Taxdodger: A True American Hero

[ArtificialIdiot]

This is something with a story behind it. Basically I was cruising the offical DC comics message board (No, I don't know why either, I left my brain at home that day) and come across this guy who said "America's hatred of taxes is what makes this country great"... well, from there it pretty much wrote it's self, really.

Well, here's the first chapter of what will hopefully be an ongoing epic, it all depends on the reaction this gets really. Take it as you will, and if you want more... come out and say so... if not, tell me where I'm going wrong, basically.


Chapter One: What Makes This Country Great...

Twenty years ago, a child was born in the Boondocks. A child born out of a passionate affair between a simple,working class American woman living a simple life in the country, and a cosmetic mutant from Dunstable from Neo-England. Wanted for several charges of illegal entry and just looking plain ugly. Now, illegitimate children are not a particularly rare event out in the Boondocks... on the contrary, it's where most are conceived. But this child was quite remarkable. So remarkable in fact, he could just rise to be the most powerful being on Earth.... shame he's almost as hideous as his old man though.

And now, years later, on a sunny summers day, far away from the smog, angry abuse and over-priced processed food of the big cities, we find ourselves back at the Boondocks. Big Bobba's Crazee Caravan Park, to be precise. Where, peace, quiet and tranquillity reigns...

"GGGGYYYYYYYYAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!"

Well, almost. Joel James storms through the country side. He passes trailer after trailer, derelict beer cans crushed underfoot as log-after-log are smashed into splinters by his incredibly hard bonce. He charged from one side of the camp to the other, before grinding to a halt sluggishly turning around.

"A fine days hard labour, if I do say so myself!" He commented proudly, puffing his chest out. He strolled back to his home, cheerfully greeting all his neighbours as he went by, good, clean, decent folk who earned an honest living. Except, that's what mamma had told him. Despite the fact he'd never seen anybody actually go to work.. but they were always appreciative of Joel saving them the hassle of cutting up their own logs, so they couldn't be that bad.

"Ma! I'm home!" He called out as he climbed into his trailer, promptly banging his head on the door frame and taking a massive chunk out of it.

"Oh Billy-Joel! Ah told you not to do that!" His Mamma cussed.

"Don't call me Billy, Ma! I don't like it!" He sulked, as he settled down into a torn and tattered armchair with clearly visible springs and less stuffing than a taxidermist. He made a grab for the television control, which slipped out of his meat-clever sized hand and fell down the side of the chair. "Gawd dang it!"

"Joel, don't swear!" His Mamma tsked.

"Sorry Ma..." He said, as he stumbled over to the TV, tweaking with the various knobs and buttons on the interface, then going on to adjust the aerial, before finally settling on giving it a good old fashioned smack. It leapt to life instantly.

"Jimmy Nail, leader singer of Hammer and Nails, was today prosecuted for indecent exposure. The victim is claimed to have quoted 2They don't call him Jimmy Nail for nothing'...."

"Serves the Socialist pig right!" Muttered his Mamma. "Shouldn't go around spreading un-american values around the place, should he Joel."

"No Ma." Joel replied absent mindedly.

"In other news, President Nillsburg today announced that, despite promises on his re-election that his 1997 tax increases would be the last, has today announced further tax increases. These are to come into effect immediacy across America..."

"Oh Joel! Joel! Did you hear that... oh God have mercy, I feel faint!"

"It's just a few taxes Ma, we'll live."

"A few taxes?!" His Mamma fumed, taking a week old newspaper to his head. It didn't hurt, it never did, but he humoured her anyway. "Did I raise you to be stupid or something? Sure, it's a few taxes NOW, but then some other time it's a few more taxes, then a few more and before you know it, they're bleeding us, the poor, honest, decent citizens of this great and noble land who work hard for a living..."

"But Ma, you never worked a day in your life..."

"That ain't the point! It's the principle!" Snapped his Ma, mid-rant. "And what do the Government big wigs do with this money? Something useful like, I dunno, starting a war, boosting the economy and looking after our own interest? No! They waste it all on looking after the 'oh so precious' environment, and making friends with lesser countries. Like that poxy Neo-England place! Well, it ain't right! It's the peoples inbred hatred of taxes that makes this country great boy! And don't you forget it!"

With that, in a moment of melo-drama so precise even the Royal Shakespeare company would be suitable impressed by, his Mamma burst into tears and collapsed into his arms.

"Oh if you're father was alive..." She sobbed, dramatically.

"There, there Ma..." He said, reassuringly patting her on the back. "I'll put the world to rights, you'll see..."

Two Days Later, The City of Impulsia.

Smoke lingered around his fingers. And his nostrils. And quite probably his lungs. The city of Impulsia sprawled out before him, a seemingly endless metropolis-going-on-industrial-wasteland. Marvels of architecture were coated in soot, the massive, bustling population choked by an eerie thick cloud of smog, shining examples of modern day wonders, sitting next to relics of the past. It was a woeful sight to behold, but still Joel remained optimistic. This was a city in America, there are no finer cities in the whole world. So says his Ma.

Joel left the train, people happily parting to give the giant room to manoeuvre. His boots hit the cold concrete of the city... and, well, nothing. No great feeling of achievement and accomplishment, no wonderful, uplifting feeling... not even any physical manifestation. Well, aside from the slightly amusing stereotypical homeless person attempting to shine his shoes, but I'm sure that is something we could all live without.

Still, Joel hadn't come to Impulsia without reason. On face value, he'd come to make a decent living, send money home each month to pay the taxes and make his mamma proud. Just like any good, little country bumpkin that sets foot into Impulsia. And there were many of them. In fact, historians theorise the name 'Impulsia' is a direct play on the sheer number of immigrants from other countries and rural areas flock there to make a decent living. However, there is another theory that the name is linked to the cities long history of impulsive buying... but the vast majority hold that view that it just sounded pretty when they built it.

However, Joel was no ordinary country lad. For a start, he was much more unattractive than most, but he also had a secret mission. He promised his Mamma he'd set the world to rights, and that's just what he'd do! Right after he...

"Hey! Watch it jackass!"

A beautiful, hour-glass figured red haired woman in a business suit picked herself up from the tarmac. Mamma had always told him that there was no such thing as love at first sight, just love at first sight of his wallet. But from the moment he lay eyes on the wonderful creature before him, he was smitten.

"Uh... s-sorry..." He spluttered out clumsily. "... You sure are pretty..."

"And you sure are a walking freak show." She responded coldly. "Just watch where you're going, kay?"

With that, she stormed off. Over the next few weeks, Joel scrambled to his feet, renting himself an apartment in what was reputed to be a bad neighbourhood. Although, after that polite young man had bent an iron crowbar clean over his head, pretty much everybody had been quite civil to him. However, when he thought about it, it might have had more to do with what he did to that young vandal who tried to stab him... the less said about that, the better. There had been a few who even offered him a strange white substance for free, but Mamma had told him never to accept gifts from strangers. Once he was settled in, he swiftly went out and got a job at an advertising firm creating slogans for banners and card inserts.

One night, Joel sat up late at night in his apartment. Water dripped down the walls, curling the grotesquely coloured wallpaper at the edges and small rodents scuttled too and fro across the room, Joel had even named a few of them. He sat at a desk proped up by several magazines to keep it level, tapping his chin with a pencil. Sheet after sheet of blank paper was scattered out before him, several rough-edged balls of scrap paper lying around his feet. He had the name, he had the powers, but a small thing like designing a costume? It was harder than it looked. He wasn't sure when he decided becoming a "super-hero" would solve the problem of good, honest people being overtaxed, to be honest, he wasn't all too sure what he'd do if he actually did become one. He'd only decided an hour ago, really. He'd seen that team from Neo-England, the Wescorp funded ones, and it just hit him like a brick. Not like a brick would hurt him too much, but it seemed to being really high levels of discomfort to other people.

He slammed a fist down on the table, he was getting nowhere. He needed to go for a walk, clear his head. The it'd all come flooding to him.

He dashed out onto the streets in the middle of a downpour, what was known as the 'Impulsia Flood' by the locals. Droplets of rain flew into his eyes, blinding him and causing him to topple into a nearby dustbin. As he climbed to his feet, his hands ran over a curious fabric.

"Eh?" He exclaimed, slightly dazed. He held what looked like a pair of battered and torn overalls that had fallen from the bin, and examined them on his knees. "They're dramatic... they're identity concealing... they.... smell pretty awful, but other than that... with a few personal touches... they're perfect!"

A few nights later, Back Alleys of Impulsia.

Jason was a good kid, he'd never do you no harm. Well, aside from that man he assaulted last week... and of course the woman he *almost* ran over joy riding about a month ago... there was also the old lady he'd mugged about five minutes ago, but otherwise, it was mainly minor crimes... like, you know, arson... Grand Theft Auto... there was one false allegation of attempted murder as well, that was put to rest by actual murder by his brother. But currently, he was rushing down the back alley, old bag's purse in hand, ready to go home and count the loot. That's when he hit a snag, or rather, a very large person.

The first thing that struck Jason was how tall he was. He seemed to cast a looming shadow over everything, as if he was the most important thing in the world. The second thing that struck him was the absurd costume he wore. White overalls with dark green boots, gloves, full face mask with eye holes cut out and a cape seemingly made of several dollar bills clumsily stitched together. A crude representation of a dollar bill was drawn on the front of his costume.

"That's a lot of money you're carrying there, young man." The figure announced. "Not paying any taxes with it, I hope?"

"Naw man! I never pay my taxes!" Jason foolishly declared on the spur of the moment, feeding off the adrenalin of the recent robbery. "What you going to do about it, big man?!"

"Absolutely nothing!" The giant laughed, ruffling Jason's hair. "And you keep it that way! Hatred of taxes is what makes this country great!"

With that, Joel James, AKA the Taxdodger, walked off. For him, tonight at least, his work was done...

[ArtificialIdiot]

Taxdodger: Cruel Britannia

Chapter 1: Only one solution...

Midday, Impulsia International Airport.

Impulsia. City of dreams. Pride of America. Truth, Justice, Liberty all molded into one great spectacle of wrought metal and concrete, the obnoxious smells were an optional extra. Or at least, that's what the travel guides in your local WesJet would have you believe. Impulsia was really a putrid, festering hole with a core as rotten as a politicians reputation. And nobody felt it more than the burly, hair-ridden man approached from terminal 13. He was used to natural, living things that glowed with life... not this man made farce of a city.

"Name... um, sir?" The man at the desk asked cautiously. And with good reason, for the man towering over him was like few other. It could have been the fact he was generally taller, and much more muscular than most men. Perhaps it was the sheer amount of ginger hair covering any part of his body that was visible. Although, the smart mans money would be on that fact he was wearing a skirt.

"Dunarse McClot." He rumbled, like the very depth of a mountainous cavern. Or an overweight man's stomach around breaktime, for those unfortunate enough not to have experienced a mountainous cavern.

"Anything to declare?"

"A history of despair and hopelessness."

"Um... right... business or pleasure?"

The Scotsman looked at him skeptically for a moment. Huffing his enormous chest as he carefully considered the question.

"Destiny." He said, finally.

Meanwhile, across town in the staff cantina of Slogan LTD...

"Aw hell! Outta bloody Nutty Weser bars AGAIN!" A disgruntled employee slammed his head against the vending machine as Joel walked past.

"You should treat the machine with more respect." He advised, as the man began to hammer on it.

"Can it, Redneck boy!" He fumed. "Jus' go back to your mamma and spend your days guzzling beer and shooting tadpoles, or whatever it is you unclothe animals do!"

"Micky, Micky, Micky..." Tsked another approaching voice. "That isn't anyway to talk to another employee... gee, hate to think what the boss would do to you... IF she found out..."

"Guess it's true what they say, freaks of a feather and all..." Mickey replied snidely. With obvious distaste for the woman who had addressed him. Joel hadn't even seen her before. "You can keep your redneck pet, Weasel. Just make sure he stays outta my way!"

Joel looked down on the rather withered figure that had saved him from hassle. She wore glasses that held enough glass to produce two or three large milk bottles, and was very pale and scrawny. She also had little to no fashion sense, which was fine, as neither did he.

"Thanks... um... Weasel..." He said awkwardly as he settled down at a table to eat his sandwiches. The woman sat opposite him.

"Call me Wendy." She said. "You're Joel right?"

"Um... yeah..." Many people thought Joel was a braindead, hopelessly stupid, block headed country boy... and to be fair, they were right. But he still heard what everybody was saying about him. His mamma would have scolded him six ways of Sunday for talk like that...

"How's the city?" She asked politely. Joel strummed his fingers against the table as he thought.

"It's different." He admitted. Though, that was an understatement. It was a crime ridden cess pool... and what was worse, everybody paid their taxes! Without question!

"I was thinking... Maybe I could like, show you around..." She pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Maybe we could go out somewhere... See that band that everybody are talking about..."

"That sounds nice... But I dunno about the band...." His mamma had told him plenty of tales about rock and roll... None of them were very pretty. But still, one show couldn't hurt... "But it sounds like fun... I guess..."

"Well that's great! What day is good..." Joel cut her off by raising just one of his oversized fingers. His eyes were trained intently on a small TV in the corner of the cantina.

"I've got to go..." He said simply. "I'll speak to you another time...."

"Well, Ok. See you...." But before she had a chance to finish the sentence, he was already gone. She let out a small hmph and then huffed a single word... "Men!"

EastWest Banks, Impulsia branch. A few minutes later.

A robbery was in progress. A single, gun holding, citizen, was holding everybody at ransom. He'd ordered everybody to lie on the ground, and had security drop their weapons and empty the vaults into a nearby van. One woman, a middle-aged customer, was struggling to keep her young child under control. Inevitably, the youth got free and the mother scrambled up after him.

"Stay down lady!" The man yelled, casually catching her hard with the back of his hand, sending her back to the floor with a red cheek.

"This stops here!" Announced the figure that now filled the double doorway, the child clinging to his leg for dear life. A crude dollar bill protruding from his chest. The Taxdodger stepped into the bank, crushing broken glass beneath his feet.

"Hey man! You stay out of this! It has nothing to do with you!" The dreadlocked villain turned swiftly towards the caped monstrosity, locking his gun on him.

"True, but I don't think the contents of that vault had a whole lot to do with you either."

"Listen man, I'm just trying to do these corporate spanner monkeys a favour!" He insisted, flicking off his sun-glasses dramatically. "They invest all their money in these government safehouses, and for what? Investment? PLEASE! Whatever they gain is drained away by restrictive government taxes and for what?! What has the government ever done for use for our hard earned money? Nothing! That's what!"

"So you plan to take all this money away and do what?" Asked the Taxdodger calmly, pacing ever so slowly towards his assailant.

"Well... I don't know yet... But it's got to be better than being locked up in here, man!"

"HM. While I can't say I disagree with your sentiments, there is one thing I don't like..." He grabbed hold of the gun, twisting it out of the man's hand and then grabbing him by the dreadlocks and pulling him closer. "It's not very polite to hit a lady..."

He headbutted the man between the eyes, thanking the lord that he took his sun-glasses off first. Otherwise it could be quite messy. He then simply let him go, calmly wiping the blood from his mask with the back of his hands.

"All of you just go home, and contemplate this incident. Remember, it's the system that drives these people to do what they do... don't support it!" He picked up the child, placing him back in the arms of his mother and then departed out into the wild, concrete cesspit that was Impulsia.

[Tzomisx]

Political satire aside, this is an incredibly entertaining read, its pretty funny in its own right. Its just... great. I cant quite put my finger on why this is so good just yet, but you better keep pumping more of this stuff out.

My favorite bit:
"Anything to declare?"

"A history of despair and hopelessness."

"Um... right... "

[ArtificialIdiot]

Thank ye very kindly. :)

All I can say is, it's a lot of fun to write. So that probably has some effect on it.

Chapter 2: Off to Waterloo...

The following night on the streets of Impulsia, the Taxdodger was doing his rounds. Rain hit his mask with a soft thud, being drawn in by the dark green fabric. It was running down his chest, drawing out the dye of his symbol and running light green stains down his white overalls. He'd had to abandon his cloak a few streets back. It dawned on him that his uniform just wasn't practical. But he couldn't stop his mission because of small inconveniences.

He came to a secluded corner of a rooftop, crouching down into it as best he could, which wasn't very well considering his rather considerable bulk. He sighed and rubbed his gloved fingers together, rain drops catching in his mouth. He was about to call it a night and go home, when a ghastly unified wail infected his ears.

"VINDALOO! VINDALOO! AND WE ALL LIKE VINDALOOOOO...."

He peered over the ledge that surrounded the roof and frowned. He could see a mob of skin headed vandals marching through the streets below him. Men and women, about thirty... most probably more. Joel was never very good at counting. All their hair looked freshly shaved, all of them in either red or white shirts, with varying designs. Some had numbers and names on the back, others had red stripes on the front... and he frowned as he noted that the St. George's cross was depicted on some of them. They chanted as they took the city street by storm, upturning anything not bolted down and assaulting any random strangers they passed by.

He threw himself off of the roof ledge, landing like a brick onto the gravel below. He stepped out in front of the mob, unfazed by their numbers. He placed his hands on his hips in what he hoped was a dramatic pose, and looked several of them directly in the eyes. Which involved rather awkwardly looking down on them.

"Party is over, citizens. Disband and go back home, now." He demanded, calmly.

"Luv a duck, guv!" Exclaimed one of the skinheaded trouble-makers, pointing at him. "Take a gander at that green 'eaded blighter!"

