I still don't have the rights to the Kids Next Door. Is it just me, or is this disclaimer thing getting repetitive?
The S.K.Y.C.L.A.W. landed a sizable distance away from the target zone. This was part of Numbah One's plan: he remembered how the skycraft had been scuttled during their previous encounter. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that hideous incident; scrambling to eject while bars of iron speared through the floundering ship had not been pleasant.
Numbah Four was first out of the aircraft, gripping his B.A.T.T.A.R. with both hands. The B.A.T.T.A.R. – Big And Tough Titanium Assault Rod – was a new weapon specifically designed for the pugilist. It resembled a baseball bat, but had a few special tricks built into its frame. Plus, it was easy to heft and swing about, which was what Four was currently doing, sharp green eyes suspiciously scanning for any sign of his hated enemy.
Actually, the only thing that had changed about the weapon from the time Four had conceived it to its creation was a miniscule change to its name. Nothing major, simply a tiny tweak to what one of the letters stood for. Numbah Four hadn't exactly been thrilled about that little change, but One insisted.
The leader of the team crossed the threshold next, trusty S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. at the ready. Though he didn't jump out and aim his weapon left and right as the Australian fighter was, his body was firm and tense, preparing for the expected showdown. Stepping onto the waving green grass, Numbah One paused and adjusted his sunglasses, the dark lenses catching and reflecting the sunlight, then turned and nodded at the two agents behind him.
Two and Three nodded back, then the latter skipped down the platform while the former took one last furtive glance around. Numbah Three was weaponless, and Numbah Two was wearing a backpack stuffed with various odds and ends that might or might not help during the coming confrontation. Yet the pilot looked considerably more nervous than the cheery raven-haired girl.
Numbah One attributed Two's hesitation to his confusion over the latest actions of the Delightful Children from Down the Lane. Normally, the mechanic would gloss over any trepidation he felt with a bad pun or some cheesy quips, acting like the cool collected hero so popular in all forms of media and entertainment. This time, however, he was too unnerved to even think of one yet.
The British boy couldn't blame him. Blatantly setting their latest minions-of-the-week on a playground just wasn't the usual method of their long-time rivals. Most of their confrontations were between Kids Next Door and Delightful Children alone, without dragging in innocent bystanders for the ride. Though One had been quick to offer justification back in the Treehouse, in all honesty, he wasn't quite sure what was going through the collective cognizance of their enemy.
(Could it have something to do with Dolores' absence?)
There was little time to ponder such matters, however. That could come later. Right now, Numbah One focused on figuring out a way to deal with the situation he and his teammates were heading toward.
"Be on the lookout for any signs of our enemy or their latest pets," he warned unnecessarily, heading forward.
Four took point, weapon hefted and ready to start dealing dents to the first piece of possessed playground equipment he came across. One fell in behind him, closely followed by Three and Two, with the backpack-toting pilot bringing up the rear.
Soon the quartet stepped onto enemy soil: the park that the transmission had originated from. They crossed into a field that was ominously empty, that should have been filled with kids laughing and scrambling around, from slide to swings to sandbox and back again.
Instead, there was no sign of kids or equipment. The only clue that anything should have been here were the holes and barren patches of earth where previously such things had been anchored. The agents walked to the center of the field, searching in vain for any clue to where everything had disappeared.
"I don't like this, guys," Numbah Two whispered, goggle-covered eyes darting from side to side.
"Don't be such a baby, Two," chided Four. Prodding the soil with the end of his B.A.T.T.A.R., he scanned the trees lining the abandoned playground and muttered, "Man! Don't tell me we missed those Delightful Dorks this time!"
"I don't think so." One dropped to his knees to examine a hole in the ground where once one of the support poles for the swings had been anchored. "Something about this doesn't sit right. I get the feeling this could be…"
A deep rumbling was the only forewarning the four had before the ground started shaking. Through the hole in the ground, Numbah One caught a glimpse of a flash of light. His eyes widened into saucers behind his concealing sunglasses.
"A TRAP!" he finished, throwing himself backwards.
He barely cleared the area before the ground split where he had been standing, revealing gleaming metal bars. The buried behemoth righted itself, shaking off dirt. Was the roar that ripped through the air as it emerged coming from unseen speakers, the sound of the earth being disrupted by its jerking upward, or merely a figment of his imagination?
There was no time to ponder the question, only react.
"Kids Next Door, scatter!" he ordered.
