SG: Sporkman #2 - A New Hotness

[gfishbone at gmail.com]

     Jeanette leaned against the wall outside the bathroom door. "I
don't usually do zhis kind of thing," she said. "It just felt like zee
right thing at zee time."

     His voice came from the other side of the door, over the sound of
running water. "So you're not normally one for picking up guys,
getting them drunk, and having your way with them?"

     "Mon deiu! You make me zound like an 'orrible person!" She paused
thoughtfully for a moment. "When you say zhat I had my way with you,
what exactly do you mean?"

     "Put it this way. It might be a good idea for us to exchange
medical histories and make sure we're up to date on all our shots."

     She frowned. "Zhat good, was it?"

     The door opened and he emerged, fully-dressed and clean-shaven.
"I wouldn't know. I fell asleep before it happened."

     Jeanette wondered whether he had used the strange-looking spoon-
fork to shave his beard, and where on his body he kept the item hidden
when not in use. Perhaps it had some connection with the stainless
steel ring on his right hand. Had the ring been there while the weapon
was in his hand? She didn't remember seeing it.

     "So did I," she told him. "Fell asleep, I mean. And if we both
bell asleep before anyzhing happened, that means nothing did."

     The young man looked at her for a long moment. "Sorry about your
arm," he said at last.

     "Eet is nothing." She touched the bandage with her hand.

     He peered into the bedroom and grimaced at the destruction his
sleep-fight had caused. "I'll pay for the damages...somehow. If I can
ever scrape together some funds. But you'll have to settle for being
fifth in line on my list of lodging-damage creditors after my
landlord, a hotel in Munich, and youth hostels in Amsterdam and
Belgium."

     "I know a way for you to work off zee debt," said Jeanette. Then
she blushed deep crimson at the look he gave her. "Zhat sounded like
innuendo but eet is not what I meant!"

     "All right, calm down," said the man, putting hands on her
shoulders. Strong and stady hands, she noted. "What exactly can I do
for you, Miss?"

     "My life is in great danger and I need zee protection of a
superhero."

     The young man laughed. "You obviously have me confused with
somebody else."

     "Do I?" asked Jeanette. "Zhen why were you fighting in your
sleep, and who exactly is zhis Nancy person you were dreaming about?"


*****************************************
**  The Sporkarific Sporkman
**  Episode #2: A New Hotness
**  By Greg R. Fishbone
*****************************************


     Muffled explosions rocked the underground death factory, rattling
support chains, knocking machine parts from the shelves, and causing
fifteen-hundred security droids to sway back and forth on their gyro-
swivels. In the control room overlooking the factory floor, fifteen-
year-old Roger Important dropped his PSP in surprise. "Tee-Tee? Was
that an earthquake?"

     Underling Number Twenty-Two twirled her long pink hair between
two of her fingers and checked her security console. "Sector Gamma has
been breached, Master."

     Roger groaned. "I keep telling ya, Tee-Tee, you don't have to
call me that."

     "But Master, I was created to serve you. It is the entire purpose
of my being. That requires a certain level of formality."

     "You're not a slave, Tee-Tee," Roger reminded her, for what felt
like the millionth time since he was seven and she was a newly-
engineered life form left for him under the Important family Christmas
tree with a red bow on top of her head. "You're free to leave at any
time."

     "And abandon my purpose? Never!"

     "Then I officially order you to call me something else." Roger
reached for his PSP and tucked it into his backpack. Level five of The
Radian and Shadebeam Experience would have to wait. "What were you
saying about a breach?"

     "Sector Gamma, Mas-- um, sir."

     "Wait, don't tell me, I know that one." Roger pulled open the top
drawer of his desk and flipped through page after page of blueprints.
"Sector Gamma... Sector Gamma... Sector Gamma..."

     "Roughly three thousand feet in that direction." Number Twenty-
Two pointed to her right. "Twelve-foot-thick steel walls surrounding
pools of molten lava and a hive of mutant wasps. Scanners are picking
up one unaccounted life form."

     "Only one?" Roger swallowed hard. "You mean those big bangs were
caused by a single person?"

     "That is correct, sir."

     "Oh, HELL(tm), it's a superguy. Uncle Nobody is going to kill me
if I let a superguy destroy his underground death factory!"

     "Sir, calm down," Number Twenty-Two soothed. "I've already
isolated the sector, pumped the area full of poison gas, and
dispatched four-hundred security droids to handle things."

     Roger blinked. "You have?" He looked down onto the factory floor
where there did seem to be fewer droids hanging around than before.

     Number Twenty-Two shrank back and lowered her head. "I'm sorry,
sir. Was that too presumptuous of me?"

     "No, Tee-Tee, you did fine. No superguy is going to be able to
handle four-hundred droids--except maybe Mighty Guy. Or Mighty Dog.
Or...is Mighty Pig still in action?"