"Bit late fer all 'allow's, ain't yer chum?" Asked another. "An' getta eyeful his take on tha Green Giant! Ain't much cop, issit?"

"Oi say we stomp the fella a' flat a' a two penny piece!" Roared one in an accent much more distinct than the others.

"Wat a damn jolly good idea!" Yelled a few of the others in approval. He didn't wait for them to charge.

He launched himself into the hooligans head first, literally. The crunch of bones being shattered ringing through Joel's ears as his head did what it was best at. He reasoned, as he stormed through their ranks, that it was better to get into the heart of the battle than to skirt around the edges and let them slowly entangle him. He took advantage of their confusion, letting his fists fly into action. One of them made a frenzied grab at his mask, pulling it down over his eyes. He made a blind grab of his assailant, clasping firmly onto the thugs shoulder. With his other hand he pulled his mask up and then raised it into a fist, ready to strike down...

But then he stopped. He'd recognise those glasses anywhere!

"Wendy!?" He exclaimed, a state of shock slowly creeping over him.

"COP THIS FOR A MONTH A TUESDAYS, YER DIRTY ROTTER!" A hooligan screamed from behind him in frustration. Next thing Joel felt was something heavy, possibly a thick plank of wood, or steel, slam into his back several times. He released his grip on Wendy, collapsing to the floor. After that it was impossible to get up, they swarmed him. Screaming obscenities, including the ever popular 'You're not singing any more, you're not singing any moooooore'.

"FREEZE, THIS IS THE POLICE! YOU ARE SURROUNDED..."

"Cor blimey!" Screamed one of the female thugs, immediately stopping her attack on him. "It's the old bill!"

"Just in time..." Joel groaned, the churning of rotors on police helicopters thundering through his skull. He took advantage of the situation, climbing to his feet and grabbing Wendy around the waist. Throwing her over his shoulder, kicking and screaming quite pointlessly. As he didn't feel a thing. His stance restored, he barged his way through the skin heads with ease, even the police blockade didn't put up much of a challenge, taking a step back when they saw the size of him.

"It's ok Wendy..." He whispered. "Going to get you out of the cold..."

Meanwhile, on one of the police choppers, Detective McArthur watched the silhouette below leisurely walk away He rubbed at his temples with one hand before turning his gaze towards the group of misguided youths. He should have known those bloody super humans would be in on this..

"Detective, one of them is getting away!" He was informed by one of the constables.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" He snapped, before sighing and reluctantly bringing himself to say the next words. "Leave that blasted vigilante out of it.. if you haven't noticed, we've got ourselves bigger problems than an pumped up nut job..."

McArthur shook his head once more... tonight was going to be one, long, hellish night of paperwork... that was no mistake.

Meanwhile, down one of the more tranquil streets in the city...

His boots splashed in the puddles, his legs were blocks of ice... But Dunarse kept walking anyway.

He bowed his head, hood pulled over it to protect him from the rain. It still managed to run down his beard in small droplets. He kept his hands firmly tucked in his sleeves, like a monk with half a carpet stuck to his face. The glare of a television, several of them in fact, caught the corner of his eye. Several people were crowded around a window. Dunarse stopped dead, looking up at the plaque above it.

"Diamond Del's TV Repair." He read carefully brushing his beard. "Stand aside, ye puny arse mortals!"

He tried to charge his way into the crowd, and was unpleasantly surprised when nobody heeded his warnings. He glowered, and then elbowed his way in.

"Hey! Watch it, jackass!" An upstart growled, shaking his fist.

"Taste tae camber of mild redemption, yer wee nancy boy!" He proclaimed, dramatically pulling what seemed to the untrained eye to be a large piece of log with a steel handle at one end from his kilt. Said article of clothing flapped around in an equally dramatic fashion. He then brought his weapon down on the man's skull, dropping him to the floor like a ton of haggis. "'oo else wan's some?"

Unsurprisingly, nobody did. They uneasily stepped aside as he walked up to the store, several televisions switched on and tuned into the evening news. On it, Dunarse could see a tall, muscular man, perhaps even more so than himself, in a green mask foiling a bank robbery. Dunarse's brow furrowed, he took an ancient piece of paper from his sporran, the crowd taking a cautious step back as he did. He placed it up to the window, and just as he expected the crude drawing matched up with the image on screen. He nodded and then continued alone the street in the same sullen fashion he had before... Confident that his destiny was at hand.

[ArtificialIdiot]

Chapter 3: 'Don't Blame the Sweet and Tender Hooligans...'

"One more time..." Detective McArthur sighed. "What did you and your little friends think you were doing out there?!"

It had gone on like this for hours. ICPD couldn't keep them all, there were about fifty of them at the incident he had attended personally... And hundreds more elsewhere in the city. Eventually the department had settled on taking in the eldest of the lot, or those with a violent history... The one's who are most likely leading this charade. However, so far his interrogations had amounted to nothing.

"I don't know, man! I really don't know!" The man, who must have just been gracing his early twenties, pleaded. "It's just... one minute I was at this totally kickass show, and then the next I was in here..."

"Oh, really now..." Said McArthur, his voice dripping in irony. "So you have no recollection of tearing up good people's property and hospitalising several innocent cits? Well, that's ok then... I guess you're free to go..."

"Really?!"

"No." The detective said bluntly. He leaned back on his chair. "You said you were at a show... all the others were at this concert too, correct?"

"Well, there was a lot of people there... so maybe..."

"Maybe." Tsked McArthur. "So, you all left this show... at what time, did you say?"

"Um... I don't remember..." He placed his head in his hands for a few minutes, running it over his smooth, bald head before finally shaking it. "No, can't recall when I left..."

"How convenient." McArthur stood up, and started to prowl around the table. "So... You leave the concert, you're on a real buzz... It's the most magnificent gig you and your little buddies have been too in your lives. So you decide 'Hey, if they're British, let's go investigate some other forms of British culture'... You all go out, somebody starts searching through old newsclips. You with me so far?"

"No, I didn't do anything like that!?" The potential criminal protested.

"I thought you didn't remember!" McArthur pointed out triumphantly.

"Well, I don't... but... well, it's possible, I guess..."

"I'd say it's a lot more than possible. I'd say it's very likely. In fact, I'd say there's more..." McArthur placed a hand on the table, and gently leaned against it. "Hell, I'd say you took that news footage. What were they? Riots in Greece? Turkey? I'd say the footage was of British soccer hooligans, and I'd say you and your little pals thought it would be a mighty fine idea to start a new fad..."

"Listen, I don't know where you're going with this..."

"I'll tell you exactly where I'm going with this!" He snarled. "You thought it would be a nice little prank to turn yourself into hooligans, didn't you?! Thought it would be fun to rampage through other people's property, screaming your heads off.. All nice and uniformed! Oh yes, you thought it would be a blast! Until the law caught up with you, and then you sit here making the same old excuses! I think you remember everything, you're just too much of a coward to face it like a man!"

"No! That's just... crazy!"

"And shaving off all your hair isn't?!"

"Listen, I'd never have shaved off my hair, man! It must have been... like, super villains or something!"

"Oh dear me... What on Earth next? Aliens? Vampires? Just get out of my sight. Maybe a night in the cells will refresh your memory some..." McArthur grabbed his coat and hat, and walked towards the door. "Terminate this interview, I'm going for coffee..."

Meanwhile, across town in Wendy's apartment, Joel began the process of making coffee. He didn't like the smell of coffee, but he found the taste quite stimulating. He plodded over to the kitchen table, pulling his mask over his face before collecting a small trap from the counter. On it were two cups, steam slowly rising from both. He'd been slightly bemused by how decorated and fragile they were. His Ma only used rusty tin things that she fished out of the river. Except one that used to belong to his father... but nobody used that.

He took the tray to her room, which was a wash with soft, yet vibrant colours. Pale yellows being a particularly dominant feature. He lay the tray on her chest of draws, next to her glasses. He then proceeded to scrape a chair along the polished wooden floor next to her bed, which he dropped himself in. He was quite thankful for this simple comfort, having not rested all night. He watched her as her chest moved slowly up and down under the orange and yellow bedspread. Despite her freshly shaven head, she did look quite attractive without her glasses. But not as attractive as the woman he had met on his first day in Impulsia.

She sighed softly, stealing his thoughts back to the present. She stirred quietly beneath the covers, moving slowly in the throes of sleep. She slouched against the headrest, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and then blindly feeling for her glasses with one hand.

"Here you are, Madam." He said, handing them too her.

"Thanks... Wh-" She stopped in mid sentence abruptly, staring intently at him. And then raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Joel?"

"Um... No! I mean..." Joel's mind worked in overtime, never being the fastest hand on the watch. it didn't come to much success. "I have no idea who you are referring too, Madam."

"Joel James don't you lie to me!" She took on the same authoritive tone his Ma used when scalding him.

"Ah Wendy!" He whined, lowering his head. "Did ya have to go and ruin it?"

"Sorry hun, but there aren't many folk with your build in even a city as large as this." Joel sighed, pulling off his mask and placing it down to the tray of drinks.

"Coffee?" He asked.

"Can't stand the stuff." She began to rub her eyes behind her glasses again. "What the hell happened? My head feels like it's played host to a riot."

"Funny you should say that..." Joel produced a small mirror he had picked up from the bathroom on his way in. "I think there's something you better see..."

Next day, ICPD head quarters.

"Morning Ma'am." Joel said calmly, as he overshadowed the woman at the desk with his bulk. She had been lazily chewing gum and tapping her fingers, an average day he expected. A shame he had to spoil it. "Can I speak with the man in charge of the riot case?"

She looked at him like a pigeon who just realised what they'd settled on wasn't a washing line. It wasn't everyday you had a costumed man walked into the long arms of the law... Unless it was for undesirable, and often unlawful, reasons.

"You can tell him I have additional evidence on the matter." Joel explained. Answering the questions she was struggling to ask. "And you can leave my name as Taxdodger."

Inside his office, McArthur was having a rough day. He'd been forced to let all the suspects go because of 'lack of evidence'. It made him want to spit in the face of the justice system... No evidence indeed! Tell that to the several innocent citizens who are lying crippled in a hospital bed or are having to pay out to repair extreme amounts of damage. It infuriated him to the point he thought nothing could anger him anymore.

*Detective McArthur, there... There's a man here to see you...* Said a voice over his police radio. Using it as an intercom? Lazy cow. *Says his name is... ah, Taxdodger...*

Perfect. Just plain perfect.

"Send him in." He replied gruffly.

He raised one, bushy, greying eyebrow as the man quite literally filled his door-frame. Typical costumed freak that ran riot through the streets of cities and towns all across America, if not the world. Bloody Neo-England was the worst for it. He'd heard that Wescorp, the bastard child of the poxy little hellhole, were going to start endorsing super humans as a method of law enforcement! It was absurd, putting good men like the police force out of a job! It made his blood boil... A lot of things had that affect on him.

"If I could arrest you for bare faced cheek, believe me I would." McArthur growled. "Spit it out, and fast."

"I have new evidence in the hooligan case..." He began, but McArthur cut him off.

"Let me guess... You've discovered, through your obviously superior detective skills that all the people involved in the incident were all in attendance of the Impulsia leg of the British Workers Union's latest little tour..." He said calmly, taking a break to sip at stone cold coffee. It was disgusting, but it kept him sane. "... And you've reached the conclusion that they're somehow brainwashing these people to... I dunno, conquer the United States?"

"I wasn't sure on the conquest part, but they are British..." He replied. McArthur rolled his eyes... So wet behind the ears you could drown a grown tiger and so empty-headed you could probably convert the space between his ears into a four bedroom house.

"I'm sorry, but I don't buy ********." McArthur stood up, only to feel even more dwarfed by the giant. "As much as society would love to blame everything on super humans, aliens... brain washing, it ain't gonna happen. The problem here isn't some diabolical plot to take over the world, it's some half-brained runts who can't face up to the responsibility of their actions.
"Now, why don't you stop wasting police time with your half-cocked theories and leave crime fighting to the experts. Because you, kid... You ain't got a clue." He settled back down in his chair and waited patiently for him to leave.

Joel cursed under his mask. And then verbally berated himself just like his Ma would have done, had she heard such language. He glared at the detective, seeing just another waste of public money... A man who lived off taxes, a useless carcass who Joel should have known better than to ask of help. He made his exits and trudged back to his own apartment.

"If the police ain't gonna help..." He announced bitterly to himself. "Then it's about time I made some music of my own..."

[ArtificialIdiot]

Chapter 4: Enter the No-Hoper

Midnight, The CentralPoint Indoor Arena.

Tonight there was no storm. No thundering rain. No skies torn apart by thunder. Not even a cloud. Just pale moonlight and bone dry Earth. But that did not comfort Joel. The merciless weather had been replaced by a storm in his mind, and at the forefront of emotions battling over insignificant pieces of grey matter was anger. It was an inexplicable lust, not for revenge, but for answers. He wanted to know not why, but how. How could anybody possibly even contemplate turning innocent young boys and girls, men and women, into rabid, drooling monstrosities? How could a thing happen right under the noses of the law? How on Earth could it even happen?

He would find out. Even if he had to beat it out of them. He would know, and he would stamp out this injustice that the police were so blind too.

CentralPoint was lit up like a solar eclipse. It had an eerie feel of shadowed importance about it, despite the fact that on a night darker than this, you could drive right past it without bashing an eyelid. It was a small, slightly run-down theatre, everything in Impulsia was tainted in some way or another by urban decay, with very few lighting arrangements.

A few, solitary lamp posts hung over the car-park, the few that were still working cascaded small pin-points of white onto the tarmac below. A billboard hung just outside the car-park, one of the four lamps that overhung it still flickering in and out of life to luminate it's surface. Joel hadn't read it, but he couldn't fail to miss the neon sign that hung far above the doorway. It was fashioned in red, white and blue bars and read 'British Workers Union' benath it was another billboard, which he couldn't read from the angle he was looking up from. He assumed they were performance dates.

He hurled open the double doors, temporally blinded by the glaring spotlights. If outside was a solar eclipse, inside bared the full force of the sun's fury. There wasn't even a slither of a shadow left unexposed. Joel had expected the arena to be like an opera house he had seen on television once, but it was nothing like that. There were no seats, just a white, tiled floor with a stage at the far end. Scaffolding reeled above the stage like a form of mechanical serpent, with lights and cables hung from it at random intervals.

"That'll do for a night, Darlings. Take five."

Five people were stood on the stage, with various instruments. He assumed they were the British Workers Union, he hadn't expected to find them here. He'd come to look for clues.

A woman, what he assumed was the lead singer, hopped off the stage. Joel's jaw dropped behind his mask as she approached him. She was short, even by normal standards, Joel estimated she stood at least half a head shorter than average height. Sweat rolled down her face in turrets, Joel found himself forced to follow the droplets as they rolled down her neck, before being absorbed into her loose fitting, white top. He couldn't stop his eyes as they travelled down to read the slogan across her chest. 'The Scum: We Hate it!".

"Looking for something, dear?"

His gaze instantly snapped back to her face as she spoke. It had a subtle beauty about it, accompanied by trusting features. She could see her eyes for a pair of frame less sun-glasses that hung on her nose. Joel stood silent for a moment, watching her as she slowly brushed a hand through her soft, blonde hair that looked pale, almost translucent, in the overbearing spotlights of the arena. All of this was only offset by the smell of perspiration she had obviously worked up in her rehearsals. But that was fine, as Joel was aware that he didn't exactly smell of fresh cut spring flowers himself.

She cleared her throat, sending a jolt to Joel's senses.

"Apologies for the intrusion maam..." He said through a strained voice, as he struggled to compose himself. All the hate and bile that had inhabited his body when he entered now drained. "... I was hoping the theatre were empty."

"Sorry to disappoint you, luv." She smiled. Joel found himself returning the gesture behind his mask. His Ma had always thought him that Neo-English people were wretched, ugly people. She said that they all had hair as red as the devil's, teeth like a buck-toothed mule's and were withered, twisted creatures with bones jutting out at odd angles. Maybe these people, this band, only [i[called[/i] themselves British...

"Not at all!" The words came out of his mouth without thought. In fact, he couldn't help feeling quite the opposite of disappointed.

"Now, what can we do for Captain America here...."

"Yer can go 'bout arrangin' 'is funeral, lassie." A deep, throaty growl made Joel spin around, his freshly re-made cloak rustled with the momentum. A barrel-chested man wearing a ginger beard blocked the doorway. He was barely any shorter than Joel himself, and, he couldn't help but notice, wore some form of skirt. His knobbly knees like hair covered fists.

"I don't want any trouble with you, sir!" He announced in his most brazen, bold voice. He inadvertently wrapped an arm around the woman, drawing her close to him. He kept telling himself it was for her own protection, but ulterior motives held a strong anchor in his mind.

"Save yer muddlin' fer someone else, laddie.You an' me, we got a matter o' destiny ta sort oot..."

Dunarse slipped his hand under his kilt, retrieving the camber of mild redemption and hammering it fiercely in his upturned palm. This 'Taxdodger' didn't seem the least bit fazed, he stood there, bold as brass. Dunarse had of course heard the rumours, a skull so thick that not even the strongest liberal ideology could by-pass it. It was a stroke of luck that Dunarse wasn't very liberal.

He struck the costumed hero directly on the forehead, and watched his body reel. His gloved hands rose to clutch at his aching head, while he took a step back from pure shock. Danarse let out a hearty chuckle.

"Not used to THAT, are yer, yer wee begger!"

"H-how...?!" He gasped. Dunarse gave him another crack to the head, then applied his boot to his rips. A smirk rippled his beard as he felt a few of them crack.

