Like a good communist, I own nothing.
"Gauntlet: Crucible"
Part 3
May 1
Am I bitter? Do I blame myself for opportunities lost? Maybe I am too cautious. Maybe I am a coward. Sometimes I wonder: is it the lingering effects of oblivion that creep into my dreams... that find me every time I close my eyes? Is it simple jealousy, fear, hatred... or am I truly damned - a rejection of humanity that has come to terms with itself? Why do I smile at that thought?
Brick is my name.
Mojo laughed long and loud.
"Your defensive scheme has collapsed, my boy! Collapsed! Disintegrated and fallen apart at the seams! You have lost the battle, and soon you shall lose the war! I, Mojo Jojo, will then be victorious! Stalingrad has fallen to me! The Caucasus is MINE, along with its THREE Industrial Production Points! You have underestimated the strength and tenacity of the German Army for the last time! Moscow itself is threatened! Quake... in... Fear!"
Brick frowned. "This is far from over, pops. Karelia still stands, and your defense of Finland/Norway is laughable."
Mojo smirked. "We shall soon see who the victor of this contest of arms is, boy. We shall soon see. ...That the victor is MOJO!"
"Yeah, yeah. Just finish your turn, pops." Brick watched, as Mojo moved around his units, shifted his defenses to compensate from threats from the Atlantic, at this point Britain - the United States still being largely a non-factor. Minor setbacks in Africa had clouded Mojo's turn as the Third Reich, but that was small compensation for the loss of Stalingrad. Brick was rolling badly, and felt an unlucky streak coming on.
After Mojo finished, they called a temporary truce, and took a break from the game. While his 'father' went off to his Lab, as always, Brick walked, aimless and deep in thoughts not related to the game. Oddly enough, he found himself in Mojo's Armory. It was, really, a sort of Trophy Room as well. There were pictures on the walls...
Brick's eyes passed over a screaming chimpanzee in a weird hat, as well as a framed photo of Mojo, gun in hand, posing with a girl in some type of armor, a skinny red fellow, and a big pink bear-type creature in overalls. The bottom of the frame read: 'Beat-Alls 2000 Reunion.' There were a few pictures of Mojo taken in different parts of the world: a Safari in Africa, probably Kenya, Mojo giving a 'victory' sign in front of Tokyo Tower in Japan, in some undisclosed laboratory with a few other sneaky and evil looking scientist types, a picture of Mojo with long hair (what was he thinking?) protesting in Washington DC in front of the White House for 'Supervillain's Rights...' And one picture of him and his boys, all of them together, smiling and celebrating.
Brick remembered that day.
They'd just defeated the Powerpuff Girls, and left them broken and beaten in the middle of Townsville. Brick hadn't really wanted to kill them, just crush them utterly and beyond doubt. He had suspected back then... no, he had known, back then, that Mojo had created them for the sole purpose of destroying the Powerpuff Girls and that it was more advantageous for him, and his brothers, if the Girls were simply beaten and not destroyed. That way they would remain useful to Mojo, keeping the Girls at bay, but would never outlive their usefulness. Additionally, a part of Brick had balked at outright murder - domination was more than enough to satiate him.
They'd returned from that fight victorious, and Mojo had greeted them with open arms, and promised a celebration in their honor. He was their coach more than a father, and Brick had treated him accordingly, dousing him with some Gatorade swiped from a local high school football game they'd flown over. Boomer had actually set up the camera, and the sticky and soaked Mojo Jojo had sat there, with them at his sides, smiling for the camera. It had been a happy moment, cut short, in such a short life.
Brick sneered at the memories that came pouring down on him, like a deluge. They had ordered pizza, a box for each of them, from a local joint. Boomer and Butch had gotten into an argument over whether Hawaiian Pizza was nasty or pure genius; Brick had settled on simple pepperoni and mozzarella cheese. Mojo had actually gotten banana and anchovies, which had naturally grossed everyone out. Butch had insisted on the hottest tongue-burning Buffalo wings in Townsville, a whole bloody bucket of 'em, and Boomer had looked forward to some kind of exotic bread or crust on his pizza.
