🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part Four]

     Jack the Zipper sped about the battlefield, trying to make up in speed
what his side was missing in numbers; numbers that were only just beginning
to recover from the superspeed pounding that they had taken. And surely the
Dash would be back moments later to ensure that the fallen stayed down,
unless someone did something to prevent that. Jack sighed to himself; he
knew that his activity on the battlefield was only delaying the inevitable
confrontation with the woman who had inspired his superguy career.
     The Dash was staggeringly effective on her own; when supported by
thousands of troops, she was deadly. The turned ALUer needed only weaken a
group of the attackers, allowing the less seasoned and powerful troops to
swarm over them while they rallied. However, this did tend to make the
Dash's location noticeable to anyone who could observe the battle as a
whole. Zipping away from the fight, Jack did exactly that, noting where
heroes fell and superguys massed. Choosing his moment carefully, Jack
reached out with his newly discovered powers and began taking the Dash's
speed. Not much, just a drop in the bucket to ensure that he had the right
person.
     Jack did, and the Dash noticed. His heart pounded in fear as he
realised that the owner of the speed which he was taking had started off on
a vector that was Far Too Fast and aimed directly for him. Reacting at the
speed of thought, Jack began pulling more speed energy than he had ever
taken before, desperately trying to halt the Dash's advance.
     There was a white flash of pain as Jack's perceptions lost their
focus. Even with the speed that Jack had taken, the Dash still moved faster
than he could react. A bruise on Jack's forehead attested to that.
Staggering to his feet, and glad that he had not lost his lock on to the
speedstress, Jack continued cautiously draining speed. He turned in the
direction that the Dash's speed suggested she be, and looked at his
opponent. He felt a moment of vertigo as he saw the green costume -
familiar from magazine pictures and taped television interviews - the brown
hair and the face screwed up into a mask of fanatical rage and anger. In
that moment, Jack's only thought was to let go, allow the Dash to use her
speed at full. What right did he have, taking it? She was the experienced
speedster, the legend, the hero. He... was a play-speedster. Then Jack's
thoughts were driven from his head as he was knocked backwards several
meters. Groggily, he maintained his lock-on, feeling consciousness slipping
and sliding.
     Nursing a stabbing pain in his leg - hopefully the bone was just
bruised rather than broken - Jack faced the Dash for another charge.
Thoughts of capitulation were gone. The woman he fought had been turned
against her will, and Jack was fighting to get that will back for her. She
was moving more slowly now, no faster than half the speed of sound, but
even at that velocity she could have easily driven Jack into complete
unconsciousness. His body was badly battered from the last ram, and he was
fairly sure that one of his teeth was loose. Jack knew that he would have
to stop being cautious in his taking of the Dash's speed. He prepared to
take it all in one go, then summon help.
     Reaching out, Jack drew the Dash's speed into himself, feeling the
incredible potential flood his body. For a moment, the woman ground to a
halt, a frozen statue against the background of a battlefield. Then the
Dash strained against her constraints, pushing herself past the light
barrier, drawing on the very limits of her speed to compensate for what had
been lost. And Jack screamed, as speeds faster than were physically
possible entered his body. The two, locked into their exchange, traded
energies which should not have existed in a rational universe. The crackle
of power filled the air, stopping combatants who turned to see the two in
their strange, antithetical ballet.
     There was a flash, as Jack tried to release the taken speed into
something, anything which would alleviate the agony which he now felt. But
in his pain-haze he couldn't focus, couldn't lock onto anything to effect a
transfer. And so, the speed energy within his body roiled, catalysed...
    ...and seemed to explode outwards in a bright flash of light. Suddenly,
Jack Wynn was gone, and a backwash of energy lashed out to backhand the
Dash with a manifestation of her own speed. She fell to the ground,
insensate and spent, her power taken for the moment. She would not return
to the fight.
     The battle's balance had been restored once more. And few knew of the
sacrifices involved.
