Previous Post The Moderator Saga #3: Captured is the Carpathian! Previously: The Moderator Saga #1 by Hatman The Moderator Saga #2: Minions for the Moderator by Killer Shrike This chapter precedes the Moderator one-line story ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey,” complained the confused, disappointed hunchback, “This isn’t a sleazy motel bedroom!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sorry,” the Link told him with a sympathetic giggle. “This isn’t actually a cheap one-night stand. This is a kidnap.” She pointed around the glass and steel Command and Control Room of the former Lair Tower at her waiting team-mates. “You can consider yourself our prisoner.”     Flapjack glared at the waiting supervillains. “But I still get to have sex, right?”     /You will respect Miss Link/ warned the Superlative Simulacrum, a huge blobby grey android who wrote his dialogue across the screen on his face by twisting the control-knobs on his nipples.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well sure,” agreed the Lair Legion’s major domo. “I was hoping to respect her into a blissful exhaustion.”     The Link blushed and moved further away from the prisoner. She couldn’t resist an unconscious backwards glance, though.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“This is pointless,” snarled the Scarlet Lawnmower. He shifted restlessly, and as he moved his uncontrollable power generated whirling psychic blades around him. “We’ve got what Search Engineer wanted. Now let’s just torture the little runt till he squeals what we want.”     Flapjack cheered up. “Torture? Will I be… flogged?” He glanced hopefully in the Link’s direction. Then his gaze was drawn back to the Lawnmower. He recognised the Lawnmower. “Nats?”     The psychotic killer was puzzled. “Who?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You. You’re Nats. Bill Reed. Only not so lame looking.” Flapjack scratched his chin. “I guess hell really toughened you up.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“He’s mistaking you for your counterpart from this Earth,” Search Engineer explained. “Here Bill Reed never had that… psychic misfortune. He was one of the Lair Legion under the inspiring superhero name of ‘Nats’.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s a Nats?” the Link wondered.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s a kind of whiney loser,” Flapjack supplied. “Your guy should really think about changing his name to it.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’ll do,” announced the Moderator, sweeping into the room down the grand staircase of spiral steel. “The captive is already psyching you out. He has gained vital information about the alternate reality nature of our assemblage but has yet to divulge the useful data for which we captured him.”     Flapjack looked up at the man in the black fedora and recognised the master villain when he saw one. “Ah. You’re miffed because they started explaining the plot before you got to explain the plot.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Just say the word and I’ll carve this guy’s flesh off,” the Lawnmower offered.     /He was most disrespectful to Miss Link/ agreed the Simulacrum.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I am not here to explain the plot to you,” growled the Moderator. “Although it is a particularly good one.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ooh,” approved Flapjack. “Go on then.” He sat down on the sofa and patted his knees for the Link to join him. She pointedly turned away with another blush.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You are Flapjack of the Carpathians,” the Moderator declaimed. “And I am… theModerator!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The guy who came and made a mess at the Lair Mansion yesterday?” the hunchback recognised. “I was clearing up your crap half the night.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The guy who led us to victory against the Lair Legion!” the Link squeaked triumphantly.     Flapjack chuckled. “Yeah. Cus jumping out on the Legion then running away before they kick your asses is such a major win.”     /I used my adaptation powers to overwhelm the adversaries/ the Superlative Simulacrum argued.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Try that when the Shoggoth’s there,” advised Flapjack. “Just give me some notice so I can be visitin’ the Moon Public Library at the time.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We could cream the Lair Legion,” boasted Scarlet Lawnmower. “We’re gonna cream them.”     Flapjack shrugged. “Whatever. You’re going to get your chance pretty soon I guess, given that you snatched me away from Grosso’s bar when little miss hotpants there teleported me. That’ll have triggered off the automated alarm on my comm-card, and that means the Legion will be gearing up to butt-stomping mode. And I don’t mean butt-stomping in a recreational sense.”     /Miss Link’s pants are not hot/ argued the Simulacrum. /They are of appropriate temperature/ The vast android paused for a moment then added /Not that I have been considering the subject/.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I gave the Lair Legion the chance to serve me,” announced the Moderator. “They failed. Now they can only die.”     /Nor have I felt Miss Link’s pants to test their temperature/ the Simulacrum clarified.     The Link jabbed her fists to her hips. “Can we leave my pants out of this?” she demanded.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You got my vote on that,” leered Flapjack.     The Moderator felt that events were getting out of hand again. “Enough!” he shouted. “You, Flapjack. We have not traversed time and space to bandy words with a dribbling buffoon. Your only hope for survival now is to render to us the information we desire.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Specifically,” added Search Engineer, “my calculations show that you can take us to the exact location of the diaries of Ioldabaoth Winkelweald, also known as the Hooded Hood.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You used to work for him,” asserted the Moderator. “You are one of three people whom Bookman believes can lead us to the diaries. And with those notes… I can crush all opposition and rule the world! The cosmos!