Chapter 6: My Oh My, By and By
Bruce Banner has to laugh at his current limitations. On a regular basis, his other half leaps two hundred feet into the air. Hulk consistently gets this striking view that holds Dr. Banner so engrossed now.
From the Rowen's fourteenth story, eastern St. Louis sprawls to the south and to the north, and it is an astonishing accomplishment from Busch Stadium to Martin Luther King Bridge. Across the way, East St. Louis, Illinois, transpires. Between the two burgs, the magnificent Mississippi River glides past the great Gateway Arch glimmering under the splendid noonday sun. Sharing the sky with Sol, spectacular thunderheads rise in the distance.
Bruce gazes at the searing sunlight, and he guffaws. Ol' Greenskin routinely handles such harsh radiation, and much worse. Yet, everyone here, including himself, has to pay heed to the unrelenting outside UV rays of August.
Bruce looks left at the person closest to him. He has to smile. Ms. Janet van Dyne has temporarily made herself at home in the Rowen's penthouse. Like Tony Stark or someone, Wasp sips a midday martini at the apartment's bar. Despite a heat advisory, despite vent fire dehydration, the Wasp consumes alcohol. Despite the "heat" of the situation, the Avengers have Masters of Evil to catch, she imbibes and indulges. A moment earlier, irritated Johnny Walker told her to abstain from intoxicant. But, Jan van Dyne retorted that "Olives are healthy for you." U.S. Agent admonished some more. But, the prima donna replied "Really boy, a super girl needs to recover, recuperate, and revive after a rough morning row."
To that purpose, recuperation, Tommy takes ice from the bar to Tigra. She is likely smarting after Grey Gargoyle socked it to her and slammed her through a ceiling. The concussed Cat lies limp and lethargic on a leather overstuffed lounge.
But, surprisingly, the werewoman waves her relief-wielder away. The animal-Avenger lilts, "I ache, but I have an alternative panacea to ice and gin."
Just like that, Tigra begins to literally lick her wounds. Her limber tongue lashes along her lacerated limbs, including supple legs lain atop her. Then, the Lady Liberator lifts her hips high while lying on her back and elongates her lower spine, cracking it loudly and ludicrously. The lassie loops her lower limbs elliptically about, and Tommy takes her in from her feet to her lap. Linking ankles, the balancer lolls on her shoulders in the sunlight, shimmering hotly upon relaxed life. The Cat folds in on herself—before the feline flips her form upright. Locking arms behind her, the lady lunges her chest forward to loosen her flesh—as flummoxed friend leers. Listing side-to-side, the lithe lovely stretches ligaments and sways long, alluring locks about. Ogling, Tommy eats some ice and sighs something deep. The lusty lycanthrope leaps at rapt Shepherd. Lulled Speed lows like captivated cattle. Feisty Tigra latches thighs about Tommy's flanks and lays hands upon his lurching shoulders, lively massaging. She leans on into the young Avenger and lets her lush fur and full lips brush his face. Lineaments livid with arousal, Speed pets Tigra back along her lumbar and above, nearly liberating the lady from bra.
"I feel better," the Cat lisps cutely.
"You are kind of a lascivious kitty," Bruce comments from the corner.
From the quirky couple, the scientist continues surveying. He sees U.S. Agent is on a presumably secure cellphone. Johnny appears happy.
"Well, I'm happy as a swine in s***!" says he, "You say that Shaw Industries has some kind of test drone that detected Mentallo and Plainsman?! And, the Missouri State Highway Patrol have quietly tailed them west on I-70, the troopers making sure to stay under the radar?"
Dr. Banner is also now happy. He let the two supervillians slip past him in the lobby. He would not mind the heroes capturing the scoundrels. The apprehension would save him some face. Although, Bruce is unsure how useful that he would be when he still cannot summon the Strongest One There Is. Ergo, the Avengers are still not at full incredible strength, and Bruce feels anxious—and a wee angry—over that.
