Chapter 132: The Landslide
USDO Routine Meeting 03201989 Transcript
-TRANSCRIPT START-
Director Cliff: Human resources, how's the search for a new head of research?
Head of Human Resources: We've narrowed it down to a few candidates. But we haven't been able to shake off the idea of an internal promotion… The Acting Head, Vanum, for example…
Acting Head of Research Vanum: You're too kind, but I will never hold a candle to the professor.
Director Cliff: You're right about that. Have you considered any other alternatives?
Head of Human Resources: Not really, sir. It was due to the direction of Vanum that there is no urgency to replace the professor.
Director Cliff: What about… cloning?
Head of Human Resources: Sir?
Director Cliff: We've done it before. Why not apply our technology towards creating a second Professor Utonium. It's unfortunate that he-
Head of Human Resources: That would be unethical-
Director Cliff: Unethical? Let me tell you something about ethics, miss. Millions of lives depend on us. One tiny chink in our armor, and people could die. That's the ethics I know.
General Blackwater: And I've seen it for myself that Cliff is right. No offense to Vanum, but we need advanced equipment when we need them, not after. If only the professor hadn't-
Director Cliff: So, can we clone the professor and assign him as the head of research?
Acting Head of Research Vanum: I believe I'm qualified to answer that. As much as I hate to disappoint you, it's not that simple. Genetics is one thing, but training is another. Should we clone Professor Utonium - assuming the process is successful - we will have to train him and educate him, something that will take decades.
General Blackwater: And if Chemical X is involved?
Acting Head of Research Vanum: Only the original Professor Utonium knows, and he's not here anymore. But I'd imagine that we'll get a… a 'Powerpuff Boy' who will be nothing like the original. He'll probably be physically 5-years-old forever, and his neurological profile might not be the same. The boost to his intelligence and turnaround time for his thought process might give him an edge, but... a child's mind works differently, and isn't quite well-suited to the job of leading one of the most important departments of a top federal agency safeguarding the lives of millions.
Even the Institute, our sister agency, wouldn't do that with D-1 and certainly not D-2.
Head of Human Resources: I'm sorry, D-1?
Acting Head of Research Vanum: D-1, as in Dexter, and D-2, as in Dee Dee - they're the first of their batch, and likely the last. They're enhanced individuals created by the Institute years ago. They're very stable and cooperative, but could barely be considered enhanced due to the trace amounts of Chemical X they were made with. They have none of the powers our B-47, B-48, and B-49 have, and only a fraction of the physical enhancements. Dexter's intelligence, however, outperforms even Blossom's while Dee Dee, well, possesses merely a larger fraction of our Powerpuff Girls' physical abilities, which is not saying much. But most pertinent is that they are eternally youthful and immortal like the Powerpuff Girls, which is a huge dealbreaker as it puts a cap on their neurological development.
Head of Human Resources: What do you mean by putting a cap on their neuro-what?
Acting Head of Research Vanum: (Sighs) B-47, B-48, B-49… D-1 and D-2. They have all been rendered incapable of developing beyond their initial physical age, do you follow?
Head of Human Resources: Yes, but-
Acting Head of Research Vanum: This extends to their brain as well, which will not develop any further, physically.
Head of Human Resources; But their minds-
Acting Head of Research Vanum: -Will be severely hampered by the physical limitations of their brains.
Head of Human Resources: Wait, aren't they supposed to be highly intelligent? Like Einstein-level intelligence?
Acting Head of Research Vanum: Yes, but suppose Einstein is a 5-year-old? Even if the brain is filled with decades of information, how that information is processed by a 5-year-old's brain will be different. For one thing, a 5-year-old's mind would struggle to make connections between concepts that aren't directly related, making problem-solving and innovation a difficult task for them.
Head of Human Resources: Oh.
Director Cliff: (Clear throat) Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, how about we stop deviating any further from the topic at hand?
Head of Human Resources: Right.
Director Cliff: So, the candidates to replace Professor Utonium. Who are they?