     Another set of explosions tossed Roger off his feet. On the
factory floor below, conveyor belts slipped off their support spools
and the eleven-hundred remaining security droids wobbled dangerously.
"We have a breach in Sector Beta, sir," Number Twenty-Two announced.
"Still only the one intruder."

     "Sector Beta is...which one again?"

     "Acid waterfalls and laser-guided missiles, sir."

     "Good. Send another five-hundred security droids, just to be
safe."

     "Already done, sir. And, um, sir?"

     "Yes, Tee-Tee?"

     "You might need this." She tossed a small item of matte-black
metal.

     Roger caught the item, looked at it, and immediately dropped it
to the floor. "Jeez, Tee-Tee! You brought a loaded handgun into my
uncle's underground death factory?"

     "Yes, sir."

     "Well, what were you thinking? A .22-caliber pop-gun isn't going
to touch a superguy."

     "It's not for the intruder, sir. It's for you. I wouldn't be
doing my duty if I allowed you to be captured alive."

     Roger picked up the gun and gave it a grim look before tucking it
into the waistband of his jeans. "This is officially the worst after-
school job I've ever had. For three bucks an hour less, I could have
been flipping patties at Spoonburger."

     Another explosion shattered the fluorescent bulbs above the
control room. Green emergency lights flickered on. On the factory
floor below, machinery sparked and six-hundred security droids tumbled
over like dominos.

     "Let me guess," said Roger. "Sector Alpha?"

     "That's correct, sir. Sector Alpha is a maze of shifting
electrified floor-panels covered from above by ninja-star shooters."

     "And you've sent the rest of the security droids, just to be
sure?"

     "No, sir. Honestly, what would be the point?"

     Roger looked down at the factory floor, where six-hundred droids
stood arrayed against the armored door to Sector Alpha. "How much time
until the intruder breaks through and into the control room?"

     "Thirty seconds at most," said Number Twenty-Two, glumly. "Sir?"

     "Yes, Tee-Tee?"

     "It's been an honor to work for you."

     The armored door below burst inward, and the security droids
unloaded their weaponry at the intruder. Roger strained to see who the
superguy was, but the action was too fast for him to follow even if
there weren't so many droids in the way. All he could see were flashes
of stainless steel, an occasional limb, or a shock of bright red hair.

     The last droid stopped moving. The last piece of factory
machinery burst into flame. The intruder reached the ladder up to the
control booth and began to climb. It was a woman, Roger realized with
surprise, and she was only a few years older than he was--about the
same age that Tee-Tee had always seemed to be. She held a gleaming
metal staff, capped at both ends with gigantic spoon-shaped bowls. The
heroine's face and domino mask were smudged with soot from numerous
explosions, her red hair streaked with droid fluids, and her black and
red bodysuit torn in all the right places to show off her toned
muscles and swimsuit-model curves.

     Given the circumstances, most fifteen-year-old boys would have
been reduced to puddles of drool and hormones. To his credit, Roger
merely cocked his head at an odd angle, lolled his tongue, and gawked.
He even managed a semi-articulate sentence: "You're...so...hot!"

     The superheroine's green eyes narrowed to angry slits. "I am
Spoonstryke, one of the world's foremost detectives and a certified
forensic criminologist. I hold top belts and honors in every form of
martial arts known to mankind and three that I have invented for
myself. I save the world on a fairly regular basis and I am sick to
death of being ogled at like a piece of meat." She held the spoonstaff
in a threatening pose and shouted, "I AM NOT HOT!!!"


WILL ROGER IMPORTANT SURVIVE HIS ENCOUNTER WITH SPOONSTRYKE?

WILL HIS PAY BE DOCKED FOR THE COST OF THE DAMAGES?

WILL HE BE ABLE TO RETURN TO HIS VIDEO GAME?

Find out in the next installment of The Sporkarific Sporkman,
coming... well... whenever! Only on Superguy!


Author's Notes:

Nobody Important and the original three Serially Numbered Underlings
first appeared as villains in Super Seven #3, posted April 15, 1994. I
gave them the most generic names I could think of because I didn't
foresee them sticking around, and yet here we are some 13 years
later... By the end of the Super Seven and Preteen Patrol series we
were through Underling Number Nine, so it makes sense that we'd be up
to at least Number Twenty-Two by now.

Roger Important did not appear prior to this episode. He would have
been the off-stage three-year-old nephew of a supervillain during
1995's "Sal the Garbageman" plot.

Nancy first appeared in Super Seven #12, posted October 17, 1994. The
running joke at the time was that Nancy (a.k.a. Spoongirl) would
explode in anger whenever anybody referred to her as "cute." Now that
she's twenty-one years old instead of eight, that joke's wearing a bit
thin...or is it?

In the Superguy universe, HELL(tm) is trademarked.

--
Greg R. Fishbone - http://gfishbone.com
* Author: THE PENGUINS OF DOOM - http://septinanash.com
* President: Class of 2k7 - http://classof2k7.com
* ARA: New England SCBWI - http://nescbwi.org