ISSUE 12
“ALL THIS, AND THE GREAT AMERICAN BOONDOGGLE!”
BY
TRAVIS HILTZ
“ALL THIS, AND THE GREAT AMERICAN BOONDOGGLE!”
BY
TRAVIS HILTZ
The trailer park sat, surrounded by a forest of gnarled, leafless trees, a single gravel-strewn road connecting it to the rest of the world.
It had the feel of a medieval village, ramshackle dwellings huddled together, worn down by the elements and the constant worry that the wider world might take notice of them.
It was a dreary place. The kind of place you only move to when you are out of options.
The few occupants, either shuffling around their yards or perched on makeshift porches, were as drab and forlorn as their surroundings. The dress code seemed to be grey or dingy brown, preferably, hoodies and sweatpants.
“Jesus, this place is sad,” Papercut muttered, standing at the end of Danny the Street.
“It’s like we landed in a Stephen King novel,” Larry Trainor added, huddling into his blue winter parka.
Even Flex Mentallo, man of mystery muscle and the Doom Patrol’s resident ray of optimism was slightly subdued and struggling to find something nice to say about their destination.
“Uh...well,” Flex muttered, arms crossed, and a doubtful expression on his manly face. “I imagine that it’s...quite...uh...picturesque in the spring.”
“Uh-huh,” Larry said, skeptically. “I’m not planning on coming back for a picnic.”
“What are you boys looking at?” Rita Farr asked, coming up behind the trio.
“The trailer park that time forgot,” Larry replied. “Not sure why Danny brought us here and not sure I want to know.”
“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Rita said, shooting up to twenty feet. “Robert and I are going to see about cleaning up all the fallen tree branches and whatnot from that storm last night.”
“See you later,” Larry said, with a wave. “You guys ready?”
There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the other two.
The trio stepped off the sentient street, unto the road leading into the trailer park, the gravel crunching beneath their feet.
The breeze was chilly, but listless, as though it had no enthusiasm for the task. It pushed a few dead leaves around, and then wafted away into the tall grass of the neglected yards.
“Could this place get any creepier?” Papercut asked, uneasily.
“Don’t,” Larry said. “Somebody might take it as a challenge. How about you let loose the flock, so we don’t have to walk all through this place.”
Papercut reached into the numerous pouches on his belt. He brought out a handful of tiny origami birds, which he promptly threw up into the air. The paper birds promptly flew off, across the trailer park.
“I’m sure we’ll just have a healthy, relaxing stroll,” Flex said. “Meet some of the locals and be on our way.”
“Hope springs eternal,” Larry said, as they walked. “Let’s see if that guy can help.”
In the nearest yard, stood a thin man in baggy hoodie and sweatpants. He was standing in the knee-high grass, facing away from the trio, looking off into the nearby barren trees. His arms hung loosely at his sides, a lit cigarette smoldering in his hand.
“Excuse me, young fella,” Flex said, wading into the tall grass. “Can we ask you a few questions?”
The thin man in grey didn’t move and seemed to not have actually heard Flex’s question.
“Hey, you okay?” Larry asked, from the road, standing with his hands in his coat pockets. Both he and Papercut hung back.
Slowly, the man in the hoodie turned to look at the new arrivals.
His face was thin, and pale as a mushroom. His expression was slack, eyes unfocused and filmy. He slowly brought the cigarette to his mouth, took an unenergetic puff and nodded in greeting.
“Hello,” The man of mystery muscle said, an open, friendly expression on his ruggedly handsome face. “My friends and I seem a bit lost. Can you tell us where we are?”
“The Park.” The man answered in a voice as bland and grey as everything else about him. “That’s what folks in town call it, at least.”
“The town...?” Flex asked. “What town?”
“Just a bit down the road,” The thin man mumbled. “Guess there’s a sign, but I don’t go myself. Don’t like crowds.”
He looked away, puffing listlessly, obviously having decided the conversation was over.
“All right then,” Flex nodded, as though he wasn’t completely baffled by the interaction. “Nice chatting with you. Good you’re getting out in the fresh air.”
He rejoined his teammates, shrugging.
“Guess we try somebody else,” Larry suggested, blandly. “You okay, Cut?”
Papercut was shaking his head slightly, rubbing one temple.
“Yeah, just a...weird...um...vibe here.” The reformed villain said, distractedly. “Having trouble connecting with some of my birds. When I try to push the link, I get this...buzzing. Giving me a headache.”
“I got to admit,” Larry said, looking around, frowning. “There might not be a weird menace here. It might just be a village full of white trash.”
“Now, I can’t say I like that attitude,” Flex Mentallo chided his teammate. “No matter their situation, these people may need our help or at the very least, a little compassion.”
A bit chagrined after the lecture and stern look from the man of mystery muscle, Larry nodded, and huddled further into his jacket, against the chill, and wandered down the road.
Suddenly, three kids, bundled up in puffy winter coats, came running around the corner of a trailer, yelling in that particular random way that kids do.
They were also clutching sticks, and some broken action figures.
The kids came stumbling to a halt in front of the trio of heroes: three pale kids: sallow complexations, matted hair and two of them had runny noses.
“Who’re you guys?” One of them asked, staring up the heroes.
“Are you friends of George and Marion?” Another asked Larry, digging in his ear with a finger and then pointing at Larry.
“Hey! I know you!” The third kid, short and stout, like a sack of potatoes, exclaimed, pointing a mitten-clad hand at Flex. “You’re Flex Mentallo! I got one of your comics!”
He pulled off his ratty, mismatched mittens, dropped them on the ground and reached into his coat. He pulled out a rolled-up comic book. It was coverless and the pages were yellowing with age and neglect.
“Huh...?” Flex said, taking the offered comic, and gingerly flipped through. “I don’t remember this happening...?”
“Wait, wait,” Larry said, agitated. “I need a second. Over here...no, Winkin, Blinkin and Nod, you three wait over there. Grown-ups are talking.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Papercut asked, quietly. “Does this make any sense to anybody else?”
“Some,” Flex muttered, still preoccupied with the comic he was reading.
“I think we are definitely in a weird place,” Larry said, glancing around anxiously. “How’d they get that comic?”
“But Flex is from a comic book, isn’t he?” Papercut asked, rubbing his temple.
“Yeah, but not a regular comic book,” Larry explained. “There shouldn’t just be copies laying around, and they know George and Marion.”
“Who?”
“It’s...uh...complicated,” Larry explained, frowning. “They were...ghosts, sort of, and were part of the Patrol, back when Kate had just joined.”
“Are they the ones, wrapped up like you, in the pictures Kate has in the coffee shop?” Papercut asked.
‘Probably,” Larry said. “Anyway, the point is, there was a…thing and they were, basically, blown out of this dimension.”
“I think,” Flex said, quietly. “That you are taking it for granted what dimension we are in.”
“Wait...what...?” Papercut exclaimed, looking from Larry to Flex. “We traveled to another dimension...?”
“Keep it down,” Larry advised, glancing back over at the boys. “Yeah, it makes a weird kind of sense: that storm last night, the sketchy...uh...vibe of this place, and these kids know about George and Marion.”
“Danny could do it,” Flex mused. “And if nothing strange has been noticed at the other end of the street, it might be that we are actually still connected to our...your home dimension.”
“Danny has bridged the two dimensions?” Larry muttered, rubbing his linen-wrapped chin thoughtfully. “Or, somehow got stuck between them...? So, are we here to help somebody, or keep something nasty from getting loose or...something worse?”
“What should we do?” Papercut asked.
“You guys gonna talk all day?!” One of the pale children yelled. “I thought you were superheroes!”
“Yeah!” Another added, loudly. “Why aren’t you flying or shooting stuff outta your eyes?”
“Would you jerks get lost!” Papercut snapped, turning towards the trio, his fists clenched.
“Okay, take a breath, settle down,” Flex said, patting the reformed super villain on the shoulder. “I have to admit, these youngsters’...ah, spirited attitude can be a bit much, but until we figure this place out, we are going to need their help.”
“Are you kidding me?” Papercut exclaimed.
“No, Flex is right,” Larry nodded. “They’re the closest thing we’ve got to a guide. Afraid we’ll need to split up to check things out.”
“Split up...?” Papercut muttered. “Yeah., that always works out in every horror movie I’ve ever seen.”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Larry said, ignoring his anxious teammate. “I’m going to get one of the Sandlot to help me find George and Marion.”
“I’ll see if that youngster with the runny nose can show me where he got this comic book,” Flex said, thoughtfully.
“I’m just gonna try and find my birds,” Papercut added, shrugging. “I don’t really need a guide...creepy kids...!”
He turned to go, paused in front of the trio of boys and then moved to the other side of the road, to give them a wide berth.
“Not sure I’m okay with him wandering off by himself,” Flex said.
“Me neither,” Larry said. “But the kid can’t seem to focus with the link to his birds messed up. We’ll figure this out.”
He then turned to the grey, sickly urchins.
“So, how about you guys helping us out? Show us around, huh?”
“Why?” One asked.
“How come you don’t have a cape?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“Which question do I answer first?” Larry asked, out of the corner of his mouth.
Flex Mentallo shrugged in reply, rubbed his forehead and then stepped up to the chubby, bundled-up kid who had given him the tattered comic that was troubling him.
“Can you show me where you got this one from, pal?” Flex asked, extending the full force of his good-natured charm. His aura of mystery muscle washed over the watery-eyed urchin.
“Yeah, okay,” The boy announced, without much enthusiasm, as he wiped his nose on his coat sleeve.
“There you go,” Flex nodded. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” Larry said, as the man of mystery muscle and his guide crossed a nearby scrubby yard. He then turned to the remaining boys.
“So, lead on, Sulu and Chekov.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Where are George and Marion?”
“I dunno.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? “Larry snapped, taking a step towards the dingy pair. “You were talking about them five minutes ago! Look, I am not in the mood for...!”
“We knew them cause they were here,” The taller kid said. “Then they left.”
“Any more helpful information you guys want to share?” Larry asked, sarcastically.
“Their trailer’s still here,” One of the boys shrugged, not looking at the linen-wrapped superhero, while he talked.
He was enthralled with the revelation that when he pulled his coat pocket inside out, that there was a lollipop stuck to the fabric. “I think their stuff is still there.”
“Well, then lead the way. You aren’t going to really stick that in your mouth, are you?” Larry said, uneasily.
“What...?” The kid mumbled, talking around the linty bit of candy.
“Forget it.”
Larry followed behind the boys, shaking his head.
The trailers were all a uniform, depressing brown with each occupant adding their own, mostly dreary and sad, personal touches.
An old lady with stringy, drab hair, dressed all in frumpy grey, sat on her rickety front steps, trying to tempt a cat, that Larry was pretty sure was dead, not napping, to come up and sit with her.