"S'all in tae wrist, me laddie... S'all in tae wrist..."

"I was wondering if we could settle a little debate, sir...." The woman the oaf was holding earlier stood to the side of Dunarse, idly rocking a microphone stand back and forth in her hands. "Is it the size that counts, or how shocking the discharge is?"

She jabbed the end of the stand into Dunarse's stomach, he was about to laugh it off in his hearty, arrogant, Scottish way when the hairs on the back of his neck (and, as a matter of fact, all the way down his back) started to prickle and stand to a stiff attention. Volts of electricity pumped through his body for a few, excruciating seconds. He slid to the floor, letting out a feeble cough, and then lay on the floor to smoke.

"Gee... I really thought he had me there!" Joel exclaimed, clutching his ribcage as he tried to regain his footing. "Thank you..."

"Well, darling... I wouldn't go counting your chickens just yet..."

Joel felt something cold and flat press into the back of his neck. For a few seconds, he sympathised with Dunarse, before passing out.

[ArtificialIdiot]

Persistance in the face of no interest? Oh yeah, I got that in spades! :p

Chapter 5: Caledonia Calling...

Ancient Caledonia, 80AD

It had been months. Or if it wasn't months, it felt like it had been. The men had lost all hope, or would have, if they had hope in the first place. And yet they trudged on. Out of Caledonia, into the very heart of Britannia. They were few, but they were strong. Tough, burly, some may even say barrel-chested men, all with the facial hair to prove it. Roman's fell at their feet like tin soldiers swiped from a mantelpiece, the few native Britons cowered before them, grovelling like dogs to the slaughter before being horribly decapitated. Or sometimes they just gave them a light smack on the head and told them not to bother them again. It varied.

The Earth Grid rumbled beneath Dunarse's feet. It pulsed through them all unlike any being on Earth, the laylines guiding their aching feet like cateyes guide a tipsy driver alone a motorway, meaning not very well. But destiny had it's claws in them as if it was a rabid animal fighting over scraps, or alternatively, a middle aged woman at a sale. Which is just as primal and potentially deadly. Destiny tugged them all forward by the beards, onwards towards Stonehenge.

Few of them had read ancient transcripts about Stonehenge, and none had ever been there. Indeed, few of them had ever set foot out of Caledonia. But in their hearts, and more importantly, their sporrans, they knew this was the only way forward. Here they would cast aside the shackles of the meek and the mindless, become true gods among men and brush the Roman Empire out of Britannia's beard like a stray piece of left over haggis.

They wasted no time. Driving off the various druids and pagans massed there without mercy (well, maybe a little mercy for the bonnie wee lassies...) and setting up the basics for the ancient ritual. Locks of pure ginger hair from the beard of the most burly, barrel-chested man in the tribe, wood chippings from the most finely crafted, farthest flung camber, a strip of fabric from the sacred clan tartan and finally, a freshly baked haggis... Just like Grandma used to make.

Finally, after all the bloodshed, trepidation and piss-poor ale...They were doing it. They were summoning the spirit of Caledonia.

Present day, The bowels of the CentralPoint Indoor Arena.

"What happened next?" Asked Joel, hanging limp in his shackles. Beside him, hanging in a similar manner, was Dunarse. They were, he assumed, beneath the arena. It was dark, dust ridden and very damp in places. Various theatrical props and cases of sporting equipment lined the walls and floor. The Scotsman exhaled deeply, letting out a gruff sigh.

"So 'e comes up, all majestic and grand, yer know whit they like, laddie. Gods an' all. An' he starts screamin' 'is flaming 'ead of, aye." Dunarse explains. "He says, "Yer BERKS! Yer bluidly emptae 'eaded NUMPTIES! What d'ya think yer playin' at!?" an' 'e gies us the laldy o' our lives!"

"Laldy?" Joel inquires, thoroughly confused.

"A pastin'!"

"What?"

"Bluidy yanks! Yer wouldnae know culture if it bit yer up the arse! Nae, yer wouldnae!" The Scotsman spits, before continuing. "'e made us all No-hoper's, 'e did..."

"No-Hoper's?"

"Pathetic little immortals who spend eternity perusing usually equally pathetic game to give their eternal life-span some meaning." A rich, quintessentially English voice wafted through the room. Joel watched carefully as the woman from above stood at the foot of the stairs. She was different now, less of a shrinking violet and more majestic. She was draped in a coat that was almost like a robe, fur lined with the United Jack printed on it. The face that Joel had foolishly let himself get allured by was now covered by the shadow a wide rimmed hat and sun-glasses.The hat it's self sent a shiver down, it rested on her head like a crown... The new queen of America. "It looks like you're his latest target Mr...?"

"Taxdodger." Joel grunted.

"No need to be so blunt, dear heart. We're all friends here... For the moment." She smiled sweetly, it turned Joel's stomach, but at the same time he felt so much more at ease.

"If you were trying to gain friends, conquering my home country sure is a funny way to go about it..." Joel spat. Pulling on his chains as he thrust himself forward. She stepped gracefully over to him, standing just out of his reach. She leaned on her microphone stand as if it was a cane, smiling ruefully at him.

"Why darling, I am shocked and offended!" She wore a gesture of mock-horror, bringing a gloved hand up to her forehead dramatically. "Why on Earth you'd think I have the least bit of interest in this little dirtball, I cannot even begin to fathom."

"The why!?" Joel almost pleaded unintentionally. "Why brainwash innocent Americans, why chain us up... Who the hell are you anyway?!"

Joel bit his tonge, imagining what his ma would have said if she heard language like that coming from his mouth. But it soon passed when the woman leaned against his overalled chest, wrapping the hem of his mask around her finger.

"Slow down, sweetheart. Slow down... One at a time, hmm?" She practically breathed the words into his ear, sending yet more shivers down his buckling spine.

"Well... Ah... O...Ok..." Joel stumbled over his own tonge, almost swallowing it in one massive gulp. "Who are you?"

"I was terribly afraid you were never going to ask..." She said, flicking back a few stray hairs from her face. "Shiela Amelia Ingham. Although, you may call me Queen Amile."

"Shiela? Yer a bluidy wee Ozzie or sommat?"

"Well observed, my man!" She suddenly snapped, slinking from Joel to clap appreciably at Dunarse. "Alas, yes, I was born in Australia, to rather narrow minded parents... Dark days, very dark days..."

"Don't Aussies hate Britain though?" Blurted out Joel. "I mean... What with using it as a prison and all?"

"Your ignorance is only matched by your appalling fashion sense!" She snapped, waving him away with a hand as she turned her back on him. "It's nothing to be bitter about. No, Not at all! It's something to be proud of! It was a show of strength, how my Britain could mercilessly cast aside all it's thieves, vagabonds... Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Without a thought."

Joel smirked smugly under his mask. He knew she wasn't really British...

"And you see, this is what this is all about, darling..." She turned back to them, passing her microphone stand from one hand to the other. "Strength. Pride. Things we've so disgracefully cast aside. This was never about America, this was about making this bloated, content country realise who the true rulers of this world are. Make them realise the knife edge they sit on, and just how easily they can slip from it!"

"And soccer hooligans do this how exactly?" Asked Joel, thoroughly puzzled.

"Football hooligans!" She insisted, again snapping her fingers as if to make a point. "It makes perfect sense if you think about it. You've seen the riots in Greece, the Pandemonium they cause in Turkey... They are the perfect invasion force."

"So you are invading America!" Joel snapped. She simply rolled her eyes.

"Don't start getting clever now, dear heart. It suits you terribly." She intoned, she was about to go on when the door of at the top of the stairs was thrown open. The head of the guitarist poked around the gap.

"Ami, coppers!" He yelled urgently.

"Bugger." She cursed. "It's been fun gentleman, but I'm afraid I must dash. Give my regards to the fine men and women of the police force..."

"Don't... Count... Your... Chickens..." Joel growled, pulling on his restraints until his knuckles went a deep red, and then pure white. The chains buckled, before the links snapped away. Leaving a now free Taxdodger, panting like an exhausted animal.

"Och, yer numpty! Why dinnae yer do that earlier, like?!" Ranted Dunarse, almost breaking his own chains in sheer frustration. Joel simply shrugged.

"I was still wondering what a laldy was..."

[ArtificialIdiot]

Chapter 6: Goodnight and Thank You!

CentralPoint Indoor Arena, Impulsia.

McArthur was becoming increasingly irritated. He'd come to check out this 'British Workers Union' as part of his inquires, and the lead singer was nowhere to be seen. And as for the rest of them, couldn't seem to string a few sentences together without making a mockery of themselves. Much as he hated to admit it, he was becoming increasingly suspicious of these jolly Englishmen...

"Listen, this is going nowhere. Just get me your damn lead singer or I'm taking you all down the station for formal questioning!" I snap eventually, and then the doors at the side of the arena burst open. A lithe woman darted out onto the stage and then leapt off, she saw me and wrapped her arms around me.

"Oh officer..." She sobbed onto my collar. "... There's this horrid, despicable brute downstairs and... Oh my, I feel faint..."

McArthur wrapped one arm around the weeping female and brought the other one up to run his eyebrows. Trying to stave off the increasingly persistent headache that was already looming over the horizon due to this night.

"A brute mad..." He stopped mid-sentence. "YOU!

He roared, almost tossing the woman in his arms aside. He stormed onto the stage, baffling his fellow officers, as Joel appeared through the door.

"Detective I..." He tried to explain, but was instantly cut off by a raging McArthur.

"I told you, Hell some might even say I warn you to stay off this case!" He growled. "And now I find you, what, terrorising the suspects? Hah! Forcing a confession to please your own delusion fantasies are we? Hell, I'm going to book you so hard your skull with be numb for a month for this!"

"It wasn't like that..." Joel fumbled for the words in face of the accusations.

"Oh, Oh dear me!" McArthur bellowed sarcastically. "Then what was it like Mr. Taxdodger? Did you just come around to have some tea in a nice china cup? Maybe with some crumpets?"

"Actually, dear, it was very much like this..."

Joel cringed as McArthur screamed and fell to the floor, revealing Queen Amile wearing a sly smile.

"I am terribly afraid that the next dosage will have to be a lethal one, so please, save my guilty conscious and stay put." She cocked her head backwards to the police men McArthur had brought with them, shaking hands resting in the holsters. "That means you too, darlings."

Joel bit his bottom lip until he was sure he was going to chew it off. His mind was whirling like a Victorian machine being smashed to pieces by a Luddite. He didn't want to hurt her... She was still a woman after all. And if there was one thing that his Ma had taught him, it was manners. And discipline... And strong conservative ideas... And of course, how to trap a small woodland creature in a bucket. A valuable life skill that had saved him on many occasion. This wasn't one of them, unless...

"AVERT YOUR EYES!" He warned the police officers, who all ducked expecting flash-bangs, or something equally blinding. Instead, Joel pulled off his mask, revealing his face to the woman before him.

"Dear sweet Britannia!" She gasped, taking a step back and dropping her weapon. Joel smiled a crooked smile, which only enhanced his 'unique' looks. Queen Amile continued to gap, her mouth hung wide open... Disturbed and uprooted, just like a rat in a bucket. Joel pulled his mask back into place, picking up her microphone stand.

"Ah come on, I know I'm no looker, but I'm not that bad..." Joel said casually, as he snapped the stand in two and tossed the pieces aside. "Coming quietly now?"

In response she turned and bolted towards the fire exit. Joel was about to go after her, but first knelt down by the fallen detective, helping him to his feet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, McArthur just spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What the bloody hell are you standing there like an idiot for?" He grunted, the very edge of a growl lining his voice. "Get up there and drag her back down here!"

Joel sighed, and the nodded half heatedly before retracing her steps. He heard McArthur struggling to keep up behind him as he scrambled up the two flights of stairs that led up to the roof. Joel's boots crunched the gravel like a grinder as he made his way across the roof. But she was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't like this one bit, lad..." McArthur panted behind him. Joel didn't look back at him, he didn't like this much either.

"Gentlemen." Queen Amile finally nodded casually towards them as she stood on the edge of the roof, the wind lifting her coat from the ground and dramatically entwining it's self around her.

"You're under arrest girl, assaulting an officer of the law is just going to be the tip of the flaming iceberg!" Spat McArthur, in his usual, agitated fashion.

"I think not." She slipped a hand into her coat, retrieving a oblong, silver device from it's depths. "One step closer, and this detonator will have every citizen in Impulsia shaving their hair and waving the old St. George's. Not something you want, hm dears?"

Joel took a cautious step back, while McArthur just stood there, crossing his arms. Completely unimpressed.

"That..." He began. "... Is a television remote."

"Detective... We don't want to take the chance..." Joel began, but a long, drawn out sigh from McArthur cut him off.

"Are you blind as well as ugly?" He said drolely. "It's got a bloody Wescorp logo on the back!"

"But she..." Joel tried to argue, but McArthur was straight in like a knife.

"This is the exact reason we don't need vigilantes on the streets! Unobservant, small minded fools with no common sense and no respect for the letter of the law." He unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt and approached the now dejected woman. "You gotta know the law before you can bend it."

"Well played luv..." Queen Amile sighed, as she dropped the control and placed her arms calmly behind her back. "Well played."

A few minutes later, CentralPoint Indoor Arena.

Joel watched as the policeman dragged Queen Amile and her band away. He couldn't help but feeling sorry for her in a way. She was beautiful, Well-spoken, intelligent... All the things he wasn't, and yet she was so seemingly delusional and unhappy. He shook his head, the world was indeed a strange place. And talking about the strange, they had now unlocked Dunarse from the bowels of the arena, who was standing with both McArthur and himself in the middle of the floor space.

"As for your involvement.." The detective explained to them both. "I'll look over it, this time."

"And where do we stand... Personally?" Joel asked, McArthur raised an eyebrow.

"Lad, I'd personally shoot anybody pissing on you if you were ablaze, let alone doing it myself." He explained, and then heaved a sigh. "But you did 'ok' this time.. Just stay out of my business from now on! And remember, I know exactly what you look like..."

"... And as for you..." He rounded on Dunarse. "Cover those knees, they're offensive!"

"Bluidy cheek!" The Scotsman grumbled as the Detective left to organise the arrests. Joel stared at him, and he stared back.

"Now what?" He asked.

"Naethin'." The Scotsman nodded. "This time."

"This time?" Joel inquired.

"Ah'll be back fer yer, laddie. Jus' watch yer back, och!"

"But why? I don't understand."

"Yer'll see... In gud time." The Scotsman turned to walk away as mysteriously as he came when Joel cried out...

"Dunarse, one thing..." He turned to face the masked man.

"Aye?"

"Stitch this!" There was a crack as Dunarse's nose imploded on contact with Joel's forehead. "You wee bastard."

The End.

Right, that's it for now I'm afraid. Cheers to everybody who's been with me through this and please do post what you think, as it will greatly influence my decision on wether I'm ever going to do more stories set in Impulsia or not. I just want a reaction and maybe suggestions damn you people! :p

[Pupmon 4.0]

That was...interesting.Overall,I believe it is a good story.I give it two thumbs up.:D

[ArtificialIdiot]

And behold! A new Taxdodger epic blasting into your optical nerves!

(Good grud I hope i finish this now...)


Taxdodger: Windfall

Prologue: It's a beautiful day...

Impulsia. The parasitic tic desperately clinging to the American border for life and limb, draining as much of the sickly-sweet nectar of life as it can before it withers and dies as suddenly as it was thrown together. Like a putrid, festering boil on the border between America and Mexico, it is for many their first taste of the land of the free, for most a bitter and unbearably sour one.

For most, but for Sally the taste of the intoxicated air could be the very sweetest of honeys. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shinning. And she felt good!

She was born in what was once known as San Fransisco, before the Wescorp takeover in the eighties. Like many during that period, far too many in her opinion, her family had been complacent with the subtle British invasion. Giving up everything, their patriotic values, their freedom and even their own soil because the Britons promised them such seemingly Irresistible treasures as free health-care, welfare benefits and god knows what else! It had made her sick! Almost as sick as looking at the grizzled face of that Prime fellow... It made her skin crawl to think he was in charge of a whole city. An American city.

So she ran away. Ran for miles and miles. Well, of course she didn't run all of it. That is indeed preposterous. Trucks, trains, favours, odd-jobs. All across the country. Until she finally ran out of steam and ended up, as the rejects of life often do, in Impulsia. The first few years even the gutters seemed too good for her. She scarped along, barely, every day seeming like the last. But at least she'd die on American soil. And that meant the world to her. Until the roller-coaster of fate had started that slow, steady ascend to the top.

His name was Chad. They'd been together three years now.

It hadn't been love at first sight, far from it. It had taken months of shy glances, casual run ins and short conversations in smoky bars for them to get together. But when they did, it was like a firework exploding the face of the city. Like all her Valentines Days come at once. After three years in a stable relationship. Three years with a decent, rewarding job. They were going away. Back to San Franwesco, as it was now called, back to see her family for the first time in what seemed like several lifetimes. And she had a sneaking suspicion...

"Hey, watch it lady!" Grunted an obese moustached man as he collided into her, throwing her groceries into the street and walking away. She huffed, people were so rude these days!

Losing her trail of thought, she bent down and began to pick up her errant shopping. If she was brutally honest, she'd have admitted she had been in a daze since she had left the store. She had been happily skipping along, lost in the wondrous daydream that was her life at the moment completely ignorant to everything. She hadn't noticed just how many people were on the streets, it was unnatural and for a split second it piqued her curiosity, but she thought better of it. She had a man to go home to, after all.

