right.
“Your exploitation of young comic readers across the city is over, Tentacleboys!” Mister Suds shouted, shaking the soapy canister on his back and pumping it up with the plunger at his hip. A spray of sudsy water splattered the Tentaclemen, and one slipped on his back with a thud.
“Ow! You didn’t have to shoot!” the downed Tentacleman shouted. “It’s not like we have workman’s comp!”
Captain Corporeal, not to be outdone on slogans, warped through the solid freight container and substantiated his fist just as it met the jaw of another of henchman. “Copyright is sacred to a five-year-old, leech!”
Yippee lassoed two more with his rope and dragged them down the steps. Curt, watching from the back, flinched when he heard the leg of one them break. He shouldn’t have come, he thought. He didn’t like gang battles against henchmen. He poked his fingers in his ears as he saw the Screech advancing for his turn.
“Aaaaaaiiiiiieeeeeee!” the Screech yelled, and the henchmen who weren’t roped, unconscious, or laying with thrown-out backs, clutched at their ears as their drums popped.
The four other heroes turned and looked at him. Curt shrugged and said, “I think you guys have it under control.”
“Thanks,” said the Tentacleman on his back. “We appreciate that.”
“Hahahaha!” The Squid’s laugh echoed along the wharf, and a heavy, wire mesh fell from a loading crane.
“It’s a trap!” cried the four superheroes. Doctor Mighty, because he had hung back, was the only one to escape as the net fell upon henchman and hero alike.
Blue fire raced across the wire mesh of the net; it was electrified. Curt backed away in shock as the heroes and henchmen jerked and twitched. The Screech’s cry drowned out the screams of the others.
He ran from the smell of burning flesh, dodging down the narrow passages between the shipping containers. He rounded a corner, and there were two henchmen guarding a flashing device; colored wires protruded along its length, solid carbon dioxide sublimed into cold fog, and a giant digital clock, mounted at its base, counted down to zero. All the signs said doomsday device.
Doctor Mighty landed two punches, breaking the jaws of the henchmen and regretting it. He studied the doomsday device for a moment, then yanked out the most crucial and removable component. As expected, the clock paused, at two minutes and twenty-five seconds, which was rather high by Guild standards; he should have let it run down a little more.
Doctor Mighty glanced around the shipping container, and there was the Squid, tentacles waving in the sky, gracefully sailing to the ground on the crane’s lowering hook. He was too far to hear, but Curt was certain he was lecturing the downed heroes on his current scheme to take over the world.
Curt took the doomsday device part under his arm and ran down the aisle of shipping containers, trying to double around so that he could free the other heroes. As he neared the Squid, he heard snatches of his speech.
“. . . totalitarian regime . . .”
“. . . meritocractic syndicate . . .”
“. . . Marx and Engel . . .”
At least the Screech had stopped screeching, though the Squid’s lecture was almost worse.
“Bring in the doomsday device!” he cried, then paused, waiting. “Loyal henchmen, bring in the doomsday device!”
Mighty listened to his heavy tread as he walked down the wharf.
“Curse you, Doctor Mighty! What have you done to my doomsday device?”
Curt felt the retort bubbling up inside of him, but he clamped it down.
“Give it up, Doctor Mutty!” the Squid yelled. “My Tentacles are homing in on you even as we speak.”
Doctor Mighty peered around the box he was hiding behind. No one. He had a clear line to the netted heroes, unconscious now.
“Here he is!”
A Tentacleman had snuck up on him from behind.
He kicked the sucker in the chest, cracking several ribs.
“Sorry.”
He dodged down a narrow passage toward
“Your exploitation of young comic readers across the city is over, Tentacleboys!” Mister Suds shouted, shaking the soapy canister on his back and pumping it up with the plunger at his hip. A spray of sudsy water splattered the Tentaclemen, and one slipped on his back with a thud.
“Ow! You didn’t have to shoot!” the downed Tentacleman shouted. “It’s not like we have workman’s comp!”
Captain Corporeal, not to be outdone on slogans, warped through the solid freight container and substantiated his fist just as it met the jaw of another of henchman. “Copyright is sacred to a five-year-old, leech!”
Yippee lassoed two more with his rope and dragged them down the steps. Curt, watching from the back, flinched when he heard the leg of one them break. He shouldn’t have come, he thought. He didn’t like gang battles against henchmen. He poked his fingers in his ears as he saw the Screech advancing for his turn.
“Aaaaaaiiiiiieeeeeee!” the Screech yelled, and the henchmen who weren’t roped, unconscious, or laying with thrown-out backs, clutched at their ears as their drums popped.
The four other heroes turned and looked at him. Curt shrugged and said, “I think you guys have it under control.”
“Thanks,” said the Tentacleman on his back. “We appreciate that.”
“Hahahaha!” The Squid’s laugh echoed along the wharf, and a heavy, wire mesh fell from a loading crane.
“It’s a trap!” cried the four superheroes. Doctor Mighty, because he had hung back, was the only one to escape as the net fell upon henchman and hero alike.
Blue fire raced across the wire mesh of the net; it was electrified. Curt backed away in shock as the heroes and henchmen jerked and twitched. The Screech’s cry drowned out the screams of the others.
He ran from the smell of burning flesh, dodging down the narrow passages between the shipping containers. He rounded a corner, and there were two henchmen guarding a flashing device; colored wires protruded along its length, solid carbon dioxide sublimed into cold fog, and a giant digital clock, mounted at its base, counted down to zero. All the signs said doomsday device.
Doctor Mighty landed two punches, breaking the jaws of the henchmen and regretting it. He studied the doomsday device for a moment, then yanked out the most crucial and removable component. As expected, the clock paused, at two minutes and twenty-five seconds, which was rather high by Guild standards; he should have let it run down a little more.
Doctor Mighty glanced around the shipping container, and there was the Squid, tentacles waving in the sky, gracefully sailing to the ground on the crane’s lowering hook. He was too far to hear, but Curt was certain he was lecturing the downed heroes on his current scheme to take over the world.
Curt took the doomsday device part under his arm and ran down the aisle of shipping containers, trying to double around so that he could free the other heroes. As he neared the Squid, he heard snatches of his speech.
“. . . totalitarian regime . . .”
“. . . meritocractic syndicate . . .”
“. . . Marx and Engel . . .”
At least the Screech had stopped screeching, though the Squid’s lecture was almost worse.
“Bring in the doomsday device!” he cried, then paused, waiting. “Loyal henchmen, bring in the doomsday device!”
Mighty listened to his heavy tread as he walked down the wharf.
“Curse you, Doctor Mighty! What have you done to my doomsday device?”
Curt felt the retort bubbling up inside of him, but he clamped it down.
“Give it up, Doctor Mutty!” the Squid yelled. “My Tentacles are homing in on you even as we speak.”
Doctor Mighty peered around the box he was hiding behind. No one. He had a clear line to the netted heroes, unconscious now.
“Here he is!”
A Tentacleman had snuck up on him from behind.
He kicked the sucker in the chest, cracking several ribs.
“Sorry.”
He dodged down a narrow passage toward
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