Superfreaks/ACRA: Superfreaks #13
martinphipps2 at yahoo.com
Sat Oct 14 03:27:01 PDT 2006
Michael King, Mary Jones and Frank Lopez: crime scene
investigators. John Phelps, Mark Johnston and Tom
Jackson: police officers. Jack Greenspan, Edward
Bailey and Samuel Leonard: medical examiners. Alan
Russell, Cliff Murdock and Leroy Laurel: lawyers.
These are the men and women who are truly our last
line of defense. But what about the capes whose cases
they have to investigate? Should they be considered a
help or a hindrance?
"Hello and welcome back to Who Wants to Own a Clone?
Melvin Peters, you won todays game that means that
you get to pick your clone. Do you want... a Halle
Berry clone? ... a Scarlet Johanssen clone? an Eva
Mendes clone? ... or a Lucy Liu clone? Which one are
you playing for tonight?"
"Oh I don't know! I don't know!" He could barely
contain his excitement. "Could I have all four of
"If you win tomorrow's game and the next and the
next then, yeah, sure, but only one at a time,
"It's so hard to decide!"
"Take your time..."
"Okay, Melvin, pick one."
"Alright! And here is the question: in which movie
did Halle Berry flash her breasts? Was it number 1...
Die Another Day? Number 2... Swordfish? Number 3...
The Rich Man's Wife? Or Number 4... Gothika?"
"Um... can I hear those choices again?"
"Alright. Number 1... Die Another Day? Number 2...
Swordfish? Number 3... The Rich Man's Wife? Or
Number 4... Gothika?"
"I'll say... Swordfish."
"Is that your final answer?"
"Um... yeah... sure... Swordfish."
"You are... correct!"
"Oh my God!"
"You've won yourself a Halle Berry clone!"
Detective John Phelps used his remote control to
turn off the television. Normally he didn't stay up
this late when he wasn't working but he didn't feel
tired when he got home and what he originally thought
was going to be a few minutes spent watching TV turned
out to be a few hours. Now though he felt tired
enough that he needn't worry about having to lie there
without being able to get to sleep.
As he laid his head on his pillow, he thought about
how this whole cloning situation had gotten out of
hand. A week ago, he'd never even heard of human
clones but now he hears about them everywhere, on the
news, on sit-coms, hell they're even giving away
clones on game shows now for Christsakes. His disgust
with the whole idea of cloning dominated his mind as
he drifted off to sleep.
"We have to do something about these clones," he
heard a voice say. It was Commissioner Jim Morgan.
Except he'd retired years ago. He looked he had
looked years ago. John realized that he too was
younger. So this was the past.
John looked around. They were outside. The city
looked strange: the buildings were taller than he
remembered. It was night but with all the neon
lights, brightly lit billboards and commercials
playing on big screen televisions it might as well
have been daytime. So it was both the past and the
future cat the same time. Bizarre. But of course his
unconscious mind just accepted this as normal.
There was apparently a bit of rain because there was
lightning (but no thunder) and both he and the
commissioner were wearing trenchcoats. "These clones
have to be stopped," he said.
"How so?" John asked.
"They're not satisfied with being clones," Morgan
said with a tone that implied that John should have
already have known this. "They're replacing the
people they were designed to imitate."
"There's only one way to distinguish a clone from
the real thing."
"What's that?" John asked.
Morgan looked at John suspiciously. Why was he
telling him things that he should already know? "They
have no feelings."
"They don't?" John asked.
"They only pretend to have feelings. They only know
what they are programmed to do."
"So how does that help us?"
"We have to ask them questions."
"What kind of questions?"
Morgan sighed. "Okay, John. Suppose you're in your
squad car and you see a dog by the side of the road.
What do you do?"
"What do you do, John. There's a dog by the side of
the road. What do you do?"
"What do you mean? Am I a dog catcher now?"
"There's a sick, hurt dog on the side of the road.
You don't stop to pick him up and take him to a vet?"
John's jaw dropped. "You didn't say the dog was
sick or hurt."
Morgan nodded. "Fine. Let's say your parents
aren't your parents."
"Say your parents tell you you're adopted. Do you
go looking for your real parents?"
"But I'm not adopted."
"Say you were. Say your parents said you were. How
would you feel?"
John thought for a moment. "Does it really matter?
