ISSUE #6 (December 2018)
Written by Travis Hiltz Negative Man
Mallah
Flex Mentallo
Papercut
Mento
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"Strange Adventures"Mallah moved to follow Mento and Negative man through the dimensional rift. It suddenly pulsed and the augmented gorilla found himself flung backwards.
He landed at the feet of Papercut, the team’s other possibly reformed super-villain. “What happened?” He asked, squatting down to pick up Mallah’s beret. “Nothing good,” Mallah grumbled, getting to his feet. After dropping his beret twice, he tucked it into his gun belt rather then risk losing it again. “Let’s get back to Danny.” On arriving at the sentient street, they were met by Flex Mentallo, the other dimensional, and possibly fictional super hero. “What’s up, fellas?” Flex asked. “I thought you were going with Larry, Mallah?” “So, did I. Something interfered with the rift. Those two idiots are on their own.” “That’s not good,” The master of mystery muscle said, rubbing his chiseled chin in thought “Not good at all. We need to sort this out.” The trio stood by the lamppost at the end of Danny the street, each absorbed in their own thoughts. “Well, looks like we are in charge,” Flex shrugged. “I’ve had some experience with inter-dimensional travel, so I’ll take a look at this rift. See if I can make heads or tails of it.” “What about us?” Papercut asked. “We need to keep Danny safe,” Mallah advised. “Let’s get everyone inside, in case we need to move suddenly. Let loose as many of those paper birds of your as you can. We need someone watching the field for rift activity and local law enforcement.” Papercut nodded and began emptying out the various pouches on his uniform and releasing a flock of origami birds, paper airplanes and over-sized snowflakes into the air. Mallah watched the two men walk off in opposite directions and wondered what he could do. He scratched his head in thought and frowned. Mallah wandered down the street hoping inspiration would come to him. He directed a few new arrivals to the coffee shop and theater to get them out of potential harm’s way. As the gorilla walked by a brick apartment building, a radio, on the sill of an open window, started playing ‘I’m sorry’ by Patsy Cline. Mallah glared at the radio and then walked up and twirled the dial till he found a sports station. The dial twirled of its own accord; there was a burst of static and then “Don’t be cruel” began playing. “Your words are empty if they do not accompany actions, Danny,” Mallah said, sternly crossing his arms. “I do not pretend to understand any of this…I’m quickly becoming convinced the Doom Patrol’s entire history may be some bit of surreal performance art, but I have great experience at the use of duplicity…” The dial turned to NPR. “Could you explain what you mean when you say that…?” The voice of Terry Gross asked Mallah. “You are lying to us, whether on purpose or merely by omission, I am unsure.” Mallah explained. “I would never hurt the Doom Patrol…!” Danny protested, through a shop sign, while ‘Favorite things’ by John Coltrane played on the radio. “And yet you are sending them into a dangerous situation and have said nothing to them, besides some empty apologies.” Mallah snapped. The radio returned to static with the occasional indistinct word. “I am best friends with one of the greatest criminal minds of the 20th century,” Mallah said, his features softening slightly. “ I know evil intent when I encounter it, and you are not acting from evil, but you are not helping either. You seem to know enough about who has stolen from you to be afraid of them, but that is no excuse. I may not have the highest regard for Trainor and his cast of characters, but they mean well and occasionally manage to, inadvertently, do some good.” The radio played ‘Keep a knockin!’ by Little Richard. “It is no shame to be afraid, but you are on the verge of abandoning those willing to help and protect you.” Mallah said. “If you couldn’t face whatever it is, do you truly believe Trainor and that idiot in the pie tin have a chance of surviving without our help?” The radio played the kind of soft jazz you hear when you’re on hold. Mallah frowned, feeling he had failed and trying to figure out what his options were for threatening a street, when the streetlights started blinking, followed by the lights in every business up and down the sentient street. Mallah felt a vibration from the pavement travel up through the soles of his bare feet. Papercut and Flex came jogging up. “What’s going on?” Papercut asked, anxiously. “That rift is going off like a shook can of pop.” Flex added. “But, I don’t think it’s anything I did. What’d you do…?” “I think we may…um…want to find something sturdy to grab