The Origin of MASK
Chapter 12: An Unsound Foundation, Part 2
By Jelsemium and/or Qweb
Scott, Jacques and T-Bob came out of the Dairy Queen looking rather pleased with themselves. The manager had assured them that nobody had ever eaten quite that much ice cream in one sitting before. The Dairy Queen had been Scott's idea, and Jacques had gone along, since it wouldn't cost very much. Scott had also done the ordering, since he wanted lots of ice cream. Jacques had protested the third through sixth deserts, but Scott told him that it was Trakker money, and since he was the only Trakker present, he was host and judge of what was a waste of money. Jacques, who rarely got such luxuries, couldn't resist. He was just sorry there was no way to put any of it in a doggy bag for later.
Jacques shifted his cargo and asked, "Where is this movie house of yours?"
"Just down the street here," Scott said, then he remembered his hostly duties. "Why don't you let T-Bob carry those for you?"
"I would not want to trouble you," said Jacques.
"No trouble!" squeaked T-Bob, as he popped open his front compartment.
The hatbox, in the duffle bag, wouldn't fit into the compartment, but the briefcase would, with only a little stuffing. Jacques flung the duffle bag over his shoulder and they started off again.
There was a squeal of tires and a big motor home cut sharply in front of them, running up on the sidewalk and boxing them in.
"Venom!" hissed Scott.
The trio turned to retreat, and found Vanessa Warfield right behind them.
"Whip, ON!"
The snake-like forcefield shot out of Vanessa's squarish, blue-green mask and, guided by body English, ensnared the younger Trakker.
Vanessa reeled in the boy, writing off the non-targets as not important enough to notice.
"Scott!" wailed T-Bob.
Jacques didn't waste his breath, he leaped forward, pivoted on his right leg and brought his left foot around in a vicious arc that ended in the astonished Venom agent's breadbasket. Vanessa was flung into the street by the blow, her breath leaving her in an explosive rush.
The whip dissipated through lack of attention and Scott dropped to the ground, then he bounded to his feet and cried, "T-Bob, convert!"
T-Bob obediently went into scooter mode, and Scott and Jacques hopped on. T-Bob couldn't out race the Venom vehicles, but he hoped to get out of range before the would-be kidnappers recovered.
"Samson, ON!" the mousey-haired Gorey squeaked viciously.
T-Bob hadn't gone two putts when the sidewalk heaved up from under him, throwing the robot and his passengers into the street with Vanessa. Vanessa, who had ridden with Rax too many times to let a little fall keep her down for long, scrambled to her knees.
"Whip, ON!" she wheezed.
This time the coil of energy went whirling around LeFleur's neck, squeezing the carotid arteries and then flinging the limp Canadian into the Outlaw oil tanker. Then she turned he attention to Scott. T-Bob, in a fit of uncharacteristic courage, scooted towards Vanessa like a maniacal moped. Vanessa, almost casually, shorted out the robot and tossed him in with Jacques.
"Will you climb in, or do I toss you?" Vanessa growled as her breath came back.
Scott had a feeling he was going to miss those movies. He already missed Dusty. But there was no alternative, so he climbed into Outlaw and sat down next to the lumberjack. Gorey threw Jacques' duffle bag in with them and closed off the detention container from the rest of Outlaw. Mr. Mayhem would feed him to Bruno if he let the prisoners escape.
Miles Mayhem turned around as he heard sounds of a car arriving. Hopefully, it was Vanessa with the Trakker brat. The arrivals were kidnappers, all right. But not the ones he sent out.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded of his Vancouver branch of operations. "Who is this, and why did you find it necessary to commit a felony without authorization?"
The two local hoods looked at each other uneasily. Morton, their leader, who hadn't been a criminal until Mayhem had bought him, looked surprised. "This is the fella that's been raising all that ruckus about your building."
"Building?" Mayhem blinked in surprise. "What building?"
