Like a good communist, I own nothing.
"Gauntlet: Crucible"
Part 2
May 2
I'm not a nice guy. I've heard people say they were 'born bad,' if that's true, then I was created bad. My brother, Brick, once called me a "delightfully honest sadist." I didn't really get it then, but after he explained it, it seemed a good enough description. Curiosity drove me to look closer at this girl in front of me: Buttercup. She's my counterpart, I suppose. Came color clothes, eyes, hair... Anyway, I wondered if she was made bad, like me, if she was a sissy girl like her sisters. Maybe I'm just hoping to oversimplify things, to make everything black and white, like Brick always says I do. Maybe I'm starting to 'empathize' with her, or using her to find out more about myself, like Boomer says. Truthfully... I dunno. Don't much care, either.
I'm Butch.
"Three forty six!"
"Butch, tha big man! Goin' for the record!"
"Three... forty seven!"
"No way he makes it to three fifty," Boomer's voice came from behind, loud enough to be easily heard over the Metallica heavy metal music filling the Battle Room.
"Come on Butch!" Brick pumped his fist. "Almost there!"
Butch grimaced; his whole body felt like it was on fire. His arms felt like taffy, and he was breathing heavily, desperately, like a beached whale. Ragged gasps escaped through his lips, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, ignoring the pain. The bar in his hands bent from the strain as he lifted it off its supports, above the Rowdyruff's chest, and into the air.
"Three forty EIGHT!" Butch snarled, and for a second, it looked like his arms were going to go lax. Brick tensed, hands just under the bar, serving as spotter. The bar locked back in place as Butch slowly lowered it, arms trembling fiercely.
Boomer was silent. Almost. "Dude... three fifty... You're going to pull something doing this, man."
"I can do it!" Butch growled, chest heaving, exhaustion creeping up on him.
"Two more, dude! Two more!" Brick patted his brother on the shoulder.
"Two more," Butch agreed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. With a mighty heave, he lifted the bar again into the air, before quickly locking it into place, his muscles obviously fatigued. Even Brick seemed concerned at that, but both boys knew if Butch didn't get to three fifty here, he'd regret it later.
"One more, man," Brick looked down at his brother. "One more. You are SO damn close."
Butch smiled warily. "Three fifty. Three fifty..."
"Three fifty! Three fifty!" Brick chanted. Even Boomer jumped in. "Three fifty! Three fifty!"
"Three..." Butch roared, lifting the bar into the air over him. "THREE FIFTY!"
The bar collapsed back into place with a loud slang of metal on metal, and Butch rolled off the bench and onto the floor. Looking up, he had a wide grin on his face as he laughed, raggedly, eyes closed.
"Holy shit, dude," Brick nudged him with his foot. "You are a hardcore animal!"
"How do you feel, bro?" Boomer asked, more concerned than ecstatic.
"Geez... how... how do ya think I feel?" Butch coughed. "I feel great!"
"You crazy bastard!" Brick leaned over, and slowly helped Butch to his feet. "Well, you did it! ...Was it the Wheaties?"
"Hell yeah it was the Wheaties!" Butch lurched forward. "Man, I am taking the hottest damn shower imaginable after this." He paused and pivoted a bit. "Boss-man, you said somethin' 'bout a job tonight?"
"Yeah. Pops wants us to put a little scare on this rich chick," Brick checked his watch. "That's in... almost five hours. You should rest up 'till then. Should be a cakewalk, but ya never know."
"Right, right!" Butch nodded slowly, and walked off, ending the conversation then and there. Simply, he was too tired to talk about it. Behind him, Boomer and Brick headed off, talking between themselves. Hitting the showers, Butch winced as the scalding hot water poured down on him, but quickly adjusted to the heat. The burning temperature always relaxed him, like a Phoenix reborn.
Feeling a bit restless, Butch found himself taking a quick walk through one of Mojo's labs. He had about four different ones, not counting the armory, and most of the time he was in one of them, building something or scribbling away at some new design or plan. Butch really didn't give that much thought to it all. He preferred the straightforward approach, and while Mojo did, too, they had totally different ways of going about it.
Mojo relied on his machines and his designs.
Butch just liked crackin' skulls.
