View Full Version : The Table of Ten: Chapter One
10-08-2005, 03:18 AM
-----------------------The Table of Ten
Deep beneath Paragon City, five unique individuals were gathered together in secret within the abandoned sewers. The room in which they sat was not slimy and smelling of rotting organisms, like the stench of sewers, but instead was more like a room that had been prepared for surgery; sterile, and spotless of dust or debris.
Assortments of ancient antiquities from around the world were organized according to their time periods along the four walls. Vases from the Ming Dynasty sat upon golden pedestals on either side of the set of double doors that were the only means of entrance to the room. Going clockwise from the doors, a Viking shield hung in the center of the wall, and on either side of the shield was a stockpile of medieval armaments which lay upon weapon racks in a symmetrical order. The next wall, directly opposite of the Ming vases, was adorned with masterful works of art from The Italian Renaissance. Some of these paintings were done by the most prominent artists of that period; Michelangelo, Masaccio, Emilio Greco, are only a few among the many. But, these pieces had never been heard of in the art society of the world, because they had been kept in secret by covetous barons throughout the centuries, at least, up till now. And, finally, along the last wall there sat machines that seemed entirely out of place among the antiques. A guillotine was the first in line, its blade gleamed from the lighting in the room, showing that it had been maintained in case its current owner had a desire to use it. The next machine was a box shaped like a human being that was opened completely ajar. Within it, and on both sides, was an assortment of spikes and hooked barbs designed to wreck havoc on the innards of any poor soul placed within. The thrid, and final piece, a medieval machination, a machine designed to stretch an individual's arms and legs slowly until they were ripped from their sockets.
In the middle of the room, there sat an oval table that was composed of a large titanium slab and around it there were ten chairs placed side by side with even spacing. The surface of the table bore an ironic yellow smiley face which grinned absently at the harsh fluorescent lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The mere presence of the smiley face on the table was like a mockery of the priceless, unmatched craftsmanship of the artifacts around it due to its simplicity of design.
“Comrades,” announced a tall, handsomely-grotesque man dressed in a white tuxedo, who was seated directly opposite of the double doors, to a few individuals seated around the oval table. “I am proud to say that our time of action draws nigh, and that soon we shall reap our rewards. Wealth, destruction, revenge… and the exuberant glee that comes with watching our enemies flail ineffectually to stop us. We are about to make history!” he paused and waited for his audience to applaud, but when none came he continued unabashed. “Unfortunately, none shall remain to remember our nefarious deeds. HAhahaha!”
A lean, young man dressed in a very expensive black suit, who was seated two seats to the right of the gentleman in the white tuxedo, cleared his throat, and spoke with a hint of irritation. “Remind me, again, Dr. Sarcasmo, just exactly why we are still waiting to begin this historical endeavor? My hopes of making a profit appear to be slipping away with every second that it is delayed.”
"Oh, Mr. Turnbrooks,” replied the man in the white tuxedo, to the man in the black suit. “You are so incredibly right. I am so glad that you are here to keep us on task." Dr. Sarcasmo’s grin quickly turned into a menacing glower, "Everything will be revealed in due time, Mr. Turnbrooks. Now, I suggest you wait patiently like a good little boy until that time arrives."
The young industrialist frowned as his voice took on the tone of an irate accountant who had just discovered that his employer’s bank account was overdrawn. “I do wish you would stop referring to me as a child! My age has nothing to do with this matter, and nor is it a concern of yours.”
“Indeed, Indeed! Mr. Turnbrooks, we are all aware of what a special prodigy you are to have achieved such an accumulation of wealth at such a young age.” Dr. Sarcasmo’s voice took on a fraternal tone as he continued. “Now do you have anything else relevant to add to this discussion, or should we order you some hot cocoa?”
Mr. Turnbrooks’ voice lowered to a threatening tone as he replied, “I have contributed a great deal of my own resources and times into this scheme you have constructed. Had not my own personal vendetta been orchestrated into your plan I would have withdrawn my funds some time ago.”
“Ah, but isn’t that the very point of this exercise, Mr. Turnbrooks?” gloated Dr. Sarcasmo.
Mr. Turnbrooks seemed as though he was about to respond, but decided it would be better not to since he had already been humiliated not just once, but twice, and he was not about to award Dr. Sarcasmo the hat-trick.