"I can't believe that—even with a Hulk—we are shortstaffed," U.S. Agent tells the phone's other end, "We could use some other Avengers, Orville, as discussed."
Dr. Banner is a smart guy, and he conjectures that Orville is Orville Sanderson of the FBI. The bureau is an odd source of further Avengers when any hero here could call Earth's Mightiest Heroes directly. However, Hulk comprehends that this excursion is a semi-secret Avengers adventure, for the five face, in part, the federal government.
Grinning, Agent ends the call. "We are some lucky lugs," U.S. states, "Some sort of high-altitude Shaw tech, up in the gathering cumulonimbus, detected Mentallo in a St. Louis suburb and then eavesdropped on his conversation with Plainsman in a truck. We know where the two are going."
"So, some Shaw tech detected a mutant and then surveilled and tracked him," Speed notes. Speed is a mutant, so this occurrence has especial interest to him.
"Yeah," John ignores Tommy's underlying concern, "And, you can be the next to chase after Mentallo and mate. They head for Big Muddy National Fish and Wildlife Refuge near Boonville, Missouri."
"When do the two trespassers arrive there?" Wasp wonders aloud.
"They meet Fixer and a CSA operative at 14:00," answers Agent.
"I can get there before then," states Speed, "But, who is providing me support?"
"I am," valiant van Dyne pipes, "But, who is giving us support? Four bad guys are an able force, and provision is the better part of valor."
Playfully, Walker promenades to Jan and whispers a name in Wasp's ear. "Jessica Drew?" Jan asks.
"No, the other one," John replies, "Furthermore, my man mentioned a few other ass-kickers that he just might send our way." Content, Walker winks.
Pleased, van Dyne saunters from John and takes Tommy from Tigra. Grabbing his glove, the eager gal shrinks and places herself in the palm of his hand.
"Let's make like the Two-Gun Kid and cut-off the bad guys at the western pass," Wasp pronounces, "We can set-up an ambush."
"I could go for that," Speed readies to run.
But, the Young Avenger does not want to be too rash. He solicits some strategic advice from U.S. Agent before leaving. Consulting a computer map, the Captain communicates some crafty recommendations for a coordinated attack. Revved, Speed curls his companion comfily into his hand and asks if she is comfortable. Wasp reports that she is set for another skirmish with supervillains. Speed says that he is also psyched to assault Mentallo and Plainsman. Sans further ceremony, the stoked streaks from the skyscraper's top floor to the St. Louis streets. The two Avengers only accelerate from there, bound for battle.
Atop the Rowen, U.S. Agent continues to rally the troops, all two left, "We other Avengers have an offense to execute here too."
"What's the plan, tiger?" Tigra asks Agent.
Walker robustly replies, "You and I smash AIM in St. Louis!"
"I wish that one could be smashing with you," Banner remarks.
Super-soldier slaps slim scientist's side, "Bruce, I bet that you become the Hulk when needed or when angered or outraged. In the meanwhile, you can coordinate Avengers operations from this penthouse commandeered from Grey Gargoyle."
"Heck," Banner banters back, "Maybe, Grey Gargoyle will return to friendly territory, and, maybe, I shall wreck him into rubble."
"That's the spirit!" Walker declares, "You can watch Tigra and my six while we winnow out wicked AIM rascals. Good job!"
John pats Bruce's head. Within, the Hulk stirs slightly. No titan likes being petted and patronized. Pulling John's sleeve away, Greer comes to the rescue. Tigra dislikes Agent being catty to Bruce.
She redirects the ruffian, "Pray tell, sir, how are we stalking and subduing the bad guys?"
"Pussy-cat, you and I will pursue Grey Gargoyle and the AIM gang into the underground," U.S. Agent informs, "A couple hours ago, Gargoyle dropped himself into the sewers. Likewise, his associates Chemistro, Dr. Necker, and Minion sought to scurry down a subsurface tunnel like rats. We can make like two mousers after them all."
"Nice metaphor," the Cat compliments.
"Thank you," the Captain further promotes his plan, "I figure that a man-of-war, such as me, and a maneater, such as you, can track those troublemakers to whatever lair AIM maintains in Missouri."
