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Legends: A Story of Lies [Star vs. The Forces of Evil, Gravity Falls, Big Bad Beetleborgs]
- Thread starter The Ero-Sennin
- Start date
Volume 8 EX: Resolution
The Ero-Sennin
Shitposter no more
- Joined
- Oct 2, 2014
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- 33,004
Been a while since this place has been active. Here's a capper chapter to bring it all together. Volume 9 is underway, had to do a bit of writing for 1899 arc and prepare for the story's scope to broaden, because things are about to get very complicated in Echo Creek.
Within the crypt hideout of the Magnavores, Barla emerged in a burst of black flame, walking up to Vexor as he read through the biography of Art Fortunes. Turning, he lowered the book and gestured to her with his unoccupied hand in a palm up, polite greeting.
"Dragonslayer Barla, it is good to see you returned alive; I sensed tremendous power during your battle, to the point it interfered with my scrying."
Barla nodded. "The battle was intense, more than I was told to expect."
Vexor found that curious. "Oh?"
"I've been told that these were children playing games, that when faced with a strong opponent, their resolve would shatter, and they would be exposed as the naïve fools Jara claimed they were."
Vexor detected how Barla's tone dipped and how she spat out Jara's name, when they had been so close at their reunion. However, he focused on Barla's observation. "I see."
"When we fought, however, they held their ground. No, when they saw the difference between us, they only attacked with greater intensity, determined to keep hitting me until something broke." She stopped and shook her head. "Even after all their efforts to harm me failed and I told them to surrender, they did not care and offered to continue fighting."
Barla looked at her scuffed and scorched armored gauntlets. "That is not the mindset of children pretending, that is a warrior's commitment to stand and fight, something that is supposed to be respected."
Vexor weighed on Barla's report. Despite the tremendous power he mentioned before… the battle was inconclusive. Indeed, Barla's armor bore the brunt of their ferocity. These were ominous signs regarding the success of this operation.
There was a greater concern, however. "Is everything well between you and Jara despite this error on her part?"
"No, and in the future, I will not associate with Jara directly. I will take orders from you, but not her. Nor will I join her on the battlefield unless otherwise commanded."
It was as Vexor worried. "What has brought this on?"
"Jara has demonstrated leadership, strategic, and combat ability not meeting the standards she had set out for her own Mercenary Army. For that, I have deemed her unfit as a warrior and leader and will disregard her as such."
A complication, and one that Vexor did not particularly care for. In less than half a day, the two mercenaries had gone from joyously reunited comrades to being on no speaking terms whatsoever. To say it could be a liability in future operations was an understatement. If their enemies learned of this discord, it would be a disaster.
He did not want to resort to this, but he had no choice.
"May I suggest, Barla," he began, "That you set aside this enmity towards Jara."
Barla did a double take. "Excuse me?"
"Since we arrived in this world, I have observed that Jara has not been herself in battle. Something has shaken her since our campaign started, and I fear that the death of Saberizer has deepened this trauma."
The Dragonslayer stared at Vexor in profound confusion, not expecting that explanation of Jara from him of all people. "… Ah… I see."
Vexor gestured to her. "In summoning you, it had been my hope that her morale would be boosted, and she would return to form. However, I see that has not happened."
He turned away from her, walking towards his sarcophagus. "Going forward, I suggest that the two of you discuss your differences in my presence, so that I may mediate and moderate your disagreement, and that you both may come to a resolution that does not interfere with or otherwise derail our campaign."
Reaching the end of the massive stone container, Vexor turned back to Barla and noted the strange look she was giving him. "Is something the matter?"
"No, it's not," Barla said. "As a matter of fact, what you've suggested is well-reasoned and sensible. I just wasn't expecting it from Vexor Gaohm."
"Oh?"
"From what I've understand, you're an insane egotist who thinks himself superior to both brothers of the Melzard Tribe and Bill Cipher."
Vexor chuckled. "That being true does not make me an insane egotist, Barla."
There it was. "How do you figure yourself superior to The Lord of Nightmares, The Abyssal King, and The One-Eyed Beast?"
Vexor gestured outward with both hands. "For all their power, the brothers of Melzard bicker like children, and that pointless, perpetual spat leaves them easy prey to the likes of Bill Cipher, who himself claimed to be all-powerful and brilliant in his insanity–but was little more than a trickster punching down upon lower beings. In every story I've heard of him, his undoings were against minds only slightly cleverer than the common ape."
"What you said about the Melzard isn't untrue," Barla admitted, "And honestly I've packed up enough of Bill's Henchmaniacs to see that in his absence they are more pitiful and non-threatening than he advertised them as."
She gestured to him. "Still, you'd never defeat any of them if you came to blows."
Vexor chuckled. "That goes without saying. However, through avoiding such blows, clarity of vision, and excellent fortune through the folly of our foes… I never have to."
He lifted his right hand aloft. "We are no longer prisoners of the perpetual entropic hell that is the Nightmare Realm. We can claim this reality for ourselves, and with time we can take any other reality we please while those fools we left behind burn in their prison."
With a sweep of his right arm, he gestured in the direction of Hillhurst. "Dealing with our enemies here is no different. Choosing how we engage them, disengaging as we see fit, manipulating the situation so we do not have to engage them. That is how the Magnavores will conquer this world, and then the stars, and then every corner of existence. That is why your assessment of them after this battle is so important and why resolving whatever conflict you have with Jara is even more so."
Barla was sold. More than convinced, she was impressed by Vexor. Of course he would have such an ego. Not only has his small group survived in the Nightmare Realm… they had gotten out.
"I see," she said softly, before she spoke louder. "Thank you, Vexor, for your criticism and advice. As… difficult as it is for me to bear it, I will speak to Jara and arrange that we settle things before you."
Vexor brought his hands together, grateful. "Ah, thank you, Barla. We can ill-afford any in-fighting. Fortunately, the next phases of our operation are in the hands of Typhus and Noxic, so you will have time to approach your friend."
Barla nodded. "Very well, I shall."
With that, Barla disappeared again in a jet of black flame. Alone in the crypt once more, Vexor folded his hands over his abdomen, as he began to pace around the sarcophagus, calculating a change to the strategy he set forth. One thing was for certain, he realized.
"I must be more hands on in my management of these four," he stated to himself.
It was well after nine in the evening at the Diaz Household, and most everyone else had gone home after the hearty meal to celebrate Marco's safe return. Only Dipper stayed behind, sitting on the edge of Star's bed as Marco–extra tired from the long and climactic day–lay on the bed directly beside him.
Star was in her closet, moving things around inside the strangely large room looking for the Magic Instruction Book.
Dipper huffed in amusement, trying to distract himself from the fact he was sitting so close to him. "How hard can a giant book be to find?"
"You want to go in there and help her? Be my guest." Marco cast a dark look towards the closet, remembering the last time he was in there. "I'm not setting foot in that heap again without my own Beetleborg armor."
"That bad, huh? Sounds like Mabel's closet."
Marco sat up, concerned. "Wait, is having messy closets just a thing that girls do?"
Dipper shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think we can put Mabel or Star in the same category as other girls."
There was a loud rumble and thump, before Star let out a grunt in frustration. "Ugh, it was on my bed when we left earlier. Glossaryk, did you move the book in here?"
Almost immediately, a voice replied from under the bed. "Well, I'm not going to just let it sit around in the open. While I don't mind Janna having a look, that Jo girl has an evil glint in her eye."
Dipper and Marco both looked down at the floor just off the edge of the bed, as another, larger rumble filled the room. A large, dromaeosaurid dinosaur leaped out of the closet, Star perched upon its back and gripping its reins. She was dressed like she was auditioning for a spot in a Predator remake.
Both boys jumped back onto the bed, Dipper instinctively putting his arms out to shield Marco behind him, as Star leaped off the dinosaur and then slapped its flank.
"Go back inside, Sprinkles Refreshing," She commanded. With a loud coo, like a pigeon with the deepest possible voice, the dinosaur stalked back into the closet and the door shut behind it.
Star laid down on the floor to look under the bed, then reached under. "Well, then you can come out now…" She pulled back, the leather strap that bound the book gripped in her hand. "… Because we need to talk!"
She dragged the massive Magic Instruction Book out from under the bed like she was pulling a tire through a roadside drainage pipe to unclog it.
Emerging like said tire, the Magic Instruction book opened with a thud to reveal two pages: The first featuring snakes in varying shades of purple zigzagging across the page, and the second bearing a bleached white skull with glowing blue chains extending to the corners of the page–as though to lock the contents beyond it. And from the very center of the book itself, Sir Glossaryck of Terms emerged from a circle of blue light, floating with his legs folded beneath him and his arms tucked into the sleeves of his shirt in front of him.
Dipper's attention darted sharply from the locked page to Glossaryck, who was facing Star.
"Also, you didn't even offer me any food," he continued grieving over why he hid. "Maybe Glossaryck wanted some pizza and chicken wings, did it ever occur to you to ask?"
Staring back at him, Star slowly shook her head. "Not really, no."
Marco hit upon an idea, but kept it to himself, as Star pointed at Dipper. "But I did bring Dipper!"
Glossaryck turned around, the book's pages flipping towards the front and concealing the pages he emerged from, to face the indicated young man. "Oh, you… did?"
The little blue creature stopped and stared at the younger Pines Twin, an expression that a human could mistake for surprise appearing on his features before he floated up to and began circling around him as if examining a statue. "… Hmm…"
"Uhh… hi?" Dipper asked as he followed Glossaryck's path around him.
Glossaryck didn't respond, instead humming in interest as he came around in front of him. "… Curious."
He floated up to Dipper's face, and pushed up his curly bangs, revealing the Big Dipper-shaped birthmark on his forehead. "… Fascinating!"
Dipper's eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance. "Do you mind?"
Glossaryck pulled back and inserted his right hand into his left arm's sleeve. "You really are the Pine Tree; then Bill Cipher is truly dead."
"I hope so," Dipper said. "And don't call me 'Pine Tree' or 'The Pine Tree' or 'Conifer' or any nickname like that."
The strange creature nodded. "All right, Mason it is!"
"DIPPER," he corrected sharply.
Marco looked at Dipper. "Wait, your name's really Mason?"
"Do not call me that," Dipper said. "The only names I will answer to are Dipper or Tyrone."
Marco wasn't sure about that one. "I don't know if this is racist, but you do not look like a Tyrone to me."
"It is, and he doesn't," Glossaryck said.
This was getting off to a great start, said no one. In fact, everyone in the room with comprehensible minds thought the opposite as Star intervened. "Glossaryck! I said we needed to talk!"
"Right, of course," Glossaryck said. "But it's late, and I wasn't offered any pizza…"
Marco knew he'd go for it, and countered Glossaryck's childishness. "We have some leftovers, and it's still a bit above room temperature."
That changed Glossaryck's tune completely. "Do you, now? That's when it is the best for eating."
Dipper had to hand it to Marco as he continued bargaining with Glossaryck. "And you'll get all of it when you tell us everything we need to know without any riddles or cryptic wordplay."
"Yeah, no metaphors, either," Star said.
Glossaryck gave them all a disappointed look. "You're really taking the fun out of this."
"Well, it's the fate of the world," Star argued. "Maybe two!"
The tiny blue man's expression brightened at that. "Well, when you put it with such actual concern, how can I disagree? What would you like to know?"
Dipper was the one who asked. "You've been around for a long time; did you know a Dr. Hillhurst?"
Glossaryck went unusually still as he hovered in the air–like a figurine locked in time and space where he floated. The only thing changing was his face, his eyes widening as old memories resurfaced behind his diamond-shaped pupils.
"Huh, that is a name I have not heard in a long time," he said with the interest of a wizened sage being reminded of an old life. "Dr. Aloysius Hillhurst?"
"Yeah."
Glossaryck appeared to understand, and his next words confirmed it. "His house is still there, isn't it? And you found something in it you need my help to open."
The three teens all shared surprised looks.
"Can you?" Star asked.
Glossaryck shook his head. "Nope."
Marco jumped on that. "Are you able to?"
"Nope," Glossaryck repeated.
"Why?" Dipper asked.
"Because it's not my place to, and as it's not my place, it is not something I can open," Glossaryck explained. "Magic is funny like that. What I can tell you, is that you've probably primed two of the locks… you just need the third key:"
He waved his hands like someone exaggerating a mystical artifact. "The Warden's Ring."
Now they had even more questions. "And what's that?"
Glossaryck made good on his promise of straight answers. "It's a ring of great magical power, bestowed once upon a time to a group of powerful warriors called–well–Wardens."
Star asked. "Like… Jail Warden?"
"Warden is a funny word with multiple meanings, but in this case, it means protector," Glossaryck explained. "The Wardens were once guardians of Magic, serving to protect all dimensions from The Forces of Evil."
"Like Mina Loveberry, the Solarian Warrior!" Star said excitedly.
Glossaryck's expression shifted to one of mild distaste at the mention of that name–if only for an instant–as he confirmed Star's suggestion. "Erm… yes, like her."
Something that made this little weirdo uncomfortable? Marco was curious. "Who's Mina?"
"Oh, just Mewni's greatest warrior. She's basically our Kim Possible," Star explained.
Marco stopped. "Why haven't we called on her?"
"Because she'd tell my Mom," Star explained, "And that would be that."
Glossaryck agreed. "There are other reasons to not want to deal with Mina, but we'll go with that as the most pertinent one."
Expecting more details later, Dipper stayed on topic. "So, what happened to the Wardens?"
"Most of them are gone now," Glossaryck said. "The Warden of this dimension is one of the last. If not the very last one."
"What happened to them?" Dipper asked.
"It varied. Some simply lost their lives in the line of duty, grew old and passed on, or fought in a big civil war to try to conquer the multiverse and wiped themselves out. What I know for certain is that there's hardly any left. The last Warden I knew was a friend of Dr. Hillhurst, who took it upon herself to be the protector of this dimension."
There sounded like a lot was going on back in Dr. Hillhurst's day. "How much do you know about what happened with Dr. Hillhurst?"
"Yeah, why is there a shrine that only reacts to Star and I?" Marco asked.
"Not a terribly great deal. I only met Dr. Hillhurst briefly," Glossaryck said as he looked from Marco to Star, "As your Great-Great Grandmother Celena did not rely on me as much as other bearers of the wand."
"Great-Great Grandma Celena came to Earth before?" Star asked, surprised.
Glossaryck nodded. "Of course. This dimension has a long history with Mewni. Celena visited here, your Grandfather on your mother's side is from here–"
"WAIT, WHAT?!" Star shouted.
"Your mother didn't tell you?" Glossaryck asked, before he realized the pointlessness of bothering. "Oh, who am I kidding? With how she foisted you on your father and Royal Guard and only steps in to discipline you, it's no wonder you barely know anything about her."
"My mother didn't…" Pausing, Star took a moment to reflect. "… Okay, yeah, she did do that. A lot."
Marco and Dipper shared awkward looks as the conversation took a turn despite their best efforts.
Star, prescient of this, valiantly stopped making this about her. "Anyway! You don't know why Great-Great Grandma came here, right? Did you find out… at all?"
Glossaryck shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, it wasn't something she talked about at all, to anyone. Not that she talked about much of anything, there's a reason she's called Celena The Shy."
"So how do we find this Warden?" Marco asked. "If this all happened that long ago, then she's probably as long gone as Celena."
Glossaryck stroked his beard.. "That's true. Given how the Warden Ring survived through the ages into the last century, however, I don't doubt that she passed it on to a descendant."
"How do we find her descendants, then?"
The tiny creature chuckled. "Oh that one's easy: just look for the strongest person around dressed in pink, and you've found this world's Warden."
"Pink?" The three said in unison again, before Marco's eyes shot wide in recognition.
"… There's no way," he said suddenly, in awe and a little fear of the coincidences he's encountered today.
"Who…?" Dipper asked.
Marco looked at Glossaryck, then at Dipper and Star. "I think he's talking about SheZow."
A moment of silence passed, before Dipper asked. "… The same SheZow who got run out of her hometown on a rail and has not appeared since?"
Another moment of silence passed, before Marco palmed his face with both hands. "Of course…"
Star rested a hand on Marco's shoulder. "Don't worry, Marco! I'm sure we can find SheZow, and who knows… maybe we can get her to help us against the Magnavores!"
Dipper agreed. "She's right. After everything that happened to her, I think SheZow would love to have a comeback."
Surprisingly, Glossaryck was on the same page. "I wouldn't mind meeting a Warden after everything that was said and done with them."
"Then we have another thing to ask Elise about," Dipper said. "I feel like getting the armoire open will answer a lot of questions about Hillhurst Mansion, Flabber, and the monsters."
Glossaryck perked up. "Ooh, I'd like to meet them, too. You wouldn't mind introducing me some time, would you, Star?"
"Not at all," Star said.
"We'll probably need to bring the book over to the house anyway," Dipper said. "Something this useful should stay in the Beete Battle Base"
That was a good point. Before further plans could be made, there was a knock at the door. When all looked over, Angie opened it and peeked inside.
"Marco, Star, there's someone outside who wants to see you, one of your classmates," she revealed.
Marco turned to her. "Huh, which one?"
"Brittney," Angie revealed.
The three teens all looked at each other, and then at the time. What could Brittney Wong want at this time of night?
With the help of the Dimensional Scissors, Drew and Jo stepped into the small backyard of their home, fenced off and out of view from their cul-de-sac neighbors in their almost identical and prefabricated clay shingle-roofed homes. Looking at one another, they nodded and crept around the side of the house and reached the open garage door containing their family's vehicles.
"There's no way Dad's not up," Jo said. "He's going to give you shit."
Drew shrugged his shoulders, as they went to the door leading to the kitchen. "I mean, yeah? School got cut early, and we've basically been no show all day. What else is he going to do but bitch at me?"
Jo couldn't help her snicker at Drew's harsh attitude. She was even more amused when Drew simply stepped into the kitchen rather than attempt a discreet entrance. He strode ahead of her, headed into the living room.
Mr. and Mrs. McCormick were both waiting, turning to look at Drew simultaneously as he came into the living room. Mr. McCormick, his expression droll and unimpressed as always at first, grew genuinely surprised when he saw his son's bandage-free and unblemished face. Mrs. McCormick, her own usually down-cast if not neutral look lit with genuine concern, moved to rise from her seat, but then stopped in confusion when she saw Drew's face and the general lack of concern in both her children.
"Andrew…?" She began, before Mr. McCormick raised his hand up off the armrest of his chair in a calm, halting gesture. Pausing, she quietly yielded to him as she retired back to her chair but stayed on the edge of it.
Drew and Jo's gazes lingered on her as they turned to their father, who did not bother to rise and was schooling his expression as he adjusted his glasses with two fingers. His gaze was locked on Drew, looking at him in the same way one would look at a crack they had just discovered in their car's windshield after an already bad day.
"Where have you two been? Why did you not come straight home after school?"
"We were hanging out with Roland," Drew said, before Jo could.
"At Zoom?" Mr. McCormick asked, sounding like he'd take that affirmative and then call Nano for the security tapes to be sure.
"No, we were practicing karate all day," Drew explained.
Sensei Brantley didn't have cameras in his dojo.
Mr. McCormick found that unusual. "Since when do you practice karate?"
Jo stepped in. "Since a couple weeks ago, Dad. We practice over at the Hill-Trank Plaza like three times a week."
Their father narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Aren't you two a little old for karate kicks?"
"You're never too old to start," Jo argued. "Plus, it's something for us to do beside read comics all day. That's something you've been on us about, right?"
On Drew about, but Jo was in something of a fighting mood and throwing some shit back in a hater's face.
Expressing his doubts, and wanting to focus on his son, Mr. McCormick let out a dismissive hum before gesturing at Drew's face. "What happened to your bruises, and the bandages?"
Bringing a hand to his cheek, Drew blinked owlishly before he shrugged his shoulders with the same dismissive energy. "Oh, I guess I got better."
"Better, huh?" Mr. McCormick scrutinized Drew's face before looking him up and down. "No… I think you lied about getting beaten up. To try to get sympathy to go to your dance."
Drew lowered his hand from his face. "Uh-huh, and since when could I expect sympathy from you?"
Silence fell on the McCormick household's living room following that. Mrs. McCormick drew back slightly, her eyes widening slightly with apprehension as Jo looked up at her brother, impressed.
Drew stared his Dad down, feeling the same intense defiance that he faced Barla with earlier. "Full disclosure, Dad. On Friday and Saturday I snuck out of this house under your nose to attend the homecoming game and to go to Karate, and I'm glad I did, because both times I ran into Brittney Wong–who showed more human decency to me than you have in my entire life and took me to get treated for all those injuries you scoffed at me having and still grounded me."
He slipped his left hand into his pocket and gestured with his raised right palm from side to side. "All so I could go to the dance, which I did while you were out playing charade date night with Mom."
Jo held up her phone, showing a picture of a selfie she took with Drew, Roland, Sabrina, Janna, Chantal, Megan, and Brittney. Drew had his arms over both Janna and Sabrina's shoulders as all three beamed at the camera, Roland was tipping his hat with his cane and smirking while a grinning Megan hugged his side. Chantal and Jo were making cute pouty faces at the camera, while Brittney simply had an expression of being too glamorous for any picture even with remains of pie on her face.
It was such a good picture, being completely ruined by the news of Dipper breaking the news at what happened at Hillhurst some few minutes later.
"See?" Jo said. "Drew even danced with a cheerleader, it was so much fun."
Mr. McCormick stared at the image on the phone, his face fixed but his eyes giving away his confusion. He looked up at his son, who folded his arms and quietly dared him to say something passive-aggressive.
He did not disappoint. "Even with the picture, I find it hard to believe that's you."
"Yeah, well… that's really always been your problem." Drew said, before he began counting on his fingers. "If I get hurt; it's my fault. If I stand up for myself, I'm wrong. I fail at something, I'm not good enough. But if anything happens to go my way? You cannot believe it, or that's not right–like in your eyes I'm supposed to be a loser who's not allowed to have anything."
Drew let his hands drop to his side. "I have a great idea, Dad. How about you keep your passive-aggressive mind games to yourself, because I'm not afraid of them–or you–anymore. Just listen to your shitty Eagles and pretend you're the most normal guy in the world who needs to bully his own son to feel like he's achieved anything in life."
With that, he turned and headed upstairs. "Oh, and Don Henley and Glenn Frey would call you a loser if they ever met you!"
Jo watched her brother go, then looked at her parents. Her mother was ashen, her normally tired eyes wide with shock as she covered her mouth with her fingers.
Mr. McCormick, however, just sat frozen, watching Drew ascend the stairs. Jo could see it in his eyes. The irrational contempt, the indignity of being told off by someone he looked down on like he was an insect.
She hated that look so much, and she still didn't understand why he was like this.
If she could do it, she'd just walk up and swing at his face.
With all of her might.
"… Jo, go to your room," Mr. McCormick said flatly. "Don't be like that loser."
No, he wasn't worth it and never would be.
"Sure thing, Dad," she said as she headed up the stairs. "And he's right, you know."
Rather than bother to hear anything he had to say in reply–he thankfully didn't–Jo walked over to Drew's room and tapped on it. "Hey, it's me."
A few locks turned before the door opened. Drew was sitting on his bed, looking at his phone as she stepped in and closed it behind her.
"So…" She began. "… When are we ending this relationship?"
Drew looked up at her. "Honestly? We can do it anytime, now. Trip and Van are gone, and after dealing with Barla, and Jara? Why am I afraid of that piece of shit?"
"I'm surprised you haven't force-choked him out, yet."
"He is not worth any of that."
"Oh good, we're on the same page."
Drew looked at Sabrina's message again. "Dad's just a bitter jackass who's made my entire life about being lesser than him. If there's anything worse than your personality being 'having money' it's building it around your own son being your sworn enemy for life."
"Some Manga Gendo Ikari bullshit, just without our Mom being a giant robot."
"Or you being a weird clone of her I have conflicted feelings about."
"Ew."
Both laughed at the absurdity of their lives being anything like Evangelion, before Jo gestured to her brother. "Say the word, and I'll drop the hammer. And by the hammer I mean Nano. Dad will be gone and we'll probably find out why he's even got it out for you."
"Honestly? At this point I don't even care about the why. I really just want him gone like the 'Hoffs."
"Bet!" Jo said brightly. "You don't even worry about it, then. Just focus on dealing with the bad bitches and bad bitches causing you problems and leave the rest to me."
Drew chuckled. "Yeah, thanks." He looked down at his phone again, at Sabrina's awkward yet eager text asking him out. "I'm probably going to be busy this week, so I'll be happy to have another pain in my neck gone by the end of it."
"So we can focus on the real aches, right?" Jo went to open the door. "By the way… Sabrina or Janna?"
"… Between them and Heather, I don't know," Drew admitted truthfully. "I don't really know how to deal with girls."
"Don't look at me, I don't know how to deal with girls either and I'm pretty sure I'm one," Jo said.
"Well, I've always liked Heather; with Sabrina… I dunno, I don't think I've ever hung out with a girl who just likes me, and Janna…"
She fascinated him, as much as she got on his nerves.
Drew smiled. "I don't get Janna."
"Cryptids I do understand. Of course you don't get Janna. I don't think even Star or Mabel get Janna. I think the only person who actually knows Janna's whole deal is Jackie, and maybe Marco, since I know she would mess with him, too."
Drew remembered his conversation with Janna about Jackie the other day. "I got that feeling they were close."
"Close? My brother before The One Above All, for a while I thought those two were dating." Rather than give Drew a chance to entertain that mental image, she quickly jogged his attention
"If you want my dogshit observational opinion?" She continued. "I think Janna is a ball-buster specifically to deflect anyone away from actually getting close to her emotionally."
Drew knew that was something Jo did, and he was pretty sure she came to that conclusion first because of that.
Jo then shrugged her shoulders. "That, or she's just a tryhard who wants people to think she's this macabre wannabe witch. You know, like how Marco tries too hard being a bad boy."
That sounded more reasonable. Janna didn't come off as someone who wasn't confident in herself or had a life at home she wanted to hide.
"I guess," Drew said, "But I still don't understand what she meant by being generous."
"What else could she mean?" Jo asked, almost incredulous.
"You tell me, you're the smart one."
"Academically speaking, yes, and my ability to break things down mechanically… but have you seen the social disaster I've been the last couple of weeks? I was about to turn this into a group project."
Drew winced. "Fair enough."
"Me being the hammer… erhm… ugh." She stopped and sighed. "I'm not going to use hammer puns anymore." She stopped and restarted. "Me being the blunt bitch that I am, I suggest you inquire to Janna directly. Not on the phone, face-to-face with her and don't let her misdirect or sly-talk you. Figure out where you two stand, and if she's really implying that she wants to make you into Blue Beet for real."
Obviously Jo was harkening back to her complaints about Blue Beet in the comics being basically a western-written harem protagonist, but Drew was a comics nerd, he had to make a deeper cut. "I hope not, Blue Beet did literally die and had to be brought back to life."
"That was a good storyline, though," Jo pointed out.
"Oh, the best Art Fortunes ever written, hands down. I'm just not too keen on the dying part because the resurrection half of it is probably not possible."
Jo wholeheartedly agreed with that. "Well, just leave keeping you alive to me and Roland. Good night, broseph."
Drew chuckled. "Picking up on Mabel's thing?"
"What? It's cute," Jo snapped back before she left his room and let it swing closed.
Looking at the door with a small smirk, Drew used his telekinesis to secure the locks before he lay back and held his phone above his face with both hands to look at the screen.
Sabrina said:
Hello Andrew! I hope this text message sees you well. I wanted to tell you again that I had a very good time at the dance and I hope you did too!
I was hoping that since we had so much fun, that you would like to hang out again. We could go see a movie, grab some food, or even take a walk down Santa Monica Pier! Or all three! Actually, all three sounds really good, it could be an entire afternoon and it'll be super fun!
I'm sorry I'm rambling, but I'm super nervous, I've never asked a boy out on my own before. And you're like the coolest boy I've ever met. So anyway text me back! Thank you for taking the time to read!
For now, he decided he'd hang out with Sabrina. She was nice, and it wasn't complicated or inscrutable like Heather or Janna.
Drew said:
Hey Sabrina. I've been thinking a lot about the dance, too, and it was nice to hang out with you. I don't know when I'll next be free, but how about on Saturday we take that walk to Santa Monica Pier? I've always wanted to go to the Aquarium over there and walk along the beach.
He hadn't even set his phone down after sending that message, when he got an abrupt reply.
Sabrina said:
OMG YES!!! Okay! I'm going to ask Brittney if Dudley can give us a ride there! I can't wait to see you again!!!
Drew rested his phone on his chest and looked up at the ceiling.
"… Can't wait to see me again?"
If someone had told him a month ago that a Cheerleader would ask him to a dance and then want to go on a date with him after, he'd have called that person an insane idiot and wondered who was playing a prank on him. Even now, he was having a hard time believing it was really happening.
He wasn't, however, going to say it didn't feel amazing.
Star, Marco, and Dipper walked outside the Diaz home to find Brittney and Dudley standing outside of the former's G-Wagen. Brittney had her arms folded, like she'd been waiting for them to show up, while Dudley was standing straight, with an elegant and dignified air about him.
Marco almost didn't recognize the guy. "Wait, is that Dudley?"
"Good evening, Master Dipper, Master Marco, your Highness," he greeted. "Master Brittney would like to have a word with you."
It was Dudley, Marco was about to ask more about how he came to work for her, but Brittney derailed that with her inquiry. "So, I'm gonna cut to the chase: I think the McCormick kids and Roland are the Beetleborgs."
The three froze where they stood, surprised that she would just come out swinging with that. All three shared quick, wide-eyed looks.
Rather than take their reaction as validation, Brittney took the time to explain her reasoning. "Drew and Roland were in at the dance and Jo wasn't, but the Red Beetleborg showed up to fight that hammer idiot, and only after it was done, did Jo show up for the dance."
The three looked at each other again, then at Brittney.
"I also watched all the videos posted of the fight before that, over at the creek bridge. You guys were all gathered around and waiting for the Blue Beetleborg to come back from wherever he went… and when he got back, he seemed like he got roughed up. Then look who's going around like a freshly bruised mummy unwilling to explain how he got them besides 'I got roughed up by monsters?'"
The three looked at each other a third time, then at Brittney.
"I'm not here because I'm going to snitch or blow up your spot," she continued, "I'm here because I don't want any of my friends getting hurt because they don't know what they're getting into. And also, because I want to know how I can help."
Dipper… did not expect this. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Brittney snapped back. "I'm not the two and three quarters bitches from before the dance. I want to move on to making sure me and mine are safe."
Marco looked at Star, but Star was now looking at Brittney with the biggest smile on her face. "Star, wait–"
Star turned to him. "No, no this is good. This is really good!"
She went over and took Brittney's hands, surprising her. "If we have Brittney on our side, that means we have effectively the power of THREE Princesses backing us up!"
"I don't know…" Marco was concerned about the number of people knowing getting bigger.
"Plus, Brittney has access to big tough dudes with guns and robots who can cover us!"
Brittney frowned. "Hold on, that Hench Co. thing was Daddy letting me use his account. I can't just do that."
Dipper asked. "But if you could do that, would you?"
Brittney nodded. "Pfft, duh! Of course! I'm already writing up a proposal to get them full-time as security for the school. I want to be able to graduate this year and not have classes be interrupted by monsters and supervillains."
Star turned right back to Dipper and Marco, both of whom still had suspicions. "I don't know…" Said the latter, "I mean, what brought this on?"
She sighed at her boyfriend's understandable reluctance, knowing he missed some context. "Marco, before you get weird about it? Brittney and I? We're cool."
She hugged Brittney for emphasis, and despite being unused to the affection–let alone it being from Star Butterfly–Brittney returned the hug.
"Like I said, the beef is squashed," the Queen Bee of the school declared. "And I want to help out because this involves me, I have a lot of money, and I want to invest in not being bothered by those Magnavore creeps."
That was shockingly pragmatic, not as shocking as Marco realizing that the end of conflict between Star and Brittney was actually real. "Okay, there is a lot flying at me tonight and I'm really tired from fighting monsters and not breaking a Karen's neck."
"Oh, me too!" Star pointed out. "I am about to crash."
Dipper, tired himself, nodded. "All right. We'll get you in touch with our representative then, and you can talk to her about how you can help us out. Just as long as you don't do stuff like you did last week and nearly get your face slapped off."
Brittney whipped her hair and sniffed arrogantly. "I would've taken his arm off if Miss Skullnick hadn't jumped in."
"Sure," Dipper and Marco said as one, while Star genuinely believed Brittney absolutely would've done it… somehow.
Satisfied with tonight's meeting, Brittney stepped back. "I'll leave you to get rest, then. I mean it when I say I want to help, and I'm willing to take orders on how to best do it so this nonsense will be over with sooner than later."
Marco had his doubts about such a commitment, but having people who could help honestly felt good. "All right, I believe you, and if Star and Dipper are cool with it then so am I."
"I am so cool with it!" Star said.
Dipper nodded. "Yeah, me too. Welcome to the coalition, I guess."
Brittney noted that none confirmed that the Beetleborgs were who she suspected, but she was fine with that. If they were okay with her helping them, she could wait a bit to find out for sure.
Still, she had one more question to ask before she got in her G-Wagen. "One more thing."
Star rejoined Marco's side. "What's up?"
Brittney pointed between the two of them. "Are you two dating?"
"Nope!" Both of them said in unison. Dipper was impressed at the speed they answered, even as he was reminded of this unfortunate turn of events for himself.
The young woman rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I get it; you don't want people knowing if you're mashing faces, but believe me? Everybody already thinks you are–StarFan13 ships you for Pete's sake. So, cough it up, I won't tell anyone if you are, and tell everyone that you aren't."
Sharing one more look, and with a consenting nod from Marco, Star answered her. "Okay, we've just started dating, and we're kind of too busy to be up front about it."
Marco nodded. "Yeah, let people think what they want to think, and otherwise mind their own business."
Brittney could respect that. "Okay, that's all I wanted to know."
Though, now she was curious about how Jackie Lynn Thomas factored into their whole dynamic. Her gaze lingering on Marco before she turned away, she decided it wasn't her business.
Dudley nodded and tipped his hat to the three teens, before letting Brittney into her car and going to the driver's seat. The G-Wagen then pulled a U-turn and drove off down the road to its destination in Upper Echo Creek.
"I'm… not used to Brittney talking directly to me and not throwing an insult in there somewhere," Marco admitted.
"If you want, you can imagine she was insulting you," Star suggested.
Marco laughed. "No, no… I'm going to roll with this one. Besides, after dealing with those cops? It's nice to know that there are people on our side who aren't just our friends and family."
Star smiled. "Yeah, it is."
"So, uh…" Dipper began, drawing their attention, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "… Before I leave, can I just say something, myself?"
"Sure, what's up?" Marco asked.
"You're not going to veto Brittney joining up, are you?" Star asked.
"No, not that… this is a personal thing, and I think I should get it off my chest and out of the way before we start getting into drama on top of fighting." Dipper said. "Back when we first met, I was… kinda into you?"
Star froze where she stood, and she looked from Dipper and back at Marco–whom Dipper was speaking to.
Oh no, he chooses now to just drop it on him? She thought in alarm.
Marco stared at Dipper, blinking slowly. "… Wh… huh?"
"And… I'm not saying this as a confession thing, or some vain hope that you'll be into me, too…" He stopped himself from trying to ramble on. "I'm just putting it out there so we're all on the same page and it doesn't get weird."
Marco processed that for a second. "… Ohh… You liked the Princess Marco look, right?"
Dipper nodded. "Well, yeah." Before Marco could reassure Dipper that he wasn't the first guy to be tripped up by his Princess form, he continued. "But I also liked what I saw after you changed back."
"Yeah, well you're not the–" Mouth open and hand raised for the aforementioned reassurance, Marco paused, and then his face colored slightly. "… Oh."
"Sorry, for springing this on you, man. I just wanted to get it out of the way, like I said…"
Marco held up his hands, his reassurance now stronger than ever. "What? Don't be sorry! I'm just surprised, I never thought a guy would just come out and say he liked me liked me."
Honestly it was both validating and relieving, especially after finding out that Trip had been into his feminine persona. Funny as that was. People with taste besides Star thought he was hot, and he could live with that. Enjoy it even.
Dipper was relieved that it didn't get weird, and he hoped it wouldn't get weird later. Between fighting the Magnavores and working with Star and the Magic Instruction Book, he had a feeling he'd be close to Star and Marco going forward a lot more.
"Anyway, I'm going to get home. You guys take care, all right? Don't stay up too late," he said.
"I wasn't kidding about wanting to crash," Marco promised. "Later, Dipper."
Star was likewise happy that nothing melted down or even came close to a runaway reaction. "I'll make sure Marco gets his beauty sleep! As long as you get yours, Dipper!"
Waving, Dipper headed up the street towards Shermie's home, and both Star and Marco turned towards their house.
"Dipper has a crush on me," Marco said.
"Yep," Star said.
He looked at her. "Did you know?"
"I'm pretty sure everyone else knows."
Marco stopped at the door. "How did I not notice?"
"A general combination of you being extremely focused on first Jackie Lynn Thomas and then me, combined with all the schooling, teaching, and fighting you do on top of being already awesome."
Marco laughed a moment after that. "And here I thought I was the PHD."
Star then placed her hands on his shoulders. "But Marco, the important thing is… how do you feel about this?"
How considerate of her to ask him. "I mean… Dipper's a tall handsome guy, but I have a girlfriend. That girlfriend is you."
Marco stopped. "Wait, are you looking at this like a yao–"
"Whoa! No! Nonononono–!" Star insisted. "Marco, I just don't want there to be drama. If Dipper likes you, he likes you! If you like Dipper, you like Dipper!"
Marco tried to get a word in edgewise, but then Star hit him with a curveball he didn't see coming. "Same with Jackie Lynn Thomas! If you like her, you like her! I won't mind because Dipper and Jackie are people I like, too! And I like seeing all the people I like hanging out and being happy with people I like! Which is you, who I like, a bunch!"
Immediately, Marco recalled the interaction from the night before, after Misao was rescued and everyone was discussing their shipping being wrecked on the awful rocks of reality. Specifically, he zeroed in on what Jackie had said that had been at the back of his mind since.
"… OT3?"
He had just said he was exhausted, but the implications of what he just learned were going to keep him up for at least half the night, now.
At least if he didn't confirm it. "… Star, I'm going to ask you this very slowly, and you are going to answer me slowly, so you have as much time to think about your answer as I do."
Star nodded, perceptibly slow. "Okay," she said, matching his verbal cadence.
He reached up and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Are you saying, in all confidence, that it's okay if I want to date Jackie Lynn Thomas and/or Dipper, even while I'm dating you. Like… an open relationship or polyamory thing?"
Star answered, with powerful slowness. "I do not know what polyamory means, but I do know that I am okay with you dating Jackie Lynn Thomas and Dipper, and me… because I would like to date Jackie Lynn Thomas and Dipper and you, too."
Suddenly Marco looked around, like he was scanning for hidden enemies or the paparazzi about to ambush.
"What's wrong?" Star asked, with the same slowness.
"You don't have to do that anymore," Marco assured her. "I'm just making sure Janna's not hiding somewhere and this is a bit."
"It's not a bit, I swear," Star said. "I am down for the OT3.. or OT4, I mean… it's up to you what you want to do. Jackie and Mabel both say that communication and being on the same page is important in this kind of thing."
Marco thought he'd be able to sleep on this, but now he knew he definitely was not going to. "Are… are you sure?"
Star pulled Marco in and hugged him. "Of course I'm sure, Marco. The bad guys are getting stronger, there are other people messing with us, and all I want is for my friends to be happy. All my friends, and the guy I am totally in love with."
As Star continued, Marco slowly brought his arms up and returned the hug.
"If we're all fighting for each other as much as we are alongside each other, then nobody can beat us. Ever."
Beneath a highway bridge crossing the Los Angeles river, just off a bike path that ran underneath it, TC sat on the edge of the river, beside the torn apart remains of a human body. In his right hand, he held a strip of skin and connected flesh, blood dripping from it, while in his free hand he held his phone, watching video of the battle at Britta's Tacos. He frowned when he happened to catch sight of himself incidentally fleeing during the fight captured by a news camera.
"Guess I'm not going back to Echo Creek anymore," he mused aloud. "For the best, Brittney didn't give off the vibe I was hoping for. Those Vanderhoff boys fell off the face of the Earth, too, so… no safe harbor."
He took a big bite out of the strip of flesh. "Maybe there's somewhere in the Palisades I can chill. I can't be sneaking around like this anymore. I am too rich for this shit."
CLACK
Alarmed, TC turned and looked with wide eyes down the edge of the river. Gabe stood there, with his shirasaya held in front of him, driven so hard into the concrete shore that it was cracked and split beneath it. In the dark, he couldn't see his face, but the way his face gripped the shaft of the shirasaya in his right hand, while his left hand pulled the hilt of his sword out of the lacquered wooden sheath.
"Too rich?" Gabe greeted him calmly as he pulled the sword. "Ain't nobody too rich for an ass-beating, fuck nigga."
TC tossed aside his meal and stood up, blood dripping from his hand as he closed his phone screen and put it away. "How the fuck did you find me?"
"I'm more embarrassed that I didn't find you sooner," Gabe admitted.
Drawing his sword fully, he held it out at his side as he walked towards TC, using the sheath like a walking stick. "You really out here killing people in broad daylight, and tryna hide out in Echo Creek. Not only is you sloppy, you're dumb, too."
TC narrowed his eyes, practically bristling at the remark. "Can't fault a nigga for being hungry."
"You ain't allowed to say that shit," Gabe shot back. "Now turn the fuck up or get cut the fuck up–I don't mind either way."
Baring his teeth, TC lowered his posture as his violet eyes took on an unearthly glow. "Oh, my pass is revoked, too? Guess I'm switchin' to the hard R, then. I don't need to be smart or clean, Goblin. I got luck on my side, and I know I'm stronger than you."
Gabe stopped, and his neutral expression finally shifted into an unamused scowl. "Nah, you ain't getting away this time."
With that he shot towards TC at high speed, pulling back his sword to swing down, as the hoodie-wearing young man's lips split into a blood-thirsty grin, and he leaped at him in turn.
Legends: A Story of Lies Volume 9 will be here in the Spring... I hope.
= - = 8-EX = - =
|Resolution|
|Resolution|
Within the crypt hideout of the Magnavores, Barla emerged in a burst of black flame, walking up to Vexor as he read through the biography of Art Fortunes. Turning, he lowered the book and gestured to her with his unoccupied hand in a palm up, polite greeting.
"Dragonslayer Barla, it is good to see you returned alive; I sensed tremendous power during your battle, to the point it interfered with my scrying."
Barla nodded. "The battle was intense, more than I was told to expect."
Vexor found that curious. "Oh?"
"I've been told that these were children playing games, that when faced with a strong opponent, their resolve would shatter, and they would be exposed as the naïve fools Jara claimed they were."
Vexor detected how Barla's tone dipped and how she spat out Jara's name, when they had been so close at their reunion. However, he focused on Barla's observation. "I see."
"When we fought, however, they held their ground. No, when they saw the difference between us, they only attacked with greater intensity, determined to keep hitting me until something broke." She stopped and shook her head. "Even after all their efforts to harm me failed and I told them to surrender, they did not care and offered to continue fighting."
Barla looked at her scuffed and scorched armored gauntlets. "That is not the mindset of children pretending, that is a warrior's commitment to stand and fight, something that is supposed to be respected."
Vexor weighed on Barla's report. Despite the tremendous power he mentioned before… the battle was inconclusive. Indeed, Barla's armor bore the brunt of their ferocity. These were ominous signs regarding the success of this operation.
There was a greater concern, however. "Is everything well between you and Jara despite this error on her part?"
"No, and in the future, I will not associate with Jara directly. I will take orders from you, but not her. Nor will I join her on the battlefield unless otherwise commanded."
It was as Vexor worried. "What has brought this on?"
"Jara has demonstrated leadership, strategic, and combat ability not meeting the standards she had set out for her own Mercenary Army. For that, I have deemed her unfit as a warrior and leader and will disregard her as such."
A complication, and one that Vexor did not particularly care for. In less than half a day, the two mercenaries had gone from joyously reunited comrades to being on no speaking terms whatsoever. To say it could be a liability in future operations was an understatement. If their enemies learned of this discord, it would be a disaster.
He did not want to resort to this, but he had no choice.
"May I suggest, Barla," he began, "That you set aside this enmity towards Jara."
Barla did a double take. "Excuse me?"
"Since we arrived in this world, I have observed that Jara has not been herself in battle. Something has shaken her since our campaign started, and I fear that the death of Saberizer has deepened this trauma."
The Dragonslayer stared at Vexor in profound confusion, not expecting that explanation of Jara from him of all people. "… Ah… I see."
Vexor gestured to her. "In summoning you, it had been my hope that her morale would be boosted, and she would return to form. However, I see that has not happened."
He turned away from her, walking towards his sarcophagus. "Going forward, I suggest that the two of you discuss your differences in my presence, so that I may mediate and moderate your disagreement, and that you both may come to a resolution that does not interfere with or otherwise derail our campaign."
Reaching the end of the massive stone container, Vexor turned back to Barla and noted the strange look she was giving him. "Is something the matter?"
"No, it's not," Barla said. "As a matter of fact, what you've suggested is well-reasoned and sensible. I just wasn't expecting it from Vexor Gaohm."
"Oh?"
"From what I've understand, you're an insane egotist who thinks himself superior to both brothers of the Melzard Tribe and Bill Cipher."
Vexor chuckled. "That being true does not make me an insane egotist, Barla."
There it was. "How do you figure yourself superior to The Lord of Nightmares, The Abyssal King, and The One-Eyed Beast?"
Vexor gestured outward with both hands. "For all their power, the brothers of Melzard bicker like children, and that pointless, perpetual spat leaves them easy prey to the likes of Bill Cipher, who himself claimed to be all-powerful and brilliant in his insanity–but was little more than a trickster punching down upon lower beings. In every story I've heard of him, his undoings were against minds only slightly cleverer than the common ape."
"What you said about the Melzard isn't untrue," Barla admitted, "And honestly I've packed up enough of Bill's Henchmaniacs to see that in his absence they are more pitiful and non-threatening than he advertised them as."
She gestured to him. "Still, you'd never defeat any of them if you came to blows."
Vexor chuckled. "That goes without saying. However, through avoiding such blows, clarity of vision, and excellent fortune through the folly of our foes… I never have to."
He lifted his right hand aloft. "We are no longer prisoners of the perpetual entropic hell that is the Nightmare Realm. We can claim this reality for ourselves, and with time we can take any other reality we please while those fools we left behind burn in their prison."
With a sweep of his right arm, he gestured in the direction of Hillhurst. "Dealing with our enemies here is no different. Choosing how we engage them, disengaging as we see fit, manipulating the situation so we do not have to engage them. That is how the Magnavores will conquer this world, and then the stars, and then every corner of existence. That is why your assessment of them after this battle is so important and why resolving whatever conflict you have with Jara is even more so."
Barla was sold. More than convinced, she was impressed by Vexor. Of course he would have such an ego. Not only has his small group survived in the Nightmare Realm… they had gotten out.
"I see," she said softly, before she spoke louder. "Thank you, Vexor, for your criticism and advice. As… difficult as it is for me to bear it, I will speak to Jara and arrange that we settle things before you."
Vexor brought his hands together, grateful. "Ah, thank you, Barla. We can ill-afford any in-fighting. Fortunately, the next phases of our operation are in the hands of Typhus and Noxic, so you will have time to approach your friend."
Barla nodded. "Very well, I shall."
With that, Barla disappeared again in a jet of black flame. Alone in the crypt once more, Vexor folded his hands over his abdomen, as he began to pace around the sarcophagus, calculating a change to the strategy he set forth. One thing was for certain, he realized.
"I must be more hands on in my management of these four," he stated to himself.
@@@@@
It was well after nine in the evening at the Diaz Household, and most everyone else had gone home after the hearty meal to celebrate Marco's safe return. Only Dipper stayed behind, sitting on the edge of Star's bed as Marco–extra tired from the long and climactic day–lay on the bed directly beside him.
Star was in her closet, moving things around inside the strangely large room looking for the Magic Instruction Book.
Dipper huffed in amusement, trying to distract himself from the fact he was sitting so close to him. "How hard can a giant book be to find?"
"You want to go in there and help her? Be my guest." Marco cast a dark look towards the closet, remembering the last time he was in there. "I'm not setting foot in that heap again without my own Beetleborg armor."
"That bad, huh? Sounds like Mabel's closet."
Marco sat up, concerned. "Wait, is having messy closets just a thing that girls do?"
Dipper shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think we can put Mabel or Star in the same category as other girls."
There was a loud rumble and thump, before Star let out a grunt in frustration. "Ugh, it was on my bed when we left earlier. Glossaryk, did you move the book in here?"
Almost immediately, a voice replied from under the bed. "Well, I'm not going to just let it sit around in the open. While I don't mind Janna having a look, that Jo girl has an evil glint in her eye."
Dipper and Marco both looked down at the floor just off the edge of the bed, as another, larger rumble filled the room. A large, dromaeosaurid dinosaur leaped out of the closet, Star perched upon its back and gripping its reins. She was dressed like she was auditioning for a spot in a Predator remake.
Both boys jumped back onto the bed, Dipper instinctively putting his arms out to shield Marco behind him, as Star leaped off the dinosaur and then slapped its flank.
"Go back inside, Sprinkles Refreshing," She commanded. With a loud coo, like a pigeon with the deepest possible voice, the dinosaur stalked back into the closet and the door shut behind it.
Star laid down on the floor to look under the bed, then reached under. "Well, then you can come out now…" She pulled back, the leather strap that bound the book gripped in her hand. "… Because we need to talk!"
She dragged the massive Magic Instruction Book out from under the bed like she was pulling a tire through a roadside drainage pipe to unclog it.
Emerging like said tire, the Magic Instruction book opened with a thud to reveal two pages: The first featuring snakes in varying shades of purple zigzagging across the page, and the second bearing a bleached white skull with glowing blue chains extending to the corners of the page–as though to lock the contents beyond it. And from the very center of the book itself, Sir Glossaryck of Terms emerged from a circle of blue light, floating with his legs folded beneath him and his arms tucked into the sleeves of his shirt in front of him.
Dipper's attention darted sharply from the locked page to Glossaryck, who was facing Star.
"Also, you didn't even offer me any food," he continued grieving over why he hid. "Maybe Glossaryck wanted some pizza and chicken wings, did it ever occur to you to ask?"
Staring back at him, Star slowly shook her head. "Not really, no."
Marco hit upon an idea, but kept it to himself, as Star pointed at Dipper. "But I did bring Dipper!"
Glossaryck turned around, the book's pages flipping towards the front and concealing the pages he emerged from, to face the indicated young man. "Oh, you… did?"
The little blue creature stopped and stared at the younger Pines Twin, an expression that a human could mistake for surprise appearing on his features before he floated up to and began circling around him as if examining a statue. "… Hmm…"
"Uhh… hi?" Dipper asked as he followed Glossaryck's path around him.
Glossaryck didn't respond, instead humming in interest as he came around in front of him. "… Curious."
He floated up to Dipper's face, and pushed up his curly bangs, revealing the Big Dipper-shaped birthmark on his forehead. "… Fascinating!"
Dipper's eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance. "Do you mind?"
Glossaryck pulled back and inserted his right hand into his left arm's sleeve. "You really are the Pine Tree; then Bill Cipher is truly dead."
"I hope so," Dipper said. "And don't call me 'Pine Tree' or 'The Pine Tree' or 'Conifer' or any nickname like that."
The strange creature nodded. "All right, Mason it is!"
"DIPPER," he corrected sharply.
Marco looked at Dipper. "Wait, your name's really Mason?"
"Do not call me that," Dipper said. "The only names I will answer to are Dipper or Tyrone."
Marco wasn't sure about that one. "I don't know if this is racist, but you do not look like a Tyrone to me."
"It is, and he doesn't," Glossaryck said.
This was getting off to a great start, said no one. In fact, everyone in the room with comprehensible minds thought the opposite as Star intervened. "Glossaryck! I said we needed to talk!"
"Right, of course," Glossaryck said. "But it's late, and I wasn't offered any pizza…"
Marco knew he'd go for it, and countered Glossaryck's childishness. "We have some leftovers, and it's still a bit above room temperature."
That changed Glossaryck's tune completely. "Do you, now? That's when it is the best for eating."
Dipper had to hand it to Marco as he continued bargaining with Glossaryck. "And you'll get all of it when you tell us everything we need to know without any riddles or cryptic wordplay."
"Yeah, no metaphors, either," Star said.
Glossaryck gave them all a disappointed look. "You're really taking the fun out of this."
"Well, it's the fate of the world," Star argued. "Maybe two!"
The tiny blue man's expression brightened at that. "Well, when you put it with such actual concern, how can I disagree? What would you like to know?"
Dipper was the one who asked. "You've been around for a long time; did you know a Dr. Hillhurst?"
Glossaryck went unusually still as he hovered in the air–like a figurine locked in time and space where he floated. The only thing changing was his face, his eyes widening as old memories resurfaced behind his diamond-shaped pupils.
"Huh, that is a name I have not heard in a long time," he said with the interest of a wizened sage being reminded of an old life. "Dr. Aloysius Hillhurst?"
"Yeah."
Glossaryck appeared to understand, and his next words confirmed it. "His house is still there, isn't it? And you found something in it you need my help to open."
The three teens all shared surprised looks.
"Can you?" Star asked.
Glossaryck shook his head. "Nope."
Marco jumped on that. "Are you able to?"
"Nope," Glossaryck repeated.
"Why?" Dipper asked.
"Because it's not my place to, and as it's not my place, it is not something I can open," Glossaryck explained. "Magic is funny like that. What I can tell you, is that you've probably primed two of the locks… you just need the third key:"
He waved his hands like someone exaggerating a mystical artifact. "The Warden's Ring."
Now they had even more questions. "And what's that?"
Glossaryck made good on his promise of straight answers. "It's a ring of great magical power, bestowed once upon a time to a group of powerful warriors called–well–Wardens."
Star asked. "Like… Jail Warden?"
"Warden is a funny word with multiple meanings, but in this case, it means protector," Glossaryck explained. "The Wardens were once guardians of Magic, serving to protect all dimensions from The Forces of Evil."
"Like Mina Loveberry, the Solarian Warrior!" Star said excitedly.
Glossaryck's expression shifted to one of mild distaste at the mention of that name–if only for an instant–as he confirmed Star's suggestion. "Erm… yes, like her."
Something that made this little weirdo uncomfortable? Marco was curious. "Who's Mina?"
"Oh, just Mewni's greatest warrior. She's basically our Kim Possible," Star explained.
Marco stopped. "Why haven't we called on her?"
"Because she'd tell my Mom," Star explained, "And that would be that."
Glossaryck agreed. "There are other reasons to not want to deal with Mina, but we'll go with that as the most pertinent one."
Expecting more details later, Dipper stayed on topic. "So, what happened to the Wardens?"
"Most of them are gone now," Glossaryck said. "The Warden of this dimension is one of the last. If not the very last one."
"What happened to them?" Dipper asked.
"It varied. Some simply lost their lives in the line of duty, grew old and passed on, or fought in a big civil war to try to conquer the multiverse and wiped themselves out. What I know for certain is that there's hardly any left. The last Warden I knew was a friend of Dr. Hillhurst, who took it upon herself to be the protector of this dimension."
There sounded like a lot was going on back in Dr. Hillhurst's day. "How much do you know about what happened with Dr. Hillhurst?"
"Yeah, why is there a shrine that only reacts to Star and I?" Marco asked.
"Not a terribly great deal. I only met Dr. Hillhurst briefly," Glossaryck said as he looked from Marco to Star, "As your Great-Great Grandmother Celena did not rely on me as much as other bearers of the wand."
"Great-Great Grandma Celena came to Earth before?" Star asked, surprised.
Glossaryck nodded. "Of course. This dimension has a long history with Mewni. Celena visited here, your Grandfather on your mother's side is from here–"
"WAIT, WHAT?!" Star shouted.
"Your mother didn't tell you?" Glossaryck asked, before he realized the pointlessness of bothering. "Oh, who am I kidding? With how she foisted you on your father and Royal Guard and only steps in to discipline you, it's no wonder you barely know anything about her."
"My mother didn't…" Pausing, Star took a moment to reflect. "… Okay, yeah, she did do that. A lot."