A rusted swing set made worrying creaking noises, as a pair of children, who seemed to fade in and out of sight, like a bad TV signal, swung back and forth.
The deeper into the trailer park they got, the more anxious Larry felt. Shivering slightly, he glanced back, making sure he could still catch a glimpse of Danny the Street.
Turning back, he almost walked into the two boys, who had stopped and were looking at him.
“Jesus! Don’t do that, kid!” Larry exclaimed. “What’s up?”
“We gotta cut through Mab’s yard to get to George and Marion’s trailer,” the short, fireplug-sized kid mumbled.
“Um...okay,” Larry said, unsure what they were talking about, but also worried about whatever would make these two creepy kids nervous. “Is that...bad?”
“She’s gonna talk to you,” the thinner kid said, absently scuffing his shoe in the gravel. “I don’t like her.”
“Yeah,” his pudgy friend added. “She...does stuff, cause she wants to leave.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Larry muttered, looking around his drab surroundings.
“Nobody leaves.” One of the boys said, starting to walk again.
They cut through a back yard, past a sagging picnic table, and a large pile of scrap metal.
“Okay,” Larry muttered, looking around. “Not sure what’s got you two worked up, but this doesn’t feel any more creepy than the rest of this place...did that junk pile move...?”
Anxious to be done with their task, the boys didn’t bother to see if Larry was still following them. Finding himself alone in the decrepit backyard, the bandaged hero, broke into a nervous jog to catch up with them.
He came around the corner of the trailer, and nearly collided with the wooden deck.
“George?” A voice, somehow managing to sound honey-toned and raspy at the same time asked. “That you? Always thought you’d come back.”
Peering between the uneven slates, Larry spotted the woman.
She was sprawled on an ancient, decrepit lawn chair, a smoldering cigarette in one long fingered hand, and bottle that might contain either cheap alcohol or cleaning fluid in the other.
Her black hair was a vast, tangled mane, looking like something a Cher impersonator might wear. Her skin was white as antique porcelain.
She was both unhealthily thin and massively pregnant, like a snake that had swallowed an ostrich egg.
Clad in a nicotine yellow tank top and pair of cut offs so ragged, that if she were to exhale too strongly, Larry was fearful, she’d end up naked.
She took a deep drag of her cigarette, her eyes pressed into predatory slits, as she studied Larry.
“You aren’t George, but I can see the resemblance,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful.
“Um...you see a couple kids come this way?” Larry asked, with dawning understanding as to why anyone in this distorted David Lynch film of a place would be put off by this woman.
“Aren’t you a little big to be playing tag?” Mab moved and spoke with the lazy menace of a carnivore that knows it is at the top of the food chain.
Not so much a lion, but more an alligator: she was floating lazily, but what you could see hinted at so much more and worse, below the surface. Larry wasn’t sure how or why, but he knew, that this spindly-limbed, bloated creature could snap him up and drag him down below with very little effort.
For the first time since arriving at the trailer park, he could feel the telltale buzzing of the Negative man.
And his ebony other half wanted, not so much out, but away.
“Friend of Georges?” Mab asked, blowing out smoke. “Or do you know that wife of his?”
“Friend of a friend,” Larry muttered. “Um...that their place, over there? I’ll be on my way…don’t want to bother you.”
“No bother. After all, I should be neighborly to new arrivals,” Mab leered. “Get you something to drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Piece of candy, little boy? Your heart’s desire…?” she muttered huskily.
“Uh…what…? Maybe later,” Larry mumbled, hurrying away.
He jogged around the corner of the trailer, feeling Mab’s eyes boring into the back of his linen-wrapped head and while still feeling the Negative man, deep in a corner of his soul, anxious and hoping to avoid her notice.
He found the two boys, pressed against the wall of the trailer, casting tentative peeks around the corner.
“You guys were a big help,” he grumbled.
“You stay away from Mab,” the pudgy boy said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Thanks for that timely information,” Larry grumbled. “That the place?”
He pointed to a dilapidated trailer, off-white and sagging under the weight of its neglect.
The three wooden steps wobbled, as Larry stepped on them. The trailer rattled in the sickly breeze.
Larry turned the door knob, but could feel the cheap metal door sticking.
“Come on,” he muttered, grasping the knob with both, bandaged, hands and tugging.
So intent on the stubborn door, Larry didn’t notice the two boys, slowly backing away from the trailer.
With a resounding “creak-pop!”, the door came open and a mass of bandages burst out, like tentacles and began enveloping Larry.
“Gahh...!” he exclaimed, stumbling backwards and struggling to tug loose.
He dug his boot heels into the wood of the stoop.
Larry slammed his palms against the warped door frame, feeling the cheap metal biting through his bandages and into the skin of his palms.
And all the while, he could feel the Negative man, burrowing deeper into the recesses of his soul, huddling down to avoid…something, in this dismal, fever dream of a place.
If it wasn’t about to get him killed, Larry would have been worried for his other half.
Struggling to reach the door, hoping to slam it shut and cut off the grasping linen strands, Larry kicked out. Hoping to hit whatever mass, if any existed, within the sargasso of bandages that had grabbed him.
“Any...time you want...hnn..to help...!” Larry growled, through gritted teeth to the energy being he played host to. “The one time I need you to act up...!”
In the midst of all this, Larry thought he heard the screech of car brakes, followed by additional chaotic noise.
“Stay loose,” A voice behind him. “This might sting a little.”
A gloved hand clamped onto Larry’s shoulder, quickly followed by a pulse of energy racing through his nervous system, until his eyes watered.
The Negative man surged out of his chest, tore through the bandage tentacles and shot off across the trailer park.
Larry stumbled backwards, supported from behind and then eased back down the rickety stairs.
He sagged onto the bottom step, sitting and holding his side.
“What the hell...?” He rasped, wincing at the effort of merely breathing, speaking and staying upright.
With an effort, Larry managed to raise his head, and get a look at his rescuer.
The man was a stranger. He was broad-shouldered and thin-waisted, he wore the helmet, googles, long coat and gloves of a World War one aviator, over a garish purple suit, thin necktie and striped shirt that wouldn’t have been out of place worn by one of the late sixties Beatles.
“Wait,” The newcomer said. “You’re not George...?”
“Yeah, I’m getting a lot of that today...,” Larry muttered, rubbing his chest. “This day just keeps getting weirder...even by my standards...”
“So, who are you?” The fashionably dressed aviator asked, thoughtful sounding, but not holstering his gun. “How’d you get here? Who sent you?”
“Slow down,” Larry said, not looking up, as he was focusing on keeping his breathing and nausea under control. “We kind of...drifted here. We stumbled in and were trying to figure out if these...deeply creepy…people need help or...I don’t know what...!”
“Wait...’we’? Who’s ‘we’? You brought people with you?” The newcomer asked. “Where are they?”
“What...? I don’t...uh...Papercut went that way,” Larry muttered, gesturing off to the left. “Flex went with one of the kids to talk to someone about a…uh...comic book…?”
“Demond.” The other man muttered, holstering his gun and offering Larry a hand up. “Okay, you guys don’t know what you’ve stumbled into and are now in a lot of trouble. Let’s see what we can do to help.”
Half supporting the bandage-wrapped hero, he steered Larry away from the steps.
“You going to be okay? What was that thing that flew out of you? Looked familiar…?”
“It’s...complicated. It came with me...what the hell...?!”
Larry halted, his eyes finally able to focus.
“Is that a Mustang Charger?’ he asked, feeling more with every minute that he was stumbling through some kind of fever dream.
The car was bright red and showroom clean and shiny. Set amidst the flat, sepia world of the trailer park, it stood out like a bright candle on a dull birthday cake.
“Yeah, she gets me where I need to be,” the newcomer nodded, helping the almost boneless Larry into the front, passenger side seat.
Larry sighed, as his back rested against the warm leather seat. Being in the car, made him realize how oppressively bland, yet oppressive, the trailer park was.
“You okay?” The other man asked, slipping into the driver’s seat.
“Finally feels like I can think again,” Larry said, glancing out the window, and then looking around at the pristine interior of the Mustang. “Where...what is this place?”
“It’s a prison,” The other man exclaimed, turning the key. The car purred like a happy tiger. “There are...um...things...beings out there in the multiverse. They are trouble and very powerful.”
“So, these dangerous beings get sent to a trailer park?” Larry muttered, thoughtfully. “Wait...it only looks like a trailer park, but is really a multi-dimensional construct that my tiny mortal brain translates into something else, so it doesn’t melt at the sight of it and all of them...”
“Done this before have you?”
“Couple times.” Larry said. “So, how does this work? Are the...beings...demons...whatevers soaked up by this place? Is that why everything feels so beige and depressing?”
“No, they are the people.”
“What? You mean those grubby kids? The old lady with the cat? They’re all other-dimensional...evil things...?”
“Yes. Just remember, everything you see is just a version your brain can handle,” The other man explained, as he drove. “They are all dangerous, even locked away as they are, and a couple are scary dangerous.”
“Mab...?”
“Yeah, she’s probably the worst, but Demond isn’t a boy scout. Let’s find your friends, then we’ll put our heads together and try and figure out what’s going on here.”
It had the feel of a medieval village, ramshackle dwellings huddled together, worn down by the elements and the constant worry that the wider world might take notice of them.
It was a dreary place. The kind of place you only move to when you are out of options.
The few occupants, either shuffling around their yards or perched on makeshift porches, were as drab and forlorn as their surroundings. The dress code seemed to be grey or dingy brown, preferably, hoodies and sweatpants.
“Jesus, this place is sad,” Papercut muttered, standing at the end of Danny the Street.
“It’s like we landed in a Stephen King novel,” Larry Trainor added, huddling into his blue winter parka.
Even Flex Mentallo, man of mystery muscle and the Doom Patrol’s resident ray of optimism was slightly subdued and struggling to find something nice to say about their destination.
“Uh...well,” Flex muttered, arms crossed, and a doubtful expression on his manly face. “I imagine that it’s...quite...uh...picturesque in the spring.”
“Uh-huh,” Larry said, skeptically. “I’m not planning on coming back for a picnic.”
“What are you boys looking at?” Rita Farr asked, coming up behind the trio.
“The trailer park that time forgot,” Larry replied. “Not sure why Danny brought us here and not sure I want to know.”
“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Rita said, shooting up to twenty feet. “Robert and I are going to see about cleaning up all the fallen tree branches and whatnot from that storm last night.”
“See you later,” Larry said, with a wave. “You guys ready?”
There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the other two.
The trio stepped off the sentient street, unto the road leading into the trailer park, the gravel crunching beneath their feet.
The breeze was chilly, but listless, as though it had no enthusiasm for the task. It pushed a few dead leaves around, and then wafted away into the tall grass of the neglected yards.
“Could this place get any creepier?” Papercut asked, uneasily.
