Terror is the reasonable reaction to the what Misao is, and as you explore her character further...
The terror is supposed to grow.
Frozen in Carbonite
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Legends: A Story of Lies [Star vs. The Forces of Evil, Gravity Falls, Big Bad Beetleborgs]
- Thread starter The Ero-Sennin
- Start date
The terror is supposed to grow.
Rufus Shinra
Well-known member
Terror is the initial reasonable reaction. Acceptance is the next one: it's silly and unproductive to feel terrified over a constant force in the background that you have no control over and that can wreck your ass on a whim. If it is utterly unstoppable and untouchable, well, resistance is futile.
Volume 7 EX Final Result
It's been a minute. A long minute. With my work on Legends resuming (including a lot more 1899 stuff), it's time for the blood to get flowing here.
"Kombat Knat has been destroyed," Vexor reported to his generals. "With that, we've lost a key asset."
The Magnavores were gathered in front of Noxic's workshop, Vexor looking at the mostly finished project with his back to his minions. "A new approach will be needed to deal with our enemies."
He turned just enough to look back and address them. "Any suggestions?"
Jara spoke first, and forcefully. "We must lure them out onto a battlefield of our choosing, where they cannot escape to their precious base or school–even if they escape the Gaohm Zone."
Typhus agreed. "This is the third time our guys showed up at that school of theirs and they pulled out some muscle or firepower that made life harder for us."
"That dump they call a base is a no go, too. Anti-Teleport, big honkin' guns, and all their kit is there too," Noxic complained.
Jara spoke. "We need a comprehensive strategy. Not merely throwing things against the wall. We need to take what we have learned from each of these encounters and use it to gain the advantage! These are children with ruinous powers at their fingertips playing at being heroes, not soldiers fighting a war, this should not be a puzzle for us!"
Vexor faced Noxic's workshop. "All of you are correct."
Noxic was surprised that he was being praised. "We are?"
Jara was given pause. "What is it?"
"This is a war, and we are warriors," Vexor began, "We've crossed swords with the Melzard Tribe and survived the attentions of Bill Cipher. Though limited in resources and clarity, we do have the advantage of experience and tenacity. Most importantly, however, we are free to prosecute this war as we see fit. To our own tune, at our own pace, and not to the convenience of the enemy."
Typhus and Noxic looked at each other, before the latter asked. "So… what, we're going to start doing stuff after they go to bed or somethin'?"
Jara understood what Vexor was getting at. "Yes, exactly that. At night while they sleep, during the day while they hide behind their pet troll. From the start of this, we have been the ones who control when a battle begins, and we must press that advantage!"
"Yeah, okay, but what if they decide to fight us anyway?" Noxic asked.
Vexor chuckled. "Then it is even better for us."
Now that part Jara was a little lost on. "What do you mean?"
Vexor gestured to Noxic's workshop. "This will be a war of attrition. And this is our weapon to win that battle."
He turned to face them. "So let them come in the night, let them break their social obligations to play hero. We will wear them down with battle after battle, and their delusions of heroism will allow them to fall exhausted at our feet."
Typhus punched his palm into his fist. "All right! Let's fight a real war! They won't know what hit them."
"You're still gonna need that order of Scabs, right, Vexor?" Noxic asked.
"They are essential to the plan." He then turned to Jara. "And this force will need a commander. One able to work in the field, independent of you."
Jara nodded. "Then we have some comics to read, there is one I have in mind for what you ask."
Vexor tilted towards Jara in a nod. "I expect nothing but good results."
Sitting in the back of the Hyuuga Heavy Industries SUV, Shego worked her jaw and rubbed her face against the door to finally peel the sticky tape from her mouth. The moment it was free, she turned and looked at Señor Senior Junior, who was seated peacefully on the other end of the bench seat at the very back of the vehicle. He was wearing the nervous, goofy smile of a man hoping to not get his face bitten off but knowing he likely will.
Rather than bare her fangs to start tearing off strips of his face, she broke into a dangerous smile. "So… Junior… can you answer me a question?"
"Yes, of course," he quickly and obediently answered as two of the armed guards got into the front seats and the SUV started up.
"What…" Shego began quietly, prompting Junior to brace himself for the vocal eruption to follow. "THE FUCK?!"
Junior recoiled, pushed back just as much by the fury in her voice. "YOU HAD A LITERAL MAGIC BULLSHIT POWERED ARMOR IN YOUR BACK FUCKING POCKET, AND YOU PUT IT ON THE FUCKING HOSTAGE?!"
Junior shrank with every boiling word from her mouth. "Look! Look! Please understand, I had to do it!"
"YOU KIDNAPPED A FUCKING HYUUGA JUST TO HAND HER BACK ON A SILVER PLATE TO HER MOM, AND FOR NOTHING!"
She threw her head back against the door and its bullet-proof window.
"I HAD TO FIGHT A MAGICAL FUCKING GIRL, SSJ, DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW BULLSHIT THAT IS?!"
When Shego didn't start screaming again after a few moments, Junior let out a sigh. "I suppose that you would not understand."
"You're right, I don't." Shego snarled. "So, enlighten me, SSJ. Why did you go through all the trouble to hunt down and kidnap Misao Darlian? If we just took that thing that you gave her, we'd be running the world instead of scores!"
Junior responded promptly. "Do you remember when I said that this was a matter of family pride?"
"It's why I've been on board with this until very recently."
He winced at the growl Shego trailed off into but maintained his composure. "Running scores is fun. It is the most fun I have ever had, and I have learned a lot from you, Shego. What I've learned has opened doors for me that my wealth alone could never, and I want to step through them."
Curiosity replaced Shego's anger. "Hold on, what are you trying to say here, exactly?"
"I am saying that by kidnapping the daughter of one of the most powerful people in the world–who can do anything up to and including taking everything a billionaire has and vanishing his children–I have proven that I am worth more than just my father's name or money."
When he put it like that, Shego couldn't be mad anymore. "You little shit, I get it now! You pulled the big one and lived."
"We pulled the big one and lived," Junior corrected her.
Shego chuckled. "Every time I think I'm going to demote you to paycheck provider, you remind me that you're the best I've worked with, SSJ. Man, now I wonder what's next for you."
Junior let out a reluctant sigh. "Sadly, you will have to wait and see."
Wariness returned, and Shego gave him a look. "Huh? No, the second I get a gap with these restraints off, we're out of here."
He shook his head. "No, I mean, this is the end of our association. From here on out, I doubt we will see each other again."
The SUV pulled to a stop, and Shego immediately noticed flashing lights outside. "Huh? Wait." She turned back to Junior. "What's going to happen to you?"
Junior shrugged his shoulders. "That's up to fate, I guess. Either way, it's been fun." He brightened. "Oh, and do not tell my father, please? You know how he gets worried about me, okay?"
The door opened, and an LA County Sheriff grabbed Shego and pulled her out of the car. "Up to fate…? Junior! I need a little bit more context?! What's going to happen to you?!" She yelled as she was dragged out of the vehicle.
She kept shouting, asking what he meant, before just calling out his name, before the closing of an armored police van's doors cut her voice off.
A few moments later, the flashing lights receded as the Sheriff's units drove away to take her to lock up. A few moments after that, the door to the SUV opened, and in climbed Momiji Hyuuga.
"I've heard stories about Shego having a good partnership with you, but hearing her actually concerned for someone else was… odd," she admitted while she closed the door and sat beside him.
Junior nodded. "She is a good teacher who values competence, innovation, and assertiveness. You don't even need to appeal to her ego, she likes if you do something she hadn't thought of."
Momiji weighed on that with a hum. "That is something I will keep in mind for later, thank you."
As Momiji buckled herself in and the SUV got moving, Junior asked. "So, what happens now?"
Momiji reached into her pocket and pulled out the strange necklace that Junior had given to Misao, and activated the armor that allowed her to defeat Kombat Knat. "You completed an impossible task, even if it did end with you being arrested. You demonstrated all the qualities needed during your trial–patience, daring, cunning, ruthlessness, restraint, and determination in the face of unwinnable odds."
"Once I knew Kim Possible was on my trail, it was certainly over," Junior admitted. "But those other guys… I did not expect them to be so aggressive!"
"If you only knew," Momiji said with a small laugh. "But you will soon enough. You'll know everything, and that will be your true final test."
Junior looked disappointed. "There is still one more thing?"
She nodded. "A simple yes or no question: Do you believe you can handle the truth of what you are becoming part of?"
Señor Senior Junior's disappointment vanished, but before the joy of success could reach him, he stopped and considered the question. "… That is a good question." Slowly he nodded. "I believe I can. I accepted this trial and every risk that came with it, the truth should be no different."
"Good answer," she said before reaching over and unlocking his handcuffs.
"Welcome to the 47, Señor Senior Junior."
In the back yard of the Pines' home. Mabel opened the back yard's gate, carrying a box stacked with closed cardboard trays. "Hey, brocephalus, the food's here! Also, the Beetleborgs all made it home without a problem."
Dipper, sitting at the other end of the picnic table across from Kim, nodded to his sister. The Pines twins, Marco, Jackie, Janna, and Star were gathered with Team Possible, waiting for the victory feast that they ordered on their way back from the Vanderhoff residence. Misao was already in bed. Worn out as she was after her the day, she'd gone straight up to their room and fell asleep with Waddles in her arms, leaving everyone else to socialize as the evening deepened into night.
"Okay, Dipper and I have Steak Picado! For Kim we have a Chicken burrito," Mabel announced as she went around the table. "For Ron and Rufus, we have Tacos and Nachos, Chile Rellenos for Janna, Aguachile de Camarón for Jackie, and Nachos for Star and Marco!"
"Thanks Mabel," Dipper said as he took his tray, before he turned his attention back to Kim, Ron, and of course Rufus. "So, I wanted to say thanks again for coming to help deal with this, especially on such short notice."
"It's so no big," Kim assured him, "We do short notice all the time. Plus, I got to spend a day in LA–even if it was The Mathter causing you trouble I'd be here."
Marco chimed in. "After fighting Shego, I'm gonna say I'd rather fight the Mathter."
Star protested. "Math is way harder than fighting Shego, what are you talking about?"
Ron was in full agreement. "Yeah, Shego is just trying to kill us. Math is actual torture."
"Thank you!" Star exclaimed in vindication.
"Still," Ron then conceded, "Even if it was the Mathter, I'll come out here so I can visit the Tex-Mex Mecca… Bueno Nacho Headquarters."
At that, Marco made a face. "Oh yeah, I forgot that you like that stuff. Honestly? Bueno Nacho sucks."
Ron's mouth dropped open, as he slowly turned to stare at Marco, Rufus joining him.
Kim rolled her eyes and turned back to Dipper. "Anyway, we've actually been waiting for you to get back to us about Shego and SSJ after Mabel first gave the heads up."
"We would've gotten to you sooner, but as you saw, we've been dealing with other business." He explained.
"About that," Kim replied, "If you need our help with the Magnavores, don't hesitate to call again, they sound like bad news."
"I'll keep that in mind, you were crazy out there."
Kim preened under his praise. "Heh, thanks."
"What do you mean Bueno Nacho sucks?" Ron asked, as if Marco Diaz just insulted his family and Rufus.
"Exactly what I mean, it sucks," Marco explained.
Jackie, beside him, agreed. "It totally sucks."
Ron looked directly to his left at Star. "Tell me you've had Bueno Nacho and tell them that it doesn't suck."
"Ooh, that means Good Nacho, doesn't it?" Star asked. "I've had Bueno Nachos, made by Marco."
"Thank you," Marco said to her.
"But Bueno Nacho the restaurant? Is there even one in Echo Creek?"
"Like ten years ago, yeah," Jackie explained. "It went out of business in like a year because no one went."
"How is that possible?" Ron asked.
Janna, who was eating her chile rellenos, looked over. "Britta's Tacos kicked its butt, that's how."
"Yeah," Marco continued, "A big chain making glorified lunch food isn't competing with authentic local flavor."
Ron looked down at the cardboard container, and then turned his nose up. "Well, I'm not eating this, then."
Kim looked away from Dipper. "Ron, just eat the food."
"No, not until they stop disparaging the good name of Bueno Nacho!" Ron declared.
Kim stared at him. "You mean the same Bueno Nacho that changed the entire menu and got rid of your Naco Night discount?"
"It's a misstep on their part, but I'm still going to stand up for them!"
Janna called over. "Bueno Nacho is a multi-billion-dollar corporation. You don't need to defend its honor."
"I'm practically its Employee of the Year!" Ron retorted. "I put the Naco on the menu! I even get royalties for it… though my parents and our accountant said I can't touch it until I'm eighteen."
Dipper perked up and looked at Ron. "You're finally gotten paid for it? How much?"
"Since I get a percentage of every sale, it's about a hundred million dollars."
"WHAT?!" Dipper, Mabel, and Marco shouted at once.
"Wow, you could buy a peerage in Mewni with that cash," Star said.
Jackie was impressed and disturbed. "That many people like Bueno Nacho?"
Janna leaned over. "There's no accounting for taste, babe."
"They should be held accountable!" Marco demanded.
Ron shook his head. "I really thought we could be friends…"
Mabel, ever the benevolent, finally weighed in. "Boys! Boys! There's no need to fight over who's better, Bueno Nacho or Britta's Tacos. What matters now, is that we kicked Shego and Señor Senior Junior's butts, and have good food to celebrate."
She held up a wad of cash measured in 50s and 100s. "Good food that we didn't pay for!"
Dipper stared at the money. "Mabel, where'd you get that from?"
"I took it from Trip's bedroom just before we left, it was just lying around all willy-nilly!" She waved the money back and forth. "We don't have to worry about petty cash for the rest of the school year with this!"
Dipper figured as much. "Oh, well, okay. Hopefully there's more when we go back after the cleanup."
Ron, fine with not fighting over food, still had a lingering issue with that. "Is that okay? Just… taking their stuff?"
Dipper nodded. "Ron, even as I'm fairly certain Misao's mom is part of some huge shadowy organization that controls the world from the shadows and allows her to get away with what she did, I'm perfectly fine with what happened to Trip and Van and I'm glad we never have to deal with them again."
"This really feels like some kind of crazy dream now," Jackie admitted from where she sat between Marco and Janna. "Not only are we done with those turbo dweebs, but I got to fight Shego, too. Shego! And I did pretty good."
"You did better than me," Star grumbled, figuratively and literally sore about getting knocked out by Shego during the brawl.
Dipper looked over at Jackie as she stuffed several lime-cooked shrimps into her mouth. "Yeah, I have to say… you went really hard against her and that Goblin idiot. I wish we had you on sooner."
Jackie smiled as she swallowed her food, then replied. "It'd be nice if Marco, Star, and I could dodge like Kim or take a hit like the Beetleborgs, but I'm still ready to fight the Magnavores anytime."
Star, with a mouthful of chips, suddenly raised her hand as she tried to speak. "Ooh! Ooh! I'm working on something for that!"
Everyone turned to Star as she forced down her food, coughed, then eagerly explained. "Flabber isn't the only one who can magic up some armor and superpowers!" She placed a hand on her chest. "I am planning cool magical armor for everyone who is not a Beetleborg!"
Based solely on his own experience with Star's magic experiments, Marco felt uneasy at her declaration–but stopped short of expressing that concern out loud.
Jackie, Mabel, and Janna on the other hand, were immediately hooked, with Mabel gasping aloud. "Let me help design the armor. LET ME HELP DESIGN THE ARMOR! I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS!"
Jackie was enamored. "Dude, can I have like an ocean theme? There's a thing I wanna do with it!"
Janna hummed, and then chimed in. "I want something dark and cool. Like Raven from Teen Titans–with just as much leg on display."
"Huh," Dipper said, "You'd square up if you had armor?"
"Nah, but I would be there to look good."
Star squealed at the support she had for the effort. "I'm already working on the materials for it. According to the Magic Instruction Book, my Mom has her own armor she wears for battle, so I'm going to ask her where she got the materials from and then grab them myself."
That Marco could comment on. "Is that a good idea? Your Mom might find out what's going on."
Star dismissed it. "Pshaw. All I have to do is tell her that I'm studying at all from the book, and she won't even care about the smaller details. She'll just think I'm being more 'studious and queenly' or something."
Ron chimed in. "It's not too much to ask for something like that for us, would it?"
Kim turned to him. "Wade's already working on something, so it's no big."
At that moment, the Kimmunicator app in Kim's phone chimed and she perked up. "Speaking of…" She pulled her phone out of her pocket and brought it to her ear. "Hey Wade, what's the sitch?"
She paused and brightened even more. "Oh, hey!" She turned towards the gate leading to the driveway. "You're at the right address, come on back!"
Ending the call, she turned to the others. "I thought it was Wade, but it's just our ride."
The gate opened, and the others looked over to see a young man step through. He was tall, almost as tall as Dipper and Mabel, with the physique of a quarterback. He had a handsome face free of the ravages of puberty, slicked back neck-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and wore a blue v-neck sweater and black cargo pants.
Seeing him, Mabel, Jackie, and Star all stopped to stare at the high school heartthrob straight out of a magazine, while Janna raised an eyebrow and Dipper took note of the discrepancy of their reactions.
"Hey," he said as he let the gate close, "So you guys are the monster hunters I heard about, right?"
Kim jumped up from her spot at the table and bounded over to him, before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him. "Babe!"
The young man laughed as he hugged her back. "Hey, Kim! I'm glad that you're safe." He looked over at Ron and Rufus. "And you guys, too. Wade told me you kicked SSJ and Shego's butts."
"Bro, you know it!" Ron replied as Rufus clasped his paws together and waved them back and forth over his head like a reigning champion.
Smiling up at the young man in adoration. Kim turned to the others. "Since he's here, let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend, Eric."
In the parking lot of Echo Creek Academy the next morning, the discordant, mediocre tunes of a keytar echoed off the sides of the school and its new sports complex. Sitting on the hood of a beat up 1980s two door coupe was Oskar Greason, a young man in disheveled gray cut-off shorts, purple high-top sneakers, a brown t-shirt, and red bandana. His brown hair covered his eyes as he divided his attention between the electric green keytar he held, and the smartphone that was propped up by its case on the hood of his car beside him.
On the screen of the phone, the interior of a typical all-American suburban home could be seen. On the plain dark gray couch that was normally the center of the universe for such shows, two young African American men in plain suburban clothes were sitting.
The older of the two, in his early twenties, wearing a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses and having long, tightly braided hair pulled up into a messy upward pointed bunch was sipping a drink. The younger brother, a high-school aged, lean young man with immaculate waves in his short cut and well-styled hair, was staring up at the ceiling of their home.
"So… what happened?" The older of the two asked.
"I asked Melissa to go to the dance with me." The younger brother replied.
"And what happened?"
"She said no–she's already going with somebody."
The older brother lowered his drink and looked at his brother. "With who?"
The younger brother shook his head. "Some foreign guy… I think she said his name was Aintcho Beeswax."
A moment hung as the older brother turned and looked at his despondent brother, the camera closing up to his face and the studio audience rumbling in amusement as he lifted up his Ray-Bans to look at his brother directly.
Oblivious to his brother's stare, the younger man sighed. "How am I gonna beat a foreign dude, man? You know how fresh their drip is."
As the older brother rolled his eyes and the studio audience laughed out loud, Oskar was right there with them, chuckling as he hit three notes on his keytar to make a "Wah, wah, waaah" sound effect.
Still laughing, Oskaar fiddled with those notes, trying to make a song out of them, before another boy walked up to him. "Yo, lil bro."
Oskar stopped and looked at the young man, a sandy-haired caucasian boy wearing–in spite of the already warm morning promising an even hotter day–black jeans, a thick black hoodie with the picture of a mustachioed man in his late 40s wearing a hard hat on its front, and a black baseball cap with a deer skull in the center.
His clothes appeared extremely damp.
Oskar stared at him before replying with a slow surfer-esque drawl. "Hey, sup?"
"You take requests?"
Oskar nodded. "Yeah, sure bro."
"Hotel California?"
Oskar thought about it. "That's like… a grandpa song. I'm more into indie-electro fantasy folk-punk."
The hoodie-wearing boy shrugged his shoulders and walked away. "Aight then, play on brother, play on."
"Word," Oskar said, almost immediately forgetting the encounter happened at all as he resumed playing.
"Oskar Greason!" Principal Skeeves yelled at him from the edge of the sports field. "Knock off that racket! The football team is trying to practice!"