"Tax cuts! Not for us! One-Two-Three-Four! Better services for the poor!" Chanted some men and women with billboards, one tastefully proclaiming that 'Knott get Knotted.'

Sally cringed, election fever had hit Impulsia like a particularly bad rash. One you just wanted to scratch out of existence. It reminded her of the one painful thing in her relationship with Chad, completely different political orientation. They just didn't talk about it, life was too short after all. She ploughed her way through protesters and passers by and even news crews! She soothed her panicked mind by recalling what she'd seen this morning. It was naughty of her, it really was. But she couldn't help it... She'd waited so long and then... God she couldn't believe he was finally going to do it!

She couldn't believe he was finally going to...

"FREEDOM TO IMPULSIA!!!"

She turned to the sound of the voice, but all she got in return was a raging inferno. It flickered over her flesh, extracting tormented screams of impending doom from the depths of her throat. And then the shock-wave came, rippling through her body, causing her to abandon her groceries for the second time this morning. It happened so fast, she was one of the lucky ones. The ones in the immediate blast area. She wouldn't suffer the slow, painful death of those just an inch or two back, nor would she be scarred for life by the flames. She had been one of the lucky few granted a quick death, though she was in no position to appreciate it.

Her body, along with many others, most of them anti-Knott protesters, fell to the ground. Charred, some barely beyond recognition. A few closer to the blast than Sally were missing limbs, such was the force of the explosion. Behind her, or what was once considered to be her, the anguished screams of those burning alive cut through the ringing in the ears of all those still able to hear. People rush up with bottles of mineral water, or hurriedly dialled 911 on their mobile phones or in pay boxes. The media crews swarmed around the incident, desperately trying to get the footage that would give their careers the boost they so craved. Such was the greed of Impulsia, it touched everything...

It had been a beautiful day. The sun still shined. But the mood had drastically changed.

Such was the very nature of fate, like a roller coster it had it's slow, highly anticipated highs. And then, in this case with the simple push of a detonator, a short, sharp, unexpected drop.

[Reket]

Hm, I just started reading this. It's an interesting subject, but this moral doesn't really seem right. ;) Good story though, It stays persistent throughout.

[ArtificialIdiot]

It's an interesting subject, but this moral doesn't really seem right.;)

Are you implying that I'm trying to morally curropt you all to overthrow the governments of the world and abolish their petty money making systems, letting anarchy rule the day?!?!

Because if you are... My plan is foiled! Curse you! :p


Chapter 1: Blood Money

Impulsia State prison, midday

"If yer'd like ta come this way, Sir..." Said the prison guard wearily as he spun a circle of keys on his fingers. "Y'know ole McArthur don't want yer in 'ere, but this gal... Sweet Jimmy Jones, 'hopin' she'll give over if we let yer see 'er..."

"I understand." Said Joel, matter-of-factly, as he trundled along in his heavy green boots after the guard. He was keeping a count of how many barred doors they'd been through so far, currently he'd counted three.

Three doors, three months. That's how long it had been since the skinhead invasion of Impulsia. Wendy's hair had just started to grow back now, and she looked the cutest little thing with short hair. That's where he had been when he got the call. It was from the prison warden, the prison they'd put her in. It had been three months, three whole months, and only now she wanted to see him. Originally Joel didn't have much problem with this, in his eyes it was like visiting a leopard with false teeth and it's fangs removed. But Wendy, she was worried sick. And that worried Joel immensely... She was, after all, the smart one.

"Here yer are, mate. Cell 802, if she starts to get uppity just holler..."

The key clicked into place and the thin metallic door swung open. Almost instantaneously, a sweet, overpowering scent that Joel couldn't quite put his finger on hit him. It was like the sweetest of purfumes, so poignant it made his eyes water behind his mask. He stepped into the cell, the door slamming shut behind him. It then dawned on him that he was trapped, trapped with a wolf stripped of her claws.

"Beethoven?" He asked as casually as he could manage.

"Elgar." She corrected him curtly, flicking the music off idly as she fixed her bored gaze upon him. "A great British composer."

"Should have known..."

She was sprawled out across her uninviting prison bed. Much like his grandma's cat used to be, content with a soft glare in her eyes. The woman herself, as much as painful as it was to admit, was much like the scent that surrounded her. A shock to the senses, but an extremely pleasant one. Even in her completely unflattering orange overalls she managed to maintain a distinct elegance, a certain charming grace in her posture that made on thing clear. She was a Queen among women, and her current position was just 'a temporary set-back'.

"Yes, well you are quite the Philistine, dear heart." She said as she sat up and curled her legs to one side of her bad. "Do take a seat, I'd be a most uncourteous host if I didn't strive to make you comfortable."

Joel muttered his thanks as he lowered himself down next to her. Much to his surprise it wasn't as rock hard as he imagined... In fact, it felt rather comfortable.

"Seems very... luxurious for a prison cell..." Joel observed.

"I've been a very good girl, Mr. Taxdodger." She smiled coyly. Joel could feel his heart pounding in his chest as his blood level rose... Being so close to her was like a torture. As he'd discovered the first time around. She had a way of getting under your skin, unnerving you, making you sweat while being hung on every word she said. He tried his best not to show it, but he imagined his mask was drenched by now.

"I don't know why you want me here, Amile..." He said slowly. "... But I've been thinking..."

"A gargantuan effort, I'm sure." She retorted drolely, he ignored her and carried on.

"You're plan didn't make sense. You gained nothing out of it, Britain gained nothing out of it... All you did was briefly traumatise a group of young adults and disrupt the traffic for a few nights running.... Why?"

"Darling, as much as I adore your juvenile little ponderings, do you honestly think that you could even begin to comprehend the motives of such a complex mastermind as myself?"

"You threatened the city with a TV remote..." Joel carefully reminded her, to which she just smiled that bitter-sweet smile.

"A moment of weakness, I admit." She leaned briskly on his shoulder, playing the next words directly into his ears. "But then, if it wasn't for a certain detective..."

Unable to take it anymore, Joel stood up. Allowing her to become unbalanced and fall flat on her side. He was surprised to see that she actually bounced... He was sure that prison beds weren't meant to have springs.

"What do you want, Amile. It's been three months... Why now?" He said bluntly, she gave him a look that was reminiscent of a lost puppy.

"Oh, but sweet heart! You think I want something from you!? I must say, I am truly and deeply hurt!" She engaged herself in a mocking, melodramatic swoon that ended with her being almost in the same position as when he'd entered. "I don't want anything, dear heart... No, I want to give you something..."

She rolled off the bed rather elegantly, as one would expect from a Queen, and lifted up her mattress. Joel being the gentleman he is held it up with one hand while she searched under it. She may have been a misguided, diabolical mastermind but she was still a lady.

"A-ha!" She announced proudly as she pushed a small, white envelope into his hands.

"What's this?" He inquired.

"A gift, not from me of course." She paced back to her bedside and flicked her music back on. "You see darling, and please do not think I am being the least bit petty, but if it was me, I may have taken offence."

"Then who's it from?" He asked her back. There was an unnerving silence, or rather a lack of anything beside Elgar. He walked up behind her and placed one of his bulky hands carefully on her shoulder. "Amile?"

"W-What...?" Now, Joel was no great detective. Indeed, he had no great mental ability at all. But even somebody of his simple upbringing could tell something was wrong. Her whole stature had changed. The majestic stance was completely lost, her posture was all wrong. The cool, calm, debonair aura that surrounded her seemed to have just evaporate. As if she'd suddenly heard she'd lost a hefty bet down at the Dunstable Mutant races. And her voice, that soft, rich and yet subtly powerful voice was cracked and was now more akin to a gibbering idiot than a Queen.

"Are you..." Joel paused as he saw something flicker into his line of vision. He started to part the hair that rested on the back of her neck when she suddenly spun around. "What's that on the back of your neck?"

"My... My w-what?" Her eyes had misted over, her mouth seemingly agape. Joel grabbed both her shoulders gently.

"Amile... What's wrong?" He asked, barely noticing that the music had stopped dead.

"I... I'm not entirely sure I know..." She replied, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fainted into his arms.


An hour later, Wendy's apartment.


Joel sat slumped in the middle of the sofa, his mask and gloves sprawled across the coffee table. He didn't have much choice in where he sat to be honest, if he sat on one of the other two sides the whole thing had an ungainly habit of tipping over. Such was the curse of having an above average bulk. For once however, and a rare occasion this was, the tax-hating giant had a lot on his mind. The envelope, clearly addressed to him in blunt, yet stylish, capital letters, lay there staring back at him.

"Sugar?" Called Wendy from the kitchen.

"No, thank you." He replied sullenly.

He'd left the prison about three quarters of an hour ago... But he'd only just left the hospital. It was insane. He couldn't make sense of it. When he went in, she was as arrogant and scathing as ever... But she was healthy! Perfectly healthy. And then suddenly... It just racked his brain! It made no sense! Something was obviously very wrong here... Something quite sinister.

"Now, are you going to tell me what went wrong or just sit there with a horses face all afternoon?" Wendy asked as she strolled in and placed the drinks on the coffee table. He looked up at her perplexed.

"Horses.... Face?"

"Nevermind." She sighed, falling back into a chair opposite him. "What happened? Did she upset you?"

"No..." He began. But then found he wasn't quite sure how to continue. Amile was his first and only nemesis, as sad as that sounded. She tried to impose the strong social values of another country onto the strong, traditional, god's honest American values that made this country great. She made Wendy shave her hair off for God's sake! So why did he care so much? And how could he explain that to the 'human cost' of the incident?

"Then what took you so long?" She inquired further. She cocked her head to get a better look at him and then her brow furrowed. "Joel...?"

"She... She had a really weird turn while I was there. She just... Cracked?" He tried to explain. Wendy shot a comment across about her' always being cracked' with an audible 'hrmph', but he ignored it as best he could. "She's in hospital Wendy... On life support..."

"You didn't...?"

"No!" Joel cut her off, appalled at the notion that she thought he'd ever hurt a lady.

"Sorry... I just..."

"Doesn't matter." He said dismissively. "Look, Wendy... I know I ain't the brightest tree in the orchid..."

"Don't say that!" He couldn't help but smiling. Wendy was always so supportive of him. He liked that. It was nice to know somebody was routing for you.

"Look, I think there's something weird going on..."

"Something weird?"

"I... I saw something. On the back of her neck... I dunno what it was but..." He shook his head, picking up the envelope. "And she gave me this."

"What is it?"

"I don't know." He admitted. "But I'm going to find out."

"Joel James are you insane!?" She snapped bewildered. "For all you know that thing could be rigged to explode as soon as you open it! Take it to the police, give it to that nice Detective..."

"No can do. I met McArthur at the hospital..." He paused for a moment. He still had the smell of cheap whisky lodged in his nostrils from the encounter. "He advised me to stay uninvolved in the case."

"And good advice too!" She insisted.

"But I'm already involved!" He exclaimed, undeterred. Wendy was about to reply, when the phone rang.

"You intolerable man!" She huffed before disappearing in the kitchen.

Joel carefully flicked open the flap on the back of the envelope, purely delighted that it didn't explode in his face like Wendy had predicted. However, he did notice that the envelope had started to become a ghastly shade of red. Soon a deep crimson liquid started to pour through the thin white paper and began to drip onto his stained white overalls and Wendy's furniture. He started to think that perhaps a bomb would have been a better option as opposed to facing an enraged Wendy...

As the liquid continued to drain from... Just above everywhere, really, Joel could see something emerging. He dug his hands in and grabbed hold of it. It was only thin, like a sheet of paper. About the size and shape of... A crisp, green dollar bill. He was about to hold it up to the light when Wendy re-entered.

"Joel..." She began.

"I can explain!" He burst out in a frantic cry, but then saw the slightly shocked look on her face."What happened?"

"You won't believe this..." She began again, breathlessly and much more carefully this time. "... Somebody.... Somebody tried to blow up Gordon Knott!"

[Reket]

Ahhh! Why'd you have to stop there? This stuff is really funny :D Posts, posts! Come on!

[Matt A]

I've just read the first of the two stories, and it is officially the funniest thing I have ever come across. Perfectly ripping the piss out of Americans, Scots and Englush alike without losing the sense of humour (and being English meself, I know full well hard that is). I'll read the second story tomorrow, and I trust that it'll be at least as funny, if not more so.

Good work so far!:anime: :anime: :anime:

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

Perfectly ripping the piss out of Americans, Scots and Englush alike without losing the sense of humour (and being English meself, I know full well hard that is).

Well, also being English myself (as if it wasn't obvious) I'd say that taking the piss out of the Scots and Americans comes as second nature! :p

Anyway, thank you. You're all far too kind. :)

* * *

Chapter 2: Night Shift.

Impulsia City Police station, Midnight.

McArthur rubbed his eyes, he was pulling the forth night shift in a row over this week. It was currently Thursday. You get the picture. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Or as it was turning out, two or three 'others' all at once.The carnival act they like to call an 'election' was already putting a massive strain on the force. Demanding police guards, escorts, whole areas of the city tapered off... He'd be lying if he said he was all too happy about it. Fact of the matter is, all these politicians, right from their spin doctors to their own damn mother in laws, already had a full platoon of private security. Armoured cars, bullet proof vests... He wouldn't be surprised if they had their own bloody anti-aircraft missile system rigged up into their campaign buses to deal with aerial bombardment...

... But you'd think that would be enough for them, wouldn't you? Ha! Keep dreaming.

They still have the good ole boys in blue running along, attending their every whim and will, making them tea, getting them cream cakes... It's pathetic. A service put in place to protect the damn public from the most wretched and disgusting scum of the city reduced to tea ladies at the snap of some overpaid, overweight dummy. Yeah, that's right, dummy. And just like a dummy, they wear that vague, vacant, wooden expression whenever you suggest somebody has their hand up their...

"Night Detective..." Muttered a weary eyed young buck from the admin staff. McArthur grunted in reply, the poor kid must have been tying up the paper work for the explosion in the city centre. There was so much red tape wrapped up in that case you could stick an elephant to the Eiffel Tower with it, made him glad he wasn't on it. Not like it mattered, of course. Eventually the F.B.I or the C.I.A would barge in and claim it was all their jurisdiction in the first place. Allowing the whole damn thing to get sucked into a black hole for forty odd years before finally deciding to announce 'Oh, actually, we never solved the case in the first place.. Sorry chaps'. Ha, he wasn't surprised if they were taking the P.I.S.S on board for the case...

But then, no good focusing on other peoples problems when there was a case he could defiantly do without though. That bloody English woman had cropped her head up again. Nothing criminal of course, she'd been the perfect model of a prisoner if the records were anything to go by. But the thing that ate away at the detective was not her reappearance, but the lumbering oaf she was bound to bring with her.

"Knew I shouldn't have agreed to that damn visit." He muttered to himself as he chewed on the end of his biro. "The, he'd have probably turned up like a bad penny anyway... What with Knott and..."

McArthur dropped his pen, cursing himself for being so stupid. Why didn't he realise before? Knott was the candidate for the Republican party, that deranged nut-job was bound to go off half-cocked and do... Well, god knows what? The only think McArthur was sure of was that the least he was looking at was property damage... He didn't even want to think of what the most was. His hand was already on the phone, rasing the receiver to his ear as he dialled in the number for reception.

"I need a contact for a Mister Joel S. James, Rats Alley." He told the Marueen, the night shift secretary. Crime didn't sleep, after all.

"Well hello to you too Detective." She snorted, McAthur just impatiently rolled his eyes. "Hm... That's queer that one is..."

"What is it woman!?" McArthur said through gritted teeth, anxiously tapping his biro on the desk.

"You sure you ain't got your names mixed up?"

"Let me tell you Maureen, I'd never forget that one..." He assured her. "He's as unforgettable as you are irritating."

"Well there's no need to be rude! Really!" She hrmphed indignantly. "Well, he ain't on the database Detective... Though I could have sworn I'd heard that name before..."

"You have." McArthur said sourly. "And no doubt you'll be hearing it a lot more from here on end..."

He slammed the phone down. This was all he needed right now. Whatever was going on, it didn't take a Detective to figure out that blasted son of a mutant was abdomen deep in it.

"So much for warning him off the case." He sighed, as he gathered up his coat and prepared to leave.

Meanwhile

It was a bitterly cold night, as it often was in Impulsia. Everybody from scientists to the average Impulsian has a view on the causes of this. The most popular one being along the lines of 'Global WHAT!?!". However, a collection of scientists and representatives of various eco-friendly organisations have presented pain-stakingly collected research to suggest that the level of temperature is directly linked to the level of pollution. They went as far to suggest both businesses and the average citizen should cut their pollution levels by half. In turn, this led to the 'Burn the heathens Act' of 1997, that suggested that these people should be tied to a wooden stake and set alight. This was, however, overturned when put to vote... By on vote. Although, the deciding voter did later admit he thought he was voting on the 'Protection of Mushrooms Act' of the same year... And may have voted differently had he realised.

Wendy stamped her feet on the grass, her breath condensing into mist as Joel, in full Taxdodger attire, studied the door handle.

"Don't you get cold in that thing?" She asked through chattering teeth.

"A little." He replied, crouching down on his knees to look through the keyhole.

"I don't think we should be doing this Joel..." She said, looking down on him, worry edging into her voice. "I mean, how are you even going to do it? Lock picks?"

There was the slight metallic crunch of screws being pulled loose and the grate of steel against wood.

"Lock-what?" Asked Joel, resting the door handle in the palm of his hand. "Would you mind um... Reaching through and undoing the deadbolts?"