Tigra takes the "maneater" diction with a grain of salt. Graciously, Greer jests seriatim, "Well, I do have the eye of the tiger, and I do want to rise to the challenge of my rival, such as Grey Gargoyle, for I would not mind another crack at ol' Stony-Face because I am a champion, and you're going to hear me roar. That sort of thing."
"Nice Rocky reference, rocky reference, and rock reference," Agent compliments.
Huffing, Tigra feels that she could hack a hairball if this wacky wordplay and repartee continues. She redirects again, "Anyway, Agent, shall we deploy immediately? Our AIM adversaries' trails only grows colder by our inactivity."
"Let's move-out then," intrepid Walker marches for the door. Earnest Tigra follows. And, anxious Bruce keeps the fort.
Fifty minutes later, U.S. Agent declares, "My oh my."
Before Walker, four supervillains conference in their subterranean accommodations beneath Chestnut Street, two-thirds of a mile from the Rowen. Awhile back, She-Hulk razed a building at this location while fighting the Elements of Doom with the Avengers (see Avengers v.3 #56), and the city has since renewed the area into a square surrounded by park land. At the square's center, a military museum stands, honoring those Americans who have served.
U.S. Agent fumes with fury, "My oh my. Apparently, leave it to AIM to build a nefarious facility under a military history museum and several public parks. I may have to f***-up felonious folks more than usual." The Captain cannot cotton AIM desecrating this place with their presence. He cannot tolerate them endangering either war relics or innocent civilians.
Wringing his chin, the warrior watches from behind the wasted rocket sled that Walker chased earlier. He champs at the bit to charge the cheeky chumps who chose this spot for their maddening machinations. Seething, the scout scans the scene.
To his right, mangled Minion lies immobilized on a gurney while Dr. Necker works on him. Occasionally, Duffy moans or moves, seeking amelioration. But, dispassionate Necker simply straps-down her suffering cyborg subordinate more securely. Cerebral brain bulges from broken frontal bone as blazing soldering iron sets blackening steel and sadistically singes flesh. The rest of Duffy's body also displays some twisted metal and meat.
A span to the left, chums Chemistro and Grey Gargoyle chat. An underground echo nicely amplifies their conversation. Dr. Carr directs Dr. Duval and chops his palm for emphasis. Per Curtis, Paul Pierre must help protect assets, the Elements of Doom, assembled for evacuation north. AIM administrator Curtis curtly commands his companion to carry containers to awaiting AIM conveyances idling nearby.
Clenching his fist, concerned Carr clamors, "Operations must be unchallenged by irksome Avengers! Not that chauvinist aping Captain America, not that cheesy chigger, not that chartreuse speedster, not that chupacabra chick! I have worked too hard! Mr. MODOK has done too much for me!"
"Like mind-controlling you so that reformed Curtis Carr is again a villain," Duval drolly mentions.
Suddenly, as if on cue, Chemistro's eyes cock, and his face convulses consecutively. Then, he calms. In a voice not his own, Carr intones, "The Elements of Doom will join Fin Fang Foom on the ferry, Frenchie. That is all you need ken. MODOK has spoken." Then, the commandeered Chemistro snaps out of it.
Stoneface shakes his head, "The boss has called me 'Frenchie'. Someone get AIM HR for ol' Pierre." The churl chuckles. A supervillain is not really the p.c. police.
Peering about, U.S. Agent observes the ancillary AIM operatives aiding asset organization and evacuation. They are about fifteen working drones in the organization's infamous "beekeeper" attire. Their outfits are yellow bodysuits, undoubtedly proper PPE for many professional purposes, with an obscuring mesh at the mug, from which the peers peer. On a loading pier, some check loads on chirping forklifts that then channel contraband into chariots. Elsewhere, a few chisel data into keyboards while a couple chew paper and various sensitive poop through shredder and chipper, cheating future investigators. All around, others achieve other tasks on the mezzanine surrounding the central floor.