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Bookman?” puzzled Flapjack. “What’s the Librarian got to do with…?” Then he followed the master villain’s gaze and realised that the grease-covered Search Engineer bore a strange resemblance to the keeper of the Moon Public Library. “Alternate dimensions, huh?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I won’t be able to remain in this one for long,” the Search Engineer admitted, “unless I murder this reality’s Lee Bookman first.” He checked his toolkit. “Fortunately that won’t be much of a problem.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Very interesting,” yawned Flapjack. “Can we go back to talking about the Link’s pants now?”     /You will drop Miss Link’s pants/ commanded the Simulacrum angrily. /No, I mean…/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Meanwhile,” interjected the Moderator with a hint of terrible retribution in his voice, “I require the location of the volumes I seek. The Shaper of Worlds and the Destroyer of Tales are both currently absent from this plane of existence, and the time has not yet come to alert them to my plot anyway. That leaves you as the only source of this information.” He leaned over the captive hunchback. “Reveal the diaries or die.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You want the Hooded Hood’s diaries?” checked Flapjack. A slow evil grin spread across his misshapen face. “Okay.” *** Continued in #4: Interview with an Archvillain *** Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

The Moderator Saga #4: Interview With an Archvillain Previously: The Moderator Saga #1 by Hatman The Moderator Saga #2: Minions for the Moderator by Killer Shrike The Moderator Saga #3: Captured is the Carpathian! by the Hooded Hood This chapter precedes the Moderator one-line story ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Whoo. It stinks down there!” objected the Link, peering down into the dingy crypt.     Flapjack glanced at his leggings. “Well, I got a salami on rye that I’ve been carrying around with me for a special occasion. And Latvian baloney is best when it’s left to mature and ripen for a few months. But some people find the musk kind of attractive.”     /Miss Link was referring to this tomb/ the Superlative Simulacrum scrawled angrily across his own face, angrily rotating his nipple control-dials. The power-adapting android could not otherwise speak. /She is not at all interested in your salami/.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Her lips say one thing but her eyes say another,” leered the captured hunchback major domo.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Look, he’s brought us here,” argued the Scarlet Lawnmower, advancing forward with his uncontrollable psychic blades whirring around him. “Why don’t we just off the annoying little runt now and be done with it?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We might still need him,” noted Search Engineer, pocketing his multi-wrench and completing his check for booby traps. “Who knows what kind of contingencies and snares the Hooded Hood placed on this dungeon to destroy intruders?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There are no contingencies. No traps,” announced the Moderator. “I have deleted them. My power is supreme!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“C’yeah!” snorted Flapjack sceptically. “And Linkie here doesn’t want to try my baloney.”     The Simulacrum took a menacing step forward. /Miss Link does not require any of your ill-smelling meat products/ he insisted. /Miss Link is a vegetarian/     The Link was looking down at the dark waters that covered the floor of the cellar. “What I require right now would be a good pair of waders,” she noted. She concentrated for a moment. Her eyes flashed golden then a pair of galoshes appeared in her hands.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey!” Flapjack recognised that visual effect. “That’s Goldeneyed’s power! So that makes you… Goldengirl? Goldencheeks? Golden…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“In her reality there was no Bryan Katz,” interrupted Search Engineer hastily. “Only Catherine.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Catherine?” Flapjack calculated. “Cath Katz? Really?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Shut up,” the Link told him.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“This is the place?” the Moderator checked, looking down into the gloomy vault. “Where the Hooded Hood stored his journals? The diaries that will reveal the secret of overwhelming the Lair Legion and conquering the world?”     Flapjack had to admire good quality exposition. “This is where he said to bring anybody who asked about them,” he shrugged.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Where he said to…” Search Engineer frowned. He checked his instruments again. “It’s a trap!”     Scarlet Lawnmower looked round at the way they’d come in. “Hey! Where’d the door go?” he demanded.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t think there ever was one,” the Link worried. “Also, I don’t seem to be able to teleport out of here!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There there,” Flapjack comforted her, patting her soothingly.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Eeek!” Cath Katz shrieked.     /You will not pat Miss Link soothingly there/ insisted the angry Simulacrum.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Hooded Hood may think himself very clever,” declaimed the Moderator, “but I am… the Moderator. I can delete whatever offends me. Such as that wall.”     Search Engineer had his hand against the ancient stonework that had now always blocked the exit. “Um, before you do delete it… these bricks are warm. As in, I think there’s lava behind there. Delete this and the magma gushes in.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Then I shall delete the lava also,” announced the Moderator.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And what’s that going to trigger off?” Flapjack challenged. “Cheez, when will you people figure out that you’re not playing in the minor leagues any more? You might have been big stuff on Earth Buttflap or wherever you dimension-jumped from, but now you’re in a deep crypt under Herringcarp Asylum in the middle of a Hooded Hood manipulation. You can’t just blunder through expecting your uber-powers to save you. Ask the Parody Master.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Hooded Hood’s dead,” argued the Lawnmower.