Previous Post Saving the Future: “Ewe Gotta Have Hart, Part Two” Part One Here Never had the term “banality of evil” been less appropriate. That was the line Josie Hart was going to use for her article describing the assembled supervillains who had made their way to Club Aotearoa this evening. The quote was a bit of the stretch, for while the costumed criminals could be described as flamboyant, they certainly weren’t notorious. Case in point: the stooped man in the heavily plated armor trying desperately to avoid leaving his weapons in the coat check counter, which she was currently manning with the help of the restaurant’s security staff. “This is discrimination!” Pillbug II whined, “Just because my powers are tech-based, I’m being put at a disadvantage. Did you confiscate El Saguaro’s needles, or Hotspurs’s pyro?” “No, but we did take Jart’s helmet, and Gum Shot’s Gum Gun, and Schnozz Goblin’s Satchel of Sneeze, (Did I really just say that?),” Josie Hart noted calmly, “So, please, sir: your deely boppers.” The villain seemed ready to continue the argument until the other person at the coat check spoke up. “UGNHBLARHYUBNYOAGHBLAUGADAACK!” was likely not the correct spelling for whatever statement the large gentlemen with the ritual tattoos and dreadlocks made towards Pillbug II (Josie’s Samoan was a bit rusty), but there was no doubting the gabble’s connotations. The insect themed villain wisely removed his Lightning Casters, and crept inside. “Thanks, big guy,” Josie remarked with a slight bat of her lashes. She had seen the giant before, in pictures with Augustus Waddell at various social gatherings: the “Mighty Toa.” Obviously he wasn’t kept around for his skills as a raconteur, but if he could get the reporter closer to the Kiwi… Toa glared down at the reporter in the woolen short shorts, “Pfah!” he snorted derisively, folding his arms across his bare chest. “You’re not exactly my type either, Tarzan,” Josie muttered under her breath. It hadn’t been the first time her plans of finding a bigger lead tonight had come up craps. Waddell was not here, and the only criminals that were showing their faces were the third string villains no one outside Kurt Busiek would recall. Maybe she would get an interview, try to learn the true circumstances of the Safe breakout, but it was starting to look like her dream of a 64 font front page headline was a bust. One of the club’s hostesses, Yvette, lifted her frilly petticoats and ascended the stage where the house band would normally perform, “All right, its 10:30. Let’s start.” “Where’s the Kiwi?” Mister Smidgen demanded from his seat on the bar, “I didn’t come here to do business with one of his Little Bo Peep impersonators!” Yvette raised an eyebrow, and Toa’s broad shadow quickly fell over the Miniscule Malefactor. Smidgen took the hint and kept quiet. “If I may continue? Mister Waddell is offering a one time opportunity to those of you her summoned here this evening: for $75,000 dollars he will smuggle you out of the United States to a country of your choosing, providing you with the appropriate paperwork once you arrive.” “What? Why would we want to leave? Parodiopolis is easy pickings now that the Lair Legion is gone,” The Scrum observed. “You assume they are gone for good,” Yvette countered, “plus you forget there are already two New Lair Legions out there trying to fill the old team’s role.” Cordite Kid cracked his knuckles, “Yeah, and one of them is led by Beth Zemo,” he said over the sounds of the micro detonations that accompanied his stretches, “Given how little they’ve been helping out in the city, I bet she’s just running some kind of scam.” “You never know,” the Masked Maligner pointed out, “She could have turned a new leaf. Perhaps she is merely biding her time until striking at the criminal class of Parodiopolis like a thunderbolt.” Rocko Gibraltar stopped hitting on PaNicky long enough to concur, “Yeah, and let’s not forget that there’s some kind of crazy ninja babe running around demanding loyalty from the recent bust outs. And I heard she doesn’t take no for an answer.” “The Carnifex,” Yvette said. And it was all she needed to say. Nobody in this room wanted to be around once he got involved. “All right,” the woman went on, “Toa is passing out the applications. We are going to need information on your choice of country and what you want put on your passport. And Chloe and Raquel will be around to collect our fee. Hopefully, with your cooperation, we can get though the bureaucratic shuffle and have you all on your way by midnight.” Schnozz Goblin rose and tore away his fright mask, revealing the winged cowl of the Silver Aegis, “The only place you villains are going is back to prison!” THWOP! The Patriotic Party Crasher dropped El Saguaro with a roundhouse kick, his motionless form sticking to the table thanks to his body’s many needles. With a grunt the Aegis hefted both furniture and felon and used them as a shield against Jart, who had forgotten he had given up his helmet and flew headlong into the spines of the Criminal Cactus. SMASH! “Excuse me,” Silver Aegis took the serving tray from one of the club’s Lambkins. He drew his arm back and then forward, flicking his wrist and letting the heavy wooden disk fly. The projectile struck Gum Shot in the temple, Hotspurs in the back of the head and Cordite Kid in the neck before bouncing onto the bar and rolling over the scrambling Mister