Oskar looked up from his keytar and called back. "You're not my Mom, dude."
Principal Skeeves glowered at the boy, as he began to play the keytar even louder in protest. Beside him, the school's usual blonde-haired, mustachioed janitor turned to the Principal as they resumed walking. "Why do you even let him park car here?" He asked with a thick Slavic accent.
"Because I'm dating his mother," Principal Skeeves replied. "And she'd take my head off if anything happened to him while they're having their 'disagreement.'"
"What is disagreement?" The janitor asked.
"That she's dating his former High School Principal." Principal Skeeves grumbled back as they headed down along the bleachers under the school, where in addition to the sound of Oskar's keytar playing bouncing around, they could hear the echoing cries of crows in a spot up ahead. "Oh great, the crows have gotten to whatever's died back there."
A strange smell had been reported coming from this part of the sports field, just behind the bleachers. With no one willing to go near, it was down to the Principal and the Janitor to resolve the matter.
"Good thing I have gloves and bag, should be enough for a raccoon," the Janitor said before going back to the previous subject. "I did not take you for a dating man."
"It's all in how you play the game, my man," Skeeves boasted.
The janitor got a good long look at the principal. Short, wide, bespectacled, a hairline less receding and more in full rout with a bad combover of a few lines to delay the advance of age in vain. "… It must be pay to win."
Principal Skeeves gave his janitor the hardest possible look. "You're lucky you're the only janitor in this entire state who doesn't mind dealing with Star's messes."
"Mental preparation is key," the Janitor replied before they were stopped by the sudden fluttering of numerous crows startled by their arrival.
The cawing birds flew around them in every direction, scrambling to race into the sky and flee the two men shielding their faces. When the last of the crows fled, the men lowered their arms and looked into the tucked away spot behind the middle of the bleachers.
Both men stood in silent, growing horror at the sight before them. The entire alcove created by the bleachers' metal supports was splattered in dense, bright red blood. It covered the backs of the bleachers, the pillars, and almost every inch of the concrete ground. The stained remains of a human lay strewn in the splatter, the end of a right foot, a bit of organs, and the torn off remains of a skull from the eyes up lay in the mess, along with a set of broken eyeglasses.
At the end of that long, unbroken silence, beholding the gruesome mess in front of them, the Janitor spoke.
"I quit."
Let the blood flow…
= - = 7-EX = - =
|Final Result|
|Final Result|
"Kombat Knat has been destroyed," Vexor reported to his generals. "With that, we've lost a key asset."
The Magnavores were gathered in front of Noxic's workshop, Vexor looking at the mostly finished project with his back to his minions. "A new approach will be needed to deal with our enemies."
He turned just enough to look back and address them. "Any suggestions?"
Jara spoke first, and forcefully. "We must lure them out onto a battlefield of our choosing, where they cannot escape to their precious base or school–even if they escape the Gaohm Zone."
Typhus agreed. "This is the third time our guys showed up at that school of theirs and they pulled out some muscle or firepower that made life harder for us."
"That dump they call a base is a no go, too. Anti-Teleport, big honkin' guns, and all their kit is there too," Noxic complained.
Jara spoke. "We need a comprehensive strategy. Not merely throwing things against the wall. We need to take what we have learned from each of these encounters and use it to gain the advantage! These are children with ruinous powers at their fingertips playing at being heroes, not soldiers fighting a war, this should not be a puzzle for us!"
Vexor faced Noxic's workshop. "All of you are correct."
Noxic was surprised that he was being praised. "We are?"
Jara was given pause. "What is it?"
"This is a war, and we are warriors," Vexor began, "We've crossed swords with the Melzard Tribe and survived the attentions of Bill Cipher. Though limited in resources and clarity, we do have the advantage of experience and tenacity. Most importantly, however, we are free to prosecute this war as we see fit. To our own tune, at our own pace, and not to the convenience of the enemy."
Typhus and Noxic looked at each other, before the latter asked. "So… what, we're going to start doing stuff after they go to bed or somethin'?"
Jara understood what Vexor was getting at. "Yes, exactly that. At night while they sleep, during the day while they hide behind their pet troll. From the start of this, we have been the ones who control when a battle begins, and we must press that advantage!"
"Yeah, okay, but what if they decide to fight us anyway?" Noxic asked.
Vexor chuckled. "Then it is even better for us."
Now that part Jara was a little lost on. "What do you mean?"
Vexor gestured to Noxic's workshop. "This will be a war of attrition. And this is our weapon to win that battle."
He turned to face them. "So let them come in the night, let them break their social obligations to play hero. We will wear them down with battle after battle, and their delusions of heroism will allow them to fall exhausted at our feet."
Typhus punched his palm into his fist. "All right! Let's fight a real war! They won't know what hit them."
"You're still gonna need that order of Scabs, right, Vexor?" Noxic asked.
"They are essential to the plan." He then turned to Jara. "And this force will need a commander. One able to work in the field, independent of you."
Jara nodded. "Then we have some comics to read, there is one I have in mind for what you ask."
Vexor tilted towards Jara in a nod. "I expect nothing but good results."
@@@@@
Sitting in the back of the Hyuuga Heavy Industries SUV, Shego worked her jaw and rubbed her face against the door to finally peel the sticky tape from her mouth. The moment it was free, she turned and looked at Señor Senior Junior, who was seated peacefully on the other end of the bench seat at the very back of the vehicle. He was wearing the nervous, goofy smile of a man hoping to not get his face bitten off but knowing he likely will.
Rather than bare her fangs to start tearing off strips of his face, she broke into a dangerous smile. "So… Junior… can you answer me a question?"
"Yes, of course," he quickly and obediently answered as two of the armed guards got into the front seats and the SUV started up.
"What…" Shego began quietly, prompting Junior to brace himself for the vocal eruption to follow. "THE FUCK?!"
Junior recoiled, pushed back just as much by the fury in her voice. "YOU HAD A LITERAL MAGIC BULLSHIT POWERED ARMOR IN YOUR BACK FUCKING POCKET, AND YOU PUT IT ON THE FUCKING HOSTAGE?!"
Junior shrank with every boiling word from her mouth. "Look! Look! Please understand, I had to do it!"
"YOU KIDNAPPED A FUCKING HYUUGA JUST TO HAND HER BACK ON A SILVER PLATE TO HER MOM, AND FOR NOTHING!"
She threw her head back against the door and its bullet-proof window.
"I HAD TO FIGHT A MAGICAL FUCKING GIRL, SSJ, DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW BULLSHIT THAT IS?!"
When Shego didn't start screaming again after a few moments, Junior let out a sigh. "I suppose that you would not understand."
"You're right, I don't." Shego snarled. "So, enlighten me, SSJ. Why did you go through all the trouble to hunt down and kidnap Misao Darlian? If we just took that thing that you gave her, we'd be running the world instead of scores!"
Junior responded promptly. "Do you remember when I said that this was a matter of family pride?"
"It's why I've been on board with this until very recently."
He winced at the growl Shego trailed off into but maintained his composure. "Running scores is fun. It is the most fun I have ever had, and I have learned a lot from you, Shego. What I've learned has opened doors for me that my wealth alone could never, and I want to step through them."
Curiosity replaced Shego's anger. "Hold on, what are you trying to say here, exactly?"
"I am saying that by kidnapping the daughter of one of the most powerful people in the world–who can do anything up to and including taking everything a billionaire has and vanishing his children–I have proven that I am worth more than just my father's name or money."
When he put it like that, Shego couldn't be mad anymore. "You little shit, I get it now! You pulled the big one and lived."
"We pulled the big one and lived," Junior corrected her.
Shego chuckled. "Every time I think I'm going to demote you to paycheck provider, you remind me that you're the best I've worked with, SSJ. Man, now I wonder what's next for you."
Junior let out a reluctant sigh. "Sadly, you will have to wait and see."
Wariness returned, and Shego gave him a look. "Huh? No, the second I get a gap with these restraints off, we're out of here."
He shook his head. "No, I mean, this is the end of our association. From here on out, I doubt we will see each other again."
The SUV pulled to a stop, and Shego immediately noticed flashing lights outside. "Huh? Wait." She turned back to Junior. "What's going to happen to you?"
Junior shrugged his shoulders. "That's up to fate, I guess. Either way, it's been fun." He brightened. "Oh, and do not tell my father, please? You know how he gets worried about me, okay?"
The door opened, and an LA County Sheriff grabbed Shego and pulled her out of the car. "Up to fate…? Junior! I need a little bit more context?! What's going to happen to you?!" She yelled as she was dragged out of the vehicle.
She kept shouting, asking what he meant, before just calling out his name, before the closing of an armored police van's doors cut her voice off.
A few moments later, the flashing lights receded as the Sheriff's units drove away to take her to lock up. A few moments after that, the door to the SUV opened, and in climbed Momiji Hyuuga.
"I've heard stories about Shego having a good partnership with you, but hearing her actually concerned for someone else was… odd," she admitted while she closed the door and sat beside him.
Junior nodded. "She is a good teacher who values competence, innovation, and assertiveness. You don't even need to appeal to her ego, she likes if you do something she hadn't thought of."
Momiji weighed on that with a hum. "That is something I will keep in mind for later, thank you."
As Momiji buckled herself in and the SUV got moving, Junior asked. "So, what happens now?"
Momiji reached into her pocket and pulled out the strange necklace that Junior had given to Misao, and activated the armor that allowed her to defeat Kombat Knat. "You completed an impossible task, even if it did end with you being arrested. You demonstrated all the qualities needed during your trial–patience, daring, cunning, ruthlessness, restraint, and determination in the face of unwinnable odds."
"Once I knew Kim Possible was on my trail, it was certainly over," Junior admitted. "But those other guys… I did not expect them to be so aggressive!"
"If you only knew," Momiji said with a small laugh. "But you will soon enough. You'll know everything, and that will be your true final test."
Junior looked disappointed. "There is still one more thing?"
She nodded. "A simple yes or no question: Do you believe you can handle the truth of what you are becoming part of?"
Señor Senior Junior's disappointment vanished, but before the joy of success could reach him, he stopped and considered the question. "… That is a good question." Slowly he nodded. "I believe I can. I accepted this trial and every risk that came with it, the truth should be no different."
"Good answer," she said before reaching over and unlocking his handcuffs.
"Welcome to the 47, Señor Senior Junior."
@@@@@
In the back yard of the Pines' home. Mabel opened the back yard's gate, carrying a box stacked with closed cardboard trays. "Hey, brocephalus, the food's here! Also, the Beetleborgs all made it home without a problem."
Dipper, sitting at the other end of the picnic table across from Kim, nodded to his sister. The Pines twins, Marco, Jackie, Janna, and Star were gathered with Team Possible, waiting for the victory feast that they ordered on their way back from the Vanderhoff residence. Misao was already in bed. Worn out as she was after her the day, she'd gone straight up to their room and fell asleep with Waddles in her arms, leaving everyone else to socialize as the evening deepened into night.
"Okay, Dipper and I have Steak Picado! For Kim we have a Chicken burrito," Mabel announced as she went around the table. "For Ron and Rufus, we have Tacos and Nachos, Chile Rellenos for Janna, Aguachile de Camarón for Jackie, and Nachos for Star and Marco!"
"Thanks Mabel," Dipper said as he took his tray, before he turned his attention back to Kim, Ron, and of course Rufus. "So, I wanted to say thanks again for coming to help deal with this, especially on such short notice."
"It's so no big," Kim assured him, "We do short notice all the time. Plus, I got to spend a day in LA–even if it was The Mathter causing you trouble I'd be here."
Marco chimed in. "After fighting Shego, I'm gonna say I'd rather fight the Mathter."
Star protested. "Math is way harder than fighting Shego, what are you talking about?"
Ron was in full agreement. "Yeah, Shego is just trying to kill us. Math is actual torture."
"Thank you!" Star exclaimed in vindication.
"Still," Ron then conceded, "Even if it was the Mathter, I'll come out here so I can visit the Tex-Mex Mecca… Bueno Nacho Headquarters."
At that, Marco made a face. "Oh yeah, I forgot that you like that stuff. Honestly? Bueno Nacho sucks."
Ron's mouth dropped open, as he slowly turned to stare at Marco, Rufus joining him.
Kim rolled her eyes and turned back to Dipper. "Anyway, we've actually been waiting for you to get back to us about Shego and SSJ after Mabel first gave the heads up."
"We would've gotten to you sooner, but as you saw, we've been dealing with other business." He explained.
"About that," Kim replied, "If you need our help with the Magnavores, don't hesitate to call again, they sound like bad news."
"I'll keep that in mind, you were crazy out there."
Kim preened under his praise. "Heh, thanks."
"What do you mean Bueno Nacho sucks?" Ron asked, as if Marco Diaz just insulted his family and Rufus.
"Exactly what I mean, it sucks," Marco explained.
Jackie, beside him, agreed. "It totally sucks."
Ron looked directly to his left at Star. "Tell me you've had Bueno Nacho and tell them that it doesn't suck."
"Ooh, that means Good Nacho, doesn't it?" Star asked. "I've had Bueno Nachos, made by Marco."
"Thank you," Marco said to her.
"But Bueno Nacho the restaurant? Is there even one in Echo Creek?"
"Like ten years ago, yeah," Jackie explained. "It went out of business in like a year because no one went."
"How is that possible?" Ron asked.
Janna, who was eating her chile rellenos, looked over. "Britta's Tacos kicked its butt, that's how."
"Yeah," Marco continued, "A big chain making glorified lunch food isn't competing with authentic local flavor."
Ron looked down at the cardboard container, and then turned his nose up. "Well, I'm not eating this, then."
Kim looked away from Dipper. "Ron, just eat the food."
"No, not until they stop disparaging the good name of Bueno Nacho!" Ron declared.
Kim stared at him. "You mean the same Bueno Nacho that changed the entire menu and got rid of your Naco Night discount?"
"It's a misstep on their part, but I'm still going to stand up for them!"
Janna called over. "Bueno Nacho is a multi-billion-dollar corporation. You don't need to defend its honor."
"I'm practically its Employee of the Year!" Ron retorted. "I put the Naco on the menu! I even get royalties for it… though my parents and our accountant said I can't touch it until I'm eighteen."
Dipper perked up and looked at Ron. "You're finally gotten paid for it? How much?"
"Since I get a percentage of every sale, it's about a hundred million dollars."
"WHAT?!" Dipper, Mabel, and Marco shouted at once.
"Wow, you could buy a peerage in Mewni with that cash," Star said.
Jackie was impressed and disturbed. "That many people like Bueno Nacho?"
Janna leaned over. "There's no accounting for taste, babe."
"They should be held accountable!" Marco demanded.
Ron shook his head. "I really thought we could be friends…"
Mabel, ever the benevolent, finally weighed in. "Boys! Boys! There's no need to fight over who's better, Bueno Nacho or Britta's Tacos. What matters now, is that we kicked Shego and Señor Senior Junior's butts, and have good food to celebrate."
She held up a wad of cash measured in 50s and 100s. "Good food that we didn't pay for!"
Dipper stared at the money. "Mabel, where'd you get that from?"
"I took it from Trip's bedroom just before we left, it was just lying around all willy-nilly!" She waved the money back and forth. "We don't have to worry about petty cash for the rest of the school year with this!"
Dipper figured as much. "Oh, well, okay. Hopefully there's more when we go back after the cleanup."
Ron, fine with not fighting over food, still had a lingering issue with that. "Is that okay? Just… taking their stuff?"
Dipper nodded. "Ron, even as I'm fairly certain Misao's mom is part of some huge shadowy organization that controls the world from the shadows and allows her to get away with what she did, I'm perfectly fine with what happened to Trip and Van and I'm glad we never have to deal with them again."
"This really feels like some kind of crazy dream now," Jackie admitted from where she sat between Marco and Janna. "Not only are we done with those turbo dweebs, but I got to fight Shego, too. Shego! And I did pretty good."
"You did better than me," Star grumbled, figuratively and literally sore about getting knocked out by Shego during the brawl.
Dipper looked over at Jackie as she stuffed several lime-cooked shrimps into her mouth. "Yeah, I have to say… you went really hard against her and that Goblin idiot. I wish we had you on sooner."
Jackie smiled as she swallowed her food, then replied. "It'd be nice if Marco, Star, and I could dodge like Kim or take a hit like the Beetleborgs, but I'm still ready to fight the Magnavores anytime."
Star, with a mouthful of chips, suddenly raised her hand as she tried to speak. "Ooh! Ooh! I'm working on something for that!"
Everyone turned to Star as she forced down her food, coughed, then eagerly explained. "Flabber isn't the only one who can magic up some armor and superpowers!" She placed a hand on her chest. "I am planning cool magical armor for everyone who is not a Beetleborg!"
Based solely on his own experience with Star's magic experiments, Marco felt uneasy at her declaration–but stopped short of expressing that concern out loud.
Jackie, Mabel, and Janna on the other hand, were immediately hooked, with Mabel gasping aloud. "Let me help design the armor. LET ME HELP DESIGN THE ARMOR! I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS!"
Jackie was enamored. "Dude, can I have like an ocean theme? There's a thing I wanna do with it!"
Janna hummed, and then chimed in. "I want something dark and cool. Like Raven from Teen Titans–with just as much leg on display."
"Huh," Dipper said, "You'd square up if you had armor?"
"Nah, but I would be there to look good."
Star squealed at the support she had for the effort. "I'm already working on the materials for it. According to the Magic Instruction Book, my Mom has her own armor she wears for battle, so I'm going to ask her where she got the materials from and then grab them myself."
That Marco could comment on. "Is that a good idea? Your Mom might find out what's going on."
Star dismissed it. "Pshaw. All I have to do is tell her that I'm studying at all from the book, and she won't even care about the smaller details. She'll just think I'm being more 'studious and queenly' or something."
Ron chimed in. "It's not too much to ask for something like that for us, would it?"
Kim turned to him. "Wade's already working on something, so it's no big."
At that moment, the Kimmunicator app in Kim's phone chimed and she perked up. "Speaking of…" She pulled her phone out of her pocket and brought it to her ear. "Hey Wade, what's the sitch?"
She paused and brightened even more. "Oh, hey!" She turned towards the gate leading to the driveway. "You're at the right address, come on back!"
Ending the call, she turned to the others. "I thought it was Wade, but it's just our ride."
The gate opened, and the others looked over to see a young man step through. He was tall, almost as tall as Dipper and Mabel, with the physique of a quarterback. He had a handsome face free of the ravages of puberty, slicked back neck-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and wore a blue v-neck sweater and black cargo pants.
Seeing him, Mabel, Jackie, and Star all stopped to stare at the high school heartthrob straight out of a magazine, while Janna raised an eyebrow and Dipper took note of the discrepancy of their reactions.
"Hey," he said as he let the gate close, "So you guys are the monster hunters I heard about, right?"
Kim jumped up from her spot at the table and bounded over to him, before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him. "Babe!"
The young man laughed as he hugged her back. "Hey, Kim! I'm glad that you're safe." He looked over at Ron and Rufus. "And you guys, too. Wade told me you kicked SSJ and Shego's butts."
"Bro, you know it!" Ron replied as Rufus clasped his paws together and waved them back and forth over his head like a reigning champion.
Smiling up at the young man in adoration. Kim turned to the others. "Since he's here, let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend, Eric."
@@@@@
In the parking lot of Echo Creek Academy the next morning, the discordant, mediocre tunes of a keytar echoed off the sides of the school and its new sports complex. Sitting on the hood of a beat up 1980s two door coupe was Oskar Greason, a young man in disheveled gray cut-off shorts, purple high-top sneakers, a brown t-shirt, and red bandana. His brown hair covered his eyes as he divided his attention between the electric green keytar he held, and the smartphone that was propped up by its case on the hood of his car beside him.
On the screen of the phone, the interior of a typical all-American suburban home could be seen. On the plain dark gray couch that was normally the center of the universe for such shows, two young African American men in plain suburban clothes were sitting.
The older of the two, in his early twenties, wearing a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses and having long, tightly braided hair pulled up into a messy upward pointed bunch was sipping a drink. The younger brother, a high-school aged, lean young man with immaculate waves in his short cut and well-styled hair, was staring up at the ceiling of their home.
"So… what happened?" The older of the two asked.
"I asked Melissa to go to the dance with me." The younger brother replied.