Mojo hadn't wanted it delivered - he didn't like people coming to his Observatory (he liked to still think of it as a Secret Base), and he quite correctly stated that it would be simpler and quicker for one of the boys to go get it. Brick, stubborn as always, didn't want to break the mood or the moment, and insisted on delivery. Occasionally he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't been such a jackass, if he had sent Boomer or Butch out so that they wouldn't have been there when the Girls returned. They were all there, though, when it happened: drinking soda around the table, he never saw the Girls pass by behind them, but he would never forget the look on Mojo's face when they did.
Surprise.
Disappointment.
Anger.
Brick clenched and unclenched his fists in memory. A jumble of feelings and emotions and thoughts had raged: inwardly he'd questioned himself and his decision-making abilities as leader. Outwardly, it was business as usual. He'd resolved to beat the Powerpuffs again, regain Mojo's respect ...his love, even, maybe. If the Girls had to die so that the Rowdyruffs had a home, a family, a sense of purpose, then Brick would see it done, and done to the letter.
He'd still been deliberating it even as he chased the girls, Boomer and Butch by his side. Then, without warning, they had... transformed. Brick's mind, already in turmoil, had simply frozen, stunned, at them. Analytically, he identified it as a new attack: both his brothers were affected as well. He tried to predict what they would do, but came short. He could not follow their thinking, he could not believe what he was seeing, and he refused to come to terms with what was going on.
The feel of warm lips on his cheek burned his face, sent shivers down his spine, and for the first time brought into question who he was, what he was, what he was doing, why he was doing it, and most of all... who and what he wanted to be. This was his fear, embodied by the word 'cooties.' They were questions he could not answer, feelings he had never felt and worst of all: couldn't deal with. So he screamed, and fell apart at every level. The warm feelings turned so easily to pain, to blanketing white pain, and then to the thick chill of death. His last coherent thoughts were of fear, and the shame... so much shame... so much failure...
Brick blinked, and the memories were gone.
Hidden.
Locked away, once more.
He looked past the pictures, over Mojo's wide assortment of weapons. There was a section devoted to old ones - medieval swords and axes of various types, bardiches and polearms. A set of Japanese and Chinese weapons: exotic ones kept behind glass. There were a few collectors' edition replicas of famous weapons from different movies. The heart of the collection, however, was the World War Two gallery of mint condition Axis firearms. Brick had asked Mojo about them, once, and gotten more than an earful. There was, reading the labels, a Schmeisser MP-40, a Mauser Karabiner 98-K Rifle, a Mauser C-96 Pistol with a bunch of weird looking accessories, a Sturmgewehr MP-44 Assault Rifle, with a historical certificate underneath, something called a FG-42 Assault Rifle, and a big gun labeled MG-42, with a large block of ammunition next to it. Brick sighed. Mojo was sort of a gun freak.
He also had a lot of explosives sitting around.
Live explosives.
Brick retreated from the place, mind still churning. Butch, he knew, was in the TV room practicing Tai Kwon Do, or something with a lot of heel kicks, and Boomer was probably out cruising over the town. Recently, Professor Utonium's little gang of superhero wannabe hit men had increased in number, but Brick wasn't overly concerned for Boomer, who more than knew how to take care of himself in a jam. Most of the hit men were just angry Townsville citizens with some combat experience in the military who took the supposed 'death' of the Powerpuff Girls harder than most. They had put the 'murdering scum' Rowdyruffs on the top of their To-Do list, and while they were a threat, especially in numbers, they wouldn't dare attack the Observatory itself, and they weren't individually as strong or fast or accustomed to their Chemical-X enhanced abilities as one who had been born with them.