Dr. Sarcasmo grinned like a school yard bully as he settled back into his chair. His eyes glowed with his triumph as he spoke. “That’s what I thought.” He then turned his head to address the other people at the table. “Now, onto our next topic.”
“What is the current progress of Whiptail’s and the Epidermal Epidemiac’s project?” boldly interrupted a gentleman dressed in a blue suit. The man of a seemingly noble background wore an open, pitch-black trench coat that complemented the black top-hat upon his head. The one article of clothing that this man wore that seemed out of place was a full face mask that resembled a skier’s mask. The mask covered all but the eyes, nose and mouth of the man’s taut, square face.
A long titanium cane with a gold wolfs head lay across the gentleman’s lap, as the thumb of his right hand caressed the nose of the wolf’s head in an affectionate way. This man did not carry this cane because he needed it to walk; it was not something as simple, or, as common as that. He had this cane because it contained an assortment of unpleasant surprises that could be used against anyone who dared to oppose him. Friend or foe, it hardly mattered to him when he had something to gain.
“Ah, yes. Thank you for bringing that up, Mr. Mystery.” replied Dr. Sarcasmo to the man with the cane. “I know that we have all been waiting to hear if our brilliant scientists have been successful in their research.” He paused briefly as the smile on his face shrank into a frown. “Unfortunately they are still in the stages of testing to see if their project will be as effective as our plans require. They will need to increase their efforts in order to meet the deadline, or we may have to push that phase back. Or, possibly, abandon it altogether. However,” Dr. Sarcasmo’s face blossomed into a diabolical grin spontaneously. “On a happy note, their research methods are unethical and inhumane by even our standards. Which, or course, can make for some good entertainment on side.” He chuckled briefly at the thought before looking at a large man who was seated directly opposite of him at the table. "I imagine that even someone of your great stature would find their methods... amusing, my Jolly Green Giant.”
The large man’s eyes turned into living flame, his lips began to part into a feral scowl, but made no move to reply. Dr. Sarcasmo did not cease speaking, even at a sign of opposition from the larger man.
“Oh, and on a side note,” continued the instigating mastermind, “remind me to get wardrobe to fit you for a verdant toga.”
“Enough!” boomed the deep voice of the giant.
The evil genius raised a curious eyebrow at the giant’s outburst. His smile broadened into a malevolent, tooth-filled grin at having been able to rile the anger of the large man, and not for the first time.
The large, muscular man was a god of war who had been born from within the bowels of the fabled Norwegian Underworld. His entire his body was covered from the neck down in a full suit of obsidian-black armor. Razor-sharp spikes jutted out of the shoulders, knees, and elbows in a fashion that resembled the quills of an antediluvian porcupine. His face, being the only exposed part of his body, was covered with thick and grizzly auburn colored beard which hung from his cheeks all the way down to his waist.
The giant slowly rose from his chair. The powerful, constrained movements of his body pronounced to all in the room that he was bent upon destruction. The black armored man drew a massive black mace from the sheath on his back. The handle of the mace had been carved from the skull of some ancient beast that the giant had defeated centuries ago in an epic struggle for power. The titan pointed the mace towards Dr. Sarcasmo like a demonic judge about to proclaim the convicted’s doom. “You have insulted me for the last time mortal! Now you will know my wrath!”
10-08-2005, 03:28 AM
Dr. Sarcasmo sat unflinching. A docile expression hung languidly on his face as he replied stoically to the titan’s horrific proclamation. "I'm ecstatic to know that you feel that way, Tuetatis. I’ve never faced your wrath before, but it sounds absolutely delightful! Really; I can't wait.” The evil mastermind’s features twisted into a malevolent scowl. “Until then, though, I need you…to…sit…down."
Tuetatis took one more menacing step forward, ignoring Dr. Sarcasmo’s command, but went no further because the evil genius’ thoughts invaded Tuetatis’ mind by means of telepathy. “If you destroy me now you will never have your revenge.” The armor-clad giant lowered his mace to his side as though in surrender, but the wrathful expression on his face remained unchanged. “You, need me.” Emphasized Dr. Sarcasmo.