“Don’t,” Larry said. “Somebody might take it as a challenge. How about you let loose the flock, so we don’t have to walk all through this place.”
Papercut reached into the numerous pouches on his belt. He brought out a handful of tiny origami birds, which he promptly threw up into the air. The paper birds promptly flew off, across the trailer park.
“I’m sure we’ll just have a healthy, relaxing stroll,” Flex said. “Meet some of the locals and be on our way.”
“Hope springs eternal,” Larry said, as they walked. “Let’s see if that guy can help.”
In the nearest yard, stood a thin man in baggy hoodie and sweatpants. He was standing in the knee-high grass, facing away from the trio, looking off into the nearby barren trees. His arms hung loosely at his sides, a lit cigarette smoldering in his hand.
“Excuse me, young fella,” Flex said, wading into the tall grass. “Can we ask you a few questions?”
The thin man in grey didn’t move and seemed to not have actually heard Flex’s question.
“Hey, you okay?” Larry asked, from the road, standing with his hands in his coat pockets. Both he and Papercut hung back.
Slowly, the man in the hoodie turned to look at the new arrivals.
His face was thin, and pale as a mushroom. His expression was slack, eyes unfocused and filmy. He slowly brought the cigarette to his mouth, took an unenergetic puff and nodded in greeting.
“Hello,” The man of mystery muscle said, an open, friendly expression on his ruggedly handsome face. “My friends and I seem a bit lost. Can you tell us where we are?”
“The Park.” The man answered in a voice as bland and grey as everything else about him. “That’s what folks in town call it, at least.”
“The town...?” Flex asked. “What town?”
“Just a bit down the road,” The thin man mumbled. “Guess there’s a sign, but I don’t go myself. Don’t like crowds.”
He looked away, puffing listlessly, obviously having decided the conversation was over.
“All right then,” Flex nodded, as though he wasn’t completely baffled by the interaction. “Nice chatting with you. Good you’re getting out in the fresh air.”
He rejoined his teammates, shrugging.
“Guess we try somebody else,” Larry suggested, blandly. “You okay, Cut?”
Papercut was shaking his head slightly, rubbing one temple.
“Yeah, just a...weird...um...vibe here.” The reformed villain said, distractedly. “Having trouble connecting with some of my birds. When I try to push the link, I get this...buzzing. Giving me a headache.”
“I got to admit,” Larry said, looking around, frowning. “There might not be a weird menace here. It might just be a village full of white trash.”
“Now, I can’t say I like that attitude,” Flex Mentallo chided his teammate. “No matter their situation, these people may need our help or at the very least, a little compassion.”
A bit chagrined after the lecture and stern look from the man of mystery muscle, Larry nodded, and huddled further into his jacket, against the chill, and wandered down the road.
Suddenly, three kids, bundled up in puffy winter coats, came running around the corner of a trailer, yelling in that particular random way that kids do.
They were also clutching sticks, and some broken action figures.
The kids came stumbling to a halt in front of the trio of heroes: three pale kids: sallow complexations, matted hair and two of them had runny noses.
“Who’re you guys?” One of them asked, staring up the heroes.
“Are you friends of George and Marion?” Another asked Larry, digging in his ear with a finger and then pointing at Larry.
“Hey! I know you!” The third kid, short and stout, like a sack of potatoes, exclaimed, pointing a mitten-clad hand at Flex. “You’re Flex Mentallo! I got one of your comics!”
He pulled off his ratty, mismatched mittens, dropped them on the ground and reached into his coat. He pulled out a rolled-up comic book. It was coverless and the pages were yellowing with age and neglect.
“Huh...?” Flex said, taking the offered comic, and gingerly flipped through. “I don’t remember this happening...?”
“Wait, wait,” Larry said, agitated. “I need a second. Over here...no, Winkin, Blinkin and Nod, you three wait over there. Grown-ups are talking.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Papercut asked, quietly. “Does this make any sense to anybody else?”
“Some,” Flex muttered, still preoccupied with the comic he was reading.
“I think we are definitely in a weird place,” Larry said, glancing around anxiously. “How’d they get that comic?”
“But Flex is from a comic book, isn’t he?” Papercut asked, rubbing his temple.
“Yeah, but not a regular comic book,” Larry explained. “There shouldn’t just be copies laying around, and they know George and Marion.”
“Who?”
“It’s...uh...complicated,” Larry explained, frowning. “They were...ghosts, sort of, and were part of the Patrol, back when Kate had just joined.”
“Are they the ones, wrapped up like you, in the pictures Kate has in the coffee shop?” Papercut asked.
‘Probably,” Larry said. “Anyway, the point is, there was a…thing and they were, basically, blown out of this dimension.”
“I think,” Flex said, quietly. “That you are taking it for granted what dimension we are in.”
“Wait...what...?” Papercut exclaimed, looking from Larry to Flex. “We traveled to another dimension...?”
“Keep it down,” Larry advised, glancing back over at the boys. “Yeah, it makes a weird kind of sense: that storm last night, the sketchy...uh...vibe of this place, and these kids know about George and Marion.”
“Danny could do it,” Flex mused. “And if nothing strange has been noticed at the other end of the street, it might be that we are actually still connected to our...your home dimension.”
“Danny has bridged the two dimensions?” Larry muttered, rubbing his linen-wrapped chin thoughtfully. “Or, somehow got stuck between them...? So, are we here to help somebody, or keep something nasty from getting loose or...something worse?”
“What should we do?” Papercut asked.
“You guys gonna talk all day?!” One of the pale children yelled. “I thought you were superheroes!”
“Yeah!” Another added, loudly. “Why aren’t you flying or shooting stuff outta your eyes?”
“Would you jerks get lost!” Papercut snapped, turning towards the trio, his fists clenched.
“Okay, take a breath, settle down,” Flex said, patting the reformed super villain on the shoulder. “I have to admit, these youngsters’...ah, spirited attitude can be a bit much, but until we figure this place out, we are going to need their help.”
“Are you kidding me?” Papercut exclaimed.
“No, Flex is right,” Larry nodded. “They’re the closest thing we’ve got to a guide. Afraid we’ll need to split up to check things out.”
“Split up...?” Papercut muttered. “Yeah., that always works out in every horror movie I’ve ever seen.”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Larry said, ignoring his anxious teammate. “I’m going to get one of the Sandlot to help me find George and Marion.”
“I’ll see if that youngster with the runny nose can show me where he got this comic book,” Flex said, thoughtfully.
“I’m just gonna try and find my birds,” Papercut added, shrugging. “I don’t really need a guide...creepy kids...!”
He turned to go, paused in front of the trio of boys and then moved to the other side of the road, to give them a wide berth.
“Not sure I’m okay with him wandering off by himself,” Flex said.
“Me neither,” Larry said. “But the kid can’t seem to focus with the link to his birds messed up. We’ll figure this out.”
He then turned to the grey, sickly urchins.
“So, how about you guys helping us out? Show us around, huh?”
“Why?” One asked.
“How come you don’t have a cape?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“Which question do I answer first?” Larry asked, out of the corner of his mouth.
Flex Mentallo shrugged in reply, rubbed his forehead and then stepped up to the chubby, bundled-up kid who had given him the tattered comic that was troubling him.
“Can you show me where you got this one from, pal?” Flex asked, extending the full force of his good-natured charm. His aura of mystery muscle washed over the watery-eyed urchin.
“Yeah, okay,” The boy announced, without much enthusiasm, as he wiped his nose on his coat sleeve.
“There you go,” Flex nodded. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” Larry said, as the man of mystery muscle and his guide crossed a nearby scrubby yard. He then turned to the remaining boys.
“So, lead on, Sulu and Chekov.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Where are George and Marion?”
“I dunno.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? “Larry snapped, taking a step towards the dingy pair. “You were talking about them five minutes ago! Look, I am not in the mood for...!”
“We knew them cause they were here,” The taller kid said. “Then they left.”
“Any more helpful information you guys want to share?” Larry asked, sarcastically.
“Their trailer’s still here,” One of the boys shrugged, not looking at the linen-wrapped superhero, while he talked.
He was enthralled with the revelation that when he pulled his coat pocket inside out, that there was a lollipop stuck to the fabric. “I think their stuff is still there.”
“Well, then lead the way. You aren’t going to really stick that in your mouth, are you?” Larry said, uneasily.
“What...?” The kid mumbled, talking around the linty bit of candy.
“Forget it.”
Larry followed behind the boys, shaking his head.
The trailers were all a uniform, depressing brown with each occupant adding their own, mostly dreary and sad, personal touches.
An old lady with stringy, drab hair, dressed all in frumpy grey, sat on her rickety front steps, trying to tempt a cat, that Larry was pretty sure was dead, not napping, to come up and sit with her.
A rusted swing set made worrying creaking noises, as a pair of children, who seemed to fade in and out of sight, like a bad TV signal, swung back and forth.
The deeper into the trailer park they got, the more anxious Larry felt. Shivering slightly, he glanced back, making sure he could still catch a glimpse of Danny the Street.
Turning back, he almost walked into the two boys, who had stopped and were looking at him.
“Jesus! Don’t do that, kid!” Larry exclaimed. “What’s up?”
“We gotta cut through Mab’s yard to get to George and Marion’s trailer,” the short, fireplug-sized kid mumbled.
“Um...okay,” Larry said, unsure what they were talking about, but also worried about whatever would make these two creepy kids nervous. “Is that...bad?”
“She’s gonna talk to you,” the thinner kid said, absently scuffing his shoe in the gravel. “I don’t like her.”
“Yeah,” his pudgy friend added. “She...does stuff, cause she wants to leave.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Larry muttered, looking around his drab surroundings.
“Nobody leaves.” One of the boys said, starting to walk again.
They cut through a back yard, past a sagging picnic table, and a large pile of scrap metal.
“Okay,” Larry muttered, looking around. “Not sure what’s got you two worked up, but this doesn’t feel any more creepy than the rest of this place...did that junk pile move...?”
Anxious to be done with their task, the boys didn’t bother to see if Larry was still following them. Finding himself alone in the decrepit backyard, the bandaged hero, broke into a nervous jog to catch up with them.
He came around the corner of the trailer, and nearly collided with the wooden deck.
“George?” A voice, somehow managing to sound honey-toned and raspy at the same time asked. “That you? Always thought you’d come back.”
Peering between the uneven slates, Larry spotted the woman.
She was sprawled on an ancient, decrepit lawn chair, a smoldering cigarette in one long fingered hand, and bottle that might contain either cheap alcohol or cleaning fluid in the other.
Her black hair was a vast, tangled mane, looking like something a Cher impersonator might wear. Her skin was white as antique porcelain.
She was both unhealthily thin and massively pregnant, like a snake that had swallowed an ostrich egg.