"And what happened?"
"She said no–she's already going with somebody."
The older brother lowered his drink and looked at his brother. "With who?"
The younger brother shook his head. "Some foreign guy… I think she said his name was Aintcho Beeswax."
A moment hung as the older brother turned and looked at his despondent brother, the camera closing up to his face and the studio audience rumbling in amusement as he lifted up his Ray-Bans to look at his brother directly.
Oblivious to his brother's stare, the younger man sighed. "How am I gonna beat a foreign dude, man? You know how fresh their drip is."
As the older brother rolled his eyes and the studio audience laughed out loud, Oskar was right there with them, chuckling as he hit three notes on his keytar to make a "Wah, wah, waaah" sound effect.
Still laughing, Oskaar fiddled with those notes, trying to make a song out of them, before another boy walked up to him. "Yo, lil bro."
Oskar stopped and looked at the young man, a sandy-haired caucasian boy wearing–in spite of the already warm morning promising an even hotter day–black jeans, a thick black hoodie with the picture of a mustachioed man in his late 40s wearing a hard hat on its front, and a black baseball cap with a deer skull in the center.
His clothes appeared extremely damp.
Oskar stared at him before replying with a slow surfer-esque drawl. "Hey, sup?"
"You take requests?"
Oskar nodded. "Yeah, sure bro."
"Hotel California?"
Oskar thought about it. "That's like… a grandpa song. I'm more into indie-electro fantasy folk-punk."
The hoodie-wearing boy shrugged his shoulders and walked away. "Aight then, play on brother, play on."
"Word," Oskar said, almost immediately forgetting the encounter happened at all as he resumed playing.
"Oskar Greason!" Principal Skeeves yelled at him from the edge of the sports field. "Knock off that racket! The football team is trying to practice!"
Oskar looked up from his keytar and called back. "You're not my Mom, dude."
Principal Skeeves glowered at the boy, as he began to play the keytar even louder in protest. Beside him, the school's usual blonde-haired, mustachioed janitor turned to the Principal as they resumed walking. "Why do you even let him park car here?" He asked with a thick Slavic accent.
"Because I'm dating his mother," Principal Skeeves replied. "And she'd take my head off if anything happened to him while they're having their 'disagreement.'"
"What is disagreement?" The janitor asked.
"That she's dating his former High School Principal." Principal Skeeves grumbled back as they headed down along the bleachers under the school, where in addition to the sound of Oskar's keytar playing bouncing around, they could hear the echoing cries of crows in a spot up ahead. "Oh great, the crows have gotten to whatever's died back there."
A strange smell had been reported coming from this part of the sports field, just behind the bleachers. With no one willing to go near, it was down to the Principal and the Janitor to resolve the matter.
"Good thing I have gloves and bag, should be enough for a raccoon," the Janitor said before going back to the previous subject. "I did not take you for a dating man."
"It's all in how you play the game, my man," Skeeves boasted.
The janitor got a good long look at the principal. Short, wide, bespectacled, a hairline less receding and more in full rout with a bad combover of a few lines to delay the advance of age in vain. "… It must be pay to win."
Principal Skeeves gave his janitor the hardest possible look. "You're lucky you're the only janitor in this entire state who doesn't mind dealing with Star's messes."
"Mental preparation is key," the Janitor replied before they were stopped by the sudden fluttering of numerous crows startled by their arrival.
The cawing birds flew around them in every direction, scrambling to race into the sky and flee the two men shielding their faces. When the last of the crows fled, the men lowered their arms and looked into the tucked away spot behind the middle of the bleachers.
Both men stood in silent, growing horror at the sight before them. The entire alcove created by the bleachers' metal supports was splattered in dense, bright red blood. It covered the backs of the bleachers, the pillars, and almost every inch of the concrete ground. The stained remains of a human lay strewn in the splatter, the end of a right foot, a bit of organs, and the torn off remains of a skull from the eyes up lay in the mess, along with a set of broken eyeglasses.
At the end of that long, unbroken silence, beholding the gruesome mess in front of them, the Janitor spoke.
"I quit."
= - = 7-EX = - =
Let the blood flow…
Volume 8: Echo Creek, 1899
New
Holy crap, folks, we are back with Volume 8. Expect a release every Saturday and Wednesday until the completion of this Volume. Strap in guys, new enemies, new allies, and new question are coming in hot. Brace yourself as the Story of Lies reaches into the past and connects to the present in order to fight for the future.
A special warning: Several chapters of Volume 8 (and for the next several volumes) are set during a time period of extreme racial prejudice and traditionally sexist views towards both men and women. Reader discretion is advised.
In 1847, a caravan of California-bound settlers led by Bonson Bonner descended into a valley northeast of Los Angeles following word of another party of California settlers being devastated by poor preparation and a particularly cruel winter while trying to find their fortunes further north. With this decision, some clever dealings, back-stabbings that would make the Northwest family proud, and a battle against some extremely determined marsupials, the settlement of Echo Creek was established.
For the next few decades, Echo Creek would grow and flourish, going from a small settlement to a prosperous rival of neighboring Los Angeles in short order. A pastoral town centered around ranches and vineyards, Echo Creek became known for being a restful retreat for visitors from back east–a place where one could relax and find peace from the hectic world at their own pace.
Then, in 1890, Oil was discovered.
By 1899, the vast stretches of rolling cattle land and rows of vineyards that one could look on from the slopes of the valley were gone–replaced by a forest of oil derricks wreathed in the haze of industry. Echo Creek was all but no more, a cloistered city center surrounded by oil derricks and pipes, siphoning the vast reserves of black gold that lay beneath the Earth.
The nascent Southern California oil boom has made Echo Creek extremely prosperous. But even as wealth is pulled straight from the Earth and into pockets, the ravenous need to overflow every cup has seen the derricks spread–climbing the hills and spreading into the neighboring lowlands and valleys of the San Gabriels. To the remaining farmers and vintners in Echo Creek, the growing industry approaching the edges of their lands is an inevitable progression–heralded by an inexorable force that would sooner see fertile grounds turn to worthless dust if it meant one drop more of the bounty beneath.
Three such heralds stood on the other side of a plain wooden fence separating them from the front yard of a farmhouse overlooking the encroaching forest. In the afternoon heat, the men were dressed in loose white button-down shirts, blue jeans, boots, and wide-brimmed hats iconic of the formerly wild west. The leader of the men, holding a stack of papers in his hand, held them aloft like a flag of truce–displaying it to the man who stood on the porch armed with a double-barrel shotgun.
"Now Mr. Baldwin, there is no need for any of this hostility. We're only here to persuade you to consider the handsome offer that's been presented."
The bare-chested, bearded man on the front porch of his home closed the breech of his loaded shotgun and answered promptly–his voice heavy with contempt. "Handsome offer?! You boys come here demanding I accept not even half of what my pappy paid for this land, just so I can watch my family starve while you oil jockeys get rich?! I'll tell you what, you can take that offer of yours and see if the Devil himself will take it! Then you come back to me!"
The man holding the papers raised his other hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa…! Hold on there, sir! This does not have to resort to violence!"
"You come past that fence, and I'll have every right to!" Mr. Baldwin raised the shotgun and aimed at the three men, everyone involved aware that at this range all he would have to do is squeeze the triggers of his weapon to solve most of his problems. "I'll leave you right where you fall so the Sheriff knows it!"
The two men accompanying the paper holder went to their left sides. The man to the negotiator's right reached straight down with his left hand, while the man to his left reached across his own front, to shiny revolvers nestled none too snugly in their holsters. Seeing this, the man holding the papers called out. "Hold, damn it!"
He looked back at Mr. Baldwin. "We don't need to start somethin' unavoidable, gentlemen. Cycles of violence happen when you shoot one man, then another man shoots back, and the shooting goes on until something truly tragic happens and a family loses everything."
Mr. Baldwin narrowed his eyes at the negotiator's words, fully understanding their intent.
"This can all be resolved peacefully-like; you can take the offer, we can leave, and we won't have to come back." The man shook the papers again. "It's either that, or these tense and meaningless confrontations keep happening, sir, until someone slips and does something they can't take back."
"I'm plenty firm where I stand," Mr. Baldwin replied. "The only ones here having a problem with slippin' are you boys with the oil on yer shoes and blood on yer hands."
Lowering the papers, the man trying to negotiate realized that terms would not be arrived at so easily. "This is the best deal you're going to get, sir."
Mr. Baldwin's attention shot past the three men and to the path behind them as his opponent drawled on.
"Men with less land than you have made much more agreeing to close, it's a seller's market."
Behind the three men, the voice of a young man called back. "A seller's market? Oh Mr. Hutchinson, do go on."
The men beseeching Mr. Baldwin turned to face a Caucasian man with a dark goatee and mustache calmly stepping off a bicycle and setting it against the fence bordering the path up to the home. In spite of the afternoon heat he was impeccably dressed in a purple suit over an orange vest and a yellow ascot tie with purple top hat. He carried in his hand a cane he slipped from a basket aligned with the legs of the bicycle's front fork. Twirling the cane and setting it down, he began a leisurely stroll to the three men, beckoning them as he did.
"As a matter of fact, I would like an appraisal of my own land while you're in the neighborhood. Because I've heard that you've–" He stopped when he saw Mr. Baldwin on his porch, and recoiled a full step back, his dark eyes widening in amazement.
"My word," the newcomer addressed the man he called Hutchinson, holding the papers. "Are… are you shaking down a white man?"
Hutchinson glowered at the newcomer. "Well, if it isn't the alleged Doctor. This ain't a matter involvin' you, son. Why don't you hop on your fancy bicycle and mosey off to where you came?"
The newcomer shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm here for an appointment. Mrs. Baldwin is several months along and I'm here to perform a weekly checkup."
"The hell you are," Hutchinson replied. "A sane man wouldn't trust a snake like you with a haircut, let alone his wife and child."
The man in purple brought a yellow fingerless-gloved hand to his chest, as though in pain. "Don't besmirch my handiness with a blade either. I've cut plenty handsome heads of hair in my time and guarantee you won't find a closer shave west of the Mississippi or south of Skagway–but I digress."
He gestured past the men to Mr. Baldwin, and then side to side, indicating the farmer's land. "I was under the impression that your employer was more discriminating when it came to land acquisition. Are you genuinely out here going back on what I recall was… your word?"
Hutchinson's glower intensified. "This is strictly business, it's something a new resident like you wouldn't understand."
"Oh, my disciplines are wide and varied, Mr. Hutchinson. I'm no stranger to the 'You and Yours Discount.'"
"You and Yours?" Hutchinson repeated.
"You and Yours. A buyer offers to take the land from you at a lower price than what it's actually worth… one you accept so that nothing happens to you and yours."
He looked to his right, at the derricks off in the distance. "I've lived here in these parts long enough to see it as the standard model of business. Except, it would appear your employer is all out of Mestizo and Tongva to force off their lands, so they've gone after the white growers and herders. I applaud the progressive shift, but it's no less abominable."
Hutchinson's left eye twitched. "Good God man, you talk too much."
The newcomer walked right up to the three men, his lips curved up in an amicable smile. "Sirs, I am a man of confidence, it is my nature to talk a great deal."
Seeing hands moving to revolvers, he stops short and brings up his left in a halting gesture. "With that in mind, I would like to make a counteroffer on behalf of Mr. Baldwin here."
Hutchinson rolled his eyes. "You're no one's representative, Hill–"
It all happened suddenly, explosively. The cane in the newcomer's right hand came up and smashed into the chin of the man on Hutchinson's left. The man on Hutchinson's right reached across for his revolver, but the newcomer took his cane in both hands and bashed him in the jaw with the head of the cane. Hutchinson himself dropped his papers, for the pistol in the shoulder holster he wore, when the glint of sun off steel stayed his hand.
Hutchinson, frozen, looked at the slender, razor-sharp blade connected to the head of the cane and pulled from its shaft to be placed at his throat.
Underneath the brim of the man in purple's top hat, a cold and level voice calmly intoned. "That's Doctor Hillhurst, friend, Doctor Aloysius Hillhurst. Now, you'll pass on the closest shave of your life, Mister Hutchinson, take your men I've dinged good, and leave these fine people alone."
Hutchinson, persuaded by the metal against his jugular and the two men unconscious at his sides, slowly nodded.
Keeping the exposed blade in his cane held to Hutchinson, Dr. Hillhurst pulled from Hutchinson's holster and gave it a look in surprise. It wasn't a revolver, nor was it one of the unmistakable Mausers that were becoming popular back east. It was a black, slide-operated semi-automatic pistol with the magazine stored in the handle.
"Good God man, how much are you being paid to afford a Browning?" He asked in amazement.
Stepping aside, he let the blade slide back into his cane as he disarmed the other two men as they regained consciousness. Keeping his newly acquired Browning pistol held on them, Dr. Hillhurst gestured to them with the gun. "Go on now, be on your way and don't let me find out that your employer has sent anyone else uphill to start pestering people for their homes."
Hutchinson glared at the man, as he and his groggy associates complied, gathering themselves and leaving. "Don't you worry, none! We'll be coming straight for you, Hillhurst! You'll see!"
"That's Doctor Hillhurst!" Dr. Hillhurst called after the three men as they staggered off, towards several horses tied up near the dirt road. Satisfied to see them go, and doubly sure his coat was well-lined with the ammunition of the heavier weapons the men kept on said horses, he turned towards the Baldwin farmhouse.
And stared at the barrels of the Baldwin farmhouse's shotgun.
"… Well."
Mr. Baldwin gestured with a quick upward motion of his barrels. "You'll be on your way, too. I don't need the sympathies of no damn Mexican and Injun lover."
Putting the pistols away, Dr. Hillhurst turned on his heel and strolled away on his cane. "No good deed goes unpunished, I see. Worry not, I have no intention of lingering."
Dr. Hillhurst returned to his bicycle, climbed onto it, and spared the farmer a final look before he rode off. Making sure Hutchinson and his friends were well ahead, he began coasting down the long slope from the verdant hills overlooking Echo Creek and down into the haze of the derrick forest that surrounded the town and stood on every other block.
"No Saloon! No Saloon! End the sale of Wine and Booze! No Saloon! No Saloon! End the sale of Wine and Booze!"
Dr. Hillhurst could hear them as he rode down Echo Creek's main thoroughfare, the dried and caked dirt leaving a trail of dust behind him. Looking ahead, his hand atop his hat, he frowned when he saw a gathering of women in wealthy-looking dresses of the Victorian style raising white signs lettered with red paint.
They were marching back and forth on the wooden walkway in front of an old Mexican-built saloon, a place he had every intention of visiting after his errands. In front of the town's post office, right next door to the saloon, a small crowd of residents hurled jeers and insults at the protesting women. Across the road from the saloon, more residents pretended to ignore the rabble as they ducked into the town's biggest bank.
Riding wide around the protestors and their detractors, Dr. Hillhurst brought his bike up to a post outside the post office and tied it up securely. Seeing the well-dressed doctor, some of the protestors' opposition broke into cheers and greeted him quite warmly. One man in particular stepped forward, the head of the Echo Creek Post Office.
"Hey, Doc! You know, you treat that bicycle better than most treat their horses!" The middle-aged, rotund man greeted him with a lingering Irish accent as he walked over.
Dusting himself off, Dr. Hillhurst turned to the man. "Afternoon, Harrison, what's the news today?"
Harrison O'Durgeson looked at the crowd of protestors and shook his head. "Oh, the same old. Ms. Bonny's gotten it in her head to have the saloon shut down because it's a 'blight on the community.'"
Dr. Hillhurst looked up at the sunny sky, tinted a light sepia by the faint fumes collecting in the town thanks to the oil derricks in every direction. "Here we all are, choking in the noxious fumes of industrial potential, but the saloon is the blight, of course."
The two men had a laugh and looked on at the protest. At the center of the rabble was a particularly elegant woman dressed more slenderly than her peers, her dark green dress inlaid with crystal accents that made her appear like a peafowl. Indeed, her large hat, protecting her from the shade, sported several large feathers from a peacock, pinned in place by hat pins adorned with pearls and other rare stones.
"Across this great nation, as society moves forward into the next century, the vice of alcohol continues its relentless scourge!" The beautiful, narrow-faced, brown-haired woman declared vocally over the chanting. "It steals husbands and fathers from families, sons from the arms of mothers, and workers from the factories propelling our country!"
She scanned the crowd as she continued. "The moonshiners, brewers, and…" She stopped when she saw Dr. Hillhurst. "… The vintners that profit off the suffering at the hands of alcohol are only one arm of the unholy alliance! The other are the bars and saloons that serve as the middlemen between upstanding men and the temptation of sin!"
Dr. Hillhurst visibly cringed. "And they say I talk too much."
Harrison nudged him. "The lass is looking your way."
"I would much rather lock eyes with a gorgon." Dr. Hillhurst turned away from the protestors. "So, anything in the mail for me?"
Harrison nodded. "As a matter of fact, I was surprised to find a letter addressed to you, my boy, instead of the usual packages."
Dr. Hillhurst was intrigued. "Just a letter?"
Reaching into the dusty brown apron he wore, Harrison pulled out a single envelope and handed it to him. Looking at its face, and finding it indeed addressed to him, Dr. Hillhurst sought the name in the corner and his lips curved downward.
"… Benjamin Wintersmane…"
"Wintersmane?" Harrison was surprised. "Of the Cape Hatteras Wintersmanes?" He gave him a nudge. "Now I'm curious. What business does a scoundrel like you have with a young man of such high society?"
Dr. Hillhurst tucked the letter in his coat. "He and I shot a man in Skagway, just to watch him die."
At the skeptical look Harrison gave him, Dr. Hillhurst broke into a grin. "Truth is, he and I were associates and co-owners of a claim. Though I stayed in Skag to keep anyone from trying to snatch it from under him while he did the real work."
"That sounds more like you." Harrison looked at where the letter had been placed. "So, still in business with him?"
"Afraid not; he sold the claim without so much as a flake and we parted ways soon after."
"Wait, wait–if you didn't make any gold off the claim, then where'd you come up with the money for that land your fancy little château sits upon?"
Waggling his eyebrows, Dr. Hillhurst answered candidly. "I ran a business of separating fools' gold. It was quite lucrative."
Harrison found that confusing. "How'd you…?" At the persistent waggling of the doctor's eyebrows, realization dawned on the postal clerk. "… Ohhh!" He burst into hearty laughter and slapped the doctor's back. "You scoundrel!"
Dr. Hillhurst laughed with the clerk, before he patted his chest where the letter lay. "Well, if this is all, I'm going to stop by Hidalgo's and enjoy a much-deserved meal before I ride back. You're free to join me, old friend."
Harrison chuckled. "You know? That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He's open now, in fact. We can just go through the back entrance and leave the furies to their wailing."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. O'Durgeson?"
Both men stopped and froze as the crowd of counter-protestors thinned and broke to reveal the woman who'd been making an exhaustive speech about the evils of saloonery.
"Women standing up for a righteous cause aren't furies, or harpies, or whatever slur you're quick to call them."
Harrison gave the woman the side-eye. "Aye, I agree, Ms. Bonny. That's why I'm not."
Dr. Hillhurst nodded. "The man speaks the truth, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner. We cynics only disparage the ill-intentioned and sinister."
Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's brown eyes narrowed into a contemptuous glower at the sharp-tongue jab thrown without a care in her direction. "A man as well-spoken and intellectual as yourself wastes his gifts on being a poor example to the community."
His shoulders slumping, Dr. Hillhurst leans onto his cane and heaves a weary sigh. "There is a difference between being a patron, and patronizing, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner. I engage in one, you are a virtuosa in the other."
Harrison's chuckling at the sharp spike in tension between the two was interrupted by the sound of gunfire erupting from inside the bank across the street. As the townspeople looked on, several men in dark clothes with bandana hiding their faces stormed out of the building firing revolvers in the air, and in seconds people were scattering in every direction.
"Damn it all," Dr. Hillhurst exclaimed. "Of all times to do this sort of thing."
Emily gasped and nearly swooned at the sight of the mayhem, while Harrison scrambled for the door of his post office. "Good God, man, get to cover before you get shot!"
The three bank robbers, still shooting into the air, turned from the bank towards the saloon and post office–and the short alleyway between them. One stopped, however, when he saw the well-dressed teetotaler. His eyes, flying wide, burned with rage as he aimed his revolver at her.