Still walking, still thinking, Brick decided to find his way down, deep below the Observatory. As he fully realized where he was headed, he smiled. She would serve well enough for some interesting conversation, and it would serve his plans well. Oh yes, over the time that he had watched and waited, he had calculated what was to be done with the Powerpuff Girls, with Townsville, and with the world at large, given his exclusive knowledge. He well remembered that day, when they had again floated over their defeated opponents, but this time by Brick's own design, not Mojo's. They had floated there, unsure what to do next, Blossom unconscious on the wet pavement, when Brick had told them. "Gather around me, my brothers. I have a Plan."
He had told them what he expected of them, what he anticipated they do. And when they were unsure, he explained it again. He told them how, in thought over just what they were to do; he had done some research, and found something interesting. It was called Stockholm Syndrome, and it was the answer to a great many things. It required four things, he had told them.
A perceived inability to escape.
Isolation from perspectives and individuals other than that of their captor.
A modicum of kindness supported by mounting terror and desperation.
A perceived threat to life and limb.
Only with the Powerpuffs again defeated at their hand had Brick allowed them to return to Mojo, only with that small redemption of failure had he allowed them to complete their resurrection from the grave. To return in any other fashion would be another blight, and another Shame, in a life already too thick with such things. Brick knew, then as now, that he did not have the tenacity and resilience of his creator. He did not have the emotional capacity to bounce back from defeat after defeat. To Mojo, perhaps, each defeat was simply another step towards the perfect plan, and ultimate victory, so every defeat was, in a way, a small success. Brick understood the thinking, but could not truly grasp or believe in it. Defeat was humiliation, defeat was submission, and defeat was... castration: a loss of manhood and authority.
He could not abide it.
So he resolved himself, and committed himself to his plan, his course of action, his solution to the Powerpuff dilemma. He would turn them to his way of thinking, to his cause and his will. He would not do so through magic, or trickery, or even science. He would do so through carefully planning, strategic prudence, and well understood psychology. They would be his bulwarks against a double cross at the hands of Mojo. They would be his ladder to 'legitimate' rule of Townsville, and the love of its people. At the very least, they would be forever changed, and this would be accomplished by his plan, not Mojo's! He would make some impact on the world, this he felt with every fiber of his being. He would not return again to Death's cold embrace without some mark to his name, and those of his brothers.
He poured himself a tall glass of water, and headed off.
He opened the bars to the cell and walked in, sipping his drink idly. She was already up and glaring at him, a mixture of anger and confusion. Of the two, he was most glad to see the latter. From what he had seen and learnt of her, Blossom had far less experience with confusion than anger, and that fact would make the situation more to Brick's benefit.
"Hello, Bloss." He smiled at her, eyes glittering in the fresh fluorescent light from above. He had talked to her yesterday, and very briefly the day before that. He kept the tone of his voice low and dangerous however. There was no need to play nice at the present.
"What do you want?" She asked, gruffly. Defiant. He found himself liking that about her. It frustrated things... and made them more interesting.
More challenging.
"I thought we might talk." Brick closed the door behind him. If she ran for it, just opening it would more than slow her down enough for him to overtake her. He then sat down on the end of her bed: a measly hard wire frame cot (Mojo wouldn't have it any other way, Brick supposed), and put the drink down next to him. He noted her eyes passing over it. He knew she'd be thirsty.
"Unless you're going to let us go and surrender yourselves and..."
"Come now. I know you're not that stupid as to make demands in your position. A position that could be so easily... so swiftly ...downgraded to far worse," Brick said, slowly, and patted the bed. "Sit. I won't bite if you promise not to kiss me."
She scowled, but warily sat down next to him. She had tried the kiss-kill thing before, and he had even let her do it, just to show that it wouldn't work. It was naturally quite disgusting to him, but after the first shocking treatment, the repeat performance was nothing more than an annoyance. He'd simply loved the look on her face when it hadn't worked, however.
"I'm curious," He began. "Why, exactly, do you want to rule Townsville?"