Above everyone, Tigra ganders from the girders. She, of course, watches Captain like a cat.
Cap bristles like a cougar, like a Georgia mountain lion. Battle beckons John Walker. U.S. Agent begrudges this obscene presence begriming these boundaries blanketed by fair Americana above. Building his bona fide furor, the Super-Patriot bobs belligerently and foments his focused aggression.
Bolting upright, the bad-ass flings his shield unreservedly for the fifteen flunkies. Phenomenal force works on the disk delivering unbelievably impressive results. Cap's shield is a bouncing hyperbolic barrage of red, white, and blue about the entire base. An incredible thing, it eliminates beekeepers, beans noggins, busts bodies, breaks bones, and bowls over idiots across the whole area. Eventually, the barreling weapon broaches an earthen wall and sticks there.
Blood boiling, U.S. Agent bounds at the base's bigger blackguards. He bops Chemistro contemptuously aside. Sailing Carr broadsides Necker. In turn, the bio-engineer fully burns her boy. Oily, unfortunate Duffy ignites! Minion bleats and bellows in his bonds. He blares for flabbergasted Eve to break them. Flesh bubbles and bursts before her aghast gaze.
Bugling, wrathful warrior Walker wallops Grey Gargoyle's grill, chipping teeth. The brawler batters the bleeper with blows, breaking facial bits. He biffs his beak, bumping him backward. Blitzing, the Captain clobbers, backhands, and belts the beset blockhead. The hero literally kicks his butt before bestially butting the victim villain's visage. U.S. Agent beats Grey Gargoyle up and down. Flexing burgeoning biceps, the berserker body-slams his foe to the floor and then boots him to the ceiling.
Meanwhile, Tigra divebombs Chemistro. Her body bails boldly from the belfry beams. From the catwalk, the flying feline femme fatale besieges prey. But, Carr, by bad chance, has beheld her in time. He brandishes his bizarre sidearm, the Alchemy Gun. Blowing buoyant oxidizer overhead, Chemistro counters the Cat. Above Carr, a fireball bulwark blooms before the in-coming Avenger. Big-eyed, Tigra backflips in mid-air head-over-heels, no easy feat. She lands a bit away from the fiery umbrella.
"Stay back!" Chemistro blares.
Nearby, Minion basely begs his mistress for beneficence. Fluid brims from his burping, burst areas. He burns like a briquette. His skin broasts. His organs ablate. His components buckle abjectly.
One day before long, bitter memories will bias Duffy to become Death's Head II, cruel and cursed killbot. So it begins. . . . .
But today, a compassionate champion heeds the blighter's cries. Intending to aid, nimble Tigra breezes by Chemistro. But, turning about, the baddie aims his Alchemy Gun. Instantly, the floor goes brittle beneath "booking" Tigra, arresting advancing ankles. Ouch. Chemistro snatches some conduit cable and bullwhips Tigra's bare back savagely. The Avenger bears the pain and bares her teeth. Her foe briskly beats her about the shoulderblades until, embarrassingly, she bows a second. In that moment, the AIM boss benevolently balms wretched Duffy. He buries the burning bionic man in a blissful blizzard of quenching foam. Blessedly, his agony abates.
Tigra budges her feet from the floor and turns truculently towards her foe. Burning bright, Tigra bends her knees to launch. Foolishly, Chemistro brushes her buns with the whip as though he would abrade and drub the big kitty into submission. Incensed, the angry animal bays. Bounding, ballistic Tigra bags her quarry and cinches an injurious claw on his brow.
Close by, U.S. Agent bulldozes Grey Gargoyle into a careening, beeping forklift with blotto driver. The buffaloed human boulder overturns the vehicle. Walker breaks a steel blade from the car's ram. The bludgeon bashes the rocky rogue repeatedly. Ever resilient, Grey Gargoyle suddenly blocks the bar and upbraids U.S. Agent for bullying him. Bothered, John frees the bat and bonks the brazen bozo barbarously several times. Then, Agent bunts him to the cavern's bowels. The brute bunnyhops the downed lift and boisterously blathers about buffeting Gargoyle to bric-a-brac.