In the very instant before he could shoot Emily dead, a whip swung down at high speed and struck the weapon from his hand. As he screamed in pain, the other two robbers turned to look.
A woman emerged from the haze and dust kicked up by the panic. She wore a pink skirt with tassels and matching vest over a magenta-colored shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black boots that came up to her knees. Atop her head, covered in chin-length black gradient colored hair, she wore a pink ten gallon hat with a magenta cheetah-print band around its base. In each hand she carried a pair of long, whips with pink handles that matched her fashion. The one she had used to strike the first bandit twirled through the air above with the deft movements of her right hand, while the whip in her left remained coiled in her grip.
"You boys picked a fine time to rob a bank," the woman in pink declared with a bright but rough voice, "I was on my way to make a deposit."
As the first robber gripped his hand in pain, the other two turned their weapons on the newcomer, who lashed out with the whip in her right hand. The whip, aimed with sharpshooter precision, slapped the revolvers from the hands of both men. As she brought the whip in her right back, she uncoiled and struck with the whip in her left, bringing it up to clock the robber to her left in the side of the head.
The last man quickly tried to reach for a second gun, but the intervening vigilante brought her right-hand whip down and wrapped it around his ankles, bringing them together, while her left-hand whip caught his shoulders and bound his arms together. With a quick tug, she dropped the last man down with a thud.
"Though now I'll be making a dropoff at the jail, too," she quipped before the onlooking townsfolk broke into cheers.
For a bright moment, the chaos brought by the villains and the order restored by the whip-cracking woman brought an end to the divide between the saloon protestors and their detractors. All gathered around her, applauding and praising the woman as she got to rounding up the robbers.
On the outside of the crowd, still in front of the post office, Dr. Hillhurst made an unkind face in the direction of the woman in pink. "Ugh… so tacky."
"You are one to talk," Emily snapped. "You, who wears a mask of civility to fool the unsuspecting into handing over their hard worked for money."
Doc Hillhurst took offense to that. "There you go again, the prima donna of patronizing."
Emily's arrogant glare turned to something baser at his chiding. "You belong in a cell alongside these evil men."
Dr. Hillhurst's heart sank. He looked over at the three men on the ground, being mocked and insulted as the brave vigilante bound them up for carting to jail, and then turned his gaze back to Emily.
"Madam, this misery and evil is not the product of ill minds, but empty stomachs. Offer a man enough to feed him and his, and he'll do whatever is necessary."
He went back over to his bicycle and untied it. Harrison walked over to him, concerned. "What about lunch?"
Climbing onto the bicycle, Dr. Hillhurst turned to his friend. "Good man, I can't bring myself to it. Something ghastly has stolen my appetite."
Harrison yielded. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."
With a nod to Harrison, a quick glance at the heroine of the hour, and an acidic glare for Emily, Dr. Hillhurst pushed off and rode towards the town's limits.
The long ride was hilly and grueling on the rocky dirt path, but it improved immensely as Dr. Hillhurst escaped the forest of derricks and the ever-present miasma that hung around it. As the brown tint faded into the bright vibrance of the world, the young man took a deep breath and let his lungs fill with the clear air rolling off the mountains and valleys towards the distant Pacific Ocean.
As the hilly fields began to transition to rows of trellises overgrown with vibrant grapevines, Dr. Hillhurst reached into his jacket and pulled out the letter sent to him. He looked at the sender's name again, before looking ahead.
"Benny… what have you been up to all this time?" He asked aloud as he crested one more hill and his home came into sight.
It was a simple Victorian style two-story home; painted white with a gray tile roof and surrounded by a matching white fence. The house the ultimate prize for all of his dealings in Skagway, and ironically the source of all his troubles presently.
Still, as he rode past the open gate and up to the front steps, Dr. Hillhurst couldn't be happier to be back at his mansion.
Until he noticed the young man, a boy really, slumped unconscious on his front steps.
Fun Fact: Echo Creek isn't a real place in Los Angeles, and in canon it takes a bunch of motifs from various parts of LA to make up its own little locale. Against my better judgement, I've put Echo Creek somewhere in LA for the sake of my ability to write this story.
A special warning: Several chapters of Volume 8 (and for the next several volumes) are set during a time period of extreme racial prejudice and traditionally sexist views towards both men and women. Reader discretion is advised.
= - = 8-1 = - =
|Echo Creek, 1899|
|Echo Creek, 1899|
In 1847, a caravan of California-bound settlers led by Bonson Bonner descended into a valley northeast of Los Angeles following word of another party of California settlers being devastated by poor preparation and a particularly cruel winter while trying to find their fortunes further north. With this decision, some clever dealings, back-stabbings that would make the Northwest family proud, and a battle against some extremely determined marsupials, the settlement of Echo Creek was established.
For the next few decades, Echo Creek would grow and flourish, going from a small settlement to a prosperous rival of neighboring Los Angeles in short order. A pastoral town centered around ranches and vineyards, Echo Creek became known for being a restful retreat for visitors from back east–a place where one could relax and find peace from the hectic world at their own pace.
Then, in 1890, Oil was discovered.
By 1899, the vast stretches of rolling cattle land and rows of vineyards that one could look on from the slopes of the valley were gone–replaced by a forest of oil derricks wreathed in the haze of industry. Echo Creek was all but no more, a cloistered city center surrounded by oil derricks and pipes, siphoning the vast reserves of black gold that lay beneath the Earth.
The nascent Southern California oil boom has made Echo Creek extremely prosperous. But even as wealth is pulled straight from the Earth and into pockets, the ravenous need to overflow every cup has seen the derricks spread–climbing the hills and spreading into the neighboring lowlands and valleys of the San Gabriels. To the remaining farmers and vintners in Echo Creek, the growing industry approaching the edges of their lands is an inevitable progression–heralded by an inexorable force that would sooner see fertile grounds turn to worthless dust if it meant one drop more of the bounty beneath.
Three such heralds stood on the other side of a plain wooden fence separating them from the front yard of a farmhouse overlooking the encroaching forest. In the afternoon heat, the men were dressed in loose white button-down shirts, blue jeans, boots, and wide-brimmed hats iconic of the formerly wild west. The leader of the men, holding a stack of papers in his hand, held them aloft like a flag of truce–displaying it to the man who stood on the porch armed with a double-barrel shotgun.
"Now Mr. Baldwin, there is no need for any of this hostility. We're only here to persuade you to consider the handsome offer that's been presented."
The bare-chested, bearded man on the front porch of his home closed the breech of his loaded shotgun and answered promptly–his voice heavy with contempt. "Handsome offer?! You boys come here demanding I accept not even half of what my pappy paid for this land, just so I can watch my family starve while you oil jockeys get rich?! I'll tell you what, you can take that offer of yours and see if the Devil himself will take it! Then you come back to me!"
The man holding the papers raised his other hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa…! Hold on there, sir! This does not have to resort to violence!"
"You come past that fence, and I'll have every right to!" Mr. Baldwin raised the shotgun and aimed at the three men, everyone involved aware that at this range all he would have to do is squeeze the triggers of his weapon to solve most of his problems. "I'll leave you right where you fall so the Sheriff knows it!"
The two men accompanying the paper holder went to their left sides. The man to the negotiator's right reached straight down with his left hand, while the man to his left reached across his own front, to shiny revolvers nestled none too snugly in their holsters. Seeing this, the man holding the papers called out. "Hold, damn it!"
He looked back at Mr. Baldwin. "We don't need to start somethin' unavoidable, gentlemen. Cycles of violence happen when you shoot one man, then another man shoots back, and the shooting goes on until something truly tragic happens and a family loses everything."
Mr. Baldwin narrowed his eyes at the negotiator's words, fully understanding their intent.
"This can all be resolved peacefully-like; you can take the offer, we can leave, and we won't have to come back." The man shook the papers again. "It's either that, or these tense and meaningless confrontations keep happening, sir, until someone slips and does something they can't take back."
"I'm plenty firm where I stand," Mr. Baldwin replied. "The only ones here having a problem with slippin' are you boys with the oil on yer shoes and blood on yer hands."
Lowering the papers, the man trying to negotiate realized that terms would not be arrived at so easily. "This is the best deal you're going to get, sir."
Mr. Baldwin's attention shot past the three men and to the path behind them as his opponent drawled on.
"Men with less land than you have made much more agreeing to close, it's a seller's market."
Behind the three men, the voice of a young man called back. "A seller's market? Oh Mr. Hutchinson, do go on."
The men beseeching Mr. Baldwin turned to face a Caucasian man with a dark goatee and mustache calmly stepping off a bicycle and setting it against the fence bordering the path up to the home. In spite of the afternoon heat he was impeccably dressed in a purple suit over an orange vest and a yellow ascot tie with purple top hat. He carried in his hand a cane he slipped from a basket aligned with the legs of the bicycle's front fork. Twirling the cane and setting it down, he began a leisurely stroll to the three men, beckoning them as he did.
"As a matter of fact, I would like an appraisal of my own land while you're in the neighborhood. Because I've heard that you've–" He stopped when he saw Mr. Baldwin on his porch, and recoiled a full step back, his dark eyes widening in amazement.
"My word," the newcomer addressed the man he called Hutchinson, holding the papers. "Are… are you shaking down a white man?"
Hutchinson glowered at the newcomer. "Well, if it isn't the alleged Doctor. This ain't a matter involvin' you, son. Why don't you hop on your fancy bicycle and mosey off to where you came?"
The newcomer shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm here for an appointment. Mrs. Baldwin is several months along and I'm here to perform a weekly checkup."
"The hell you are," Hutchinson replied. "A sane man wouldn't trust a snake like you with a haircut, let alone his wife and child."
The man in purple brought a yellow fingerless-gloved hand to his chest, as though in pain. "Don't besmirch my handiness with a blade either. I've cut plenty handsome heads of hair in my time and guarantee you won't find a closer shave west of the Mississippi or south of Skagway–but I digress."
He gestured past the men to Mr. Baldwin, and then side to side, indicating the farmer's land. "I was under the impression that your employer was more discriminating when it came to land acquisition. Are you genuinely out here going back on what I recall was… your word?"
Hutchinson's glower intensified. "This is strictly business, it's something a new resident like you wouldn't understand."
"Oh, my disciplines are wide and varied, Mr. Hutchinson. I'm no stranger to the 'You and Yours Discount.'"
"You and Yours?" Hutchinson repeated.
"You and Yours. A buyer offers to take the land from you at a lower price than what it's actually worth… one you accept so that nothing happens to you and yours."
He looked to his right, at the derricks off in the distance. "I've lived here in these parts long enough to see it as the standard model of business. Except, it would appear your employer is all out of Mestizo and Tongva to force off their lands, so they've gone after the white growers and herders. I applaud the progressive shift, but it's no less abominable."
Hutchinson's left eye twitched. "Good God man, you talk too much."
The newcomer walked right up to the three men, his lips curved up in an amicable smile. "Sirs, I am a man of confidence, it is my nature to talk a great deal."
Seeing hands moving to revolvers, he stops short and brings up his left in a halting gesture. "With that in mind, I would like to make a counteroffer on behalf of Mr. Baldwin here."
Hutchinson rolled his eyes. "You're no one's representative, Hill–"
It all happened suddenly, explosively. The cane in the newcomer's right hand came up and smashed into the chin of the man on Hutchinson's left. The man on Hutchinson's right reached across for his revolver, but the newcomer took his cane in both hands and bashed him in the jaw with the head of the cane. Hutchinson himself dropped his papers, for the pistol in the shoulder holster he wore, when the glint of sun off steel stayed his hand.
Hutchinson, frozen, looked at the slender, razor-sharp blade connected to the head of the cane and pulled from its shaft to be placed at his throat.
Underneath the brim of the man in purple's top hat, a cold and level voice calmly intoned. "That's Doctor Hillhurst, friend, Doctor Aloysius Hillhurst. Now, you'll pass on the closest shave of your life, Mister Hutchinson, take your men I've dinged good, and leave these fine people alone."
Hutchinson, persuaded by the metal against his jugular and the two men unconscious at his sides, slowly nodded.
Keeping the exposed blade in his cane held to Hutchinson, Dr. Hillhurst pulled from Hutchinson's holster and gave it a look in surprise. It wasn't a revolver, nor was it one of the unmistakable Mausers that were becoming popular back east. It was a black, slide-operated semi-automatic pistol with the magazine stored in the handle.
"Good God man, how much are you being paid to afford a Browning?" He asked in amazement.
Stepping aside, he let the blade slide back into his cane as he disarmed the other two men as they regained consciousness. Keeping his newly acquired Browning pistol held on them, Dr. Hillhurst gestured to them with the gun. "Go on now, be on your way and don't let me find out that your employer has sent anyone else uphill to start pestering people for their homes."
Hutchinson glared at the man, as he and his groggy associates complied, gathering themselves and leaving. "Don't you worry, none! We'll be coming straight for you, Hillhurst! You'll see!"
"That's Doctor Hillhurst!" Dr. Hillhurst called after the three men as they staggered off, towards several horses tied up near the dirt road. Satisfied to see them go, and doubly sure his coat was well-lined with the ammunition of the heavier weapons the men kept on said horses, he turned towards the Baldwin farmhouse.
And stared at the barrels of the Baldwin farmhouse's shotgun.
"… Well."
Mr. Baldwin gestured with a quick upward motion of his barrels. "You'll be on your way, too. I don't need the sympathies of no damn Mexican and Injun lover."
Putting the pistols away, Dr. Hillhurst turned on his heel and strolled away on his cane. "No good deed goes unpunished, I see. Worry not, I have no intention of lingering."
Dr. Hillhurst returned to his bicycle, climbed onto it, and spared the farmer a final look before he rode off. Making sure Hutchinson and his friends were well ahead, he began coasting down the long slope from the verdant hills overlooking Echo Creek and down into the haze of the derrick forest that surrounded the town and stood on every other block.
@@@@@
"No Saloon! No Saloon! End the sale of Wine and Booze! No Saloon! No Saloon! End the sale of Wine and Booze!"
Dr. Hillhurst could hear them as he rode down Echo Creek's main thoroughfare, the dried and caked dirt leaving a trail of dust behind him. Looking ahead, his hand atop his hat, he frowned when he saw a gathering of women in wealthy-looking dresses of the Victorian style raising white signs lettered with red paint.
They were marching back and forth on the wooden walkway in front of an old Mexican-built saloon, a place he had every intention of visiting after his errands. In front of the town's post office, right next door to the saloon, a small crowd of residents hurled jeers and insults at the protesting women. Across the road from the saloon, more residents pretended to ignore the rabble as they ducked into the town's biggest bank.
Riding wide around the protestors and their detractors, Dr. Hillhurst brought his bike up to a post outside the post office and tied it up securely. Seeing the well-dressed doctor, some of the protestors' opposition broke into cheers and greeted him quite warmly. One man in particular stepped forward, the head of the Echo Creek Post Office.
"Hey, Doc! You know, you treat that bicycle better than most treat their horses!" The middle-aged, rotund man greeted him with a lingering Irish accent as he walked over.
Dusting himself off, Dr. Hillhurst turned to the man. "Afternoon, Harrison, what's the news today?"
Harrison O'Durgeson looked at the crowd of protestors and shook his head. "Oh, the same old. Ms. Bonny's gotten it in her head to have the saloon shut down because it's a 'blight on the community.'"
Dr. Hillhurst looked up at the sunny sky, tinted a light sepia by the faint fumes collecting in the town thanks to the oil derricks in every direction. "Here we all are, choking in the noxious fumes of industrial potential, but the saloon is the blight, of course."
The two men had a laugh and looked on at the protest. At the center of the rabble was a particularly elegant woman dressed more slenderly than her peers, her dark green dress inlaid with crystal accents that made her appear like a peafowl. Indeed, her large hat, protecting her from the shade, sported several large feathers from a peacock, pinned in place by hat pins adorned with pearls and other rare stones.
"Across this great nation, as society moves forward into the next century, the vice of alcohol continues its relentless scourge!" The beautiful, narrow-faced, brown-haired woman declared vocally over the chanting. "It steals husbands and fathers from families, sons from the arms of mothers, and workers from the factories propelling our country!"
She scanned the crowd as she continued. "The moonshiners, brewers, and…" She stopped when she saw Dr. Hillhurst. "… The vintners that profit off the suffering at the hands of alcohol are only one arm of the unholy alliance! The other are the bars and saloons that serve as the middlemen between upstanding men and the temptation of sin!"
Dr. Hillhurst visibly cringed. "And they say I talk too much."
Harrison nudged him. "The lass is looking your way."
"I would much rather lock eyes with a gorgon." Dr. Hillhurst turned away from the protestors. "So, anything in the mail for me?"
Harrison nodded. "As a matter of fact, I was surprised to find a letter addressed to you, my boy, instead of the usual packages."
Dr. Hillhurst was intrigued. "Just a letter?"
Reaching into the dusty brown apron he wore, Harrison pulled out a single envelope and handed it to him. Looking at its face, and finding it indeed addressed to him, Dr. Hillhurst sought the name in the corner and his lips curved downward.
"… Benjamin Wintersmane…"
"Wintersmane?" Harrison was surprised. "Of the Cape Hatteras Wintersmanes?" He gave him a nudge. "Now I'm curious. What business does a scoundrel like you have with a young man of such high society?"
Dr. Hillhurst tucked the letter in his coat. "He and I shot a man in Skagway, just to watch him die."
At the skeptical look Harrison gave him, Dr. Hillhurst broke into a grin. "Truth is, he and I were associates and co-owners of a claim. Though I stayed in Skag to keep anyone from trying to snatch it from under him while he did the real work."
"That sounds more like you." Harrison looked at where the letter had been placed. "So, still in business with him?"
"Afraid not; he sold the claim without so much as a flake and we parted ways soon after."
"Wait, wait–if you didn't make any gold off the claim, then where'd you come up with the money for that land your fancy little château sits upon?"
Waggling his eyebrows, Dr. Hillhurst answered candidly. "I ran a business of separating fools' gold. It was quite lucrative."
Harrison found that confusing. "How'd you…?" At the persistent waggling of the doctor's eyebrows, realization dawned on the postal clerk. "… Ohhh!" He burst into hearty laughter and slapped the doctor's back. "You scoundrel!"
Dr. Hillhurst laughed with the clerk, before he patted his chest where the letter lay. "Well, if this is all, I'm going to stop by Hidalgo's and enjoy a much-deserved meal before I ride back. You're free to join me, old friend."
Harrison chuckled. "You know? That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He's open now, in fact. We can just go through the back entrance and leave the furies to their wailing."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. O'Durgeson?"
Both men stopped and froze as the crowd of counter-protestors thinned and broke to reveal the woman who'd been making an exhaustive speech about the evils of saloonery.
"Women standing up for a righteous cause aren't furies, or harpies, or whatever slur you're quick to call them."
Harrison gave the woman the side-eye. "Aye, I agree, Ms. Bonny. That's why I'm not."
Dr. Hillhurst nodded. "The man speaks the truth, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner. We cynics only disparage the ill-intentioned and sinister."
Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's brown eyes narrowed into a contemptuous glower at the sharp-tongue jab thrown without a care in her direction. "A man as well-spoken and intellectual as yourself wastes his gifts on being a poor example to the community."
His shoulders slumping, Dr. Hillhurst leans onto his cane and heaves a weary sigh. "There is a difference between being a patron, and patronizing, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner. I engage in one, you are a virtuosa in the other."
Harrison's chuckling at the sharp spike in tension between the two was interrupted by the sound of gunfire erupting from inside the bank across the street. As the townspeople looked on, several men in dark clothes with bandana hiding their faces stormed out of the building firing revolvers in the air, and in seconds people were scattering in every direction.
"Damn it all," Dr. Hillhurst exclaimed. "Of all times to do this sort of thing."
Emily gasped and nearly swooned at the sight of the mayhem, while Harrison scrambled for the door of his post office. "Good God, man, get to cover before you get shot!"
The three bank robbers, still shooting into the air, turned from the bank towards the saloon and post office–and the short alleyway between them. One stopped, however, when he saw the well-dressed teetotaler. His eyes, flying wide, burned with rage as he aimed his revolver at her.
In the very instant before he could shoot Emily dead, a whip swung down at high speed and struck the weapon from his hand. As he screamed in pain, the other two robbers turned to look.