"It's a good job I'm wearing gloves..." She muttered in an irate tone as she dislodged the other side of the handle and slipped her hand through to undo the various locks and bolts on the other side. "Tsk, no alarm or anything..."

"These people can afford not to have them." Joel said bitterly. "You'd better go.. I don't want to drag you into this..."

"Alright.. Just be careful, and Joel..." He let out a soft 'hm' in reply. "Please don't do anything... Irrational."

"I'll be fine.." He reassured her as his vast frame disappeared through the door, ducking so he didn't take part of the door-frame with him. Wendy folded her arms tightly around her, burrowing her hands into the sleeves of her jacket.

"It's not you I'm worried about..."

Joel carefully pushed the door back into place, holding it open a crack to watch Wendy's back as she left. He nodded satisfied, he didn't want her involved in this. It was currently breaking and entering, but he had a feeling it'd be far more by the end of the night. He pushed the door firmly shut and proceeded into the living room. He couldn't help smiling under his mask, it looked very homely. Far more comfortable and warm than anywhere he'd ever lived. He strolled across the light green carpet to a small chest of draws. Oddly enough the curtains were wide open, the light of the moon allowing him to see the face of a beautiful, red haired woman smiling and laughing with a dog by her...

... A dog...

A low, rumbling growl made Joel turn around slowly. A miniature Dachshund eyed him evilly, his growl becoming ever more pronounced.

"Sssh. Nice doggie..." He whispered desperately, searching his costume for something, anything that might help. All he found was the crimson tinged dollar bill. "I suppose you don't take cash?"

Unimpressed, the hound burst into a volley of yapping with a fine selection of angry snarls at random intervals while it tried to catch it's breath. Joel froze in shock more than anything, his breath catching in his throat as he heard thumping from upstairs. He was about to make a run for the door, but it was far too late by then. The living room light flicked on, momentarily blinding him. When his vision returned, he saw the same beautiful woman from the photograph standing in the hallway, a dressing gown tied tightly around her.

It was then that Joel realised he recognised her. His mouth dropped slowly as his memory crept up on him, the woman! The woman he met at the train station on the day he arrived in Impulsia. How could he have forgotten that face, that figure, that slightly arrogant come irate expression that saw him as nothing more than a mild nuisance...

Then his heart sunk as another realisation dawned on him. She was married. Married to Alex Durell, Mayoral candidate for the Democrats. That's what he was here for. Somebody tried to kill Gordon Knott, and Joel considered this the best place to start/ Afterall, who else would want Knott removed more than the democrats? Not that he was jumping to conclusions, he'd obviously question Durell fairly and impartially...

... Or at least he'd try.

"What are you doing in my home!?" She demanded, placing a hand over the headset of her phone. "Try anything... And I'll... I-I'll call the police!"

"Ma'am, just calm down." He said reassuringly. "I'd just like a word with your husband..."

"Husband?" She looked at him puzzled, puzzled but still with a sense of loathing. "I don't have a husband!"

"Then...." Joel began, loosing his bearing mid-sentence. He took a deep breath, scrunching his eyes to try and drown out the animals persistent yapping, before continuing. "... Who on Earth are you?"

"I think I have more right to be asking that question."

"My apologies ma'am, my name is Jo-Taxdodger." He watched her body stiffen and her glare intensify. "I'm not here to hurt you Ma'am, I just want to speak to Alex Durell.."

"You're already speaking to her." Joel looked gormlessly at her behind his mask, his jaw dropping just a little.

"You're a woman?" He asked before his brain had fully comprehended the situation. Then quietly proceeded to curse himself for his own stupidity.

"Do I even need to dignify that with an answer?" She replied bitterly. "Now are you going to tell me what you're doing here or should I call the police?"

"You're alarm clock..." Joel noticed a small, electronic clock out of the corner of his eye with vivid red numbers. Except it wasn't telling the time.

"Don't try and change..." She stopped and squinted at the small electronical device. "I... Don't remember seeing that before..."

Joel concentrated hard on the device. Wracking his brain for an answer, that was proving harder than he imagined. It was times like these he could really use Wendy. The numbers weren't numbers at all, they were symbols that Joel didn't recognise. Nor did Miss Durell going by the intrigued look on her face. He noticed that the symbols were also going down not up... Down... At quite a rapid pace... As if counting off the seconds too...

"Oh God!" Alex shrieked, backing away from the phone. "It's... It's a bomb, isn't it!?"

Joel turned to reply, but before he could the symbols stopped dead. The alarm cut through the tension in the room like a cleaver through a block of half melted margarine. And then all hell broke loose...

On a lonely hillside, overlooking the vast city scape

Satisfied with a job well done, the figure, shrouded in not darkness, but his own smug pride, depressed a small pressure point on his temple. His maxi-nervous optic-zoom3000 had caught everything. Recorded it too. A pitiful explosion by his standards of course, but then he hadn't been dazzled by an explosive force since 79 AD. No, it was more what it achieved that mattered to him. He took his mind off the events unfolding a few miles away from him and gracefully accepted a champagne glass from the tentacle of his ever loyal butler.

"A Marvellous coup-de-force, Klepp. If I do say so myself." He boasted into the night, raising his glass to the sky as if to toast with the moon. "Come tomorrow morning, we will have changed history!"

"Splendid sir." The small, blue being said in an articulate stiff-upper lipped accent by his side. Which was impressive, as it had no upper lip at all. It's mouth was a circle that crowned the top of it's head, lined by razor sharp teeth and dressed with a lighter blue hair. It's body was short and stumpy, two tentacles protruding from just underneath it's mouth while it's weight was carried by four small feet on each corner of it's body. It seemed much like a walking torso, with no visible eyes or nose, but it was wearing a rather dapper tuxedo complete with red bow-tie. So that obviously made up for any obvious misgivings...

"May I suggest a change in career, if that isn't too much trouble of course, sir?"

"Klepp, if this works out, you can suggest whatever the hell you like!" The other man, for this specimen was actually human, laughed joyously. "But you'll excuse me if I don't make my way down to the local job centre just yet."

"Of course not sir." Klepp agreed humbly. "Shall we depart? I do believe you have a meeting with those dreadful creatures from Vectra Five in five minutes..."

"It can wait." He sighed, and then continued solemnly. "After all, we got all the time in the world my dear Klepp... All the time in the world..."

[Matt A]

This second story looks a lot more interesting. The gag rate is still pretty high, if not as high as the first story, but where the jokes have been removed they've actually been replaced by some pretty dark content. All in all, a much richer and more rounded story, and when it's finished it'll no doubt be even more legendary than the first. Nice work!:anime: :anime: :anime:

No, I hadn't figured that you were English. But I suppose that I should have known: most Americans wouldn't have thought to drop in footie hooligans.;)

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

Well, to be honest this is the kind of story I'd liked to have done right off the bat. Only if I remember correctly, I wanted to have more of a classic 50s/60s era super hero parody. Embracing some cliches, throwing away others... There was going to be an obvious love interest who hated him, a teenage side kick who often spouted a load of nonsense... It was going to be pretty crazy. :shrug:

Then I came up with Dunarse in a moment of madness. So all that was out the window right there and then.

But yeah, I stand by the footie hooligans and would defend them with my life!

(Although, I don't stand too close by, otherwise I'd fear for my life. ;))

[ArtificialIdiot]

Chapter 3: Visiting Hour.

"What we got Saunders?"

McArthur carefully picked his way through the ash laden streets, minding his step for any loose shrapnel that had been projected by the blast. Needless to say, he was glad he wasn't in charge of cleaning it up. He let out a low whistle as he took in the damage, he hadn't seen a blow-out this bad since the 'Fossil BOOM' campaign of the late seventies. Those were truly the days of creative crime. Some fresh faced organisation going by the name of P.E.A..C.E, a cross between the most cold headed, ice-veined 'Nam veterans of the eighties with the most splintered tree-huggers of the sixties. The nutters attaching explosives to petrol pumps was a much more effective way of wasting nonrenewable energy sources than processing them through turbo-powered V-8 engines... Looking back, McArthur could at least say the one on the forth of July out did any fireworks display he'd ever seen... It also killed about four men in the surrounding area, but looked pretty doing it.

"Seems like a domestic explosion, detective." She explained, looking thankful for an excuse, any excuse, to take her eyes off the blast scene. "Two people, one animal inside. One was the owner, Alex Durell, and the other one hasn't been..."

"Joel James." McArthur snapped. "Just trust me on that one."

Saunders smiled her sweet, little out of depth smile. Saunders was an anomaly, somebody who should by all rights be a disgrace to the force. She was overweight, unfit, couldn't out run a tortoise. But the thing that set her apart from your average couch potato was she had the right mental attitude. Sure, most of these young dandies around McArthur were built like a deranged cross between a buffalo and a panther, but give them something to analyse? Send it right down to the labs without a thought. They don't pick out clues, they don't try to envisage connections, don't question motives...When alls said and done, they're almost as bad as the vigilantes prowling the streets. They think justice is about kicking the right peoples heads in...

... And if he was honest, McArthur could barely bring himself to deny that that wasn't the case these days.

"Where are the victims now?" Asked McArthur as he surveyed the damage. There wasn't a lot to survey, whoever had set up this rig had done a really professional job. And that was exactly the word that nagged at his mind, 'professional'.

"Taken away in ambulances a few minutes ago." She brushed her short, jet black hair behind her ears and then shook her, an expression of disbelief crossing her chubby features."This one guy, must have been seven feet tall..."

"That'd be James." McArthur informed her.

"Well, this James guy, he was caught in the full force of the blast.The medics reckon he held up most of the upper floor before it eventually disintegrated..."

"Distinergrated?"

"Yes. Don't really believe it myself, to be honest. The device left no traces of it's self or any debris except..." She motioned the charred, black ground that was once a happy, suburban home. Well, he assumed it was happy... Durell wasn't married, so it couldn't have been that hellish. "... Well, what you see here."

"If a device is powerful enough to disintegrate brick and mortar..." McArthur mused, stroking his stubbed chin. "... Why not flesh and blood?"

"Beats me, Detective." Saunders shruged. "All I know is, that James bloke has gotta be one heck of a guy. I'd kill for a man like that to sweep me off my feet... Even if it was in the middle of hell."

"You obviously haven't see his face..." McArthur muttered. He sighed and rounded on the police woman. "How many officers were part of the police escort?"

The puzzled look on her face said it all, and the dreadful enlightenment of the situation as it dawned on her was just confirmation.

"Please, please don't tell me you sent them there without a police escort..."

"Well I didn't think..." She blurted out, but McArthur cut her short with a swift hand gesture.

"You didn't think..." He repeated through gritted teeth. "Somebody has just made an attempt on the life of a mayorial candidate and 'you didn't think'?!"

"I'll get right on it, Detective!"

"Good, I'm coming with you."

"I don't think...." She sighed." Yes, Detective."

A few hours later, The Knott Foundation General Hospital.

"I'm sorry ladies, nobody is allowed past this door without the proper authorisation."

Penned in by sterile green walls and cheap, red plastic seats, both Wendy and Miss Durell stand defiantly in the hustle and bustle of the hospital. In Victorian England, during the aptly named black period of medicine, hospitals were famed as places people went to die. And really, when you step back and take in the atmosphere, a man has to wonder how far we have actually advanced from those times. The whole image of a hospital is one of precision hopelessness. Sterile bleakness. They are not built as comfortable places, giving way to practicality and cheapness at any point possible in the design process. Medicine has indeed become a mechanical, humourless process, a faceless entity.... But still, it's better than dying on the street, right?

"On who's authority?" Alex inquired stubbornly, arms folded tightly across her chest.

"On mine." Both the women watched as a moustached man in a trenchcoat casually strode past the wards, while an obese woman tried her best to follow him. "And you, Miss Durell, are not supposed to leave your ward."

"I shall go where ever I like!" She protested.

"All due respect ma'am, you can't and you won't." McArthur said calmly. "You don't own the city just yet."

"This man saved my life! I surely have a right to at least thank him!" McArthur rested a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her in the opposite direction.

"Then you'll give him the common courtesy of keeping his identity intact, hm?" He pushed her into Saunders arms and turned back to the door. "Tack Miss Durell back to her ward and make sure she stays there!"

"What about me?" Asked the woman behind him. Small, very short hair... He deduced she was one of the victims of Queen Amile's victims very quickly. Needless to say, that hairstyle was popular with the cities youth. "I know all about, well.. You know..."

"Police business takes priority over visiting hour." He said bluntly, like a hammer driving into hot iron... Or if you prefer, a ravenous rugby player diving into a steak dinner. "Go home ma'am, nothing you can do here tonight."

McArthur impatiently watched cross-armed as the woman lowered herself into one of the aforementioned plastic chair. Setting a glare that could melt ice and turn the bravest gun-slinger in the old west yellow on him.

"Suit yourself." He muttered as he turned to enter the ward.

"Wish I had that guys luck." Whispered the officer on the door as McArthur wrapped his hand around the handle. "Where d'ya think he gets it from?"

"He's seven foot tall Brooker..." The detective answered, pushing open the door. "You do the math. Assuming you didn't flunk it."

Inside the same dull, sterile, depressing green reigned supreme. McArthur could only assume that it was so they didn't have to clean up the vomit. He paced across the lilo, taking in the delightful stench of disinfectant, another joy of the average hospital. Thankfully they'd decided to put this Taxdodger into a separate ward, away from the other patients. Which couldn't have suited McArthur any better if it tried. If he saw just one more pasty faced patient choking on his own tongue and looking ready to hurl up his liver, he'd smack him. Just right out punch him.

"Doctor Manhattan?" When he got to reply he cleared his throat and repeated himself. "Doctor?"

On closer inspection, the machinery in this room was like nothing he'd ever seen before in his life, let alone in the rest of the hospital. To describe it in words would be far beyond him, but it was like science fiction brought to life. In the middle of the dimly lit room, beneath a round spot-light with three bulbs was what McArthur could only assume was the operating table. It was an uncomfortable looking thing, solid steel with three arches resting above the patient. A collection of monitors, wires and archaic technological devices were poised for action around the patient, which was naturally Joel. Flat on his stomach, his skin migrating from seemingly every part of his body in droves.

"Ah, yes, Detective!" An impossibly short man waddled out from behind where Joel was lay. He was wearing typical operating garments (that same green that was on the walls, no less) only with the addition of a white coat that came down to his ankles and a pair of bizarre goggles. He was also wearing nothing to cover his bald head, which shined like a china ornament on a mantle piece in the lamps above. "They told me you'd be here, sooner or later."

"How is he?" McArthur inquired, resisting a nagging urge to bend down to talk to the man... Below him.

"Superficial burning mostly... Stripped off three layers of skin, childs play if I'm any judge..." He jabbed something that looked like a space age cattle prod into Joel's back, causing his hole body to convulse. "Or it would be if he'd just lay still!"

"If you don't mind me saying so, Doctor..." He cleared his throat again, unsure of how to phrase the following statement. "... You look a little..."

"Unusual? Strange? Purple?" The Doctor chuckled to himself and then resumed his position behind the table. "Oh dear me, of course I don't look purple! I'm just not used to the general environment on this planet, that's all."

"This planet?" McArthur questioned carefully, the very same way he'd question a mass murderer with a blood-stained fork in his hand and a mad glint in his eyes.

"Oh don't worry yourself, I'm perfectly human... Well, imperfectly human that is." He started to arrange his equipment as he idly bantered away. "Oh I do let some things slip, this is why they usually lock me away you see."

"When will he be fit for questioning?" Insisted McArthur, ploughing to the point like a pike through a Cavaliers chest.

"Tomorrow."

"To... This is all one sick joke isn't it?" He gritted his teeth, it was all he could do to stop him throwing a scalpel at the man. Now McArthur wasn't a violent person by nature, people just drove him to it. Commissioners, Politicians, Virginities, Doctors, Door-to-door salesmen, hell even people who dress up as... Bananas, gorillas or god knows what for a living. Just made him want to ring them by the neck and shake them viciously all the while screaming at them to get a proper job.

"No joke, Detective." Nodded the doctor, running a device that gave off a pale blue light along the Taxdodger's skin. "Come tomorrow, he'll be fit to talk, walk or whatever else you had in mind for as long as you like. Pinnacle of health."

"But... He was caught in... How?!"

"Do you have any advanced tutoring in the sciences detective?" The doctor asked, looking up at him for the first time since he'd began work.

"Well, no.."

"Then all this is far beyond your comprehension." He stated, lowering his head once more. "So do please make yourself useful and stop asking silly questions. In fact, perhaps you could get me a coffee? I am a little parched you know..."

The next morning, Dickinson Grand Hotel, Impulsia.

If there was one good thing you could say about Impulsia, one shining, golden needle hidden away in the haystack of **** that was the rest of the city, it was the Dickinson. One of the worlds premier hotels. It's rumoured that the bills ran up on this prestigious accommodation have bankrupted small countries, left presidential administrations in ruins, financially destroyed several companies across the globe and one particularly nasty rumour was that a several million dollar bill drove Elvis to suicide. Although, very few people believe that as he was far too large to fit in the doors by that time.

It was nowhere near cheap as chips, but thousands of the social elite still flock here year after year to partake in what's called the most luxurious experience in the world, second to only heaven it's self. The building held everything, including a replica golf-course in the basement, however it also held something far more sinister. Residing in room 352, a man not of this Earth resided. With technology more advanced than anything the planet will see in decades, if not millenia. A man so arrogant, so sure of himself that he was quite content to lay in bed channel hopping.