Marco and Dipper shared awkward looks as the conversation took a turn despite their best efforts.
Star, prescient of this, valiantly stopped making this about her. "Anyway! You don't know why Great-Great Grandma came here, right? Did you find out… at all?"
Glossaryck shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, it wasn't something she talked about at all, to anyone. Not that she talked about much of anything, there's a reason she's called Celena The Shy."
"So how do we find this Warden?" Marco asked. "If this all happened that long ago, then she's probably as long gone as Celena."
Glossaryck stroked his beard.. "That's true. Given how the Warden Ring survived through the ages into the last century, however, I don't doubt that she passed it on to a descendant."
"How do we find her descendants, then?"
The tiny creature chuckled. "Oh that one's easy: just look for the strongest person around dressed in pink, and you've found this world's Warden."
"Pink?" The three said in unison again, before Marco's eyes shot wide in recognition.
"… There's no way," he said suddenly, in awe and a little fear of the coincidences he's encountered today.
"Who…?" Dipper asked.
Marco looked at Glossaryck, then at Dipper and Star. "I think he's talking about SheZow."
A moment of silence passed, before Dipper asked. "… The same SheZow who got run out of her hometown on a rail and has not appeared since?"
Another moment of silence passed, before Marco palmed his face with both hands. "Of course…"
Star rested a hand on Marco's shoulder. "Don't worry, Marco! I'm sure we can find SheZow, and who knows… maybe we can get her to help us against the Magnavores!"
Dipper agreed. "She's right. After everything that happened to her, I think SheZow would love to have a comeback."
Surprisingly, Glossaryck was on the same page. "I wouldn't mind meeting a Warden after everything that was said and done with them."
"Then we have another thing to ask Elise about," Dipper said. "I feel like getting the armoire open will answer a lot of questions about Hillhurst Mansion, Flabber, and the monsters."
Glossaryck perked up. "Ooh, I'd like to meet them, too. You wouldn't mind introducing me some time, would you, Star?"
"Not at all," Star said.
"We'll probably need to bring the book over to the house anyway," Dipper said. "Something this useful should stay in the Beete Battle Base"
That was a good point. Before further plans could be made, there was a knock at the door. When all looked over, Angie opened it and peeked inside.
"Marco, Star, there's someone outside who wants to see you, one of your classmates," she revealed.
Marco turned to her. "Huh, which one?"
"Brittney," Angie revealed.
The three teens all looked at each other, and then at the time. What could Brittney Wong want at this time of night?
@@@@@
With the help of the Dimensional Scissors, Drew and Jo stepped into the small backyard of their home, fenced off and out of view from their cul-de-sac neighbors in their almost identical and prefabricated clay shingle-roofed homes. Looking at one another, they nodded and crept around the side of the house and reached the open garage door containing their family's vehicles.
"There's no way Dad's not up," Jo said. "He's going to give you shit."
Drew shrugged his shoulders, as they went to the door leading to the kitchen. "I mean, yeah? School got cut early, and we've basically been no show all day. What else is he going to do but bitch at me?"
Jo couldn't help her snicker at Drew's harsh attitude. She was even more amused when Drew simply stepped into the kitchen rather than attempt a discreet entrance. He strode ahead of her, headed into the living room.
Mr. and Mrs. McCormick were both waiting, turning to look at Drew simultaneously as he came into the living room. Mr. McCormick, his expression droll and unimpressed as always at first, grew genuinely surprised when he saw his son's bandage-free and unblemished face. Mrs. McCormick, her own usually down-cast if not neutral look lit with genuine concern, moved to rise from her seat, but then stopped in confusion when she saw Drew's face and the general lack of concern in both her children.
"Andrew…?" She began, before Mr. McCormick raised his hand up off the armrest of his chair in a calm, halting gesture. Pausing, she quietly yielded to him as she retired back to her chair but stayed on the edge of it.
Drew and Jo's gazes lingered on her as they turned to their father, who did not bother to rise and was schooling his expression as he adjusted his glasses with two fingers. His gaze was locked on Drew, looking at him in the same way one would look at a crack they had just discovered in their car's windshield after an already bad day.
"Where have you two been? Why did you not come straight home after school?"
"We were hanging out with Roland," Drew said, before Jo could.
"At Zoom?" Mr. McCormick asked, sounding like he'd take that affirmative and then call Nano for the security tapes to be sure.
"No, we were practicing karate all day," Drew explained.
Sensei Brantley didn't have cameras in his dojo.
Mr. McCormick found that unusual. "Since when do you practice karate?"
Jo stepped in. "Since a couple weeks ago, Dad. We practice over at the Hill-Trank Plaza like three times a week."
Their father narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Aren't you two a little old for karate kicks?"
"You're never too old to start," Jo argued. "Plus, it's something for us to do beside read comics all day. That's something you've been on us about, right?"
On Drew about, but Jo was in something of a fighting mood and throwing some shit back in a hater's face.
Expressing his doubts, and wanting to focus on his son, Mr. McCormick let out a dismissive hum before gesturing at Drew's face. "What happened to your bruises, and the bandages?"
Bringing a hand to his cheek, Drew blinked owlishly before he shrugged his shoulders with the same dismissive energy. "Oh, I guess I got better."
"Better, huh?" Mr. McCormick scrutinized Drew's face before looking him up and down. "No… I think you lied about getting beaten up. To try to get sympathy to go to your dance."
Drew lowered his hand from his face. "Uh-huh, and since when could I expect sympathy from you?"
Silence fell on the McCormick household's living room following that. Mrs. McCormick drew back slightly, her eyes widening slightly with apprehension as Jo looked up at her brother, impressed.
Drew stared his Dad down, feeling the same intense defiance that he faced Barla with earlier. "Full disclosure, Dad. On Friday and Saturday I snuck out of this house under your nose to attend the homecoming game and to go to Karate, and I'm glad I did, because both times I ran into Brittney Wong–who showed more human decency to me than you have in my entire life and took me to get treated for all those injuries you scoffed at me having and still grounded me."
He slipped his left hand into his pocket and gestured with his raised right palm from side to side. "All so I could go to the dance, which I did while you were out playing charade date night with Mom."
Jo held up her phone, showing a picture of a selfie she took with Drew, Roland, Sabrina, Janna, Chantal, Megan, and Brittney. Drew had his arms over both Janna and Sabrina's shoulders as all three beamed at the camera, Roland was tipping his hat with his cane and smirking while a grinning Megan hugged his side. Chantal and Jo were making cute pouty faces at the camera, while Brittney simply had an expression of being too glamorous for any picture even with remains of pie on her face.
It was such a good picture, being completely ruined by the news of Dipper breaking the news at what happened at Hillhurst some few minutes later.
"See?" Jo said. "Drew even danced with a cheerleader, it was so much fun."
Mr. McCormick stared at the image on the phone, his face fixed but his eyes giving away his confusion. He looked up at his son, who folded his arms and quietly dared him to say something passive-aggressive.
He did not disappoint. "Even with the picture, I find it hard to believe that's you."
"Yeah, well… that's really always been your problem." Drew said, before he began counting on his fingers. "If I get hurt; it's my fault. If I stand up for myself, I'm wrong. I fail at something, I'm not good enough. But if anything happens to go my way? You cannot believe it, or that's not right–like in your eyes I'm supposed to be a loser who's not allowed to have anything."
Drew let his hands drop to his side. "I have a great idea, Dad. How about you keep your passive-aggressive mind games to yourself, because I'm not afraid of them–or you–anymore. Just listen to your shitty Eagles and pretend you're the most normal guy in the world who needs to bully his own son to feel like he's achieved anything in life."
With that, he turned and headed upstairs. "Oh, and Don Henley and Glenn Frey would call you a loser if they ever met you!"
Jo watched her brother go, then looked at her parents. Her mother was ashen, her normally tired eyes wide with shock as she covered her mouth with her fingers.
Mr. McCormick, however, just sat frozen, watching Drew ascend the stairs. Jo could see it in his eyes. The irrational contempt, the indignity of being told off by someone he looked down on like he was an insect.
She hated that look so much, and she still didn't understand why he was like this.
If she could do it, she'd just walk up and swing at his face.
With all of her might.
"… Jo, go to your room," Mr. McCormick said flatly. "Don't be like that loser."
No, he wasn't worth it and never would be.
"Sure thing, Dad," she said as she headed up the stairs. "And he's right, you know."
Rather than bother to hear anything he had to say in reply–he thankfully didn't–Jo walked over to Drew's room and tapped on it. "Hey, it's me."
A few locks turned before the door opened. Drew was sitting on his bed, looking at his phone as she stepped in and closed it behind her.
"So…" She began. "… When are we ending this relationship?"
Drew looked up at her. "Honestly? We can do it anytime, now. Trip and Van are gone, and after dealing with Barla, and Jara? Why am I afraid of that piece of shit?"
"I'm surprised you haven't force-choked him out, yet."
"He is not worth any of that."
"Oh good, we're on the same page."
Drew looked at Sabrina's message again. "Dad's just a bitter jackass who's made my entire life about being lesser than him. If there's anything worse than your personality being 'having money' it's building it around your own son being your sworn enemy for life."
"Some Manga Gendo Ikari bullshit, just without our Mom being a giant robot."
"Or you being a weird clone of her I have conflicted feelings about."
"Ew."
Both laughed at the absurdity of their lives being anything like Evangelion, before Jo gestured to her brother. "Say the word, and I'll drop the hammer. And by the hammer I mean Nano. Dad will be gone and we'll probably find out why he's even got it out for you."
"Honestly? At this point I don't even care about the why. I really just want him gone like the 'Hoffs."
"Bet!" Jo said brightly. "You don't even worry about it, then. Just focus on dealing with the bad bitches and bad bitches causing you problems and leave the rest to me."
Drew chuckled. "Yeah, thanks." He looked down at his phone again, at Sabrina's awkward yet eager text asking him out. "I'm probably going to be busy this week, so I'll be happy to have another pain in my neck gone by the end of it."
"So we can focus on the real aches, right?" Jo went to open the door. "By the way… Sabrina or Janna?"
"… Between them and Heather, I don't know," Drew admitted truthfully. "I don't really know how to deal with girls."
"Don't look at me, I don't know how to deal with girls either and I'm pretty sure I'm one," Jo said.
"Well, I've always liked Heather; with Sabrina… I dunno, I don't think I've ever hung out with a girl who just likes me, and Janna…"
She fascinated him, as much as she got on his nerves.
Drew smiled. "I don't get Janna."
"Cryptids I do understand. Of course you don't get Janna. I don't think even Star or Mabel get Janna. I think the only person who actually knows Janna's whole deal is Jackie, and maybe Marco, since I know she would mess with him, too."
Drew remembered his conversation with Janna about Jackie the other day. "I got that feeling they were close."
"Close? My brother before The One Above All, for a while I thought those two were dating." Rather than give Drew a chance to entertain that mental image, she quickly jogged his attention
"If you want my dogshit observational opinion?" She continued. "I think Janna is a ball-buster specifically to deflect anyone away from actually getting close to her emotionally."
Drew knew that was something Jo did, and he was pretty sure she came to that conclusion first because of that.
Jo then shrugged her shoulders. "That, or she's just a tryhard who wants people to think she's this macabre wannabe witch. You know, like how Marco tries too hard being a bad boy."
That sounded more reasonable. Janna didn't come off as someone who wasn't confident in herself or had a life at home she wanted to hide.
"I guess," Drew said, "But I still don't understand what she meant by being generous."
"What else could she mean?" Jo asked, almost incredulous.
"You tell me, you're the smart one."
"Academically speaking, yes, and my ability to break things down mechanically… but have you seen the social disaster I've been the last couple of weeks? I was about to turn this into a group project."
Drew winced. "Fair enough."
"Me being the hammer… erhm… ugh." She stopped and sighed. "I'm not going to use hammer puns anymore." She stopped and restarted. "Me being the blunt bitch that I am, I suggest you inquire to Janna directly. Not on the phone, face-to-face with her and don't let her misdirect or sly-talk you. Figure out where you two stand, and if she's really implying that she wants to make you into Blue Beet for real."
Obviously Jo was harkening back to her complaints about Blue Beet in the comics being basically a western-written harem protagonist, but Drew was a comics nerd, he had to make a deeper cut. "I hope not, Blue Beet did literally die and had to be brought back to life."
"That was a good storyline, though," Jo pointed out.
"Oh, the best Art Fortunes ever written, hands down. I'm just not too keen on the dying part because the resurrection half of it is probably not possible."
Jo wholeheartedly agreed with that. "Well, just leave keeping you alive to me and Roland. Good night, broseph."
Drew chuckled. "Picking up on Mabel's thing?"
"What? It's cute," Jo snapped back before she left his room and let it swing closed.
Looking at the door with a small smirk, Drew used his telekinesis to secure the locks before he lay back and held his phone above his face with both hands to look at the screen.
Sabrina said:
Hello Andrew! I hope this text message sees you well. I wanted to tell you again that I had a very good time at the dance and I hope you did too!
I was hoping that since we had so much fun, that you would like to hang out again. We could go see a movie, grab some food, or even take a walk down Santa Monica Pier! Or all three! Actually, all three sounds really good, it could be an entire afternoon and it'll be super fun!
I'm sorry I'm rambling, but I'm super nervous, I've never asked a boy out on my own before. And you're like the coolest boy I've ever met. So anyway text me back! Thank you for taking the time to read!
For now, he decided he'd hang out with Sabrina. She was nice, and it wasn't complicated or inscrutable like Heather or Janna.
Drew said:
Hey Sabrina. I've been thinking a lot about the dance, too, and it was nice to hang out with you. I don't know when I'll next be free, but how about on Saturday we take that walk to Santa Monica Pier? I've always wanted to go to the Aquarium over there and walk along the beach.
He hadn't even set his phone down after sending that message, when he got an abrupt reply.
Sabrina said:
OMG YES!!! Okay! I'm going to ask Brittney if Dudley can give us a ride there! I can't wait to see you again!!!
Drew rested his phone on his chest and looked up at the ceiling.
"… Can't wait to see me again?"
If someone had told him a month ago that a Cheerleader would ask him to a dance and then want to go on a date with him after, he'd have called that person an insane idiot and wondered who was playing a prank on him. Even now, he was having a hard time believing it was really happening.
He wasn't, however, going to say it didn't feel amazing.
@@@@@
Star, Marco, and Dipper walked outside the Diaz home to find Brittney and Dudley standing outside of the former's G-Wagen. Brittney had her arms folded, like she'd been waiting for them to show up, while Dudley was standing straight, with an elegant and dignified air about him.
Marco almost didn't recognize the guy. "Wait, is that Dudley?"
"Good evening, Master Dipper, Master Marco, your Highness," he greeted. "Master Brittney would like to have a word with you."
It was Dudley, Marco was about to ask more about how he came to work for her, but Brittney derailed that with her inquiry. "So, I'm gonna cut to the chase: I think the McCormick kids and Roland are the Beetleborgs."
The three froze where they stood, surprised that she would just come out swinging with that. All three shared quick, wide-eyed looks.
Rather than take their reaction as validation, Brittney took the time to explain her reasoning. "Drew and Roland were in at the dance and Jo wasn't, but the Red Beetleborg showed up to fight that hammer idiot, and only after it was done, did Jo show up for the dance."
The three looked at each other again, then at Brittney.
"I also watched all the videos posted of the fight before that, over at the creek bridge. You guys were all gathered around and waiting for the Blue Beetleborg to come back from wherever he went… and when he got back, he seemed like he got roughed up. Then look who's going around like a freshly bruised mummy unwilling to explain how he got them besides 'I got roughed up by monsters?'"
The three looked at each other a third time, then at Brittney.
"I'm not here because I'm going to snitch or blow up your spot," she continued, "I'm here because I don't want any of my friends getting hurt because they don't know what they're getting into. And also, because I want to know how I can help."
Dipper… did not expect this. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Brittney snapped back. "I'm not the two and three quarters bitches from before the dance. I want to move on to making sure me and mine are safe."
Marco looked at Star, but Star was now looking at Brittney with the biggest smile on her face. "Star, wait–"
Star turned to him. "No, no this is good. This is really good!"
She went over and took Brittney's hands, surprising her. "If we have Brittney on our side, that means we have effectively the power of THREE Princesses backing us up!"
"I don't know…" Marco was concerned about the number of people knowing getting bigger.
"Plus, Brittney has access to big tough dudes with guns and robots who can cover us!"
Brittney frowned. "Hold on, that Hench Co. thing was Daddy letting me use his account. I can't just do that."
Dipper asked. "But if you could do that, would you?"
Brittney nodded. "Pfft, duh! Of course! I'm already writing up a proposal to get them full-time as security for the school. I want to be able to graduate this year and not have classes be interrupted by monsters and supervillains."
Star turned right back to Dipper and Marco, both of whom still had suspicions. "I don't know…" Said the latter, "I mean, what brought this on?"
She sighed at her boyfriend's understandable reluctance, knowing he missed some context. "Marco, before you get weird about it? Brittney and I? We're cool."
She hugged Brittney for emphasis, and despite being unused to the affection–let alone it being from Star Butterfly–Brittney returned the hug.
"Like I said, the beef is squashed," the Queen Bee of the school declared. "And I want to help out because this involves me, I have a lot of money, and I want to invest in not being bothered by those Magnavore creeps."
That was shockingly pragmatic, not as shocking as Marco realizing that the end of conflict between Star and Brittney was actually real. "Okay, there is a lot flying at me tonight and I'm really tired from fighting monsters and not breaking a Karen's neck."
"Oh, me too!" Star pointed out. "I am about to crash."
Dipper, tired himself, nodded. "All right. We'll get you in touch with our representative then, and you can talk to her about how you can help us out. Just as long as you don't do stuff like you did last week and nearly get your face slapped off."
Brittney whipped her hair and sniffed arrogantly. "I would've taken his arm off if Miss Skullnick hadn't jumped in."
"Sure," Dipper and Marco said as one, while Star genuinely believed Brittney absolutely would've done it… somehow.
Satisfied with tonight's meeting, Brittney stepped back. "I'll leave you to get rest, then. I mean it when I say I want to help, and I'm willing to take orders on how to best do it so this nonsense will be over with sooner than later."
Marco had his doubts about such a commitment, but having people who could help honestly felt good. "All right, I believe you, and if Star and Dipper are cool with it then so am I."
"I am so cool with it!" Star said.
Dipper nodded. "Yeah, me too. Welcome to the coalition, I guess."
Brittney noted that none confirmed that the Beetleborgs were who she suspected, but she was fine with that. If they were okay with her helping them, she could wait a bit to find out for sure.
Still, she had one more question to ask before she got in her G-Wagen. "One more thing."
Star rejoined Marco's side. "What's up?"
Brittney pointed between the two of them. "Are you two dating?"
"Nope!" Both of them said in unison. Dipper was impressed at the speed they answered, even as he was reminded of this unfortunate turn of events for himself.
The young woman rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I get it; you don't want people knowing if you're mashing faces, but believe me? Everybody already thinks you are–StarFan13 ships you for Pete's sake. So, cough it up, I won't tell anyone if you are, and tell everyone that you aren't."
Sharing one more look, and with a consenting nod from Marco, Star answered her. "Okay, we've just started dating, and we're kind of too busy to be up front about it."
Marco nodded. "Yeah, let people think what they want to think, and otherwise mind their own business."
Brittney could respect that. "Okay, that's all I wanted to know."
Though, now she was curious about how Jackie Lynn Thomas factored into their whole dynamic. Her gaze lingering on Marco before she turned away, she decided it wasn't her business.
Dudley nodded and tipped his hat to the three teens, before letting Brittney into her car and going to the driver's seat. The G-Wagen then pulled a U-turn and drove off down the road to its destination in Upper Echo Creek.
"I'm… not used to Brittney talking directly to me and not throwing an insult in there somewhere," Marco admitted.
"If you want, you can imagine she was insulting you," Star suggested.
Marco laughed. "No, no… I'm going to roll with this one. Besides, after dealing with those cops? It's nice to know that there are people on our side who aren't just our friends and family."
Star smiled. "Yeah, it is."
"So, uh…" Dipper began, drawing their attention, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "… Before I leave, can I just say something, myself?"
"Sure, what's up?" Marco asked.
"You're not going to veto Brittney joining up, are you?" Star asked.
"No, not that… this is a personal thing, and I think I should get it off my chest and out of the way before we start getting into drama on top of fighting." Dipper said. "Back when we first met, I was… kinda into you?"
Star froze where she stood, and she looked from Dipper and back at Marco–whom Dipper was speaking to.
Oh no, he chooses now to just drop it on him? She thought in alarm.
Marco stared at Dipper, blinking slowly. "… Wh… huh?"
"And… I'm not saying this as a confession thing, or some vain hope that you'll be into me, too…" He stopped himself from trying to ramble on. "I'm just putting it out there so we're all on the same page and it doesn't get weird."
Marco processed that for a second. "… Ohh… You liked the Princess Marco look, right?"
Dipper nodded. "Well, yeah." Before Marco could reassure Dipper that he wasn't the first guy to be tripped up by his Princess form, he continued. "But I also liked what I saw after you changed back."
"Yeah, well you're not the–" Mouth open and hand raised for the aforementioned reassurance, Marco paused, and then his face colored slightly. "… Oh."
"Sorry, for springing this on you, man. I just wanted to get it out of the way, like I said…"
Marco held up his hands, his reassurance now stronger than ever. "What? Don't be sorry! I'm just surprised, I never thought a guy would just come out and say he liked me liked me."
Honestly it was both validating and relieving, especially after finding out that Trip had been into his feminine persona. Funny as that was. People with taste besides Star thought he was hot, and he could live with that. Enjoy it even.
Dipper was relieved that it didn't get weird, and he hoped it wouldn't get weird later. Between fighting the Magnavores and working with Star and the Magic Instruction Book, he had a feeling he'd be close to Star and Marco going forward a lot more.
"Anyway, I'm going to get home. You guys take care, all right? Don't stay up too late," he said.
"I wasn't kidding about wanting to crash," Marco promised. "Later, Dipper."
Star was likewise happy that nothing melted down or even came close to a runaway reaction. "I'll make sure Marco gets his beauty sleep! As long as you get yours, Dipper!"
Waving, Dipper headed up the street towards Shermie's home, and both Star and Marco turned towards their house.
"Dipper has a crush on me," Marco said.
"Yep," Star said.
He looked at her. "Did you know?"
"I'm pretty sure everyone else knows."
Marco stopped at the door. "How did I not notice?"
"A general combination of you being extremely focused on first Jackie Lynn Thomas and then me, combined with all the schooling, teaching, and fighting you do on top of being already awesome."
Marco laughed a moment after that. "And here I thought I was the PHD."
Star then placed her hands on his shoulders. "But Marco, the important thing is… how do you feel about this?"
How considerate of her to ask him. "I mean… Dipper's a tall handsome guy, but I have a girlfriend. That girlfriend is you."
Marco stopped. "Wait, are you looking at this like a yao–"
"Whoa! No! Nonononono–!" Star insisted. "Marco, I just don't want there to be drama. If Dipper likes you, he likes you! If you like Dipper, you like Dipper!"
Marco tried to get a word in edgewise, but then Star hit him with a curveball he didn't see coming. "Same with Jackie Lynn Thomas! If you like her, you like her! I won't mind because Dipper and Jackie are people I like, too! And I like seeing all the people I like hanging out and being happy with people I like! Which is you, who I like, a bunch!"
Immediately, Marco recalled the interaction from the night before, after Misao was rescued and everyone was discussing their shipping being wrecked on the awful rocks of reality. Specifically, he zeroed in on what Jackie had said that had been at the back of his mind since.
"… OT3?"
He had just said he was exhausted, but the implications of what he just learned were going to keep him up for at least half the night, now.
At least if he didn't confirm it. "… Star, I'm going to ask you this very slowly, and you are going to answer me slowly, so you have as much time to think about your answer as I do."
Star nodded, perceptibly slow. "Okay," she said, matching his verbal cadence.
He reached up and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Are you saying, in all confidence, that it's okay if I want to date Jackie Lynn Thomas and/or Dipper, even while I'm dating you. Like… an open relationship or polyamory thing?"
Star answered, with powerful slowness. "I do not know what polyamory means, but I do know that I am okay with you dating Jackie Lynn Thomas and Dipper, and me… because I would like to date Jackie Lynn Thomas and Dipper and you, too."
Suddenly Marco looked around, like he was scanning for hidden enemies or the paparazzi about to ambush.
"What's wrong?" Star asked, with the same slowness.
"You don't have to do that anymore," Marco assured her. "I'm just making sure Janna's not hiding somewhere and this is a bit."
"It's not a bit, I swear," Star said. "I am down for the OT3.. or OT4, I mean… it's up to you what you want to do. Jackie and Mabel both say that communication and being on the same page is important in this kind of thing."
Marco thought he'd be able to sleep on this, but now he knew he definitely was not going to. "Are… are you sure?"
Star pulled Marco in and hugged him. "Of course I'm sure, Marco. The bad guys are getting stronger, there are other people messing with us, and all I want is for my friends to be happy. All my friends, and the guy I am totally in love with."
As Star continued, Marco slowly brought his arms up and returned the hug.
"If we're all fighting for each other as much as we are alongside each other, then nobody can beat us. Ever."
@@@@@
Beneath a highway bridge crossing the Los Angeles river, just off a bike path that ran underneath it, TC sat on the edge of the river, beside the torn apart remains of a human body. In his right hand, he held a strip of skin and connected flesh, blood dripping from it, while in his free hand he held his phone, watching video of the battle at Britta's Tacos. He frowned when he happened to catch sight of himself incidentally fleeing during the fight captured by a news camera.
"Guess I'm not going back to Echo Creek anymore," he mused aloud. "For the best, Brittney didn't give off the vibe I was hoping for. Those Vanderhoff boys fell off the face of the Earth, too, so… no safe harbor."
He took a big bite out of the strip of flesh. "Maybe there's somewhere in the Palisades I can chill. I can't be sneaking around like this anymore. I am too rich for this shit."
CLACK
Alarmed, TC turned and looked with wide eyes down the edge of the river. Gabe stood there, with his shirasaya held in front of him, driven so hard into the concrete shore that it was cracked and split beneath it. In the dark, he couldn't see his face, but the way his face gripped the shaft of the shirasaya in his right hand, while his left hand pulled the hilt of his sword out of the lacquered wooden sheath.
"Too rich?" Gabe greeted him calmly as he pulled the sword. "Ain't nobody too rich for an ass-beating, fuck nigga."
TC tossed aside his meal and stood up, blood dripping from his hand as he closed his phone screen and put it away. "How the fuck did you find me?"
"I'm more embarrassed that I didn't find you sooner," Gabe admitted.
Drawing his sword fully, he held it out at his side as he walked towards TC, using the sheath like a walking stick. "You really out here killing people in broad daylight, and tryna hide out in Echo Creek. Not only is you sloppy, you're dumb, too."
TC narrowed his eyes, practically bristling at the remark. "Can't fault a nigga for being hungry."
"You ain't allowed to say that shit," Gabe shot back. "Now turn the fuck up or get cut the fuck up–I don't mind either way."
Baring his teeth, TC lowered his posture as his violet eyes took on an unearthly glow. "Oh, my pass is revoked, too? Guess I'm switchin' to the hard R, then. I don't need to be smart or clean, Goblin. I got luck on my side, and I know I'm stronger than you."
Gabe stopped, and his neutral expression finally shifted into an unamused scowl. "Nah, you ain't getting away this time."
With that he shot towards TC at high speed, pulling back his sword to swing down, as the hoodie-wearing young man's lips split into a blood-thirsty grin, and he leaped at him in turn.
= - = 8-EX = - =
Legends: A Story of Lies Volume 9 will be here in the Spring... I hope.
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Delta/Soul
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Damn, that ending is foreboding. So TC is a Creature of the Night, like a Vampire or something else?
Also good to see the Heroes are getting more help and resources against the Magnavores.
Also good to see the Heroes are getting more help and resources against the Magnavores.
The Ero-Sennin
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TC is something that our heroes and even our villains aren't quite ready for...
Delta/Soul
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So… Marco and Star are going for a polycule that includes Dipper and Jackie (so far). And Drew is facing his own relationship issues with whom to date involving Sabrina and Heather. Let's see how this plays out.
Character Index and Biographies (Volume 1)
The Ero-Sennin
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There's a lot of Legends right now, and there's a LOT of characters including Original Characters and Characters from other smaller series. So, let's talk about the characters, and separate them by volume and series of appearance. We'll start with our main characters and those who appear in Volume 1 of Legends.
Character Info
Volume 1
|Gravity Falls|
Character Info
Volume 1
And so we reach the end of the character bios for Volume 1. Fun fact: There aren't actually quite a great deal of Original Characters here in Legends. One of my goals has been to keep those to a minimum, and there will be more as the story goes on, this story isn't about them and no one's going to take the spotlight from our heroes.
See you when I cover Volume 2... or when I get some art done for these characters...
Character Info
Volume 1
|Gravity Falls|
Name: Mason "Dipper" Pines
Alias: Pine Tree, Tyrone
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American/Israeli
Hometown: Piedmont, California
Personality: Clever, curious, adventurous, and brave. Dipper Pines is always on the hunt for a new riddle to unsolve and mystery to uncover. His time spent in Gravity Falls in the Summer of 2010 has made him into a wiser and even more mature young man than he already was.
His determination to uncover the truths in the world has made him an independent and reliable young man. He's far from grown, however, and still regularly finds himself outside his depth even in matters that he's confident he can handle. Fortunately, he can trust and rely on his twin sister to guide him through the mistakes of his youth.
Background: When he was 12 years old, Dipper and his older twin sister Mabel were shipped off to Gravity Falls, Oregon to spend the summer with their Great Uncle Stan Pines while their parents sorted out their marital problems. What appeared to be a long summer at the home of a boring crackpot scammer relative's tourist trap turned into many adventures with the paranormal, weird, and ultimately a clash with tremendous forces for the fate of the universe. This experience changed Dipper down to his very core, transforming him into a mature and assertive young man willing to take risks to uncover truths and defy evil.
After learning of Star Butterfly and her antics in Los Angeles, he did not hesitate to organize a trip there to investigate Star and what she was doing here. He had no idea, however, that this decision would lead to becoming involved in yet another critical battle for the fate of the universe...
Alias: Pine Tree, Tyrone
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American/Israeli
Hometown: Piedmont, California
Personality: Clever, curious, adventurous, and brave. Dipper Pines is always on the hunt for a new riddle to unsolve and mystery to uncover. His time spent in Gravity Falls in the Summer of 2010 has made him into a wiser and even more mature young man than he already was.
His determination to uncover the truths in the world has made him an independent and reliable young man. He's far from grown, however, and still regularly finds himself outside his depth even in matters that he's confident he can handle. Fortunately, he can trust and rely on his twin sister to guide him through the mistakes of his youth.
Background: When he was 12 years old, Dipper and his older twin sister Mabel were shipped off to Gravity Falls, Oregon to spend the summer with their Great Uncle Stan Pines while their parents sorted out their marital problems. What appeared to be a long summer at the home of a boring crackpot scammer relative's tourist trap turned into many adventures with the paranormal, weird, and ultimately a clash with tremendous forces for the fate of the universe. This experience changed Dipper down to his very core, transforming him into a mature and assertive young man willing to take risks to uncover truths and defy evil.
After learning of Star Butterfly and her antics in Los Angeles, he did not hesitate to organize a trip there to investigate Star and what she was doing here. He had no idea, however, that this decision would lead to becoming involved in yet another critical battle for the fate of the universe...
Name: Mabel Pines
Alias: Shooting Star, Hambone
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Nationality: American/Israeli
Hometown: Piedmont, California
Personality: Mabel is a free-spirited girl full of energy and kindness, with an optimism and humility that pairs perfectly with Dipper's steadfast determination. Like her brother, she learned many hard lessons and facts about herself in Gravity Falls, putting herself a bit ahead of the curve of her peers. As such, she has developed a strong, independent streak and seeks–like her brother–to prove herself mature and responsible.
Still, she is not above falling back upon her old bad habits. At her worst, she can be thoughtless–even cruel–and her optimism can leave her blind to unfortunate realities. Nevertheless, she can rely on her brother to take her hand and help her face the worst a cynical world can offer.
Background: Since her adventures in Gravity Falls, Mabel has grown, in many ways, into a kinder, more compassionate version of the manic wrecking ball that tore through that remote Oregon town when she was twelve. Despite a busy career as a championship level Cheerleading Captain, she gave it all up without a second thought to accompany her brother to Los Angeles, simply for a chance to make a new friend out of Star, but would come to find so much more once she arrived...
Alias: Shooting Star, Hambone
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Nationality: American/Israeli
Hometown: Piedmont, California
Personality: Mabel is a free-spirited girl full of energy and kindness, with an optimism and humility that pairs perfectly with Dipper's steadfast determination. Like her brother, she learned many hard lessons and facts about herself in Gravity Falls, putting herself a bit ahead of the curve of her peers. As such, she has developed a strong, independent streak and seeks–like her brother–to prove herself mature and responsible.
Still, she is not above falling back upon her old bad habits. At her worst, she can be thoughtless–even cruel–and her optimism can leave her blind to unfortunate realities. Nevertheless, she can rely on her brother to take her hand and help her face the worst a cynical world can offer.
Background: Since her adventures in Gravity Falls, Mabel has grown, in many ways, into a kinder, more compassionate version of the manic wrecking ball that tore through that remote Oregon town when she was twelve. Despite a busy career as a championship level Cheerleading Captain, she gave it all up without a second thought to accompany her brother to Los Angeles, simply for a chance to make a new friend out of Star, but would come to find so much more once she arrived...
Name: Sherman "Shermie" Pines
Alias: N/A
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American/Israeli
Hometown: Echo Creek, California
Personality: Shermie is an easy-going, laid-back, and freethinking man despite the long and eventful life he's lived. He has fully embraced the retired life, living off the savings he's accrued through his life and partaking in various hobbies including grilling, comic book collecting, and target shooting.
A worldly man, he is a bit behind on the times and doesn't particularly bother to try to keep up. So he may come off as old-fashioned, but he is anything but conservative in his mindset. Were it not for his lengthy military service in multiple countries, he'd be accused of being an old hippie with his disdain for authority and enjoyment of recreational drugs. His relationship with his younger brothers is... tense at best. He cares very little for Stanley and Stanford, hardly pardoning the extenuating circumstances behind their conflict, though deep down he also blames himself for not being there when it all began in the first place.
Though he is a peaceful man in his twilight years, he is not at all above or against violence, and he is the biggest supporter of Dipper and Mabel handling their business as the young adults they are rather than children many try to box them up as. He will, however, not hesitate to fall upon like the wrath of God anything his grandkids cannot handle.
Background: The elder brother of Stanford and Stanley Pines, Shermie left home at a young age and would spend the next thirty years of his life all over the world fighting in wars and getting wrapped up with various people, cultures, and organizations. By the early 1980s, he finally returned to the United States but settled in Los Angeles rather than back in his native New Jersey to raise his family. After his only son moved out and on to start a family of his own, he has since lived in blissful retirement, the leisurely monotony broken up by visits from his child and grandchildren, who he spoils rotten at every opportunity and doesn't hesitate to accommodate at their request.
Alias: N/A
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American/Israeli
Hometown: Echo Creek, California
Personality: Shermie is an easy-going, laid-back, and freethinking man despite the long and eventful life he's lived. He has fully embraced the retired life, living off the savings he's accrued through his life and partaking in various hobbies including grilling, comic book collecting, and target shooting.
A worldly man, he is a bit behind on the times and doesn't particularly bother to try to keep up. So he may come off as old-fashioned, but he is anything but conservative in his mindset. Were it not for his lengthy military service in multiple countries, he'd be accused of being an old hippie with his disdain for authority and enjoyment of recreational drugs. His relationship with his younger brothers is... tense at best. He cares very little for Stanley and Stanford, hardly pardoning the extenuating circumstances behind their conflict, though deep down he also blames himself for not being there when it all began in the first place.
Though he is a peaceful man in his twilight years, he is not at all above or against violence, and he is the biggest supporter of Dipper and Mabel handling their business as the young adults they are rather than children many try to box them up as. He will, however, not hesitate to fall upon like the wrath of God anything his grandkids cannot handle.
Background: The elder brother of Stanford and Stanley Pines, Shermie left home at a young age and would spend the next thirty years of his life all over the world fighting in wars and getting wrapped up with various people, cultures, and organizations. By the early 1980s, he finally returned to the United States but settled in Los Angeles rather than back in his native New Jersey to raise his family. After his only son moved out and on to start a family of his own, he has since lived in blissful retirement, the leisurely monotony broken up by visits from his child and grandchildren, who he spoils rotten at every opportunity and doesn't hesitate to accommodate at their request.
|Star vs. The Forces of Evil|
Name: Princess Star Butterfly
Alias: Star the Underestimated
Alignment: Hero
Sex: Female
Race: Mewman (with some Human and Demon ancestry)
Nationality: Mewman
Hometown: Butterfly Castle, Kingdom of Mewni
Personality: Star is a happy-go-lucky, friendly, energetic, charismatic and courageous young woman from a fantastic world of monsters and magic. Quick to go on adventures and very quick to throw herself into a fight, she takes on any new challenge with an eager and excited smile. As a result, her arrival on Earth and meeting Marco Diaz, she has dedicated herself fully to learning more about this world, making new friends, and defeating the forces of evil. Her stay on Earth has been more enlightening than she'd like at times, however, and dealing with problems from Mewni that have followed her to her new home has caused her to question what she always knew in her sheltered upbringing–and as she learns more about Earth and its culture, those questions are getting harder.
Background: Upon her birthday, Princess Star Butterfly received the Royal Magic Wand of Mewni, and began preparing to take the throne. Within an hour, she'd set much of Butterfly Castle on fire. To avoid risk of further harm, her parents Moon and River Butterfly sent her off to a safe, boring dimension where she could burn off all of her excess energy without causing harm to Mewni–after all, Earth has no magic, monsters, or any serious threats to Star or Mewni. What was the worst that could happen?
With the defeat of a longtime nemesis, Star is looking forward to enjoying the rest of her school year with Marco… but something seems to be wrong with her wand.
Alias: Star the Underestimated
Alignment: Hero
Sex: Female
Race: Mewman (with some Human and Demon ancestry)
Nationality: Mewman
Hometown: Butterfly Castle, Kingdom of Mewni
Personality: Star is a happy-go-lucky, friendly, energetic, charismatic and courageous young woman from a fantastic world of monsters and magic. Quick to go on adventures and very quick to throw herself into a fight, she takes on any new challenge with an eager and excited smile. As a result, her arrival on Earth and meeting Marco Diaz, she has dedicated herself fully to learning more about this world, making new friends, and defeating the forces of evil. Her stay on Earth has been more enlightening than she'd like at times, however, and dealing with problems from Mewni that have followed her to her new home has caused her to question what she always knew in her sheltered upbringing–and as she learns more about Earth and its culture, those questions are getting harder.
Background: Upon her birthday, Princess Star Butterfly received the Royal Magic Wand of Mewni, and began preparing to take the throne. Within an hour, she'd set much of Butterfly Castle on fire. To avoid risk of further harm, her parents Moon and River Butterfly sent her off to a safe, boring dimension where she could burn off all of her excess energy without causing harm to Mewni–after all, Earth has no magic, monsters, or any serious threats to Star or Mewni. What was the worst that could happen?
With the defeat of a longtime nemesis, Star is looking forward to enjoying the rest of her school year with Marco… but something seems to be wrong with her wand.
Name: Marco Ubaldo Diaz
Alias: Princess Marco Turdina, Safe Kid
Alignment: Hero
Sex: Male
Race: Human…?
Nationality: American/Mexican
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Responsible, organized, down-to-earth, and cautious, Marco is almost everything that the impulsive, chaotic, and reckless Star is not. Smart and straightforward, he takes pride in his orderliness, and his individual skills from his high marks in class to his martial arts prowess. However, he is without question eager and able to throw himself into danger–in the name of defending his friends and those close to him, but also for the fun of it.
In spite of his various skills, Marco is a young man with troubles attached to self-image and a fear of being ridiculed. Though Star abruptly entering his life has helped him begin to overcome some of his hangups, others remain firmly entrenched and still more have appeared thanks to her and grossly limit his potential. Some, however, would see Marco's humanizing shortcomings and call everyone fortunate that he has them…
Background: Always labeled as the "Safe Kid" by his peers for his cautious nature, Marco's entire world was turned on its head when Star Butterfly crashed into his life. Since her arrival, he's seen and done things well outside of his comfort zone, and has found himself craving the adventures and relishing the time he spends with Star during them.
Even when it's a little bit more than he should be handling…
Alias: Princess Marco Turdina, Safe Kid
Alignment: Hero
Sex: Male
Race: Human…?
Nationality: American/Mexican
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Responsible, organized, down-to-earth, and cautious, Marco is almost everything that the impulsive, chaotic, and reckless Star is not. Smart and straightforward, he takes pride in his orderliness, and his individual skills from his high marks in class to his martial arts prowess. However, he is without question eager and able to throw himself into danger–in the name of defending his friends and those close to him, but also for the fun of it.
In spite of his various skills, Marco is a young man with troubles attached to self-image and a fear of being ridiculed. Though Star abruptly entering his life has helped him begin to overcome some of his hangups, others remain firmly entrenched and still more have appeared thanks to her and grossly limit his potential. Some, however, would see Marco's humanizing shortcomings and call everyone fortunate that he has them…
Background: Always labeled as the "Safe Kid" by his peers for his cautious nature, Marco's entire world was turned on its head when Star Butterfly crashed into his life. Since her arrival, he's seen and done things well outside of his comfort zone, and has found himself craving the adventures and relishing the time he spends with Star during them.
Even when it's a little bit more than he should be handling…
Name: Janna Ordonia
Alias: Janna Banana
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American/Filipino
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Janna is a dry and crass young woman who does as she pleases in defiance of convention. With a curious heart and love for the weird and macabre, she is more at home in scrapyards and cemeteries than in comic book shops, and is drawn to and attracts similarly dark souls to herself. In spite of her off-beat nature, she has no problem being friends with the hyperactive Star and the responsible Marco. As a matter of fact she holds no small affection for both–that is usually sublimated into strange pranks and invasions of Marco's privacy and personal space.
Janna dislikes appearing emotionally vulnerable, keeping people separated from herself with walls of weirdness and indifference. Hidden is an observant side as well, an awareness of the strangeness around her that drives her to delve deeper into the unusual world she lives in, searching for what lurks in the dark.
Background: Growing up alongside Marco Diaz for all his life, she often featured as a background character in it until his family took in an Egyptian foreign exchange student named Akil. Her time spent with Akil brought her closer to Marco, and even after Akil returned home, she remained in his orbit. Something about him caught her attention, and she began sticking close–but still strangely at arm's length from the young man.
She would begin to get much closer again, however, when Star Butterfly arrived at their school from Mewni.
Alias: Janna Banana
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American/Filipino
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Janna is a dry and crass young woman who does as she pleases in defiance of convention. With a curious heart and love for the weird and macabre, she is more at home in scrapyards and cemeteries than in comic book shops, and is drawn to and attracts similarly dark souls to herself. In spite of her off-beat nature, she has no problem being friends with the hyperactive Star and the responsible Marco. As a matter of fact she holds no small affection for both–that is usually sublimated into strange pranks and invasions of Marco's privacy and personal space.
Janna dislikes appearing emotionally vulnerable, keeping people separated from herself with walls of weirdness and indifference. Hidden is an observant side as well, an awareness of the strangeness around her that drives her to delve deeper into the unusual world she lives in, searching for what lurks in the dark.
Background: Growing up alongside Marco Diaz for all his life, she often featured as a background character in it until his family took in an Egyptian foreign exchange student named Akil. Her time spent with Akil brought her closer to Marco, and even after Akil returned home, she remained in his orbit. Something about him caught her attention, and she began sticking close–but still strangely at arm's length from the young man.
She would begin to get much closer again, however, when Star Butterfly arrived at their school from Mewni.
|Big Bad Beetleborgs|
Name: Andrew "Drew" McCormick
Alias: Blue Stingerborg
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Drew is a comic book nerd somewhat out of place in the modern discourse of gatekeeping, identity, and contrarianism. A true geek, he has little problem sharing his enthusiasm for comic books and superheroes with others. He holds an idealistic naïvete about heroes and heroism, and dreams of being a hero like those in his favorite series, the Big Bad Beetleborgs.
In spite of being an open and accepting comic book fan, he is critically lacking in self-esteem in other areas in his life due to both his upbringing and targeting of bullies throughout his childhood, and would much rather be the heroes in his comic books than himself. Which in itself is a shame, because his ability to persevere in the face of his hardships gives hint to a much greater figure than he can imagine.
Background: Drew has never had the most positive upbringing. Living between a narcissistic father, a competitive and aggressive younger sister, and daily torments from two bullies wealthy enough to live beyond consequence, Drew has spent much of his life engrossed in comic books, and many of his interpersonal bonds are founded on that love. It is then no surprise that the most important event in his young life is the result of wanting to be the hero in his favorite book; the consequences of that desire, on the other hand…
Alias: Blue Stingerborg
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Drew is a comic book nerd somewhat out of place in the modern discourse of gatekeeping, identity, and contrarianism. A true geek, he has little problem sharing his enthusiasm for comic books and superheroes with others. He holds an idealistic naïvete about heroes and heroism, and dreams of being a hero like those in his favorite series, the Big Bad Beetleborgs.
In spite of being an open and accepting comic book fan, he is critically lacking in self-esteem in other areas in his life due to both his upbringing and targeting of bullies throughout his childhood, and would much rather be the heroes in his comic books than himself. Which in itself is a shame, because his ability to persevere in the face of his hardships gives hint to a much greater figure than he can imagine.
Background: Drew has never had the most positive upbringing. Living between a narcissistic father, a competitive and aggressive younger sister, and daily torments from two bullies wealthy enough to live beyond consequence, Drew has spent much of his life engrossed in comic books, and many of his interpersonal bonds are founded on that love. It is then no surprise that the most important event in his young life is the result of wanting to be the hero in his favorite book; the consequences of that desire, on the other hand…
Name: Josephine "Jo" McCormick
Alias: Red Strikerborg
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Jo is an aggressive, combative, but surprisingly intelligent tomboy. A comic book lover like her brother, she's happy to throw down with the most densely bearded of aficionados and come out triumphant in her knowledge. Also like her brother, she has a strong sense of justice, but has no problem dispensing it in the name of doing the right thing.
Jo despises being looked down upon for any reason, and always endeavors to be on top. Her fearsome, opinionated attitude has gotten her into plenty of shouting matches, and physical altercations to boot–but it has distanced her from others, leaving her only real friends Drew and Roland. Nevertheless, she is close to those she cares for, and when the stars align and she can be the person she wants to be, she is a reliable friend.
Background: Jo grew up favored in her household over her brother, whom she is barely a year younger than. Like Drew, living with a narcissist has greatly warped her interpersonal behaviors, but in a different direction from Drew, and as a result she is isolated from others and doesn't do well at making friends. So when the opportunity to become a hero like in the comics came along, she took it on… and the consequences that came with it.
Alias: Red Strikerborg
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Jo is an aggressive, combative, but surprisingly intelligent tomboy. A comic book lover like her brother, she's happy to throw down with the most densely bearded of aficionados and come out triumphant in her knowledge. Also like her brother, she has a strong sense of justice, but has no problem dispensing it in the name of doing the right thing.
Jo despises being looked down upon for any reason, and always endeavors to be on top. Her fearsome, opinionated attitude has gotten her into plenty of shouting matches, and physical altercations to boot–but it has distanced her from others, leaving her only real friends Drew and Roland. Nevertheless, she is close to those she cares for, and when the stars align and she can be the person she wants to be, she is a reliable friend.
Background: Jo grew up favored in her household over her brother, whom she is barely a year younger than. Like Drew, living with a narcissist has greatly warped her interpersonal behaviors, but in a different direction from Drew, and as a result she is isolated from others and doesn't do well at making friends. So when the opportunity to become a hero like in the comics came along, she took it on… and the consequences that came with it.
Name: Roland Williams
Alias: Green Hunter Beetleborg
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Laid back and comfortable in himself and identity, Roland enjoys working part time at his family's comic book shop and poring over his favorite books with his closest friends. He readily bonds with Jo over comic debates, but appreciates Drew's live and let-live attitude with regard to the comic fandom. He is an avid trash-talker, however, and running his mouth has gotten him in plenty of trouble with his friends, his peers in general, and his family.
Background: The son and grandson of successful business owners, Roland has grown up all his life a respected figure in Echo Creek's community. Though he is humble and plays ignorant of his position and privilege in the community, he is well aware of it and even more so aware of the checkered past his family conceals behind the image cultivated by his grandmother. His love of comic books, fostered by his family and his longtime friends Drew and Jo, and that aforementioned checkered past were all big factors in accepting a chance to become a superhero… and despite all appearances, he's more prepared for it than even he knows.
Alias: Green Hunter Beetleborg
Alignment: Good
Sex: Male
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Laid back and comfortable in himself and identity, Roland enjoys working part time at his family's comic book shop and poring over his favorite books with his closest friends. He readily bonds with Jo over comic debates, but appreciates Drew's live and let-live attitude with regard to the comic fandom. He is an avid trash-talker, however, and running his mouth has gotten him in plenty of trouble with his friends, his peers in general, and his family.
Background: The son and grandson of successful business owners, Roland has grown up all his life a respected figure in Echo Creek's community. Though he is humble and plays ignorant of his position and privilege in the community, he is well aware of it and even more so aware of the checkered past his family conceals behind the image cultivated by his grandmother. His love of comic books, fostered by his family and his longtime friends Drew and Jo, and that aforementioned checkered past were all big factors in accepting a chance to become a superhero… and despite all appearances, he's more prepared for it than even he knows.
Name: Heather Summers
Alias: N/A
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Heather is a friendly, kind, and charismatic girl, who is popular with her peers (especially Drew). Despite her "popular girl" status, she is an avid comic book reader and nerd–which is why she works part time at Zoom Comics as a Barista. She cares greatly for her coworkers and boss, and for her favorite regular customers Drew and Jo.
Background: A normal girl in a crazy noisy town, Heather is considered one of the most popular girls at Echo Creek Academy and is the object of affections of many of her peers. Consciously aware of this, especially of the crush Drew has on her, she gently keeps her distance from those who make advances towards her, but there's no mistaking when she has a soft spot for someone.
Alias: N/A
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Heather is a friendly, kind, and charismatic girl, who is popular with her peers (especially Drew). Despite her "popular girl" status, she is an avid comic book reader and nerd–which is why she works part time at Zoom Comics as a Barista. She cares greatly for her coworkers and boss, and for her favorite regular customers Drew and Jo.
Background: A normal girl in a crazy noisy town, Heather is considered one of the most popular girls at Echo Creek Academy and is the object of affections of many of her peers. Consciously aware of this, especially of the crush Drew has on her, she gently keeps her distance from those who make advances towards her, but there's no mistaking when she has a soft spot for someone.
Name: [REDACTED] "Nano" Williams
Alias: Big Nano
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Energetic, sassy, and very much in-your-face; Roland's grandmother, whom everyone in town affectionately refers to as "Nano" believes that old age is a state of mind and she does not subscribe to it. A daredevil and an adrenaline enthusiast, it's hardly unusual to see her riding her motorcycle, practicing martial arts in the park, or starting it with any troublemakers who show their hides on her turf. Past that, she is a loving and doting matriarch of her family, teasing and pranking her son and daughter-in-law in good fun, and spoiling her beloved grandson.
In spite of her extroverted nature, however, Nano likes to keep many things to herself. Her family knows to never ask her about the days of her youth, and anyone outside it is quickly deterred from trying.
Background: A woman with a great deal of history, one she keeps to herself, Nano settled in Echo Creek in the late 1980s with her son Aaron after a relatively nomadic life on the backroads and side alleys of the country. Inspired by a visit to Gravity Falls in the early 90s, she opened Zoom Comics and quickly became not just a successful business owner but a pillar of the community in Echo Creek and the larger LA Metro area.
Nowadays, Nano can be seen practicing Tai Chi in the park, riding her motorcycle, or running her comic book shop alongside her son and grandson, but wherever she goes she cannot be missed.
Alias: Big Nano
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: Energetic, sassy, and very much in-your-face; Roland's grandmother, whom everyone in town affectionately refers to as "Nano" believes that old age is a state of mind and she does not subscribe to it. A daredevil and an adrenaline enthusiast, it's hardly unusual to see her riding her motorcycle, practicing martial arts in the park, or starting it with any troublemakers who show their hides on her turf. Past that, she is a loving and doting matriarch of her family, teasing and pranking her son and daughter-in-law in good fun, and spoiling her beloved grandson.
In spite of her extroverted nature, however, Nano likes to keep many things to herself. Her family knows to never ask her about the days of her youth, and anyone outside it is quickly deterred from trying.
Background: A woman with a great deal of history, one she keeps to herself, Nano settled in Echo Creek in the late 1980s with her son Aaron after a relatively nomadic life on the backroads and side alleys of the country. Inspired by a visit to Gravity Falls in the early 90s, she opened Zoom Comics and quickly became not just a successful business owner but a pillar of the community in Echo Creek and the larger LA Metro area.
Nowadays, Nano can be seen practicing Tai Chi in the park, riding her motorcycle, or running her comic book shop alongside her son and grandson, but wherever she goes she cannot be missed.
Name: Vexor Gaohm
Alias: Vexor G.
Alignment: Evil
Sex: Male?
Race: Unknown
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: The Nightmare Realm
Personality: Vexor is intelligent, self-assured, and calculating. From the formation of his small group of villains, he has prided himself on being able to outsmart and outplay the larger parties that hold control over the incomprehensible boundary between dimensions. He is also inquisitive and surprisingly open-minded, eager to explore new situations and solve the problems presented to him practically.
For all his self-proclaimed attributes, Vexor is manipulative, coercive, and has no qualms about punishing his minions if they ignore him. However, he is strangely sensible in his methods and savvy, which can be held as proof of why he has survived so long.
Background: The leader of the Magnavore Tribe, it is unknown how he formed this group, or how powerful it was back in the Nightmare Realm. However, once he came to the Nightmare Realm, he did not hesitate to begin a campaign to conquer not just Earth, but the entire universe.
Alias: Vexor G.
Alignment: Evil
Sex: Male?
Race: Unknown
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: The Nightmare Realm
Personality: Vexor is intelligent, self-assured, and calculating. From the formation of his small group of villains, he has prided himself on being able to outsmart and outplay the larger parties that hold control over the incomprehensible boundary between dimensions. He is also inquisitive and surprisingly open-minded, eager to explore new situations and solve the problems presented to him practically.
For all his self-proclaimed attributes, Vexor is manipulative, coercive, and has no qualms about punishing his minions if they ignore him. However, he is strangely sensible in his methods and savvy, which can be held as proof of why he has survived so long.
Background: The leader of the Magnavore Tribe, it is unknown how he formed this group, or how powerful it was back in the Nightmare Realm. However, once he came to the Nightmare Realm, he did not hesitate to begin a campaign to conquer not just Earth, but the entire universe.
Name: Noxic
Alias: Combat Mecha Army Commander Noxic
Alignment: Bad
Sex: None [Identifies as Male]
Race: Machine Humanoid
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: The Nightmare Realm
Personality: Noxic is happy-go-lucky, chaotic, and obnoxious. Noxic is a villain who loves to cause trouble, get into fights, and laugh at the mayhem in his wake. Having little respect for authority figures, especially Vexor, he is the most rebellious of his subordinates and often receives physical harm as a result. He is also careless and indifferent to his mechanical creations, and their contempt for him in turn.
However, when it comes to the people he calls his friends, he is not only intensely loyal to them but also thoughtful and considerate of them, to the point of being quick to provide emotional support for as much as fight for them.
Background: A machine intelligence occupying a mechanical body of his own design, how Noxic came to be shackled to Vexor's will is a long and irritating story, but he gets through it by causing trouble with his fellow Magnavores Typhus and Jara, whom he considers his best friends.
Alias: Combat Mecha Army Commander Noxic
Alignment: Bad
Sex: None [Identifies as Male]
Race: Machine Humanoid
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: The Nightmare Realm
Personality: Noxic is happy-go-lucky, chaotic, and obnoxious. Noxic is a villain who loves to cause trouble, get into fights, and laugh at the mayhem in his wake. Having little respect for authority figures, especially Vexor, he is the most rebellious of his subordinates and often receives physical harm as a result. He is also careless and indifferent to his mechanical creations, and their contempt for him in turn.
