Chapter 2
Patient Review
Name: Frank Justice
Date: 7.21.10
Summary: Mr. Justice continues to display acute delusional symptoms, but is not considered a threat to himself or others at this time. He still believes that someone named Rob Slash is out to “bring the world into chaos.” This Slash is supposed to be some kind of doctor who uses a blend of magic and science to place copies of his soul into other people. (note: this delusion has been consistent since he was brought in after blowing up his own headquarters. He maintains that this was actually an attack by the clones.)
In the three years since his arrival there has been little improvement in his base delusion, though he has become less violent. Since his release from parole he has voluntarily remained at the institute for treatment. As a voluntary patient he can come and go as he pleases, but continues with therapy. Though progress is slow, the staff does believe that they see a clinical benefit to his continued therapy.
Dr. Gerald Conway
The Kane Mental Institute is a functional place. It’s bright white concrete walls and off-white linoleum floor speak of 1950s institutions everywhere. Bright fluorescent lights fight with the light streaming in from the large windows, as if it could never be bright enough to chase away the shadows afflicting the souls who live there.
In the solarium a small group session meets, and in the group sits Dr. Justice with a slightly sleepy look on his face. Mrs. Cable is drooling in the corner. Her medications had obviously just kicked in because five minutes ago she was crying softly and telling everyone to shut up.
“Well Frank,” the too-perky, fresh out of college therapist chirps at Dr. Justice. “Why don’t you tell us about what you do when you go out into the big world everyday.”
Dr. Justice looks at her with a directness that makes therapy leader Linda Wood flinch.
“I work, what do you do,” he replies with a deadpan voice.
“Well, Frank …”
“Well, Linda, it’s Dr. Justice,” Frank interrupts.
Linda drops the false smile that is the hallmark of every new-age therapist and snaps, “We don’t butt in when we are in the circle. Everyone has their say and then you may reply. Rudeness is not a Kane Institute value.”
At that, Dr. Justice adjusts his goggles, gets up and leaves, quietly closing the solarium door behind him. He loves doing that to her. It disrupts her sense of control, and if there’s one thing a therapist likes, it is control.
In the institute’s uncomfortable lobby, Lady Truth waits for the good doctor. The lobby is a huge room lined with uncomfortable benches, made even more uncomfortable by the green vinyl upholstery put over them. Lady Truth waves her laser cannon arm at the wall on the far side of the lobby. On the wall a dot of light moves in unison with her arm movements as two cat-like creatures jump and pounce at it.
Dr. Justice jumps back as he enters the lobby to avoid getting flattened by the large lanky creatures. Lady T looks over with a dazzling happy smile and points her arm at his head. The two cats leap with a lithe motion and the doctor finds himself on the ground looking up at two pairs of big dark cat eyes.
“Hello,” says Meaux. Mousie just stares at his head, waiting for the light dot to move.
“Hi, Meaux, Mousie,” the doctor says by way of greeting.
Lady Truth walks over, closing her right fist, making laser dot disappear.
“Well, I’m ready to make us some profit,” Lady Truth chirps in a happy voice. “Oh, and Mousie and Meaux are going to help.”
Mousie and Meaux push off of Dr. J's chest and bound over to Lady Truth. The two orange tiger-striped creatures, wearing little more than tight shorts with a hole for their tails, nuzzle LT's black and purple hair affectionately. The pair are part of a failed super soldier program by the government. Well, that's what they tell people.
They say that the goal is to create a super soldier by combining human and cat DNA. The goal is to create a strong, agile soldier with super hearing and excellent night vision. Mousie and Meax have all of that and more.
Unfortunately, it's the more that's the problem. They have the 10 second attention span of a cat. As well as the inability to take orders and a deep abiding love of shiny objects. They also really like Lady Truth and Doctor Justice. Mousie and Meaux seem to think she's their mom and Dr. Justice is a toy.
"So where have you been for the past three days?" Dr. Justice groans as he gets to his feet.
"I've been working out our money problems," she grins back, showing perfect white teeth. "We're going to be rolling in money as soon as these babies go up."
Lady Truth hands Dr. Justice a sheet of paper printed with a big "Need Help?" on it.
It was a job flyer with little tabs on it with an e-mail address. After much research and thought, Lady Truth came to the conclusion that people just didn't know the duo was out there and that $12.50 an hour was the perfect entry-point pricing for superhero work.