"W... What?" She blurted out, not understanding.
"I said: Why do you want to rule over Townsville? I personally believe it stems from a misguided sense of responsibility, or possibly guilt, but I wanted to find out from the source." He looked at her intently.
"I don't want to 'rule' over Townsville!" Blossom sounded genuinely insulted.
"You really think that? You're lying to yourself."
She snorted at him and looked away at the far wall.
"Hmm," He started anew. "Lemme get this straight. You protect the people of Townsville, am I correct?"
"We DID."
"A yes. You defend them when they cannot defend themselves?"
She looked at him, questioningly.
"Am I right?" He prompted.
"Yes," She finally answered.
"You help them when they cannot help themselves?"
Blossom thought of the Mayor and answered. "Yes."
"You selflessly tend to their needs, asking nothing in return."
"Yes!"
"Townsville would be lost without you girls?"
"...Yes!"
"Like sheep without a Shepard?" Brick smiled, calmly.
"..." Blossom paused before answering. "Do YOU really think that?"
"I know it. The people of Townsville... they need you."
"They do!"
"Need leads to dependence. Dependence leads to Domination. Power over others. Influence over others." Brick saw the look in her eyes, and savored it. "You rule over Townsville. Why do you think so many villains have a beef with you? You girls are... were... the big junkyard dogs that everyone wanted a piece of."
"You're twisting words..."
"I'm not and you know it. You always have." He took a small sip of water before continuing. "Always so eager to answer that Hotline of yours. Always so eager to be in control. Saving the city... for yourselves. For your egos. I do the same, except I'm honest about my reasons."
"We... we're heroes!"
"Because you fight evil? Because you defend truth and justice and love... because you support and uphold the status quo? Because you bolster an incompetent regime and it gives you the accolades of the people? Of course you're heroes." Brick leaned closer to her. "A Hero is just a villain who fights against Change."
Blossom snarled at his words. "Go away."
"Lemme go on for just a little more, Bloss. I'm almost done, and you still haven't answered my question. You're a very smart girl, I'm sure you've heard of Hegel, a rather keen philosopher. He believed that humans shared with animals a core set of desires for objects outside themselves: food, drink, shelter, preservation of life... man differs in that he desires the desire of other men. He wants to be recognized, respected, to be seen as a human being with certain worth and dignity. Only man is able to overcome animal survival instinct for higher abstract principles and goals. It is this unique trait that drives man to recognize and respect man through combat and conflict... a mortal life or death battle. And when the fear of death leads one combatant to submit, the relationship of master and slave is born. The goal of this battle is not food or shelter, but respect, and because this is not a biological desire, it is seen as the first glimmer of human freedom." Brick stopped, let what he'd said sink in. "I believe in that. You three girls... were the masters of Townsville, the muscle behind the laws, the walls holding back the barbarians. You inspired me, Blossom, I want you to know that."
The redheaded Powerpuff pulled up her legs and held them close to her chest. Brick couldn't see her face - a pity. The look on it would be priceless. "What do you want from us?" She asked, after several silent seconds.
"I... Maybe I want some understanding. Maybe I just want you to suffer for what you did to my brothers and me. Maybe it's as simple as that. Maybe I'm telling you this because I want you to feel personally responsible for what's happening to your city." He stood up, and looked at her fiercely. "Maybe I'm a cold hearted bastard who likes kicking people when they're down and stompin' on babies."
She didn't answer him.
"Well?" He picked up the glass, still half full, but didn't drink. "Why do you want to rule Townsville?"
"I..."
"An honest answer," He said that softly, and handed her the glass of water. "Here. You don't need to answer too quickly."
She looked down at it like poison, but relented and started hastily drinking. When it was finished, he pulled the glass back out of her cupped hands and waited for an answer. Blossom looked down at herself, and her shoulders trembled just slightly.
"I didn't plan for it." She started, voice so low it was hard to hear. "It just... happened. We had to do something. Everything was... was flying apart. We couldn't just watch while it happened."
