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#23: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Secret Meetings, Hidden Agendas Sunday, 03-Oct-1999 05:42:42
#23: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Secret Meetings, Hidden Agendas The Dread Lord of the Dreary Dimension had fallen, and now his dark throne shattered in a suitably dramatic manner. “Ow!” complained Exile as one of the obsidian chips bounced off his head. “That hurts.” “Shut up, dude,” ManMan advised him. “We’re at ground zero of the occult battle of the century. Mefrothto, prince of fibs is about to go one on one with Xander, master of the mystic crafts. This is going to be one for the history books.” “Great!” Falcon enthused sarcastically. “I could get behind that except for the ground zero bit.” “Don’t worry,” Visionary assured the younger heroes. “I’m sure that this Xander the Improbable wouldn’t face of against a lord of the abyss unless he had all the power he needed to send him packing.” Troia held her hand up. “Has anyone actually ever seen Xander like, cast an actual spell, by the way?” “We’re dead!” ManMan sighed. Across the vast dark tower room, the huge crimson form of Mefrothto towered over the diminutive dusty red-robed Xander the Improbable. The Improbable part just now seemed to refer to his survival chances. “Are you ready, pretender to the role of sorcerer supreme?” Mefrothto sneered. “If you have fully recovered from being beaten by spiffy last time,” the mage shrugged. “Let us commence the Game of Worlds. My champion stands ready.” “His champion?” Visionary puzzled, looking behind himself to see who Xander was pointing act. There was nobody behind him. “Wait a minute, there must be some mistake here...” The other heroes present had helpfully fanned apart so there was no doubt whom the improbable master of the mystic crafts was gesturing to. “I think you’re wanted,” Falcon told him helpfully. “Wait a minute,” Exile objected. “This is Visionary we’re talking about. The fate of the world might depend upon this.” The young hero swallowed hard and stepped forward. “Xander, if you need a champion… well, at least I have some powers.” “I need a champion who is native to the world he defends,” Xander shot back. “Thank you anyway. Come here, possibly fake man.” “I amnative to the… I mean, I must be… I… hey, what do you mean not native?” “I hate it when Xander does that to people,” muttered Troia. She still hadn’t located her brother yet. “I’m real, dammit,” Visionary objected, but he found himself walking forwards to join Mefrothto and Xander in the dramatic circle of reddish light that was cast by the now-sealed portal to the realm of Ausgard. “Cup your hands,” the mage instructed him. Rummaging down into his red mantle Xander pulled out a pickled herring, a half-eaten bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, a French/Lithuanian dictionary, a yo-yo with a man’s face on one side and a woman’s on the other, a crystal key, a dog whistle, and finally, a stick of chalk. He stuffed all the rest back into his coat but flourished the chalk at the demon lord. “By all means, begin your tedious Game,” Mefrothto sighed. “If you win, I shall refrain from exploiting the weaknesses this recent invasion has caused to set in motion my Hell on Earth scenario. If you do not win, then I am free to go ahead and implement it. Agreed?” “Agreed,” Xander answered. He knelt down to the obsidian floor and drew two parallel lines with the chalk. He then drew two more parallel lines crossing them at right angles. “I claim the first move,” Mefrothto hissed. With one scarlet fingernail he carved a cross in the middle of the three by three grid and leaned back waiting for Visionary to make his move. “Wait a minute,” the possibly fake man objected, looking down at the familiar drawing before him. Please tell me I don’t have to put an O somewhere.” “I can see you’ve played the Game of Worlds before,” Xander observed. “What, you’d prefer to take him on at chess? Or in a fight?” Troia whispered to him. “Good point,” Visionary admitted, scribing a circle in the top right hand corner. Mefrothto placed his cross in the bottom right hand square. Visionary had to take the top left hand box. Now Mefothto was forced to fill the middle top space, which in turn compelled Vizh to use the middle bottom one. “This is going to be a stalemate,” muttered Knifey, ManMan’s sentient blade. “This contest could go on for a loooong time,” Falcon admitted. Mefrothto scored in the middle right hand square. Visionary took the middle left to block him. The Prince of Fibs completed the grid in the bottom left. “Stalemate,” Visionary breathed. “Not quite,” Mefrothto sneered. “The deal, if you recall, was that if you didn’t win I could proceed. It never said I had to win.” The abyssal fiend laughed in Xander’s face. “You really should pay more attention, mageling. Now you have doomed your world.” “So it would seem,” the master of the mystic crafts conceded. “Way to doom the planet, Xander,” Exile scorned. “This is all