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"Clobberella here, serving justice one gloved fist at a time. How can I help deliver it today?"
Through a voice to soothe snot-blown tears, yet initiate a chilling cackle, would hear an urgent request to capture the elusive 'Peruvian Spider-Fly'. That she'd gather, it'd been released just for kicks into a world of predators, this rare experiment and pride of an exotic collection of creatures.
Hearing promises of good words and great fortunes before the click, that counsellor of old would rip off her street clothes to reveal herself as Clobberella, hustling out under starlight's cover. A real chance to fight crime over perpetuate it, redeem her dual careers; city never quite forgave her outfit's final act involving the Quantum Gemerald.
By and large a theft of sadistic sacrifice—either defy that original order and have the blood of millions on their hands, potentially, or absolutely backstab her city to let bygones be bygones with her worst nemesis, perhaps since its founding.
Heroic hustles ruined either way, especially to use up their power sources, but for word of identities, Captaincies to get out? Never more personal than to place careers in jeopardy, and never a better chance to even things up against her exposer, that safari-suited supervillain, than now.
Her cheek kiss and call to action, upon arrival at Robot Arms, to arouse a friend; they to duck into a storage closet and emerge as Captain Yesterday, charging occupants be damned. Following suit, words of fame and riches to tempt an ally into donning their crown, whereby she'd lead them beneath a metal grate, through underground sewers, to just 'borrow' a vehicle from work.
No scent to bother her, nor routes not known like her own hand, to ensure they'd emerge in HQ's hangar—she to then send Yesterday upstairs with fishhook and magnet. Trick of an old colleague there to help 'commandeer' her ship outside office hours, just for a little while.
"Yesterday? King?" she'd say to jangle her keys. "Tonight's the night when justice comes back swinging."
After a quiet hover to get far above earshot, they'd launch toward their latest frontier, land within a thick forest glade somewhere outside the Milky Way—Malumnus System, her ship would determine. A job for her machete, always sharp and ready, quite unlike her support crew; had to smirk and cross arms over the half-dozen seatbelts they'd strap in with.
"Guys, have I ever abandoned you as Captain? Now quit being such babies and get off our ship."
"Yeah, you're right Leels. As always. Come on Bender, long as we stick together we'll—"
"Super King, peasant! Get it right or be pendin' for a bendin', got it?"
Glare of death given just to her—by then, his default—before she'd begin hacking through the growth, creatures to get their inquisitive looks in before returning to clear waters, foliage, or fresh game. Perhaps among the purest worlds she had ever explored, and not for nothing, to deliver all over the universe.
Real pity to be lacking powers though, as promised park-walks turned to Olympus-level climbs; Yesterday's outfit—lifestyle too, in truth—to drag him well behind before she'd hear comments on a cooling breeze, before hearing giggles over cheeks being tickled. All fun and games, and then quite the scream.
"Aaaagghh, flying spider!"
That to get her immediate attention, sprint back to witness him leap with hope into Super King's arms, only to crash upon earth for no efforts given.
"Really, King?"
"It's a spider with wings, so what? A true hero never cowers."
Knew better than to believe him, as she'd coax the creature into trusting her; laughs had once it settled upon her palm, comfy as could be.
"See guys, what'd I tell ya? We wait on directions, drop this little guy off, then go home famous and filthy stinking rich."
"Not quite what was meant by good words and great fortunes, my dear Clobberella."
Booming voice across the lands, lights from way above to blind them all, and fangs through her glove to realise there was trouble.
"Been a pleasure my super-zeroes, but I'm afraid here's where I cut off our ties… Forever."
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A glare of greens, their laughs to vanish into a void; fears of coming to, to start looping haymakers and hooks with savage abandon.
"Sweet Doritos of Ocho Rios, save yuhselves, she's gonna sleep-fight again!"
Nothing but the breeze to swing for, even to see blobs about, and only the rumble of a nearby nuke to rip her back with rushed breaths, eye wide open. Sound of such anyway, to finally refocus; present-day HQ, colleagues staring from under paperwork or conference tables.
A new day of no deliveries nor inquiries—double donuts, in short—as she'd try resting again, and yet another meeting declared to address the issue. Not one she cared to discuss, and Lord help the souls to start prying.
"Drove us right into the dirt, can't deny it… I deserve this."
"Gleesh Ma'am, you sure you're okay?" her shoulder was palmed. "There anything you gotta get off your mind, or—"
"Mind your friggin' business, would you?"