Head of Human Resources: Well…
-TRANSCRIPT END-
The City of Townsville. Suburbs. The House.
20 MAR (Monday) 1989. 1352.
Buttercup had flown out of The House by smashing through the living room window, leaving the form of Dad behind with his TV and radio; the latter was blaring loudly.
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? The radio had begun a new song.
She had flown out of the neighborhood so fast that security couldn't even react to her. Without looking back, she flew towards the city proper, tears still streaming in her eyes, not because of what she had just done to Dad if he could still be called as such, but the serious changes she had just made to her life.
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…
She had flown out of The House, and with what she'd done, with what she had just confessed, there was no turning back. She knew she would not be able to go near what had been her home for the past four months, and now all she had were the clothes on her back. Well, the uniform, and armor, and guns, and grenades on her back.
Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see…
Where am I going to go now? Where will I live? Where am I going to crash? How am I going to get food? A million questions raced through Buttercup's head. She hadn't thought things through at all. Even she herself knew that she had always been an impulsive girl. Not that it was any of her fault! That woman and boy were stupid to have hidden in that car! Dad was stupid for putting her last instead of first! For killing Mom! For controlling her!
Dad…
Back at The House, as she was glaring down at the pitiful form of her 'father', she had charged up her ocular laser beams and fired them. She had wanted to kill him for days now, even weeks. There were many people she had wanted to kill. Alice, for constantly trying to get into her head, General Blackwater, for ordering her around as if he was better than her, Blossom for bossing her around, and Bubbles for being such a disgusting weakling…
The only person Buttercup didn't feel like killing was Mom.
Dad, on the other hand…
The City of Townsville. Tenement Area. Queen Street.
20 MAR (Monday) 1989. 1403.
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy…
Touching down at a far-away part of the city, Buttercup couldn't help but shiver from the cold. It was freezing high up in the sky, and landing did not shake the cold loose. It was still cold, the last vestiges of winter still clinging stubbornly to her. She couldn't help but feel stupid for not bringing her jacket along. But that wasn't the only thing that concerned her. Where would she go now? What would she do?
Because I'm easy come, easy go-
As she strolled aimlessly down the street, she noticed that people were beginning to notice her. It would be hard not to. Which kid, even in a town as violent as Townsville, would stroll down a street with guns and armor in tow? That was not to mention her renown and the dead giveaway that was her green glowing eyes.
little high, little low-
Taking a right turn, she entered an alley, avoiding stares. She continued walking, looking back occasionally to check if anyone was following her. For once, she was alone, and it wasn't a wonder why. She was known even to the general populace as the most vicious of the Powerpuff Girls.
Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me…
And that was when she came upon a few street punks huddled around an old, rusty oil drum with a fire burning inside. Upon noticing Buttercup, one of them, a weedy, rugged-looking fellow with a mohawk, smacked a beefier guy in the arm to get his attention before pointing at Buttercup. Another punk in denim jacket and pants stopped leaning against the brick wall as he stared at Buttercup, still chewing on his toothpick. Two punk girls were on either side of him. They were previously chatting but had gone silent immediately following this development.
Buttercup was fascinated by this. These guys definitely knew her, and yet they didn't seem afraid. Even hardened Lombardi gangsters would run away from her in terror after witnessing what she'd done to their pals. But in light of the cold, Buttercup eyed the beefy punk's leather jacket. It was the usual fare for the fashion genre, black with silver zips. There was also something else that interested Buttercup. The hotdog in the man's hand, which was half-eaten. She could barely hold back her salivating at the sight of the sausage, mustard, tomato sauce, and bun, even if it was half-eaten.
"Well, lookie' here," the beefy punk with the leather jacket said with a sneering tone. With his non-food hand, he returned his cigarette to his mouth and clenched it with his teeth. He took a quick puff and blew out some smoke. Buttercup liked the cigarette too. It looked cool to her, and she had seen it plenty of times, enough for her to want to try it. "If it isn't that 'Powderpuff' Girl, or was it 'Power-rough'?"