"The one whose plans I talked Meyer into changing. The one who has been holding up the construction of the energy research lab."
"So? Why'd you kidnap him?"
"Because he was going to get the project stopped."
"You moron, he was supposed to get the project stopped. Any architect with as much experience as he's got isn't about to let that kind of foundation go under a building in an earthquake prone city."
"It would? But, why would you … "
Mayhem grimaced with disgust. "Because this is one of Trakker's do-gooding projects, when there was a delay, he had to come and find out why. And, since school is out, he'd also bring his son. That would give me a chance to grab the brat and milk Trakker for a few hundred million, at the very least. Maybe we can even get some of his state-of-the-art computer equipment."
He turned his back dismissively "We don't need any more complications, let him loose."
"But … but … "
Rax limped into the room from the kitchen and laughed.
"You heard Mayhem. Throw him back, it's not open season on architects."
"But, if Meyer finds out, he'll fire me!" wailed Morton. "He'd make sure I never get another job again!"
"So? You work for me now," Miles said mildly. "I'm sure I can find some use for you. Dishwasher, perhaps."
"Do you do windows?" Rax threw in.
"He was going to go to Trakker," Morton put in desperately. "I saw him talking to Trakker's kid."
"Hmm, that might provide complications, I guess," Mayhem said thoughtfully. "Okay, have it your way. Kill him."
"ME!" Morton's voice went up an octave.
"You caught him, you kill him," Mayhem said, then he turned to the local hoods. "Put him away somewhere."
Mayhem turned back to Morton, but before the argument could continue, Vanessa entered with Scott in tow.
Scott checked out the building. It was old, very shoddy, and huge. Actually, it was two warehouses tacked together, and sloppily at that. It was perfect for Venom to keep their bizarre and bulky vehicles out of view, but as Scott was herded across the sagging floor, he wished that Venom had chosen classier digs. He didn't even want to think of the size of the rats in this place.
"Poor T-Bob," he whispered to himself thinking how nervous the robot got around rodents.
"Good work, Warfield," Mayhem said, almost cheerfully.
The voice of Venom's leader brought Scott's attention to the rest of his kidnappers.
"I knew the rats in this place were gonna be huge," Scott muttered under his breath.
Vanessa snorted, whether in humor or anger Scott never found out, for that's when Gorey entered carrying Jacques, T-Bob and the duffle bag. The short venom agent was almost invisible under his cargo. All that could be seen were his legs, glowing faintly as his mask gave him enough strength to carry his load.
Rax laughed "Gee, Miles," he said slyly. "I didn't know you were starting a collection."
"Rax," growled Vanessa, "if you're not hurt enough to stay in bed, I'd be willing to arrange for that to happen."
"I'm goin'. I'm gone." Rax backed out of the room, sniggering to himself.
Mayhem looked at Vanessa with the same expression her father had used just before he had finally called the police on her.
"I don't even want to know," Mayhem told her grimly. "Just put the man on ice until I figure out what to do with him."
"What about the kid?" Vanessa inquired.
"We have to keep him healthy," Mayhem growled, as if the thought pained him.
"Why?" Morton asked. "Trakker won't know until it's too late. We don't need him alive."
"We do if we want to do this again," Vanessa pointed out. "No one will ante up ransom if we don't return the goods."
Gorey and Morton put Jacques and T-Bob into the cellar where the two local thugs had put Calhoun. Vanessa motioned Scott to follow. "In you go, brat," she said.
Scott had had enough, he drew himself to his full, 4'9" height and said: "My name is Scott , but you can call me MR. Trakker."
Vanessa grinned under her mask at the sass. The kid had more guts than most adults she knew put together. She bowed to her kidnap victim.
"After you, Mr. Trakker," she said, escorting him into the cellar.
Warfield paused on her way out to land a hard kick to Jacques' side, sending him rolling into one of the ubiquitous support beams and almost causing him to drop his act of being unconscious. "You're mine, Mr. Bruce Lee," Vanessa promised.
