Date unknown – We’ll dance again in our dreams

When I woke up I thought for a minute I was back in the hold of the Queen Mary or the Royal Sovereign or the Fancy Empress or whatever the name of the ship was that brought me to Madripoor and this thrilling new life of violence and horror.  But it was “just” a room, like on land I mean, not in a ship.  It didn’t have any bars like on the TV but it had a real prison vibe, maybe this is what solitary confinement is like.  I’m no architect but the place seemed to be designed for super-person containment, I’m not sure what’s harder and stronger than concrete but I think that’s what it was made out of.  The door wasn’t like a normal door, it was more like the door to a bank vault.   

There was a cord or cable or whatever around my neck that led into a metal grommet (is that the right word?) through the wall.  It was so tight around my neck that I couldn’t get my fingers behind it to get any leverage on it to break it, and the cord (or whatever) itself was some kind of slick material that I couldn’t get a good grip on for breaking either.  It felt like it was made of liquid metal.  No problem, just rip the wall down right?  I have the strength of twenty strong men, even super concrete should be breakable with that kind of awesome power.

And maybe it would have been ordinarily, but I wasn’t feeling great.  I smoke some grass now and then.  I tried ludes a couple times.  And like most people, I chewed on the adrenal gland of a coyote once.  But other than that, drugs aren’t really my thing.  So I don’t know what it feels like to be on heroin, but if I had to guess I think it felt like the way I feel now.  For the first time in one hundred and twenty eight days, I wasn’t being chewed up from the inside by hunger.  I had forgotten what it felt like to not be hungry.  For the first time in one hundred and twenty eight days, I didn’t have a splitting soul-slapping headache. 

That sounds good right?  But I wasn’t okay.  I think those things were still happening, I just couldn’t feel them.  It’s like I was cut off from my mind.  I could move, but it was like I was underwater.  No, it was like I was underneath an ocean made up of peanut butter instead of water.  The thick name brand stuff.   My fingers felt like they weighed a ton each.  Worst of all, I was having a hard time catching my breath.  I remember seeing an uncle of mine one time sleeping in a recliner and it seemed like he would stop breathing every few minutes.  He was almost dying without knowing.  That’s what I felt like.  Except I did know. 

I grabbed at the wall-hole but I couldn’t rip it down.  I was still stronger than normal, just not strong enough.  After a minute, I sat down and just panted like a worn out retriever.  It felt like someone was punching me in the chest every time my heart beat.  I started to hate my heart for beating and hurting me like that.

I don’t know how long she was there before I noticed.  Could have been hours.  The vault-door was open and sitting before me was Serpentina.  It took me a while to make my brain comprehend she was sitting on a chair, at first I thought she was hovering before me with her knees bent.  Which would be a strange superpower to have, but you know, Bouncing Boy.  She didn’t look like the last time I saw her – old and weak – she looked like the first time I saw her, young and powerful.  She had the magic necklace I had taken from her, bouncing against her firm bosoms again.  I wonder how a Madripoor crime asshole got a mystical South American necklace.  I’ll probably never find out.  Money I guess. 

I felt like I needed to hold my eyelids open with my hands to meet her gaze “Hey Tina . . . where’s Archie?  Where’s Big Moose?”  I realized that I was speaking English and she probably couldn’t understand me.  I tried, but I couldn’t access the part of my brain that knew French “Sorry T, I can’t seem to remember French right now because I’m so high.”

She crossed her legs, her stupid leather suit squeaking like mad, and leaned forward, probably because I wasn’t speaking very loudly and she had to hear me “I’m not sure I’d call having massive amounts of presynaptic neurotoxins in your body being high, but you have very little other frame of reference.”

I nodded once very, very slowly “Good, you speak English, I’d hate to do the James Bond villain banter through an interpreter.  That would ruin the dramatic tension.”

“I couldn’t agree more, although there’s no tension really.  I’ve won.  You have a very impressive constitution my foreign friend, you already have enough venom in you to kill twenty men and you’re still talking, but it shouldn’t take much more to finish the job.”

