Previous Post The Moderator Saga #10: With His Hands Behind His Back 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 The Moderator Saga #4: Interview With the Archvillain by the Hooded Hood The Moderator Saga #5: Lord and Master of All He Surveyed by various posters The Moderator Saga #6: Mouse and Ming by Hatman The Moderator Saga, oh let’s say #7 by Killer Shrike The Moderator Saga #8: One More Day by CrazySugarFreakBoy! The Moderator Saga #9: Let’s Be Bad Guys by CrazySugarFreakBoy! ***     The foot-thick steel door of the secure cell wheeled back into the wall with a grinding sound. The Superlative Simulacrum altered his hand into a torch and shone a bright beam on the captive chained to the wall. Words formed across the etch-a-sketch board that formed the android’s face as he twiddled his nipple-knobs: /You will behave appropriately when Miss Link comes into the room/     Flapjack snickered. The sound echoed around the prison as if he’d been practicing for weeks. “How can I welcome her appropriately when my hands are chained behind my back?” he argued. “I can’t even reach my pants.”     /YOU WILL SHOW MISS LINK PROPER RESPECT!!!/ the Simulacrum wrote in big angry letters, taking a step forward before it controlled its rage.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey, that’s why I wear tight-fitting hose,” smirked the imprisoned hunchback. “With runs in them.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Don’t let him wind you up, Simmy,” the Link advised as she brought Flapjack’s food through the entrance door. “He’s deliberately trying to get a rise out of you.”     Flapjack leered again. He was able to radiate offensiveness right across the room. Cath Katz shifted uneasily and suddenly wanted a shower.     /You will thank Miss Link for the food/ ordered the Simulacrum.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’d love to,” Flapjack answered, “but with my hands chained behind me…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Stop it, you horrid man!” the Link blushed. “Why must you always be so… you?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m the horrid one?” Flapjack objected. “Which of us has which of us chained up in the dungeon, exactly? Not that I’d call this a proper dungeon. There’s a shocking lack of rats and spiders, and there’s not even been any decent torture yet.”     /I have been making daily recommendations to the Moderator/ the Simulacrum assured him. /He has been very busy ruling the world/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’re not the bad guys,” the Link argued with the hunchback. “We’re making the world a better place.”     Flapjack chuckled. “Sure. You asked around and the whole world voted for you to delete everything that didn’t suit your plans and take over, right? Or maybe I missed that part?”     /The Moderator knows what is best for people/ the Simulacrum insisted. /People need strong leadership/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We had to take radical action,” admitted the Link, “but it was all for a good cause.”     Flapjack opened his mouth for her to spoon some of the porridge into it. He somehow managed to make licking the spoon a very repugnant act. “It’s not working out quite how you expected though, is it, sweetheart?” he demanded.     /Miss Link is not your sweetheart. She is an independent young woman who does not require a man to complete her as a person/     Flapjack amped his smirk up a notch. Cath Katz amped her blush up a notch too.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s working just fine,” she insisted, flinching as she passed the prisoner another spoonful. “The Moderator will soon have everything under control and…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So he’s not got everything under control right now,” Flapjack deduced. “I thought not.”     /The Moderator is a very busy man/ argued the Simulacrum. /He cannot spare time to track down and delete every miserable ungrateful rebel who…/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So there’s a rebellion as well,” whistled Flapjack. “Heh. I thought so.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thought so?” the Link puzzled. “What do you mean, you thought so?”     Flapjack slurped down another spoonful then licked his lips. And his nose. “I should’ve had more faith in the boss,” the hunchback replied. “The Hooded Hood’s stitched you all good and proper.”     /The Hooded Hood is dead/ insisted the Superlative Simulacrum.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“C’yeah. And he gave your moderator everything he wanted. And that’s how he beat you.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” the Link frowned.     Flapjack explained. “Taking over this planet don’t come easy. The Parodyverse is complicated. More complicated than folks realise. There’s hundreds of secrets and power bases and plotlines, and world takeovers cut across loads of them. And even if you do take over, making things run after that is harder still. Ask Beth von Zemo.”     /I think the Moderator had her made into a stuffed sofa/ ventured the Simulacrum.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s hard enough getting it done when you take over the world fair and square. At least the planning that gets you to that place prepares you a little for what comes next. But the Hood, he retconned you right there at the end of the story without you having any chance to go through the middle bits. He’s dropped you in primetime before you were even ready to be a supporting act. He’s set you up and painted big red targets on your butts – cute as some of them are.”     /There is nothing painted on Miss Link’s butt/ objected the Simulacrum. /Not that I have been checking. That is not what I mean/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’re saying we’ve been set up to fail?” worried the Link.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Let me guess,” mused Flapjack. “It’s what, Tuesday? I’m guessing by now that CrazySugarFreakBoy! will have gone ape and broken programming. The Hood always likes to shake him up and point him at someone. You won’t have found the Manga Shoggoth, of if you have then someone’s going to be setting him loose any time now. And then… well, it’s anybody’s bet whether someone puts Hatty’s generic hero hat on him, or whether Vizh gets fed up of people being treated like toys, or whether Mumphrey wakes up from reading his cricket scores, or whether Donar drops in for a visit, or… well any number of really bad things, really.”     /Everything is under control/ proclaimed the Simulacrum in bold, firm letters.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Even Linkie’s lust for me?” Flapjack chuckled. “You know she’ll be creeping back down here one of these nights for a little bit of hunching.”     /MISS LINK DOES NOT NEED HUNCHING. Not now or ever!!! You will not attempt to hunch Miss Link!!!/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What? I…” Cath Katz was almost speechless, but now she wasn’t even sure which of the two to scream at first.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Are you saying you won’t allow it?” Flapjack asked the Simulacrum slyly.     /I will not allow it! Miss Link is not the kind of person who… hunches… with people. Or you/     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Stop it!” shouted the Link. “I’ll hunch who I like! I mean, hump. No, that’s not what I mean. And I don’t mean that I go out and… I don’t go and hunch. I’m not a hunching type of girl. I mean I…. ooh! Men!” And she teleported out in a golden flash.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ooh, looks like you upset her,” Flapjack told the Simulacrum.     /I am going to recommend your dissection/ the android told the prisoner. He stormed out of the cell to find Cath Katz and slammed the door.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Heh,” chortled Flapjack. He dropped the spoon from his mouth onto the floor and shuffled so he could get it in his hands. He reckoned it would take him the best part of an hour to pick his cuffs using a piece of cutlery.     Then he needed to find CSFB! and the resistance and show them the back way into the Lair Tower.     Then he needed to find the Link’s underwear drawer. *** Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2008 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2008 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 Part Eleven: The Moderator Strikes Back!


