Nuklear Age (31 page)

__________

Alex Halo read a recently purchased roleplaying game book while sitting on a shaded bench outside the Religion Department. He was a pale kid. He looked a little shorter than he actually was due to a lifelong habit of reading, writing, and slouching. His Philosopher’s Hunch, as he liked to call it. He took a sip of of Dr. Zap and focused his attention across the grassy courtyard in front of him. Atomik Lad’s battle raged in the distance. “Well, that’s interesting,” he said. “Looks like our resident hero could use a little help.” He set the RPG book and Dr. Zap can under his bench, in the seat’s own shadow which, as Alex removed his hand, darkened until the items were blanketed in a patch of inconspicuous night. He dashed into the nearest Men’s room while cursing himself one more time for still not having thought of a better way to get into character.

__________

Katkat slept soundly while wrapped around Nuklear Man’s empty cereal Danger: Bowl on the Danger: Kitchen Table. The Hero himself slept soundly in the impact crater he’d wedged into the Danger: Roof. But then Gravity, tired of being one-upped by Nuklear Man, threw him to the Danger: Floor. His Danger: Chair shattered to splinters under his invincible frame.

Katkat was undisturbed.

Nuklear Man rose groggily. “Stupid gravity, your days are numbered,” he muttered.

Katkat wriggled in his sleep. Nuklear Man cooed.

Until the Danger: Danger alarm sounded!

“Aww, nuts.”

__________

Atomik Lad scurried across the verdant lawns of the University of Metroville. He scurried, not in the typical manner of scurrying, not with the slightest sign of frolicking, nor even a hint of gallivanting, or an air of traipsing for that matter. Nay, for Atomik Lad did scurry only in fear. And what did Atomik Lad fear? Probably the freaky Derivative Slam onslaught that had been harrying him relentlessly for minutes, each invisible blast of force more mighty than the last. He dodged, ducked, zigged, leapt, zagged, double-backed, rolled, ran—and at this moment—scurried to avoid the continuous attacks which were never more than a foot away as they blast consecutively larger craters into the ground and walls of nearby campus buildings.

Dr. Calculus and Dr. Grammar merely sat on an undamaged picnic bench and watched their handiwork wear down Atomik Lad.

“Ooh, that was a close one.”

“I didn’t think he’d last this long.”

“He’s good at what he—ouch, that looked painful.”

Atomik Lad spun from a grazing impact but gathered his senses and took to the sky before the next blast could catch him. He could feel the air behind him pushing against his Field. Ignoring several laws of motion, he shot ninety degrees to the right and swore he left his skeleton behind. His Field twitched like tree leaves in a gust of wind as the blast rushed past him.

“He looks tired.”

“Yup. Won’t be long now.”

“Oh, but I think it’ll be quite a while, actually,” a voice similar to Alex Halo’s said from behind them.

“Not too long, I hope. I’ve got a class in an hour,” Dr. Grammar noted.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You said it’ll take a while.”

“No,
you
did.”

“Argh. No,
I
did!” the sorta-Alex-sounding voice said.

“Oh,” the Doctors said in unison. They turned their backs to Atomik Lad’s plight, blinked exactly once at the mysterious figure behind them, and jumped from their bench in horror.

“Geez, you guys are bad at this,” the sorta-Alex-looking owner of the sorta-Alex-sounding voice said.

“Ah ha! This is a demonstra—”

“Wait, Grammar. We’ve got to have our witty banter/quipping session with the hero before we defeat him.”

Dr. Grammar scratched his head. “He’s a hero?”

“I think so. Look at how he’s dressed.”

“Yes, I’m a damn hero! I am The Hierophant!”

“Goofy name.”

“Goofy
lookin’
too.”

Halo wore a long, dark brown double-breasted trench coat buttoned to the top, a pair of leather gloves, and old style tinted motorcycle goggles. A pair of ordinary blue jeans and sneakers peaked from under the coat. “Hey, I’ve got a budget to work with here, and—hold it! I don’t have to explain myself to you gimps. You’re the goofy looking ones here. You don’t even
have
a costume and you, what shade of green
is
that? Hideous?”

“That’s it. I’m takin’ you out!” Dr. Grammar announced dramatically. The heavens bellowed and another wave pulsed from the Sinister Syntaxian.

It passed over Hierophant without any ill effects.

“Um?” Dr. Grammar said.

“I’m already ‘out’ as in ‘outside,’” Hierophant said. “Now then, are you two done yet?”

“Grrr, I’ll show you!” Dr. Calculus said as his neon green circuitry suit glowed all weird.