Clad in a nicotine yellow tank top and pair of cut offs so ragged, that if she were to exhale too strongly, Larry was fearful, she’d end up naked.
She took a deep drag of her cigarette, her eyes pressed into predatory slits, as she studied Larry.
“You aren’t George, but I can see the resemblance,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful.
“Um...you see a couple kids come this way?” Larry asked, with dawning understanding as to why anyone in this distorted David Lynch film of a place would be put off by this woman.
“Aren’t you a little big to be playing tag?” Mab moved and spoke with the lazy menace of a carnivore that knows it is at the top of the food chain.
Not so much a lion, but more an alligator: she was floating lazily, but what you could see hinted at so much more and worse, below the surface. Larry wasn’t sure how or why, but he knew, that this spindly-limbed, bloated creature could snap him up and drag him down below with very little effort.
For the first time since arriving at the trailer park, he could feel the telltale buzzing of the Negative man.
And his ebony other half wanted, not so much out, but away.
“Friend of Georges?” Mab asked, blowing out smoke. “Or do you know that wife of his?”
“Friend of a friend,” Larry muttered. “Um...that their place, over there? I’ll be on my way…don’t want to bother you.”
“No bother. After all, I should be neighborly to new arrivals,” Mab leered. “Get you something to drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Piece of candy, little boy? Your heart’s desire…?” she muttered huskily.
“Uh…what…? Maybe later,” Larry mumbled, hurrying away.
He jogged around the corner of the trailer, feeling Mab’s eyes boring into the back of his linen-wrapped head and while still feeling the Negative man, deep in a corner of his soul, anxious and hoping to avoid her notice.
He found the two boys, pressed against the wall of the trailer, casting tentative peeks around the corner.
“You guys were a big help,” he grumbled.
“You stay away from Mab,” the pudgy boy said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Thanks for that timely information,” Larry grumbled. “That the place?”
He pointed to a dilapidated trailer, off-white and sagging under the weight of its neglect.
The three wooden steps wobbled, as Larry stepped on them. The trailer rattled in the sickly breeze.
Larry turned the door knob, but could feel the cheap metal door sticking.
“Come on,” he muttered, grasping the knob with both, bandaged, hands and tugging.
So intent on the stubborn door, Larry didn’t notice the two boys, slowly backing away from the trailer.
With a resounding “creak-pop!”, the door came open and a mass of bandages burst out, like tentacles and began enveloping Larry.
“Gahh...!” he exclaimed, stumbling backwards and struggling to tug loose.
He dug his boot heels into the wood of the stoop.
Larry slammed his palms against the warped door frame, feeling the cheap metal biting through his bandages and into the skin of his palms.
And all the while, he could feel the Negative man, burrowing deeper into the recesses of his soul, huddling down to avoid…something, in this dismal, fever dream of a place.
If it wasn’t about to get him killed, Larry would have been worried for his other half.
Struggling to reach the door, hoping to slam it shut and cut off the grasping linen strands, Larry kicked out. Hoping to hit whatever mass, if any existed, within the sargasso of bandages that had grabbed him.
“Any...time you want...hnn..to help...!” Larry growled, through gritted teeth to the energy being he played host to. “The one time I need you to act up...!”
In the midst of all this, Larry thought he heard the screech of car brakes, followed by additional chaotic noise.
“Stay loose,” A voice behind him. “This might sting a little.”
A gloved hand clamped onto Larry’s shoulder, quickly followed by a pulse of energy racing through his nervous system, until his eyes watered.
The Negative man surged out of his chest, tore through the bandage tentacles and shot off across the trailer park.
Larry stumbled backwards, supported from behind and then eased back down the rickety stairs.
He sagged onto the bottom step, sitting and holding his side.
“What the hell...?” He rasped, wincing at the effort of merely breathing, speaking and staying upright.
With an effort, Larry managed to raise his head, and get a look at his rescuer.
The man was a stranger. He was broad-shouldered and thin-waisted, he wore the helmet, googles, long coat and gloves of a World War one aviator, over a garish purple suit, thin necktie and striped shirt that wouldn’t have been out of place worn by one of the late sixties Beatles.
“Wait,” The newcomer said. “You’re not George...?”
“Yeah, I’m getting a lot of that today...,” Larry muttered, rubbing his chest. “This day just keeps getting weirder...even by my standards...”
“So, who are you?” The fashionably dressed aviator asked, thoughtful sounding, but not holstering his gun. “How’d you get here? Who sent you?”
“Slow down,” Larry said, not looking up, as he was focusing on keeping his breathing and nausea under control. “We kind of...drifted here. We stumbled in and were trying to figure out if these...deeply creepy…people need help or...I don’t know what...!”
“Wait...’we’? Who’s ‘we’? You brought people with you?” The newcomer asked. “Where are they?”
“What...? I don’t...uh...Papercut went that way,” Larry muttered, gesturing off to the left. “Flex went with one of the kids to talk to someone about a…uh...comic book…?”
“Demond.” The other man muttered, holstering his gun and offering Larry a hand up. “Okay, you guys don’t know what you’ve stumbled into and are now in a lot of trouble. Let’s see what we can do to help.”
Half supporting the bandage-wrapped hero, he steered Larry away from the steps.
“You going to be okay? What was that thing that flew out of you? Looked familiar…?”
“It’s...complicated. It came with me...what the hell...?!”
Larry halted, his eyes finally able to focus.
“Is that a Mustang Charger?’ he asked, feeling more with every minute that he was stumbling through some kind of fever dream.
The car was bright red and showroom clean and shiny. Set amidst the flat, sepia world of the trailer park, it stood out like a bright candle on a dull birthday cake.
“Yeah, she gets me where I need to be,” the newcomer nodded, helping the almost boneless Larry into the front, passenger side seat.
Larry sighed, as his back rested against the warm leather seat. Being in the car, made him realize how oppressively bland, yet oppressive, the trailer park was.
“You okay?” The other man asked, slipping into the driver’s seat.
“Finally feels like I can think again,” Larry said, glancing out the window, and then looking around at the pristine interior of the Mustang. “Where...what is this place?”
“It’s a prison,” The other man exclaimed, turning the key. The car purred like a happy tiger. “There are...um...things...beings out there in the multiverse. They are trouble and very powerful.”
“So, these dangerous beings get sent to a trailer park?” Larry muttered, thoughtfully. “Wait...it only looks like a trailer park, but is really a multi-dimensional construct that my tiny mortal brain translates into something else, so it doesn’t melt at the sight of it and all of them...”
“Done this before have you?”
“Couple times.” Larry said. “So, how does this work? Are the...beings...demons...whatevers soaked up by this place? Is that why everything feels so beige and depressing?”
“No, they are the people.”
“What? You mean those grubby kids? The old lady with the cat? They’re all other-dimensional...evil things...?”
“Yes. Just remember, everything you see is just a version your brain can handle,” The other man explained, as he drove. “They are all dangerous, even locked away as they are, and a couple are scary dangerous.”
“Mab...?”
“Yeah, she’s probably the worst, but Demond isn’t a boy scout. Let’s find your friends, then we’ll put our heads together and try and figure out what’s going on here.”
**********
Elsewhere and ten minutes back in the past, Flex Mentallo followed his raggedy guide.
The man of mystery muscle felt uneasy. He wasn’t sure if that was due to the feeling that he was walking into a trap or because he was walking across everyone’s lawn.
The boy stopped in front of a grey trailer with a sagging roof. He was distracted by the discovery of a crooked stick, that he picked up and began idly poking in the dirt with it.
“Are we there?” Flex asked.
Without looking up, the kid lazily pointed at the trailer.
“Well, thanks, youngster.” Flex said, with a shrug. He then strode up the dirt path to the front door.
Even being as gentle as possible, Flex’s knocking made the whole door frame tremble. It felt like the entire trailer would sway in a light breeze.
The door lazily swung open, and a pale, narrow-faced man, who looked like he he’d time traveled there from the 70’s. His hair was permed. He wore dingy, threadbare paisley shirt, jeans and hushpuppy loafers.
Despite his smoked, John Lennon glasses, he held up a hand to shade against the weak, listless sunlight.
“Can I help you, man?” he asked, sounding like he’d just woken up.
“Sorry to bother you,” Flex said, mustering his most friendly and ingratiating smile. “Some of the local kids showed me this comic book...”
He held up the comic, in hopes that Demond would spot the obvious resemblance between the figure on the front page and the one standing on his steps.
“Uh-huh,” The sleepy Demond mumbled. “Yeah, okay, come on in.”
Flex had to duck to enter the trailer, and the ceiling inside wasn’t much higher. The interior was dimly lit and continued the trend of Demond’s worn with age 70’s aesthetic.
“So, I’m curious where you obtained this comic book,” Flex continued, glancing around with disapproval at the bachelor clutter, unaware of the blood-red light that shown behind his new acquaintances’ smoked lenses or that when Demond smiled, all his teeth had been filed to razor sharp points.
“Sit anywhere, man,” He said, lazily prowling around behind the man of mystery muscle, amongst the sagging, mismatched furniture, stacks of old newspapers, comic books and records, discarded clothes and dirty coffee cups. “You like comic books? Seem a little old for them, you ask me.”
“Oh, I’m a fan of a good story, no matter how it’s told,” Flex said, glancing around, and absently flipping through a dusty stack of comics. “It’s not that I’m a collector...it’s this particular comic...I’m in it. Other times, when I’ve seen comics about me, it’s been a story...an adventure...something I remember happening to me, but not this one.”
He pulled out a tattered issue, and turning the pages, as he talked, unaware of Demond stalking closer, behind him, like an unfashionably dressed shark, his fingernails extending into talons.
“I mean,” Flex continued. “The fellows and ladies back on Danny the street keep saying, I’m a comic book character...in this reality, but I never gave it much thought. Now, I don’t know...I wonder if this is what an existential crisis feels like...?”
Demond stood just behind Flex’s broad left shoulder, clawed hands raised, mouth wide open.
“I’ve got to say, you’re a good listener,” Flex continued. “I appreciate that.”
The man of mystery muscle felt uneasy. He wasn’t sure if that was due to the feeling that he was walking into a trap or because he was walking across everyone’s lawn.
The boy stopped in front of a grey trailer with a sagging roof. He was distracted by the discovery of a crooked stick, that he picked up and began idly poking in the dirt with it.
“Are we there?” Flex asked.
Without looking up, the kid lazily pointed at the trailer.
“Well, thanks, youngster.” Flex said, with a shrug. He then strode up the dirt path to the front door.
Even being as gentle as possible, Flex’s knocking made the whole door frame tremble. It felt like the entire trailer would sway in a light breeze.
The door lazily swung open, and a pale, narrow-faced man, who looked like he he’d time traveled there from the 70’s. His hair was permed. He wore dingy, threadbare paisley shirt, jeans and hushpuppy loafers.
