Dr Tasman sat behind his desk in his new office. He pushed the button of his intercom to his secretary. "Are you sure the external phone lines are operational?"
"Yes doctor."
Tasman tapped with his fingers on his desk. This time it should work. The networks were glad to broadcast our commercials, and they showed enthusiasm to our ideas. It's just a matter of time before the people of Paragon City start reacting...
You know what sucks, Ripper? asks Max, as he slouches on the sofa at his friends house, reading though the classified ads in a local paper. When I dropped out of college I thought itd be really cool. Id finally have more time for, you know, thinking, surfing and working on my music. But now its like all about money. Everyones on my back, everyones asking for money or telling me to get a job.
Thats harsh, dude. replies Ripper as he tunes his guitar.
So I look into this job gig. Man, they, like, expect you to be there all day. All day! And they only pay you at the end of the week! Whats with that?
Ripper just shakes his head.
For a while Max keeps quietly reading the paper. Then something strikes his interest. Hey, how about this one? Test subject required for medical trial. Pays $500 for one days work.
Medical trials? asks Ripper sceptically.
From some outfit called Rubicon Ultra-human Research. You ever heard of them?
Yeah, Ive seen the RUR ads on TV. Apparently you go there, hand over loads of cash and they make you a superhero by bombarding you with atomic radiation and stuff.
So
says Max slowly as a thought slowly materialises in his addled brain, what youre saying is that if I go for this medical trial, I get 500 bucks and become a superhero? Awesome! Thats even cooler than being in a band.
I dont know. Dude, there is bound to be a catch. says Ripper in serious tone.
What catch? Man, youre problem is that youre just too negative, Ripper. This is it, I can feel it, this is gonna be my big break! Im going, like, now.
Ripper just shakes his head and goes back tuning this guitar.
Flashback: Oxford University, November 1989
Professor Rossum knocks on the office door of Oxford University’s Vice-Chancellor and walks straight in. “You wanted to see me Vice-Chancellor?”
“Ah Rossum, come in have a seat.” The Vice-Chancellor unusually has a small TV set on his desk that is tuned to a news channel. “Isn’t it wonderful?” he asks.
“I’ve seen better TV sets.” Replies Rossum, dismissively.
“Not the TV, The Wall. They are tearing down the Berlin Wall!”
“Whatever for?” asks Rossum.
“So the divided people of East and West Berlin can- oh nevermind, why even waste my breath? Look professor there is no easy way of saying so I shall cut to the chase. The University has no longer any use for you.”
Russom mulls over this for a few instants. “Is this about the rowing team?”
“Yes it is about the bloody rowing team! In what twisted deranged parallel universe is the notion of subjecting the entire Oxford rowing team an intense treatment of Gamma radiation considered acceptable behaviour?”
“I wanted us to beat Cambridge in this year boat race.”
“By cheating?”
“Strictly speaking radiation is not listed as a banned substance.” explains Rossum calmly.
“Setting aside the ethics of it for the moment, have you any idea of the risks you exposed the students to?”
“Yes.”
“And to crown it all. Did it even work? Did we win the boat race?” shouts the Vice-Chancellor, red in his face with anger.
“No. Actually we started very strongly and took the lead. And then the Oxford boat began to sink. Apparently the treatment did not just increase our rowers’ strength but also their mass. The harder they rowed, the heavier they got and in the end the boat just sank. Live and learn.”
“Living and learning are two things you won’t be doing here anymore, Professor. The boat race was last straw. Or need I remind you of the levitating Belgian incident or mutant pig choir fiasco? I thought not. Pack your stuff I want you out by the end of the day.”
As a dejected Russum leaves the Vice-Chancellor’s office, a flaming red Bentely drives up to him. A dashing young man in a red business suit and matching bow tie
steps out and calls “Professor Rossum if I could have a minute of your time? My name is Dr Tasman. I was at the boat race. I saw your work there and I have an business proposition for you.”
A tall blonde woman is lead by the prison warden into the visiting room of Highgate Maximum Security Penitentiary. Inside, sitting on the other side of the small table and hiding behind a pile of papers are Dr Tasman and Professor Russom.
"You are Nadia Falkenberg?”asks Dr Tasman without looking up from his notes.
“Yes I am.”
“ Aka the Scarlet Sabre, former Nemesis operative captured June last year by the PPD on Peregrine Island."
"I was not captured. I turned myself in." Nadia corrects him.
"My notes just say you were arrested."
"Arrested yes, but I was never caught. There is a difference."
"I am Dr Tasman,” he says, finally looking up from his papers. “And this here is Professor Rossum. We have come here to offer you a job.”
“That is very amusing Dr Tasman. Unfortunately, as you may see,” says Nadia, indicating her bluish grey prison gown, “I seem to have a prior engagement for the next seven years.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” says Dr Tasman with a devilish smile. “We pulled a few string and here. Here’s the deal, if you agree to work for us, you could be out today. On probation, you understand. There would be some string attached, but you’d be out in the real world.”
“I’m listening.” Replies Nadia non-committedly.
Dr Tasman turns to Professor Russom. “Professor?”