***
     Arthur Doyle, lacking anything better to do, had been filling in the
newly returned prison warden Wishstar on the crisis at hand. She nodded as
she listened, frowning ever-so-slightly at what she was hearing. Waiting
for the recap to finish, the warden considered Doyle's words before she
spoke.
    "Y'know, I never stop being amazed at just how low a person can sink,"
she said, with a rueful shake of her head. "I think I can help you with
some of your problems. Just," Wishstar blinked, then doubled over, hugging
herself as her eyes squeezed shut in pain.
     "What's wrong?" demanded Doyle, moving to support the woman. She shook
her head quickly.
     "Bloody Hell... feel like I'm being ripped in half..." she moaned as
she tried to hold back the tide of pain and anguish that had suddenly
flooded her body.
     "Medical emergency in my office!" shouted Doyle into his intercom,
moving to support the warden who had just cried out once before collapsing.
***
     Stoner's fever had broken just a few hours before, but he was still a
touch groggy and disoriented. His headache was not improved by the bursts
of med-technobabble that flared up all over the room as the Beanstalk techs
bustled about in search of a cure for the Windsor plague.
     A walk would be just the thing to clear his head, but the
over-protective lab coat geeks had insisted that he stay in bed. From what
he'd been able to translate, he risked becoming one of Maladroit's minions
if he wasn't careful. Or something like that. In any case, it was making
him irritable.
     Worse, most of the Toasty Tarts that Victor had brought him appeared
to have been lost when he'd been transferred to this laboratory. He'd only
managed to hang on to a single box (blueberry filling), and he munched on
one now. The pastry's soothing effects were not hampered in the slightest
by the fact that he was forced to eat it untoasted.
     As he chewed, he idly examined his surroundings: the large,
complicated equipment, the frazzled medtechs, and the handful of other
patients who'd been brought here for tests....
     Stoner blinked.
     He leapt out of his bed and staggered-ran across the room, knocking
aside several protesting medtechs along the way.
     "Dammit, why didn't anyone tell me he was here?" he snarled between bites.
     Victor lay unconscious on a hospital bed. Numerous electrodes were
attached to his body, and his face and chest were covered with sweat. The
female medtech who'd been leaning over him, apparently performing some
tests, started at the sound of Stoner's voice and whirled to face him, her
dark eyes wide with terror behind the immense, red-framed spectacles she
wore.
     Stoner chewed, swallowed, and continued to bellow, the intensity of
his roars heightening with each word. "Well? Whose fault is this? No one
tells when my friend gets sick? I thought it was bad when you bastards lost
my Toasty Tarts, but this-- *this*!"
     The small young woman was clearly not accustomed to being the target
of such intense rage. She held her clipboard against her chest and stared
up at Richard, petrified.
     Somewhere along the line, there was a long-enough pause between words
for Stoner to discern muffled laughter behind him. Infuriated, he whirled
around to direct his fury on those who had dared to mock him... and found
himself face to face with a small girl who had both hands clamped tightly
over her mouth to smother her giggles.
       "What are you laughing at, you little *BRAT*?" he demanded. "Shut up
*now* before I..."  He paused to compose the direst threat he could think
of, and noticed for the first time the unusual breeze across his backside.
     "That's enough!  Tie your gown, Mr. Stoner," Dr. Liberty Richards
ordered frostily. She'd somehow appeared at the side of the small girl,
whose giggles had dissolved into whimpers and who now clung to the
professor's leg.
     Rick sheepishly tied his gown, as best he could.
     Dr. Richards knelt by the child and took her by the shoulders as she
tried to recall the Freudian implications of such a sight for the child
from her introductory psychology textbook.  "Synapse, it's all right. Go
back to the office and work on your coloring books or something.  I'll
handle this evolutionarily-challenged individual!"  With that, she pointed
Stoner back towards his own bed.
        "I toldja you shoulda let me go attack the bad guys!" muttered
Synapse as she stalked off.