Snap back to leave Amy dropping a catalogue, as if she read anything else, and then a clack of claws to whip towards their in-house doctor, Zoidberg. Even to try and help, not that he ever did, was never a good time to hail her.
"Leela, my friend, my dumpster's always open," she'd hear. "Or my office, of course."
"Cram it fat sack. I'd sooner be grateful for NOTHING, than to share anything with you."
"Awwww…"
Sudden cricks of bone to then wince a little; rising for his say, their company founder and chief executive. Often her alone, least of late, to suffer the brunt of his rants, animosity over her apparent performance, or bankruptcy woes, or whatever was worth blame. Not that she could tell, when they'd devolve into spit-riddled gibberish each time.
This time however, fears of what'd happen to keep silent; low growl to let out, eye to raise and pierce those shot glass spectacles, then a slam of fists to turn conference tables into cords of firewood right then.
"Ohhh, shut your damned mouth, you senile old idiot!"
"Captain, dat's no way to address yuh superior."
"You cram a Manwich in it Hermes, before my fist does."
Nothing like her skills to silence any protests, as she'd serve that ancient one a rant of her own.
"For the hundredth time this month, HOW can I meet your quotas when nothing arrives to help me do so? What the hell for, when the money we make gets funnelled into your worthless lab? And why should I bother, when even my spit's worth more than your company?"
"Hu-whaa? I don't recall—"
"Like hell! While you doddle about making stupid one-off gags, I'm flying a ship that hasn't been serviced in months, and that INCLUDES repairs. Must I smack you with Bessie's logs to make you see?"
"Oh yes Captain, of course!"
As usual, a nod and smile before he'd shrug at Hermes, stare helpless to their only true asset still left. The only creation, in senses figurative and literal, to shadow his whole life's work, perhaps besides another project left tarped over, lately collecting dust.
"Oh, what's the point arguing with you?" she'd clutch her forehead. "Ever since you seized majority control, all we've done is plummet toward that black hole where all businesses go to die. Frankly, I reckon we should just cut our losses, and level this hellhole into a carpark."
"I warned you against being honest and using your brain!"
"Would a nice spritz of mine help, my lady?"
Boss's chidings and crab's offers to summon a roar, seize her things and storm away, closing the elevator without a word. Course, couldn't help but overhear the rest to come.
"Well, okay den, 'dat settles the day's business. Jah willing, I'll be seeing yuh all tomorrow, bright and early."
"Hermes, hold up! I'm not one to complain or anything, but why has nobody tossed food in my—"
"Do I sound like I care? Go shove a fish in it, yuh mouldy old parasite."
A smirk and thoughts of stealing that insult, while she'd get to ground floor; could never understand—wasn't alone—why the boss kept him, when even slave wages didn't cover his liability.
"Would be better off deep-roasting that dumbass crab… Second thought, there'd be nothing on Earth that'd EVER disguise that taste."
With a shudder over such desperation, she'd barge out the lobby and descend her gaze to the bitumen, not even a sunset to avert it. The approach of an anniversary, one of so-called comebacks turned paybacks, to drag her into tubes and through old hangouts, hands buried inside her jacket.
"Gotta do what you gotta do, they said... Was as life should be, they'd tell me."
First stop, the old workplace, where her big chase began and might've ended were it not for a noble act, not that she ever knew. Next, their local bar O'Zorgnax's, where she'd run those fugitives out after their 'attempt' at hide-and-seek. Lastly, museums and old city ruins, where further memories would manifest, shake her into rushing back home.
Adrenaline to not cease even to get inside, and a whirlwind of raiding fridges, grabbing magazines, flicking 33s and 45s to follow; faint hopes of finding a distraction, any kind, to assuage what was coming.
"C'mon c'mon, any merrie melody will do… Can't I get at least a minute's peace for once?"
One record of several to rip out and click on, only for kick drums, subtle bass strums, and a familiar angelic voice to fill the room. Her heart to wither for recognising it, as the song that'd play moments before her secret phone began to ring.
"Just the two—"
Those words to slap the needle off, send her running for cotton sheets. Plunging into them, there was no caring how wet they'd become, just so long as she kept the strength to keep awake.
"Please let me be above sleep… Please don't send me back there…"
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"What did you expect hero? Easy money, easy peace? I thought you were smarter than that."