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Try doing a quick poll of the heroes and villains of this dimension and see how that turns out,” Flapjack suggested. “If you ever get out of this prison vault, that is.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“But you’re trapped here with us, Flapjack!” the Link pointed out.     The hunchback winked at her. “There’s always an upside.”     /You will keep your upside away from Miss Link/     The frowning Moderator waded down into the murky waters of the tomb below. A heavy stone sarcophagus rose from the middle of the chamber. The villain gestured and the lid was deleted from reality. “Show yourself, Hooded Hood! The Moderator demands it!”     There was a grey flicker beside the tomb. A cowled figure appeared on an ebony throne. “Good evening,” said the Hooded Hood.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Eep!” said the Link.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I never touched her!” Flapjack told the Simulacrum, honestly.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Hood!” growled Scarlet Lawnmower. “But how?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s just an image,” Search Engineer clarified. “Some kind of retcon ripple, like a hologram. Probably set up using the Portal of Pretentiousness.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Speak!” demanded the Moderator. “Yield up to me your diaries. Surrender your secrets.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I apologise for not being able to come and manipulate you all in person,” the image of the Hooded Hood told them. “If you are seeing this projection then I must be currently occupied in some other scheme of infinite subtlety and genius.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I hope you’re taking notes, Moderator,” Flapjack grinned as the cowled crime czar declaimed. “This is like a masterclass.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“However, it may aid your planning to know that I am not by habit a diarist. Rumours of such endeavours have been circulated in order to attract ambitious would-be readers to this chamber so I can offer some reflections to them.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Not just a trap,” the Lawnmower shouted. “A big trap!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Silence,” commanded the Moderator. “Let Winkelweald make his play. Nothing he does cannot be undone by.. the Moderator.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You and your group may be the first to emerge from the raw narrative wound where Arachknight City was,” the Hooded Hood proceeded, “but you will not be the last. You have assembled an interesting set of variant minions from a range of now-terminated timelines and brought them together in the turbulent neo-metropolis of Los Arachnos. You have enjoyed a minor success in your first encounter with the Lair Legion and probably assume that your victory was worth tipping them off to your plans.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“How does he know this stuff?” demanded the Link. “He’s spooky.”     /I will protect you, Miss Link/ the Simulacrum promised.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So that’s whut you kids are calling it these days,” chuckled Flapjack.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So there’s no diaries, just a stinking big trap,” complained the Lawnmower.     The Moderator faced the image of the Hooded Hood. “You will render to me the secrets of conquest or you will be deleted! I mean, more deleted. I will erase even the memory of you from the Parodyverse.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You are undoubtedly considering making use off your narrative reversal abilities in some ill-conceived attempt to erase me,” the cowled crime czar continued. “I remind you, however, of the lesson of the doorway. Eliminate the wrong thing and the consequences could be worse. I guarantee it.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Owned,” snickered Flapjack.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There’s stuff happening,” warned Search Engineer. “I don’t know what, but I’m picking up retcons.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Stop it!” squeaked the Link. “I don’t want to be a man called Bryan!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I would hardly go to all this trouble merely to eliminate you,” the Hooded Hood proclaimed precisely. “Indeed, the narrative opportunities from which you spring will prove most useful to my longer-term objectives. Therefore I will grant you that which you sought.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I thought he said there were no diaries?” objected the Lawnmower. “Man, now I’m confused. I just want to kill something.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“But you always want to kill something,” Search Engineer pointed out.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I shall arrange for you to have conquered Parody Earth,” the Hood announced. “I trust the experience will be educational.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wait… you’re doing what?” Flapjack frowned. “Er, boss, is that a good idea?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Hooded Hood recognises the inevitability of my triumph!” the Moderator proclaimed.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“He’s making us rulers of Earth?” Search Engineer blinked. “Just like that?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It has been most entertaining to make your brief acquaintance,” intoned the archvillain in the ebony throne. He steepled his fingers together and his eyes glowed greenly with an eerie inner light. “Proceed.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So I’m not going to be a man, right?” checked the Link, still worried.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Let my destiny unfold!” commended the Moderator, lifting his hands wide and awaiting greatness.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Indeed,” agreed the cowled crime czar. “For am I not… the Hooded Hood?”     And the world changed.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Eeek!” screamed the Link.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Nah, you’re definitely still female,” chuckled Flapjack, just before the Simulacrum clobbered him. *** To be continued (presumably in the current one-line round robin?) *** Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.