Granted, he could understand, and even pity, Mojo for not having any actual superpowers. He had to compensate for it with his latest version of the Robo Jojo (up to version 6.4B last he checked), or some new gun, or whatnot. Butch even grasped the concepts behind a bunch of things - he wasn't one for scheming or planning things out, like Brick, but he wasn't an idiot. He just preferred the honesty of upfront combat.
Man to man.
Person to person.
The strongest being victorious. Strength was honest, unquestionable; it had a certain purity to it that was lacking in the world. Butch honed his body and his mind, because they were one and the same. Mojo neglected one for the other. It was a shame, really. Still, Mojo was nothing if not tenacious, and Butch indeed could respect that. Even admire it. Would he still be trying to accomplish his dreams after so many failures and setbacks, he wondered, or would he have given up?
"Wassap, old man?" Butch saw Mojo hunched over something. Sparks were flying. "Buildin' somethin'?"
Mojo straightened up, and gave him a cross look. Butch ignored it, raising a questioning eyebrow.
"I am working on a new and even more powerful laser, that I will use to destroy my enemies, and the structures inhabited by my enemies, and their vehicles. And other things related to those things I already mentioned to you." Mojo crossed his arms, seemingly annoyed at having to explain himself. Still, Butch picked up a hint of a smile.
"Issat so? What was wrong with tha old one?"
"As you may know, either having read, or having heard, from me, Mojo Jojo, many times before, a laser is an acronym for 'Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation.' This laser system I am working on, and constructing, for various aforementioned purposes, is similar to the U.S. Airforces' M.I.R.A.C.L. laser system, as it operates in the infrared range, however, being the worlds GREATEST genius, my laser system is far more powerful and efficient! It is better! It is superior! It is built and designed by Mojo Jojo, and so it must, by nature, be the best that it can be!"
"And?" Butch gave a wiry grin. It always amused him how Mojo rambled.
"As defines a Laser, this means that the actual beam cannot be seen by the human eye. If I wanted to see the beam that was a result of my weapon, I would not be able to. Even if I squinted, even if I really tried, I would not be able to! To compensate for this, for I, Mojo Jojo, WANT to be able to see and evaluate the accuracy of my weapon when I, Mojo Jojo, fire it, a small visual beam is shot with the laser as a tracer. Additionally, a laser weapon, including THIS laser weapon, ionizes the air that it passes through, leaving a steam trail that lasts less than a second, so after the initial beam connects with the target a white tracer trail appears. This is not the problem I am solving, however, it is the fact that although lasers also create no noise when fired, the air the beam travels through ionizes and expands outwards, creating a mild boom sound. I find this noise very annoying to my sensitive ears! Mojo Jojo's ears are offended by it!"
"So...?" Butch was listening intently now. If it annoyed him so much, though, why not just wear earplugs or something?
"So, I am going to modify the tracer beam! I will increase its power and change it up so it fires before the main beam. It will fire preemptively, and in so doing it will ionize the air a millisecond before the more powerful infrared beam is fired."
"Makes sense. ...How's it going, then?"
"It was going fine until you started annoying me!!" Mojo turned to the open hatch on the laser and started working. "Now go away or play or enjoy yourself elsewhere or something! But do not bother Mojo Jojo, for that is not what I want you to be doing! You should be doing something productive, not..."
Butch was already long gone.
Relaxing on the couch, he flipped on the idiot box and cruised mindlessly through the channels. There wasn't really anything on, so he kicked back on his personal beanbag (green, of course) and dozed off. He still had about four or so hours before he had to head out, which was plenty of time for a quick catnap.
Butch woke up refreshed and rejuvenated.
He flew effortlessly through the air as it whipped through his hair. They were moving at about a quarter of their top speed, there not being much of a rush, as Brick led them to their target. Boomer was talking about this new ride he'd seen advertised for 'Awesome World,' a theme park outside Citysville. He was obviously looking to go, and all agreed that it did sound like a good idea, but Brick insisted that it be put off for a few days at least. Still, it was no big deal. It would be a lot more enjoyable when more of their business in Townsville was taken care of, and then they could spend a whole day or two crashing 'Awesome World.'
"Woah. Check it out!" Boomer pointed down. "That the place?"
"That's it all right," Brick said, and started to descend rapidly. "Follow my lead. This'll be fun."