Echoes again taunting her while she gripped her wrist, solemn promise yelled to squash that creep—maybe spiders too—only for Yesterday and King to get her attention. A rather striking pain to stop her paying attention, until she'd notice a series of predators start circling; unbeknownst to her, that sting was bugged to leave a pheromone behind.
Dead meat for all money, she was sure, only for extending metal limbs to catch her eye.
"Bonedus art weus, so sayeth the Latin… But I'LL SAVE ME!"
Collective horrors to realise his words carried a precise meaning, when he'd leap for safety and took off running, leaving them behind for the ship. Choice words spat for this abdication, and that moment to share her confessions, hug Yesterday tight, and await the ripping of flesh and bone.
He to have other ideas though, to escape the grip and press her above his head, by pure adrenaline.
"Fry, what are you—please tell me this ain't one of your stupid, sweet sacrifices again."
"Leela, should that shiny metal bastard get away, we BOTH die. How could I live, to let that happen?"
"Put me down, damn you, there's gotta be a—"
"Just grab that wheel and get outta here, do whatever you must. I'll be okay, I foot-swear it."
A supposed launch to safety in hopes of buying precious time, only to thud onto grass just a few feet away, still within dangerous circles. Such embarrassment to earn bleats and roars, before a grey trunk took over instead, wrapping about and flinging her like a human tin can.
Harder landing she hadn't known, but no time to grieve, look back nor groan as she sprinted for the glade, scrabbling through the forest in search of escape.
Might've found it too, if not for a scream to tear such worlds asunder, bolt her and the entire block upright. Blood to curdle then boil in rushing downstairs, nearly shoving the front door off its hinges.
"Hey you, shut the HELL up!"
Source of trouble to scramble to their feet—advancing up close, could only gag over the stench as he gabbled on, backed off, and even tried to beg. Simple clothes it seemed of white and black, drowned in chunky bits of orange, to stare him straight down.
"I don't care, you drunken moron, YOU woke us all up. Lucky for us, I've got five minutes to spare."
Didn't even take two seconds to crack jabs into his nose, left that boy welling up and wobbling backwards. Would ensure he'd answer for his blunder, after all, wasn't any threat to really have a choice.
"Did I give YOU the right to speak? One more word, and you'll be saying your prayers. Now bring it!"
Almost burst out laughing to watch hands go up, as with almost bored ease, she'd chop through his guard, strike where she pleased, and slapped away the punches she let him throw. Enough fun eventually had to clutch his skull and fire a knee direct into his jaw, send that disgrace hurtling over.
Heads bouncing off concrete, from her angle, to bite her knuckles; nothing like fears of murder in mind, to make a situation worse.
"For Heaven's Gate, the hell's wrong with you? Looks a hot mess as is… Oh screw him, still got a minute left."
No fear of retaliation as boots and fists would knead his flesh, and was about to dust her hands of him when she found them, and her outfit too, coated in his orange muck. Might've broken her rule and restarted the clock, instead, was content to leave to a chorus of cheers and "You go, girls!" from those few windows lit above.
Reaching the door, only then would she turn back and twist her lips, to that bum she'd lay out cold.
"May mercy grant you a quick death, cause I WON'T to lose my dreams again."
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As if vivid sorts under the covers, or anxieties over consequences weren't enough, she would also greet a nightmare right before breakfast.
Groggy head to get eyefuls of steak, chicken and fresh produce, all hauled out then forgotten; trays upon trays, entire shelves, to devolve into bonanzas of bacteria overnight. By the time she let her pet scarf down that perpetual buffet, could only count upon scraps to still enjoy.
"Total hell! Not like I'm behind on bills and rent or anything, ohhh no."
Thumping hammerfist on the counter to rattle her Replicator, jump it out of standby; no time left to screw about, as she'd clear her throat.
"Coffee, piping hot, black… NOW."
"M-m-my word, Miss, please just get yourself to bed. That's an—"
"Excuse me? I DO the orderin' 'round here, so I'LL decide when I wanna sleep. Now unless you fancy cold concrete from three floors up, how 'bout you hurry up?"
Hearing outright refusal at first, she didn't hesitate to grab it and get moving, direct for her bedroom. Satisfaction only to hear it shout and beg, and soon a snatch of mug and sizzle of tongue to finally get her order.
"All the things I'd do—crimes too—to keep our city safe… And this is how those jerks thank—"
Always the same or similar thoughts to remember her whispers, promises for coming out of retirement—levels of fame and fortune that no crew of Farnsworth's could achieve, even to deliver 'till his age. Course, had to be an eventual reneging to break that word, any bonds as well.