A breadth over, Tigra breathes heavily, bearing down on Chemistro's cranium. Trapped blood builds bigly. Capillaries burst; temples bulge; eyes engorge; eardrums throb; brains nigh blow. Pinned Chemistro bucks to beat the band and hysterically bridges his back. But there is no countering Tigra's unbreakable claw hold—until Dr. Necker arrives.
From nowhere, Necker brands Tigra with the unplugged soldering iron, blistering her locked limb. Tigra releases flattened fool and bites the hand that fried her. Standing, the Avenger elbows the awful British biologist in the proboscis. Plucky, evil Eve pulls forth a buzzing laser blaster and a long billhook blade. Taken aback (but impressed), Tigra tumbles away. The evasive acrobat alights upon a bier bearing contraband baggage. The beautiful beast beckons Eve and her bilbo. The Scottish shootist draws a bead on the strange breed's brisket instead.
However, unexpectedly, the Alchemy Gun belches balefully first. A brass ball boffs the beastly ballerina's bread basket and buckles the burly girly temporarily in twain. Breathing heavily, Chemistro barely rises. But, another ballistic still breaches a sealed barrel beside Tigra. Element of Doom Bromine disembogues as a gelatinous blob that buries puss' "boats" and bonds her base to the bier.
"Aw bulls***!" bested Tigra blurts stuck standing like Brer Rabbit.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Eve bids.
Beside her, Curtis behests, "Be calm. Bromine is a sleeping behemoth right now. Usually, Bromine can burn a heroine [see Thunderbolts #7]. But presently, besides his bad smell, he'll bring you no harm."
Greer beseeches, "Besides your own noisome bouquet, will you?"
Dr. Carr sibilates something to Dr. Necker. She burbles back. Like b-movie mad scientists, they advance with barefaced bad intent on the babe in a jam.
On the lab's border, a beast blusters and beats his chest, "Oh boy! Oh boy!"
Unbalanced U.S. Agent approaches his inert, battered opponent procumbent on the concrete.
Walker badgers Duval, "Bring it, tough guy! You're about as hard as butter!"
The face-down foe frets, "Are you going to bisect me with that blade?"
"F*** no!" U.S. answers. The scrapper spears the pointed steel into solid limestone.
The wretch whimpers, "Are you going to slam your blazon through my skull and embed it in my head?"
"I ain't got my shield," Agent announces. A bachelor's holder sometimes knows "blazon".
"Good," Grey Gargoyle grins at the ground. Surreptitiously, the prone bastard baits the benighted paladin.
In a blink, the bluffing, cunning bum springs and sucker-punches the super-soldier. Duval's jab rings Walker's brawny bell. A bolo punch smacks blubber (okay, Agent has no blubber). A hook boomerangs the buffoon 360. An unbridled uppercut boosts the blunderer off the earth. Going bonkers, screaming like a banshee, Grey Gargoyle bountifully bangs U.S. Agent about the bunker. Passionate payback bombards the palooka.
"I have battled Thor you f***ing a******," Gargoyle scurrilously submits, "I have been the f***ing bogeyman to She-Hulk, the Beast, the Thing, and Daredevil, the Man Without f***ing Fear. I have bettered the real f***ing Captain America. I won't fall to a bogus wannabe!"
Riled, Walker couples his fists together. The hand-hammer drops the boom on Gargoyle and bonks him. The Captain cocks his duke for an unbound blow that might obliterate, or at least behead banty Gargoyle.
"Cease movement," MODOK manifests in the hero's mind. U.S. Agent pauses in mid-punch and stands stiff in paralysis. Bemused, the "indomitable" Avenger beholds Grey Gargoyle besetting like a basilisk. Instantly, U.S. Agent is completely rigid and made of rock.
"Merci beaucoup, Boss MODOK," Monsieur Duval addresses the air. MODOK must be somewhere, reckons Paul Pierre.