The angry giant’s scowl slowly relaxed as the blazing fire in his eyes extinguished, though the pupils continued to burn like glowing embers, prepared to burst into flame once again at a whim.
“Now sit down,” spoke the doctor aloud, seeing no further reason to communicate by secret means. “And behave yourself like a good little god.”
Tuetatis’ lips parted into a feral snarl at the last insult, but it quickly vanished when Dr. Sarcasmo raised an inquisitive eyebrow as a challenge to the god’s will. The giant sheathed his mace and skulked like an angry child back to his chair. Once there he fell into the seat, causing the chair to groan in protest, but hold nonetheless.
Mr. Mystery tapped his cane, once, on the concrete floor with enough force to cause the resulting sound to echo ominously throughout chamber. He immediately attained everyone’s attention and spoke with an impatient and commanding tone, “Let us continue before another argument should arise.”
“Yes, back to business.” said Dr. Sarcasmo. A slight pause ensued as the devious mastermind contemplated the next topic, then continue. “We all are aware that…”
A *beep* sounded from a intercom on the arm of Dr. Sarcasmo’s chair, interrupting him, which in turn caused the sarcastic schemer to scowl. He pressed a yellow button next to the intercom and spoke angrily into it, “This had better be important, because if it is not I promise that I will subject you to a cosmetic procedure that allows your grin to truly be from ear to ear.”
An audible gulp sounded from the other end of the intercom, but despite the apparent fear, a male voice answered, although with an unsteady cadence. “I thought you might wish to know that Ularion and Slap Happy have just entered Tunnel 37, and should arrive at the main complex shortly.”
Dr. Sarcasmo smiled upon hearing the good news, “Very good, boy. Notify The Epidermal Epidemiac and Whiptail to meet with us in the conference room. It is time to set our diabolical plot into action.”
“Yes sir, right away.” A click sounded over the intercom, signifying that the underling on the other end had ended the conversation.
“Is there anyway that we can be sure they were not followed?” asked Mr. Turnbrooks.
Dr. Sarcasmo was clearly annoyed by the young industrialist’s question. “Of course there are you buffoon.” He said. “I would not be so foolish to allow explorers, let alone would be heroes, to travel the confines of my tunnels without some measure of security.”
The evil doctor pressed one button, among many, on the right arm of his chair. The void-like eyes of the smiley face in the middle of the table began to glow a dim blue color in response. The blue light quickly increased in brightness and intensity until an array of light shot forth from the eyes and created a 3-dimensional hologram of Dr. Sarcasmo’s underground lair.
“Computer,” commanded Dr. Sarcasmo, “give me access to all of the cameras in Tunnel 37.” The hologram of the base rotated slightly as Tunnel 37 became enlarged until it dominated the picture. The tunnel then became transparent and an array of blue circles appeared throughout it, signifying the locations of the cameras, and that they were working properly. Once all of the blue circles were confirmed by the central computer as operational, a task which lasted the length of time it took to blink, the shape of the tunnel shifted into a 10-by-10 foot cube. Each side of the box quickly broke down into smaller individual squares which promptly displayed the view of each camera in tunnel 37.
The cameras showed empty corridors, save for one. An odd pair of humanoids were walking briskly towards camera 5.
10-08-2005, 03:29 AM
After a brief moment of observation Mr. Mystery said, “It appears that no one has followed them.”
“It is too soon to tell.” Disagreed Tuetatis, “I would wager that Ularion was a fool and did not make sure he was being tracked. We should collapse the tunnel now just to be sure that no one discovers us.”
Dr. Sarcasmo’s face expressed disgust as he spoke. “I have employed you to use your muscle. Not your brain. So keep your dull-witted thoughts to yourself.”
“Damn you, Sarcasmo,” bellowed the wrathful giant, as he leaned menacingly over the table. “Another mocking word from you today and I will remove your head!”
“Calm yourself, Tuetatis,” chided Dr. Sarcasmo, “your dislike of Ularion is equally shared by us all.”
Tuetatis remained leaning over the table, the hatred apparent in his eyes, but now his gaze was no longer fixed on Dr. Sacarsmo, but rather looking through him since his anger was now redirected upon Ularion.
“Ularion’s attitude of superiority has been grating on my nerves, as I am sure it has yours.” said the evil genius. “His abilities, however, are something that is necessary for us to accomplish our goals with total obscurity.”
