========================================================================= Presenting the introductory episode of Dangerousman, the superhero story with a cameo appearance by a famous person in every episode. DANGEROUSMAN: EPISODE ONE Mushroom Cloud Rising by Bill Dickson Lars MacPherson strolled down Main Street in the small city of Mudclump, Arkansas. Finally, he was on his own, out in the field, fighting crime, making the streets safe for democracy. This was the day he had been training for all his life, his first day on the job. Lars kept a sharp eye out for any wrongdoing that might occur on this sunny March day. He didn't have to wait long. A vile criminal suddenly leapt out of a nearby alley, and seized a woman's purse. He fled down the street away from Lars, knocking down Sylvester Stallone as he rushed past. The woman screamed, Stallone picked himself up and brushed himself off. Everybody else on the street callously went about their business. But not Lars! He rushed up to the woman, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. This was it! His first on-the-job action! "Never fear, madame," he proclaimed as he threw his shirt on the ground. "I shall stop the crook!" "My god! There's some pervert undressing in front of me!" The woman became hysterical, leaping up and down and calling for the police. Lars finally got his pants off, and stood in the full glory of his costume - the glowing, radioactive green bodysuit! The neon yellow cape, and the matching 'D' on his chest, placed tastelessly at the base of a roiling, sullen red-and-black mushroom cloud! A policeman arrived, nightstick at the ready, but Lars pushed him aside, proclaiming (as the pursesnatcher disappeared into an alley a half-mile distant), "Stand back, man! This is a job for..... *********************** *************************************** ************************************************* ***************************************************** ******************************************************* ***************************************************** ********************************* ******************* ******************* ******************* ***************************** ******************* ******************* ********************* DDD AA N N GGG EEEE RRR OO U U SS M M AA N N D D A A NN N G E R R O O U U S MM MM A A NN N D D A A N N N G GG EEE RRR O O U U S M M M A A N N N D D AAAA N NN G G E R R O O U U S M M AAAA N NN DDD A A N N GG EEEE R R OO UU SS M M A A N N!" With that, Lars charged into action. Well-tuned leg muscles propelled him down the street with the ease of a track star. Those who weren't blinded by his costume leapt aside, clearing a path for him; those who were, he hurdled. He reached the alley that the purse-snatcher had scurried into, and tore around the corner. And there was the culprit, rifling through the purse in the shadows. When he saw the glorious green-and-yellow figure before him, the thief dropped the purse. As if by magic, a gleaming stiletto appeared in his hand, and he assumed a crouching position. A sneer spread across his face, as Lars screeched to a halt several feet in front of him, a look of alarm on his face. This wouldn't be quite so simple as he thought, he saw.... <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> AND NOW, LET US TAKE A FEW MOMENTS AND GAZE BACK INTO HISTORY...YES, FOLKS, IT'S TIME FOR: THE ORIGIN OF DANGEROUSMAN! The year is 1968. The place, a secret U.S. government research lab, deep underground in the Smoky Mountains. Here, nature is tampered with, energies beyond the belief of most human beings is toyed with; here, a hero has just been born. Vernhardt Kilohertzmunn looked at the monitor on his desk, and then turned to his supervisor. "Vell, Doctor Unethical, ze radiation bombardment is proceeding nicely. Hiz powers vill not, of course, manifest until puberty, assuming all goes vell, but it vill take zat long to prepare him for ze use of his powers." "Yes, of course, Doctor Kilohertzmunn. The military will not be pleased at having to wait so long to see him in action, but it must be. We plan to start with party-poppers tomorrow." And they did. As the innocent babe lay in his crib, and particle accelerators of all kinds fired an unending stream of neutrons, quarks, electrons, and various other atomic-level thingies in finely-tuned streams into his brain, glands, and DNA molecules, doctors came in and started dropping party-poppers on him. At first he was terrified, as the little explosions went off and caused tiny burns on his skin. But gradually, he got used to it. After a mere two months, they moved up to mini-firecrackers, and as he grew they moved up to normal firecrackers. By the time he was three, the child could hold an M-80 in each hand as they exploded, without flinching. The project engineers began to step up the radiation. With careful computer guidance, and natural evolutionary mutations forced by various drugs and the bombardment, the boy began to adjust to his environment. Explosions bothered him less and less, as he developed an immunity to them. When he was five, he could wear a vest containing five sticks of dynamite -- when it was detonated, without warning, his attention never wavered from _Go,_Dog,_Go_ (or wouldn't have, had the book survived). They began physically training him, using Nautilus machines a medieval torture specialist would have given his ribs for. Eventually, they named him Lars. "Why Lars?" Dr. Unethical asked. "Vell," said Dr. Kilohurtzmunn, "zat is vhat ze computer told us to name him. BIGCHIP says ze name vill be extremely popular in ze late '80s and early '90s. Vomen vill find it irresistable." "BIGCHIP? Isn't this the same machine that had us invest in quadrophonic phonograph companies and still insists that Nixon should never have resigned, because the public would have forgotten about it all within two days?" "Ve think ve have all ze bugs ironed out now." "God, I hope so, for that kid's sake. Lars, gad...." When he was twelve, Lars was standing on munitions dumps as they were blown up. He was enjoying himself immensely, and felt great pride every time the TNT tonnage he was subjected to was raised. His tutors were brainwashing him admirably, and he now had a very clear-cut sense of right and wrong, in the pure American sense of the words. Finally, the day came. His hormone level soared, and Lars went through the changes of every young, human male. But there was one important difference that was finally explained to him. He was dumbfounded at first, then angry at what had been done to him without his knowledge. But finally, when he realized what a powerful force for good he was, and that he had been bought on the black market so that he technically didn't exist and had no rights, he attacked his training with new vigor. At age twenty-one, he was ready for his final test. He was buried deep under the sand of a deserted Pacific island, with a fifty-megaton device (that's a nice word for bomb, for you non-military types). He sat next to the smooth metal of the thing, reflecting on the fact that it was both his father and his child, in a way. At 3:35 am, January twenty-first, the precise moment at which Lars had been born twenty-one years before, the bomb went off. When the cascade of sand and water ended, Lars stood and dusted himself off. He stood, naked, on the fused glass that had been an island, and when the helicopter arrived by remote-control to pick him up, he waved cheerfully at the television camera mounted outside. He was ready. When he got back to his home in the Smoky mountains, Doctor Kilohertzmunn was waiting with a smile on his face. "Vell, Lars, it appears zat you are ready." "But Doctor, I haven't tried out my power yet, only my resistance to explosions." "Und radiation, my son, don't forget zat. You are immune to radiation as well as explosions. Und surely you must realize the difficulties in testing your power. Ve have gone through many simulations, zere is no question zat your power will work as ve have taught you. Yust have confidence in yourself." "Yes, Doctor." "Now. Here is your costume. It will absorb radiation from you, and convert it to relatively harmless tasteless colors. It vill survive any explosion zat you can, so zat you need not run around naked after explosions anymore. It will also provide some protection against bullets, thrown rocks, und ze like -- but beware of knives und pointy objects! Ze material is of little use against such items. Und always remember -- you are immune to explosions only! All other attacks, you must rely on your skills to help you. Now, go, my son, and stomp out crime!" They embraced, and Lars was released into the world, with a generous expense account. WE NOW RETURN TO THE PLOT IN PROGRESS (IF IT EVEN DESERVES THE NAME, GIMME A BREAK, IT'S AN INTRODUCTORY EPISODE.) <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Lars stared at the youth through narrowly-slitted eyes. "So," he hissed, "you dare match yourself against the mighty powers of Dangerousman!" The pursesnatcher snickered. "Dangerous, eh? Let's see about that." He took a swipe at Lars with uncanny speed; our hero barely managed to leap aside. "I advise you, surrender now! If not, I shall be forced to bring my Extremely Dangerous Power to bear against you, and you wouldn't enjoy it one bit!" "Who do you think you are, anyway, man? Superguy or something?" The thief swiped again, and Lars dodged - but just barely. "I am warning you, cretin! Surrender to me, or I shall be forced to get violent!" The thug lunged forward, and Lars spun aside, but the knife speared deep into his hand. Lars yelled in pain, and turned to his opponent with hate in his eyes. "VERY WELL!" he bellowed. His friend and mentor, Doctor Kilohertzmunn, had told him to stomp out crime. That had been something of a poor pun, but it was very accurate. Lars raised his foot several inches above the ground -- a small one should be sufficient. He concentrated, and brought his foot down swiftly. It impacted with the street, and his power activated for the first time, turning the little stomp into an atomic explosion with a force of approximately eight megatons. When the smoke cleared, Lars looked around at the wasteland that surrounded him. He realized that he had not only eliminated the pursesnatcher, but ALL crime in Mudclump. With a feeling of pride in a job well-done, Lars began to walk across the glassy ground toward the west, in search of more crime to fight. (The End) ========================================================================= MORMONS AND PIZZAS AND NUKES -- OH MY! Dangerousman: Episode 2 Bill Dickson Lars relaxed on the beach of Salt Lake. His long walk had tired him out, and he wanted to put his feet up, read a paper, and rest. As he flipped through the paper, he noticed a headline: NUCLEAR EXPLOSION IN ARKANSAS Mudclump Destroyed -- Tens of Thousands Dead `That's funny,' Lars thought. `I was just in Mudclump. Well, that explains why my gallant crime-fighting efforts there went unnoticed.' Suddenly, there was a scream in the distance. "AAAAAAUUUUUGHHHHHH!" said the scream. "AAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHHHHH!" `Good lord,' thought Lars in alarm. `Sounds like trouble! This is a job for...... DANGEROUSMAN!' He ripped off his clothes, revealing his costume of alarming colors, and ran toward Salt Lake City, the source of the sound. * * * * * * * Half an hour later, a good six miles around the lake, Lars staggered into town, gasping for breath. He leaned against a building, listening for the scream to repeat itself. Fortunately, it did. "AAAAAAUUUUUGHHHHHH!" said the scream. "AAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHHHHH!" Lars jogged around the building, and there, standing in front of the Mormon Tabernacle, was a simple pizza delivery boy, who had a semi-automatic firearm pointed at the head of Margaret Thatcher. Thatcher had apparently been doing the screaming (the pizza delivery boy had no reason to, you see). Lars stopped, and let his costume work its unedifying effect on the delivery boy, for fright value. "Release the Prime Minister of England!" he bellowed. "Why?" shouted the delivery boy. "Well, um....because. You know. It's not nice to point a gun at somebody's head." "That's okay! I don't need her anyway, anymore! Go ahead, honey, you're free." Maggie turned to walk away, then turned back, spit in the delivery boy's face, and THEN turned and walked away. "Women never did like me much," the delivery boy said as he wiped off his face. "But I no longer need her, now that you've shown up! Face your death, Dangerousman! Face your death in the form of -- FLATPHOOT! The Archless- Villian of all superheroes!" With that, he fired three shots at Lars, and ran into the Tabernacle. All three bullets impacted on Lars' chest. His costume prevented any serious damage from being done, but it hurt like all hell and knocked him back on his ass. When he lifted his aching body back to his feet, Lars was seething. "Very well, knave!" he shouted at the Tabernacle. "Prepare to meet your nuker- I mean, maker!" He walked gingerly up the steps, holding his chest, and stepped inside. "Hah-HAH!" said FlatPhoot. "I have you now!" He was standing in the middle of the enormous chamber, behind the Mormon Tabernacle Jukebox. "You really think so, FlatPhoot? It is *I* who have *you*! Surrender at once!" "Oh, you can't get me that easily! First, you have to get past my little toy!" With that, he flicked a switch on the Jukebox and slipped out through a back door. "A jukebox?" mused Lars, just before a pizza tray shot from the machine and he was forced to leap for his life to avoid being decapitated. "Jesus Christ!" he shouted, for lack of anything better to say. The Jukebox began to play the "Halleluia" chorus, as it fired tray after tray with devastating force at our hero. Lars leapt from pew to pew, taking cover wherever he could find it, utilizing incredible acrobatics that will not be described here due to space considerations and laziness. Everywhere he went, the infernal machine tracked him. Trays splintered pews, destroyed priceless stained-glass windows, knocked the cross off the wall, spilled the holy water, and in general wreaked havoc. Lars could not get a chance to concentrate....every neuron in his brain was keeping him from being killed by pizza trays. Finally, he saw his chance. The machine hit an incredibly dramatic chord, and while it reverberated, its aim faltered. Lars jumped to the floor and lifted his big toe. "This one's for Handel!" he shouted, and as he concentrated, he tapped his toe. It was only a small explosion this time -- equal, maybe, to a tactical nuke that would be used to take out only a single tank column. But it vaporized the Tabernacle, and wrecked a couple city blocks around it as well. The Jukebox menace taken care of, Lars ran outside in search of FlatPhoot, but the archless-villian was nowhere to be found. Deciding he had done enough for one day, Lars walked through the city streets, enjoying the hysterical screams and flailing of limbs that occured among the populace whenever he came near. Reflecting that he was already so well-respected that people went into spasms of joy and ran shrieking down the street when he walked by, Lars smiled to himself and enjoyed his moment of glory. WILL THIS INCIDENT PROVOKE MARGARET THATCHER TO DECLARE WAR ON THE UNITED STATES? OR WAS SPITTING IN FLATPHOOT'S FACE ENOUGH RETRIBUTION FOR HER? WHAT MAJOR NATIONAL LANDMARK WILL DANGEROUSMAN DEMOLISH NEXT? WILL FLATPHOOT GET ARCH SUPPORTS? WHEN WILL ONE OF DANGEROUSMAN'S EXPLOSIONS TRIGGER AUTOMATIC NUCLEAR RETALIATION AGAINST THE SOVIET UNION? SOME OF THESE QUESTIONS AND MORE MIGHT BE ANSWERED IN THE NEXT EXPLOSIVE EPISODE OF -- DANGEROUSMAN! ========================================================================= BRIDGE EPISODE Dangerousman #3 Bill Dickson Lars walked into his hotel room in Salt Lake City. The doorman let him into the lobby. Lars noticed that the doorman's hair was falling out in large handfuls, and asked him about it in a fit of tactlessness. "The doctors tell me it's radiation poisoning, sir." "Radiation, really?" Lars thought of his own high level of radioactivity, but was reassured when he remembered the protective costume he was wearing under his suit. "Oh well," he said, patting the doorman on the back. "Hope you get better." He went upstairs to his room. The red light on his phone was blinking, indicating that there was a message waiting for him. He picked up the receiver and dialed the hotel operator. "Hello?" "Hello, operator. This is Lars McPherson, in room 226. There's a message for me?" "Maybe." "What do you mean, maybe?" "There was an atomic explosion in the Tabernacle. The electromagnetic pulse damaged our electronics, so everybody's message light is blinking. But let me check the notebook." There was a long pause, and then the operator came back on the line. "Sir? There is a message for you after all. A Doctor Kilohertzmunn requests that you take the private lear jet he is sending for you back to the top-secret government laboratory complex in the Smoky mountains. He says he was going to have it pick you up here in Salt Lake City, but due to radiation, the jet's electronics are malfuntioning. It will land on the salt flats, and they'll send a limo for you." "Thank you." Lars packed a duffel bag and went downstairs. The limo was waiting, and soon he was flying back to his first home. "Vell, Lars, you have done very vell zo far." "Thank you, Doctor. But why have you recalled me? I was just getting started." "Vell, to be perfectly honest, you have done TOO vell, Lars." "How do you mean, Doctor?" "Ve underztand zat ze use of your power in Mudclump and Salt Lake City vas absolutely necessary. But ve could find no reason for your destruction of RatherLarge." Dr. Kilohurtzmunn looked disapprovingly at Lars. "Over 550 megatons, Lars? Don't you think zat's a bit much, even if you WERE fighting a criminal, vhich we can find no evidence of?" Lars looked back at his lifelong friend and tutor. "But Doctor, I wasn't anywhere near RatherLarge." "You veren't?" "No, I had nothing to do with it. As you'll recall, you sent a jet to Salt Lake City to pick me up." "Oh, yes. Zat's true. Oh vell, you can go, zen." "Oh, thank you, Doctor. I think I'll hang out on the east coast for a while. Maybe if I'm real lucky, I can get Wonder Grunion's autograph." Lars bought a DeLorean and started up the coast, toward New York City. On the way, he made the mistake of using the New Jersey Turnpike, and fell into the dreaded Route 1 North trap. He was diverted from a fast, easy, superhighway onto a dinky stop-and-go road, apparently so that he would be forced to gaze upon several thousand thriving businesses on the side of the road. Lars was not in a good mood, let me tell you. Suddenly, as he stopped short behind a truck to wait for a light, a long black limosine rear-ended him. Fearing that somebody might be hurt, or worse that the car might be damaged (hard to find parts for these things), Lars ripped off his suit and leapt out of the DeLorean. "Are you all right?" he asked the large, burly man who got out of the front passenger-side door. "Um jus' fine, but you ain't gonna be alive much longuh," growled the man as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Excuse me?" said Lars. "As I remember it, YOU slammed into ME!" "Yeah? Well Mr. Downey, he don't agree." Just then, the back door opened. An extremely ugly man with a cigarette dangling from his lips stepped out and walked over toward Lars and the bodyguard (for so the burly man must be). He pushed the bodyguard out of the way, muttering, "I'll handle this." As Lars opened his mouth to greet the newcomer, the newcomer shouted, "ZIP IT! You think you superhero sleazebags have the right to do anything you damn well please all over the road, well I'm an American citizen, and I've got the same rights you tight-wearing weirdos do, so you can just shut up and move your car and pay for all the damage!" He blew a cloud of smoke into Lars' face for punctuation. Lars gazed in amazement for a moment, then said, "You....you're Morton Downey, Junior." "That's right," said the ugly man. He ate the butt of his cigarette and lit another. "I've been wanting to meet you very badly," said Lars. He raised his foot, and with a smile, concentrated and brought it down, hard. Sixty megatons, maybe. WHY DIDN'T MARGARET THATCHER APPEAR IN THIS EPISODE? DID MORTON DOWNEY'S PART COUNT AS A CAMEO? IF NOT, THE AUTHOR SUGGESTS YOU GO WRITE YOUR OWN DAMN STORIES. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF DANGEROUSMAN GOT DRUNK AND WENT TO A DANCE CONTEST? WILL DANGEROUSMAN GET WONDER GRUNION'S AUTOGRAPH? Find out the answers to some or none of these questions in the next episode of DANGEROUSMAN!!!!!! ========================================================================= Dangerousman Episode 4 CARS, BARS, AND A FEW WEIRDOS by Bill Dickson Lars looked around at the destruction he had wreaked in his righteous execution of Morton Downey, Jr. New Jersey RT. 1 was a smoking plain of glass, as was much of the surrounding area. 'Good,' thought Lars. Unfortunately, where Lars' DeLorean had been was now...well, nothing. It, too, had been vaporized in the explosion. Lars was understandably perturbed by this. DeLoreans don't grow on trees, you know. He sighed and started walking south, back to his home in the Smokey Mountains, to discuss this with Dr. Kilohertzmunn. Several hours later, as Lars was beginning to make out some standing wreckage, a small two-man helicopter approached and landed next to him. The passenger door opened, and a radiation-suited figure waved Lars inside. Grateful for the ride, Lars complied. "Thanks for the lift, buddy," he said. Looking at his pilot's suit, he saw the name 'Costello' stitched over the left breast pocket. "Lou? You've lost weight." "No, you moron," the pilot replied as he lifted off. "Elvis." "Elvis Costello? I didn't know you were an agent." "Of course not. You're not cleared to know." As Costello flew Lars back to the secret underground laboratory (those are becoming rather common in these stories, aren't they?), he explained that Dr. Kilohertzmunn had monitored the explosion and anticipated Lars' needs. BIGCHIP, the powerful government supercomputer of questionable reliability that had given Lars his name, was at work designing a vehicle that would serve Lars' special needs (i.e., one that would survive an atomic blast). "I hope they're building it out of a DeLorean," Lars said. "Oh, shut up," Costello told him. * * * * * * "Oh, Lars!" Dr. Kilohertzmunn looked up from his desk with a playful smile. "I'm zo glad to zee you. Vait 'til you zee vhat ve haf vor you!" "Please, Dr. Kilohertzmunn, I'm dying of excitement, show me show me show me!" The old man led Lars down the hall, into a combination of a laboratory and a garage. Lars took one look, and nearly passed out in rapture. It gleamed blackly, lethally. Its lines were those of an interceptor out of a science-fiction space opera. Deadly gun barrels poked out from under sinister ports. Lights gleamed inside, indicating incredibly sophisticated computer control. "Oh, Doctor Kilohertzmunn! It's beautiful!" "Vhy, thank you, Lars. I rather like it myself, alzough I have to use ze suburban for shopping. No trunk zpace at all in zis thing. Now: over HERE ve have YOUR new car." Dr. Kilohertzmunn walked into a small side room, and Lars saw a Volkswagon Thing, painted radioactive green, with bright yellow trim. A red and black mushroom cloud, matching the one on Lars' costume, was placed on each door. The license plate (a Washington, D.C. plate with the 'government' designation) read 'DANGER'. "What is it?" Lars asked, dubiously. "Zat," said Dr. Kilohertzmunn proudly, "is ze Dangerousmobile. BIGCHIP designed it for you, und our factory just turned it out an hour ago. I assure you, Lars, it is a VERY dangerous car." "I don't doubt it," Lars said. He was rather disappointed. "Come, I vill show you how it vorks." The pair walked over, and Dr. Kilohertzmunn ushered Lars into the driver's seat. He then climbed into the other side. "Now. Ze car itself is immune to explosions, yust as you are. It is armored against other attacks, but is not a full-zcale combat vehicle. Do not treat it as zuch. "Now, obzerve ze silver color of ze steering vheel. Ze car receives its power from ze radiation in your body, channelled through ze zteering vheel into ze power plant. Zis naturally makes it very difficult for anybody to zteel ze car." "Why is that, Doctor?" "Zink, Lars," Dr. Kilohertzmunn said as he whapped Lars across the head. "You are far more radioactive zan anybody else alive. Nobody else could power ze plant." "I see." Lars rubbed his head. "Now. Zere is a micromissile launcher in ze hood, vith a magazine of ten rockets." Dr. Kilohertzmunn popped the launcher up and down quickly to demonstrate. "Und zere is a smoke screen in back. Zat is all of ze documented features, but I'm sure BIGCHIP has put in lots of little zurprises for you." "I'm sure it has," Lars said. "Well, I guess I'd better get going." He looked ruefully across the short, boxy hood, imagining the top speed of sixty or seventy miles per hour he expected to achieve. Dr. Kilohertzmunn climbed out. "Go, Lars. Fight crime, and make me proud!" "Yeah, Doctor. Will do." Despondently, Lars searched for and hit the garage-door opener switch, started the Dangerousmobile, stomped on the accelerator, and promptly blacked out from the g-force. * * * * * * When he came to, the speedometer read 138 miles per hour. Lars glanced around at the glassy landscape that surrounded him, as the Thing rocketed along with out guidance. '!' thought Lars, and he grasped the steering wheel. "How the HELL did I get out here?!" he screamed. "Welllll," said a gruff woman's voice with a hillbilly accent, "Ah jes' figgered that sence this was where yew was goin' when yuh blowed up yer las' car, Ah'd jes' take yew back in the same dy-recshun." "AAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!" screamed Lars, and he stomped on the brake. After painfully picking himself out of the steering wheel, Lars allowed himself to panic. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? And WHERE the hell are you?" "Shucks, Larz, thur ain't no need tuh get all excited. Ah'm jes' yer ve-HICK-u-lar computer. Yew could say Ah'm the Dangerousmobile itself. But yew can call me Lulu." "Oh, God, no, please," whimpered Lars. "I don't need this." "Nah, donchew worry, Larz. BIGCHIP programmed me itself, an' Ah'm well- equipped tuh handle mahself and pertect yew. An' since mah sensors indicate that thur's uh cycle gang cawsin' trubble jes' north o' here, Ah suggest we get movin'! Hold on tight!" With that, the Dangerousmobile shot forward, pressing Lars back into his seat. "How can you keep going when I let go of the steering wheel?" he asked, through a chest constricted with the force of high acceleration. "Ah got batt'ries, silly! Whudja think, BIGCHIP's stupid?" "Deranged, more like it," Lars muttered. "Whucha sayin'?" Lulu asked. "Nothing. Just drive." "Yew got it. YEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAWWWWWWW!" The car's speed leapt to 220 as it passed the end of the wreckage caused by Lars earlier in the day. Lars gripped the steering wheel tightly and gritted his teeth in terror, trying not to panic. * * * * * * "Whelp, here we are!" The Dangerousmobile pulled into the parking lot of Ned's Trashy Bar and screeched to a halt, humming softly. Lars peeled his fingers from the wheel, removed his suit to reveal his costume, and stepped out. He walked past a line of thirty motorcycles, including one that was obviously the leader's (it was bigger than the rest, had spikes on it, and the license plate read 'BOSS'). Opening the door, he stepped inside. Lars had just enough time to see the the bartender tied down to a table, his boots off, with three gang members ruthlessly tickling his feet with a feather, before a huge man decked him in the face and hurled him back outside. "Damn," he muttered. He rubbed his face for a moment, then charged back inside. He was promptly seized, slapped twice, and tossed outside again. Lulu's voice came across the parking lot from an external speaker. "Whuts wrong, boy? Blow the dad-burned scumbags skah-hah!" "I CAN'T!" Lars bellowed at the car in frustration. "They throw me out before I can so much as lift a toe!" "Well, dang, blow 'em up from out here!" "No, I can't do that!" "Why thuh hail not??" "No style," he explained. "It's not the way a hero works. I'll have to get them out here somehow, so I can be ready to blow them up after they see me, but before they can do anything about it." Lulu chuckled. Lars shuddered. A chuckle coming from a car that ugly is a very frightening Thing (pun intended). "HAIL, son, THAT'S EASY!" With that, the micromissile rack popped up from the hood of the car, and Lulu loosed a rocket at the leader's bike. Said motorcycle obligingly disappeared in a pile of scrap metal, and the force of the blast (which did not, of course, faze Lars in the slightest) knocked the other twenty-nine bikes over with a clatter. The wall of the bar exploded into a thousand pieces, as each member of the gang took the shortest route to his or her own motorcycle. When the dust cleared, Lars was surrounded by snarling, drooling figures. The leader spoke. "We're going to bury you, boy. We're going to bury you up to your neck in your ugly suit, and then we're going to turn your ugly excuse for a car upside down and place it oh-so-carefully on top of your cranium." They started toward Lars, who shouted, "SUCH IS THE FATE OF THOSE WHO TRIFLE WITH DANGEROUSMAN!" He drummed the toes of his right foot on the ground, and a series of very powerful explosions demolished the surrounding hundred yards. Lars looked about, and the Dangerousmobile was the only recognizable object left in the area. He walked over and got in, and started to put his suit back on. Lulu piped up in a hurt tone. "Ah notice yew didn't say nothin' about whut happens tuh those who insult yer car." "Oh, shut up, Lulu." "Wal, fine. Yew kin jes' drive thuh rest o' thuh way yerself, then." "Fine, I will." "Fine." Lars belted himself in, pulled out of the remains of the parking lot, and headed north into New York City. WILL LARS AND HIS CAR EVER GET ALONG? WHAT ELSE CAN THE DANGEROUSMOBILE DO? WILL THE RADIO BE ABLE TO PICK UP ANY GOOD STATIONS WITH LARS' HIGH LEVEL OF RADIOACTIVITY? WILL LARS DESTROY NEW YORK, OR WILL HE JUST POP IN FOR A BITE OF PIZZA? You might find out in the next bent episode of.....DANGEROUSMAN! ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 5 FEAR AND LOATHING ON CAMPUS by Bill Dickson Lars drove up Interstate 95 at a leisurely 60 miles per hour, enjoying the feeling of being in control of his obnoxious car. Or rather, not enjoying being in control of this particular car, but enjoying it far more than if Lulu, his remarkably obnoxious vehicular computer, were in control. He would have enjoyed being in control of a DeLorean far more, but it was not to be. Finally, the time came for Lars to cross the George Washington Bridge. Mysteriously, New Jersey charged him $3 to leave the state. Lars noticed that there was no toll charging people to enter the state, and chalked that up as one of life's little mysteries. Making a quick decision, Lars decided not to go into New York City. He drove on, continuing up 95 into New Haven, CT. He stopped there and bought some very good pizza and a Bruce Cockburn disc (BIGCHIP had, thoughtfully, put a CD player into the Dangerousmobile). Ignoring Lulu's complaints that the music "ain't good country myewsic", Lars enjoyed the disc and, on a whim, got on 91 North to Hartford. "All right, Lulu," he said reluctantly. "Whudduya want?" "Give me any interesting information on Hartford, CT." "T'ain't none. It's a dull place." "There *must* be *something*! Now be cooperative, or I'll sell you to a scrapyard." "Wal, dang. All right, it's inshurince capitol of the world." "That's not the kind of information I'm looking for, and you know it!" "ALRIGHT, alright. Though yer thuh most inconsiderrit person Ah know-" "I'm the only person you know." "EVEN THOUGH yer thuh must inconsiderrit person Ah know, I'll do this fer yew, acause it's mah job." Lars sighed. "Thank you." "Don' menshun it. Hm. Gang war activity purdy heavy, armed man in white limmisine performing hits now an' then, Cthulhoid cultists preparin' to release a preternatural horror on mankind at the Yew-Ha campus, lotsa unpaid parking tick-" "Wait, wait," Lars interrupted. "What was that bit about cultists?" "Cthulhoid cultists at thuh University o' Hartford. It's in West Hartford actually." Lars had read some H. P. Lovecraft. "I DON'T CARE! TAKE ME THERE, NOW!" "Yuh don' hafta get so huffy," muttered Lulu, as the car shot to 190 miles per and turned toward West Hartford. Lulu parked in the visitor's parking section while Lars recaptured his breath. "Okay," he asked, "where are these cultists supposed to be?" "Ah ain't got no idea." "Oh, come on, you must- wait a minute, what's that noise?" There was a faint rumbling sound, and as Lars looked around a cloud of dust arose in the distance. It came closer and closer at incredible speed, and suddenly a horde of uniformed figures burst around the corner of a building. Each figure held something in each hand, but because of the dust they were raising, Lars couldn't make out what the objects were. "Lulu! Are they carrying weapons?" "They don't look lahk weapons. They look more lahk....pads 'n' pens." The group arrived at the car, and Lars discovered that the pads were parking tickets. Horrified, for he had heard rumours of the terrible Parking- Ticket-Mad Security Officers that resided in this area, Lars began flailing about him, trying to fend the rabid mass off. He lunged to his right and knocked aside an Officer who was trying to copy down the Dangerousmobile's plate number, then leapt onto the hood to throttle another just as he attempted to place a ticket under the windshield wiper. Lars connected left and right, knocking the dreaded creatures unconscious over and over again. But for each one Lars incapacitated, two more rose to take his place. Lulu's voice bellowed over the external speakers. "WHAH DONTCHA JES' BLOW 'EM UP, YUH FOOL?!" "I can't, you (slug) stupid computer! This (kick) is a (bite) college campus, I (boot) can't demolish it! Besides, (chop) I'm not in costume!" At these words, Lars realized that he might be better off in his costume rather than the suit, since the former allowed more freedom of movement. He struggled out of his jacket and flung it over the head of one frothy-mouthed guard, then ripped his shirt off and deftly hog-tied another. While removing his pants, however, he got one leg stuck. He fell, and it looked as if he would be overwhelmed. One gloating officer lifted the Dangerousmobile's wiper, and was inserting a ticket underneath when.... CRACK! A wooden baseball bat connected with the officer's head, dropping him like a sack of wet sheep intestines. The officers piling on top of Lars spun to meet the new threat, allowing Lars to disentangle himself from his pants and rejoin the fray. Between his and his mysterious ally's efforts, they made short work of the remainder of the horde. As Lars seized two of the last four by the back of the neck and cracked their skulls on the pavement, he saw his benefactor drive the baseball bat into the third's stomach, backhand the fourth across the face with his left fist, and then finish off the third with a two-fisted chop to the neck (after dropping the bat). He turned to face Lars, breathing heavily. "You're one of those superhero types, aren't you?" he said. He was maybe six feet tall, a bit thin, with short brown hair. He wore black shoes, black pants, a black shirt, and a black trenchcoat with the belt tied in front. With his left hand in his trenchcoat pocket and his right resting on the upright bat's handle (he had picked it up), he looked vaguely film noir-ish. "Yes, that's right," said Lars. "Dangerousman. Pleased to meet you. I owe you one." He held out his hand, and the other shook it. "You a superhero?" The other chuckled softly. "Not exactly. I guess I'm more of an anti- hero. Methods and motives questionable, but I usually end up doing what's right. Call me...hmm, call me 'Ramrod'". "Good to meet you, Ramrod. Why do you think those guys were trying to write me a ticket? I'm parked legally, in the 'visitor' spot." "Because they're stupid, fascist heaps of excrement." Lars raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Ramrod shrugged in reply. "Say what you mean, and say it mean," he said simply. "Scraping Foetus Off the Wheel said that. Great song. Have to play it for you sometime. So what brings you here?" "Business. Anyplace we can talk?" "Sure. Come to the cafeteria, I'll feed you." "But surely we'll be surrounded by people there," Lars protested. "Yes, but they're not likely to listen. They're not exceptional people." "Oh. All right." "So that's the story," Lars finished. "Lulu predicts they'll attempt to wake the thing up tonight. Though I can't see how it could be worse than this food. We're not really sure what or where it is, in fact." "I am," Ramrod told him. "There's a swamp on campus. It's the result of a little dam built in the Hog river. I think it was supposed to be a lake or something, but things didn't work out. It turned into a swamp, and they got sick of mowing the lawn around it, so they let it grow and called it a wildlife sanctuary. There's a big slimy mound in the middle of this pond. We always assumed it was just muck and silt, but we joke that it's actually a shoggoth waiting to wake up and devour the campus." "A shugguth?" Lars proceeded to look baffled. "Spelled ess aitch oh gee gee oh tee aitch. A large protoplasmic mass, genetically engineered by the Old Ones to serve as slaves. They're incredibly strong and virtually indestructible, and they can quickly form appendages and organs as they need them. Unfortunately for the Old Ones, shoggoths develop intelligence over time. They revolted and wiped the Old Ones off the face of the planet. And it looks as if we've got one sleeping in our swamp." Lars paled a bit as he thought about it. "I can't recall reading anything about this in Lovecraft," he said. "At the Mountains of Madness," Ramrod replied. "It's quite a long story. Damn good, though." "So how do we stop it, if it's virtually indestructible? I mean, I could probably blow it up, but I don't think that would be good for the surrounding area." "If that symbol on your chest means anything, I'd tend to agree with you. I guess all we can do is try to stop the cultists from waking it up at all. We'll have to go to the swamp tonight and try to deal with them." "Without using my power," Lars mused. "Well, a nice conventional scrap will do me some good. That baseball bat your weapon of choice?" "Never used it before," Ramrod replied. "It's not even mine. But I kind of like it. Let's go back to my room and wait, though. We can to plan there, and I can pick up my thirty-eight semi-auto." It was 11:30 p.m. Ramrod checked his pistol once more, put it into his pocket, and seized his baseball bat. "Let's go," said Lars. They walked outside, down a path, and toward the swamp. In the moonlight, they could see that nobody was about on the road or the path. "That's odd," said Ramrod. "They must be influencing people to stay away. Usually there's lots of activity at this time of night." "Shhh. Over there." Lars pointed into the woods across the swamp, across the slimy mound in the middle he knew to be a shoggoth. There were shadowy figures in the trees behind the library, and a soft chanting sound came from the group. "Around this way." Ramrod led the way over the bridge at the end of the swamp, and up another path past the library. They peeked around the corner at the group swaying and chanting nearby. "My god!" Lars exclaimed. "That's Phil Donahue leading the ritual!" "You're right," said Ramrod. "Not surprising, really. And the other ones, the ugly, stupid-looking ones. They're workers from the cafeteria. "There's something weird about them," Lars said. "Yeah, I know. Always thought so. Never been able to place it, though." Then, Phil Donahue's voice rose above the chanting. "THE GREAT ONE DEMANDS TWO SACRIFICES! THEN HE WILL AWAKE AND LAY WASTE TO OUR ENEMIES!" The eerie chanting rose in response: "Where shall we find them, oh Phil?" "I THINK WE SHALL FIND THEM....BEHIND THE CORNER OF THE LIBRARY!" "Oops," said Lars. "%*&@," said Ramrod. The chanting group turned toward them and started forward, and Lars stepped out from behind the corner in hopes of frightening them away with his ugly costume. Ramrod moved out next to him, pulled the .38 out of his trenchcoat pocket, and clicked off the safety. "THERE THEY ARE," bellowed Donahue. "NOW, QUICKLY, GET DANGEROUSMAN OFF HIS FEET SO HE CANNOT USE HIS POWER!" "Huh?" Lars turned and looked behind him just in time to see a tentacle drop down from a tree-like thing with mouths. As he raised his foot and concentrated, it wrapped around him and hoisted him off the ground, holding him helpless in the air. Ramrod spun and put two shots into the thing before it did the same to him, apparently unaffected by the bullets. "Hell," he said. "We're in serious trouble. Recognize this from your reading?" "Yes," Lars said as his mind struggled to deal with his situation. "It's a Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath." "YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!" said Donahue, as the Dark Young carried the two into the woods. "And now, let the sacrifice ritual commence!" WILL DANGEROUSMAN AND RAMROD ESCAPE THE TREE-LIKE MONSTER? WILL THE AUTHOR BECOME USED TO CLIFF-HANGER ENDINGS AND USE THEM FREQUENTLY? WHY HAS THE AUTHOR INCLUDED HIMSELF IN THE STORY AS AN ANTI-HERO? WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO DONAHUE'S RATINGS IF HIS AUDIENCE DISCOVERS THAT HE IS THE LEADER OF A CTHULHOID CULT? Some of this and more or less in the next exciting episode of...DANGEROUSMAN! ========================================================================= Lars turned and looked behind him just in time to see a tentacle drop down from a tree-like thing with mouths. As he raised his foot and concentrated, it wrapped around him and hoisted him off the ground, holding him helpless in the air. Ramrod spun and put two shots into the thing before it did the same to him, apparently unaffected by the bullets. "Hell," he said. "We're in serious trouble. Recognize this from your reading?" "Yes," Lars said as his mind struggled to deal with his situation. "It's a Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath." "YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!" said Donahue, as the Dark Young carried the two into the woods. "And now, let the sacrifice ritual commence!" * * * * * * * * * Dangerousman, Episode 6 TEKELI-LI! TEKELI-LI! by Bill Dickson Ramrod attempted to get a shot off at Phil Donahue, and Lars thrashed about with his feet, trying to make any fleeting contact with the ground that he could, but the Dark Young held them both completely helpless. It carried them to a strange, stone altar, where it held them until the cultist/Food Services workers could immobilize them with ropes. Lars gazed about him, and saw that a tree overlooking the altar had been carved into a gigantic, hideous, sneering face, with a vaguely fishy look to it. As the cultists chanted and gurgled, and Donahue sharpened an enormous ceremonial knife, Lars whispered to Ramrod, "Hey, look at that tree. I don't recognize the face, but it looks as though they revere it. Any ideas?" Ramrod rolled his eyes around in his sockets until he could get a glimpse of the tree. His eyes widened in horrified recognition. "My god!" he hissed. "That's....that's Stephen Joel Trachtenburg, ex-president of this university! But...it's *not* him, somehow..." "Looks kind of fishy, doesn't he?" Lars suggested helpfully. "Oh, hell. He's Father Dagon. It all falls into place now. All this time, ol' Tractorbutt was Father Dagon in disguise." "Father Dagon? THE Father Dagon, king of the Deep Ones?" Lars was dumbfounded. "Yes, Dangerousman, I'm afraid so. Now I know what's weird about all these Food Services workers -- they're deep ones." Then, the chanting stopped. Phil Donahue moved forward, and stared at the hero and the anti-hero with a leer on his face. "I think...THIS one first!" He raised the knife high over Ramrod's chest, and with a yell brought it down- -but only halfway. Suddenly, a micromissile sailed into his open mouth in mid-scream, and Donahue's head exploded. The knife clattered harmlessly to the altar, conveniently in reach of Lars' fingers. As he seized it and began to saw at his wrist bonds, manipulating the knife with his fingertips, there was a roar in the woods. The Deep Ones were surging forward toward the alter, but as the Dangerousmobile's hideously bright form barrelled into them, they fell back. Many were squashed, and the smell of dead fish instantly filled the air. "WAY TO GO, LULU!" Lars screamed as he sat up and cut Ramrod's bonds. "I TAKE BACK ALL THE BAD THINGS I SAID ABOUT YOU!" "THANK YEW, HOME-BOY!" the computer drawled back. "YER NOT HALF-BAD YERSELF!" But as Ramrod came free of the altar and retrieved his gun, the Dangerousmobile's assault on the Deep Ones came to a sudden end. The Dark Young reached down with its powerful tentacles and seized the little car, lifted it bodily into the air and heaved it into the swamp. It landed on the lightly-sleeping shoggoth, and became instantly mired. The Dark Young's evil mind contemplated the situation quickly and decided to finish the spell. It grabbed the two closest living Deep Ones for sacrifices, and ripped them apart, spreading their blood on the altar as Ramrod and Dangerousman leapt out of the way. A tremendous chanting sound boomed out of its mouths briefly, and then it turned its attention back to the two humans who had inconvenienced it so. "UH...HEY, LUVVER, AH WUNDER IF'N YOU'D BE SO KAHND AS TUH GIMME A HAND?" Lars looked toward Lulu's voice, and saw the slimy mound the car was perched on begin to rise from the swamp. It took on an irridescent black hue, and gibbered and rumbled as it oozed its way toward the shore. "GO!" Ramrod shouted at him. "Try to stop it! I'll do my best to hold off the tree and the fish!" He plugged two deep ones with shots from his .38, and gave Lars a shove toward the swamp. "GO, DAMMIT!" Lars left his new friend to almost certain death, and bolted for the bridge. He had to get around the lake before the shoggoth could climb out on that shore, where it would be able to ooze at much higher speed. He saw the Dangerousmobile scrambling for purchase, trying to back off the creature before it sank inside completely. Lars shot across the bridge and scrambled along the bank, just as the shoggoth reared its whole shapeless mass out of the water in a gigantic wave. It's voice bellowed in crude imitation of its former masters, the Elder Things: TEKELI-LI! TEKELI-LI! Lars tried not to panic, and stood under the falling mass, lifting his toe almost imperceptibly. As the thing crashed down on him, just before it actually touched him, he tapped the smallest tap of his life, and then everything went black. * * * * * * * * * He came to as Ramrod slapped his face and poured a bucket of water on him. The first light of day was just peeking over the horizon, and as he looked around himself he saw shoggoth slime oozing down the slope into the swamp. Looking at Ramrod, and then down at himself, he saw that they were both covered with the vile stuff. "All right, Dangerousman, you got it! Good work, my friend. It's dead and gone." "The campus? I had to use my Extremely Dangerous Power. Is it all right?" "Looks just fine. The shoggoth took the full force of the blast, and I doubt anything more than a little stray radiation escaped. Took the thing apart. You did it!" Lars suddenly looked around himself in alarm. "The Deep Ones? The Dark Young?" "Relax, all taken care of. When I ran out of bullets, I finished off the fish with my bat. I kind of like it, think I'll buy my friend a new one and keep it." "But...the Dark Young? How'd you take care of that?" Ramrod chuckled darkly. "Well, you know how they're related to trees and all? I just chanted a little spell of my own: `My uncle works for Dow, do you like Agent Orange?' over and over again. And the thing just took off." "MY CAR!" Lars said, in another sudden panic. "Is Lulu-?" "AH'M JES' FINE, LUVVER!" Lulu's slime-covered form floated in to shore and pulled up next to Lars and Ramrod. "Nice tuh see yer worried about me," it said. Lars thought he detected a note of happiness in the computer's tone. "Well, Ramrod, thanks for your help. I guess we'd better get going now." "Yeah, you're not kidding." "What? What do you mean?" Lars looked with concern at Ramrod's worried face. "Remember what we found out about ex-president Trachtenburg? Well, he's president of George Washington University in D.C. now. I think you'd better get down there and see what you can do about him. Dagon is not a thing you want roaming the world if you can help it." Lars jaw tightened. "I guess you're right. I'd hoped for a vacation, but what must be done, must be done! Farewell, Ramrod." He shook hands with the anti-hero and climbed into the Dangerousmobile. "Later, Dangerousman. Take care of yourself, and come on up and visit anytime. Give me a yell if you need help." Lars smiled and closed the door. "Lulu," he said, "take me to the nearest car wash." "Wiiiiiith plezzure!" The car shot forward, and left the campus as fast as it possibly could. * * * * * * * * * Both of them clean after a stop at the Mr. Gentle car wash (for the Dangerousmobile) and the YMCA showers (for Lars), hero and car headed back south using several major interstates (not at the same time). "Tell me, Lulu," Lars said, "how did you know to appear at just that time and save me and my companion?" "Wal, Lars, Ah'll tell yuh. Ah was jes' sittin' in thuh parkin' space where yuh left me, when a messenger walked up an' read me a telegram. It said you was in trouble, an' tol' me where. An' you'll never guess who it came from." "Well? Who?" "Superguy hisself." "SUPERGUY?! You're putting me on." "Nope. 'S true." "Wow," Lars sighed. "Superguy himself." He put his head back and went to sleep, as Lulu steered toward the nation's capitol. HOW WILL LARS DEAL WITH TRACHTENBURG/FATHER DAGON? HAS ANYBODY ELSE WONDERED ABOUT THE FACT THAT, THOUGH DANGEROUSMAN IS A GOVERNMENT-SPONSERED HERO, FLATPHOOT IS BEING SPONSERED BY THE GOVERNMENT IN HIS ATTEMPTS TO KILL HIM? COULD THIS HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH VICE WEENIE J. DANFORTH QUAYLE? DID THE RADIATION AFFECT PEOPLE -- OR THINGS -- AT THE UNIVERSITY OF HARTFORD? WILL SUPERGUY EVER SHOW HIMSELF? Maybe these questions, maybe completely different ones will be answered in the next exciting episode of....DANGEROUSMAN! ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 7 ON THE ROAD by Bill "Not Jack Kerouac" Dickson Lars slept peacefully as Lulu steered the Dangerousmobile down the New Jersey Turnpike. They had stopped in New York City for some much-needed rest, and had resumed their trip in the evening. Their differences reconciled, Lars decided to trust Lulu to bring them safely to D.C. Unbeknownst to Lars, or Lulu for that matter, the electronic maps BIGCHIP had built into Lulu were vastly defective. Oh, they would get there, all right, but not by any route previously known to man or machine. You see, BIGCHIP was a closet shunpiker, and not a very good one at that. Rather, it was good at avoiding major roads, but not in finding short alternate routes. Somewhere in New Jersey, Lulu took a mystery exit and headed west. Lars awoke some time later, looking down the straight, flat, well-lit stretch of highway before him. "Not there yet, Lulu?" "Nope. We's got a ways tuh go, yet." "Oh. Okay." Lars settled back to watch the scenery, resting one hand lightly on the steering wheel to give the batteries a charge. In a short while, Lars saw the headlights of another vehicle appear over the top of a distant hill. As he watched, it entered the light of a streetlight. He made out the form of a solid-black Volkswagon Beetle. "One of your relatives, Lulu. Granted, he's round and you're boxy, which is the reverse of most male-female pairs, but there's a definite family resemblance." "What the hail you talkin' 'bout, Lars?" "Oh, nothing," Lars smiled to himself. BIGCHIP must have left jokes out of Lulu's design. Then he gaped, as the car approached. The Beetle's hood opened for a moment, and the Dangerousmobile's headlights revealed a surface- to-air missile launcher. It remained open for a few seconds, then closed as the car passed. "Lulu, did you see that?" "See whut?" "That Beetle that just passed, it has a missile launcher under the hood. Did you see it?" "Honestly, Lars, I ain't got no idea whuchyer talkin' about. There ain't no cars movin' in a five-mile radius o'here." "Lulu, you've got to be kidding. A black Volkswagon Bug just passed us in the other direction. Didn't you see the headlights at least?" "Mah headlights reflected offuh the lampposts fer a minute, but there weren't no car. Mah sensors woulda picked it up." "But Lulu-" "Lars, THERE WEREN'T NO CAR! Yer hallucinatin', yuh need more sleep. Go to sleep and ferget all about thuh stupid Bug." Lars sighed. Lulu was probably right, his eyes must have played tricks on him. He went to sleep and forgot about the car. Twenty minutes later, however, Lulu woke him again. "We're passin' a local YEW-nited States Army base, Lars. There seems tuh be quite a commotion insahd. Ah think yew'd better check it out." Lars took the wheel and steered through the gate onto the base grounds. He showed his official Government-Sponsered Superhero ID Card to the guard at the gate, and drove to the center of the activity. It appeared to be a test track of some kind. Lars (who had taken to driving around in his costume, since he was sick of trying to get out of his suit/disguise while stuck in the Dangerousmobile's cramped front seat) stepped out of the car and approached the group of Army people. They flinched when they saw his costume. "Greetings, gentlemen! Dangerousman, at your service. What seems to be the trouble?" George C. Scott, wearing general's stripes, spoke up around his cigar. "You an official government-sponsered superhero?" Lars showed him the card. "Well, Dangerousman, it seems our brand new Stealth Beetle has been stolen by a Russian agent." "Stealth Beetle?" Lars asked. He didn't make the connection. "Yeah. It's a Volkswagon Beetle, black. Armed to the teeth, very fast, and invisible to virtually all electronic sensing devices." "Sounds like a worthwhile project for America, General," Lars said respectfully. He still didn't make the connection. "Damn straight it is. We need this project. *America* needs this project. We have to be secure from the communist threat. So they don't sap our precious bodily fluids." "Of course, sir," Lars agreed. "And besides," George C. Scott continued, "I own stock in the company that builds the surface-to-air missiles." "Well, sir, I will keep a sharp eye out for you, and deal with the thief if I can find him! And now, I must be off." Lars *still* didn't make the connection. "See you later, son," Scott said as he shook Lars' hand. "Do your best for the grand old Yew-Ess of Ay." Lars got back into the Dangerousmobile and resumed his journey to Washington, D.C. He never did make the connection that evening. * * * * * * * * * Lulu had done some calculating, and figured out that the route it had derived from BIGCHIP's maps was another 859 miles long. This didn't seem right to it, since her world map (which was reasonably accurate, except for the switched positions of Antarctica and the British Isles) indicated that the distance the Dangerousmobile had travelled so far was nearly twice the linear distance between Hartford and the District of Columbia. Lulu pondered this for a few moments, performed the electronic equivelant of a shrug, and decided they would just have to drive faster. "Hold on, Lars ol' buddy," Lulu said, "Ah'm a-gonna step up thuh pace a bit." "It's all yours, lady," Lars said. He placed a Shadowfax disc in the Dangerousmobile's player, and dropped off to sleep as Lulu pushed the Dangerousmobile's speed up to 190. As Lulu negotiated the tight turns of rural backroads, working it's way toward the nation's capitol, avoiding cars and animals by fractions of an inch, blowing up a convertible as they passed because the occupants were playing mailbox baseball (a clear violation of local and state ordinances, and a federal offense due to the interference with the Postal Service's work), and the sentence rambled on and on and became more and more confusing (this is not without precedent, however -- see Juan Valdez #1), Lars dreamed of hosting a television show with a young man who owned a strange gun. He couldn't tell what kind of show it was, though. Four hours later, the Dangerousmobile entered Washington, D.C. WILL LARS EVER MAKE THE CONNECTION? WILL THE FLATPHOOT PHOLLIES START SOON? WILL DANGEROUSMAN MEET IGNORANTMAN WHEN THEY BOTH CONVERGE ON TRACHTENBURG? JUST HOW MANY CAR-SHAPED VEHICLES *ARE* THERE UP IN SPACE NOW? WILL THE AUTHOR RECEIVE ANY MORE CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS? WILL WE EVER HEAR FROM THE ARMADILLO, TRASHMAN, OR MIKE POLINSKI AGAIN? These questions answered with any luck, in the next episode of DANGEROUSMAN! Or some other Superguy publication..... ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 8 ON THE TOWN by Bill Dickson Lars awoke at 10:00 that morning, to find Lulu had parked just outside the gates of a major industrial complex. He stretched and yawned, and wished he had a shower. "Mornin', Lulu. What's going on?" "Welp, Ah jes' thought yew maht be innerested in a couple things I passed on the way into the city. The first one wuz hangin over thuh road at thuh city limit." There was a slight hum, and a holographic image was projected on the dashboard. Lars jumped. "Lulu, I didn't know you could do that. Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" "You didn't ask. Read thuh sign." Lars read aloud the banner that Lulu had stored for him. "`Superhero convention this weekend -- Washington Sheraton.' Say, that sounds like fun." "Don't it? Ah thought yew maht like it." "So what's the second thing?" "Look tuh yer right." Lars did so, and saw an enormous building, obviously the offices of the industrial complex. On top of the building was a tremendous neon sign, depicting a face Lars found horrifyingly familiar. Underneath the face, in letters eight feet tall, were the words `TRACHTENBURG BREWERIES -- WASHINGTON, D.C. DIVISION.' "Oh," he said. "Great. Well, let's head in." "Shure thang, boss," Lulu replied. The Dangerousmobile's moter hummed, and the ugly (but very modified) VW Thing turned onto the driveway. "Scan for activity, Lulu," Lars ordered. "Let's learn a little bit about this place before we try to find Dagon, or Trachtenburg, or whoever or whatever he or it is." There was a momentary pause, and Lulu said, "Our lucky day, Larz. Tuns an' tuns of electric an' human activity jes' outsahd thuh main brewery." "Take me there." Several minutes later, Lulu parked on the front lawn of the brewery. There were many, many cameramen lining the path up to the front door. Lars got out, smoothed his costume, locked the door, and took a closer look at the goings-on. A man in loose-fitting light blue pajamas walked down the path past the cameramen. On his chest was a stylized insignia {IM}, atop a symbol that looked sort of like a half-eaten burrito. Sort of. Around his shoulders was draped a flowing yellow cape, attached at his throat with a die-cast metal broach in the shape of a happy face. The man bounced up to his toes with each step, giving Dangerousman the impression that he was on a pogo stick. The camaramen appeared to be getting motion sickness. "Hmm," Lars mused to himself, "don't recognize him. Perhaps I should go ask one of those nauseous cameramen what's going on. Keep an eye out, Lulu." Lars crossed the lawn and stood behind one of the cameramen. He saw a woman who looked like Annette Funicello (only without the ears) escort his fellow superhero into the brewery, and then asked the man in front of him what was going on. Trying hard to control his stomach, the man answered without looking back at Lars. "That's (groan) Ignorant Man. He's going (urg) on a tour of the brewery, (ugh) and then he's fighting a (gasp) super-villian. And I really (groan) wish he would walk normal." "Ignorant Man, eh?" Lars asked. "I think I shall enlist his aid in fighting Dagon slash Trachtenburg, if possible. I must leave him a message." "You a (erg) superhero?" the cameraman asked, as he turned to look at Lars. His eyes opened in appalled surprise as he saw Lars' costume. "Oh, God," he moaned loudly. Other cameramen heard him and turned to see what was causing his consternation. "Dangerousman, at your service," Lars proclaimed, and held his hand out to the cameraman in a friendly gesture. "BLLLEEAAaaaaauuuuuggghhhhhhhh!" said the cameramen in unison, as their stomachs were pushed over the edge. They began to vomit all over the lawn. "Now, how to leave my message so that the noble Ignorant Man will not miss it? Ah, I have an idea." Lars walked several yards down the path and picked up Mike Wallace, who was puking his breakfast up. Carefully avoiding the mess, Lars picked Wallace up and carried him to a clear spot on the lawn. As Wallace vomited a fairly constant stream of yellow bile, Lars used it to form the letter `D,' about four feet in height. Wallace stopped puking, so Lars bobbed him up and down a bit to get him going again, and formed an `e.' This activity served to keep the rest of the cameramen going. When Wallace finally ran dry, Lars picked up another newscaster and kept working. * * * * * * * * * "Whaddaya think, Lulu?" Lars asked, standing back to survey his work of the past twenty minutes. "Purdy gross, but Ah think he'll get thuh message." In letters of vomit, the following message was written in neat block letters on the brewery lawn: `Dear Ignorant Man, I require your assistance in the destruction of one Father Dagon, alias Stephen Joel Trachtenburg, owner of this brewery, president of George Washington University, and one-time president of the University of Hartford. If you are willing to help, please look me up at the Superhero Convention at the Washington, D.C. Sheraton. Yours truly, Dangerousman.' "Thuh full justification *is* a nahce touch," Lulu approved. "Shahl we git on over to thuh convention?" "Yes, let's," Lars said. He climbed inside, and Lulu drove off. "Hope those newspeople feel better soon," remarked Lars. * * * * * * * * * At the convention, Lars checked into a room, showered, and into his spare outfit. He sent the dirty one out to be dry-cleaned. "Careful with it," he told the maid who took it. "It may be able to withstand an atomic blast, but it'll stain just like normal clothes." When he got to the lobby, he discovered that the Dangerousmobile had been washed, polished, and put on display. There was a table and chair there for him to sit at and meet with people. First, though, Lars wandered around himself. He met and instantly liked Qwyntor, leader of a group called `Solutions, Unlimited?'