"$12.50 an hour? Doesn't that seem a little cheap?" Dr. Justice says after reading through the flier.
"Nope, not at all, considering most of us just give it away," she says. "I mean we're fighting against a system that expects help for free. Who pays the police, the fire fighters, the army, the superheroes? No one. It's effectively a free service. We have to convince people that we need to be paid. Plus that's just the rate for the first three hours. It's a sliding scale."
Dr. Justice looks at her with a quizzical half-smile.
"Uh, you realize people pay for all of those services through their taxes," Dr. Justice says dubiously. "And some superheroes are independently wealthy. The rest are on the government payroll in some form. I used to be. Man I miss having my Justice Jet and the Justice Center."
Lady Truth waves her hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, but that's them. We're independent contractors. We will work for anyone on the side of right. Anyone who's downtrodden and pushed aside, we will avenge. If you are wronged we shall make it right. The regular people need heroes, too, and we're priced just right. Just e-mail us your problem and BANG, we fix it -- for a price."
With that she opens up her backpack shaped like a beetle to reveal a huge stack of fliers and several roles of duct tape. She breaks down the stack into four piles and four rolls of tape, handing one of each to Mousie and Meaux and keeping two stacks.
"We'll split up and take the four side of the city and meet up in Central Plaza for lunch," she says. "You in?"
"This is never going to work," the doctor says. "Give me a stack to put up."
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
Editorial nore: OK, here's the deal. I wrote this and Liz helped as a sounding board,co-conspirator and made suggestions, so I gave her a co-writer credit. This is a novella I'm publishing one chapter at a time for the next 16 weeks. It's all done, so there will be no delays. Enjoy.
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
By Kevin Lindsey and Elizabeth Nguyen
Prologue
The beast is at the door, and we’ve left it unlocked.
The world slouches towards its end and everyone sits on their couches and watches it happen. Daily the good die. The politician who cares about his constituents is made to look like a thief. The cop who won’t take a bribe winds up dead. Or maybe it’s just the honest worker who wants to do a good job getting fired by that new prick of a boss. No one asks why this keeps happening. No one sees that the righteous are replaced with the wicked.
And, just who are these pricks that are taking over our world? Aliens sent to take over the world? Hardly. Demons ushering in the Apocalypse? Seems a little religious, doesn’t it? Maybe, there’s just more assholes out there. Possibly.
All of those answers are wrong. There is only one prick taking over the world: Rob Slash. That damn ninja clone wizard is seeding himself throughout the world and soon we won’t be able to stop him. Even now his soul clones are taking up residence in the righteous. Every one of them was once a good person. Their souls are gone, but their bodies are still there in key positions. Their original souls have been burnt away and replaced by Slash.
We need to ask ourselves one question: Will truth and justice prevail?
-- From the asylum wall of the doctor.
Chapter 1
Frank comes to with the smell of old beer and stale peanuts full in his nose. Nothing new. He turns his head and glances up and finds himself looking up a woman’s skirt. There’s a word printed on her underwear. “Thursday” he mumbles. “Isn’t it Monday?”
The woman with the long purple and black ponytails looks down at him with a skeptical look. It’s Lady Truth. “Yeah, it’s Monday. How hard did Deus hit you?”
“Never mind,” Frank mumbles.
It all floods back to Frank. He’s called Dr. Justice, now. It used to be Capt. Justice, but that was a long time ago. A fatter, better time. Now, he calls himself the doctor. And he’s lying on the floor of the Legion of Heroes.
It’s one of those skanky superhero bars. You know. Some retired superhero or wannabe spends his retirement money opening up a little dive so he can stay close to the action. No one goes in there except superheroes or one of their dirty toadies looking to suck up to the big damn heroes. That’s the Legion of Heroes. Yeah, the name’s corny. Superheroes like it that way.
It was that dick Deus who put Dr. Justice on the floor. What, you’ve never heard Deus called a dick before? Well, despite being big, muscular, always right (he thinks he is), invulnerable (mostly) and able to fly, he’s a dick. At least, that’s what Dr. Justice thought.
“You going get up, or are you just going to stare at my snatch all day?” Lady Truth says with a sigh. “And, hey you big jerk, why’d you hit him? You’re only 10,000 times stronger,” she says to the glowing muscle man in the corner being held back by the Minotaur, a squat heavily muscled superhero with a bull’s head.