my fault,” Troia worried. “All I did was go looking for my brother. Xander warned me there’d be hell to pay…” “And now there will be,” Mefrothto promised. “I go to prepare my gambit.” “One moment, Prince of Fibs,” Xander called. “Could you possibly drop my young friends here back on Earth? That way they can be there when you bring down the eternal night of horror upon us all. Send them all to their homes – except Exile of course. Send him with Troia.” Mefrothto magnanimously waved a hand and the five heroes vanished. “And you, failed sorcerer?” he challenged Xander. “I’ll make my own arrangements, thank you very much. See you when the moon has waxed and waned.” “Count on it.” Xander waited until the thunderclap of the Prince of Fibs’ departure had finished booming round the deserted hall before he said, “You can come out now, Hooded Hood.” The cowled crime czar appeared from the shadows and strode over to examine the little line drawing on the wall. He held out his hand for the chalk, which Xander the Improbable passed him. He carefully drew another column of boxes to the top of the grid. Then he placed a white circle in the new top left box and connected a line between the three Os now in a row. “Mefrothto’s flaw,” intoned the Hooded Hood, “is that he never thinks big enough.” “This meeting of the Lair Legion will be being to be come to order,” Yo announced, happily waving Rabito his purple thought bunny instead of a gavel. Starseed had suggested hammering it on the table for quiet, but the genderless alien thought-entity had vetoed this. “I still don’t see why I have to minute this,” complained spiffy. “I should be out looking for my missing Abandoned Legion. Nobody had visited poor Paste Pot Pete in his recovery gel tube for almost a week. He was completely out of grapes. So why me?” “Because we’re still trying to find some use for you?” Banjooooo suggested helpfully. “Why not Finny? He’s a writer. I bet he could do minutes.” The Makluan woke from his light doze at the meeting table. “Hunh? Sorry. Moira kept me up all night.” He caught the smirks amongst his colleagues. “Not like that, dammit! I was writing this story we discussed. I had to get it down on paper while it was burning in my mind!” The Dark Knight disapproved of the young woman who had returned from the mythlands with Fin Fang Foom. He hoped it was more than just the fact that she was coming between him and his Makluan friend. “We had better get on to business,” he advised dourly. “We still have a number of loose ends to tie up on this case…” “Where’s Troia?” spiffy demanded. “I mean, what’s the point of having a secretary if she’s not there to do the minutes and innocent fern-wielders get drafted, answer me that?” “She’s back on Amazon Isle,” DarkHwk reminded him. “When she got back there she found that the Amazons had signed some stupid contract with Roni Y Avis and he was trying to bulldoze the Temple of Whoosit to build a motel casino.” “She’s called in Lisa’s law firm to go and help out,” Goldeneyed explained. “We’re going out there tomorrow with ManMan to see what we can do.” G-eyed was an intern at Lisa’s firm. He was fervently hoping that the first lady of the Lair Legion would turn up in the next twenty-four hours; otherwise he was shipping out to help with Lisette. “We need to address the missing persons problem,” Starseed reasoned. “It’s ridiculous to have misplaced the Abandoned Legion, Lisa, and CrazySugarFreakBoy! all at the same time.” “Kind of relaxing though,” Banjoooooo admitted. “We need to contact Dan Drury and see if he knows where Lisa and the AL went,” Hatman suggested. “We needst must ask mine All-Pappy to cast his all-seeing eye over the mythlands for our missing multi-hued comrade,” Donar opined. “We’ve got to act upon the rumours of a major cartel of criminal operators meeting somewhere to plan something big,” Dark Knight insisted. “We should be planning something in case this Roni Y Avis is up to something sinister, G-Eyed contributed. “We should be ordering pizza,” Space Ghost tried. “Piiiiiiizzzzzaaaaaaaaa!” “Excuse me,” Avatar interrupted as the meeting descended into chaos. “Excuse me. I am aware that I am only present as a courtesy to a guest who has yet to find his feet in a new world, but it seems evident to me that your fighting unit is in serious danger of fragmenting and therefore failing in its mission due to a catastrophic lack of central direction. Might I suggest that the first item of business is to resolve upon whom the appropriate person would be to take up the central command position which I understand is currently unfilled?” “He means we need to pick a leader,” NTU-150 translated. “And he’s right.