     "Look, Doc, I'm sorry," muttered Stoner. "But it seems to me -"
     "Look Mr Stoner, your behavior was inexcusable. Who knows what kind of
long-term psychological trauma you might have caused that girl, yelling at
her like that."
     "Long-term, my foot. Momma used to yell like that all the time at me
and my brother... and frankly, we deserved it most of the time. Hell(TM),
the stunts he an' I used to pull, it's a wonder she usually *didn't* do
more than yell...."
     "She hit you?"
     "Well, uh, yeah. Sometimes. But you gotta understand, we were doing
some pretty wild things, and--"
     Dr. Richards shook her head sadly and placed a condescending hand on
Stoner's shoulder. "How awful for you... No wonder you've developed such
aggressive tendencies. Clearly, your mother had a thing or two to learn
about--urmf!"
     "Doc, I ain't never hit a woman before. But you keep talking like that
about my momma and I swear I'll--"
     "You're a sad case!"
     "Huh?"
      "Not only tendencies towards gratuitous violence, but sexual
discrimination as well!"
     Stoner blinked.
     "Now, dammit, woman, don't confuse me!"
     "All right, I'll make it perfectly clear.  Any more tirades towards
any of the staff here, and *especially* the child, and I will personally
demonstrate the defence techniques I learned in my women's group back at
Berkeley.  And believe me, that hospital gown does not have the protective
padding that our practice attacker did!  Now, kindly let go of my lab
coat!"
      Stoner complied instantly.
      "Right, then. Back to business. I'll even tell you about Victor, if
that'll make you feel better."
     Stoner let go of the doctor's lab coat and nodded grumpily as he
crawled back into his bed.
     "Your friend entered the symptom phase of the Windsor plague a little
while ago. We thought he was perhaps immune until this happened, since it
took such a long time to manifest itself. Right now, there's not much we
can do for him except study his condition, in case he can provide us with
any new data. In the meantime, the best way *you* can help him is in a
syringe."
     "Huh?"
     "They've finally developed a possible treatment for the dormant
symbiotes. If it works, we'll be able to stop the infected normalguys from
quickening... at least, the ones we can get to in time. They just need
their first human volunteer to test it. Care to give it a shot?"
     Stoner shuddered. "I hate needles."
     Richards rolled her eyes.
***
     Chronosphere sighed, as more doors to the future opened and closed,
and the present was locked. The Dash was down, equilibrium was restored,
and one of the more powerful heroes on the battlefield was lost. This
present had been too likely, but it was also the best one for ensuring
victory. Shame how time demanded so many little tradeoffs.
     Raising his 'voice' again, Chronosphere bellowed over the battlefield.
"While we've still got a shot, I need all conscious superguys to punch a
hole through that living wall! We need a way in!"
     Chronosphere's temporal senses told him that this was a turning point
in the battle. If Earth's defenders could get Amiga and himself through,
then the future would hold many doors which led to victory. If they
couldn't - then the only way Earth could be safe from the mass-mind would
be if Maladroit were drilled through the head by a micro-meteorite falling
from space. Strangely, there was one very remote future in which exactly
that happened. Chronosphere stood, waited, and fretted.
***
     "Unhands I, ruffian!" Bizarre Guy declared as he threw off Philip
Devereaux, sending the stilt-legged superguy tumbling.  "Justice be
serving!"
     MeltDown watched as he lifted into the air to meet the marauding
Budginator and his Budgie Brigade head on.  Amazingly, Bizarre Guy's blows
not only connected, they were of sufficient force to knock The Power That
Is Budgie out of the game without severely injuring anyone.  He then used
his incredible lung capacity to absorb Flatulence Man's gas attack and
release it on other Maladroitian superguys.
     "Amazing, isn't it?" Unorthodox Girl asked.
     "Huh?" MeltDown said.  "Oh, yes.  He's showing strategy and subtlety.