Despite his smoked, John Lennon glasses, he held up a hand to shade against the weak, listless sunlight.
“Can I help you, man?” he asked, sounding like he’d just woken up.
“Sorry to bother you,” Flex said, mustering his most friendly and ingratiating smile. “Some of the local kids showed me this comic book...”
He held up the comic, in hopes that Demond would spot the obvious resemblance between the figure on the front page and the one standing on his steps.
“Uh-huh,” The sleepy Demond mumbled. “Yeah, okay, come on in.”
Flex had to duck to enter the trailer, and the ceiling inside wasn’t much higher. The interior was dimly lit and continued the trend of Demond’s worn with age 70’s aesthetic.
“So, I’m curious where you obtained this comic book,” Flex continued, glancing around with disapproval at the bachelor clutter, unaware of the blood-red light that shown behind his new acquaintances’ smoked lenses or that when Demond smiled, all his teeth had been filed to razor sharp points.
“Sit anywhere, man,” He said, lazily prowling around behind the man of mystery muscle, amongst the sagging, mismatched furniture, stacks of old newspapers, comic books and records, discarded clothes and dirty coffee cups. “You like comic books? Seem a little old for them, you ask me.”
“Oh, I’m a fan of a good story, no matter how it’s told,” Flex said, glancing around, and absently flipping through a dusty stack of comics. “It’s not that I’m a collector...it’s this particular comic...I’m in it. Other times, when I’ve seen comics about me, it’s been a story...an adventure...something I remember happening to me, but not this one.”
He pulled out a tattered issue, and turning the pages, as he talked, unaware of Demond stalking closer, behind him, like an unfashionably dressed shark, his fingernails extending into talons.
“I mean,” Flex continued. “The fellows and ladies back on Danny the street keep saying, I’m a comic book character...in this reality, but I never gave it much thought. Now, I don’t know...I wonder if this is what an existential crisis feels like...?”
Demond stood just behind Flex’s broad left shoulder, clawed hands raised, mouth wide open.
“I’ve got to say, you’re a good listener,” Flex continued. “I appreciate that.”
**********
Back at the Mustang...
“So, you’re telling me,” Larry said, incredulously. “That this car, on top of being cool as hell, can travel across dimensions?”
“It’s...a bit more complicated than that,” The driver shrugged. “But essentially, you’ve got it. There are a lot of dark corners and pockets in reality, and someone has to keep an eye on them.”
“And this trailer park is one of the dark corners of the universe?”
“It isn’t a trailer park,” The other man replied. “It’s just how your brain translates it all.”
“Jesus, it’s Omni-Limited all over again...!” Larry mumbled.
“Oh, you’ve met those guys. Yeah, they’re trouble. This place works on a similar idea, but it’s more a...not exactly, but kind of, a prison, but a bit of a waiting room too, I guess.”
“So, what attracted Danny to it...?” Larry mused, as they drove through the trailer park. ”Is it just the place in general or is somebody up to something?”
“My guess is the second one...is that your friend?”
“One of them,” Larry replied, concerned. “Papercut. He doesn’t look good.”
The car rolled to a stop and both men climbed out.
Larry still felt a little weak, but not as boneless, as he usually did when separated from the Negative man. He briefly wondered if that was due to this weird bubble of unreality they were in or connected to whatever was happening between him and his ‘other half’.
He set that worry aside, once they reached Papercut.
The semi-reformed super villain was sitting, slumped, on the dry, drab lawn, surrounded by a circle of tiny, smoldering patches.
“What happened?” Larry asked.
‘Something...something got them,” Papercut muttered, not looking up. His goggles were pushed up to his forehead and his eyes were red and rummy, as though he’d been crying. ‘Every bird...snowflake...every one...and I felt it...every time one...died...!”
“What do we do? How can I help?” The driver asked.
Larry sighed, rubbing at his bandaged-wrapped jaw in thought.
“I don’t know,” he told the other man. “I don’t entirely...get how his powers work, but it sounds like Papercut had a psychic connection to all his little toys and having them all taken out like they were did a number on him. Let’s get him in the car and see if we can find Flex. If nothing else, we need to get the hell outta here.”
The two of them steered Papercut into the backseat of the mustang. The young super villain slumped, dazed, barely able to keep himself upright.
“Let’s find your friend!” The other man exclaimed.
“So, you’re telling me,” Larry said, incredulously. “That this car, on top of being cool as hell, can travel across dimensions?”
“It’s...a bit more complicated than that,” The driver shrugged. “But essentially, you’ve got it. There are a lot of dark corners and pockets in reality, and someone has to keep an eye on them.”
“And this trailer park is one of the dark corners of the universe?”
“It isn’t a trailer park,” The other man replied. “It’s just how your brain translates it all.”
“Jesus, it’s Omni-Limited all over again...!” Larry mumbled.
“Oh, you’ve met those guys. Yeah, they’re trouble. This place works on a similar idea, but it’s more a...not exactly, but kind of, a prison, but a bit of a waiting room too, I guess.”
“So, what attracted Danny to it...?” Larry mused, as they drove through the trailer park. ”Is it just the place in general or is somebody up to something?”
“My guess is the second one...is that your friend?”
“One of them,” Larry replied, concerned. “Papercut. He doesn’t look good.”
The car rolled to a stop and both men climbed out.
Larry still felt a little weak, but not as boneless, as he usually did when separated from the Negative man. He briefly wondered if that was due to this weird bubble of unreality they were in or connected to whatever was happening between him and his ‘other half’.
He set that worry aside, once they reached Papercut.
The semi-reformed super villain was sitting, slumped, on the dry, drab lawn, surrounded by a circle of tiny, smoldering patches.
“What happened?” Larry asked.
‘Something...something got them,” Papercut muttered, not looking up. His goggles were pushed up to his forehead and his eyes were red and rummy, as though he’d been crying. ‘Every bird...snowflake...every one...and I felt it...every time one...died...!”
“What do we do? How can I help?” The driver asked.
Larry sighed, rubbing at his bandaged-wrapped jaw in thought.
“I don’t know,” he told the other man. “I don’t entirely...get how his powers work, but it sounds like Papercut had a psychic connection to all his little toys and having them all taken out like they were did a number on him. Let’s get him in the car and see if we can find Flex. If nothing else, we need to get the hell outta here.”
The two of them steered Papercut into the backseat of the mustang. The young super villain slumped, dazed, barely able to keep himself upright.
“Let’s find your friend!” The other man exclaimed.
**********
Back at the trailer, Flex had spread several tattered comics across the dusty coffee table.
“So, strange,” He muttered, oblivious to the menace literally at his back. “Am I looking at another version of me? Am I seeing my future...? Um, not to be rude, but you are literarily breathing down the back of my neck...oh bother...!”
As Demond lunged at him, Flex flung himself to the side, going into a shoulder roll, when he hit the floor.
The other being chomped down, missing Flex, but taking a fist-sized chunk out of the back of the ancient sofa.
“Um...did I miss something?” Flex said, getting to his feet. “I thought we were getting along?”
“Nothing personal, man,” Demond said, his hissing tone, almost drowned out by his shark-like teeth grinding together. “But, a man’s gotta eat!”
“Well, I’m as open minded as the next fellow,” Flex said, moving to keep the sofa and coffee table between him and Demond. “But you’ve got to draw a line. Cannibalism is not okay.”
The man of mystery muscle flexed, summoning his ultra-muscle aura, Flex hit the demonic hipster with a force blast that sent Demond staggering back.
Demond hit the wall and the entire trailer rocked for a few seconds.
“I’d really prefer if we could just talk about this,” Flex said. ‘You know, man to...uh...man?”
“Sorry, man,” Demond said, spitting out couch stuffing. “Just can’t focus on an empty stomach!”
He leapt over the sofa, landing on the coffee table in a crouch that seemed unnatural for anyone with a normal, human skeleton.
“Right,” Flex frowned, glancing about the trailer interior, mentally going through his options. He crouched like a quarter back, scooped up the comic books and tucked them into his belt.
“Just going to borrow these,” he said, politely, before leaping and hitting Demond full on with his mystery muscle aura!
“So, strange,” He muttered, oblivious to the menace literally at his back. “Am I looking at another version of me? Am I seeing my future...? Um, not to be rude, but you are literarily breathing down the back of my neck...oh bother...!”
As Demond lunged at him, Flex flung himself to the side, going into a shoulder roll, when he hit the floor.
The other being chomped down, missing Flex, but taking a fist-sized chunk out of the back of the ancient sofa.
“Um...did I miss something?” Flex said, getting to his feet. “I thought we were getting along?”
“Nothing personal, man,” Demond said, his hissing tone, almost drowned out by his shark-like teeth grinding together. “But, a man’s gotta eat!”
“Well, I’m as open minded as the next fellow,” Flex said, moving to keep the sofa and coffee table between him and Demond. “But you’ve got to draw a line. Cannibalism is not okay.”
The man of mystery muscle flexed, summoning his ultra-muscle aura, Flex hit the demonic hipster with a force blast that sent Demond staggering back.
Demond hit the wall and the entire trailer rocked for a few seconds.
“I’d really prefer if we could just talk about this,” Flex said. ‘You know, man to...uh...man?”
“Sorry, man,” Demond said, spitting out couch stuffing. “Just can’t focus on an empty stomach!”
He leapt over the sofa, landing on the coffee table in a crouch that seemed unnatural for anyone with a normal, human skeleton.
“Right,” Flex frowned, glancing about the trailer interior, mentally going through his options. He crouched like a quarter back, scooped up the comic books and tucked them into his belt.
“Just going to borrow these,” he said, politely, before leaping and hitting Demond full on with his mystery muscle aura!
**********
The bright red Mustang pulled up in front of the trailer, just in time to see the front wall explode and Demond come flying out.
He bounced and then landed in a heap of out of fashion clothes and oddly jointed limbs.
“Well, I think we’re in the right place,” The driver said, drawing his pistol and striding over to the fallen form.
“Stay down, Demond,” he said, with grim quietness.
With a cracking noise, as bones rearranged themselves, Demond turned his head fully around, so he was facing the man with the gun.
“Come on,” he protested. “I wasn’t doing nothing...!”
“Where’s Flex?” Larry asked, looking around. “Is he okay?”
“I’m right here!” Flex shouted, appearing in the broken doorway, and then leaping across the yard to join them. “Think I may have found more questions than answers and...oh, my gosh!”
He stopped and stared, wide-eyed at the man in the aviator helmet and leather coat.
“It’s you!”
“What?” Larry asked, confused. “You know this guy?”
“You don’t...?” Flex asked back, equally puzzled, looking from one to the other. “How can you not know him? He’s the Great American Boondoggle!”
“The what...?!” Larry said, very confused.
“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Please, call me G.A.B.” The Boondoggle said, with a friendly shrug. “Sorry, have we met before?”