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “We… we don’t need to pick one right away,” Fin Fang Foom said at last. “You can’t rush these things,” Starseed agreed. “Need for a leader is much overrated,” chimed in Banjoooooo. “Oh come on, guys,” Hatman objected. “Be honest. We just don’t want to think about the judgement of Oldman.” “Mine father is usually right in his far-sightings,” Donar admitted. “But he is gettingeth old. Mayhap twas Alzheimers that didst make him speak for the leader he suggestethed?” There was another uncomfortable silence. At last NTU-150 spoke. “Where is Visionary today anyway?” “Cheryl wouldn’t let him come,” spiffy explained. This minuting thing wasn’t as hard as he had thought. So far the minutes read, ‘Everybody sat down and talked a lot of crap.’ “Cheryl was pretty miffed that Visionary said he was going out for a loaf of bread and then went off to an Ausgardian stag night followed by a major interdimensional incursion, a duel with the Lord of the Drear Dimension and then lost the Game of Worlds to Mefrothto,” reported Tina. “He’s cleaning the gutters at his condo.” “Some leader,” muttered Starseed. “Yo is having splendidly splendid idea, Yo-friends!” the thought entity suddenly called out. “Why is not to be being rotating chair?” The Lair Legion considered this. “What,” Hatman wondered, “we each take it in turns for say a week on a rota basis?” “It might work,” Enty admitted. “At the very least it would give us a better idea who was cut out for the job and who wasn’t.” “And it means we don’t have to vote in Visionary,” Starseed added. “Yes, I think we should try it.” Yo was puzzled. “No, Yo is meaning, why not we get those chairs in offices so we can spin round and round in fun?” “Never mind, Yo,” DarkHwk told the innocent alien. “It was a good suggestion anyway.” “All those people who are full members of the Lair Legion at the moment who want to take a turn at Chair should put their names into this hat,” Hatman suggested. “Why full members?” spiffy objected. “I would make a brilliant leader, thank you very much.” Finny spoke up quickly as Starseed snorted. “Everybody should get a chance, or it isn’t a fair test. Let the fern-boy try.” There was a third period of silence as members of the Lair Legion (and hangers on) inscribed their (or in Space Ghost’s case, other people’s) names on bits of paper. Hatty shuffled them up in his cap and held them out for Tina to pick one. She read it out. “Superman.” She reached in again, since the Man of Steel seemed too busy to turn up to LL meetings these days. “Lisa.” “Well, it didn’t seem fair to leave her out,” Goldeneyed shrugged. “You don’t remember her… training exercises from last time she was in charge,” Starseed shuddered. The third dip picked up a winner. “NTU-150,” the telepathic Tina smiled. “What a perfect choice.” “You won’t get away with this!” Cap warned Baron Zemo. He was a traditional sort of hero, and that’s the sort of thing traditional heroes are meant to say when they’ve been captured by an archvillain and strapped to an operating table beneath an array of dentistry equipment. “I see,” Heinrich, Baron Zemo noted. “And why, exactly, am I not going to get away with it as you put it?” “For a start if you lay one finger on Cap I’ll kill you,” Cobra offered, from the next torture table along. “And so will I,” Hunter Victorious chimed in. “We’ll make a race of it.” “And the great Baron Zemo is to fear the wrath of four soon-to-be multiple-amputees worming their way after him dragged along by their seeing-eye dogs, am I?” “Just let us go, Zemo, and we’ll say no more about it.” Cap offered. Whilst the other heroes distracted the archvillain, Sorceress reached out with her mystic senses to seek some way of escaping. She gasped as her psychic self was brutally slapped back by some vile spiritual entity. You didn’t think the Baron would forget to find a way of pinning down a witch, did you?” an uncomforting voice echoed in her mind. The Baron has plans for the others, little magic worker, but you… you are all mine to play with. “Is that so?” Sorceress thought back. “Am I supposed to be intimidated by some little Dream Demon with low-grade telepathy? You’re not facing some neophyte superhero now, you know. Do you really want to go one on one with the Sorceress?” By the time I have finished with you there will be nothing left but a drooling incontinent lunatic. the Dream Demon promised. “You should know what they’re like,” Sorceress shot back. Then she allowed herself to slip out of her conscious mind and entered the realms where only sleepers tread. Her enemy was awaiting her. “What exactly are you trying to achieve, Zemo?” Hunter Victorious demanded. “Or is this all just part of your basic compensation behaviour for your own inadequacy?” Zemo snarled and struck Cobra hard across the face. “Swine. The first rule you shall learn in Zemo’s workshop is that your… friends suffer for your insolence.” “Good,” snarled Cobra. “Zemo, you’re a thick-headed bratwurst-eater! Take that out on HV!” Zemo sighed and hit her again. “I see you still persist in believing this one of the usual superhero games. But let me tell you a little truth. When I want to play those kind of games I usually go for the Lair Legion, because there is a perverse amusement in tormenting Jarvis and his merry band. That gives them – or gave them, since Jarvis is now gone – a certain degree