"May that traitor keep 'spinnin in the abyss—should I see 'em again, shiny metal ass is mine."
Temptations to remain under the shower's torrent; calming effect to get her reminiscing over city excursions, long-gone days of enjoying the harmony and brilliance of man and nature. Never such luxuries in old—nigh-permanent—homes, where memories alone would snap her into having a quick soap and rinse of hair.
"Can pamper myself another day, right now, I've got a spaceship to fly."
Was well on her way after a blow dry and grab of her things, only for a familiar odour to swirl about, more than enough to shunt work aside and investigate with a headshake. For starters, New New York's sunrise to already crust up that stranger's white shirt and black jeans.
A closer look to reveal brown thorns from neck to cheek, a balding mess up top, to beg for a thorough shave. Gentle push with boots to prove he was a human waterbed, and beyond that, thighs like boab trees, cow-sized calves, and feet somehow larger than her own.
"To think I could kill in less time than to boil an egg… His hands to ruin him, mine to only help it along."
Choice right then to seize, dump, and wash out her neighbour's bucket of cigarette butts, fill it to brimming from her sink. Couldn't help a cold sweat upon returning, gazing about from court to street corner hoping no-one would see her.
"Nothing like instant, ice-cold filtered goodness. If this don't wake him, I'd better hide the body."
Her big splash to drench him back to life, yet shudders had over the efforts he'd give to remain as such. From sideways scrambles in attempts to correct himself, to concrete thumps for keeling forward, she knew she had to intervene, prevent any further attempts.
"Look, you need a hand before you finish yourself off?"
Heard only mumbles before he took another attempt, or rather, the shakiest rise she would see out of anyone. Perhaps no surprise then, when his legs would collapse and leave him tasting sidewalk again.
"Come on bub, I ain't got all day. You want any help or not?"
Daggered looks and steaming nose to finally lose patience, toss the bucket to leave him little better than a drowned rat.
"Fine, go be grateful for the bath instead. That'll teach ya to be such a jerk."
Leaving that stranger behind, would take a beeline to the Brown Drip, that queue around the corner where dozen cup a day habits, not hers, began. Bean lovers and baristas, regardless, to pass wary glances, especially after she got up front and while she waited beside.
"Nothing halts for nobody, lucky this stuff saves lives… Starting with these losers."
"Pick up for octuple espresso, pronto-like!"
Spirits of Mexico to pray upon in choking that crude oil down, to join colleagues seated and waiting; by some miracle, made roll call with moments to spare. Course, to have ways of staying marked on time, knew deep down it mattered not.
Grins to cause goosebumps while the agenda was set out, then the lounge suite to settle in once Planet Express, albeit at a mutter, was declared open for business. Clicking through the channels, nothing at all to ensnare her; home shopping first to advertise camouflaging briefs, and no live malfunctions to gift her a laugh.
"Kittens make me gassy; they're but one reason I'm called Annihilator. BWA HA HA HA!"
Fake laughs in response, plus upcoming obits to earn one more click, this time the literal first steps of 'Babyface' Bob toward the ring, only to be ambushed with cradle legs by one 'Kutey' Kid Krush.
"Oh Lord, who'd possess Doubledeal to green-light this garbage?"
ETW to click away with prejudice, only for familiar programs to grace the screen, cause a flash each time.
"So excited for this, folks… You want a holiday special, my 'Hamill on the Bone' will give your tastebuds a new hope! Now what you're gonna do is—"
*CLICK*
"Before you lies an abyss; things and ideas, what-fors and what-ifs, all pooling into a bottomless lake. Waters to thirst you as you drink, yet clear both mind and body. It's real life, it's fantasy, it's both—be mindful which is which before you kick down *THUMP* The Scary Door."
*CLICK*
"Mind telling me, Monique, why these Build-a-Bots are in my mansion, and if they're mine?"
Sudden cry of "Calculon!" to spring up and launch off the couch; scream of "Hi-yah!" to drive her boot right through the screen. Among the attic's refuse of bungled time machines, canine make-up, and one-off gags to try and regain calm, though in doing so, would stare once more toward the Smell-O-Scope and that giant arched window to house it.
A tour de force for scented discovery, through applying the lessons of a great ancestor, or so her boss had her believe. Featuring a gigantic lens, stench coil, and 'Funkometer' serving in its main roles, it was capable of figuring out the universe's chemical makeups, then replicating such odours to near-perfect degrees.