Jacques heard the door slam, then he heard Scott sit next to him. "They're gone," Scott said softly.
Jacques sat up with a groan, rubbing his ribs.
"It's a good thing Vanessa didn't find out I was faking or she probably would have broken my ribs."
"You okay?" Scott asked anxiously.
"Non, but I've been worse," Jacques shook his head sadly. "Then again, maybe not. The same day your father asks me to join his fight against Venom, I let them get their hands on you … and a mask!"
Jacques gestured to the duffle bag.
"That's a …" Scott choked off his exclamation in mid-breath. Then went on more calmly. "Which one is it?" Scott asked.
"I have not … I do not have any idea, there has been no opportunity for me to examine it," Jacques explained. "And speaking of examinations, hadn't we better check on T-Bob?"
A quick examination of T-Bob showed Scott that he was repairable. A more thorough study was postponed when they discovered the cellar's fourth occupant. Jacques went to the corner that Venom's local talent had dumped their cargo, and was feeling for Calhoun's pulse when Scott came over and got a good look at the fourth prisoner.
"That's Calhoun Burns!"
"You know him?" Jacques asked in surprise. "Is he one of us?"
"I just met him this afternoon," Scott, said. He shook his head. "He's not with MASK, he's the one my father went to see tonight."
"Hmm, perhaps, then, your father is on his way here now."
"Maybe, but we can't count on that," Scott said practically. "How badly is he hurt?"
"I cannot find any injuries," Jacques said.
Calhoun stirred and made a sound somewhere between a moan and a snore that would have embarrassed him enormously if he'd been awake enough to hear it.
"I think he has been drugged," Jacques said. "I think, also, that he will come around soon."
"I wish we'd gotten around to installing that radio in T-Bob that dad talked about." Scott said, then he brightened. "What about that mask?"
Jacques pulled open the duffle bag, pried open the hatbox, and found the instructions taped to the lid. He read them to Scott in a whisper as Scott fixed T-Bob.
"The Care and Feeding of your new Mirage Mask, by Matthew J. Trakker — What does the 'J' stand for?" Jacques interrupted himself.
Scott shook his head, "Just Joking, I guess. He doesn't have a middle name. At least not one that I know of. But what's that thing do?"
"It turns one invisible."
Scott blinked then grinned, "Neato. But how will that get us out of here?"
"It will not, we will have to do that on our own," Jacques sighed and settled down to think.
Some time later, Calhoun finally woke up.
"Easy, mon ami," Jacques said.
"Ohhh, what happened?" Calhoun sat up, held his hand to his head and looked around fuzzily.
"You were kidnapped," Scott explained helpfully.
"Scott! What are you doing here?"
"We got kidnapped, too."
"There's a lot of that going around," Calhoun said drily, then tried to swallow.
"I am sorry we have nothing to offer you for a drink," Jacques said. "How do you feel, M'sieu Burns?"
"Like I was force fed a jug of bad 'shine, hit with the jug and dumped into the compost heap."
Jacques chuckled in sympathy.
Calhoun looked at the Canadian curiously, "I am afraid you have the better of me, sir," the architect said, by way of hinting.
Jacques looked blank for a moment, then became a trifle flustered as he realized he hadn't introduced himself.
"Pardon moi. Je m'appelle Jacques LeFleur."
Then, before the embarrassed Jacques could repeat that in English, Calhoun smiled and said:
"Enchantè, monsieur. I'm Calhoun Burns. Do you have any idea where we are?"
"Nowhere that is healthy, M'sieu Burns," Jacques said. "Other than that, not really. Although I believe we are still in Vancouver."
Calhoun pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs as he examined his prison. The place was huge; it obviously went under the entire building. But the dim lighting, support beams, sturdy shelving, low ceiling, pipes and accumulated clutter gave it a downright claustrophobic atmosphere. "Please, call me Calhoun," he said absently as he racked his brains for ideas.