“Tasman and I run a business called Rubicon Ultra-human Research – RUR for short. "
"You might have noticed our recent adverts in the back pages of many comic books or on selected stations along the Green and Yellow Lines," offers Dr Tasman. Nadia just glares at him.
"We offer," continues Rossum, "paying customers a wide range of ultra-human power realisation treatments, from controlled radiation exposure, genetic manipulation, chemical baths and cybernetic enhancements.”
“Or as our slog puts it,” adds Dr Tasman, “You can be a superhero too!”
"This is a terrible idea," remarks the Scarlet Sabre flatly.
"On the contrary, it’s about democracy, empowerment and equal opportunity. Think about it, how unfair is it that only those few chosen by accident or fate should be able to transcend everyday human limitations? If someone wants to be able to fly or punch through a wall, why shouldn't science provide an answer?" replies Rossum.
"Assuming they can pay of course." states Nadia.
"Well naturally." admits Dr Tasman. “We are not a charity after all.”
"What do you want from me?"
"Thanks to Professor's Russom scientific genius we can endow our customers with amazing abilities. The trouble is, the average Joe has not idea how to use these powers. We need someone with field experience who can train them. All part of the RUR service, you understand.”
Nadia shakes her head. “No, that is not it. You would not go to so much trouble just for a trainer. You read my file. You know Nemesis experimented on me and you want to study me, learn from what Nemesis did to me”
"Well of course it would help speed up our research no end if we could compare our research with that of Nemesis has been conduction in parallel with us,” admits Russom a little sheepishly.
“But there training is important too," interject Dr Tasman. “Not all of our customers are, shall we say, of, natural born action heroes. Ultimately it would reflect poorly on our company is our clients were to consistently under-perform in the field.”
“Very well, I will take your deal if for no other reason that it the best offer I have had all morning, or in last six months. But let me just say this for the record; you are both idiots, this project of yours truly is a terrible idea and it will end badly.”
"Would you like to have your groceries delivered at home ma'am? We have a one minute delivery service."
The manager smiled his best smile at the old lady who was paying for her weekly supply of food, drinks and more.
"Oh, that would be wonderful," said the old woman, "but I live thirty miles from here."
"Thats no problem for Edward Barket Supermarket. We deliver your frozen food frozen, and your fresh food fresh, all in under one minute."
"No charge?"
"Ma'am, this is our way to say 'Thank you for shopping at Barkets'"
The old woman looked at her sales slip.
"I guess you should be grateful for any customers with the prices you charge for lobster."
"Ma'am, this lobster was stil swimming in the ocean half an hour ago."
Now the old lady looked at the manager to see if he was hit by a sunstroke.
"Young man, I may be an old lady, but I know perfectly well the nearest ocean is seven hundres miles from here! I'm not senile yet!"
Edward started to sweat. This happened a lot. He should learn not to bragg so much about his 'special' employee.
"I'm sorry ma'am, i'll call the delivery boy."
"VICTOR!!"
A man, in his mid-thirties, with a three day old beard appeared at the supermarkets entrance.
"Yes mister Barket?"
"A delivery. Where do you live ma'am?"
"5300 Hilltop road, that's close to the national park."
"Victor, you heard the lady."
"Yes boss."
The man named Victor picked up the groceries, grinned a bit uneasy and vanised.
Twenty second later he was back.
"Here are your new keys ma'am."
"New keys? what new keys?"
"I forgot to ask for your keys, and when i got to your home I had to force the lock of your front door to put the groceries in your fridge. Afterwards i replaced the lock, so.. here's your new keys."
"You boke a lock again??" Edward Barket yelled; "That's coming of your salaly this month!"
Victor sighed, shrugged and stepped outside in the soaring heat.
Then, in the parking lot a vintage red Bently drived past him, stopped and was put in reverse. when the car stopped next to him the window was lowered and a bold man in a red suit took down his sunglasses ald looked at Victor.
"Mr Linear? Victor Linear? That's a coincidence!"
"Do we know each other? " said Victor
"Not yet Victor, but that'l change soon. I'm looking for some motivated superheroes who would be willing to work as instructor for a new branch of our company in Paragon City."
"realy?"
"Another night, another warehouse to guard." says the Nemesis Hussar to his Jaeger combat robot companion as they patrol the warehouse .
"Tweep-brr-beep-boop." goes the robot.
"Knock it off." Says the Hussar. "For the last time you are not really an R2 unit."
"Well you are not really a Hussar." Retorts the Jaeger robot petulantly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Last time I checked hussars are light cavalry. I've never seen you even near a horse, Bob."
"Oh yeah, well at least I'm not made up of vacuum cleaner parts."
"Come on, let's not fight, Bob." pleads the robot.
"No, let's." corrects a third voice, from above.
The hussar looks up to see the form of the Scarlet Saber crouched on the top of stack of crates. "Oh crud." he says.
Moments later The Scarlet Saber actives her com unit."Dr Tasman, this is Nadia. The warehouse is clear and I have located the crates you are looking for. They appear to contain Nemesis battle suits."