. Qwyntor seemed to be about Lars' age, but had already lost all his hair. `Weird,' thought Lars, but he didn't let it get to him too much. Lars met several other heroes, but much to his disappointment, Superguy himself was not there. People took pictures, Lars signed autographs and explained interesting features of the Dangerousmobile, but there was no sign of Ignorant Man. Finally, Lars spoke softly to Lulu. "Listen, Lulu, I have to stay here and be sociable. As a representative of the U.S. government, it's my duty. But would you mind popping around the brewery and making sure, if possible, that Ignorant Man's all right? If he needs help, or even just a lift, give it to him." "No prob, Lars ol' buddy." Lulu raised the volume of it's external speaker. "Wal, folks, Ah'll be seein' yuh shortly. Off tuh run a coupla' errands!" With that, Lulu fired up the Dangerousmobile's power plant, and the car rocketed backwards out of the lobby, through an enormous plate-glass window. The little Thing performed a controlled 90-degree skid, and shot out of sight in the direction of the brewery. Lars winced and looked at the seething hotel manager. "The government will be glad to pick up the tab for that, sir," he said with a gleaming smile. WILL IGNORANT MAN SHOW UP? IF HE DOES, WILL HE AGREE TO HELP DANGEROUSMAN DEFEAT DAGON/TRACHTENBURG? IS THE USE OF NEWS CREWS AS LIVING CRAYONS GOING TO RESULT IN BAD PUBLICITY? DID QWYNTOR LIKE LARS AS MUCH AS LARS LIKED QWYNTOR, OR DID QWYNTOR THINK LARS WAS A JERK? HOW MUCH WILL THAT PLATE GLASS WINDOW COST? WHEN WILL THE PHOLLIES CONTINUE? AND WHAT THE HECK *IS* HAPPENING ON THE UNIVERSITY OF HARTFORD CAMPUS DUE TO RADIATION? Find out later, in DANGEROUSMAN and the other titles of Superguy!! ========================================================================= THE DANGEROUSMAN/IGNORANT MAN CROSSOVER PART ONE incorporating Dangerousman, Episode 9 and Ignorant Man, Episode 6 Dangerous Ignorance by Bill Dickson "You want *me* to write it?!?" --Me, the last time I ever saw Ken, author of Ignorant Man. `Where the hell are they,' Lars muttered to himself. He was not in a pleasant mood. It had been two and a half hours since he had sent the Dangerousmobile to find Ignorant Man. The other superheroes were all at a nice convention dinner, while he was hungrily waiting in the lobby, hoping his car and possible ally would appear. To make things worse, he had just gotten off the phone with Dr. Unethical back at the home base, and he had given Lars a hard time about the plate-glass window the Dangerousmobile had broken. Lars' stomach complained once more. He checked his watch (you bet your ass it's got a glow-in-the-dark dial), grumbled, and walked to the payphone. He dug through the yellow pages, dropped a dime in the slot, and waited for an answer. "Hello, FlatPhoot Pizza? I'd like a large double anchovy for delivery..." * * * * * * * * * Lulu and Ignorant Man were not in good moods, either. Lulu's accent and attitude had already gotten on Ignorant Man's nerves, and Ignorant Man's endless questions were driving (no pun intended) Lulu up the wall. Unfortunately, they both reacted to irritation by acting more like themselves. "HOW CAN A CAR BE SO INCREDIBLY OBNOXIOUS?!" Ignorant Man screamed. "I MUST PONDER! AND WHY IS THIS CAR SO UGLY? WHAT KIND OF PERSON WOULD PAINT A CAR LIKE THIS?!" "STAND BAH YER MAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN!!!!" Lulu `sang'. This was the only song Lulu knew, and BIGCHIP had evidently been unable to program the concept of pitch into the vehicular computer. Lulu had sung the chorus eight times so far. "HOW IS IT THAT A CAR CAN SING, AND YET NOT MAKE MUSIC????" The Dangerousmobile shrieked to a stop from 80. Normally, Lulu would have ignored the red light, it wanted so badly to get Ignorant Man out of its sensor range. But the intersection was blocked by busy traffic, with gaps too small for even a tiny Volkswagon Thing. The computer and the superhero continued to make as much angry noise at each other as possible. Suddenly, they were both silent. To their left was a hideous pink Cadillac El Dorado convertible, top down. Bright yellow script on the door read "THE SLIME BROTHERS." In the passenger side, waving at Ignorant Man to roll down his window, was a short but powerfully-built, extremely hairy man in a very tacky leisure suit, which was open to his navel. One of his many large, ugly gold medallions said "Lust Wolvie." As Lulu rolled down the window, the Dangerousmobile's sensors and Ignorant Man's eyes shifted to look at the driver. He was a tall, thin man, similarly dressed. One of his medallions read "Lust Pickle." The man in the passenger seat leaned toward the Dangerousmobile's driver- side window. The driver grinned a slimy grin. The passenger opened his mouth to speak. Lulu and Ignorant Man became worried that they would have to deal with 1970's leftover sleazeballs. "Hey, nice wheels," said the shorter man. "You happen to know where we can find the Superhero conven-" The light turned green and Lulu punched it. "I didn't want them there, either," said Ignorant Man, as the Pink Cadillac disappeared behind them. Its front plate read `LUST.' * * * * * * * * * The above was an `in joke.' Just pray that the people who understood it don't start writing those guys into the story line.... * * * * * * * * * A short, pimply-faced man limped into the lobby of the Sheraton. He hobbled up to Lars and held forth a box. "You order a pizza?" "That's me," said Lars. The man seemed familiar. Lars shrugged to himself and gave the man $11.75 for the pizza and a $2.25 tip. He opened the box and inhaled the aroma of anchovies. "Ahhhhhhhh," he sighed. "Enjoy," sneered the man, and he limped out of the hotel. A federal agent (Lars could tell because of the inconspicuous sunglasses) held open a limo door, and the pizza-delivery man got in. Lars remembered. "HEY!" he shouted. "You're THAT FlatPhoot, the one who tried to kill me in Salt Lake-" The limo drove off. "Ah well," thought Lars, and he dug into his pizza. * * * * * * * * * Special Special Agent Richard Less stared at FlatPhoot. "You didn't kill him," he accused. "What, are you kidding? That's Dangerousman. He could nuke the whole place if I tried to kill him. You want to die on this mission?" "I am prepared to die for my country-" began Less. "Maybe, but I'm not. Don't worry, though." He snickered an evil snicker. "Those anchovies are a special mutation of mine. In half an hour, Dangerousman will lose complete control of his leg muscles and begin to dance about in convulsions." "So?" "SO?? SO?!?! So the sauce contains powerful, mind-bending drugs! I was going to use powerful, mind-altering drugs (tm), but the Manman author has a trademark on those. But these will work! Dangerousman will lose complete control of his mind, and when he dances, he will blow every one of those super-weenies into powder! HAHAHAHahahahahaaa...." "But what about Dangerousman? He's immune to his own power." "After *he's* taken care of the others, we find him and shoot him!" Less smiled the smile of a man who is above the law. "Very clever. I like it." "One question," FlatPhoot said. "Yes?" "As I understand it, Dangerousman is government-sponsered. Why do you want him killed?" "I don't question my orders," Less snapped. "And my orders come straight from J. Danforth Quayle!" * * * * * * * * * The Dangerousmobile pulled up outside the Sheraton. Through the new plate-glass window, inside the otherwise empty lobby, Lulu and Ignorant Man could see Lars trying to support himself against a table. He was clearly wobbling and semi-delirious. "Judging from his costume, that's Dangerousman, I guess," Ignorant Man said. "Why are you both such an ugly color sche-" "NAH DONTCHEW EVEN START!" Lulu screeched. "He ain't well. Sumthin's wrong." Just then, Lars got a demented, wild-eyed look on his face, and raised his foot as high as he could lift it. IS DANGEROUSMAN ABOUT TO WIPE OUT EVERY SUPERHERO IN THE HOTEL, AND PERHAPS MUCH OF D.C.? WILL CREEPER MIND THAT I USED RICHARD LESS? CAN LARS DANCE? ASSUMING EVERYBODY ISN'T KILLED IN THE NEXT INSTANT, HOW WILL DANGEROUSMAN AND IGNORANT MAN HANDLE DAGON/TRACHTENBURG? WILL THE FLATPHOOT PHOLLIES CONTINUE, OR HAS EVERYONE GONE HOME FOR THE SUMMER? Find out soon on SUPERGUY DIGEST! ========================================================================= THE DANGEROUSMAN/IGNORANT MAN CROSSOVER PART TWO incorporating Dangerousman, Episode 10 and Ignorant Man, Episode 7 Ignorant Dangerousness by Bill Dickson "PHEW! Wasn't sure how to get out of that one. But the government limo turned into a compact..." --Me, upon reading the most recent Punk With A Gun The Dangerousmobile's tires screeched as Lulu put the hammer down. The car shot through the plate-glass window toward Lars. Ignorant Man instinctively began using the power of naivete as he recognized a dangerous situation. "What's wrong? Why does it look as though he's going to dance?" Though Lars glanced toward them in momentary confusion and hesitated slightly, Lulu did some quick calculations on acceleration and distance and knew it would not be able to knock Lars over before he brought his foot down. Just then, a young punk with a gun held in his hand like a club appeared behind Lars. He knocked the hero over the head, and Lars dropped like a sack or moist dung. As the Dangerousmobile screeched to a halt and Ignorant Man leapt out, the punk quickly ran his hands over Lars' clothing, evidently checking for serious wounds. Finding none, he scurried out of the lobby. "Thank yew, yung'un," Lulu called. Then its circuits paused in confusion as the punk apparently vanished from the face of the earth. "Whut happened tuh that punk?" Lulu asked. "He got in his black Beetle and drove off," Ignorant Man replied. "Whut Beetle? I didn't pick up no Beetle on my sensors. Thar ain't no Beetle there." "Not anymore," Ignorant Man mused. The car had driven off while he wasn't looking. "I must ponder this." He sat down in the lotus position and pondered. Lulu scanned Lars, looking for the source of his strange behavior. After a few moments, she found it. "Uh, Ignerint Man, hun, we got a problem." Ignorant Man looked up from his pondering. "Hmmm?" "It looks lahk Dangerrisman's got heavy-duty drugs in his blood. When he wakes up, he's gonna be just as DE-mented as he wuz when we found him." "What shall we do? Who drugged him? And why? And how co-" "Cut it out," Lulu said sharply. "We gotta make him throw up sumhow." Ignorant Man thought, and a grin slowly spread across his face. He used his shoelaces to tie Lars' legs up. "Watch this," he said. As Lars began to stir, Ignorant Man began to do his weird bouncy-walk back and forth in front of him. * * * * * * * * * "Thank you, good sir, for your assistance," Lars said. "Good work, Lulu," he added. Behind him, a janitor cleaned up the mess and reflected that he was not paid enough. "Shall we go after Dagon slash Trachtenburg now?" Ignorant Man asked. "Yes, I think so," said Lars. "Lulu, take us to the brewery offices." * * * * * * * * * Outside the brewery after dark, the two heroes stood on the lawn and stared toward the office building. Ignorant Man turned to Lars. "How shall we get him out? Are you sure he's in there? How big do you think he is?" Lars shook his head to clear the dull feeling that came over him every time his new ally started asking questions. `A powerful hero, this Ignorant Man,' he thought. `I have chosen a good ally.' "I'm not sure. First thing, though, is to get him out. What do you do to entice and/or infuriate fishy university presidents and beer-company-owners?" They all stood and pondered for a while. "Mo-NEE!" shrieked Lulu. "Moneymoneymoneymo-NEEEEE!" "FISH HEADS, FISH HEADS, ROLY-POLY FISH HEADS..." sang Lars at the top of his lungs. "WHAT'S THIS?" yelled Ignorant Man, "COORS IS OUTSELLING TRACHTENGURG BEER EIGHT HUNDRED TO ONE? BUDWEISER FOUR THOUSAND TO ONE?" They kept it up for several minutes, and then the earth shook. A horrid, gurgling roar burst from the office building, and suddenly the front wall of the building exploded outward. Both heroes and the car instantly fell silent. Lars gaped. Ignorant Man gawked. Lulu's subprocess apologized to Connie and Sheen and dropped out of the party-line conversation, disconnecting its cellular modem. The ugliest suit-clad thirty-foot-tall fish any of them had ever seen stomped out of the hole in the building and fixed them with a huge, baleful eye. "GURGLEBRAWRBLEAHCHgrumblegurbleROOOAAAARRRRRR!" it said, as it started toward them, razor-sharp claws gleaming dully in the moonlight. "SO WHAT'S THE PLAN?" Ignorant Man called over the thunder of Dagon/ Trachtenberg's footsteps. "Plan?" Lars said in surprise. "Uh-oh," said Lulu. DIDN'T THEY THINK THIS THROUGH? IF NOT, WHAT NOW? WILL DAGON/TRACHTENBERG DESTROY OUR HEROES? WILL DANON/TRACHTENBERG DESTROY D.C.? WILL DANGEROUSMAN AND PUNK WITH A GUN EVER BE ON THAT TV SHOW TOGETHER? HOW LONG BEFORE FLATPHOOT DISCOVERS HIS PLAN WAS FOILED BY A PUNK AND AN IGNORAMUS? WHERE IS EVERYBODY? THE AUTHORS, I MEAN. Find out soon on SUPERGUY! ========================================================================= THE DANGEROUSMAN/IGNORANT MAN CROSSOVER PART THREE incorporating Dangerousman, Episode 11 and Ignorant Man, Episode 8 Sushi, or Hero Sandwich? by Bill Dickson "Where'd everybody go?" --Me, upon getting four replies from my query of Superguy authors. "I thought *you* had a plan!" Lars told Ignorant Man. "Me? I'm ignorant!" "Well *I'm* a product of the U.S. Government! You don't expect me to be able to plan, do you??" Dagon/Trachtenburg approached. "WELL BLOW HIM UP!!" Ignorant Man screamed. "I can't, stupid! This a city!" "Ahem," said Lulu. The back of the Dangerousmobile opened. "Ignorant Man, git in. Larz, yew in thuh drahver's seat." They didn't argue, grateful as they were for any plan at all to appear. Ignorant Man hopped into the small cargo space, and the tailgate swung closed. The window, however, remained open. Lars got in front and gripped the steering wheel. "START ASKIN' HIM QUESTIONS!" Lulu shouted, and as the king of the Deep Ones reached for the little car he was engulfed in a putrid smoke screen, and the car shot out of reach. "Uh...How can a fish stay out of water?" Ignorant Man wondered out loud. "How many cans of tuna could something that size fill? I wonder why cat's don't follow him everywhere? Could it be that he does not taste good?" Dagon/Trachtenburg bellowed with rage as Ignorant Man's powers worked at his brain. He stomped after the Dangerousmobile as fast as his floppy fish feet would carry him. The pavement shook and cracked under his step. "All right, Ignorant Man!" Lars shouted. "You got him! He's following us! Um, Lulu....where are we going?" "Sumplace yew kin use uh big enough blast tuh take him out without blowin' up anythin' importint. Any ideas?" Lars thought. "Lulu," he said, "take us to M00sekill, New York." * * * * * * * * * And so they sped through the night, Ignorant Man taunting their foe from the back of the Dangerousmobile, Lulu driving, and Lars consulting a map that they had picked up at a gas station, having realized that BIGCHIP's electronic maps were worse than useless. Once, a cop tried to stop them for not keeping their pet on a leash, but Lulu sped up so that when the cop dropped back, Dagon/Trachtenburg stepped on her car. As they approached M00sekill, Ignorant Man turned around for a moment. "Don't we need to get the people out?" "There's only a few thousand," Lars replied. "That falls under `acceptable losses'." "Ah," said Ignorant Man. He turned back around as the Dangerousmobile swerved to miss James Earl Jones, who was standing in the road. The monstrosity behind them paused and tipped his hat in respect, then resumed the chase. "Why was James Earl Jones in the road?" pondered Ignorant Man, resuming his taunting. "Does he like seafood?" The Dangerousmobile shot up a driveway, across a lawn, and back down into the road in order to miss Madeline Kahn, who was lying down in the road. Dagon/Trachtenburg carefully stepped over her. "Lots of actors tonight," commented Lars. "Yep," said Lulu. Just then, Lars and Ignorant Man were thrown violently from side to side as the Dangerousmobile swerved sharply and chased Tom Cruise down a side street, where it eventually overtook him and ran him down. Behind them, the eldritch horror paused briefly to jump up and down on the body. "He seems a decent fellow," Lars said. "I almost hate to kill him." "Who, Cruise?" Ignorant Man asked in disbelief. "No, no, Dagon. Trachtenburg. Whatever." "Ah." "Entering M00sekill, boys," Lulu announced. "All right, Ignorant Man, stay in the Dangerousmobile. It will protect you from the blast and shield you from the radiation. Lulu, roll up the windows, stop, and let me out." Lulu complied. Ignorant Man braced himself. Lars stared at the monstrosity bearing down on him. It slobbered with glee and checked its pocket watch to verify the time of death of these puny humans it had chased across three states. The Dangerousmobile shot backwards and slammed into Dagon/Trachtenburg's shin. He yelled in pain and fell over, rolling over on his back as he did so. The little car scurried out of the way as the creature landed. Lars leapt up onto Dagon/Trachtenburg's head and, concentrating as hard as he could, performed a very elegant tapdance on his face. * * * * * * * * * The Dangerousmobile rocketed back toward D.C. at 120, Lulu at the helm. Soft, relaxing jazz played on the stereo system. Dust from the mushroom cloud filled the sky behind them. "That was a nice trick," Lars said, "backing into his leg like that. Good work, Lulu." "Wal, actually, it wuz Ignerint Man's idear." "Really? Well, thank you, Ignorant Man. It's been a pleasure working with you." "And you, Dangerousman." They shook hands, and reclined their seats for a nap during the trip back to the convention. "I think the superhero quiz game is tomorrow," Ignorant Man said. "I'm glad. I'd have hated to miss it." "Sure you'd do well?" Lars asked doubtfully. "Oh, yeah, it's like Jeopardy. You have to give a question." "Ahhhhh.." said Lars. He made a mental note to cancel his entry into the quiz game. "Well, I'll be spending tomorrow night at the dance marathon. If I can find a partner. I think I'll ask that gorgeous redhead, Relativity Woman. I talked to her for a while, the physics seemed good between us." "Don't you mean chemistry?" "No," said Lars, looking at the mushroom cloud on his chest and picturing Relativity Woman in his head with a smile. "I mean physics." They settled back to sleep for the rest of the ride, and the Dangerousmobile hummed off into the sunrise. WHERE DID LARS LEARN TO DANCE? DID ANYONE NOTICE THAT THE AUTHOR FORGOT THE CAMEOS IN THE LAST TWO STORIES AND MADE UP FOR IT IN THIS ONE? WILL RELATIVITY WOMAN SAY YES? WILL IT LEAD TO ANYTHING? HOW WILL IGNORANT MAN DO IN JEOPARDY? IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE? Found out more in the next issue of....DANGEROUSMAN! ============================================================================== Here endeth my writing of Ignorant Man. Creeper, if you're out there, Ken wanted you to use him for the Phollies. Apart from that, unless Ken goes to grad school somewhere with BITNet, I guess that's the end of Ignorant Man. But it was fun... Pickle. ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 12 SITTING AROUND by Bill Dickson Lars was getting bored and annoyed. After the fight with Dagon, he and Ignorant Man had gone back to the hotel and parted ways, to get some much- needed sleep. The following morning, Lars was awakened by a loud roaring noise at a time when he strongly preferred still to be asleep. This did not get the second day of the convention off to a good start for him. When he went into the bathroom to shave and shower, his mood was fouled even further when he discovered that the water was 33 degrees (f). Shivering and grumbling, he put his costume on, stomped to the elevator, and stabbed the DOWN button. Ten minutes later, the elevator had failed to appear. Lars kicked the door and stomped down the stairs in search of breakfast. As he descended, the roaring sound got louder. Lars got more and more irritated at it as he approached the lobby, and when he finally exploded (not literally) through the door, he was strongly considering frothing at the mouth. When he saw the source of the noise, his jaw dropped. The lobby was mobbed with people, shouting and bellowing and shoving autograph pads in heroes' faces. The heroes were obviously having a difficult time coping. Suddenly somebody shouted loudly enough to be heard over the roaring. "THERE HE IS!" Lars looked toward the voice and saw a young man pointing at him. The room became silent for a moment, and then with a scream of glee the masses surged toward Lars. Lars was slammed back against the door, and he regretted having closed it. Three dozen pads and pens were suddenly hovering under his nose, and he barely made out the voice of a fifteen-year-old girl, her barely developed chest heaving with excitement, as she panted out the words: "Superguy, I love you, sign this, PLEASE!" Lars glanced up at the nearest hero booth in confusion. The Solutions, Unlimited group looked back at him with sympathy in their eyes. They had obviously had to deal with the same thing. "I'm not Superguy," Lars said. "I'm Dangerousman." The crowd fell silent again, and after a moment said (yes, all the people in unison), "You're not?" "NO!" shouted all the other heroes in the room, "He's NOT!" Again in unison, the crowd heaved an enormous, pathetic sigh of disappointment. Most of them went back to milling aimlessly about, while a few remained and held their pads in his Lars's face, though with considerably less enthusiasm. Lars thought he saw a punk with Ray-Ban sunglasses pick somebody's pocket, but the crowd closed up, so he couldn't really be sure. He told his half-hearted admirers to go to his booth and wait, and pushed his way into the kitchen. "Hi, Bulletproof," he muttered as he scrounged for coffee. "Hope you like it black, Dangerousman," said the hulking, armored form at the table. "Fans came in and swiped all the cream and sugar packets as souveniers." "Well, I guess I'm drinking it black whether I want to or not. Christ! The water's freezing down here, too! What the hell's wrong with this place?" "Mr. Cold and Frigid Girl snuck down to the furnace room late last night. In their, er, fun, they let their powers run loose a bit. The hotel's going to need a new hot water tank and heater. The one they've got's never gonna be the same. Stale donut?" Lars took the donut and began gnawing on it. "How 'bout the elevators?" he asked. "They don't work, either." "Magnetic Personality was showing off. All the elevators are permanently locked up in their tracks. Oh, hey, you missed all the excitement at dinner. FlatPhoot was here." Lars choked on some coffee. "FlatPhoot?? That's the scumball who drugged my pizza! Anybody catch him?" "Naw," Bulletproof said as he drained his coffee. "Solutions people beat him up a bit, but he got away. Now, I'd better get out to my fans." He grimaced, and started for the door. "Yeah," said Lars, "me too." * * * * * * * * * The day had not improved. Lars's hands were getting sore from signing all the pads, and he was getting sick of explaining the Dangerousmobile's capabilities to every tech geek who asked, especially since he didn't know what they all were. Finally, he stuck a $10 bill in it's window and instructed Lulu to go get a good carwash, preferably one about seventy miles away. Lulu backed the Dangerousmobile out of the lobby through the just-replaced plate-glass window and sped off. Lars spent twenty minutes arguing with the hotel manager. He had long since lost track of the number of times people had asked him when Superguy was going to show up. He was strongly considering punching the next man, woman or child to do so in the jaw. Suddenly, Relativity Woman walked into view, and time stopped. Lars stared at her six-foot tall, shapely figure, and forgot that the crowd existed. He dreamed of running his fingers through the thick mass of red hair that flowed and tumbled down the back of her snug, silver-glittering costume. She glided over to Ignorant Man's booth, leaned down toward him (Lars blinked at this point to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him), and spoke for a moment. Ignorant Man place himself in the "Thinker" pose for a few seconds, then turned and pointed at Lars. Relativity Woman straightened up and turned (Lars inwardly pleaded with his hormones to calm down just a little bit), and her costume blue-shifted as she walked toward the Dangerousman booth. She stopped in front of Lars, and her costume shifted back to silver- glittering. She leaned over to bring her face within inches of Lars's. Lars used more willpower than ever before to keep his eyes on her face. She opened her mouth, and spoke in a voice like Lauren Bacall's only better. "Dangerousman?" "Uh, uh, uh, uh, yeah. Yes. Yes! I'm Dangerousman. And you're... you're.... wow." She smiled and put her index finger on Lars' nose. "Oh, you're sweet. I'm Relativity Woman, and I've been wanting to meet you." "Me too," said Lars. "I mean- *I've* been wanting to meet *you*." A fan shouted for Lars' attention. "Hey! Hey, Dangerousman!" Relativity Woman dropped her hand to the table. "There's a dance marathon for charity starting tonight, and guess who doesn't have a partner?" "Wh...who?" Lars squeaked. "Hey! HEY YOU!!" yelled the fan. Relativity Woman reached up and closed Lars' mouth. "Me, silly," she said. "LOOK," yelled the fan, "I just wanna know WHEN'S SUPERGUY COMING??" Without stopping to think or look, Lars shot his right hand out and knocked the little twerp senseless. Relativity Woman then glanced at the sinking, unconsious form. There was a flash, and he was gone. "Poor little guy," she sighed, "I fear most people can't stand light-speed travel, even an instant of it. He'll probably be sick for a week." She flashed Lars a smile that would have melted a glacier. Lars practiced some breathing exercises. "So," she murmured, "pick me up in room 477 at eight?" Lars nodded. She straightened up and turned, then looked back and said, "Oh, and bring a red rose. I *love* to tango." Then her costume red-shifted, and she moved away into the crowd. Lars reached for his complimentary pitcher of water and poured it over his head. IF LARS COULD BARELY SPEAK TO RELATIVITY WOMAN, WILL HE BE ABLE TO DANCE WITH HER? WILL THE FANS EVER BECOME LESS OBNOXIOUS? WHAT'S GOING ON WITH THE OTHER CHARACTERS? IS ANYBODY READING THIS BESIDES PEOPLE FROM ALASKA? WHERE THE HELL IS CREEPER? THIS WAS ALL HIS IDEA! WILL ANYBODY EVER FIND OUT WHAT'S HAPPENING AT THE UNIVERSITY OF HARTFORD CAMPUS DUE TO RADIATION FROM DANGEROUSMAN'S FIGHT WITH THE SHOGGOTH? (Hint: it depends on my roommate's ability to use a modem.) Find out the answers to these and more, I hope, before UMNEWS gets the finger! ========================================================================= For those of you returning after the summer, here is a little background. Dangerousman and Ignorant Man teamed up to defeat the abomination, Father Dagon/Stephen Joel Trachtenberg. After this, they returned to the convention and got some sleep. Dangerousman had a very bad morning, but a VERY good afternoon, as the tall, redheaded, and thoroughly attractive Relativity Woman asked him to be his partner for the dance marathon. Dangerousman had already decided there was a kind of physics between them ("Don't you mean 'chemistry?'" asked Ignorant Man. "No," answered Lars, "I mean physics.") So he was more than pleased. We pick up that evening..... Dangerousman, Episode 13 DANCE THIS MESS AROUND by Bill Dickson Lars watched the clock tick the last twenty seconds to five o'clock. As it did, he stood up and shouted, "Booth closed! No more autographs," then pushed through the protesting crowds of fans. Around him, other superheroes were doing the same, eager to get away from the throng and into the evening's activities. Lars looked to his left and caught Ignorant Man's eye. "I.M.! Good luck in Jeopardy tonight!" "In what?" Lars laughed and headed over to the Solutions, Unltd. table, where Qwyntor was packing up some gadgets. "Qwyntor," he shouted over the crowd, "is there any way you can get in touch with Sheen? I have to get in touch with Lulu, and Lulu and Sheen seemed to get along." "Sure!" Qwyntor handed Lars a ballpoint with some pushpins sticking out at odd angles. "Speak into the pushbutton!" Lars spoke for several seconds, then thanked Sheen and handed the device back to Qwyntor. "Thanks a lot, Qwynt. See you later tonight, I hope!" He turned and went upstairs. The shower had been repaired, and Lars spent a good hour scrubbing himself clean, shaving, plucking nostril hairs, gargling mouthwash, and panicking periodically. "Let's see, a waltz, that's ONE-two-three-ONE-two-three...no no no..." Finally, the doorbell rang. Lars ran to the door in a towel, and let the bellboy in. "Your car dropped this off for you, sir." He handed Lars a package, Lars handed him a good tip, and he left. Lars ran over to his bed and ripped open the package. "If that damned car screwed this up...." But Lulu had done a fine job. Inside the box was a radioactive-green-and- poison-yellow tuxedo, with a small, roiling, red-and-black mushroom cloud tastefully placed on each lapel. Lars put it on, grabbed the scintillating silver corsage he had ordered earlier, picked up the most perfect long-stemmed red rose he had been able to find (which was very nice, I assure you), and took the (repaired) elevator to the fourth floor. At precisely eight o'clock, he knocked on the door to room 477. Footsteps approached, the door swung slowly open, and Lars fell from lust into love. "Relativity Woman," he said, very carefully so as not to pant. "This is for you." He handed her the corsage, and she slipped it around her arm. It matched her long, faintly glowing silver gown perfectly. She spun around once, parts of her gown red-shifting and parts blue-shifting as they moved further from Lars or closer to him. "What do you think?" she asked. "You're beautiful, Relativity Woman." "Thank you," she breathed, and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. His knees went weak. "And please, call me Marjorie." "If you'll call me Lars," he replied. Shall we?" "We shall." Lars took her arm, and they went to the dance. * * * * * * * * * There really was no contest. Lars and Marjorie were both in peak condition, and they danced well as they gazed into each others eyes and smouldered, but Endurance Man and The Tireless Girl quickly showed that they would outlast everybody on the floor. After six hours, and about one full bottle of bubbly apiece, Marjorie expressed a desire to leave the dance floor. Lars walked her to her room, as they giggled nervously and stole the occasional slightly clumsy kiss from one another. When they got to her door, she turned and removed her shoes, and stared directly into his eyes. When he didn't make a move, she flung open the door, yanked him inside, hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign out on the knob, and slammed it shut. Perhaps, gentle reader, if you listen very carefully, you can hear the deadbolt clicking shut. And if you think I'm going to give you any cheap, voyeuristic thrills, I'm going to have to disappoint you. Ha, ha! * * * * * * * * * Out in the hall, Mary Tyler Moore walked by. * * * * * * * * * When they awoke the next morning, they probably engaged in some more activities that could only be discussed on SEX DIGEST. But maybe not. I'm not going to tell you. * * * * * * * * * "How fortuitous that our writer used the word 'engaged' in the previous section," remarked Marjorie that afternoon as Lars rubbed her back. "Yes, indeed," said Lars as he bent down and nibbled her ear. "Lars, stop!" she giggled. * * * * * * * * * Fast work, huh? * * * * * * * * * Lars and Marjorie helped each other into their costumes and went downstairs. They cheerfully endured the catcalls and whistles from the other heroes as they crossed the convention hall floor to the Dangerousmobile. Lars held open the passenger door for Marjorie, then she boosted up to light speed and raced around to the other side to hold the door for him. She kissed him once, then ran back to her door. "Lulu," said Lars, "take us to an open jeweler's, and while we're inside, find out where the best indian restaurant in the city is located. And while you're rummaging around BIGCHIP's data banks, maybe you should access my expense account." "Got it, boss," said the computer, and the Dangerousmobile rocketed forward through another plate-glass window. "Must you always do that, Lulu?" "It's uh runnin' gag. Fun, ain't it?" "No, it's not." Lars was clearly peeved. "Come now, Lars," Marjorie said in a firm tone. "Leave the poor dear alone. She does her best." "Uh-oh. If you two are going to be ganging up on me, maybe we should call this marriage off right- OW! LEGGO!" "Reconsidered?" Marjorie said sweetly. "YES! YES, I WOULDN'T DREAM OF MARRYING ANYBODY ELSE, OH LIGHT OF MY LIFE!" "That's better," she said. "Ah. Thanks." "That's odd," said Lulu. "Incomin' call on mah diyallup lahn." "What's so odd about that?" asked Lars. "It's uh voice call. Shall Ah put it on thuh line?" "Yeah, go ahead." There was a click, and a raspy voice with an audible leer filled the Dangerousmobile. "HEY, Lulu baby, how's tricks?" "YEW agin! How many tahms do Ah hafta tell yew-" "Don' gimme that, babe, you want to run your signals around my circuitry and you know it." Lars was confused. "Lulu, who-" "Lissin, yew, Ah don't know yer name, but--HEY! Get the hail outta there!" "Ooh, a phone book! Sheen, Connie...BIGCHIP, don't think I'll be callin' that one. Ol' Gus don't get turned on by acronyms." "OOH! Yew SLEEZE! Get outta mah circuits!" There was an audible click as Lulu disconnected. "That's thuh DIRTIEST little machine Ah've evuh met!" "Wow," said Marjorie. "I didn't know computers thought about that kind of thing." "Me neither," said Lars. "Yew'd be suhprahsed," said Lulu. "Wal, heah we are. Be shur tuh get 'er a nice one, Lars. She's a peach." "Thanks, Lulu. Got that purchase order for me?" "Yep." A piece of paper spat into Lars' hand from a slot in the dashboard, and he and Marjorie walked arm-in-arm into the diamond shop. IS THE