairs, wondering about that odd fortune.