Turn of the century's Academy Prize winner, and an unspeakable force of questions and hopes since then. Not just friendship to feed obsessions of sniffing about, she'd say, though to be denied any personal use aboard the ship, was pointless to seek out any answers.
Daresay that Farnsworth relished in denying her, not that she had proof, as after a little reflection of adventures by the Widow's Walk, she would seek out Amy with apologies in mind. Her second-in-command, ogling catalogues as usual, to not have moved since their meeting, until a cleared throat would earn a long lean back.
"Relax Amy, ain't gonna tear your head off. You got a minute?"
"Was about to axe the same of you, Captain. Don't know whether to cuddle or commit you these days."
"Well, by all means Dr. Watson, do enlighten me. What do you think's the matter with me?"
"Just Miss Wong, okay? And I'm your co-pilot, not a mind-reader; you think I've got a clue?"
"Hey, watch the smart mouth. And how do you suppose I start, hmm? Who on Earth could ever make sense of the days I've had?"
"And keeping this thing of silence, that's helpful is it? If what we see at work means anything, then no wonder why everyone keeps clear."
"Oh please, girl. How could you say something that stupid, with a straight face, to stare at the REAL reason?"
"Stupid?" Amy'd glare. "How so, when that hasn't stopped you from having dates before? Looking ready to commit a murder spree, on the other hand…"
Gave a stare to freeze anyone, never mind Amy who'd raise her hands in haste.
"Shwhoa, cool it. I'm just saying, you're never gonna get answers to not open up. Love especially."
Stormed off to not get the answer she wanted; closest to a friend nowadays, and they'd take any reason to give the other the business. Thoughts of meeting Hermes to discuss her options, but only until rustles and shuffles brought her ear to the doctor's office. A sigh to think of Zoidberg as a healer, to rap her knuckles upon the glass.
"I'll be a minute!"
Knife from her boot to pick the lock, first sights to be the crab sprinkling salt and pepper over a pile of paperwork. Mightn't have minded at first, even tolerated the tiny squeals, but quickly changed her mind once particular details caught her eye.
"The hell are you—Give those back here!"
"Awwww…"
"What's the big idea trying to eat our medical records, daresay evidence? Just go buy a ream, you—"
"Let me borrow a few bucks, and it's a deal. Otherwise, what brings the upbeat one in to deny my lunch?"
"Upbeat?" she'd lean against a counter. "On what planet, idiot? How 'bout instead of trying to diagnose me, you shut up and listen?"
"Who do I look like, a psychologist? You guys barely call me a doctor, for—"
"All the time I've had the bad luck of knowing ya, and you really think you deserve that reputation?"
"Any clam could see, young man, that your bother's a clear case of barnacle rot. And as an expert on medical medicine, my best advice is to just accept it. No cure, and never will be."
Nails to dig deep as her hands curled again; tempted enough to make lobster bisque, but knew what that creature was capable of. Memories of his kind's mating season, seared for life in her brain.
"Ohhh, for the love of—okay, simple and sweet. It's on me to protect my crew, and even for the brave smiles and black coffees, that's a promise I can't keep with confidence lately. Now, can you suggest anything, at ALL, on how to avoid such a situation?"
Doctor's turned back, a tide of foreign cursing over the intercom, to quiver her and begin a slow advance. One to scuttle him up the walls, while she'd continue to twitch.
"If you can't help, just say so; God knows we can't expect it. But it's YOUR head in a pot to—"
"Somebody, help, I'm being threatened!"
Black ink to blind her without warning; could only hear him scuttle out of his own office.
"Woob woob woob woob woob woob woob woob, nyeh eh eh!"
To hear the drips of black ooze, know of nostrils burning and tears leaking, feel her fingers cling to try wiping it away, was to begin setting off tremors beneath her chest. Nearby sink to scrub her hands, more or less clear her vision, and soon her foot to gently shut the door…
No screams, nor even a whisper, just what birth gave her to rip apart any papers or spare scrubs, grab anything not nailed down to shatter two-way screens. The winds of Hurricane Leela to crucify that office, and no soul brave enough to put a stop to it.
"Gonna Johnny my paycheck soon, I swear to—"
Flow of steam and water again to melt that gunk off her body, and for grabbing an emergency outfit, all her things before rushing out the lobby, right then knew no better time to reminisce on what little she had.