However, when it comes to the people he calls his friends, he is not only intensely loyal to them but also thoughtful and considerate of them, to the point of being quick to provide emotional support for as much as fight for them.
Background: A machine intelligence occupying a mechanical body of his own design, how Noxic came to be shackled to Vexor's will is a long and irritating story, but he gets through it by causing trouble with his fellow Magnavores Typhus and Jara, whom he considers his best friends.
Name: Typhus
Alias: Bio Lord Typhus
Alignment: Bad
Sex: None [Identifies as Male]
Race: Unknown
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: Nightmare Realm
Personality: Gregarious, boisterous, but easy-going, Typhus loves excess in everything from eating to drinking to fighting. In battle, he's quick to praise his opponents even as he taunts and grinds them down with his regenerative abilities, before clobbering with his monstrous strength. To his friends he's even kinder, quick to be a place of comfort and support, and even wisdom when they're low.
Despite his brutish nature, Typhus is extremely intelligent, with a profound knowledge of biology, chemistry, medicine, and genetics. It is with this knowledge that he is able to create his monsters from his own body, giving him his moniker, The Bio Lord.
Background: A long lived resident of the Nightmare Realm, Typhus' rough past and skills has seen him cross paths with many powerful denizens. It was this complicated past that led him into the servitude of Vexor. Owing his life to Vexor, Typhus serves him reluctantly, but his friendship with Noxic and Jara has made it easier.
Alias: Bio Lord Typhus
Alignment: Bad
Sex: None [Identifies as Male]
Race: Unknown
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: Nightmare Realm
Personality: Gregarious, boisterous, but easy-going, Typhus loves excess in everything from eating to drinking to fighting. In battle, he's quick to praise his opponents even as he taunts and grinds them down with his regenerative abilities, before clobbering with his monstrous strength. To his friends he's even kinder, quick to be a place of comfort and support, and even wisdom when they're low.
Despite his brutish nature, Typhus is extremely intelligent, with a profound knowledge of biology, chemistry, medicine, and genetics. It is with this knowledge that he is able to create his monsters from his own body, giving him his moniker, The Bio Lord.
Background: A long lived resident of the Nightmare Realm, Typhus' rough past and skills has seen him cross paths with many powerful denizens. It was this complicated past that led him into the servitude of Vexor. Owing his life to Vexor, Typhus serves him reluctantly, but his friendship with Noxic and Jara has made it easier.
Name: Jara
Alias: Mercenary Army Commander Jara
Alignment: Bad
Sex: Female
Race: Unknown Humanoid
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: Nightmare Realm
Personality: Confident, no-nonsense, and pridefully arrogant, Jara is a consummate mercenary, Jara relishes martial combat and challenging strong foes. Loyal to her companions, she often takes a big sister or motherly role to Noxic and Typhus, often leading them into battle and stunning them with her prowess.
Her arrogance, however, is her greatest weakness. When challenged, Jara does not do well. Especially when she is challenged by someone she sees as weaker than her. Other, deeper issues haunt her, and when things go bad, she tends to spiral severely.
Background: Leader of a once powerful army of mercenaries, Jara wound up in the employ of Vexor after a crushing defeat at the hands of a Butterfly long ago. In spite of the proud face she puts on behind her mask, she is deeply scarred by her past experience, manifesting as a distant aloofness from her friends.
Alias: Mercenary Army Commander Jara
Alignment: Bad
Sex: Female
Race: Unknown Humanoid
Nationality: Magnavore Tribe
Hometown: Nightmare Realm
Personality: Confident, no-nonsense, and pridefully arrogant, Jara is a consummate mercenary, Jara relishes martial combat and challenging strong foes. Loyal to her companions, she often takes a big sister or motherly role to Noxic and Typhus, often leading them into battle and stunning them with her prowess.
Her arrogance, however, is her greatest weakness. When challenged, Jara does not do well. Especially when she is challenged by someone she sees as weaker than her. Other, deeper issues haunt her, and when things go bad, she tends to spiral severely.
Background: Leader of a once powerful army of mercenaries, Jara wound up in the employ of Vexor after a crushing defeat at the hands of a Butterfly long ago. In spite of the proud face she puts on behind her mask, she is deeply scarred by her past experience, manifesting as a distant aloofness from her friends.
Name: Thaddeus "Trip" Vanderhoff III and Van Vanderhoff
Alias: N/A
Alignment: Bad
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: The Vanderhoff brothers are the poster children for affluenza: Cruel, sadistic, petty, and completely disconnected from human empathy thanks to a life of nothing but wealth and privilege. Utterly without real friends or relationships that aren't about their money or position in Echo Creek's society, they simply do not care and relish being able to lord their wealth over those beneath them. They are, without doubt, the worst people in town.
Background: The half-brother sons of Echo Creek's most prosperous real-estate developer, Trip and Van are a pair of bullies who go largely unchallenged in Echo Creek thanks to their phenomenal wealth and ability to leverage it against any obstacles in their path. Their favorite target is Drew McCormick, and from their first meeting they've done nothing but torment him for their own amusement and nothing else. Someone should punch these dipshits in their faces.
Alias: N/A
Alignment: Bad
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Hometown: Echo Creek, Los Angeles, California
Personality: The Vanderhoff brothers are the poster children for affluenza: Cruel, sadistic, petty, and completely disconnected from human empathy thanks to a life of nothing but wealth and privilege. Utterly without real friends or relationships that aren't about their money or position in Echo Creek's society, they simply do not care and relish being able to lord their wealth over those beneath them. They are, without doubt, the worst people in town.
Background: The half-brother sons of Echo Creek's most prosperous real-estate developer, Trip and Van are a pair of bullies who go largely unchallenged in Echo Creek thanks to their phenomenal wealth and ability to leverage it against any obstacles in their path. Their favorite target is Drew McCormick, and from their first meeting they've done nothing but torment him for their own amusement and nothing else. Someone should punch these dipshits in their faces.
|Original Characters|
Name: Misao H. Darlian
Alias: FaithfulPony371
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: German/Swiss/French/Japanese
Hometown: Geneva, Switzerland/Berlin, Germany
Personality: Misao is bright, extroverted, and assertive. It is natural for her to plunge headfirst into any situation and pull along anyone within arms reach with her. This, combined with her beauty and positive nature, makes her quick to connect with almost everyone she meets.
Being a generous and gregarious girl from a wealthy family, she has no issue with spoiling herself or those she considers close to her. On the other hand, when crossed, she has a fearsome temper–and rarely holds back her wrath when those close to her are in danger.
Background: The daughter of Hyuuga Heavy Industries CEO Momiji Hyuuga, and Hyuuga Medical Works Chief Researcher Edward Darlian, Misao has lived a sheltered upbringing among wealthy elite throughout most of her life in Europe. Educated in Switzerland and the South of France, she chose the final year of her schooling to spend it in the United States and was invited by the famous Haley Family from their decades and generations spanning sitcom "Our Family" as an exchange student. Expecting to spend the last year of youthful freedom immersed in American High School Culture, she never would've imagined that forces beyond her comprehension were moving to ensure that she would end up in a weirder and wilder situation than any private school in Beverly Hills could hope to provide.
Alias: FaithfulPony371
Alignment: Good
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: German/Swiss/French/Japanese
Hometown: Geneva, Switzerland/Berlin, Germany
Personality: Misao is bright, extroverted, and assertive. It is natural for her to plunge headfirst into any situation and pull along anyone within arms reach with her. This, combined with her beauty and positive nature, makes her quick to connect with almost everyone she meets.
Being a generous and gregarious girl from a wealthy family, she has no issue with spoiling herself or those she considers close to her. On the other hand, when crossed, she has a fearsome temper–and rarely holds back her wrath when those close to her are in danger.
Background: The daughter of Hyuuga Heavy Industries CEO Momiji Hyuuga, and Hyuuga Medical Works Chief Researcher Edward Darlian, Misao has lived a sheltered upbringing among wealthy elite throughout most of her life in Europe. Educated in Switzerland and the South of France, she chose the final year of her schooling to spend it in the United States and was invited by the famous Haley Family from their decades and generations spanning sitcom "Our Family" as an exchange student. Expecting to spend the last year of youthful freedom immersed in American High School Culture, she never would've imagined that forces beyond her comprehension were moving to ensure that she would end up in a weirder and wilder situation than any private school in Beverly Hills could hope to provide.
Character Info
Volume 1
And so we reach the end of the character bios for Volume 1. Fun fact: There aren't actually quite a great deal of Original Characters here in Legends. One of my goals has been to keep those to a minimum, and there will be more as the story goes on, this story isn't about them and no one's going to take the spotlight from our heroes.
See you when I cover Volume 2... or when I get some art done for these characters...
Last edited:
Delta/Soul
Versed in the lewd.
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This Akil character mentioned in Janna's Biography is most definitely going to have a chapter or mention in the future.
Power in Pink
New
The Ero-Sennin
Shitposter no more
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Volume 9 is done, and now I'm going to start posting it! Things take surprising turns both past and present in Echo Creek!
When Teodoro woke, the mid-morning sun was already slanting in through the high windows. The last thing he remembered was the meal he'd prepared in Dr. Hillhurst's kitchen the night before—and collapsing onto a bed in one of the house's guest rooms, full to the point of near-bursting.
He slipped from the blankets, set his feet on the hardwood floor, and looked out the window.
It was already so late. He normally did not wake so late, even on the road, and never at home.
A pain ached in him.
Home.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to force it down, and rose to dress.
Descending the stairs into the grand, over-decorated foyer and walking into the sitting room moments later, he took in the details he hadn't noticed before: the antique organ dominating the far wall, the suit of medieval armor, and a dozen paintings of stormy landscapes and stern-faced men—making ridiculous faces.
He did a double take at those before his attention was drawn to the woman tending to a bruised and bloodied Dr. Hillhurst on the same couch where the "Doctor" had treated him.
The woman—with dark hair fading to blonde at the tips, and dressed in a simple white dress under a brown jacket—turned to him when she heard his arrival.
Her warm, hazel-colored eyes lit up. "Well, howdy. You must be the young man Al warned me about!"
She rose and offered her hand for a shake. "Jane. Jane Monroe. Pleasure's mine."
"What happened to him?" Teodoro asked, voice sharp even as he took her hand and shook it—in a fashion both measured, polite.
She hooked her other thumb over her shoulder at Dr. Hillhurst. "Al here got himself in a scrape down in town."
Teodoro's eyes flicked past her, narrow with concern. "Is he all right?"
"Oh, he'll be his ornery self again by supper. Don't you worry none," she assured. "How are you, darlin'? You were half-dead from exposure when he found you, wren't ya?"
"I was," Teodoro replied, flatly.
Jane blinked. "… You're blunt as a kick to the teeth, huh?"
"There's no point in mincing words."
She laughed loud and sudden, a surprised bark that nearly made him jump. "Oh, you two are gonna get along like a house on fire."
Teodoro wondered her meaning as Dr. Hillhurst, stirred by her laugh, groaned awake.
"Oh, Ted, you're awake. Ready to get that ammo made…?" He greeted groggily.
"Ready," Teodoro answered, clean and sharp.
"Excellent. In spite of various inconveniences, your order is in. Jane here was even kind enough to bring the first shipment—.45 and 7.63x25, as we discussed."
Jane nodded. "And there's more coming. By the time I'm back from town, ol' Backintosh'll have the next batch ready. I'll have it back here before sundown."
Dr. Hillhurst sat up slightly, wincing. "And I'll have the rounds requested ready by morning. Lucky for us, the bastards only went after my face—my hands are still good for a night of fine work."
Jane smirked. "That's what you tell all the ladies down at the saloon, huh?"
Teodoro flushed—his cheeks blooming a startled pink. That a woman would speak like that left him momentarily speechless.
"Oh, it's true," Dr. Hillhurst replied without missing a beat. "Ask any of the ladies. My needlework is impeccable—there's not a stitch I can't mend."
Trying to shake off his fluster, Teodoro pressed forward. "Who did this to you?"
"Remember those… troublesome dealings?"
He nodded once. "Tell me who. I'll handle them."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Eager, aren't you?"
"I made a deal with him," Teodoro replied. "He was hurt upholding his end, and I will not let that rest on me."
"Trust me, son, Al would've taken that beating whether or not he was helping you," Jane said. "But I like your integrity."
"Thank you for the compliment," Teodoro said evenly, "but I still want to know who did this."
Jane glanced over at Dr. Hillhurst. "Zealous kid, huh?"
"In him burns a righteous flame," Dr. Hillhurst said, "and it will blaze regardless of any attempt to dissuade him. Regard him as a man, not a child, Jane."
Jane turned back to Teodoro. Looking at his face—so young, so fresh—but none of that youth reached his eyes.
Something about that hollow stare made her want to hug him tightly, an unfamiliar maternal urge that caught her off-guard and made her hesitate uncomfortably.
Dr. Hillhurst shifted, settling further back into the cushions. "I'll tell you what, my boy. Sooner or later, those contentious bastards will come to my doorstep again. When they do—they're yours."
Teodoro shook his head. "No. They're God's."
Jane was at a loss. The ease, the lack of hesitation to speak of such things—it chilled her.
"Just… don't make a habit of killing people on your land," she said quietly. "That'll only invite more trouble."
"There's only one way to deal with monsters," Teodoro said. "Thoroughly."
Jane opened her mouth to push back—but stopped. Instead, she sighed and walked to the door, snatching a weathered brown fedora from the rack.
"I'll leave the doctor to you. I've got my own troublesome dealings to tend to."
She exited briskly, the door slamming shut behind her.
Dr. Hillhurst groaned as he sat up straighter. "Pardon her, Teodoro. Jane does quite a bit of charitable work for the community, and bloodshed appalls her."
Teodoro looked toward the door, then back to him. "That's her concern."
Shaking his head, Dr. Hillhurst pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I'm rested enough, my vision's no longer doubled, and my bones are intact. Come on, lad. Let's talk while I show you the workshop."
Outside, Jane approached a pale brown horse tied to a trellis post, the saddle a dusty blend of pink and tan. She climbed into the stirrups.
"Come on, Sheila," she said gently, patting the horse's side. "Duty calls."
Moving up the dirt path, Jane guided her horse past the rows of Dr. Hillhurst's sprawling trellises until they gave way to the tall wild grasses beyond the vineyard.
As she scanned the open fields ahead of her, she slowed.
Her gaze was drawn toward a rise in the ground off to the right, eyes narrowing as she caught something—movement? A glint?
She frowned.
After moments of scrutiny, she looked away, ahead.
"… Get along now," she murmured to Sheila, giving her a light nudge.
She spared one final glance behind her right as the horse walked on, then looked down at the ring on her right hand index finger: a pink band with a diamond-studded silver "S." It shimmered in the light as she stared at it.
A few moments after horse and rider fell out of sight, a figure slowly rose from the tall grass she'd eyed. Hutchinson, his face purple with bruises and jaw held shut and swathed in gauze, looked back the way Jane rode, then down at Dr. Hillhurst's home.
"All right," he snarled through clenched teeth.
He hoisted a sawed-off Remington Model 1897 into both hands as one by one, six more men rose beside him—guns drawn, holsters unlatched, shotguns at the ready.
"We're putting an end to this once and for all."
Taking his cane from beside the door, Dr. Hillhurst headed out and motioned for Teodoro to follow. "Come along—I'll show you the shed."
Teodoro followed closely behind, like a duckling trailing its mother. Dr. Hillhurst led him around the side of the house to a sizable outbuilding tucked behind the main house. He opened the door to reveal a well-equipped gunsmith's workshop.
Inside, rows of firearms lined the walls: shotguns, lever-action rifles, and revolvers in varying states of construction and repair. The smithing table was covered in tools and small parts, and beside it sat two heavy buckets—both filled with freshly acquired brass casings.
Teodoro's eyes widened. "You have so many…"
"I do make weapons for my neighbors," Dr. Hillhurst said, stepping inside. "Because without the means to defend it, liberty is just a privilege waiting to be taken."
Teodoro nodded. "You need more than having guns for that, though."
Dr. Hillhurst gave a tired smile. "Far more."
He settled into a swiveling chair, then turned to face the boy with one of the .45 casings in hand. "But let's not talk about my guns. Let's talk about yours."
Teodoro met his gaze.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask, friend. What's your association with Avalon Armeros?"
"I don't know them personally," Teodoro replied without hesitation. "But my father bought my weapons from them."
"The Mauser and the Colt?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Can you tell me more? About your family?"
Teodoro paused, and stood still for a moment. Dr. Hillhurst watched as his empty expression still managed to darken with what was no doubt a storm of recent memories raging behind his all-but unblinking eyes.
What felt like an eternity, Teodoro took a long, deep breath. In—and out.
"We hunt monsters," he answered plainly. "We have since we arrived in Mexico two hundred years ago—and before that, in Spain. We have never known peace, and never will, not as long as monsters draw breath."
He said it so mechanically, like he'd been told it a thousand times.
From someone he listened to unconditionally.
Dr. Hillhurst felt a pang of guilt, as he realized he may have set off something in the man with his question. Still, he pressed on.
"Real monsters, not men acting like them."
"There is little difference," Teodoro said darkly. "But I've seen both. Werewolves. Vampires. Demons. The dead who won't stay dead…"
He drew the revolver from his right holster, flipped it in his hand and held it out to Dr. Hillhurst, grip-first.
The gesture surprised the "Doctor", but he took the gun carefully and examined it.
"The bullets we use aren't just silver. They poison. They strip power from the unnatural—weakening them until they're no more dangerous than a man. Then they die."
Dr. Hillhurst turned to the Mauser holstered on the boy's left side. "And the Mauser?"
"I use that when I don't want to waste silver," Teodoro replied.
"Logical." Dr. Hillhurst smirked. "How handy are you with steel?"
"I rarely miss with my pistols," Teodoro admitted. "But they're not my strength."
"No?"
"My strength is the rifle. And the saber. I've hidden them both… in case you couldn't be trusted."
"Smart," Dr. Hillhurst said, a little impressed.
Teodoro paused. Then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.
"… But I think I can trust you."
"Oh?" Dr. Hillhurst raised an eyebrow. "You've seemed a touch wary, until now."
"I collapsed on your doorstep and awoke with water, shade, and a cool rag on my forehead," Teodoro said. "You could've stripped me of everything I had and left me to die—but you didn't. You saw my silver, my guns… and still never once considered betraying me."
Dr. Hillhurst let out a low chuckle as he handed the revolver back. "Well. Within five minutes of meeting you, I understood two things: first, monsters exist—and you kill them. Second, if I'd tried to rob you, even while you were half-dead… you'd have still found a way to kill me first."
The smirk on Teodoro's face widened ever so slightly as he holstered his weapon.
"Smart."
Dr. Hillhurst laughed lightly. "Let's get to work on that order of yours. I'll need to melt down the silver first."
"I can do it," Teodoro offered. "My father taught me how."
That caught the doctor's attention. "A man of many trades. All right then—the forge is outside. Think you can manage it?"
Teodoro stood. "It shouldn't be difficult."
He only took two steps past the door before something caught his attention. His sharp eyes tracked movement up the vineyard path—and he spotted Hutchinson and his men just coming into view before the corner of the house broke line of sight.
He stepped back inside quickly.
Dr. Hillhurst turned, surprised at his sudden return. "Something wrong?"
"There are armed men approaching the house," Teodoro said flatly. "They didn't see me."
The doctor's face fell into a grim line. "How many?"
"Seven."
"Were any of them bandaged around the head?"
"Yes. The one leading them."
"Damn it, Hutchinson… you've been warned enough."
Without further discussion, Dr. Hillhurst rose and moved to the wall of finished firearms. He reached for a lever-action shotgun, thought better of it, and swapped it for a pump-action model. He tossed another to Teodoro, along with a box of shells.
"Here you go, lad. Looks like we've got some of those troublesome dealings to settle."
With quick, precise movements, Teodoro chambered a round, flipped the shotgun over, and loaded six more into the magazine tube. His hands were smooth, automatic. Dr. Hillhurst had only finished loading his second shell when Teodoro was finished.
"Do we warn them?" he asked, voice calm.
"They're on my property with guns drawn," Dr. Hillhurst replied, loading his third shell. "So, no."
Teodoro glanced out the window.
"Do we show mercy?"
Dr. Hillhurst didn't even look up. "They're on my property with guns drawn."
He racked the pump, chambering a shell.
"So, no."
Teodoro nodded sharply, and both he and Dr. Hillhurst hurried from the shed toward the kitchen entrance of the house. By the time they reached the living room—ducking behind the thick stone-and-timber walls near the front window—they could already hear the crunch of boots and rattle of metal approaching through the front yard.
Then came the blast.
A single shotgun roar echoed through the valley, scattering birds from the trees. Hutchinson lowered the weapon, teeth clenched and gun smoking as his posse spread out from behind him to his flanks.
"HILLHURST, YOU CHARLATAN! SHOW YOURSELF! I WANT MY GUN BACK, YOU DAMN SNAKE!"
Behind the window, Teodoro raised an eyebrow. "What gun?"
Dr. Hillhurst casually drew the polished M1899 from inside his coat and handed it over. Teodoro turned it over in his hands and gave a subtle nod.
"I see why he's angry."
The silence from the house seemed to goad Hutchinson further. He raised his shotgun again, voice cracking from rage.
"FINE THEN!"
Pointing his barrel down the right side of the house, he barked orders. "Emmett, Sean, Kelsey—you circle to the back!"
Then, gesturing to the other side, he barked: "Horace, Max, Ivan—you're with me! We're going in loud!"
But before his men could take a step, a sharp crack split the air like lightning.
Hutchinson screamed in pain, stumbling forward and dropping his shotgun. Clutching his rear like it was aflame, he rolled onto his side, gasping and whimpering.
Behind them, SheHaw recalled and coiled her whip with ease.
"Howdy, fellas," she said coolly. "I don't seem to recall any of y'all being deputized, or any warrants issued. So what brings you to a man's home with steel drawn?"
Teodoro stared out the window, eyes narrowing at the pink-clad woman standing tall with a coiled whip in hand.
"…Who is that?"
Dr. Hillhurst let out a deep, audible sigh.
"Sweet relief, my good man."
Outside, the armed men turned their weapons toward SheHaw as Hutchinson staggered upright, fury burning through his bruised jaw.
"This ain't none of your concern, woman!"
"Oh, it's plenty my concern," SheHaw called back, whip in one hand, stance defiant. "Now come on, boys—leave the doctor be. No reason for this to get messy."
Already sore and losing face, Hutchinson snapped, his voice ragged. "That fraud's no doctor! And the fact you call him one says plenty!"
He leveled his gun at her. "HILLHURST! COME OUT HERE OR WE'LL KILL YOUR WOMAN TOO!"
Inside, both SheHaw and Dr. Hillhurst grimaced at the very with disgust.
"I'd rather be shot dead than be called that man's woman!" SheHaw fired back without missing a beat.
Dr. Hillhurst was of a similar thought. "I'd rather be shot dead than be any woman's man…"
Hutchinson barked an order. "Ivan—grab her before she tries anything!"
Ivan, the largest of the crew—a bald, barrel-chested brute with a braided beard—stomped forward, fists twitching.
One of the younger posse members, Emmett, shifted uneasily.
"Uh, Hutchinson? Ain't SheHaw basically the sheriff?" He asked.
"She ain't no sheriff! She's a pink flamingo who thinks she's handy with a whip!" Hutchinson snapped.
As Ivan loomed over her, SheHaw looked up with a calm warning in her eyes. "Big fella, I wouldn't go puttin' hands on a lady, now."
Emmett took a step forward, more panicked. "Ivan, wait—don't antagonize her, she's—"
Ivan sneered. "In old country, we remind women of place with hand."
Then he struck her.
The blow echoed like a hammer on steel. SheHaw's head turned slightly, but her stance held. She didn't fall. She didn't flinch.
Inside the house, both Dr. Hillhurst and Teodoro instinctively winced.
Ivan's smirk evaporated. His hand trembled. He recoiled, grabbing his wrist with wide eyes—his bones buzzing with pain.
It felt like he'd slapped a statue of bronze coated in velvet. Something was very, very wrong.
His eyes widened when she glanced sideways at him, their gazes locking. She heaved a sigh.
"… Welp."
SheHaw pivoted and uppercut Ivan with a rising blow so fast and precise it was as if time skipped a beat. The brute's feet left the ground. He tumbled end-over-end through the air, over the heads of Hutchinson and the posse, and landed flat on his back with a solid thud—right at the foot of Dr. Hillhurst's front porch.
Inside, Teodoro, who had already leveled his shotgun, eased off.
"Some relief."
Dr. Hillhurst smirked, pleased.
"For us, not them."
Outside, the posse froze in horror at Ivan's limp body.
The shock didn't last, as SheHaw exploded forward.
She slammed her fist into the jaw of the man beside Sean—Kelsey—and he collapsed like a sack of bricks. Horace, trying to raise his pistol, got it wrenched downward by SheHaw's grip, just in time to catch a spinning backhand across his cheek.
Emmett blinked at the sight, whispered a "Nope," and broke into a full sprint—booking it back up the hill.
Hutchinson and his last two men—Sean and Max—raised their weapons just in time to catch the full fury of SheHaw's twin whips. With a single spiraling spin, she lashed both braided cords outward. The crack of the strikes hit like gunshots, and both men dropped.
That left Hutchinson.
"YOU DAMN MONSTER WOMAN!" he roared, letting off a panicked blast from his shotgun.
She charged straight through it, buckshot splashing off her body like raindrops.
Before he could rack the next round, she seized him by the neck, lifted him clean off the ground, and planted him spine-first into the dirt.
Hutchinson, stunned, lay frozen on the ground, staring at the sky. The dust hadn't even settled when SheHaw stepped on and ground the heel of her boot into the side of his face.
"From flamingo to 'monster,'" she said coolly, leaning closer. "Why don't you show a little more respect to the woman who just saved your life, Abner?"
With a grunt of pain, Hutchinson spat, "Saved…? You saved his…!"
Dr. Hillhurst, shotgun against his shoulder, strolled out with Teodoro behind him.
"Oh no, Mr. Hutchinson. Rest assured—if you stepped into my home, you and your boys would be leaving very dead."
He glanced to the edge of the road, watching Emmett flee. "Although… it seems you did miss one."
SheHaw turned, catching sight of the retreating man. From her belt, she drew a dark pink hair comb with a handle curved into the shape of a boomerang.
"Just a sec," she said.
She hurled the comb. Spinning, it arced cleanly through the air, a glittering blur, towards the back of Emmet's head—
THWACK!
He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The comb spun back, and SheHaw caught it midair without missing a beat.
"Ted, go collect the young man," Dr. Hillhurst said as he accepted a length of rope from SheHaw, "so we can get these gentlemen tied up and carted back to town."
"Is that a good idea?" Teodoro asked, walking toward the unconscious Emmett.
"If I had my way," the doctor called after him, "they'd all be dead and cooling somewhere on my property. But alas, I'm burdened by decency."
SheHaw shot him a look. "I appreciate you shouldering it."
Together, the trio moved methodically, hoisting each man to his feet. One by one, they blindfolded the dazed attackers, bound their wrists, and tied the ends of their lead to the back of Sheila's saddle.
"I'm taking these boys into town," SheHaw said, climbing onto her horse. "They'll cool their heads in a cell."
Dr. Hillhurst leaned on his cane. "You truly are a gem, SheHaw."
"You two gonna be all right?"
"We'll manage," he replied.
Teodoro said nothing, but his eyes lingered on the bound men—watchful, weighing.
"Just holler if you need me," she added as she adjusted her reins. "I'll hear it from downtown."
With that, she rode off, her unusual chain of prisoners trailing behind. Both men stood silent as she descended the hill.
"She's naïve," Teodoro finally said.
Dr. Hillhurst sighed. "She's not naïve, she's made a deliberate vow to never take a life."
"…Why?" Teodoro asked, genuinely puzzled.
The doctor smiled faintly. "Well, for one, as long as she's wearing that ridiculous getup, twelve-gauge buckshot at point-blank may as well be birdshot from five hundred yards."
The young man scowled at SheHaw's retreating form, then turned to Dr. Hillhurst. "Who do those men work for?"
"Hm?" Dr. Hillhurst gave a short breath. There was no use being coy. "Emily Blakesfield-Bonner. Los Angeles' rising oil tycoon. You've likely seen her derricks scattered across the countryside on your way here—most of them are hers. The oil's made her family obscenely rich, even more than they already were."
Teodoro didn't seem surprised that one of the region's most powerful figures was a woman. "Why are you and she at odds?"
"Because she's a vulture," Dr. Hillhurst answered bluntly. "Echo Creek used to be a proper town—before she tore it down and turned it into an oil field."
He turned and headed toward the house. "And if you don't give her what she wants, she sends men like Hutchinson to take it. From your cold, dead hands if necessary."
A dark thought flickered in Dr. Hillhurst's expression, a ghost of a memory. A bitter conversation in a shotgun shack on the edge of the world.
He tightened his jaw for a moment, and shook his head.
"It is, to the horror of some, the human condition."
Once SheHaw was out of sight, Teodoro followed. "I disagree."
"Oh?" Dr. Hillhurst looked back over his shoulder.
"Evil people are rare, but they cast long shadows.," Teodoro said. "They die, and their evil dies with them."
Dr. Hillhurst grimaced as he stepped up to the porch. "If it were so simple, I'd take an axe to that entire family tree myself."
He paused, turned, and regarded the younger man. "But it takes more than killing to uproot what truly poisons a place."
Teodoro frowned. "So what would it take?"
Dr. Hillhurst gave a tired, sardonic smile. "For me to have as much money as Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner, honestly."
Teodoro stared at him, not quite sure if he was joking.
A booming crack shattered the quiet of Echo Creek, turning heads and sending horses skittering in panic. But it came from neither gunshot nor SheHaw's whip. Just down the street from the saloon and post office, one of Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's newest oil derricks had collapsed in spectacular fashion.
The noise drew a sizable crowd of locals—who fell silent and parted like wheat before a scythe when she stepped onto the scene herself.
Striding past them in a long burgundy skirt and ivory gloves, Emily surveyed the splintered wreckage of the drill and its surrounding derrick with no small annoyance.
At the center of the commotion stood the befuddled foreman, scratching his blonde head with four fingers while clutching his fedora between thumb and index like a child caught in a storm. He didn't even notice her approach until she spoke.
"Mr. Armberg, what in Heaven's name happened?!"
He flinched and turned. "Ms. Bonner! It's… it's bad. We hit something. About twenty feet down. Drill bit overheated and snapped clean off."
"Twenty—" she began, stopping herself mid-word. A flash of irritation crossed her porcelain features before she recomposed. "Then dig it up."
"Yes ma'am. We'll have it cleared by morning."
Before she could follow up, Mr. Armberg stared over her shoulder. "Uh… ma'am? Is that Hutchinson?"
Emily turned.
Sure enough, down the main street rode SheHaw, tall in the saddle, trailing a string of beaten and bound men behind her like a pink-clad reaper. The crowd stirred, whispering as the town's most infamous vigilante led local men—known for keeping the law—straight to jail. Chief among them: an unconscious Hutchinson, slung over her horse like a sack of meal.
Emily gathered the front of her skirt in her hands as she turned sharply and stormed over.
"SheHaw! What is the meaning of this?!"
The vigilante tipped her hat with the air of someone long used to drama. "Afternoon, Ms. Bonner. Just the lady I hoped to see. You'll never guess where I found your boys."
Emily's eyes narrowed at the state they were in. "Wherever they were, I assure you, it was not at my behest."
"Save your breath. An investigation'll make that clear." SheHaw gestured behind her. "What's clear already is these men came armed onto another man's land, and I stopped a massacre."
From the chain of prisoners, Emmett squawked. "W-we weren't gonna shoot anybody! It was Hutchinson's idea to go over and talk! He just wanted his gun back from Hillhurst!"
"Hillhurst?" Emily repeated, stunned.
Emmett's desperation poured out like a leak. "Please, Ms. Bonner! I can't go to jail! You know my Pa—he'd never forgive me!"
Emily's surprise turned to a look of calculation, then realization.
Her expression sharpened, as she spoke with a voice frigid and final to the young. "Shut up, I had no part in your foolishness, I will not absolve you of it."
She turned to SheHaw. "I have warned them to avoid that man plenty enough."
SheHaw huffed. "Without your consent."
Emily glanced once at Hutchinson's limp form, and leveled that cold gaze onto SheHaw.
"As you just said yourself, SheHaw: save your words. I await your investigation, and I will expect restitution for this attempt to tarnish my name."
Their gazes locked—Emily's iron to SheHaw's flame. The moment lingered, silent and razor-edged.
Finally, the vigilante gave a low "Giddyup, Sheila," and rode off leading her procession.
As she passed, Emmett cried out one last time, pale with terror. "Please don't tell my Pa…!"
Emily didn't answer. She turned back to Armberg and her crew. They'd wisely kept their eyes down.
None of them dared meet her gaze.
"Utter a word of what just occurred," Emily said, her voice like dry ice, "and you won't have to worry about this broken drill—because it won't be your problem to solve."
With that, she turned sharply and stormed toward the center of town, the crowd of onlookers quickly dispersing from her path to escape her cold, tightly coiled fury radiating from her with each step.
In the opposite direction, as SheHaw neared the jail, the man draped over her horse groaned and shifted.
"…Damn monster… can't leave well enough alone…"
"I could say the same for you," SheHaw replied flatly, not even turning to look at him. "Maybe a night in the can'll finally steer you off this path to destruction."
Hutchinson sneered, his voice thick with exhaustion. "You think there's a judge in this town who gives a damn we tried to string up that Skagway charlatan? We won't even see one—we'll be out before sundown."
SheHaw's lips thinned. "And if you go back there, I won't save you next time."
"You saved him."
She shook her head. "That man's more dangerous than you realize. If you keep poking him, he's going to poke back—harder. And if this keeps going back and forth there'll be nothing left but scorched earth and blood-soaked dirt."
"Then maybe you should go wrap your whip around Hillhurst's neck and yank until it snaps."
"That's nonsense," SheHaw said coldly. "Killing him would just make it easier for you to do whatever you want."
"To who?" Hutchinson snarled, raising his head just enough to look back. "A bunch of dirt farmers? Mexicans? Poor folks pretending it's still 1870?"
Even bruised and broken, he sneered. "It's time you started thinking about progress, about what's good for civilized folks—rational people—trying to bring order to this damn world."
SheHaw slowed her horse and looked out across what was once Echo Creek. A forest of oil derricks—jagged wood and steel skeletons—rising from the earth where once a town stood, spread across the land like rot.
Her hand gripped the reins tightly.
"… Is this what you call progress?"
Power comes in many forms.
= - = 9-1 = - =
|Power in Pink|
When Teodoro woke, the mid-morning sun was already slanting in through the high windows. The last thing he remembered was the meal he'd prepared in Dr. Hillhurst's kitchen the night before—and collapsing onto a bed in one of the house's guest rooms, full to the point of near-bursting.
He slipped from the blankets, set his feet on the hardwood floor, and looked out the window.
It was already so late. He normally did not wake so late, even on the road, and never at home.
A pain ached in him.
Home.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to force it down, and rose to dress.
Descending the stairs into the grand, over-decorated foyer and walking into the sitting room moments later, he took in the details he hadn't noticed before: the antique organ dominating the far wall, the suit of medieval armor, and a dozen paintings of stormy landscapes and stern-faced men—making ridiculous faces.
He did a double take at those before his attention was drawn to the woman tending to a bruised and bloodied Dr. Hillhurst on the same couch where the "Doctor" had treated him.
The woman—with dark hair fading to blonde at the tips, and dressed in a simple white dress under a brown jacket—turned to him when she heard his arrival.
Her warm, hazel-colored eyes lit up. "Well, howdy. You must be the young man Al warned me about!"
She rose and offered her hand for a shake. "Jane. Jane Monroe. Pleasure's mine."
"What happened to him?" Teodoro asked, voice sharp even as he took her hand and shook it—in a fashion both measured, polite.
She hooked her other thumb over her shoulder at Dr. Hillhurst. "Al here got himself in a scrape down in town."
Teodoro's eyes flicked past her, narrow with concern. "Is he all right?"
"Oh, he'll be his ornery self again by supper. Don't you worry none," she assured. "How are you, darlin'? You were half-dead from exposure when he found you, wren't ya?"
"I was," Teodoro replied, flatly.
Jane blinked. "… You're blunt as a kick to the teeth, huh?"
"There's no point in mincing words."
She laughed loud and sudden, a surprised bark that nearly made him jump. "Oh, you two are gonna get along like a house on fire."
Teodoro wondered her meaning as Dr. Hillhurst, stirred by her laugh, groaned awake.
"Oh, Ted, you're awake. Ready to get that ammo made…?" He greeted groggily.
"Ready," Teodoro answered, clean and sharp.
"Excellent. In spite of various inconveniences, your order is in. Jane here was even kind enough to bring the first shipment—.45 and 7.63x25, as we discussed."
Jane nodded. "And there's more coming. By the time I'm back from town, ol' Backintosh'll have the next batch ready. I'll have it back here before sundown."
Dr. Hillhurst sat up slightly, wincing. "And I'll have the rounds requested ready by morning. Lucky for us, the bastards only went after my face—my hands are still good for a night of fine work."
Jane smirked. "That's what you tell all the ladies down at the saloon, huh?"
Teodoro flushed—his cheeks blooming a startled pink. That a woman would speak like that left him momentarily speechless.
"Oh, it's true," Dr. Hillhurst replied without missing a beat. "Ask any of the ladies. My needlework is impeccable—there's not a stitch I can't mend."
Trying to shake off his fluster, Teodoro pressed forward. "Who did this to you?"
"Remember those… troublesome dealings?"
He nodded once. "Tell me who. I'll handle them."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Eager, aren't you?"
"I made a deal with him," Teodoro replied. "He was hurt upholding his end, and I will not let that rest on me."
"Trust me, son, Al would've taken that beating whether or not he was helping you," Jane said. "But I like your integrity."
"Thank you for the compliment," Teodoro said evenly, "but I still want to know who did this."
Jane glanced over at Dr. Hillhurst. "Zealous kid, huh?"
"In him burns a righteous flame," Dr. Hillhurst said, "and it will blaze regardless of any attempt to dissuade him. Regard him as a man, not a child, Jane."
Jane turned back to Teodoro. Looking at his face—so young, so fresh—but none of that youth reached his eyes.
Something about that hollow stare made her want to hug him tightly, an unfamiliar maternal urge that caught her off-guard and made her hesitate uncomfortably.
Dr. Hillhurst shifted, settling further back into the cushions. "I'll tell you what, my boy. Sooner or later, those contentious bastards will come to my doorstep again. When they do—they're yours."
Teodoro shook his head. "No. They're God's."
Jane was at a loss. The ease, the lack of hesitation to speak of such things—it chilled her.
"Just… don't make a habit of killing people on your land," she said quietly. "That'll only invite more trouble."
"There's only one way to deal with monsters," Teodoro said. "Thoroughly."
Jane opened her mouth to push back—but stopped. Instead, she sighed and walked to the door, snatching a weathered brown fedora from the rack.
"I'll leave the doctor to you. I've got my own troublesome dealings to tend to."
She exited briskly, the door slamming shut behind her.
Dr. Hillhurst groaned as he sat up straighter. "Pardon her, Teodoro. Jane does quite a bit of charitable work for the community, and bloodshed appalls her."
Teodoro looked toward the door, then back to him. "That's her concern."
Shaking his head, Dr. Hillhurst pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I'm rested enough, my vision's no longer doubled, and my bones are intact. Come on, lad. Let's talk while I show you the workshop."
Outside, Jane approached a pale brown horse tied to a trellis post, the saddle a dusty blend of pink and tan. She climbed into the stirrups.
"Come on, Sheila," she said gently, patting the horse's side. "Duty calls."
Moving up the dirt path, Jane guided her horse past the rows of Dr. Hillhurst's sprawling trellises until they gave way to the tall wild grasses beyond the vineyard.
As she scanned the open fields ahead of her, she slowed.
Her gaze was drawn toward a rise in the ground off to the right, eyes narrowing as she caught something—movement? A glint?
She frowned.
After moments of scrutiny, she looked away, ahead.
"… Get along now," she murmured to Sheila, giving her a light nudge.
She spared one final glance behind her right as the horse walked on, then looked down at the ring on her right hand index finger: a pink band with a diamond-studded silver "S." It shimmered in the light as she stared at it.
A few moments after horse and rider fell out of sight, a figure slowly rose from the tall grass she'd eyed. Hutchinson, his face purple with bruises and jaw held shut and swathed in gauze, looked back the way Jane rode, then down at Dr. Hillhurst's home.
"All right," he snarled through clenched teeth.
He hoisted a sawed-off Remington Model 1897 into both hands as one by one, six more men rose beside him—guns drawn, holsters unlatched, shotguns at the ready.
"We're putting an end to this once and for all."
@@@@@
Taking his cane from beside the door, Dr. Hillhurst headed out and motioned for Teodoro to follow. "Come along—I'll show you the shed."
Teodoro followed closely behind, like a duckling trailing its mother. Dr. Hillhurst led him around the side of the house to a sizable outbuilding tucked behind the main house. He opened the door to reveal a well-equipped gunsmith's workshop.
Inside, rows of firearms lined the walls: shotguns, lever-action rifles, and revolvers in varying states of construction and repair. The smithing table was covered in tools and small parts, and beside it sat two heavy buckets—both filled with freshly acquired brass casings.
Teodoro's eyes widened. "You have so many…"
"I do make weapons for my neighbors," Dr. Hillhurst said, stepping inside. "Because without the means to defend it, liberty is just a privilege waiting to be taken."
Teodoro nodded. "You need more than having guns for that, though."
Dr. Hillhurst gave a tired smile. "Far more."
He settled into a swiveling chair, then turned to face the boy with one of the .45 casings in hand. "But let's not talk about my guns. Let's talk about yours."
Teodoro met his gaze.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask, friend. What's your association with Avalon Armeros?"
"I don't know them personally," Teodoro replied without hesitation. "But my father bought my weapons from them."
"The Mauser and the Colt?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Can you tell me more? About your family?"
Teodoro paused, and stood still for a moment. Dr. Hillhurst watched as his empty expression still managed to darken with what was no doubt a storm of recent memories raging behind his all-but unblinking eyes.
What felt like an eternity, Teodoro took a long, deep breath. In—and out.
"We hunt monsters," he answered plainly. "We have since we arrived in Mexico two hundred years ago—and before that, in Spain. We have never known peace, and never will, not as long as monsters draw breath."
He said it so mechanically, like he'd been told it a thousand times.
From someone he listened to unconditionally.
Dr. Hillhurst felt a pang of guilt, as he realized he may have set off something in the man with his question. Still, he pressed on.
"Real monsters, not men acting like them."
"There is little difference," Teodoro said darkly. "But I've seen both. Werewolves. Vampires. Demons. The dead who won't stay dead…"
He drew the revolver from his right holster, flipped it in his hand and held it out to Dr. Hillhurst, grip-first.
The gesture surprised the "Doctor", but he took the gun carefully and examined it.
"The bullets we use aren't just silver. They poison. They strip power from the unnatural—weakening them until they're no more dangerous than a man. Then they die."
Dr. Hillhurst turned to the Mauser holstered on the boy's left side. "And the Mauser?"
"I use that when I don't want to waste silver," Teodoro replied.
"Logical." Dr. Hillhurst smirked. "How handy are you with steel?"
"I rarely miss with my pistols," Teodoro admitted. "But they're not my strength."
"No?"
"My strength is the rifle. And the saber. I've hidden them both… in case you couldn't be trusted."
"Smart," Dr. Hillhurst said, a little impressed.
Teodoro paused. Then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.
"… But I think I can trust you."
"Oh?" Dr. Hillhurst raised an eyebrow. "You've seemed a touch wary, until now."
"I collapsed on your doorstep and awoke with water, shade, and a cool rag on my forehead," Teodoro said. "You could've stripped me of everything I had and left me to die—but you didn't. You saw my silver, my guns… and still never once considered betraying me."
Dr. Hillhurst let out a low chuckle as he handed the revolver back. "Well. Within five minutes of meeting you, I understood two things: first, monsters exist—and you kill them. Second, if I'd tried to rob you, even while you were half-dead… you'd have still found a way to kill me first."
The smirk on Teodoro's face widened ever so slightly as he holstered his weapon.
"Smart."
Dr. Hillhurst laughed lightly. "Let's get to work on that order of yours. I'll need to melt down the silver first."
"I can do it," Teodoro offered. "My father taught me how."
That caught the doctor's attention. "A man of many trades. All right then—the forge is outside. Think you can manage it?"
Teodoro stood. "It shouldn't be difficult."
He only took two steps past the door before something caught his attention. His sharp eyes tracked movement up the vineyard path—and he spotted Hutchinson and his men just coming into view before the corner of the house broke line of sight.
He stepped back inside quickly.
Dr. Hillhurst turned, surprised at his sudden return. "Something wrong?"
"There are armed men approaching the house," Teodoro said flatly. "They didn't see me."
The doctor's face fell into a grim line. "How many?"
"Seven."
"Were any of them bandaged around the head?"
"Yes. The one leading them."
"Damn it, Hutchinson… you've been warned enough."
Without further discussion, Dr. Hillhurst rose and moved to the wall of finished firearms. He reached for a lever-action shotgun, thought better of it, and swapped it for a pump-action model. He tossed another to Teodoro, along with a box of shells.
"Here you go, lad. Looks like we've got some of those troublesome dealings to settle."
With quick, precise movements, Teodoro chambered a round, flipped the shotgun over, and loaded six more into the magazine tube. His hands were smooth, automatic. Dr. Hillhurst had only finished loading his second shell when Teodoro was finished.
"Do we warn them?" he asked, voice calm.
"They're on my property with guns drawn," Dr. Hillhurst replied, loading his third shell. "So, no."
Teodoro glanced out the window.
"Do we show mercy?"
Dr. Hillhurst didn't even look up. "They're on my property with guns drawn."
He racked the pump, chambering a shell.
"So, no."
Teodoro nodded sharply, and both he and Dr. Hillhurst hurried from the shed toward the kitchen entrance of the house. By the time they reached the living room—ducking behind the thick stone-and-timber walls near the front window—they could already hear the crunch of boots and rattle of metal approaching through the front yard.
Then came the blast.
A single shotgun roar echoed through the valley, scattering birds from the trees. Hutchinson lowered the weapon, teeth clenched and gun smoking as his posse spread out from behind him to his flanks.
"HILLHURST, YOU CHARLATAN! SHOW YOURSELF! I WANT MY GUN BACK, YOU DAMN SNAKE!"
Behind the window, Teodoro raised an eyebrow. "What gun?"
Dr. Hillhurst casually drew the polished M1899 from inside his coat and handed it over. Teodoro turned it over in his hands and gave a subtle nod.
"I see why he's angry."
The silence from the house seemed to goad Hutchinson further. He raised his shotgun again, voice cracking from rage.
"FINE THEN!"
Pointing his barrel down the right side of the house, he barked orders. "Emmett, Sean, Kelsey—you circle to the back!"
Then, gesturing to the other side, he barked: "Horace, Max, Ivan—you're with me! We're going in loud!"
But before his men could take a step, a sharp crack split the air like lightning.
Hutchinson screamed in pain, stumbling forward and dropping his shotgun. Clutching his rear like it was aflame, he rolled onto his side, gasping and whimpering.
Behind them, SheHaw recalled and coiled her whip with ease.
"Howdy, fellas," she said coolly. "I don't seem to recall any of y'all being deputized, or any warrants issued. So what brings you to a man's home with steel drawn?"
Teodoro stared out the window, eyes narrowing at the pink-clad woman standing tall with a coiled whip in hand.
"…Who is that?"
Dr. Hillhurst let out a deep, audible sigh.
"Sweet relief, my good man."
Outside, the armed men turned their weapons toward SheHaw as Hutchinson staggered upright, fury burning through his bruised jaw.
"This ain't none of your concern, woman!"
"Oh, it's plenty my concern," SheHaw called back, whip in one hand, stance defiant. "Now come on, boys—leave the doctor be. No reason for this to get messy."
Already sore and losing face, Hutchinson snapped, his voice ragged. "That fraud's no doctor! And the fact you call him one says plenty!"
He leveled his gun at her. "HILLHURST! COME OUT HERE OR WE'LL KILL YOUR WOMAN TOO!"
Inside, both SheHaw and Dr. Hillhurst grimaced at the very with disgust.
"I'd rather be shot dead than be called that man's woman!" SheHaw fired back without missing a beat.
Dr. Hillhurst was of a similar thought. "I'd rather be shot dead than be any woman's man…"
Hutchinson barked an order. "Ivan—grab her before she tries anything!"
Ivan, the largest of the crew—a bald, barrel-chested brute with a braided beard—stomped forward, fists twitching.
One of the younger posse members, Emmett, shifted uneasily.
"Uh, Hutchinson? Ain't SheHaw basically the sheriff?" He asked.
"She ain't no sheriff! She's a pink flamingo who thinks she's handy with a whip!" Hutchinson snapped.
As Ivan loomed over her, SheHaw looked up with a calm warning in her eyes. "Big fella, I wouldn't go puttin' hands on a lady, now."
Emmett took a step forward, more panicked. "Ivan, wait—don't antagonize her, she's—"
Ivan sneered. "In old country, we remind women of place with hand."
Then he struck her.
The blow echoed like a hammer on steel. SheHaw's head turned slightly, but her stance held. She didn't fall. She didn't flinch.
Inside the house, both Dr. Hillhurst and Teodoro instinctively winced.
Ivan's smirk evaporated. His hand trembled. He recoiled, grabbing his wrist with wide eyes—his bones buzzing with pain.
It felt like he'd slapped a statue of bronze coated in velvet. Something was very, very wrong.
His eyes widened when she glanced sideways at him, their gazes locking. She heaved a sigh.
"… Welp."
SheHaw pivoted and uppercut Ivan with a rising blow so fast and precise it was as if time skipped a beat. The brute's feet left the ground. He tumbled end-over-end through the air, over the heads of Hutchinson and the posse, and landed flat on his back with a solid thud—right at the foot of Dr. Hillhurst's front porch.
Inside, Teodoro, who had already leveled his shotgun, eased off.
"Some relief."
Dr. Hillhurst smirked, pleased.
"For us, not them."
Outside, the posse froze in horror at Ivan's limp body.
The shock didn't last, as SheHaw exploded forward.
She slammed her fist into the jaw of the man beside Sean—Kelsey—and he collapsed like a sack of bricks. Horace, trying to raise his pistol, got it wrenched downward by SheHaw's grip, just in time to catch a spinning backhand across his cheek.
Emmett blinked at the sight, whispered a "Nope," and broke into a full sprint—booking it back up the hill.
Hutchinson and his last two men—Sean and Max—raised their weapons just in time to catch the full fury of SheHaw's twin whips. With a single spiraling spin, she lashed both braided cords outward. The crack of the strikes hit like gunshots, and both men dropped.
That left Hutchinson.
"YOU DAMN MONSTER WOMAN!" he roared, letting off a panicked blast from his shotgun.
She charged straight through it, buckshot splashing off her body like raindrops.
Before he could rack the next round, she seized him by the neck, lifted him clean off the ground, and planted him spine-first into the dirt.
Hutchinson, stunned, lay frozen on the ground, staring at the sky. The dust hadn't even settled when SheHaw stepped on and ground the heel of her boot into the side of his face.
"From flamingo to 'monster,'" she said coolly, leaning closer. "Why don't you show a little more respect to the woman who just saved your life, Abner?"
With a grunt of pain, Hutchinson spat, "Saved…? You saved his…!"
Dr. Hillhurst, shotgun against his shoulder, strolled out with Teodoro behind him.
"Oh no, Mr. Hutchinson. Rest assured—if you stepped into my home, you and your boys would be leaving very dead."
He glanced to the edge of the road, watching Emmett flee. "Although… it seems you did miss one."
SheHaw turned, catching sight of the retreating man. From her belt, she drew a dark pink hair comb with a handle curved into the shape of a boomerang.
"Just a sec," she said.
She hurled the comb. Spinning, it arced cleanly through the air, a glittering blur, towards the back of Emmet's head—
THWACK!
He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The comb spun back, and SheHaw caught it midair without missing a beat.
"Ted, go collect the young man," Dr. Hillhurst said as he accepted a length of rope from SheHaw, "so we can get these gentlemen tied up and carted back to town."
"Is that a good idea?" Teodoro asked, walking toward the unconscious Emmett.
"If I had my way," the doctor called after him, "they'd all be dead and cooling somewhere on my property. But alas, I'm burdened by decency."
SheHaw shot him a look. "I appreciate you shouldering it."
Together, the trio moved methodically, hoisting each man to his feet. One by one, they blindfolded the dazed attackers, bound their wrists, and tied the ends of their lead to the back of Sheila's saddle.
"I'm taking these boys into town," SheHaw said, climbing onto her horse. "They'll cool their heads in a cell."
Dr. Hillhurst leaned on his cane. "You truly are a gem, SheHaw."
"You two gonna be all right?"
"We'll manage," he replied.
Teodoro said nothing, but his eyes lingered on the bound men—watchful, weighing.
"Just holler if you need me," she added as she adjusted her reins. "I'll hear it from downtown."
With that, she rode off, her unusual chain of prisoners trailing behind. Both men stood silent as she descended the hill.
"She's naïve," Teodoro finally said.
Dr. Hillhurst sighed. "She's not naïve, she's made a deliberate vow to never take a life."
"…Why?" Teodoro asked, genuinely puzzled.
The doctor smiled faintly. "Well, for one, as long as she's wearing that ridiculous getup, twelve-gauge buckshot at point-blank may as well be birdshot from five hundred yards."
The young man scowled at SheHaw's retreating form, then turned to Dr. Hillhurst. "Who do those men work for?"
"Hm?" Dr. Hillhurst gave a short breath. There was no use being coy. "Emily Blakesfield-Bonner. Los Angeles' rising oil tycoon. You've likely seen her derricks scattered across the countryside on your way here—most of them are hers. The oil's made her family obscenely rich, even more than they already were."
Teodoro didn't seem surprised that one of the region's most powerful figures was a woman. "Why are you and she at odds?"
"Because she's a vulture," Dr. Hillhurst answered bluntly. "Echo Creek used to be a proper town—before she tore it down and turned it into an oil field."
He turned and headed toward the house. "And if you don't give her what she wants, she sends men like Hutchinson to take it. From your cold, dead hands if necessary."
A dark thought flickered in Dr. Hillhurst's expression, a ghost of a memory. A bitter conversation in a shotgun shack on the edge of the world.
He tightened his jaw for a moment, and shook his head.
"It is, to the horror of some, the human condition."
Once SheHaw was out of sight, Teodoro followed. "I disagree."
"Oh?" Dr. Hillhurst looked back over his shoulder.
"Evil people are rare, but they cast long shadows.," Teodoro said. "They die, and their evil dies with them."
Dr. Hillhurst grimaced as he stepped up to the porch. "If it were so simple, I'd take an axe to that entire family tree myself."
He paused, turned, and regarded the younger man. "But it takes more than killing to uproot what truly poisons a place."
Teodoro frowned. "So what would it take?"
Dr. Hillhurst gave a tired, sardonic smile. "For me to have as much money as Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner, honestly."
Teodoro stared at him, not quite sure if he was joking.
@@@@@
A booming crack shattered the quiet of Echo Creek, turning heads and sending horses skittering in panic. But it came from neither gunshot nor SheHaw's whip. Just down the street from the saloon and post office, one of Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's newest oil derricks had collapsed in spectacular fashion.
The noise drew a sizable crowd of locals—who fell silent and parted like wheat before a scythe when she stepped onto the scene herself.
Striding past them in a long burgundy skirt and ivory gloves, Emily surveyed the splintered wreckage of the drill and its surrounding derrick with no small annoyance.
At the center of the commotion stood the befuddled foreman, scratching his blonde head with four fingers while clutching his fedora between thumb and index like a child caught in a storm. He didn't even notice her approach until she spoke.
"Mr. Armberg, what in Heaven's name happened?!"
He flinched and turned. "Ms. Bonner! It's… it's bad. We hit something. About twenty feet down. Drill bit overheated and snapped clean off."
