Episode 81

...from the Files of Hydrogen Guy

Part I

Henry "Hank" Hernandes shifted his weight as he leaned against the railing. One of the others standing next to him cleared his throat surreptitiously, while someone else was shuffling his feet. They could all tell, this was going to take a while.

Terrier Ironcore
Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy... and the Galactic Customs Agent Chuck War! Well, well. So, you have found my secret operation here in this abandoned chemical factory. Apparently the toxic swamp that surrounds us is not enough to discourage interlopers, after all!

Hydrogen Guy
Actually, Ironcore, we're here from the Worker's Compensation Board of British Columbia. They're a little concerned that this isn't a safe environment for your employees.

Deuterium Boy
Come with us back to town and answer a few questions, you might still keep your WorkSafe certification if you co-operate.

The super-villain stood on a catwalk high above the floor of the factory. The heroes stood on another, lower catwalk. Terrier Ironcore - former criminal mastermind of Soviet Europe, one-time Terror of Budapest, disgraced senior agent of ICBC's nefarious Department X - was wearing a dark grey suit, starkly cut in a style popular sixty years ago among members of East Germany's Communist Party. In one hand he toyed with a laser pointer.

Ironcore
Ha ha ha... your witty quips will not help your case, my Atomic Antagonists! For you see, the synthesis of my new strain of psychotropic anthrax, resistant to all known forms of antibiotic, is complete, and stands ready to be introduced into the river and the city's water supply! Turn your attention to the east wall, comrades, and there behold the splendour of my PowerPoint Presentation!

Ironcore launched into a detailed full-colour presentation outlining his latest plan for world domination, gesturing enthusiastically with the laser pointer. The three heroes watched attentively, soaking up every detail.

The bruiser on Hank's right, a large black man named Ty, leaned over to Hank and whispered in his ear.

Henchman #1
Man, why's he tellin' them all that stuff? Don't he know when to shut up?

Hank shrugged.

Hank
I dunno. Bet he can't keep a lawyer for more than five minutes, though.

Henchman #1
Jeezus. Mine goes ape-shit if I sneeze in front of the law, and Terry here's spillin' his freckin' life story.

Hank
Well, whatever. I don't hear any of it, if anyone asks me... Here's just hoping he wraps it up quick so we can do something, this sitting around's starting to bug me.

Henchman #1
Yeah, me too. I don't get why we can't jump the tights while the boss is yackin'. You'd think he'd want that.

The henchman on Hank's other side, an older-looking tough known as Eggs, spat and shook his head.

Henchman #2
Nah. Ironcore's strict about dat. Nobody moves a muscle till he yells "seize 'em" or somethin'. It goes pretty rough for yous if you don' listen.

Henchman #1
Why's that? You'd think he'd want these clowns coshed.

Henchman #2
He likes t'hear himself talk about how freckin' smart he is, and he wants the tights t'hear it, too. He ain't so freckin' smart, doh, cause it always screws 'im in da end.

Hank
Well, no shit.

Henchman #2
'sides, you guys eager t'get your asses handed to yous by War and the Element Guys? Cause dat's the way it's gonna go. Follow my lead, give up easy, yous won't get frecked up too bad and we'll be on da street again in a week.

Henchman #1
Man, what a joke. Terry's whacked, he ain't no real supervillain. I bet we won't even get paid.

Hank< BR>Jumped the shark years ago, if you ask me.

Henchman #2
Nah, don' worry, we'll get paid. He's good like dat, we just go see 'is Mister Johnson later and we'll get what's comin' to us.

Henchman #1
Maybe, but how can you take pride in your work, man, workin' for a loony like him?

Henchman #2
I take pride in a paycheck.

Henchman #1
Yeah, me too, but nobody wants t'work for a joke, man. Hey listen, I hear the Crustacean's lookin' for some henches. After this blows, what you guys say we hook up with him? It'll be more steady than this and less stupid. Plus I hear he pays more.

Hank
Hmm.

Henchman #2
Fergeddit. Dere's too many hazards workin' for da Crustacean, even if da pay is higher. I ain't bein' a chew toy for no panda.

Henchman #1
Naw, Big Joe says it's cool with the panda. Eggs, you gotta drop this prejudice 'bout only workin' for humans, or you'll be stuck with the Professor up there. What about you, Hank?

Hank
I dunno, Ty.

Ironcore
Henchmen, seize them!

Henchman #2
Dere we go.

The assembled threw away their cigarettes, grabbed their lead pipes, knives, baseball bats, etc., and rushed out from their concealment to start the melee. The heroes were out-numbered nearly eight-to-one, and Hank suspected that Eggs was right that it would not be enough.