They landed near the front door to a massive mansion. The place was huge, done up in a mixture of Tudor, Victorian, and Colonial styles. There seemed to be a main part to it, from above, and two long wings, the east one of which branched off into yet another two wings. Butch had seen, before they landed, two pools, a lake, obviously artificial (it was in the form of a dollar sign), racquetball courts, tennis courts, badminton courts, a putting range, a laurel garden attached to a larger hedge maze, a couple smaller buildings, probably servant's quarters, and a whole ton of posh stuff scattered over two or three dozen acres. Whoever they were meeting was rich to beat the band.
"Lock and load!" Boomer took out a pair of dark sunglasses. It was tough finding a set that fit them, and stayed in place what with them not having noses and stuff, but it had been done. Brick and Butch nodded to each other and put theirs on, too.
"So what'd this person do to piss off Mojo, anyway?" Butch adjusted his glasses.
"What I heard is that this rich chick talked back to 'im." Brick shrugged. "It's a matter of respect."
"Wait, wait. This is all about some talkback?" Boomer asked. "Seems pretty steep, sending us."
"Hey, you play with fire, you get burned, ya know?" Brick crossed his arms.
"This is backtalk we're talking about here. There wasn't a fire. There wasn't even a Boy Scout rubbin' two sticks together." Boomer sighed. "Just seems excessive, ya know?"
"Besides, we talk back to Mojo all the time," Butch added.
"It's about respect and turf, my brothers." Brick eyed the front door to the mansion. "Respect n' another man's property, in our case, Townsville. Now get in character."
"Knock knock!" A thunderous roar filled the mansion as the main doors flew off their hinges. Butch walked in, calmly, followed by his two brothers. Brick looked around with his X-ray vision, and quickly pinpointed their target. Two security guards rushed them, but got pummeled in a heartbeat. The three boys only had to fly a short distance and then threw open the doors to an expansive dining hall.
Brick waved at the two people eating. "How you lovely people doing this fine night?"
Several attendants looked at him, torn between running and staying, their jobs or their lives. Needless to say, there was stunned silence and no answer forthcoming. Brick floated over to the younger of the two people seated at the table, which he assumed to be the girl Mojo mentioned.
"Am I trippin' on acid again, or did I just ask you a question, girlie?"
"R... Rowdyruff Boys?! What're..." She noticed Brick seemed to be getting more pissed off. "I mean. We're doing fine, right Daddy?"
Mr. Morebucks, sitting at the head of the table seethed, but didn't say anything - At least until Butch floated up next to him. "Hey there, Tubs. You know who we are right, Fatstuff?"
The older man nodded his head, obviously growing nervous.
"Then you probably know why we're here, too, Jiggles." Butch smiled warmly. "We're associates of your daughter's one time 'business' partner, Mojo Jojo, you remember him dont'ya... ya rolly polly fatass?"
No answer.
Brick, meanwhile, was still talking to Princess. "Now I'm gonna take a wild, totally unsupported guess and jump to the conclusion that you're 'Princess' Morebucks, right?"
"I'm Princess, yes."
"I thought so. Well, you remember your business partner Mojo Jojo, dont'ya Princess?"
She nodded slowly. "I remember him."
"Good for you. Looks like my brothers and me caught you at dinner. Sorry 'bout that. What'cha eatin'?"
"R...right now?" Princess looked down at her food. "Lobster."
"Lobster? What kinda Lobster?"
"Maine... Rock Lobster."
"Really," Brick continued, voice still jovial. "Where did you get 'em?"
"We had them delivered fresh."
"Fresh from Maine? All that way?" Brick licked his lips. "That sounds pretty damn good. I ain't never had Maine Lobster myself. How is it?"
"G... good."
"Mind if I have a bite?" Brick asked, pleasantly. Princess shook her head in the negative, and he picked up the Lobster by the body, and messily took a bite out of the tail, splattering butter over his chin and into her dress.
"Mmm... mm! That's a tasty animal! Hey, Boomer, you ever have Lobster before?"
"No," Boomer replied, simply.
"You should have one. It's damn good."
Boomer stuck out his tongue in distaste. "I ain't hungry."
"Ah, that's some good Lobster!" Brick eyed a glass of wine on the table. "That yours? What is it, Champagne?"
"It's... Chardonnay..." Princess answered, reluctantly.