“Look, Lime Lyncher, or whatever. You don’t actually say ‘Grrr.’”

At that moment, Nuklear Death Rained From Above! Nuklear Man, being a firm believer in his own credo “Think get in way of action!” invaded the scene by zooming down upon Dr. Calculus at several times the speed of sound while delivering a mountain-shattering punch to the Malevolent Mathematician. The fist-to-face impact resounded like a cannon blast. However, the situation didn’t play out as the Hero had intended. Nuklear Man was frozen, his mighty Nuklear Fist pressed against Dr. Calculus’s cheek, his Nuklear Face crumpled with Nuklear Pain. The target of his violence brushed him aside with a wave of his hand. Nuklear Man toppled like a political regime.

“You see, as long as my Calculus Drive is engaged, nothing can touch me, but rather only come infinitely close to touching me.” Dr. Calculus expositioned

“Thanks,” Halo said. “Now that I know how to defeat you—”

“Stand aside, oddly be-garbed citizen,” Nuklear Man commanded. “I shall render this villain thwarted, post haste.”

Halo sighed and stepped aside.

Nuklear Man released a volley of punches, elbows, face slams, kicks, back-fists—many of which were spinning—hammerblows, haymakers, one smackdown and two Tibetan Death Pinches, but Dr. Calculus stood defiant and unaffected.

Huffing and puffing, Nuklear Man stumbled back and stood next to Hierophant. “Well,” the Hero admitted, “I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Hierophant grumbled. Atomik Lad raced by, barely avoiding a series of invisible force blasts that left craters large enough to cover a Buick. “
Argh
, help for the love of God,
help!”
Atomik Lad howled as he zoomed past them.

“Maybe you should help out your sidekick there?” Hierophant suggested.

“Naw, he can handle it. He’s smarter than he looks,” Nuklear Man said.

“Ahem,” Dr. Grammar said. “Remember us? We’re still on the rampage, you know.”

“Bah! Nuke smash!”

Dr. Grammar posed. “That wasn’t a sentence!” Another reality warping bubble and dramatic thunder effects expanded from him.

The wave passed over Nuklear Man just as he was about to commence the smashing. But then he missed. Dr. Grammar smiled deviously as Nuklear Man’s storm of offensive maneuvers never quite hit him.

Nuklear Man, woozy from all the exertion, collapsed.

“Well,
that
was easy,” Dr. Grammar said.

“I bet we’ll get a lot more scholarship money if we kill
both
of them,” Dr. Calculus said.

Hierophant tapped his foot. “Stop talking!”

Dr. Grammar took on his pose once more “That was a phrase which contained no subject and was therefore not a complete thought!” Another wave radiated from the not-so-good doctor.

Hierophant jumped back and retaliated with, “The subject was the understood ‘you,’ thus it was a complete thought and a valid sentence!”

The wave bounced off Hierophant and raced back to its origin. Dr. Grammar stood, dumbfounded as his own attack washed over him. “That wasn’t fair!” he mouthed soundlessly. “Oh no.” His mute words were powerless. “My mute words are powerless!”

Hierophant shoved the whimpering Dr. Grammar to the ground and approached Dr. Calculus. “You’re next.”

“Ooh, I’m shakin’. I’m
so
scared of the Goggled Goon. Oh no, I’ve been vanquished by a reject from a pulp comic, whatever shall I do?”

“You done yet?”

“Hmm, let me think—Derivative Slam!” Dr. Calculus announced along with a tap to Hierophant’s left shoulder.

They stood motionless, arms crossed, each looking as smug as possible.

“You just don’t know what you’re in for, four-eyes,” Dr. Calculus taunted haughtily.

“Actually, I do,” Hierophant responded at least as haughtily.

A series of invisible blows were launched against Dr. Calculus.

The Malevolent Mathematician avoided his own Derivative Slam technique with far less grace or competence than Atomik Lad. After being hammered into the ground, Dr. Calculus shut off his Calculus Drive, which finally abated the constant barrage of attacks to both him and Atomik Lad.

Atomik Lad dropped like a piano right in front of the victorious Hierophant. His Atomik Field fizzled away. He panted heavily whilst laying in the battered lawn. “H-how’d you...?”

Hierophant leaned down. “You know I can direct and transmute most kinds of energy. I just turned the kinetic force of that Derivative thing against him. As for Doc Grammar, he made a tactical error.” He scanned the area quickly. Nuke appeared to be rousing, as were the interests of students who had taken cover in the melee. “You two can take credit if you want. The spotlight’s never been my bag, you know.”