onto…!” Mallah instructed in an uneasy tone, as all the radios, phones and speakers on Danny the street all started playing ‘ The Time warp” from the Rocky Horror Picture show. The sky swirled like an enormous kaleidoscope, reality lurched and by the time the local police arrived to investigate the field, there was no sign of Danny the street. When his head stopped spinning and his internal organs stopped bouncing around, Papercut used the nearby mailbox to pull himself to his feet. He hobbled to the end of Danny, leaning against the lamppost, as he gazed out, past the end of the street. They were indoors and the hallway that stretched before them reminded him of a factory or warehouse. Papercut blinked and the longer he looked around the more his eyes watered. It was like trying to watch a 3-D movie without the glasses. “What the hell…?” He muttered, shaking his head. “I know we have been through some anxious moments,” Flex said, joining him. “But, language.” “Where…are we…?” Papercut asked. “It looks like a Home Depot, but it is putting off vibes…!” “Feels like we took a jump into one of the higher realms,” Flex nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Not good. If this is where Larry and Mento landed. These folks can be…rough to deal with.” “This place looks huge.” Mallah grumbled, drawing his guns. “How do we find them, let alone Danny’s missing brick?” “Let me have a look around,” Flex suggested. “I also think you need to be guarding both ends of Danny.” “Hope this works…!” Papercut breathed. (Authors’ note: If you read last issue, you know it did, and the Doom Patrol escaped the forces of Omni Limited) Later: The landscape was a desolate ruin. Once proud towers were broken and streaked with dirt and dried blood, vast barren fields, the shattered remains of a once proud and thriving world. Wedged between two shattered monoliths was Danny the street, its bright lights and quaint buildings seeming as out of place as a jukebox on a battlefield. Its inhabitants slowly emerged from various buildings, huddling together, peering out at the ruins or up at the dingy, orange sky. At one end were the battered, weary members of the Doom Patrol, the street’s resident super hero team. Negative man sat slumped on a park bench, arms crossed against his stomach as though struggling to hold himself together. Flex Mentallo and Monsieur Mallah, stood by the lamppost that marked the end of Danny, peering out at the dismal, alien landscape. Nearby, Mento, master of mental energy sat on the curb, back straight, his expression blank, his eyes gazing off into the distance. Papercut stood near him, hands in jacket pockets, alternating between worryingly gazing at his newest teammate and looking up in awe in realization that he was on an alien planet. They were soon joined by a dozen of the streets inhabitants: Drake the street sweeper, Chris the assistant manger of the coffee shop, several newly arrived Chinese families and a few of the homeless people that took shelter on Danny. “Well, we are a long from home,” Flex said. “Can’t see a constellation that I recognize.” “Seems to have taken a lot out of Danny to get us this far,” Mallah added, glancing at the weakly flickering streetlights. “Wherever it is...” He turned towards Negative man and the rest of the crowd. “Trainor, we need to…” “No,” Larry interrupted the gorilla. “You…you need to do…uhhh… something…I need to…hnn…collapse in a heap. Feel like crap. I can’t…can’t do this right now…my insides feel like…bag of broken glass and angry snakes…just…just get us home. “ He got shakily to his feet. His bandages hung loosely on his body. His red and white costume was sweat-stained and torn. The crowd parted as he limped away. Hack O’ Hara’s taxi rolled to a stop and Larry crawled into the back seat. “Can’t really blame him,” Flex shrugged. “Guess it’s up to the four of us.” “Make that three,” Papercut said, gesturing towards Mento. “Looks like Mento has gone ‘bye-bye’ on us again.” “Wonderful,” Mallah growled. “Okay, then usual division of labor,” Flex said, in his ever-present chipper tone. “Papercut, keep an eye on Danny, Mallah and I are going to have a look around. Maybe we can find some hint of where we are or a friendly native.” Papercut frowned at getting left behind and then reluctantly nodded. The odd duo began to stroll across the desolate landscape. “You truly believe there are natives here?” Mallah asked, looking around cautiously. “Friendly or otherwise?” “I admit it seems pretty quiet,” Flex shrugged. “But somebody has to be around. Those buildings didn’t build themselves.” “Nor did they destroy themselves,” Mallah suggested grimly. “You are just a perpetual glass half empty kind of fella, aren’t you?” Flex asked, looking around. “We