"OH!" Brick backed off a little, hands in the air. "My bad! Looks good, though, and I've heard a glass a day prevents heart disease or some shit like that. You mind if I have some to wash this tasty lobster down with?"
Without waiting for an answer, Brick grabbed the glass and took a sip.
"Look, what's your name? I got his name..." Princess pointed to the blonde Rowdyruff. "Boomer. But what's yours?"
"The name's Brick, freckles." He slammed the glass down on the table, shattering it. "And you ain't talking your way outta this shit."
"Look..." Princess looked to her father, whose food was quickly being eaten by Butch and seemed about to explode and say something they both knew he shouldn't, then back to Brick. "I just want you to know how sorry I am that things got... so messed up between me and Mojo! When I talked to him, I..."
Brick looked at Mr. Morebucks, and without warning, a beam of energy blasted out from the ruff's eyes, just missing the older man, and blowing away one of their nervous butlers. It was a low powered blast, not meant to kill, but it shot the man backwards and into the wall where he hit with a sickening crunch. Turning back to Princess, Brick saw that she was shaking in fear, like her atoms are about to run off in every direction possible.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that break your concentration? Please continue to bitch and moan."
Princess doesn't say a word.
"What's wrong? Oh, I guess you were finished. Let me ask you something, then. Would you describe for me what Mojo Jojo looks like?"
Princess looks right at him, cringing. In sudden anger, Brick's fist came down on the massive table, shattering it and throwing food everywhere.
"What country are you from?!" He demanded.
"W... What?" Princess stammered.
"What ain't a country I ever heard of! Do they speak English in 'What?'"
Princess seemed about to faint. "What?"
"ENGLISH, you freckle faced piece of white trash! Do-you-speak-it?"
"Y... yes."
"Then you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes."
"Then describe to me what Mojo Jojo looks like!"
Princess stammered again. "W...What?"
Brick's eyes started to glow dangerously under his dark shades. Butch and Boomer just laughed. "Say 'what' again! I dare ya! I double dare ya! Say 'what' one more goddamn time!" He roared. Princess was shaking terribly under his gaze.
"Now, describe what Mojo Jojo looks like!" Brick yelled in her face.
"Well... he's black..."
"Go on!"
"And... and he's got a freakishly huge brain..."
"Does he look like a little bitch?"
Stammering again, not really thinking, Princess answered, "What?"
Brick's eyes left her, and he nodded to Butch. The black haired Rowdyruff smirked, and suddenly backhanded Mr. Morebucks, sending him flying to the floor in a heap.
"Daddy!" Princess screamed, and started trembling and fearing for her life like never before.
"I'll ask again." Brick turned to her. "Does he look like a little bitch?"
"n... no."
"Then why you treatin' him like a little bitch, Princess?"
"i... didn't."
"Yes you did, little girl. Yes you did!" Brick reached over and picked her up roughly by the arm. "You watch many movies? I got this adaptation I wanna say. 'Blessed is he who takes the time out of his busy schedule to shepherd the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will come down upon your ass with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is BRICK when I smack the shit out of you!'"
"Butch! Boomer!" Brick called to his brothers. "Demolish this joint! I'm sure freckles and tubby can build another that's just as plush."
Ten minutes later, no stone stood upon another in what had once been Morebucks Mansion.
"Oh man, that was sweet." Butch cracked his knuckles (an odd thing to do, not having fingers).
"No, dude," Boomer interrupted. "That... was super sweet."
"Nay, nay, nay, my brothers." Brick shook his hand at them. "That was, quite simply, sweetness."
"When that little freckled turd builds another house, I gotta remember to smash that one too." Butch laughed. "Just to see the look on her face again!"
"Word!"
"Something to mark on the calendar!"
"Hell yes!"
"Well, gentlemen, its been a fun night." Brick put the food down on the table - three doggy bags. "Let's take care of this last piece of business, and get to that Jaws Marathon on tonight."
"Excellent plan, Boss-man," Butch said, grabbing the doggy bag in the middle. Each Rowdyruff headed off in a different direction, and Butch went with a spring in his step. Today had been a good day. He'd broken a previously unthinkable Three Fifty reps with the weight machine cranked up to full, he'd gotten to eat caviar (which was damn good) and a bunch of expensive looking pastries, and he'd helped reduce a place to rubble in true style.