“At last! A real challenge comes to the fore!” the leader of the New Lair Legion exhorted to his team, “Now we will prove ourselves as the rightful masters of the planet!”

“Prove to who?” the Scarlet Lawnmower asked.

/Whom/ Sig, the Spectacular Simulacrum twisted his nipple knobs to etch the corrected grammar across his blank face.

“I think Moderator is referring to the Hooded Hood,” Search Engineer guessed, “You really have to stop obsessing over that preening schmoe, boss. ”

Link agreed, “It’s getting creepy. And after all the attention I’ve been getting from that swaybacked butler, I know creepy.”

/We should be sending Flapjack to the Negativity Zone, to spare Miss Link from his advances./

“I don’t need you to protect me, Sigmund!” the young woman shot back with surprising pique.

“Uh-oh: trouble in paradise,” Lawnmower snickered, the cloud of psychic blades that orbited him shuddering in reflex.

The Moderator slammed a gloved fist onto the meeting table, “Stop! This insipid quibbling may have been a standard of the ‘Old’ Lair Legion, but that is not us. We are the next step in superhero evolution, and will comport ourselves as such."

“OK, so what do you want us to do?” Link asked quietly.

“You and Sig are to brief the support staff about the updates to Plan 42. I also want you to press Mouse about the status of AL 36-24-36. It should have been operational by now, see why she’s dragging her feet,” the Moderator told Link before turning to the Scarlet Lawnmower, “Now that we’ve outed CalmSereneFlunkyBoy! as a Space Fandom to the press that allows us the cover necessary to go after his family. Take a SPAM detail and arrest Meg Hastings , Blake, and especially that Apple woman.”