are not going to find anything useful here,” Mallah grumbled. “Place does feel quiet as heaven on a Saturday night,” Flex agreed, before pausing to look around. “Did you hear that?” “These buildings are falling down around us,” Mallah shrugged. “If there is anything larger then a rat here, I’ll be amazed.” No sooner were those words spoken, when they spotted the dolphin. Despite its bottle green color and the fact that it was floating along, ‘swimming’ through the air, in shape and behavior it was obviously a dolphin. It kept its distance, swimming in a wide circle around the muscle man and the gorilla. It bobbed its head, making curious chortling sounds. “Huh, what do know about that!” Flex said, smiling. He raised his hands in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture as he walked towards the creature. It shied back hesitantly, until Flex made a whistling, clucking sound and then it floated forward, nuzzling his open palm with its’ snout. “You speak dolphin…?” Mallah muttered. “Of course you do.” “Had to pick it up for a case back on my Earth.” Flex said, over his shoulder. “Having a bit of trouble, but this fellow seems tolerate of my accent and trouble with pronouns.” “Is it native?” Mallah asked. “One of the survivors? Or is it a lost traveler like us?” “Not so fast,” Flex said. “He’s as curious about us and has a bunch of questions of his own.” Mallah waited, impatiently, while Flex chatted with the dolphin for several minutes. Flex then nodded and rejoined his teammate, the dolphin floating along behind him. “I’m not entirely sure I got everything,” Flex said. “He’s kind of excitable, but it seems that he’s part of a…gaggle? Pack? There’s a bunch of them around. He just volunteered to see about us.” “Dolphins couldn’t have built this city,” Mallah pondered, scratching his head in thought. “Where did they come from?” “Apparently, like Earth dolphins, they swim around, wandering through space. Seems they were hunted by a predator…the Khund…maybe, not sure about that, and were saved by the ‘protector’ who slayed the Khund…whatever they were, and brought them here…” “Dolphins with religion?” Mallah breathed. “Sorry,” Flex shrugged. “They seem happy to see us, but, I’m not getting my hopes up for any more help then that. We may need to just have Danny jump blindly and maybe the next planet can help us.” “We can’t just go bouncing around the universe,” Mallah grunted. Flex shrugged his broad shoulders and then scratched his head in thought. “Maybe we could find a way to signal a passing space ship…ask for help? You guys have Green Lanterns, right?” “Yes,” Mallah replied, puzzled. “Wait, there are Green Lanterns on your Earth…?” “It’s one of the funny things,” Flex said with a smile. “The only things my Earth has in common with yours are the ones connected to the color Green…it’s kind of an interesting story…” “Truly, I don’t care,” Mallah interrupted, with a gesture. “I am tired of this…foolishness. Go talk to the dolphins, make smoke signals, whatever futile effort…I am starting to believe Trainor might have had the right idea…much as it pains me to say that.” Mallah turned and lumbered off, back towards Danny the street. “That is one morose simian,” Flex muttered, thoughtfully stroking his manly chin. “When we get back to Earth, I need to put helping him on my ‘to do’ list.” Mallah grumbled as he wandered through the ruins. He was aware he was being petty and petulant, but his frustration with the constant chaos that the Doom Patrol had become, mixed with his own self-anger that he had accomplished so little in his quest to reunite with his friend, the Brain, had worn his coping skills thin. “Hey, any luck?” Papercut asked, jogging over to the gorilla. Mallah merely shook his head and kept walking. “Look, I was thinking,” Papercut said, hurrying to keep up with his surly teammate. “I know Mento…Dayton is kind of out of it now, but if we could wake him up, maybe he could send out some kind of mental…signal, you know what I mean? Probably, it couldn’t reach Earth, as we don’t really know where the hell we are, but it might attract some help…?” “Humph,” Mallah replied, only half listening to his teammate. Suddenly, a spotlight hit the odd duo, followed by laser blasts that blocked their path, kicking up dirt. “Huh…? What…?” Papercut exclaimed, paper throwing stars suddenly appearing in his gloved hands. Mallah’s hand reached for his shoulder holster, as he peered upwards. A trio of beings floated down towards the heroes. One was a hulking green creature, with long ape-like arms, stubby legs, a dour mouth and bulbous red eyes. The next boasted an orange horse head, a snake-like lower body instead of legs and webbed hands. The last, which seemed to be taking the lead, was