Teen Titans
Chapter 4: Money Magnet
There were only two things Michael Ellis really lacked in life, that was money and power. Accordingly since he had no money, the pompous government pigs found it all to easy to deprive him of his power. Power to his home and power to his life, it was inexcusable. He could imagine them now, the fat bigwigs of Jump City, in the safety of City hall, all sitting round an expensive camphor wood table, smoking costly Cubans and laughing at his expense. 'We should have done this sooner, I needed a good laugh,' one of them would say. This filled Michael with rage and anger, he would fix all of that tonight. Never again would anyone laugh at Michael Ellis.
Inside the large and roomy warehouse, as Michael Ellis opened up his prize. Of course 'opening' meant repeated pummeling of a defenseless wooden crate with a crowbar. But from the look of things the crate wasn't going to be pulling itself together any time soon. Throwing the large crowbar to the floor, with a clang, he lifted a large briefcase from the torn wreaked crate. If the crate could talk it would said a vast list of rather unhealthy things, but it couldn't so it was resigned to lay in a hundred pieces. Michael worked as a part-time security guard at RayTech, the biggest R&D center in all of Jump City. If miracles did exist, then it was RayTech that made them. Michael was looking for his own miracle deep within the complex's extensive underground warehouse. Officially RayTech was a government based operation, unofficially it also accepted 'requests' from third parties, or really anyone with enough spare change to cough up the several hundred million dollars needed for the research and development of new, and most importantly to the client, privately made technologies. Whatever you wanted, within reason, could be altered or made for you; medicines, computer parts, appliances, and even weapons could be bought in this fashion without government knowledge, support, or control.
In the past few weeks, Michael had been hearing rumors of one such illicit tech. Details were hard to come by, but what he had managed to piece together was that a privately owned corporation had been in contact with RayTech about the development of a unique type of energy cell. Apparently this 'battery' once finished had enough power to illuminate Paris for 3 years. Most of it was all made with currently existing technology, however one of the key elements was a core made from the toxic metal Plutonium, or was it Uraniaum? Either way it didn't matter because in order for the battery to work properly it could NOT be lead shielded. This made it extremely hazardous for general purpose use, but, and this was the best part, it had self regeneration capabilities, the secret to it long run time.
"Energizer would be buried," Michael chuckled to himself.
Donning a vest made of thin lead plates, and a pair of lead lined work gauntlets, Michael Ellis quickly hacked the briefcase's security lock and carefully opened the lid. A slight tingling sensation cascaded over his skin. He didn't know if it was the energy that seemed to radiate from the object inside or the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of success. Inside the unusually large briefcase, two objects, both constructed of shiny silver metal alloy, were inside. The first one, was a cylindrical disk roughly 7 inches in diameter and 2.5 inches thick. It's surface was flawless, except for a small hole that traveled all the way through the disk, depth wise. The second object was a rectangular box, slightly larger than the disk, it's insides filled with electronic circuitry and computer boards. It's function was to contain the cylindrical disk within itself and to monitor and control energy output. The outside of the box adorned several holes where connecting wires would be inserted and couple of dials and gauges. There was also some letters painted on the underside of the box. Michael looked closer, an acronym composed of four letters stared back. Obviously it stood for the name of the private corporation that had hired RayTech. He did not know what the acronym stood for and he didn't care, all he knew was that he was about to seriously piss off a lot of people.
:Minutes later:
The Teen Titans all arrived at the same time. The high pitched shrill of alarms erupted from within RayTech breakin through the city. A man's voice could be heard from an inter-com system barking orders and directing guard dispatches. An explosion ejected hot shrapnel from somewhere deep inside the complex. Windows and glass doors shattered and a gush of scorching wind exhaled from all the frames and doors. Robin covered his eyes while the wind passed. Noting with unease that the intercom had gone silent.
The Titans only had to sprint a short distance and they would be in the embrace of the RayTech complex.