A woman emerged from the haze and dust kicked up by the panic. She wore a pink skirt with tassels and matching vest over a magenta-colored shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black boots that came up to her knees. Atop her head, covered in chin-length black gradient colored hair, she wore a pink ten gallon hat with a magenta cheetah-print band around its base. In each hand she carried a pair of long, whips with pink handles that matched her fashion. The one she had used to strike the first bandit twirled through the air above with the deft movements of her right hand, while the whip in her left remained coiled in her grip.
"You boys picked a fine time to rob a bank," the woman in pink declared with a bright but rough voice, "I was on my way to make a deposit."
As the first robber gripped his hand in pain, the other two turned their weapons on the newcomer, who lashed out with the whip in her right hand. The whip, aimed with sharpshooter precision, slapped the revolvers from the hands of both men. As she brought the whip in her right back, she uncoiled and struck with the whip in her left, bringing it up to clock the robber to her left in the side of the head.
The last man quickly tried to reach for a second gun, but the intervening vigilante brought her right-hand whip down and wrapped it around his ankles, bringing them together, while her left-hand whip caught his shoulders and bound his arms together. With a quick tug, she dropped the last man down with a thud.
"Though now I'll be making a dropoff at the jail, too," she quipped before the onlooking townsfolk broke into cheers.
For a bright moment, the chaos brought by the villains and the order restored by the whip-cracking woman brought an end to the divide between the saloon protestors and their detractors. All gathered around her, applauding and praising the woman as she got to rounding up the robbers.
On the outside of the crowd, still in front of the post office, Dr. Hillhurst made an unkind face in the direction of the woman in pink. "Ugh… so tacky."
"You are one to talk," Emily snapped. "You, who wears a mask of civility to fool the unsuspecting into handing over their hard worked for money."
Doc Hillhurst took offense to that. "There you go again, the prima donna of patronizing."
Emily's arrogant glare turned to something baser at his chiding. "You belong in a cell alongside these evil men."
Dr. Hillhurst's heart sank. He looked over at the three men on the ground, being mocked and insulted as the brave vigilante bound them up for carting to jail, and then turned his gaze back to Emily.
"Madam, this misery and evil is not the product of ill minds, but empty stomachs. Offer a man enough to feed him and his, and he'll do whatever is necessary."
He went back over to his bicycle and untied it. Harrison walked over to him, concerned. "What about lunch?"
Climbing onto the bicycle, Dr. Hillhurst turned to his friend. "Good man, I can't bring myself to it. Something ghastly has stolen my appetite."
Harrison yielded. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."
With a nod to Harrison, a quick glance at the heroine of the hour, and an acidic glare for Emily, Dr. Hillhurst pushed off and rode towards the town's limits.
The long ride was hilly and grueling on the rocky dirt path, but it improved immensely as Dr. Hillhurst escaped the forest of derricks and the ever-present miasma that hung around it. As the brown tint faded into the bright vibrance of the world, the young man took a deep breath and let his lungs fill with the clear air rolling off the mountains and valleys towards the distant Pacific Ocean.
As the hilly fields began to transition to rows of trellises overgrown with vibrant grapevines, Dr. Hillhurst reached into his jacket and pulled out the letter sent to him. He looked at the sender's name again, before looking ahead.
"Benny… what have you been up to all this time?" He asked aloud as he crested one more hill and his home came into sight.
It was a simple Victorian style two-story home; painted white with a gray tile roof and surrounded by a matching white fence. The house the ultimate prize for all of his dealings in Skagway, and ironically the source of all his troubles presently.
Still, as he rode past the open gate and up to the front steps, Dr. Hillhurst couldn't be happier to be back at his mansion.
Until he noticed the young man, a boy really, slumped unconscious on his front steps.
= - = 8-1 = - =
Fun Fact: Echo Creek isn't a real place in Los Angeles, and in canon it takes a bunch of motifs from various parts of LA to make up its own little locale. Against my better judgement, I've put Echo Creek somewhere in LA for the sake of my ability to write this story.
Echo Creek has entirely replaced the city of Pasadena in Los Angeles, thank you. Also don't @ me about all of the earlier geographical errors that may result about this revelation.
419
New
I know I said Wednesday and Saturday but I didn't have to fly cross country on the last Saturday. Whatever, nevermind. Here we are with the next chapter of Legends Volume 8!
The bell ringing outside of its normal time caught the attention of the students of Echo Creek Academy. As all attention was drawn to the PA system speakers in classrooms and hallways throughout the campus, a shaken-sounding Principal Skeeves spoke.
"Attention students; effective immediately all classes and activities for the remainder of the day have been canceled."
In Miss Espinoza's Calculus class, Misao, Heather, and Brittney all looked up in surprise hearing the announcement.
"School buses are on their way, and parents have been notified of the cancellation of classes. All students are instructed to leave the campus and go straight to your homes and not remain on campus following the final bell for any reason, under any circumstances."
In her classroom, Jo leaned back in her chair. "That's weird…"
"Furthermore, all classes will be canceled for the remainder of the week and will resume next Monday. So, pack up your books and start leaving the school, you are all dismissed."
In Miss Skullnick's class, Marco and Roland stared at the PA speaker and looked at one another. The other students present in class looked amongst themselves, murmuring in bemusement at the unexpected and sudden end of classes.
Star Butterfly and Mabel Pines, naturally, took it for what it was.
"SURPRISE VACATION~!" Star sang as she leaped from her desk. She then began to dance, walking in place while thrusting her horizontally held wand out in front of her. "School's out! School's out! Let's shout! It out! School's out! School's out! Let's shout! It out!"
"Ooh! Ooh!" Mabel called out as she stood up and celebrated with her, hands on her knees and twerking her hips while windmilling her hair around.
"Yes, Star, Mabel, your disdain for secondary education is well-known," Miss Skullnick said. "But just because classes are canceled doesn't mean homework is."
Both girls stopped celebrating like they'd just won the lottery, with Star turning to the troll woman in despair. "Miss Skullnick, come on! Be an ally!"
"I am," the teacher replied, "By not giving you kids a chance to slack off. You're to read chapters five and six and answer the review questions at the end of both."
Star collapsed dramatically to her knees. "Noooooooooo!"
Mabel rested a hand on her shoulder, with equal gravitas. "Our freedom was stolen from us…"
Miss Skullnick shook her head. Luckily, she was paid enough to put up with Star, both financially and in the intoxicating power of being a superhuman monster.
Getting up from his desk, Marco called over to both. "It's just two chapters, we can knock that out in a day, and you'll have the rest of the week to yourselves."
"But Marco," Star whined, "Math is hard…!"
Jackie chimed in. "After yesterday, I'll take AP Calculus class with…" She stopped and blinked. "… Miss Espinoza?"
That didn't sound right to say for some reason.
Marco agreed. "Yeah, AP Calc is no joke."
Forgetting how strange that sounded, Jackie smiled at Marco. "Right? I quit after a few classes because of just how intense it was."
She had an idea. "Hey, why don't we hold a study group at the spot?" She was referring to Hillhurst, of course. "Since we have the rest of the day, we can go knock out the homework and then decide what we'll do with the rest of the week."
Mabel gasped. "Good idea! Later on, we can go to the Bounce Lounge–"
Star waved her hand. "Oh, no, we're still banned."
Mabel pouted, then grew even brighter. "We could go to St. O's!"
Star snapped her fingers, making guns of them to point at Mabel. "Now you're talking!"
Roland turned to Marco as Jackie joined Mabel and Star on plotting the rest of their week. "Priorities, right?"
Marco shrugged his shoulders before he looked up towards the PA. "I wonder what's going on."
"Man, I don't know," Roland said, "But Skeeves sounded freaked out."
He didn't even sound worried during or after the fight yesterday, when a whole student got kidnapped off campus by a supervillain that literally blasted her way in.
Marco moved to get out of his seat. "I'm gonna go see what's up."
Roland got up first. "Nah, it's good. I'll go ask around and link up with Jo on the way. See you at the spot."
In the depths of the Beetle Battle Base beneath Hillhurst Mansion, Andrew McCormick and Dipper Pines stood in front of a box-shaped device the size of a kitchen island, topped with a white glowing glass surface. On the very center of the surface, a Big Bad Beetleborgs comic was placed face up–Issue 99.
"All right," Dipper said as he hit a few buttons on the device's digital console. "Scanning Issue 99."
With a hum the machine began to work. A beam of light the width of the glass surface shot up and crossed the surface from left to right, penetrating the comic and scanning all of the information held within from cover to cover. Reaching the other end of the table, it swept back twice as fast, before repeating the cycle at its initial speed.
As Dipper watched the scanner work, Drew looked to his right over at the main monitors where Misao would normally be seated. On the screen, an image of the monster of the issue appeared–a green robot with red arm-cannons and a pair of missile launchers on its shoulders, the right having two tubes while the left had six. Following that, various pages featuring the Magnavore in action appeared on it before they turned into blocks of text detailing its feats and abilities.
"No melee ability… can roll along the ground at high speed… arm cannons fire energy blasts… right missile launchers are for heavier targets while left missile launchers are for agile targets…" Drew stopped mumbling and nodded. "Yeah, that's all comic accurate for Death Launcher. Wow… it's amazing how this thing can't connect to the net properly but can just read and sort data like this."
"Magic computers, man," Dipper said.
Drew turned to him and smiled. "Think of how many Vs. debates you could win with this thing. I could probably get Jo to shut up over who would win between Batman and Doctor Doom."
Looking up from the console, Dipper had to know. "… Batman would win, right?"
Drew's face fell. "… Dude…"
With an offended look, Dipper grew insistent. "But Batman would win."
Before he could commit to the debate, something he knew he'd regret, Drew's phone buzzing in his pocket came to his rescue.
"Hold that thought." Forever, he hoped, as he pulled out the device and looked at the screen. "Roland's just messaged me."
Roland said:
Hey, m'boy, school just let out and they don't want us coming back until Monday. Something's up. I'll hit you up when I know more.
Drew turned to Dipper. "They just canceled classes for the rest of the week."
That gave Dipper pause. "Why?"
Not even the fallout of Shego and some monsters attacking the school earned a day off.
Drew shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but Roland said he'd look into it."
There was nothing to do but wait, then. Dipper was fine with that. "All right , so we're at 99 now, how many comics do we have left to scan? And how many are we missing?"
Drew turned and started sifting through the piles of comics. "Of every comic I have, the only ones I don't are Issues 60, 100, and issues 108 through 120."
Dipper couldn't help but snicker. "That's not bad, all thinks considered. Why do you have such a big gap in your collection?"
"Issues 108 through 120 were movie tie-in issues for the tenth anniversary, and they're a lot rarer than most because the movie never materialized in 2000. I don't have Issue 100 because that's the hundredth issue milestone, and I don't have Issue 60 because that's the five-year anniversary and the anniversary copies don't get reissued."
He noticed Dipper was grinning at him and rolled his eyes. "Go ahead."
"… What about Issue 69?" Dipper asked.
He knew it. "Ugh! Look, there is no Issue 69. Art Fortunes says he didn't want people collecting it just because it was Issue 69, so he skipped 68 to 70 and even said back then that he was using that time to take a break from drawing."
That was kind of lame, Dipper thought. He'd actually kind of hoped there'd be some kind of mature edition for number 69, but oh well. "Is there a way we could get those anniversary comics, and the movie tie-ins?"
"Sure, Nano has them, she lets us borrow the rares to read like all the time." He looked off to the side pouting as he grumbled. "But won't give a discount for actually buying them. Hmph."
That gave Dipper an idea. "You know, we do have two exceedingly generous and unfathomably wealthy friends now, right?"
Drew stopped pouting, as he realized that. "… Huh, we do."
"When we all meet up, we'll talk to Misao about buying up those rares."
Breaking into a smile, Drew could not wait. "Hopefully she'll say yes."
He looked down at the pile of yet to be scanned books, and saw Issue 137, featuring Saberizer on the cover. His smile dimming, he looked up at Dipper. "Hey, should we include comics with monsters we've already beaten?"
"We may as well, just in case they come back or something, somehow," Dipper replied.
His battle with Saberizer crept up in his memory, as Drew conceded. "If you say so," he replied as he set aside the comic to maintain the order. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Is it why do I think Batman would beat Dr. Doom? Because I have a PowerPoint."
Drew was confident he didn't. "No, it's about the real Magnavores."
Dipper was glad Drew didn't call his bluff, because he didn't have a PowerPoint ready outside of his head… yet. He had a whole week to work on one, at least. "What's on your mind?"
"You've noticed how different Jara, Typhus, and Noxic are from the comics, right? How they don't act like, well… comic book villains."
An interesting question, Dipper wondered where Drew was going with this thought. "They're definitely not out to backstab each other, that's for sure. They also seem to be… I guess for lack of a better term sociable?"
"Except for Jara," Drew quickly said.
"Yeah, except for Jara," Dipper agreed. He wasn't about let Drew know that he found Jara aesthetically pleasing though, body shape and physique-wise. "Typhus especially seems like he's just out there to have fun."
"And both times he's fought at the school, he was courteous enough to back off and leave when Miss Skullnick told him to."
Dipper wondered if that was more because Miss Skullnick was actually that powerful. He'd have to ask Star or Marco about that. "You think there's something there?"
"I don't know," Drew admitted. "Maybe I'm seeing things… but what if there's, I don't know… humanity there?"
It stuck out so sorely with him, Jara's reaction to Saberizer's defeat. "And I'm not just talking about them being almost friendly. When I beat Saberizer… Jara came at us like she did after because she was distraught. Then yesterday, she definitely gunned for me because of it."
"So, you think they might have some kind of decency deep down, because they care about each other, and their minions?" When Drew nodded affirmative, Dipper mulled on that. "That would certainly put the Magnavores higher up than Bill. At the same time though… I doubt we could do much with that. If they do actually have feelings like that, then they all must definitely hate us for beating them up and killing their guys."
Drew visibly flinched but didn't outright cringe. "Maybe there's something we can do about it… but I'm not sure how to approach it."
Letting out a hum, Dipper nodded. "You're hoping for a peaceful resolution, huh?"
"I'd like that, yeah."
Dipper wondered if Drew feared a negative response. "Yeah, I'd like one, too." Seeing the tension bleed from him confirmed it. "These guys are from the Nightmare Realm, though, the same place a needy, whiny, insane triangle who decided to make his issues everyone's problem came from."
On top of that, he added. "Also, while the three of them seem like they might be cool. We don't really know much about Vexor or what his biz is. For all we know he could catch wind of us trying to hug it out and pull some stunt to take advantage of it."
Very good points, Drew agreed. "So, we should be cautious, but optimistic?" At Dipper's nod, he smiled. "I was worried you'd be more against this."
"Are you kidding? Between my Grunkle Stan, Mabel, and Pacifica Northwest, I'm firmly a believer that people can change for the better–we can't count them all out."
"Even the Vanderhoffs?"
Dipper immediately backtracked. "Okay, there are some cases that are really just rotten to the core and beyond redemption."
Both boys had a chuckle at that, before Drew finally got a message from Roland.
Roland said:
Nah, whatever is going on has got Skeeves FREAKED. I just got yelled at to leave school or I'm eating a suspension.
Drew didn't like that. "Principal Skeeves told Roland to leave or he's getting suspended."
Dipper didn't like that. "… And now I have a bad feeling. One sec."
Leaving the scanner to run, Dipper went to the main console and began typing away on the keyboard. The window showing the Combat Mecha Death Launcher disappeared and multiple windows appeared in its place. The largest of the maps was a static map of Echo Creek Academy and its surrounding neighborhood, while the others were text transcripts of police radio chatter, with indicators connecting the windows to emergency service units at or approaching the school.
"That's… a bigger police response than both the fights at school," Dipper said in surprise.
Drew walked over staring at the screen. "… What's going on?"
Dipper read some of the codes popping up in the transcripts. "419, 10-2…" He stopped and frowned. "Wait, 419?"
Drew turned to him. "What's 419?"
"That's… 'dead body reported.'" Dipper's face hardened. "10-2 also means no lights or sirens."
The revelation was startling. "Where did the body come from?"
Dipper shook his head. "I don't know, but I have a very bad feeling about this."
A dead body could mean anything, but there had been three battles with the Magnavores at Echo Creek Academy within a week. All of them were violent enough that a dead body could not be ignored at the scene of them.
"There's a good chance the police will pay us visits… Mabel and I maybe, Star and Marco definitely."
"Should we tell them what's going on?"
"No, we can talk about that when everybody meets up here. Tell the group chat to come to Hillhurst however they can, and to not draw attention."
Drew couldn't help it. "Ask your sister, my sister, and Star not to draw attention–"
Dipper rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I realized just as I was saying it."
The buses had arrived, and both teachers and students who had cars were making their way out of the school's parking lot, creating a bit of a traffic snarl where the school's driveway met the street. At the front of Echo Creek Academy, Marco, Jackie, Mabel, and Star were heading down the sidewalk towards their bus, watching the chaotic scene.
"Even teachers are leaving," Mabel said. "They want everybody gone."
Star rested her hands on Marco's shoulders. "We're going to get the homework done today, right? There's so much I wanna do! I want to hang out with Pony Head, stay up late watching cartoons, spar with Jackie–"
"Work on that magical armor you talked about?" Marco asked.
"Oh yeah, that too!" Star quickly said.
Marco wanted to be there to supervise that. "Yeah, we can do the homework as soon as we get to Hillhurst."
He looked at Jackie. "You're a math whiz, too. You got my back?"
"Dude, of course!" Jackie looked back and noticed Misao hurrying towards them. "In fact, Star and Mabel, you've got three math geniuses to help get the homework done."
Misao reached the group and immediately caught Mabel in a hug. "What is happening? There wasn't even a monster!"
Star looked back at Misao as Mabel patted the new arrival's head. "Do not look a gift warnicorn in the mouth, you don't want to get your face bitten off."
"I just started my own classes," Misao lamented. "Can I have one normal school day?"
"You're asking for too much," Marco said.
Misao pouted. "I know, but still… I was having fun! I don't know why everyone is so afraid of Miss Espinoza."
"I'm thinking about going back if you're there," Jackie said to Star's chagrin.
"Jackie, no! Don't fall for Calculus' seductive wails!"
The simultaneous rings of everyone's phones called their attention to their devices. Marco, Star, Jackie, Mabel, and Misao all produced their phones to see a message from Drew.
Dr00 said:
Something weird's going on, everybody meet up at Hillhurst ASAP.
"And there's Dipper," Mabel said.
Marco was worried. "I wonder what he's figured out." He looked back toward the school. "Or what Roland found out for that matter."
Star pulled out the Dimensional Scissors. "Well, we should go straight there, right? Jo and Roland will catch up."
Before anyone could agree, a car horn honked repeatedly, drawing everyone's attention to a cranberry-colored minivan parked waiting in the school's drop-off lane. Inside the driver's seat, a woman was waving and calling to them.
"Miss Darlian! Reiko hired me to give you a ride!" She called out. "Don't use the scissors, hurry up and get in!"
Any concern that this stranger wasn't legit disappeared as Misao quickly hurried to the van. One by one, Marco, Star, Jackie, and then Mabel climbed into the van, Marco taking the front seat while the girls piled into the back. As soon as they climbed in and the door started sliding closed, the driver put the van in drive and pulled out of the pickup lane.
"Danke schön," Misao thanked the woman. "We didn't need the ride, but it we're grateful nonetheless."
Mabel leaned in to get a good look at the woman. "Yeah, it's nice of you to show up but um… how'd you know to be here?"
The woman, who had dark red hair and eyes a darker shade of the same color, and in general reminded all of them of an older Kim Possible, pointed to the Police Scanner radio on her dashboard. "The police are coming to the school, and I think the press will be close behind them."
Naturally, the mention of police had the teens alert. "Why are the police coming?"
"I could not tell you, but it sounds serious," the woman said. "As your Fixer assigned to you by Hyuuga Heavy Industries, it's my job to make sure if any law enforcement contacts you, it's through me." At a stop sign she looked back at the group. "My name's Elise Dinkleman, and I'm with HHI's American Legal Department."
Jackie brightened. "Oh, wow! Our own lawyer!"
"Not just any lawyer, a Fixer!" Mabel said. "Our own under the table problem solver who gives us peace of mind when dealing with stuff we can't! My Grunkle Stan always dreamed of having one at the Mystery Shack, but Soos was too sweet, and Wendy was too indiscriminate with her violence."