Eggs chose the direct approach, heading straight for Chuck War and then going down to a clear sucker punch. If War suspected Eggs had taken a dive, he didn't let on, but as he had three more of their colleagues piling on him the next moment, it's likely he never noticed. Ty, despite his high-minded words about taking pride in his work, had decided to try his hand at Deuterium Boy, who looked to be the least physically imposing of the three. Hank smirked to himself as he avoided the limbs of another colleague flying over-head. Being a bit smaller and less bulky than most of the others, he'd tried the same tactic on Deuterium Boy last year while working for Chimera Inc., and all it got him was three weeks in the "hench-tank" and a set of bruised ribs.

The catwalk was narrow, and Hank found himself swept along in a tide of henches heading for Hydrogen Guy. Not gonna be easy, Hank thought to himself, in what was easily the understatement of the decade. He's knockin' the boys down pretty quick with them super-reflexes of his; my best chance is to stick 'im with the machete while he's tryin' to block the guy ahead of me. It was a tactic he'd used with some success on lesser powerhouses in the past, and if he got lucky, he could use it slow down Ol' Blue Guy enough for the guys to dog pile him.

The procession had closed in on Hydrogen Guy soon enough, and Hank found himself two bodies back from his target. The first guy in line took a clumsy swing at Hydrogen Guy, which he easily ducked. Grabbing the hencher by the front of his shirt and the crotch (ouch!) of his pants, HG hefted him over his shoulder and tossed him backwards, where he collided with Ty trying to put Deuterium Boy in a headlock. The three went down in a pile of limbs, shaking the catwalk ominously. Deuterium Boy yelled back at Hydrogen Guy in considerably earthier language than one was used to hearing from tights, and his street cred climbed a couple notches.

Hank reached for his machete as the second guy in line, the one ahead of him, lunged forward to crack Hydrogen Guy over the back with baseball bat as he bantered across the catwalk with DB. Not the best move I coulda hoped for, thought Hank - something more of a slashing attack, which would leave HG open on one side as he blocked, would have been better, but if he tries another toss, I can get 'im when he's liftin'.

Hydrogen Guy, however, had other plans. Whirling around in less than an eye-blink, he kneed the attacker in the groin and then shoved him back. Hank was still trying to get his machete free when the larger man collided with him, knocking him back into those behind him. The line kept pushing forward, the guy ahead of him kept trying to fall backwards, and Hank was unpleasantly caught in the middle. The guy behind him grabbed the railing for support, and in the confused jostling, one too many bulky bodies leaned against it and it gave way.

Hank heard the piping snap and felt the catwalk suddenly tilt to one side. His arm was still pinned by the groaning man head of him, and he was unable to grab anything as he felt himself falling. His feet slipped and he began to fall; someone made a grab for him, but too late.

Hank fell. As he tumbled he caught a glimpse of the catwalk collapsing, then he was engulfed by blackness.

Hank woke slowly; he was still surrounded by blackness. He had to double check that his eyes were open. It hurt to move, but he didn't feel that bad; just like someone had replaced his body with an over sized bruise. He sat up slowly, then fumbled for his lighter. Wherever he was, it was cold and wet; he felt himself sitting on something squishy. He could hear something squelching around on the other side of the - wherever he was.

He managed to pull the lighter out of his pocket, and then after a few false starts lit a flame. He held it up and peered around him. He was in an old holding tank of some kind; the bottom was covered in pools of muck and viscous slime. The sides of the tank were coated in slick mold and algae. A few odds and ends lay around him; his machete, a blackened length of pipe, and rusty old bucket in the corner. He peered up into the blackness. With the feeble light of the cigarette lighter, he could just make out the lip of the tank. Far above it he could see shadows of the dangling catwalk, and somewhere above it the outline of the factory's dingy skylight.

Hank
Goddamn bastards! They cleared out and left me stuck down here...

His anger flared up like the sputter lighter and then died down. After that fall, he was lucky to be alive and unhurt. Besides, being left behind meant no time in any hench-tank. He was scot-free, provided he could get out of here.

He heard a loud plop behind him. He spun around, nearly slipping on the ooze-covered floor, and waved the lighter around. He saw nothing, at first, more of the same pools of ooze.

Suddenly the slime pools seemed to explode towards him. Hank screamed.

Several Months Later...