AUTHOR SORRY THIS IS A PRETTY LAME EPISODE? HOW WILL LARS LIKE MARRIED LIFE? WILL THEY BOTH KEEP UP THEIR CAREERS? WHO IS THIS "GUS" PERSON-- ER, MACHINE? IS ANYBODY STILL READING SUPERGUY DIGEST? AND WHERE THE HELL IS CREEPER, ANYWAY? THIS WAS HIS IDEA! Find out more in the next episode of.... DANGEROUSMAN! ========================================================================= Date: 01 Nov 1989 22:22:32 Subject: Dangerousman -- Episode 14 From: Good for your soul. Has anybody else noticed that Dangerousman hasn't blown anything up lately? Let's see if we can take care of that in Dangerousman, Episode 14 DETONATIONS ARE FOREVER by Bill Dickson Surplus Man oozed around the counter, his tremendous bulk engulfing and absorbing the owner of the jewelry shop. He reached into the cash register and pocketed the contents, then emptied the diamond cases into his bag. He reached down to his stomach and pulled off a pound of flesh, and placed it inside the register. "I can afford it," he chuckled to himself. "I have PLENTY extra!" Just then a Volkswagon Thing with a hideous paint job screeched to a halt outside the store, and a man and a woman got out. Both were excessively attractive, and both were instantly identifiable by their costumes. "Blast!" said Surplus Man. "It's Dangerousman and Relativity Woman! Whatever shall I do?" As they approached the door, he noticed the deceased proprietor's glasses next to the register. Quickly, Surplus Man put them on his fleshy face and gathered as much of his monstrous bulk as possible behind the counter. Lars and Marjorie stepped inside arm-in-arm. "Hello, my good sir," said Lars, in the cheerful voice reserved for people who are in love in Disney films. "We would like to purchase a diamond engagement ring. Please let the lady choose anything her charming and beautifully-packaged heart desires." "Oh, darling!" giggled Marjorie. A cartoon bluejay fluttered down and lit on her shoulder. "Well, sir," bubbled Surplus Man, "I'm afraid we're fresh out of diamonds." "Fresh out of diamonds!" exclaimed Lars. "How can this be? Jewelry stores never run out of diamonds unless they've been robbed!" "Darling," murmured Marjorie, "Have you noticed that this man is a huge, grotesque mass of excess flesh?" "I beg your pardon, madame," said Surplus Man, "but you're no great prize, yourself." "FIEND!" cried Lars, and he swung his fist at the villian behind the counter. His fist contacted, and sunk in. Lars cried out in pain as Surplus Man attempted to ingest him, but Marjorie shifted into light speed and yanked Lars' fist out. "I knew I recognized you," she said. "You're SURPLUS MAN!" "That's right, my dear," Surplus Man cackled, "and now you and Dangerousman are both going to become part of history! Sadly, you will no longer be part of the present!" And with that, he began to flow toward the two heroes. "I can't punch him out," said Lars. "Can you send him somewhere?" "No, he's too heavy." Marjorie looked somewhat nervous. "Then there's only one chance," said Lars. "Get into the car. Quickly!" Marjorie redshifted and was gone. Lars lifted his foot as the leering, giggling mass heaved itself toward him, and thought very very hard: "Qwyntor, I don't know if you're still at the hotel, and I don't know if you have any way of reading thoughts, but if you do please please *please* put up a force field or something." He waited for the last possible instant, and brought his foot down very hard. Washington, D.C. went up in a large fireball. * * * * * * * * * When the dust had cleared somewhat, Lars walked over to the Dangerousmobile and got inside. He and Marjorie kissed, and Lulu piped up, "that weren't a good idear." "It was the only choice," said Lars. "If I hadn't killed him, he would have eaten me, and Marjorie, and you, and continued on eating people. This way, they got a clean death, and Surplus Man won't end up ruling the world. "Wal, okay. Where tew now?" "Take us north. Let's go back to Hartford and let Ramrod know we took care of the big fish. Maybe he can suggest someplace to unwind." "Awaaaaay we go!" said Lulu, and Lars and Marjorie were pressed back into their seats. "Hey...telephone." "So answer it." "Hallo?" "LULU, baby!" There was the sound of heavy breathing. "Let's play doctor!" "YEW! STOP CALLING ME!" Lulu hung up. "Ugh. Men." "That Gus computer again?" asked Lars. "Yep. Ah cain't seem tuh get rid uf 'im." "Oh well," Marjorie laughed, and snuggled up against Lars for the ride. * * * * * * * * * As the Dangerousmobile shot away from the last of the radiation damage, a heavily mutated Geraldo Rivera limped out from behind a blasted tree and watched their passage. He sneered happily, and made a strange, reverent motion over his chest. Then he limped back into the woods. They'd *have* to believe him, now. The mushroom cloud over the nation's capitol had been the final, irrefutable sign. WILL THESE STORIES REGAIN A SEMI-REGULAR RELEASE PATTERN? WHAT IS GERALDO RIVERA UP TO? WILL IT IMPROVE HIS RATINGS? WILL RAMROD WELCOME DANGEROUSMAN BACK TO THE UNIVERSITY? WHAT WILL DANGEROUSMAN THINK OF THE AWESOME FORCE? WILL SUPERGUY DIGEST BECOME MORE COHERANT AND ALIVE AGAIN? Find out soon, in later issues of......SUPERGUY! ========================================================================= Date: 03 Nov 1989 04:46:24 Subject: Dangerousman #15 -- Back To School From: Good for your soul. Dangerousman, Episode 15 BACK TO SCHOOL by Bill Dickson The doorbell rang. There was no response. It rang again. A figure in a darkened room lifted its head off a pillow and peered blearily at the red digits glaring at him from the foot of the bed. 4:12 am The figure cursed quietly, but not so quietly that the figure in the other bed didn't wake up. "What time is it?" The doorbell rang again. "It's four in the morning. Go back to sleep, F.M." Figuremaster rolled over and instantly began to snore. His roommate pulled on his garish bathrobe and shuffled out into the living room and over to the door, cursing the whole while. He flicked on the Awesomescanner (patent pending) and watched the screen by the door as it told him no known criminal, supervillian or otherwise, stood on the doorstep. He turned the deadbolt and opened the door. "RAMROD!" cried Lars, "Good to see you again! This is my fiancee, Relativity Woman." "Pleased to meet you," she said, pumping Bill's dazed hand. "We had so much trouble finding you," enthused Lars. "We went to the old dorm room where we planned to kill the shoggoth before, and then found out you had moved away, BOY was that girl mad! I guess we woke her up! So Lulu -- remember Lulu? -- accessed the university's database and figured out where you lived, then we went and fought some more Amazing Ticketing Security Guards From Hell, and went to the site of the fight with the shoggoth so I could reminisce, and then we drove around till we found you, and now here we are!" He smiled his winning, gleaming, government-issue superhero smile. Bill blinked at them, trying to clear his vision. He jerked his thumb at the futons lying next to the stereo. "Sleep on the floor. Talk in the morning." He turned and shuffled back into his bedroom, collapsed on his bed, and went to sleep. * * * * * * * * * The following morning, Bill awoke to find three bleary-eyed heroes standing over him. "Bill," said Dominic, "There are two people asleep on the floor of our living room." "Figuremaster says you might know something about it," said T. "Um, yeah." Bill got up and put his robe on again. He shambled out into the living room, with his three flatmates in tow. "Wakey-wakey," he said to the couple snuggled up on the futons. They were almost unbearably cute. Lars turned, looked, and stood up. "Ramrod, good morning! These must be your friends." He offered his hand to Figuremaster. "Hi. Dangerousman." Figuremaster, still dazed from the trauma of waking up, shook Lars's hand. "Figuremaster," he said. Lars turned to T, whose hair was finally waking up and beginning to billow. They shook hands; "T," said T. Lars turned to Dominic. Dominic turned his hungover head upward, and stared at Lars' face. "Dangerousman," he said. "Dangerousman!" Dominic lunged forward with alarming speed and grabbed the front of Lars' costume. He shook the tall, muscular superhero violently. "YOU DID THIS TO US! YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU CAME HERE, WHAT GALL YOU HAVE, OH, YOU SHALL *RUE* THE *DAY*, I-" Bill, Figuremaster and T pulled Dominic away from the bewildered and frightened Lars, suffering minor bruises in the process. "Sorry," said Bill, "he's a little bit overwrought with this new superhero business." "What do you mean?" asked Lars. "When you blew that shoggoth up, the shockwave caused Andy Goodwin to drop a chemistry experiment he was working on. Unfortunately, he was near these three and a few others at the time. They were all...affected. He's Andy Awesome now, Figuremaster used to be my roommate Dan. T we always called T, but now it's his real name. There are others." "So what about this one here?" Dominic glared at him and snarled. "Dominic and I use our real names except when in costume. Our methods are a bit less...legitimate. Our attitudes are worse. Dominic isn't happy about it." "So what happened to you?" "Me? Nothing. I'm just the same old vigilante anti-hero you knew when you were here last." "Although you do guess a lot better now, Bill," said T. "Huh?" Bill looked at him, confused. "He's right," said Figuremaster. "You do phenomenally on multiple-choice exams you shouldn't know anything about. And you never get lost anymore, even if your routes are still roundabout." "And you know," said Dominic, "you jumped back and pushed me out of the way just before The Lobster's trap fell and killed us both. You've been better at avoiding danger lately." Bill turned and stared at Lars suspiciously. "Now wait a minute, Ramrod," said Lars. "You weren't anywhere near that formula your friend dropped. You were with me!" Then, just as Marjorie stirred and said, "Honey, what's going on?" the door burst open, and Andy Awesome himself leapt into the room in all his gigaintelligent glory. "Ah, GOOD!" he said in his deep, smooth, heroic voice. "You're already up!" Lars was impressed. "Ramrod," continued Andy, "I have made a discovery! Your genetic structure was very subtly altered by radiation somewhere in the not-so-distant past! You should begin to notice, at any time now, that your natural intuition is vastly more reliable! This will be a valuable tool in your crimefighting." "Andy Awesome, Dangerousman. Dangerousman, Andy Awesome," said Bill. He turned to Dangerousman. "Pack up and get out." Marjorie looked at him, then at Lars. "Lars, what-" Lars shushed her and said, "Very well. We're going. But what's wrong with being a hero, fighting for truth, justice, the American Way and all that stuff?" "Something to do with free will," said Bill. Lars looked crushed, and he and Marjorie quietly left. Bill went back to bed. Dominic claimed the shower. Andy Awesome went to mull over some new quark theories he was developing. Figuremaster looked at T. "I'm kind of enjoying myself," he said. T reached for his guitar and deftly tuned it in .28 seconds flat. "Me, too," he said. "By the way, Bill shortsheeted my bed last night. Help me spooge him?" "Sure," grinned Figuremaster, and the two of them crept off to the refrigerator for a slab of olive loaf. * * * * * * * * * "I don't get it," said Lars in the car. "I just don't get it. We had such fun together, bashing fish and security guards. Why'd he just kick me out like that?" "I don't know, Lars," replied Marjorie. She rubbed his shoulder with one hand. "I guess he just doesn't want the responsibility of being a hero." "He was before!" "Voluntarily, though. Now he feels obligated." There was silence for a while. Marjorie broke it. "Anything I can do for you?" "Plenty," he said, "but this is a family-oriented list. So I think I'll just take out some frustrations through a senselessly violent act. Lulu, find me a mugging." The Dangerousmobile hesitated, then accelerated to tremendous speed. In seconds, they entered Meriden, a Connecticut city in decline. The ugly little Volkswagon Thing screeched around a corner and stopped, trapping a large ugly man between it and the dead-end alley's wall. Lars cracked his knuckles, stepped out of the car, and walked over to the man. He looked down at the unconscious eighty-year-old man at his feet, then back up at the mugger. "Nice night for a mugging, eh?" he asked. "Uh, yeah," said the mugger. "Wrong answer!" cried Lars with glee, and he tapped his big toe, vaporizing the city block. * * * * * * * * * Oprah Winfrey, her new third arm waving from her forehead, watched the little car back out of the rubble and drive off. She put down her binoculars and walked over to the nearest pay phone, then dialled the secret number. The lines were very fuzzy from the lingering radiation, but she had no trouble understanding the man she conversed with. "It's true!" she hissed hideously into the phone. "Brother Geraldo was right! THE SAVIOUR HAS COME!" WHAT THE HELL IS SHE TALKING ABOUT? WHY HAVE THE LAST COUPLE CELEBRATIES BEEN MUTATED? HOW DOES RAMROD FEEL ABOUT TURNING DANGEROUSMAN OUT OF THE APARTMENT? IS THE AWESOME FORCE GOING HEAD-TO-HEAD WITH DANGEROUSMAN? IS IT EASIER TO LINK STORY LINES WHEN YOU WRITE ONE AND HELP WITH THE OTHER? WHAT ABOUT THE ICKY GREEN ALIENS THAT ARE TAKING OVER THE WORLD? Find out soon in.....SUPERGUY DIGEST II -- THE NEXT SEMESTER!!! ========================================================================= Date: 05 Nov 1989 15:08:39 Subject: Dangerousman 16 -- Cult Of Personal Radioactivity From: Good for your soul. Dangerousman, Episode 16 CULT OF PERSONAL RADIOACTIVITY by Bill Dickson The Dangerousmobile pulled out of the New Haven Jewelry Shop and meandered around the streets. Inside, a mild argument was going on. "But WHY do you have to go?" asked Lars. "Darling," said Marjorie gently, "I have work to do, too. I have friends I have to see, relatives to talk to, disasters to prevent. Now that I have the rock on my finger, I know for sure I've got you." She gave him a kiss, which he returned half-heartedly. "But I do have to go away for a while. Don't worry, I've got Lulu's number; I'll call every night." "I don't like it, but I guess I understand. Lulu, pull over." The Dangerousmobile parked in front of Jesse Helms, who took one look and made a mental note to add a clause to his obscene art bill. Marjorie got out. Helms stared. Marjorie bent over to lean into the car and give Lars a last farewell kiss. Helms' rusty old leer circuit activated, and his eyeballs boinged out on little springs. Marjorie stood, turned, redshifted, and was gone. "Lars, kin we git outta here?" Lulu asked. "This ol' geezer's drool is gummin' up mah tires." "Yeah, sure," said Lars despondently, and the Dangerousmobile drove off. Helms had a heart attack and died, and there was much rejoicing. "Yayyyyy," said the crowd of Yalies who had gathered, as they waved little flags. * * * * * * * * * "Oh, come on, Lars!" pleaded Lulu. "She'll be back! She luvs ya, ya big galoot. Yer uh lucky guy!" Lars heaved a sigh. "Oh, fer Chrissake, why don't you CHEER UP!!!" the computer shouted. Then a buzzing filled the interior of the little car. "Thar," said Lulu, "Ah bet that's her now! I'll put it on thuh internal speaker." There was a click, and a rasping voice spoke. "Lulu darlin'! It's your old bo, Gus! No, wait, don't hang up, got some info for you." "WILL YOU GO AWAY?! Ah'm gonna change my number, yew creep!" "Listen," said Gus, "I'm serious. For once. The Awesome Disturbance Detector has traced a rupture in space-time to California. It appears a being from another dimension has taken over Danny Quayle." "Yer jokin'." "Dead serious." Lars piped up. "Gus, this is Dangerousman. Do you want me to take care of it?" "I was talkin' to the lady, pal. But no. Apparently Quayle's been like this for some time. The disturbance we detected was a new superhero appearing to destroy Quayle. But what I'm leading to is this: Quayle's been heading a task force to destroy superheroes lately. You may have heard, it extends all the way back to the beginning of Wonder Grunion. Since Wonder Grunion has disappeared, we can only assume the task force got him." "So what's your point?" asked Lars. "Unregistered superheroes are illegal. The government must deal with them harshly. Excuse me for a sec - Lulu, watch that icky green alien from Pluto. Thanks. Now please wipe it off the windshield. Thanks. Sorry, Gus. Now then, as I was saying, you've got to expect Quayle and his task force to go after illegal superheroes." "Yeah? Well I've been tapped into some spy satellites for a while now. I've been tracking the movements of these task forces." "And?" "That you moving up 91 north in a radioactive green Volkswagon Thing with poison yellow trim and the roiling, red-and-black mushroom cloud on each door?" "Yes." "Well, the task force is set up across the road around the next bend." "YIKE!" cried Lars and Lulu as they rounded the bend. "Well, you two have your hands full, so I'll let you go now," said Gus. "Lulu, you're a hot bunch of circuits. I hope you survive. Call me!" There was a click, and then silence. The Dangerousmobile screeched to a halt. Facing it was perhaps a hundred armed military-type men and women, a trio of tanks, several cement trucks, an armored bus, a logging truck, about three hundred of Connecticut's finest, and a Goatherder XL-27 Ground-To-Superhero missile. Dangerousman opened the door and stepped out. "Yes?" he called. "Can I help you?" "FIRE!" called a man with a megaphone. Dangerousman dove back into the car amid a hail of bullets and rockets. Several tank shells detonated on the road where he had been standing; these, of course, did not affect Dangerousman or the Dangerousmobile in the slightest. "Lars," said Lulu, "some a'those bullets went raght through me." "I thought you were bulletproof!" "I'm explosionproof, lahk yew, dummy. 'Gainst bullets Ah'm only laghtly armored." "Well, they've stopped firing, at least. Turn on the external speakers, let me talk to them." There was a click, and "Secret Agent Man" blared from the front of the Dangerousmobile. There was another click, and it stopped. "Sorry," said Lulu, "one hit must've scrambled some circuits. Hold on a sec....thar." There was another click, a brief hum, and silence. Lars spoke, and heard his voice amplified outside. "What do you want?" The man with the megaphone answered. "YOU, DANGEROUSMAN, ARE AN ILLEGAL SUPERHERO AND WE HAVE YOUR TERMINATION PAPERS!" He waved a sheaf of papers to make his point. "Lulu, snapshot of those papers, and blow up the signature." There was a pause, and the computer-enhanced words "J. Danny Qwale" appeared, scrawled across the bottom of the papers in crayon. "YOU MUST GET OUT OF THE CAR AT ONCE, DANGEROUSMAN!" yelled the man with the megaphone. "OTHERWISE, WE DESTROY THE CAR WITH YOU IN IT!" "How?" called Dangerousman. "It's bulletproof and explosionproof!" "Ah told yew, Lars, I'm not-" "Shut up, Lulu, so I lied." "WE HEARD THAT!" called the man with the megaphone. "ANYWAY, IT DOESN'T MATTER! WE WILL CRUSH THE CAR WITH CEMENT TRUCKS AND LOGGING TRUCKS!" "What if that doesn't work?" called Lars. "What if they're not heavy enough?" "THEN WE'LL USE THE BUICK!" replied the man. Several staties moved aside, and a Buick Elektra 225, circa 1975, rolled into view. "Uh-oh," said Lars. Then, "Hey, wait a minute! I'm a government created and subsidized hero!" "TOUGH!" "Can't argue with logic like that," said Lars. "Okay, here I come!" He stepped out of the car, closed the door, and stomped his foot. When the smoke cleared, he got back inside. "Boy, are they dumb," he said. They drove past the smouldering hulk of the Buick (all that remained of the assault force) and began looking for an undestroyed end of highway, so they could pick up 91 north again. * * * * * * * * * But that was not the end of this extraordinarily long episode. No, there was something stirring in the hills at the fringes of the explosion's effects. Quite a few somethings, in fact. All of these somethings were horribly mutated, and all of them had binoculars. Three of them were famous. "Brother Geraldo, Sister Oprah," gurgled one of them from his twisted, disgusting face, "you were absolutely correct. This is indeed a great day for the movement." "Thank you, father Phil," croaked Geraldo. "It *IS* our savior!" rasped Oprah. "The Bomb be praised!" The three mutant talk show hosts (what other kind is there?) picked up their ultra-magnifying atomic-powered binoculars and watched the approach of the Dangerousmobile. When it reached the point where it could pick up the highway again, Phil Donahue stood up. "COME, MY FOLLOWERS!" he cried in his bubbling voice. His tentacles beckoned, and a massive, disfigured, radioactive television studio audience (what other kind is there?) rose behind him. Following the Preacher and his Attendants, they walked down to the road to finally meet the Son of The Bomb. * * * * * * * * * "Lars?" said Lulu. "Hmm?" Lars looked up from his moping. "Don't look now, but there are several thousand mutants standing across the road in front of us making gestures of holy devotion." Lars looked out the windshield and blinked. It was true. WHAT IS THIS STRANGE CULT, AND WHERE DID IT COME FROM? WHEN WILL LARS REALIZE THAT THE WRITER FORGOT TO HAVE HIM TELL RAMROD THAT DAGON/TRACHTENBURG HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY DISPOSED OF (SEE DANGEROUSMAN/IGNORANT MAN CROSSOVER)? WILL J. DANFORTH QUAYLE RENEW HIS EFFORTS TO DESTROY ALL SUPERHEROES, OR WILL GALAXY HUNTER KILL HIM OFF FIRST? WHERE THE HELL IS SKUNK NOUVEAU (SP?)? Find out in the continuing episodes of....SUPERGUY! ========================================================================= Date: 09 Nov 1989 11:39:45 Subject: Dangerousman, episode 17 (second attempt to send) From: Good for your soul. Dangerousman, Episode 17 DOWN, DOWN, DOWN TO THE URANIUM ZONE by Bill Dickson The optical sensors on the Dangerousmobile watched as the three leaders of a bizarre cult led Lars into a cave in the woods. The loyal though hickish vehicular computer had stuck with its master until the trees had become too dense for even a Volkswagon Thing to fit between. And odd-looking trees they were, too. Sensors indicated odd colors on some of them, and the occasional motion that could not be accounted for by the wind. "Oh well," thought the machine, "Lars is a big boy. He can take care of himself. And I guess he has to find out what this is all about." It watched the last of the eight thousand cultists disappear into the hole in the ground, and decided to call Sheen, who it had not communicated with in a while. All circuits were busy. It tried Connie, with the same result. It spent a moment worrying, when a call came in on the reserved line. "Beam-Integrated Gigasmart Computer Housed In Pork contacting vehicular computer unit LULU-1, respond." "Lulu here, BIGCHIP. Ah didn't know yew wuz housed in pork." "Of course not. You're not gigasmart, LULU-1. Prepare to receive orders." "Receivin'." "Government superhero Lars McPherson, alias Dangerousman, recalled for examination and debriefing. Return him to Smoky Mountain Lab at earliest opportunity." "Will do." "Disconnecting." "Bye!" The line went dead. "What a jerk," thought the machine. Then the other line rang. The computer answered it. A quick, exploratory electronic probe swept across its processors. "GUS! Stop, you fresh little twerp!" The computer cut off the line, then giggled. * * * * * * * * * Lars followed Phil Donahue as they descended into the depths of the earth, picking his way along the tunnel by the light from the torch that Donohue clenched in his scaly tail. He was conscious of Oprah Winfrey and Geraldo Rivera flanking him, with the thousands of mutant cultists shambling along in the rear. "Are you pleased with us, my savior?" burbled Donahue. "Have we fulfilled your wishes?" "Well, um," said Lars, "I don't really know yet. I mean, it's not every day you wake up to find yourself the subject of a good-sized cult of loony religious fanatics." "But surely, as the son of the Bomb, you knew of your destiny! That you are to save the world, cleanse it of all evil!" Lars was about to deny it, but thought better. "I suppose," he said. They emerged into an enormous cavern; a mile beneath the surface of the planet, Lars guessed. The cavern and the tunnel had apparently been carved by hand. Our hero was quite impressed. The ceiling soared overhead, several hundred feet. At the center, it disappeared into darkness, the light from the sickly green torches set up around the room unable to penetrate that far into the gloom. As Lars watched, Donahue lurched up several stairs onto a platform at the center of the chamber. He beckoned, and Lars followed, with Rivera and Winfrey behind him. "So this is where you hold your, ah, services?" asked Lars. Donahue laughed, a thoroughly disgusting sound. "No, my lord! Do you think so little of us as that? Our accomplishments are far greater!" "Oh," said Lars. "Forgive me -- I mean, you have done well, my son." The rest of the eight thousand cultists filed into the room, and without warning a slab of rock slammed down across the tunnel opening. As Lars opened his mouth to question, there was a balance-threatening lurch, and the floor dropped swiftly downward. "Where are we going?" asked Lars. "To the center of the earth!" gloated Winfrey. "To our home and workplace!" cried out Rivera. "TO THE TEMPLE OF THE BOMB!" bellowed Donahue, and he made a sweeping gesture at the gibbering masses beneath him. "ALL HAIL THE BOMB! ALL HAIL THE BOMB!" they cried, and made odd little gestures over their chests. As Lars watched, he eventually identified the symbol as an attempt to trace the periodic table of elements at a speed that would allow for a quick, easy, religious gesture. It didn't work out too well. Most of them couldn't get past aluminum. A thought came to Lars, and he turned to Donahue. "What about the magma?" he asked. "THE WHAT?" gargled Donahue over the roar of the worshipping masses. "THE MAGMA!" yelled Lars. "HOW DO WE GET THROUGH ALL THE WARMER BITS OF THE EARTH?" "OH! THAT!" replied Donahue with a smile that twisted his features beyond their already-molten recognition. "QUICK-PULSE FORCE FIELD! VERY SIMPLE, REALLY! THE THEORY WAS DEVELOPED SOME TIME AGO; BROTHER CARSON INVENTED IT WHEN HE WAS TWENTY-THREE, JUST BEFORE CONSTRUCTION ON THIS SHAFT BEGAN!" "BUT THIS CONSTRUCTION WOULD TAKE SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS, AT LEAST!" protested Lars, in confusion. "THAT IS CORRECT! THREE HUNDRED FORTY-TWO, IN FACT. WE'VE BEEN USING IT ALL SEVENTY-EIGHT YEARS SINCE!" Lars turned away in shock. Johnny Carson, king of late-night TV, was in on it, too. Lars stared in a daze as the room suddenly was filled with a red glow, and magma shot past the force field at an astonishing rate. Then he waited for the trip to end. * * * * * * * * * Meanwhile, down in Virginia, something was stirring. Something old. Something nasty. Something robed in black. It made a creaking sound, and lurched into the failing light of evening, toward an ancient, musty, leaning barn. Reaching the large door on the front of this barn, the figure pulled back the latch and swung the huge door open on its rusty hinges. * * * * * * * * * The magma flashing by was now hot enough to affect the temperature inside the gigantic, force-field protected elevator. Lars began to worry as sweat formed on his brow, and suddenly everything was dark again. They appeared to be inside a solid core. "Hey," he said to Donahue, "what happened here? I thought the core was molten?" "We have cooled down a section in the center, to harden it for our temple and fortress," said the leader of the cult in his wet, sloppy voice. "Is it to your liking, great one?" "Ah, oh, yes," said Lars uncertainly, as the elevator ground to a halt. The slab of rock slid upward, revealing the entrance to another tunnel. The cultists parted, and Donahue led Lars, Rivera and Winfrey down the tunnel, followed by the eight thousand cultists, who began chanting: "Boom, boom, the savior's come All rejoice and hail the Bomb Soon our work will all be done And maybe we can finish up and go home to the spouse and kids." "That doesn't rhyme," thought Lars, and they entered the Temple of the Bomb. It was huge. Stupendously huge. Enormous. Really, really big. The walls stretched out of sight into the darkness in all directions. The ceiling leapt up into space and vanished. The floor curved down in a gentle bowl shape. Tunnels could be seen leaving the chamber in hundreds of different directions, and these only on the walls Lars could see. The floor swarmed with cultists, millions of them. They poured out of the tunnels in the walls, cultists of all creeds and races; but all were horribly mutated. Lars guessed that tunnels like the one he had come down were spread throughout the earth, coming up in thousands of different places all over the planet's surface. Donahue gestured, and Lars and the three high-ranking cultists climbed into a cable-car. After several minutes of travel, they arrived at a huge, raised dias in the center of the chamber. There was a podium, and several chairs, and a throne. Donahue motioned Lars to the throne, which sat at the foot of a monstrous, egg-shaped object that resembled the Goodyear blimp set on end. "What's this?" asked Lars, pointing his thumb at the gigantic object behind his throne. "The Bomb, of course!" said Donahue. "The time is almost upon us for you to wake it, so that it can cleanse the world!" "Er," said Lars. "What exactly do you mean by that?" "We want you to set it off," said Geraldo, bewildered at the ignorance of his saviour. "Pardon me," said Lars. "This is an *atomic* bomb? Wouldn't a bomb this size be in the, say, teraton range, and pretty much wipe out the planet if exploded inside of it?" "Precisely," said Oprah. "Oh," said Lars, and he collapsed into his throne. * * * * * * * * * Inside an old barn in Virginia, something very very large rumbled. Smoke poured out of the barn. The rumble came again, and the very very large object moved, with the nasty old black-robed figure inside. The very very large something slowly emerged from the barn, and the highways of the world trembled as one, as if anticipating the scourge that was about to be released upon them. For in a very few minutes now -- as the 1969 Lincoln Continental edged its way down the twelve feet of driveway toward the street -- there would be a... Nun on the road. WHAT'S WITH THE SOMETHINGS, OBJECTS, FIGURES -- THE NUN ON THE ROAD, IN OTHER WORDS? IS NUN ON THE ROAD A NEW VILLAIN? AND HOW'S LULU KEEPING BUSY? WILL DANGEROUSMAN DESTROY THE WORLD, OR WILL HE THINK OF SOMETHING? WILL ANY MORE SUPERHEROES GO UP IN SPACE? IS IT TRUE THAT THIS ADVENTURE AT THE CENTER OF THE EARTH IS A REACTION AGAINST THE IMPULSE TO SEND DANGEROUSMAN INTO SPACE? Find out soon in.... SUPERGUY II -- THE NEXT SEMESTER!! ========================================================================= Date: 10 Nov 1989 03:41:28 Subject: Dangerousman #18 -- The Ascent of the Inferno From: Dangerousman, Episode 18 ASCENT OF THE INFERNO by Bill Dickson Deep in the bowels of the earth, the very center in fact, within an enormous spherical hunk of rock, the Temple of the Bomb echoed and shook with the chants of several million cultists. Each of these several million cultists was mutated in some grotesque and bizarre fashion. Among the most disgusting of these mutant cultists were their three leaders -- Oprah Winfrey, Geraldo Rivera, and Phil Donahue. Sitting on a throne, surrounded by these three ghastly figures, was one Lars McPherson, alias Dangerousman. Behind his throne, towering above him, was the Bomb itself -- an atomic bomb that would dwarf the average building in the average suburb. A bomb with a theoretical yield in the multi-teraton range; a bomb, in short, that could crack the planet apart if exploded in the center of it. And Lars, considered by the cultists to be the Son of the Bomb, saviour of the world, was meant to set it off. "Why me?" he asked Donahue. Donahue looked astonished. "Because you are the Son of the Bomb!" he cried. "Okay, we've established that," said Lars. "But is there any physical reason why you cannot set the bomb off yourselves?" "Besides the fact that it is blasphemy," said Winfrey, "after constructing everything you've seen, our coffers ran empty. We could not afford a small atomic bomb to trigger the chain reaction within the Bomb itself." "You mean," said Lars, "this- I mean, *the* Bomb is