"Oh how much more fun reality TV was when they started killing people..." He commented as he flicked the off button and tossed the control aside onto the bedside cabinet. "I know it's awfully savage of me Klepp, but I never tire of seeing the vermin of the universe disposed of in ever more inventive ways on public television."

"Quite sir." Agreed the small, blue alien as it came up beside him. "I took the liberty of preparing a freshly waxed suit for you sir..."

"Natural bees wax, I hope..."

"But of course sir." Klepp confirmed. "I have also brought you your daily paper."

"Splendid, Splen..." He paused momentarily, staring at the front page. "... did."

"Is there a problem sir?" The alien asked, edging closer to his masters bed. With a slight jerk of his hands, he suddenly ripped the paper in two.

"It seems..." He was breathing deeply, doing his best to hold in a bad case of repressed rage. "... We have work to do..."

[Matt A]

Yet more comedy goodness, as I have come to expect from the Taxdodger series. The protracted rant about hospitals was particularly funny, and all the more so for being utterly true.:anime: :anime: :anime:

I wonder exactly how the evil alien dude fits into all this...but I'm sure that I shall enjoy finding out.:anime: :anime: :anime:


"Oh how much more fun reality TV was when they started killing people..." He commented as he flicked the off button and tossed the control aside onto the bedside cabinet. "I know it's awfully savage of me Klepp, but I never tire of seeing the vermin of the universe disposed of in ever more inventive ways on public television."
Have you been watching Doctor Who, by any chance?;)

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

The protracted rant about hospitals was particularly funny, and all the more so for being utterly true.:anime: :anime: :anime:

I've spent more time in hospitals than any sane, normal, well grounded man should! I guess it's just a lucky conincidence that I'm none of the above....



Have you been watching Doctor Who, by any chance?;)

Yep. Loved it. Shame it's over :(

However, I did think that the solution they came up with for 'eviction' was a little humane. There was one cracking idea I read somewhere once which was to lock all the housemates away as per usual then cut off their food and water supply. Eventually, over the weeks we'd watch are poor, socially rejected glory-hounds slowly starve to death and inevitably turn to cannibalism. Once all but one has died a tragic death, we throw another bunch of misfits in there with our tramuatised zombie-like freakshow and take bets on which one survives the longest!

Now THAT is reality TV! :D

[Matt A]

There was one cracking idea I read somewhere once which was to lock all the housemates away as per usual then cut off their food and water supply. Eventually, over the weeks we'd watch are poor, socially rejected glory-hounds slowly starve to death and inevitably turn to cannibalism. Once all but one has died a tragic death, we throw another bunch of misfits in there with our tramuatised zombie-like freakshow and take bets on which one survives the longest!

Now THAT is reality TV! :D
Yup. I'd quite happily pay to watch that.:evil: :evil: :evil:

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

Chapter 4: Smoke & Dollars

The next morning, Slabs Garden, Impulsia.

Fast Food. The greasy, refried life blood of the American youth. With the ever popular British bran Brighton Baked Burgers failed to take off in the States, it was left to the equally stomach churning Kalorie King to pick up the profit. And believe me, there was a lot of profit to be scooped up! Despite health warning after health warning, food scare after food scare, Kalorie King lived on, unashamed and untouched. Much like the city this particular branch inhabited, it too was a pulsating boil that had been neglected by the all squishing fingernail of fate for so long it had just become part of the landscape. The main difference between Kalorie King and Impulsia was that the pus from this particular boil was cleverly disguised as fine food products. Well, it's clever when you consider the average intelligence of their custom...

However, even with the particularly nasty rumours that even their vegetarian salads have enough fat within their sickly yellow leaves to give an Ox a blood clot, people still swarm to the various restaurants across the world in their masses. Until today, that is. This was Slabs Garden. A once vibrant and beautiful near-paradise, tarmaced over because it clashed with the dull greys and blacks of the rest of the city. It contained one of the nine Kalorie King branches in Impulsia (with a tenth on the way as soon as the bribe money has safely made its way to those in charge of planning permission). However unlike the other eight Slabs Garden was in complete lock-down. Fortunately for the average consumer, there was another just down the road... Unfortunately for the average consumer currently locked inside Slabs Garden, a major hostage situation was brewing.

Lenny was a good, honest, hardworking man. He really was the most decent bloke you could ever meet. In fact, the term doormat might have been appropriate for him. He didn't complain about anything, he suffered whatever the world threw at him in complete silence. A timid little invertebrate who dragged himself through his miserable little life with his face permanently downcast, but he never complained. Until this morning, at least. It was just a routine stop, that's all. His daily pilgrimage to Kalorie King to buy his breakfast before heading off to work. Yes the eggs tasted like latex, yes the bacon had less meat on it than a Los Angles super model and yes, it was true that the sausages were probably fifty percent cardboard, forty five percent water and if you were lucky a good five percent meat (which was probably week old road kill even then), but he never complained. Nobody did. It was more convenient and a lot cheaper than anywhere else in town (save the eight other Kalorie Kings, of course).

It was when he came to pay that all the trouble began.

It was the simplest of mistakes, the spotty faced youth who was almost as grease ridden as the food he sold had miscounted and given him less change than he should have. To any other person it would have been a simple misunderstanding, but to Lenny a man who had suffered decades of ridicule, heartache, driven into a pathetic life by the people around him... It was the straw that broke the processed cows back. A minor detail that had spiralled out of control and now saw a usually meek and mild mannered man shouting like a lunatic whilst holding an employees head inches over the deep fat frier, threatening to dunk him in it if anybody even made the slightest movement. It could have been a disaster...

... But detective McArthur was quite partial to Kalorie King coffee.

"You can't go in there, Detective!" It was Saunders again. Put in charge of a slew of officers surrounding the perimeter of Kalorie King. McArthur thought it was all rather melodramatic for one criminal, but then police these days were so paranoid they'd send armed officers drag a cat out of a tree. Then, at least they had a real thinking officer like Saunders co-ordinating it all.... Even if she was making a right pigs ear of it, in McArthur's opinion, of course.

"If any of you horrible lot have the guts to shoot me before I get there, then feel free..." He said as he barged past. "... Otherwise, we'll have the area clear in five minutes."

"We?" Saunders inquired as he elbowed her out of the way, all she got in reply was an out of place sly smile creeping across those craggy features.

He casually pushed open the door, as if nothing was unusual or out of place and strode over to the counter, observing the frightened custom peering at him from under tables out of the corner of his eyes. He leaned against the counter and smiled.

"Coffee please, don't skimp on the milk." He said to the young boy who was currently being held over boiling hot oil. Sweat running down his face and dripping into the vat of cremated chips that had yet to be removed. The balding businessman in thick framed glasses seemed to be frothing at the mouth, and getting ever more irate at McArthur's casual defiance of his orders.

"I... I already told you coppers! Don't move! Just... Just back away or..." He started to shake violently, his hand grasping ever tighter to the boys hair.

"Yes, yes, you'll kill him... And I have no problem with that." McArthur bantered idly. "However, my friend behind you might..."

It was then that Larry realised something was blocking the light. He turned around slowly, mouth agape as his vision was completely obscured by a yellowing white mass. A muscular figure blocking out all light from behind him with a hastily painted dollar sign on his chest. He dropped the hostage to the floor in shock and stood petrified.

"Holy sh-" The gasped profanity was cut short by Joel slamming his fist directly onto the mans bald patch. He fell to the floor concussed soon afterwards.

"It's not polite to swear." Joel advised curtly before climbing over the counter to stand at McArthurs side. "Did we really need to go through all this for a cup of coffee?"

"No, but you looked like you needed the exercise." He said before turning back to the clerk behind the counter. "Now, how about that coffee? And whatever Mr. Taxdodger here is having, of course."

"Medium AmeriCola, please." Happy to have some stability back in his life, he climbed to his feet and scurried eagerly to his task.

"Bet your wondering why I haven't dragged your backside down to the police station and questioned the living daylights out of you, aren't you?"

"Seemed strange being dragged across town, especially in my condition..."

"Nonsense! Nothing wrong with you." He dismissed the comments with a wave of his hand. "That said though, I don't think it's safe for you at the station."

"I didn't think you'd care..."

"I don't." He said bluntly. "I don't like you. And if it was up to me, you'd have found yourself in a nice little cell between your Scottish friend and that awful English woman..."

"She's not really English you know..."

"I don't care if she's blood Australian..."

"How did you guess?!"

McArthur held his head in his hand, muttering obscenities under his breath before facing the masked giant again.

"Listen, somebody deleted your files from the police database. I don't know what that means, but what I do know is that you're so far up to your neck in it that it's creeping up your nostrils." A sour expression played across his face. "Yes, it's all making sense now..."

"Well you're not..."

"That'll be $2.50... Sirs..." Interrupted the Kalorie King employee as he laid the drinks out on the counter.


"I'll explain on the way." He said as he scooped up the polystyrene containers. "Any spare change on you?"

"I have a dollar, will that do?" He asked the witless teenager, Kalorie King still a mess from the brutal assault a few minutes earlier.

"Uh... Yeah... Whatever man..." He agreed, a little bit dazed but still eagerly taking the dollar from Joel's hand. It was the dollar that Amile had given to him, and probably worth too much to give away like that, but he didn't fancy asking McArthur to pay his way. Truth be told, even he was unnerved by the detective. The kid raised the dollar up to the light and then froze. He stood perfectly still for a few minutes, McArthur's scowl deepening with every second.

"Are you already...?" Joel asked, reaching out to grasp his shoulder then thinking better of it as a look of realisation dawned on his face.

"I'm better than I ever have been in my life..." He replied in a whimsically happy tone. "It all makes sense now... Life, the never ending struggle... It's not worth it, you know? Not worth anything. We're all... We're all obsolete... I... I'm obsolete."

He carefully laid the dollar bill out on the counter, rubbing all the creases out of it, before doing a perfect one hundred and eighty degree turn an marching back towards the deep fat frier.

"IMPULSIA IS OBSOLETE!"

He screamed before throwing himself head first for a quick swim with the crisp brown french fries. There was no blood curdling scream, not even a pathetic whimper. No, any noise was replaced by the chilling silence. Acceptance of death. Joel leapt over the counter once more, but by the time he had pulled the poor fellow out it was too late. He turned his eyes away from the freshly disfigured features and back to a seething McArthur.

"What the hell was that!?" He growled through gritted teeth, eyeing the dollar as if it was a fragile glass vial that contained some fatal disease or other.

"It was in an envelope... Full of blood..." Joel admitted sheepishly. "Was the last thing Queen Amile gave me before... Well, you know..."

"And why didn't you hand this in as evidence?" He shook his head and snatched the dollar from the counter. "Actually, I don't even care! Just do something useful with that thick skull of yours and avert your eyes."

He pulled out a lighter from his tattered brown trenchcoat. He closed his eyes as tight as he could before igniting the lighter under the dollar bill. The stench of smoke absent from his nostrils and the sound of burning paper equally none existent, he snuffed the lighter out.

"Fan-bloody-tastic..." He muttered, screwing the dollar up into a ball and throwing it back at Joel. "Keep that safe, and for gods sake don't try to use it again."

He turned swiftly and marched out of the restaurant, only to wish he hasn't. Many people had been shocked and appalled that day, and McArthur wasn't one of them. In fact, McArthur hadn't been fazed by anything since his wife ran off with the postman over a decade ago... But on the plus side, at least it wasn't the ruddy milkman. He'd been on the beat for years, seen it all, done it all... Or at least he thought he had. Even he had to admit that seeing his colleges (squad cars and all) floating in mid air inside metallic blue bubbles was a new one on him.

"What the devil?" He explained as he examined the nearest bubble. All he could see was Saunders' terrified face, frozen in time.

The was an almighty crack as Joel followed the detective from the building, the creak of heavy scaffolding. A shadow loomed above them as the oversized statue of King Kalorie III that embellished each Kalorie King started to topple from it's perch, poised to land directly on top of them.

"Get down!" Joel warned, pushing McArthur out of the way when he didn't heed his warning. He raised his hands and braced himself, as he caught the king by his crown. He let out a frustrated scream as he hurled the statue onto the ground directly in front of him. He fell to his hands and knees, his breath coming out in great gasps. A pure white metallic boot fell close to his face. He tilted his head upwards to see that it wasn't actually a boot, but it was connected to what could have been a suit of armour. Only it showed no joints at all, just never ending, gleaming white. The only bit of flesh on show was the face, a gap that shape of a wolfs head exposing a dark skinned man with jet black moustache and deep brown eyes. On his right arm, he just caught sight of a small, smoking gun folding back into the armour, leaving behind no trace that it had ever been there.

"It seems, Mr. James. That you are becoming quite a persistent annoyance.." His eyes darted to McArthur as he stood up, his hand going for his gun. The stranger held out his hand, a blue ray firing from the palm. As soon as it made contact with the detective, it started to form a solid, dark blue bubble around him. "It's terribly impolite to interrupt a private conversation."

"Who are you?" Joel spat.

"My name is Vincent Cable." He informed him, and then gestured to a small, blue monstrosity in a black suit beside him. "And this is my butler, a kleptonian who's mother tonge is a series of spits and gargles that we humans have nowhere near enough saliva to produce."

A playful smirk that could break the heart of a thousand women spread across his face.

"I just call him Klepp."

"Klepp the kleptonian... How original..."

"Well, unfortunately I'm no Wordsworth..." The gun on his arm reappeared, aimed straight between Joel's eyes. "Still, I think you'll find me proficient enough with my choice of weaponry... Ta-ta, Mr. James. You can take solace in knowing that together, you and I changed history it's self..."

[Matt A]

Well, that was impressive. Some arch comedy masquerading as a hostage crisis, which abruptly ends of the biggest "WTF?!" moment I have ever seen...and then itself gets halted by the one particularly cool bad-guy introduction. Truly a mind-blowing cocktail, made all the better by me now wondering what the bloody hell that hypnotic dollar was all about...

Very nice work!:anime: :anime: :anime:

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

If I have but one weakness, it's writing action orientated sequences! So I forewarn you... This is very much an action orientated sequence!

* * *

Chapter 5: Future Shock

Struggling for breath, brought down on all fours on the filthy, moss-ridden slabs of... Well, Slabs Garden ironically enough, our hero was like a wounded animal, the game keeper standing over him. Just waiting to deliver the final, merciful blow. A stray burger wrapper swept past his face, taken by a gust of wind. It was only when you got really close to the ground in Impulsia when you realised what the phrase 'in the gutter' meant. He realised now that the name Slabs Garden was a joke in more ways than one. This was no garden, but there were also no slabs. Just the months, sometimes even years, worth of stale chewing gum that coated the streets. It never snowed in Impulsia, but Joel now realised it didn't have to.. The litter made up for that. In fact, he was pretty sure you could make litter men if you were really pushed for something to do on a cold winters day... Not the most hygienic solutions though. It was then he realised he never had any intentions of living in the gutter... And he defiantly had no intention of dying in it!

He heaved in one almighty breath, filling his massive lungs before pushing all his powers to his legs and, like a salmon springing from a raging river, with one mighty leap he was free! Well, that's not exactly how it happened. It was more akin to a bird tumbling from a nest, but it got the job done. His skull crashed into Cable's chest, causing his in-built optimised LazBlasSix series with additional wrist massager to veer off course and give King Kalorie III and beheading Charles II would be envious of.

"You..." Joel panted as he regained his footing. "You're the one who set up the bomb in Al - Miss Durrell's home!"

"A marvellously clever deduction." Vincent applauded taking a few steps away from the dollar-obsessed giant. "And to think, history puts you down as an incompetent oaf!"

"Two bombs, one for Gordon Knott and one for Alex Durrell..." Joel announced, more to jog his own frazzled memory than anything/ It was at times like this that, bitter and grouchy as he was, McArthur came in quite handy. "Why? What are you trying to gain from disrupting the Impulsia political system?"

"Gordon Knott... Hm, Gordon Knott... Let's see..." He twisted his wrist, gun slipping securely back into it's casing, to look at the back of his hand. What looked like a small light-bulb blinked for a few seconds and then a holographic image of written words was projected in front of his face. The words scrolled down at what seemed an impossible speed to Joel, but Cable followed every word of it. Periodically humming and muttering as he went. "Ah yes... Nineteen ninety nine, Impulsia. New Millenium on the horizon, how exciting for you!"

His enthusiasm was met by a blank, uniterested stare.

"No, didn't think you would be able to appreciate such a historical milestone..." He paused in quiet contemplation. "Not that you have much to look forward to mind, wars, disease, vile weather... Terrible weather this period if I remember correctly. But the slow progress is the killer for me. I just don't know how on Earth you people got by, I really don't..."

"We manage." Joel grunted.

"I suppose you must have. As for Mr. Knott, that was nothing to do with me." He admitted, wiping his hand through the hologram causing it to vanish. "Miss Durrell, on the other hand, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Would have been rather fortunate if she'd died... The repercussions would have been rather severe if I'd taken two of you before you're time. But alas, I'm not a man who revels in greed. You'll do quite alright on you're own, Mr. James."

"Before our time..." Joel's brow creased in concentration as he tried to work it out, Vincent just smiled an unfitting friendly smile. Joel had to admit, if the man hadn't just tried to murder him, they would probably be best of friends by now.