"Look out!" Robin heard Starfire shout. He lowered his arm just in time to spot a figure falling from the second story. Fire and smoke danced off of the man's uniform as he plummeted to the ground. He didn't fall far before Raven caught his limp body. It was a security guard, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, the breastplate of his armoured uniform was peppered with pieces of smooth shrapnel. Raven set the guard on the ground, extinguishing the fire on his leg.
Cyborg stepped up to the guard and extracted a piece of the smooth shrapnel. Lifting it to his eye he discovered a shiny quarter.
"This is money." He said and it was true. The rest of the debris piercing the guard's armor were pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters.
"That's some killer cash," Beast Boy injected. No one laughed.
"Indeed it is." A voice came from just inside the building. Forgetting about the guard the Titans wheeled to face a man dressed in clothing that appeared to be made out of dollar bills sewn together with golden energy. His eyes filled with greed and desire, while Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, and Benjamin completed this strange green multi- eyed beast. The only thing not made of money was backpack composed of a silver box, from whence the energy originated from, but there were no shoulder straps to hold it on. He walked towards the Titans, his stride holding no fear.
"So the janitors have come to clean up." Contempt.
"Who are you?" Robin asked slowly as if the man wouldn't understand him.
"I am the Money Magnet," he pronounced with arms outstretched. Raven rolled her eyes.
"Were all the good names taken?"
"That name isn't going to 'magnet' any fans, dude." Beast Boy sniggered.
"A mag-net," Starfire inquired, "are we going fishing?"
"Fishing for evil maybe," finished Cyborg.
"I knew you mortals wouldn't understand," Money shook his head, his arms falling to his sides. His mind drunk on the energy that caressed his body and made him strong. He understood. He understood ever since he activated the cell and attached it to him. It was a truly wonderful miracle that the people at RayTech had fabricated. He was dizzy with desire and wanted more. Yes, he would show how powerful he was and these fool kids would be his first victims. He reached behind his back until his fingers stroked the power pack. He turned a dial and felt the rush.
Without warning, Beast Boy felt movement in his left pocket. He gasped in surprise as several bills and a handful of change shot from his pocket and attached itself to Money's body.
"Dude! I was saving that for tonight's pizza!" his surprise giving to frustration.
"You like music?" Money suddenly changed subjects. The others looked on with confusion. "Then get ready to rock, cause I've got a fine selection of heavy metal for you from my favorite band, "El Presidente."
:Meanwhile:
"I'm never getting drunk again." Knives told himself for the 4th time in 10 minutes, as he shuffled down the sidewalk. Someone was playing pool with hid head and kept jabbing the cue stick into his temples. This was his first hangover and, if he had anything to say about it, would be his last. He'd swear his heart was about to shatter as it thu-thumped its self against his ribcage, which felt tight and knotted.
He suddenly felt sick. No. He was sick. He collapsed to his knees, his face inches from the pavement. His arms shook and the nausea traveled through his belly in threatening waves. It would jump to his throat about to come out, but would suddenly make a U-turn and park in his stomach again. It continued in this fashion for for what seemed an hour, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. He head and struggled to breath though his throat spasmed open and close in anticipation.
Regaining his feet, having departed with at least most of his bodily contents, he immediately felt better. His stomach muscles still twitched and his throat burned from hastily ejected stomach acid, but he felt more like his old self. He didn't have much time to recover. A powerful commotion was charging down the street somewhere off in the distance. It had been faint at first, and he figured it had been part of his backwards consumption. A sound of rapid gun fire, of bullets chewing up pavement, glass, and metal without the concussive discharge of igniting gunpowder.
He didn't feel like getting caught up in the crossfire between two street gangs fighting over some stupid respect ideal. He didn't feel like catching the business end of a high caliber rifle and being demoted to the lowly position of Swiss cheese. Nor did he want to face down a psychotic machine gunnist named Gerald who looked even worst than his own armpits after 20 rounds of table tennis. Ok maybe that last one was a bit off- side, he shook his head to clear it. Suddenly his pants began to jingle as his pocket lining was catapulted across the street and what little money he possess flew through the air and down the road. As he chased after his rapidly speeding cash, he noted with mounting worry that he and Gerald would soon be table tennis business partners.