of protection from my wrath. You are of no interest to me whatsoever, and therefore you will not survive this encounter. All that remains is for me to drag the information I desire from your screaming minds.” “So what do you want to know?” HV asked reasonably. “Well, apart from satisfying my curiosity about your similarities to the dead and damned Hollywood V, and having a modicum of revenge upon Cobra who elected to serve others before me, I require the data which you purloined from Deathspoon’s casino yesterday.” A second villain in the room spoke up for the first time. “We assumed at first that you had passed on the stolen hard drive from Deathspoon’s computer to your ally Lisa, but it is clear from our covert scanning of Deathspoon’s personal computer files that this is not the case. In fact he believes that Lisa passed the files to you,” Millennium Bug told the captives. HV frowned at this. Unfortunately the last any of the Abandoned Legion had known, Lisa did have the data; but Zemo was hardly going to believe that. “What’s so important on that hard drive?” Cap wondered. “What’s on there that your Millennium Bug couldn’t just access anyway?” “WE ask the questions!” Zemo shouted, striking Cobra for the third time. Cobra was keeping count. “Bug, take this slattern to the revenge pit. Let us see how defiant she feels when she has met my newest recruit, the Appendage Man! Get Vishnar up here to begin the mindprobe on Hunter Victorious.” Then he turned to Cap and asked, “Tell me, hero… have you ever seen Marathon Man?” Lisa also faced torment and disaster. “My bottle of suntan lotion is empty,” she complained to Maximillian Deathspoon’s dwarf assistant. “Be a dear and find me another one. This Caribbean sun can burn a girl right up if she’s not careful.” The diminutive servant hurried to get another lotion. Maybe the advocatrix would let her rub it on like last time. When he returned there was a white bikini top hanging on the sun-lounger. “I… I got de ointment, missie Lisa.” “Wonderful,” the first lady of the Lair Legion smiled. “I have decided it’s time to go for an all-over tan. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, Deathspoon’s off on that mysterious mission, the Observing Eye chap refuses to come out of his room while I’m here, so it’d be just you and me. Would you mind?” “N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-“ “I thought not. The only trouble is, I’m not going to get an all-over tan while I’ve got this silly collar-thing on, am I.? There’s no point even trying for it unless I can find a way of getting this power-inhibitor off first. You… you wouldn’t have a way of unlocking it would you?” The dwarf gulped and realised that he was way, way out of his depth. Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove was awoken from a long and complicated dream about a battle between Spaghetti Man and the Linguini Lady by a gentle brush on his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw the sleeping silhouette of Isabel Shapiro beside him. Her admired the smooth curve of her naked back and marvelled that such a complicated, wonderful, passionate person could be so still as she slumbered; that somebody so full of life as this could ever have been dead. He allowed himself a few mixed feelings. It was the Hooded Hood who had retconned the events of Izzy’s death, bringing forward an Izzy who had never died, reuniting her with the man-child who loved her more than life itself; and the Hooded Hood had no reason to do nice things for his enemy. Whilst the return of Izzy had filled the man who was CrazySugarFreakBoy! with delight, he knew there would be a terrible price for his happiness. Then he realised that the touch that had awoken him could not have come from her. “Over here, Dream,” a gentle whisper warned him. Turning the other way CrazySugarFreakBoy! saw another silhouette perching cross-legged on the other corner of the bed. This one was surrounded by a faint halo of bluish light. Otherwise it was the exact image of the girl who slept beside him. It was Izzy’s ghost. “Hi, Izzy,” Dream answered. “You worked out what’s going on yet, Dreamy?” “Sure,” CSFB! concentrated. “You’re dead Izzy, who wasn’t saved by HH, the spirit-girl who talks with me sometimes. She’s your alternate-self living-Izzy who never died and became ghost-Izzy because old Hoodily Hoodnik saved her.” “Bullseye!” ghost-Izzy smiled. “Listen, Dream, we’ve really gotta talk…” The elite of the underworld was gathered round the table. There hadn’t been an assembly like this since the destruction of the Council years ago (the event which led to the Mob Rule). Zemo stalked in just before the meeting was called to order and took a place beside the diabolical Dr Moo. He cast one venomous look over at Pierson’s Porter who lounged on her other side and checked who had made it to the conference. Deathspoon was there, of course. It was his casino which was hosting the meeting. Blofish, director of BALD, sat to his right, his robotic adamantium body covered with a white