It wasn't exactly needed, for the other three were already scrambling to avoid being knocked over by one of the pieces of possessed playthings that were uprooting all over the deceptively empty field. Numbah One quickly scanned the area, making a mental tally of where all of his teammates and the menacing mockeries were.
Three nimbly sidestepped an emerging tetherball pole, the gleeful expression on her face seeming odd considering how nearly she had been caught by the spear shooting into the air centimeters in front of her. She clapped her sleeved hands and laughed.
"Yay, I remember this!" she squealed. She watched as steel plates enveloped the ball dangling from the rope, which itself was metamorphosing into a chain. The overgrown mace then arced toward her head, but she ducked out of the way, then started dancing around it, trilling "Wheee!"
At the same time, Numbah Two discovered that the patch of land he'd been standing on was where the sandbox was located. The grass shifted and sank, the soil rippling as his feet began to vanish into the shifting dirt. With a startled cry he yanked loose, literally jumping out of one of his shoes and barely clearing the edge of the pool before thick metal planks shot out of the ground. Landing hard on his left, now sock-clad foot and falling to his right knee, the mechanic turned to see his footwear sink into the quagmire.
"Man, no wonder I was getting a sinking feeling," he commented with a nervous laugh.
He got back up, balancing on his still shoe-covered right foot. Before he could completely recover from his close call, however, Two got a very unpleasant surprise: the rising sides of the sandbox suddenly tipped outward, spilling its contents and spreading sand everywhere. The warm substance soon engulfed his feet up to his ankles, and with a lurch began pulling him back toward its container.
"Whoaaa! Not good, not good!"
While the pudgy pilot struggled against the shifting sands, Numbah Four rolled away from a swinging bar. Hitting the ground with both feet, the short brawler looked up at his opponent. This metal slide was a lot larger than the one he had battled yesterday, and the handrails on its side had detached and transformed into twin javelins. The mechanical monstrosity raised its spears high into the air, slithering toward the boy using its long, thin metal body like a snake.
"So you're Slide 2.0, eh?" the Australian commented through gritted teeth. "Too bad you're no match for me, no matter what those Delightful Dork's do 'a ya!"
Both poles lanced toward the blond, who dodged to the right. He switched his grip on the B.A.T.T.A.R. to one hand, the left flying out to brace against the grass as he finished his roll and bounced upright. Just as he was going to charge his towering foe, however, one of the spears snared the loose hood of his jacket, pinning it to the ground. Four gagged as his momentum was suddenly arrested by the obstacle and he fell back to the grass.
"Numbah Four!" One shouted, seeing the tough agent's peril.
A heavy plank mounted on chains sailed toward the distracted leader's head, but just as it was about to strike he activated his jet boots and veered to the left. Numbah One didn't even get to catch his breath before another swung forward, forcing him to fly out of harm's way – and farther away from the pinned Four.
"Great, just great," he muttered, pushing his shades back up with one finger before spinning to face another swing and taking aim with the S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R.
Meanwhile, Numbah Two was rapidly running out of luck… not to mention footwear. His other shoe and both socks had already disappeared into the clutching gritty substance, leaving the pilot unable to yank his bare feet out of the sand that had already engulfed him ankle-deep. He dug desperately through his pack, searching for anything that might save him, trying to ignore how the shifting substance was slowly dragging him back toward the gaping maw of the waiting sandbox. He didn't know what would happen if it succeeded in pulling him into its perimeters, and frankly didn't want to find out…
Junk rained from the backpack as he shoveled through it. Nuts, bolts, screws, empty candy bar wrappers, small metal scraps he'd salvaged from the wreckage of various things he'd dismantled… Finally his fingers closed around a small spherical object about the size of a baseball. Numbah Two grinned.
"Bingo." Whirling around, the pilot brought his arm back and shouted, "Fire in the sandhole!" then lobbed the ball into the center of the sandbox.
Then he waited. Waited. Waited. The sand still slowly dragged him toward its container, but other than that, absolutely nothing happened.
"Huh?"
Suddenly Two slapped his helmeted forehead in exasperation.
"Now I remember! That one was a dud I was going to look over to see what… went… wrong…"
The sand beneath him rippled; this point immersed him up to his knees. The mechanic frantically rummaged through his knapsack again, but the only promising thing he could find was a large wrench he normally used to tune up the larger bolts holding some of their biggest machines together. Gripping it with both hands, he looked around in vain for something he could use it against that might stop the flowing sands.
