"Minions! Kill everybody. Let there be no survivors. And-" The Monarch paused dramatically "- bring me the head of Dr. Venture!"
Men in butterfly costumes had bust through the double doors of the entrance to Workroom No 3. They spread out across the front of the large room, dart guns at ready as they prepared for assault from...
They looked about in confusion at the room, empty of anyone but one beefy guy in an blue Venture Enterprises uniform, a dark haired, lanky boy dressed in a geeky brown suit, and a small black girl armed with a couple hard covered books in her hands.
"Over my dead body!"
The challenged echoed in the cement block walls off the Workroom.
The Monarch turned to see who was challenging him. Standing between two piles of tables and chairs was Henchman 21. Former henchman 21. Soon to be ex- everything.
"You!" The Monarch sneered. "Gladly! Minions! Kill the traitorous former henchman. No one scorns the Monarch and lives to tell about!"
"Stop!" A thin voice shouted. "None of you are paid members of VentureCon 1 and I must ask you to leave the convention site immediately!"
"What?" the Monarch shouted, looking around to see who had spoken. His attention focus on the little black girl standing next to Dean Venture. She was leaning forwarding, fairly vibrating with emotion.
"You!" he shouted, "Who are you to tell the Monarch what he may or may not do?"
"I'm Heather Calmback, co-chair of VentureCon 1, in charge of membership! And until and unless you buy memberships to this convention you are trespassing, and you will be asked to leave."
"Or what, girly? Going to tell my mommy on me- ow! that hurt. What the hell was that?"
The Monarch was clutching at his face where a bruise was starting to form under his left eye. At his feet lay a hard cover copy of Giant Boy Detective #26: Mystery of the Vacation That Wasn't.
"You threw a book at me?" The Monarch cried. "Do you think you can scare me off by throwing - ow! Stop that! You could put someone's eye out!"
"Not until you pay your membership fees or leave the convention!" Heather shouted back. "I've got a lot of books ready."
"Gaa!" The Monarch snorted. "Dean - Dean Venture, you've always been a sensible sort. Are you going to let some little girl tell you what to do?"
"Heather's right. This is VentureCon 1 and you're trespassing! So either pay up or get out!" Dean shouted. His shout wasn't as authoritative as Heather's but he had picked up a book from the pile of abandoned dealer's stock and was hefting it speculatively.
"Oh, come on, Dean. All we want is your father's head. Let us get that and we'll go. Your little 'convention' won't be bothered a minute more."
"Let you cut off Pop's head? That's sick!" And to back up his point, Dean threw the book at the Monarch. It fell short, knocking out one of the minions instead.
"Seriously, Dean, is that the best you've got? Books and one feisty little girl -"
"I'm fourteen, don't call me 'little'!" Heather interrupted.
"And he's got me!" Gary voice boomed over the PA. He tossed away the microphone he'd been holding and clicked the button that released the blades strapped above his wrists. "By this ax I rule," he shouted, quoted from an old Conan story. "Who dies first?"
He let the light glitter on the blades for a moment. Older henchmen remembered Gary's stand on knives. He trained with them constantly. He was savage with the knives. None of the remaining henchmen were old enough to remember when Gary had been an out-of-shape, danger avoiding geek who preferred reading about people doing exciting, dangerous things than doing them himself. Those minions had all been killed one way or another. The Monarch was hard on his henchmen. Only Gary had survived though those days - avoiding trouble rather than putting his life on the line for the Monarch.
And then his best friend, henchman 24, had been killed during one of the Monarch's ill-planned attacks and Gary had been changed forever. Determined to make something of his life, Gary had trained and trained and trained until he was the sort of bad-ass he'd always read about. Until he was "General 21," the most feared minion in the Cocoon. The henchmen lined up before the barricade remembered General 21. They didn't maybe understand why he was talking about an ax when he was holding knives, but at the moment they understood "Who dies first..." They were pretty sure that they didn't want that honor.
"What are you waiting for?" the Monarch screamed. "You!" He pointed to a minion at random. "Why aren't you attacking?"