"Twenty—" she began, stopping herself mid-word. A flash of irritation crossed her porcelain features before she recomposed. "Then dig it up."
"Yes ma'am. We'll have it cleared by morning."
Before she could follow up, Mr. Armberg stared over her shoulder. "Uh… ma'am? Is that Hutchinson?"
Emily turned.
Sure enough, down the main street rode SheHaw, tall in the saddle, trailing a string of beaten and bound men behind her like a pink-clad reaper. The crowd stirred, whispering as the town's most infamous vigilante led local men—known for keeping the law—straight to jail. Chief among them: an unconscious Hutchinson, slung over her horse like a sack of meal.
Emily gathered the front of her skirt in her hands as she turned sharply and stormed over.
"SheHaw! What is the meaning of this?!"
The vigilante tipped her hat with the air of someone long used to drama. "Afternoon, Ms. Bonner. Just the lady I hoped to see. You'll never guess where I found your boys."
Emily's eyes narrowed at the state they were in. "Wherever they were, I assure you, it was not at my behest."
"Save your breath. An investigation'll make that clear." SheHaw gestured behind her. "What's clear already is these men came armed onto another man's land, and I stopped a massacre."
From the chain of prisoners, Emmett squawked. "W-we weren't gonna shoot anybody! It was Hutchinson's idea to go over and talk! He just wanted his gun back from Hillhurst!"
"Hillhurst?" Emily repeated, stunned.
Emmett's desperation poured out like a leak. "Please, Ms. Bonner! I can't go to jail! You know my Pa—he'd never forgive me!"
Emily's surprise turned to a look of calculation, then realization.
Her expression sharpened, as she spoke with a voice frigid and final to the young. "Shut up, I had no part in your foolishness, I will not absolve you of it."
She turned to SheHaw. "I have warned them to avoid that man plenty enough."
SheHaw huffed. "Without your consent."
Emily glanced once at Hutchinson's limp form, and leveled that cold gaze onto SheHaw.
"As you just said yourself, SheHaw: save your words. I await your investigation, and I will expect restitution for this attempt to tarnish my name."
Their gazes locked—Emily's iron to SheHaw's flame. The moment lingered, silent and razor-edged.
Finally, the vigilante gave a low "Giddyup, Sheila," and rode off leading her procession.
As she passed, Emmett cried out one last time, pale with terror. "Please don't tell my Pa…!"
Emily didn't answer. She turned back to Armberg and her crew. They'd wisely kept their eyes down.
None of them dared meet her gaze.
"Utter a word of what just occurred," Emily said, her voice like dry ice, "and you won't have to worry about this broken drill—because it won't be your problem to solve."
With that, she turned sharply and stormed toward the center of town, the crowd of onlookers quickly dispersing from her path to escape her cold, tightly coiled fury radiating from her with each step.
In the opposite direction, as SheHaw neared the jail, the man draped over her horse groaned and shifted.
"…Damn monster… can't leave well enough alone…"
"I could say the same for you," SheHaw replied flatly, not even turning to look at him. "Maybe a night in the can'll finally steer you off this path to destruction."
Hutchinson sneered, his voice thick with exhaustion. "You think there's a judge in this town who gives a damn we tried to string up that Skagway charlatan? We won't even see one—we'll be out before sundown."
SheHaw's lips thinned. "And if you go back there, I won't save you next time."
"You saved him."
She shook her head. "That man's more dangerous than you realize. If you keep poking him, he's going to poke back—harder. And if this keeps going back and forth there'll be nothing left but scorched earth and blood-soaked dirt."
"Then maybe you should go wrap your whip around Hillhurst's neck and yank until it snaps."
"That's nonsense," SheHaw said coldly. "Killing him would just make it easier for you to do whatever you want."
"To who?" Hutchinson snarled, raising his head just enough to look back. "A bunch of dirt farmers? Mexicans? Poor folks pretending it's still 1870?"
Even bruised and broken, he sneered. "It's time you started thinking about progress, about what's good for civilized folks—rational people—trying to bring order to this damn world."
SheHaw slowed her horse and looked out across what was once Echo Creek. A forest of oil derricks—jagged wood and steel skeletons—rising from the earth where once a town stood, spread across the land like rot.
Her hand gripped the reins tightly.
"… Is this what you call progress?"
= - = 9-1 = - =
Power comes in many forms.
The Ero-Sennin
Shitposter no more
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I'm afraid that's a you situation.
EvaUnit01
The man who stands at the top of AAWWEESSOOOMEEE
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Gonna need you to be more specific about what you don't understand.
Tee'd Off
New
The Ero-Sennin
Shitposter no more
- Joined
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- Likes received
- 33,004
Hey folks, surprise. I was a little late in uploading this. I had planned for doing this on Friday, but I ran into a little bit of a snag while editing it. After a BUNCH of revisions, literal lost sleep, and a painful lesson learned, we're here and we're dropping this bad boy NAO.
The sound of a freight train rumbling down the tracks stirred Gabe awake. He was lying on the edge of the LA River, across from a large railway yard, as the first pre-dawn glow of the morning began to manifest in the east.
Sitting up, he looked at himself: his suburban-chic clothes were torn and slashed, soaked in blood, and the sword he held in his right hand with a vice-like grip was broken just above the hilt.
With a disappointed expression, Gabe shook his head.
"I need better swords." Tossing away the broken blade, Gabe got up, but stumbled when pain radiated from his left arm, chest, and stomach.
Looking down as he pulled up his shredded shirt, he found five deep gashes starting from the very top of the left side of his chest down to his left hip. While the middle three cuts were somewhat deep and still oozing, the two on the outer edges were shallower and closing up.
He felt a throbbing and looked at his arm—what appeared to be a tree branch was driven through his upper arm.
Despite his injuries, he was more surprised than anything. "Damn, he respected the fade."
Grabbing one end of the branch, he ripped it out of his arm with barely a flinch, and tossed it carelessly into the river.
The sun was starting to come up, and he was several miles downriver from where he started. He needed to get back.
"… He better not have found my car," he complained as he began walking back up the river, leaving behind the grotesque smear of blood on the concrete shore he'd woken up in.
With a clean swish and a sharp crack, a golf ball shot into the air above the westside of Echo Creek's country club. It curved slightly in the low mid-morning breeze before bouncing on the fairway just shy of the green.
Brittney Wong's jaw clenched. She glared at the ball.
Try as she might, she could not will it further through pure bad bitch alone.
"That should've made the green," she muttered, lowering her club.
Applause broke out behind her—Sabrina, Megan, and Chantal cheering like she just won the Masters. Dudley hefted her bag over one shoulder and gave a slow, straight-faced nod.
To her right, a mid-20s blonde-haired woman in a white shirt, brown cargo shorts, and golf cleats looked out at where the ball landed before turning to Brittney.
"Why did you hire me again? That's literally 210 yards." She pointed out. "You're already really good for your age."
Brittney finally lowered her club, and handed it to Dudley. "I hired you because I can be better. Good is not enough."
The instructor's left eyebrow quirked. "… That's a healthy mindset."
She pulled a ball from her pocket and began juggling it between her club, then her foot, like a soccer trick as she spoke.
"You're really good, like almost pro-level, and we've only been doing this literally for just a few months. If you want to be great, though?"
She launched the ball with a one-handed swing before it could touch the ground.
Like a laser-guided missile, it curved around and dropped straight into the hole with a tidy plink, not touching the green once.
Dudley's brows lifted sharply.
The other girls gawked at the brilliant shot in silence.
Megan murmured softly, impressed, "Daaaaaang."
She turned back to her student, whose mouth hung agape. "It's going to take time. Keep swinging, girl."
Twirling her club, she walked towards her golf cart. "Okay, let's work on your putting… which I know needs work!"
Brittney narrowed her eyes, but climbed into her golf cart without another word. Her friends piled in behind her, still buzzing. Dudley took the wheel.
"Lead the way, Master Lori," Dudley called to the golf instructor, who slid into her own golf cart and puttered ahead.
As the two carts got underway, Chantal leaned forward over Brittney's shoulder. "She's right though, girl. You're being way too hard on yourself."
Brittney sighed irritably. "Demanding more of myself isn't wrong."
Megan gently interjected. "Yeah, but just like asking too much of others, you can ask for too much of you."
Chantal nodded sagely. "That's how you burn out, and nobody wants to peak in High School."
All four girls shuddered at the thought.
Brittney rested her head on the back of the cart's seat, staring at the plastic canopy overhead. "I've got too much crap going on to worry about High School anymore! I'm looking ahead—college, a career, doing more than just sitting on money and letting my brain rot like those Vanderdweebs did."
"That's what this is about, huh?" Chantal asked.
Megan spoke up. "Does anybody know what happened to those two…?"
The query went unanswered as Brittney continued. "Exactly, that's why I'm mastering every skill I'm interested in."
Chantal's lips pulled into a playful grin. "Okay, but when are you gonna master dating?"
Brittney turned her head to look at her, "Excuse you?"
Chantal shrugged innocently. "I'm just saying—out of all us girls on the squad, you're the only one who hasn't dated anybody. It ain't because of lack of interest, either."
"We know what you like," Megan said.
Chantal nodded towards Sabrina. "I mean, shoot, Sabrina here got a date before you did."
Sabrina timidly raised a finger. "Uh, to be fair, Brittney helped me with that—"
"I do not have time for dating," Brittney snapped, "and even if I did, there's no boy at school worth it."
Megan leaned in. "Not even Roland?"
"I'm too loyal of a friend."
"As you should be," Megan said with a sage nod.
"What about Dipper Pines?" Sabrina asked. "I mean… he seems like your type—good looking, smart…"
"Really tall," Chantal purred.
"Has enough nerve to get in your face in front of the whole school and flip you off?" Megan added.
Brittney rolled her eyes. "I respect him for having the nerve, but dating him? No thanks."
Chantal smirked to herself. "Shoot… then he can get in my face any day."
"Not even any of the swim team guys?" Megan offered.
Brittney's face flushed slightly. "Purely eye candy!"
Chantal opened her mouth to suggest literally anyone from the football team, then quickly reconsidered.
Instead, a more amusing candidate came to mind. "All right, then… what about Marco?"
Brittney immediately shot a harder look at her friend. "What are you implying, Chantal?"
"Me? Nothing at all." She feigned innocence, eyes sparkling.
Megan joined. "Why not, though? He's actually worth your time: 4.0 GPA, martial artist, organized, not even bad-looking—"
"And wears skinny jeans better than every boy and most of the girls at school," Chantal added.
Brittney waved them off sharply. "Marco Diaz is the most socially awkward, insecure, wannabe bad-boy try-hard I've ever met—and I'm not signing up for that mess."
A chorus of sympathetic "Oof!" echoed simultaneously from Sabrina, Chantal, Megan, and even Dudley.
Brittney, secretly relieved, appreciated that her friends felt sympathy for Marco instead of piling on. Given what she knew about him and Star, she wasn't about to say anything that might give anyone the wrong idea—no matter her actual thoughts.
Yeah, she was into the guy for everything that Megan pointed out. And they in fact outweighed his downsides by a lot.
But she was not getting into it with the Warrior Princess from another Dimension over him, She won. Flat out.
She needed to change the subject from her non-existent love life now. "Speaking of, what's going on with you and Roland? Is that ever going to be a thing?"
Megan shrugged her shoulders. "I want him to ask me out."
"Then take a page from Sabrina's book and ask him first," Brittney advised bluntly. "Otherwise, he might never realize he needs to clear his schedule."
"You think he's too busy for me?" Megan asked, affronted.
Brittney didn't even sugarcoat it. "Yes. Unless you make the first move, Roland won't go out of his way."
Seeing Megan's expression, she softened slightly. "It's not your fault—or his—he's out there on that grind for real, and that's exactly why you need to talk to him."
Chantal mulled on that one. "Shoot. If it's like that, I'll ask him out."
"The fuck you will!" Megan snapped instantly.
Brittney gestured triumphantly at Megan's reaction. "See? That's what I mean. Get off your fine ass and talk to him before Chantal's fine ass beats you to it."
Chantal and Sabrina broke into giggles, while Megan shot back with a fiercely competitive, "Bet!"
Up ahead, in her own golf cart, Lori glanced back, smiling warmly at the girls' antics as she parked by the green. "Man, I miss high school and boys being the most I had to worry about."
Dudley parked beside her, and stepped out with Brittney's clubs. "These are truly halcyon days. I only hope they don't waste them like my last employers did."
"Huh? What happened to them?"
Dudley chuckled. "The most wonderful thing that could happen to anyone."
Lori felt a weird chill from that, and wisely called over to Brittney. "Hey, get over here and show me you've been working on your chip."
As Brittney complied and took a club from her bag, Lori continued. "Once you get onto the green, we'll move onto putting practice. Aim away from the hole—I already know you can get it in."
"That's literally what she said," Chantal murmured to Megan and Sabrina while Brittney went over to chip her ball onto the green."
As Sabrina giggled, Megan turned to her. "Hey, I was wondering."
The skittish girl turned to her friend and fellow cheerleader. "Wh-what?"
"Not criticizing the taste, since he cleaned up fine af at the dance, but… why Drew McCormick of all people? It can't be because he's Roland's friend."
"It never helped him before," Chantal added.
Sabrina's face colored, and she looked away. "It's um… actually kind of dumb… but I uh…"
She tapped her fingers together. "I've been low-key crushing on him for a little bit."
Megan and Chantal shared glances, then gawked at Sabrina, as Brittney sized up her shot to get the ball onto the green.
"On… him? Before he turnt up?" Megan asked.
"No shit, for how long?" Chantal asked.
"Since um… the day Jeff and Eddie dropped me during practice."
Now both girls were confused. "Since then? What happened?"
Sabrina looked aside, her face turning red. "It's so stupid—"
"It's not stupid," Brittney said as she performed a practice swing. "There are worse reasons to like somebody."
Megan chuckled. "Girl, it is so weird to see you supportive of a ship."
"Why is it weird?" Brittney asked. "I'm good to my friends!"
Sabrina couldn't help but point out. "Except for when you threw the bag I bought you at me…"
Brittney sighed explosively. "Yes, I am a bitch with flaws. But I'm working on that, okay?!"
"That shit's hard without a therapist, so congrats," Lori said.
Brittney looked at her instructor sharply. "What makes you think I don't have one?"
Everyone stared at her.
In harsh, judgmental silence.
Especially Dudley.
Defeated, Brittney focused on her next shot. "Fuck all of you."
Lining up her club to the ball, while grumbling about how therapists in LA being a bunch of hacks more interested in drama than treatment, Brittney prepared to swing when a distant voice shouted out.
"FORE!"
Brittney whipped around, bracing for an errant golf ball.
Instead, a Scab dropped from the sky towards her, arms above its head and legs curled back, brandishing a short sword aimed to plunge into her face.
She barely had time to gasp before Dudley calmly stepped in, and pulled her protectively behind him as he slipped a stiletto straight into the attacker's head like a bladed UNO reverse card.
The Scab collapsed limply onto the grass and began to break down.
From just off the fairway approached Noxic, trailed by an unruly gang of over a dozen Scabs. The Combat Mecha Army General casually strode forward, a stolen golf visor awkwardly perched atop his metal head, his closed umbrella balanced on his shoulder like a club.
"All right you bums, let 'em know that I'm playin' through!"
At his command, the Scabs scattered and spread over the course, to the shock of the other guests as they were attacked.
Spotting Brittney's group, Noxic stopped and cocked his head. "Hey! What're you dames even doin' here? Don't you know golf is an acronym?!"
Golf Instructor Lori instantly went from surprised to livid. "Excuse me?!"
"You heard me!" Noxic shot back, pointing accusingly. "Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden!"
Without hesitation, Lori snatched a 9-Iron from her golf bag, wielding it like a baseball bat. "I will literally bury you in a sand trap!"
Noxic leaned back in genuine surprise. "Jeez, you wanna fight? Ain't this supposed to be a fancy-schmancy golf course where you folks say 'good heavens' and panic?"
Dudley appeared smoothly beside Noxic, calmly stabbing another Scab in the center of its head as if flicking lint from his sleeve. "This is a public golf course, Master Noxic. Entirely different standards and expectations of behavior apply."
Noxic turned toward Brittney, aghast. "Public?! Enough money for a butler but you're too cheap for a real country club?!"
Suddenly recognizing Dudley was standing well within stabbing range, Noxic jumped back, narrowly dodging another lightning-fast strike. "Whoa! Even your butler's cheap?!"
"I'd say a butler with a particular set of skills is more expensive, not less, Master Noxic."
As Dudley chased Noxic around while one-tapping Scabs that tried to intervene with a dagger in each hand, Brittney had her phone out and was angrily texting Star.
Rule Brittney said:
Third day in a row these idiots show up and ruin my day! I swear to all that is worth my money that you better send someone to deal with this crap QUICK FAST AND IN A HURRY!
"Brittney run!" Megan shouted out, as a Scab approached them, waving its sword around.
"One second, I'm texting—!" Brittney stopped when she found she already got a response.
Star said:
I gotchu homie
Before the Scab could reach her Lori stepped in and swung the club with all her might, cracking the thing in the head with enough force to bend her 9 Iron.
It crumpled to the ground and began to decay into the mechanical wasps that made up its body.
"Ha!" She shouted out, before she looked at the club. "Aw! My husband bought this for me!"
When another Scab tried to attack her, she swung it and brought it down on top of its head repeatedly, bashing it to a pulp. "LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!"
Seeing more Scabs heading towards them as the fallen machine crumbled to dead robot wasps, however, Lori raced over to the cart the girls were getting into. "All right, we're leaving!"
Noxic, using his umbrella to parry away Dudley's stabs, noticed the cart full of women starting to pull off. "Hey! Scabs! Grab 'em before they get away and rough 'em up a bit!"
"How uncouth," Dudley said as he managed to scratch Noxic's face with a quick thrust. "Is this what you're reduced to? Attacking people who can't fight back?"
"We ain't reduced to nothin'!" Noxic shouted as he opened the umbrella and shot at Dudley with the gun that ran through the shaft. "The Magnavores are here for the world, so everybody is gettin' it eventually! Even dogs! Even vending machines!"
Turning and angling his body to avoid the shots, the old butler evaded the energy bolts that burst from the tip of the umbrella—some bolts passing dangerously close, going through his long driving coat as he moved.
Aiming carefully, he threw a stiletto mid-defensive spin and the slender blade slotted neatly into the barrel of the umbrella's gun.
The next blast from the weapon caused the tip to blow out, ruining the gun, but the sturdy umbrella otherwise remained functional. Pulling the smoking weapon back and closing it, Noxic grew hopping mad. "You're gonna pay for that, you mook!"
"Do you take cash," Dudley rushed forward, and rather than stab at him, turned and barged his shoulder into the Magnavore General's chest, throwing him onto his back. "Or check?!"
Noxic looked up at Dudley before he opened his hands. "I take all my payments… ELECTRONIC!"
He unleashed a burst of electricity that struck Dudley in the chest, knocking the old man off his feet and sending him flying backward from him.
Brittney looked back when she heard the crackle and gasped in genuine horror. "Dudley!"
Noxic got up. "Ha, I finally got somebody with that!"
He turned towards the fleeing cart and pulled a trio of knives. "Hey Alfred. I'm pretty handy with knives, too! Watch this!"
He let the blades fly—razor-sharp, aimed straight for the golf cart of wide-eyed girls—only for a fast-moving object to send the knives scattering away.
Noxic tilted his head to one side. "Huh?"
A red glowing line swept across Noxic's field of vision—then the Green Hunterborg's Hunter Claw slammed into his chest, gripping him tight with crushing force.
With a furious yell, Hunterborg drove Noxic into the turf and plowed him across the fairway, grass and dirt flying, before lifting him up and smashing him straight through a nearby tree.
Launched through the air, Noxic rolled to a stop and watched in a daze as the shattered tree toppled between him and the Beetleborg.
The armored hero stepped forward, his helmet's red oval-shaped eyes fiercely. Beneath the helmet, Roland seethed with fury as he roared at him:
"IS THIS WHAT YOU ON, NOW?! ATTACKING PEOPLE FOR THE FUN OF IT?!"
Noxic staggered upright, brushing debris from his scorched jacket. "I already explained it to Jarvis over there—I ain't sayin' it again!"
He jabbed a finger at Roland defiantly. "But I'll tell you this—we're just gettin' started, ya mook!"
"PLAYING THROUGH!" Mabel shouted from his left.
A speeding golf cart, Lori's own abandoned machine, smashed into Noxic's side with an audible crunch, flipping him wildly across the fairway in a blur of limbs and metal parts.
At the wheel, Mabel waved frantically at Roland. "Hey, use that super-speed and clear out the park—we got this bum!"
She pointed aggressively ahead at Noxic's crumpled form. "GET HIS BUTT!"
Jackie Lynn Thomas launched herself out of the passenger side of the cart, twirling another of Star's steel-tipped spears over her head before catching and brandishing it with a confident grin. "Let's go!"
Hunterborg, quickly looking around at all the other Scabs rioting in the park, understood the assignment and took off in a blur as Jackie ran down Noxic.
With three more knives in his free hand, Noxic sprang to his feet. "Come and get it, girlies!"
He threw the knives at Jackie, who ducked into a slide beneath them and used her momentum to thrust the spear at Noxic's chest. When the Magnavore General sidestepped her, she swung the spear in a wide circle over her head as she got up, forcing him to jump back.
"Watch where you swing that!" Noxic complained as he produced another knife and whipped it at Jackie. "Got ya!"
A quick shift of the spear allowed her to deflect it with the shaft before she swung the head at Noxic.
Raising his arm, Noxic stopped the spear and tried to grab it, but Jackie maneuvered her weapon out of his reach and stabbed at his head, forcing him to lean back to duck.
"Think fast, dude!" She taunted as she pulled back and aimed lower.
Noxic knocked the spear away and down with his other hand. "I'm a robot, I always think fast!"
Jackie drove the spear into the grass, using it like a vaulting pole to slam a flying kick into Noxic's chest.
"Are you sure?" She asked as she landed. "Because I think I caught you lagging!"
Noxic barely sputtered an "I don't lag—!" before Mabel slammed a 7-Iron into the right side of his head.
"FORE!" She shouted, swinging again and carving a vivid gouge across his cheek.
He staggered, his head spinning several times. "Hey don't steal my bit!"
He stopped his head. "Why do you brats hit so hard?!"
"Because I'm a violent maniac!" Mabel lifted the club above her head and brought it down atop Noxic's, causing him to bow forward as he stumbled away.
With her free hand she pulled out a sand wedge and began pummeling him with both. "How! Dare! You! Besmirch! The! Peaceful! Timeless! Game! Of! Golf?!"
She struck him with each word she spoke. "Sure! I've! Never! Played! Real! Golf! But! I! Play! Mini-golf! A lot! And! I! Really! Really! Like it!"
Across the golf course, guests and employees fleeing or trying to fend off the Scabs suddenly found themselves free of their attackers.
One Scab trying to swing his blade down on a golfer defending himself with a putter, lost its head completely.
Another running after fleeing guests in a golf cart was ripped in half by a passing green blur.
A group of three Scabs surrounding a golfer and caddy were one by one destroyed, their heads smashed or taken completely off by the speeding Hunterborg.
All over the park, Scabs fell in pieces, the chaos vanishing with them, while on the fairway, Mabel and Jackie took turns pummeling Noxic until both clubs in Mabel's hands bent with the effort.
From their speeding golf cart making its way back towards Dudley, Lori, Brittney, and the other girls watched in silent awe at the contrast: the Green Hunterborg ripping through robot monsters with machine precision, and Noxic getting flat-out jumped by two feral teenage girls.
Sparks popped and smoke poured from rents in his battered frame as Noxic staggered away from the mauling he received. "Maybe I shoulda attacked a bowling alley instead—"
Jackie's spear pierced him through the chest and out his back. "HEY!"
"Come on, dude, even your own friends say you're the weak one," Jackie said as she twisted the blade in Noxic literally in addition to figuratively.
Mabel grabbed the shaft beside her, and together they lifted Noxic high—like planting a flag atop a war-torn volcanic rock—and slammed him headfirst into the grass.
"So that makes you light work for us!" Mabel finished.
Face down in the turf, Noxic groaned. "If it weren't for the fact I got fleshy friends, I'd say some very hurtful and derogatory things about your organic state," he muttered.
"Instead… I'll just kill you with electricity."
Suddenly, he bent at the waist to sit up and twisted his arms backward, unleashing a burst of lightning that blasted both girls off their feet.
As he stood, smoke trailing from his limbs, he looked up—only to see both Jackie and Mabel rising again, protected by the shimmering Rainbow Sentai Battle Armor Star had laced over them.
"Aw, nuts," he groaned.
Without warning, the Hunter Claw clamped around his body again.
"AW NUTS!"
His head turned a full 180 degrees, staring up at the Green Hunterborg.
Then he looked around the park and saw nothing but the decaying remains of his Scab squad.
"You junked all my Scabs that fast?!"
"And you're going down just as quick, cuh!" Hunterborg roared, raising a fist.
"Aw, crap!" Noxic yelped—and with a nod of his head, vanished in a burst of flame
Hunterborg angrily swept through the flames with a frustrated swing of his arm.
"NAH, CUH! YOU CAME HERE FOR THE SMOKE, AND THERE'S STILL PLENTY!"
"Dudley!" Brittney's voice cracked with alarm, instantly snapping Roland out of his fury. He, Jackie, and Mabel turned to see Brittney and the others gathered around Dudley, helping him sit up.
"Are you okay?" Brittney asked, crouching beside him as he coughed and tried to sit up straighter. "Please be okay—you are way too cool to die after only three days of working for me!"
"Brittney," Chantal said flatly.
She glanced at her, then added quickly, "And also you being hurt would suck!"
"… Baby steps," Chantal muttered.
Dudley sat up with a dry cough, brushed off his shoulders, then nodded to his charge. "No worries, Master Brittney… 50,000 volts won't kill me… as long as the amps remain low."
Brittney sagged with relief—then threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
"Good."
The old butler blinked in mild surprise that someone he worked for cared enough to actually hug him.
This… was going to take time to get used to.
"Is anyone else hurt?" Mabel asked as she, Jackie, and Hunterborg hurried over.
"Ambulances are on the way," Hunterborg reported. "But… I didn't see anyone down while I was cleaning up. People mostly ran or fought back long enough for me to get 'em."
Mabel brightened. "Then we got here in the nick of time, like real heroes do!"
Lori chimed in. "Those monster guys weren't that tough, honestly. I literally took down two."
She hesitated, then mournfully added, "… But the 9-iron my husband gave me…"
"I'll pay to have it repaired," Brittney said, already tending to Dudley with surprising competence as Mabel pulled out and offered a first-aid kit.
Lori raised an eyebrow. "You are the weirdest rich kid I've ever met."
"There are worse," Dudley said, managing a chuckle as Brittney taped a bandage to the back of his hand.
Then he smiled faintly.
"… Were worse."
Lori only had more questions about this weird old guy.
Brittney turned Mabel, Jackie, and Hunterborg. "Thank you for getting here so fast."
Jackie leaned casually on her spear. "Don't sweat it. We're on call."
Mabel looked up from her work and beamed. "The Magnavores have been showing up almost every day this week, so Dipper's got us on high alert if anything happens, anytime!"
That made Brittney narrow her eyes, concern flickering in them. "Is that their plan now? Attack every day until you guys burn out?"
"If it is, it's a dumb plan," Hunterborg said. "We already got that style peeped out. They'll need a lot more Scabs than that."
Jackie scanned the wreckage around the park. "And this was weak anyway. Sending Noxic after that dragon psycho from yesterday?"
"Yeah," Mabel nodded. "I'll even put good money on Typhus being next."
"Bet," Hunterborg replied, holding out his armored hand. "I got Jara."
Mabel slapped her hand into his. "No take-backs."
Chantal turned to Jackie. "So you're really rolling with these guys now?"
Jackie flashed her signature half-smirk. "I'm a ride or die, dude. This stuff is tough—I got to throw hands with Shego back on Monday."
Chantal's jaw dropped. Megan blinked.
"No shit?" Both asked.
"Yeah, and I met Kim Possible, too! Kim's actually super chill, she even follows Star's vlog."
The girls were stunned. "No shit!?"
"Oh—and she's not dating Ron."
Megan squinted. "Now you're just making shit up."
"Nope," Mabel said, raising a hand like she was swearing in. "We met her boyfriend. Some generically hunky dude named Eric."
Chantal and Megan traded a look, then said in unison, "How generic are we talking?"
Before anyone could answer, Sabrina—who wasn't exactly into hunky guys—quietly pointed toward the entrance. "Um… the police are here."
Sure enough, red and blue lights flashed near the country club gates.
At the same moment, Roland's helmet HUD pinged—Misao's voice buzzed in his ear.
"The police are arriving, and it looks like they're heavily armed again. We'll be opening a portal for you in a moment."
Hunterborg turned to Mabel as a squad car powered onto the golf course, sirens blaring. "Portal's coming in a sec."
A Glendale Police cruiser skidded to a halt near the torn-up fairway, and two officers stepped out—both in full tactical gear, body armor, and carrying rifles.
The first looked like a department-store mannequin version of Clark Kent: broad shoulders, a decently handsome face, and a single defiant curl of hair hanging over his forehead. The second looked like Jimmy Olsen if he had let himself go in his twenties, spent his thirties trying to get it back, and finally gave up somewhere in his forties when the male pattern baldness claimed his scalp and self-esteem.
"Nobody move!" barked Clark Kent but a Cop, raising his rifle and aiming it at Hunterborg. His partner followed suit.
"Get on the ground! Drop your weapons!"
Hunterborg glanced at his massive Hunter Claw, then back at the officers. "I can't. It's attached."
"I said get down!" the larger officer barked again. "I'm not going to tell you twice!"
Brittney had had it.
"HEY!" she snapped, stomping forward. "You idiots are five minutes late! The monsters are already gone!"
The cops flinched as if slapped. Both lowered their rifles reflexively.
Brittney didn't slow down. She marched straight up to them, fire blazing in her eyes. "That Beetleborg just saved our lives and you're aiming guns at him? How about you clowns get back in your toy car and off this damn golf course before I buy your entire department and throw it into the ocean!"
Mabel, still placing anime stickers on Dudley's hands, turned to Sabrina, Chantal, and Megan. "She's really like that, huh?"
All three nodded in unison.
Whipping her hair, Brittney pointed at the Clark Kent looking fellow, who was sputtering at being yelled at with such intensity by such a small young lady. "What's your name and badge number?!"
"Uh—Boxter Hamdon," he said quickly, gesturing to his partner. "And this is Officer Jeb Wackerman."
Brittney glared.
Officer Hamdon tried to recover. "Look, we were told there were monsters. We didn't want a repeat of the last few days."
Mabel looked up, mid-sticker. "You said Baxter, right?"
"No. Boxter."
She stared at him, face blank. "You're Dad Hot… but your name's dumb."
Officer Hamdon rolled his eyes. "Where… where are the monsters?"
"I just told you—they're gone!" Brittney snapped, jabbing a finger toward Hunterborg, Mabel, and Jackie. "They beat the monsters!"
Then she pointed squarely at the two officers. "You ruined the First Hole, treated the actual heroes like criminals, and now you look like idiots!"
Chantal smirked. "Cops ruining—"
"Don't say degenerate things," Sabrina cut her off.
At that moment, a shimmering Dimensional Scissors portal opened behind Hunterborg, who greeted it like a long-suffering talk show guest embracing the sweet release of death.
"Let's get somewhere a little more kosher already, cuh," he muttered.
Mabel burst into laughter. "Ha! I get it!"
Just before stepping through, she turned and pointed at the stunned officers, her cheerful tone sharpened with menace. "How about you make yourselves useful and make sure that old man's stable for the ambulance?"
She smiled sweetly. "Even you can manage that, right? Bye~!"
With that, she spun on her heel and followed Jackie and Hunterborg through the portal. It snapped shut behind her with a final, satisfying shimmer.
Officer Wackerman glanced at his partner, muttering, "Wow. Those might be the most disrespectful wannabe superheroes I've ever seen. Almost makes you wish SheZow was still around, huh?"
Officer Hamdon looked ready to respond—face twisted with frustration—but before he could speak, Brittney spun around and shouted at them:
"YEAH, SHAME SHE ISN'T AROUND ANYMORE TO PROTECT US FROM MONSTERS LIKE THESE, HUH?!"
Lori walked over and gently but firmly took Brittney by the arm, guiding her away. "Okay, I love the righteous energy, but maybe sit down and breathe before you literally combust, okay?"
Dudley, looking better thanks to Brittney and Mabel's first aid, raised his voice calmly toward the officers.
"I suggest you go direct the EMTs to our location as the young Master suggested… before Master Brittney decides to harm one of you."
Officer Hamdon shot his partner a withering glare. Without another word, both officers beat a hasty retreat to their cruiser.
As they got back into the cruiser, Wackerman muttered, "Man, I miss when monsters were the only scary part of this job."
Hamdon didn't respond. He just started the engine and drove.
At the Beetle Battle Base, Misao sat at her main console, working between the base's magical interface and a cute purple-and-green laptop balanced on her lap. On the laptop screen played a shaky eyewitness video from the previous day—Barla, caught mid-attack as she fired a blast from the mouth of the dragon head that made up her chest plate.
Misao's eyes flicked between screens, her fingers dancing across both keyboards. She tapped out line after line of code on the base's terminal, cross-referencing data in an open window on her laptop. After one final keystroke, she hit enter and leaned back.
The image on her screen shifted: the video dissolved into a 3D wireframe model of Barla, animating the same destructive blast in perfect sync.
"… Good… good," Misao murmured. "This is very enlightening."
To her left, Dipper looked up as Hunterborg, Mabel, and Jackie stepped through the portal. As it closed, Roland blasted back and banished his Beetle Bonder.
His disappearing armor revealed an expression tight with irritation.
"What happened?" Dipper asked.
"That Butler Dudley got hurt fighting Noxic. But otherwise? Everything's fine."
Misao turned in her chair, brows knitting. "Oh no—is Herr Dudley okay?"
"He's good," Mabel said. "Tough old dude. Like a British Sherpa."
Jackie added, "The cops showed up again and tried to arrest Roland. Brittney kinda lost it on them for that."
Misao frowned. "Ugh. Elise is going to have another word with them."
"Forget it, cuh," Roland said sharply. "They're gonna keep pulling that crap until they finally cuff somebody."
"They can try," Dipper said, calm but focused. "We just need to work around it until we get a legal opening to shut that nonsense down."
He pivoted to the pressing matter. "But why was Noxic even there?"
"I don't know, cuh," Roland muttered. "He wasn't after anything, just out there looking for smoke."
"Right?" Jackie said. "They sent Noxic. Not Typhus, not Jara, or Barla. Just Noxic. It felt off."
"And we put him down fast," Mabel added, arms crossed.
She paused. "… Almost too fast."
Dipper and Misao answered in sync. "They're obviously up to something."
"Yeah, but what?" Roland asked.
"No point in agonizing over it," Dipper said. "We've got the Battle Base watching out for them. Whatever they're up to, we'll figure it out—especially if we have to beat it out of them."
Misao nodded. "So for now? Rest. In case they try anything tomorrow."
"Or later today," Jackie quipped. "It is only the morning."
Roland exhaled, frustrated but relenting. "Whatever, cuh. Call me when Jara shows up."
"It's gonna be Typhus," Mabel insisted.
Roland headed for the exit. "Sure it is."
"I promise you!" Mabel called after him, already turning to follow. She glanced back and waved. "See you when you get home!"
Jackie lingered a moment. She looked at Dipper and Misao. "What's the plan when Barla comes back?"
Dipper looked at Misao.
Misao gave Jackie a small, confident smile.
"A good one."
What are the Magnavores up to, this time?
= - = 9-2 = - =
|Tee'd Off|
|Tee'd Off|
The sound of a freight train rumbling down the tracks stirred Gabe awake. He was lying on the edge of the LA River, across from a large railway yard, as the first pre-dawn glow of the morning began to manifest in the east.
Sitting up, he looked at himself: his suburban-chic clothes were torn and slashed, soaked in blood, and the sword he held in his right hand with a vice-like grip was broken just above the hilt.
With a disappointed expression, Gabe shook his head.
"I need better swords." Tossing away the broken blade, Gabe got up, but stumbled when pain radiated from his left arm, chest, and stomach.
Looking down as he pulled up his shredded shirt, he found five deep gashes starting from the very top of the left side of his chest down to his left hip. While the middle three cuts were somewhat deep and still oozing, the two on the outer edges were shallower and closing up.
He felt a throbbing and looked at his arm—what appeared to be a tree branch was driven through his upper arm.
Despite his injuries, he was more surprised than anything. "Damn, he respected the fade."
Grabbing one end of the branch, he ripped it out of his arm with barely a flinch, and tossed it carelessly into the river.
The sun was starting to come up, and he was several miles downriver from where he started. He needed to get back.
"… He better not have found my car," he complained as he began walking back up the river, leaving behind the grotesque smear of blood on the concrete shore he'd woken up in.
@@@@@
With a clean swish and a sharp crack, a golf ball shot into the air above the westside of Echo Creek's country club. It curved slightly in the low mid-morning breeze before bouncing on the fairway just shy of the green.
Brittney Wong's jaw clenched. She glared at the ball.
Try as she might, she could not will it further through pure bad bitch alone.
"That should've made the green," she muttered, lowering her club.
Applause broke out behind her—Sabrina, Megan, and Chantal cheering like she just won the Masters. Dudley hefted her bag over one shoulder and gave a slow, straight-faced nod.
To her right, a mid-20s blonde-haired woman in a white shirt, brown cargo shorts, and golf cleats looked out at where the ball landed before turning to Brittney.
"Why did you hire me again? That's literally 210 yards." She pointed out. "You're already really good for your age."
Brittney finally lowered her club, and handed it to Dudley. "I hired you because I can be better. Good is not enough."
The instructor's left eyebrow quirked. "… That's a healthy mindset."
She pulled a ball from her pocket and began juggling it between her club, then her foot, like a soccer trick as she spoke.
"You're really good, like almost pro-level, and we've only been doing this literally for just a few months. If you want to be great, though?"
She launched the ball with a one-handed swing before it could touch the ground.
Like a laser-guided missile, it curved around and dropped straight into the hole with a tidy plink, not touching the green once.
Dudley's brows lifted sharply.
The other girls gawked at the brilliant shot in silence.
Megan murmured softly, impressed, "Daaaaaang."
She turned back to her student, whose mouth hung agape. "It's going to take time. Keep swinging, girl."
Twirling her club, she walked towards her golf cart. "Okay, let's work on your putting… which I know needs work!"
Brittney narrowed her eyes, but climbed into her golf cart without another word. Her friends piled in behind her, still buzzing. Dudley took the wheel.
"Lead the way, Master Lori," Dudley called to the golf instructor, who slid into her own golf cart and puttered ahead.
As the two carts got underway, Chantal leaned forward over Brittney's shoulder. "She's right though, girl. You're being way too hard on yourself."
Brittney sighed irritably. "Demanding more of myself isn't wrong."
Megan gently interjected. "Yeah, but just like asking too much of others, you can ask for too much of you."
Chantal nodded sagely. "That's how you burn out, and nobody wants to peak in High School."
All four girls shuddered at the thought.
Brittney rested her head on the back of the cart's seat, staring at the plastic canopy overhead. "I've got too much crap going on to worry about High School anymore! I'm looking ahead—college, a career, doing more than just sitting on money and letting my brain rot like those Vanderdweebs did."
"That's what this is about, huh?" Chantal asked.
Megan spoke up. "Does anybody know what happened to those two…?"
The query went unanswered as Brittney continued. "Exactly, that's why I'm mastering every skill I'm interested in."
Chantal's lips pulled into a playful grin. "Okay, but when are you gonna master dating?"
Brittney turned her head to look at her, "Excuse you?"
Chantal shrugged innocently. "I'm just saying—out of all us girls on the squad, you're the only one who hasn't dated anybody. It ain't because of lack of interest, either."
"We know what you like," Megan said.
Chantal nodded towards Sabrina. "I mean, shoot, Sabrina here got a date before you did."
Sabrina timidly raised a finger. "Uh, to be fair, Brittney helped me with that—"
"I do not have time for dating," Brittney snapped, "and even if I did, there's no boy at school worth it."
Megan leaned in. "Not even Roland?"
"I'm too loyal of a friend."
"As you should be," Megan said with a sage nod.
"What about Dipper Pines?" Sabrina asked. "I mean… he seems like your type—good looking, smart…"
"Really tall," Chantal purred.
"Has enough nerve to get in your face in front of the whole school and flip you off?" Megan added.
Brittney rolled her eyes. "I respect him for having the nerve, but dating him? No thanks."
Chantal smirked to herself. "Shoot… then he can get in my face any day."
"Not even any of the swim team guys?" Megan offered.
Brittney's face flushed slightly. "Purely eye candy!"
Chantal opened her mouth to suggest literally anyone from the football team, then quickly reconsidered.
Instead, a more amusing candidate came to mind. "All right, then… what about Marco?"
Brittney immediately shot a harder look at her friend. "What are you implying, Chantal?"
"Me? Nothing at all." She feigned innocence, eyes sparkling.
Megan joined. "Why not, though? He's actually worth your time: 4.0 GPA, martial artist, organized, not even bad-looking—"
"And wears skinny jeans better than every boy and most of the girls at school," Chantal added.
Brittney waved them off sharply. "Marco Diaz is the most socially awkward, insecure, wannabe bad-boy try-hard I've ever met—and I'm not signing up for that mess."
A chorus of sympathetic "Oof!" echoed simultaneously from Sabrina, Chantal, Megan, and even Dudley.
Brittney, secretly relieved, appreciated that her friends felt sympathy for Marco instead of piling on. Given what she knew about him and Star, she wasn't about to say anything that might give anyone the wrong idea—no matter her actual thoughts.
Yeah, she was into the guy for everything that Megan pointed out. And they in fact outweighed his downsides by a lot.
But she was not getting into it with the Warrior Princess from another Dimension over him, She won. Flat out.
She needed to change the subject from her non-existent love life now. "Speaking of, what's going on with you and Roland? Is that ever going to be a thing?"
Megan shrugged her shoulders. "I want him to ask me out."
"Then take a page from Sabrina's book and ask him first," Brittney advised bluntly. "Otherwise, he might never realize he needs to clear his schedule."
"You think he's too busy for me?" Megan asked, affronted.
Brittney didn't even sugarcoat it. "Yes. Unless you make the first move, Roland won't go out of his way."
Seeing Megan's expression, she softened slightly. "It's not your fault—or his—he's out there on that grind for real, and that's exactly why you need to talk to him."
Chantal mulled on that one. "Shoot. If it's like that, I'll ask him out."
"The fuck you will!" Megan snapped instantly.
Brittney gestured triumphantly at Megan's reaction. "See? That's what I mean. Get off your fine ass and talk to him before Chantal's fine ass beats you to it."
Chantal and Sabrina broke into giggles, while Megan shot back with a fiercely competitive, "Bet!"
Up ahead, in her own golf cart, Lori glanced back, smiling warmly at the girls' antics as she parked by the green. "Man, I miss high school and boys being the most I had to worry about."
Dudley parked beside her, and stepped out with Brittney's clubs. "These are truly halcyon days. I only hope they don't waste them like my last employers did."
"Huh? What happened to them?"
Dudley chuckled. "The most wonderful thing that could happen to anyone."
Lori felt a weird chill from that, and wisely called over to Brittney. "Hey, get over here and show me you've been working on your chip."
As Brittney complied and took a club from her bag, Lori continued. "Once you get onto the green, we'll move onto putting practice. Aim away from the hole—I already know you can get it in."
"That's literally what she said," Chantal murmured to Megan and Sabrina while Brittney went over to chip her ball onto the green."
As Sabrina giggled, Megan turned to her. "Hey, I was wondering."
The skittish girl turned to her friend and fellow cheerleader. "Wh-what?"
"Not criticizing the taste, since he cleaned up fine af at the dance, but… why Drew McCormick of all people? It can't be because he's Roland's friend."
"It never helped him before," Chantal added.
Sabrina's face colored, and she looked away. "It's um… actually kind of dumb… but I uh…"
She tapped her fingers together. "I've been low-key crushing on him for a little bit."
Megan and Chantal shared glances, then gawked at Sabrina, as Brittney sized up her shot to get the ball onto the green.
"On… him? Before he turnt up?" Megan asked.
"No shit, for how long?" Chantal asked.
"Since um… the day Jeff and Eddie dropped me during practice."
Now both girls were confused. "Since then? What happened?"
Sabrina looked aside, her face turning red. "It's so stupid—"
"It's not stupid," Brittney said as she performed a practice swing. "There are worse reasons to like somebody."
Megan chuckled. "Girl, it is so weird to see you supportive of a ship."
"Why is it weird?" Brittney asked. "I'm good to my friends!"
Sabrina couldn't help but point out. "Except for when you threw the bag I bought you at me…"
Brittney sighed explosively. "Yes, I am a bitch with flaws. But I'm working on that, okay?!"
"That shit's hard without a therapist, so congrats," Lori said.
Brittney looked at her instructor sharply. "What makes you think I don't have one?"
Everyone stared at her.
In harsh, judgmental silence.
Especially Dudley.
Defeated, Brittney focused on her next shot. "Fuck all of you."
Lining up her club to the ball, while grumbling about how therapists in LA being a bunch of hacks more interested in drama than treatment, Brittney prepared to swing when a distant voice shouted out.
"FORE!"
Brittney whipped around, bracing for an errant golf ball.
Instead, a Scab dropped from the sky towards her, arms above its head and legs curled back, brandishing a short sword aimed to plunge into her face.
She barely had time to gasp before Dudley calmly stepped in, and pulled her protectively behind him as he slipped a stiletto straight into the attacker's head like a bladed UNO reverse card.
The Scab collapsed limply onto the grass and began to break down.
From just off the fairway approached Noxic, trailed by an unruly gang of over a dozen Scabs. The Combat Mecha Army General casually strode forward, a stolen golf visor awkwardly perched atop his metal head, his closed umbrella balanced on his shoulder like a club.
"All right you bums, let 'em know that I'm playin' through!"
At his command, the Scabs scattered and spread over the course, to the shock of the other guests as they were attacked.
Spotting Brittney's group, Noxic stopped and cocked his head. "Hey! What're you dames even doin' here? Don't you know golf is an acronym?!"
Golf Instructor Lori instantly went from surprised to livid. "Excuse me?!"
"You heard me!" Noxic shot back, pointing accusingly. "Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden!"
Without hesitation, Lori snatched a 9-Iron from her golf bag, wielding it like a baseball bat. "I will literally bury you in a sand trap!"
Noxic leaned back in genuine surprise. "Jeez, you wanna fight? Ain't this supposed to be a fancy-schmancy golf course where you folks say 'good heavens' and panic?"
Dudley appeared smoothly beside Noxic, calmly stabbing another Scab in the center of its head as if flicking lint from his sleeve. "This is a public golf course, Master Noxic. Entirely different standards and expectations of behavior apply."
Noxic turned toward Brittney, aghast. "Public?! Enough money for a butler but you're too cheap for a real country club?!"
Suddenly recognizing Dudley was standing well within stabbing range, Noxic jumped back, narrowly dodging another lightning-fast strike. "Whoa! Even your butler's cheap?!"
"I'd say a butler with a particular set of skills is more expensive, not less, Master Noxic."
As Dudley chased Noxic around while one-tapping Scabs that tried to intervene with a dagger in each hand, Brittney had her phone out and was angrily texting Star.
Rule Brittney said:
Third day in a row these idiots show up and ruin my day! I swear to all that is worth my money that you better send someone to deal with this crap QUICK FAST AND IN A HURRY!
"Brittney run!" Megan shouted out, as a Scab approached them, waving its sword around.
"One second, I'm texting—!" Brittney stopped when she found she already got a response.
Star said:
I gotchu homie
Before the Scab could reach her Lori stepped in and swung the club with all her might, cracking the thing in the head with enough force to bend her 9 Iron.
It crumpled to the ground and began to decay into the mechanical wasps that made up its body.
"Ha!" She shouted out, before she looked at the club. "Aw! My husband bought this for me!"
When another Scab tried to attack her, she swung it and brought it down on top of its head repeatedly, bashing it to a pulp. "LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!"
Seeing more Scabs heading towards them as the fallen machine crumbled to dead robot wasps, however, Lori raced over to the cart the girls were getting into. "All right, we're leaving!"
Noxic, using his umbrella to parry away Dudley's stabs, noticed the cart full of women starting to pull off. "Hey! Scabs! Grab 'em before they get away and rough 'em up a bit!"
"How uncouth," Dudley said as he managed to scratch Noxic's face with a quick thrust. "Is this what you're reduced to? Attacking people who can't fight back?"
"We ain't reduced to nothin'!" Noxic shouted as he opened the umbrella and shot at Dudley with the gun that ran through the shaft. "The Magnavores are here for the world, so everybody is gettin' it eventually! Even dogs! Even vending machines!"
Turning and angling his body to avoid the shots, the old butler evaded the energy bolts that burst from the tip of the umbrella—some bolts passing dangerously close, going through his long driving coat as he moved.
Aiming carefully, he threw a stiletto mid-defensive spin and the slender blade slotted neatly into the barrel of the umbrella's gun.
The next blast from the weapon caused the tip to blow out, ruining the gun, but the sturdy umbrella otherwise remained functional. Pulling the smoking weapon back and closing it, Noxic grew hopping mad. "You're gonna pay for that, you mook!"
"Do you take cash," Dudley rushed forward, and rather than stab at him, turned and barged his shoulder into the Magnavore General's chest, throwing him onto his back. "Or check?!"
Noxic looked up at Dudley before he opened his hands. "I take all my payments… ELECTRONIC!"
He unleashed a burst of electricity that struck Dudley in the chest, knocking the old man off his feet and sending him flying backward from him.
Brittney looked back when she heard the crackle and gasped in genuine horror. "Dudley!"
Noxic got up. "Ha, I finally got somebody with that!"
He turned towards the fleeing cart and pulled a trio of knives. "Hey Alfred. I'm pretty handy with knives, too! Watch this!"
He let the blades fly—razor-sharp, aimed straight for the golf cart of wide-eyed girls—only for a fast-moving object to send the knives scattering away.
Noxic tilted his head to one side. "Huh?"
A red glowing line swept across Noxic's field of vision—then the Green Hunterborg's Hunter Claw slammed into his chest, gripping him tight with crushing force.
With a furious yell, Hunterborg drove Noxic into the turf and plowed him across the fairway, grass and dirt flying, before lifting him up and smashing him straight through a nearby tree.
Launched through the air, Noxic rolled to a stop and watched in a daze as the shattered tree toppled between him and the Beetleborg.
The armored hero stepped forward, his helmet's red oval-shaped eyes fiercely. Beneath the helmet, Roland seethed with fury as he roared at him:
"IS THIS WHAT YOU ON, NOW?! ATTACKING PEOPLE FOR THE FUN OF IT?!"
Noxic staggered upright, brushing debris from his scorched jacket. "I already explained it to Jarvis over there—I ain't sayin' it again!"
He jabbed a finger at Roland defiantly. "But I'll tell you this—we're just gettin' started, ya mook!"
"PLAYING THROUGH!" Mabel shouted from his left.
A speeding golf cart, Lori's own abandoned machine, smashed into Noxic's side with an audible crunch, flipping him wildly across the fairway in a blur of limbs and metal parts.
At the wheel, Mabel waved frantically at Roland. "Hey, use that super-speed and clear out the park—we got this bum!"
She pointed aggressively ahead at Noxic's crumpled form. "GET HIS BUTT!"
Jackie Lynn Thomas launched herself out of the passenger side of the cart, twirling another of Star's steel-tipped spears over her head before catching and brandishing it with a confident grin. "Let's go!"
Hunterborg, quickly looking around at all the other Scabs rioting in the park, understood the assignment and took off in a blur as Jackie ran down Noxic.
With three more knives in his free hand, Noxic sprang to his feet. "Come and get it, girlies!"
He threw the knives at Jackie, who ducked into a slide beneath them and used her momentum to thrust the spear at Noxic's chest. When the Magnavore General sidestepped her, she swung the spear in a wide circle over her head as she got up, forcing him to jump back.
"Watch where you swing that!" Noxic complained as he produced another knife and whipped it at Jackie. "Got ya!"
A quick shift of the spear allowed her to deflect it with the shaft before she swung the head at Noxic.
Raising his arm, Noxic stopped the spear and tried to grab it, but Jackie maneuvered her weapon out of his reach and stabbed at his head, forcing him to lean back to duck.
"Think fast, dude!" She taunted as she pulled back and aimed lower.
Noxic knocked the spear away and down with his other hand. "I'm a robot, I always think fast!"
Jackie drove the spear into the grass, using it like a vaulting pole to slam a flying kick into Noxic's chest.
"Are you sure?" She asked as she landed. "Because I think I caught you lagging!"
Noxic barely sputtered an "I don't lag—!" before Mabel slammed a 7-Iron into the right side of his head.
"FORE!" She shouted, swinging again and carving a vivid gouge across his cheek.
He staggered, his head spinning several times. "Hey don't steal my bit!"
He stopped his head. "Why do you brats hit so hard?!"
"Because I'm a violent maniac!" Mabel lifted the club above her head and brought it down atop Noxic's, causing him to bow forward as he stumbled away.
With her free hand she pulled out a sand wedge and began pummeling him with both. "How! Dare! You! Besmirch! The! Peaceful! Timeless! Game! Of! Golf?!"
She struck him with each word she spoke. "Sure! I've! Never! Played! Real! Golf! But! I! Play! Mini-golf! A lot! And! I! Really! Really! Like it!"
Across the golf course, guests and employees fleeing or trying to fend off the Scabs suddenly found themselves free of their attackers.
One Scab trying to swing his blade down on a golfer defending himself with a putter, lost its head completely.
Another running after fleeing guests in a golf cart was ripped in half by a passing green blur.
A group of three Scabs surrounding a golfer and caddy were one by one destroyed, their heads smashed or taken completely off by the speeding Hunterborg.
All over the park, Scabs fell in pieces, the chaos vanishing with them, while on the fairway, Mabel and Jackie took turns pummeling Noxic until both clubs in Mabel's hands bent with the effort.
From their speeding golf cart making its way back towards Dudley, Lori, Brittney, and the other girls watched in silent awe at the contrast: the Green Hunterborg ripping through robot monsters with machine precision, and Noxic getting flat-out jumped by two feral teenage girls.
Sparks popped and smoke poured from rents in his battered frame as Noxic staggered away from the mauling he received. "Maybe I shoulda attacked a bowling alley instead—"
Jackie's spear pierced him through the chest and out his back. "HEY!"
"Come on, dude, even your own friends say you're the weak one," Jackie said as she twisted the blade in Noxic literally in addition to figuratively.
Mabel grabbed the shaft beside her, and together they lifted Noxic high—like planting a flag atop a war-torn volcanic rock—and slammed him headfirst into the grass.
"So that makes you light work for us!" Mabel finished.
Face down in the turf, Noxic groaned. "If it weren't for the fact I got fleshy friends, I'd say some very hurtful and derogatory things about your organic state," he muttered.
"Instead… I'll just kill you with electricity."
Suddenly, he bent at the waist to sit up and twisted his arms backward, unleashing a burst of lightning that blasted both girls off their feet.
As he stood, smoke trailing from his limbs, he looked up—only to see both Jackie and Mabel rising again, protected by the shimmering Rainbow Sentai Battle Armor Star had laced over them.
"Aw, nuts," he groaned.
Without warning, the Hunter Claw clamped around his body again.
"AW NUTS!"
His head turned a full 180 degrees, staring up at the Green Hunterborg.
Then he looked around the park and saw nothing but the decaying remains of his Scab squad.
"You junked all my Scabs that fast?!"
"And you're going down just as quick, cuh!" Hunterborg roared, raising a fist.
"Aw, crap!" Noxic yelped—and with a nod of his head, vanished in a burst of flame
Hunterborg angrily swept through the flames with a frustrated swing of his arm.
"NAH, CUH! YOU CAME HERE FOR THE SMOKE, AND THERE'S STILL PLENTY!"
"Dudley!" Brittney's voice cracked with alarm, instantly snapping Roland out of his fury. He, Jackie, and Mabel turned to see Brittney and the others gathered around Dudley, helping him sit up.
"Are you okay?" Brittney asked, crouching beside him as he coughed and tried to sit up straighter. "Please be okay—you are way too cool to die after only three days of working for me!"
