Disclaimer: Famishius Vulgaris Ingeniusi
Überkojote
Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of culture and intellect. I suppose it's only natural to be surprised at seeing this correspondence due to the fact that I have been hesitant to put my experiences into words in the past. I am, I am sure, someone who needs no introduction as recording of my setbacks have been used to educate and entertain the young for generations.
Let me begin by answering a simple question; how is it that I, a man of towering intellect could be defeated by could suffer such dire setbacks when facing simple creatures with intelligence quotients comparable to pancake batter. The answer, my dear reader, is as simple as my former foes. Though we shall perhaps never meet in person, I can imagine the confusion you must feel, the frustration at being unable to answer what on the face of it is a simple answer. I beg you, dear reader, not to be too harsh with yourself for your inability. Reference the fact that I, the perfect example of Nietzche's superman, took so long to seek out the truth myself. It is simple, my foes are avatars of the trickster archetype. When one realizes this, one realizes that their victories must also be caused by Jung's collective unconscious exerting its will on reality to deny me my justly earned victories.
I can almost see the next question forming in your mind, dear reader, what solution could I find to overcome mankind's collective will? Coming up with it was simplicity itself for one with my natural abilities. To transform my archetype from that of the defeated to that of the victor. In common vernacular; if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The solution had presented itself, but the problem of how to implement it remained. I will not bore you by recounting the tales of my first attempts. Sufficient to say that they were unsuccessful. All seemed lost, dear reader, until my salvation arrived with my daily post. If one's archetype was fixed in one world, one must go to another.
It was several minutes of work to construct the device after seconds of waiting for delivery of the parts. I sneered at the sounds of my hated foe in the distance as I activated it. No more would I be the butt of jokes, no longer must I suffer the indignities inflicted by lesser creatures! It was time for me to triumph.
My arrival point in the new world was the roof of a large structure overlooking a broad avenue on which was what appeared to be a young costumed girl being confronted by a group of thugs and some sort of man-dragon creature. My face split into a wide smile as I realized the implications. No mythological archetype was more powerful than that of the hero and what better way for me to fix my new archetype than by rescuing a damsel in distress from a dragon?
IIIIIIIIII
Taylor wasn't sure what happened. One moment she was facing Lung, one of the world's most powerful parahuman villains, the next the world spun and she was in the arms of a familiar looking character traveling at a ludicrously high rate of speed.
"Who are you?"
The goggled coyote looked down at her and presented a calling card.
She read the card. "Really?" A small part of her mind noted the fact that they were being pursued by an enraged Lung, another part of her mind did her best to put as many bugs in his path as possible, but most of it was focused on the utterly bizarre situation she'd found herself in.
Her savior nodded his head.
"Oh . . . well . . . should I be worried that we're about to hit a wall?" she asked calmly. I'm dreaming, she decided, there is no way any of this could possibly be real.
In response, her savior reached into his non-existent pocket and in one motion threw what appeared to be a black, silk, and rapidly expanding handkerchief at the wall.
"Portable tunnel?" Taylor guessed. They sailed through the hole to safety. She heard a muffled thump followed by a loud clang. "Yeah, I kinda figured."
IIIIIIIIII
Lisa stared in shock at the fallen form of the man who'd ordered their deaths, mind still racing at the manner of their salvation. She'd instantly recognized the figure that had saved the strange cape. He was a reminder of happier times, a beloved character from her childhood. Someone who never gave up, someone who treated crushing defeat as a minor annoyance.
Coyote, her powers informed her with an annoying amount of smug.
"Changer or Case 53?" Grue mused aloud.
Coyote, Lisa's powers replied, somewhat annoyed.
"Projection or Tinkertech," Regent countered with a smirk.
Coyote. Lisa's powers insisted, sounding a bit angry.
"Coyote," Bitch said
Coyote! Lisa's powers cheered, sounding excited and happy.
IIIIIIIIII
Defeating the dragon was trivial for one of my level of intellect. Though I hesitate to admit it, the fact is that I reused a couple of my old plans which failed to catch the accursed creature. In my defense I was both pressed for time and eager to test my theory that changing worlds and archetypes would prevent interference from the collective unconscious.
The first part of my brilliant plan was quite simple; I approached the fiend at a high rate of speed using rocket assisted roller skates, caught the young maiden in my arms, and escaped. The villain, unsurprisingly for one of such base intelligence, chose to pursue rather than give up after realizing the sheer futility of attempting to match wits with one such as I. The next step of my plan was as brilliant as the first, I used a single use portable hole to go through a solid object to complete my escape.
I can sense the confusion, dear reader, at two points. The first issue that escapes your comprehension is, of chose, the fact that I choose to flee rather than face the blackguard head on. There were, my friends, two reasons for this course of action. The first was my theory that the collective unconscious grants advantage to the pursued over the pursuer. The second was, of course, the young lady in my arms. No gentleman would seek glory over the safety of a lady and I would have thus been compelled to remove myself from the simpleton's presence even if not for my previously mentioned theory.