Justice dry heaves once, adjusts his cheap goggles and staggers up. “What the hell, Deus.”
“Get that worthless has-been out of here before I paste the walls with him,” Deus says glowing brighter. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
Dr. Justice lunges forward his cellular iron fist at the end of his right robotic arm flying towards Deus’ head. The connection barely makes a sound, but Deus’ head snaps back and a small cut is opened on his right cheek.
Before Deus’ head can snap back, Lightning, Krank and Speed have zipped between the two, creating a wall of jittery flesh between the two heroes. The three spandex-wearing kinetically enhanced heroes wave blurry fingers at the doctor.
“Now, not Kosher, now, bad form old bean,” the three say simultaneously.
Behind the blurry, skinny figures Deus bellows, “Get him out. Get him out. And his skank of a partner, too.”
Lady Truth whips her right arm around levels it at Deus’ head and fires off a blast from her laser arm cannon. But he is ready and pumped, dodging the laser with ease.The light beam blasts a perfect, circular hole in the bar.
Everything turns into a blur for the doctor and Lady T as the kinetic heroes grab them and carry them out the back door. When the whirlwind of movement subsides the two are flat on their backs. Above them they can see the starry sky and surrounding them is the smell of rotting chicken wings wafting out of the garbage cans and the acid smell of old puke. Yup, it’s the alley.
Lightning pulses from side-to-side next to them holding a piece of paper. Dr. Justice grabs it after a couple of tries. It’s a bill for the bar Lady Truth just blew up. $5,200.78.
“You’re not welcome back until you pay that off,” Lightning says. “Such a shame. You used to be such a good hero. Ever since you went crazy it’s been one problem after another.”
Then he shimmers away in a wave of speed, leaving behind a faint breeze.
Sitting up, Dr. Justice looks at the bill in his and sighs, “Ah, shit. How am I going to pay for this? I’ve got $200 in the checking account, and I live in a mental institution. Hell, I’m stealing the orderlies’ scrubs for my action suit.”
Lady Truth bounces to her feet and looks down at the doctor. It’s nice to be short, young and in shape, the doctor thinks.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to pay for it,” she says with a grim smile.
She always smiles. Good or bad, she smiles, thinks Dr. Justice.
Dr. Justice drags his aging bulk off the ground, crumpling the bill and stuffing it in his pocket as he struggles up. His long, curly dark blond hair whips back as he steadies himself.
“Yeah, sure. Look at us,” he says, looking mostly at his middle-aged gut. “I’ve got $200 and by the looks of that outfit you shop at Goodwill. Seriously, what do you do for money? I’m not even sure where you live. You look like you’re Asian, but I’m not even sure about that. Shouldn’t I know more about my partner?”
She just smiles at him, tossing her purple and black hair back, dark eyes laughing.
“Don’t worry Doc. I think I have an idea.”
Eh, why did I have to pick a perky partner, the doctor thinks.
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
By Kevin Lindsey and Elizabeth Nguyen
Prologue
The beast is at the door, and we’ve left it unlocked.
The world slouches towards its end and everyone sits on their couches and watches it happen. Daily the good die. The politician who cares about his constituents is made to look like a thief. The cop who won’t take a bribe winds up dead. Or maybe it’s just the honest worker who wants to do a good job getting fired by that new prick of a boss. No one asks why this keeps happening. No one sees that the righteous are replaced with the wicked.
And, just who are these pricks that are taking over our world? Aliens sent to take over the world? Hardly. Demons ushering in the Apocalypse? Seems a little religious, doesn’t it? Maybe, there’s just more assholes out there. Possibly.
All of those answers are wrong. There is only one prick taking over the world: Rob Slash. That damn ninja clone wizard is seeding himself throughout the world and soon we won’t be able to stop him. Even now his soul clones are taking up residence in the righteous. Every one of them was once a good person. Their souls are gone, but their bodies are still there in key positions. Their original souls have been burnt away and replaced by Slash.
We need to ask ourselves one question: Will truth and justice prevail?
-- From the asylum wall of the doctor.
Chapter 1
Frank comes to with the smell of old beer and stale peanuts full in his nose. Nothing new. He turns his head and glances up and finds himself looking up a woman’s skirt. There’s a word printed on her underwear. “Thursday” he mumbles. “Isn’t it Monday?”