Buttercup knew that the man wasn't too bright, though she'd relied on stereotyping to make that assumption.
"What's da matter? You look lost!" Mohawk Punk said condescendingly.
The only person who looked appropriately unnerved was the third man in denim, whose face had gone a little pale at the sight of Buttercup.
"G-guys…" Denim Punk's voice trailed off as he tried to warn his fellows, only to falter from sheer shock.
"What, you scared, Pitt?" Mohawk Punk mocked his friend's demeanor as he turned to the visibly shaking man.
"She can't do shit to us," he went on. "We ain't doing anything wrong. She's got nothing on us! She can't touch us!" He then turned back to Buttercup, who looked like she could burn holes in Beefy Punk's leather jacket. "Ain't that right, 'Creamypuff'?"
Buttercup turned her burning gaze to Mohawk Punk. She didn't like being called names. The only reason she hadn't pounded them into patties was that 'Creamypuff' wasn't the most serious offense. That honor had long gone to 'Butterfingers', invented by Blossom, and 'Butterfly' or 'Buttercracker' from Dad, which she found cringey.
"I'm not a Powerpuff Girl anymore," Buttercup simply said coldly. Her eyes were glowing lime green, brighter than usual. She turned to Beefy Punk as she let herself hover to his level. "I want your jacket, food, and cigarettes. Give them to me."
Her demand was met with raucous laughter.
"You lost, kid?" Mohawk Punk continued mocking Buttercup, and he was rapidly getting on her nerves. "This ain't a dollar shop or a hotdog cart, cracker-voice!" Beefy Punk howled and laughed at the comment.
"I- urm- I think we should just give it-" Denim Punk said timidly, though his voice trailed off once again. The punk girls beside him were seemingly startled too by this exchange and the obviously building anger in Buttercup.
Beefy Punk did not listen, however. Instead, he continued to grin stupidly at Buttercup, before blowing some cigarette smoke into her face. Buttercup did not flinch, as she didn't want to appear weak in what was essentially a game of chicken to her.
"I like your attitude, kiddo," Beefy Punk said patronizingly. "How about if you hang out with me for an hour and I'll think about it? Come to think of it, you look kinda cute for some weird kid-copper."
Beefy Punk reached for Buttercup's face before running his finger across her cheek. She was shaking with fury by this point. Grabbing him by the finger, she snapped it with such speed that the man couldn't even react when his finger broke. Grabbing him by the arm, she gave it a twist, causing the man to scream in pain as he fell to his knees.
"Augh- Argh!" he screamed. "Get her off me! GET HER OFF ME!"
Mohawk Punk pulled his vest out to unsheathe his hidden machete. With both hands, he swung it down on Buttercup with all his might, only to achieve nothing except breaking the blade of his weapon upon Buttercup's skull.
Buttercup turned her head to glare at Mohawk Punk. Letting Beefy Punk go, she threw a right hook at Mohawk Punk, which broke a few teeth and sent him crashing into a brick wall. Not content with that, Buttercup flew to him before he could even collapse on the ground to pick him up by the hand. Dragging him towards the oil drum fire, she thrust his hand into it. The man thrashed and scream in agony, but Buttercup was too strong for him to overcome with brute strength. The drum was eventually knocked over by accident, however, which was when Buttercup let go.
Humbled, Mohawk Punk scrambled to a corner, crying and still screaming pathetically, holding his burnt hand, which was charred in places and red in others.
Denim Punk drew his pistol and fired a few shots at Buttercup, only for the bullets to ricochet off her. Buttercup retaliated by quick-drawing her own and putting a couple in his shoulder. She had intended to kill, but she had done it so casually she barely aimed her weapon. The man was floored instantly. The punk girls with him had to pull him back mere feet away as if it would make any difference.