Elise nodded as she left the stop sign. "That's about right, a Fixer can't be too nice, but they can't be a hammer treating every problem like a nail."
"Ugh," Star groaned, recalling Hammer Kong.
Jackie asked. "So, besides being our legal team, what else can you do for us?"
"As long as it's not something trivial like grabbing you Britta's–I'm not your servant–or killing a guy–I'm not a hitman–the things I can do for you are pretty broad. You need someone investigated, you need info on something behind a layer of clearance or two, or you just need some fine print on a contract read? I'm your woman."
She patted the steering wheel. "I'm a pretty good wheelman, too, and I drive non-descript vehicles that don't stand out too much in a line of traffic."
Star leaned in. "Man, we could've used you while dealing with the Vanderhoffs."
Elise pointed back at Star. "Exactly. I handle people like that by showing up at their door and telling them that they'll be in a world of legal pain if they don't stop their crap. HHI does not care how much money you got."
As they pulled up to the intersection leading to Echo Creek's main street, Marco pointed to the left. "Turn here, we're going to Hillhurst Mansion."
"I was told that creepy spot was your hideout," Elise said as she made the turn. "When I was a teenager, I was dared to go inside and have a look around, but I chickened out."
"Oh, you're local?" Marco asked.
"Not from Echo Creek, I'm from Van Nuys, like thirty minutes away, right next to North Hollywood."
Jackie made a face. "Eugh, North Hollywood…"
"What's wrong with North Hollywood?" Elise asked.
"You know exactly what's wrong with North Hollywood," Jackie replied.
Star looked back and forth between the two. "Is it as bad as Glendale?"
"No!" Both said together, before Elise clarified. "Let's be honest, all of North LA is screwed, now with Echo Creek being full of weirdness, too."
Mabel and Misao, who were not from LA, had new questions. Marco, who was from LA, also had questions.
The first one came up right away. "So how much of what we're involved in have you been told? Because Dipper is going to ask when he meets you."
"I have been briefed on everything by Reiko, including your association with the Big Bad Beetleborgs. Try not to surprise me too much, okay?" She asked.
Misao spoke up. "You're sworn to Attorney Client Privilege, then, when you learn their identities."
"Naturally, Miss Darlian," Elise replied.
The group chat buzzed again, and Marco looked at his phone.
Jo said:
Hey, not to alarm anyone, but the police are swarming all over Brittney's little sports complex and a van marked Coroner just pulled in to go to the back. This might be bad.
As Marco read the message, Drew responded.
Dr00 said:
Meet with Roland and get to Hillhurst. We'll talk about it there.
"Oh…" Marco did not like that as he began to text back. "We might be in trouble."
Marco said:
Star, Jackie, Mabel, Misao, and I are on our way. HHI sent a lawyer to pick us up and they're bringing us to the Mansion.
Dr00 said:
Wait, we have a lawyer, now?
Janna Banana said:
Sweet, a Fixer.
Dr00 said:
A what ?_?
Marco lowered his phone and looked back at the others as they reviewed the group chat.
"The Coroner?" Jackie asked. "Did somebody die?"
"We were all in class, there are witnesses," Mabel said.
Misao frowned. "What if it was from yesterday? Maybe Señor Senior Junior's robots attacked someone?"
"Somebody would've noticed that." Jackie said, concern creeping into her voice. "Right?"
Star held her hand up. "I fixed the school up just this morning before class, remember? If anybody had gotten hurt yesterday, Marco and I would've found it then."
Marco was as shaken as Jackie. "Yeah, but that doesn't change that the school has been involved in three violent attacks and now there might be a dead body. We're going to be the first people they ask about it. Well, us and not the Beetleborgs."
Mabel sank into her seat. "Ugh, this sucks."
She looked at Elise. "Well, at least we got a lawyer."
"One that's going to keep you out of trouble with this one," Elise promised.
Her passengers shared looks tinted with varying levels of concern. All agreed that this was a serious situation, now, and worried about how this was going to turn out.
Crime is afoot, I'm sure it's not something that will become an immense problem later.
= - = 8-2 = - =
|419|
|419|
The bell ringing outside of its normal time caught the attention of the students of Echo Creek Academy. As all attention was drawn to the PA system speakers in classrooms and hallways throughout the campus, a shaken-sounding Principal Skeeves spoke.
"Attention students; effective immediately all classes and activities for the remainder of the day have been canceled."
In Miss Espinoza's Calculus class, Misao, Heather, and Brittney all looked up in surprise hearing the announcement.
"School buses are on their way, and parents have been notified of the cancellation of classes. All students are instructed to leave the campus and go straight to your homes and not remain on campus following the final bell for any reason, under any circumstances."
In her classroom, Jo leaned back in her chair. "That's weird…"
"Furthermore, all classes will be canceled for the remainder of the week and will resume next Monday. So, pack up your books and start leaving the school, you are all dismissed."
In Miss Skullnick's class, Marco and Roland stared at the PA speaker and looked at one another. The other students present in class looked amongst themselves, murmuring in bemusement at the unexpected and sudden end of classes.
Star Butterfly and Mabel Pines, naturally, took it for what it was.
"SURPRISE VACATION~!" Star sang as she leaped from her desk. She then began to dance, walking in place while thrusting her horizontally held wand out in front of her. "School's out! School's out! Let's shout! It out! School's out! School's out! Let's shout! It out!"
"Ooh! Ooh!" Mabel called out as she stood up and celebrated with her, hands on her knees and twerking her hips while windmilling her hair around.
"Yes, Star, Mabel, your disdain for secondary education is well-known," Miss Skullnick said. "But just because classes are canceled doesn't mean homework is."
Both girls stopped celebrating like they'd just won the lottery, with Star turning to the troll woman in despair. "Miss Skullnick, come on! Be an ally!"
"I am," the teacher replied, "By not giving you kids a chance to slack off. You're to read chapters five and six and answer the review questions at the end of both."
Star collapsed dramatically to her knees. "Noooooooooo!"
Mabel rested a hand on her shoulder, with equal gravitas. "Our freedom was stolen from us…"
Miss Skullnick shook her head. Luckily, she was paid enough to put up with Star, both financially and in the intoxicating power of being a superhuman monster.
Getting up from his desk, Marco called over to both. "It's just two chapters, we can knock that out in a day, and you'll have the rest of the week to yourselves."
"But Marco," Star whined, "Math is hard…!"
Jackie chimed in. "After yesterday, I'll take AP Calculus class with…" She stopped and blinked. "… Miss Espinoza?"
That didn't sound right to say for some reason.
Marco agreed. "Yeah, AP Calc is no joke."
Forgetting how strange that sounded, Jackie smiled at Marco. "Right? I quit after a few classes because of just how intense it was."
She had an idea. "Hey, why don't we hold a study group at the spot?" She was referring to Hillhurst, of course. "Since we have the rest of the day, we can go knock out the homework and then decide what we'll do with the rest of the week."
Mabel gasped. "Good idea! Later on, we can go to the Bounce Lounge–"
Star waved her hand. "Oh, no, we're still banned."
Mabel pouted, then grew even brighter. "We could go to St. O's!"
Star snapped her fingers, making guns of them to point at Mabel. "Now you're talking!"
Roland turned to Marco as Jackie joined Mabel and Star on plotting the rest of their week. "Priorities, right?"
Marco shrugged his shoulders before he looked up towards the PA. "I wonder what's going on."
"Man, I don't know," Roland said, "But Skeeves sounded freaked out."
He didn't even sound worried during or after the fight yesterday, when a whole student got kidnapped off campus by a supervillain that literally blasted her way in.
Marco moved to get out of his seat. "I'm gonna go see what's up."
Roland got up first. "Nah, it's good. I'll go ask around and link up with Jo on the way. See you at the spot."
@@@@@
In the depths of the Beetle Battle Base beneath Hillhurst Mansion, Andrew McCormick and Dipper Pines stood in front of a box-shaped device the size of a kitchen island, topped with a white glowing glass surface. On the very center of the surface, a Big Bad Beetleborgs comic was placed face up–Issue 99.
"All right," Dipper said as he hit a few buttons on the device's digital console. "Scanning Issue 99."
With a hum the machine began to work. A beam of light the width of the glass surface shot up and crossed the surface from left to right, penetrating the comic and scanning all of the information held within from cover to cover. Reaching the other end of the table, it swept back twice as fast, before repeating the cycle at its initial speed.
As Dipper watched the scanner work, Drew looked to his right over at the main monitors where Misao would normally be seated. On the screen, an image of the monster of the issue appeared–a green robot with red arm-cannons and a pair of missile launchers on its shoulders, the right having two tubes while the left had six. Following that, various pages featuring the Magnavore in action appeared on it before they turned into blocks of text detailing its feats and abilities.
"No melee ability… can roll along the ground at high speed… arm cannons fire energy blasts… right missile launchers are for heavier targets while left missile launchers are for agile targets…" Drew stopped mumbling and nodded. "Yeah, that's all comic accurate for Death Launcher. Wow… it's amazing how this thing can't connect to the net properly but can just read and sort data like this."
"Magic computers, man," Dipper said.
Drew turned to him and smiled. "Think of how many Vs. debates you could win with this thing. I could probably get Jo to shut up over who would win between Batman and Doctor Doom."
Looking up from the console, Dipper had to know. "… Batman would win, right?"
Drew's face fell. "… Dude…"
With an offended look, Dipper grew insistent. "But Batman would win."
Before he could commit to the debate, something he knew he'd regret, Drew's phone buzzing in his pocket came to his rescue.
"Hold that thought." Forever, he hoped, as he pulled out the device and looked at the screen. "Roland's just messaged me."
Roland said:
Hey, m'boy, school just let out and they don't want us coming back until Monday. Something's up. I'll hit you up when I know more.
Drew turned to Dipper. "They just canceled classes for the rest of the week."
That gave Dipper pause. "Why?"
Not even the fallout of Shego and some monsters attacking the school earned a day off.
Drew shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but Roland said he'd look into it."
There was nothing to do but wait, then. Dipper was fine with that. "All right , so we're at 99 now, how many comics do we have left to scan? And how many are we missing?"
Drew turned and started sifting through the piles of comics. "Of every comic I have, the only ones I don't are Issues 60, 100, and issues 108 through 120."
Dipper couldn't help but snicker. "That's not bad, all thinks considered. Why do you have such a big gap in your collection?"
"Issues 108 through 120 were movie tie-in issues for the tenth anniversary, and they're a lot rarer than most because the movie never materialized in 2000. I don't have Issue 100 because that's the hundredth issue milestone, and I don't have Issue 60 because that's the five-year anniversary and the anniversary copies don't get reissued."
He noticed Dipper was grinning at him and rolled his eyes. "Go ahead."
"… What about Issue 69?" Dipper asked.
He knew it. "Ugh! Look, there is no Issue 69. Art Fortunes says he didn't want people collecting it just because it was Issue 69, so he skipped 68 to 70 and even said back then that he was using that time to take a break from drawing."
That was kind of lame, Dipper thought. He'd actually kind of hoped there'd be some kind of mature edition for number 69, but oh well. "Is there a way we could get those anniversary comics, and the movie tie-ins?"
"Sure, Nano has them, she lets us borrow the rares to read like all the time." He looked off to the side pouting as he grumbled. "But won't give a discount for actually buying them. Hmph."
That gave Dipper an idea. "You know, we do have two exceedingly generous and unfathomably wealthy friends now, right?"
Drew stopped pouting, as he realized that. "… Huh, we do."
"When we all meet up, we'll talk to Misao about buying up those rares."
Breaking into a smile, Drew could not wait. "Hopefully she'll say yes."
He looked down at the pile of yet to be scanned books, and saw Issue 137, featuring Saberizer on the cover. His smile dimming, he looked up at Dipper. "Hey, should we include comics with monsters we've already beaten?"
"We may as well, just in case they come back or something, somehow," Dipper replied.
His battle with Saberizer crept up in his memory, as Drew conceded. "If you say so," he replied as he set aside the comic to maintain the order. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Is it why do I think Batman would beat Dr. Doom? Because I have a PowerPoint."
Drew was confident he didn't. "No, it's about the real Magnavores."
Dipper was glad Drew didn't call his bluff, because he didn't have a PowerPoint ready outside of his head… yet. He had a whole week to work on one, at least. "What's on your mind?"
"You've noticed how different Jara, Typhus, and Noxic are from the comics, right? How they don't act like, well… comic book villains."
An interesting question, Dipper wondered where Drew was going with this thought. "They're definitely not out to backstab each other, that's for sure. They also seem to be… I guess for lack of a better term sociable?"
"Except for Jara," Drew quickly said.
"Yeah, except for Jara," Dipper agreed. He wasn't about let Drew know that he found Jara aesthetically pleasing though, body shape and physique-wise. "Typhus especially seems like he's just out there to have fun."
"And both times he's fought at the school, he was courteous enough to back off and leave when Miss Skullnick told him to."
Dipper wondered if that was more because Miss Skullnick was actually that powerful. He'd have to ask Star or Marco about that. "You think there's something there?"
"I don't know," Drew admitted. "Maybe I'm seeing things… but what if there's, I don't know… humanity there?"
It stuck out so sorely with him, Jara's reaction to Saberizer's defeat. "And I'm not just talking about them being almost friendly. When I beat Saberizer… Jara came at us like she did after because she was distraught. Then yesterday, she definitely gunned for me because of it."
"So, you think they might have some kind of decency deep down, because they care about each other, and their minions?" When Drew nodded affirmative, Dipper mulled on that. "That would certainly put the Magnavores higher up than Bill. At the same time though… I doubt we could do much with that. If they do actually have feelings like that, then they all must definitely hate us for beating them up and killing their guys."
Drew visibly flinched but didn't outright cringe. "Maybe there's something we can do about it… but I'm not sure how to approach it."
Letting out a hum, Dipper nodded. "You're hoping for a peaceful resolution, huh?"
"I'd like that, yeah."
Dipper wondered if Drew feared a negative response. "Yeah, I'd like one, too." Seeing the tension bleed from him confirmed it. "These guys are from the Nightmare Realm, though, the same place a needy, whiny, insane triangle who decided to make his issues everyone's problem came from."
On top of that, he added. "Also, while the three of them seem like they might be cool. We don't really know much about Vexor or what his biz is. For all we know he could catch wind of us trying to hug it out and pull some stunt to take advantage of it."
Very good points, Drew agreed. "So, we should be cautious, but optimistic?" At Dipper's nod, he smiled. "I was worried you'd be more against this."
"Are you kidding? Between my Grunkle Stan, Mabel, and Pacifica Northwest, I'm firmly a believer that people can change for the better–we can't count them all out."
"Even the Vanderhoffs?"
Dipper immediately backtracked. "Okay, there are some cases that are really just rotten to the core and beyond redemption."
Both boys had a chuckle at that, before Drew finally got a message from Roland.
Roland said:
Nah, whatever is going on has got Skeeves FREAKED. I just got yelled at to leave school or I'm eating a suspension.
Drew didn't like that. "Principal Skeeves told Roland to leave or he's getting suspended."
Dipper didn't like that. "… And now I have a bad feeling. One sec."
Leaving the scanner to run, Dipper went to the main console and began typing away on the keyboard. The window showing the Combat Mecha Death Launcher disappeared and multiple windows appeared in its place. The largest of the maps was a static map of Echo Creek Academy and its surrounding neighborhood, while the others were text transcripts of police radio chatter, with indicators connecting the windows to emergency service units at or approaching the school.
"That's… a bigger police response than both the fights at school," Dipper said in surprise.
Drew walked over staring at the screen. "… What's going on?"
Dipper read some of the codes popping up in the transcripts. "419, 10-2…" He stopped and frowned. "Wait, 419?"
Drew turned to him. "What's 419?"
"That's… 'dead body reported.'" Dipper's face hardened. "10-2 also means no lights or sirens."
The revelation was startling. "Where did the body come from?"
Dipper shook his head. "I don't know, but I have a very bad feeling about this."
A dead body could mean anything, but there had been three battles with the Magnavores at Echo Creek Academy within a week. All of them were violent enough that a dead body could not be ignored at the scene of them.
"There's a good chance the police will pay us visits… Mabel and I maybe, Star and Marco definitely."
"Should we tell them what's going on?"
"No, we can talk about that when everybody meets up here. Tell the group chat to come to Hillhurst however they can, and to not draw attention."
Drew couldn't help it. "Ask your sister, my sister, and Star not to draw attention–"
Dipper rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I realized just as I was saying it."
@@@@@
The buses had arrived, and both teachers and students who had cars were making their way out of the school's parking lot, creating a bit of a traffic snarl where the school's driveway met the street. At the front of Echo Creek Academy, Marco, Jackie, Mabel, and Star were heading down the sidewalk towards their bus, watching the chaotic scene.
"Even teachers are leaving," Mabel said. "They want everybody gone."
Star rested her hands on Marco's shoulders. "We're going to get the homework done today, right? There's so much I wanna do! I want to hang out with Pony Head, stay up late watching cartoons, spar with Jackie–"
"Work on that magical armor you talked about?" Marco asked.
"Oh yeah, that too!" Star quickly said.
Marco wanted to be there to supervise that. "Yeah, we can do the homework as soon as we get to Hillhurst."
He looked at Jackie. "You're a math whiz, too. You got my back?"
"Dude, of course!" Jackie looked back and noticed Misao hurrying towards them. "In fact, Star and Mabel, you've got three math geniuses to help get the homework done."
Misao reached the group and immediately caught Mabel in a hug. "What is happening? There wasn't even a monster!"
Star looked back at Misao as Mabel patted the new arrival's head. "Do not look a gift warnicorn in the mouth, you don't want to get your face bitten off."
"I just started my own classes," Misao lamented. "Can I have one normal school day?"
"You're asking for too much," Marco said.
Misao pouted. "I know, but still… I was having fun! I don't know why everyone is so afraid of Miss Espinoza."
"I'm thinking about going back if you're there," Jackie said to Star's chagrin.
"Jackie, no! Don't fall for Calculus' seductive wails!"
The simultaneous rings of everyone's phones called their attention to their devices. Marco, Star, Jackie, Mabel, and Misao all produced their phones to see a message from Drew.
Dr00 said:
Something weird's going on, everybody meet up at Hillhurst ASAP.
"And there's Dipper," Mabel said.
Marco was worried. "I wonder what he's figured out." He looked back toward the school. "Or what Roland found out for that matter."
Star pulled out the Dimensional Scissors. "Well, we should go straight there, right? Jo and Roland will catch up."
Before anyone could agree, a car horn honked repeatedly, drawing everyone's attention to a cranberry-colored minivan parked waiting in the school's drop-off lane. Inside the driver's seat, a woman was waving and calling to them.
"Miss Darlian! Reiko hired me to give you a ride!" She called out. "Don't use the scissors, hurry up and get in!"
Any concern that this stranger wasn't legit disappeared as Misao quickly hurried to the van. One by one, Marco, Star, Jackie, and then Mabel climbed into the van, Marco taking the front seat while the girls piled into the back. As soon as they climbed in and the door started sliding closed, the driver put the van in drive and pulled out of the pickup lane.
"Danke schön," Misao thanked the woman. "We didn't need the ride, but it we're grateful nonetheless."
Mabel leaned in to get a good look at the woman. "Yeah, it's nice of you to show up but um… how'd you know to be here?"
The woman, who had dark red hair and eyes a darker shade of the same color, and in general reminded all of them of an older Kim Possible, pointed to the Police Scanner radio on her dashboard. "The police are coming to the school, and I think the press will be close behind them."
Naturally, the mention of police had the teens alert. "Why are the police coming?"
"I could not tell you, but it sounds serious," the woman said. "As your Fixer assigned to you by Hyuuga Heavy Industries, it's my job to make sure if any law enforcement contacts you, it's through me." At a stop sign she looked back at the group. "My name's Elise Dinkleman, and I'm with HHI's American Legal Department."
Jackie brightened. "Oh, wow! Our own lawyer!"
"Not just any lawyer, a Fixer!" Mabel said. "Our own under the table problem solver who gives us peace of mind when dealing with stuff we can't! My Grunkle Stan always dreamed of having one at the Mystery Shack, but Soos was too sweet, and Wendy was too indiscriminate with her violence."
Elise nodded as she left the stop sign. "That's about right, a Fixer can't be too nice, but they can't be a hammer treating every problem like a nail."