The woman with the long purple and black ponytails looks down at him with a skeptical look. It’s Lady Truth. “Yeah, it’s Monday. How hard did Deus hit you?”
“Never mind,” Frank mumbles.
It all floods back to Frank. He’s called Dr. Justice, now. It used to be Capt. Justice, but that was a long time ago. A fatter, better time. Now, he calls himself the doctor. And he’s lying on the floor of the Legion of Heroes.
It’s one of those skanky superhero bars. You know. Some retired superhero or wannabe spends his retirement money opening up a little dive so he can stay close to the action. No one goes in there except superheroes or one of their dirty toadies looking to suck up to the big damn heroes. That’s the Legion of Heroes. Yeah, the name’s corny. Superheroes like it that way.
It was that dick Deus who put Dr. Justice on the floor. What, you’ve never heard Deus called a dick before? Well, despite being big, muscular, always right (he thinks he is), invulnerable (mostly) and able to fly, he’s a dick. At least, that’s what Dr. Justice thought.
“You going get up, or are you just going to stare at my snatch all day?” Lady Truth says with a sigh. “And, hey you big jerk, why’d you hit him? You’re only 10,000 times stronger,” she says to the glowing muscle man in the corner being held back by the Minotaur, a squat heavily muscled superhero with a bull’s head.
Justice dry heaves once, adjusts his cheap goggles and staggers up. “What the hell, Deus.”
“Get that worthless has-been out of here before I paste the walls with him,” Deus says glowing brighter. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
Dr. Justice lunges forward his cellular iron fist at the end of his right robotic arm flying towards Deus’ head. The connection barely makes a sound, but Deus’ head snaps back and a small cut is opened on his right cheek.
Before Deus’ head can snap back, Lightning, Krank and Speed have zipped between the two, creating a wall of jittery flesh between the two heroes. The three spandex-wearing kinetically enhanced heroes wave blurry fingers at the doctor.
“Now, not Kosher, now, bad form old bean,” the three say simultaneously.
Behind the blurry, skinny figures Deus bellows, “Get him out. Get him out. And his skank of a partner, too.”
Lady Truth whips her right arm around levels it at Deus’ head and fires off a blast from her laser arm cannon. But he is ready and pumped, dodging the laser with ease.The light beam blasts a perfect, circular hole in the bar.
Everything turns into a blur for the doctor and Lady T as the kinetic heroes grab them and carry them out the back door. When the whirlwind of movement subsides the two are flat on their backs. Above them they can see the starry sky and surrounding them is the smell of rotting chicken wings wafting out of the garbage cans and the acid smell of old puke. Yup, it’s the alley.
Lightning pulses from side-to-side next to them holding a piece of paper. Dr. Justice grabs it after a couple of tries. It’s a bill for the bar Lady Truth just blew up. $5,200.78.
“You’re not welcome back until you pay that off,” Lightning says. “Such a shame. You used to be such a good hero. Ever since you went crazy it’s been one problem after another.”
Then he shimmers away in a wave of speed, leaving behind a faint breeze.
Sitting up, Dr. Justice looks at the bill in his and sighs, “Ah, shit. How am I going to pay for this? I’ve got $200 in the checking account, and I live in a mental institution. Hell, I’m stealing the orderlies’ scrubs for my action suit.”
Lady Truth bounces to her feet and looks down at the doctor. It’s nice to be short, young and in shape, the doctor thinks.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to pay for it,” she says with a grim smile.
She always smiles. Good or bad, she smiles, thinks Dr. Justice.
Dr. Justice drags his aging bulk off the ground, crumpling the bill and stuffing it in his pocket as he struggles up. His long, curly dark blond hair whips back as he steadies himself.
“Yeah, sure. Look at us,” he says, looking mostly at his middle-aged gut. “I’ve got $200 and by the looks of that outfit you shop at Goodwill. Seriously, what do you do for money? I’m not even sure where you live. You look like you’re Asian, but I’m not even sure about that. Shouldn’t I know more about my partner?”
She just smiles at him, tossing her purple and black hair back, dark eyes laughing.
“Don’t worry Doc. I think I have an idea.”
Eh, why did I have to pick a perky partner, the doctor thinks.
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