They're the only parents I've known."
"Okay. Say I was your father."
"Say you found out that you were adopted and I was
your real father. How would you feel?"
"But you're not."
"How would you feel, John. What would you want to
"For God's sake, Jim. You're not my father. How do
you expect me to feel? Obviously I'd just laugh it
off because it's not true."
Jim Morgan pulled out a futuristic looking weapon.
"Where is the real John Phelps?"
"What are you talking about? I _am_ the real John
"Tell me where he is. I'm not going to ask again."
"For God's sake, Jim. Maybe you're the clone! I
mean, are you really going to kill your old partner?"
"You're not John Phelps."
"Maybe I am. I mean, geez, if they were going to
make a clone of me don't you think that they could
make one that would be able to answer your questions
the way you would expect them to be answered? All
they'd need to know is what questions you were going
"You're just trying to confuse me."
"Jim, you're not being reasonable!"
"This ends now!"
Jim Morgan fired the weapon. John felt a burning
sensation in his stomach. "No!" he tried to scream.
"NO!" he said as he woke up. John sat there for a
while reflecting on his dream. Clones were people, he
thought. They had rights. Yes, it was wrong for them
to be bought or sold or given away on game shows. But
that didn't mean that they didn't deserve to exist or
that, by extention, people had no right to create
"Look," Detective Michael King said, "we found a
dead body and all the evidence points to you being at
Weapon Alpha nodded. "Yeah. I was there. But I
didn't kill that guy."
"A band of ninjas."
"Ninjas? That's your story? Ninjas?"
"Yeah," Weapon Alpha said matter of factly.
"But this isn't the sixteenth century," Michael
pointed out, "and this is not Japan."
"Nevertheless there is a band of ninjas operating in
Pepperton. They call themselves the toe clan."
"None of here have seen any ninjas operating in
"Well of course not," Weapon Alpha said with a sigh,
"they're ninjas. They are not supposed to be seen."
"But you've seen them?"
"I have enhanced senses."
"I see." Michael sighed. "You do realize that this
sounds crazy, don't you?"
"Did you find any discarded clothing at the crime
"Yes. Black robes."
"Those were their uniforms. Did you find any
swords? Any throwing stars?"
"As a matter of fact we did."
"Those were their weapons."
Michael's eyes squinted. "So these ninjas left
their clothes and weapons behind and are now running
around naked?" he asked incredulously.
"Actually, no," Weapon Alpha admitted, "you see
ninjas don't take very kindly to being spotted. I had
to defend myself. I killed them."
"You killed them?"
"Yes. In self defense."
"Where are the bodies?"
"Their bodies dissolved."
"Their bodies... dissolved?"
"Yes. If they die then their bodies dissolve. In
fact, any DNA left behind by a ninja, hair, blood,
skin, it would dissolve so that nothing is left behind
to identify the ninja. They inject themselves with
some sort of chemical. A drug that, you know, does
that. Causes them to dissolve I mean. Secrecy is
paramount to the toe clan."
"But they only dissolve when they die."
"Actually, even if they are just seriously injured
then they start to dissolve."
"And they do this willingly? Take the drug I mean."
"To be part of the clan, yes."
Michael closed his eyes. "I'll have Edward run
trace samples on the clothing and weapons. Even if
the bodies completely dissolved as you say then there
will be some residue left behind."
"You do that."
Michael got home late. He had been helping Edward
in the lab for most of the afternoon and into the
early evening. Weapon Alpha's story checked out.
Part of him wished it hadn't. Ninjas. Here in
Pepperton. And they dissolved when dead or injured.
Isn't this something that The Super Soldier should
have told him about.
But The Super Soldier never told him anything. No
matter how many times he stressed the need for the
local police to be aware of what was going on in their
own city, still they kept secrets from them. It was
as if they thought that the local police weren't
sophisticated enough to handle the reality of the kind
of menaces that the Extreme Force Six had to face. It
Michael was tired, so tired that he didn't even
bother to get fully undressed. He simply removed his
shoes and tie and then laid there in bed. He quickly
drifted off to sleep.
He found himself at a factory. Mary, Frank, John,
Mark, Tom, they were all there. It all seemed so
perfectly normal to him that his subconscious mind
never noticed how odd it was for them to all be
The Extreme Force Six were also there, including
Extreme himself, his fiance Amazing Woman, the Human
Spider, Weapon Alpha, Mr. G and their leader, The
Super Soldier. Michael grit his teeth.