"Ugh," Star groaned, recalling Hammer Kong.
Jackie asked. "So, besides being our legal team, what else can you do for us?"
"As long as it's not something trivial like grabbing you Britta's–I'm not your servant–or killing a guy–I'm not a hitman–the things I can do for you are pretty broad. You need someone investigated, you need info on something behind a layer of clearance or two, or you just need some fine print on a contract read? I'm your woman."
She patted the steering wheel. "I'm a pretty good wheelman, too, and I drive non-descript vehicles that don't stand out too much in a line of traffic."
Star leaned in. "Man, we could've used you while dealing with the Vanderhoffs."
Elise pointed back at Star. "Exactly. I handle people like that by showing up at their door and telling them that they'll be in a world of legal pain if they don't stop their crap. HHI does not care how much money you got."
As they pulled up to the intersection leading to Echo Creek's main street, Marco pointed to the left. "Turn here, we're going to Hillhurst Mansion."
"I was told that creepy spot was your hideout," Elise said as she made the turn. "When I was a teenager, I was dared to go inside and have a look around, but I chickened out."
"Oh, you're local?" Marco asked.
"Not from Echo Creek, I'm from Van Nuys, like thirty minutes away, right next to North Hollywood."
Jackie made a face. "Eugh, North Hollywood…"
"What's wrong with North Hollywood?" Elise asked.
"You know exactly what's wrong with North Hollywood," Jackie replied.
Star looked back and forth between the two. "Is it as bad as Glendale?"
"No!" Both said together, before Elise clarified. "Let's be honest, all of North LA is screwed, now with Echo Creek being full of weirdness, too."
Mabel and Misao, who were not from LA, had new questions. Marco, who was from LA, also had questions.
The first one came up right away. "So how much of what we're involved in have you been told? Because Dipper is going to ask when he meets you."
"I have been briefed on everything by Reiko, including your association with the Big Bad Beetleborgs. Try not to surprise me too much, okay?" She asked.
Misao spoke up. "You're sworn to Attorney Client Privilege, then, when you learn their identities."
"Naturally, Miss Darlian," Elise replied.
The group chat buzzed again, and Marco looked at his phone.
Jo said:
Hey, not to alarm anyone, but the police are swarming all over Brittney's little sports complex and a van marked Coroner just pulled in to go to the back. This might be bad.
As Marco read the message, Drew responded.
Dr00 said:
Meet with Roland and get to Hillhurst. We'll talk about it there.
"Oh…" Marco did not like that as he began to text back. "We might be in trouble."
Marco said:
Star, Jackie, Mabel, Misao, and I are on our way. HHI sent a lawyer to pick us up and they're bringing us to the Mansion.
Dr00 said:
Wait, we have a lawyer, now?
Janna Banana said:
Sweet, a Fixer.
Dr00 said:
A what ?_?
Marco lowered his phone and looked back at the others as they reviewed the group chat.
"The Coroner?" Jackie asked. "Did somebody die?"
"We were all in class, there are witnesses," Mabel said.
Misao frowned. "What if it was from yesterday? Maybe Señor Senior Junior's robots attacked someone?"
"Somebody would've noticed that." Jackie said, concern creeping into her voice. "Right?"
Star held her hand up. "I fixed the school up just this morning before class, remember? If anybody had gotten hurt yesterday, Marco and I would've found it then."
Marco was as shaken as Jackie. "Yeah, but that doesn't change that the school has been involved in three violent attacks and now there might be a dead body. We're going to be the first people they ask about it. Well, us and not the Beetleborgs."
Mabel sank into her seat. "Ugh, this sucks."
She looked at Elise. "Well, at least we got a lawyer."
"One that's going to keep you out of trouble with this one," Elise promised.
Her passengers shared looks tinted with varying levels of concern. All agreed that this was a serious situation, now, and worried about how this was going to turn out.
= - = 8-2 = - =
Crime is afoot, I'm sure it's not something that will become an immense problem later.
The Dragonslayer
New
Let's get back on schedule!
The world was aflame.
Bright pink fire scorched the earth, boiled the seas, and even clung to clouds–eating away at them. The blaze spread out in every direction, rolling like the swells of a raging sea. Above the intense firestorm, sleek delta-winged police craft with front-facing windows and blue and red spinning lights atop their hulls braved the heat as they headed towards the center of the inferno where a titanic being stood.
It was a feminine figure, neon pink in color with short magenta hair. Her face was grotesque, dominated by a large-lipped mouth filled with massive, jagged teeth, and she sported two sets of horns, three going straight down the top of her head to the back, and two massive ones that curved up and then out from the sides. Her limbs from her upper arms and thighs down were made of fire, and she wore a red cape and red high-heel shoes.
In spite of the tremendous flames that her body generated, keeping the police craft from getting too close, the monstrous creature was in no good shape, holding her limp left arm as she looked back at the police craft in defiant contempt.
From the vehicles, a commanding voice of authority spoke. "Pyronica, there's nowhere left for you to run. Surrender now and this doesn't have to get worse than it already is for you!"
Her eye narrowing and starting to glow, the fiery being Pyronica let go of her left arm and pointed her right hand at the cops. "I've said it before and I'll say it again! You'll never take me alive, copper!"
"Suit yourself," the voice said. "And by the way, we're Titanium not copper. We learned our lesson from the last time!"
Pyronica lowered her hand slightly. "… Crap."
"But we're the least of your problems."
Pyronica's eye flew wide, when she saw the glint of metal moving extremely fast through the air above the flames she created. She barely had time to throw her injured left arm up before something crashed hard into it, the blow knocking the fiery monster off her feet and sending her crashing onto her backside against a hill.
Letting her arm fall to her side, a large gash cut into it, Pyronica sat up and stared with a mix of anger and panic at her attacker. It was a much smaller creature, human sized, adorned in gold-trimmed black armor with helmet, gauntlets, cuisses, and greaves made of a polished black bone and a chestplate fashioned from the head of a red-eyed black dragon. The armor was completed with a black and red cape that unfolded out into a pair of draconic wings keeping Pyronica's attacker aloft.
"You pigs must be really desperate," Pyronica sneered, "If you're contracting out to scum like Dragonslayer Barla!"
Barla, a seemingly human-appearing woman beneath the armor, smirked in amusement at Pyronica. "You really aren't so tough without Bill Cipher to hide behind, are you?"
She thrust her right hand forward and a stream of fire shot towards the armored warrior. "I'm tougher than you, skank!"
Barla threw herself into the flames, diving through and scattering them away before swinging her sword and cutting down Pyronica's arm from palm to shoulder in an instant. As the fiery monster screamed in pain, Barla circled around her back and then dove for her other shoulder.
"Where are the rest of your Henchfriends, Pyronica?! Was Cipher really the glue that held you weaklings together?!" She taunted as she closed in, before swinging her sword and cutting off Pyronica's already injured left arm at the shoulder.
Roaring in pain, Pyronica clenched her teeth as the row of horns down the back of her head lit up bright pink before the same light appeared in her horns. A tremendous blast of pink light shot from her sole eye, focusing from a pink ray of fire into a bright blue laser as she tried to kill Barla with a look.
"You're the last person in the whole Nightmare realm to be calling anyone weak! Fight me without that armor, and then see how weak I am!" The flame monster screamed as she fired her laser.
Barla was a blur, leaving trailing afterimages behind herself that Pyronica's laser slashed apart before she reached the monster's face and kicked her in her large lips. With a shriek, Pyronica was thrown back and crashed into the ground so hard her laser cut out.
Groaning, Pyronica focused her vision on Barla, who glowered down at her with far less amusement than before.
"Why would I take this armor off for someone as wretched as you?" She asked as the mouth of the dragon head that made up her chest plate opened. "You're not even that hot."
Pyronica was offended as a yellow glow began to shine from the dragon's mouth. "Oh screw you, I'm at least an eight!"
Barla rolled her eyes as the glow grew brighter. "Eh, six and ha–"
The glow vanished, Barla with it.
Pyronica stared at the spot in the burning sky where Barla had been, then looked around. There was no sign of "The Dragonslayer" anywhere. "Uhh… what just happened?"
She then noticed the sky around her was filled with dozens, if not hundreds, of police craft. All of them training weapons on her.
Looking at her injured state, and then at the cops, Pyronica bowed her head down.
"Darn it, Bill, why'd you have to go and die like a chump?"
The searing heat of a burning sky was replaced by the relatively cool, stale air of the Magnavore's mausoleum lair for Barla, as she landed in a heap at the foot of its central sarcophagus. Her cape falling limp down her back after losing its dragon-wing shape, the armor-adorned woman coughed several times as she expelled superheated gas from her lungs and adjusted to a different air, temperature, and gravity.
"What…?! Where…?!" Barla demanded as she looked up, and the first thing she saw was Vexor staring down at her, surprised.
"It truly is the armor of a–" Vexor was cut off when Barla gripped her sword and leaped for him.
"Vexor G!" She roared, swinging her sword down–only for it to clash against Jara's blade as the Magnavore General intervened.
"Barla!" Jara called out. "Stay your blade!"
Seeing Jara, Barla's eyes flew wide before she jumped back, like she'd seen a ghost.
Keeping her sword pointed at her for a moment, she lowered it slowly, her surprise all over her attractive face. "… Ja-Jara…? Is that you?"
Jara lowered her weapon with the same slowness. "It's been a long time, Barla, I see you've been taking care of the armor I made for you."
A long tense moment passed between the two, before the sword in Barla's hand vanished in a flash of black flame. Letting out a squeal of joy, she threw herself at Jara, meeting her with a hug that the red-wearing Mercenary General enthusiastically returned.
"It really is you!" Barla said as she held Jara tightly. "I've lost count of the years since we last met!"
"It has been too long, too long," Jara said as she patted Barla's back. Taking her by the shoulders, she stepped back. "You've gotten stronger since I last saw you."
"You as well," Barla said before she looked at Vexor and grew suspicious. "But what are you doing working for him?"
Jara let out a grunt. "He is a long-term client. He is also why we are both no longer stuck in the Nightmare Realm."
Barla stepped back in surprise. "Wait, this is not the Nightmare Realm?"
"Correct; somehow through Cipher's trickery we were able to escape."
Vexor chimed in. "I am in the process of learning how this came to be–and also conquering this world, which is where you come in."
Barla scowled at Vexor. "Conquering this world?"
"Of course," Vexor said, "The Magnavore Tribe's mission is to rule the stars: Whether they burn here or scream there."
Jara turned to Barla. "As far as clients go, I personally would not call him the best." She looked back at Vexor pointedly before returning her gaze to her. "But by us coming here, he's certainly provided more than any prior."
She reached out and took Barla's hands. "And once we understand how we were able to escape the Nightmare Realm, we can bring the others as well. Zaiking, Illuba, Gorgodal, and Hidra… we could all be reunited!"
Barla liked the sound of that but noticed a name missing. "And Saberizer, as well."
Jara fell quiet, tense, and Barla's eyes slowly widened. "… Oh."
Vexor cut in. "But before we can discuss such reunions, we must focus on the business at hand. Barla, Jara speaks highly of you not only as a powerful warrior, but as a skillful commander and tactician. The Magnavores need a leader in the field to command our forces and strike against our powerful enemies."
Barla once more scowled at Vexor. "I see."
Jara moved, taking Barla by the shoulder. "Vexor, I will bring Barla up to speed. For now, I believe you had research to attend to?"
Sensing the tension in the air, Vexor conceded to Jara's request with a gesture of his right hand. "Very well, I will leave orientation to you. After all, this operation is yours to command overall."
Jara nodded, and both women vanished in a burst of flame. Turning away from where they stood, Vexor summoned to his hand a new book: a biography on Art Fortunes. He opened to the page he left off at and resumed reading.
Both Jara and Barla appeared atop one of the many indistinct piles of metal scrap surrounding Noxic's workshop. The compound was now a hive of activity, with many scabs working to finish all of the workshop's facilities. Noting it, Barla directed her full attention to Jara.
She was unhappy, they both were. "Jara… why are you working for that self-important, chitinous slime?!"
"It is not a simple answer," Jara replied. "But the shortest way I can explain is there is a debt owed that I have yet to repay."
One she did not want to divulge, Barla respected Jara to not press for details, but stuck to the point. "Regardless of your reasons, he is still a criminal. One who wishes he could be as much a terror as Cipher, Nukus, or Vilor–"
Jara huffed. "You have been doing work for law enforcement in our time apart, haven't you?"
"And?" Barla asked. "It is good money. In fact, before you summoned me here, I was putting another of Bill Cipher's 'Henchmaniacs' away. It was Pyronica."
Jara was impressed. "Who else did you capture?"
"Keyhole, 8-Ball, and Hectorgon. I made sure to capture them first because they could break out the others."
Jara nodded. "Pragmatic as always."
"Do not change the subject, however–"
"I am making a point!" Jara cut her off. "You are not a cop, Barla, you are a warrior. We are beholden not to law or lords but to the battlefield, and to those who we call comrades."
"So is Vexor a comrade?" Barla snapped back at her.
"He is a client," Jara snarled in turn, "No more and no less."
Barla remained tense, glowering at Jara, and reluctantly yielded to her friend and superior. She had more pressing questions anyway. "What happened to Saberizer?"
Jara tightened her hands into fists. "Saberizer fell in battle here, only days ago."
She knew something had happened, but still hearing it shocked Barla into stunned silence. This was a tremendous loss for Jara, and after escaping the Nightmare Realm, too. "How can it be possible, are the warriors of this world that powerful–?"
"They are…!" Jara stopped herself from exploding at Barla and pulled back her wrath. "… Children armed with powerful weapons. It is a game of pretend to them, playing hero and treating us like we're villains in their fantasies."
Reaching out she grabbed Barla by her shoulders. "That is why we need you, Barla! To show them that it is not a children's game that they can go home after, that there are no rules or safe zones, that this is war, and we are warriors!"
The mask concealed her face, but Barla didn't need to see it. She felt Jara's emotion in her words, and how she gripped her shoulders. Her frown deepened into a scowl, as she nodded. "I understand. Which one killed Saberizer specifically?"
Jara's tension eased, and she nodded. "I will explain the enemy we're facing in detail. Right now, I should introduce you to my fellow comrades under Vexor."
Barla tilted her head. "Oh? These are comrades?"
Jara turned and looked over the edge of the scrap heap they stood on. Down on the ground, both Typhus and Noxic waited patiently.
"So…" Noxic said. "You gonna introduce us, or am I gonna have to make increasingly rude and offensive guesses?"
Barla stared at the two other Magnavore Generals, then turned to Jara. It bore repeating. "These are comrades?"
"Hey, I don't know what anyone's told you, but Typhus, me, and Jara are the best buds you'll ever meet!" Noxic called back up.
"Yeah, we roll deep! Ride or die, baby!" Typhus proudly added.
Barla had concerns. "Jara… what have you gotten into?"
"In spite of all appearances, they are good friends," Jara reassured her, before calling down to them. "This is Barla, one of my comrades from my Mercenary Army."
At that, Noxic's tone changed. "Whoa, hey! Another Mercenary badass? Well, shoot, a friend of Jara's is a friend of mine. Welcome to the team, Barley!"
"Barla," Jara corrected.
"What did I say?" Noxic asked.
Typhus, ever the gentleman, patted Noxic on the shoulder and threw some more reassurance Barla's way. "Hey, don't worry about this guy. He always messes with the new guys on the team."
"They don't gotta be new," Noxic corrected.
"Yeah, well, still don't worry about him. Noxic's the coolest."
"Cooler than cool!" Noxic boasted.
"This guy's buildin' our army, how cool is that?" Typhus gestured back to the many Scabs constructing the workshop, and when Barla actually saw the machines at work she was impressed.
"They're a buncha mooks, but even a mook can be a problem with the right orders," Noxic said. "With you and Jara callin' the shots, we might actually beat down them Beetlebums, and their friends!"
Finally, a name for their enemy. "Beetles…?"
"I said I'll explain it more in depth," Jara said, before she looked back towards her comrades. "And since we're all here… there's no time better than now."
With that she stepped to the edge of the pile. "I will tell you what we are up against, our plan for defeating them, and your role in it."
"A dead body was found behind the school, in a hidden off spot behind the bleachers of the new sports field right near one of the back entrances of the school. From what Drew and I overheard on the Beetle Battle Base's police scanner, it was really, really messy."
With Roland and Jo's arrival at Hillhurst, the group plus their new legal representation were gathered on the front porch of the mansion. Jo and Janna both cast her side-eye looks but otherwise treated her presence as a non-threat while the discussion of this morning's events continued.
"Like I was saying on our way here," Marco said, "The police are going to ask if we know anything about this."
"Which we don't," Jo said. "None of us were in the back of the school during any of the fights since last week."
Mabel asked. "Could it have been someone attacked by SSJ's robots?"
Dipper shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. When you guys were fighting them, did they look like they'd been… used?"
Marco, Jackie and Star all shook their heads. None could recall seeing any signs of blood splatter on any of the Fenrir they fought.
"They'll probably be asking him and Shego questions about it, too," Drew said. "What are we going to do about this?"
Dipper shook his head. "There's no we, here. You, Roland, and Jo might need to start staying further away from us in public, so they don't suspect you guys of being the Beetleborgs."
"Man's right," Roland said. "The heat just jumped up a bunch, m'boy."
Jo pouted. "This means we can't be seen associating in public at all, because unlike in the comics people can rub two brain cells together."
"Most of the time," Dipper said.
Mabel was even more reassuring. "You'd be surprised what dots people don't connect."
Janna smirked at Drew. "Looks like you'll have to sneak over if you wanna hang out, Sad Kid. Don't worry, I'll leave my bedroom window unlocked."
Drew did a quick double-take. "What?"
Star leaned closer to Marco and whispered. "She's not being subtle anymore."
"No, she's not," he whispered back.
He looked to the others and asked the important question. "Besides doing our best to not be incriminating… what are we going to do about this?"
Elise looked up from where she stood off the porch. "May I suggest nothing?"
When they all looked at her, she continued. "Unless a monster is actually responsible for this, I advise you stay as far away from this case as possible. Leave it to the police to investigate, and for me to tell them that you're not involved if they come to question you."
She looked back and forth between them. "Besides that, under no circumstances are you to talk to the police by yourselves, nor are your families. When they come to speak with you and I'm not around, don't say anything at all, not even a yes or no. Just tell them to speak to your lawyer, me."
She reached into her pocket and offered a stack of cards that Mabel reached out to take from her. "Give them these so they can contact me."
Janna nodded in agreement as she took a card from Mabel. "Don't talk to the pigs. So, what I already do when they bother me."
"How often does that happen?" Drew asked.
"I'm very good at it. I haven't seen the inside of a station yet."
"Better than us," Mabel said. "We spent a week in county."
"Nice," Janna praised, finger guns and all.
Dipper hummed. "I still don't know what Soos did to get those charges dropped."
Jo was displeased. "So… we're not going to investigate a possible murder? One that might've happened while we were otherwise preoccupied, or worse… happened indirectly because of our actions?"
Drew felt tension creep through him at Jo's observation.
"Yes, that's exactly what you need to do," Elise said before addressing the Beetleborgs directly. "Even with your identities still secret, coming near something like this will put you on Authorities' radar. If you get associated with this as the Beetleborgs, the cops will want to know who you are under the helmets to find out why you're so invested."
Roland nodded in agreement. "We gotta stay in our lane: Fight the Magnavores and save the universe from the Nightmare Realm. Leave the street level crap for the street level peeps."
Drew wasn't so sure about that, and as he looked at Jo he could see she wasn't either. They seemed to be the odd ones out, though, as everyone else exchanged nods of agreement.
"Fräulein Elise," Misao began.
"Ah, just Fräu," Elise corrected.
"My mistake," Misao bowed her head in apology, before making her request. "Can you gather as much information for us as you can, please?"
Elise smiled. "Of course, this is exactly what I'm here for."
Drew took a deep breath but kept his concerns to himself. He decided he'd talk to Jo about it later and come on to a consensus with her about what they should do. Steering clear of something like this just didn't sit right with him at all.
"Besides that, do you guys need anything? Want anything?"
Marco had an idea. "Can you go to my parents and tell them what's going on?"
"Of course, I'll swing by your place on the way into town." She nodded to the Pines. "I've already spoken to your Grandfather."