He made a short turn down the hall deep in the subbasement of Mojo's place, and came to the locked bars of a cell. It was Mojo's personal design, made to hold even the angriest Powerpuff against her will. The walls were some kind of exotic material, about a foot thick, that Mojo cooked up specifically to hold them. The bars were the only weak point, despite being made of the same material, and they had an energy shield of some form or another coursing through them. Butch had touched it once, experimentally, and it had hurt like hell. Besides, even if one of the girls escaped, there'd be three Rowdyruffs to deal with before she could escape.
He looked through the bars, his narrow eyes just making out the green Powerpuff: Buttercup, at the far end, huddled against the wall, whimpering. She had, indeed, been the toughest of the girls' merry little band. She had even jumped him on sight the first two days, but it hadn't been too much of a problem, given him being in top form and her still hungry and weak. Still, tough though she was, she had been the first to break. Brick's words got to the redheaded girl well enough, and Boomer's charge, while non violent, still appeared defiant until recently. Buttercup, however, had withdrawn.
Maybe it was being beaten in battle.
Maybe it was being unable to deal with a situation physically.
Butch frowned, a bit, seeing the correlations between himself and this Powerpuff. Deactivating the energy grid, he turned on the lights and walked in. She whirled to face him, arms crossed in a weak imitation of bravado. Her eyes, however, caught him. She looked so weary, so beaten... so emotionally beaten.
"Chowtime, green-eyes," He said, not wanting weird thoughts clouding his mind. Not tonight, not after today, not with a kickass campy Jaws marathon on the boob tube. "Eat quickly. There are surfers on the tube about to be eaten by a forty foot shark, and I don't want to miss the blood."
She blinked at him, and lunged at the doggie bag, but he kept it just out of reach for the moment. Not really out of cruelty, he wasn't in the mood for that, but because he had caught a flash of red.
"Hey!" He called to her. "Lemme see your hands!"
"No!" She managed to bark back.
"Show me them... now," He said, slowly, forcefully.
She hesitated, but stepped forward, arms out. Butch raised an eyebrow at her bloody knuckles. "Poundin' away at the wall again, eh green-eyes?"
She nodded.
"You know it ain't gonna get ya anywhere..." He put the bag down and got a close look at them. Her knuckles were battered and red, some swollen. First Aid wasn't one of his specialties, but he reached into the bag, took out a napkin, and dabbed it on his tongue. Annoyed, and in a hurry, he cleaned the blood off and crumpled up the napkin.
"Well, if you get infected or some shit like that it's your own fault." He took a step back. "Now hurry up and eat."
Buttercup looked down at the bag, and emptied its contents: a plain hamburger and a little bottle of water. She looked at the food intensely, and uncharacteristically, she spoke. "Why are you doing this?"
"What're you talking about?"
"Why... why don't you kill us?"
"You that anxious to die?"
"I'm not afraid to die!"
"You should be, green-eyes. ...I am."
She looked at him, and her lower lip trembled. "I hate you."
"Take a number." Butch smiled. "Hell, Mojo wants to kill ya - probably real slow and messy, too. You want me to call him down so he can do the dirty deed?"
Buttercup's bravado evaporated. "No."
"Didn't think so."
Buttercup ate the burger in two quick bites, and finished the water in one gulp. She looked into the bag again, in case she'd somehow missed seeing something, but found nothing. She put it down dejectedly, and threw the empty burger wrapper and bottle inside. Butch picked it up and was about to leave, when she spoke up again.
"Are... Is Bubbles... n' Blossom... are they...?"
"They're alive, yeah." Butch paused. "What makes ya think they aren't?"
"We... we used to..." She looked at the wall behind her cot. "We used to see each other... in our dreams. I haven't seen them since..."
"Well they're alive. I'm tellin' ya they are, and I don't have any reason to lie, now do I?"
"No. I guess not."
He walked out and closed the bars behind them, just as Buttercup walked forward, following him. Just just the bars separated them by only a second's time, but Butch didn't see or sense any anger to the movement - more like desperation. She didn't want to be left alone. More than anything. The bars energized, and she took a step back as they did.
"G'night green-eyes." Butch gave her one last look, and switched off the lights, plunging everything into darkness. Upstairs, Butch joined his brothers, but for some reason, he couldn't totally concentrate on making fun of the stupid movie.