"Brittney," Chantal said flatly.
She glanced at her, then added quickly, "And also you being hurt would suck!"
"… Baby steps," Chantal muttered.
Dudley sat up with a dry cough, brushed off his shoulders, then nodded to his charge. "No worries, Master Brittney… 50,000 volts won't kill me… as long as the amps remain low."
Brittney sagged with relief—then threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
"Good."
The old butler blinked in mild surprise that someone he worked for cared enough to actually hug him.
This… was going to take time to get used to.
"Is anyone else hurt?" Mabel asked as she, Jackie, and Hunterborg hurried over.
"Ambulances are on the way," Hunterborg reported. "But… I didn't see anyone down while I was cleaning up. People mostly ran or fought back long enough for me to get 'em."
Mabel brightened. "Then we got here in the nick of time, like real heroes do!"
Lori chimed in. "Those monster guys weren't that tough, honestly. I literally took down two."
She hesitated, then mournfully added, "… But the 9-iron my husband gave me…"
"I'll pay to have it repaired," Brittney said, already tending to Dudley with surprising competence as Mabel pulled out and offered a first-aid kit.
Lori raised an eyebrow. "You are the weirdest rich kid I've ever met."
"There are worse," Dudley said, managing a chuckle as Brittney taped a bandage to the back of his hand.
Then he smiled faintly.
"… Were worse."
Lori only had more questions about this weird old guy.
Brittney turned Mabel, Jackie, and Hunterborg. "Thank you for getting here so fast."
Jackie leaned casually on her spear. "Don't sweat it. We're on call."
Mabel looked up from her work and beamed. "The Magnavores have been showing up almost every day this week, so Dipper's got us on high alert if anything happens, anytime!"
That made Brittney narrow her eyes, concern flickering in them. "Is that their plan now? Attack every day until you guys burn out?"
"If it is, it's a dumb plan," Hunterborg said. "We already got that style peeped out. They'll need a lot more Scabs than that."
Jackie scanned the wreckage around the park. "And this was weak anyway. Sending Noxic after that dragon psycho from yesterday?"
"Yeah," Mabel nodded. "I'll even put good money on Typhus being next."
"Bet," Hunterborg replied, holding out his armored hand. "I got Jara."
Mabel slapped her hand into his. "No take-backs."
Chantal turned to Jackie. "So you're really rolling with these guys now?"
Jackie flashed her signature half-smirk. "I'm a ride or die, dude. This stuff is tough—I got to throw hands with Shego back on Monday."
Chantal's jaw dropped. Megan blinked.
"No shit?" Both asked.
"Yeah, and I met Kim Possible, too! Kim's actually super chill, she even follows Star's vlog."
The girls were stunned. "No shit!?"
"Oh—and she's not dating Ron."
Megan squinted. "Now you're just making shit up."
"Nope," Mabel said, raising a hand like she was swearing in. "We met her boyfriend. Some generically hunky dude named Eric."
Chantal and Megan traded a look, then said in unison, "How generic are we talking?"
Before anyone could answer, Sabrina—who wasn't exactly into hunky guys—quietly pointed toward the entrance. "Um… the police are here."
Sure enough, red and blue lights flashed near the country club gates.
At the same moment, Roland's helmet HUD pinged—Misao's voice buzzed in his ear.
"The police are arriving, and it looks like they're heavily armed again. We'll be opening a portal for you in a moment."
Hunterborg turned to Mabel as a squad car powered onto the golf course, sirens blaring. "Portal's coming in a sec."
A Glendale Police cruiser skidded to a halt near the torn-up fairway, and two officers stepped out—both in full tactical gear, body armor, and carrying rifles.
The first looked like a department-store mannequin version of Clark Kent: broad shoulders, a decently handsome face, and a single defiant curl of hair hanging over his forehead. The second looked like Jimmy Olsen if he had let himself go in his twenties, spent his thirties trying to get it back, and finally gave up somewhere in his forties when the male pattern baldness claimed his scalp and self-esteem.
"Nobody move!" barked Clark Kent but a Cop, raising his rifle and aiming it at Hunterborg. His partner followed suit.
"Get on the ground! Drop your weapons!"
Hunterborg glanced at his massive Hunter Claw, then back at the officers. "I can't. It's attached."
"I said get down!" the larger officer barked again. "I'm not going to tell you twice!"
Brittney had had it.
"HEY!" she snapped, stomping forward. "You idiots are five minutes late! The monsters are already gone!"
The cops flinched as if slapped. Both lowered their rifles reflexively.
Brittney didn't slow down. She marched straight up to them, fire blazing in her eyes. "That Beetleborg just saved our lives and you're aiming guns at him? How about you clowns get back in your toy car and off this damn golf course before I buy your entire department and throw it into the ocean!"
Mabel, still placing anime stickers on Dudley's hands, turned to Sabrina, Chantal, and Megan. "She's really like that, huh?"
All three nodded in unison.
Whipping her hair, Brittney pointed at the Clark Kent looking fellow, who was sputtering at being yelled at with such intensity by such a small young lady. "What's your name and badge number?!"
"Uh—Boxter Hamdon," he said quickly, gesturing to his partner. "And this is Officer Jeb Wackerman."
Brittney glared.
Officer Hamdon tried to recover. "Look, we were told there were monsters. We didn't want a repeat of the last few days."
Mabel looked up, mid-sticker. "You said Baxter, right?"
"No. Boxter."
She stared at him, face blank. "You're Dad Hot… but your name's dumb."
Officer Hamdon rolled his eyes. "Where… where are the monsters?"
"I just told you—they're gone!" Brittney snapped, jabbing a finger toward Hunterborg, Mabel, and Jackie. "They beat the monsters!"
Then she pointed squarely at the two officers. "You ruined the First Hole, treated the actual heroes like criminals, and now you look like idiots!"
Chantal smirked. "Cops ruining—"
"Don't say degenerate things," Sabrina cut her off.
At that moment, a shimmering Dimensional Scissors portal opened behind Hunterborg, who greeted it like a long-suffering talk show guest embracing the sweet release of death.
"Let's get somewhere a little more kosher already, cuh," he muttered.
Mabel burst into laughter. "Ha! I get it!"
Just before stepping through, she turned and pointed at the stunned officers, her cheerful tone sharpened with menace. "How about you make yourselves useful and make sure that old man's stable for the ambulance?"
She smiled sweetly. "Even you can manage that, right? Bye~!"
With that, she spun on her heel and followed Jackie and Hunterborg through the portal. It snapped shut behind her with a final, satisfying shimmer.
Officer Wackerman glanced at his partner, muttering, "Wow. Those might be the most disrespectful wannabe superheroes I've ever seen. Almost makes you wish SheZow was still around, huh?"
Officer Hamdon looked ready to respond—face twisted with frustration—but before he could speak, Brittney spun around and shouted at them:
"YEAH, SHAME SHE ISN'T AROUND ANYMORE TO PROTECT US FROM MONSTERS LIKE THESE, HUH?!"
Lori walked over and gently but firmly took Brittney by the arm, guiding her away. "Okay, I love the righteous energy, but maybe sit down and breathe before you literally combust, okay?"
Dudley, looking better thanks to Brittney and Mabel's first aid, raised his voice calmly toward the officers.
"I suggest you go direct the EMTs to our location as the young Master suggested… before Master Brittney decides to harm one of you."
Officer Hamdon shot his partner a withering glare. Without another word, both officers beat a hasty retreat to their cruiser.
As they got back into the cruiser, Wackerman muttered, "Man, I miss when monsters were the only scary part of this job."
Hamdon didn't respond. He just started the engine and drove.
@@@@@
At the Beetle Battle Base, Misao sat at her main console, working between the base's magical interface and a cute purple-and-green laptop balanced on her lap. On the laptop screen played a shaky eyewitness video from the previous day—Barla, caught mid-attack as she fired a blast from the mouth of the dragon head that made up her chest plate.
Misao's eyes flicked between screens, her fingers dancing across both keyboards. She tapped out line after line of code on the base's terminal, cross-referencing data in an open window on her laptop. After one final keystroke, she hit enter and leaned back.
The image on her screen shifted: the video dissolved into a 3D wireframe model of Barla, animating the same destructive blast in perfect sync.
"… Good… good," Misao murmured. "This is very enlightening."
To her left, Dipper looked up as Hunterborg, Mabel, and Jackie stepped through the portal. As it closed, Roland blasted back and banished his Beetle Bonder.
His disappearing armor revealed an expression tight with irritation.
"What happened?" Dipper asked.
"That Butler Dudley got hurt fighting Noxic. But otherwise? Everything's fine."
Misao turned in her chair, brows knitting. "Oh no—is Herr Dudley okay?"
"He's good," Mabel said. "Tough old dude. Like a British Sherpa."
Jackie added, "The cops showed up again and tried to arrest Roland. Brittney kinda lost it on them for that."
Misao frowned. "Ugh. Elise is going to have another word with them."
"Forget it, cuh," Roland said sharply. "They're gonna keep pulling that crap until they finally cuff somebody."
"They can try," Dipper said, calm but focused. "We just need to work around it until we get a legal opening to shut that nonsense down."
He pivoted to the pressing matter. "But why was Noxic even there?"
"I don't know, cuh," Roland muttered. "He wasn't after anything, just out there looking for smoke."
"Right?" Jackie said. "They sent Noxic. Not Typhus, not Jara, or Barla. Just Noxic. It felt off."
"And we put him down fast," Mabel added, arms crossed.
She paused. "… Almost too fast."
Dipper and Misao answered in sync. "They're obviously up to something."
"Yeah, but what?" Roland asked.
"No point in agonizing over it," Dipper said. "We've got the Battle Base watching out for them. Whatever they're up to, we'll figure it out—especially if we have to beat it out of them."
Misao nodded. "So for now? Rest. In case they try anything tomorrow."
"Or later today," Jackie quipped. "It is only the morning."
Roland exhaled, frustrated but relenting. "Whatever, cuh. Call me when Jara shows up."
"It's gonna be Typhus," Mabel insisted.
Roland headed for the exit. "Sure it is."
"I promise you!" Mabel called after him, already turning to follow. She glanced back and waved. "See you when you get home!"
Jackie lingered a moment. She looked at Dipper and Misao. "What's the plan when Barla comes back?"
Dipper looked at Misao.
Misao gave Jackie a small, confident smile.
"A good one."
= - = 9-2 = - =
What are the Magnavores up to, this time?
Last edited:
Persecution
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The Ero-Sennin
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World building, get your world building here! I've got lore, I've got history. All the context you need to understand the way things are, right here!
Just a few hours later, Roland was restocking comics at Zoom, joined by Jo. He was still seething—not just from the fight, but the cops' pathetic response afterward. But business at the comic shop hadn't slowed down, even after days of monster attacks. It gave him something to focus on. Something to ground him.
Unfortunately, Jo had shown up with a revelation he was not happy to hear.
"Huh?" He blinked, slack-jawed, still processing.
Jo sighed. "I know you heard me."
"Nah, say that shit again," Roland snapped, the heat rising in his voice. "Because it sounds like some bullshit."
It wasn't yelling, but his tone could've sliced through Noxic and Typhus like glass.
"How long's this been going on?"
"Since before we moved here from Charterville," she said. "As far back as I can remember, actually."
"So all the time he's been on Twin… that wasn't just him being a hardass, he straight hates him?" Roland said harshly, barely keeping his tone down.
Jo nodded grimly. "Yep."
"And you didn't think to tell Nano? Or Mr. Pines? They'd knock him out of his shoes!"
Jo held up both hands. "Hold up—it's complicated. Until recently, this was just our normal. Drew was Dad's chew toy, and I was the golden child. For a while, he even treated me better just to turn me against him… but you know, we Beetle Bonded."
She looked aside, remembering something unpleasant. "Since then we both got so good at coping, we just kinda… lived with it."
Roland bit back the worst of his anger. But it didn't leave. "Until we started fighting the Magnavores, huh?"
"Yep," Jo said again, softer now. "And I gotta say—I'm kinda impressed. It's only been a couple weeks, but Drew? He's locked in. The stuff that used to mess with him just… doesn't anymore. He talked to Heather. Went to the dance. Stood up to the Vanderhoffs."
She smirked. "And he's got a date with Sabrina this weekend."
Roland's expression flickered—surprise, then satisfaction.
"Wait… he asked her out?"
Jo grinned. "She asked him."
His scowl cracked just a little, and the pride slipped through.
"… My man."
Still, he wasn't about to let the matter slide.
"We gotta do something about your dad," he said with a grimace.
"I'm planning to tell Nano on Saturday," Jo revealed.
"Why not just tell her when she gets here?"
"Because I'm afraid she's gonna kill Dad immediately," Jo deadpanned. "And that might throw a wrench in Drew's date."
Roland paused. He knew his grandmother.
"Yeah… she would," he conceded. "So when's the date?"
"Saturday. They're going down to Santa Monica Pier. So at least they'll be miles away from ground zero when it happens."
"Nah, cuh," Roland muttered, grabbing another stack of comics from the cardboard box beside him. "With what Nano might do? They could still catch the heat out there."
He shook his head, seething again. "Shoot, I'm ready to pull up and stomp him out myself."
Jo snorted. "How do you boys have so much restraint?"
Before Roland could answer, the low, rumbling growl of a motorcycle engine echoed outside. Both of them turned their heads just slightly. They knew that sound.
Nano had arrived.
Roland handed the stack of comics to Jo. "Can you finish these X-Men books? I gotta go talk to Nano 'bout some things."
"Sure," Jo said, suddenly cautious. "Just… don't tell her what I told you."
Roland thumped his chest, then pointed at her. "It's cool, cuh. I got you."
As he headed to the front of the comic book shop, Nano came shuffling in, removing her leather jacket and putting on her reading glasses. Her brow was furrowed, tension lingering in her shoulders—but the moment she spotted him, her face lit up like a porch light at sundown.
"Hey Nano, you okay?" he asked, catching the weight in her eyes.
Nano smiled and pulled him into a hug. "Oh, I'm fine, baby. Your old Nano's just had a lot on her plate today. Had to swing by City Hall, wrap up paperwork for expanding the shop, and yell at the Mayor about that mess from yesterday."
"When they tried to arrest Marco?" Roland asked, playing casual.
"Mmhm. I hope he's all right," she said, concern threading through her voice.
"He's still on schedule for class at the dojo, so I think he's good," Roland replied, trying not to sound too invested. "So... how'd yelling at the Mayor go?"
Nano gave a slow nod, clearly holding back a smirk. "He told me the police aren't going to arrest anyone defending themselves or others—but the Beetleborgs aren't going to be allowed to 'run around unchecked' because of the Peregrine Law."
Roland tightened his jaw briefly, holding back a curse. "So they show up late, can't stop anything, and now they wanna pull this crap just so they don't look useless?"
Nano agreed. "Mmhm! It's what they do when they can't catch bad guys, they snatch up the heroes and blame 'em for the crime they fight."
"Speaking of..." Roland paused. "There's something I've wanted to ask. Can we sit?"
Nano smiled again, softer this time. "Of course, baby. Right over here."
They sat across from each other at one of the reading tables, a cozy little café corner where customers could enjoy comics with their tea. Nano folded her hands on the table and looked at him kindly.
"What's on your mind? There something you wanna talk to your Nano about?"
Roland wasn't ready for that conversation, not yet, but he knew how these things worked. Genre-savvy ran deep in his DNA.
"Have you ever met… SheZow?" He asked.
Nano grew surprised, not expecting him to bring up such a subject. Still, she rolled with it.
"Once, way back, just before Drew and Jo moved to town." Nano pulled out her phone and began swiping through images on it.
After more than a few flicks, she found the photo and held it up. Holding it up, she showed him a selfie featuring Nano and a woman of indeterminable age.
She was just a little taller than Nano, with long, waist-length hair that sported a bright pink streak down the right side. She was dressed in shades of pink—a pink miniskirt held with a black belt with an S-shaped symbol in the center, a top bearing a familiar S-shape in the center with leopard-printed sleeves and leggings. The outfit was completed with thigh-length white high-heeled boots, a dark pink cape, and light pink gloves.
Roland's eyes zeroed in on her right hand. On her index finger: an S-shaped ring, exactly the size and shape of the slot on the mysterious armoire in Wolfy's room.
Dipper had suggested SheZow might be the key to unlocking the armoire—and this image confirmed it beyond any doubt.
Which… was a problem.
A big one.
Nano gave context to the photo. "This was taken in 2009, just after the war started and thousands of refugees began arriving every day. People were up in arms, complaining about where they were going to go, not wanting those people showing up. So, SheZow and some of the local money stepped in."
She smirked, proudly. "They bought out every hotel in Beverly Hills so those folks wouldn't be sleeping on the sidewalk the second they got here and worked double time to get them settled in actual apartments or homes."
Roland remembered Nano being in the news for that. She volunteered in one of those hotel kitchens for over two weeks straight.
"Hold up," he said, doing a double take. "Every hotel… in the Hills? The luxuries?"
Nano nodded. "Mhm! It was SheZow's idea. We bought up rooms in Bel Air, Hollywood, the Palisades, and Glendale, too."
She let out a short laugh. "'Not in my backyard?' I remember she said. 'Fine. We'll move 'em in next door.'"
Roland couldn't help it. He smiled. "Dang. She was a real one. So… what happened?"
Nano sighed, pulling the phone back and locking it.
"It wasn't the same with her after that," she said quietly. "After years of just smacking around criminals and supervillains, I don't think the public was ready for the Glam Queen Heroine to be an actual hero."
Roland frowned. "What do you mean?"
Nano shot him a look—one that said you already know.
"You know damn well what I mean," she said. "Remember what we talked about? How there aren't many adult superheroes left? There's a reason for that—heroes are only tolerated as long as they stay in their lane. You know, cats in trees, bank robbers, the occasional mad scientist or their creation."
She leaned forward, arms folded on the table. "But start causing trouble for the real villains? The ones with offshore accounts, private security, lobbyists? Baby, they make you disappear."
She let that hang.
"It happened to SheZow. Happened to Peregrine in the '90s. Happened to The Freeman in the '60s. And a whole list of folks in between who were doing real good—until suddenly, they weren't around anymore."
Roland felt his gut sink. "The powers that be."
Nano nodded slowly. "The powers that be. There's three ways to survive, baby. One: stick to your mission and whack every mole that pops up, fast. Two: quit while you're up, and stay the hell away from politics. Or…"
Roland narrowed his eyes. "Become a cop."
Nano gave him a look of solemn confirmation. "Just like SheZow's bitch of an ex-sidekick, god damn Tara."
Roland considered telling her about Marco's run-in with Tara… and decided against it. For now.
"Pardon my language, Big Nano," he said, voice low, "but that is some fuck shit."
Nano didn't even flinch. "It is some fuck shit. SheZow finally quit because the heat got turned up on her. Which is a damn shame because the twins and their friends could use someone like her on their side."
Roland nodded slowly. "I remember how bad that was. Do you think she retired? Or…" He trailed off.
Nano took a deep breath. "Hard to say. Even before she disappeared, she started falling off. Stopped calling people she used to. Started getting sloppy—fumbled in fights she should've had on lock."
She frowned. "Got a new sidekick who was way below her standards."
She looked down at the table, a heaviness behind her voice. "But then… she'd been at it nonstop since 1962."
Roland's throat tightened. That was a long time to be doing anything, but being a Superhero?
"She's gone," he murmured. "Damn."
Nano reached out and set a hand on his. "Now stop talkin' like it's a done deal. I don't know—Dipper's a smart young man. If he pokes around Glendale, he might turn something up."
Of course she'd say it like that—implying that Roland had every reason to pitch this to Dipper larter himself.. Roland didn't grimace, but it took effort.
He met her eyes instead of dodging them. "… How long?"
"From day one," Nano said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Y'all are too young to be sneakin' things past your Nano. I know Shermie knows, too."
"Does he know you know?"
"He thinks I know he knows, but he's an honorable man and a gentleman. He ain't gon' snitch on you. Even to yours truly."
"Dang right. Unc's been a real one. He even had our backs when Shego snatched Misao."
"As he should," Nano nodded firmly. Then she dropped her voice low. "And you better let me know if you ever need help with anything. Especially if it's dealin' with these dirty-ass pigs."
Roland grinned, matching her tone. "Actually, there's a few things…"
Nano leaned in, curious.
Roland smiled. "Actually, there's a few things, Nano. First thing is that we need some of your Beetleborg comics so we can defeat the Magnavores."
"Which ones?" Nano stopped. "Actually, don't even worry about it, baby. Any comic you need from my collection is yours."
That was way easier than expected. "Thanks. And, uh… the other thing…"
He glanced around the shop, then back at her.
"I need to know more about SheZow. We found something at the Hillhurst Mansion—something she's connected to. If we can find her, we might figure out why the Magnavores are back… and how we were even able to become Beetleborgs."
Nano blinked, eyes narrowing. "Hol' up. You're tellin' me… Star didn't give you those powers?"
She leaned forward, voice low and serious now. "… What the hell is going on up at Hillhurst?"
Roland's grin faded.
He sighed.
"… We might need to go to the back so I can tell you everything."
He had no idea how helpful telling Nano about what happened would actually be.
Drew stood in the garage by the bike rack, his expression tight with frustration.
His bike floated in front of him, suspended by his telekinesis as he inspected the front tire. Completely flat. The rear tire? Also flat. No matter how much air he pushed in with his powers, it refused to hold.
Tilting the bike slightly in midair, he found the problem—both tires had been stabbed clean through with a kitchen knife. Not slashed. Stabbed. Neatly. Deliberately.
And as if that weren't enough, the seat wobbled when he moved it—from missing a crucial screw securing it to the seat post.
Why even bother with the seat when the tires are already wrecked?
He glanced over his shoulder at the empty space where his parents' cars would normally be parked.
Note to self: crack their windshields.
He sighed, set the bike gently on the rack, and walked back inside. Crossing the living room and stepping out into the backyard, he pulled out his phone and dialed Marco.
Marco picked up on the first ring. "Hey Drew, what's up?"
"Hey, my bicycle's out of commission; can you open a portal to the dojo?"
"Yeah, of course. Good timing—Star and I just got here. Gimme a sec."
A moment later, a portal ripped open in the air. Drew stepped through—only to be immediately ambushed by a hug from Star.
"Hey Drew!"
He froze. He knew Star was a hugger—every girl in the group except Janna and Jo was—but the surprise still knocked him off balance.
"Uh… hey. What's the occasion…?"
"I'm just in a good mood!" Star grinned, then cartwheeled across the dojo and latched onto Marco's arm like a Koala.
Star being in a good mood wasn't anything new, so Drew didn't dwell on it. "Did you hear about the attack on the golf course?"
"Yeah," Marco muttered, absently nuzzling Star's cheek as he unlocked the dojo door. "Especially the part about the cops treating you three like The Peregrine to save face."
Star swept her gaze between them. "Who's the Peregrine? And why are they treating you like him?"
Drew sighed into his palm. "Right… so, before any of us were born, there was this genius inventor who built high-tech armor and used it to fight crime."
He pulled out his phone, tapped out a quick search, and held it up. On the screen was an image of a man in sleek white-and-blue segmented armor with dark, aerodynamic wings. His helmet resembled a bird of prey, with a smooth, angular faceplate and glowing yellow eyes—mid-flight, caught like a falcon diving on its prey.
"This is the guy, the news started calling him The Peregrine."
Star's eyes sparkled. "Oooh… he looks so cool!"
"You've seen Batman and Iron Man over at Zoom, right?" Drew asked.
At her nod, he continued, "He was like a mashup of both. Super famous during his time—almost as big as Kim Possible is now. But eventually, someone stole his tech and sold it to arms dealers. When that happened, he crashed out and tried to destroy his tech so it wouldn't be misused."
The sparkles left her eyes. "What happened? Did he win?"
Drew shook his head. "No, he lost. Even worse, the government pinned it on him to make an example out of him."
He gestured to himself, then Marco. "That's why they passed the Peregrine Laws. No more billionaire super-scientists with principles running around in combat armor and secret identities."
Star frowned, chewing on the thought. "Why blame him for a justified crash out? What about the guys who stole his stuff?"
Marco chimed in, voice dry: "The Government probably didn't care, as long as they got the tech themselves in the end."
Drew nodded. "Yeah, stuff like the cyborgs and Unmanned Gears that were doing security at the Dance all come from his technology getting out."
"That's so scummy!" Star exclaimed. "So what happens if they actually arrest you, Jo, and Roland? What do they do about the monsters then?"
Drew just shrugged, masking the churn of darker thoughts—what would happen if someone like his father found out he was a Beetleborg? Or worse, found out how he became one?
"Hopefully?" He said, voice even. "We don't have to find out."
Right outside the dojo, at that very moment, Sensei Brantley walked up, looking forward to setting up for the evening's classes. He had just reached the door, when he heard what sounded like a rush of flame behind him in the plaza's parking lot, followed by a voice calling out to him.
"Hey, I remember you!"
Sensei Brantley recognized that voice—Typhus.
Turning, the martial arts instructor startled at the sight: the so-called Bio Lord, flanked by at least twenty Scabs, standing like a freakish army in the middle of the shopping plaza.
"You're that karate guy who trains the hoodie kid!" Typhus shouted with a grin. "Hey, how's it goin', baby?"
Chaos broke out instantly. Shoppers screamed and scattered, fleeing the monsters that had been all over the news.
Sensei Brantley let his duffle bag drop. Calmly, he rolled his shoulders and answered, "I'm going with peace, bro… but I'm ready for war if you test me."
Typhus let out a laugh. "I like that. So how about this? Put up a good fight, and I'll leave you alive enough for your student to come rescue what's left!"
With a dramatic flourish, Typhus drew his shotgun sword—from the grotesque mouth atop his head—and pointed it directly at Sensei Brantley. "Scabs! Jump this guy!"
Sensei Brantley quickly assumed a fighting stance as the Scabs came charging at him with no weapons drawn.
"How generous of you to go easy on me," he coolly complimented.
The first Scab twitched and shuddered like an epileptic in a fit, then suddenly snapped forward with a straight right aimed at Sensei Brantley's face.
Sensei Brantley deflected the blow high with his right hand and brought that same hand crashing down onto the creature's skull in a fierce chop, flattening it.
Shifting left, he stomped hard on another Scab's foot and smashed its head with a vicious backfist.
A third lunged into range—and Sensei Brantley dropped it instantly with a snap kick to the chest, then spun cleanly into a whip-like roundhouse that floored a fourth.
The flurry cleared just enough space. Sensei Brantley broke into a run, slipping past the rest of the swarm—more than a dozen Scabs closing in—before turning to face them again. He kept his distance from them with long, controlled hops backward.
One Scab broke ahead of the pack, swinging hard with a left hook, its motion buzzing like a swarm of wasps. Sensei Brantley met it with a solid block from his right forearm, then countered with a left palm thrust that collapsed the front half of its head.
As it crumpled, he sidestepped two more that dove in from either side, then caught another in the gut with a front kick. It staggered—just long enough for Sensei Brantley to follow up with a powerful roundhouse to the side of its skull, sending it spinning into the pavement.
"Booyah!" Sensei Brantley shouted, side-hopping away from the next wave. "Whoa!"
The Scabs regrouped, spreading to encircle him. Typhus strolled forward, savoring the chaos.
"Dang! Now I see where the kid gets it from! You're a great fighter, baby!"
Sensei Brantley didn't smile. He scanned the tightening circle, sharp-eyed. He could read each of these things like a five page comic book. They were messy, unorganized—used more for overwhelming a guy and herding enemies into a place where the actual muscle could do harm.
That's what's happening here, Sensei Brantley thought before movement behind the crowd caught his attention—Star and Marco leaving the Dojo and spotting the mayhem.
He smirked.
"I'm a teacher," he said. "Fighting's the easy part. The hard part is teaching fighters to do good."
"BACON KITTY HAWAIIAN NIGHTMARE!"
Star's spell hit like an abstract painting in a blender—a surreal storm of three-eyed kittens, eldritch pineapples, and sizzling bacon whirled through the lot, knocking half the Scabs aside and sending Typhus tumbling backward.
Star and Marco rushed to join Sensei Brantley's side, the former lowering her wand as the latter locked in a fighting stance.
"Wrong place, wrong time, ugly!" Marco snapped at Typhus. "But that's perfect for me—I've got some issues to work out!"
Typhus let out a hearty laugh. "Well then come and get it, baby!"
He slapped his chest. "Throw those hands!"
"Whoa, that is some Super Sentai timing," Sensei Brantley observed as Marco rushed past him to the right—only for the remaining Scabs to block his path.
Star dashed past on Sensei Brantley's left. "We're calling it Super Sen-timing!"
"I'm remembering that," Sensei Brantley replied with a grin—then took off running, matching Marco's speed. Together, they launched a synchronized front kick, each sending one Scab flying.
As Scabs swarmed the two martial artists, Star reached Typhus and launched into a somersault kick, landing a clean shot to his chin. As he reeled from the hit, she twisted mid-air and leveled her wand at him.
"STRAWBERRY ANNIHILATION!"
A searing pink beam of strawberry seeds ripped into Typhus, melting asphalt beneath him before he roared and batted away the last of the blast with his sword.
"Heheheheh…!" Typhus chuckled, his body already regenerating. He lunged. "Keep hittin' like that, and you might actually win, baby!"
Star narrowly rolled beneath his vertical swing, dodging the spinning backhand that followed from his clawed arm.
"What did I tell you about that?! Tiara Tornado!"
A flurry of spinning tiaras, crowns, and regal diadems hammered into Typhus like high-speed shrapnel, ricocheting off his armor and peeling away strips of grotesque flesh. But the Magnavore General only laughed and barreled forward again.
As Star bobbed and weaved around Typhus to blast him in the back, Marco smashed a Scab with a left-right-uppercut combo, then floored another with a roundhouse kick. "Two attacks in one day…!"
He blocked a slash with his forearm, hooked the attacker's arm, and palm-thrusted the Scab's faceplate. Something cracked inside its skull. Marco spun and hurled it to the pavement.
Behind him, Sensei Brantley launched another Scab into the air with a high kick, then fluidly ducked and slipped two strikes from attackers on either side. When one tried to stab him, he seized its wrist, turned, and stabbed the other Scab through the face using its partner's blade.
"As a machine you lack soul. And without soul, you know not tranquility," Sensei Brantley said calmly. He followed with an elbow to the top of the first Scab's head, slamming it to the ground—then crushed its skull underfoot.
"Mr. Diaz! Don't let your frustrations drive your fists—let them flow from them!"
"Yes, sensei!" Marco called back, just as he grabbed a Scab's head and kneed it with such force it crumpled instantly.
He and Sensei Brantley quickly assessed the field. About a dozen Scabs still remained, while Star flung spell after spell at Typhus, hoping to land something decisive.
"Winterstorm Hyperblow!" She called out to ice him over again.
But this time Typhus charged through it. Ice barely formed before he melted it with his heat.
"I got no chill today, baby!" he bellowed—and pointed his shotgun at the onrushing spell, unleashing a beam that collided with it. The clash created a massive steam explosion that billowed through the lot like fog.
Star shielded her eyes, buffeted by the mix of heat and cold. In the mist, she spotted Typhus's silhouette—sword raised, laughter echoing.
"I'm too fired up for it!"
But then he saw something moving through the fog. A figure.
With an eager roar, Typhus turned towards the movement swung down—and his sword crashed against the upraised Stinger Blade, scattering the fog in a burst of force.
The red glow of Drew's helmet slits blazed in the mist.
Without hesitation, he spun, knocking Typhus's sword aside. Still turning, he slashed down and up, slicing across Typhus's chest—then blasted him with a telekinetic shockwave that hurled the Bio Lord into a parked car.
"Then you're getting put out—and put down!" Drew growled, voice tight with fury.
He drew the Input Magnum, keying in 0-1-0. "Hit him again with the ice!"
Star appeared beside him, cheek marks glowing. "Got it! Super Mega…!"
Stingerborg aimed at Typhus as he got up. "Freezing Mode!"
"WINTERSTORM HYPERBLOW!"
"Fire!"
Their twin blasts hit Typhus and the car in a synchronized strike, flash-freezing both in solid ice. Typhus strained to break free—trying to lift his sword—but his effort failed as the ice overtook him.
Seeing their General fall, the remaining Scabs broke formation. Several disengaged from Marco and Sensei Brantley and rushed toward the Beetleborg and the Butterfly—drawing their weapons as they approached.
The first to reach Stingerborg swung its sword—only for its arm and weapon to fall, severed cleanly in a blink.
Star ducked beneath a second Scab's swing, lifting her right leg as she dropped to drive a sharp kick into its face. The blow staggered it—just enough for her to rise and fire a Laser Beam Blast straight into its chest.
"On your right—duck!" She shouted.
Stingerborg dropped instantly. A Strawberry Annihilation blast lanced over him, obliterating a Scab's head and upper body in a flash of pink energy.
Without missing a beat, Drew charged past her, his blade swinging upward in a savage uppercut. The Stinger Blade cleaved a Scab clean in half, crotch to crown. With a sharp follow-through, he decapitated its split skull midair, then pivoted—switching his Input Magnum to Beam Mode—and fired off several clean, controlled shots that forced back another Scab advancing on Star.
"Finish Typhus off—now!" He commanded.
Star didn't need to be told twice. She dipped down and hauled up her magic, the glow from her cheek marks growing brighter as she lifted her wand above her head.
"Super Mega…!"
Seeing the charge-up, Sensei Brantley called to Marco while fending off another Scab. "Mr. Diaz! Your Not-Girlfriend-Who-Lives-With-You is about to Crash Out!"
Marco ducked a wide swing from a Scab, rolled to his feet, and spotted Star glowing like a bomb about to go off. His gaze darted to Typhus, still frozen against the car—and to the parking lot beyond.
Thinking fast, he whipped out the Dimensional Scissors and slashed a portal open in the pavement—the aperture pointed straight to the sky.
"Sensei, clear the portal zone!" He shouted and Sensei Brantley nodded.
"Hey! Dill-weeds!" Marco called the Scabs, waving an arm. "Over here!"
The remaining Scabs turned and charged after him, ignoring everything else.
As Marco and Sensei Brantley retreated, Star dug deep. She tapped the same power she'd used on Vexor—maybe even deeper.
Her eyes opened and light flared from them, the raw magic that now flooded her body to be poured straight from her wand.
"LASER BEAM BLAST!"
The beam that erupted from her wand was taller than she was, a blinding column of energy that flash-melted asphalt beneath and incinerated the frozen car as it slammed into Typhus. The blast surged forward, nearly engulfing the portal's edge as it surged straight through the rift in space Marco had created.
In the same instant, the beam exploded out of the second portal—shooting skyward like a divine strike, obliterating the Scabs chasing Marco and Sensei Brantley and slicing through the light clouds above Hill-Trank Plaza.
Inside the roaring column of energy, Typhus felt the full burn. It melted ice, armor, and flesh alike—just like the blast that had put Vexor out of action.
He grit his teeth against the searing pain.
It felt the same… but the heart, the rage that had fueled it back then? It wasn't quite here this time.
But it was close.
So close.
"YOU'RE GETTIN'...!" He bellowed over the roar, body starting to give way.
"… STRONGER, BABY!"
With a final, howling laugh, Typhus let go and allowed the blast to carry him through the portal—rocketing into the sky above Hill-Trank Plaza in a streak of light and vapor.
Not far from the blast, Elise sat at a red light in her minivan, watching the beam carve the sky. Her face shifted from awe to deep concern.
"Oh shoot."
The howl of sirens snapped her out of it. A Glendale Police cruiser rocketed past, headed toward the strip mall.
"…Oh. Shoot."
Back in the lot, the massive Laser Beam Blast finally faded, the swirling portals sealing shut with a faint hum. Star lowered her wand as thin steam curled from the bell. The glow on her cheeks dimmed to a faint, pale blue.
She turned her eyes skyward, scanning the clouds.
Stingerborg stepped up beside her, silent and watchful. Marco and Sensei Brantley joined them moments later.
"Do… do you think that got him?" Marco asked.
"I hope so," Star said. "I really don't like him calling me baby, baby."
"I think that's just his thing," Stingerborg noted.
Star huffed. "Well, I still don't like it."
Stingerborg folded his arms. "He's a regenerator. If any part of him survived that, he'll be back eventually."
Marco groaned. "Between him basically being Cell and Noxic acting like Metal Cooler, I'm starting to wonder what it's gonna take to finish them for good."
Star turned to him, confused. "Who are Cell and Metal Cooler?"
Marco explained. "Villains from Dragon Ball. Cell's the best one, actually."
Drew thought otherwise. "Freeza's better."
Marco gestured to Stingerborg as he spoke to Star. "Ignore that opinion, it's factually incorrect."
Beneath the helmet Drew raised a brow. "Next you'll tell her the Buu Saga was the peak of writing and pacing."
Marco spun on him. "Okay, first of all—"
Before the fanboy debate could detonate, the Glendale Police cruiser screeched into the lot and to a stop.
Out stepped Officers Hamdon and Wackerman—armed and geared up once again like they were storming Normandy. They were, once again, several set pieces late to the battle.
"Wait, AGAIN?!" Officer Hamdon barked. "How did you people beat us here?!"
Star raised her wand, face deadpan. "Magic."
After what happened at the golf course, she was more than ready to turn these guys into something both funny and insulting if they tried anything stupid.
Officer Wackerman eyed the melted frame of what used to be someone's car, then glanced around at the rest of the lot's damage.
"Hey, Boxter… they really did a number on this place."
"We had to," Star replied. "The Magnavores are really freaking strong. I'm not even sure blasting Typhus like I just did would kill him."
Officer Hamdon looked from the car to Star. "Wait… you did this?"
Star shrugged, holding her wand sheepishly. "I just said we had to."
Stingerborg stepped in. "We did it—and it was self-defense."
He gestured toward Sensei Brantley. "The Magnavores attacked the whole strip mall—especially this guy. It sucks that a car got wrecked, but… only a car got wrecked."
"And exactly eighty-three square feet of asphalt," Sensei Brantley added.
Marco did a double take, confused at such an arbitrary number. "Wait, exactly that?"
Just then, Elise's minivan zipped into the lot and screeched to a halt just shy of the scorched pavement. She hopped out and waved.
"Hey kids! You've been busy today!"
Star lit up. "Elise!"
Officer Hamdon turned. "Ma'am, this is an active crime scene—"
"And I am their active lawyer," Elise cut in sharply. "Or did you not get the memo? I sent a memo!"
Hamdon blinked. "Wait… have I seen you before?"
"Nope! Definitely not. Never. Nuh-uh." Elise breezed right past him to join Star, Marco, Drew, and Sensei Brantley. "Sensei Brantley, can you help me locate the car's owner and whoever runs this strip mall? Hyuuga Heavy Industries is ready to cover any damages Star can't fix."
Hamdon and Wackerman turned toward Star at the same time.
"…Can't fix?"
Star smiled and lifted her wand. "Don't worry. Easy fix."
Her cheek marks lit up once again, energy building in her eyes as she raised the wand high.
"SUPER CUTIE KITTEN CLUTTER CLEANERS!"
A burst of pink light erupted. Magical kittens in maid uniforms, hard hats, tool belts, trash vests, mechanic overalls—even tiny plumber hats—swept across the plaza like an adorable cleanup crew.
Wherever they passed, things were made better. Melted asphalt resurfaced. Broken windows and cracked walls restored. Even the destroyed car was gleaming and whole again, ready to be driven off a dealership lot.
"All done!" Star declared—then staggered slightly, blinking. "Whoaaa… okay, maybe I overdid it a little…"
"Star!" Marco rushed to her side and caught her gently. "You okay?"
"That spell's weirdly heavy when you Dip Down…" She mumbled.
"I'll say," Sensei Brantley remarked. "I think it rebuilt a whole Dodge Charger."
"And it's the third time I've used it today," Star added dreamily.
She had been to the golf course earlier, and Britta's Tacos had needed a lot of work done before that.
Officer Hamdon turned to Elise. "Ms…?"
"Dinkleman. Elise Dinkleman." She handed him a card.
Hamdon glanced at the card. Something about it felt off. "Right. Well, that still leaves the matter of this one—"
He pointed at Drew, "—and his metal friends violating both state and federal law."
Elise didn't even blink. "Well, some recent developments have been brought to my attention, and I have come to tell you that you cannot arrest any of the Beetleborgs."
Both officers paused, and stared at the fixer.
"Excuse me?" Hamdon asked.
Elise nodded. "Federal and California Peregrine Law includes a robust exception clause for the unwitting and/or involuntary use of any form of paranormal or superhuman abilities or technology. Ergo, people who end up with superpowers through unexpected or fantastic circumstances beyond their direct control."
Hamdon frowned, pulled a tiny pocketbook of California laws from his jacket, and flipped through it. "That's not—wait… hold on…"
He stopped, reading aloud.
"'Individuals subject to the application of superhuman abilities by mundane and/or supernatural means and forced into combat by unexpected or fantastic circumstances shall be exempt from prosecution…'" He muttered the case citation, then looked up. "You're saying these kids were forced to fight?"
Stingerborg nodded. "Uh… yeah, we didn't choose for the Magnavores to show up."
Marco nodded hesitantly. "It's true… and kinda messed."
Wackerman looked at Hamdon. "So what does that mean?"
Hamdon closed the booklet. "If they can prove it? Then yeah. This is self-defense under fantastic circumstances."
Sensei Brantley nodded solemnly. "Magical girls and armored heroes fighting monsters from another dimension, bro. Doesn't get more fantastic—or more radical—than that."
"I am pretty rad, huh?" Star asked.
"The raddest, bro."
Officer Hamdon looked conflicted. He studied Marco, Star, and the Blue Stingerborg with a more guarded—almost sympathetic—expression.
After a pause, he finally said, "Officer Wackerman, let's secure the scene and start taking statements."
"Sure thing," Wackerman replied, still unsure. "Lemme just grab my notepad from the car and—"
CRASH!
Typhus's body slammed into the roof of their police cruiser like a meteor, flattening it with a metallic crunch.
Everyone turned and stared in silence at the wrecked cruiser,
His body was almost entirely red and white, rapidly regenerating from the damage Star's attack had done.
"… Dang…" he muttered. "… I saw the curve of the planet with that one, baby."
And with a burst of flame, he vanished—leaving behind nothing but a ruined police vehicle and a fresh dose of stunned silence.
Elise turned to the teens. "Curve of the planet? How high did you blast him?"
Marco, expression blank but brain fully online, answered, "At least sixty thousand feet."
Star beamed. "That's a lot, right?"
"Eighteen point two-nine kilometers," Marco translated.
"Wow, that's a new personal best!"
Drew blinked at her, utterly thrown off that Star measured magical knockback heights in kilometers.
Did the medieval kingdom of Mewni use the metric system?
Did she track this sort of thing?
"… Huh," he said aloud.
Officer Hamdon, turned from the wreckage of his cruiser back to Star. "Hey… you wouldn't mind doing another one of those magical cat cleaner things on our—?"
"Actually!" Marco interrupted, whipping out the Dimensional Scissors. "We need to go. Star's been pushing her limits, and we're not sure if the bad guys are regrouping."
He opened a portal with a clean slash. "C'mon, Sting, we've got to go."
Stingerborg nodded and followed Star and Marco through the portal. It swirled shut behind them with a faint hum.
Officer Hamdon pushed his hat up, scratching at his thick, sweat-damp hair. "Crap…"
Officer Wackerman looked at his partner. "What is it?"
"If what they said is true… I kinda feel bad now."
Elise spoke softly, but firmly. "Then they need help. Not suspicion. Support."
Sensei Brantley nodded. "Yeah, bro. They need the police to have their back, not breathing down their necks."
A news van turned into the lot.
Elise caught sight of it, then turned to the officers. "Since my clients have left the scene, I'll link up with them and avoid interfering with official business."
She jogged to her minivan. "Sensei Brantley! You should get moving too, and don't talk to the press!"
Sliding into the van, she backed out smoothly to clear the way for the news crew. As the van turned toward Hillhurst Mansion, it picked up speed and disappeared down the street.
Wackerman ran a hand through his hair again. "Been a long day, Hamdon…"
"Yeah," Hamdon muttered, just as a reporter and cameraman climbed out of the van and began calling his name.
Welp, Roland lost that bet. But, hey! Maybe now the police will leave our heroes alone...?
= - = 9-3 = - =
|Persecution|
|Persecution|
Just a few hours later, Roland was restocking comics at Zoom, joined by Jo. He was still seething—not just from the fight, but the cops' pathetic response afterward. But business at the comic shop hadn't slowed down, even after days of monster attacks. It gave him something to focus on. Something to ground him.
Unfortunately, Jo had shown up with a revelation he was not happy to hear.
"Huh?" He blinked, slack-jawed, still processing.
Jo sighed. "I know you heard me."
"Nah, say that shit again," Roland snapped, the heat rising in his voice. "Because it sounds like some bullshit."
It wasn't yelling, but his tone could've sliced through Noxic and Typhus like glass.
"How long's this been going on?"
"Since before we moved here from Charterville," she said. "As far back as I can remember, actually."
"So all the time he's been on Twin… that wasn't just him being a hardass, he straight hates him?" Roland said harshly, barely keeping his tone down.
Jo nodded grimly. "Yep."
"And you didn't think to tell Nano? Or Mr. Pines? They'd knock him out of his shoes!"
Jo held up both hands. "Hold up—it's complicated. Until recently, this was just our normal. Drew was Dad's chew toy, and I was the golden child. For a while, he even treated me better just to turn me against him… but you know, we Beetle Bonded."
She looked aside, remembering something unpleasant. "Since then we both got so good at coping, we just kinda… lived with it."
Roland bit back the worst of his anger. But it didn't leave. "Until we started fighting the Magnavores, huh?"
"Yep," Jo said again, softer now. "And I gotta say—I'm kinda impressed. It's only been a couple weeks, but Drew? He's locked in. The stuff that used to mess with him just… doesn't anymore. He talked to Heather. Went to the dance. Stood up to the Vanderhoffs."
She smirked. "And he's got a date with Sabrina this weekend."
Roland's expression flickered—surprise, then satisfaction.
"Wait… he asked her out?"
Jo grinned. "She asked him."
His scowl cracked just a little, and the pride slipped through.
"… My man."
Still, he wasn't about to let the matter slide.
"We gotta do something about your dad," he said with a grimace.
"I'm planning to tell Nano on Saturday," Jo revealed.
"Why not just tell her when she gets here?"
"Because I'm afraid she's gonna kill Dad immediately," Jo deadpanned. "And that might throw a wrench in Drew's date."
Roland paused. He knew his grandmother.
"Yeah… she would," he conceded. "So when's the date?"
"Saturday. They're going down to Santa Monica Pier. So at least they'll be miles away from ground zero when it happens."
"Nah, cuh," Roland muttered, grabbing another stack of comics from the cardboard box beside him. "With what Nano might do? They could still catch the heat out there."
He shook his head, seething again. "Shoot, I'm ready to pull up and stomp him out myself."
Jo snorted. "How do you boys have so much restraint?"
Before Roland could answer, the low, rumbling growl of a motorcycle engine echoed outside. Both of them turned their heads just slightly. They knew that sound.
Nano had arrived.
Roland handed the stack of comics to Jo. "Can you finish these X-Men books? I gotta go talk to Nano 'bout some things."
"Sure," Jo said, suddenly cautious. "Just… don't tell her what I told you."
Roland thumped his chest, then pointed at her. "It's cool, cuh. I got you."
As he headed to the front of the comic book shop, Nano came shuffling in, removing her leather jacket and putting on her reading glasses. Her brow was furrowed, tension lingering in her shoulders—but the moment she spotted him, her face lit up like a porch light at sundown.
"Hey Nano, you okay?" he asked, catching the weight in her eyes.
Nano smiled and pulled him into a hug. "Oh, I'm fine, baby. Your old Nano's just had a lot on her plate today. Had to swing by City Hall, wrap up paperwork for expanding the shop, and yell at the Mayor about that mess from yesterday."
"When they tried to arrest Marco?" Roland asked, playing casual.
"Mmhm. I hope he's all right," she said, concern threading through her voice.
"He's still on schedule for class at the dojo, so I think he's good," Roland replied, trying not to sound too invested. "So... how'd yelling at the Mayor go?"
Nano gave a slow nod, clearly holding back a smirk. "He told me the police aren't going to arrest anyone defending themselves or others—but the Beetleborgs aren't going to be allowed to 'run around unchecked' because of the Peregrine Law."
Roland tightened his jaw briefly, holding back a curse. "So they show up late, can't stop anything, and now they wanna pull this crap just so they don't look useless?"
Nano agreed. "Mmhm! It's what they do when they can't catch bad guys, they snatch up the heroes and blame 'em for the crime they fight."
"Speaking of..." Roland paused. "There's something I've wanted to ask. Can we sit?"
Nano smiled again, softer this time. "Of course, baby. Right over here."
They sat across from each other at one of the reading tables, a cozy little café corner where customers could enjoy comics with their tea. Nano folded her hands on the table and looked at him kindly.
"What's on your mind? There something you wanna talk to your Nano about?"
Roland wasn't ready for that conversation, not yet, but he knew how these things worked. Genre-savvy ran deep in his DNA.
"Have you ever met… SheZow?" He asked.
Nano grew surprised, not expecting him to bring up such a subject. Still, she rolled with it.
"Once, way back, just before Drew and Jo moved to town." Nano pulled out her phone and began swiping through images on it.
After more than a few flicks, she found the photo and held it up. Holding it up, she showed him a selfie featuring Nano and a woman of indeterminable age.
She was just a little taller than Nano, with long, waist-length hair that sported a bright pink streak down the right side. She was dressed in shades of pink—a pink miniskirt held with a black belt with an S-shaped symbol in the center, a top bearing a familiar S-shape in the center with leopard-printed sleeves and leggings. The outfit was completed with thigh-length white high-heeled boots, a dark pink cape, and light pink gloves.
Roland's eyes zeroed in on her right hand. On her index finger: an S-shaped ring, exactly the size and shape of the slot on the mysterious armoire in Wolfy's room.
Dipper had suggested SheZow might be the key to unlocking the armoire—and this image confirmed it beyond any doubt.
Which… was a problem.
A big one.
Nano gave context to the photo. "This was taken in 2009, just after the war started and thousands of refugees began arriving every day. People were up in arms, complaining about where they were going to go, not wanting those people showing up. So, SheZow and some of the local money stepped in."
She smirked, proudly. "They bought out every hotel in Beverly Hills so those folks wouldn't be sleeping on the sidewalk the second they got here and worked double time to get them settled in actual apartments or homes."
Roland remembered Nano being in the news for that. She volunteered in one of those hotel kitchens for over two weeks straight.
"Hold up," he said, doing a double take. "Every hotel… in the Hills? The luxuries?"
Nano nodded. "Mhm! It was SheZow's idea. We bought up rooms in Bel Air, Hollywood, the Palisades, and Glendale, too."
She let out a short laugh. "'Not in my backyard?' I remember she said. 'Fine. We'll move 'em in next door.'"
Roland couldn't help it. He smiled. "Dang. She was a real one. So… what happened?"
Nano sighed, pulling the phone back and locking it.
"It wasn't the same with her after that," she said quietly. "After years of just smacking around criminals and supervillains, I don't think the public was ready for the Glam Queen Heroine to be an actual hero."
Roland frowned. "What do you mean?"
Nano shot him a look—one that said you already know.
"You know damn well what I mean," she said. "Remember what we talked about? How there aren't many adult superheroes left? There's a reason for that—heroes are only tolerated as long as they stay in their lane. You know, cats in trees, bank robbers, the occasional mad scientist or their creation."
She leaned forward, arms folded on the table. "But start causing trouble for the real villains? The ones with offshore accounts, private security, lobbyists? Baby, they make you disappear."
She let that hang.
"It happened to SheZow. Happened to Peregrine in the '90s. Happened to The Freeman in the '60s. And a whole list of folks in between who were doing real good—until suddenly, they weren't around anymore."
Roland felt his gut sink. "The powers that be."
Nano nodded slowly. "The powers that be. There's three ways to survive, baby. One: stick to your mission and whack every mole that pops up, fast. Two: quit while you're up, and stay the hell away from politics. Or…"
Roland narrowed his eyes. "Become a cop."
Nano gave him a look of solemn confirmation. "Just like SheZow's bitch of an ex-sidekick, god damn Tara."
Roland considered telling her about Marco's run-in with Tara… and decided against it. For now.
"Pardon my language, Big Nano," he said, voice low, "but that is some fuck shit."
Nano didn't even flinch. "It is some fuck shit. SheZow finally quit because the heat got turned up on her. Which is a damn shame because the twins and their friends could use someone like her on their side."
Roland nodded slowly. "I remember how bad that was. Do you think she retired? Or…" He trailed off.
Nano took a deep breath. "Hard to say. Even before she disappeared, she started falling off. Stopped calling people she used to. Started getting sloppy—fumbled in fights she should've had on lock."
She frowned. "Got a new sidekick who was way below her standards."
She looked down at the table, a heaviness behind her voice. "But then… she'd been at it nonstop since 1962."
Roland's throat tightened. That was a long time to be doing anything, but being a Superhero?
"She's gone," he murmured. "Damn."
Nano reached out and set a hand on his. "Now stop talkin' like it's a done deal. I don't know—Dipper's a smart young man. If he pokes around Glendale, he might turn something up."
Of course she'd say it like that—implying that Roland had every reason to pitch this to Dipper larter himself.. Roland didn't grimace, but it took effort.
He met her eyes instead of dodging them. "… How long?"
"From day one," Nano said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Y'all are too young to be sneakin' things past your Nano. I know Shermie knows, too."
"Does he know you know?"
"He thinks I know he knows, but he's an honorable man and a gentleman. He ain't gon' snitch on you. Even to yours truly."
"Dang right. Unc's been a real one. He even had our backs when Shego snatched Misao."
"As he should," Nano nodded firmly. Then she dropped her voice low. "And you better let me know if you ever need help with anything. Especially if it's dealin' with these dirty-ass pigs."
Roland grinned, matching her tone. "Actually, there's a few things…"
Nano leaned in, curious.
Roland smiled. "Actually, there's a few things, Nano. First thing is that we need some of your Beetleborg comics so we can defeat the Magnavores."
"Which ones?" Nano stopped. "Actually, don't even worry about it, baby. Any comic you need from my collection is yours."
That was way easier than expected. "Thanks. And, uh… the other thing…"
He glanced around the shop, then back at her.
"I need to know more about SheZow. We found something at the Hillhurst Mansion—something she's connected to. If we can find her, we might figure out why the Magnavores are back… and how we were even able to become Beetleborgs."
Nano blinked, eyes narrowing. "Hol' up. You're tellin' me… Star didn't give you those powers?"
She leaned forward, voice low and serious now. "… What the hell is going on up at Hillhurst?"
Roland's grin faded.
He sighed.
"… We might need to go to the back so I can tell you everything."
He had no idea how helpful telling Nano about what happened would actually be.
@@@@@
Drew stood in the garage by the bike rack, his expression tight with frustration.
His bike floated in front of him, suspended by his telekinesis as he inspected the front tire. Completely flat. The rear tire? Also flat. No matter how much air he pushed in with his powers, it refused to hold.
Tilting the bike slightly in midair, he found the problem—both tires had been stabbed clean through with a kitchen knife. Not slashed. Stabbed. Neatly. Deliberately.
And as if that weren't enough, the seat wobbled when he moved it—from missing a crucial screw securing it to the seat post.
Why even bother with the seat when the tires are already wrecked?
He glanced over his shoulder at the empty space where his parents' cars would normally be parked.
Note to self: crack their windshields.
He sighed, set the bike gently on the rack, and walked back inside. Crossing the living room and stepping out into the backyard, he pulled out his phone and dialed Marco.
Marco picked up on the first ring. "Hey Drew, what's up?"
"Hey, my bicycle's out of commission; can you open a portal to the dojo?"
"Yeah, of course. Good timing—Star and I just got here. Gimme a sec."
A moment later, a portal ripped open in the air. Drew stepped through—only to be immediately ambushed by a hug from Star.
"Hey Drew!"
He froze. He knew Star was a hugger—every girl in the group except Janna and Jo was—but the surprise still knocked him off balance.
"Uh… hey. What's the occasion…?"
"I'm just in a good mood!" Star grinned, then cartwheeled across the dojo and latched onto Marco's arm like a Koala.