“What about your telepathic abilities, Dr. Sarcasmo?” asked Mr. Turnbrooks. “Why can you not do the same tasks that are assigned to Ularion so that we can be rid of his overbearing presence?”
“Because, Mr. Turnbrooks, I do not like to get my hands dirty.” Retorted Dr. Sarcasmo, “That is why I have lackeys, and all of you gentlemen seated here, as well as the other members of this rogues’ gallery who are not present, involved in this little charade.”
“In short,” interrupted a man at the table who had been silent throughout the previous conversations, “Dr. Sarcasmo’s telepathic abilities are limited. Therefore, he could never accomplish the amount of memory erasing that needs doing when we visit the city. Such a thing as that is only on a scale that Ularion can operate at, and easily.”
All of the heads at the table stared at the new speaker with something akin to surprise, and amusement. Save for Dr. Sarcasmo, that is. The man was seated two chairs to the left of Tuetatis, and one to the right of Mr. Mystery. He rarely spoke unless he had something of importance to bring to the table, or to sting the egotistical mad genius where it hurt. The majority of the time he spent staring off into an endless void, his eyes focused on some intangible object as his thoughts wondered the confines of his mind, appearing to be completely unaware, or uncaring, of his surroundings. During his moments of suspected aloofness, something which was never the case, he tended to mumble to himself of events that had occurred long ago in a far off land; a reoccurring act that often left anyone seated next to him rather uneasy. Mr. Turnbrooks had once attempted to interrupt this man of silence’s habit of “zoning out” and nearly lost his life because of it.
This unusual individual wore a tattered outfit made of black cloth, much resembling the clothing that martial artists would don for fighting competitions. His Oriental heritage could be quickly deduced due to his eyes being slanted and slightly horizontally elongated. A worn katana that rested on his lap, a sword ancient, and containing more power than any observer could ever imagine, also aided to reinforce the to others that he truly hailed from a primordial past.
Despite his seemingly plain appearance, this man was something of an urban legend, a being of myth and lore. Born centuries ago with a destiny to save his people, he accomplished his fateful task only to lose his soul to an evil power in the process. The katana he carried bound him to a dark and powerful being of unknown origins. The cursed, magical blade was inhabited by the evil being who granted him the power to consume the souls of any opponent that he felled in battle, and once their spiritual essence was his he claimed their abilities as his own and could access their powers at will.
“Yes, Sibilance,” drawled Dr. Sarcasmo, bitterly, in response to the Oriental man. “That, also, is true, but far from the point.”
Dr. Sarcasmo both hated, and feared, the ancient man of the Orient for the sole reason that he was one of the three individuals in this group that he could not predict, or control.
“I still say we should kill the Atlantean and be done with him.” grumbled Tuetatis.
Mr. Mystery’s ability to refocus the group’s attention once again became useful in diverting another pointless round of arguing. “Has anyone else noticed that Slap Happy is not moving of his own free will?” he asked.
Everyone’s attention was drawn to the hologram once more as they witnessed that the man of mystery’s own observation were indeed accurate. Slap Happy’s body was completely motionless and was floating in a restricted fashion in mid-air, trailing behind Ularion.
“Slap Happy does not appear to be speaking endlessly as he usually does.” Remarked Mr. Turnbrooks, as he rose slightly from his chair and pointed at the hologram, “See there how the poor boy is wiggling his lips around in protest? Hahaha,” the young billionaire sat down while he laughed, “I almost pity Ularion.” But his expression quickly soured with distaste as he remembered how much he hated Ularion. “But not really.”
The men seated at the table watched in silence as the two villains in the tunnel arrived at the elevator that would take them into the main base. Dr. Sarcasmo prompted the computer with a final command before the other villains would begin arriving, “Computer: end program.” The hologram immediately vanished from view, and the eyes of the smiley face at the center of the table slowly dimmed until they were their original, soulless black color.
10-08-2005, 03:29 AM
“I suggest we all take this brief moment to clear our minds of any hostile thoughts towards Ularion before he arrives.” suggested Sibilance.
“I agree.” spoke Mr. Turnbrooks, “Perhaps a new topic of discussion would help us to alter the mood of our minds?”