A minute or so earlier, Tigra has butterflies in the stomach. Her legs feel belayed in baklava, and her upper branches feel nettled by burrs. In-between, Chemistro creepily browses her body from abs to bust. The wary werewoman watches the brash wrongdoer by-and-by beeline for her. But backbone never utterly abandons an Avenger, so Greer Nelson bravely brooks Dr. Carr's barbed gaze.
Chemistro clucks his tongue condescendingly. He claims, "You so-called crimefighters have been bothersome today."
Abreast him, a beet-red Necker barks, "You blighters have driven us a bit barmy today!" She bobs her blaster.
"You folks have been a burden to me too," Tigra rebukes.
"Blah-blah-blah," Necker isn't blasé, "We shall not abide any further bulls***e, ya berk!"
"Ooh, ha' I geeven ya the blarney?" Greer mocks Eve's brogue.
Bedeviled Eve obliterates (by laser blast) a bottle beside Greer. "Don't talk back to me," the Scotswoman rebukes, "Don't blab at all if you bundle Ireland and Scotland like an ignoramus."
Blooper acknowledged, Chemistro coolly redirects the conversation, "Does that Jellicle gem imbue you with your powers?" An index finger indicates the tabby talisman bejeweling Tigra's "balcony".
"Nice Broadway reference," Nelson kibitzes.
"Actually, I have Brahmin tastes and have read Eliot," Dr. Carr states back.
"My boo-boo," the Bengal replies. Rebutted, Tigra now feels a little like an ignoramus.
The sinister prig probes, "You know, AIM intelligence posits—believes-that that bold bauble bequeaths you your bestial abilities. Does it? Shall we find out?"
The brazen dastard directs the Alchemy Gun. The business-end bodes ominously, and the Avenger feels entirely perturbed.
"Back off," says she.
The bored-looking boor bores his gaze down the gun's bore. For Tigra, things look bleak.
"You're making a boner," uneasy Greer tells deliberate Curtis.
Unabashed, the blank-faced brigand briefs the belle, "Hydrofluoric acid should mar your bling, that bijou. And, it should even destroy your bikini, leave your bosom bald. And, it should burrow dreadfully into your bones. Prepare to be belittled and blemished." Eve blushes.
The Cat spits spitefully. The rod spits back. Bilge bathes the brooch upon Greer's bodice. Befuddled Tigra examines the blot upon the object balking her breastbone and binding her bra. Although unencumbered by much modesty or fear, Tigra breathes laboriously, awaiting injury and other disturbance.
But, before Tigra's amazed eyes, the besmirched Cat's Head Amulet astoundingly abates the acid! Eldritch facets preserve the bewitched artifact and its possessor. Uncannily, the enchanted item defends flesh and fetish by abruptly cancelling the coming corrosion, absorbing the acid, rebuilding itself, and belching the debasement back out.
"Boffo!" Tigra celebrates that the Cat People totem will not be blasphemed.
The caustic fluoric fluid falls on Bromine and burns and bonds into a bizarre bouillabaisse. Bellowing, the bilious, basic being releases Tigra. Feline feet disembark the blech binding them to birch bier boards. Hackles up, Tigra billows with (seemingly) rabid rage. Before her, a bonny redhead blanches (more than usual) and blenches with fear.
"Oh, bugger," states Eve.
Disturbed Tigra snarls back to the bicuspids. She banks off the table and lands between her two foes. Nelson bangs Necker and Carr's brilliant, debauched heads together. Eve bemoans the collision.
"Bimbo, don't get your bloomers in a bunch," Tigra borrows a line. Like a kickboxer, the bugbear bashes the ball of her foot into a big mouth, disabling a boob.
Tenacious Tigra grabs Chemistro. She bats the Alchemy Gun aside. Unarmed, the AIM Bolshevik abstains from aggression. This belligerent creature could kill him. But, he bypasses panic too, for he boasts a powerful friend. Surely, MODOK will soon soothe the savage beast and save Carr. Chemistro hopes.