tuxedo. Then there was Mother Superior of the Little Sisters of Discipline chatting with one of the high ranking members of the Ass Raping Ninjas; from their gestures Zemo assumed they were comparing techniques. Count Fokker nodded curtly to Zemo from across the table. Zemo and Fokker had served the same master back when the Third Reich had flourished. The Lynchpin was shoehorned into the next chair and was already demolishing the hors d’oeuvres. The Devil Doctor had moved his chair to protect his brilliant silk robes from the spray and was ignoring the chatterings of Roni Y Avis about some brilliant scheme for buying and selling pyramids. Dirth Vortex, master of the dark side of the Gah! had chosen to remain in the corner where the shadows gathered deepest. Not quite all the world’s elite crimelords but a pretty representative sample. “The meeting will come to order,” Akiko Masumane announced. As the surviving member of the old cartel she retained the chairmanship until after the current round of negotiations. “We’ll cut through the usual time-wasting and go straight to the proposition. Who is going to be the next grandmaster of the underworld?" Many of those in the room glanced at Zemo, the nazi scientist was gratified to note. “You may proceed with your debate,” he told them. “So long as I receive my ten percent tribute from your activities you may elect whom you choose to be your figurehead.” “More than a figurehead,” Roni Y Avis burst in. “Why, the marketing possibilities of the position alone…” “We choose to meet your requests for a tithe of our revenues because you contribute useful resources, Zemo,” the Devil Doctor hissed. “Do not presume to think that makes you indispensable.” “This posturing is meaningless,” Dirth Vortex told them, cutting across the murmurs of argument which were sundering the room. “Let us see who wishes to claim the position and then let us decide a means of determining who receives it.” The dark power of his voice was enough to convince those present. “Well I don’t,” Moo announced. “Why go to the bother of ruling anything?” She was rather distracted because Pierson’s Porter was playing footsie with her under the table and Zemo had just given her two Abandoned Legionaries for dissection. “Nor me,” PP chimed in. “I’m going to buy the world, so there’s no point stealing it.” “I am the logical candidate,” Count Fokker suggested. “You?” Blofish spat. “You couldn’t even stop those heroes two days ago! Only I, with my brilliant intellect and indestructible body, can hope to rule effectively.” Deathspoon watched and listened and assessed the opposition. In addition to Fokker and Blofish, Vortex, the Devil Doctor, Roni Y Avis, and Mother Superior threw their hats into the ring. That Masamune did not confirmed Deathspoon’s suspicion that she was rather tied up cleaning her own Yakusa house at the moment. The reticence of the Ass-Raping Ninjas suggested that they had a major caper of their own in the works. “I believe I will offer my services as well,” the assassin added suavely, “and I have a suggestion for how we should determine who is the worthiest to be our grandfather.” “Go on,” Akiko Masamune replied. Deathspoon laid a series of glossy photographs on the table. “The Lair Legion,” he unnecessarily pointed out. “The principal super-powered interference in many of our schemes. I propose that whoever kills the most Legionnaires in, say, seven days, beginning one month from now is acclaimed our leader.” “Open season on the heroes,” Blofish considered. “I like it.” He stroked his albino hamster and grinned. “You have always reserved killing the Lair Legion for yourself until now, Zemo,” Mother Superior pointed out, addressing the masked monarch. The Baron shrugged. “Jarvis is dead. None of the others interests me as much. Kill them.” “One of them is your sister,” pointed out Fokker to Moo. “I never liked her that much,” the bovine scientist shrugged. “I say kill them as well.” Deathspoon leaned forward to clarify the ground rules for this Acts of Ambition. In our next thrilling episode: Get ready for that old-style Saturday matinee feeling as the cliffhangers mount up fast and furious. See the Sorceress face the deadly Dream Demon in the Ditko Dimensions! Gasp at Cobra’s face at the hands and other bits of the abominable Appendage Man! Wince as Cap faces the demonic dentistry of Baron Zemo! Marvel as Dr Vishnar subjects Hunter Victorious to the perilous mind probe! Cower as CrazySugarFreakBoy!, Izzy and Izzy learn the purpose the Hooded Hood has in store for them! Ogle as Troia seeks to free her people from slavery to Roni Y Avis! And if we can’t find a way to fit a spaceship with a firework coming out the back and a girl on a sawmill in there somewhere it’ll be a sad, sad day. Due around next weekend. The plot thickens from... the Hooded Hood |
| #23: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Secret Meetings, Hidden Agendas (The plot thickens from... the Hooded Hood) (03-Oct-1999 05:42:42) |
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