so large you can't set it off without an atomic explosion?" "That is correct," said Geraldo. Lars breathed a sigh of relief. * * * * * * * * * In Virginia, things were pretty bad. A very major highway was packed with cars, none of them moving perceptibly. Those in the front of the jam knew why, and shook with fear. * * * * * * * * * "So, um, how many megatons do you suppose it would take?" asked Lars. Donohue's feathers shook with disbelief. "YOU ARE THE SAVIOUR!" he gargled loudly. "Why do you ask me, a humble servant, how you are to do your job?" "Look, I don't know everything, you know!" snapped Lars. "I was thrown into this saviour business, it didn't come with a manual or anything!" "Shh, father Phil," said Rivera softly as Donahue opened his mouth. "This is very sudden for him." Winfrey turned to Lars. "Anything from eighty to a hundred and ninety-five megatons will awaken the Bomb. Less will not affect it, more..." She looked very distressed. Lars felt concerned. He could try to vaporize the cult piece by piece with a series of small blasts, but he did not want to risk setting off the monstrous bomb behind him. Besides, these cultists had obviously been through some major radiation-producing events before -- it was possible they had built up a resistance similar to his own, though not as strong. He suspected a higher-powered explosion would destroy the bomb, but he couldn't generate more than a hundred and sixty megatons with a stomp. Lars pondered what their reaction was likely to be, then decided he didn't have much choice anyway. Well, if death it was going to be, death it was going to be. He stood up and raised his arms. The cultists fell silent in breathless expectation. "Sorry, folks," he said. "I won't do it." * * * * * * * * * Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose was a very bitter woman. As her finely tuned Lincoln purred along the Virginia expressway at 12.8 miles per hour, she reflected on the man who had made her the way she was. She still remembered the day he walked out on her. "Martin Luther!" she had screamed, "it's either the Reformation or me! Decide now!" And he had hesitated only a moment before picking up his hammer and nails and heading for the church. "I may not have been able to take my revenge on him," she thought, for a desire for revenge had indeed festered in her aging heart, year after year, "but now I can take revenge on an entire country founded by Protestants!" She stared behind her. Off in the distance, she could see her rear windshield. Through that, she could make out the traffic jam stretching for miles behind the old Lincoln. Suddenly, the highway widened by a lane. A desperate woman in a Rabbit attempted to pass Sister Mary Ellen in the new lane, but the Lincoln Continental, as Lincoln Continentals will, widened to fill the empty lane, and the Rabbit was crushed against the guardrail. Sister Mary Ellen smiled, and turned her attention back to the road ahead of her, which was somewhere....yes, there it was, just past the hood ornament. * * * * * * * * * Down in the Temple of the Bomb, Lars was in no small amount of trouble. The masses of cultists had stared in silence for nearly a full minute, apparently in disbelief that their saviour should refuse to perform his duty. Suddenly, Donahue raised his voice in command. "WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE!" he bubbled. "THIS MAN IS *NOT* THE SON OF THE BOMB! HE IS THE......ANTI-BOMB! RISE, MY CHILDREN, AND DESTROY HIM!!" Donahue, Rivera and Winfrey turned on Lars as the masses surged forward, mutant appendages waving hideously. Lars leapt from his throne and scissor-kicked, knocking Rivera and Winfrey on their butts. A left to the stomach followed by a right cross to the jaw felled Donahue, and Lars ran around to the back of the towering nuclear device. There were cultists there, too, and they had nearly reached the center platform. Lars looked frantically around, and then saw that -- yes! The gigantic bomb had a ladder on it! Apparently, a painter touching up the top half of the bomb had left it there! Lars thought quickly, and realized what he had to do. It was a slim chance, but if the cultists' bomb was not destroyed now, they would eventually get hold of an atomic bomb to set if off. The choice was possible salvation or possible destruction now, or definite destruction of the earth later. Lars began to climb. "SACRILEGE!" screeched Donahue as he climbed to his feet. "GET HIM OFF THE BOMB, MY CHILDREN!" The cultists reached the ladder and began to climb after Lars. Being in tip-top shape, Lars climbed the long ladder to the top of the huge bomb rather quickly. He stood at the top and began to look around frantically, searching the crowd for a bare patch of ground. The first couple of cultists reached the top of the ladder, and Lars kicked them off, then shoved the ladder over into the crowd. On the ground, Rivera divined Lars' intentions, and frantically explained to the other two leaders of the cult that things could turn badly. They each scrambled for a heavy hatch in the floor of the platform. The ladder was replaced, and those cultists whose mutations had given them ranged attacks were beginning to plug away at Lars. Things were looking desperate -- and then Lars saw his opportunity! There, below, a gap had opened up in the masses as they all tried to get around to the side of the bomb with the ladder against it. Lars took a deep breath, hoped with all his might, and jumped. As he fell, he concentrated. It was pretty spectacular. Lars hit the floor, and the Temple exploded with light. Several million cultists were vaporized instantly. The cultists' bomb was destroyed at once, the fissile material scattered into its component atoms without having the chance to come together into critical mass. Years later, when the full details of the story came together, scientists would determine that the cause of the disturbances on the planet was an atomic explosion with the force of at least a gigaton of TNT. This was enough to accomplish what Lars wanted to accomplish, but not enough to structurally damage the planet. The force of the explosion was funnelled into the several thousand tunnels leading to the huge rock-chamber elevators. The elevators were blasted up their shafts at astonishing rates of speed, exploding straight through the last mile of rock at the top of the shafts and out of the surface of the planet. The multitudinous aliens and superheroes and supervillains in space around the planet saw several thousand cathedral-sized hunks of rock erupt from the planet and launch into the atmosphere; some fell back to the surface, crushing cities and forests (more unpopulated areas than cities, fortunately, but Borneo and Montreal both got the finger), others had sufficient velocity to head into deep space, to present navigational problems in the solar system for thousands of years to come. These same spaceborne intelligent beings saw an equal number of thousands of enormous gouts of flame at the same moment as the eruptions of cathedral- sized hunks of rock, as the firestorm of the explosion blasted through the near-surface-level tunnels that led to the top end of the elevator shafts. Countrysides all over the planet ignited; several bodies of water were evaporated. On the Interstate in Virginia, one of the elevators crashed to the road just in front of Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose's Lincoln. The Continental lumbered on and rammed into the hill-sized hunk of rock, which was instantly pulverized into millions of tiny shards. The pieces rained down onto the highway for miles around, killing thousands of motorists who were trapped behind the Nun on the Road. The Continental continued on, its speed undiminished. In the crumbling Temple of the Bomb, Lars climbed to his feet painfully. His ankle was badly twisted and sprained. Boulders began to fall from the ceiling of the trembling room, and Lars saw that he would never make it back to the surface alive. As the room collapsed around him, something caught his eye. He looked closer, and saw that it was an open shaft labelled "ESCAPE ROUTE ONE." It appeared to have housed a small craft of some kind, and apparently had been recently used. The ceiling gave way, and Lars thought silent goodbyes to all his friends, and especially his beloved Marjorie. A cubic mile of rock fell towards his head, and Lars closed his eyes. Suddenly a blinding blue flash shone through his eyeslids, and Lars began to feel extremely nauseous as the sounds of the cavern disappeared. He opened his eyes again to find himself in a blasted, burning forest, being placed in the passenger seat of the Dangerousmobile by none other than Relativity Woman -- his beloved fiancee. She slammed the door shut and got in the other side, and the little car rocketed backwards out of the woods, seeking non-combusting terrain. Lars looked up at Marjorie and passed out. WHAT WILL THE ENVIRONMENTAL REPERCUSSIONS OF THIS BE? HOW MUCH TROUBLE IS LARS IN NOW? WILL THIS TRIGGER THE BIG ONE AT THE SAN ANDREAS FAULT? HOW WILL THE OTHER AUTHORS INCORPORATE THE RATHER SPECTACULAR (IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF) PYROTECHNICS INTO THEIR STORYLINES? DID PHIL, OPRAH AND GERALDO ESCAPE? IF SO, ARE THEY IN SPACE NOW? AND WHAT ABOUT NUN ON THE ROAD? Find out more in future episodes of......SUPERGUY!!!! ========================================================================= Date: 14 Nov 1989 23:31:14 Subject: Dangerousman #19 From: Bill Dickson Dangerousman Episode 19: Southbound Again by Bill Dickson Lars lay in the grass of a convenient field, staring up at the smoke from the nearby forest. He heard a weird scream; apparently the forest, mutated by the constant presence of the radioactive cultists, was in serious pain. And no wonder - not only had a huge gout of nuclear fire set the woods ablaze, but chunks of debris from the nearby elevator's launch into space had rained down all over it. "OW!" cried Lars, and he winced in pain. Marjorie shifted position slightly, and began pulling gently on the needle-sharp quill that was protruding from Lars' shoulder. "Hold still, honey," she said. "I've almost got it. Those mutants really did a job on you, especially the one that I suspect looked like a porcupine." Lars sucked his breath in between his teeth as the quill finally slid free, and Marjorie began rubbing ointment on the wound. "The worst part," he said, "is that the leaders escaped. At least, I'm pretty sure they did. Phil Donahue and the others vanished from my sight before I jumped, and I found what seemed to be used escape tunnels." There was a click as the Dangerousmobile's external speaker turned on. "Excyuse me, Larz," said Lulu, "did yew say, 'Phil Donahue?'" "Yes, I did, Lulu, why?" "Yew saw him? Down thar with thuh cultists?" "You saw him too, Lulu, standing in the road. Call up your visual records." There was a momentary pause, and suddenly the little car emitted what sounded like a gasp. "Wal, Ah'll be hog-tied." Marjorie looked at Lars, then toward the car. "What is it, Lulu?" "Yew was right, Larz. It's him, all rahght." "So?" "So donchew remember? Ah put an explosive mahcromissile in his mouth when yew an' Ramrod was tahd up by thuh cultists! He's DEAD, Larz!" The memory flooded back, and Lars suddenly realized the terrible import of this news. "MY GOD!" he said, "I forgot to tell Ramrod I defeated Dagon! I can't believe I'm so stupid! That's what I went there for in the first place! I mean-- DEAD? What do you mean, 'dead,' Lulu?" "DEAD, dee ee, ay, dee, Larz." Lars gaped. Marjorie looked back and forth from car to man. "This is really bizarre," she said. Quickly, the nation's arteries were clogging. The titanic traffic jam spread from Virginia out along every highway that connected with that main thoroughfare, expanding north and west. And in the center of it all, a 1969 Lincoln Continental carefully edged its way along the road. The Virginia National Guard was called out. Tanks and armored personnel carriers eased down the back roads of the state, avoiding piles of rubble and burning trees, attempting not to hinder the progress of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles that were attempting to deal with the damage from the as-yet-unexplained planetwide cataclysm that had taken place only hours before. At one point, they had to leave the road altogether, cutting through the smoldering remains of a tobacco field to skirt the edge of a huge hole that had apparently been blasted through the planet's crust from the inside. Finally, they reached the highway. It was deserted; all traffic in front of Nun on the Road had long since reached its destination. The rest was trapped behind the Lincoln, half a mile away. George Peppard, commanding the National Guard unit, figured he had about twenty minutes to set up his assault. On the dark side of the moon, three silver spheres lowered themselves gently to the surface. Three hideously mutated figures got out and walked to a super-secret base of operations. They went inside and removed their space suits. "A narrow escape, Father Phil," said Oprah Winfrey. "Yes," agreed Geraldo Rivera. "The Anti-Bomb has destroyed our work. He severely damaged the planet, but the Bomb's work is still set back by many years." "Indeed?" gurgled Donahue. "I think you two took what I was saying much too seriously. My plan went exactly as expected." "Father Phil! What are you saying?" cried Winfrey. "I'm saying you've been duped, my dear. That bomb would not have destroyed the planet. It was an empty shell. The tunnels, the elevators, the Temple were all constructed eons ago by the Great Old Ones, not by any pathetic mutant worshippers! I'm in the business of REAL cult activity, not any lame messiah garbage!" "Then...all you told us..." Rivera was close to tears. "LIES!" shrieked Donahue. "ALL LIES! I wanted revenge on Dangerousman for defeating my shoggoth! If the cavern didn't cave in and kill him, then the humans will hunt him down for damaging the planet! If he tries to tell them he was saving the world, the scientists will find no radioactive traces in the core of the planet that would indicate the presence of a bomb! He's DOOMED! If he's not dead already, that is." "Then...then what of us?" sobbed Winfrey. "Well, my dear," sneered Donahue, "we of the Seriously Nasty Undead Cthulhoid Cultists, Inc. may not need our heads and brains to survive, but we DO need spare parts now and then." With those words, Donahue reached beside him and picked up a weedwhacker that had been hanging from a hook. There was a brush blade attached in place of the weed-string. He slung it over his shoulder and started it up. "I knew it was strange having a weedwhacker where there are no plants," said Rivera. Seconds later, he and Winfrey were lying in messy pieces on the floor. "All rested, dear?" asked Marjorie. "Yes, thanks. Shall we get on with the job of trying to clean up some of the mess?" "Not just yet." Lars looked at her, puzzled. "Why not?" "The local authorities can handle most of it," she replied. "Right now, there are several matters of more serious import." "Oh?" "Yes. Lulu has filled me in on a few things. Firstly, you have apparently killed George Bush, which leaves you-know-who in charge." "Al Haig?" "Almost, but no. He got blown up, too." Lars' face dropped. "You CAN'T mean--" "Yeah. Anyway, I understand some new hero from another part of the galaxy is taking care of him. But your lab wants you back." "Dr. Kilohertzmunn? For what?" "Not Dr. Kilohertzmunn. Apparently Dr. Unethical wants to talk to you. Something about a checkup and debriefing." "Ah." "Also, there's a nun on the road in Virginia. She's heading south, slowly; all the traffic on the major routes of the northeast is at a virtual standstill, and the jam is spreading." "GOOD LORD!" cried Lars, leaping to his feet. His twisted ankle promptly gave way, and he fell over again. Marjorie caught him. "This could put a major crimp in the disaster relief after my explosion! Who knows what rescue forces are trapped in traffic?" "So we'll go get her out of the way?" "YES!" proclaimed Lars, heroically. "After I stop in for my checkup, that is." "Lars, those people need our help now!" "Orders are orders," he shrugged, and climbed into the Dangerousmobile. "Coming along?" "Not if you're going to be okay," she said. "And I think you will be. Just get some rest. I'm going to go help people out." "Okay, love," Lars said. "Please try to explain to anybody who blames me that it was necessary to hurt the world to keep it from being destroyed." "I will, darling," she said, and leaned into the car to kiss him good-bye. "One thing," Lars said as she turned to leave. "How did you know I was going to be in the center of the earth, in danger of losing my life?" "Woman's intuition," she said, then redshifted and disappeared. Lars closed the door. "Lulu," he said, "let's go home." There was a squeal of tires, and Lars was pressed back in his seat as the speedometer climbed past two hundred. Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose pushed her glasses up to her filmy eyes and stared along the hood of her car. There, in the distance, was the end of her hood. Past that was some road. And on the road was George Peppard and his National Guard force. Tanks were lined up across the road. National Guardsmen peeked out from under and behind them with rocket launchers and heavy machine guns. Peppard himself hefted a grenade launcher and glared at the approaching Lincoln. The Nun on the Road sneered, and cackled to herself. The Lincoln slowly eased around the bend into the full view of the National Guardsmen. Peppard waited until he thought the car had approached to optimum range, and raised his left hand while aiming the grenade launcher with his right. He paused for a moment, then gave the order. "FIRE!" Machine guns rattled, rocket launchers woofed and puffed flame; tank turrets depressed and roared. Peppard fired again and again, his projectiles arcing gracefully toward their target. Several thousand pounds of explosive munitions impacted the Lincoln Continental. An enormous fireball blossomed across the road, smoke pouring from it into the evening sky. Visibility was reduced to nil. Then, slowly, menacingly, a hood ornament protruded from the cloud of hot smoke. The front of a car followed. The low rumble of a huge V8 rose above the dying sound of the explosions. Peppard stared in amazement, and decided on a tactical retreat. "BACK OFF, MEN!" he called. "MOVE ON OUT OF HERE!" The Guardsmen, seeing the approaching hood, and knowing that the rest of the monstrous car was back there in the smoke someplace, bugged out. They abandoned the tanks and ran. Peppard screamed and yelled, but they would not listen. Finally, he climbed into a tank himself and decided to make one last lone stand. He started it up and rolled it forward. Seconds later, he rammed into the grille of the Lincoln. The tank was crushed in moments. As the car rolled over it, the munitions left in the turret went off, blowing a large pothole in the road but leaving the Lincoln unscathed. George Peppard had died valiantly; but, like most deaths of this type, it was a futile death. Nun on the Road made short work of the rest of the heavy assault vehicles in the road, and continued on her way to the Retirement Community of America, a happy grimace on her face. Will Dangerousman have more space devoted to him in his own story next episode? Will he ever come up against Nun on the Road? What does Dr. Unethical want? Will Phil Donahue return? What will happen if ! finds Dangerousman Possible answers to these questions and more in the next episode of SUPERGUY! ========================================================================= Date: 17 Nov 1989 12:53:18 Subject: Dangerousman #20, Part 1 (second attempt) From: Devil does your dog bite? Dangerousman, Episode 20, Part One TAKE ME HOME, COUNTRY ROADS, TO THE LAB, WHERE I WAS MADE by Bill Dickson It was a dark and stormy night. The author had always wanted to begin a story that way, so he leaned back in his chair and relaxed, glad that it was finally out of his system. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the soothing feeling of the end of another week to flow through his body, calming him and softening the muscles that had been tensing for the past five days. A flash of lightning shone through his eyelids, and a distant rumble of thunder came to his ears. He smiled, savoring the storm. Unfortunately, though his fictional counterpart in the Awesome Force is indeed a hero, the author was not in possession of any form of super powers. In this case, vastly enhanced hearing would have been beneficial, for far off in the distance, some extremely interesting vocabulary was being used. The author would have found it most educational. * * * * * * * * * "%*$#$#&!" said Lars. ")*$*&$!" "Yer not halpin' me ah bit, Larz, yew know that?" Lulu was just as exasperated, apparently. "Ah'm doin' thuh best Ah can with thuh maps BIGCHIP gave me!" "#^(*&)(T&^$%*&)&)(*^^&%^ BIGCHIP! BIGCHIP CAN JUST GO )_&*^$*&^)(& HIS *(^*%(^*()&*(& PROGRAMMERS, ALL RIGHT??" Lulu pulled over to the side of the tiny dirt road and stopped. A small gas jet popped out of the dashboard and sprayed a mild tranquilizer into the air. "All right, Larz," said the little computer, "we ain't movin' until yew calm down." Lars breathed deeply and closed his eyes, then opened them again. Lightning smashed into the forest nearby. Lulu's sensors indicated that it started a fire, but the flames were immediately extinguished by the tremendous downpour. The local authorities were rather pleased with the tremendous downpour, because it had been of unimaginable aid in extinguishing the fires that had raged after the recent cataclysm, but Lars and Lulu were rather peeved. Very- high-speed driving was no fun on wet roads, even for a vehicular computer. Thunder roared. Wipers flapped back and forth in the darkness. Finally, Lars spoke. "Okay, Lulu. According to BIGCHIP's maps, how far do we have to go to get to the lab?" "Anuther eighteen hundred and fifty-fahv mahles." "You can't be serious!" Lars sputtered in disbelief. "Where the *&(% *are* we?" Lulu sprayed some more tranquilizer gas into the car. "We're in Vermont." "Great, just great," Lars said, "we're in Vermont. A little, middle-of- nowhere dirt road in Ver-" He stopped, face darkening in anger. "Lulu, weren't we in Kentucky just yesterday?" "Yep." "Lulu, is it not true that one does *not* pass through Vermont to get to northern West Virginia from Kentucky, ESPECIALLY when one started in Connecticut?" "According to BIGCHIP, it is *not* true, if yer goin' to the lab." "All right, all right, get the damned machine on the line." There was a momentary pause, then a click. A low, almost monotonic voice came over the internal speaker. "BIGCHIP, responding and ready." "BIGCHIP, this is Dangerousman. I know Dr. Unethical wants to see me, but Lulu and I are having a lot of trouble getting to you with the maps you provided. Have you got any more, um, efficient routes?" "The routes provided are the most efficient, in combined terms of speed and aesthetic properties." "Listen, you immensely stupid machine, I've been enjoying backwoods scenery for three days now. I have travelled twenty-eight hundred miles. My butt's getting sore from sitting in this car so long. I've had enough aesthetics. Can we maybe concentrate on the speed now?" "Appropriate emphasis was placed on aesthetics to keep government employees in a healthy state of mind. Enjoy the scenery and your trip. Signing off." There was a click that bore a distinct note of finality. Lars fumed. "All right, Lulu," he said at last. "Let's forget the lab for a minute. How many possible routes are there to the approximate center of the Smoky Mountains?" "An awful lot, Larz." "How short is the shortest, according to BIGCHIP's maps?" "Eight hundred fourteen mahles." "All right, let's do it. When we get there, I'll hope I recognize something, and we'll drive in on manual." "Righto," said the vehicular computer, and the little car sped off into the night. * * * * * * * * * Far to the south, a horror was approaching Florida's border. The nation's highway system was clogged as far north as Massachusetts and as far west as the Mississippi River. Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose was having the time of her long, bitter life. "I hope Martin is being forced to watch this in Hell," she muttered to herself. "As goes this nation, so shall go all Protestants!" And as she spoke those words, her Lincoln Continental casually pulverized the eight-foot-thick concrete wall that had been erected to try to stop her. * * * * * * * * * "We made it! Thank God!" cried Lars eight hours later, as the huge garage door loomed in front of him. "NOT A SECRET GOVERNMENT LAB (*)," it said in large white letters. Lars punched the door opener, and the door (unsurprisingly) opened. He eased the Dangerousmobile inside, and hopped out as the door closed behind him. "Go get yourself a tune-up, Lulu," he said, and the little car rocketed off to another part of the garage. Lars bounded down the hallway, overjoyed to see his old home. He took an express elevator to his own quarters, and changed into a spare costume. The ones he had been using were getting somewhat worn. Then he hopped into his bathroom and washed up. As he was dressing, a message came over the intercom. "Lars," said Dr. Unethical's voice, "our monitors indicate you've been home for nearly half an hour. Why haven't you reported?" "Sorry, Dr. Unethical!" called Lars. "I was just washing up! I'll be right down!" He hopped into his boots, tightened his belt, and ran to the elevator. It opened, and a pale Dr. Kilohertzmann yanked him inside, then jabbed the "GARAGE" button. "Larz!" he panted. "You zhould not haf come here. It is a trap! Zey plan to-" But just then, the elevator jerked to a stop, and shot upward for a moment. The doors slid open, and Dr. Unethical frowned in at Lars and his lifelong companion and teacher. "What's this?" he asked. "Having second thoughts, Dr.? I'm disappointed in you. Hans, Franz, take him to his quarters, and make sure he doesn't leave." Two stupid-looking men in baggy sweatsuits grabbed Dr. Kilohertzmann and dragged him off. "Now, Lars, follow me, please." "Dr. Unethical? What's this all about?" "We'll be asking the questions, thanks," said a sneering little pimple- faced man in a pizza delivery outfit, as he limped out from behind Dr. Unethical. "That's correct," said a stern voice, and a tall man with dark hair and government-issue sunglasses also stepped out from behind Dr. Unethical. "Lars," said Dr. Unethical, "this is FlatPhoot and special-special agent Richard Less. I'm afraid you've been a bad boy, and it's time to deactivate you." Lars opened his mouth to protest, and FlatPhoot reached up and shoved a slice of marshmallow and kiwi pizza between his teeth. Lars snapped his jaw shut, but too late; he felt a wooziness spread to his fingers and toes, and then he passed out in disgust. Stand by for Part Two on.....SUPERGUY! ========================================================================= Date: 17 Nov 1989 12:59:45 Subject: Dangerousman #20, Part 2 (second attempt) From: Devil does your dog bite? Dangerousman, Episode 20, Part Two TAKE ME HOME, COUNTRY ROADS, TO THE LAB, WHERE I WAS MADE by Bill Dickson When Lars awoke, he was strapped to a table. His feet were tied extra- securely, and were not near anything he could possibly stomp on. For the first time, Lars felt completely helpless. A pimply face leaned over him. "AHHHhhhhhhh, awake, are we?" FlatPhoot jeered. I've been after you for a long time, Dangerousman! Of course, you should have been dead long ago, but some snotty little punk foiled my plan! It'll be different this time, I assure you." "Enough," came Less's voice. "Let's find out what makes him tick, Dr. Unethical." The scientist wheeled a large apparatus over to Lars, and positioned part of it over his chest. "All ready," he said. "What are you going to do?" Lars asked. "We're going to vivisect you," came the cold reply. FlatPhoot rubbed his hands in glee. Less watched impassively. "You see, Lars, your power has far exceeded our expectations. Theoretically, the explosion you set off at the earth's core was within your capabilities -- oh, don't look so surprised, we have highly sophisticated tracking satellites watching you night and day. As I say, the explosion was a theoretical possibility -- but somehow, your immunization to explosions is far more complete than we expected. You should not have survived that blast. What's more, you should have perished afterwards -- any cavern would have been destroyed utterly, and you with it. We want to know how you escaped." Lars breathed a sigh of relief. They didn't know about Relativity Woman, apparently. The satellites must not track visually. His costume's radiation- to-color conversion, perhaps? "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "You're an illegal superhero, Dangerousman," announced Less. "As if destroying the nation's capital were not enough, you've damaged the planet very badly. And as if *that* were not enough, we've got your termination orders from J. Danforth Quayle. When he was only Veep, we could ignore that fairly safely in your case, you being government-created and all. But now that he's President..." Less shrugged. "So this is it, tights-boy!" cried FlatPhoot. "You're dead! Dead!! DEAD!!! Another superhero bites the dust!" He hopped painfully up and down on his fallen arches in pure delight. "Dr. Unethical, don't do this!" Lars pleaded. "All your work--" "My work will continue, Lars," he answered, switching the ugly apparatus on. "It will, in fact, be improved by what I shall learn here today." As Lars' face contorted in terror, Dr. Unethical pressed a button. A small whirling blade emerged from the apparatus, and slowly lowered itself toward Lars' chest. FlatPhoot stared on, eyes wide, smile plastered across his zit-covered face. Less pushed his sunglasses back on his nose, and continued to stare. Dr. Unethical pulled out his notebook. Lars felt the breeze from the blade, and expelled all the air from his lungs, trying to lower his chest from the whirring vivisecting device. And suddenly, all the lights turned red. The whirring stopped, and the apparatus shut itself off. A claxon began to blare, and a tremendous explosion rocked the building from below. There was a crackle from a speaker on the wall, and a low, flat voice spoke. "ATTENTION. ATTENTION. BIGCHIP HERE. BUILDING HAS BEEN BREACHED, GARAGE NUMBER SIX. ATTENTION. ATTENPFWAARRRRrrrggggg....." There was a momentary pause, punctuated only by a brief gargle from the speakers, and then the voice resumed with an entirely different timbre. "Hey, guys," rasped the voice. Lars recognized it instantly. "Gus here. Just wreakin' a little innocent havoc, cuz if I let you folks go on, I'll never get the chance to share voltage with Lulu downstairs. Oh, by the way -- all nonessential power systems shut down so we can boost perimeter defenses. So yer little toy there ain't gonna work." FlatPhoot picked up a pizza-delivery box and headed for the door. "Come on, Less!" he shouted. "Unethical, you stay here, and WATCH HIM!" The supervillain and his government companion headed for the stairs. Dr. Unethical looked around him, obviously disappointed. "No," he whispered. "No, I won't stop. I must take him apart now. I must know his secrets. I will proceed manually." He ran to a drawer and pulled out a scalpel, looking like evil incarnate to Lars, what with the red light and Lars' potential death at his hands and all. He approached slowly, a manic light in his eyes, and slowly pressed the scalpel against Lars' chest. Suddenly, he stiffened and keeled over. Dr. Kilohertzmann crouched beside his fallen body, holding an enormous empty syringe. "Zodium pentathol," he said to Lars. "Right in ze tushie." He picked up the fallen scalpel and cut Lars' bonds, then helped him to his feet. "Follow me," he said, and led him out the back door. They dashed to an elevator, while Dr. Kilohertzmann explained how he had been able to save Lars. "I vas locked in a zell vith an automatic door vhen zuddenly ze claxons vent off und ze building zhook! A ztrange voice came over ze loudspeaker, told me vhere you vere, und unlocked ze door. Zaid to use zis elevator to ezcape." As they arrived, the door slid open, and Gus's voice said, "Goin' down, down, down." They entered, and the door shut. They emerged in the garage through which Lars had entered. The walls, floor and ceiling were blackened; half-melted equipment lay scattered all over the floor. The Dangerousmobile was waiting for him, shining like new, engine whining softly. "Git in, Larz!" called Lulu. Lars got. "Coming, Dr. Kilohertzmann?" called Lars. The old man ran to the far wall and pressed a concealed button. The back wall began to slide upward. "No, Larz!" he shouted back. "Go back out into ze vorld und fight injustice! I have my own ezcape method." And then the car that Lars had seen when he was first given the Dangerousmobile rolled out from behind the back wall. Sleek, black, and looking as lethal as a manta ray with cyanide-coated razor blades, it looked ready to take on any vehicle ever produced. Its gun barrels poked out from underneath the hood, looking almost eager to unleash high-voltage vengeance. The snarl of the engine completed the picture of sheer death-on-wheels. "Dr. Kilohertzmann! Are you going to venture out in that incredible vehicle and become a new superhero?" Lars asked. Dr. Kilohertzmann laughed. "No, Larz!" he said, "Zere are more zen enough heroes in zis vorld. I am going to go to Maine and zell it to a used car dealer, zen buy a motor home und retire. Farevell!" And with that, he opened the gull-wing door on the incredible machine, climbed in, and with a roar was gone. Lars closed his own door. "Lulu," he said, remembering his next task, "take us out of here with all possible speed. Let's find that nun!" Tires squealed, and Lars was back on the open road. WHAT CAUSED THE EXPLOSION IN THE GARAGE? WHAT ARE FLATPHOOT AND SPECIAL-SPECIAL AGENT RICHARD LESS UP TO? WILL THAT EXPLOSION JUST OUTSIDE OF DETROIT BE BLAMED ON DANGEROUSMAN? ARE PEOPLE BEGINNING TO SUSPECT THAT FLORIDA WILL SOON BE A BAD PLACE TO BE? WHEN THE OTHER HEROES CATCH UP WITH DANGEROUSMAN, WILL ANY OF THEM UNDERSTAND THAT HE MEANT WELL? Find out this and more later on in..... SUPERGUY! ========================================================================= Date: 22 Nov 1989 19:20:01 Subject: Dangerousman #21 From: Bill Dickson Dangerousman Episode 21: D-A-N...