There were only two things Michael Ellis really lacked in life, that was money and power. Accordingly since he had no money, the pompous government pigs found it all to easy to deprive him of his power. Power to his home and power to his life, it was inexcusable. He could imagine them now, the fat bigwigs of Jump City, in the safety of City hall, all sitting round an expensive camphor wood table, smoking costly Cubans and laughing at his expense. 'We should have done this sooner, I needed a good laugh,' one of them would say. This filled Michael with rage and anger, he would fix all of that tonight. Never again would anyone laugh at Michael Ellis.
Inside the large and roomy warehouse, as Michael Ellis opened up his prize. Of course 'opening' meant repeated pummeling of a defenseless wooden crate with a crowbar. But from the look of things the crate wasn't going to be pulling itself together any time soon. Throwing the large crowbar to the floor, with a clang, he lifted a large briefcase from the torn wreaked crate. If the crate could talk it would said a vast list of rather unhealthy things, but it couldn't so it was resigned to lay in a hundred pieces. Michael worked as a part-time security guard at RayTech, the biggest R&D center in all of Jump City. If miracles did exist, then it was RayTech that made them. Michael was looking for his own miracle deep within the complex's extensive underground warehouse. Officially RayTech was a government based operation, unofficially it also accepted 'requests' from third parties, or really anyone with enough spare change to cough up the several hundred million dollars needed for the research and development of new, and most importantly to the client, privately made technologies. Whatever you wanted, within reason, could be altered or made for you; medicines, computer parts, appliances, and even weapons could be bought in this fashion without government knowledge, support, or control.
In the past few weeks, Michael had been hearing rumors of one such illicit tech. Details were hard to come by, but what he had managed to piece together was that a privately owned corporation had been in contact with RayTech about the development of a unique type of energy cell. Apparently this 'battery' once finished had enough power to illuminate Paris for 3 years. Most of it was all made with currently existing technology, however one of the key elements was a core made from the toxic metal Plutonium, or was it Uraniaum? Either way it didn't matter because in order for the battery to work properly it could NOT be lead shielded. This made it extremely hazardous for general purpose use, but, and this was the best part, it had self regeneration capabilities, the secret to it long run time.
"Energizer would be buried," Michael chuckled to himself.
Donning a vest made of thin lead plates, and a pair of lead lined work gauntlets, Michael Ellis quickly hacked the briefcase's security lock and carefully opened the lid. A slight tingling sensation cascaded over his skin. He didn't know if it was the energy that seemed to radiate from the object inside or the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of success. Inside the unusually large briefcase, two objects, both constructed of shiny silver metal alloy, were inside. The first one, was a cylindrical disk roughly 7 inches in diameter and 2.5 inches thick. It's surface was flawless, except for a small hole that traveled all the way through the disk, depth wise. The second object was a rectangular box, slightly larger than the disk, it's insides filled with electronic circuitry and computer boards. It's function was to contain the cylindrical disk within itself and to monitor and control energy output. The outside of the box adorned several holes where connecting wires would be inserted and couple of dials and gauges. There was also some letters painted on the underside of the box. Michael looked closer, an acronym composed of four letters stared back. Obviously it stood for the name of the private corporation that had hired RayTech. He did not know what the acronym stood for and he didn't care, all he knew was that he was about to seriously piss off a lot of people.
:Minutes later:
The Teen Titans all arrived at the same time. The high pitched shrill of alarms erupted from within RayTech breakin through the city. A man's voice could be heard from an inter-com system barking orders and directing guard dispatches. An explosion ejected hot shrapnel from somewhere deep inside the complex. Windows and glass doors shattered and a gush of scorching wind exhaled from all the frames and doors. Robin covered his eyes while the wind passed. Noting with unease that the intercom had gone silent.
The Titans only had to sprint a short distance and they would be in the embrace of the RayTech complex.