Dipper nodded back to her. "Thanks." He turned to address everyone. "I don't like this, and I get the vibe that some of you like this less." He looked at both Drew and Jo. "But most of us like dealing with cops even less than that."
"Preach," Janna and Jackie said in unison.
"So yeah, until this becomes something we can't ignore, we're staying as far away from this as possible."
"Fine by me," Star said. "Cops are kinda lame."
"I wanted to be a cop when I was in middle school," Marco muttered.
"But now you don't, which is good!" Star said, before pecking him on the cheek. "Because I'd never date a bootlicker."
"Same!" Janna and Jackie said together once more.
"In the meantime, we have our own crisis to worry about," Dipper continued. "We need to start figuring out a few things about the Magnavores. Like where they're hiding, what they're planning to do next, and what their connection to Art Fortunes is."
He looked at Hillhurst Mansion. "We also have to figure out why Flabber is the one who made them coming into our world possible in the first place, and why there are monsters even living here at all."
Star spoke up. "Yes! We also need to get better weapons and armor! In fact, if not for the distraction of homework, I'd be getting that done right now!"
Dipper knew what she was getting at but took the bait anyway. "What is it, math? I'll do it for you, just give me your book and which chapter."
"Do mine, too!" Mabel quickly said.
"Sure."
This annoyed Marco. "Hey! Don't cheat for them!"
Dipper didn't like upsetting Marco, but… "We have a week to ourselves, Marco. Just let Star have this so next time we fight no one gets ragdolled like we did by that Goblin kid."
Marco grimaced, before remembering they had a lawyer. "Say, Ms. Elise?"
Elise looked over at him. "Yes?"
"There's somebody else I wouldn't mind you looking into…"
Barla was one of those villains from Juukou B-Fighter who couldn't be adapted into Big Bad Beetleborgs. If you see the episode she appears in, you'd see why. Still fanfiction has no such limitations, so Barla the Dragonslayer is our enemy of the arc.
= - = 8-3 = - =
|The Dragonslayer|
|The Dragonslayer|
The world was aflame.
Bright pink fire scorched the earth, boiled the seas, and even clung to clouds–eating away at them. The blaze spread out in every direction, rolling like the swells of a raging sea. Above the intense firestorm, sleek delta-winged police craft with front-facing windows and blue and red spinning lights atop their hulls braved the heat as they headed towards the center of the inferno where a titanic being stood.
It was a feminine figure, neon pink in color with short magenta hair. Her face was grotesque, dominated by a large-lipped mouth filled with massive, jagged teeth, and she sported two sets of horns, three going straight down the top of her head to the back, and two massive ones that curved up and then out from the sides. Her limbs from her upper arms and thighs down were made of fire, and she wore a red cape and red high-heel shoes.
In spite of the tremendous flames that her body generated, keeping the police craft from getting too close, the monstrous creature was in no good shape, holding her limp left arm as she looked back at the police craft in defiant contempt.
From the vehicles, a commanding voice of authority spoke. "Pyronica, there's nowhere left for you to run. Surrender now and this doesn't have to get worse than it already is for you!"
Her eye narrowing and starting to glow, the fiery being Pyronica let go of her left arm and pointed her right hand at the cops. "I've said it before and I'll say it again! You'll never take me alive, copper!"
"Suit yourself," the voice said. "And by the way, we're Titanium not copper. We learned our lesson from the last time!"
Pyronica lowered her hand slightly. "… Crap."
"But we're the least of your problems."
Pyronica's eye flew wide, when she saw the glint of metal moving extremely fast through the air above the flames she created. She barely had time to throw her injured left arm up before something crashed hard into it, the blow knocking the fiery monster off her feet and sending her crashing onto her backside against a hill.
Letting her arm fall to her side, a large gash cut into it, Pyronica sat up and stared with a mix of anger and panic at her attacker. It was a much smaller creature, human sized, adorned in gold-trimmed black armor with helmet, gauntlets, cuisses, and greaves made of a polished black bone and a chestplate fashioned from the head of a red-eyed black dragon. The armor was completed with a black and red cape that unfolded out into a pair of draconic wings keeping Pyronica's attacker aloft.
"You pigs must be really desperate," Pyronica sneered, "If you're contracting out to scum like Dragonslayer Barla!"
Barla, a seemingly human-appearing woman beneath the armor, smirked in amusement at Pyronica. "You really aren't so tough without Bill Cipher to hide behind, are you?"
She thrust her right hand forward and a stream of fire shot towards the armored warrior. "I'm tougher than you, skank!"
Barla threw herself into the flames, diving through and scattering them away before swinging her sword and cutting down Pyronica's arm from palm to shoulder in an instant. As the fiery monster screamed in pain, Barla circled around her back and then dove for her other shoulder.
"Where are the rest of your Henchfriends, Pyronica?! Was Cipher really the glue that held you weaklings together?!" She taunted as she closed in, before swinging her sword and cutting off Pyronica's already injured left arm at the shoulder.
Roaring in pain, Pyronica clenched her teeth as the row of horns down the back of her head lit up bright pink before the same light appeared in her horns. A tremendous blast of pink light shot from her sole eye, focusing from a pink ray of fire into a bright blue laser as she tried to kill Barla with a look.
"You're the last person in the whole Nightmare realm to be calling anyone weak! Fight me without that armor, and then see how weak I am!" The flame monster screamed as she fired her laser.
Barla was a blur, leaving trailing afterimages behind herself that Pyronica's laser slashed apart before she reached the monster's face and kicked her in her large lips. With a shriek, Pyronica was thrown back and crashed into the ground so hard her laser cut out.
Groaning, Pyronica focused her vision on Barla, who glowered down at her with far less amusement than before.
"Why would I take this armor off for someone as wretched as you?" She asked as the mouth of the dragon head that made up her chest plate opened. "You're not even that hot."
Pyronica was offended as a yellow glow began to shine from the dragon's mouth. "Oh screw you, I'm at least an eight!"
Barla rolled her eyes as the glow grew brighter. "Eh, six and ha–"
The glow vanished, Barla with it.
Pyronica stared at the spot in the burning sky where Barla had been, then looked around. There was no sign of "The Dragonslayer" anywhere. "Uhh… what just happened?"
She then noticed the sky around her was filled with dozens, if not hundreds, of police craft. All of them training weapons on her.
Looking at her injured state, and then at the cops, Pyronica bowed her head down.
"Darn it, Bill, why'd you have to go and die like a chump?"
@@@@@
The searing heat of a burning sky was replaced by the relatively cool, stale air of the Magnavore's mausoleum lair for Barla, as she landed in a heap at the foot of its central sarcophagus. Her cape falling limp down her back after losing its dragon-wing shape, the armor-adorned woman coughed several times as she expelled superheated gas from her lungs and adjusted to a different air, temperature, and gravity.
"What…?! Where…?!" Barla demanded as she looked up, and the first thing she saw was Vexor staring down at her, surprised.
"It truly is the armor of a–" Vexor was cut off when Barla gripped her sword and leaped for him.
"Vexor G!" She roared, swinging her sword down–only for it to clash against Jara's blade as the Magnavore General intervened.
"Barla!" Jara called out. "Stay your blade!"
Seeing Jara, Barla's eyes flew wide before she jumped back, like she'd seen a ghost.
Keeping her sword pointed at her for a moment, she lowered it slowly, her surprise all over her attractive face. "… Ja-Jara…? Is that you?"
Jara lowered her weapon with the same slowness. "It's been a long time, Barla, I see you've been taking care of the armor I made for you."
A long tense moment passed between the two, before the sword in Barla's hand vanished in a flash of black flame. Letting out a squeal of joy, she threw herself at Jara, meeting her with a hug that the red-wearing Mercenary General enthusiastically returned.
"It really is you!" Barla said as she held Jara tightly. "I've lost count of the years since we last met!"
"It has been too long, too long," Jara said as she patted Barla's back. Taking her by the shoulders, she stepped back. "You've gotten stronger since I last saw you."
"You as well," Barla said before she looked at Vexor and grew suspicious. "But what are you doing working for him?"
Jara let out a grunt. "He is a long-term client. He is also why we are both no longer stuck in the Nightmare Realm."
Barla stepped back in surprise. "Wait, this is not the Nightmare Realm?"
"Correct; somehow through Cipher's trickery we were able to escape."
Vexor chimed in. "I am in the process of learning how this came to be–and also conquering this world, which is where you come in."
Barla scowled at Vexor. "Conquering this world?"
"Of course," Vexor said, "The Magnavore Tribe's mission is to rule the stars: Whether they burn here or scream there."
Jara turned to Barla. "As far as clients go, I personally would not call him the best." She looked back at Vexor pointedly before returning her gaze to her. "But by us coming here, he's certainly provided more than any prior."
She reached out and took Barla's hands. "And once we understand how we were able to escape the Nightmare Realm, we can bring the others as well. Zaiking, Illuba, Gorgodal, and Hidra… we could all be reunited!"
Barla liked the sound of that but noticed a name missing. "And Saberizer, as well."
Jara fell quiet, tense, and Barla's eyes slowly widened. "… Oh."
Vexor cut in. "But before we can discuss such reunions, we must focus on the business at hand. Barla, Jara speaks highly of you not only as a powerful warrior, but as a skillful commander and tactician. The Magnavores need a leader in the field to command our forces and strike against our powerful enemies."
Barla once more scowled at Vexor. "I see."
Jara moved, taking Barla by the shoulder. "Vexor, I will bring Barla up to speed. For now, I believe you had research to attend to?"
Sensing the tension in the air, Vexor conceded to Jara's request with a gesture of his right hand. "Very well, I will leave orientation to you. After all, this operation is yours to command overall."
Jara nodded, and both women vanished in a burst of flame. Turning away from where they stood, Vexor summoned to his hand a new book: a biography on Art Fortunes. He opened to the page he left off at and resumed reading.
Both Jara and Barla appeared atop one of the many indistinct piles of metal scrap surrounding Noxic's workshop. The compound was now a hive of activity, with many scabs working to finish all of the workshop's facilities. Noting it, Barla directed her full attention to Jara.
She was unhappy, they both were. "Jara… why are you working for that self-important, chitinous slime?!"
"It is not a simple answer," Jara replied. "But the shortest way I can explain is there is a debt owed that I have yet to repay."
One she did not want to divulge, Barla respected Jara to not press for details, but stuck to the point. "Regardless of your reasons, he is still a criminal. One who wishes he could be as much a terror as Cipher, Nukus, or Vilor–"
Jara huffed. "You have been doing work for law enforcement in our time apart, haven't you?"
"And?" Barla asked. "It is good money. In fact, before you summoned me here, I was putting another of Bill Cipher's 'Henchmaniacs' away. It was Pyronica."
Jara was impressed. "Who else did you capture?"
"Keyhole, 8-Ball, and Hectorgon. I made sure to capture them first because they could break out the others."
Jara nodded. "Pragmatic as always."
"Do not change the subject, however–"
"I am making a point!" Jara cut her off. "You are not a cop, Barla, you are a warrior. We are beholden not to law or lords but to the battlefield, and to those who we call comrades."
"So is Vexor a comrade?" Barla snapped back at her.
"He is a client," Jara snarled in turn, "No more and no less."
Barla remained tense, glowering at Jara, and reluctantly yielded to her friend and superior. She had more pressing questions anyway. "What happened to Saberizer?"
Jara tightened her hands into fists. "Saberizer fell in battle here, only days ago."
She knew something had happened, but still hearing it shocked Barla into stunned silence. This was a tremendous loss for Jara, and after escaping the Nightmare Realm, too. "How can it be possible, are the warriors of this world that powerful–?"
"They are…!" Jara stopped herself from exploding at Barla and pulled back her wrath. "… Children armed with powerful weapons. It is a game of pretend to them, playing hero and treating us like we're villains in their fantasies."
Reaching out she grabbed Barla by her shoulders. "That is why we need you, Barla! To show them that it is not a children's game that they can go home after, that there are no rules or safe zones, that this is war, and we are warriors!"
The mask concealed her face, but Barla didn't need to see it. She felt Jara's emotion in her words, and how she gripped her shoulders. Her frown deepened into a scowl, as she nodded. "I understand. Which one killed Saberizer specifically?"
Jara's tension eased, and she nodded. "I will explain the enemy we're facing in detail. Right now, I should introduce you to my fellow comrades under Vexor."
Barla tilted her head. "Oh? These are comrades?"
Jara turned and looked over the edge of the scrap heap they stood on. Down on the ground, both Typhus and Noxic waited patiently.
"So…" Noxic said. "You gonna introduce us, or am I gonna have to make increasingly rude and offensive guesses?"
Barla stared at the two other Magnavore Generals, then turned to Jara. It bore repeating. "These are comrades?"
"Hey, I don't know what anyone's told you, but Typhus, me, and Jara are the best buds you'll ever meet!" Noxic called back up.
"Yeah, we roll deep! Ride or die, baby!" Typhus proudly added.
Barla had concerns. "Jara… what have you gotten into?"
"In spite of all appearances, they are good friends," Jara reassured her, before calling down to them. "This is Barla, one of my comrades from my Mercenary Army."
At that, Noxic's tone changed. "Whoa, hey! Another Mercenary badass? Well, shoot, a friend of Jara's is a friend of mine. Welcome to the team, Barley!"
"Barla," Jara corrected.
"What did I say?" Noxic asked.
Typhus, ever the gentleman, patted Noxic on the shoulder and threw some more reassurance Barla's way. "Hey, don't worry about this guy. He always messes with the new guys on the team."
"They don't gotta be new," Noxic corrected.
"Yeah, well, still don't worry about him. Noxic's the coolest."
"Cooler than cool!" Noxic boasted.
"This guy's buildin' our army, how cool is that?" Typhus gestured back to the many Scabs constructing the workshop, and when Barla actually saw the machines at work she was impressed.
"They're a buncha mooks, but even a mook can be a problem with the right orders," Noxic said. "With you and Jara callin' the shots, we might actually beat down them Beetlebums, and their friends!"
Finally, a name for their enemy. "Beetles…?"
"I said I'll explain it more in depth," Jara said, before she looked back towards her comrades. "And since we're all here… there's no time better than now."
With that she stepped to the edge of the pile. "I will tell you what we are up against, our plan for defeating them, and your role in it."
@@@@@
"A dead body was found behind the school, in a hidden off spot behind the bleachers of the new sports field right near one of the back entrances of the school. From what Drew and I overheard on the Beetle Battle Base's police scanner, it was really, really messy."
With Roland and Jo's arrival at Hillhurst, the group plus their new legal representation were gathered on the front porch of the mansion. Jo and Janna both cast her side-eye looks but otherwise treated her presence as a non-threat while the discussion of this morning's events continued.
"Like I was saying on our way here," Marco said, "The police are going to ask if we know anything about this."
"Which we don't," Jo said. "None of us were in the back of the school during any of the fights since last week."
Mabel asked. "Could it have been someone attacked by SSJ's robots?"
Dipper shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. When you guys were fighting them, did they look like they'd been… used?"
Marco, Jackie and Star all shook their heads. None could recall seeing any signs of blood splatter on any of the Fenrir they fought.
"They'll probably be asking him and Shego questions about it, too," Drew said. "What are we going to do about this?"
Dipper shook his head. "There's no we, here. You, Roland, and Jo might need to start staying further away from us in public, so they don't suspect you guys of being the Beetleborgs."
"Man's right," Roland said. "The heat just jumped up a bunch, m'boy."
Jo pouted. "This means we can't be seen associating in public at all, because unlike in the comics people can rub two brain cells together."
"Most of the time," Dipper said.
Mabel was even more reassuring. "You'd be surprised what dots people don't connect."
Janna smirked at Drew. "Looks like you'll have to sneak over if you wanna hang out, Sad Kid. Don't worry, I'll leave my bedroom window unlocked."
Drew did a quick double-take. "What?"
Star leaned closer to Marco and whispered. "She's not being subtle anymore."
"No, she's not," he whispered back.
He looked to the others and asked the important question. "Besides doing our best to not be incriminating… what are we going to do about this?"
Elise looked up from where she stood off the porch. "May I suggest nothing?"
When they all looked at her, she continued. "Unless a monster is actually responsible for this, I advise you stay as far away from this case as possible. Leave it to the police to investigate, and for me to tell them that you're not involved if they come to question you."
She looked back and forth between them. "Besides that, under no circumstances are you to talk to the police by yourselves, nor are your families. When they come to speak with you and I'm not around, don't say anything at all, not even a yes or no. Just tell them to speak to your lawyer, me."
She reached into her pocket and offered a stack of cards that Mabel reached out to take from her. "Give them these so they can contact me."
Janna nodded in agreement as she took a card from Mabel. "Don't talk to the pigs. So, what I already do when they bother me."
"How often does that happen?" Drew asked.
"I'm very good at it. I haven't seen the inside of a station yet."
"Better than us," Mabel said. "We spent a week in county."
"Nice," Janna praised, finger guns and all.
Dipper hummed. "I still don't know what Soos did to get those charges dropped."
Jo was displeased. "So… we're not going to investigate a possible murder? One that might've happened while we were otherwise preoccupied, or worse… happened indirectly because of our actions?"
Drew felt tension creep through him at Jo's observation.
"Yes, that's exactly what you need to do," Elise said before addressing the Beetleborgs directly. "Even with your identities still secret, coming near something like this will put you on Authorities' radar. If you get associated with this as the Beetleborgs, the cops will want to know who you are under the helmets to find out why you're so invested."
Roland nodded in agreement. "We gotta stay in our lane: Fight the Magnavores and save the universe from the Nightmare Realm. Leave the street level crap for the street level peeps."
Drew wasn't so sure about that, and as he looked at Jo he could see she wasn't either. They seemed to be the odd ones out, though, as everyone else exchanged nods of agreement.
"Fräulein Elise," Misao began.
"Ah, just Fräu," Elise corrected.
"My mistake," Misao bowed her head in apology, before making her request. "Can you gather as much information for us as you can, please?"
Elise smiled. "Of course, this is exactly what I'm here for."
Drew took a deep breath but kept his concerns to himself. He decided he'd talk to Jo about it later and come on to a consensus with her about what they should do. Steering clear of something like this just didn't sit right with him at all.
"Besides that, do you guys need anything? Want anything?"
Marco had an idea. "Can you go to my parents and tell them what's going on?"
"Of course, I'll swing by your place on the way into town." She nodded to the Pines. "I've already spoken to your Grandfather."
Dipper nodded back to her. "Thanks." He turned to address everyone. "I don't like this, and I get the vibe that some of you like this less." He looked at both Drew and Jo. "But most of us like dealing with cops even less than that."
"Preach," Janna and Jackie said in unison.
"So yeah, until this becomes something we can't ignore, we're staying as far away from this as possible."
"Fine by me," Star said. "Cops are kinda lame."
"I wanted to be a cop when I was in middle school," Marco muttered.
"But now you don't, which is good!" Star said, before pecking him on the cheek. "Because I'd never date a bootlicker."
"Same!" Janna and Jackie said together once more.
"In the meantime, we have our own crisis to worry about," Dipper continued. "We need to start figuring out a few things about the Magnavores. Like where they're hiding, what they're planning to do next, and what their connection to Art Fortunes is."
He looked at Hillhurst Mansion. "We also have to figure out why Flabber is the one who made them coming into our world possible in the first place, and why there are monsters even living here at all."
Star spoke up. "Yes! We also need to get better weapons and armor! In fact, if not for the distraction of homework, I'd be getting that done right now!"
Dipper knew what she was getting at but took the bait anyway. "What is it, math? I'll do it for you, just give me your book and which chapter."
"Do mine, too!" Mabel quickly said.
"Sure."
This annoyed Marco. "Hey! Don't cheat for them!"
Dipper didn't like upsetting Marco, but… "We have a week to ourselves, Marco. Just let Star have this so next time we fight no one gets ragdolled like we did by that Goblin kid."
Marco grimaced, before remembering they had a lawyer. "Say, Ms. Elise?"
Elise looked over at him. "Yes?"
"There's somebody else I wouldn't mind you looking into…"
|= - = 8-3 = - =|
Barla was one of those villains from Juukou B-Fighter who couldn't be adapted into Big Bad Beetleborgs. If you see the episode she appears in, you'd see why. Still fanfiction has no such limitations, so Barla the Dragonslayer is our enemy of the arc.