Star being in a good mood wasn't anything new, so Drew didn't dwell on it. "Did you hear about the attack on the golf course?"
"Yeah," Marco muttered, absently nuzzling Star's cheek as he unlocked the dojo door. "Especially the part about the cops treating you three like The Peregrine to save face."
Star swept her gaze between them. "Who's the Peregrine? And why are they treating you like him?"
Drew sighed into his palm. "Right… so, before any of us were born, there was this genius inventor who built high-tech armor and used it to fight crime."
He pulled out his phone, tapped out a quick search, and held it up. On the screen was an image of a man in sleek white-and-blue segmented armor with dark, aerodynamic wings. His helmet resembled a bird of prey, with a smooth, angular faceplate and glowing yellow eyes—mid-flight, caught like a falcon diving on its prey.
"This is the guy, the news started calling him The Peregrine."
Star's eyes sparkled. "Oooh… he looks so cool!"
"You've seen Batman and Iron Man over at Zoom, right?" Drew asked.
At her nod, he continued, "He was like a mashup of both. Super famous during his time—almost as big as Kim Possible is now. But eventually, someone stole his tech and sold it to arms dealers. When that happened, he crashed out and tried to destroy his tech so it wouldn't be misused."
The sparkles left her eyes. "What happened? Did he win?"
Drew shook his head. "No, he lost. Even worse, the government pinned it on him to make an example out of him."
He gestured to himself, then Marco. "That's why they passed the Peregrine Laws. No more billionaire super-scientists with principles running around in combat armor and secret identities."
Star frowned, chewing on the thought. "Why blame him for a justified crash out? What about the guys who stole his stuff?"
Marco chimed in, voice dry: "The Government probably didn't care, as long as they got the tech themselves in the end."
Drew nodded. "Yeah, stuff like the cyborgs and Unmanned Gears that were doing security at the Dance all come from his technology getting out."
"That's so scummy!" Star exclaimed. "So what happens if they actually arrest you, Jo, and Roland? What do they do about the monsters then?"
Drew just shrugged, masking the churn of darker thoughts—what would happen if someone like his father found out he was a Beetleborg? Or worse, found out how he became one?
"Hopefully?" He said, voice even. "We don't have to find out."
Right outside the dojo, at that very moment, Sensei Brantley walked up, looking forward to setting up for the evening's classes. He had just reached the door, when he heard what sounded like a rush of flame behind him in the plaza's parking lot, followed by a voice calling out to him.
"Hey, I remember you!"
Sensei Brantley recognized that voice—Typhus.
Turning, the martial arts instructor startled at the sight: the so-called Bio Lord, flanked by at least twenty Scabs, standing like a freakish army in the middle of the shopping plaza.
"You're that karate guy who trains the hoodie kid!" Typhus shouted with a grin. "Hey, how's it goin', baby?"
Chaos broke out instantly. Shoppers screamed and scattered, fleeing the monsters that had been all over the news.
Sensei Brantley let his duffle bag drop. Calmly, he rolled his shoulders and answered, "I'm going with peace, bro… but I'm ready for war if you test me."
Typhus let out a laugh. "I like that. So how about this? Put up a good fight, and I'll leave you alive enough for your student to come rescue what's left!"
With a dramatic flourish, Typhus drew his shotgun sword—from the grotesque mouth atop his head—and pointed it directly at Sensei Brantley. "Scabs! Jump this guy!"
Sensei Brantley quickly assumed a fighting stance as the Scabs came charging at him with no weapons drawn.
"How generous of you to go easy on me," he coolly complimented.
The first Scab twitched and shuddered like an epileptic in a fit, then suddenly snapped forward with a straight right aimed at Sensei Brantley's face.
Sensei Brantley deflected the blow high with his right hand and brought that same hand crashing down onto the creature's skull in a fierce chop, flattening it.
Shifting left, he stomped hard on another Scab's foot and smashed its head with a vicious backfist.
A third lunged into range—and Sensei Brantley dropped it instantly with a snap kick to the chest, then spun cleanly into a whip-like roundhouse that floored a fourth.
The flurry cleared just enough space. Sensei Brantley broke into a run, slipping past the rest of the swarm—more than a dozen Scabs closing in—before turning to face them again. He kept his distance from them with long, controlled hops backward.
One Scab broke ahead of the pack, swinging hard with a left hook, its motion buzzing like a swarm of wasps. Sensei Brantley met it with a solid block from his right forearm, then countered with a left palm thrust that collapsed the front half of its head.
As it crumpled, he sidestepped two more that dove in from either side, then caught another in the gut with a front kick. It staggered—just long enough for Sensei Brantley to follow up with a powerful roundhouse to the side of its skull, sending it spinning into the pavement.
"Booyah!" Sensei Brantley shouted, side-hopping away from the next wave. "Whoa!"
The Scabs regrouped, spreading to encircle him. Typhus strolled forward, savoring the chaos.
"Dang! Now I see where the kid gets it from! You're a great fighter, baby!"
Sensei Brantley didn't smile. He scanned the tightening circle, sharp-eyed. He could read each of these things like a five page comic book. They were messy, unorganized—used more for overwhelming a guy and herding enemies into a place where the actual muscle could do harm.
That's what's happening here, Sensei Brantley thought before movement behind the crowd caught his attention—Star and Marco leaving the Dojo and spotting the mayhem.
He smirked.
"I'm a teacher," he said. "Fighting's the easy part. The hard part is teaching fighters to do good."
"BACON KITTY HAWAIIAN NIGHTMARE!"
Star's spell hit like an abstract painting in a blender—a surreal storm of three-eyed kittens, eldritch pineapples, and sizzling bacon whirled through the lot, knocking half the Scabs aside and sending Typhus tumbling backward.
Star and Marco rushed to join Sensei Brantley's side, the former lowering her wand as the latter locked in a fighting stance.
"Wrong place, wrong time, ugly!" Marco snapped at Typhus. "But that's perfect for me—I've got some issues to work out!"
Typhus let out a hearty laugh. "Well then come and get it, baby!"
He slapped his chest. "Throw those hands!"
"Whoa, that is some Super Sentai timing," Sensei Brantley observed as Marco rushed past him to the right—only for the remaining Scabs to block his path.
Star dashed past on Sensei Brantley's left. "We're calling it Super Sen-timing!"
"I'm remembering that," Sensei Brantley replied with a grin—then took off running, matching Marco's speed. Together, they launched a synchronized front kick, each sending one Scab flying.
As Scabs swarmed the two martial artists, Star reached Typhus and launched into a somersault kick, landing a clean shot to his chin. As he reeled from the hit, she twisted mid-air and leveled her wand at him.
"STRAWBERRY ANNIHILATION!"
A searing pink beam of strawberry seeds ripped into Typhus, melting asphalt beneath him before he roared and batted away the last of the blast with his sword.
"Heheheheh…!" Typhus chuckled, his body already regenerating. He lunged. "Keep hittin' like that, and you might actually win, baby!"
Star narrowly rolled beneath his vertical swing, dodging the spinning backhand that followed from his clawed arm.
"What did I tell you about that?! Tiara Tornado!"
A flurry of spinning tiaras, crowns, and regal diadems hammered into Typhus like high-speed shrapnel, ricocheting off his armor and peeling away strips of grotesque flesh. But the Magnavore General only laughed and barreled forward again.
As Star bobbed and weaved around Typhus to blast him in the back, Marco smashed a Scab with a left-right-uppercut combo, then floored another with a roundhouse kick. "Two attacks in one day…!"
He blocked a slash with his forearm, hooked the attacker's arm, and palm-thrusted the Scab's faceplate. Something cracked inside its skull. Marco spun and hurled it to the pavement.
Behind him, Sensei Brantley launched another Scab into the air with a high kick, then fluidly ducked and slipped two strikes from attackers on either side. When one tried to stab him, he seized its wrist, turned, and stabbed the other Scab through the face using its partner's blade.
"As a machine you lack soul. And without soul, you know not tranquility," Sensei Brantley said calmly. He followed with an elbow to the top of the first Scab's head, slamming it to the ground—then crushed its skull underfoot.
"Mr. Diaz! Don't let your frustrations drive your fists—let them flow from them!"
"Yes, sensei!" Marco called back, just as he grabbed a Scab's head and kneed it with such force it crumpled instantly.
He and Sensei Brantley quickly assessed the field. About a dozen Scabs still remained, while Star flung spell after spell at Typhus, hoping to land something decisive.
"Winterstorm Hyperblow!" She called out to ice him over again.
But this time Typhus charged through it. Ice barely formed before he melted it with his heat.
"I got no chill today, baby!" he bellowed—and pointed his shotgun at the onrushing spell, unleashing a beam that collided with it. The clash created a massive steam explosion that billowed through the lot like fog.
Star shielded her eyes, buffeted by the mix of heat and cold. In the mist, she spotted Typhus's silhouette—sword raised, laughter echoing.
"I'm too fired up for it!"
But then he saw something moving through the fog. A figure.
With an eager roar, Typhus turned towards the movement swung down—and his sword crashed against the upraised Stinger Blade, scattering the fog in a burst of force.
The red glow of Drew's helmet slits blazed in the mist.
Without hesitation, he spun, knocking Typhus's sword aside. Still turning, he slashed down and up, slicing across Typhus's chest—then blasted him with a telekinetic shockwave that hurled the Bio Lord into a parked car.
"Then you're getting put out—and put down!" Drew growled, voice tight with fury.
He drew the Input Magnum, keying in 0-1-0. "Hit him again with the ice!"
Star appeared beside him, cheek marks glowing. "Got it! Super Mega…!"
Stingerborg aimed at Typhus as he got up. "Freezing Mode!"
"WINTERSTORM HYPERBLOW!"
"Fire!"
Their twin blasts hit Typhus and the car in a synchronized strike, flash-freezing both in solid ice. Typhus strained to break free—trying to lift his sword—but his effort failed as the ice overtook him.
Seeing their General fall, the remaining Scabs broke formation. Several disengaged from Marco and Sensei Brantley and rushed toward the Beetleborg and the Butterfly—drawing their weapons as they approached.
The first to reach Stingerborg swung its sword—only for its arm and weapon to fall, severed cleanly in a blink.
Star ducked beneath a second Scab's swing, lifting her right leg as she dropped to drive a sharp kick into its face. The blow staggered it—just enough for her to rise and fire a Laser Beam Blast straight into its chest.
"On your right—duck!" She shouted.
Stingerborg dropped instantly. A Strawberry Annihilation blast lanced over him, obliterating a Scab's head and upper body in a flash of pink energy.
Without missing a beat, Drew charged past her, his blade swinging upward in a savage uppercut. The Stinger Blade cleaved a Scab clean in half, crotch to crown. With a sharp follow-through, he decapitated its split skull midair, then pivoted—switching his Input Magnum to Beam Mode—and fired off several clean, controlled shots that forced back another Scab advancing on Star.
"Finish Typhus off—now!" He commanded.
Star didn't need to be told twice. She dipped down and hauled up her magic, the glow from her cheek marks growing brighter as she lifted her wand above her head.
"Super Mega…!"
Seeing the charge-up, Sensei Brantley called to Marco while fending off another Scab. "Mr. Diaz! Your Not-Girlfriend-Who-Lives-With-You is about to Crash Out!"
Marco ducked a wide swing from a Scab, rolled to his feet, and spotted Star glowing like a bomb about to go off. His gaze darted to Typhus, still frozen against the car—and to the parking lot beyond.
Thinking fast, he whipped out the Dimensional Scissors and slashed a portal open in the pavement—the aperture pointed straight to the sky.
"Sensei, clear the portal zone!" He shouted and Sensei Brantley nodded.
"Hey! Dill-weeds!" Marco called the Scabs, waving an arm. "Over here!"
The remaining Scabs turned and charged after him, ignoring everything else.
As Marco and Sensei Brantley retreated, Star dug deep. She tapped the same power she'd used on Vexor—maybe even deeper.
Her eyes opened and light flared from them, the raw magic that now flooded her body to be poured straight from her wand.
"LASER BEAM BLAST!"
The beam that erupted from her wand was taller than she was, a blinding column of energy that flash-melted asphalt beneath and incinerated the frozen car as it slammed into Typhus. The blast surged forward, nearly engulfing the portal's edge as it surged straight through the rift in space Marco had created.
In the same instant, the beam exploded out of the second portal—shooting skyward like a divine strike, obliterating the Scabs chasing Marco and Sensei Brantley and slicing through the light clouds above Hill-Trank Plaza.
Inside the roaring column of energy, Typhus felt the full burn. It melted ice, armor, and flesh alike—just like the blast that had put Vexor out of action.
He grit his teeth against the searing pain.
It felt the same… but the heart, the rage that had fueled it back then? It wasn't quite here this time.
But it was close.
So close.
"YOU'RE GETTIN'...!" He bellowed over the roar, body starting to give way.
"… STRONGER, BABY!"
With a final, howling laugh, Typhus let go and allowed the blast to carry him through the portal—rocketing into the sky above Hill-Trank Plaza in a streak of light and vapor.
Not far from the blast, Elise sat at a red light in her minivan, watching the beam carve the sky. Her face shifted from awe to deep concern.
"Oh shoot."
The howl of sirens snapped her out of it. A Glendale Police cruiser rocketed past, headed toward the strip mall.
"…Oh. Shoot."
Back in the lot, the massive Laser Beam Blast finally faded, the swirling portals sealing shut with a faint hum. Star lowered her wand as thin steam curled from the bell. The glow on her cheeks dimmed to a faint, pale blue.
She turned her eyes skyward, scanning the clouds.
Stingerborg stepped up beside her, silent and watchful. Marco and Sensei Brantley joined them moments later.
"Do… do you think that got him?" Marco asked.
"I hope so," Star said. "I really don't like him calling me baby, baby."
"I think that's just his thing," Stingerborg noted.
Star huffed. "Well, I still don't like it."
Stingerborg folded his arms. "He's a regenerator. If any part of him survived that, he'll be back eventually."
Marco groaned. "Between him basically being Cell and Noxic acting like Metal Cooler, I'm starting to wonder what it's gonna take to finish them for good."
Star turned to him, confused. "Who are Cell and Metal Cooler?"
Marco explained. "Villains from Dragon Ball. Cell's the best one, actually."
Drew thought otherwise. "Freeza's better."
Marco gestured to Stingerborg as he spoke to Star. "Ignore that opinion, it's factually incorrect."
Beneath the helmet Drew raised a brow. "Next you'll tell her the Buu Saga was the peak of writing and pacing."
Marco spun on him. "Okay, first of all—"
Before the fanboy debate could detonate, the Glendale Police cruiser screeched into the lot and to a stop.
Out stepped Officers Hamdon and Wackerman—armed and geared up once again like they were storming Normandy. They were, once again, several set pieces late to the battle.
"Wait, AGAIN?!" Officer Hamdon barked. "How did you people beat us here?!"
Star raised her wand, face deadpan. "Magic."
After what happened at the golf course, she was more than ready to turn these guys into something both funny and insulting if they tried anything stupid.
Officer Wackerman eyed the melted frame of what used to be someone's car, then glanced around at the rest of the lot's damage.
"Hey, Boxter… they really did a number on this place."
"We had to," Star replied. "The Magnavores are really freaking strong. I'm not even sure blasting Typhus like I just did would kill him."
Officer Hamdon looked from the car to Star. "Wait… you did this?"
Star shrugged, holding her wand sheepishly. "I just said we had to."
Stingerborg stepped in. "We did it—and it was self-defense."
He gestured toward Sensei Brantley. "The Magnavores attacked the whole strip mall—especially this guy. It sucks that a car got wrecked, but… only a car got wrecked."
"And exactly eighty-three square feet of asphalt," Sensei Brantley added.
Marco did a double take, confused at such an arbitrary number. "Wait, exactly that?"
Just then, Elise's minivan zipped into the lot and screeched to a halt just shy of the scorched pavement. She hopped out and waved.
"Hey kids! You've been busy today!"
Star lit up. "Elise!"
Officer Hamdon turned. "Ma'am, this is an active crime scene—"
"And I am their active lawyer," Elise cut in sharply. "Or did you not get the memo? I sent a memo!"
Hamdon blinked. "Wait… have I seen you before?"
"Nope! Definitely not. Never. Nuh-uh." Elise breezed right past him to join Star, Marco, Drew, and Sensei Brantley. "Sensei Brantley, can you help me locate the car's owner and whoever runs this strip mall? Hyuuga Heavy Industries is ready to cover any damages Star can't fix."
Hamdon and Wackerman turned toward Star at the same time.
"…Can't fix?"
Star smiled and lifted her wand. "Don't worry. Easy fix."
Her cheek marks lit up once again, energy building in her eyes as she raised the wand high.
"SUPER CUTIE KITTEN CLUTTER CLEANERS!"
A burst of pink light erupted. Magical kittens in maid uniforms, hard hats, tool belts, trash vests, mechanic overalls—even tiny plumber hats—swept across the plaza like an adorable cleanup crew.
Wherever they passed, things were made better. Melted asphalt resurfaced. Broken windows and cracked walls restored. Even the destroyed car was gleaming and whole again, ready to be driven off a dealership lot.
"All done!" Star declared—then staggered slightly, blinking. "Whoaaa… okay, maybe I overdid it a little…"
"Star!" Marco rushed to her side and caught her gently. "You okay?"
"That spell's weirdly heavy when you Dip Down…" She mumbled.
"I'll say," Sensei Brantley remarked. "I think it rebuilt a whole Dodge Charger."
"And it's the third time I've used it today," Star added dreamily.
She had been to the golf course earlier, and Britta's Tacos had needed a lot of work done before that.
Officer Hamdon turned to Elise. "Ms…?"
"Dinkleman. Elise Dinkleman." She handed him a card.
Hamdon glanced at the card. Something about it felt off. "Right. Well, that still leaves the matter of this one—"
He pointed at Drew, "—and his metal friends violating both state and federal law."
Elise didn't even blink. "Well, some recent developments have been brought to my attention, and I have come to tell you that you cannot arrest any of the Beetleborgs."
Both officers paused, and stared at the fixer.
"Excuse me?" Hamdon asked.
Elise nodded. "Federal and California Peregrine Law includes a robust exception clause for the unwitting and/or involuntary use of any form of paranormal or superhuman abilities or technology. Ergo, people who end up with superpowers through unexpected or fantastic circumstances beyond their direct control."
Hamdon frowned, pulled a tiny pocketbook of California laws from his jacket, and flipped through it. "That's not—wait… hold on…"
He stopped, reading aloud.
"'Individuals subject to the application of superhuman abilities by mundane and/or supernatural means and forced into combat by unexpected or fantastic circumstances shall be exempt from prosecution…'" He muttered the case citation, then looked up. "You're saying these kids were forced to fight?"
Stingerborg nodded. "Uh… yeah, we didn't choose for the Magnavores to show up."
Marco nodded hesitantly. "It's true… and kinda messed."
Wackerman looked at Hamdon. "So what does that mean?"
Hamdon closed the booklet. "If they can prove it? Then yeah. This is self-defense under fantastic circumstances."
Sensei Brantley nodded solemnly. "Magical girls and armored heroes fighting monsters from another dimension, bro. Doesn't get more fantastic—or more radical—than that."
"I am pretty rad, huh?" Star asked.
"The raddest, bro."
Officer Hamdon looked conflicted. He studied Marco, Star, and the Blue Stingerborg with a more guarded—almost sympathetic—expression.
After a pause, he finally said, "Officer Wackerman, let's secure the scene and start taking statements."
"Sure thing," Wackerman replied, still unsure. "Lemme just grab my notepad from the car and—"
CRASH!
Typhus's body slammed into the roof of their police cruiser like a meteor, flattening it with a metallic crunch.
Everyone turned and stared in silence at the wrecked cruiser,
His body was almost entirely red and white, rapidly regenerating from the damage Star's attack had done.
"… Dang…" he muttered. "… I saw the curve of the planet with that one, baby."
And with a burst of flame, he vanished—leaving behind nothing but a ruined police vehicle and a fresh dose of stunned silence.
Elise turned to the teens. "Curve of the planet? How high did you blast him?"
Marco, expression blank but brain fully online, answered, "At least sixty thousand feet."
Star beamed. "That's a lot, right?"
"Eighteen point two-nine kilometers," Marco translated.
"Wow, that's a new personal best!"
Drew blinked at her, utterly thrown off that Star measured magical knockback heights in kilometers.
Did the medieval kingdom of Mewni use the metric system?
Did she track this sort of thing?
"… Huh," he said aloud.
Officer Hamdon, turned from the wreckage of his cruiser back to Star. "Hey… you wouldn't mind doing another one of those magical cat cleaner things on our—?"
"Actually!" Marco interrupted, whipping out the Dimensional Scissors. "We need to go. Star's been pushing her limits, and we're not sure if the bad guys are regrouping."
He opened a portal with a clean slash. "C'mon, Sting, we've got to go."
Stingerborg nodded and followed Star and Marco through the portal. It swirled shut behind them with a faint hum.
Officer Hamdon pushed his hat up, scratching at his thick, sweat-damp hair. "Crap…"
Officer Wackerman looked at his partner. "What is it?"
"If what they said is true… I kinda feel bad now."
Elise spoke softly, but firmly. "Then they need help. Not suspicion. Support."
Sensei Brantley nodded. "Yeah, bro. They need the police to have their back, not breathing down their necks."
A news van turned into the lot.
Elise caught sight of it, then turned to the officers. "Since my clients have left the scene, I'll link up with them and avoid interfering with official business."
She jogged to her minivan. "Sensei Brantley! You should get moving too, and don't talk to the press!"
Sliding into the van, she backed out smoothly to clear the way for the news crew. As the van turned toward Hillhurst Mansion, it picked up speed and disappeared down the street.
Wackerman ran a hand through his hair again. "Been a long day, Hamdon…"
"Yeah," Hamdon muttered, just as a reporter and cameraman climbed out of the van and began calling his name.
= - = 9-3 = - =
Welp, Roland lost that bet. But, hey! Maybe now the police will leave our heroes alone...?
Last edited:
Delta/Soul
Versed in the lewd.
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Abomination
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The Ero-Sennin
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Why thank you~!
Boy, things are tense in 1899. It'd be a shame if an Outside Context Problem just... pulled up.
The day passed and night fell on Echo Creek, arc lamps flickering on as the horizon bled orange and violet. At the broken well, workers toiled ineffectually in a gradually widening pit with hammers, shovels, and picks.
Fatigue hung heavy in the air as Mr. Armberg lifted his fedora from his sweat-soaked brow. He had been in the mix with his boys since the afternoon to get whatever had broken the drill out of the way, and there was just no progress on that front.
"Hey, Renton," another man with a mustache and head of dark hair beneath his flat cap, said to Mr. Armberg as he came over. "You boys get home, Ms. Bonny's got us on it."
"You're a godsend, Jacobs" Mr. Armberg sighed, receiving a knowing nod from his relief in turn. "Hole's been gettin' wider, not deeper. We gotta blast it out, I reckon."
Mr. Jacobs didn't like the sound of that too much. "Dynamite? We'd need a posse to guard it with that maniac Hillhurst around. No telling what he'd do if he got ahold of some."
Mr. Armberg didn't share that view. "Nonsense, man's as clever as one of them Frisco intellectuals. If he wanted to blow up the town, he'd have done us all in a long time ago."
"Fair enough," Jacobs relented. "I'm fairly sure I saw Ms. Bonner headed towards the jail on my way over. You might still catch her if you go that way."
"I've already worked myself to the bone," Mr. Armberg said. "Asking her for dynamite tonight? I'll be lucky she doesn't explode!"
He rubbed his chin. "She wanted the obstacle gone, so let's leave the lady to her evening and break it out."
Down the road, Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's boots clicked on the boardwalk as she reached the jail beneath the harsh lantern light and strode in. Inside, she turned a sharp look at the Sheriff's deputy—who bowed and stepped back, keys jingling in his hand as he stepped back.
Glowering at the deputy, she took the keys from him without resistance, and approached the holding cell where Hutchinson and his men were all gathered.
Inside, six bruised figures beside Hutchinson were slumped against the walls—among them, Kelsey nursed his battered cheek, while Ivan eyed her with anxious dread.
Hutchinson himself, eyes glassed by morphine, came up to the bars and looked down at Emily with a sheepish, defeated expression. "Ms. Bonner…"
Gripping the cell's bars tight in her hands, she leaned in.
"You took six men to that snake's home and tried to kill him in broad daylight? I pay you for subtlety—not backroads thuggery."
Hutchinson's voice cracked as he spoke. "H-He took my gun… I-I just wanted it back… I wanted him gone."
Emily released a bar to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. "You could have just asked, and I'd have purchased you another. This could have been a monumental waste of life and time."
Her lips curled. "Do you realize what armed men under my employment dying on the property of a man known for defying me would create, Mr. Hutchinson?"
Hutchinson shrank where he stood, struggling to meet her gaze as she continued. "Scandal. Even if I could wash my hands of you, every paper in California would scream that I'm not above brute force to remove my enemies."
Hutchinson could barely bring himself to look at her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Bonner, I truly am."
Emily turned away from him. "You are all fortunate men. You have done far too much good work for me to simply see you discarded."
Stepping away from the cell, she spoke levelly. "Own your stupidity. I pay professionals, not the savages Hillhurst champions for."
One by one the men got up and gathered closer to the cell, as Hutchinson spoke. "We… we will, Ms. Bonner…"
Emily slowly looked back at him, her eyes narrow. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the keys through the bars.
"Go home. Do not let me find out you've gone after Hillhurst without my express consent, or I will see to it neither you nor your families will see another cent for as long as any of you live."
Daring to not look at any of them for a moment more, Emily walked out of the jail. The deputy, seeing her leave, tipped his hat to her. "Ms. Bonner."
Emily looked at him, and nodded curtly before she continued on, with Hutchinson and his men filing out of the jailhouse one by one behind her.
Down the road, Harrison O'Durgeson locked the Post Office and, with a skip in his step and a tune to whistle, walked over to the adjacent saloon. Outside, an older Mexican man stood by the open doors to his establishment, watching the trails of dust kicked up by a late evening breeze.
"Hidalgo? Who's watching the regulars?" Harrison asked.
Hidalgo slowly shook his head. "Business is slow tonight. That drill break a few blocks over has some of my regulars working an extra shift."
He shook his head. "But it's been slow ever since those harpies descended upon me. Men are drinking at home, rather than here…"
Harrison grimaced and patted Hidalgo on the shoulder. "Damn shame, that. Hillhurst and I, we won't let that witch run you out of town."
"I hope not," Hidalgo lamented. "My cousin, Victor, was one of those bandidos who tried to rob the bank yesterday."
"You're lying," Harrison said, shocked.
This was grim news.
Hidalgo nodded. "Felt he had to—Hutchinson's boys killed the last cattle he had. I tried to give him some money so he and his wife could go up north… but he didn't want to take it from me."
Harrison shook his head. "He wasn't the bandido who pointed the gun at Ms. Bonny, was he?"
Hidalgo nodded, grimly.
"Fucking hell…"
This was so much worse.
"He's sure to swing for it, and Ms. Bonny has already begun working his relation to me into her protests."
The Saloon proprietor grunted in frustration. "I may as well take the family I have left and go up north myself. Frisco is a lot more tolerant of non-whites these days."
Harrison tightened his jaw. "I'm so sorry, man. It just doesn't get worse than that."
As he spoke, the column of Emily and her entourage filed past across the street from him. Spotting her, he could not hold back the venom in his voice.
"As usual, there is only justice in this world for the white man and the money that owns him."
Emily halted mid-step. The light of the lamp caught her eyes as she fixed him with a cold stare.
"Evening, Ms. Bonny!" Harrison sang, tipping his hat with sarcastic flourish.
Emily inclined her head once—an unspoken warning—and resumed her stride. Harrison answered with unspoken defiance and turned to walk the short distance over to Hidalgo's Saloon parallel to the procession's course.
Hutchinson glowered at Harrison, fist clenching. "You're no Hillhurst, Irish. You run your mouth like that further and you'll be on the street where the rest of your kind belong."
Silence fell, broken by the distant hum of the Arc Light.
"You're right, I'm no Hillhurst," Harrison drawled back, his moustache twitching, not the least bit intimidated. "I haven't the gentlemanly restraint of the lad to not knock a dog or his bitch."
Hutchinson's jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed with rage… when suddenly a strong gust of wind blasted down the main road of the town.
The gust knocked Emily sideways—only for Hutchinson's arm to catch her waist. Her boots scraped over the ground, but she managed to keep herself upright with his help. Around them, lanterns lighting the boardwalks flickered, while the boards themselves rattled beneath their feet.
The wind scoured the street, howling down the boardwalks lining it as it transformed into a sustained, rolling breeze driven by some unseen malice that stung skin where it struck.
Harrison's hand flew to his brim—only to have the wind rip it down over his eyes. Something was not right, no wind howled in like this that he knew of.
"Oh, there's something ill in the air." He said while squinting through the grit blasting his face.
Hidalgo saw it first. He pointed down the road. "Harrison… look there!"
A hulking shape loomed at the far end of Main Street, seven feet tall, chest as broad as a wagon wheel, sunken yellow eyes flicking side to side. His great muscles rippled and twitched as he walked with slow, thunderous purpose down the road. His every footstep seemed to displace the air and shake the Earth.
Hutchinson brought Emily behind him, and the rest of his men fanned out as the creature stepped closer.
"The hell is that thing?" He demanded.
Seeing the men stepping into the wind-whipped street, the creature halted and glowered at them. Then, it flew into a rage with a long scream of fury and madness that chilled the blood of all within earshot.
In the kitchen of Hillhurst's mansion, Teodoro appraised the .45 Caliber cartridges that Dr. Hillhurst finished putting together for him. The melted down silver felt slightly warm to the touch, but formed in a different way than he was used to. Rather than smoothed and round like the normal 45. Cartridges he was used to, these were flat-headed.
"Is there a reason they're flat?" He asked as he turned the bullet over in his hand.
Dr. Hillhurst was preparing dinner with the long day's work behind them.
"Better stopping power," he explained. "When they strike, they expand and stop inside the target, dealing more damage."
The young man's eyebrows rose. "Oh, then that is very good. I'll take it."
Dr. Hillhurst turned to him. "About that rifle of yours, do you need any ammunition for that?"
Teodoro shook his head. "I have more than enough ammunition for it, don't worry."
He began loading his revolver with the cartridges, as he asked, "What will you do if those men return?"
Dr. Hillhurst sighed. "I'll give SheHaw a call on the telephone and she'll come hopefully before any harm is done."
Teodoro was surprised. "You have a telephone?"
"Of course I do!" Dr. Hillhurst said before he turned his nose up smugly. "My home has all the most modern amenities. Septic tank, water purification, ice box, everything a modern house has and some things that a modern home does not!"
"… Septic tank?" Teodoro asked.
Dr. Hillhurst stopped. "… For the indoor toilet."
The young man's eyes widened. "You have one of those, too?!"
Dr. Hillhurst turned to face him. "Ted, my good man, where have you been going since you got here?"
Now Teodoro looked embarrassed. "Ehh… the trees behind the shed."
Dr. Hillhurst palmed his face. "No, don't… don't be embarrassed, that's on me. I didn't tell you about it until now. Just… next time you're in the house, go upstairs, take a left and the washroom will be there. There's a shower inside, as well."
Teodoro was mesmerized. "… A shower on the second floor…"
Dr. Hillhurst felt like boasting again. "With hot running water!"
"… Are you a man from the future, Doctor?"
And there it was, exactly what Dr. Aloysius Hillhurst wanted to hear. "No, just a man who thinks like one!"
A strong wind kicked up at that very moment, causing the trees outside of Hillhurst's Mansion to sway as it whistled through the branches, and the entire house to shudder ominously. Hearing that, and a weathervane atop his home creaking loudly as it turned with the wind, Dr. Hillhurst was surprised.
"How odd, the wind kicking up like that…" He trailed off when he saw a strange, startling expression on Teodoro's face.
He was first pale with surprise, but then an intense and terrific anger twisted his face as he turned towards the kitchen door.
"… They're here."
Dr. Hillhurst got up from his smithing bench. "… Who's here, Ted?"
He realized as soon as he asked. "The monsters you're hunting?"
Teodoro nodded grimly. "Every time I have encountered them, a wind like this would blow. A gale from the direction they're in!"
Teodoro holstered his revolver swiftly. "We need to go now, Doctor!"
Dr. Hillhurst turned off the fire under his food. "Of course, but we won't make it there in any good time on my bike."
Teodoro looked at him, anxious. "Do you have any horses?"
"No, I should never be responsible for another living animal," the "Doctor" admitted. "I do have something else though, I just ask you to keep an open mind."
Teodoro was once more left wondering what he meant by that, but the urgency of the situation precluded any other concern.
The day had been rough, but the evening held promise for SheHaw.
The vigilante in pink was perched where she normally was during the long nights in Echo Creek, atop the most central of the town's Carbon Arc lamps, using its height and brightness to be on the lookout for any unseemly activity. She was especially watchful for any move from Emily Blakesfield-Bonner or her cronies, but all that seemed to stand out was a rare night shift at a broken Oil Exploration.
"That's not right," she muttered. "Those crews are never out this late."
Her gut clenched as she zeroed in on the worksite. "… No… it can't be…"
A gust of wind threw her balance for a moment—but before she could react, a bellowing roar shattered the night.
Followed by a more familiar woman's shriek.
Startled, SheHaw looked around for the source of the scream before a sixth sense screamed at her to look towards the direction of the Post Office.
Searching the town below, she caught sight of Emily stumbling backward from a brawl in the middle of the street between Hutchinson's men and something tossing them about like they were made of straw and tinder.
"What in the Sam Hill…?!" She blurted, eyes widening as the thing hoisted Hutchinson by the neck, lifting him clean off his feet.
No more words. No hesitation. She sprinted to the edge of the Arc Lamp Tower and leapt, not straight down, but up, tracing a long, graceful arc through the night sky.
Her hand clamped firmly over her hat as she hurtled earthward, a streak of pink cutting through the darkness…
… A missile aimed squarely at her target.
Below her, the abomination gripped the flailing Hutchinson by the neck, dragging him in close—then let out a deafening, guttural scream straight into his face. Hot breath and flecks of spit rained down on the man as he struggled, choking and clawing in vain for air, for freedom—anything.
Behind him, Emily collapsed onto her backside, pale as a sheet as she looked around at the other six men. They had all been knocked aside like they did not exist at all to the abomination, some moved but others were frighteningly still after the severity of the blows that struck them.
As she focused on the monster, she saw the muscles of the creature's arm flex as he lifted Hutchinson higher—as if to break his neck in his grip.
"N-no…!" She gasped out in horror.
Before the sickening crunch of bone could split the air—
WHAM!
SheHaw's flying drop kick connected straight and true with the man-thing. The impact sent the creature tumbling, heels over head, down the center of the road.
Hutchinson dropped like a sack of grain, coughing and wheezing as he hit the ground.
"SheHaw!" Harrison called out as he and Hidalgo cowered inside of the Saloon. "What in the world is that thing?"
SheHaw drew one of her whips. "Something y'all need to stay far the hell away from!"
With a crack of the whip, she ran at the monster. "Get them inside, barricade the doors, and kill the light, Harry!"
The creature was already getting up to its feet as SheHaw reached it, and as she looked at its shirtless, overly muscled form, she recoiled in disgust. It looked human, but on closer inspection she realized that was a misshapen abomination made of different human body-parts crudely stitched and stapled together into something that only looked like a man.
It was a massive, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and wild-haired man—with a face just human enough to be wrong. He radiated raw, bestial power—the same strength he had used to batter Hutchinson and his men like ragdolls. Worse, he had taken her drop kick full on and barely flinched.
"All right, big boy," she said to the Abomination as she cracked her whip once more.
"Let's get on with it, then!"
The Abomination roared in response, and was swiftly struck across the left side of his face with the whip, and then even faster across the right on the return stroke.
"What kind of beast are you?" she spat, whipping the cord around his neck and yanking him in close.
With a swift pivot, she drove a high kick into the side of his head, sending him spinning away—freeing him from the whip's grasp. "Some kind of Frankenstein's monster?!"
She coiled the whip smoothly, but the creature caught himself and dropped low, scrambling on all fours towards her like an animal.
He reached her—faster than she expected—and swung his massive left arm. SheHaw raised her right arm to block, absorbing the blow, but the rest of his body slammed into her like a battering ram.
The vigilante went flying, crashing through a row of oil derricks. Wood shattered and splintered around her as the towering structures collapsed under the force.
A safe distance away from the brawl, the oil workers at the broken drill turned towards the sound of the wild racket several blocks over.
Dazed, SheHaw leaned against the corner of a broken beam, brushing wood chips from the side of her head.
"Getting struck by a locomotive was softer…!"
She spotted the Abomination hurtling toward her in a ballistic arc, arms raised high. She dove aside just as he slammed into the ground with thunderous force. His fists obliterated the remaining derrick—and the pump attached to it.
A rumble erupted as the ruptured well spewed oil into the air, thick and volatile.
SheHaw rolled to her feet, ducking another swipe as the creature lunged again. He roared, swinging madly—until she drove an uppercut into his chin that lifted him clean off the ground and flat on his back.
"You're big and strong…!"
He kicked his legs to spring up—but she was faster. Her whip lashed around his ankles and with a hard yank, she swung him through the air like a living wrecking ball, smashing him through derricks and pumps like matchsticks.
"But you're not too quick, are you?!"
The Abomination, tangled in more debris snarled and grabbed at the whip. Grabbing it, he tried to pull her in.
She let go, and the handle smacked into his face.
"What did I tell you?!" She barked, already drawing her second whip.
With a downward arc, she struck him like a hammer, splintering the wreckage and bouncing his body off the ground.
Then with a snap she caught him across the waist. Like a fisherman casting her line, SheHaw swung the Abomination around and around—once, then twice—and then up to bring down onto the gushing oil well head first.
BOOM!
A column of fire erupted skyward, swallowing the creature in a roaring explosion that lit the evening sky.
Coiling the whip, SheHaw holstered it as the broken well burned violently. "Whoever read that book, forgot the part where Frankenstein made that damn thing to be actually intelligent."
The Abomination leaped out of the flames and landed in front of SheHaw, engulfed from head to toe in flame. SheHaw stepped back, surprised.
"There is something to be said of building for strength," she conceded.
Throwing her arms up, she crossed them in front of her face to block the burning right-handed punch he aimed for her face.
WHAM!
The blazing left uppercut that immediately followed took her by surprise as it connected with her jaw.
BAM!
And then came the right hook into the side of her head.
KABOOM!
Fire and force launched her in a blazing arc over Hidalgo's Saloon. She crashed down hard in the center of the road.
"SheHaw!" Harrison shouted. "You all right, lass?!"
Still smoking, SheHaw rolled frantically to put out the flames. "Ahm fine, don't worry…!"
Dizzy, coughing, she staggered upright—only to spot her hat on the ground a few feet away.
"Aw, shoot..." she groaned, reaching up to touch her head.
She turned toward the saloon's dark windows and saw the damage.
Her carefully styled hair was now a scorched, tangled disaster.
"AW SHOOT!"
The Abomination—still wreathed in flame—strode back into the street, embers trailing from his shoulders. He locked eyes with SheHaw.
Calmly, her gaze not leaving his, she stooped and retrieved her hat. Still watching him, she produced the small comb she used to down Emmett earlier.
"Hey there, big guy," she said, smoothing out her singed bangs. "Mind granting a lady a moment to tend to her hair? It's a bit mussed."
The Abomination roared in reply—raw, furious, and thoroughly uninterested in etiquette.
SheHaw gasped in mock outrage. "Well, I never!"
Neither expected something to answer the beast's challenge.
A monstrous sound, deeper and louder than the creature's roar, rolled through the night like thunder tearing open the sky.
The Abomination froze, turning his head just as a blinding pair of carbon-arc headlights flared to life—pinning him in their merciless glare.
He howled, shielding his eyes, staggering back from the light.
SheHaw turned toward the source, squinting. Down the dirt road from the direction of Hillhurst came something—and it wasn't subtle.
It was a machine, long and low, riding just high enough to clear the road's dust and rock. It rode on four wheels with wide, ground-gripping tyres, fenders curled like fins, and a sleek, streamlined body built for speed and menace. Exhaust pipes jutted from the roaring front-mounted engine, trailing black smoke as it thundered toward them—faster than any bicycle, faster than any horse.
A chariot made of steel and fire. Painted a regal dark violet.
SheHaw tilted her head to one side, in disbelief at what she was seeing, as the vehicle came to a dramatic halt, fishtailing before it stopped just over three of its own length away from the creature.
In the driver's seat of his vehicle, a panting and near delirious Dr. Hillhurst let out a laugh as he gripped the steering wheel in his left hand, and a hand brake lever gripped in his right.
"Well! That was a successful test drive!"
He looked ahead at the man on fire staring at the car. "And there goes my excitement."
The roar of the vehicle's engine drew Harrison and Hidalgo to its doors, not barred with various pieces of furniture and a piano. Peeking through the gaps, they all stared at the vehicle in disbelief before Harrison called out.
"Al, is that you?!" He called out.
Dr. Hillhurst called back. "Yes, I brought The Knife out, because I don't have a bicycle built for two!"
"That's the Knife?! You said it was a runabout!"
"It is a runabout!"
"It looks like it could pull a damn express by itself!"
Dr. Hillhurst cackled. "Yes, it quite likely could!"
The Abomination let out a furious roar, clearly no more fond of The Knife than anything else.
"You'll have to excuse us, Harrison! We have to deal with this!"
Harrison caught that. "… Us? We?"
At that moment the opposite door of the car opened, and Teodoro stepped out in a smooth, deliberate stride.
His revolver was already drawn.
His eyes burned hotter than the fire still licking at the Abomination's shoulders.
And the creature, seeing him, staggered back.
He was afraid.
"Come on, then…" The young man growled as he cocked the hammer of the weapon, then aimed it at him.
"Come on, then! I know you remember me!"
Yes, he did. With a near hysterical roar, he stormed towards Teodoro, forgetting everything else.
Behind the monster, SheHaw rapidly combed her hair, trying to return it back to its normal style.
"Ted!" She shouted. "Don't go near that thing, it's—!"
BANG!
Teodoro fired. The shot struck the Abomination square in the chest. He stumbled to a halt—five paces short of him.
For a moment, the creature blinked, confused. Then he looked down at the smoking hole in his chest…
And screamed.
"I see," Teodoro muttered. "The bullets flatten inside the body… and they stay there."
He smiled. "I like that."
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three more shots slammed into the creature—each one tearing a scream from its throat.
"And you hate it, don't you?!"
The monster cowered from Teodoro and his weapon—only to be shot twice more, both rounds slamming into its legs.
He collapsed, shrieking, thrashing on the ground. The flames around his body were nothing compared to the fire burning within.
SheHaw, finished taming her hair, stared in stunned silence.
The seemingly unstoppable creature curled into the fetal position, wailing like a wounded animal.
Dr. Hillhurst stepped out of The Knife, his face grim as he watched the man-thing writhe in the dirt.
"What did you do?" SheHaw asked quietly. "What'd you shoot him with?"
Teodoro flipped open the loading gate of his revolver and began smoothly ejecting the spent casings.
"Silver."
One by one, the empty shells clinked to the ground. Without pause, he reloaded, each motion efficient, practiced.
"It's the only thing that hurts these monsters."
He holstered the weapon. "But even that won't kill it."
Dr. Hillhurst joined him and SheHaw, glancing between the scorched thing and Teodoro. "It won't?"
"It heals from everything. My bullets used to go clean through—it'd just stitch itself back together."
He looked down at the creature, satisfied. "This time… they're stuck inside."
SheHaw knelt for a better look. The wounds were sealing—but slowly. "So even if it heals…"
"… The bullets stay inside. Still burning," Teodoro finished.
He gave a respectful nod to Hillhurst. "I owe you even more now."
SheHaw stood. "So… how do we end this? Fire don't work. I hit it with everything I had—it didn't flinch."
"We could bury it," Teodoro said, "but it'll dig out. Eventually."
Hillhurst hummed, rubbing his chin. "I may have an idea."
They both looked at him as he continued. "It's very risky, but I may know a way to get rid of him."
He turned to SheHaw. "Do you have something that can secure him? We can take him back to the mansion and I'll—"
"ALOYSIUS HILLHURST!"
At Emily's scream, Dr. Hillhurst raised a finger in protest. "DOCTOR, Ms. Bonner!"
Hands holding up the front of her dress so she didn't trip over herself, Emily stormed over to the three gathered around the still writhing monster. "I demand an explanation! What is that?!"
She gestured to the monster, then to his vehicle. "What is that?!"
From the vehicle, she gestured to Teodoro. "And what is THAT?!"
Teodoro reached for his Mauser.
"Man, don't," Dr. Hillhurst advised.
Teodoro complied, but only out of respect.
Hillhurst gestured smoothly. "A vile creature, currently restrained."
He pointed to Teodoro. "A heroic young man who knows how to handle such monsters."
He patted The Knife. "And a modest little project I've been working on since moving in. Isn't she beautiful? I'm honestly amazed I find time for it, what with being constantly interrupted by you."
He turned his attention back to SheHaw, who had—somehow—produced a thick coil of rope and was expertly binding the creature. Arms behind its back. Legs bent and secured to its wrists. The kind of restraint that made even superhuman strength useless.
"Goodness, where does a lady learn such a technique?"
"I toured with Buffalo Bill Cody from when I was a little girl up till five years back," SheHaw declared, tightening a knot. "Learned everything from him!"
Emily spun, fists clenched. "Hillhurst!"
"I'm envious," he mused, eyes still on SheHaw's work. "You're far more traveled than I am."
He glanced back at Emily. "Doctor."
SheHaw whistled sharply. "Sheila! Get over here, girl!"
Her horse galloped up obediently, and SheHaw began securing a dragline to haul the now-restrained Abomination behind her.
Emily was incandescent now. "HILLHURST!"
He turned at last, exasperated. "Doctor! And I've explained what's going on, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner. What more do you want? Restitution? For this?"
He gestured broadly to the damaged derricks and fires. "I just got here! Or are you simply furious that your oh-so-valuable life was saved by the town vigilante, myself, and a Mexican?"
A smile burst across his face. He tipped his hat low.
"Well, if that's the case—you're welcome."
He turned toward the saloon, lifting his hat to the crowd. "Don't worry, fine folks! We'll have this mess sorted out in no time!"
Harrison leaned out through the barricade. "You're a madman, Doc! Next time you come to town, it better be in that absurd contraption!"
"Of course, friend!"
Hillhurst clapped a hand on Teodoro's shoulder. "Let's be on our way."
Teodoro cast one last look at Emily—a slow shake of the head, all disgust and disappointment—before turning away and following Dr. Hillhurst back to the vehicle.
Climbing into the driver's seat, Hillhurst flipped a few levers. The engine coughed, roared, and The Knife backed away in reverse. With a smooth spin of the wheel and a few more mechanical flourishes, the machine turned on a dime—then tore off in the direction it had originally come from, dust and smoke trailing behind like a comet's tail.
Behind them, SheHaw gave Sheila a firm pat and clicked her tongue. "Let's ride, girl."
The horse burst into a gallop, the bound Abomination dragging behind her as she chased after the streaking machine, both disappearing into the night beyond Echo Creek.
In the night sky above, a swarm of bats followed the horse and auto, before diverting away into the night.
Oh.
Boy, things are tense in 1899. It'd be a shame if an Outside Context Problem just... pulled up.
= - = 9-4 = - =
|Abomination|
|Abomination|
The day passed and night fell on Echo Creek, arc lamps flickering on as the horizon bled orange and violet. At the broken well, workers toiled ineffectually in a gradually widening pit with hammers, shovels, and picks.
Fatigue hung heavy in the air as Mr. Armberg lifted his fedora from his sweat-soaked brow. He had been in the mix with his boys since the afternoon to get whatever had broken the drill out of the way, and there was just no progress on that front.
"Hey, Renton," another man with a mustache and head of dark hair beneath his flat cap, said to Mr. Armberg as he came over. "You boys get home, Ms. Bonny's got us on it."
"You're a godsend, Jacobs" Mr. Armberg sighed, receiving a knowing nod from his relief in turn. "Hole's been gettin' wider, not deeper. We gotta blast it out, I reckon."
Mr. Jacobs didn't like the sound of that too much. "Dynamite? We'd need a posse to guard it with that maniac Hillhurst around. No telling what he'd do if he got ahold of some."
Mr. Armberg didn't share that view. "Nonsense, man's as clever as one of them Frisco intellectuals. If he wanted to blow up the town, he'd have done us all in a long time ago."
"Fair enough," Jacobs relented. "I'm fairly sure I saw Ms. Bonner headed towards the jail on my way over. You might still catch her if you go that way."
"I've already worked myself to the bone," Mr. Armberg said. "Asking her for dynamite tonight? I'll be lucky she doesn't explode!"
He rubbed his chin. "She wanted the obstacle gone, so let's leave the lady to her evening and break it out."
Down the road, Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's boots clicked on the boardwalk as she reached the jail beneath the harsh lantern light and strode in. Inside, she turned a sharp look at the Sheriff's deputy—who bowed and stepped back, keys jingling in his hand as he stepped back.
Glowering at the deputy, she took the keys from him without resistance, and approached the holding cell where Hutchinson and his men were all gathered.
Inside, six bruised figures beside Hutchinson were slumped against the walls—among them, Kelsey nursed his battered cheek, while Ivan eyed her with anxious dread.
Hutchinson himself, eyes glassed by morphine, came up to the bars and looked down at Emily with a sheepish, defeated expression. "Ms. Bonner…"
Gripping the cell's bars tight in her hands, she leaned in.
"You took six men to that snake's home and tried to kill him in broad daylight? I pay you for subtlety—not backroads thuggery."
Hutchinson's voice cracked as he spoke. "H-He took my gun… I-I just wanted it back… I wanted him gone."
Emily released a bar to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. "You could have just asked, and I'd have purchased you another. This could have been a monumental waste of life and time."
Her lips curled. "Do you realize what armed men under my employment dying on the property of a man known for defying me would create, Mr. Hutchinson?"
Hutchinson shrank where he stood, struggling to meet her gaze as she continued. "Scandal. Even if I could wash my hands of you, every paper in California would scream that I'm not above brute force to remove my enemies."
Hutchinson could barely bring himself to look at her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Bonner, I truly am."
Emily turned away from him. "You are all fortunate men. You have done far too much good work for me to simply see you discarded."
Stepping away from the cell, she spoke levelly. "Own your stupidity. I pay professionals, not the savages Hillhurst champions for."
One by one the men got up and gathered closer to the cell, as Hutchinson spoke. "We… we will, Ms. Bonner…"
Emily slowly looked back at him, her eyes narrow. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the keys through the bars.
"Go home. Do not let me find out you've gone after Hillhurst without my express consent, or I will see to it neither you nor your families will see another cent for as long as any of you live."
Daring to not look at any of them for a moment more, Emily walked out of the jail. The deputy, seeing her leave, tipped his hat to her. "Ms. Bonner."
Emily looked at him, and nodded curtly before she continued on, with Hutchinson and his men filing out of the jailhouse one by one behind her.
Down the road, Harrison O'Durgeson locked the Post Office and, with a skip in his step and a tune to whistle, walked over to the adjacent saloon. Outside, an older Mexican man stood by the open doors to his establishment, watching the trails of dust kicked up by a late evening breeze.
"Hidalgo? Who's watching the regulars?" Harrison asked.
Hidalgo slowly shook his head. "Business is slow tonight. That drill break a few blocks over has some of my regulars working an extra shift."
He shook his head. "But it's been slow ever since those harpies descended upon me. Men are drinking at home, rather than here…"
Harrison grimaced and patted Hidalgo on the shoulder. "Damn shame, that. Hillhurst and I, we won't let that witch run you out of town."
"I hope not," Hidalgo lamented. "My cousin, Victor, was one of those bandidos who tried to rob the bank yesterday."
"You're lying," Harrison said, shocked.
This was grim news.
Hidalgo nodded. "Felt he had to—Hutchinson's boys killed the last cattle he had. I tried to give him some money so he and his wife could go up north… but he didn't want to take it from me."
Harrison shook his head. "He wasn't the bandido who pointed the gun at Ms. Bonny, was he?"
Hidalgo nodded, grimly.
"Fucking hell…"
This was so much worse.
"He's sure to swing for it, and Ms. Bonny has already begun working his relation to me into her protests."
The Saloon proprietor grunted in frustration. "I may as well take the family I have left and go up north myself. Frisco is a lot more tolerant of non-whites these days."
Harrison tightened his jaw. "I'm so sorry, man. It just doesn't get worse than that."
As he spoke, the column of Emily and her entourage filed past across the street from him. Spotting her, he could not hold back the venom in his voice.
"As usual, there is only justice in this world for the white man and the money that owns him."
Emily halted mid-step. The light of the lamp caught her eyes as she fixed him with a cold stare.
"Evening, Ms. Bonny!" Harrison sang, tipping his hat with sarcastic flourish.
Emily inclined her head once—an unspoken warning—and resumed her stride. Harrison answered with unspoken defiance and turned to walk the short distance over to Hidalgo's Saloon parallel to the procession's course.
Hutchinson glowered at Harrison, fist clenching. "You're no Hillhurst, Irish. You run your mouth like that further and you'll be on the street where the rest of your kind belong."
Silence fell, broken by the distant hum of the Arc Light.
"You're right, I'm no Hillhurst," Harrison drawled back, his moustache twitching, not the least bit intimidated. "I haven't the gentlemanly restraint of the lad to not knock a dog or his bitch."
Hutchinson's jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed with rage… when suddenly a strong gust of wind blasted down the main road of the town.
The gust knocked Emily sideways—only for Hutchinson's arm to catch her waist. Her boots scraped over the ground, but she managed to keep herself upright with his help. Around them, lanterns lighting the boardwalks flickered, while the boards themselves rattled beneath their feet.
The wind scoured the street, howling down the boardwalks lining it as it transformed into a sustained, rolling breeze driven by some unseen malice that stung skin where it struck.
Harrison's hand flew to his brim—only to have the wind rip it down over his eyes. Something was not right, no wind howled in like this that he knew of.
"Oh, there's something ill in the air." He said while squinting through the grit blasting his face.
Hidalgo saw it first. He pointed down the road. "Harrison… look there!"
A hulking shape loomed at the far end of Main Street, seven feet tall, chest as broad as a wagon wheel, sunken yellow eyes flicking side to side. His great muscles rippled and twitched as he walked with slow, thunderous purpose down the road. His every footstep seemed to displace the air and shake the Earth.
Hutchinson brought Emily behind him, and the rest of his men fanned out as the creature stepped closer.
"The hell is that thing?" He demanded.
Seeing the men stepping into the wind-whipped street, the creature halted and glowered at them. Then, it flew into a rage with a long scream of fury and madness that chilled the blood of all within earshot.
@@@@@
In the kitchen of Hillhurst's mansion, Teodoro appraised the .45 Caliber cartridges that Dr. Hillhurst finished putting together for him. The melted down silver felt slightly warm to the touch, but formed in a different way than he was used to. Rather than smoothed and round like the normal 45. Cartridges he was used to, these were flat-headed.
"Is there a reason they're flat?" He asked as he turned the bullet over in his hand.
Dr. Hillhurst was preparing dinner with the long day's work behind them.
"Better stopping power," he explained. "When they strike, they expand and stop inside the target, dealing more damage."
The young man's eyebrows rose. "Oh, then that is very good. I'll take it."
Dr. Hillhurst turned to him. "About that rifle of yours, do you need any ammunition for that?"
Teodoro shook his head. "I have more than enough ammunition for it, don't worry."
He began loading his revolver with the cartridges, as he asked, "What will you do if those men return?"
Dr. Hillhurst sighed. "I'll give SheHaw a call on the telephone and she'll come hopefully before any harm is done."
Teodoro was surprised. "You have a telephone?"
"Of course I do!" Dr. Hillhurst said before he turned his nose up smugly. "My home has all the most modern amenities. Septic tank, water purification, ice box, everything a modern house has and some things that a modern home does not!"
"… Septic tank?" Teodoro asked.
Dr. Hillhurst stopped. "… For the indoor toilet."
The young man's eyes widened. "You have one of those, too?!"
Dr. Hillhurst turned to face him. "Ted, my good man, where have you been going since you got here?"
Now Teodoro looked embarrassed. "Ehh… the trees behind the shed."