Atomik Lad nodded while gulping for air. “Just...as soon as...I can...stand.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Alex,” Atomik Lad wheezed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. And I suggest hurrying up. You’ll be late to class.” Hierophant dashed back to the Men’s room while cursing himself for not having yet thought of a better way to get
out
of character.

Nuklear Man sat up and took in the area. Both evil doctors and Atomik Lad were on the ground, on their backs, and badly beaten. “Wow, I’m so good, I defeated everyone without even knowing it!” He kissed his biceps. “Awww yeah.”

__________

Issue 26 – Back to School

Atomik Lad sat in his usual desk, back row, aisle seat, in his Political Theory class. Luckily, his proximity to the door had let him slip into the large auditorium without drawing too much undue attention to himself for being a bit late. Professor Volcano, the course’s eccentric instructor, hated tardiness.

“Pssst, what’s the answer to number twelve?” someone next to him whispered.

Atomik Lad buried his face in his hands and moaned quietly.

“Sheesh. Does this Tabasco guy ever shut up? He acts like he’s in charge around here,” the voice continued.

“Nuke,” Atomik Lad whispered back. “I agreed to bring you along only after you promised not to be bothersome.”

“I’m not being bothersome, I feel fine.”

“I bet you do.”

“But that guy down there just keeps going on and on and on and on and on and on and on—”

“I get it.”

“I just wanted you to get an idea of how he keeps talking and talking and talking and talking—”

“All
right!”
Atomik Lad said a little too loud.

“You don’t have to bite my head off. Sheesh, Sparky. Maybe we should cut the caffeine out of your diet.”

“Just be quiet.”

“I am being quiet. I haven’t said a word the whole time I’ve been here. I’ve been completely silent, without comment, null communicato, sans linguisitica—”

“
Enough!”
Atomik Lad said far too loud.

“Well, Mr. Atomik Lad,” Dr. Volcano said. “I appreciate your intolerance for the violence inherent in the transfer of power in communist regimes, but this material will be on the next test so I suggest you cope with it.”

Atomik Lad, thoroughly humbled and embarrassed, meekly replied, “Er, y-yes sir.”

“Heh. He yelled at you,” Nuklear Man said.

“Shut up. Just. Shut.
Up.”

“Like I was saying before, I haven’t said a single solitary word the whole time I’ve been sitting here. I’ve been so quiet you’d think I was nothing more than an eensy weensy teeny weeny itty bitty little insignificant molecule floating harmlessly around the universe.”

“Why me?”

“Which is exactly what I’d want you to think—”

“Erg.”

“—in order to lull you into a false sense of security. And then, when the planets align in accordance to the Three Veils of Negative Existence, the Time of Nuklear Reckoning will be upon us and that innocent little molecule will sneak up behind another little molecule and enact the Ritual of Binding thereby setting off such an immense show of power that the world will bow before me for all time!”

Atomik Lad set his head on his books and hit himself in the temple repeatedly. But he was quiet about it.

__________

Meanwhile, inside the currently uninhabited Silo of Solitude, oddness was afoot. Pookaboo the Fubar doll, which looked exactly as if it had been engineered to be the cutest thing in existence, waddled around. Upon further examination, Pookaboo’s cuteness took on a horribly tainted quality, like it had been sculpted by hands trying to recreate cuteness based on a sketchy second-hand description of it. Even so, stores were in a constant state of demand for the li’l fuzzballs. They were this season’s It-toy.

Dr. Menace scanned the “Project: CUTE” hardcopy resting on her Evil: Computer Console. “Ztupid henchrobotz,” she spat while flinging the report into the handy and nearby Evil: Disentigrationizer. “They are so incompetent, even with the trinary quantum processors.”

She turned her attention back to her trademark oversized computer screen. It currently featured Evil: Fubar-vision. Her lithe fingers wrapped around a joystick, her eyes squinted as she contemplated the brilliance of her latest plan: the development of the abhorrently cute Fubar doll. It was marketed as a toy that could interact and learn with its owner. In reality, each Fubar doll was a satellite of evil sent into the homes of would-be innocents to indoctrinate them into the laws of Menace’s inevitable global domination using a mode of speech slightly more nauseating than baby-talk. And since the Fubars Evil: Propaganda Delivery System relied entirely on the gullibility and stupidity of consumers, it had been a monumental success. As she moved the joystick, her drone Fubar doll moved accordingly throughout the empty and unguarded Silo exactly as planned.