“An excellent idea, Mr. Turnbrooks!” exclaimed Dr. Sarcasmo, “How was your day today? Did you learn anything else interesting at school?”
Mr. Turnbrooks frowned, “Indeed I have,” replied the billionaire, “This fortress of yours was constructed out of an alloy that prevents Psychic probes from scanning within its walls, let alone detecting it. Even with Ularion’s own nearly unparallel power he will soon arrive on our level and be able to read our thoughts unobstructed.”
Dr. Sarcasmo was about to snap a haughty reply when the lone set of double doors to the room slid open. Two men strode in side-by-side, both adorned in white lab-coats. One wore a surgeon’s mask and cap, and the other’s head was covered with wild tufts of hair, and an array of long rat-like whiskers jutted out between his upper lip and nose.
The evil genius bounced in his seat with glee upon the arrival of the two scientists. He spread his arms wide in an exaggerated gesture of welcome, and spoke warmly to the newcomers. “Welcome, welcome! Please, gentlemen, be seated and join us at the table.”
Dr. Sarcasmo watched silently until the men found were seated in the two empty chairs between Tuetatis and Sibilance. “I am surprised that you lab rats could make it on such short notice.” taunted Dr. Sarcasmo.
“So the lampoonery begins before we can even have a chance to discuss the business at hand.” replied the scientist, wearing the surgeons mask and cap. His voice was slightly muffled due to mask that covered his mouth. “How predictable.”
The other scientist, with the rat-like appearance, smirked in response to the evil doctor’s attempted verbal attack, “I, unlike my colleague, The Epidermal Epidemiac,” said the rodent-man as he nodded politely towards his fellow scientist, “Have no qualms with such a label because in my case it is true, but unnecessary.”
Dr. Sarcasmo smiled maliciously and folded his hands in front of him on the table. He flashed his full set of pearly-white teeth, and chuckled, at the hairy, rat-like scientist. “Indeed, only you, the infamous Whiptail, would feel comfortable being labeled as the lowly creature that you mutated yourself into.”
“Do not play his game, Whiptail.” Interrupted Mr. Mystery, “We haven’t the time to argue.”
“Too true.” Agreed Mr. Turnbrooks. “We have not the Time, nor the money.”
“I have no intention of playing any game today. So do not trouble yourselves.” Replied Whiptail. “My colleague and I have made some remarkable advancements in our research that I am sure will be greatly appreciated once disclosed.”
Dr. Sarcasmo’s curiosity overcame his desire for belittling banter. “By all means, my whiskery rodent,” he said, “do share your discoveries with us.”
“It will be my pleasure.” replied Whiptail. He pressed a button on the side of the table and in response a small rectangular slot next to the button slid out from its place to reveal a tray designed to hold circular-shaped discs. The rat-like man then withdrew a disc made to fit into the tray from the inner pocket of his lab coat, and gently placed it into the awaiting slot. Whiptail then pressed the button once more, and the tray withdrew back into the table.
The eyes of the smiley face in the middle of table glowed to life once again, the blue light filling their dark circular voids in anticipation. The blue light quickly came to a climax and projected a 3-dimensional image of a man wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. A savage-looking beard covered the man’s face, and the appearance of his clothing was rough and worn as though he had not changed or bathed in weeks. The man’s eyes darted about nervously and frantically as though something sinister was lurking beyond the edge of the holographic image.
10-08-2005, 03:30 AM
The lights in the room had dimmed so as to allow the projection a clearer and more defined picture. Just as the lights dimmed, the double doors which led into the conference room slid open once again. The light from the hallway spilled upon the room’s occupants, the harsh contrast of the light against their dark union as ironic indeed. But, even more ironic, was that amidst the intruding, harsh light, a massive and menacing shadow entered the room as well.
Those seated around the table knew whom it belonged to, and it caused a sense of dread to fill the room. It belonged to a being that all those within had come to loathe, to fear, and to desire nothing more than to destroy. Ularion had arrived.
Ularion stormed into the conference room, his crimson-red cape billowing behind him from the haste and power of brisk movement. A dark and menacing scowl was scarred across his blue face. His blood-red eyes burned with a hatred for the human race.