"Look out!" Robin heard Starfire shout. He lowered his arm just in time to spot a figure falling from the second story. Fire and smoke danced off of the man's uniform as he plummeted to the ground. He didn't fall far before Raven caught his limp body. It was a security guard, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, the breastplate of his armoured uniform was peppered with pieces of smooth shrapnel. Raven set the guard on the ground, extinguishing the fire on his leg.
Cyborg stepped up to the guard and extracted a piece of the smooth shrapnel. Lifting it to his eye he discovered a shiny quarter.
"This is money." He said and it was true. The rest of the debris piercing the guard's armor were pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters.
"That's some killer cash," Beast Boy injected. No one laughed.
"Indeed it is." A voice came from just inside the building. Forgetting about the guard the Titans wheeled to face a man dressed in clothing that appeared to be made out of dollar bills sewn together with golden energy. His eyes filled with greed and desire, while Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, and Benjamin completed this strange green multi- eyed beast. The only thing not made of money was backpack composed of a silver box, from whence the energy originated from, but there were no shoulder straps to hold it on. He walked towards the Titans, his stride holding no fear.
"So the janitors have come to clean up." Contempt.
"Who are you?" Robin asked slowly as if the man wouldn't understand him.
"I am the Money Magnet," he pronounced with arms outstretched. Raven rolled her eyes.
"Were all the good names taken?"
"That name isn't going to 'magnet' any fans, dude." Beast Boy sniggered.
"A mag-net," Starfire inquired, "are we going fishing?"
"Fishing for evil maybe," finished Cyborg.
"I knew you mortals wouldn't understand," Money shook his head, his arms falling to his sides. His mind drunk on the energy that caressed his body and made him strong. He understood. He understood ever since he activated the cell and attached it to him. It was a truly wonderful miracle that the people at RayTech had fabricated. He was dizzy with desire and wanted more. Yes, he would show how powerful he was and these fool kids would be his first victims. He reached behind his back until his fingers stroked the power pack. He turned a dial and felt the rush.
Without warning, Beast Boy felt movement in his left pocket. He gasped in surprise as several bills and a handful of change shot from his pocket and attached itself to Money's body.
"Dude! I was saving that for tonight's pizza!" his surprise giving to frustration.
"You like music?" Money suddenly changed subjects. The others looked on with confusion. "Then get ready to rock, cause I've got a fine selection of heavy metal for you from my favorite band, "El Presidente."
:Meanwhile:
"I'm never getting drunk again." Knives told himself for the 4th time in 10 minutes, as he shuffled down the sidewalk. Someone was playing pool with hid head and kept jabbing the cue stick into his temples. This was his first hangover and, if he had anything to say about it, would be his last. He'd swear his heart was about to shatter as it thu-thumped its self against his ribcage, which felt tight and knotted.
He suddenly felt sick. No. He was sick. He collapsed to his knees, his face inches from the pavement. His arms shook and the nausea traveled through his belly in threatening waves. It would jump to his throat about to come out, but would suddenly make a U-turn and park in his stomach again. It continued in this fashion for for what seemed an hour, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. He head and struggled to breath though his throat spasmed open and close in anticipation.
Regaining his feet, having departed with at least most of his bodily contents, he immediately felt better. His stomach muscles still twitched and his throat burned from hastily ejected stomach acid, but he felt more like his old self. He didn't have much time to recover. A powerful commotion was charging down the street somewhere off in the distance. It had been faint at first, and he figured it had been part of his backwards consumption. A sound of rapid gun fire, of bullets chewing up pavement, glass, and metal without the concussive discharge of igniting gunpowder.
He didn't feel like getting caught up in the crossfire between two street gangs fighting over some stupid respect ideal. He didn't feel like catching the business end of a high caliber rifle and being demoted to the lowly position of Swiss cheese. Nor did he want to face down a psychotic machine gunnist named Gerald who looked even worst than his own armpits after 20 rounds of table tennis. Ok maybe that last one was a bit off- side, he shook his head to clear it. Suddenly his pants began to jingle as his pocket lining was catapulted across the street and what little money he possess flew through the air and down the road. As he chased after his rapidly speeding cash, he noted with mounting worry that he and Gerald would soon be table tennis business partners.