Dr. Hillhurst palmed his face. "No, don't… don't be embarrassed, that's on me. I didn't tell you about it until now. Just… next time you're in the house, go upstairs, take a left and the washroom will be there. There's a shower inside, as well."
Teodoro was mesmerized. "… A shower on the second floor…"
Dr. Hillhurst felt like boasting again. "With hot running water!"
"… Are you a man from the future, Doctor?"
And there it was, exactly what Dr. Aloysius Hillhurst wanted to hear. "No, just a man who thinks like one!"
A strong wind kicked up at that very moment, causing the trees outside of Hillhurst's Mansion to sway as it whistled through the branches, and the entire house to shudder ominously. Hearing that, and a weathervane atop his home creaking loudly as it turned with the wind, Dr. Hillhurst was surprised.
"How odd, the wind kicking up like that…" He trailed off when he saw a strange, startling expression on Teodoro's face.
He was first pale with surprise, but then an intense and terrific anger twisted his face as he turned towards the kitchen door.
"… They're here."
Dr. Hillhurst got up from his smithing bench. "… Who's here, Ted?"
He realized as soon as he asked. "The monsters you're hunting?"
Teodoro nodded grimly. "Every time I have encountered them, a wind like this would blow. A gale from the direction they're in!"
Teodoro holstered his revolver swiftly. "We need to go now, Doctor!"
Dr. Hillhurst turned off the fire under his food. "Of course, but we won't make it there in any good time on my bike."
Teodoro looked at him, anxious. "Do you have any horses?"
"No, I should never be responsible for another living animal," the "Doctor" admitted. "I do have something else though, I just ask you to keep an open mind."
Teodoro was once more left wondering what he meant by that, but the urgency of the situation precluded any other concern.
@@@@@
The day had been rough, but the evening held promise for SheHaw.
The vigilante in pink was perched where she normally was during the long nights in Echo Creek, atop the most central of the town's Carbon Arc lamps, using its height and brightness to be on the lookout for any unseemly activity. She was especially watchful for any move from Emily Blakesfield-Bonner or her cronies, but all that seemed to stand out was a rare night shift at a broken Oil Exploration.
"That's not right," she muttered. "Those crews are never out this late."
Her gut clenched as she zeroed in on the worksite. "… No… it can't be…"
A gust of wind threw her balance for a moment—but before she could react, a bellowing roar shattered the night.
Followed by a more familiar woman's shriek.
Startled, SheHaw looked around for the source of the scream before a sixth sense screamed at her to look towards the direction of the Post Office.
Searching the town below, she caught sight of Emily stumbling backward from a brawl in the middle of the street between Hutchinson's men and something tossing them about like they were made of straw and tinder.
"What in the Sam Hill…?!" She blurted, eyes widening as the thing hoisted Hutchinson by the neck, lifting him clean off his feet.
No more words. No hesitation. She sprinted to the edge of the Arc Lamp Tower and leapt, not straight down, but up, tracing a long, graceful arc through the night sky.
Her hand clamped firmly over her hat as she hurtled earthward, a streak of pink cutting through the darkness…
… A missile aimed squarely at her target.
Below her, the abomination gripped the flailing Hutchinson by the neck, dragging him in close—then let out a deafening, guttural scream straight into his face. Hot breath and flecks of spit rained down on the man as he struggled, choking and clawing in vain for air, for freedom—anything.
Behind him, Emily collapsed onto her backside, pale as a sheet as she looked around at the other six men. They had all been knocked aside like they did not exist at all to the abomination, some moved but others were frighteningly still after the severity of the blows that struck them.
As she focused on the monster, she saw the muscles of the creature's arm flex as he lifted Hutchinson higher—as if to break his neck in his grip.
"N-no…!" She gasped out in horror.
Before the sickening crunch of bone could split the air—
WHAM!
SheHaw's flying drop kick connected straight and true with the man-thing. The impact sent the creature tumbling, heels over head, down the center of the road.
Hutchinson dropped like a sack of grain, coughing and wheezing as he hit the ground.
"SheHaw!" Harrison called out as he and Hidalgo cowered inside of the Saloon. "What in the world is that thing?"
SheHaw drew one of her whips. "Something y'all need to stay far the hell away from!"
With a crack of the whip, she ran at the monster. "Get them inside, barricade the doors, and kill the light, Harry!"
The creature was already getting up to its feet as SheHaw reached it, and as she looked at its shirtless, overly muscled form, she recoiled in disgust. It looked human, but on closer inspection she realized that was a misshapen abomination made of different human body-parts crudely stitched and stapled together into something that only looked like a man.
It was a massive, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and wild-haired man—with a face just human enough to be wrong. He radiated raw, bestial power—the same strength he had used to batter Hutchinson and his men like ragdolls. Worse, he had taken her drop kick full on and barely flinched.
"All right, big boy," she said to the Abomination as she cracked her whip once more.
"Let's get on with it, then!"
The Abomination roared in response, and was swiftly struck across the left side of his face with the whip, and then even faster across the right on the return stroke.
"What kind of beast are you?" she spat, whipping the cord around his neck and yanking him in close.
With a swift pivot, she drove a high kick into the side of his head, sending him spinning away—freeing him from the whip's grasp. "Some kind of Frankenstein's monster?!"
She coiled the whip smoothly, but the creature caught himself and dropped low, scrambling on all fours towards her like an animal.
He reached her—faster than she expected—and swung his massive left arm. SheHaw raised her right arm to block, absorbing the blow, but the rest of his body slammed into her like a battering ram.
The vigilante went flying, crashing through a row of oil derricks. Wood shattered and splintered around her as the towering structures collapsed under the force.
A safe distance away from the brawl, the oil workers at the broken drill turned towards the sound of the wild racket several blocks over.
Dazed, SheHaw leaned against the corner of a broken beam, brushing wood chips from the side of her head.
"Getting struck by a locomotive was softer…!"
She spotted the Abomination hurtling toward her in a ballistic arc, arms raised high. She dove aside just as he slammed into the ground with thunderous force. His fists obliterated the remaining derrick—and the pump attached to it.
A rumble erupted as the ruptured well spewed oil into the air, thick and volatile.
SheHaw rolled to her feet, ducking another swipe as the creature lunged again. He roared, swinging madly—until she drove an uppercut into his chin that lifted him clean off the ground and flat on his back.
"You're big and strong…!"
He kicked his legs to spring up—but she was faster. Her whip lashed around his ankles and with a hard yank, she swung him through the air like a living wrecking ball, smashing him through derricks and pumps like matchsticks.
"But you're not too quick, are you?!"
The Abomination, tangled in more debris snarled and grabbed at the whip. Grabbing it, he tried to pull her in.
She let go, and the handle smacked into his face.
"What did I tell you?!" She barked, already drawing her second whip.
With a downward arc, she struck him like a hammer, splintering the wreckage and bouncing his body off the ground.
Then with a snap she caught him across the waist. Like a fisherman casting her line, SheHaw swung the Abomination around and around—once, then twice—and then up to bring down onto the gushing oil well head first.
BOOM!
A column of fire erupted skyward, swallowing the creature in a roaring explosion that lit the evening sky.
Coiling the whip, SheHaw holstered it as the broken well burned violently. "Whoever read that book, forgot the part where Frankenstein made that damn thing to be actually intelligent."
The Abomination leaped out of the flames and landed in front of SheHaw, engulfed from head to toe in flame. SheHaw stepped back, surprised.
"There is something to be said of building for strength," she conceded.
Throwing her arms up, she crossed them in front of her face to block the burning right-handed punch he aimed for her face.
WHAM!
The blazing left uppercut that immediately followed took her by surprise as it connected with her jaw.
BAM!
And then came the right hook into the side of her head.
KABOOM!
Fire and force launched her in a blazing arc over Hidalgo's Saloon. She crashed down hard in the center of the road.
"SheHaw!" Harrison shouted. "You all right, lass?!"
Still smoking, SheHaw rolled frantically to put out the flames. "Ahm fine, don't worry…!"
Dizzy, coughing, she staggered upright—only to spot her hat on the ground a few feet away.
"Aw, shoot..." she groaned, reaching up to touch her head.
She turned toward the saloon's dark windows and saw the damage.
Her carefully styled hair was now a scorched, tangled disaster.
"AW SHOOT!"
The Abomination—still wreathed in flame—strode back into the street, embers trailing from his shoulders. He locked eyes with SheHaw.
Calmly, her gaze not leaving his, she stooped and retrieved her hat. Still watching him, she produced the small comb she used to down Emmett earlier.
"Hey there, big guy," she said, smoothing out her singed bangs. "Mind granting a lady a moment to tend to her hair? It's a bit mussed."
The Abomination roared in reply—raw, furious, and thoroughly uninterested in etiquette.
SheHaw gasped in mock outrage. "Well, I never!"
Neither expected something to answer the beast's challenge.
A monstrous sound, deeper and louder than the creature's roar, rolled through the night like thunder tearing open the sky.
The Abomination froze, turning his head just as a blinding pair of carbon-arc headlights flared to life—pinning him in their merciless glare.
He howled, shielding his eyes, staggering back from the light.
SheHaw turned toward the source, squinting. Down the dirt road from the direction of Hillhurst came something—and it wasn't subtle.
It was a machine, long and low, riding just high enough to clear the road's dust and rock. It rode on four wheels with wide, ground-gripping tyres, fenders curled like fins, and a sleek, streamlined body built for speed and menace. Exhaust pipes jutted from the roaring front-mounted engine, trailing black smoke as it thundered toward them—faster than any bicycle, faster than any horse.
A chariot made of steel and fire. Painted a regal dark violet.
SheHaw tilted her head to one side, in disbelief at what she was seeing, as the vehicle came to a dramatic halt, fishtailing before it stopped just over three of its own length away from the creature.
In the driver's seat of his vehicle, a panting and near delirious Dr. Hillhurst let out a laugh as he gripped the steering wheel in his left hand, and a hand brake lever gripped in his right.
"Well! That was a successful test drive!"
He looked ahead at the man on fire staring at the car. "And there goes my excitement."
The roar of the vehicle's engine drew Harrison and Hidalgo to its doors, not barred with various pieces of furniture and a piano. Peeking through the gaps, they all stared at the vehicle in disbelief before Harrison called out.
"Al, is that you?!" He called out.
Dr. Hillhurst called back. "Yes, I brought The Knife out, because I don't have a bicycle built for two!"
"That's the Knife?! You said it was a runabout!"
"It is a runabout!"
"It looks like it could pull a damn express by itself!"
Dr. Hillhurst cackled. "Yes, it quite likely could!"
The Abomination let out a furious roar, clearly no more fond of The Knife than anything else.
"You'll have to excuse us, Harrison! We have to deal with this!"
Harrison caught that. "… Us? We?"
At that moment the opposite door of the car opened, and Teodoro stepped out in a smooth, deliberate stride.
His revolver was already drawn.
His eyes burned hotter than the fire still licking at the Abomination's shoulders.
And the creature, seeing him, staggered back.
He was afraid.
"Come on, then…" The young man growled as he cocked the hammer of the weapon, then aimed it at him.
"Come on, then! I know you remember me!"
Yes, he did. With a near hysterical roar, he stormed towards Teodoro, forgetting everything else.
Behind the monster, SheHaw rapidly combed her hair, trying to return it back to its normal style.
"Ted!" She shouted. "Don't go near that thing, it's—!"
BANG!
Teodoro fired. The shot struck the Abomination square in the chest. He stumbled to a halt—five paces short of him.
For a moment, the creature blinked, confused. Then he looked down at the smoking hole in his chest…
And screamed.
"I see," Teodoro muttered. "The bullets flatten inside the body… and they stay there."
He smiled. "I like that."
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three more shots slammed into the creature—each one tearing a scream from its throat.
"And you hate it, don't you?!"
The monster cowered from Teodoro and his weapon—only to be shot twice more, both rounds slamming into its legs.
He collapsed, shrieking, thrashing on the ground. The flames around his body were nothing compared to the fire burning within.
SheHaw, finished taming her hair, stared in stunned silence.
The seemingly unstoppable creature curled into the fetal position, wailing like a wounded animal.
Dr. Hillhurst stepped out of The Knife, his face grim as he watched the man-thing writhe in the dirt.
"What did you do?" SheHaw asked quietly. "What'd you shoot him with?"
Teodoro flipped open the loading gate of his revolver and began smoothly ejecting the spent casings.
"Silver."
One by one, the empty shells clinked to the ground. Without pause, he reloaded, each motion efficient, practiced.
"It's the only thing that hurts these monsters."
He holstered the weapon. "But even that won't kill it."
Dr. Hillhurst joined him and SheHaw, glancing between the scorched thing and Teodoro. "It won't?"
"It heals from everything. My bullets used to go clean through—it'd just stitch itself back together."
He looked down at the creature, satisfied. "This time… they're stuck inside."
SheHaw knelt for a better look. The wounds were sealing—but slowly. "So even if it heals…"
"… The bullets stay inside. Still burning," Teodoro finished.
He gave a respectful nod to Hillhurst. "I owe you even more now."
SheHaw stood. "So… how do we end this? Fire don't work. I hit it with everything I had—it didn't flinch."
"We could bury it," Teodoro said, "but it'll dig out. Eventually."
Hillhurst hummed, rubbing his chin. "I may have an idea."
They both looked at him as he continued. "It's very risky, but I may know a way to get rid of him."
He turned to SheHaw. "Do you have something that can secure him? We can take him back to the mansion and I'll—"
"ALOYSIUS HILLHURST!"
At Emily's scream, Dr. Hillhurst raised a finger in protest. "DOCTOR, Ms. Bonner!"
Hands holding up the front of her dress so she didn't trip over herself, Emily stormed over to the three gathered around the still writhing monster. "I demand an explanation! What is that?!"
She gestured to the monster, then to his vehicle. "What is that?!"
From the vehicle, she gestured to Teodoro. "And what is THAT?!"
Teodoro reached for his Mauser.
"Man, don't," Dr. Hillhurst advised.
Teodoro complied, but only out of respect.
Hillhurst gestured smoothly. "A vile creature, currently restrained."
He pointed to Teodoro. "A heroic young man who knows how to handle such monsters."
He patted The Knife. "And a modest little project I've been working on since moving in. Isn't she beautiful? I'm honestly amazed I find time for it, what with being constantly interrupted by you."
He turned his attention back to SheHaw, who had—somehow—produced a thick coil of rope and was expertly binding the creature. Arms behind its back. Legs bent and secured to its wrists. The kind of restraint that made even superhuman strength useless.
"Goodness, where does a lady learn such a technique?"
"I toured with Buffalo Bill Cody from when I was a little girl up till five years back," SheHaw declared, tightening a knot. "Learned everything from him!"
Emily spun, fists clenched. "Hillhurst!"
"I'm envious," he mused, eyes still on SheHaw's work. "You're far more traveled than I am."
He glanced back at Emily. "Doctor."
SheHaw whistled sharply. "Sheila! Get over here, girl!"
Her horse galloped up obediently, and SheHaw began securing a dragline to haul the now-restrained Abomination behind her.
Emily was incandescent now. "HILLHURST!"
He turned at last, exasperated. "Doctor! And I've explained what's going on, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner. What more do you want? Restitution? For this?"
He gestured broadly to the damaged derricks and fires. "I just got here! Or are you simply furious that your oh-so-valuable life was saved by the town vigilante, myself, and a Mexican?"
A smile burst across his face. He tipped his hat low.
"Well, if that's the case—you're welcome."
He turned toward the saloon, lifting his hat to the crowd. "Don't worry, fine folks! We'll have this mess sorted out in no time!"
Harrison leaned out through the barricade. "You're a madman, Doc! Next time you come to town, it better be in that absurd contraption!"
"Of course, friend!"
Hillhurst clapped a hand on Teodoro's shoulder. "Let's be on our way."
Teodoro cast one last look at Emily—a slow shake of the head, all disgust and disappointment—before turning away and following Dr. Hillhurst back to the vehicle.
Climbing into the driver's seat, Hillhurst flipped a few levers. The engine coughed, roared, and The Knife backed away in reverse. With a smooth spin of the wheel and a few more mechanical flourishes, the machine turned on a dime—then tore off in the direction it had originally come from, dust and smoke trailing behind like a comet's tail.
Behind them, SheHaw gave Sheila a firm pat and clicked her tongue. "Let's ride, girl."
The horse burst into a gallop, the bound Abomination dragging behind her as she chased after the streaking machine, both disappearing into the night beyond Echo Creek.
In the night sky above, a swarm of bats followed the horse and auto, before diverting away into the night.
= - = 9-4 = - =
Oh.
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In the present day, let's check on the ongoing situation with the Magnavores.
"Good evening. I'm Brian Smirk, and this is day ten of what many are calling the 'Echo Creek Crisis'—a week and a half of escalating urban conflict between a bizarre gang claiming to be—or styled after—the villains from the comic book series Big Bad Beetleborgs… and a group of teenagers with attitude."
On the screen of a handheld phone, a news anchor with a perfectly-gelled black pompadour and dressed in a sharp two-piece black suit reported on the crisis at hand.
"For the past week, local law enforcement has been utterly helpless in their attempts to apprehend or even slow the so-called 'Magnavores.' Police have consistently arrived minutes too late to make a meaningful difference—let alone protect or serve the public."
Though his tone was bright and showy, perfect for the evening news, there was an inescapable edge of sarcasm and excellently veiled contempt.
Sitting near the middle of a LA Metro bus running its route through Glendale, California, a girl with dark-gray hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing an indigo skirt and matching checkered sweater vest stared intently into her phone as she listened to the anchorman through a wireless earbud in her left ear to keep aware of her stop with her uncovered right.
"Meanwhile, teenagers fighting these villains have been able to handily protect the public while serving beatdowns on the bad guys in ways that only SheZow could manage. They are on that Kim Possible grind, and if this reporter may say? They are looking just as fantastic doing it. Take a look at this!"
The screen cut to shaky cellphone footage from inside a bowling alley. Noxic jabbed menacingly at Jackie Lynn Thomas with his umbrella in front of the lanes as patrons either fled or tossed bowling balls at his accompanying Scabs.
Jackie smartly parried his stabs with her spear, and even got in a few thrusts of her own that Noxic had to back up from and duck under repeatedly.
Then, from outside the camera's view, Marco Diaz sprinted in and launched into a high-flying kick that smashed into the side of Noxic's head.
Knocked off his feet, Noxic slid down the bowling lane next to him and crashed into the pins standing at the end.
A strike.
The news anchor then cut in. "Did you see that kick, folks? Let's run that again in slow motion."
The footage rewound, then replayed in eighth-speed. Marco's kick connected again, showing how Noxic's face warped into distress as the shock of the hit rippled across it. After two seconds it snapped back to normal speed and off went Noxic to score a strike.
When the camera cut back to the newsroom, Smirk wore a dry grin. "That loser got rocked."
He turned to another camera as the feed switched to it. "And perhaps more impressive, as of this broadcast—despite the widespread destruction and injuries—there have been no fatalities reported. While there have been injuries, none have been serious, and not one innocent bystander has lost their life, thanks to these young heroes' rapid responses and despite the ferocity of these confrontations. Just have a look at this!"
Another clip played: In a used car dealership lot, Typhus hoisted a compact electric car above his head and hurled it at Star Butterfly.
Star raised her wand and transformed the vehicle into a swarm of butterflies, fluffy bunnies, and rainbow confetti. In the same instant, the Red Strikerborg dashed into frame, charging Typhus.
Typhus swung with his monstrous claw to knock Strikerborg down, but she swung back back to meet his fist with hers. The impact created a shockwave that flipped several nearby cars and shattered every window in sight—including the dealership's.
"Authorities confirm," Smirk continued, "that all civilians were safely evacuated prior—and yes, all of that damage was later repaired. In fact, most of the destruction caused in these bizarre battles has been magically restored by one of the group's most powerful members: Princess Star Butterfly."
He turned slightly toward another camera, flashing his smile again.
"I don't know what she's the princess of, but according to a viewer poll conducted earlier this afternoon, she might as well be the Queen of L.A., with viewer poll approval climbing faster than the property damage."
The girl's hazel eyes softened at the anchorman's praise of the teenage heroes fighting in the next town over. Her expression turned somber—reflective.
"With all this chaos going on, and law enforcement being worse than useless," Brian continued, "this reporter can only ask one question: Where are you, SheZow? These kids could really use your help right now."
The girl sighed. As the bus slowed, she looked up and spotted her stop ahead.
"Thanks for being one of the good guys, Brian," she murmured, stopping the video and tugging the signal cord overhead.
Stepping off the bus and onto the quiet Glendale sidewalk, Kelly Deonne Hamdon wished she could tell the deceptively-angry anchorman the truth.
Glendale's great Glamazon guardian. Los Angeles's legendary local lady hero. She was believed lost, exiled, or worse—silenced by the very injustice she fought for so long.
But SheZow wasn't gone.
Not even close.
Kelly knew exactly where "she" was.
She walked the familiar path from the street to her brown wood-paneled, three-story middle-class home. As she approached, she noticed two departing delivery men waving goodbye to her mother on the front porch—a vibrant red-haired woman wearing a pink leopard print shirt and white pants.
"Thanks again, boys! I'm sorry you had to make the trip with everything going on. Be safe out there, okay?"
"We will, Mrs. Hamdon!" One of the delivery men called out.
"Please, call me Droosha!" She replied brightly—just as Kelly reached the steps.
"Kelly! Great news—the new TV finally arrived!"
Kelly smiled. "Really? That's awesome. Maybe Guy will finally come out of his room to watch it."
Droosha's vibrance dimmed just a little at that. It was quick, but enough for Kelly to notice.
"I was joking," Kelly said gently. "Is… is he still in there?"
"He came out earlier this morning for lunch, he even spoke to me for a few minutes…" Droosha explained, before her tone fell slightly. "… But then he just ran up to his room and shut the door."
"Do you know what set him off?" Kelly asked.
Droosha shook her head, hands clasping at her chest in a familiar motion of worry and helplessness. "I don't even know what I said…"
Kelly sighed softly. "Want me to go talk to him?"
Droosha looked up with relief. "Please?"
Kelly nodded and walked into her home, furnished in such an eclectic fashion that only an artistically expressive type like Droosha could manage. Walking past the tiger print couch that dominated the living room, Kelly made her way upstairs and took a right to walk up to a bedroom door covered in warnings.
The signs ranged from large stop signs, quirky danger notices advising of angsty, perpetually hungry teens beyond this point, and a pride-rainbow colored hand held in a halt gesture.
Ignoring the signs like she couldn't read them, Kelly knocked on the door and began to open it. "Guy, it's me, Kelly. Whether you're decent or not, I'm coming in."
A voice shot back. "Don't you dare, I'm not…"
She ignored that, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Lying face-down on his full-sized bed, her hazel-eyed, black with brown streaks-haired younger twin brother lifted his face from his pillow and glared at her. Guy Hamdon reached for his pillow.
"… In the mood!" He shouted as he threw it at her.
She snatched it from the air effortlessly. "Let me guess: you were having lunch with Mom, your She-SP went off, and now you've been sulking in here for hours?"
Guy glowered. "I just turned back. If you barged in like five minutes sooner with Mom behind you, it'd be game over."
"Well, I didn't." She casually tossed the pillow back at him. "But this can't keep happening. Sooner or later Mom and Dad are gonna stop thinking this is just teenage moodiness. You've already missed, what—three weeks of school?"
"More like a month," he muttered.
"And it's senior year, Guy. If you want to get into a decent college, you kind of have to show up."
"Oh yeah, sure, just show up," Guy snapped. "And then when a monster attacks the next town over in the middle of class, I transform into the world's strongest transvestite."
He turned his head away from her. "No thanks. I'll take the L and get my GED."
Kelly crossed her arms. "Or… you could stop turning your nose up to it and help. Then you won't be ambushed by it every time someone tries to flatten a strip mall."
Guy groaned again and buried his face into his mattress. "I'm not turning my nose up at it, Kells! I just want to stay out of the way. And get control of this."
An intense feeling of alarm rang in his head and a jolt of power suddenly swept through him.
Guy, defeated, sighed.
"I transformed again, didn't I?"
Kelly raised an eyebrow. "Yep."
Guy turned over and sat up to look at the full-length mirror next to his bedroom closet—and groaned again.
Instead of a sullen young man in a dark blue hoodie and tan pants, a fabulous lady in a hot-pink leopard print bodysuit beneath a dark pink miniskirt, rose-colored corset with white trim emblazoned with a silver S, pink elbow length gloves, and white thigh-length high-heeled boots.
Guy's face was similarly dolled up, with rose-pink blush, pink eyeshadow, long, perfectly brushed eyelashes, and a beauty mark under the corner of her right eye. Even his hair was changed, now waist length and shiny black, with a pink streak above his forehead to the right.
Much like Princess Marco, one wouldn't even think they were looking at a young man at first or second glance.
Staring at himself, Guy, or rather SheZow, threw his hands up.
"Oh, come on! I just turned back!"
Kelly pulled out her phone, and began swiping through her social media. "Yep, there's another fight breaking out in front of Echo Creek's city hall. It looks like it's Typhus and Noxic together this time."
Kelly lowered her phone. "Are you really going to just sit here and do nothing? Just hide and hope it all goes away?"
"I'm not hiding," SheZow snapped. His voice had that frustrated edge again—not loud, just brittle.
He turned and climbed off the bed to sit on the far side, putting it between them and turning his back to her.
"I'm done. Tara made it clear. Dad made it clear. SheZow should never show her face again."
Kelly opened her mouth to argue—then paused, her voice softening.
"Guy…"
He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, then closed them.
"She-yeah."
In a muted flash, SheZow was gone, and he was Guy again, slouched in his hoodie, hair tousled and dull.
"I get it," Kelly continued. "Dad said some pretty heavy things. But if he knew…"
"If he knew I was SheZow?" Guy interrupted, his voice low and flat. "No. That's the one thing he can never know."
He lowered his head.
"Dad hates SheZow, and if he finds out the truth, then I can never be his son again."
He clenched his hands into fists on his knees.
"Because I've been lying to him… this whole time."
Kelly exhaled slowly. Her heart ached—not just for him, but for how stupidly complicated it all was.
It would be easier if Guy and their dad had a toxic relationship. If their dad were some hardline jerk who'd disowned them years ago.
But that wasn't the case.
A sudden knock on the door made both twins jump.
"Hey, Kelly? Guy?" their father's voice—steady, but raised just enough to carry through the door's thick wood—called. "Can I come in?"
Kelly looked at Guy in surprise.
Guy jolted upright, panic flashing in his eyes.
He was supposed to be on patrol, both thought.
"Uhh—Dad? Now's not a great time! We're just, uh… talking school stuff!"
There was a pause. Then came Boxter Hamdon's voice again—softer this time, but strained.
"Your mother called. Said you weren't feeling well. I came home to check on you."
He paused, before asking with a voice of genuine, fatherly concern.
"… How're you feeling, son?"
Guy hesitated. Then sighed.
"I'm alive. Feeling, uh… I don't know. Anxious? Sad?"
Another pause. The silence stretched.
"I see…" Boxter said. His voice was lower now, weighted, like he was choosing every word with care. "If you want to talk… I'll be downstairs for a little bit."
"Yeah. Thanks, Dad."
They both listened to the footsteps retreat down the stairs.
Kelly shook her head. "You really think he'd hate you?"
"Yeah," Guy said quietly.
The worst part was… Kelly couldn't argue.
Guy loved his Dad, so did Kelly. Despite his profession, and all that came with it, they both knew he was a good father who loved them, too.
After all, he left his shift and came straight home just to check on Guy.
With a sigh, Kelly rounded the bed and sat beside her brother. She put an arm around him, pulling him into a hug.
"You know what?" She said softly. "I'm not even sure you're wrong."
Guy didn't look at her.
"Remember how happy Dad was when SheZow disappeared?" He asked.
"Real talk? It's been great that we can hang out and do father and son stuff without him complaining about her. No speeches. No jealousy. No yelling about 'that menace.'"
"Yeah, it's quieter," Kelly agreed. "But… is it okay if you're not happy? Or if Tara's basically taken over Glendale and struts around like she's Earth's Mightiest Hero?"
Guy grimaced and looked away from her. "Was I happy being a guy forced to pretend to be a superheroine just to deal with Great Aunt Agnes' leftover baggage? Was I happy dropping everything to fight some monster, rando, or washed-up hero with a complex?"
His voice cracked a little.
"Was I happy listening to Dad rant about how much he hated me… right to my face?"
Kelly flinched. She opened her mouth to respond—but stopped.
Guy stared at the floor. "All the powers in the world don't make up for that. Especially not when I had to lie to him every day."
He held up his right hand. The ring gleamed faintly on his finger.
"If I could take this off and give it to you instead, I would," he muttered. "You probably wouldn't have gotten your butt kicked nearly as much as I did."
His hand dropped into his lap.
"I don't even know what I'm gonna do if this keeps happening," he continued. "What if I transform in front of Mom or Dad?"
As if the universe had a punchline queued up, the ring lit up—and with a familiar pink flash, Guy was SheZow again.
"Oh, come on! That one was out of spite!"
Still glowing faintly, he groaned. "I'm telling you, if SheZow comes back now, everything's gonna spiral."
Kelly frowned, conceding silently. There really was no easy fix. They both loved their Dad—deeply, and that made this all so much worse.
She checked her phone—and blinked.
"Huh. The fight's over."
SheZow turned. "What?"
"It's over." She held up her screen. The footage showed Red Strikerborg delivering a Tornado Spark to Typhus while Blue Stingerborg and Green Hunterborg tag-teamed Noxic, slicing him in half mid-air.
The villains vanished in flame, leaving the Beetleborgs standing victorious.
Kelly squinted. "So then… why are you transforming after the fight?"
SheZow frowned. "That's actually… really weird."
Kelly's brow furrowed. "Okay, I think we need to reactivate Sheila to…"
SheZow panicked, grabbing her arm. "Do not turn Sheila back on! I turned her off for a reason! You have no idea how she-enraged she'll be if she finds out it's been five years and I quit!"
Kelly stared blankly. Then snorted. "Did you just do a she-pun?"
SheZow groaned, letting go to clutch both sides of his head. "Ugh! I've been transforming too much!"
Kelly smirked. "At least you haven't used that awful falsetto voice like back when you were twelve."
"I don't think I could do that now if I had to."
Kelly got up from the bed. "Well, if reactivating Sheila isn't a good idea, then I'm going to find out on my own."
SheZow did a double-take. "Wait, you're not planning on going there, are you?"
Kelly rose from the bed. "Well, waking Sheila's a no-go, and you can't risk becoming SheZow in public. So yeah—I don't have much of a choice."
Despite himself, SheZow stood. "No way. You are not walking into the monster mash on your own."
Kelly turned to face him, gripping his shoulders. "As much as I want you to put the cape back on, I get it. I won't force you."
SheZow crossed his arms. "Yeah? Well putting yourself in harm's way is definitely forcing me to."
"I'll be fine," Kelly said, trying to reassure her brother. "If I need protection out there, I'll just ask Maz to go with me."
SheZow's expression shifted—concern freezing over into irritation.
"Oh. In that case? Have fun."
Kelly let out a slow, exasperated sigh and let go of him.
"You know, he's been really—"
"I don't care," SheZow cut in, his voice cold. Flat. Icy enough to push her back
Kelly hesitated, then sighed again—this time with regret. She rose to her feet.
"I get that you two aren't friends anymore," she said gently, "but he really has changed. If you just gave him a…"
"I said I don't care."
That stopped her.
She nodded. "Sorry for bringing him up. That's on me."
Kelly stepped toward the door. "And… I won't push you to change your mind. But if you do… I'll let you know when I head out."
With that, she slipped through the doorway and closed the door behind her.
Her footsteps retreated quietly down the hall.
Alone again, SheZow collapsed onto his back with a groan and stared at the ceiling, his breath leaking out in a long, tired sigh.
"She-Yeah."
"Five days of this crap!" Hunterborg snapped as he, Stingerborg, and Strikerborg swept their Input Magnums across the flames in extinguisher mode, putting out the last of the fires from the latest attack. "This is getting on my one last nerve, twin."
They stood in the circular parking area in front of Echo Creek's City Hall—a historic structure of white stone walls and a red-tiled roof, crowned at the center by a tall dome and spire above the west-facing main entrance. Thanks to a swift police evacuation, there were no civilian casualties this time—unlike some of the earlier battles.
Drew exhaled. "Can't argue. But it's been the same attacks all week. Just Typhus and Noxic, over and over. Makes me wonder where Barla and Jara are."
That reminded Roland of his lost bet with Mabel, she still hasn't said what the penalty was.
"If this was supposed to wear us down, it's a dumb plan," Jo said as she vented another line of foam. "They've basically been sparring partners—and not great ones."
"That's what I been sayin'," Roland complained.
"It's weird," Drew muttered. "They bailed this time before we really put the paws on them."
Roland raised an eyebrow. "We did cut Noxic in half, twin."
"Like that'll stop him."
"… Aight, true."
Drew nodded grimly. "And Typhus still wasn't completely healed from last time; you notice that?"
"I did," Roland confirmed. "Even they're starting to crack."
Jo paused, watching her flames die out. "Think they're testing how long they can keep the tempo up?"
That gave Drew pause. "Maybe… or maybe they're just buying time for something else."
Roland frowned. "Which means we're dancing to their rhythm."
"Whatever the case, the last fire's out." Drew tapped his communicator. "Misao, we're wrapping up here."
"Ja, where would you like to go?" Misao replied.
"My break is almost over," Roland muttered. "Can we get back to Zoom?"
Drew was about to reply when movement caught his eye—someone descending the broad front steps of City Hall. He turned and instantly recognized her.
Tara Bouger.
Wearing her trademark green slacks and a matching cardigan over a black turtleneck, she moved with deliberate poise, her gaze locked onto the three of them.
Drew immediately holstered his Input Magnum.
"Guys," he said through the comms, low and tight, "we've got company."
Jo turned, narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"What's she want?" Roland muttered.
"No idea," Drew said, watching Tara close the distance. Her expression wasn't hostile—more curious. Measured.
Almost… impressed.
"Interesting," Tara said, clearly fascinated by the armor. Her eyes traced the contours of Stingerborg's suit. "I don't think I've ever seen armor and mesh integration quite like this. Despite the bulk, your range of movement is unimpeded. How does it work?"
"Can we help you?" Stingerborg asked, flatly.
"You already have," she replied, smiling. "You saved City Hall from those Magnavores. Even killed one of them."
"He'll be back. He's a robot," Strikerborg offered dryly. "Just so you're not surprised later."
Tara's eyes lingered on Strikerborg. Something flickered in her gaze and her eyes narrowed. "… Oh. I see."
Abruptly, she turned her attention back to Stingerborg and Hunterborg. "Before you disappear off to your little hideout, I'd like a moment. To talk about how we're going to get along moving forward."
Drew was naturally suspicious of where she was going with this.
Misao had the same vibe. "Hear her out. I'm recording everything."
"Okay… what?" Stingerborg asked.
"Your lawyer is alleging that, under the Peregrine Law, the circumstances surrounding your armor grant you a kind of legal gray area," Tara continued. "Until we find out more, you're in limbo. So long as you don't start committing actual crimes, the police won't intervene."
Stingerborg nodded. "Yeah, we heard; so what's your angle?"
Tara offered a practiced smile. "I was going to suggest that, going forward, we can have a closer relationship regarding dealing with the Magnavores. The next time they show up, you fight side by side with me—show the public there's no animosity between you and the authorities."
Stingerborg, Strikerborg, and Hunterborg all shared looks, their external mics cutting as they spoke to each other.
Inside their helmets, the Beetleborgs went radio-silent to speak privately.
"Is she seriously asking us to team up with her?" Jo asked, incredulous. "Also, did anyone else catch that tone she used with me?"
"You know she don't like working with other women, cuh," Roland noted, unhelpfully.
Jo muttered, "I'm gonna punch the Botox out of her."
Returning to Tara, Stingerborg stepped forward. "So you want us to work for you?"
"Think of it as taking you under my wing," Tara said, her tone as smooth as political charm could muster. "I've been in this game a long time—seen things, done things, fought things that would make these monsters look like cartoons. With my guidance, you'd never lose to them again."
"We've never lost to begin with," Hunterborg pointed out flatly.
"You know, since the world's not burning to the ground and the sky isn't screaming in tongues," Strikerborg added.
Tara raised her hands in a show of faux-humility. "Yes, yes—fair enough. That was rude of me. You're right—you've been doing great work, that's something to be proud of."
She looked between them with that same practiced smile. "You're doing an incredible job. I just want to help push you over the edge and reach that next level—to make sure that next time, when you put those freaks down, they stay down."
The three Beetleborgs exchanged another look.
"She's trying to control us," Roland said flatly over the radio. "Maybe even turn us on the others."
"Obviously," Drew replied. "And after the stunt she pulled? This pitch is DOA."
"Tell her to go eat shit, Drew," Jo suggested.
Drew smirked and glanced back at her. "Tell her yourself."
So she did.
"Eat shit, asshole," Jo said bluntly to Tara. "Fall off your high-horse."
Tara visibly recoiled like she'd been slapped.
"What did you just say to me?" she asked, scandalized.
"You heard me," Jo snapped. "After the way you talked to our friend? There's no universe where we team up with a frigid cunt Karen like you. Go straight to hell and suck Dr. Zin's dick when you get there, bitch."
Drew and Roland both stared at her, jaws slack behind their helmets.
Tara matched them—wide-eyed, speechless.
Over their radios, Misao burst into helpless, wheezing laughter.
"JO, I LOVE YOU!" Misao shouted between gasps. "A portal is opening, get your JoJo Posing butts out of there before she goes full Karen, ja?!"
Stingerborg regained his composure and squared his shoulders.
"There you have it." He gestured as the portal opened behind them. "We don't want anything to do with your crap, so fuck off."
Strikerborg pointed two fingers from her helmet's glowing yellow eyes to Tara—then dropped them into a middle finger as she stepped through the portal.
"Come at us on some fuck shit again, and see what happens," Hunterborg snapped as he followed after Strikerborg.
Stingerborg, the last to leave, gave Tara one final shake of the head—half disbelief, half disgust—and disappeared through the portal as it closed with a hum of finality.
Left alone in the City Hall parking circle, Tara stood stunned. She blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"… Ah… a… did… they…?"
Her expression twisted—rage rushing up her face like a volcanic eruption. Then came the scream.
"THOSE FOUL-MOUTHED, DISRESPECTFUL BRATS! HOW DARE THEY SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?!"
At the Beetle Battle Base, Misao was still doubled over, giggling like she'd just won the lottery. Across the room, Dipper Pines paused mid-sentence in his journal, raising a brow at her.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Misao turned to him, giddy. "Jo told Tara to eat shit."
Dipper blinked—then burst out laughing, a single bark of joy. "That's amazing. Her next meal's on me."
"Ja, count me in too," Misao said, before her eyes drifted to Dipper's sketchpad. "What are you drawing?"
"The armoire in Wolfy's room," Dipper replied without looking up. "I've basically sketched every inch of it. I was hoping there might be some other kind of trick to open it, but even Star's spells bounce off."
He frowned at the page. "Magic's weird that way. Glossaryck says it tends to keep out exactly who it wants. Honestly, I should probably have Star cast a lock on my journal…"
That thought struck a chord. Dipper's brow lifted.
"Wait. Journal—what if Dr. Hillhurst had one?"
Misao blinked. "You mean like… a diary?"
"Yeah," Dipper said, snapping his book shut as he stood. "If he had one, it might still be in the mansion, right?"
Misao followed his train of thought. "You think Flabber would know?"
"Only one way to find out," Dipper said. "Let's ask him."
Misao called out. "Hey Flabber~!"
A tiny Flabber, barely the size of an action figure, immediately appeared on the console in front of Dipper. "You rang, kiddos?"
Both looked down at him, as Dipper asked. "Did Doctor Hillhurst own a journal, or write a memoir?"
Flabber thought about it, before he brightened. "Oh boy, kids. I know for a fact that he did!"
Dipper brightened. "Do you know where it is?"
Flabber opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. "Huh…"
He thought about it. "Well, after he died, somebody came to the house and took it…"
Of course there'd be another dead end, Dipper tried not to be despondent over it.
"Wolfy?" He asked.
Flabber shook his head. "Oh no, this was someone else. A woman."
He stopped. "She said she knew Dr. Hillhurst, and me from when I was a wee baby Phasm, but I couldn't remember her at all! She seemed pretty nice, though."
Both Dipper and Misao shared a look, they only had MORE questions now.
Dipper asked the first and obvious one. "… Did she give you a name?"
Flabber shook his head. "No, but I definitely remembered what she looked like. I can show you!"
"Please!" Dipper said. "This might be a clue to figure out what happened with Dr. Hillhurst!"
Flabber beamed. "You betcha! Trust me guys, when you see her, you'll understand why I'd never forget a face like hers!"
Conjuring the image, Flabber projected it on the main screen of the Beetle Battle Base.
When they both looked at the woman he described, Dipper and Misao both blinked in surprise.
Flabber wasn't kidding.
Because whoever this white-skinned, red-haired, horned woman in a flame-colored dress was…
She was not human.
Oh yeah, there's a LOT of lore going down.
= - = 9-5 = - =
|The Fallen|
|The Fallen|
"Good evening. I'm Brian Smirk, and this is day ten of what many are calling the 'Echo Creek Crisis'—a week and a half of escalating urban conflict between a bizarre gang claiming to be—or styled after—the villains from the comic book series Big Bad Beetleborgs… and a group of teenagers with attitude."
On the screen of a handheld phone, a news anchor with a perfectly-gelled black pompadour and dressed in a sharp two-piece black suit reported on the crisis at hand.
"For the past week, local law enforcement has been utterly helpless in their attempts to apprehend or even slow the so-called 'Magnavores.' Police have consistently arrived minutes too late to make a meaningful difference—let alone protect or serve the public."
Though his tone was bright and showy, perfect for the evening news, there was an inescapable edge of sarcasm and excellently veiled contempt.
Sitting near the middle of a LA Metro bus running its route through Glendale, California, a girl with dark-gray hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing an indigo skirt and matching checkered sweater vest stared intently into her phone as she listened to the anchorman through a wireless earbud in her left ear to keep aware of her stop with her uncovered right.
"Meanwhile, teenagers fighting these villains have been able to handily protect the public while serving beatdowns on the bad guys in ways that only SheZow could manage. They are on that Kim Possible grind, and if this reporter may say? They are looking just as fantastic doing it. Take a look at this!"
The screen cut to shaky cellphone footage from inside a bowling alley. Noxic jabbed menacingly at Jackie Lynn Thomas with his umbrella in front of the lanes as patrons either fled or tossed bowling balls at his accompanying Scabs.
Jackie smartly parried his stabs with her spear, and even got in a few thrusts of her own that Noxic had to back up from and duck under repeatedly.
Then, from outside the camera's view, Marco Diaz sprinted in and launched into a high-flying kick that smashed into the side of Noxic's head.
Knocked off his feet, Noxic slid down the bowling lane next to him and crashed into the pins standing at the end.
A strike.
The news anchor then cut in. "Did you see that kick, folks? Let's run that again in slow motion."
The footage rewound, then replayed in eighth-speed. Marco's kick connected again, showing how Noxic's face warped into distress as the shock of the hit rippled across it. After two seconds it snapped back to normal speed and off went Noxic to score a strike.
When the camera cut back to the newsroom, Smirk wore a dry grin. "That loser got rocked."
He turned to another camera as the feed switched to it. "And perhaps more impressive, as of this broadcast—despite the widespread destruction and injuries—there have been no fatalities reported. While there have been injuries, none have been serious, and not one innocent bystander has lost their life, thanks to these young heroes' rapid responses and despite the ferocity of these confrontations. Just have a look at this!"
Another clip played: In a used car dealership lot, Typhus hoisted a compact electric car above his head and hurled it at Star Butterfly.
Star raised her wand and transformed the vehicle into a swarm of butterflies, fluffy bunnies, and rainbow confetti. In the same instant, the Red Strikerborg dashed into frame, charging Typhus.
Typhus swung with his monstrous claw to knock Strikerborg down, but she swung back back to meet his fist with hers. The impact created a shockwave that flipped several nearby cars and shattered every window in sight—including the dealership's.
"Authorities confirm," Smirk continued, "that all civilians were safely evacuated prior—and yes, all of that damage was later repaired. In fact, most of the destruction caused in these bizarre battles has been magically restored by one of the group's most powerful members: Princess Star Butterfly."
He turned slightly toward another camera, flashing his smile again.
"I don't know what she's the princess of, but according to a viewer poll conducted earlier this afternoon, she might as well be the Queen of L.A., with viewer poll approval climbing faster than the property damage."
The girl's hazel eyes softened at the anchorman's praise of the teenage heroes fighting in the next town over. Her expression turned somber—reflective.
"With all this chaos going on, and law enforcement being worse than useless," Brian continued, "this reporter can only ask one question: Where are you, SheZow? These kids could really use your help right now."
The girl sighed. As the bus slowed, she looked up and spotted her stop ahead.
"Thanks for being one of the good guys, Brian," she murmured, stopping the video and tugging the signal cord overhead.
Stepping off the bus and onto the quiet Glendale sidewalk, Kelly Deonne Hamdon wished she could tell the deceptively-angry anchorman the truth.
Glendale's great Glamazon guardian. Los Angeles's legendary local lady hero. She was believed lost, exiled, or worse—silenced by the very injustice she fought for so long.
But SheZow wasn't gone.
Not even close.
Kelly knew exactly where "she" was.
She walked the familiar path from the street to her brown wood-paneled, three-story middle-class home. As she approached, she noticed two departing delivery men waving goodbye to her mother on the front porch—a vibrant red-haired woman wearing a pink leopard print shirt and white pants.
"Thanks again, boys! I'm sorry you had to make the trip with everything going on. Be safe out there, okay?"
"We will, Mrs. Hamdon!" One of the delivery men called out.
"Please, call me Droosha!" She replied brightly—just as Kelly reached the steps.
"Kelly! Great news—the new TV finally arrived!"
Kelly smiled. "Really? That's awesome. Maybe Guy will finally come out of his room to watch it."
Droosha's vibrance dimmed just a little at that. It was quick, but enough for Kelly to notice.
"I was joking," Kelly said gently. "Is… is he still in there?"
"He came out earlier this morning for lunch, he even spoke to me for a few minutes…" Droosha explained, before her tone fell slightly. "… But then he just ran up to his room and shut the door."
"Do you know what set him off?" Kelly asked.
Droosha shook her head, hands clasping at her chest in a familiar motion of worry and helplessness. "I don't even know what I said…"
Kelly sighed softly. "Want me to go talk to him?"
Droosha looked up with relief. "Please?"
Kelly nodded and walked into her home, furnished in such an eclectic fashion that only an artistically expressive type like Droosha could manage. Walking past the tiger print couch that dominated the living room, Kelly made her way upstairs and took a right to walk up to a bedroom door covered in warnings.
The signs ranged from large stop signs, quirky danger notices advising of angsty, perpetually hungry teens beyond this point, and a pride-rainbow colored hand held in a halt gesture.
Ignoring the signs like she couldn't read them, Kelly knocked on the door and began to open it. "Guy, it's me, Kelly. Whether you're decent or not, I'm coming in."
A voice shot back. "Don't you dare, I'm not…"
She ignored that, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Lying face-down on his full-sized bed, her hazel-eyed, black with brown streaks-haired younger twin brother lifted his face from his pillow and glared at her. Guy Hamdon reached for his pillow.
"… In the mood!" He shouted as he threw it at her.
She snatched it from the air effortlessly. "Let me guess: you were having lunch with Mom, your She-SP went off, and now you've been sulking in here for hours?"
Guy glowered. "I just turned back. If you barged in like five minutes sooner with Mom behind you, it'd be game over."
"Well, I didn't." She casually tossed the pillow back at him. "But this can't keep happening. Sooner or later Mom and Dad are gonna stop thinking this is just teenage moodiness. You've already missed, what—three weeks of school?"
"More like a month," he muttered.
"And it's senior year, Guy. If you want to get into a decent college, you kind of have to show up."
"Oh yeah, sure, just show up," Guy snapped. "And then when a monster attacks the next town over in the middle of class, I transform into the world's strongest transvestite."
He turned his head away from her. "No thanks. I'll take the L and get my GED."
Kelly crossed her arms. "Or… you could stop turning your nose up to it and help. Then you won't be ambushed by it every time someone tries to flatten a strip mall."
Guy groaned again and buried his face into his mattress. "I'm not turning my nose up at it, Kells! I just want to stay out of the way. And get control of this."
An intense feeling of alarm rang in his head and a jolt of power suddenly swept through him.
Guy, defeated, sighed.
"I transformed again, didn't I?"
Kelly raised an eyebrow. "Yep."
Guy turned over and sat up to look at the full-length mirror next to his bedroom closet—and groaned again.
Instead of a sullen young man in a dark blue hoodie and tan pants, a fabulous lady in a hot-pink leopard print bodysuit beneath a dark pink miniskirt, rose-colored corset with white trim emblazoned with a silver S, pink elbow length gloves, and white thigh-length high-heeled boots.
Guy's face was similarly dolled up, with rose-pink blush, pink eyeshadow, long, perfectly brushed eyelashes, and a beauty mark under the corner of her right eye. Even his hair was changed, now waist length and shiny black, with a pink streak above his forehead to the right.
Much like Princess Marco, one wouldn't even think they were looking at a young man at first or second glance.
Staring at himself, Guy, or rather SheZow, threw his hands up.
"Oh, come on! I just turned back!"
Kelly pulled out her phone, and began swiping through her social media. "Yep, there's another fight breaking out in front of Echo Creek's city hall. It looks like it's Typhus and Noxic together this time."
Kelly lowered her phone. "Are you really going to just sit here and do nothing? Just hide and hope it all goes away?"
"I'm not hiding," SheZow snapped. His voice had that frustrated edge again—not loud, just brittle.
He turned and climbed off the bed to sit on the far side, putting it between them and turning his back to her.
"I'm done. Tara made it clear. Dad made it clear. SheZow should never show her face again."
Kelly opened her mouth to argue—then paused, her voice softening.
"Guy…"
He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, then closed them.
"She-yeah."
In a muted flash, SheZow was gone, and he was Guy again, slouched in his hoodie, hair tousled and dull.
"I get it," Kelly continued. "Dad said some pretty heavy things. But if he knew…"
"If he knew I was SheZow?" Guy interrupted, his voice low and flat. "No. That's the one thing he can never know."
He lowered his head.
"Dad hates SheZow, and if he finds out the truth, then I can never be his son again."
He clenched his hands into fists on his knees.
"Because I've been lying to him… this whole time."
Kelly exhaled slowly. Her heart ached—not just for him, but for how stupidly complicated it all was.
It would be easier if Guy and their dad had a toxic relationship. If their dad were some hardline jerk who'd disowned them years ago.
But that wasn't the case.
A sudden knock on the door made both twins jump.
"Hey, Kelly? Guy?" their father's voice—steady, but raised just enough to carry through the door's thick wood—called. "Can I come in?"
Kelly looked at Guy in surprise.
Guy jolted upright, panic flashing in his eyes.
He was supposed to be on patrol, both thought.
"Uhh—Dad? Now's not a great time! We're just, uh… talking school stuff!"
There was a pause. Then came Boxter Hamdon's voice again—softer this time, but strained.
"Your mother called. Said you weren't feeling well. I came home to check on you."
He paused, before asking with a voice of genuine, fatherly concern.
"… How're you feeling, son?"
Guy hesitated. Then sighed.
"I'm alive. Feeling, uh… I don't know. Anxious? Sad?"
Another pause. The silence stretched.
"I see…" Boxter said. His voice was lower now, weighted, like he was choosing every word with care. "If you want to talk… I'll be downstairs for a little bit."
"Yeah. Thanks, Dad."
They both listened to the footsteps retreat down the stairs.
Kelly shook her head. "You really think he'd hate you?"
"Yeah," Guy said quietly.
The worst part was… Kelly couldn't argue.
Guy loved his Dad, so did Kelly. Despite his profession, and all that came with it, they both knew he was a good father who loved them, too.
After all, he left his shift and came straight home just to check on Guy.
With a sigh, Kelly rounded the bed and sat beside her brother. She put an arm around him, pulling him into a hug.
"You know what?" She said softly. "I'm not even sure you're wrong."
Guy didn't look at her.
"Remember how happy Dad was when SheZow disappeared?" He asked.
"Real talk? It's been great that we can hang out and do father and son stuff without him complaining about her. No speeches. No jealousy. No yelling about 'that menace.'"
"Yeah, it's quieter," Kelly agreed. "But… is it okay if you're not happy? Or if Tara's basically taken over Glendale and struts around like she's Earth's Mightiest Hero?"
Guy grimaced and looked away from her. "Was I happy being a guy forced to pretend to be a superheroine just to deal with Great Aunt Agnes' leftover baggage? Was I happy dropping everything to fight some monster, rando, or washed-up hero with a complex?"
His voice cracked a little.
"Was I happy listening to Dad rant about how much he hated me… right to my face?"
Kelly flinched. She opened her mouth to respond—but stopped.
Guy stared at the floor. "All the powers in the world don't make up for that. Especially not when I had to lie to him every day."
He held up his right hand. The ring gleamed faintly on his finger.
"If I could take this off and give it to you instead, I would," he muttered. "You probably wouldn't have gotten your butt kicked nearly as much as I did."
His hand dropped into his lap.
"I don't even know what I'm gonna do if this keeps happening," he continued. "What if I transform in front of Mom or Dad?"
As if the universe had a punchline queued up, the ring lit up—and with a familiar pink flash, Guy was SheZow again.
"Oh, come on! That one was out of spite!"
Still glowing faintly, he groaned. "I'm telling you, if SheZow comes back now, everything's gonna spiral."
Kelly frowned, conceding silently. There really was no easy fix. They both loved their Dad—deeply, and that made this all so much worse.
She checked her phone—and blinked.
"Huh. The fight's over."
SheZow turned. "What?"
"It's over." She held up her screen. The footage showed Red Strikerborg delivering a Tornado Spark to Typhus while Blue Stingerborg and Green Hunterborg tag-teamed Noxic, slicing him in half mid-air.
The villains vanished in flame, leaving the Beetleborgs standing victorious.
Kelly squinted. "So then… why are you transforming after the fight?"
SheZow frowned. "That's actually… really weird."
Kelly's brow furrowed. "Okay, I think we need to reactivate Sheila to…"
SheZow panicked, grabbing her arm. "Do not turn Sheila back on! I turned her off for a reason! You have no idea how she-enraged she'll be if she finds out it's been five years and I quit!"
Kelly stared blankly. Then snorted. "Did you just do a she-pun?"
SheZow groaned, letting go to clutch both sides of his head. "Ugh! I've been transforming too much!"
Kelly smirked. "At least you haven't used that awful falsetto voice like back when you were twelve."
"I don't think I could do that now if I had to."
Kelly got up from the bed. "Well, if reactivating Sheila isn't a good idea, then I'm going to find out on my own."
SheZow did a double-take. "Wait, you're not planning on going there, are you?"
Kelly rose from the bed. "Well, waking Sheila's a no-go, and you can't risk becoming SheZow in public. So yeah—I don't have much of a choice."
Despite himself, SheZow stood. "No way. You are not walking into the monster mash on your own."
Kelly turned to face him, gripping his shoulders. "As much as I want you to put the cape back on, I get it. I won't force you."
SheZow crossed his arms. "Yeah? Well putting yourself in harm's way is definitely forcing me to."
"I'll be fine," Kelly said, trying to reassure her brother. "If I need protection out there, I'll just ask Maz to go with me."
SheZow's expression shifted—concern freezing over into irritation.
"Oh. In that case? Have fun."
Kelly let out a slow, exasperated sigh and let go of him.
"You know, he's been really—"
"I don't care," SheZow cut in, his voice cold. Flat. Icy enough to push her back
Kelly hesitated, then sighed again—this time with regret. She rose to her feet.
"I get that you two aren't friends anymore," she said gently, "but he really has changed. If you just gave him a…"
"I said I don't care."
That stopped her.
She nodded. "Sorry for bringing him up. That's on me."
Kelly stepped toward the door. "And… I won't push you to change your mind. But if you do… I'll let you know when I head out."
With that, she slipped through the doorway and closed the door behind her.
Her footsteps retreated quietly down the hall.
Alone again, SheZow collapsed onto his back with a groan and stared at the ceiling, his breath leaking out in a long, tired sigh.