The red-headed Legionnaire smiled, “Going to draw that putz out of hiding?”

“Oh, I know where he is. Search Engineer, remember?” the villain tapped his cap, “Moderator and me are on our way to visit him now. “

“Indeed, after we pick up an old friend of Foxglove’s so they may get…. reacquainted.”


*****


The derelict Seedytown building CSFB! and Killer Shrike used to meet in was in poor structural shape, a condition made much worse when The Moderator willed away its support beams and planks. Three stories of dry wall, linoleum, wrought iron stairs, and copper plumbing came crashing down on both men’s heads before they could react.

With a wave of his hand he dispersed the clouds of dust that roiled out from the implosion. He wanted the cameras to have a clear view of this; the end of the first serious challenge to his rule.

There was the sound of sheet rock cracking as a glowing figure of green and yellow pulled himself out, “Moderator!” the former Champion of Chaos said through gritted teeth, “So you’ve finally come out your hole!?”

“It is the sworn duty of the Lair Legion to confront evil everywhere it appears, Space Fandom. I will not allow you to infect my city with your madness.”

CSFB!’s reply came in the form of two handfuls of combat candy, pulled and hurled from the negative space in his Black Hole Backpack.

The Moderator deleted the incoming projectiles, and then the backpack. He tried to delete his enemy’s suit of Impossibilityium as well, but not surprisingly failed.

The Day-Glo Dervish launched thick coils of Silly String at Moderator. These held him just for a moment before they too were willed away, but that gave Dream the chance to pounce onto the man in the face mask and fedora and slam him to the ground.

“I’m going to string you up like a black and purple Piñata and let every kid in the neighborhood take a whack at you, Moddy,” CSFB! vowed as he unspooled his Wowie-Zowie Yo Yo and twisted it into a hangman’s noose.

“You think?” The Moderator asked, and even if his features were hidden behind his cowl, it was clear he was unimpressed.

There was a rush of air from behind Dream, and suddenly he felt someone’s presence. Before he could turn a powerful hand clamped down on his head and yanked him bodily off The Moderator. With the speed of a whip crack CSFB was brought down forcefully into the pavement. Again and again and again. All in under a second.

Dream was hauled up and his head swiveled to face his attacker. He was a big man in black leather and latex. His own cowl was unzipped so CSFB could see his iron blue eyes and arrogant sneer.

“Dominator!” was all Dream was able to say before the Strong as Tempered Steel Sadist hammered him in the mid-section with a shot to the solar plexus. Once he crumpled to the ground he was hit again, this time by the tip of Dominator’s thigh high boot. CSFB skidded several blocks before stopping.

“Orders?” Dominator asked as he helped the leader of the New Lair Legion to his feet.

“I liked his Piñata analogy from earlier,” Moderator picked up his fedora and tried to fix the brim, “Bust the twerp open and see what comes out.”

“And I’ll get to spend some time consoling that wonderfully well-padded ex-wife of his,” the Perverted Powerhouse stated, licking his fingers before slapping his own backside, “Mmmmm.”

With a leap the Dominator headed after the target, one he expected would bring him much pleasure.

Moderator ordered the camera men to follow the melee, then joined Search Engineer who was using his brakeman’s switch to pry his way through the rubble, intent of uncovering… something.

“Take a look at this,” he told his master, “It must be why CSFB was here in the first place.”

Laying unconscious under the remains of the building’s third floor bathroom, pinned between a clawfoot tub and several yards of metal pipe, was a big man in an armored bird suit and a top-knot.

“Killer Shrike?” The Moderator asked incredulously, “He’s working against me?”

“Yup. It appears the conspiracy may be bigger than we thought.”

“A shame,” Moderator willed away the wreckage that pinned Shrike, then disappeared his costume for good measure. His next gesture was to the waiting SPAM Control agents, who moved in and put the Butcher Bird in newer, more familiar restraints.

“Whu- whu’s goin’ on?” Simon Maddicks mumbled as he was shoved into his straight jacket. Then he saw who captured him, “Oh, @#$!”

The Moderator nodded, “A very accurate assessment, Shrike. Very accurate.”


To Be Continued!