I couldn’t help but smile “Twenty normal men or twenty strong men?  I get it, right, snake venom, because of the serpent thing.  That’s good . . . uh, marketing . . . or whatever you call it.  Hey, you know, I want to apologize for that whole thing before where I ripped your necklace off and exposed your suddenly flabby old tits to everyone.  That wasn’t my intention.”

“No, you were just going back on your word seconds after giving it and trying to beat information out of me instead of following through with the deal we had just made.  Seconds before.  Literally seconds.”

“Yeah . . . and I feel really bad about the whole thing.  I heard your whole criminal empire fell apart after I took your necklace.  Actually what I heard is that you were dead.  I heard that one of your lieutenants cut your bloody throat.”

“They certainly tried.  I lost almost everything because of you, but I had a couple million stashed away for a rainy day.  It pays to be prepared when you’re the leader of a criminal conspiracy.  It’s a shame really, I used that money to hire a team of superpowered mercs ready to take you and your friends on.”

“Whoa, that sounds like it would have been a heck of a melee.  Super cool.”   

“Yes, but then a little blonde girl from the States comes to me and says that she has you trussed up like a chicken in a butcher’s window and heard I was offering a bounty.  I wonder if I can get some of my money refunded from the mercenaries since they didn’t end up doing anything.  Or maybe I should have them kill your lizard friend and your fish friend anyway, just for good measure.”

I wagged my finger at her “Yes, you should do that, and make me watch.  Killing me now?  That’s too good for me after what I did to you.  Keep me alive to see my friends die.”

She smiled “That would buy you some time, James Bond style.”

“Hey, how about this?  Since I crushed your criminal empire, you don’t kill me, what you do is you use me as your attack dog and help you build it back up again?  I got the superpowers, you know, we can do it together, just us girls.  Feminism.  Those Shadow Lords need to be taken down a peg or two.  How about we go after them?  Knock them off and install you as the numero uno crime gang around here.  And then once you’re back in power, you’ll kill me.  You can take my family back home as hostages to make sure I go through with it.  What do you say to that?”

“Charming to the end.  I think I’ll just kill you instead.”

“Final offer, how about instead of poisoning me more right now – instead, what if you torture me to death over the next several days?  Or weeks even?  Make it last as long as possible.  Really teach me the errors of what I’ve done.”

She stood up and someone came in to fold up her chair “Tempting, but I don’t think it would be wise to give your friends time to mount a rescue attempt.  They’re quite loyal.  God knows why.”

I wracked my brain for a moment and then I blew out a long breath “Well balls.”

January 10, 1974 – Madripoor Bloodsport Death Tournament Charity Pro-Am for the Cure

Now that Martialla’s dumb niece has been rescued, it’s on to the next order of business – winning the Madripoor annual super being super fight to the super death for charity.  As I’m sure you remember, the deal with the Shadow Lords is that we win the tournament and they give us Maggie.  I know the Wildman is in the thing.  Mr. X of course.  The Challenger probably would have been a contender if I hadn’t shattered his shinbones like walnut shells.  I’m pretty sure there is a guy called the Contender that’s here for it.  I should probably find out who all is in this thing. 

If we’re being honest, and I feel that we are, I wasn’t thinking about it much because I was expecting that Blue would do it.  Unfortunately he said that he can’t win the thing.  He said that he could probably survive a match but he didn’t think he could win.  In particular, he said that he would never be able to defeat Mr. X, who’s always in the finals since the whole thing is just kind of his private vanity project.  Blue didn’t think he could even make it out of the first round. 

Martialla agreed with him. As they tell it, his gimmick is that he reads your mind while you fight so he knows what you’re going to do and can avoid or block all your attacks.  I guess that’s why I was able to catch him with his pants down, so to speak, because of my brain thing. 

Speaking of pants being down, since Blue was out of the running I decided that it was time to pay a visit to the Star-Spangled Man with the Can (of beer).  He’s a super soldier (of sorts) and I think he has the same thing like me where he’s in constant pain from headaches so maybe that means he’s immune to mind stuff too.  If he’s still pissed about me sticking him with the bill at that restaurant, I’ll just sleep with him again and smooth that all over.  I’m wearing deodorant now so if he thought I was something before?  Wee-ow!  Buckle up buddy!

Regardless, I’m sure he’ll be super pumped to get into a deathmatch tournament for me.