With him on our side, we should be able to break through sooner or later."
     "Maybe he'd be better off playing the bizarre game," Unorthodox Lass
said.  "It sure makes him less of an insurance liability."
     "Prepares to commences to taste bizarre fists of justice!" Bizarre Guy
shouted as he plowed into another group of enemy superguys.
     "On the other hand..." MeltDown said.  "I'd rather have him the way he
was."
     "Yeah," Unorthodox Girl said, grinning.
     They went after the Most Bizarre Guy Around, strafing the opponents
surrounding him with nuclear force blasts and silly string, respectively.
***
     Silly.  Dogpiling on someone just isn't a good idea when they're
several levels stronger and tougher than you, and have the opportunity to
take advantage of that.  Michael shrugged inwardly and moved an arm
slightly.  Yup, loose enough.  Now, openings...
     Michael swiped at the trachea of the man directly on top of him,
hitting just hard enough to avoid damaging it permanently. With the man
coughing and struggling wildly in pain, the pressure on top of Michael
loosened enough to start kicking.
     Another person flew off of the pile, clutching his broken ribs.
Michael oopsed a little -- looked like that person wasn't quite as durable
as she'd seemed earlier.  Ah well, the pile was loose enough now.  Michael
threw his strength into rolling over, throwing the remaining people off of
the pile.
     He flipped to his feet, throwing several microbombs from a pocket  at
the water woman advancing on him.  She exploded into the glowing man Ben
had been fighting, and he sent out an uncontrolled electrical blast, taken
both them and one other man out.
     The small sub-battle continued, as the surprised slaves rushed
Michael at once.  He dropped to the ground and tripped an old man into a
pair of twins, then rolled and stood back up.  A hard kick to the gut of a
young woman dropped her down, and several more mini-grenades kept the bulk
of the people back.  Michael took advantage of the distraction to KO three
more people, then took a step back to catch his breath.
     A small rod came out of Michael's pocket with a quick snatch, and it
ignited into a glowing blue staff.  Meanwhile, Maladroit's slaves had
finally decided that getting close to Michael was a Bad Idea, and stepped
back back to prepare strobe lights, concussion blasts, jam throwing, and
ant control, among other things.  Michael smiled slightly and raised an
eyebrow.
     "Bye now."
     The assembled attackers blinked twice and prepared for a devastating
surprise attack.  Devastating and attack didn't occur, but surprise did,
since absolutely nothing happened.
     "Er?" one asked.
     Michael rolled his eyes.  "Sorry about that.  Looks like it's taking
her a little longer to recover than normal.  Too much ice cream after
dinner, I think."
     "Er?" the person repeated.  The confusion was ended by a collection of
punches, kicks and throws on the group from behind. Michael calmly flicked
out the force staff to finish knocking out one person flying by, and smiled
at Kim.
     "Too slow."
     "Sorry..."  Kim stretched.  "Man, I hurt.  You see any electrical
sockets I can stick my finger into to get some energy back?"
     "'fraid not."  Michael sighed and looked out at the people around
them.  "Back to work, Kim.  Still plenty of people left to play with."
     "Oh, yeah.  Um, Michael?"
     "Hm?"
     Kim waved her arms at all of the fallen people around them. "Did you
do this?"
     Michael looked innocent (a 9.1).  "Who, me?"
     "Okay," Kim shook her head.  "I guess they must've blasted each other
or something, or maybe I did better than I thought before whatever that was
hit me."
     "Must have."  Michael glanced around at a number of Maladroit's slaves
who were starting to notice that some more people needed to be sent after
the two.  "Shall we?"
     "Let's."
***
     Angellica and Avril were slowing learning how to work together as an
effective team. Using her flash-teleport, Angel blinded large groups of
attacking superguys while Avril used the magic of sonomancy to deafen them.