The minion made the mistake of answering. "He has a pretty big knife, sir!"
"Wrong! The Monarch shouted as he fired a dart into the man's neck. "It's because you're a coward?" he turned to face the rest of the minions, "Are there any more cowards among you?"
In the back someone raised a hand. The Monarch fired another dart, taking the man in the eye. "Next time I won't use an anesthetic dart!" he shouted. "Now get that man because I start going after you!" He aimed the thick cuff on his uniform where the darts were loaded at the henchmen nearest him. There was a sudden surge towards the near gap where Gary stood waiting.
Henchman Eleven hadn't intended to be the first to die. He was trying to find some way to back away from the gap in the furniture when the surge of advancing minions picked him up and dashed him towards the point of one of Gary's knives. His scream of "No!" was short lived.
Gary had to turn sideways to allow the late No. 11 to slide off his blade. He backhanded the next minion with other hand, leaving a vivid scar across his face, while slashing another minion as he stumbled pass. Blood from severed arteries sprayed everywhere.
He slashed at a couple minions, then nearly tripped over one of the bodies lying at his feet. A minion flung himself at the unawares OSI agent only to collapse when a large, omnibus volume took him in the head. A couple more books flew by, giving Gary time to regain his feet. He slung the blood off his knives into the face of the hesitating minions. Slowly they backed away from the man with the knives strapped to his arms.
At first pressure from the crowds behind the minions had forced the first few forward. As blood and screams filled the large convention hall the remaining minions fell back, unwilling to risk certain death to lay hands on Gary Fuu.
"Use your guns, you idiots!" The Monarch screeched.
A score of the henchmen looked down to their hands and were surprised to find that they had been holding their dart guns all along. It's amazing what people will forget when they are surrounded by immediate, physical danger. "Even numbered minions - to your knees and aim at the renegade. Odd numbered minions form up in a row standing above the knelling minions. At my command, fire!"
Half the minions at once fired, enraging the Monarch. "Did I tell you to fight? No. I told you to wait until I tell you to fire!"
And another salvo of darts filled the air.
"Jesus, you people are fricking morons. Oh, hell, just fire. Fire at will. Who ever killed that renegade gets an immediate promotion!"
It took mere second for the minions to run out of darts. And when the air clear they saw Gary holding a lightweight, plastic cafeteria chair in one hand. It's flimsy seat was covered in anesthetic darts. None were on Gary.
He through down the chair and held out his hand towards the Monarch. He motioned for the Monarch to come closer. "Let's finish this off, old man. Mano-y-mano. Assuming you're man enough to take me on!"
The Monarch screamed and pointed his wrist blaster at Gary. "I'll show you 'mano-y-mano' I'll mano your fricking ass off..."
"Monarch! What the hell is going on?" a deep, gravelly voice asked from the doorway. The Monarch turned to see Dr. Mrs. The Monarch standing there with one hell of an angry expression on her face.
He laughed nervously. "Ah, sweetie, back from the hairdresser already? Your hair looks wonderful"
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch was dressed in full costume, black body suit with gold trim, open the navel, knee high boots and flimsy, filmy transparent wings trailing behind her. Her hair was impeccably combed forming a large helmet around her head. The minions stopped what they were doing just to watch her walk into the room and cross over to the Monarch, her husband.
"You said you had a splitting headache and were taking a nap. I go in to town for a couple hours to get my hair done and when I get back the Cocoon is no where to be seen. I had to look all around the county to find it. And what do I find when I finally find it?"
"That I had moved it?" The Monarch ventured. He hated arguing with his wife in front of the minions, because it destroyed their respect for him. But mostly because Dr. Mrs. The Monarch never argued in public unless she was absolutely, totally right.
"And where did you move it? To the Venture Compound! And what are you doing on the Venture Compound. Apparently not attending a sci fi convention.
"It's not a sci fi convention. It's a celebra-" Heather attempted to correct.
"You keep out of this, missy!" Dr. Mrs The Monarch thundered, shaking her gloved finger at her. "If not for me, you'd be a grease stain by morning!"