Scott finished fixing T-Bob and the robot looked around in surprise. "Hello, Scott, is it morning already?"
While Scott and Jacques brought T-Bob and Calhoun up to date on the latest crime wave, Calhoun got up and walked around the cellar, working the cramps out of his system. Skipping the part about the mask made the story shorter, but it was still somewhat involved.
"The museum raiders!" Calhoun hissed with surprise. "But what do they want with me?"
"I think they just wanted to get my dad out here so they could grab me," Scott said apologetically.
"But that wouldn't explain why they kidnapped Calhoun," Jacques protested.
Calhoun shook his head sadly, "I never figured I would be reduced to live bait, I don't think I'll ever enjoy fishing again."
Calhoun walked around some more, thinking heavily. He found some pipes that looked promising and traced them to a sink that was sitting in the corner. It looked even older than the plumbing in the Burn ancestral home, but it did deliver water. He drank the brackish stuff gratefully, and turned back to his companions.
T-Bob looked at the humans. "What do we do now?" the robot wanted to know.
Calhoun rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and stared up at the sagging ceiling. "I believe I have a plan," he said.
Matt was using Spectrum's microwave mode to talk directly to the computer in Boulder Hill, while Alex was using Thunderhawk's computer to communicate with several computers in Vancouver.
Matt turned to face the scientist. Spectrum was completely deadpan, but Matt sounded amused as he said:
"Why, Uncle Alex, I thought that you were the one who objected to prying into other people's computers."
"That was before we were official, lad," Alex said loftily. "And if you call me 'Uncle Alex' one more time, I'm going to tell Scott about your science project in junior high and dare him to duplicate it."
"You wouldn't!" Matt shuddered as he remembered the blast that had singed his bangs and ruined several thousand dollars worth of equipment.
"Try me."
Matt changed the subject as fast as he could, in order to take Alex's mind off of that horrible threat.
"Well, there are almost two dozen pieces of property around here that could be used by the kidnappers. It will take us a while to check them all out. Unless you have a way to narrow things down a bit?"
"I've been trying to find out where that taxi came from. I doubt that they hired it off of the street. So, I've been checking the records to see if anyone besides a regular cab company has bought or leased a taxi lately."
"Good idea," Matt said. "I believe you're catching on to this game."
Alex sighed, "I thought so, too. Only it seems that our friends didn't bother to pay for their taxi. They stole it."
"Well, so much for that idea, we'd better come up with something or Calhoun's finished."
Morton thought that he was finished.
"You MORON!" roared Mayhem. "Why the devil did you put the two we have to keep alive with the one we were planning to kill? Did you think they wouldn't notice him?!"
Vanessa, Rax and Gorey, listening from different rooms, all grinned. They were glad that they weren't the ones in trouble this time.
"But I thought we were going to kill both men," Morton started.
"Don't try to think, dunderhead, you haven't got the equipment for it," Mayhem rumbled ominously. "We aren't doing this for fun. We're doing this to make money, lots of money. Dead bodies are bad for business. We especially don't want a lot of bodies that can be traced to US. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Mayhem, sir," gulped Morton. "Uh, what are we going to do with them?"
"I haven't decided yet," Mayhem said in the flat, reasonable tone that always made the agents who knew him look for the nearest exit. "And if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell you. Now go home, you've made enough mistakes for one day."
Matt and Alex finished checking out the sixth building on their list with no success.
Matt slumped into the passenger seat of Thunderhawk. Alex took this as a hint that it was his turn to drive. He started off for suspect number seven, then hit the brakes with great conviction. He popped open the computer console and began making frantic entries.
The blond inventor was slammed into the safety belt with enough force to squeeze most of the breath from him. When he got enough of it back to talk, he turned to the red-bearded driver with indignation. "If you didn't want to drive, you could have just said so."
Alex, absorbed in his computer processing, pretended not to hear.
"Sudden brainstorm?" Matt asked with more interest. "What's up?"
