Older, Wiser
“Christ,
Mol, go easy on the girl!” Lady P cried out as she watched the assassin empty a
clip of ammo at Triana’s wildly scissoring feet. She ran a short course from one tree to
another, her eyes dark and vaguely threatening as she rushed toward Mol.
Lady P
shuddered – what they said about Central Park was true. You really could murder someone out here in
the middle of the night and none would be the wiser.
“ARGH!”
she jumped as Molotov cried out – she and Triana were wrestling on the ground,
trying in vain to gain dominance over one another. She glanced at Triana’s feral expression and
felt a wave of nostalgia – damn, the girl would’ve made a pretty good asset to
the guild, back in the day. A pity that
she’d decided to go to design school and forego the whole villainy/superscience
quagmire.
Molotov
laughed. “You have spirit, young
one! No technique, but that may be
taught!” She pushed Triana firmly
aside. “Not enough time for that. Stay with the flabby and skinny ones. You will operate the nerve center; Sheila, Sally
and I will lead the assault!”
“Do you
know where he’s been taken?” Triana asked.
“He is
hidden in the belowground, beneath the sewers, in an abandoned subway
car.” Mol’s lips twitched.
“Think
he was into the Ninja Turtles?” 24 whispered to 21.
“God,
the second movie was TERRIBLE. If he sat
through it he really IS a monster.”
“SILENCE!”
Mol shouted. “To the subways, my
comrades – and destiny!”
**
The
small band of heroes, meanwhile, followed Molotov’s lost clue to the same
destination. They’d crawled into an
open access manhole by the tracks, where a treacherous climb led to a dark,
dank crawl toward the door before them.
Disconcerted,
Brock nevertheless tried to stay on-task. “My own brother,” he muttered. “After all this time…”
“Samson,
now’s not the time for you to get all emo on us!” complained the Monarch. “Emo?
Isn’t that what the kids are saying?” he asked Rocket, who shrugged.
“Tried
so damn hard to protect him – couldn’t stop the kids in school....twisted his
mind,” Brock muttered. “I’m gonna have
to kill him…”
“Woah,
no one said anything about death,” complained The Monarch. “I just got this suit back from the
cleaners!”
Brock
seized his former foe by the collar and shook him. “DAMN IT, this isn’t about you!”
“DON’T
DROP ME DAMN YOU!”
“LOOK
OUT!” JJ called.
The
world turned black for all four of them with merciful quickness.
***
“Deany
bo Beany?”
Dean
opened one eye and looked at Myra. She
waited in the doorway. “Have you
finished your little story, hon?”
“I kind
of started it,” Dean was surprised by the rustiness of his tone. He cleared his throat. “I’m not finished yet.”
“That’s
too bad, sweetie…I’m here to take you to see him…”
Dean
gulped. “Oh…Okay…” He grabbed the pile
of paper in his left hand and waited for Myra to unshackle him. Obediently, he allowed himself to be led
away, down the green-painted hallway.
The
third door on the left was open, and Myra led him firmly inside. “Be good, young man,” she ordered him,
closing the door behind him.
The
office was grandly appointed, lined with books.
A desk stood at the far end of the room – deep brown in contrast with
the crimson walls – and Dean managed to stutter out a cautious “hello”.
“We meet
at last, Mister Venture!” cried the chair’s occupant as he turned to face him.
Dean
gasped. “Brock?”
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