"I suppose I do owe you an explanation before I finish you off. Perhaps then you'll understand the importance of my overall goals, see the proverbial light and realise just what you're death would achieve..." He called up another hologram, except this time it was more in the format of an illustrated book. There were photos of Vincent Cable, both much younger and much older as well as clearly bolded dates and times that hadn't even happened yet. Some of them thousands of years away. Joel also noticed that they were far from in order, jumping from 4034 to 1841 with no organisation. "This is my biography. Written fifty years from now, two and a half years exactly before my death.Taken from the bottom of a bargain bin seventy years from now."

"You're a time traveller then?" Asked Joel in open mouthed amazement, Cable just nodded. "But if you know everything that's going to happen, why bother?"

"To change history it's self, Mr. James! Some people think it can be done just like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. "But it can't! It's the hardest thing to do in the world, but the easiest thing to imagine! It's the mountain I climb every single day. To edit the script of life."

"That's why you're trying to kill Durrell... She goes on to do something important. Something you don't want to happen..."

"Not at all. Durrell was never a factor in this, I never had any intent of involving the poor woman. It was always you who were my prime target Mr. James... Really, I do believe you would have cottoned on by now."

"Well, I'm just an incompetent oaf'..." He frowned. "Last question before I pummel you into the ground... Why me?"

"I did try to be more diplomatic in my time changing, but politics... Changing public opinion... Preventing landmarks to be built or destroyed.. It takes too long, and life is rather on the short side. I decided that killing was the only way in the end..."

"So you became some kind of assassin?"

"I'm very impressed! Bravo!" He said, greeting him with another round of applause. "You're slow, but when given time to think, Marvellous. Yes, I travel through time dealing with various weird and wonderful folk. My little holo-projection of secrets here telling me who I need to make the extra effort to defeat and who I have to lose too."

"That's... Quite impressive." Joel admitted, though he was quite pained to do so.

"Why tha-" He was cut short by one of Joel's inhumanly sized fist slamming into his face.

"But that don't meant I'm going to let you walk all over me."

"Senseless Philistine!" The time traveller spat, wiping his mouth.

Joel went in for another attack, don't be fooled by his size, however, he was no trained fighter. He could put all his force into one punch, and perhaps get lucky and take somebody down with it, but he was still brutish and clumsy. Still he swung for his silver-clad enemy the best he could, but his fist was only met with fresh air as Cable disappeared before his eyes. Something excruciatingly heavy slammed into the small of his back just a few second later, the only thing stopping him from falling back to his knees was one of the blue bubbles containing three terrified officers hadn't stabilised him.

"A Martian shell hammer. Strongest substance known to man." He explained, as he sidestepped another clumsily delivered punch from the Taxdodger. "Twice our combined weight. No ordinary man would be able to lift it..."

He brought something that looked like a small domestic hammer to bear, blocking another of Joel's attacks. His knuckles cracking against the surface.

"However special strength augmentations in my suit allow me to go above and beyond normal limitations..." He struck against the Giant's shoulder, causing him to yelp in anguish. "The future is a wonderful place, Mr. James."

In what was becoming a last ditch attempt, Joel wrapped his arms around the other man's waist. Taking off like a steam locomotive, using his own bulk to negate Cable's superior technology. Pushing him backwards, his metallic boots scraping past the layer upon layer of chewing gum and scraping along the stone with a sound reminiscent of a nail along a blackboard. Backwards until there was nowhere further back to go, smashing through the oversized windows of Kalorie King (which, truth be told, were in desperate need of a scrub down anyway) and eventually through the counter, causing the otherwise ignorant and already nerve racked public inside (As said, the windows really did need a good clean!) to panic and scatter for the door.

Disadvantaged and pinned under the Taxdodger, primed and ready to deliver the final knockout punch, things were looking bad for the future assassin. But as Joel's fist came down, he raised his palm and a blue substance emerged from a freshly formed chink in his armour (which, as was becoming an apparent pattern with Cable's future tech, sealed it's self seamlessly after use), covering the fist in the same metallic blue bubble that had taken the officers. It bounced harmlessly off Vincent's face, allowing him to deliver a smug smile.

"Self-styled poly-carbon rubber. Looks exactly like metal, but is as harmless as an inflatable ball. However, when exposed to extreme heat sources..." Two halves of a black visor closed in from either side of his face and sealed just above his nose, the miniture LazBlas made a reappearance, firing directly at Joel's fist. There was a blinding flash as the bubble exploded, rendering the Taxdodger blind momentarily. "... Gives off a rather impressive light show."

A pair of what could have been down-sized aeroplane wings shot out from either side of Cable's back, providing a powerful propulsion system that allowed him to slip from under his otherwise distracted opponent. That said, it didn't do a whole lot of good for the paint work.Or, for that matter, the tiles on the floor. Now floating inches from the ground, he waited patiently for the Taxdodger to rise. after all, he had all the time in the world.

"Did you know there's an advanced colony of Humans on the moon?" He asked earnestly.

"No... That where you come from?" He panted inbetween efforts to catch his breath.

"Not at all, just thought you might be interested." The visor parted and retreated to reveal his face again. "No? Well, never can tell..."

He raised his palm again, this time lowering his aim so that a fresh bubble enclosed Joel's feet. Bringing himself back down to Earth, his 'wings' folding away automatically on contact with the ground, he delivered a perfect upper-cut square to Joel's jaw, knocking him over like a punch-bag. Unlike a punch-bag however, he didn't bounce back up... For all his gadgets and technical knowledge, Vincent hadn't figured out how to do that just yet.

He grabbed Joel by the bubble, using his aforementioned strength augmentations to gain enough momentum to throw him into the door of the 'fine' establishment that was Kalorie King, causing it to buckle severely but not break. That was soon to be remedied by a kick to Joel's torso, which sent him back out into the street.

"What can I say?" Cable threw his hands out to his sides, motioning to the bubbled people. "There's nothing like having an audience."

Joel started to snicker under his breath, which soon turned into a slight chuckle and then a full-blown relied laugh. Baffled, Cable's eyebrows furrowed for a moment. The first sign of a drop in his confident smugness.

"History really doesn't like you... Does it?" Joel announced, displaying Klepp the butler, now held centimetres above the ground by the tentacle. Locked in Joel's grip. "Now release the officers and give yourself up before I tear his tentacles off."

"They'd grow back in a couple of weeks!" Cable retorted casually, his confidence didn't seem to be shared by his butler.

"And his spine?" At this comment, the Kleptonian winced. Cable's shoulders sacked in a motion of defeat, he looked ready to surrender when in one, last desperate movement his LazBlas shot a volley directly into Joel's skull resulting in... Well, nothing to be honest! Not even a sun tan!

"Dear sweet Joe Smith!" Cable gasped, staring blankly, his outstretched arm paralysed in place. "That... That blast could have taken down an elephant!"

"My skull is a shining beacon of Justice, Cable! No evil can penetrate it! In fact, I think it's about time you got to know each other a little better..." He grasped the time traveller by the wrist, crushing the small mounted weapon and dragging him in until his face met with Joel's skull. While Vincent's armour could withstand a bomb being dropped on it, it's needless to say his flesh and bone didn't stand a chance. Joel let go, and he fell flat on his stomach. The bubbles already deflating all around him.

"My God..." Observed McArthur as he recovered. "Don't tell me you managed to successfully do something on your own?!"

"I do that from time to time..." Joel responded, on his hands and knees. He'd noticed something earlier, something that didn't look right even to his untrained eyes. "Everything on this mans armour resealed it's self once it was used... There was no scratches, no seams, nothing except solid metal..."

"Must be a pain in the backside when he wants to take a piss..." McArthur observed, Joel was happy to see he was his usual polite self.

"Except this bit at the back of the neck. Now if I peel it..." He stopped talking as the flesh on the back of his neck was revealed. Joel searched for the dollar Amile had given him and unscrewed it, resting it on Cable's head.

"Lad, didn't I tell you to be..."

"Look!" Joel insisted, to which McArthur grudgingly obliged. His brow rested into it's almost permanent frown once more.

"The All-Seeing-Eye." He observed.

"I'm pretty sure Amile had it too..."

"Oh I think it goes far deeper than that my lad..." He whistled to Saunders and called her over. "Help me get the back of this uniform."

"What!?" Joel protested.

"Oh just shut up and trust me for god's sake!" He replied bluntly, already tearing strips of Joel's already battle damaged overalls from his back. As the dirty white strips of fabric came off, McArthur's frown grew more pronounced, until both he and Saunders stood back and gazed at what now beheld them. A giant version of Cable's tattoo made out of a series of well placed scars. Underneath was the very same phrase that appeared under the original on the Dollar bill... "Novus Ordo Seclorum", A new world order.

"That wasn't there yesterday!" Joel was mortified when Saunders delivered the news to him, McArthur on the other hand was seething with rage. His fists tightened into white balls, he felt he'd be frothing at the corners of his mouth if he wasn't such a dignified and highly respected individual.

"That spineless... Conniving... Devious little bastard of a midget!" He roared as he stomped off towards his squad car. "Saunders, get this place cleaned up. I don't care how, just do it! As for you, oh great and mighty super hero, meet me here at seven! And in the meantime, do try not to get yourself killed!"

He slammed the door of his car before any 'yessirs' or 'whyshouldIdothats' managed to reach his ears. He didn't need them right now. He had a city to save while it's so called heroes ponced around destroying public property. Something was rotten in Impulsia... And for once it wasn't the sewerage system!

[Matt A]

Cool fight, badass sci-fi villain, comedy knockout, and then...what the hell?! I'm not even going to guess what those scars mean!:eek: :eek: :confused: :confused: :confused:

Exceptional work!:anime: :anime: :anime: :anime: :anime:

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

All right, as a little progress update... Chapter six is either half written or completely written. I can't decide if enough actually happens to justify posting it. So basically, you're either going to get a normal sized chapter where... Well, not an awful lot happens. Or is going to double the length, but will be one of the most amazing things you're ever likely to see in this story!

Decisions, decisions eh? :sweat:

[Matt A]

Go with the latter: quantity and quality is too good a combination to resist.;)

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

If you say so :p

I just finished tweaking and adjusting the parts I've already written and will probably get around to adding the rest later... Hopefully able to throw it up later today. Depends how lazy I am!

[ArtificialIdiot]

And here it is!


Chapter 6: Novus Ordo Seclorum

That evening, The Knott Foundation General Hospital.

There was a sigh of relief as the last piece of equipment went into the tan leather travel bag. He had toiled in the pitch black darkness of his ward, that was how he worked best, and salvaged everything that he could. Anything that couldn't be transported to... Well, where ever he was going to go next really, was vandalised beyond repair. He had the blueprints, he had the schematics... It would take a hideous amount of time, resources and effort to rebuild, but it was far better than staying here and facing the consequences. Fastening the zip, Doctor Manhattan gave one last solemn nod to the place he had worked for more than five years and then departed.

"Going somewhere, Doctor?"

Or at least that was the plan.

Standing in the doorway, blocking out the dull yellowing lights of the corridors outside was Detective McArthur. The good Doctor was gormless, his bag slipped from his grip (not that his precious utensils had far to fall). The detective walked in, the Doctor's feet involuntarily shuffling backwards to accompany him. He calmly closed the door behind him, turning the lock with the slightest of movements and then flicking on the lights. Illuminating the dull, depressing, sterile interior of the ward.

Finally regaining some of his bearings, the Doctor made a desperate grab for his travel bag, but was stopped in his tracks by one simple gesture from the detective.

"I wonder who can reach their piece faster..." He calmly stated as he lifted one side of his coat to reveal a gun tucked away into a holster. "... And which one will do the most damage."

The Doctor lowered his head, dejected and defeated. He raised his hands and stepped away from his luggage, there was no way out, the overgrown fool was blocking the only exit. Nothing to use as a weapon, he'd packed away everything. It was over before it had even began.

"You were right Doctor, I don't have much education in the way of science..."He strode over to Manhattan and grasped him by the collar, lifting him from the floor with little trouble. "... However, I can comprehend that if I, for example, drop you out of a very tall window, gravity will pull you down. And any plans to donate your organs will be severely compromised."

"There's no need to rub salt into the sounds detective..." The Doctor sighed. "... I'll tell you everything you wish to know."

"Oh you won't tell me, sunshine..." McArthur allowed an expression of cruel amusement to play across his features before shaking his head in a bemused fashion. "... And you think you're a midget now..."

Seven PM, Slabs Garden.

Joel sat on the steps of the local Kalorie King. The police forensics department had packed up an hour ago, there was very little to be done. The death of the clerk behind the counter had been branded suspicious, but was so far linked to the other incidents involving the future assassin. He couldn't help wishing they were. But then, they still might be. A morbid curiosity had formed between Joel and the dollar. He wondered if it was just another of Cable's weird and wonderful gadgets, but doubted it as it wasn't flash enough. Every so often he'd get it out, examine it. No idea what he was looking for, he just assumed he'd know when he saw it. But it never came to pass. Always the same, just an ordinary dollar. If a little on the indestructible side. Not even Joel could tear it in two. Eventually he'd just taken to looking at what McArthur had called the All-Seeing-Eye. He'd never noticed that before... Even when he was sewing his cape. How funny is that? Money is something that passes through our fingers nearly every day... But how many people ever take the time to examine it? To really look at it up close and take notice of the details.

He screwed it up again, stuffing it in his glove, where he'd kept it ever since he'd opened the envelope containing it. It was all starting to come together now, but none of it made sense. He felt like all the answers to all the questions that were plaguing him were just on the very tip of his nose, but at the same time were as good as on the other side of the world. He placed his head in his hands to see if he could stop the raging headache that was pounding against his skull like a rabid gibbon with a loud speaker and a pair of cymbals, but no sooner raised it again when he heard McArthur's car pull up.

"Evening detective." He stood up and stretched his aching limbs. A cramp had formed in his right foot and was sending pins and needles all the way up his leg. He winced slightly as he forced himself to move it. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"No." He replied bluntly, opening the passenger door to reveal a grotesque, pudgy little creature with a misshapen bald head who Joel knew to be Doctor Manhattan. Now complete with a pair of handcuffs and a disgruntled look renovated onto his face. "But I'm sure with a little gentle persuasion the good Doctor here will have a lot to talk about."

He prodded the Doctor on the shoulder, causing him to topple head first from the car seat. He cursed as he hit the pavement below, the detective pulling him back up into a sitting position.

"Personal scores to settle." McArthur explained flippantly when he saw the look on Joel's face.

"Why is he here?"

"Do I really have to do all your thinking for you?" McArthur let out an exasperated sigh. "Who was the only person to have access to your back since you last looked at it?"

Slowly but surely, the information filtered through that granite thick skull of his, and the Taxdodger began to understand. The realisation dawned, it did so ever so slowly, but it still dawned.

"He's....He's behind all this?"

"Don't be so ignorant lad." He dismissed the question, emphasising with a sharp hand gesture. "The Doctor here is just a stooge, but I bet he knows who's really behind all this... Don't you Doctor?"

"I just did as I was told to do!" He explained in the same arrogant tones, but with an edge of worry to his voice. "I... I didn't even want to come to this stinking cesspit! He.... It.... It persuaded me. With such cold, undismissable reason... I... I couldn't resist!"

"It?" Joel asked, kneeling down in an attempt to look the Doctor in the eye. "What persuaded you to do this, Doctor. What tried to kill Gordon Knott?"

"I don't know! I just..." He cut himself short due to a well timed piercing glare from McArthur. "I'll tell you everything I know, but one thing first..."

"What?"

"I am a man of science. Highly intelligent, a man of cold logic and reason... And even my mind was no match for that... That thing!" He allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "You're wasting you're time. Both you and the detective."

"Maybe it just needs a good dose of ignorance to save the day..." Joel replied.

"They do say it is bliss..." Sighed Doctor Manhattan. "You have a key."

"I do?"

"Yes."

"What does it look like?"

"I don't kn..." Another glare from McArthur cut the Doctor dead in his tracks once more, and put a stop to the idle banter that he and the Taxdodger had been exchanging. "It would have been delivered to you in mysterious circumstances."

"The dollar." McArthur added, Joel nodded and began to unscrew it. As always, it came out perfectly uncreased.

"Yes, that would probably be it... How fitting." The Doctor observed. "There's an abandoned Chinese restaurant on Rats Alley..."

"That's just across the road from where I live!" Joel exclaimed, dumbfounded.

"Oh my, It has really stitched you up hasn't it?" The Doctor chuckled. "There should be a small area on the surface of the building that you can remove. A secret compartment, if you will. Remove that, place the key inside and you should be granted access to whatever hole it's hiding in."

"It's that simple?"

"Yes? No? I doubt it. It never is." Doctor Manhattan looked up at the detective. "That's all I know, am I free to go now..."

"But of course." Said McArthur, slipping his hand inside his coat and pulling his gun free. "You're free to go to hell!"

He struck the back of Manhattan's neck with the handle, causing him to groan and slump to the floor. The detective calmly slid his gun back into the holster before hauling the unconscious man back into the passenger seat.

"What did you do that for?" Joel asked, shocked by his actions.

"I'm a depraved and unreasonably violent man, James." He remarked flippantly. "Now, you say you know this place?"

"Yes, and I'm going alone." He said sternly. "You said it yourself, I'm up to my neck in this... And it's my job to sort it out."

"If you're sure, lad..."

"Very."

McArthur smiled, resting an arm across the other mans shoulders.

"You might not be as bad as I first thought, James..." He admitted, just a little painfully. "Good luck. Here's hoping you don't need it."

"You're letting me go alone?"

"Most of the police force are not at the station trying to come to terms with being suspended in mid-air by a giant piece of rubber for a good fifteen minutes... They're in no position to give you of all people any back-up, even if I ordered it." He removed the arm and paced back to the car, opening the drivers side door. "Just please try not to do anything to make the situation any worse!"