Alex disdained to answer while the computer whirred away.
"Alex? Alex? Earth to Sector. Alex do you read?"
"Of course I read," Alex said with great dignity. "I am extremely literate."
"Give, Alex, what wicked little scheme is going through your labyrinthine mind?"
"I just thought that we should start at the beginning instead of the middle. I decided to assume that the only people in Vancouver that our Kentucky born architect could have annoyed enough to push into crime would be the contractors. So I checked the list of the contactor's employees against the list of properties that we have."
"And?"
"We have a match," Alex said smugly, and produced the printed out address.
"I'll take anything that will shed a little light on the subject," Matt said with a grin in his voice.
"You should be fired for a pun like that," Alex said, putting the car in motion again.
"Okay," squeaked T-Bob impatiently. "So what's this great plan of yours?"
Calhoun straightened up from where he was examining the wall. "Well, ever since I began drawing up plans for the energy research laboratory, I have had earthquakes on my mind," he drawled thoughtfully. "But, thus far, I haven't had the dubious honor of experiencing one."
"So?" Jacques inquired in bewilderment. "I have not been in an earthquake since I came to Vancouver, either."
Calhoun nodded. "And I would wager that neither has Venom. As they have been such 'gracious' hosts to us, I thought we should present them with a little gift."
"Their own earthquake?" Scott asked in astonishment.
"At least the closest we can get with what's at hand," Calhoun said mildly.
"And what is 'at hand'?" Jacques asked.
"The fuse box, a sagging floor, some ancient pillars, wine bottles, wine casks, water, dirt and some boards to make levers." Calhoun examined the shelves with great care. "These look sturdy enough," he decided. "Archimedes said that if he had a place to stand he could move the world," the architect said, almost mischievously. "Well, we have a place to stand. I'm sure we can move a pillar or two." He studied the layout of the cellar thoughtfully. "I could also use a source of sudden, bright light…"
"I have my headlights," T-Bob said proudly, turning them on to prove it.
All three humans, who were used to the twilight in the cellar, yelped and covered their eyes.
"Sorry," squeaked T-Bob, abashed. "That was only low power, too."
"That is excellent, T-Bob," Calhoun said happily. "You get a role in our grand production." He patted the robot on the head. As he recalled, T-Bob's metallic body gave off a nice ringing sound. "Now all we have to do is get these boards loose…"
Jacques laughed suddenly. "I have here just the object we need. T-Bob, please hand me the briefcase that you are carrying for me. It is the main reason that I am here in Vancouver to begin with." There was a brief tug-of-war as Jacques struggled to get the briefcase out. It popped out with enough force to send the young man staggering backwards.
Jacques caught his balance, and knelt on the filthy floor. He opened the briefcase with dramatic flair. Inside were his clean clothes, a plastic bag filled with dirty laundry and a chamois wrapped package about two hand-spans wide. The other three prisoners leaned over the lumberjack's shoulder as he lifted the chamois out of the briefcase, then Jacques, with true showmanship, kept them waiting as he stuffed the briefcase back into T-Bob's belly compartment. The lumberjack unwrapped the package and held the object up.
"An ax head?" Scott asked. "You came all the way to Vancouver for an ax head? Couldn't you have gotten one at home?"
"This is not just any ax head," Jacques said. "It is a made-to-order ax head of the finest tempered steel that master blacksmith John Fikes of Orange, Massachusetts, could forge. It is razor sharp and can carve up soft metal as easily as it could carve hard wood. M'sieu Fikes came to Vancouver to demonstrate other blades to the local Society for Creative Anachronism and we arranged to meet here. It seemed safer than to trust the post offices of both Canada and the United States." Jacques carved the required shelves from the wall as he explained about his new treasure.
"Very impressive," Calhoun said. "Now, where to place T-Bob for maximum effect…"
"But what about their masks?" Scott asked, "T-Bob's light won't do a lot of good if they have tinted glass."