"It was your responsibility," Brick said.
"...Yes. My responsibility."
He waited a few seconds, and then asked something else he wanted... needed to know. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?"
"...Yes."
"You liked saving the day. Being loved."
"Yes."
"Being admired."
"Yes."
"Being worshiped."
Tears were in her eyes: tears of guilt. "Yes!"
Brick nodded slowly. He reached over, wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Don't cry, Bloss. It's not somethin' to feel guilty about. You should embrace it. Feel good about who you are. ...What you are."
She looked up at him, surprised by the gesture, even shocked. Slowly, he leaned back so he stood straight. His features settled into a comfortable frown, eyes cold.
"I'll be back late with dinner today," He told her, voice emotionless, simply stating fact. Without another word or gesture, he left.
Brick suspected that his brothers knew he lacked any sort of true crime fighting spirit, and this was true. Boomer, of the three Rowdyruffs, took to it most easily, enjoying himself in the chase. Butch saw it as a great opportunity to beat the hell out of a one or two people every night, and at least seriously wound twice that number. Brick, however, derived no true joy from such a non-challenge. Better than any, he knew and accepted what he was.
A weapon.
This in and of itself did not trouble him. To an extent, every man was a weapon against another, but Brick was an extreme of that. His powers did not have peaceful or passive applications. There wasn't even a 'stun' setting for his eye beams. No, he was a weapon to strike down the enemies of Mojo Jojo, and over time, he had evolved himself into more, to a better purpose and a better way, but the heart of the matter was concrete and unchangeable.
Mojo collected guns.
Mojo loved weapons.
Mojo loved his greatest weapons: The Rowdyruff Boys.
Soon, the world would love them for a similar reason. Soon, they would be worshiped, and then, they would rule. His brothers would be free; he would be free, redeemed, and ascendant. He had not lied when he had told Blossom that he admired her, and that his plans were honest extensions of her own subconscious desires.
Brick looked down at the city from his perch, high above the Metrowest Building. In the distance, a rather small monster was approaching the Southside pier, but Brick was not as yet concerned. He had known it was coming for some time, and knew better than to engage it in the water when it would be coming onto land. He looked instead to the city itself, past the glittering lights and venues, to the people themselves. What were they to him, but potential targets and sheep? How could excitement flow through his veins at the thought of involving himself with their affairs on such a minor... futile level?
At the monster's steady approach, he suddenly felt... vicious tonight.
"Ugly looking thing, dudes," Boomer said, excitement in his tone. This was the first monster he had the fun of engaging.
"You can say that again," Butch agreed.
Brick just watched as it rose out of the water completely and onto land. It was hulking and gray, a misshapen creature with half a face seemingly glued into a full one distinguishable by only two empty sockets where eyes might have been. Most of the body was thin, just skin stretched over oversized bones, and on parts, the bone even broke the surface, glistening a sickly chalk white against the bay lights. Two long arms, each ending in a sinewy three-fingered radial hand, swayed as it walked.
"It's... not attacking the town," Butch stated, surprised, as the creature meandered down a street, looking around.
"Maybe it's looking for the Powerpuff Girls," Brick speculated. "Or maybe it's just confused. Approach from the ground, let its confusion work for us."
"Right!" Boomer nodded.
"You got it, Fearless Leader!" Butch stuck his tongue out and did a mock salute.
As the three boys scattered in different directions, heading towards the creature low to the ground, Brick determined that there was a pattern to the creature's movements. It was swaying back and forth as it walked around, seemingly erratically, but it was slowly steadying towards facing one point: Mojo's Observatory. He had been right: it was looking for the Powerpuff Girls... or something similar, and it could somehow tell where they were.
Suddenly, the hollow sockets in its eyes started to glow.