also humanoid, but quite large and had the appearance of being carved from polished granite. His eyes were pupil-less, his nose merely two dent-like nostrils and he had three fingered hands. All three were clad in red bodysuits with white gloves, boots, armored shoulder pads and chest plate. The chest plates had a stylized black star emblem. “Stay where you are!” The horse-headed alien announced. “You are in violation of a restricted sector proclamation.” The trio touched down, encircling the two Doom Patrollers. “Stand down, Tar-zee,” The bulky stone man said, raising a placating hand. “We need to escort you back to your…ship and then out of this sector. After that time, we will determine if your trespass was due to navigation error or intent.” “Hands away from your weapons!” The green alien croaked. “If necessary we will subdue you and then transport you from the restricted area!” “What the hell…?” Papercut muttered. “Profane language towards a representative of NEMO during the course of his duties is a flark-7 violation and carries with it penalties up to and including…!” Tar-zee began. “Enough!” The stone being said stomping a massive foot to regain his companions attention. “Let us sort this out AFTER we are out of danger…!” “Danger?” Papercut asked. “Are we in danger now?” “You can’t be that stupid…!” The green alien muttered. “This planet is a highest designation restricted zone by the Darkstar Corps, due to its indigenous life form…” The stone man explained. “The dolphins?” Mallah asked. “Dast!” Tar-zee exclaimed. “Tell us you did not come into contact with species #1038! Kron, we need to signal for an immediate extraction!” “Are you saying that the dolphins…‘protector’ is a real being?” Mallah asked, unsure if he was intrigued or annoyed by these aliens and the information they were so poorly conveying. “The…slayer of the…um…Khund’…?” “Yes, and he is designated one of the most hostile and dangerous life forms in known space,” Kron, the stone alien said. “ Hence, why this entire planetary system is restricted. And ‘protector’ is how species #1038 refer to him. The more common name is from the Khundish dialect and means ‘He who eats your entrails and enjoys it…” “Oh,” Papercut said, wide-eyed. “That does not sound…good…!” Elsewhere, Flex Mentallo was forced to admit he might have gotten lost. “Huh, all these ruins do kind of look alike.” He muttered, looking upwards as he walked. “Wish that dolphin hadn’t wandered off…could have sworn I took a left at the burnt out office building looking thing…and there’s the dried up fountain…” “Hey! Who the frag are you?!” The man of mystery muscle turned. “Pardon?” He asked. Stomping towards him was a male humanoid, as tall and broad in the shoulder as Flex was. His skin was chalk white. He had dark shadows around his pupil-less, blood red eyes. His hair was a mane of dreadlocks. He wore a sleeveless vest and dingy jeans, belted with a length of chain. He had an over-sized ray gun in one hand and the much-abused remains of a six-pack in the other. “What seems to be the trouble?” Flex asked. “Trouble…well, I think that would be you, Speedo, tramping around on my planet!” The newcomer slurped down the remaining beer and then crushed the six-pack against his forehead, before tossing it aside. “Your planet?” Flex asked, eyeing the littering with stern disapproval. “Yep,” The white-skinned hooligan grunted, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Czarn!” Flex almost said, “Bless you” before releasing, he was probably being told the name of the planet. “I guess that explains your attitude,” Flex nodded, sympathetically. “I wouldn’t be at my best if something like this had happened to my world.” Something happened all right…me!” He jabbed a thumb at his manly chest, then pulled a bottle out of his back pocket, used his teeth to pry off the top and guzzled down its sludgy, green contents. “Last surviving Czarnian, the ultimate bastich, the main man…Lobo!” He announced. “You…wiped out your own planet…?” Flex asked, stunned surprise mixing with righteous anger across his face. “That’s…that’s…!” ”Your mother dresses you funny and you stutter?” Lobo muttered, rolling his blood-red eyes as he scratched his head with the barrel of his kill-o-matic 9000-laser pistol. “I meet nothing but the best fragging people…” “Buddy, I try not to judge and I truly believe violence should be a last resort…” Flex said, fists clenched. “So, on top of everything else, you’re a colossal wuss, got it,” Lobo grumbled, obviously bored and glancing around absently, so he never saw the punch coming. “Lobo…?”Mallah muttered. “He was mentioned in some Justice League files the Brain and I hacked…?” “We will escort you back to your craft,” Kron intoned. “Then we can see if