“Oh no!” Flex replied, shyly. “But I’ve read all the comics and seen the cliffhanger serial...big fan!”
“Wait!” Larry interrupted. “Is he from your world? Is that why I never heard of him?”
“What? Oh, no,” Flex said. “He’s the Boondoggle...there’s comics, movies, I had the lunchbox when I was a kid...oh, he’s my version of how you guys think of me...this keeps getting even more surreal...”
“Okay, you can get contemplative later,” Larry said, patting Flex on his broad shoulder. “This place is bad, and it seems to be getting worse.”
“Can’t be a coincidence that we were both drawn here,” G.A.B. said, thoughtfully. “Somebody is up to something, and the ripples attracted both my car and your...street.”
“We need to find it quick then,” Larry said, grimly. “Negative man is M.I.A. and Papercut is messed up. This place is picking us off.”
“That reminds me,” Flex said. “What about...?”
He was interrupted by Demond rearing up, his skeleton distended till he stood, unnaturally tall and crooked. His fingers were elongated talons and his jaw had dislocated, so that his open mouth looked like a bear trap.”
“Ah, never mind, there he is,” Flex said, before driving a glowing fist into the demonic beings’ solar plexus.
As Demond staggered backwards, gasping and flailing, the Boondoggle raised his pistol and emptied it into the grotesque scarecrow of a figure.
Dark, vicious liquid seeping from its wounds, Demond turned and shambled off towards the trees.
“Should we go after him?” Flex asked.
“No, nasty as he is, Demond feels like hired help to keep us busy,” G.A.B. said, thoughtfully, as he reloaded his gun.
“Everybody seems scared of that Mab woman,” Larry suggested. “Not sure how much damage a pregnant woman can do, but...?”
“Wait, what?” The Boondoggle asked, looking up. “She’s what...?”
“Pregnant,” Larry replied. “Which seems bad, as she smokes like crazy.”
“Am I missing something?” Flex asked.
“I don’t know,” G.A.B. muttered, idly tapping his gun against his leg. “But, generally, if Mab is involved, it’s bad.”
“This place,” Larry said. “Is it...uh...magic or is it weird science stuff...?”
“Well, that’s a tricky one.” The other dimensional adventurer said, with a thoughtful frown. “I guess it’s a bit of both. Why?”
“You got something, Larry?” Flex asked.
“Maybe...?” Larry shrugged. “Feels like there’s something here...the Patrol has dealt with so much strange crap, it’s hard to sort through it all. Not helping that I feel a little woozy with Negative man gone.”
The Boondoggle glanced around. Not only were the three grubby boys back and watching them from a nearby yard, but other denizens of the trailer park were coming out, onto their porches and into their neglected yards to peer intently at the heroes.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” G.A.B. muttered, casually gesturing for the others to move to the car.
“Afternoon,” Flex said, waving to some of the new arrivals. “Hopefully the rain holds off. good day to be out, doing some yard work.”
They piled into the red mustang and rolled away.
“Papercut okay?” Flex asked, looking, concerned at his seat mate in the back.
“I think all the psychic background noise is messing with him ,” Larry said, gazing worriedly out the window, at the growing number of bedraggled, listless, yet vaguely threatening figures, gathering along the road. “That and...something took out all his little paper things.”
“Never seen them like this,” G.A.B. said. “Sure, one or two them will act up, try to bust out, but this is worrying.”
“So, has this place got a wall around it?” Larry asked. “The woods keep everyone in? Cause if Danny arriving sends them all running, we need to warn the others.”
“There’s a kind of boundary, but it’s not really a wall,” G.A.B. explained. “They are bound here...like a magical form of house arrest.”
“Binding spells...!” Larry exclaimed, turning away from the window. “They use something, like a bit of blood...”
“Most of these guys don’t actually have any blood.”
“Or their ‘one true name’!” Larry continued, absently, his thoughts stumbling around in his head. “However, it happened, Mab has a baby, the...kid or whatever, is unnamed and not bound to this place...!”
“And free to head for the nearest exit,” Flex added, worriedly. “Which would be Danny!”
“I...jus...wanna go home...!” Papercut muttered.
“Not a bad guess,” G.A.B. muttered, grimly. “Something like that might be possible. Hopefully we can get to Mab before it gets out of control…!”
Suddenly a screech rent the air, momentarily drowning out the sound of the Mustang’s engine. A primeval expression of pain.
It was immediately followed by a column of sickly green light shooting upwards, splashing against the sky, like a geyser.
“Never mind,” The man in the aviator’s helmet grumbled, making a sharp turn and cutting across a backyard, leaving tire tracks and nearly sideswiping a dilapidated doghouse.
The Mustang screeched to a stop and the heroes came scrambling out. Larry stumbled, and would have fallen to his knees if Flex hadn’t caught his arm.
“You going to make it?” Flex asked, concerned.
“Doing better than I should be,” Larry mumbled, leaning on his teammate., as they stumbled to keep up with the Boondoggle. “Don’t understand, but if we ever get five minutes, I’ve got to find Negative man…!”
“I don’t have much experience with childbirth,” Flex mused. “But this one doesn’t seem to be going well.”
The trio came to a halt, in the middle of the brown, dry lawn, stunned by what awaited them.
Mab was sprawled on the crude, wooden porch, flailing about, her limbs seeming even thinner and more distended than any human should be capable of.
She arched, her spine bending like a pipe cleaner, her eyes went so wide as to nearly pop out of her skull.
And yet, Mab was smiling.
A horrendous smile, that split her face until the skin at the corners of her mouth tore and bled.
Her belly was a huge, distended mass.
It shifted and moved, all the while pulsing with a sickly green light.
Another geyser of energy irrupted from Mabs’ grotesque belly, and she screeched in triumphant agony, seconds before her body burst like an overripe fruit!
“Oh, my darling little boy…!” she coo’d, as the creature crawled out from her torn, ragged flesh.
It appeared too large to have actually fit within Mabs’ torso.
Misshapen and malformed, its body was thin, the sickly flesh pulled taunt against the bone, yet its arms and legs were swollen to Popeye-like proportions.
Its head, a massive egg with bulbous nicotine-colored eyes and a tiny, round mouth, ringed with small, vicious teeth.
It lurched about the wreckage of the porch, its movements becoming steadier, surer with each second.
It screeched and whimpered, glaring at the assembled heroes and residents of the trailer park, its eyes pulsing with energy.
“We are so screwed…!” Larry muttered.
The creature straightened up, seeming to have grown even taller in the past five minutes as it turned back towards its mother.
It reached down with a hand full of talons, and gurgling intently, stroked his mother’s cheek.
Mab smiled back at her offspring.
“Go be a good boy,” She murmured. “And slaughter them.”
The child then turned and began awkwardly shambling down the uneven porch steps.
“We can’t let that thing get loose,” The Boondoggle said, grimly, drawing his guns.
“Especially since the nearest exit is Danny,” Larry nodded. “What do we do?”
“Better let the Boondoggle and I handle this,” Flex said, with grim concern. “You and Papercut just try and stay safe.”
“The one time I want Negative man around…!” Larry grumbled, heading back to the other-dimensional Mustang.
Reaching the car, he was nearly knocked over, as the passenger side door was flung open and Papercut came leaping out.
“Let me at that bitch!” he shouted. “No one messes with my constructs and gets away with it!”
“Whoa!” Larry said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “What happened to you?”
The revived, and hyper, supervillain, let loose a handful of colored paper birds and then brandished several boomerangs made of similar paper.
“Found a bunch of take out menus,” Papercut exclaimed. “Stuff not only helped me reestablish my connection with the paper, but is freaking super-charged…!!”
“Be careful,” the Boondoggle explained, as he jogged by, firing. “Most of those came from other dimensions and higher realms.”
“Um…look, Papercut, maybe…?” Larry started, concerned.
“Let’s do this!” Papercut shouted, enthusiastically flinging his new weapons as he ran at the monstrous newborn.
Larry stood by the car, as the other three dashed about, circling the creature, striking with their various weapons.
The child staggered about the yard, squealing more in annoyance than in noticeable pain. It seemed to grow with each step, each flung blow, each shudder-inducing screech.
Soon, it towered over even Flex Mentallo, its hands like claw-edged shovels, its eyes like truck headlights. It left inch deep footprints in the neglected lawn with each step.
Flex’s muscle aura shone brightly, as he struggled to push it back towards Mab’s trailer. The sweat stood out on his broad brow and his muscles trembled.
The G.A.B. ran, dodging Flex’s energy bursts and the child’s wild blows and eye beams, all the while firing his guns.
Papercut threw his new collection of other-dimensional paper constructs, all the time yelling smack talk at the monster and its mom.
Larry stood by the Mustang, feeling helpless, and fuming at being unable to summon Negative man.
“Hey, is anyone keeping an eye on Mab…?” he asked, before realizing no one was listening to him. “Hey, I said, is anybody…never mind.”
Instead, he merely shrugged and hobbled around the edge of the yard, through the growing crowd of lethargic citizens of the park.
He reached the sagging porch.
Mab had managed to sit up, her empty belly, now healed, yet it still hung loosely around her waist, like some kind of grotesque skirt or deflated balloon.
Her head was wreathed in smoke and there was already a scattering of cigarette butts around her.
Her features were still distorted and grotesque, but her expression was that of an audience member intently watching a play.
“I…um…don’t suppose we can talk this over…?” Larry said, standing at the bottom step. “You know…sometimes, we can resolve…uh…things without anyone needing to get hurt…”
“This isn’t one of those time,” Mab purred, lifting one hand and lazily blasting Larry with green lightening from her fingertips.
He went flying backwards, hitting the ground and skidding several feet across the dead grass.
“I hate this place…!” he muttered, weakly, as he struggled to sit up and then just collapsed back to the ground.
Papercut threw his last boomerang, and then fumed in silent annoyance, struggling to figure out what to do next.
He watched Flex and the Boondoggle battling the monster child.
“Gotta get more paper! He muttered, looking around.
He jogged back to the car, opened the passenger side door, and began rummaging around, searching. Opening the glove compartment, there was an avalanche of road maps, that he soon realized was in fact one huge map that the Boondoggle had been unable to refold.
The Boondoggle did a shoulder roll, and then came up shooting. The creature staggered backwards, and was buffeted by Flex mystery muscle aura.
The two heroes forced it back, until its back hit the porch railing.
“Give it up Mab!” the G.A.B. shouted. “We aren’t letting you or your little boy run loose. Call him back before he gets hurt!”
“Oh please…!” Mab cackled lustily, blowing a plume of smoke. “As if you stand a chance of hurting my darling! We will step over your bodies to be free!”
“I must say, I do not approve of your parenting choices,” Flex said, before pounding his fists against the ground and sending a tremor across the yard, causing the creature to stumble to its malformed knees.