"Shit! That's never a good sign!" Brick gritted his teeth, shot up at the creature's lower left leg, and backhanded its hamstring hard, causing it to stumble. In the distance, an area of Townsville Central Park shook as an invisible lance of energy tore into the Lake, releasing a column of superheated steam and a pillar of light from where it hit.
"Hit it HARD and hit it FAST, gentlemen!" Brick yelled, as Boomer and Butch shot up from below, the former taking out the creature's other leg, and the latter using his eye beams to try and cut a long gash down the monster's back. It didn't howl, or indicate any pain, however, despite the bleeding green gash down its lower back. It just pivoted, ripples flowing through its skinny, barebones arms, like a shifting of muscle from one part of the body to another.
It lashed out with incredible speed and silent ferocity.
"Move move move!" Brick yelled, as the creature swiped at them. It was quick, but they were quicker. They zipped in and out, pummeling its body and trying to sever the joints with eye beams. It was far tougher than it looked, and it almost hurt to hit the thing, but they were winning. It came as little surprise, then, when from deep in its hollow eyes tiny pinpricks of light began to form.
More than ever, Brick felt the energy building in his body, and blood pumping through his veins. Eyes charging, he readied himself for his own hidden power. So far, only he had manifested a 'special ability,' but then something better caught his eye. Floating backwards, fast as he could, he tore up a metal streetlight, twisting it so the bottom was a sharp point, flipped the curved end straight, and threw it like a javelin.
As the heat within the hollow eyes reached its peak, the giant makeshift spear struck true, and whatever was within prematurely activated. A titanic gout of flame and burning flesh issued from its upper body, forcing Boomer and Butch back from their assault, so intense was it. The body began to fall forward, towards Brick, when the realization dawned - it wasn't falling forward, it was leaning forward: reaching for him, even as its upper body melted and burned.
In his surprise, his acceleration suffered, and three cold calloused fingers enveloped him, pulled him forward. He strained against the crushing hold, but couldn't help but wince as his back was slammed down and into the hard street below. He opened his eyes just in time to see rhythmic pulses, ripples, flowing down the creature's skinny arm towards him, each one impacting like a hundred thousand jackhammers. He damn near spit blood, and below him, the street cracked and heaved. Bloody droplets from what had once been the monster's upper body dripped down, staining everything...
Brick's eyes opened, full of red fire, and with every ounce of being, with every belief he had of himself as the weapon, as the instrument of death and destruction, white hot invisible energy shot forth. It seemed to struggle against the creature's body, at the point where its arm attached to the body, before melting through completely. The massive right arm fell limp, the fingers lost their strength, and Brick tore himself free. The crippled creature still stood, and with its one good arm, continued to strike out at them... at least until Butch got a good hold of it, and twisted it at the elbow, cracking it loud enough to be heard all over Townsville.
At least, the weakened and beaten behemoth stumbled.
And exploded.
In those few seconds, it was over. Slick swaths of burned mottled skin hung from buildings, and the stench of blood hung high in the air. To Brick, he smelled disturbingly familiar. A swath of the bay area was devastated, but it wasn't nearly as bad a most of the beatings Townsville took. Brick took to the air, a bit hesitantly, and feeling like he'd been through a giant taffy pull, though he likely didn't look too bad. Butch and Boomer were in better shape, and busy celebrating.
"We bad?" Butch held out his hands.
"We bad!" Boomer slapped his own fists down on Butch's, and they started to moonwalk in midair.
"Ok, guys. This has been enough Community Service for tonight. Let's go home."
"Brick! Man, did you see that? The thing was fightin' with half its body gone!"
"It kicked ass!"
"No, WE kicked ass!"
"It was MY last blow that did it! SNAP! Crackle! POP!"
"No way, Butch! Consistency is the word - while you were busy messin' your pants flyin' around, I had to do some real work...! I set ya up for that move!"
"What the Hell did you say...?"
"What? You're deaf, too?"
"That's it, Blondie! Time for a take down!"
"Just try it, pal!"
Brick just shook his head. Today had been nothing. Nothing at all.