there’s any hope of finding your companion…” “Well, Flex is supposedly fictional, so maybe he’ll be fine,” Papercut said, unconvincingly. “The more you two talk, the more I grow concerned there’s something wrong with my translator implant,” Tar-Zee said. “You get used to it,” Papercut sympathized. “Ilip, cover our flank, “The stone Darkstar ordered. “Tar-Zee, keep scanning. I doubt we’ve found everyone.” “How is it you are claiming they are so many beings wandering around the most dangerous planet in space?” Mallah asked. “No idea,” Kron replied. “Haven’t found any connection between the beings we’ve encountered…been too busy rescuing or gathering remains to investigate further.” At the reference to remains, Papercut mouthed a silent ‘Yikes!’, and hunched his shoulders, while anxiously looking around. “We have no intention of interacting with ‘He who devours’,” Kron continued. “I’d prefer we just gather trespassers and leave the system…” There was a shrill whistling noise, an object arced up over the ruins and crashed, loudly several yards away from the group. The Patrollers and Darkstars raced to the site. Lobo lay sprawled in the newly formed crater. He blinked his blood-red eyes and spit out a mouthful of dirt. “Huh…?” He breathed. “What in the name of…!” Tar-Zee exclaimed. “Who could do that…?” Ilip added. Flex Mentallo pushed through the crowd, then stood at the edge of the crater and pointed a stern finger at the last Czarian. “I’m not proud of that,” He lectured. “But, there are some actions that can’t be excused!” He looked around, noticing his teammates and the trio of aliens for the first time. “Oh, hi fellows,” He said. “Sorry you had to see that, but sometimes a man’s temper will get the better of him.” “You did…that…?” Tar-Zee breathed, pointing to the crater’s occupant. “Okay, that’s it!” Lobo growled, lurching to his feet. He tossed aside the bent remains of his gun, and dusted himself off. “I was happy to just duke it out, but now it’s going to take a little mass slaughter to regain my usual cheerful demeanor…!” “Darkstars! On me!” Kron ordered, raising his massive fist. They began to crackle with white energy. “Protect the civilians!” “It was a pleasure serving with you, Commander,” Ilip said, joining him. Lobo leapt up, out of the crater, banging his fists together and grinding his teeth to the point that they raised sparks, as he barreled towards the Doom Patrol. Flex brought up both fists, and, his ‘Hero of the beach’ halo glowing brightly, brought them down, driving Lobo into the sandy ground like a tent peg. “What the dast…?” Tar-Zee breathed. “That’s a flark-7,” Papercut reminded him. Lobo, now pinned, shoulder-deep in the ground, snarled, swore and struggled to free himself. After several fruitless seconds, he spit out a tooth and then glanced up at Flex. “I can’t decide if I’m gonna tear your head off and use it for a ashtray or if you’re my new best friend.” Flex rolled his eyes, sighed disapprovingly and turned away from the alien bounty hunter. “So, what now?” He asked, matter of factly. The Darkstars floating nearby looked stunned. “There’s possible something attracting aliens to this planet,” Mallah explained. “If we figure that out, maybe we can find our way home.” “Okay,” Flex nodded. “How do we find…whatever it is?” Papercut reached into his belt pouches, brought out a handful of origami birds and mini-paper airplanes and tossed them up into the air. They immediately scattered, flying off in all directions. The Darkstars, again, looked stunned at the actions of the lost travelers. “Began wide range scanning. Anything unusual,” Kron instructed. Flex glanced over at Mallah, who shrugged and the two decided they could do nothing more then wait patiently. Lobo, cursing vehemently under his breath, continued to struggle to get free. “There are many odd energy signatures,” Ilip commented. “But that may just be from all the trespassers.” One of Papercut’s birds came fluttering back, and the reformed super villain held out a finger for it to perch on. “Think I’ve got something,” He said, pointing at some ruins. “That way.” “Way to go, son,” Flex said, chucking him on the shoulder. The Darkstars watched the trio walk away. “Uh…should we stop them?” Tar-Zee asked. “It might not be safe…?” “The greatest danger is right here,” Kron said, pointing a blunt finger at Lobo. “No, we’d better follow them. Tar-Zee stand guard. Signal us if the Czarian gets loose.” “Yeah,” Lobo said, smirking evilly. “The signal will be “Ow!Ow! Please don’t kill me….ack!” “Maybe I should stun him,” The Horse-headed alien muttered, anxiously. “Just to be on the safe side.” “You just try it,” Lobo growled. “Any idea what we’re looking for?” Flex asked. “Not really,” papercut admitted. “I’m