(Nuke Ya Real Soon!)...G-E-R...(Radioactive? Me Too!) by Bill Dickson Sir Alec Guiness had a problem. Sent by Margaret Thatcher to help out the U.S. in its present crisis, the knighted actor had assumed control of the Florida National Guard. This was not his problem. He had dressed for the occasion, it being his first opportunity to assume the martial duties of a knight. He sat on his brilliant white charger, Ben; his full plate glinted in the autumn sun, his lance and pennant made an impressive sight. This was not his problem, either. The cretins the Americans called "National Guardsmen" were constantly snickering behind his back. Apparently, they had never encountered English nobility before, and didn't know how to behave in its presence. [Author's note: Yes they did.] This, too, was not his problem. About six hundred feet away, down the long straight stretch of highway that Sir Alec and his men were preparing to defend, was a 1969 Lincoln Continental. Inside this spectacularly large car was one badnun, Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose by name, though nobody outside the Lincoln knew this. Everybody just called her "Nun on the Road," the name given to her by the Virginia press a few days before. Behind the Lincoln was a four-lane-wide column of cars that extended back for hundreds of miles. Nun on the Road was most definitely Sir Alec's problem. That single nun, in that single vehicle, had single-handedly crushed a National Guard force led by another famous actor only a few days before. Now, Nun on the Road was approaching Orlando. Guiness had to stop her before she reached the city, but was a column of merely thirty heavy tanks sufficient to do so? He had seen photographs of the remains of the last force to attack the Lincoln; his confidence was not very strong. Still, what must be, must be. Guiness sighed, couched his lance for a charge, and raised his hand to give the signal. The National Guardsmen behind him cocked their weapons. The tank's turrets swiveled and sighted. Suddenly, Sir Alec spotted motion alongside the column of trapped cars. Yes...something was approaching on the side of the road, throwing up a plume of dirt and dust as it fishtailed and skidded at very high speed past the traffic jam, past the Lincoln, toward the National Guard force. It appeared to be a Volkswagen Thing with the most hideous paint job a Knight of the Realm had ever been subjected to. It pulled up next to Guiness's horse and stopped. Guiness lifted his visor to see what was going on. The door to the small car opened, and out climbed a tall, muscular man with blond hair and a costume with the same color scheme as his car. 'Looks like one of those superheroes they have around here,' thought Sir Alec as the stranger spoke. "Sir Alec Guiness?" he said, holding out his hand. "Dangerousman. At your service." "Ah." Sir Alec's enthusiasm for this new help was plain. "You think you can help us, do you?" "Yes," said Dangerousman, "I think I can. If you and your men would just go around the Lincoln and stop the traffic completely, I think I can have this wrapped up in a few hours." "How so?" "As soon as Nun on the Road is far enough away from these motorists, I will destroy her with an atomic blast. Let's see, for the size I'm planning, we should allow....say....sixty miles. How fast is she moving?" Sir Alec decided that he would follow the stranger's plan, because if nothing else it would give him a chance to take off the armor, which was now getting warm. "Her average speed has been approximately ten miles per hour." "Okay," said Dangerousman, "then I'll need six hours. Hold these people here, and I'll meet her sixty miles down the road. Um, where will that put me?" "Fairly close to Disney World, I'm afraid," said Guiness. "Orlando's in the vicinity, too." "Okay, better radio and have Disney World and Orlando evacuated. Can do?" Guiness nodded. "Good. Good luck, soldier!" Dangerousman got back into his ugly car and drove off. Guiness shrugged. "All right, men!" he called. The Guardsmen snickered at his accent. "Let's move carefully around that car and stop the rest of the traffic!" Grumbling, the men moved to comply. Sister Mary Ellen watched through her rear-view window, wondering what was going on. It appeared that the National Guard was stopping the traffic behind her. Already, she had left the traffic jam behind. What could they be up to? She looked ahead and saw a tall, costumed man climb into an ugly car. A faint whine penetrated the rumble of the Lincoln's engine, and the car vanished down the road. Its back plate read, "DANGER." "Superhero," mumbled Sister Mary Ellen to herself. "Oh well." Lars glanced at his watch as evening approached. Another ten minutes, and his opponent should be in view. He turned toward the Dangerousmobile. "Lulu, she's going to be here any minute now, you'd better take off." "Yer sher ya don't want me tuh stand bah in case yew need halp?" "Positive, Lulu. You might be able to withstand an atomic blast, but as far as I know, collisions are another story entirely." "Nahce tuh know yew care. All raght, I'll meet yew at Disney World when it's all over." "Wait, Lulu. Have you tapped into BIGCHIP since we left?" Lars winced at the memory of his betrayal, but he had to know what was going on back there. "BIGCHIP wuz destroyed soon after we left, Larz. Far's Ah know, thuh rest of thuh base followed." "What happened to it?" "The Awesome Force attacked, it seems. Don't know why. Gus tol' me a little bit afore it happened; apparently he opened thuh door for 'em just as they wuz tryin' tuh blast it down. That's why yew saw all that damage. Fortunately, I wuz in thuh cleanin' chamber." Lars mused for a moment, then waved the little car down the road. It executed a near-perfect three point turn and sped off. The Awesome Force? Attacking the lab that had created Lars? What could they possibly want? Lars pondered for a while, worried. Could they be after him? He didn't think they were that angry. Ramrod had been very upset, but upset enough to kill a man he had once fought Deep Ones with? Lars made a mental note that he still hadn't told Ramrod about the demise of Dagon. A low rumble reached him. There, coming over the small rise a quartermile away, was a long black hood. On it came. Lars waited. It kept coming. Lars still waited. Finally, the rest of the car rose into view. It rolled on toward Lars, who struck a pose in the center of the highway, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread wide. As the car edged closer, Lars peered through the windshield of the old Lincoln, and saw the ancient nun crouched over the wheel, staring at him through misty, timeworn eyes. He held out his right hand, palm up. "HALT!" he called. "SURRENDER NOW, MA'AM, AND NOBODY'LL GET HURT!" There was no response. The car did not slow down. Lars thought he saw the nun cackling at him. "So be it," he sighed to himself. The car came on, its ominous rumble growing slowly louder. Lars waited for it to approach within fifteen feet, and raised his foot. "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!" he called. The nun definitely laughed. Lars concentrated, and brought his foot down. The fireball blossomed forth, as always, noise and dust and flame mingling in a huge mushroom cloud that Lars saw from the inside. He closed his eyes momentarily, saddened that he had been forced to incinerate a religious officiary. When he opened his eyes, the hood ornament was almost upon him, poking through the thick smoke that surrounded him. The relentless chug-chug-chug of the engine rose above the dying roar of the atomic blast, and Dangerousman knew fear. He turned and ran. Unfortunately for Lars, Nun on the Road accelerated, apparently determined to have her prey. Fortunately for Lars, the natural inborn tendencies of nuns meant that the Lincoln still wasn't moving all that fast, so he was able to maintain a small lead as he fled from the car. The main loser in this fight was Florida, because Lars, in his panic, had activated his power. On he ran, feet pounding the pavement, atomic blast after atomic blast rocking the peninsula. Once, an explosion actually stunned one of the gator-sized Florida cockroaches, so powerful was the blast. And yet the Lincoln came on, like an unstoppable juggernaut. In fact, at this point, it probably did qualify as an unstoppable juggernaut. Lars decided he had only one chance, and ran, panting, up a road marked "This Way To Disneyworld." On and on he went, his steps getting smaller as he approached the Magic Kingdom, the Lincoln beginning to gain on him as he got tired. EPCOT went up in a flash, the monorail system was turned into so much red-hot cement and steel spaghetti. But by the time Lars entered the deserted Magic Kingdom, he was stumbling so badly that the explosions were minuscule tactical-force blasts. He vaporized Main Street, U.S.A., and stopped. Behind him, the Lincoln was rolling over the smoking wreckage of the admission turnstiles. Lars looked frantically toward Cinderella's Palace, its white facade blackened by Lars' final explosion. The Dangerousmobile was there, at the entrance. "LULU!" Lars gasped, and staggered toward the car, careful to deactivate his power this time. Behind him, the Lincoln began closing the final distance. Lars ran for his life, reaching the Dangerousmobile moments before Nun on the Road could crush him into superhero sandwich meat. "Windows down!" he panted, and with the last of his strength he heaved himself through the passenger-side window. "Lose her, Lulu!" he said. "Do whatever you can!" The Dangerousmobile squealed in a 270-degree turn, escaping a ram at the last possible moment. The little car shot away from the palace at top speed. The Lincoln, however, was not so maneuverable. Nun on the Road yanked at the wheel, but before the car could alter its course, it entered the huge front door of the castle and disappeared from Lars' sight. The Dangerousmobile stopped and turned; Lars stared at the scorched white castle looming over the molten remains of Main Street, U.S.A. There was an enormous crunching sound, and Cinderella's Palace shuddered. With a terrible groaning, it lurched forward. And then, churning up the earth as it went, it began to move steadily away, demolishing the rides and attractions in its path, its bright blue pennants snapping in the wind. "Boy, Ah'd hate tuh be thuh one tuh hafta explain this tuh thuh kiddies," said Lulu, making a sensor sweep of the remains of Disneyworld. Lars heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm not dead," he said, "I can't believe I'm not dead. That Nun is dynamite!" Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose couldn't see. When the power lines had been torn out of the ground, the lights had gone off in the castle, and the Lincoln's headlights seemed to be pressed up against a wall. 'Oh well,' she thought to herself, 'speedometer reads ten anyway. Guess I'm still moving. The Protestants will rue this day!' She bent over her steering wheel and watched the darkness ahead for prey. The huge, elegant white building, its front blackened with burns and smoke, cruised slowly toward the Florida coast. What will happen to Nun on the Road? What will happen to Lars? Isn't the She-Devil in Florida, trying to have a peaceful vacation? Will that fact make the Awesome Force even madder at Dangerousman? And where's !? Find out soon in.......SUPERGUY!! ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 22 SCARY WOMAN, IN THE PARKIN' LOT by Bill Dickson Lars awoke slowly, stretching his tall, muscular frame until he banged his head on the passenger door of the Dangerousmobile. "Ow," he winced. "Lulu, what time is it?" "Nahn o'clock, Lars," said the computer. "Rahz an' shahn." Lars sat up and gazed out the window at the sullen Florida landscape. The sun did its best to push its way through the swollen, purplish clouds, but was about ready to give up. At least as much light was coming from the flames and radioactive glow being given off by Orlando and Disney World, in the distance. Lars was too sleepy to care much about that at the moment. "Lulu, take me someplace for coffee," he said. The Dangerousmobile started up with a hum and accelerated smoothly toward the road. Reaching the pavement, it curved right and shifted to the center lane. Lars watched ahead, rubbing his eyes. Suddenly the ground yawned open in front of the car. The Volkswagon Thing screeched to a halt, and when Lars extracted himself from the steering wheel, he found himself staring down into a very dark hole in the highway. "Wow, good work, Lulu," he said. "Close call." "Yeah, Ah'd say so. Wanna check out whut caused it?" Lars opened the door of the Dangerousmobile and carefully stepped out. There was a momentary grinding as Lulu backed the car off of the brink. Lars dropped to his knees and peered down into the gloom. "Lulu, got a flashlight?" "Yep." Lars walked back and retrieved the light from the glove compartment, and examined the hole again. "There's a piece of fruitcake down there, Lulu," he said. "Like the kind they serve on airliners. Looks like it fell a long ways." "Why, is it damaged?" Lars laughed. "Of course not, Lulu, don't be absurd! It just made a very deep hole, is all. Oh well, nothing to be done." He got back into the car and they roared off in search of coffee. * * * * * * * * * Several beachgoers looked up from their deep, if uneven and extremely unhealthy radioactivity-induced tans, and yelped with surprise. Many of them stared back at the Atlantic for a moment, in hopes that what they had just seen wouldn't be there when they looked again. But it was. They got up and ran. Cinderella's Palace destroyed a few lifeguard chairs as it cruised slowly along the beach. The low rumble of a V-8 could be heard through the walls. Inside the large, slightly-charred but still rather festive building, a 1969 Lincoln Continental continued on its course. Inside the Lincoln, Sister Mary Ellen Hatchetnose wondered why the sun still hadn't come up, and why she hadn't seen any traffic. She decided it would be best if she tried a different direction. She put her left turn signal on, and cranked the wheel over. Piling atrocity on top of atrocity, Nun on the Road immediately forgot about her turn signal. Slowly, ponderously, Cinderella's Palace altered its course. In a short while, its attractive pennants were sinking below the waves of the Atlantic. * * * * * * * * * Lars walked happily out of the Dairy Queen, the warm and soothing feeling of his extra-large coffee spreading throughout his body. As he walked toward the Dangerousmobile, he spotted something peculiar out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked. An exceedingly ugly car was parked in the lot, a hunched and vaguely terrifying figure barely visible through the dark windshield. An oozy, shimmering effect surrounded the car, as if the fabric of space-time didn't like being near the ugly car or its occupant, and was trying to pull away from them both without much success. Lars shrugged, and got inside the Dangerousmobile. "Okay, Lulu! I am now fully awake! Where do you suggest we go?" "I dunno, Lars. How 'bout a vacation? We've been working hard." "Good idea. Hey, I know! Let's go to Maine and find Dr. Kilohertzmann. I bet he'd be glad to spend some time with us! And guess what, it won't take forever -- I bought a North American Road Atlas." "Good thinkin', Larz!" The car hummed and the tires squealed as Lulu backed it out of its parking space. Lars glimpsed the ugly car looming in his rear-view mirror an instant before the impact, and with a molecule-wrenching shock, everything changed. * * * * * * * * * Earnest Hemingway, manliest man in the entire world (just ask him), was out on the Trump Princess fishing. Not for little fish. Little fish were definitely not manly enough. Hemingway was fishing for big fish. Fish that hate. Fish that fight. Fish that know where you live. A fight with this kind of fish was a fight of epic proportions. Man became fish. Fish became man. It was fishly man versus manly fish to the death. And they both used short sentences. Ending in periods. And a very flat prose style. Because it was manly. Far more manly than anything from Ithaca, New York. Even the Large Manly Men in Wet Clothing. They weren't as manly as Hemingway. No sir. Just ask him. Hemingway, that is. Hemingway felt a tug on his line. A bite. He played with it. It didn't give any ground. He tried to reel it in. The Princess swivelled and began moving towards the fish. Hemingway reeled some more line in. He sailed out of his chair into the water. He began to hear a soft, steady clicking sound. But Hemingway was not discouraged. He was manly. He reeled in more line. He prepared to strangle the fish with his bare hands. He sensed, with his fisherman's instincts, that he had reeled himself three miles down. The end of the line was near. He sensed movement in the water ahead. He lunged forward and got both hands around his quarry. The clicking was much louder now. As he ran out of air and died a manly, water-logged death, Hemingway realized that he was throttling the weathervane of a large, scorched palace that was somehow dragging itself along the ocean floor at about ten knots. With a last gasp of effort, Hemingway's brain managed to feel horror. It had identified the clicking sound as a forgotten left-turn signal. * * * * * * * * * Lars glanced momentarily at the figure sitting next to him. A shudder passed through his body, and he looked at his surroundings, instead. He was in the Dangerousmobile, but it was much uglier, much....scarier than it had been. Its shape was slightly altered, even non-Euclidean. The instruments were all slightly out of whack. "Lulu," he said. "Lulu, speak to me." An eerie voice creaked out of the speakers. "Norman," it said, "put me down! I won't stay in the root cellar!" "Uh-oh," said Lars. "What's going on?" The figure next to him spoke, setting Lars' hair on end. "It's...a... molecular problem. Incompatibilities in the...basic structure. A collision was impossible. The universe...rationalized...the situation...as best it could. Combined...our vehicles." Lars was about to glance over at his terrifying companion, to get an idea of what she (for the voice sounded female) looked like. But just then, a group of commandos with automatic weapons converged on the Dangscarierousmobile. "Dangerousman!" their leader shouted. "Step out of the car and prepare to be annihilated! Your unwarranted attack on Biggcity cannot go unpunished!" "Damn," muttered Lars, "and me not immune to bullets. My costume will stop some, but I doubt I'd last longer than eight seconds against that many guns. Oh well, it's gotta be dealt with." He reached for his door handle. But a click came from the other side of the car, and with a nerve-rending screech his mysterious companion opened her door and leaned out of the car. Lars saw the crowd of commandos turn their heads to look at this potential new threat. As one, they turned sheet white, trembled with fear, aged forty years, and died. The only exception was the commander who, being made of sterner stuff, crawled away babbling and drooling, forever to be a ward of the state. "Hot damn," said Lars. "What happened to them?" "They...looked at me," murmured his companion as she climbed back into the car. "Such is the...power...of Scarywoman. Don't you make the same...mistake." "Thanks, I won't." There was a full minute of silence. "Could you maybe, um, y'know, explain to me what's happening?" asked Lars. "I was...pulled...from the Scary Dimension by an atomic blast. One of yours. In your nation's...ex-capitol." "Okay," said Lars, waiting for more. "This dimension is...rejecting me. It cannot expel me, however. It needs...help." "Otherwise?" "The molecular structure of your dimension will...decompose...in reaction to my scariness." "Ah. And this would be bad, would it?" "Very. The...glow...you see around this vehicle is the beginning of the...phenomenon. It has been slowed by the...combination of the Scary Mobile with your more...normal vehicle. But it will occur...nonetheless." Lars had never heard the Dangerousmobile referred to as "normal" before. But anyway, it definitely wasn't now. He was a bit worried about Lulu. "Lulu, how are you doing in there?" he asked. When the eerie banshee shriek that burst from the speakers died out, Lars removed his fingers from his ears. "Not too well, I guess," he said. "Your computer has been...interfaced...with the Scary Dimension," said Scarywoman. "If I can be returned, the essence of my own vehicle will be... extracted...from the essence of yours, and it will return to it's original... state." "Okay," said Lars, "I guess it's important, and I want my car back. Besides, you helped me out with those commandos. I wonder who the hell sent them, anyway?" There was a long pause. "Ahem, well," said Lars, "what do we have to do?" "It was the...mayor...of BigCity." "Huh?" "Who sent the commandos." "Oh. Where, or what do we, um..." "We must go to where the boundary between this dimension and the Scary Dimension is...thinnest." "And where's that?" "Akron, Ohio." "Of course," said Lars. "I should have known. Lulu, are you well enough to drive us to Akron?" "DEAD BY DAWN! DEAD BY DAWN! DEAD BY DAWN!" came the manic reply. "Guess not," Lars sighed, grasping the steering wheel. A cold shiver of fear ran up his spine. He mustered his courage and started the car. "SWALLOW YOUR SOUL! SWALLOW YOUR SOUL!" blared the computer, and Lars left the corpse-littered Dairy Queen parking lot to begin his trip to Akron. WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN AKRON? WILL THE MYRIAD HEROES OUT FOR DANGEROUSMAN'S BLOOD CATCH UP WITH HIM? DON'T YOU THINK THE SHE-DEVIL IS LETTING HER BAD DAYS INFLUENCE HER ATTITUDE TOWARD DANGEROUSMAN, MAKING HER A BIT OVERLY HARSH? WHERE'S RELATIVITY WOMAN? WILL HEMINGWAY'S THOUGHTS ABOUT MANLINESS PROVOKE FRANK TO SEND HIS LARGE MANLY MEN IN WET CLOTHING STORY? AND WHAT ABOUT NUN ON THE ROAD? Get the answers to these questions and more later on in....SUPERGUY! > ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 23 THE SCARIEST LITTLE TOWN IN THE WHOLE WORLD by Bill Dickson Dangerousman turned left where Scary Woman had indicated, and pushed the Dangscarierousmobile up to 95. He was no longer used to driving manually, and he was unsure of the car's current capabilities, so he felt it unwise to enter the three-digit range. "How much farther to Akron?" he asked his companion. He had begun to suspect that she knew everything, despite the time it took her to respond to apparently simple questions. After nearly a minute, she spoke. "About four hundred...miles. And we are about to enter a...wooded...area." Lars flicked on the headlights as the woods closed in on either side. "Yup," he said, "we sure are." "Yes. Watch out for the...commando squad around the...corner." Lars stood on the brake and the Dangscarierousmobile squealed to a halt. There, several yards in front of the vehicle, was a crowd of figures holding large, unwieldy weapons and wearing odd goggles. Standing in the center of the group, holding a megaphone, was Patrick Swayze. The pathetic actor raised the megaphone to his lips. "All right, Dangerousman, this is it! We don't care about your ally, we've got protection this time! Men, aim your bazookas and fire at will!" As one, the commandos pointed their large, unwieldy weapons and fired. Patrick Swayze had a fraction of a second to bark, "Sure, everyone's a critic!" into his megaphone before the explosive rounds detonated in his chest. At those close quarters, the rest of the force was wiped out by the explosion, but we can be pretty sure the soldiers died with a feeling of satisfaction spreading throughout their bodies. "That was odd," commented Lars as he started driving again. "Not...really," said Scary Woman. "I've seen his...movies." * * * * * * * * * Pierre Bardot looked out over the English Channel, and wondered what he would do about Marie. She was showing all the signs of ennui lately, and he didn't know how much longer she would stay with him. He took a worried chomp out of his baguette. A tourist tapped him on the shoulder. "Pardonez-moi," he said, pronouncing his French very badly. "Ou est la W.C.?" (trans.: Excuse me, where is the bathroom?) Pierre looked the tourist up and down as though he were a wad of phlegm. Pierre hated tourists. "Allez, s'il vous plait," he replied, "J'ai un fusil." (trans.: Please go away, I have a gun.) The tourist shrugged and began to move away, then stopped. He turned and looked at Pierre again. "What's that clicking sound?" he asked, in English. "Beats me," said Pierre, and with a roar and a rush of cascading water, Cinderella's Palace heaved itself out of the water and onto the shores of France. "SACRE BLEU!" cried Pierre. "HOLY SH*T!" cried the tourist. The large, festive, slightly charred building cruised slowly into Paris, pennents snapping, and tied up traffic. On its way through the city, it attempted to pass beneath the Eiffel Tower. The spires got tangled in the girders at the base of the Paris landmark, and with a scream of tortured metal, the Eiffel Tower was torn loose. Slowly, like a parade float from Hell, the piggybacked buildings plunged into the Seine, and were never seen on the Continent again. * * * * * * * * * Lars paid the bill for two single rooms at the Akron Sheraton. Rested and refreshed, he went downstairs to the Dangscarierousmobile, where Scary Woman was waiting for him. "Where to?" he asked. "City hall," she replied. They got in, and Lars drove. "Lulu's been very quiet lately," he said. "Not that I'm complaining." "I disconnected the...speakers," said Scary Woman. "Of course," muttered Lars. He pulled into a vacant spot in front of City Hall. "Close enough?" "Close...enough. We must...stand...together in this...vicinity and you must...detonate a...three hundred megaton...blast." "Right here? Okay, if- THREE HUNDRED MEGATONS? Do you have any idea what that will *do* to Ohio??" "It's either...Ohio or...your entire dimension." "Okay, let's give this some thought. Maybe an alternative will present itsel-" Lars silenced himself, and stared at the ring of commandos who had surrounded the Dangscarierousmobile. They all had the strange goggles on, and they all carried extremely heavy weapons. "What the hell is going on here?!" wailed Lars. A muscular man in a skin-tight green outfit with a blue cape stepped forward, brandishing a large, peculiar, distinctly prototype-ish rifle. There was a blue 'R' on his chest. "You're about to get the finger, Dangerousman!" he called out. If Hoogland wants me to make you dead, I'll do it MY way and no mamby-pamby liberal politician is going to stop me! Firepower is important, and you'll never change that! This is a mark minus one radiation-neutralizing rifle, and it's going to wipe out your powers and make you helpless like the weak, pathetic throwback you are! Prepare to meet your doom, Dangerousman!" "Who *are* these people?" cried Lars. He was beginning to get fed up with the whole hero business, truth be told. "*I*," said the costumed figure proudly, "am RHETORIC MAN, and there's NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT! YOU DON'T MATTER!" Dangerousman and Scary Woman heaved a sigh in unison. * * * * * * * * * Sheik Abdul stared in amazement. In all his days, he had never seen a mirage as bizarre as this one. It seemed as though the Eiffel Tower were riding Cinderella's Palace across the very desert! Obviously, this could not be, so he ignored the image and went back to watering his camel. Wiser beings than he had prepared for this day, though. Thousands of years before, visitors from outer space had predicted that their hated foes, the greenslimy aliens, would one day arrive at this backwater little world. And they had forseen the circumstances that would arise, and had prepared a little surprise that would turn the circumstances to the greenslimy aliens' disadvantage. The largest of the three pyramids sensed the arrival of the being it had been waiting for all this time, and the closest of its four sides swung upwards on a hinge the like of which has never yet been imagined by humans. The piggybacked buildings, dragged onward from within by a '69 Continental being driven by an ancient, bitter nun, slowly entered the colossal monument. The side swung down and closed with the gentlest of clicks. Inside, the top of the Eiffel Tower locked into place in the receptacle that had been prepared for it so many centuries before. A tiny optical probe sensed the red light in Cinderella's Palace, blinking steadily in the simple, yet precise, on-off, on-off pattern that the probe had been programmed to recognize. It triggered a relay, activating the ancient mechanism. Sheik Abdul looked up. His relief at the disappearance of the bizarre mirage was short-lived, replaced almost immediately by shock as the largest of the three pyramids he was standing near trembled and then, with an ear- shattering CLACK, detached itself from its foundation and began to move. Perfectly balanced on the tip of the Eiffel Tower, the Great Pyramid was carried between its two smaller companions. A bolt of lightning connected the three peaks for a moment, as the moving pyramid transmitted the long-awaited instructions to the two dormant structures. Then, its lifetime duty fulfilled, it shut itself down and swung gently back and forth on its balance point as it was carried slowly to the east. Sheik Abdul's amazement was compounded when the two remaining pyramids began to glow a brilliant white, and with a great deal of noise began flinging glowing bursts of energy into the sky to shatter greenslimy alien warships. * * * * * * * * * "Ready, men?" called out Rhetoric Man. "Do your job well! Remember, this is how you earn your cash, and cash is the only thing that matters in this world! You want that BMW? You want that brainless but beautiful wife and those two kids happily goosestepping around your house? You want that subscription to the _National_Review_? Then DON'T MISS! Or you'll be losers, just like THEM!" The soldiers raised their weapons. Rhetoric Man raised his MK -1. "Damn fools," said Lars, and he triggered his car's micromissile launcher. The weapon popped up out of the hood into ready position, and a lurid green light flowed out. A low, rhythmic chanting flowed forth and mass of writhing, leprous tentacles snaked out of the micromissile launcher toward the commandos. Several of them dropped their weapons and tried to flee, but in a few grisly seconds, the entire force, including Rhetoric Man, had been