From out of the blue, MODOK bushwhacks Tigra. "Sleep, bitch," the abomination boggles her mind.
Volition banned, muscles unbrace. Bewildered Tigra paws Chemistro's costume with numb digits. Burgundy behind her eyeballs, Tigra suffers blepharospasms and bites her tongue. The boozy beauty blacks-out. Subdued, she belly-flops at Chemistro's feet. His boot brushes her buccal and catches some slobber. A contemptuous kick brings her onto her back.
"Now, she will behave," MODOK broadcasts telepathically.
"Beware a bloated ego," Carr bravely warns his boss, "You can bet that this pet can botch your day like 'bam'!" He gesticulates.
"Oh, I know. There is no debate," the big head grants, "Recently, Tigra snubbed my advances—to my great surprise. After extensive anatomical alteration, I had become beautiful, beguiling BRODOK, Bio-Robotic Organism Designed Overwhelmingly for Kissing, and I bothered the babe for a date. But, she boldly broomed me. Left atrabilious and brooding, I abducted her and altered her into a giant monster, such as Fin Fang Foom, who she resembles within. Both Hawkeyes, Bishop and Barton, and a bunch of buttheads opposed me and bailed Tigra's bacon. Tigra bragged that she would hunt me down for the dating debacle [see West Coast Avengers v.3 #1-4]. But here, it is I who have bird-dogged and bagged her after all."
"Bravo, bravo! Today has been a bonanza of success," Grey Gargoyle nears Necker and Carr, "I bring a bonus acquisition." Over his shoulder, the stone is a boulder holder.
"Bring the booty to the barge!" MODOK orders in booming inner voice, "On the water, we buccaneers can store these bourgeois banes of our existence. AIM scientists can process the new test subjects by-the-book—or be more Bohemian. Bwa-ha-ha! Bwa-ha-ha!" Somewhere, MODOK basks in bad research's possibilities for U.S. Agent and Tigra.
Humming Brahm's lullaby, Chemistro carries unconscious Tigra to a table. He lays the limber Lady Liberator beside a lanyard and big belted sack.
"Sacré bleu, what is that?" Duval beseeches.
"This is my boondoggle, a project not very practical. Until now," Carr unbuckles the bonds and unfolds the bundle. The boondoggle is a jumbo balloon.
Grey Gargoyle raspberries and chortles.
Chemistro grabs Greer's bangs and brings the rubber neck over her head. He explicates while he interns, "This behemoth balloon is impenetrable. It can hold this bodacious Bigfoot or any other bellicose bogie. Then, the Alchemy Gun can blow a brume of helium into the bubble and create a blimp buoying the beaten before bearing her to the boat, boy. She will even remain blotto, for helium is hard to breathe."
Braggadocious Duval is unimpressed, "You bested Tiger Girl. Big deal. I bring MODOK this marbled beef." Grey Gargoyle boosts petrified U.S. Agent by the pants breech.
Carr banters, "But, bon ami, you forget that I can also bastardize flesh and bone into stone and that my fossilized figures do not blip back to normal in an hour."
Paul Pierre rebuffs, "Pshaw, Tigra is not even a bastard. She is a total b. . . . ."
"Don't say it," Eve Necker admonishes bluntly, "Brilliant men boycott such bawdy diction."
The two broncos beam. They have libertine minds. Besides, Necker just belittled Tigra far beyond just calling her a "bad name".
"Blokes!" the distaff doctor directs rebounding AIM aides, "Be useful. Convey my bloody minion to a transport."
Grey Gargoyle gibes, "The borg's meat may be browned. But, he'll be back!"
"Sure, I can rebuild a bionic man. He will again be at my beck and call," Necker watches the gurney bed brattle by. Duffy's beady orbs give her a bitter look like an angry bodach.
The three eager AIM beavers and their brethren smuggle the beast, the boy scout, and the bogeyman along the Mississippi bottom and bebop twenty-five full miles north to West Alton, Missouri, where the Mississippi and Missouri rivers bifurcate. Their boss bid them come there.