Suddenly, a new figure lurched up from behind the Mustang. It was seven feet tall and made of paper.
Papercut stood behind it, fingertips to his temples, trembling with effort.
The paper creature strode across the lawn, heading directly for the monster child.
“Well,” The G.A.B. muttered. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”
While the two creatures slugged it out, Flex helped Larry to his feet, and the Boondoggle darted across the yard, vaulted the porch railing, to confront Mab.
Larry struggled to get up off the ground, seething at how useless he was proving to be, while dealing with the worry over how much longer he could last without the Negative man.
“What are you doing…?” he muttered, sinking back. “Never around when I goddamned need you…!”
As if summoned by Larry’s despondent words, the Negative man came swooping down.
Crackling with energy, it dove between the two, over-sized combatants, and then flew about them, in a blur.
It shot upwards, immediately, arced back down, aiming for the monstrous newborn.
The baby raised its head, peering upwards, its lamprey-like mouth open wide in surprise.
This allowed the Negative man to elongate its body and dive into its open maw.
Startled, the creature swallowed, its eyes growing wide in surprise and discomfort. It then staggered about, as the paper giant continued to pummel it, clutching its stomach.
Mab lurched to her feet, leaning on the decrepit railing.
“No…!” She shrieked, digging her nails into the wood. “What have you done…?!”
The child stumbled and staggered, its body pulsing grotesquely. It struck out blindly, its claws severing one of the paper man’s arms.
It eventually, sank down, slumping against the porch, its misshapen head at the height of the railing.
Mab rushed across the porch, nearly tripping over the distended skin of her grotesque belly, in her rush to reach her baby.
“My darling!” She cried, her tears distorting her already stretched features. “What have they done to you?!”
Its skin bubbled and trembled, before the creature split down the middle, unleashing a wave of dark ichor and energy.
“Huh…?” Flex said, rubbing his chin. “Didn’t think this could get any more disturbing…”
Mab screamed, a storm of rage and sorrow, flinging sickly green lightening into the dull, grey sky.
“I will rend the flesh from your bones!” She managed to choke out. “I will suck the blood from your…!”
Her tirade was interrupted, by Negative man floating up out of the remains of the monstrous newborn until it was face to face with Mab.
Her eyes went wide, and the demonic woman shrank back.
‘I…I didn’t know,” She stammered, gathering up the loose baggy skin about her waist and shuffling backwards. “Don’t…I’m…forgive me!”
She fumbled behind her, for the door to her trailer, and slunk back into the shadowy interior.
“What was that all about?” The Boondoggle asked, holstering one gun, to use his free hand to help Larry to his feet.
“Wish I knew,” The bandaged hero shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. Hey, you!”
The Negative man turned and floated back over to Larry. They stood, inches apart, each seeming to stare the other down.
“Whatever you are up to is starting to seriously get on my nerves,” Larry said. “We need ground rules. So, get back in here or I’m walking to Danny and you can chase after me for a change.”
The black energy being cocked its head, as if in thought, and then floated back into its host body. Larry gave a silver.
“That felt weird…?” he muttered.
Once he’d sorted himself out and felt up to moving, talking and maybe even thinking, Larry went to join his teammates.
The Boondoggle, with help from Papercuts’ giant construct was scattering the dingy, listless crowd, while Flex kept an eye on Mabs’ trailer.
It seemed a pointless task, as the loss of her monstrous child and the confrontation with the Negative man had taken all the fight out of the demon queen.
“So,” Larry said. “We won…? That mean we can get the hell out of here?”
“I think so,” Flex shrugged, glancing down at the rolled up comic, tucked into his belt. “The Boondoggle seems to have a handle on things.”
“Yeah, your guy seems to be the local sheriff in these parts,” Larry nodded., looking around at the strange, dull sepia dimension “We’re just the locals who lend a hand….I don’t know…I want to go home.”
“Go get some rest,” Flex said, absently patting Larry on the shoulder. “I’ll help the Boondoggle and keep an eye on Papercut.”
Larry gave a vague wave and walked off.
“He okay?” The G.A.B. asked, joining the man of mystery muscle, as he casually reloaded and then holstered his guns.
Flex merely exhaled deeply and shrugged, before turning towards his comic book hero.
“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot. Not in a ‘fate of the world’ way, but in a lot of little ways and I think it’s starting to wear the Doom Patrol down.”
“Well, good thing they’ve got you to help them,” The Boondoggle said, holding out his hand. “Been a pleasure meeting you folks, but the road calls. This aint the only trouble spot in the multiverse.”
He bounced and then landed in a heap of out of fashion clothes and oddly jointed limbs.
“Well, I think we’re in the right place,” The driver said, drawing his pistol and striding over to the fallen form.
“Stay down, Demond,” he said, with grim quietness.
With a cracking noise, as bones rearranged themselves, Demond turned his head fully around, so he was facing the man with the gun.
“Come on,” he protested. “I wasn’t doing nothing...!”
“Where’s Flex?” Larry asked, looking around. “Is he okay?”
“I’m right here!” Flex shouted, appearing in the broken doorway, and then leaping across the yard to join them. “Think I may have found more questions than answers and...oh, my gosh!”
He stopped and stared, wide-eyed at the man in the aviator helmet and leather coat.
“It’s you!”
“What?” Larry asked, confused. “You know this guy?”
“You don’t...?” Flex asked back, equally puzzled, looking from one to the other. “How can you not know him? He’s the Great American Boondoggle!”
“The what...?!” Larry said, very confused.
“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Please, call me G.A.B.” The Boondoggle said, with a friendly shrug. “Sorry, have we met before?”
“Oh no!” Flex replied, shyly. “But I’ve read all the comics and seen the cliffhanger serial...big fan!”
“Wait!” Larry interrupted. “Is he from your world? Is that why I never heard of him?”
“What? Oh, no,” Flex said. “He’s the Boondoggle...there’s comics, movies, I had the lunchbox when I was a kid...oh, he’s my version of how you guys think of me...this keeps getting even more surreal...”
“Okay, you can get contemplative later,” Larry said, patting Flex on his broad shoulder. “This place is bad, and it seems to be getting worse.”
“Can’t be a coincidence that we were both drawn here,” G.A.B. said, thoughtfully. “Somebody is up to something, and the ripples attracted both my car and your...street.”
“We need to find it quick then,” Larry said, grimly. “Negative man is M.I.A. and Papercut is messed up. This place is picking us off.”
“That reminds me,” Flex said. “What about...?”
He was interrupted by Demond rearing up, his skeleton distended till he stood, unnaturally tall and crooked. His fingers were elongated talons and his jaw had dislocated, so that his open mouth looked like a bear trap.”
“Ah, never mind, there he is,” Flex said, before driving a glowing fist into the demonic beings’ solar plexus.
As Demond staggered backwards, gasping and flailing, the Boondoggle raised his pistol and emptied it into the grotesque scarecrow of a figure.
Dark, vicious liquid seeping from its wounds, Demond turned and shambled off towards the trees.
“Should we go after him?” Flex asked.
“No, nasty as he is, Demond feels like hired help to keep us busy,” G.A.B. said, thoughtfully, as he reloaded his gun.
“Everybody seems scared of that Mab woman,” Larry suggested. “Not sure how much damage a pregnant woman can do, but...?”
“Wait, what?” The Boondoggle asked, looking up. “She’s what...?”
“Pregnant,” Larry replied. “Which seems bad, as she smokes like crazy.”
“Am I missing something?” Flex asked.
“I don’t know,” G.A.B. muttered, idly tapping his gun against his leg. “But, generally, if Mab is involved, it’s bad.”
“This place,” Larry said. “Is it...uh...magic or is it weird science stuff...?”
“Well, that’s a tricky one.” The other dimensional adventurer said, with a thoughtful frown. “I guess it’s a bit of both. Why?”
“You got something, Larry?” Flex asked.
“Maybe...?” Larry shrugged. “Feels like there’s something here...the Patrol has dealt with so much strange crap, it’s hard to sort through it all. Not helping that I feel a little woozy with Negative man gone.”
The Boondoggle glanced around. Not only were the three grubby boys back and watching them from a nearby yard, but other denizens of the trailer park were coming out, onto their porches and into their neglected yards to peer intently at the heroes.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” G.A.B. muttered, casually gesturing for the others to move to the car.
“Afternoon,” Flex said, waving to some of the new arrivals. “Hopefully the rain holds off. good day to be out, doing some yard work.”
They piled into the red mustang and rolled away.
“Papercut okay?” Flex asked, looking, concerned at his seat mate in the back.
“I think all the psychic background noise is messing with him ,” Larry said, gazing worriedly out the window, at the growing number of bedraggled, listless, yet vaguely threatening figures, gathering along the road. “That and...something took out all his little paper things.”
“Never seen them like this,” G.A.B. said. “Sure, one or two them will act up, try to bust out, but this is worrying.”
“So, has this place got a wall around it?” Larry asked. “The woods keep everyone in? Cause if Danny arriving sends them all running, we need to warn the others.”
“There’s a kind of boundary, but it’s not really a wall,” G.A.B. explained. “They are bound here...like a magical form of house arrest.”
“Binding spells...!” Larry exclaimed, turning away from the window. “They use something, like a bit of blood...”
“Most of these guys don’t actually have any blood.”
“Or their ‘one true name’!” Larry continued, absently, his thoughts stumbling around in his head. “However, it happened, Mab has a baby, the...kid or whatever, is unnamed and not bound to this place...!”
“And free to head for the nearest exit,” Flex added, worriedly. “Which would be Danny!”
“I...jus...wanna go home...!” Papercut muttered.
“Not a bad guess,” G.A.B. muttered, grimly. “Something like that might be possible. Hopefully we can get to Mab before it gets out of control…!”
Suddenly a screech rent the air, momentarily drowning out the sound of the Mustang’s engine. A primeval expression of pain.
It was immediately followed by a column of sickly green light shooting upwards, splashing against the sky, like a geyser.
“Never mind,” The man in the aviator’s helmet grumbled, making a sharp turn and cutting across a backyard, leaving tire tracks and nearly sideswiping a dilapidated doghouse.
The Mustang screeched to a stop and the heroes came scrambling out. Larry stumbled, and would have fallen to his knees if Flex hadn’t caught his arm.
“You going to make it?” Flex asked, concerned.
“Doing better than I should be,” Larry mumbled, leaning on his teammate., as they stumbled to keep up with the Boondoggle. “Don’t understand, but if we ever get five minutes, I’ve got to find Negative man…!”
“I don’t have much experience with childbirth,” Flex mused. “But this one doesn’t seem to be going well.”
The trio came to a halt, in the middle of the brown, dry lawn, stunned by what awaited them.
Mab was sprawled on the crude, wooden porch, flailing about, her limbs seeming even thinner and more distended than any human should be capable of.