His entire body, save for his neck and head, were encased in a suit of armor of such beauty and elegance that there are no others on the face of the Earth, let alone in this dimension, that could match its grace and grandeur. The primary color of the armor was a royal crimson-red, accompanied by swirling, archaic yellow symbols that flowed over the surface of the armor in a phantasmagorical design. The majestically adorned being’s blood-red eyes radiated like open wounds in comparison to the deep, dark blue color of his alien skin. And, to complete his terrifying visage, a thin, reddish-brown mustache hung from the corners of his upper lips like long, sharp stalactites from a cavern ceiling.
Ularion hailed from a different dimension, and was currently trapped in this one because his own had been destroyed. A circumstance that this humanoid, this Atlantean, has come to loathe all the longer that he must endure it.
Slap Happy entered the room behind Ularion, unnoticed, and not of his own free will. His body bound by an invisible force that held him in a rigid state as though he were made of stone.
As soon as Ularion being had entered the room, his mind touched briefly with the others at the table by means of telepathy; save for Sibilance because his mind was perilous to any daring enter it. In a heartbeat, Ularion had learned all that had happened in his absence. Everything.
Mr. Mystery attempted to distract the Atlantean before his anger erupted, “Ularion, how timely of you to join us.”
But Ularion would have none of it. “Impudent primates!" he bellowed, “Your pitiful attempts to hide your treacherous thoughts are beneath the very ground that I walk on.”
“Funny you should say that, considering that we are underground.” quipped Dr. Sarcasmo.
“Silence!” boomed Ularion’s voice throughout the chamber. Those at the table cringed in pain because Ularion had mentally screamed his decree into their brains as well as spoke it.
Then, something occurred to the Atlantean; a member of their entourage was missing. “Where is Cataclysm?” he asked.
Everyone else seemed to have come to this sudden realization as well, because they glanced at the remaining vacant seats, and instead of there only being two, as they had expected, there were three.
“She is never late to our meetings.” said Mr. Turnbrooks with concern.
“Indeed.” agreed Mr. Mystery.
“I will only ask you one more time, Sarcasmo.” said Ularion. “Where…is…Cataclysm.”
All eyes turned towards the mischievous doctor, some of those eyes were filled with nothing but curiosity, but others held a menacing gaze that threatened something sinister if the answer did not appease them.
Despite the hard looks he was receiving from many, Dr. Sarcasmo smiled gaily. “This must be causing you great annoyance, Ularion.” He taunted. “Especially, since you cannot seem to divulge that information from my mind.” Dr. Sarcasmo reclined back in his chair and made himself comfortable before continuing. “However, since this query was bound to arise in due time, I will not keep all of you waiting any longer.” Dr. Sarcasmo paused for several seconds, “Or will I?” He grinned like a wicked child as he mockingly glanced around the table.
The reaction he had hoped for was exactly what he received. Nearly everyone at the table, save for Mr. Mystery and Sibilance, began shouting at him.
“Enough of these childish games!”
“My profits are dwindling with every second. Stop wasting my time!”
“I tire of my work in the laboratory being interrupted by this ridiculous confederation of fools!”
Tuetatis roared in anguish and rage as he stood from his chair, his powerful voice drowning everyone else’s. “I gave you your warning.” He shouted, as he climbed onto the table, “Now you die!” and unsheathing his mace, he thundered towards the instigator’s chair.
Once he was within range the angry god swung his mace at the evil genius’ head, but it never hit its target. The raging giant was suddenly, and violently, hurled across the room and slammed directly into the Viking shield on the wall to the left of the double doors; causing the shield to splinter in a thousand tiny fragments as well as knock all of the medieval armaments, that had hung on the wall, to the floor. Tuetatis crashed into the wall with such force that it shook the entire room. Once against the wall his body was held there against his will, but it did not prevent him from struggling. The god did not have to hesitate to know who had interrupted his death blow, his revenge, and he screamed in rage at the being responsible. “ULARION!”
10-08-2005, 03:31 AM
Ularion’s right arm was fully extended, pointing straight towards Tuetatis with an open palm. He was exerting nearly all of his power just to hold the struggling god in place, which was apparent because sweat was beginning to form on his brow, and his previous prisoner’s hold had been extinguished; which was made known to everyone when a psychotic cackle erupted from Slap Happy’s mouth.