The door to Frank’s (or was it Fred? Philip?) small mental hospital-esque apartment was ajar, so I walked in.  When I saw him spread eagle fully nude on his bed my first thought was “how did he know I was coming?”  When I saw that there was a second pair of legs underneath his, my next thought was “Whoa, what kind of sex position is that?  Seems very awkward.”  When I noticed that there was an arm around his throat and his face was a deep scary purple, I still wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t a sex thing until a woman’s face popped out from behind his head and locked eyes with me.   

Her voice was that of a waitress who’s got a few too many people seated in her area, mildly harried but dealing with it “I’ll be with you in a minute honey.” 

It was at that point that I realized I had walked in not on some gross rough-type sex but rather a murder attempt.  I jumped on the pile (not like that) and grabbed her arm.  I was able to pull it off him, but it wasn’t easy.  It was like getting a rusty well pump going out on the farm.  She was strong.  Not as strong as me, but stronger than any normal person should be.  Strong enough that she was able to break my grasp and slither out from under Felix (Steve?  Eddy?) without too much trouble.  I scrambled off the bed and got some distance myself. 

She was a strawberry blonde and she was barely over five feet tall, which was exacerbated by the kind of fighting crouch she was in – I felt like I was towering over her.  I see boxers doing that sometimes too.  Why is getting low like that a good idea?  Don’t you want the high ground?  Squatting down like that seems like a good way to get blasted in the face.  Maybe it’s harder to get knocked over that way?  She was dressed like a real square.  She looked like she should have been working in accounts payable at the phone company rather than attempted murdering a former super-soldier.  I suppose that’s smart.  If you’re going to be an assassin, it probably makes a lot more sense to be inconspicuous than to wear a black leather suit with a target icon on the forehead. 

She straightened up when she saw that I wasn’t mirroring her with a fighting stance “That’s a hell of a grip you have there, you must be Ela.  What a happy coincidence, I was going to come find you next.” 

I raised an eyebrow “And you are?” 

She grinned “I’m the new model” she pointed at Flynn’s (Greg?  Michael?) unconscious form laying limply on the bed “That’s your model T over there, I don’t know what the hell you are, some concept car that never made it to the production line because of massive design flaws” She ran her hands over her own body like a loon “And then there’s me, the brand-new top of the line fully loaded Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham.” 

“Give me a second, I’m sure I can come up with some witty response about loads or you being full of something.” 

She laughed “Oh I like you, we could have had some fun back home, I bet.  Head out for a few drinks, drive the guys crazy, have a good old time – I’ll try not to mess up your face, not that it will matter for long anyway.” 

Fred-Frank’s apartment was bare, very Spartan, but there was some kind of stupid martial arts weapon on the wall – it was like a spear but there were a bunch of other stupid blades and little cords on it and shit.  I hurled that at Shorty, she ducked, but that was just a distraction anyway.  While she was going low under the spear-thing I kicked a footlocker at her that smacked her across the shins.  She didn’t fall but she stumbled enough that I got a hold of her and hurled her face-first into the sink, which shattered like it had been hit with a wrecking ball.  She pushed herself off the wall and back to her feet calmly – she wasn’t even cut from all the broken porcelain, my attack looked to be about as effective as a soap opera slap. 

She started kind of bounce-dancing on the balls of her feet “Oh yeah, I like you, I like you a lot.” 

A wise man – well no, not a wise man just a man – said once “If you haven’t been close to supermen, you don’t understand what it’s like to fight them. Even when you’ve got powers yourself, the predominant feeling is shock. The forces are out of human scale, and your nervous system doesn’t know how to deal with it. It’s like being in a car accident, over and over again.”  He said something like that anyway.  Aside from being sexist, superPEOPLE thank you, it’s completely accurate.

I really need to learn how to fight.  I feel like they covered this in Superman once.  He’s just a dumb dirty farmboy from Kansas, he actually doesn’t know anything about fisticuffs.  He’s just so strong that normally it doesn’t matter.  I feel like he ran into someone as strong as him and got beat down and Wonder Woman had to save his butt because she’s actually a trained warrior.  I wonder who beat up Superman.  Probably Anti-Superman or a Super-Ape or something stupid like that.  Comic book writers are morons.