"Hmm, there ought to be something here to…to…" Jacques' hesitated, "to lessen their advantage in the dark."
Several of the wine bottles and casks had dregs of wine in them. Calhoun looked at the labels, then sniffed the open bottles. He assured the others that the wine had never been any better than the brown water from the tap. T-Bob managed to get his oil can out past the briefcase, while Scott pulled together a variety of interesting junk.
"They will likely have some sort of lantern with them," Calhoun mused. "We need to dispose of it somehow."
"I have an idea," Scott said. "T-Bob, you remember that noise you made this afternoon?"
The robot blinked in surprise. "You mean the one that made the bus driver…?
Scott interrupted him hastily. "Yeah, that one. Think you could do it again?"
"Of course," T-Bob squeaked with great dignity.
"Good, but don't until Calhoun gives the signal."
Calhoun tested the planks again, he and Scott set up the fulcrums and Jacques whittled away at certain pillars that Calhoun had picked out. T-Bob went around collecting fluid and muck into containers and dug a shallow trough in the floor near the stairs.
"Well here goes everything," said the architect. "Gentlemen and gentle-bot, take your places."
Mayhem scowled and brushed his luxurious grey moustache as he checked over the ransom note like a schoolmaster going over a homework assignment. Rax fidgeted like a schoolboy, although he had written up the note exactly as Mayhem had dictated it to him.
"Well?" he demanded as Mayhem put it in the envelope.
"Excellent, Rax, you missed your calling," Mayhem said in an almost pleasant tone. "You should have been an artist."
"I am an artist, but I hate starving in attics. Why'd you have to have my best calligraphy, anyways? Anybody else'd use a cheap typewriter."
"I'm not 'anybody else'," Miles growled. "I prefer to do things with class."
Suddenly, the floor shifted slightly.
"What was that?" Vanessa called from the kitchen. Before anyone could reply, the floor shifted more emphatically.
"Earthquake!" Mayhem exclaimed.
Scott was seated near the stairway, in the area that Calhoun thought had the sturdiest support beams, just in case things went wrong. The boy readied his makeshift bomb and glanced nervously at the roof.
T-Bob was beating himself on the head to add the sound effects to their basement experiment.
Calhoun and Jacques sweated in silence as they shifted and pried with their levers.
"I think that has attracted their attention," Calhoun gasped. "T-Bob, pull the fuses!"
T-Bob stopped the noise and pulled at the fuse box. Nothing happened. The tubby robot pulled harder, with the same lack of success. So T-Bob braced himself against the wall and yanked with great force on the stubborn fuses. Naturally, they popped out like they'd been greased. The lights went out and T-Bob went ricocheting from pillar to post in a manner that amplified the earthquake to a 6.5 on the Richter scale, at least.
"T-Bob!" called Scott, as the frantic robot bounced into the wall, rebounded into one of the pillars that Jacques had chopped up and plowed directly into Jacques himself.
Jacques hadn't been playing soccer all his life for nothing. He fielded the robot to a halt, just as the last pillar that T-Bob hit gave away entirely and added far too much realism to their deception.
"The ceiling's collapsing!" Scott cried.
"Get over to the stairs!" hissed Calhoun.
Jacques and T-Bob leaped to where they had left Scott and made it to safety. Calhoun tried to jump away from the avalanche the best he could in the dark, and almost made it clear. Part of the ceiling came crashing down, along with a good deal of the contents from the room above. The cascade swept Calhoun off of his feet, and threw him into one of the remaining pillars. The column quivered ominously, but reluctantly held.
Jacques tried to peer through the dust that had been raised. The new hole in the ceiling let in enough light for his dilated pupils to see, but he couldn't locate Burns. "Calhoun?" There was a cough from the direction that Jacques had last seen the American.
"Calhoun? Are you all right?" Scott called anxiously.
"I think so, luckily the rest of the pillars held," Calhoun said as he tried to get up.