She arched, her spine bending like a pipe cleaner, her eyes went so wide as to nearly pop out of her skull.
And yet, Mab was smiling.
A horrendous smile, that split her face until the skin at the corners of her mouth tore and bled.
Her belly was a huge, distended mass.
It shifted and moved, all the while pulsing with a sickly green light.
Another geyser of energy irrupted from Mabs’ grotesque belly, and she screeched in triumphant agony, seconds before her body burst like an overripe fruit!
“Oh, my darling little boy…!” she coo’d, as the creature crawled out from her torn, ragged flesh.
It appeared too large to have actually fit within Mabs’ torso.
Misshapen and malformed, its body was thin, the sickly flesh pulled taunt against the bone, yet its arms and legs were swollen to Popeye-like proportions.
Its head, a massive egg with bulbous nicotine-colored eyes and a tiny, round mouth, ringed with small, vicious teeth.
It lurched about the wreckage of the porch, its movements becoming steadier, surer with each second.
It screeched and whimpered, glaring at the assembled heroes and residents of the trailer park, its eyes pulsing with energy.
“We are so screwed…!” Larry muttered.
The creature straightened up, seeming to have grown even taller in the past five minutes as it turned back towards its mother.
It reached down with a hand full of talons, and gurgling intently, stroked his mother’s cheek.
Mab smiled back at her offspring.
“Go be a good boy,” She murmured. “And slaughter them.”
The child then turned and began awkwardly shambling down the uneven porch steps.
“We can’t let that thing get loose,” The Boondoggle said, grimly, drawing his guns.
“Especially since the nearest exit is Danny,” Larry nodded. “What do we do?”
“Better let the Boondoggle and I handle this,” Flex said, with grim concern. “You and Papercut just try and stay safe.”
“The one time I want Negative man around…!” Larry grumbled, heading back to the other-dimensional Mustang.
Reaching the car, he was nearly knocked over, as the passenger side door was flung open and Papercut came leaping out.
“Let me at that bitch!” he shouted. “No one messes with my constructs and gets away with it!”
“Whoa!” Larry said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “What happened to you?”
The revived, and hyper, supervillain, let loose a handful of colored paper birds and then brandished several boomerangs made of similar paper.
“Found a bunch of take out menus,” Papercut exclaimed. “Stuff not only helped me reestablish my connection with the paper, but is freaking super-charged…!!”
“Be careful,” the Boondoggle explained, as he jogged by, firing. “Most of those came from other dimensions and higher realms.”
“Um…look, Papercut, maybe…?” Larry started, concerned.
“Let’s do this!” Papercut shouted, enthusiastically flinging his new weapons as he ran at the monstrous newborn.
Larry stood by the car, as the other three dashed about, circling the creature, striking with their various weapons.
The child staggered about the yard, squealing more in annoyance than in noticeable pain. It seemed to grow with each step, each flung blow, each shudder-inducing screech.
Soon, it towered over even Flex Mentallo, its hands like claw-edged shovels, its eyes like truck headlights. It left inch deep footprints in the neglected lawn with each step.
Flex’s muscle aura shone brightly, as he struggled to push it back towards Mab’s trailer. The sweat stood out on his broad brow and his muscles trembled.
The G.A.B. ran, dodging Flex’s energy bursts and the child’s wild blows and eye beams, all the while firing his guns.
Papercut threw his new collection of other-dimensional paper constructs, all the time yelling smack talk at the monster and its mom.
Larry stood by the Mustang, feeling helpless, and fuming at being unable to summon Negative man.
“Hey, is anyone keeping an eye on Mab…?” he asked, before realizing no one was listening to him. “Hey, I said, is anybody…never mind.”
Instead, he merely shrugged and hobbled around the edge of the yard, through the growing crowd of lethargic citizens of the park.
He reached the sagging porch.
Mab had managed to sit up, her empty belly, now healed, yet it still hung loosely around her waist, like some kind of grotesque skirt or deflated balloon.
Her head was wreathed in smoke and there was already a scattering of cigarette butts around her.
Her features were still distorted and grotesque, but her expression was that of an audience member intently watching a play.
“I…um…don’t suppose we can talk this over…?” Larry said, standing at the bottom step. “You know…sometimes, we can resolve…uh…things without anyone needing to get hurt…”
“This isn’t one of those time,” Mab purred, lifting one hand and lazily blasting Larry with green lightening from her fingertips.
He went flying backwards, hitting the ground and skidding several feet across the dead grass.
“I hate this place…!” he muttered, weakly, as he struggled to sit up and then just collapsed back to the ground.
Papercut threw his last boomerang, and then fumed in silent annoyance, struggling to figure out what to do next.
He watched Flex and the Boondoggle battling the monster child.
“Gotta get more paper! He muttered, looking around.
He jogged back to the car, opened the passenger side door, and began rummaging around, searching. Opening the glove compartment, there was an avalanche of road maps, that he soon realized was in fact one huge map that the Boondoggle had been unable to refold.
The Boondoggle did a shoulder roll, and then came up shooting. The creature staggered backwards, and was buffeted by Flex mystery muscle aura.
The two heroes forced it back, until its back hit the porch railing.
“Give it up Mab!” the G.A.B. shouted. “We aren’t letting you or your little boy run loose. Call him back before he gets hurt!”
“Oh please…!” Mab cackled lustily, blowing a plume of smoke. “As if you stand a chance of hurting my darling! We will step over your bodies to be free!”
“I must say, I do not approve of your parenting choices,” Flex said, before pounding his fists against the ground and sending a tremor across the yard, causing the creature to stumble to its malformed knees.
Suddenly, a new figure lurched up from behind the Mustang. It was seven feet tall and made of paper.
Papercut stood behind it, fingertips to his temples, trembling with effort.
The paper creature strode across the lawn, heading directly for the monster child.
“Well,” The G.A.B. muttered. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”
While the two creatures slugged it out, Flex helped Larry to his feet, and the Boondoggle darted across the yard, vaulted the porch railing, to confront Mab.
Larry struggled to get up off the ground, seething at how useless he was proving to be, while dealing with the worry over how much longer he could last without the Negative man.
“What are you doing…?” he muttered, sinking back. “Never around when I goddamned need you…!”
As if summoned by Larry’s despondent words, the Negative man came swooping down.
Crackling with energy, it dove between the two, over-sized combatants, and then flew about them, in a blur.
It shot upwards, immediately, arced back down, aiming for the monstrous newborn.
The baby raised its head, peering upwards, its lamprey-like mouth open wide in surprise.
This allowed the Negative man to elongate its body and dive into its open maw.
Startled, the creature swallowed, its eyes growing wide in surprise and discomfort. It then staggered about, as the paper giant continued to pummel it, clutching its stomach.
Mab lurched to her feet, leaning on the decrepit railing.
“No…!” She shrieked, digging her nails into the wood. “What have you done…?!”
The child stumbled and staggered, its body pulsing grotesquely. It struck out blindly, its claws severing one of the paper man’s arms.
It eventually, sank down, slumping against the porch, its misshapen head at the height of the railing.
Mab rushed across the porch, nearly tripping over the distended skin of her grotesque belly, in her rush to reach her baby.
“My darling!” She cried, her tears distorting her already stretched features. “What have they done to you?!”
Its skin bubbled and trembled, before the creature split down the middle, unleashing a wave of dark ichor and energy.
“Huh…?” Flex said, rubbing his chin. “Didn’t think this could get any more disturbing…”
Mab screamed, a storm of rage and sorrow, flinging sickly green lightening into the dull, grey sky.
“I will rend the flesh from your bones!” She managed to choke out. “I will suck the blood from your…!”
Her tirade was interrupted, by Negative man floating up out of the remains of the monstrous newborn until it was face to face with Mab.
Her eyes went wide, and the demonic woman shrank back.
‘I…I didn’t know,” She stammered, gathering up the loose baggy skin about her waist and shuffling backwards. “Don’t…I’m…forgive me!”
She fumbled behind her, for the door to her trailer, and slunk back into the shadowy interior.
“What was that all about?” The Boondoggle asked, holstering one gun, to use his free hand to help Larry to his feet.
“Wish I knew,” The bandaged hero shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. Hey, you!”
The Negative man turned and floated back over to Larry. They stood, inches apart, each seeming to stare the other down.
“Whatever you are up to is starting to seriously get on my nerves,” Larry said. “We need ground rules. So, get back in here or I’m walking to Danny and you can chase after me for a change.”
The black energy being cocked its head, as if in thought, and then floated back into its host body. Larry gave a silver.
“That felt weird…?” he muttered.
Once he’d sorted himself out and felt up to moving, talking and maybe even thinking, Larry went to join his teammates.
The Boondoggle, with help from Papercuts’ giant construct was scattering the dingy, listless crowd, while Flex kept an eye on Mabs’ trailer.
It seemed a pointless task, as the loss of her monstrous child and the confrontation with the Negative man had taken all the fight out of the demon queen.
“So,” Larry said. “We won…? That mean we can get the hell out of here?”
“I think so,” Flex shrugged, glancing down at the rolled up comic, tucked into his belt. “The Boondoggle seems to have a handle on things.”
“Yeah, your guy seems to be the local sheriff in these parts,” Larry nodded., looking around at the strange, dull sepia dimension “We’re just the locals who lend a hand….I don’t know…I want to go home.”
“Go get some rest,” Flex said, absently patting Larry on the shoulder. “I’ll help the Boondoggle and keep an eye on Papercut.”
Larry gave a vague wave and walked off.
“He okay?” The G.A.B. asked, joining the man of mystery muscle, as he casually reloaded and then holstered his guns.
Flex merely exhaled deeply and shrugged, before turning towards his comic book hero.
“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot. Not in a ‘fate of the world’ way, but in a lot of little ways and I think it’s starting to wear the Doom Patrol down.”
“Well, good thing they’ve got you to help them,” The Boondoggle said, holding out his hand. “Been a pleasure meeting you folks, but the road calls. This aint the only trouble spot in the multiverse.”
**********
Author’s note: Okay, this one is a little weirder than my usual level of weird.
In fact, 3/4’s of this story, including the creation of the Great American Boondoggle, came to me in a dream.
Literally.
I was going through a period of anxiety induced insomnia, that was then followed by a period of my subconscious giving me story ideas.
So, I took this big chunk of story, fleshed it out and added in some of the story threads I’ve been working on.
Next issue, we start the search for the Brain and find out what is up with Negative man!
In fact, 3/4’s of this story, including the creation of the Great American Boondoggle, came to me in a dream.
Literally.
I was going through a period of anxiety induced insomnia, that was then followed by a period of my subconscious giving me story ideas.
So, I took this big chunk of story, fleshed it out and added in some of the story threads I’ve been working on.
Next issue, we start the search for the Brain and find out what is up with Negative man!