"No more secrets!" Michael shouted as he waved his
fist. "I want full disclosure!"
"You would be taking away our ability to function,"
the Super Soldier insisted. "The secrets we keep are
for your protection as well as ours."
"That doesn't make sense!" Michael argued. "We're
"You are to us!" the Super Soldier proclaimed.
"You son of a bitch!" Michael had had enough. He
struck the Super Soldier as hard as he could with his
The Super Soldier's head flew off.
"Metal Man! Are you insane?" Extreme asked. "You
killed your long time friend. And for what? Because
he didn't register?"
Michael looked at his hands. They were covered with
metal. Was he a robot? No, he reasoned. It was some
kind of armour. His body was completely covered with
state of the art electronics!
"The Super Soldier will be a martyr for our cause!"
Amazing Woman proclaimed.
"You're going down, motherfucker!" Mr. G said but
the Human Spider and Weapon Alpha held him back.
Michael looked down at the Super Soldier's lifeless,
headless body. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Sorry isn't good enough," Extreme told him. "You
need to promise to leave us alone. You need to allow
us to operate freely."
"We need to keep secrets from you. Our secrets
allow us to be able to do our jobs. And that's what
keeps America safe."
He woke up. After turning over a couple of times,
his dream had all but faded away. All he could
remember were Extreme's last words.
"Bullshit," he thought.
"How was that?" Officer Mark Johnston asked.
"Great," his wife purred. "You've still got it."
Mark smirked. "Well I should think so. I'm not
"Oh really?" she said, giving him a come hither
look. "Well then perhaps you're up for another round.
Mark shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm on
She laughed. "You're getting old!"
"Whatever," he said as he turned over and went to
Mark found himself driving around Pepperton with his
partner Tom Jackson. But they weren't driving their
patrol car: it was a sports car. And they weren't
wearing their uniforms: they were both wearing white
suits. It was as if they were on their way to a
disco. And his subconscious mind considered this all
normal: in a dream you don't have to worry about your
dry claening bill.
Mark drove the car into a particularly bad
neighbourhood. But they weren't scared. They just
put on their sunglasses, their "shades, and got out of
the car. They casually walked up to the guy they had
just spotted, the guy they expected to give them the
information they needed.
"Why you dissing me, man?" the youth asked him.
"Stand up. We want to talk to you."
The youth stood up. "And what if I don't want to
talk to you?"
Mark smiled and shook his head. He looked over at
Tom who did likewise. He then pulled out a badge.
"Do you know what this is? It's my badge."
"Is that supposed to impress me?" the youth asked.
"It should. We're cops."
The youth laughed. "You're not cops. And that's no
cop car," he said, pointing to their "ride".
"We are cops," Mark insisted, "and you're going to
tell us what we want to know."
"Or else what?" the youth asked.
Mark smiled. Briefly. Then he hit the young man.
Hard. Then again. "Does that answer your question,
"Mark," Tom said, "that's enough."
"This kid is disrespecting us," Mark said. "What do
you want me to do?"
"To serve and protect, Mark," Tom said. "To serve
Mark backed off. "Alright, punk. Fine. Have it
your way. If you don't want to talk then it's up to
The youth spat out a tooth. "I aint telling you
nothin'!" he said.
Mark and Tom got back into their car. That didn't
go so well.
When Mark woke up, he realized what had gone wrong:
people respect the uniforms. Without the uniforms,
cops are just punks like anybody else. Worse, the
matching white suits and sunglasses weren't
appropriate for policework: indeed, if they actually
were to walk around like that in broad daylight then
they would probably end up the target of gay bashers.
"I didn't know you knew how to use chopsticks," Mary
Edward nodded. "It's a Chinese restaurant. You've
got to try using chopsticks."
"Are you going to use them to pick up every grain of
"No," Edward said, "I'm going to use the spoon to do
Edward used his chopsticks to point at his fiance.
"Who would you be if you were a superpowered heroine?"
"If you had superpowers. Who would you be?"
"I suppose I'd be Amazing Woman. How many
superpowered women are there?"
Edward shook his head. "No, I mean who would _you_
be. You don't have to be Amazing Woman. You could be
anybody you wanted to be."