Smidgen. “The Silver Aegis! Here!” Josie vaulted over the coat check counter, “The story just got a bit more interesting.” There was a blur of motion and suddenly the Masked Maligner stood in her way, “Oh, mi señora hermosa, you have no idea,” he cooed as he relieved her of the Gum Gun. Before Josie could object he turned and sprayed both Gibraltar and PaNicky with the powerful, fast acting adhesive. Meanwhile, the Scrum was facing off with Silver Aegis. The burly man in the purple and green rugby shirt sneered and conked himself in the face, created a half dozen duplicates of himself, “Do your worst, you Mister Epitome knock off. Each time I bleed it just makes six more of me!” “Thanks for the tip,” Silver Aegis said, before laying the hooligans with a variety of chokeholds and nerve pinches. “Foâ Samoa!” a loud voice bellowed behind the Aegis, and before he could react he felt himself being picked up and draped over Toa’s shoulders. The bruiser fell back, driving the Star Spangled Sensation into the hardwood floor. CRASH!! The hero was surprised that the big man was already up on his feet before he was. He was further staggered when Toa shrugged off several wicked jabs, chops, and uppercuts. But it was the head butt from the tattooed wild man that literally stunned him. “HAH!” Toa barked in triumph. Reaching down, he took hold of the Aegis’s cowl and dragged the old soldier to his feet. The Mighty Toa cocked his arm back and swung, driving his thumb right into his victim’s throat. Silver Aegis jerked back violently and collapsed. “ *Koff!* Washington’s Wig! If my neck wasn’t protected, that blow could have killed- wait. What’s that sound?” RRRRRRUUMMMMBBBBBBLE! Pillbug II, seeing an opening, had transformed his armor into its spheroid configuration and was bearing down on the hero, “I got him! I got him!” Silver Aegis sprung to his feet and leapt to stand on the rolling rapscallion. Showing discipline seldom seen outside the Lumberjack Games, the hero used his educated feet to stay atop Pillbug II. The boulder sized object smashed its way around the club, veering off in wild directions, vainly hoping to throw the Aegis off. Finally, the Silver Aegis, through leg power alone, was determining the direction of the speeding armored ball, and he set it on a course where it would do the most good. KAKRASH! Pillbug II and the Mighty Toa collided, the force enough to smash both through the wall and down two stories to the street below. The Patriotic Powerhouse had backflipped off his ride before the impact, saving himself from the fall. He staggered over to the hole created by his machinations, in time to see the big Samoan slowly rise up from the brick and mortar rubble and stumble off into the night. “I think…. I’ll let… you go…. for now,” Scott Scoggins managed to gasp before dropping to his knees, “But… next time….” There was the sound of slow applause behind him. The Aegis turned to see the Masked Maligner and Miss Scott (who was covering the club’s shepherdess/hostess with Gum Shot’s gun). “Verdad sorprendiendo, Silver Aegis. I have not seen such, how do you say, fancy footwork, since the World Cup. You and I have much in common.” With a flourish, the man tore away his cowl and robes to reveal a neon blue jersey and matching shorts. He bowed, “El Futbolista Atomico, en su servicio.” Scott Scoggins grimaced, “Yes, I know you: you’re that mercenary soccer player from Argentina. One of the Baroness’s flunkies.” “Xatroc just saved your hash, Silver Aegis. If he hadn’t taken care of those creeps glued up there, you would have been facing four to one odds,” Josie protested. “Xatroc is not familiar with these words: flunky and hash. He is only to say he is glad to be here helping his fellow superhero stop the bad guys from doing something very foolish,” he smiled at Yvette, who blanched visibly, “Now all is left to do is contact el policia so they may take these criminals into custody. And, ah, to gather up what they stole. For evidence. “ “Oh, let the Silver Senior Citizen take care of that,” Josie cajoled as she linked arms with the swarthy footballer, “You and I have a date with my typewriter. I’m sure my readers would be fascinated as me to learn everything there is about the world renowned Xatroc.” The Nu Legionnaire paused for a moment. That wasn’t really part of the plan. There was at least one million dollars of loot in the restaurant, in addition initiating the appropriate response for this “Kiwi” person’s insolence. Still, he thought, eyeing the trim beauty in the woolen lingerie, some things were more important than money, and as his Tio Benji used to say: La venganza es un frío lo más mejor posible servido del plato. “Xatroc supposes he can make some time to answer some of your questions, Senorita Hart. You do not mind, Silver Aegis, if we leave you here, to, how they say, hold the bag?” “I think you mean ‘hold the fort’, Footballer,” the Anthropomorphism of the American Dream said darkly, “And while I’d rather you stick around and answer some of my questions, there isn’t much I can do to stop you or Miss Hart.” “Ooh, do I see a little green in that red, white, and blue?” Josie taunted as she led the subject of her next big scoop away, “Don’t worry about me or Xatroc, Scoggins. You’ll get all the answers you need in tomorrow’s paper. Just like everybody else.” The End

I wonder what the Silver Aegis might think of Chiaki's prison break plan?