Nothing appeared. He was almost at the edge of the sandbox now. Panicking, Numbah Two looked frantically for his friends, but all of them were already busy. Three was still bouncing around her tetherball dance partner; One was engaged in a furious midair struggle with the high-flying swings; and Four was still pinned to the ground parrying his snake-like slide foe's jabs with the B.A.T.T.A.R.
Numbah Two sagged, squeezing his eyes shut. He was on the very edge of hysteria, much as he was at the edge of the sandbox. There had to be a way out of this, but he couldn't think…!
(I wish Numbah Five was here. She'd be able to get out of this mess no problem!)
But the cunning female agent was back at the Treehouse, far removed from the hectic battlefield. Even if she'd known how badly her teammates were faring, there was no way she could help them…
His buried feet brushed against the cold metal planks that surrounded the main sandbox. Numbah Two's eyes opened wide as a sudden burst of inspiration struck. Bracing himself against the edge as best he could, the mechanic twisted around to face where one of his friends was fighting.
"Hey! Numbah Four! B.A.T.T.A.R. up!"
The squirming Australian shot a quick glance over in the shouting mechanic's direction even as he parried another jabbing strike from the creature towering over him. His dark green eyes narrowed angrily.
"I'm a little busy 'ere, Two!" he shouted.
"Look," shot back an equally irritated mechanic, "The bases are gonna be loaded if you don't strike 'em out. Hurry up!"
"Alright, alright already!"
Raising his B.A.T.T.A.R. to block the slide's free spear, Numbah Four grimaced with effort as he swung it around so that the curved top of the steel club faced in Two and the sandbox's general direction. He shifted his iron grip on its handle down slightly, then jammed his thumb down on a hidden button on the underside of the metallic shaft.
The top of the rod suddenly popped open, and with a burst of red light a glowing orange sphere shot out. Four mashed the button two more times, sending two more fiery balls streaking toward the trapped Numbah Two.
The pilot grinned again. Bracing himself against the edge of the sandbox, Numbah Two swung his wrench as hard as he could, knocking all three fly balls into roughly the center of the pit.
"Ball One!" he shouted, watching the first fall and sink into the shifting substance. "Ball Two! Ball Three!"
Willing his remaining strength into his aching legs, the mechanic then pushed away from the metal plank, fighting his way backwards through the grasping grit. It continued to shove him toward the sandy pit, but before it could force him inside, there was a muffled explosion followed by a geyser of sand erupting from where the first ball had vanished. Two more such fountains soon shot into the air, and Numbah Two was sent flying free by the force of the muted blasts. The pilot hit the grass hard, but still grinned wildly, sitting upright and jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"You're out!" he announced with a huge smile.
The resulting geysers sprayed sand everywhere, showering over the playground. Four, however, barely noticed this, instead focusing on bringing the top of the B.A.T.T.A.R. around to face the slide still towering over him.
"Time to strike you out," he snarled, pressing the button.
Several balls shot out and peppered the slide, until finally it fell to the side. The once smooth metal was now dotted with dents of various sizes, and it floundered briefly before falling still. Numbah Four finally freed his pinned hood and stood triumphantly over his fallen foe, a cocky sneer on his half-visible face.
"Who's next?" he asked, looking around for another opponent to beat to the ground.
Not far away, Numbah One was taking a page from Three's book of tricks for once. Just as she was getting the tetherball to tangle itself round its supporting pole, so he used his rocket boots to maneuver the swings into each other until their chains caught. His efforts paid off when the planks collided and fell limp, dangling uselessly from their now hopelessly snarled chains.
"That takes care of those things," he observed, scanning the scene from the air. "Now, where're those so-called Delightful Children…?"
"Right behind you, Nigel," came the monotone reply.
"What?!"
Numbah One twisted around in time to see the creepy camaraderie emerge from the trees surrounding the playground. The remaining four Delightful Children were riding inside a rather oddly constructed transportation device: it resembled a small hexagonal porch, the kind normally seen outside high-class villas. However, even as One stared, the faux wood siding peeled away, replaced by thick metal plates. A bubble of glass surrounded the quartet inside, shielding them from any possible assaults their rivals might launch.
Despite this, Numbah One aimed his S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. at the flying contraption.
"What is the meaning of all this?" he demanded in his best 'don't-mess-with-me' voice. "Why attack innocent kids just trying to play in the park? It hardly seems the 'delightful' thing to do."