“Hahaha Hehe Hohoaha!” the now freed lunatic paused only to take a deep breath. “I’m free, Hahahaha!” He danced around the room playing air guitar while vocally blurting the tune of the song Iron Man by Black Sabbath, must to the displeasure of everyone else.
The man who was previously Ularion’s prisoner had appearance that could only be described as hippee-gone-pyscho. He wore bulky black pants that seemed to bulge in the pockets due to containing explosives of a large variety. A black vest covered the form fitting orange tank top on his chest. A pair of Oakley sunglasses covered his eyes, giving him something of a mysterious, yet fashionable appearance. His tar-like black hair hung slightly below the tips of his shoulder blades, and atop his head was an object that did not seem to fit him at all, a black top-hat.
“Dear god, someone make him stop.” Groaned Mr. Turnbrooks.
The Epidermal Epidemiac covered his ears and bent his face down to look at the table, while Whiptail stood up in frustration and made ready to storm out of the room. Mr. Mystery was undoubtedly becoming quickly annoyed as well because a large vein on his forehead was throbbing as though it were about to burst. Then there was Sibilance, who, despite the commotion going on around him, had a blank look on his face as though the matters within his mind had greater precedence than the chaos around him.
As Whiptail was about to leave the conference room, Dr. Sarcasmo called after him. “Hold, Whiptail.”
Whiptail paused and turned his head to the side, “Why should I?” he asked.
Everyone in the room stopped speaking as Slap Happy neared Whiptail’s position in the room. He was still dancing around like a sugar plum fairy, but now he was doing an invisible drum solo. When the truly psychotic member of the rogues gallery was close enough to Whiptail, the rat-like villain lashed out with his tail and knocked Slap Happy’s feet out from under him. The poor creature performed a full somersault before landing flat on his face; knocking the wind out of him, and forcing him to become silent. “Hellish imp.” muttered Whiptail.
“That will be quite enough Slap Happy.” said Dr. Sarcasmo; using his limited telepathic abilities to add emphasis to the words to make it more of a command than a suggestion. “Be seated, my silly little psychopath, so we can conclude our business at hand.”
A winded Slap Happy rose slowly from the floor and walked a bit drunkenly to an open seat between Sibilance and Mr. Mystery. Once there he looked at both of them, and said with pep, “What’s up dudes?” The two men completely ignored him; one because he chose too and the other because his mind was elsewhere. Slap Happy shrugged his shoulders without any feelings insult or dejectedness. He looked around at all of the other angry faces that were returning his gaze, and when it appeared that nothing exciting was going to happen he pulled a lighter out of his front breast pocket and began playing with it.
A vein on Mr. Mystery’s forehead continued pumping madly from the annoyance of Slap Happy’s exuberant liberation as he asked a question. “Where is Cataclysm, Dr. Sarcasmo?”
Sibilance suddenly came out of his trance-like state and shared his thoughts. “She is too dangerous to be allowed out of our sight.” The evil man of ancient Asian lore looked Dr. Sarcasmo square in the eyes. “I told you that before we sought her aide, and of the consequences of such an alliance.”
“And so you did, aloof man of the orient, but I am the one with the master plan.” Replied Dr. Sarcasmo. “So, it is I who decide who does what, when, and where.”
“Then that brings us back to the reason for our inquiry in this matter.” said Whiptail, as he regretfully returned to his seat. “Where is she?”
The diabolical genius grinned. “For now, be content to know that she is making preparations for the final stage of our plan.”
“That is not enough.” demanded The Epidermal Epidemiac. “None of us here trust her, save for you because you are a fool. What is she doing?”
“You are asking much of us. Too much, if you ask Me.” said Mr. Turnbrooks.
“Ah but I did not ask you, Mr. Turnbrooks. So keep quiet until you are called upon.” Retorted Dr. Sarcasmo. “I will not tell you anymore gentlemen, because if I did then any one of you could easily dispatch of me before my plan is complete.” The doctor of destruction leaned forward menacingly, his face turned to a grim sneer. “And, if that happens, none of you will attain what you desire.” He then reclined back into his seat and smiled as he turned to look at Ularion.
10-08-2005, 03:33 AM
The Atlantean’s attention was fixated upon the raging Tuetatis, whom he was holding prisoner by means of telekinesis. Ularion did not even notice that Dr. Sarcasmo was looking snidely at him, until he spoke.