The second point which you no doubt failed to comprehend is on why the portable hole stopped functioning the minute my pursuer attempted transit. For this I can offer only theories rather than hard facts. One possible reason is the afore mentioned theory on pursued verses pursuer and the idea that the effect of the hole was dispelled by the collective will of mankind. The other is another theory of mine, that of the 'comic moment.' As previously stated, my most well known foes were trickster archetypes, an archetype I have sought to make my own along with the hero archetype, and it is my belief that the Jung's collective unconscious would twist reality to ensure the failure of any foes in the most comically and painful fashion possible. I assure you, dear reader, that I shall publish once I have collected enough data to prove or disprove my theories.
My final action in regards to the dragon beast was to add insult to injury. To wit, the traditional dropping of an anvil or other large heavy object. At this point, honesty compels one to admit that I felt a great sense of satisfaction at being on the other side of the action.
I took a moment to inspect the young maiden for injuries upon our arrival at a place of relative safety after rescue and was gratified to see that she did not appear to have any. Understand, dear reader, that I include what happened next only for the sake of completeness and only after much reluctance for fear that it could damage the poor maiden's reputation. Please do not think ill of her, dear reader, when I inform you that she immediately threw herself into my embrace and, no doubt overcome by emotion after surviving such a horrid ordeal, moistened my shoulder with her tears.
To her credit, the young maiden dried her tears after a few moments and regained her composure. Then, after a bit of discussion, she offered up a proposal which would change both our lives and eventually reshape the world. But, alas, I am getting ahead of myself.
IIIIIIIIII
Taylor wiped the tears off her cheek. Her savior calmly offered her a pristine white handkerchief and motioned for her to keep it after she'd regained her composure.
"You're him, right?" she asked desperately.
He nodded in reply.
"Not a projection, not a device or a construct, you're him. Really him, right?"
He nodded again.
She sighed. "Thank you for rescuing me. I didn't want to fight him, but he said he was gonna kill some kids." She smiled at the look of anger on her savior's face and screwed up her courage. "Do . . . do you want to team up?" she asked hopefully.
IIIIIIIIII
Piggot slowly raised an eyebrow. The woman had to exert every bit of her not inconsiderable will to keep a straight face.
"I would like you to repeat that report," she stated calmly.
"Lung's in the hospital, ma'am. We're not sure if he's going to make it. Even with regeneration he still suffered severe trauma to both his head and neck."
"Yes," she agreed. "By running full force into a wall and then being crushed by an anvil," Piggot said flatly, doing her best not to grin. "Tell me again why he ran full speed into a wall, I'm having a bit of trouble understanding that part."
"There was apparently a tunnel painted onto it, ma'am," the officer said uncomfortably. "Witnesses report that Lung was pursuing two unknown capes who were able to go through the tunnel."
"And Lung was not."
"No, ma'am."
"I see." She let the silence linger until her aid became uncomfortable. "You stated that BBPD had a snitch present as a witness."
"BBPD's snitch states that one of the capes had just confronted Lung and was about to suffer a messy death," her aide blurted. "Um, ma'am."
"Tell me more," she ordered. Her eyes darted down and confirmed that her recorder was on.
"Lung had just ordered his men to hunt down the Undersiders. Uh, he didn't mention them by name, he called them kids. He ordered his men to kill a bunch of kids."
"And our first unknown cape, to their credit, attempted to intervene."
"Yes, ma'am. I don't know what they were thinking."
"Likely hoping that they could buy enough time for the children to get away," Piggot mused. "To their credit if so."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Powers shown by the first unknown?"
"Bug control, ma'am."
"Ballsy move to take on Lung with nothing but bugs," Piggot murmured. "Go on."
"So the first unknown cape is about to die when another unknown cape arrives wearing Tinkertech devices on, uh, we believe his feet."
"Describe the second unknown cape."
"A giant anthropomorphic coyote, ma'am."
"Projection, changer, Tinker disguise field, or some sort of construct?"
"We're leaning towards the latter two, ma'am, in light of the devices on his feet."
"How were the devices described?"
"Rocket skates, ma'am."
"Rocket skates?"
"Skates with red rockets strapped to them, ma'am." Her aide placed an evidence bag on her desk containing a white calling card. "This was found by the evidence techs, ma'am."
"In summation; an unknown cape that looks like an anthropomorphic coyote on rocket skates rescued another unknown cape from Lung before escaping through a tunnel painted on a building and dropping an anvil on Lung's head who identified himself as?"
"Wile E. Coyote, Super Genus. Have brain, Will travel," her aide sighed. "This is gonna attract Mouse Protector, isn't it?"
"Buck up," Piggot ordered. "Means a ten percent differential for all PRT employees and most of the burden of dealing with her will be shouldered by the Protectorate." She carefully did not ask what could go wrong, she'd been around the block far too many times to make such a basic mistake.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What name was PR thinking of assigning the bug cape?"
"Uh, Bugs, ma'am. I mean, considering who she's with."
"Internal only for now," Piggot ordered. "That all?" It was. "Dismissed."
Emily hummed a cheerful tune to herself as she completed and submitted the paperwork she'd been metaphorically keeping in her front pocket since the disaster that had taken her out of the field.