not Aquaman, I can’t talk to paper, but the…psychic link…thingee I can do, gives me…I dunno, flashes…something…” “Enough!” Mallah snapped, taking out his guns. “Just show us and we’ll deal with it. I’m sick of this foolishness.” “Seems a bit irritable,” Flex murmured thoughtfully to his teammate, as the gorilla stomped ahead of them. “Seems like everyone’s a bit on edge, tricky to tell if it’s this planet, this…signal thing or if we have things to talk out when we get back to Earth…?” “You ask me it’s D: all of the above.” Papercut added. “Energy impulse is getting stronger,” Ilip frowned, as the two Darkstars floated over, catching up with the Doom Patrol. “It is quite odd…very low frequency, but seems to piggyback onto every other stream of energy or vibration…easy to miss” “We must be approaching the source…” Kron began. “Yep, I think you could say that,” Flex interrupted, pointing. The ruined buildings of Czarn formed a valley around the group. The shattered form of a missile-shaped spacecraft protruded from a nearby building, and all about the open space were the fallen forms of a variety of beings from across the galaxy. “Those broken robots are Manhunters,” Mallah said, guns held out at the ready, as he scanned their surroundings. “That’s a Gordonian slaver transport,” Kron added, pointing at the remains of a yellow saucer. At the far end, a loose circle of prone forms was formed around a being that floated in the air. “Those guys look like Hawkman…?” Papercut observed. “Thanagarians,” Ilip explained. “And the cat, wearing a superman cape, flying around?” “I…have no idea.” The alien replied. Amongst the debris and limp bodies was a Durlan, its body spasiming and morphing into different shapes and forms, a Dominator was on its knees, green tears trickling down its hollow cheeks, the giant, orange form of a Faceless hunter lay like a discarded ragdoll across a city block and Kron halted to pay respects to a pile of rubble that was in fact the remains of one of his stony race. The figure floating above the crowd was humanoid, slim and athletic with chalk-white skin and pupil-less black eyes. His hair, white as his skin was a flowing mane that seemed to move of its own accord. He was clad in a skin tight, black bodysuit. A rainbow pattern crossed the chest like a sash. He appeared to be dancing to a song only he could hear, his lips moving, but not generating sound or music, but rather a vibration that washed across the gathering, like an ocean breeze. “What is that?” Mallah asked. “Chroma,” Ilip replied, in a hushed croak. “Is that his name or the name of his species?” Mallah asked. “No one knows,” The frog-like being shrugged. “There are stories: He may be the last of his kind or born of cosmic energy, the only one of his kind. It might be Chroma is not anchored in time and that is why he is referenced in so many legends.” “What’s he doing?” Papercut asked, rubbing at his ear. “It’s like I hear something…?” “They say Chroma sings a song of mourning…or a warning,” Kron added, joining them, at the edge of the crowd. “Either trying to warn of a coming disaster or because he has seen the end of all things.” “And he showed up here,” Mallah said. “And his song is attracting all these beings…?” Flex added. “Including Danny,” Papercut said. “Um…so, are we gonna…um…beat him up…make him stop singing…?” “Doesn’t seem right, does it?” Flex said, thoughtfully. “Truly, he is not a malicious being,” Kron explained. “But, his song has an effect on beings, luring them or causing despair that leads to such suicidal actions.” “But, you say this Chroma is some kind of cosmic, immortal being…?” Mallah said, looking at his guns and then back up at the cosmic singer. “This isn’t a threat we can just attack…” Suddenly, the battered, bruised form of Tar-Zee landed out their feet. “Oh crap…!” Papercut breathed, right before Lobo came barreling through them, sending reformed super villains and alien defenders flying. Kron landed on his back, quickly sat up and began firing energy blasts at the dreaded bounty hunter. “Ilip, see to Tar-Zee!” He shouted. “We need an immediate extraction!” Mallah leapt to his feet and begin firing. Lobo walked through the barrage, grimacing at the lasers, but swatting away the bullets like they were mosquitoes. “Man, it’s like a buffet,” Lobo growled. “Gotta pace myself or I’m gonna need a nap. Maybe, I should start slow…just maim…?” Papercut decided not to bother with anything fancy and just hurled paper-throwing stars and twisted several long pieces of paper into javelins. The battle intruded upon Chroma’s audience and a few of the aliens struggled to get to their feet and join the effort to subdue Lobo. Ignoring the melee, Flex Mentallo walked, almost entranced, closer to the