“Thank you for your timely intervention, my pointy eared elf.” said Dr. Sarcasmo with a mocking tone. “You can come in quite hand-ack!”
The evil genius’ witty reply was cut short when a vice-like grip suddenly closed around his neck, suffocating him as he was hoisted out of his chair and into the air. The frail little man in the white tuxedo clawed in vain at the invisible fingers around his neck as his feet kicked madly in the air.
Ularion’s face had turned into a twisted mask of unbridled anger. “I told you what would happen to you if you spoke ill of my visage.” Without another spoken word, the Atlantean made ready to close his curled fingers into a fist, and end Dr. Sarcasmo’s life.
Shouts rose from all around the table as the rest of the rogues gallery, save for Slap Happy, who was laughing and bouncing around in his seat with exuberant joy, jumped from their chairs to come to Dr. Sarcasmo’s aide. Despite their hate of the mastermind, his presence was necessary to carry out the plan since he was the only one who knew just what it was. Even Sibilance had awoken from his dream-like state in time to witness what appeared to be the end of their confederation.
Suddenly, a streak of darkness zipped across the room and slammed into the Atlantean’s armored chest, knocking him through the heavily fortified steel double doors and into the corridor. Dr. Sarcasmo, having been abruptly released from Ularion’s hold, plopped unceremoniously back into his seat gasping for air.
A cumbersome, obsidian mace floated through the ruins of the double doors and back across the room until it came to rest in the right hand of Tuetatis. As soon as black object of destruction had returned to its owner, the hole in the wall was torn open even wider than before as Ularion re-entered the room in all of his destructive glory. The Atlantean’s face was twitching with indignant fury, as he pointed an accusing finger towards Tuetatis. His voice was quivering with anger as he spoke with an icy tone of vengeance. “You.”
Tuetatis returned Ularion’s stare with a blazing glare, literally. His eyes were a roaring inferno filled with fire from the mythological Norwegian Underworld. He pointed his mace at Ularion, meeting the Atlantean’s challenge. Tuetatis’ voice menacingly echoed within the chamber as it boomed off of the walls. “If I cannot kill him, then neither can you.”
The two beings of near-unparalleled power were at the very brink of war when a strained chuckle from Dr. Sarcasmo broke the rising tension in the room. “I know that you two children have been waiting for an opportunity to rip one another limb from limb, but now is not the time.” The Atlantean and the god of war turned their hellish glares upon the doctor, which caused him to smile ruefully. “Because,” continued Dr. Sarcasmo, “now…is the time.”
The two powerful beings remained where the stood, but the look Ularion’s face changed to surprise, though Tuetatis’ remained unchanged. The Atlantean looked at Dr. Sarcasmo with a piercing stare. “How did your suddenly come to know this current information? Telepathic communication is not possible beyond the confines of this room, and nor was it in the recesses of the very deepest parts of your mind.”
Ularion strode towards Dr. Sarcasmo’s seat, but he was quickly reminded that Tuetatis was yet to relinquish his grudge when the god summoned a wall of searing flames into existence directly in front of the Atlantean, effectively blocking his path. Ularion backed away from the fire, granting Tuetatis a glance that promised death, before returning his eyes upon the gloating evil genius. “How?” asked Ularion forcefully.
“That,” teased Dr. Sarcasmo, “is my secret, and mine alone.” The maniacal doctor then looked towards the two scientists at the table. “I am afraid that our discussion about your experiments will have to wait.”
“Then why were we summoned here?” queried Whiptail.
“Tuetatis,” said the diabolical mastermind, with a serious tone, “join us at the table. You, personally, are going to enjoy the next assignment I have for you.”
The god grudgingly relented, but only after Ularion had moved to sit down as well.
“What is it the next phase?” asked an attentive Sibilance.
Dr. Sarcasmo glanced at his fellow conspirators as though he was about to divulge a secret that could shatter the world at its core. The corners of his mouth slowly mounted into a diabolical grin, and once they mimicked the smile of the yellow smiley face emblazoned in the center of the table he spoke. “In three days time, we will raze the Cromwell Estate the ground, and take hostage all those who live within its walls.”
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