"I don't know," Mary admitted. "What about you?"
"I'd be a speedster."
"Do you run?"
"Then how could you be a speedster?"
"I don't know. I'd get powers somehow."
Edward mused for a moment. "Maybe if I put the
ethel alcohol, the benzene and the acetone all up on
the top shelf and waited for an earthquake or
something. The electrical system would short out and
I would get bathed with electricity at the exact same
moment that the chemicals poured over me."
"You'd be killed."
"Maybe I'd get super powers!"
"That's just dumb."
"I'm sorry but that's dumb."
Mary didn't mean to hurt Edward's feelings. But
really, he could be such a child sometimes. She
changed her clothes and went straight to bed.
Mary dreamt she was flying. And she wasn't alone.
"Who are you?" Extreme asked her.
"I'm Power Woman," Mary told him.
"You're new," he said, staring at her bossom.
"I'm up here," she said.
"Do you mind not looking at my breasts?"
"It's just that, well, they're so big."
"Not really. Spandex is such a tight fabric. It
makes things like breasts look bigger than they really
"Ah," Extreme said. "I know exactly what you mean.
I have the same problem with my penis."
Mary couldn't help herself.
"Made you look," Extreme said with a smile.
Suddenly they were elsewhere. Mary couldn't tell
where they were exactly. It didn't matter.
She and Extreme were both naked. And she was on top
of him. She could feel hios penis inside of her. She
could feel it thrusting. Her subconscious mind didn't
worry about how dangerous this was for her: after all,
she wasn't really superhuman so every single thrust
should have been ripping her apart. Pr maybe it was
that very thought that made the sex so exciting.
When Mary woke up, she felt ashamed. She felt like
such a whore! How could she dream about Extreme like
that? She was supposed to be marrying Edward in a few
Mary and Edward had decided to get married because
they had genuine feelings for each other: they had
started out as friends and had gotten closer. Not as
close though as Edward would have liked. Perhaps,
though, the time had come for that to change.
"I'm sorry about last night."
"How's about I cook spaghetti for you tonight?"
"You want to cook spaghetti?"
"Sure. At my place. Do you know how to get there?"
"I think so."
Mary nodded. "It's okay. I'll draw you a map. Is
seven o'clock okay?"
"Seven o'clock would be great."
"How was the spaghetti?" Mary asked.
"Great," Edward told her. "It was cooked to
perfection. I could have done with more sauce
"Okay," Mary said, "I'll have to remember that:
Edward likes extra spaghetti sauce."
Edward laughed. "It's no big deal."
"Care for desert?"
"Desert? You fixed desert?"
"Not exactly," she said with a smile. "Follow me."
She headed to the bedroom.
"What's going on?" Edward asked.
"What do you think is going on?" Mary asked as she
removed her bra.
"I didn't bring protection," Edward admitted. "If I
did it might have implied that I was expecting
"It's okay," she said as she removed her bra.
"Really?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "I mean, we are getting
"Right," he said as he lunged forward and grabbed
her ample breasts.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Your shirt. I'm half naked and you're fully
"Sorry," he said as he went to unbottom his shirt.
"Wait," she said. "Allow me." She unbottoned his
shirt and slipped it off of him. "Now your pants."
"Okay," he said, slipping his pants down to reveal
his boxer shorts. "What about your pants?"
"Do you want to take them off of me?"
"Oh yeah," he said. He unbottoned them and pulled
down the zipper. He reflected for a moment about how
the white panties matched her bra and decided that
next time she should do a striptease for him. He then
pulled down her pants.
"Now the panties."
This was it. The holy grail. "Oh my God," he said.
"Just for tonight," she said.
"As long as you are in that position, why don't you
"Alright," Edward said and he started licking her.
Truth be told, he actually liked having her tell him
what to do. He did manage to suppress the urge to say
something stupid and awkward like "You're the boss."
Minutes later she was moaning and Edward got a
bitter taste in his mouth. "Take me," she said as she
lay back on the bed.
Edward removed his boxers. He was ready.
"Oh... God," Edward said.
"You lasted a good long time."
"I didn't want to disappoint you."
"You didn't. How was it for you."
"Great. Just great. In fact..."
"What? Tell me!"
Edward smiled. "I once had a dream just like this."
I wonder where Imelda is right now...
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