IIIIIIIIII
Deputy Director Renick had an odd smile on his face as the senior leadership of both the Protectorate and the PRTENE marched into the conference room.
"Thank you all for coming," he began.
"Will the Director not be joining us today, sir?" Miss Militia asked.
"I suppose we can address that now," he said to himself. "Director Piggot has decided to medically retire from the PRT and has already relocated to an undisclosed location far from here."
"Will you be our new director, sir?"
"No, I've decided that thirty years of federal service is more than enough time and I've also decided to retire. Let me be the first to congratulate Thomas Calvert on being appointed as the new deputy director. Both our former director and I recommended you for the post and we both agree that it couldn't have happened to a more deserving individual." He made a note to send Emily the security footage of the man's face, that of deep suspicion and misgiving.
"Have they chosen a new director?"
"They have," Renick agreed. "He's got one of the most impressive resumes I've ever seen. Ex-Special Operations, Ex-PRT HRT, one of the PRT's first instructors to the Wards Program, and something of a specialist in dealing with joke heroes."
"A specialist?" Armsmaster asked with growing apprehension.
"Yes, Washington tells me that he's most experienced man in the PRT when it comes to joke heroes and villains."
"No," Colin whispered, eyes darting back and fourth. "It can't be."
"Shaftmaster, Gunbunny, good to see you both," a grizzled old man entered the room. "Calvert?" The man's face twisted up like he'd just bitten into something sour. "Shame to see you above ground, looks like I picked the wrong day to stop smoking." The old man tossed a cigarette into his mouth and began puffing out clouds of white smoke. "They tell me you've got a coyote with rocket skates?"
"It can't be," the head of Brockton Bay's Protectorate sobbed.
"A coyote on rocket skates making one of my ex-students have a nervous breakdown?" The man exclaimed in disgust. "Looks like I picked the wrong day to stop drinking!" The old man pulled a flask out of his pocked and drained it. "To start with, I'm gonna need two dozen rubber chickens and a ham sandwich."
"Why do you need a ham sandwich, chief?" Miss Militia sighed, knowing that staying silent would make things worse after long experience.
"It's lunch time, I'm hungry."
Battery leaned in to whisper to the other female in the Protectorate. "You know him?"
"He was our field training officer when Armsmaster and I were wards with Mouse Protector," Hannah explained. "I'd heard that he'd been medically retired years ago, something about a psychotic break . . . well, I'm sure it wasn't too serious or they'd have never brought him back to active service
"Mouse protector's coming?" The old man pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket, opened it, and downed several. "Looks like I picked the wrong day to stop doing amphetamines."
IIIIIIIIII
Dragon went over the data from her end-bringer tracker in minute detail in hopes of figuring out what had prompted the Simurgh to change orbit. Near as she could figure, the end-bringer's expression had changed from serenity to shock and confusion before settling on one of hopeful anticipation. Dragon measured the angle of the false angel's eyes and determined that the Simurgh was staring intently at Brockton Bay.
AN: Would have spread out the new director's running gag over several chapters had I had any intention of making this a fic. Also would have spread out the Simurgh scene into several.
Typo corrected by joey zoot
Omake: The Ending
And so, dear reader, we reach the end of the first volume of my memoirs. I can imagine the expression on your face, one of mixed joy and disappointment. Joy at having completed the most brilliant piece of literature that you've ever had the privilege to read, disappointment that there isn't more to read. To that, I can only promise that I shall endeavor to deliver the manuscript of the second volume to my publisher as quickly as possible. In the mean time, in order to help sate demand for more of my works, my publisher has agreed to publish a collection of anecdotes that were cut from this volume as an accompaniment to it. I can only express my hope that you will enjoy reading about some of our lesser adventures such as the time we sent a golden man to my original world, forgive me dear reader for I have forgotten his name but be assured that he was no great intellect and as such no great loss to the world.
IIIIIIIIII
The Warrior experienced a moment of disorientation. It felt as if his entire mass had been somehow forced into his avatar. He shook it off as unimportant. He could feel it, he was on the cusp of solving great problem that his species had devoted themselves to resolving. Before him lay open entirely new branches of creation.
The first thing to do, he decided, was to remove the local population of his current world and then to spread his shards to the connected dimensions. Then . . . his thoughts were interrupted by a loud crunching sound.
"Eh . . . What's up, doc?"
Omake: A Different Character
Skidmark was growing less and less sure that it had been a good idea to recruit their newest cape. It wasn't that the man didn't fit in, more that the Case 53 fit in a little too well. All he wanted to do was get high and eat chips.
"Hey, Skidmark," the cape called out to him in an annoyingly high voice. "Ya wanna get high?"
"Yes," he growled, there wasn't any other acceptable answer in the Merchants. "But after that we need to go after those cum guzzling knob gobblers that are moving on our territory."
"Yeah, we can do that but." The walking towel took a deep hit on the bong. "But . . . but then . . . shit I'm wasted, you hungry?"
Maybe he could tell the Protectorate that Towlie was underaged? They'd have to take him as a ward then, wouldn't they?