Heather cocked her arm back. Dean grabbed at her and whispered urgently into her ear, explaining why for just this one day the crazy lady in the black and gold outfit was their friend.
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch turned back to the Monarch. "So what are you doing here – without me?"
"I've come to collect the head of Dr. Thaddeus Venture!" the Monarch shouted. He tended to shout whenever the issue of Dr. Venture came up.
"Apparently without me," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch reminded him. "Do you remember our wedding vows?"
"To love, honor and cherish?" The Monarch ventured. The wedding had always been something of a technicality to him, a way to keep Dr. Girlfriend with him and not in the arms of some low-life like Phantom Limb. The details were kind of fuzzy.
"And that we were a duocracy!" Dr. Mrs. The Monarch raised her voice. "We promised to do everything together. To live together, to work together, to plan together and to Arch together! And what exactly are you doing here?"
"Ummm"
"You were Arching Dr. Venture, that's what you were doing. You were Arching without me! Is this how you treat our wedding vows? As something to honor only when I'm around?"
The Monarch sensed a trap in that question so he clamped his mouth shut before a "yes" could bubble out.
"We are a duocracy and don't you forget it!" Dr. Mrs. The Monarch looked around at the henchmen scattered around the room, some living, some dead., then called out: "Minions! Fall In! Single File back to the Cocoon!"
"Dr. Mrs. Ma'am," one of the minions ventured, "what about our dead?"
She looked annoyed at the henchman and took a slow count before answering. "Let the Ventures take care of them. Take the injured with us. The dying... they're no use to us. Leave them." She turned to her husband and told him, "We're going to have a long talk about the future of our marriage tonight"
Number 6, the head minion broke off a couple details to check on their fallen comrades. Heather shivered as they silently went about their task. "That is so cold," she whispered to Dean, "just abandoning their people like that."
"Is it safe to come out yet?" a voice called from the back of the room. A head poked itself out from under the speaker's table.
:Mr. Pettigrew!" Heather exclaimed and run over to help him to his feet. Dean followed somewhat slower. They lead the shaken guest of honor over next to Gary, which at the moment seemed the safest place in the room.
"Why didn't you run away when I told you to?" Gary asked.
"At my age, running is not an option."
"What about your driver?"
"I fear he's over there under that pile of rubbish." Pettigrew pointed to a block of ceiling rubble. A pair of feet could be seen sticking out from under it.
"Why didn't you just grab the keys and drive yourself," Dean wondered.
"I don't know how to drive." Winston Pettigrew grew himself up in an aggrieved manner. "I live in New York City. Nobody there drives There are too many cars."
"I'll take you back to your hotel," an unexpected voice offered, "on one condition."
Pettigrew looked in amazement at the black and gold, barely there costume of Dr. Mrs. The Monarch. "Anything," he said.
"Sign my book." She bent over and rummaged in the pile of books Dean had dumped on the floor when he was constructing the wall of tables defense. She found one she liked and handed it to the author.
"Do you have a pen?" he asked. "I seemed to have lost all of mine."
"Does it look like I've got a pen anyway in this costume," Dr. Mrs The Monarch replied. Heather fished around in the frizzy pile hair over one ear and pulled out a ballpoint. "Here," she said.
With a thank you, Pettigrew opened the book, a recent printing of the first volume, and asked who to make it out to.
"Sheila Kowalski. And add 'For one unforgettable day.'"
"I dare say I shant forget this day, however much I try." The old man said as he scribbled the words on the frontispiece.
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch walked over to the body of the chauffeur and fished in his pockets until she found the keys to the Bentley. "I've never driven a Bentley before. This should be fun."
Winston Pettigrew handed the book to her when she returned. She paused to admire the inscription, then tucked the book under one arm and the little man under the and headed for the door.
She paused next to Dean. "If you are demented enough to hold another convention next year do send a flyer to the mail box listed on my registration card. And no where else!" And with that she lead the guest of honor out of the shambles that was VentureCon 1.
"Next year?" Dean whimpered.
"Your dad's expecting it." Gary laughed.
Heather shook her head. "Are you people insane?"