Completely disoriented, the embattled superguys were easy prey for aerial
savate kicks and slightly more complicated attack spells. Sometimes the
pair needed to switch tactics against particularly resilient opponents,
with Angellica flitting or teleporting about the enemy, providing a
distraction and buying time for Avril to weave a complex geomancer's spell
in the air. They had closed ranks with Karen, who was sopping wet for some
reason that she refused to discuss, and were slowly helping the rest of the
superhumans push forward, trying to open a way for Amiga and Chronosphere.
Jack was nowhere to be found, but then again it was inevitable that people
would be separated on this battlefield. Angellica allowed herself a moment
of worry about where Shard was, before returning her attention to the
matter at hand. Skilfully, she sublimated her worries into a graceful kick
to an opponent's head, knocking him out of the fight.
***
     Madge Meyerside collapsed, and Willwarp let out his breath. She had
proven to be a tougher telepath than she looked, and turning her strength
against her had not been easy, due to the outside influence on her mind. In
the end, however, she had succumbed.
     "Think fast, rainbow boy," Shadebeam snapped.  Willwarp looked up just
in time to see a severed hand flying at his face.  It bounced off an
invisible shield and went flailing off into the distance.  Glenda Garrett,
the owner of the hand, cursed and started after it, only to be blindsided
by Trashman's trashcan lid, which ricocheted off her head and on to
whatever its eventual target was.
     "Thanks," Willwarp said, as pastel colors flashed along his skin and
hair.  Shadebeam landed and fired a light beam that blinded another
marauding superguy.  "How're the others doing?"
     "So-so," Shadebeam replied.  "HotFlash, MeltDown and Bizarre Schmuck
are wreaking havoc as expected.  Microvax got knocked around by the Dash,
and Badass's masculinity was dealt a blow, so to speak.  Saw Frank around
here somewhere, and you..."
     "What about Spatial K?"
     "I don't... wait, there he is!"
     Moments later, Spatial K landed at their feet and emitted a succinct
cry of pain.  Thomas Grail, his attacker, plunged down for the kill, only
to be knocked aside by Commander Frank, who flew onward to meet up with
other allies.
     "K!" Shadebeam exclaimed, helping her brother up.  "Are you all right?"
     "Nnnn, I think so," Spatial K answered.  "Just give me a minute."
     "Where've you been?" Willwarp asked.
     "Was... fighting here and there..." K gasped.  "Alongside Unorthodox
Lass..."
     "Girl!" a cry from a ways down the battlefield came.
     "Girl for a while," K continued.  "Our powers seemed to complement one
another well.  I'd play a tune and produce something really useless, then
she'd grab it and trip up an opponent, somehow.  I was impressed."
     "So it's been going well?" Shadebeam asked, as she launched a spell of
MiSTing against a clot of approaching superguys, causing them to slink back
in embarrassment as voices from unseen sources mercilessly mocked their
appearances and actions.
     "More or less," K said, sounding like he was getting his wind back.
"There was just one problem.  What comes out of my chest whenever I open up
a dimensional rift there is essentially random, right?  Well, whenever an
edible item shot out... well, let me see if I can show you."
     With an audible snikkt, thin wind chimes emerged from Spatial K's
forearms at the wrist.  He brought them together over his head and began
playing the Oscar Meyer theme.  The dimensional rift opened across his
chest and several hot dogs that looked like they had been under a heat lamp
since the mid-80s shot out toward a rapidly approaching Mammalimal, who was
whirling an otter by the tail with each hand.
     "Hot dogs!  Yay!"
     Before the weiner missiles could strike their target, a preteen girl
streaked by and plucked them from the air, devouring them a split-second
later.
     "She keeps *doing* that," Spatial K grumbled.  "I don't know *how* she
knows, but she *does*.  I--whmmmph!"  He was prevented from speaking
further on the matter when he received a faceful of mad otter.  Shadebeam
deflected the other otter, while Willwarp sent their attacker into the
oblivion of unconsciousness with his mental powers.
***

[Continued In Part Six!]