Buttercup returned her glare to Beefy Punk, who was gasping and wheezing in pain from his broken finger and arm. As Buttercup floated closer to him, he tried crawling away on his back, though with his one arm and panicked state, he couldn't get anywhere further than his brick wall. He pulled his own pistol from his belt, but with just one hand, he couldn't pull the slide back before Buttercup stole it away to arm it herself and inspect it. It was an old Colt 1911 with a grey finish and brown handle. It wasn't built for a child, but it was useable.
Landing next to him, Buttercup stuck the barrel of her new weapon into Beefy Punk's eye.
The man cried and begged for his life.
"I want your jacket, now," Buttercup simply said. The man obliged and stripped it off with difficulty, tossing it at Buttercup, who caught it and wrapped it around her. Tying the sleeves around her neck, she wore it like a cloak and smiled contentedly. "What about my hotdog and cigarette?"
Beefy Punk pointed at the floor. Buttercup looked. The hotdog and cigarette had been dirtied by the alley ground. Buttercup couldn't help but make a face before returning her deadly glare at Beefy Punk.
"P-pocket!" he cried in a desperate bid to save his life. "Ja-Jacket pocket! The right, right chest!"
Buttercup searched the jacket according to the desperate punk's direction. She'd quickly found a pack of cigarettes in the right breast pocket.
"Do you have another hotdog?" Buttercup asked, half-smiling.
"N-no…" Beefy Punk said. Upon being denied, Buttercup raised her pistol. "Wait- Wait! I was just kidding about sleeping with you!" But Buttercup was dead set on punishing the man for ruining the hotdog. She fired her new pistol and put a bullet through his skull, killing him cleanly and executing him for dropping the hotdog.
Mama, just killed a man…
On seeing this, the punk girls ran in terror, and Buttercup responded by firing her ocular laser beams at them, directing it across the alley, cutting the girls down as the laser split fabric, skin, and muscles, the pain sending the girls crashing on the floor and writhing in agony.
Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead-
It had been a weak pair of beams, enough to put normal human beings in the ICU or even disable for life, but not enough to kill. Buttercup didn't want to waste the energy as she had just been denied food, and she hadn't even eaten lunch yet.
Mama, life had just begun,
But now I've gone and thrown it all away-
Before she flew off, she inspected her right hand. Her combat glove was half-burned, charred, and still smoking, so she stripped it off and tossed it away casually.
Mama, ooo-ooh, didn't mean to make you cry-
With that, Buttercup ran, and before long, she was flying far, far away. With her enhanced hearing, she could hear police sirens coming towards the scene of her crime.
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow-
Buttercup flew low, taking cover behind buildings. She flew at breakneck speed, she flew until the police sirens were soft enough even to her enhanced ears.
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters…
The City of Townsville. Suburbs. The House.
20 MAR (Monday) 1989. 1343.
Blossom and Bubbles flew out of their room the moment they heard Buttercup's laser discharge, but by the time they got to the living room, Dad was unconscious and leaning on the wall, and Buttercup had smashed through the window in the living room and disappeared.
The living room was a mess. Buttercup had fired her laser at the wall just a foot or two above Dad's head, putting a wide gash across the wall. Had Buttercup missed? Blossom and Bubbles thought so. The black eye Buttercup had given Dad made it clear that their sister had intended to hurt him, perhaps even kill him, only to fail miserably just like how she failed to control herself.
It was shocking, what Buttercup had done to Dad. Blossom, herself, couldn't imagine hitting Dad no matter the circumstances.
They had a choice: pursue Buttercup or tend to Dad. To the kids, however, there was only one choice: Dad.
Soon, security was swarming The House. They'd heard Captain Scott's remark about the incident. It was a 'Run-Away' and 'Tantrum' event, which described Buttercup accurately.
The sight of Dad distressed the Girls much. He had to be taken away by a team of medics on a stretcher, still unconscious - whether he would go on breathing was still uncertain.
It was then that Blossom decided that killing Buttercup wouldn't be so much of a regret after all.