floating, cosmic singer. The grunts of combat, the boom of firearms and the whine of energy weapons seemed to melt into the song of Chroma, to form a base rhythm. Flex closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let the song wash over him, let himself feel the song humming through his bones, feel what everyone else on this planet was currently feeling. “It’s all so sad,” Flex breathed, opening his eyes. Chrome flowed and spun in his eternal, cosmic dance, until he turned and the alien singer and the man of mystery muscle locked gazes. “You make it sound so pointless…so hopeless,” Flex said, with a frown. “But, that’s not how we do things where I’m from.” He brought up is beefy arms in a flex pose and activated his ‘Hero of the beach’ halo. Muscles played against muscle, channeling manly, other-dimensional energy through Flex’s body. His mystery muscle aura shone like a spotlight on a cloudy night, a beacon for those out there, trying to find their way home. His energy washed over everyone, alien, robot, human, hero and villain alike. When it reached Chroma, there was a pause and his dance momentarily faltered. He twirled, opening his mouth wider, letting his song out, stronger, louder and sadder. Flex grimaced, sweat causing his muscles to glimmer. He clenched his teeth and adjusted his pose, muscles trembling as his halo grew brighter. All the combatants halted, as the clashing energies touched them. Those on Chroma’s side of the plaza sank even deeper into sorrow. Those on Flex’s side felt a spark of optimism in their hearts and a craving for a cold glass of milk. Like two mighty waves, their energies collided and washed over each other, a storm of sound, light and emotion. It built to a deafening crescendo and a blinding illumination. Time passed, Papercut wasn’t sure how much, seconds, days, an eternity. He blinked and sat up, feeling like he’d gotten a good night’s rest after a day of heavy drinking. Everyone else was sprawled across the paved ground, in various states of rest and awakening. Much to his relief, Lobo lay sprawled, snoring like a locomotive with a sinus infection. A half dozen space dolphins nestled against him. Mallah came over and helped him to his feet. “What happened…?” Papercut asked. “If I tried to make sense of it, my head would explode,” The gorilla said. “We all survived…which would seem to be the important part.” “How? What…?” Mallah took the skinny ex-villain’s arm and turned him, so he was facing the center of the plaza. Chroma, his song gone silent, hovered mere inches above the ground, getting a reassuring hug from an obviously weary Flex Mentallo. “Hey, it’s okay,” Flex muttered, awkwardly patting the alien’s back. “You have something to say and couldn’t get people to listen…we all have those days. Let’s put our heads together and see if we can find a better way…” “Are we going to adopt every god-like alien we come across…?” Mallah grumbled. Moving very quietly, so as not to wake the last Czarian, the Doom Patrol and the Darkstars gathered up all the surviving aliens. Much to his teammates relief, Flex gave Chroma some more constructive, yet stern advice, along the lines of “stop and smell the space roses’ and sent him on his way. They and Kron then gathered at Danny the street. “I don’t know how much this will help,” The large, rocky alien said, holding out a disk that projected a star chart hologram. “But, hopefully, this will get you home.” “Appreciate it,” Flex said, chucking him on his large, stony shoulder. “Yeah,” Papercut added. “Been cool being in space, but we should probably go…before Lobo wakes up. “We’ll be fine,” Mallah said. “I got some volunteers to help me empty the Liquor store. That should keep ‘the chosen one of the dolphins’ distracted for awhile.” “Good plan,” Kron said, stroking his round, grey chin thoughtfully. “Can’t believe we never thought of it before. I’m sorry we can’t spare anyone to guide you, but…” A hum, a flash of light and the honking of a horn interrupted him. A small, yellow spacecraft, shaped roughly like an old fashioned taxi, landed nearby. A human-looking figure in a green uniform and cap climbed out. “Who called for a cab?” He asked. “Meter is running and I charge extra for hazardous spots like this.” Papercut made a ‘shushing’ gesture and pointed at Lobo A second taxi, black, old fashioned and on wheels, pulled up and Hack O’ Hara, resident cabbie of Danny the street climbed out. “Hey, Space!” He hollered, waving to the other cabbie. “Knew I could count on you to answer the call!” “Always happy to help another member of the’ Cosmic Order of cabbies!” Space Cabbie said, tipping his cap. “Let’s get you folks home!” Next issue: We catch up with the girls in New Orleans and the return of Robotman! |