Jacques went over and helped him to his feet. Calhoun brushed himself off, as Jacques anxiously eyed the ceiling. Nothing else came down, but the lumberjack had the feeling that the building was just waiting for more targets.
"I would bet that has definitely caught their attention," Jacques said drily.
Calhoun looked at the new exit with interest. It looked too small and unstable to climb, so he decided to stick to his original plan. They weren't desperate enough to risk getting squashed… yet. He and Jacques joined Scott and T-Bob under the stairs.
"Let us hope the rest of the plan also works," said Jacques.
It was several minutes after the ground had stopped shaking before any of the Venom agents managed to get moving again.
"Gorey!" bellowed Mayhem, "Fetch the electric lantern."
It took Gorey quite a while to find the lantern, and then it turned out that the battery was dead.
"Argh!" exclaimed Mayhem. "Why am I surrounded by incompetents?"
"Don't look at me," Rax said from a safe distance. "You do the hiring."
Before Mayhem could reply, Vanessa got the lantern working. She tried to hand it to Rax, but he just waved it off.
"I don't do fuse boxes," the dark haired former artist informed her. "Besides, I have to check on the vehicles." And he limped off to do so.
Vanessa snorted as she went into the kitchen to find the extra fuses. She came back and thrust the heavy lantern into Gorey's hand. Gorey almost dropped it, since he had forgotten to turn on Samson again. Vanessa growled and he meekly followed the lethal beauty to the cellar.
The two venom agents had made it halfway down the stairs when their ears were assaulted with an amplified wail, like a mechanical banshee in mortal agony. Even prepared for it, the prisoners winced. Scott couldn't blame the bus driver for losing control.
Unprepared, Vanessa started, and froze on the staircase. Gorey jumped a foot in the air, lost his balance and went tumbling downstairs. Vanessa heard him start to fall, braced her hands on the railings, and pulled her feet up to let Gorey pass under her.
Gorey sprawling face down on the floor in the newly made mud puddle. The lantern went bouncing off and died.
The captives uncovered their eyes as soon as the light went out again. T-Bob and Scott pushed the wall of garbage they had piled up next to the stairway on top of Gorey with venomous glee. Then they jumped on him for good measure.
"Gorey!" commanded Vanessa. "Get that lantern working again."
"I can't get up!" Gorey said in dismay.
Vanessa sighed heavily, and started down the stairs.
Calhoun said, "Lights!"
Before Vanessa could react, the captives closed their eyes again as T-Bob turned on his headlights at full power.
The powerful lights caused Warfield to duck her head away until her mask's lenses could compensate.
"What the…" Vanessa started then switched to: "Whip…"
Jacques couldn't see, but guided by sound he reached through the open stairs and grabbed Vanessa by the ankles and she went tumbling down the stairs. Venom's distaff member plowed head first into Nash Gorey. T-Bob turned down the lights so the three human prisoners could open their eyes without being blinded. Scott found himself faced with a perfect target, and smashed the guck-bomb right into Whip. The combination of wine, T-Bob's oil, rusty water and muck from the floor made a disgusting combination. Vanessa not only couldn't see, she couldn't even breathe.
She pulled her mask off, "When I get my hands on you…"
She didn't get a chance to finish that line either. Gentlemanly Calhoun couldn't hit a lady, so he jammed a handy wine cask over her head instead. The prisoners ran up the shaky stairs and out of the cellar (thoughtfully locking it behind them.) By the time Vanessa was free, her vision had adjusted to let her see that she and Gorey were the only ones in the cellar. She scrambled to her feet, kicked Gorey, and made for the door. Somebody was in for a world of hurt.
The liberated captives had snuck most of the way to the front door when one of the local goons came in from another room with a flashlight. Mayhem's brilliant mind instantly grasped the situation. "The prisoners are escaping, grab them!"
In the next episode:
An on-again, off-again escape,
Secret weapons galore,
And an unexpected MASK volunteer.