Half an hour later, Rat's Alley.

"Come on, come on!" Joel whispered desperately as he searched the walls and boarded up windows with his gloved hands.

Above him the sign for the Chou Mien Chinese take-away lay dull and desolate. Pining for the glory days when it's vibrant red glow proudly lit up the streets of Rat's Alley. But alas, these days it was lucky to have kept all it's letters in tact... Except for the H, which was now much closer to resembling an N. It had once been owned by a kindly old man named Crispin Du'uk, a racial hot pot of Chinese, American, Japanese... Nobody knew for sure. You could claim that Impulsia was a multi-cultural society on the strength of Crispin alone, some even argued that he was one percent of every nation on Earth. But most have properly pointed out that's impossible, as there are more than one hundred countries in the world. Shocked and appalled, the vast majority of Impulsians rejected the claim, pointing out that there were only five countries in the world. Asia, Africa, America, Europe and that funny place where everybody walks upside down. Well, when the other side retorted that those were continents and even then there were two missing, the argument really took sway. The debate raged on, from the common man right up to the very highest branch of the government, almost seeing the 'Burn the Heathens' act repropossed at one stage in the conflict... But in the end, they agreed to disagree (both sides, however, were still right of course!). Foreign affairs are still confused and baffled by the whole ordeal though... They'd assumed there was only one country in the world! But that was a long time ago, and Crispin had moved on since then, apparently to San Franwesco for a safer and more peaceful life. of course, he was shot down in a week by a local triad member in the china town district... It was worth a try though, right?

Joel had been searching a good fifteen minutes and come up with nothing. The thought had ran through his mind several that Doctor Manhattan may have been lying... But each time he came to the same conclusion. What did he have to lose? He obviously shared no love for the creature that was controlling him, so why protect it? Questions, questions... It was all too much for Joel's brain. So he single-minded focused on one thing, finding out who tried to kill Gordon Knott and more importantly, why. Finding out why he had a bounty on his head would be a nice bonus as well. But then, ever since that incident with Dunarse he was used to maniacs trying to kill him. It just seemed to be a day-to-day occurrence in Impulsia.

"Ha!" He finally cheered as a brick depressed to his touch and fell out in his hand. Revealing what looked suspiciously like a hole in the wall. "Got it!"

He had to admit, relieved as he was, he was more than a little skeptical about his discovery. He was expecting a high-tech control panel... Or at least something akin to those retinal scanners you see in the movies. Sort of like he'd have to swipe the dollar against it and a door would open. Something like that. Not what he had actually found, that is for sure. but then, he reasoned, if somebody accidentally managed to knock it out as he had just done, what would they expect? A hole in the wall. So maybe it was just very clever camouflage. He'd soon find out at any rate.

He carefully straightened out the dollar against the wall and then placed it carefully into the hole.For the first few moments, nothing happened. Joel tapped his foot impatiently, rubbing his hands together, small movements to stave off the nerves. Eventually though, something began to happen. The dollar stood rigid in it's holding cell, hanging in mid-air. Floating, if you like. And then, a burst of blinding light that caused Joel to shield his eyes from the sheer intensity of it. Light. Light must have been the trigger. He heard a click and then the sound of two doors clattering against a stone wall. For better or worse, he was in.

"Well Impulsia... Wish me luck." He said, turning back to the blackened city-scape that towered above him. "I know you probably don't get told this very often.... But if I don't come back, I'll really miss you!"

He slid himself down into the newly opened trapdoor, yes a trap door! He could barely believe it... He thought they only had those in movies. Rung for rung he carried himself down the ladder, praying against reason that it wouldn't bend and buckle under his weight. It was sturdier than he thought, thankfully, and carried him all the way down to a dimly lit corridor. He shook his head, this was becoming far too theatrical. He pressed onwards, glancing briefly at each passing spotlight, all of them set deeply into the wall periodically. Two on each side. It was little wonder that they couldn't afford to properly illuminate the place, Joel couldn't even begin to imagine the cost of running all this at half power, let alone full. But then, he never was good with maths.

*May I help you, sir?* The voice, or as close to what could be called a voice, came from a small, mechanical construct that Joel had almost walked past without regarding it's presence. It was as if somebody had taken a unicycle, and then built what their idea of a robotic being was on top of it with spare parts from a defunct old washing machine. It appeared very flimsily, with limited movement in the arms and a very bulky square body. A top a tall, thin piece of pipe sat an elongated head with a pointed nose that would make Pinocchio look like he had a dimple on his face. Around it's beady little white eyes were enormous hoops of metal, mimicking glasses, and just to top it off, somebody had even gone to trouble of pressing two steel plates in the shape of a toupee and a moustache. A waistcoat appeared to be painted in black on his torso, along with a red tie and just to top it off.. He appeared to be steam powered. A small brass pipe on his back chugging out puffs of steam as he went. *Here for the guided tour I assure.*

"The guided tour?" Joel asked, hoping that the robot would be able to understand him. What he received in reply was the ear piercing squeal of metal on metal, like a train stopping on a track. He could only translate this as an exasperated gasp.

*Why I'd recognise that voice print anywhere! The Taxdodger! Here! My word, I'm surely you're number one fan!* He extended his hand and Joel shook it lightly. *I do apologise, sir! My optic circuits are not what they once were!*

"It's alright..." Joel scratched the back of his head, wondering what to do next. Then he remembered his manners. "What's your name?"

*Tour Unit Zero Six Three.* He replied immediately , losing none of his excitement. *But you may call mr Tour, sir!*

"Pleased to meet you!" He said cheerfully. "Who else is down here?"

*Nobody but us maintenance droids, sir!* The droid spun it's upper body around on the spot and started to roll away along single rail set in the floor. *Hurry along sir, the tour is about to start!*

Tour led him into, even when not compared to the cramped confines of the corridor he had just exited, a massive exhibition room. In it were several glass display cases of various shapes and sizes. Filled with all kinds of objects. Tour led him to the first display case and stopped.

*I'm sure you'd recognise this item sir!* Tour announced, gesturing to a cape made entirely of dollar bills. It was ripped and torn in many places and had all the hallmarks of paper that had been drenched and then left to dry out. It was hung on a single black pole with a bar welded to the top of it, each corner of the cape hung on each hook. *Your cape, sir. Abandoned on the night you heroically fended off a whole army of hostile, skin-headed youths!*

"Was wondered where that got too..." He muttered. "Cost me a fortune to remake it."

*Just a minor design flaw, I'm sure!* The robot avidly jumped to his defence, making Joel a little uneasy and bashful.

"I s'pose..." He replied meekly. "Wendy laminated this one for me, so it shouldn't happen again..."

*Genius! And what a lovely sheen you've gained!* The droid exclaimed, before rolling on.

Next stop was a smaller display case, placed on a solid stone pedestal, this one contained the head of a mannequin wearing a frightfully realistic dread-locked wig and wearing a tastefully stylish pair of sun glasses.

*The dread-locks and sun-glasses of Mar Boley. You foiled an armed robbery attempt by him at EastWest bank when you first arrived Sir, if you don't remember.* The robot explained.

"It's a very good likeness... You must have really put a lot of effort into recreating it."

*Recreating it, Sir?* The robot chuckled, which was about the same sound as a collection of bolts being shaken up in a rusty bucket. *What a sense of wit and humour you have! Come along!*

The next item Joel recognised immediately.

"That's Queen Amile's costume!" He pointed out as soon as he saw it.

*Quite correct sir! The exact same costume she wore on the lower levels of the CentralPoint Indoor Arena when she had you and Mr. Dunarse incarcerated. Complete with TV remote.... But look, over there!* His torso swung around to point at another full length display case. *By no means do we live in the past down here, oh no! We have items from your most recent exploits as well, sir!*

"That's the guy who tried to hold up Kalorie King earlier this morning..." Joel observed as he pressed his hand against the glass.

*Quite correct sir!* Tour confirmed. *We also have a scale replica of Mr. Cable's explosive device! Cleverly disguised as an alarm clock. Brought the whole building down, but was tweaked ever so slightly so it didn't harm organic lifeforms!*

"Why would he do that? He wanted to kill us..."

*Oh but he didn't sir!*

"Then who did?"

*To my shame I can't answer that Sir...* A hint of shame crept into his voice as it sank a touch deeper. *However Mr. Lennard Smith here is a relatively new edition here, And I do not wish to steal his thunder... So to speak.*

"He's a real credit to you..." Joel complimented as he peered into the glass. "How did you manage to build something so realistic so fast?"

*Build, sir?* The robot laughed heartily, it's chest rattling as it pumped up and down on it's suspension. *Oh you do have such a wicked sense of humour!*

It was then that Joel caught something out the corner of his eye at the end of the corridor. Standing alone at the end of the isles of various other displays. He squinted his eyes to make out what was inside, but it was no good and curiosity had dug it's claws into him. He rushed to the end of the of what he assumed was some sort of perverse museum or shrine to him. Tour chased after him, calling out to him.

*Sir! Sir! Where are you going? There's so much yet to see!*[/i] He pleaded as came to a skidded halt at the side of Joel.

"I'll get around to it later..." He said, running his hands along the glass.

Inside was a young boy, couldn't have been older than thirteen. His skin was coloured a shade of dark brown that was typical in Impulsia, sadly usually in the ghettoes around where Joel lived. They were actually very pleasant people when they weren't trying to gun each other down, surprisingly. His hair was like stubble on his head, darkest black... Like he'd had his head coated in a layer of soot. In his hand he held a pale pink purse and on his face an arrogant smirk.

"I know that kid.." Joel pondered. "I just can't think where from..."

'June the twenty-fifth nineteen-ninety-nine. Nine forty-three PM. Jason Robinson. Caught. Gutted. Embalmed. Now preserved here for an eternia..."

The voice came out of nowhere, and yet it came from everywhere at once! It was cold, mechanical, not human... And yet it had a snide quality to it. It was far from emotionless like Tour's voice. It had an over powering tone to it that went straight down Joel's spine and struck at the very base of his back, almost causing him to drop to his knees. The words turned over in his head, echoing around the walls like nothing either he or Tour had said.

"Is this part of the exhibit?" He whispered to Tour, only to find the extravagant droid limb and lifeless. Completely shut down.

The wall above Jason, the hapless street kid that Joel had stopped and questioned on his first night of patrolling, parted. Revealing a massive TV screen behind them. Joel craned his neck to look up at the blank screen, which suddenly burst to life. A black figure was framed on a pale green background. He wasn't black in the sense that Jason was, no he was pure black. All Joel could see of him was his head and shoulders, but that was enough. He bore no facial features, no eyes, nose, ears... Not even a mouth. There was only one distinguishing feature on that desolate frame... The All-Seeing-Eye. An intricate carving that had been gorged into his forehead and then painted orange. Joel couldn't help but back away, he also couldn't stave away the involuntary shiver. He wanted to turn away, to recompose himself... But it was impossible. The figure demanded to be viewed, even it's visage gave of an air of calm control that Joel just couldn't fight against.

'Bona Vada, Joel James. I am I.W.S.'

"Gordon Knott... Why?" It was all he could manage in the face of such an overwhelming presence. But it was fruitless, and only met with a stonic silence. "Ok... Why did you try to kill me?"

'You are obsolete, Joel James.' He stated in calm explanation. As if it had been obvious all along. Fascinating. But obsolete.'

"Then why don't you just kill me now?" Joel regretted asking it as soon as he heard the words flow from his own mouth, the figure on screen showed no change in emotion on the other hand. How could he even begin to?

'You shall witness what is to come Joel James. You shall see your old regimes crumble, and you shall see a new world order arise...'

"I don't understand..."

'Good-bye Joel James.' That voice didn't so much cut him off, as completely drown him out.

"Wait!" Joel demanded as the screen flicked and faded back to black. The walls rolling towards each other and locking back together. He was gone. And so much remained unanswered. That said, Joel wasn't sure he even wanted them answered anymore. There was a gut-wrenching sickness in his stomach that left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a ringing in his ears.

"Take care, Tour." He said, pulling off his mask and placing it on the android's head. "Little something for you to remember me by when you reactivate..."

he took one last glance at what was essentially his super hero career collected in a giant bubble. He wondered how many had been killed... How many items lost... Just because they'd come into contact with him. Joel wasn't a crying man, but it brought him close to tears. He shook his head shamefully and then returned the way he came, shaken and most defiantly stirred.

Tomorrow evening, The Knott Foundation General Hospital.

"What a dark and harrowing tale..." Queen Amile, or Amile as Joel was allowed to call her now, gasped as Joel relayed the events of yesterday. "It makes my skin crawl from the very bone that I was part of it, Dear heart... It really does!"

Joel sat on the edge of her bed, sharing a box of cheap chocolates with her that one of her band members had left behind. They were thoroughly awful, but anything was a comfort at a time like this. Amile had almost made a full recovery from her injuries. Which doctors now believed to have been a toxin injected into the blood, McArthur, as always, had his own theory. He believed it was a time release toxin kept in the pigment of the dye used to mark her with the All-Seeing-Eye. Perhaps as a way of tying up loose ends. But it all went over Joel's head, he was just glad she was had recovered at all.

"Guess we all got suckered..." Joel huffed, rubbing the sleep dust from his eyes.

"How articulatly put." She retorted in her usual fashion.

"Listen... I was thinking..."

"Dear Gods! Not again!" She said as melodramatically as she could in her weakened condition. "Please, spare us the anticipation!"

"If we could prove that you weren't in control of your actions..." She hushed him with a slight hand gesture and smiled that sickly sweet smile of hers. While it usually sent goose-pimples all along Joel's back, this time it made him feel better. Just to see her smiling again... Just to see her alive! Too many people had died as a result of his actions, I.W.S' sick museum was testament to that. But at this moment in time, just to see the one that survived against all odds... Really did lift his spirits.

"You're so really very naive, darling. And I truly am touched the you can put so much faith in me, I really am..." She took another chocolate and rolled it between her fingers ever so elegantly. "However, my actions were purely of my own device. They may not have been directly my own intentions, I admit. But if somebody had offered me the chance to commit them... I would just have readily done it as that ghastly future assassin would have killed you of his own accord."

"But I..." She silenced him again, this time by placing a single finger to his lips.

"Get on your bike and ride it, darling..." She said in hushed tones. "Because I am staying exactly where I am."

"If that's what you want..."

"I promise I'll be a good girl from this point on, if that's any condolence."

"Good enough for me..." Joel smiled, nabbing one more chocolate from the box and standing up. "Take care of yourself."

"See you soon, sweetheart." She winked coyly and watched his back as he left the ward.

Outside, on one of the hideously uncomfortable, grey metal chairs with paper-thin red cushions he was Alex impatiently swaying her feet backwards and forwards like a bored child on a swing. Her face lit-up when she saw Joel, beaming at him with an warm glow that couldn't quite rival the sun it's self, but was defiantly somewhere close to doing so.

"Hi!" She shot to her feet to greet him, but she might as well not have bothered. The man still towered over her, leaving her completely in his shadow. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"You have!?" He was completely taken aback, when he'd met her in that train station... She didn't even want to know him. But now, just because he had a mask on... There was defiantly a lot to be said for paper bags.

"Yes.. I was just wondering... Have you heard anything about the man who blew up my house?"

"Oh..." His shoulders sagged in a dejected fashion for a moment, until he forced himself to put on a brave face. She'd been through so much, after all. This was the least she deserved. "Well, McArthur says they don't know what to do with him. His level of technology is mind boggling... Can't really let it get into the wrong hands... But they can't exactly let him go either.."

"Oh, right... So they're just keeping him until politics does it's work?" Joel nodded, at his she let out an almost insulted snort. "He better get used to it... He'll be there for months."

"Guess it's just the way the world works?" He shrugged. She smiled sweetly at him, not as sickly sweet as Amile's smile. This one was normal... Mundane. All the things he felt like he was missing in his life all rolled into one simple expression.

"Look, I really wanted to give you a proper thank you for saving my life the other day..." She stood on her tip-toes and stretched her neck out as far as she could to kiss him on the cheek. "You're defiantly a true hero in my book..."

"Well... Gee... Thanks.." He tried to say, tripping over his own tongue. He cleared his throat, but the lump in it remained firm.

"Anyway, I have a meeting soon..." She said, looking at her watch. "See you soon, yeah?"

"Yeah..." It was all Joel could muster given the situation, thanking his lucky (which he would have deemed unlucky until recently) stars that his mask was covering his burning red cheeks. "See... See ya soon."

As she disappeared down the corridors, and life went on as it always did. He started to think for the first time that day that maybe, just maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed. It seemed that all his troubles had slithered away like butterflies departing a nervous stomach and he was left to ponder just one single question...

... How soon did she mean, exactly?


The End.

And there you have it. I hope it was all worth it, and I hope this last chapter was everything you were expecting...

... See ya soon! ;)

[Matt A]

An interesting chapter. Both brings home how much mess superheroes cause, and also remind us both Taxdodger and us that maybe they are valuable after all: an engaging thing to read, and very well written.:anime: :anime: :anime:

But if that was the end, then I just need to say this: the story has made precisely bugger-all sense. Sorry, but the whole lot has seemed to go right over my head. Unless that was the point...:sweat: :sweat: :sweat:

-Matt A-

[ArtificialIdiot]

Well, it's not the end.... Per-se. It's leading into something... Else.

I'd say 'bigger', but I'm not sure yet. :p

[Matt A]

Either way, it sounds entertaining.;) :anime: :anime:

-Matt A-