"Why, Nigel," mocked the monotone chorus, "we're absolutely shocked that you haven't guessed by now. Surely you must have some inkling as to why we bothered setting all of this up…"
"You…" he started slowly, eyebrows raising as he realized their phasing.
(Setting all of this up…)
"Set up?!"
"Yes, Nigel," and the detached voices were tinged with smug glee, "Set up."
Down below, Numbah Three was prancing circles around the hopelessly tangled up tetherball pole. The massive makeshift mace began to quiver violently, and the raven-haired girl stopped dancing and looked at it curiously.
"Hey, why are you… Kyaaa!"
She squealed in surprise as the trembling pole shot out of the ground like a rocket, the force of its taking off blowing her off her feet. Three landed hard on the grass, and craned her head back to watch the shaft lance through the air.
"Sugoi…" she murmured. Then, noticing something alarming, she cried, "Ah, look out, Numbah…"
Her warning was too little, too late. The tetherball post crashed into Numbah One at full speed, knocking him off balance and tearing the S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. out of his hand. For a single, suspended moment, the commander spun through the air out of control, his jet boots sputtering. The chain had scraped over his right side, not only knocking his weapon away, but ripping through the side of one of his rocket boots.
With a final sputter, the damaged jet boot ceased functioning. Numbah One plummeted through the sky, too dazed to even try and control his landing. All his friends could do was stare in horror as he fell. Right into the sandbox.
"Num-Numbah One?!" stammered Two, the closest to his leader's unfortunate landing spot.
Again the earth rumbling, and this tremor was strong enough to knock the trio of remaining agents flat on their backs. The sandbox rose from the ground, its sides extending. With a start, Numbah Two realized that there had been far more of the contraption buried than he had imagined.
"Hey, that's a…!"
He gasped: the entire sandbox had emerged, and shifting soil coursed down its sides to reveal its true shape. What the Kids Next Door had thought was simply a quicksand trap now stood on four spindly legs, towering over them. On top of these metallic spiderlegs was mounted a small, square cage, lying inside of which was their unconscious leader. From their angle so far beneath the monstrosity, the trio could see a limp arm dangling out from between the iron bars.
"Numbah One!" Three screamed.
The only response to her cry was the mocking laughter of the Delightful Children. The frightful foursome brought their craft to a hover over the cage. Two of the sandbox/cage's legs, the upper right and lower left, raised from the ground and attached to the bottom of the aerial transport.
"No!" howled Four, charging and swinging his weapon vainly at the closest leg even as it folded out of reach.
Two and Three ran up behind the toughest agent, and the trio stared up at the contraption hovering overhead, too far away to be touched by any of their weapons. The transport tilted slightly forward, enabling them to just barely glimpse the quartet of Delightful Children smirking smugly down at them.
"Now we're even, Kids Next Door," they taunted, their mocking words broadcast down to the three so far below by their speakers.
With that, the ship turned and flew slowly away, carrying its precious cargo beneath it.
"Numbah One!" shrieked Three again, cupping her sleeved hands around her mouth. He long ebony hair flapped behind her, caught in the breeze kicked up by the departing craft. "Numbah One! NUMBAH ONE!"
"Don't ya dare run, ya yellow-bellied COWARDS!" roared Four. Waving his B.A.T.T.A.R. uselessly in the air, he bellowed, "Stay and FIGHT! FIGHT, why don'cha?!"
"Numbah One…" whispered Two, staring into the sky in shock.
(I've got to do something! The S.K.Y.C.L.A.W.…)
But his piloting instincts knew better. Even if he sprinted back to the skycraft at full speed and didn't wait for his remaining friends, there was no way they'd hope to catch up in time. Already the Delightful Children's transport had crested the trees and had vanished from sight. Chasing after them half-cocked and with no plan whatsoever wasn't going to help Numbah One.
That didn't mean that it didn't have appeal. Numbah Two didn't want to imagine what sort of things their long-time rivals might have planned for their leader.
"There's no time to waste," he said, turning to face his remaining teammates.
"Too right!" Four snarled, swinging around the B.A.T.T.A.R. in front of him.
"Numbah One…" Three whispered mournfully, staring off where the cage had disappeared from sight with tear-brimmed mahogany eyes.
"Let's go back to base and regroup," the mechanic said, pointing awkwardly toward their waiting aircraft. "Maybe Numbah Five'll come up with something."
"Yeah." Four ground the end of his club into the ground and cast one final hateful glance back where the Delightful Dorks had disappeared. "Or maybe Dolores 'ill tell us something useful fer once…"