"She-Yeah."
@@@@@
"Five days of this crap!" Hunterborg snapped as he, Stingerborg, and Strikerborg swept their Input Magnums across the flames in extinguisher mode, putting out the last of the fires from the latest attack. "This is getting on my one last nerve, twin."
They stood in the circular parking area in front of Echo Creek's City Hall—a historic structure of white stone walls and a red-tiled roof, crowned at the center by a tall dome and spire above the west-facing main entrance. Thanks to a swift police evacuation, there were no civilian casualties this time—unlike some of the earlier battles.
Drew exhaled. "Can't argue. But it's been the same attacks all week. Just Typhus and Noxic, over and over. Makes me wonder where Barla and Jara are."
That reminded Roland of his lost bet with Mabel, she still hasn't said what the penalty was.
"If this was supposed to wear us down, it's a dumb plan," Jo said as she vented another line of foam. "They've basically been sparring partners—and not great ones."
"That's what I been sayin'," Roland complained.
"It's weird," Drew muttered. "They bailed this time before we really put the paws on them."
Roland raised an eyebrow. "We did cut Noxic in half, twin."
"Like that'll stop him."
"… Aight, true."
Drew nodded grimly. "And Typhus still wasn't completely healed from last time; you notice that?"
"I did," Roland confirmed. "Even they're starting to crack."
Jo paused, watching her flames die out. "Think they're testing how long they can keep the tempo up?"
That gave Drew pause. "Maybe… or maybe they're just buying time for something else."
Roland frowned. "Which means we're dancing to their rhythm."
"Whatever the case, the last fire's out." Drew tapped his communicator. "Misao, we're wrapping up here."
"Ja, where would you like to go?" Misao replied.
"My break is almost over," Roland muttered. "Can we get back to Zoom?"
Drew was about to reply when movement caught his eye—someone descending the broad front steps of City Hall. He turned and instantly recognized her.
Tara Bouger.
Wearing her trademark green slacks and a matching cardigan over a black turtleneck, she moved with deliberate poise, her gaze locked onto the three of them.
Drew immediately holstered his Input Magnum.
"Guys," he said through the comms, low and tight, "we've got company."
Jo turned, narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"What's she want?" Roland muttered.
"No idea," Drew said, watching Tara close the distance. Her expression wasn't hostile—more curious. Measured.
Almost… impressed.
"Interesting," Tara said, clearly fascinated by the armor. Her eyes traced the contours of Stingerborg's suit. "I don't think I've ever seen armor and mesh integration quite like this. Despite the bulk, your range of movement is unimpeded. How does it work?"
"Can we help you?" Stingerborg asked, flatly.
"You already have," she replied, smiling. "You saved City Hall from those Magnavores. Even killed one of them."
"He'll be back. He's a robot," Strikerborg offered dryly. "Just so you're not surprised later."
Tara's eyes lingered on Strikerborg. Something flickered in her gaze and her eyes narrowed. "… Oh. I see."
Abruptly, she turned her attention back to Stingerborg and Hunterborg. "Before you disappear off to your little hideout, I'd like a moment. To talk about how we're going to get along moving forward."
Drew was naturally suspicious of where she was going with this.
Misao had the same vibe. "Hear her out. I'm recording everything."
"Okay… what?" Stingerborg asked.
"Your lawyer is alleging that, under the Peregrine Law, the circumstances surrounding your armor grant you a kind of legal gray area," Tara continued. "Until we find out more, you're in limbo. So long as you don't start committing actual crimes, the police won't intervene."
Stingerborg nodded. "Yeah, we heard; so what's your angle?"
Tara offered a practiced smile. "I was going to suggest that, going forward, we can have a closer relationship regarding dealing with the Magnavores. The next time they show up, you fight side by side with me—show the public there's no animosity between you and the authorities."
Stingerborg, Strikerborg, and Hunterborg all shared looks, their external mics cutting as they spoke to each other.
Inside their helmets, the Beetleborgs went radio-silent to speak privately.
"Is she seriously asking us to team up with her?" Jo asked, incredulous. "Also, did anyone else catch that tone she used with me?"
"You know she don't like working with other women, cuh," Roland noted, unhelpfully.
Jo muttered, "I'm gonna punch the Botox out of her."
Returning to Tara, Stingerborg stepped forward. "So you want us to work for you?"
"Think of it as taking you under my wing," Tara said, her tone as smooth as political charm could muster. "I've been in this game a long time—seen things, done things, fought things that would make these monsters look like cartoons. With my guidance, you'd never lose to them again."
"We've never lost to begin with," Hunterborg pointed out flatly.
"You know, since the world's not burning to the ground and the sky isn't screaming in tongues," Strikerborg added.
Tara raised her hands in a show of faux-humility. "Yes, yes—fair enough. That was rude of me. You're right—you've been doing great work, that's something to be proud of."
She looked between them with that same practiced smile. "You're doing an incredible job. I just want to help push you over the edge and reach that next level—to make sure that next time, when you put those freaks down, they stay down."
The three Beetleborgs exchanged another look.
"She's trying to control us," Roland said flatly over the radio. "Maybe even turn us on the others."
"Obviously," Drew replied. "And after the stunt she pulled? This pitch is DOA."
"Tell her to go eat shit, Drew," Jo suggested.
Drew smirked and glanced back at her. "Tell her yourself."
So she did.
"Eat shit, asshole," Jo said bluntly to Tara. "Fall off your high-horse."
Tara visibly recoiled like she'd been slapped.
"What did you just say to me?" she asked, scandalized.
"You heard me," Jo snapped. "After the way you talked to our friend? There's no universe where we team up with a frigid cunt Karen like you. Go straight to hell and suck Dr. Zin's dick when you get there, bitch."
Drew and Roland both stared at her, jaws slack behind their helmets.
Tara matched them—wide-eyed, speechless.
Over their radios, Misao burst into helpless, wheezing laughter.
"JO, I LOVE YOU!" Misao shouted between gasps. "A portal is opening, get your JoJo Posing butts out of there before she goes full Karen, ja?!"
Stingerborg regained his composure and squared his shoulders.
"There you have it." He gestured as the portal opened behind them. "We don't want anything to do with your crap, so fuck off."
Strikerborg pointed two fingers from her helmet's glowing yellow eyes to Tara—then dropped them into a middle finger as she stepped through the portal.
"Come at us on some fuck shit again, and see what happens," Hunterborg snapped as he followed after Strikerborg.
Stingerborg, the last to leave, gave Tara one final shake of the head—half disbelief, half disgust—and disappeared through the portal as it closed with a hum of finality.
Left alone in the City Hall parking circle, Tara stood stunned. She blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"… Ah… a… did… they…?"
Her expression twisted—rage rushing up her face like a volcanic eruption. Then came the scream.
"THOSE FOUL-MOUTHED, DISRESPECTFUL BRATS! HOW DARE THEY SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?!"
At the Beetle Battle Base, Misao was still doubled over, giggling like she'd just won the lottery. Across the room, Dipper Pines paused mid-sentence in his journal, raising a brow at her.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Misao turned to him, giddy. "Jo told Tara to eat shit."
Dipper blinked—then burst out laughing, a single bark of joy. "That's amazing. Her next meal's on me."
"Ja, count me in too," Misao said, before her eyes drifted to Dipper's sketchpad. "What are you drawing?"
"The armoire in Wolfy's room," Dipper replied without looking up. "I've basically sketched every inch of it. I was hoping there might be some other kind of trick to open it, but even Star's spells bounce off."
He frowned at the page. "Magic's weird that way. Glossaryck says it tends to keep out exactly who it wants. Honestly, I should probably have Star cast a lock on my journal…"
That thought struck a chord. Dipper's brow lifted.
"Wait. Journal—what if Dr. Hillhurst had one?"
Misao blinked. "You mean like… a diary?"
"Yeah," Dipper said, snapping his book shut as he stood. "If he had one, it might still be in the mansion, right?"
Misao followed his train of thought. "You think Flabber would know?"
"Only one way to find out," Dipper said. "Let's ask him."
Misao called out. "Hey Flabber~!"
A tiny Flabber, barely the size of an action figure, immediately appeared on the console in front of Dipper. "You rang, kiddos?"
Both looked down at him, as Dipper asked. "Did Doctor Hillhurst own a journal, or write a memoir?"
Flabber thought about it, before he brightened. "Oh boy, kids. I know for a fact that he did!"
Dipper brightened. "Do you know where it is?"
Flabber opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. "Huh…"
He thought about it. "Well, after he died, somebody came to the house and took it…"
Of course there'd be another dead end, Dipper tried not to be despondent over it.
"Wolfy?" He asked.
Flabber shook his head. "Oh no, this was someone else. A woman."
He stopped. "She said she knew Dr. Hillhurst, and me from when I was a wee baby Phasm, but I couldn't remember her at all! She seemed pretty nice, though."
Both Dipper and Misao shared a look, they only had MORE questions now.
Dipper asked the first and obvious one. "… Did she give you a name?"
Flabber shook his head. "No, but I definitely remembered what she looked like. I can show you!"
"Please!" Dipper said. "This might be a clue to figure out what happened with Dr. Hillhurst!"
Flabber beamed. "You betcha! Trust me guys, when you see her, you'll understand why I'd never forget a face like hers!"
Conjuring the image, Flabber projected it on the main screen of the Beetle Battle Base.
When they both looked at the woman he described, Dipper and Misao both blinked in surprise.
Flabber wasn't kidding.
Because whoever this white-skinned, red-haired, horned woman in a flame-colored dress was…
She was not human.
= - = 9-5 = - =
Oh yeah, there's a LOT of lore going down.
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Delta/Soul
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Dec 10, 2020
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- 1,456
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1. Will there be a chapter where everyone goes their powers/abilities swapped with each other?
2. /Everone's reaction seeing Guy turn into SheZow/ "Oh No, he's hot!"
Codes and Geass Cast Commentary 16
New
TricksterPriest
大六天魔王
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2016
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Kaguya: Ara ara, are we finally coming back to this? 
Suzaku: Looks like. Hopefully things are going better for these guys.
Trollouche: We both know that's not true.
Suzaku: I can be hopeful.
Diethard: *salivating*
Milly: Reid? You ok?
Diethard: This! is! NEWS! I would have killed a man to publish and be the lead on reporting something like this!
Milly: I wanna say he's joking...but pretty sure he's not.
CC: Kids have gotten a lot better at this whole.
CC: Nice strike btw.
Milly: I could get soooooo much use out of an instant clean up spell.
Rivalz: Gotta admit, lot less likely to get nailed for insurance issues if you can just fix it up in a jiff.
Tohdoh: No fatalities? That is impressive.
Cornelia: Tis rather disappointing that law enforcement's showing is so lackluster. Though, I question why armed forces haven't been called in.
Trollouche: Different society. This one isn't militaristic as ours.
Rivalz: That, and I don't think people realize they're actual monsters rather than nerds in suits.
Euphemia: She who??
Milly: Not a clue, think we'll find out.
Milly: See? Annnnnd that's kinda ominous.
Euphemia: Was the heroine a victim of corrupt forces?
Kallen: Why is "she" in quotation marks?
Kallen: SheZow is a guy?
Milly: He said transvestite, probably something weird going on.
Milly: In any case, superheroics is no excuse to miss school!
Rivalz:
Eh, maybe he can get a dispensation for community service and heroism?
Suzaku: Even I think that's too optimistic for this world, Rivalz.
Rivalz: Didn't say it was likely, just that it would be nice.
Rivalz: .....Huh. *looks at his smokes* Nope, not smoking a J this time. Guess it's real.
Suzaku: I can't even tell he was a guy previously.
Leloucia: Ara ara, fascinating.
Cornelia: Does she-
Milly: Think he's a he regardless of attire, some people just like wearing girl's clothes. This isn't like Leloucia where she identifies as a woman.
Cornelia: Very well, does he not have control of this power?
CC: I would imagine not if he's in hiding.
Kallen: Ouch. >_<
Leloucia: Oh I can already tell this is going to hurt...
Nunnnally: Poor boy.
Leloucia: I am curious if their father would truly find the lie so unforgivable.
Kallen: Tara sounds like more and more of a bitch the more I hear of her.
Leloucia: ....Called it.
Kallen: Wow, that really hurts.
Suzaku: I wish my father cared enough about me to do something like that when he was still alive...
CC: Speaking as the only person in our group with parental experience? You'd be shocked what parents will push aside or decide doesn't matter in the face of losing their children.
Kaguya: It's obvious he cares, he just doesn't know how to reach his son.
CC: Whether this family can weather the revelation of Guy's activities is an open question. But there is a core of concern and understanding there at least.
Suzaku: At least you have a father that cares about you...
Kaguya: Jealous, cousin?
Suzaku: ...maybe a little. *hangs head*
Zero: To take up responsibility as a hero, to answer a call that demands your action, this is the essence of heroism. The ring choose someone with potential, we shall see if he rises to it.
Zero: And lying to one's parents isn't the worst thing-
Kallen: *dopeslaps him* Most people DON'T have your fucked up family background of backstabbing and insanity, Zero!
Cornelia: The power is demanding it be used despite no active threat? That is a dire warning.
Trollouche: Turned off? Sheila must be a robot, or a digital entity I assume.
Tohdoh: 5 years? If it has been 5 since he acted as SheZow...how young was he when he stepped onto this path?
Zero: 12 years old it seems.
Tohdoh: Whoever created this ring was grossly irresponsible to place this burden on a child.
Milly: That pun was bad and you should feel bad!
Rivalz: She's going where now?
Euphemia: That sounds like there is a history of harsh words and ill feelings.
CC: There was a betrayal there I think.
Milly: Too soon to tell, we don't know enough, ladies.
Tohdoh: No one can force a person to walk this path of soldiering and heroism. But it is clear that forces beyond Guy's understanding will not permit to discard it.
Rivalz: I'd say place your bets on him getting back in the saddle, but that's probably a sucker's bet.
Trollouche: Another chew toy for Murphy.
Zero: There is a strategy here, one they are not seeing. No commander worth his salt wastes time and energy on attacks that offer no gain. Not unless he's a sadistic idiot who hates his own men.
Cornelia: Since we can discard that out of hand, I propose they are analyzing the battles and their foe's weaknesses.
Tohdoh: Possible, but Vexor is exhausting his own generals in this process.
Tohdoh: Or their objective is delayed, a retreating action.
Zero: They can fight harder than this, they're sandbagging for a reason.
Rivalz: Uh oh, here comes trouble.
Kallen: Oh great, this bitch again.
Kallen: What the fuck was that?
Cornelia:
Kallen: You know something.
Cornelia: Speculation. But I have seen that sort of expression before, though not commonly. One doesn't encounter it often, but there is such a thing as a female misogynist.
Milly: Seriously?
CC: Oh yes, some women just hate their gender or other women. You can't get them to recognize it or be reasonable.
Cornelia: In any case, the deal isn't the worst one but...what benefit does it actually offer?
Kallen: Ughhh, this bullshit I recognize.
Nunnally: She sounds like the nobility who tried sucking up to mom.
Cornelia: A pitch to retain control and influence, and direct the course of emerging heroes. Not the worst idea mind you. State authorities always desire to exert influence over unrestricted elements.
Zero: Buuuuut she already burned that bridge. Playing hardball with Marco was a big big mistake.
Milly: Wait, is she actually-?
CC: Just watch~
Milly: *squealing with laughter* Hahahahahaha! She actually did it!
CC: Oh ho ho ho ho ho ho!
Zero: Heh. I am intensely curious how she'll react to that insult.
Cornelia: Her reaction says everything about how she'd have been an unholy terror to work with.
Milly: Buy that girl a buffet! Girls love free food!
Trollouche: *in a deerstalker cap* The game is afoot!
CC: *wearing fake mustache* Quite so, Holmes. :3
Trollouche: A trail long cold, but useful regardless, someone may know this woman, and if she knew Flabber, she's likely involved with magic.
CC: I wonder why she took the diary. Very strange, Holmes.
Trollouche: Elementary, dear Watson. There was likely something contained within that she did not want getting out.
Trollouche: ..........Wait. Hekky? 0_o
CC: Oh ho, yes indeed.
Trollouche: She's definitely still around, but whether she'll answer any questions....that's a hard call.
Milly: And meanwhile Author-kun is doing his best Homer Simpson impression and drooling while mumbling "Mmmm, Lore"
Nunnally: Be nice, he's been waiting for awhile for that. And he can't help being a crazed maniac.
Suzaku: Looks like. Hopefully things are going better for these guys.
Trollouche: We both know that's not true.
Suzaku: I can be hopeful.
Diethard: *salivating*
Milly: Reid? You ok?
Diethard: This! is! NEWS! I would have killed a man to publish and be the lead on reporting something like this!
Milly: I wanna say he's joking...but pretty sure he's not.
CC: Kids have gotten a lot better at this whole.
CC: Nice strike btw.
Milly: I could get soooooo much use out of an instant clean up spell.
Rivalz: Gotta admit, lot less likely to get nailed for insurance issues if you can just fix it up in a jiff.
Tohdoh: No fatalities? That is impressive.
Cornelia: Tis rather disappointing that law enforcement's showing is so lackluster. Though, I question why armed forces haven't been called in.
Trollouche: Different society. This one isn't militaristic as ours.
Rivalz: That, and I don't think people realize they're actual monsters rather than nerds in suits.
Euphemia: She who??
Milly: Not a clue, think we'll find out.
Milly: See? Annnnnd that's kinda ominous.
Euphemia: Was the heroine a victim of corrupt forces?
Kallen: Why is "she" in quotation marks?
Kallen: SheZow is a guy?
Milly: He said transvestite, probably something weird going on.
Milly: In any case, superheroics is no excuse to miss school!
Rivalz:
Eh, maybe he can get a dispensation for community service and heroism?Suzaku: Even I think that's too optimistic for this world, Rivalz.
Rivalz: Didn't say it was likely, just that it would be nice.
Rivalz: .....Huh. *looks at his smokes* Nope, not smoking a J this time. Guess it's real.
Suzaku: I can't even tell he was a guy previously.
Leloucia: Ara ara, fascinating.
Cornelia: Does she-
Milly: Think he's a he regardless of attire, some people just like wearing girl's clothes. This isn't like Leloucia where she identifies as a woman.
Cornelia: Very well, does he not have control of this power?
CC: I would imagine not if he's in hiding.
Kallen: Ouch. >_<
Leloucia: Oh I can already tell this is going to hurt...
Nunnnally: Poor boy.
Leloucia: I am curious if their father would truly find the lie so unforgivable.
Kallen: Tara sounds like more and more of a bitch the more I hear of her.
Leloucia: ....Called it.
Kallen: Wow, that really hurts.
Suzaku: I wish my father cared enough about me to do something like that when he was still alive...
CC: Speaking as the only person in our group with parental experience? You'd be shocked what parents will push aside or decide doesn't matter in the face of losing their children.
Kaguya: It's obvious he cares, he just doesn't know how to reach his son.
CC: Whether this family can weather the revelation of Guy's activities is an open question. But there is a core of concern and understanding there at least.
Suzaku: At least you have a father that cares about you...
Kaguya: Jealous, cousin?
Suzaku: ...maybe a little. *hangs head*
Zero: To take up responsibility as a hero, to answer a call that demands your action, this is the essence of heroism. The ring choose someone with potential, we shall see if he rises to it.
Zero: And lying to one's parents isn't the worst thing-
Kallen: *dopeslaps him* Most people DON'T have your fucked up family background of backstabbing and insanity, Zero!
Cornelia: The power is demanding it be used despite no active threat? That is a dire warning.
Trollouche: Turned off? Sheila must be a robot, or a digital entity I assume.
Tohdoh: 5 years? If it has been 5 since he acted as SheZow...how young was he when he stepped onto this path?
Zero: 12 years old it seems.
Tohdoh: Whoever created this ring was grossly irresponsible to place this burden on a child.
Milly: That pun was bad and you should feel bad!
Rivalz: She's going where now?
Euphemia: That sounds like there is a history of harsh words and ill feelings.
CC: There was a betrayal there I think.
Milly: Too soon to tell, we don't know enough, ladies.
Tohdoh: No one can force a person to walk this path of soldiering and heroism. But it is clear that forces beyond Guy's understanding will not permit to discard it.
Rivalz: I'd say place your bets on him getting back in the saddle, but that's probably a sucker's bet.
Trollouche: Another chew toy for Murphy.
Zero: There is a strategy here, one they are not seeing. No commander worth his salt wastes time and energy on attacks that offer no gain. Not unless he's a sadistic idiot who hates his own men.
Cornelia: Since we can discard that out of hand, I propose they are analyzing the battles and their foe's weaknesses.
Tohdoh: Possible, but Vexor is exhausting his own generals in this process.
Tohdoh: Or their objective is delayed, a retreating action.
Zero: They can fight harder than this, they're sandbagging for a reason.
Rivalz: Uh oh, here comes trouble.
Kallen: Oh great, this bitch again.
Kallen: What the fuck was that?
Cornelia:
Kallen: You know something.
Cornelia: Speculation. But I have seen that sort of expression before, though not commonly. One doesn't encounter it often, but there is such a thing as a female misogynist.
Milly: Seriously?
CC: Oh yes, some women just hate their gender or other women. You can't get them to recognize it or be reasonable.
Cornelia: In any case, the deal isn't the worst one but...what benefit does it actually offer?
Kallen: Ughhh, this bullshit I recognize.
Nunnally: She sounds like the nobility who tried sucking up to mom.
Cornelia: A pitch to retain control and influence, and direct the course of emerging heroes. Not the worst idea mind you. State authorities always desire to exert influence over unrestricted elements.
Zero: Buuuuut she already burned that bridge. Playing hardball with Marco was a big big mistake.
Milly: Wait, is she actually-?
CC: Just watch~
Milly: *squealing with laughter* Hahahahahaha! She actually did it!
CC: Oh ho ho ho ho ho ho!
Zero: Heh. I am intensely curious how she'll react to that insult.
Cornelia: Her reaction says everything about how she'd have been an unholy terror to work with.
Milly: Buy that girl a buffet! Girls love free food!
Trollouche: *in a deerstalker cap* The game is afoot!
CC: *wearing fake mustache* Quite so, Holmes. :3
Trollouche: A trail long cold, but useful regardless, someone may know this woman, and if she knew Flabber, she's likely involved with magic.
CC: I wonder why she took the diary. Very strange, Holmes.
Trollouche: Elementary, dear Watson. There was likely something contained within that she did not want getting out.
Trollouche: ..........Wait. Hekky? 0_o
CC: Oh ho, yes indeed.
Trollouche: She's definitely still around, but whether she'll answer any questions....that's a hard call.
Milly: And meanwhile Author-kun is doing his best Homer Simpson impression and drooling while mumbling "Mmmm, Lore"
Nunnally: Be nice, he's been waiting for awhile for that. And he can't help being a crazed maniac.
Vexor's Drumbeat
New
The Ero-Sennin
Shitposter no more
- Joined
- Oct 2, 2014
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The role Hekapoo plays in all of this... I've been waiting a while to get to this...
And this, too.
Jara did not know how far she traveled.
Sometimes it was a slow, aimless walk. Other times, she leapt with all her might, flinging herself across the strange sub-dimension of endless discarded metal. Always in a straight line. Always away from Noxic's workshop.
After the humiliation with Barla—after so many piled-up indignities—she didn't just want to escape. She needed to. Some primal instinct compelled her to move, to keep going until the world itself changed.
She hadn't expected it to.
But then, it did.
Without warning, the scrap-covered terrain ended. One more step and she would have walked into the void.
She froze at the cliff's edge. Beneath her was a massive drop, thousands—maybe tens of thousands—of feet straight down into a vast, deep-blue ocean.
Jara blinked in disbelief.
Rising from that water were structures—skyscrapers—countless rectangular towers jutting from the sea like broken fingers.
Some stood alone; others clustered at impossible angles. A few loomed so tall they rose past the cliff where she stood, despite leaning like drunkards toward the abyss.
She was so far above it that she could not even hear the massive waves crashing against concrete bones or the cliff face below.
Jara took a step back, unsettled.
Her voice broke the silence. "...What is this place?"
Another voice answered, calm and amused.
"Fascinating," said Vexor. "So there is more to this place than heaps of scrap metal."
She spun, weapon already drawn, beam blade igniting with a threatening hum.
Vexor regarded her coolly, his posture open, hands behind his back like a curious lecturer.
"None of that, Jara," he said, mildly.
Her grip trembled.
After a long breath, she powered the blade down.
"Thank you."
Vexor extended a hand to her. "Jara, I believe it's time we had a discussion about your recent performance."
Jara stared at him, sword lowered. Her mask betrayed no expression, but the slight tilt of her head—just enough to seem off-balance—made her confusion plain.
"… What?"
Vexor didn't flinch. "Only a fool would miss the obvious. You haven't been well since our arrival. Your defeats at the hands of the Butterfly and her allies have stirred something unsightly. And the loss of Saberizer has unbalanced you. You've turned from operational objectives toward personal vendettas. From discipline to desperation."
He gestured to the vast, lonely expanse around them. "Even now, in a pivotal moment, you've removed yourself from the battlefield. Grief and doubt have made you unreliable—as a warrior, and as a leader."
Jara tensed. Her grip on her hilt tightened as the old fury flared to life. But the outburst never came.
Deep down, she knew he was right. She had fled—hoping to find some kind of absolution out in this surreal nowhere. But she hadn't found peace.
Vexor stepped forward. "So. With that in mind… do you want to talk about it?"
Jara stared, struggling to process the question. Since when did Vexor pretend to care?
Before she could answer, another voice cut in. "Jara."
She turned with a start.
Barla stood there, and behind her—battered from their continuous harassment of Echo Creek but standing—were Typhus and Noxic.
"Barla…" Jara said, focusing on her close comrade.
"I didn't consider that you might've been struggling when I confronted you before," Barla admitted in a calm, measured voice. "For what it's worth… I apologize. I spoke without understanding. And I want to."
"Yeah," Noxic chimed in. "You've been kinda… off, lately. Talk to us, will ya?"
"What's goin' on, baby?" Typhus asked, his tone lacking its braggadocio.
Jara looked at all three of them, then back at Vexor. They were concerned for her.
Well, certainly not Vexor. Her close friends, however…?
She lowered her head, eyes tracing the broken gray dirt under her boots. Then, after a deep breath, she exhaled slowly.
"… I've fought a Butterfly before," she said at last.
That surprised even Vexor. "You have…?"
He paused. Then his voice took a darker, more thoughtful edge. "…I see. Then your hatred… your aggression… it isn't just recent."
Barla blinked in confusion. "When was this? I'd remember something like that…"
"It was long, long ago," Jara replied. Her voice softened, distant. "Before we hunted the Black Star Eater—the one whose hide you now wear as armor."
Barla's brow furrowed, then relaxed in understanding. "Ah… I see."
"That was ages ago, then," Noxic said, scratching at his half-repaired torso. "Back when you still hung out with your mercenary crew, right?"
"I couldn't even begin to count the years," Jara murmured.
She looked up, as if searching the fog of memory. "It was after the first time you and I parted ways, Barla—when I sent you, Iluba, Hidra, and Gorgodal off on your own. While you forged your path, I took on a contract. Saberizer, Zaiking, Bardas, our squads, and I were hired by none other than…"
She looked back at them.
"… The Lord of Nightmares himself."
The reaction was instant.
Barla stiffened, her hand resting near her blade on reflex.
Typhus took a full step back, eyes wide. "Hold up—Jara, you worked for Nukus?!"
Noxic looked like he'd swallowed a live sparkplug. "When was that?! You mean Nukus Nukus? The Dinosaur Warrior Nukus?! Final Boss, Endgame with No Continues Nukus?!"
Only Vexor remained still. He watched her carefully, curiously.
"I am literally telling you!" Jara snapped, before catching herself and reining in her tone. "We owed no allegiance to the Lord of Nightmares. We were mercenaries—nothing more. Paid to do a job, bound by contract."
She took a slow breath, fingers tightening on her sword.
"Our mission was simple, in theory: eliminate the guardian of the realm Nukus wanted for himself."
She shut her eyes behind the mask, her voice thick with a bitterness none of them had heard before. "She was distracted, already fending off the invasion. We were meant to strike then, with all our might."
"So basically," Noxic said, trying to ease the tension, "the most important mission in this whole war. No pressure."
"We were expected to do well, but we were not prepared for what we faced." Jara's grim But Jara's next words cut through his levity like a blade.
"We weren't prepared."
Her mind flooded with the memory again. That light—too intense to be called radiance. A sunless brilliance that cast shadows like obsidian blades across the ground. The smell of stone dust and seared metal. Her comrades, frozen mid-charge, eyes wide, limbs still locked in motion—
The smile on her enemy's face.
The wand raised like judgment itself.
"There wasn't a battle," she said, voice low and bitter. "There was only a spell."
Her grip on her blade turned white-knuckled.
"Gorgon's Sun."
She bowed her head, trembling.
"In a flash, those who stared too long were turned to stone. Even those who ran were caught if they looked back even slightly. One moment they were beside me, the next—statues.."
She paused, jaw tightening.
"We ran for our lives. Of the dozens with us, barely a handful escaped."
She looked up at last, her eyes burning behind the mask.
"And all because we were told nothing of what we were facing. Only that she 'used magic.' No name. No history. No warning."
Her next words came through clenched teeth.
"And then… what Nukus did after…"
She stopped herself. Rage surged through her like fire in a forge.
"I have wanted nothing but revenge against that magic, against that woman. Since I have learned what it was… I have sworn it against the Butterfly girl."
Barla lowered her head. A grim realization settled over her. "… That's why you were alone when we reunited for the Hunt."
She met Jara's gaze, stricken. "I thought you'd simply moved on from the others. I didn't realize you'd… lost them."
She nodded. "When I spoke of Iluba and Zaiking joining us… I lied…"
Barla's eyes widened with the weight of understanding. "…Only you and Saberizer made it out."
Jara nodded grimly. "Zaiking turned to stone under the Gorgon's Sun… and Iluba…"
Barla's voice darkened. "Nukus."
"Yes," Jara said, her voice tight. "Cut down as I escaped with Saberizer and the few comrades we had left."
Silence fell after that, heavy with old pain.
Typhus stepped forward, his massive red clawed hand resting gently on Jara's shoulder. "You don't gotta keep this stuff all bottled up. We've been buddies forever, through good times and bad. If something's got you down, we'll be there to lift you up, baby!"
Noxic jumped in, gesturing to Vexor. "Yeah! That jerk may only want you patched up so you can go bust heads for him, but we just want our badass buddy back to her old butt-kicking self!"
Vexor said nothing. Perhaps wisely.
Barla stepped in close. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around Jara and pulled her into a tight hug.
The gesture surprised Jara, and she stood stiff in her arms.
"Nothing else needs to be said, Jara. You needn't run from your pain any longer, or suffer it alone. Let us fight together, and lay these demons to rest."
For a moment, Jara remained still, before her posture softened. The tension melted from her shoulders as she returned the hug.
"… Barla… Noxic… Typhus…" Her voice was steady, no longer trembling. "… Thank you."
Jara stepped back and looked at the three figures before her—the only ones who truly meant something to her in this world. The weight she carried was still there… but now it felt lighter, more bearable. Her pain had been acknowledged, and more than that—her burden was shared.
"I will not falter again," she declared.
Then, with a sudden flare of resolve, she thrust her fist high above her head. "We shall overcome our enemies and claim the wealth and glory of conquest!"
"Yeah, that's it!" Noxic whooped, pumping a fist of his own.
"I'm with you one hundred percent, baby!" Typhus said, throwing both fists into the air.
Barla gave a rare, genuine smile, proud to see Jara's fire rekindled. "As expected of you, Jara."
Even Vexor looked impressed—at least, as much as his rigid, expressionless face could allow. "Outstanding, all of you."
His praise got everyone's attention.
"Now that our merry band is reunited," he said, clasping his clawed hands together, "we can begin preparations for the next step."
Jara turned to the others, curiosity in her voice. "What have I missed?"
"A lot!" Noxic answered immediately. "After Barla threw down with those Beetle kids, Vexor started chucking me and Typhus at 'em like it was some kinda tag-team match."
"And we were the ones getting tag-teamed, baby," Typhus added.
Jara scowled, that aforementioned fire rising. "Then that ends now. I'll go and—"
"No," Vexor interrupted, raising a hand.
She paused, turning sharply to him. "Why not? What are you planning?"
Barla folded her arms. "He hasn't told us. In fact, he tasked me with finding you instead of joining the current assault."
Vexor's claws clicked softly as the chitinous creature brought his hands together in a gracious, placating gesture. "If you will… allow me to explain my method."
Vexor raised one hand as he lowered the other, a dramatic gesture both theatrical and commanding.
"Originally," he began, his voice calm and deliberate, "my plan was simple: deploy all four of you to spread chaos, instill fear, and—most importantly—erode the public's trust in the children calling themselves heroes. The disillusionment of their game was to be the weapon that cut them down."
He turned his raised hand palm-up, as if offering a gift—or a challenge.
"But," he continued, "as it turns out… these children are not the deluded fools we presumed them to be. They're adaptable, resourceful, and… most importantly… a considerable threat."
Jara clenched her fists but kept silent. Typhus growled low in his throat. Noxic twitched with visible irritation.
"So," Vexor said, his tone now silk-gloved steel, "a different tactic is required."
He paused. Let the silence weigh on his subordinates. Then, made his grand declaration:
"We shall no longer terrorize them. Instead—we shall show the world how easily we are defeated… and achieve victory by losing every battle."
For a moment, silence.
Then:
"WHAT?!"
The shout came from all four of them in perfect unison—Jara, Barla, Typhus, and Noxic—staring at Vexor as though he'd grown a second head.
Vexor tutted softly, shaking his head like a disappointed schoolmaster. "Now, now… let me elaborate back at the lair."
Back in Glendale, Officer Boxter Hamdon pulled into the lot outside the city's police department HQ. As he stepped out, his partner, Officer Jeb Wackerman, approached, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey, Boxter," the ginger-haired officer greeted. "How's Guy doing?"
Boxter sighed as they walked together toward their cruiser.
"Same as usual," he said wearily. "I'm worried about the kid, Jeb. I don't think he trusts me."
"Well, they say being a cop is tough on the home front. Especially with teenagers." Jeb pointed out.
Boxter shook his head. "It's not just that. With Kelly, yeah, I can feel the pushback—but she still sees me as her dad. With Guy? It's like he's carrying something he thinks I'll hate him for if he tells me."
Wackerman rubbed his scruffy chin, hesitant. "Are you sure he's…?"
"I'm his father, Jeb. I know him." Hamdon's voice came firm—then softened. "Or… I hope I do. But I can't think of anything he'd be this afraid to hide from me."
Wackerman gave a sideways look as they reached the cruiser. "Not a lot of cops are as… open-minded as you, Boxter."
Boxter opened the driver's door, then paused with one hand on the frame. "It's not about being open-minded. It's about being a dad. He needs to know that whatever it is… I'm still a safe place he can turn to."
As Jeb climbed into the passenger side, a guttural engine roar ripped through the lot. Both officers turned in time to see an unmarked police interceptor screech around the corner, tires screaming.
It almost clipped their cruiser as it skidded into the adjacent spot. The driver's side door slammed open—crashing into the passenger side of their car with a resounding thunk.
Out stormed Tara Bouger, fury carved into every inch of her face.
She didn't even glance their way as she slammed her door shut and marched toward HQ on a warpath.
There was a beat of silence.
Jeb blinked. "… Did you see that?"
Boxter scratched his head. "Yeah. What's got her pissed off?"
Back in Echo Creek, the Magnavores returned to the crypt in a great burst of flame, Vexor gliding ahead of them on his effortless steps towards the sarcophagus.
"In all things, power begets authority."
As Vexor spoke, Tara's brisk walk through the front lobby of the Glendale Police HQ sent officers scrambling for their lives to get clear of her path, lest they experience her wrath.
With fire burning in her eyes, the woman made a sharp left and headed towards stairs leading down to the basement of the building.
"Those who hold power, must hold it absolutely, and unchallenged. Any force that dares challenge authority must be suppressed."
Reaching into the breast pocket of her suit, Tara whipped out a key card and held it to a scanner at an innocuous enough-looking door in the basement. With a confirming chime, it opened, and Tara stepped out of a suburban police department basement and into a concrete and steel gray and white corridor with a chill in the air that caused her breath to come from her lips like a jet of steam.
"If it is not suppressed, it must be taken."
As her heels clicked down the cold corridor, Tara peeled off her jacket and tossed it aside, revealing the black sweater she wore beneath, before throwing the key card lanyard over her head and around her neck.
The hallway opened into a large, rectangular room with a reinforced circular pad at the center beneath a pair of large double sliding doors directly above it.
"And if it is not taken…"
Directly across the pad, a large cylindrical chamber dominated the room. Made of solid, dense metal, faced with solid double doors, it loomed above Tara, nearly touching the high ceiling of the cold room.
Grabbing her keycard, she pressed her thumb against a sensor on it, and with a hiss and expulsion of super-cooled air, the chamber slowly opened to reveal a large humanoid figure contained within.
"… It must be destroyed."
Inside was a suit of powered armor: a black bodysuit reinforced with heavy green plating across the chest, shoulders, and legs. Its featureless helm sat beneath a dome of yellow-green transparent shielding, with thick hoses connecting its backpack to a pair of forearm-carried beam launchers—square, blocky, and deadly.
Barla gasped. "I understand! By making us appear incompetent and ineffectual, you are challenging the Beetleborgs and their allies to justify what they are doing!"
Jara nodded, realization dawning on her. "Surely someone in power is asking why these children are given free rein to fight unchecked, causing so much destruction… when the authorities alone should be capable of dealing with the problem."
"However," Barla brought up, "What if the authorities do not want to stop the Beetleborgs?"
Noxic folded his arms. "Yeah, what if they just turn around and decide to just leave us to the kids?"
Vexor chuckled.
"Because pride will not allow it."
Standing in the center of the launch pad, wearing the bodysuit and lower half of her armor with her arms held out and fingers pointed at the walls, Tara held perfectly still as large mechanical arms moved the upper components of the armor to lock over her chest, hands, and back.
"For the heaven-sent boon those children are—there is no doubt someone who will not be rendered a supporting character on their stage."
He lowered his hand. "Because there always is."
Beneath her helmet, Tara looked up through the transparent dome of her helmet as the doors above her head slowly opened to reveal the clear sky over the LA Metro area.
He turned to Barla. "You've worked with authorities. How often have they felt humiliated by your prowess—enough to even turn against you?"
Barla sneered. "Too many times, I've come to expect it."
Jara nodded. "Quite."
"Yeah, even I've seen it, baby," Typhus lamented.
"I haven't," Noxic said.
Vexor wasn't surprised, as he waved his hand and opened the lid to his sarcophagus.
"It is the same concept. There is always someone in a position of power who will feel threatened by something outside of their control… and that insecurity will be the bane of those children."
As soon as they grew wide enough, Tara crouched down and leaped as her thrusters ignited—blasting her off into the air. Her rocket-like ascent sent her into the clear sky, causing both Boxter and Jeb to look up in surprise as she ascended.
Back in his bedroom, Guy Hamdon gasped as his She-SP went off once again, and he transformed into SheZow.
"… What now?" He griped.
Reaching inside the sarcophagus, Vexor pulled out a comic book. It wasn't, however, a Beetleborgs comic.
It was a Batman comic, an older one. Volume 1: Issue 497.
Turning it over in his hand, he spoke.
"Then, I will simply… break them."
Work smarter, not harder, and whenever possible... let someone else do the work.
And this, too.
= - = 9-6 = - =
|Vexor's Drumbeat|
|Vexor's Drumbeat|
Jara did not know how far she traveled.
Sometimes it was a slow, aimless walk. Other times, she leapt with all her might, flinging herself across the strange sub-dimension of endless discarded metal. Always in a straight line. Always away from Noxic's workshop.
After the humiliation with Barla—after so many piled-up indignities—she didn't just want to escape. She needed to. Some primal instinct compelled her to move, to keep going until the world itself changed.
She hadn't expected it to.
But then, it did.
Without warning, the scrap-covered terrain ended. One more step and she would have walked into the void.
She froze at the cliff's edge. Beneath her was a massive drop, thousands—maybe tens of thousands—of feet straight down into a vast, deep-blue ocean.
Jara blinked in disbelief.
Rising from that water were structures—skyscrapers—countless rectangular towers jutting from the sea like broken fingers.
Some stood alone; others clustered at impossible angles. A few loomed so tall they rose past the cliff where she stood, despite leaning like drunkards toward the abyss.
She was so far above it that she could not even hear the massive waves crashing against concrete bones or the cliff face below.
Jara took a step back, unsettled.
Her voice broke the silence. "...What is this place?"
Another voice answered, calm and amused.
"Fascinating," said Vexor. "So there is more to this place than heaps of scrap metal."
She spun, weapon already drawn, beam blade igniting with a threatening hum.
Vexor regarded her coolly, his posture open, hands behind his back like a curious lecturer.
"None of that, Jara," he said, mildly.
Her grip trembled.
After a long breath, she powered the blade down.
"Thank you."
Vexor extended a hand to her. "Jara, I believe it's time we had a discussion about your recent performance."
Jara stared at him, sword lowered. Her mask betrayed no expression, but the slight tilt of her head—just enough to seem off-balance—made her confusion plain.
"… What?"
Vexor didn't flinch. "Only a fool would miss the obvious. You haven't been well since our arrival. Your defeats at the hands of the Butterfly and her allies have stirred something unsightly. And the loss of Saberizer has unbalanced you. You've turned from operational objectives toward personal vendettas. From discipline to desperation."
He gestured to the vast, lonely expanse around them. "Even now, in a pivotal moment, you've removed yourself from the battlefield. Grief and doubt have made you unreliable—as a warrior, and as a leader."
Jara tensed. Her grip on her hilt tightened as the old fury flared to life. But the outburst never came.
Deep down, she knew he was right. She had fled—hoping to find some kind of absolution out in this surreal nowhere. But she hadn't found peace.
Vexor stepped forward. "So. With that in mind… do you want to talk about it?"
Jara stared, struggling to process the question. Since when did Vexor pretend to care?
Before she could answer, another voice cut in. "Jara."
She turned with a start.
Barla stood there, and behind her—battered from their continuous harassment of Echo Creek but standing—were Typhus and Noxic.
"Barla…" Jara said, focusing on her close comrade.
"I didn't consider that you might've been struggling when I confronted you before," Barla admitted in a calm, measured voice. "For what it's worth… I apologize. I spoke without understanding. And I want to."
"Yeah," Noxic chimed in. "You've been kinda… off, lately. Talk to us, will ya?"
"What's goin' on, baby?" Typhus asked, his tone lacking its braggadocio.
Jara looked at all three of them, then back at Vexor. They were concerned for her.
Well, certainly not Vexor. Her close friends, however…?
She lowered her head, eyes tracing the broken gray dirt under her boots. Then, after a deep breath, she exhaled slowly.
"… I've fought a Butterfly before," she said at last.
That surprised even Vexor. "You have…?"
He paused. Then his voice took a darker, more thoughtful edge. "…I see. Then your hatred… your aggression… it isn't just recent."
Barla blinked in confusion. "When was this? I'd remember something like that…"
"It was long, long ago," Jara replied. Her voice softened, distant. "Before we hunted the Black Star Eater—the one whose hide you now wear as armor."
Barla's brow furrowed, then relaxed in understanding. "Ah… I see."
"That was ages ago, then," Noxic said, scratching at his half-repaired torso. "Back when you still hung out with your mercenary crew, right?"
"I couldn't even begin to count the years," Jara murmured.
She looked up, as if searching the fog of memory. "It was after the first time you and I parted ways, Barla—when I sent you, Iluba, Hidra, and Gorgodal off on your own. While you forged your path, I took on a contract. Saberizer, Zaiking, Bardas, our squads, and I were hired by none other than…"
She looked back at them.
"… The Lord of Nightmares himself."
The reaction was instant.
Barla stiffened, her hand resting near her blade on reflex.
Typhus took a full step back, eyes wide. "Hold up—Jara, you worked for Nukus?!"
Noxic looked like he'd swallowed a live sparkplug. "When was that?! You mean Nukus Nukus? The Dinosaur Warrior Nukus?! Final Boss, Endgame with No Continues Nukus?!"
Only Vexor remained still. He watched her carefully, curiously.
"I am literally telling you!" Jara snapped, before catching herself and reining in her tone. "We owed no allegiance to the Lord of Nightmares. We were mercenaries—nothing more. Paid to do a job, bound by contract."
She took a slow breath, fingers tightening on her sword.
"Our mission was simple, in theory: eliminate the guardian of the realm Nukus wanted for himself."
She shut her eyes behind the mask, her voice thick with a bitterness none of them had heard before. "She was distracted, already fending off the invasion. We were meant to strike then, with all our might."
"So basically," Noxic said, trying to ease the tension, "the most important mission in this whole war. No pressure."
"We were expected to do well, but we were not prepared for what we faced." Jara's grim But Jara's next words cut through his levity like a blade.
"We weren't prepared."
Her mind flooded with the memory again. That light—too intense to be called radiance. A sunless brilliance that cast shadows like obsidian blades across the ground. The smell of stone dust and seared metal. Her comrades, frozen mid-charge, eyes wide, limbs still locked in motion—
The smile on her enemy's face.
The wand raised like judgment itself.
"There wasn't a battle," she said, voice low and bitter. "There was only a spell."
Her grip on her blade turned white-knuckled.
"Gorgon's Sun."
She bowed her head, trembling.
"In a flash, those who stared too long were turned to stone. Even those who ran were caught if they looked back even slightly. One moment they were beside me, the next—statues.."
She paused, jaw tightening.
"We ran for our lives. Of the dozens with us, barely a handful escaped."
She looked up at last, her eyes burning behind the mask.
"And all because we were told nothing of what we were facing. Only that she 'used magic.' No name. No history. No warning."
Her next words came through clenched teeth.
"And then… what Nukus did after…"
She stopped herself. Rage surged through her like fire in a forge.
"I have wanted nothing but revenge against that magic, against that woman. Since I have learned what it was… I have sworn it against the Butterfly girl."
Barla lowered her head. A grim realization settled over her. "… That's why you were alone when we reunited for the Hunt."
She met Jara's gaze, stricken. "I thought you'd simply moved on from the others. I didn't realize you'd… lost them."
She nodded. "When I spoke of Iluba and Zaiking joining us… I lied…"
Barla's eyes widened with the weight of understanding. "…Only you and Saberizer made it out."
Jara nodded grimly. "Zaiking turned to stone under the Gorgon's Sun… and Iluba…"
Barla's voice darkened. "Nukus."
"Yes," Jara said, her voice tight. "Cut down as I escaped with Saberizer and the few comrades we had left."
Silence fell after that, heavy with old pain.
Typhus stepped forward, his massive red clawed hand resting gently on Jara's shoulder. "You don't gotta keep this stuff all bottled up. We've been buddies forever, through good times and bad. If something's got you down, we'll be there to lift you up, baby!"
Noxic jumped in, gesturing to Vexor. "Yeah! That jerk may only want you patched up so you can go bust heads for him, but we just want our badass buddy back to her old butt-kicking self!"
Vexor said nothing. Perhaps wisely.
Barla stepped in close. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around Jara and pulled her into a tight hug.
The gesture surprised Jara, and she stood stiff in her arms.
"Nothing else needs to be said, Jara. You needn't run from your pain any longer, or suffer it alone. Let us fight together, and lay these demons to rest."
For a moment, Jara remained still, before her posture softened. The tension melted from her shoulders as she returned the hug.
"… Barla… Noxic… Typhus…" Her voice was steady, no longer trembling. "… Thank you."
Jara stepped back and looked at the three figures before her—the only ones who truly meant something to her in this world. The weight she carried was still there… but now it felt lighter, more bearable. Her pain had been acknowledged, and more than that—her burden was shared.
"I will not falter again," she declared.
Then, with a sudden flare of resolve, she thrust her fist high above her head. "We shall overcome our enemies and claim the wealth and glory of conquest!"
"Yeah, that's it!" Noxic whooped, pumping a fist of his own.
"I'm with you one hundred percent, baby!" Typhus said, throwing both fists into the air.
Barla gave a rare, genuine smile, proud to see Jara's fire rekindled. "As expected of you, Jara."
Even Vexor looked impressed—at least, as much as his rigid, expressionless face could allow. "Outstanding, all of you."
His praise got everyone's attention.
"Now that our merry band is reunited," he said, clasping his clawed hands together, "we can begin preparations for the next step."
Jara turned to the others, curiosity in her voice. "What have I missed?"
"A lot!" Noxic answered immediately. "After Barla threw down with those Beetle kids, Vexor started chucking me and Typhus at 'em like it was some kinda tag-team match."
"And we were the ones getting tag-teamed, baby," Typhus added.
Jara scowled, that aforementioned fire rising. "Then that ends now. I'll go and—"
"No," Vexor interrupted, raising a hand.
She paused, turning sharply to him. "Why not? What are you planning?"
Barla folded her arms. "He hasn't told us. In fact, he tasked me with finding you instead of joining the current assault."
Vexor's claws clicked softly as the chitinous creature brought his hands together in a gracious, placating gesture. "If you will… allow me to explain my method."
Vexor raised one hand as he lowered the other, a dramatic gesture both theatrical and commanding.
"Originally," he began, his voice calm and deliberate, "my plan was simple: deploy all four of you to spread chaos, instill fear, and—most importantly—erode the public's trust in the children calling themselves heroes. The disillusionment of their game was to be the weapon that cut them down."
He turned his raised hand palm-up, as if offering a gift—or a challenge.
"But," he continued, "as it turns out… these children are not the deluded fools we presumed them to be. They're adaptable, resourceful, and… most importantly… a considerable threat."
Jara clenched her fists but kept silent. Typhus growled low in his throat. Noxic twitched with visible irritation.
"So," Vexor said, his tone now silk-gloved steel, "a different tactic is required."
He paused. Let the silence weigh on his subordinates. Then, made his grand declaration:
"We shall no longer terrorize them. Instead—we shall show the world how easily we are defeated… and achieve victory by losing every battle."
For a moment, silence.
Then:
"WHAT?!"
The shout came from all four of them in perfect unison—Jara, Barla, Typhus, and Noxic—staring at Vexor as though he'd grown a second head.
Vexor tutted softly, shaking his head like a disappointed schoolmaster. "Now, now… let me elaborate back at the lair."
@@@@@
Back in Glendale, Officer Boxter Hamdon pulled into the lot outside the city's police department HQ. As he stepped out, his partner, Officer Jeb Wackerman, approached, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey, Boxter," the ginger-haired officer greeted. "How's Guy doing?"
Boxter sighed as they walked together toward their cruiser.
"Same as usual," he said wearily. "I'm worried about the kid, Jeb. I don't think he trusts me."
"Well, they say being a cop is tough on the home front. Especially with teenagers." Jeb pointed out.
Boxter shook his head. "It's not just that. With Kelly, yeah, I can feel the pushback—but she still sees me as her dad. With Guy? It's like he's carrying something he thinks I'll hate him for if he tells me."
Wackerman rubbed his scruffy chin, hesitant. "Are you sure he's…?"
"I'm his father, Jeb. I know him." Hamdon's voice came firm—then softened. "Or… I hope I do. But I can't think of anything he'd be this afraid to hide from me."
Wackerman gave a sideways look as they reached the cruiser. "Not a lot of cops are as… open-minded as you, Boxter."
Boxter opened the driver's door, then paused with one hand on the frame. "It's not about being open-minded. It's about being a dad. He needs to know that whatever it is… I'm still a safe place he can turn to."
As Jeb climbed into the passenger side, a guttural engine roar ripped through the lot. Both officers turned in time to see an unmarked police interceptor screech around the corner, tires screaming.
It almost clipped their cruiser as it skidded into the adjacent spot. The driver's side door slammed open—crashing into the passenger side of their car with a resounding thunk.
Out stormed Tara Bouger, fury carved into every inch of her face.
She didn't even glance their way as she slammed her door shut and marched toward HQ on a warpath.
There was a beat of silence.
Jeb blinked. "… Did you see that?"
Boxter scratched his head. "Yeah. What's got her pissed off?"
Back in Echo Creek, the Magnavores returned to the crypt in a great burst of flame, Vexor gliding ahead of them on his effortless steps towards the sarcophagus.
"In all things, power begets authority."
As Vexor spoke, Tara's brisk walk through the front lobby of the Glendale Police HQ sent officers scrambling for their lives to get clear of her path, lest they experience her wrath.
With fire burning in her eyes, the woman made a sharp left and headed towards stairs leading down to the basement of the building.
"Those who hold power, must hold it absolutely, and unchallenged. Any force that dares challenge authority must be suppressed."
Reaching into the breast pocket of her suit, Tara whipped out a key card and held it to a scanner at an innocuous enough-looking door in the basement. With a confirming chime, it opened, and Tara stepped out of a suburban police department basement and into a concrete and steel gray and white corridor with a chill in the air that caused her breath to come from her lips like a jet of steam.
"If it is not suppressed, it must be taken."
As her heels clicked down the cold corridor, Tara peeled off her jacket and tossed it aside, revealing the black sweater she wore beneath, before throwing the key card lanyard over her head and around her neck.
The hallway opened into a large, rectangular room with a reinforced circular pad at the center beneath a pair of large double sliding doors directly above it.
"And if it is not taken…"
Directly across the pad, a large cylindrical chamber dominated the room. Made of solid, dense metal, faced with solid double doors, it loomed above Tara, nearly touching the high ceiling of the cold room.
Grabbing her keycard, she pressed her thumb against a sensor on it, and with a hiss and expulsion of super-cooled air, the chamber slowly opened to reveal a large humanoid figure contained within.
"… It must be destroyed."
Inside was a suit of powered armor: a black bodysuit reinforced with heavy green plating across the chest, shoulders, and legs. Its featureless helm sat beneath a dome of yellow-green transparent shielding, with thick hoses connecting its backpack to a pair of forearm-carried beam launchers—square, blocky, and deadly.
Barla gasped. "I understand! By making us appear incompetent and ineffectual, you are challenging the Beetleborgs and their allies to justify what they are doing!"
Jara nodded, realization dawning on her. "Surely someone in power is asking why these children are given free rein to fight unchecked, causing so much destruction… when the authorities alone should be capable of dealing with the problem."
"However," Barla brought up, "What if the authorities do not want to stop the Beetleborgs?"
Noxic folded his arms. "Yeah, what if they just turn around and decide to just leave us to the kids?"
Vexor chuckled.
"Because pride will not allow it."
Standing in the center of the launch pad, wearing the bodysuit and lower half of her armor with her arms held out and fingers pointed at the walls, Tara held perfectly still as large mechanical arms moved the upper components of the armor to lock over her chest, hands, and back.
"For the heaven-sent boon those children are—there is no doubt someone who will not be rendered a supporting character on their stage."
He lowered his hand. "Because there always is."
Beneath her helmet, Tara looked up through the transparent dome of her helmet as the doors above her head slowly opened to reveal the clear sky over the LA Metro area.
He turned to Barla. "You've worked with authorities. How often have they felt humiliated by your prowess—enough to even turn against you?"
Barla sneered. "Too many times, I've come to expect it."
Jara nodded. "Quite."
"Yeah, even I've seen it, baby," Typhus lamented.
"I haven't," Noxic said.
Vexor wasn't surprised, as he waved his hand and opened the lid to his sarcophagus.
"It is the same concept. There is always someone in a position of power who will feel threatened by something outside of their control… and that insecurity will be the bane of those children."
As soon as they grew wide enough, Tara crouched down and leaped as her thrusters ignited—blasting her off into the air. Her rocket-like ascent sent her into the clear sky, causing both Boxter and Jeb to look up in surprise as she ascended.
Back in his bedroom, Guy Hamdon gasped as his She-SP went off once again, and he transformed into SheZow.
"… What now?" He griped.
Reaching inside the sarcophagus, Vexor pulled out a comic book. It wasn't, however, a Beetleborgs comic.
It was a Batman comic, an older one. Volume 1: Issue 497.
Turning it over in his hand, he spoke.
"Then, I will simply… break them."
= - = 9-6 = - =
Work smarter, not harder, and whenever possible... let someone else do the work.
Last edited:
Delta/Soul
Versed in the lewd.
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Just to clarify for myself, are NSFW questions allowed in this thread, @The Ero-Sennin ?
The Ero-Sennin
Shitposter no more
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