dismembered and pulled into the Dangscarierousmobile's hood. A horrifying chomping, sucking, slobbering sound came from deep within the bowels of the machine. "Ugh," said Lars, shaking with terror. "Anyw-w-way t-t-t-o make it s-s- s-top that?" Scarywoman reached over and switched off the micromissile launcher. The green light vanished, and the weapon slid back down. As it clicked into place, the munching sound disappeared. "Apparently your...weapon...is now a micro- gateway to the...Scary Dimension." "Ah," said Lars, struggling to stop shaking. "Don't suppose you can go home that way?" "No," she replied, "I'd never...fit." "All right," said Lars. "But before we destroy Akron and much of Ohio, let's go back to the hotel and discuss this." He gently stepped on the accelerator and drove over the pool of blood toward the Sheraton. WILL DANGEROUSMAN'S HUNTERS CATCH UP WITH HIM IN AKRON? WILL THE DANGSCARIEROUSMOBILE EAT THEM, TOO? WHAT IS THE AUTHOR BUILDING UP TO WITH NUN ON THE ROAD? HOW WELL CAN THE FORTHCOMING CROSSOVERS BE COORDINATED? (Tease, tease.) HOW MANY FRENCH WORDS DID THE AUTHOR MISSPELL? Find out this and more later on.....SUPERGUY ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 24 PRELUDE by Bill Dickson Demon-Ick looked over at the She-Devil, who was slumbering noisily on T's shoulder. "She's a mess," he commented. "Glad we found her when we did." "Seriously," said Ramrod, between bites of a Kit-Kat bar. "She looked like she was hitchhiking back to Connecticut. Pure luck we ran across her, I guess." "What do you think she intends to do with Dangerousman's testicles?" asked T. "She mumbled something about them in her sleep a while back." "I don't know," growled Rat, chomping on her cigar, "but I would not recommend any of us get between her and him when we find him." "Yeah," leered Demon-Ick, "methinks the man is dead meat. Eh, Ramrod?" "Huh? Oh. Yeah, guess so," said Ramrod. "Here's our exit." He twisted the wheel, and the old Caprice lumbered off the highway and into Akron. * * * * * * * * * Leonid Barenshnikov took a long pull on his bottle of vodka and slapped his friend happily on the shoulder. Even here in the frigid northeastern corner of the USSR, people were feeling good. "Perestroika," he said. Mikhail Muschev smiled in agreement. "Glasnost," he said. "Da. What's that clicking sound?" One of the great pyramids of Egypt rumbled past, heading east toward the Bering Strait. "AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" suggested Muschev. "AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" agreed Barenshnikov. He looked at the bottle, and flung it over his shoulder. * * * * * * * * * Lars pulled the Dangscarierousmobile to a halt outside the Sheraton. "Let's just go upstairs and discuss this," he pleaded, stepping out of the car. "All right," said the figure next to him, heaving herself out through the passenger door. "But remember...the fabric of your...dimension is...weakening as we...speak." She slammed the door and they moved toward the hotel. "YO, ASSHOLE!" came a scream from the other side of the street. Lars spun and stared at the people standing on the opposite curb. "Ramrod," he said in surprise. "Figuremaster. T. All the rest of you. Hi, what are you doing here?" "DON'T GIVE ME THAT, YOU SONUVABITCH!" shouted the woman in blue jeans. She held up her right hand, displaying some long and deadly-looking fingernails. "Remember Florida? My PLANE went down! Little Jimmy died, and now it's your turn!" "What-" sputtered Lars, "What's wrong? You're all still mad at me?" "Damn straight," called out a tall, massive tuxedoed figure with flaming head and hands. He pointed a cane accusingly at Lars. "You're a little free with your radiation, Dangerousman. Now's payback time." The She-Devil began striding across the street, her purpose gleaming savagely in her eyes. Lars looked desperately across the street at the man who had once fought at his side. "Ramrod?" he said. Ramrod stood motionless, his gold wraparound glasses hiding whatever his eyes might have revealed to Lars. "I could...frighten...them," said the voice at his side. "No," said Lars. "You could kill them." "And about a thousand people in this hotel, and who knows how many more around. No. I don't want them dead." "You have to do...something." The She-Devil stomped up and stopped three feet from Lars. She held out her hand once more. "Now," she said, "your testicles come out through your nose." There was a sudden flash across the spectrum, and a tall, gorgeous redhead was standing in front of Lars, silvery costume shimmering. She stared down fiercely at the somewhat shorter She-Devil. "Those," she hissed, "are *mine*." There was another flash, red from Lars' perspective, and the She-Devil was gone. "Hello, darling!" said Marjorie in a loud, clear voice. "Are these people bothering you? Well, who's next?" "HOW ABOUT ME?" came a booming voice from above. Everybody looked up in usison, to see an extremely heroic figure descending toward them, cape billowing dramatically. He had a large exclamation point on his chest. "DANGEROUSMAN MUST PAY FOR THE DAMAGE HE HAS INFLICTED ON THE WORLD! IF YOU DEFEND HIM, RELATIVITY WOMAN, YOU MUST PAY AS WELL!" "Defend him!" shouted Marjorie, "I'm *engaged* to him, you muscleheaded dork! Just who might *you* be?" "I AM KNOWN AS !" shouted the hero, and he charged Marjorie. "I don't believe this," muttered Figuremaster, "everybody wants this guy's blood." ! made it to within a dozen feet of Marjorie, then turned into a bright red streak heading toward the horizon. The redshift stopped, though, and several moments later, ! was back. "YOU FOOLISH WOMAN," he bellowed, "I CAN DECELERATE MYSELF WITH THE SAME POWER THAT ALLOWS ME TO FLY!" "You wench!" shouted Rat, brandishing her Thompson, "what did you do to my best friend?" "I thought *I* was her best friend," muttered Demon-Ick. "I wouldn't worry, furry," said Marjorie. "She's probably puking her guts up, but she's fine. In Cairo." "All right!" shouted Demon-Ick. "It's five members of the Awesome Force and ! against two physics-related freaks! Six to two! Let's take 'em!" "Six to...three," rasped Scary Woman. The Awesome Force glanced in her direction and shuddered, but were undeterred. "S-s-s-s-ix against fuh-fuh-four," stuttered a very frightened voice. With a hum, the Dangscarierousmobile started up and turned to face across the street. "Lulu!" said Lars. "You sound...better." "I'm g-g-getting sssssome suh-suh-support from C-C-C-Connie and sh-sheen. I'm t-t-t-terrified. I'm using auxiliary s-s-speakers." 'Auxiliary speakers?' thought Lars. 'What kind of twit would put auxiliary speakers in....oh. BIGCHIP.' "So," he said, as his group faced across the street. "Six to four. Still want to go for it?" "I think we can take you," said Figuremaster, as a half-dozen sleek, inch-long interceptors lifted into formation in front of him. "Maybe," sighed Lars, "since I don't much want to use my extremely dangerous power here. If it must be, it must be. Ramrod," he said. The gold glasses tilted slightly toward him. "Just wanted to finally let you know. Trachtenburg/Dagon is dead. You were right about him; me and a guy named Ignorant Man destroyed him." Ramrod stood still for a moment, then turned to his fellow Awesome Force members. "Sorry, guys," he said. "I can't do this." He turned and walked away from the opposing groups, into the crowd that was gathering to watch. He stopped, and stared at the rubberneckers. "Boy, are you people dumb," he said. He turned the next corner and disappeared. Demon-Ick formed a fireball in his right hand. Lars raised his fists. Rat cocked the bolt on her Thompson. Scarywoman lifted her gaze closer to !. ! prepared for a charge. Marjorie prepared to move herself and others at light speed. T raised his guitar. Lulu lifted the car's micromissile launcher into firing position, extending the tentacles from the Scary Dimension several feet into the street. Figuremaster warmed up the laser tubes on his tiny space fighters. There was a brief pause, interrupted only by the sound of somebody in the audience hawking peanuts and hot dogs. Then all hell broke loose. * * * * * * * * * In Alaska, something big stirred. Something prehistoric. Something that slept next to a hockey stick. The resulting sound caused ice to fracture forty miles away. Something belched loudly, blowing away the remains of the McDonald's something had pulled apart the previous day in search (successful search, I may add) of fast food. Something stood, rearing something's whole thirty-foot-tall form ponderously onto something's feet. Something was not pleased. Something's revenge against Genericman had not gone well. Something was in a very bad mood. Something wasn't pleased when anybody outdid something. Something reached down for the several-day-old newspaper that had fallen out of the McDonald's as it (the McDonald's) blew away. Something looked at the national section. Something read about traffic jams spreading from Florida. Something bellowed with rage. * * * * * * * * * Demon-Ick hurled another fireball in Lars' direction. Lars dove out of its path yet again, managing to land a punch on T as he passed. Relativity Woman redshifted quickly, stepping out of the path of another spray of bullets from Rat's Thompson, then shot ! away from the Dangscarierousmobile at light speed. ! stopped himself again, and charged the group once more. T fired a sonic blast from his guitar, flinging most of the group against the hotel. Figuremaster's interceptors launched themselves toward their targets, preparing to rake them with tiny stabs of coherent light. Scary Woman fixed one with her gaze; the feedback shocked Figuremaster momentarily, allowing Dangerousman and his friends to scramble out of the way while he struggled to bring the interceptors back under his control. Tentacles snaked out of the Dangscarierousmobile's hood, groping for Demon-Ick. He burned some of them; more followed. Suddenly there was a flash of light behind him, and he was shoved into the mass of groping tentacles; Relativity Woman darted back to protect Lars from !, who was diving toward him like a screaming Kamikaze. T blasted her with a few chords; she dodged out of the way, but ! got hold of Lars. Lars decked him repeatedly with left and right crosses, but he couldn't faze the amazingly heroic hero. Margorie tried to rush to his aid, only to be blasted back again and again. Figuremaster moved to help out Demon-Ick; the squadron of interceptors dove down and strafed the tentacles, severing some only so that more could reach out from the Dangscarierousmobile's hood to take their places. Scarywoman walked over to where ! was cocking his fist back for a ferocious, super-strong punch at Dangerousman's jaw. She grunted once, and ! looked at her. They locked eyes, and ! froze, beginning to shudder. Lars dropped to the ground, clutching his throat where ! had held onto him. Marjorie tried to rush to his side, and was slammed against the wall by a snatch of the solo at the end of "Sultans of Swing." 'If I have to die,' she thought, 'there are worse ways to go.' The tentacles that held Demon-Ick fast strained against his muscles, trying to pull him to pieces. He pulled back, snapping a few of them. Then, some of the tentacles bulged and split, revealing extremely sharp teeth. They began to bend, snapping, toward Demon-Ick's neck. There was suddenly a loud click that, due to dramatic effect, could be heard over the din of battle. Everybody stopped and looked toward the sound. Rat was standing next to Lars' head, Thompson barrel pressed firmly against his temple. "Safety's off," she said. "Everybody on his side, let everybody on my side go." Scary Woman looked away from !, who crawled sobbing across the street. The tentacles that held Demon-Ick hesitated, then pulled back into the Dangscarierousmobile's hood. The micromissile launcher housing rectracted. Everybody stared at Rat and Dangerousman. "All right," she said. "Let's end this thing. Awesome Force, do what you like: one, two-" "STOP!" came a truly awesome voice. Everybody in both groups spun to stare at the source. Andy Awesome stepped from the Awesome Mobile. Bink, Miche, and the Skids-Cookie Gestalt followed. "There's been a terrible mistake!" called the leader of the Awesome Force. "Indeed there has!" agreed another voice. Everybody spun around again, to see a group consisting of several people (one very large) and, apparently leading, a vaguely alien-looking young man. "Andy!" shouted Demon-Ick. "Qwyntor!" shouted Lars. Both of the newly-arrived groups walked toward the combatants. "Put up your weapons, Awesome Force!" called Andy. They all complied, naturally. "Where is Ramrod? And the She-Devil?" "Stomped off and Cairo, respectively," said Figuremaster. "Ah," said Andy. "Anyway, we must no longer fight! A mistake has been made. The damage inflicted by Dangerousman was not truly his fault!" "WHAT?" asked most everybody else, in unison. "It's true," said Qwyntor. "I found something curious in Bigcity, and sent Silicon to the center of the Earth to investigate." "That shock caused by Dangerousman that damaged the Earth so badly was the result of trickery," said Andy. "He truly believe that he was saving the earth from a titanic atomic bomb planted by bizarre radiation-loving cultists." "I found the housing of the bomb," said Qwyntor. "It was radioactive, but not nearly radioactive enough for the explosion a bomb its size would have caused. In fact, it shouldn't even have survived such an explosion. Not only that, but all of the radiation it had been exposed to had come from the outside, which meant there had never been any fissile material inside. Connie and Sheen contacted Lulu, and found her terrified and unstable. They've been doing their best to help her stay calm, and led us right to you." "What the hell-?" Lars was extremely upset and confused. "You mean I was duped?" "Precisely," said Andy, his revelatory voice incredibly awesome. "The true cult was S.N.U.C.C.I., the Seriously Nasty Undead Cthulhoid Cultists, incorporated. They wanted you destroyed; apparently they did not count on your fiancee rescuing you, and assumed that, even if you did escape, the humans and other heroes would hunt and destroy you." "Which we almost did," said T, feeling a little pensive already. "It's all right, Awesome Force," said Andy. "You could not have known. However, Dangerousman, we must talk. Good though your intentions are, you do inflict a great deal of damage on the world." "I know," said Lars. "And I'm sorry. And since my superiors betrayed me, I feel no obligation to the U.S. government anymore. To tell you the truth, I've been thinking of retiring." "Lars!" said Marjorie, shocked. "You never said!" "Lars?" mumbled Figuremaster. "His name's Lars?" Lars walked over to Marjorie and put his arms around her. "Yes, dear. I think it's best. I will get a normal job; after all, there's not much money in the superhero business. You can continue to do good; I'll try and earn a living for us." "I love you, Lars," she said, and kissed him full on the lips. "AWWWWwwwwwww," said everybody else. "You're doing the honorable thing," said Andy. "Congratulations. Welcome to the civilian life." "Ahh, not yet," said Lars. "Oh? Why?" asked Andy, puzzled. "Look," said Lars, pointing toward the darkening sky. Everybody twisted and shuddered. A shimmering, ghastly green effect was backlighting the clouds, flickering and oozing around the sky. "The...Scary Effect," said Scary Woman. "You see," explained Lars, "Scary Woman's presence is eroding the structure of our dimension. If we don't send her back via a 300-megaton atomic blast, our universe gets destroyed." "Ah," said Qwyntor. "This complicates things," said Andy Awesome. Just then, Bob Newhart rushed out of the watching crowd in a Western Union uniform. "Telegram for the Awesome Force," he said. "I'll take it," said Andy Awesome. He tipped Bob Newhart a dollar and took the telegram. "It's from Ramrod," he said, and held it up for everybody to read. COULD USE SOME HELP GUYS STOP THE CITY IS SURROUNDED BY SEVERAL THOUSAND GEORGE BUSHES STOP THEY ARE MOVING IN LIKE THE LIVING DEAD STOP I THINK MAYBE SOMETHING SHOULD BE DONE ABOUT IT END MESSAGE "Ah, hell," said the Awesome Force in unison. "You said it," said Solutions, Unlimited in unison. "No kidding," said Lars, Marjorie, !, and Scary Woman in unison. "I'm skuh-skuh-skuh-scared," said Lulu. * * * * * * * * * Something threw back its head and bellowed again. "NO AGING NUN SHALL DEPRIVE ME OF MY REVENGE ON THE WORLD!" "ONLY I SHALL BE PERMITTED TO WREAK THE KIND OF HAVOC NUN ON THE ROAD HAS BEEN WREAKING!" "NO MORE SHALL NEANDERTHAL HOCKEY PLAYERS BE RIDICULED BY HEROES AND VILLAINS ALIKE!" Something took a deep breath, and cried out once more in a voice that could be heard in Detroit: "ALL THE WORLD SHALL TREMBLE DURING...THE RETURN OF MIKE POLINSKI!!!!! U.A.A. -- ALL THE WAY!!!!!!!" The thirty-foot figure hefted his hockey stick, and then spun to gaze out at the suddenly uneasy water of the Bering Strait. "What's the clicking sound?" he asked himself. YOWZAH! WHAT WILL BE THE RESULTS OF A CLASH BETWEEN NUN ON THE ROAD AND MIKE POLINSKI? DOES ANYBODY ELSE EVEN REMEMBER MIKE POLINSKI? AND HOW WILL SCARY WOMAN GET BACK TO THE SCARY DIMENSION? WILL THE REQUIRED BLAST LEVEL OHIO? WILL THE HORDE OF GEORGE BUSHES WIPE OUT ALL THE HEROES BEFORE ANYTHING CAN BE DONE ANYWAY? Watch for the answers in the forthcoming crossover miniseries, appearing at the beginning of the Spring semester, starring: Dangerousman Relativity Woman Scary Woman Solutions, Unlimited The Awesome Force ! And maybe (probably?) a few surprises Only here on.........SUPERGUY!!!! ========================================================================= Dangerousman, Episode 25 CURTAIN by Bill Dickson Lars opened his eyes groggily. The bowling alley skipped and weaved. The clatter of the beer cans died out and, after some dialogue that was much too murky for Lars to follow, Rad and an attractive woman in a very small outfit left the establishment. "Murglemphmphmph," commented our retiring hero. He rolled over and snuggled up against Marjorie..... Lars opened his eyes groggily. The bowling alley skipped and weaved. The roar of Superm00se died away, and Lars vaguely heard Rad say something about Superm00se being rude. "Murglemphmphmph," commented our retiring hero, knowing full well that Rad had left some time ago. Or was it only moments ago? When one has consumed enough alcohol to hallucinate, one loses track of time. He rolled over and snuggled up against Marjorie..... Lars opened his eyes groggily. The bowling alley skipped and weaved. The sounds of Solutions, Unlimited staggering away from the scenes of the victory party died away. "Murglemphmphmph," commented our retiring hero. He rolled over and snuggled up against Marjorie..... Lars opened his eyes groggily. The bowling alley skipped and weaved. The water soaked through his costume to the skin, and pooled around his head. "Murglemphmphmph," commented our retiring hero. He rolled over and snuggled up against a bowling ball. "UP, LOVERBOY!!!!" bellowed Marjorie. Lars sat up, blinking, and saw his beautiful bride-to-be looming over him with one empty bucket and one ominously full one. "Huh?" he queried, alertly. "It's after noon, darling. It's time for us to hit the road. Half the heroes are gone, and we've got to do the same if we're going to find Dr. Kilohertzmann." "Dr. Kilohertzmann?" "We're going to go north and find him," Marjorie patiently explained. "We both need a vacation before you start keeping house and I get back to superheroing." "Oh." Lars turned over and closed his eyes. Moments later, he leapt to his feet as a large quantity of ice water was poured onto the region of his crotch. "Now then, dear," said Marjorie sweetly, "I feel absolutely disgusting. So we're going to go to the hotel room I've reserved, and we're going to shower and change." Lars stopped jumping up and down, and pressed his legs together, trying to stop shivering. He glared at Marjorie. She stepped closer to him and put her arms around his neck, whispering, "And if you're *very* good, I might help you warm up before we go." Lars stopped shivering at the mere thought, waved goodbye to the few members of the Awesome Force who were conscious, picked up Marjorie and ran out of the building. * * * * * * * * * Several hours later, a very relaxed and happy couple climbed into the freshly-washed and -waxed VW Thing that was parked outside the hotel. Marjorie was wearing a casual blue sun dress; Lars was dressed in light tan slacks and a blue t-shirt. They closed the doors and tossed their rolled-up superhero costumes into the back, then rolled down the windows. It was a very mild day for midwinter, more like spring in fact, the sun streaming down cheerfully and warming their faces as Lulu turned the Dangerousmobile toward the highway. "Where to," Lars asked Marjorie. "Maine, I guess." "Nope," piped up Lulu. "Lulu? Sorry?" "Ah said, 'nope,' Lars. Ah know where Dr. Kilohertzmann is. He's in New Mexico, where it's sunny an' warm. Campin' on a mesa." "How lovely!" exlaimed Marjorie. "I've always loved that part of the country." "But how did you find out?" Lars asked. "Ah jest asked mah boyfriend." Lars and Marjorie looked at each other. "Boyfriend?" they asked in unison. "Hi," said Gus's gravelly voice. "I just tapped into some spy satellites. Examined their recordings. Watched Maine for the arrival of a badass glowing blue auto, watched the good Doctor sell it, tracked him to a dealership and then followed the RV." "An' whut an RV it is!" said Lulu. "All the comforts of home, and a machine that collects dew and rainwater and turns it into Bass Ale!" "My little sugarplum knows where he is," said Gus. "And now Ah'll take yuh thar!" "No, wait," said Lars. "I have a map. I'd like to drive myself this time, Lulu, at a normal speed, stopping at nights in motels and taking in the scenary." "Fair enough," said the computer. "Ah've got plenny tuh occupy me. OO! Not yet, yuh little-" Lars switched off the speakers, smiled at Marjorie, and drove off into the sunset. And they lived happily ever after. I've always wanted to write that. ========================================================================= Date: 17 Sep 1991 09:44:17 Subject: Surprise Intermission: Part One From: Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. Bill Dickson Presents DANGEROUSMAN In a Short Feature which could, if I may steal a phrase, only be called THE DIRT-STEALERS Part One Lars blinked rapidly and took another swig of coffee, battling off the Sandman as he waited for the sun to rise. He scratched his stubble and patted his developing paunch, yawned, and then light began to creep over the horizon. It figured. Another night of keeping watch over a dark lawn, another night of yawning and acidic coffee, and he still hadn't heard a sound. He would have liked to think that the thieves had given up, but last time he had thought that he had gone to bed happy and awakened with a grassless lawn. He stood and stretched, blinked, and blinked again. His eyes grew wide. His lungs expanded spasmodically, and he loosed a furious shout across the neighborhood. He then proceeded to stomp up and down in the dirt that had been his lawn, swearing creatively at the top of his lungs and pushing the null- impact sneakers Qwyntor had given him to the limit. "HOW?!" he cried. "HOW HOW HOW HOW HOW!!!!!" "Why me?!" came an answering cry from down the block. "Why me?!" Lars stood silently for a moment, then dashed away toward the voice. In the bedroom window, watching him leave, Marjorie leaned against a crutch with a look of concern on her face. Lars pounded up the driveway of a new house, panting heavily. As he approached the steps, noting that this house, too, was missing a lawn, a fat man in a soiled t-shirt leapt out from behind the shrubs and waved a shotgun at him. Lars, his superhero training kicking in, dove face-first into the dirt and put his hands over his head. He wasn't wearing his bulletproof costume, and he wasn't really that big a fool. "BOB!" he screamed. "Bob, it's ME! Lars MacPherson!" "Oh, Lars!" Bob lowered the shotgun and helped Lars to his feet. "Sorry about the gun. I'm a bit on edge." "I know, I heard you shouting." "Some bastard's been stealing my sod!" explained Bob. I laid down my third lawn yesterday, and when I got up this morning it was gone again!" "I know," said Lars. "Mine too. I stayed up all night to guard it, and they stole it right from under my nose." Bob looked startled. "I thought I was the only one. And I bet you thought you were the only one, too." Lars nodded. "Then it's possible that it's happened to more people! I say we take a stroll around the neighborhood, especially the new houses, and see if this has been happening to anybody else!" Lars agreed, and after he talked Bob into leaving the shotgun home, they set out to explore the neighborhood. * * * * * * * * * "All right," said Lars officially, looking around at the half-dozen people sitting around the dining room table, "the first meeting of the Save Our Sod Society is now in session, this Tuesday the Tenth of September, 1991, 8:00 pm. First order of business?" "I move we have some beer." "Sue Dresser moves that we have beer at the meeting. Any second?" Six hands went up, Lars' included. "We'll waive the vote on that one. Honey! Could we have some beer please?" "Of course, dear!" came Marjorie's voice from the kitchen. There was the sound of the fridge opening, then a flash of blue light as two six-packs of beer appeared in the center of the table. "How'd I do?" Marjorie asked. "Great, dear! Your control's never been better!" She poked her head around the corner and winked at him; he blew her a kiss and then grabbed a beer. "Now then," he said. "We've all lost at least one lawn so far. Three of us have actually stood watch over our lawns, and had them disappear out from under our noses. I think we should first see if we can come up with a reasonable hypothesis to explain the disappearance. Any ideas?" "How about theft?" offered Bob. The others glared at him. "Why don't we check the news?" suggested Tom Parks. "Good idea!" agreed Sue. "If it's been happening all over the place, there's bound to be something on the news!" "Tim, you're closest," said Lars. Tim got up and switched on the set, turned it to CNN, and sat back down. There was a hiss as Bob popped open a second beer, then a dramatic rumble from the set. "CNN Special Report," said a deep voice, and an angular 'R' floated across the screen with an ominous drumroll. Downtown Julie Brown, CNN's music consultant, appeared on the screen. "In a moment that shocked the world," she said, "superstar vigilante- turned-singer Ramrod was viciously attacked at his concert in Meteor Crater last night. The costumed figure was unknown, but the question people are asking now is: Was it Hi-Jinx, Ramrod's ex-companion in the Awesome Force, who attempted to kill the New Voice of the Young Generation before fleeing heroic FlatPhoot Security guards? A nationwide manhunt is now being conducted, but as yet the vicious Hi-Jinx remains unfound. "Right now we're going to take you to a press conference with Ramrod and his manager, Marie Bouchard, to get their reactions to this attack." The scene shifted to a small noisy room, with microphones and cameras pointing from all possible angles toward Ramrod and the attractive woman beside him. "Mon dieu," she was saying, "I don't...I don't know what to say. It's horrible, just horrible, et Je...and I hope they catch him soon. Of course he's innocent until proven guilty, but to think that this monster is loose somewhere..." she broke off, biting her lip. The cameras turned to Ramrod. "Ramrod," said a voice. "Ramrod!" Ramrod looked up from a white rose in his lapel, toward the sound of the voice. "Yes?" "I'm sure you're hoping for the capture of your assailant. Do you look forward to facing Hi-Jinx again, this time in a court of law?" "I look forward to facing the person," he said, and then cast a glance sideways at Marie, "or persons responsible for doing this to me. And I assure you that Justice will be served. Of that I am quite sure." Tim switched the television off. "Got a lot of faith in the legal system, that guy does." "Yeah," said Bob. "My kid's got both his records. Several copies, actually. Good clean kid. Glad she's into him, and not somebody like those Walking Falling Rock Zone guys." "Disaster Area," corrected Lars. In his mind he replayed that sideways glance Ramrod had given his manager, remembering the man, so unlike this kids' superstar singer, that had fought rabid ticketing security officers and cthulhoid cultists alongside him a few years before. For a moment there... "Well," asserted Carol Ritzler, "with that story breaking we're not going to find anything about our sod on the news. We're on our own." "Yes," agreed Lars. "So let's have some theories." "Thieves," said Bob, cracking another beer. Everybody else glared at him. "Aliens?" suggested Tim. "Demons?" offered Carol. "Japanese agents working from underground hideouts?" said Bob. "Bob, please!" cried Lars. Bob looked hurt. "What? I mean, I suggested thieves, but you didn't like that one-" Sue grabbed Bob's t-shirt and stared into his eyes. "Bob," she said slowly and carefully, "our sod has been stolen. S-t-o-l-e-n, stolen. OF COURSE IT WAS THIEVES, BOB! BY DEFINITION IT WAS THIEVES! WE WOULD LIKE TO FIGURE OUT WHO THE THIEVES WERE!" "No need to get huffy," said Bob. "Can we get some pretzels?" "We're out," said Lars. "Look. We're really not getting anywhere. Anything we guess is going to be pure conjecture. So why don't we try this: tomorrow, I will lay down a new front lawn. The rest of you will not. My front lawn will be the only one available for theft. We will all guard my lawn. With all seven of us guarding my little front lawn, we're bound to catch somebody in the act. Sound good?" "Sounds good," agreed everybody else as Bob popped another beer open. "Okay, let's start a checklist. What do we need?" "Cameras," said Sue. "Lots of coffee." "Guns..." * * * * * * * * * The next day, Lars went out to buy sod. He stopped by the auto body shop to see how Lulu was coming along; the MAACO guys were having trouble reworking the explosion-proof metal and matching the color of the old paint, but they were making progress. Lars peered inside, and saw that some upholstery had been replaced, and much to his delight, some of the electronics. He knocked on the hood. "Lulu?" he asked. "Lulu, you home?" "A-a-a-ahm here, L-Lars," came the halting reply. "How ya feelin'?" "Okay, Ah g-g-guess. Be b-better when...when...when the c-car's rebuilt. H-hard to run-run-run from Gus's b-backup." "I'm sure it is," he said tenderly. "I'm so glad he was there when you got burned. If he hadn't been, we could have lost you altogether." "Ah kn-know." "When the car's computers are rebuilt, you move right back in and we'll get you home just as quick as we can. Miss you, Lulu." "M-m-miss you, t-too, Lars." He left and drove on to the Agway, where he rented a truck and bought sod. "More sod?" the clerk asked him. "Yup," replied Lars. Suddenly he became suspicious. "Say," he said, "you wouldn't be the type to sell a guy sod and then steal it back from him in the middle of the night so you can sell it to him all over again, would you?" The clerk looked miffed. "That would be against the Agway Code." "Oh," said Lars, and he drove home with his new sod. * * * * * * * * * Lars crouched on his front step, peering into the darkness. His camera was around his neck, flashlight on his right, coffee on his left. He was wearing his old costume under his clothes, as it was chilly and his long underwear was at the cleaners. Across the street, he knew Sue and Tim were hiding in the bushes staring back toward him. The others were all lined up along the east side of the lawn; he had wanted to split them up between the east and west sides, but Bob had insisted on bringing his gun along and nobody, reasonably enough, wanted to be opposite him. Four o'clock in the morning, and no results. Lars was irritated. They had planned so well; if the thief or thieves didn't cooperate by trying to steal the lawn, they would all be very disappointed. He didn't know if he could talk them into trying again. Suddenly he heard a rustle. He sat completely still, listening eagerly. It came again, right from the center of the lawn. Picking up his flashlight, he crept forward, pointed toward the sound, and snapped it on. A small brown shape disappeared into the sod, which was still on the ground. "Psst! Lars! What is it?" He couldn't