It was the usual drizzly fall day on British Columbia's Lower Mainland. David Marcolin was standing in line at the bank, desperately trying to get the song "Sex Bomb" out of his head. Damn Jim and his Tom Jones CD, he thought, subconsciously tapping the rhythm on the velvet rope. There was little else to do; it was lunch hour, the bank was moving at its usual glacial pace, and he had nothing more exciting to dwell on than his pending RRSP transfer, or this morning's rather dismal actinide column. He had to admit, Tom was far funkier than either of those subjects.

He gave in to the demonic rhythm and peered around at his fellow wage slaves. Considering the weather, most were draped in long overcoats. They could be hiding anything under there, he mused. His attention wandered to the thin, almost rat-like man stepping up to the teller carrying a large metal bucket. That's a lot of change, Marcolin thought.

The man silently passed the teller a deposit slip. From the look on her face, what was written on it clearly wasn't the deposit of several hundred dollars in quarters. Uh-oh.

Marcolin wasn't the only one to notice the robbery in progress. A security guard had drawn her gun and stepped up next to the man with the bucket. Her face was grim, but the robber simply smirked back at her as she spoke quietly to him. Suddenly a thick green-brown tentacle snaked out of the bucket, snatched the gun from her hand, and snapped it in pieces; then a second tentacle emerged and wrapped itself around the guard's neck and head. As she struggled, the robber, still smirking calmly, turned back to the terrified teller.

Okay, I think that's enough of that, thought Marcolin. By now the entire bank was in an uproar; customers were fleeing for the exits. Marcolin joined them, then ducked behind a potted plant. David Marcolin dissolved into an invisible cloud of deuterium gas, then resolidified into the brightly-coloured avatar of justice, Deuterium Boy!

Stepping out from behind the plant, Deuterium Boy pulled a Deuterium-O-Rang from his ever-stocked Useful Things belt, aimed over the heads of the fleeing customers, and threw. The D-shaped blade sliced through the tentacle holding the security guard and stuck into the counter. The robber turned, only mildly surprised to see Deuterium Boy striding towards him.

Deuterium Boy
I don't know what you've got in that bucket, buddy, but step away from it slowly.

The grin on Hank Hernandes' face widened. He'd been waiting for this.

Hank
Sure thing, Deuterium Boy.

Hank stepped back, and another tentacle shot out from inside the bucket. Deuterium Boy dodged, but the pseudopod managed to grab hold of his cape. Next a pair of large bats, the same mottled greeny-brown as the tentacles, flew out of the bucket, and began shrieking and diving around Deuterium Boy's head. The more he ducked and weaved to avoid the bats, the firmer the tentacle's grip became. He drew his sabre and started hacking at his attackers.

Hank calmly plucked the end of the severed tentacle from the security guard's shoulders. As he picked it up, the substance flowed and reshaped itself into a large knife. He held it to the unfortunate guard's throat, and turned back to the teller.

Hank
Now, uh... how about that money?

Deuterium Boy continued his struggles. The tentacle had worked its way around his throat and was trying to choke him, while the two scum-bats dived and clawed at his face. He slashed at them with the sword. He hit one, slicing straight through it; the bat's two halves sloshed to the floor, losing their form, then almost immediately reformed and took to the air again.

The frightened teller handed a sack to Hank.

Teller
It's all there, just under forty thousand.

Hank
That's it? You're not holding back on me, are you?

Teller
No, no!

Hank
Good girl.

He pulled a glob of scum from the bucket and slapped it across her mouth; it spread to cover the lower half of her face like a gag. Next he did the same to the security guard.

Hank
Those'll hold for a few minutes. When they're off, you can call the cops.

He whistled. The bats broke off their attack and flew back into the bucket, rejoining the rest of the scum with a disgusting shlorp. The tentacle holding Deuterium Boy severed itself from the material in the bucket and wound around him, binding him tightly like a rope. His sabre clattered to the floor.

Hank dropped the sack of money into the bucket, then hauled both off the counter. He kept the guard covered with the scum-knife as he backed away towards Deuterium Boy, now wrapped up like a stage magician in thick green and brown coils of rope. He struggled uselessly against the bonds. Hank stepped over him and dropped the knife back in the bucket.

Hank
I should finish you off, I guess, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. I gotta lot of work t'do. Yeah, and sorry about the smell, DB, but eh. You can't have it all, right?

He gave Deuterium Boy a playful kick in the ribs and rushed out of the bank. As soon as he was gone, the guard and several tellers rushed to gather around Deuterium Boy. The guard pulled her obnoxious gag off, turned and spat, then bent down over Deuterium Boy.

Guard
Deuterium Boy! Are you all right?

Deuterium Boy
Mmmh!

They pulled the slippery coils away from his mouth. He spluttered in disgust.

Deuterium Boy
KHAAANN!!!