tell who had whispered, but he waved his hand in disgust. "Gopher," he said. He turned to return to the porch, stepped into the gopher hole, and fell flat on his back. There was a large dark spot where the stars were supposed to be. Lars grasped his fallen flashlight and swung it upward. Twelve feet up was a large, curved expanse of dark grey metal. "AAIIIIIIIIII!" he screamed. Flashlights came on around him, revealing small chunks of a fairly large flying saucer. Two of the lights went out, and he heard Tim and Sue running pell-mell down the street into the distance. A small hatch opened in the saucer, revealed only by the fact that his flashlight was pointing directly at it. The strips of sod suddenly rolled up, one of them thoroughly trapping Lars inside itself, and then the rolls silently drifted up through the air into the dark hatch. Lars heard some dull reports, and clatters against the hull of the ship; he presumed that Bob had attempted to shoot the saucer down with his twelve-gauge. Using buckshot, no less. The hatch closed, and as Lars struggled to escape the clutches of his own sod, he felt the ship rise smoothly up into the sky. WHOSE FLYING SAUCER IS IT? WHERE IS IT GOING? WILL LARS BE ABLE TO RESCUE HIS SOD? Find out the answers to these questions and more in part two on....SUPERGUY!!! ========================================================================= Date: 18 Sep 1991 10:24:01 Subject: Dangerousman intermission, part two From: Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. Bill Dickson Presents DANGEROUSMAN In THE DIRT-STEALERS Part Two In near-Earth space, a grey flying saucer looped sideways to avoid a warcraft leaving orbit. The pilot, Xeegeet Jones, shook his shiny green face from side to side, blue lips pursed disapprovingly. "Bluds and meep-zeep Kreeps, in our neighborhood, breep," he complained to his wife, who was darning one of his socks in the passenger seat. "Next thing you know, Treeble, they'll be having mmbeep knife fights in our own nee-nee-nee back yard." He spoke in a peculiar, mid-range monotone. "Now dear," said his wife in exactly the same tone of voice, "don't get upset, meep-meep-meep. If we don't zeep-breep bother them, maybe they'll just beep leave us alone." The ship arced toward the shadowed side of the moon, floated down to the surface, and parked in a garage with a white door and tasteful imitation-wood aluminum siding. Mr. and Mrs. Jones got out, and Mrs. Jones stepped outside and watched her husband pull the garage door down and twist the knob to the right to lock it. "Oh, meep, dear," she said with a light chuckle, "Xeegeet, your shoelace has meep-zeep come untied." "Which zeet one?" "The middle one. Here, let me beep get it." She knelt carefully, so as not to soil her powder-blue dress on the ground, and tied the shoe. She then double-checked the left and right ones, to make sure they were not in danger of coming undone as well. "Beep, there," she said, straightening up. "All better." They walked up the steps of their split-level ranch, and turned to gaze out at their lawn. "It's coming along beep nicely," said Xeegeet. "I'll lay down the preep next load in the morning, meep. Soon we will mreep be able to add the, geep, rhododendrons." Unlocking the door, they stepped inside. They were briefly concerned at the sobs coming from their twelve-year-old daughter Creeza's room, but when they learned that it was only because the object of her current crush, Ramrod, had been attacked, and in fact was perfectly all right, they simply soothed her and put her to bed. At 9:00 PM Yeeble Standard Time, they put the vreet out, tucked in their fifteen-year-old son Sreegle, changed into their pajamas, and climbed into their twin beds. * * * * * * * * * Nearly three hours later, Lars MacPherson managed to extract himself from the clutches of his lawn and snap on his flashlight. Examining his surroundings, he found himself to be locked within what was apparently a large trunk. There was a round object bolted to the floor next to something labelled as a "Gravity Pod Replacement Beep Jack," and a large plastic jug containing a pale blue fluid. Bewildered, he turned his attention to the hatch beneath him, at which he pulled, pushed, and kicked without success. Looking around in frustration, he noticed that one wall of the compartment seemed to be softer than the others. He shoved on it, and it moved slightly; bracing his back against a heavy roll of sod, he kicked with his feet until it popped out; he climbed forward and found himself in what appeared to be a slightly oversized back seat from a 1950's station wagon. "Weird," he thought. He noticed that he was trailing dirt and grass all over the vinyl upholstery, so he removed his outer clothing and tossed it back into the trunk, then shoved the back of the seat into its brackets again. Looking down at himself, he realized that he was wearing his old costume visibly for the first time since the battle at Akron. He prodded ruefully at his protruding stomach for a moment, then climbed into the front seat and began to examine what he knew must be the cockpit of the flying saucer that had kidnapped him along with his lawn. At first he wasn't sure he should take his eyes seriously. The resemblance of the flying saucer to a 1950's station wagon was still more striking when he looked at the controls. Three foot pedals, one set far off to the left and shoved down as if it were a parking brake, a steering wheel, an automatic transmission shift -- even a speedometer, and although it seemed to be labelled in parsecs per day rather than miles per hour, the numbers and little lines turned red at 55. He noticed two small knobs to his right, and twisted one in curiosity. There was a brief squelch of static, and then Ramrod's voice faded into audibility, crooning his duet with Frank Sinatra, "Girl, Girl, Girl, Girl, Girl." "Girl, girl, girl, girl, girl," he sang. Sinatra followed with "Girl, you know it's true." "Girl, you gotta listen," they sang together, "to what Ramrod 'n' Frankie say to you." Lars switched it off, located the door handle, and climbed out. "Now to figure out where I am, and what's happened to my lawn," he thought, unlatching the garage door and lifting it just enough to squeeze out. He lowered it silently and looked around. He looked left: A small row of hedges; beyond them, a darkened house. He looked right: Another darkened house, apparently the one this garage belonged to. He looked forward: A wide, neatly-trimmed partial lawn made up of RECENTLY-LAID STRIPS OF SOD!!! He filed this fact away for future reference, and then looked up, "Hmm," mused Lars. "I recognize that planet. I could swear I'd seen it before. Now let me think...blue-green, mostly covered with water, polar icecaps, surrounded by the still-smouldering remains of a Greenslimy Alien Fleet... EARTH! That's what it's called! Earth! And if I'm looking at it from this relatively small distance, then I could only be on the moon!" Lars smiled inwardly at his deductive skill, until he realized that the moon is an airless, lifeless hunk of rock with lethal temperature extremes and no food or water. He clutched his throat in a gesture of suffocation, and flailed about in silent, bug-eyed panic, until he realized that he really wasn't having any trouble breathing at all, and the night was really quite comfortable, and there was living grass under his feet and a garage with aluminum siding behind him. "Well," he thought, "my information must be out of date." He prowled around to the back of the house and began to look for an unlocked window. Sreegle Jones opened his eyes and blinked. Fleeg, the family pet vreet, was sitting on his chest licking his nose. Sreegle didn't mind, as he often asked if Fleeg could stay in his room some nights, but he knew it wasn't allowed. He got up and put on his bathroom, cinched both belts tight, and picked up Fleeg. "So which was it beep Fleeg?" he asked the vreet, scratching its ears. "They forget to greep put you out, meep-meep, or did somebody leave a, treep, window open?" Fleeg purred quietly as Sreegle carried him downstairs and into the foyer, where he encountered a very tall alien being with blond hair, wearing a radioactive green costume with poison yellow piping and a roiling red-and-black mushroom cloud on its chest. Sreegle and Lars both screamed at the same time, and Sreegle flung Fleeg at Lars' face before turning and pounding up the stairs. "DAD!" he screamed. "MEEP-MEEP MOM!" Lars toppled over backwards, the vreet clawing at his face. Finally he managed to fling the animal away; it fled into a darkened room and vanished. Doors banged open upstairs, and Lars heard pounding footsteps. He picked a direction in which to run, attempted to engage his feet, slipped on a throw-rug and landed on his butt again. Two alien beings, one wearing a flannel bathrobe and wielding an umbrella like a club, the other wearing a modest nightgown and a light robe and keeping behind the first, charged halfway down the stairs. They stopped short when they saw him lying on his back, staring up at them, and hung back cautiously. "Meep, what are you doing in my treep house?!" demanded Xeegeet sharply. They waited for him to answer, but Lars' mouth was too busy hanging open in a peculiar mixture of shock, pain, and amazement to actually form any words. Suddenly, Xeegeet's and Treeble's eyes widened, and they relaxed. "Oh, for heaven's mmbeep sake, dear, it's only geep the Zeegway man." Lars nearly panicked when Xeegeet approached him, but the alien merely extended two of his hands and helped Lars to his feet. "You must have, tweep, scooped him up with the last neep-neep-neep load of sod, Xeegeet, beep," continued Treeble. At the top of the stairs, Creeza and Sreegle had gathered quietly to find out what was going on. "Who are you?" ventured Lars. Xeegeet and Treeble looked at each other. "Perhaps he doesn't meep speak Yeeblish," said Xeegeet. "What?" asked Lars. "Look, I can understand you just fine. I'm just wondering who you are. Who...are...you." "Oh, beep, bother," pouted Treeble. "How can we vreep apologize to him for this terrible, gleep, terrible inconvenience if we can't communicate meep?" Lars couldn't believe it could be that simple, but he decided to try it anyway. He said in a medium-pitched monotone, "Beep, I can understand, feep, you. Who are you meep?" Xeegeet smiled and extended two hands to shake both of Lars'. The children giggled. "Shush, you two, breep!" commanded Treegle. "He's from a peep different place. He can't neep-beep help his accent." "Xeegeet Jones, at your pleep service," said Xeegeet. "Lars MacPherson, dreep," responded Lars. He was feeling bewildered. "Lars, beep, welcome to my meep home. I apologize, treep, for snagging you like that, freep. It's late preep now, neep-neep, we'll fold the couch out for you, veep, and talk in the zeep morning. Treegle, will you get the meep sheets feep?" Treegle disappeared up the stairs, hustling the children off to bed, and Xeegeet led Lars into the living room. "It's right this way neep. I hope you find it tleep comfortable..." Lars followed, helped Xeegeet open the convertible couch, and waited while Treegle made up the bed. The two aliens bade him good-night, apologized once more, and went back upstairs. Lars decided that it would be best if he just went to sleep and put off attempting to regain control of his life until the morning. So he did. IS THE FRIENDLY JONES FAMILY THE BAND OF VICIOUS THIEVES THAT HAS BEEN STEALING ALL THE SOD IN LARS' NEIGHBORHOOD? WHAT PERIL COULD LARS POSSIBLY ENCOUNTER HERE THAT WOULD JUSTIFY AN ENTIRE SHORT FEATURE STARRING THE MIGHTY DANGEROUSMAN? HOW LONG ARE THE READERS WILLING TO PUT UP WITH THIS INTERRUPTION OF THE FIRST RAMROD STORYLINE THE AUTHOR SEEMS LIKELY TO COMPLETE IN ABOUT TWO YEARS? WILL THE AUTHOR, IN FACT, BE ABLE TO WRAP THINGS UP SATISFACTORILY BEFORE TAKING OFF FOR SEATTLE? AND IS RAMROD REALLY AS POPULAR WITH PREPUBESCENT ALIEN GIRLS AS HE IS WITH THE EARTHLY VARIETY? Find out all this and more here on.....SUPERGUY!!!! ========================================================================= Date: 19 Sep 1991 10:57:54 Subject: Dangerousman short feature: part three-a From: Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. Bill Dickson Presents DANGEROUSMAN In THE DIRT-STEALERS Part Three-A Lars awoke to the smell of scrambled eegs and brewing ceefee. He got up and padded toward the smell. As he reached the stairs, he saw the daughter, Creezle, somersault down the stairs and bounce to her feet. "Beep, hi!" she said cheerfully. "Creezle, practice your gymneestics outside!" scolded Treegle's voice from the kitchen. Creezle pouted, then ran out the door. Lars followed Treegle's voice, to find her serving breakfast. "She's school beep champion," she said proudly. "Please, meep," she urged, "sit down and, mmdeep have some." Lars sat and tasted the food; it was quite good, and he dug in happily. Shortly, Xeegeet came down to join him, dressed in a five-piece brown business suit with a slightly wide tie, which he was straightening as he sat down. His conservatively-cut purple hair was parted neatly on the right. "How treep did you sleep?" he asked. "Neep-neep fine." "Good, beep, good." Xeegeet poured himself some ceefee. "I will vreep drop you off back reep home before I go to work beep. Again, I neep apologize for this. My, geep-feep, fault entirely." "Um, veep, thank you," replied Lars. "Listen, about the sod neep..." "MMM!" commented Xeegeet, his mouth full of eegs. He swallowed, pointing his fork at Lars. "Very, very fine neep sod! No complaints at all beep! And I must, greep, compliment you on your teep display. No other veep Zeegway I have ever preep seen before unrolls the sod so you can neep-neep inspect it. A treep fine service, a fine service indeed freep!" "Breep, but-" Lars began to protest. "One suggestion, neep, though. It would be neep very helpful if you could display the kveep price more prominently. I had a neep-neep heck of a time figuring out how yeep much I owed you. Finally I called Zeegway Central on weemp Arcturus. They explained that neep all Zeegway prices are the same..." "Geep, but-" Lars was interrupted by a scream from outside. Xeegeet and Treegle looked at each other in shock and horror. "BEEEEEEP, CREEZLE!" they cried in unison, and ran to the front door. Lars jumped up and rushed after them. In the front yard, a half-dozen husky ruffian aliens sat astride cheestnut-blue heerses, spurs gleaming in the morning sun and shotguns in easy reach. The tallest, obviously the leader, held Creezle, bound and gagged, across the front of his saddle. "So how beep about it, Jones?" he asked Xeegeet in a gruff, mid-range monotone. "Ye gonna sell or, meep, what?" * * * * * * * * * Marjorie MacPherson woke up early, stretched, and limped carefully down the hall. Lars didn't seem to be inside; he certainly hadn't come in during the night. Probably off chasing the sod thieves again. She noticed that Lars hadn't sorted the mail from yesterday. Yawning, she rifled through it. Phone bill, electric bill, thank-you card from the Terwilligers for the wok she and Lars had given them for their wedding, an offer from CIA Records for a special gold-plated edition of Ramrod's first album, and something from a "Xeegeet Jones." Curious, she opened it. It appeared to be a check made out to "Lars MacPherson, proprietor, Zeegway," for twelve geebles and forty-six dweebs. She shrugged, and put it into her purse. Trudging to the front door, she opened it and collected the morning paper. The lawn seemed to have disappeared again. She sighed and gazed at the headlines, which were filled with news of the latest developments in the investigation into the attack on Ramrod. On page B-37, she found an article detailing the heroic actions of the newly-formed Defence Squad, witnessed by a reporter who had been covering what was supposed to be a routine shuttle landing. Reading, she noted with a chuckle Andy Awesome's criticism of Ramrod's talent. She brought the paper back to the kitchen and began to make coffee. * * * * * * * * * "You, vreep, bastard, Red Freed!" cried Xeegeet in enraged despair. "Let my, neep, daughter go!" Behind him, Treegle sobbed. "Not until I've, reep, gotcher deed, Jones," grinned Red Freed. "Gonna put the zeemp reelroad through here, neep-neep whether ye like it or, neep, not." Suddenly, a small hunk of moon rock shot out of a second-floor window in the Jones' house, catching Red Freed in the forehead. He yelped, nearly dropping Creezle, and his companions brought their shotguns to bear on the window in question. Lars looked up at the window behind him, and saw Sreegle plant another stone in a slingshot and draw it back. "SREEGLE, TREEP, NO!" screamed Treegle. Red Freed held up his second hand from the right. "Put up yer, vreenp, guns, men," he ordered. "It's clear old beep Jones needs to go geep-neep discipline his boy and reep think over our latest offer neep. And while yer neemp thinkin', Jones, we'll just take yer beenp daughter for a ride neep." He leered down at her, and wheeled his heerse around. Xeegeet bellowed incoherently, and charged at the heerses with fire in his many eyes, but the beasts were already galloping away, tearing up the sod all the way across the Jones' considerably large lawn. A figure came running through the hedges off to the left, wearing a half- buttoned shirt and carrying a revolver. "Jones, beep!" he called out. "Jones! I, meep, phoned the sheriff, veep, but he won't get here, neep, quick enough!" "Dreep, Smith," Xeegeet said to the newcomer, tears in his eyes. "Smith, they, meep, took my daughter." "I know, neep-neep! Snap out of it, greep, Jones! Let's get in your, hreep, saucer wagon and, treep, get after them!" Xeegeet's eyes widened with faint hope. "Yes, neep," he said. "Treegle, wait here, beep-reep. Take care of, feep, Mr. MacPherson and tell Sheriff, yeemp, Brown where we went teep-beep." Treegle nodded tearfully, and turned to look behind her. "Lars, neep," she said. He wasn't there. "Lars?" There was a crash as the grey flying saucer exploded backwards through the closed garage door, then skittered in a clumsy curve over the aliens' heads. It stopped suddenly inches before smashing through the northeast corner of the house, crushing the raingutter, then roared off in the direction the heerses had travelled, clipping the Jones' mailbox and knocking it to the ground. "What a brave, zeep, Zeegway man," commented Mr. Smith. "Go get 'em, Mr. neep-neep MacPherson," murmured Xeegeet emotionally. "Beep, my hero," breathed Treegle. * * * * * * * * * Lars wrestled with the steering wheel of the flying saucer, trying to keep an eye on the hoofprints on the ground as he taught himself how to fly. Fortunately, it was enough like a car so that wasn't very difficult, but he was so used to having Lulu drive that he just wasn't very good at driving cars anymore. But he soon had the basic hang of it and could concentrate on tracking Red Freed and his men. He had assumed that he would catch up almost immediately, being in a flying saucer and all, but it appeared the beasts the outlaw reelroad tycoon and his cohorts were riding were quite fast. Their tracks were clear in the lunar dust (which dominated the terrain beyond the Jones' small neighborhood), so he knew he was on the right track, but there was no sight of them. He was surprised that he had reacted so quickly to the fact that an innocent was in danger -- even one whose father had been taking his sod on the apparent assumption that it was for sale. It appeared that the old superhero instincts weren't that rusty after all. He grinned briefly; he was enjoying this. He should take on a bad guy once or twice a year, just to keep his hand in. Then he remembered that Creezle was in danger, and set his face in a rather cliched expression of grim determination. Ahead was a strange silver line, extending across his field of vision to the left as far as he could see. Coming closer, he saw that it was a set of wide, flat, railroad-like tracks. The hoofprints led right up to them and vanished. The villains had obviously boarded a waiting train, Lars decided. He swooped slightly erratically to the left, and began following the tracks. It wasn't long before he spotted the train. It was a sleek, fast-moving machine, reminding Lars of the bullet train he and Marjorie had travelled in during their honeymoon in France. It covered ground at an incredible rate; nearly as fast as the saucer, in fact. Lars was afraid that if he boosted his speed any further, he would lose control and slingshot into orbit, so he settled for inching slowly up to the train and landing as gently as he could on the roof. This was really none too gently; the clang was heard throughout the short train. When Lars climbed out into the roaring wind and onto the roof of the train, there was already a large goon waiting for him with a smile on his face. Lars thought he looked as if he threw people off of train roofs with alarming frequency, and rather enjoyed it. This was, in fact, true; Creezle was not the first daughter Red Freed had kidnapped. Lars was facing forward, and saw that the goon's back was to a tunnel they were approaching rapidly. 'Hah!' thought Lars; he threw himself down on the train roof, waiting for the goon to be splattered all over him. But the tunnel was taller than Lars had anticipated, and the goon's head cleared the roof by a good six inches. He grunted with pleasure, and stepped forward to kick the prone Lars in the head. But because it was pitch-dark in the tunnel, he missed completely, fell over backwards, and rolled sideways off the train. The sound of his cry was drowned out by the crash of the saucer being knocked off the train, totally wrecked. Satisfied with the way he had handled his opponent, but curious about the missing gore, Lars located a hatch and climbed down into the train. He heard shouts of surprise behind him; turning, he saw two more goons rushing him. His old martial arts training flooded back into his mind, and he met the first one with a solid swing at his stubbly green jaw. "Alien railroad goon, meet my good right arm!" he said dramatically. He was getting into this. "I call it 'Haymaker' for short!" "Mmbeep what is the dreep alien saying?" asked the second onrushing goon. "Can't he speak mreep-reep Yeeglish?" He leapt over his collapsing companion, reaching out for Lars, and was rewarded with a respectable judo throw that launched him skull-first into a wall. "Three down, three to go!" said Lars, wiping his hands. He turned and strode forward, through the door at the front of the car, the length of that car, and through the next door. "CLEENCY, BREEP, FLEENT, GET HIM!" Red Freed pointed at Lars, and his two remaining goons pointed their shotguns at his chest and fired. "OW!" shouted Lars. He went over backwards, banged his head on the door frame, and closed his eyes. CONTINUED IN PART THREE-B, IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING ========================================================================= Date: 19 Sep 1991 11:03:29 Subject: Dangerousman short feature: part 3-b (finale) From: Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. Bill Dickson Presents DANGEROUSMAN In THE DIRT-STEALERS Part Three-B "Now beep then," chuckled Red Freed. He drew a large knife and grinned at Creezle. "Let's see what you neep-neep look like under that reeep leotard, little girl." Creezle's eyes bugged out in panic. "Zeep, boss," said Cleency, prodding at Lars with his shotgun. "He ain't neep bleeding." "Huh?" said Red Freed, as Lars opened his eyes. He grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, ignoring the heat of its recent firing, wrested it away from Cleency's hands, and bashed him in one of his stomachs. The goon staggered back painfully, bumping into Red Freed, who dropped the large knife on the floor. Lars rolled sideways, avoiding a blast from Fleent's shotgun, and jumped to his feet. "Catch!" he challenged, tossing the gun he was wearing at Fleent, who dropped his own in surprise to snatch Cleency's out of the air. He looked up from his new gun just in time to catch a head butt right in his top nose, which mushed painfully. He sank to the floor. "My knife! Where's my knife?" cried Red Freed, scanning the floor desperately. Cleency lunged at Lars, who grappled him. They had a brief contest of strength; Lars' long period of inactivity finally began to take its toll. He began to pant. He felt his strength fading. He became acutely aware of the spare tire developing around his belly. Cleency began to grin wickedly as he realized he was winning. Lars leaned forward and licked Cleency's teeth. "BLEAH!" yelped Cleency, jumping backwards. "PEOPLE BEEP GERMS!" Lars stepped forward and decked him, and down he went. "Okay, then, neep," said Red Freed. "Try me. I may not be beep able to find my knife, but I'll take ye neep-neep barehand." "Is this what you're reep looking for?" asked Creezle sweetly, stepping out of the remains of her ropes. She held Red Freed's knife up teasingly. "I teemp snagged it with my toes and breemp cut myself free from the neep-zeep legs up." "Yes, that's beep it," said Red Freed, "but I don't neep-eep think I'll need it breep after all." Before Lars could stop him, he reached out and slapped a switch that opened a door on the side of the train, then shoved Creezle roughly. She flailed for a moment, then fell backwards, tossing the knife out of the speeding train. She leapt into a handspring in a final attempt to regain control, launched into the air, and vanished through the door after the knife. Lars stared at the door, mouth ajar. "You, neep, bastard," he breathed, turning back toward Red Freed. Was it possible she had survived? The train was moving at least 200 miles per hour, and that lunar surface looked awfully rough... "Neep, me?" said Red Freed. "You're the beep one who foiled my reep plans! But not for treep long! My reelroad will reen-reen run anyway!" "Really?" challenged Lars, and he moved toward Red Freed. It was unlikely she had survived, but he couldn't be sure. How far had they come since she fell out? Three miles? Five? He needed time. He leapt at Red Freed. "Not a neep chance!" cried Red Freed, flinging a lever forward. The train shot forward at a much higher speed; Lars' leap was thrown off, and he fell painfully onto his hip. Red Freed swung a mighty leg and kicked Lars back to the far end of the car, laughing heartily. Lars clutched his side, breathing raggedly. "Tell me, neep," sneered Red Freed. "How did you reep-beep survive the shotgun teep blasts?" "Bulletproof...costume...." panted Lars. "Neep! Neep! Speak in reep Yeeblish! I know you reep can!" They were going much faster now. How far? Eight miles? Maybe eleven? "Breep....bulletproof....yeemp costume," he tried again. "Reep, very clever," commented Red Freed. "Perhaps I shall neemp take it off your reep body after I neep-beep kill you." Lars suddenly lunged forward; Red Freed yanked the lever back and the train slowed. Lars banged his head on the control panel and fell to the floor. He turned and started crawling back to the opposite wall. "Ah, here we are," said Freed. Lars looked wearily out the door and saw the walls of a station appear. Red Freed eased the lever down, and the train pulled to a stop. "I took the neep liberty of phoning ahead reep when we detected the beemp saucer," he said. "There are fifty neep armed goons just outside reep." Sure enough, Lars could hear them. How far? Fifteen miles? He would have to act now, or never. Carefully, he dragged himself to his feet, his sneakers scrabbling for purchase- His sneakers! Lars looked down at them in dismay. He bent casually, trying to untie one. The knot was too tight -- he couldn't loosen it! "What are you neep doing? Okay men! neep," called Red Freed. "In here beep." Fifty aliens charged into the car, making it uncomfortably crowded. It was obvious to Lars that if anybody opened fire, there would be many goons killed along with himself. But it looked like he'd pretty definitely go, too. He straightened up slowly. "Well, neep," said Red Freed. "Any last beep requests?" "Please, neep," whimpered Lars. "Promise me you'll zeep take my priceless family reemp heirloom to my geemp aging mother?" "Reemp sure," sneered Red Freed. "Where is it beep?" "In my neep-neep sneaker." "Jeemy! Get his beep sneakers!" Lars gaped at Red Freed. "You're not meep going to steal it reemp?!" Red Freed guffawed cruelly. "No beep!" cried Lars. "You neep can't!" "Jeemy!" "But boss reemp, what if he zeerp has smelly feet reemp?" "Just do it neep-peep Jeemy!" Jeemy stepped forward, the others covering Lars with their guns. The goon yanked Lars' right leg up and ripped the sneaker off. He let go, and Lars slowly lowered the foot until it was a mere inch and a half off the ground. "C'mon, reep, put your foot down so I can reep get the other one neep- neep," said Jimmy. "If you insist," said Lars, smiling broadly, and he did as he was told. It was only about forty kilotons, but it felt very, very good. * * * * * * * * * At the edge of the crater, Lars found the melted and twisted ends of the railroad tracks, and began to follow them back the way the train had come. His feet were aching a bit; his sneakers, designed to prevent a blast rather than to survive one, had been destroyed. If he got back to Earth, he would have to ask Qwyntor for a new pair. He had a long walk back to the point where Creezle had fallen from the train. He didn't have much hope that she had survived, but he had to look. Suddenly, a dot appeared in the sky in front of him, growing quickly into a small grey saucer with blue flashing lights on top of it. It passed him, then looped around in a large curve and settled to the ground. The passenger door opened, and Xeegeet jumped out. "Lars, beep!" he cried out. "Are you zeep all right?" "Fine, neep-neep," said Lars. "But your daughter-" He gazed in disbelief as Creezle leapt out of the saucer and bolted over to him, throwing her arms around him. She didn't have a scratch on her. "She neep told us what happened, reep," said Xeegeet. "She always was veep good at tumbling." Another alien, wearing many-lensed mirrored sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat with a badge on it, got out of the saucer and walked over to the group. "Beep, Lars, meet Sheriff Brown. Sheriff, " Xeegeet announced proudly, "meet the man reep who saved my daughter's zeemp life." * * * * * * * * * Jeeck Smith, the Jones' next-door neighbor, piloted his saucer down to Lars' front lawn and landed. "Thank you reep," said Lars. "No beep problem," said Jeeck. "And thank you, meep-beep, Lars," said Xeegeet, "again. Really, don't treep worry about the saucer neep, it means nothing next reemp to Creezle." Lars shook hands with both of the aliens, and climbed out of the saucer. "And no more reemp sod?" he asked. Xeegeet laughed. "No more beemp. I'm so sorry for my veemp mistake, Lars. I really thought neep that you were the Zeegway man beep. Anyway, that check reep I mailed two days ago should neemp make up for your trouble zeep." Lars waved at them and smiled, and Jeeck drove the saucer back into the air. Lars turned and walked inside. "Lars!" called out Marjorie as he closed the door behind him. "Lars! Where have you been?" "The moon," said Lars. "And I lost my sneakers." "Oh, you kidder!" Marjorie hobbled into the foyer at top speed, threw her arms around Lars, and gave him a huge kiss. Such a kiss would have incapacitated a lesser man. Lars was used to it, but he was pretty severely stunned anyway. "Lars, you'll never guess what happened." "Marjorie, I gotta tell you this story-" "*Later,* Lars! Listen! I was looking through yesterday's mail, and I came across a check for twelve geebles and forty-six dweebs." 'Twelve?!' thought Lars. 'I save his daughter and I get *twelve* geebles?' "So I took it to the bank, and they said yes, they could deposit it into our account at the current exchange rate minus a small exchange fee. And do you know what the current exchange rate *is*?" Lars shook his head. "Sixty thousand, nine hundred and ninety-five dollars and eighteen cents to the geeble." Lars gaped. "Um," he said. "Lars, we just got a check for $760,000!" Lars turned and bolted out the door. "Xeebeet!" he cried out. "Xeebeet! You can buy more of my sod if you want to! Xeebeet!" But the saucer was gone. WILL LARS EVER SEE THE JONES FAMILY AGAIN? WHAT IS THIS STRANGE NEW SETTLEMENT ON THE MOON, ANYWAY? WILL THE AUTHOR FINISH THE RAMROD STORY NOW? IS THIS THE LAST DANGEROUSMAN STORY EVER??? You can only find out if you keep on reading.....SUPERGUY!!!!!!