"Very good Scarlet. Keep guard while I'll have a crew come and collect them."
"Dr Tasman, forgive me, but I am familiar with this battle suit design. It is an obsolete model. It was always defective."
"That might be my dear Scarlet, but seriously doubt the average RUR customer can tell the difference."
Nadia shuts down her com unit. "I am working for idiots." she tells herself.
Nadia Falkenberg, better known as the Scarlet Sabre walks up to Dr Tasman’s desk an unceremoniously slams a petty cash claim form on his desk.
“Sign,” she says.
“Nadia dear, what is this?”
“Dry cleaner bill. Sign please.”
Dr Tasman puts his glasses away. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“You send me on a job in a sewer, you pay for the dry cleaners.”
“Nadia, that is not how things work here.”
“It is now,” she states flatly.
Dr Tasman weights his options and then complies. “Very well, but please don’t tell the others.” He returns the signed form to her. “I bet Nemesis were never such a soft touch.”
“No. Which is why I don’t work for them anymore,” she replies with the slightest hint of a smile.
RoboMD settled the duffelbag on his shoulder as he stepped of the USS Santa Maria, and back onto the firm concrete of Independence Ports pier. The sun shone down on the swaying sea, the seagulls wheeled above in hungry harmony, and RoboMD was back to the only home he knew. The customs man had only given him a seconds careful scrutiny before waving him through; A robot aint a man, hed said, And youve got no customs duty due, robot. One careful owner, says your log, and I can see thats just not true. But I know your name, and Ive seen your face, so sonny walk on through.
Once past the tiny customs building and out onto the dirty streets, Robo scanned the city sky, and counted the capes that flew against the azure sky. His metal heart paced faster as he recognized a few. But the time had passed for fighting crime, and he knew that heroics were no longer something he could do. To fix the wrongs this world contained would take more than winning a desperate battle or two. Its knowledge that will change mankind, thought Robo, not mighty feats of derring-do.
Send No Money Now, the advert said, A Super can be you! The fliers English was deplorable, but its intention rang true. Robo made his appointment with Professor Rossum with minutes to spare, and walked right into the office to share his secret plan, his hands tight around the duffelbags strap, the fragile cargo safely packed.
Ive heard of you, the professor said, Good bot, how do you do?
Fine sir, replied our alloyed friend, Id like to work with you. I want to help you fix those human flaws that heroes have surpassed. I believe that once everyones a super, then lasting world peace is sure to come fast.
Ahem coughed Rossum, overtaken by a sudden fit, Ahem, A-ha, Harum. He wheezed heavily, before taking his glasses from his face and wiping them with a crumpled handkerchief hed stashed in his brown tweed jacket. Then nith a good natured smile he continued, You know, maybe its true. In fact - Im sure of it! With your good help well cure the world of violence and greed. And even make some money. To invest in charity. Of course.
RoboMD inclined his head to counter the incredulity he believed he detected in Rossums tone.
Sir, through my experimentation in genetic stimulation, I have made a combination of mutating radiation with the magic vegetation that has special connotation to shamanic transformation in of the secret tribes of farthest Burundi.
With these words the trusty robot extracted several delicate clay pots from the duffel bag he had carefully placed beside his chair. Carefully he selected one of the smallest size, the one with a delightful blue covering of tanned astragurdian lizard, and carefully unsealing the contents of the pot produced the oily cream inside. Professor Rossum leaned much closer, and made to try the ointment. Our Robo hastily pulled the jar away and admonished him.
Its a cream, my dear professor, made some special radiation, it will cause a slight mutation, and allow the human to commune with every living plant. Also, beneficially, if used a bit judiciously, its slow alimentation will affect the pigmentation of the skin and allow the human body to survive without much food. Sunlight will be nourishing enough!
Hurrah cried the professor, Obesity is cured! Ill call our man in marketing to help design our packaging. Our clients will be lean, mean, photosynthesizing machines!
Err, no offence my good Robot. he added, hoping he had not slurred the kindly robot.
None taken sir. So, can I stay? asked our hero, looking around for a suitable place to start his work.
But of course. Please, walk this way." Rossum took the robots arm in hand, and lead him solicitously to his lab as if he were leading his dear old Nan.
"Now, old chap, have you thought of a name for it? How about Rossum and Robos Rejuvenator? Doesnt it have a certain ring to it?
"A super can be you..."
Dr Tasman turned around his executive chair and faced the man who was standing on the other side of the desk.
"A super can be you.... Do you have any idea how much effort is put into getting this branch running?"
Although he stil had a smile on his face, a vein on his forehead was throbbing.
"I'm sorry sir. The english is not the language that is easy sir."
"So.. would you like to learn to speak better English?"
"Oh yes sir. English is good for my improve skill."
"Good. Don't let RUR get in your way then. You are fired. Good luck with your study."
Dr Tasman pushed a button. Immediately a door opened and two men wearing black suits entered the room.
"Please escort mr Slaigowitch outside. He is not working for us anymore."
After the ex-employee was led out Tasman pushed another button.
"yes dr tasman?" said a female voice.
"Irma, could you find out how much time and money it costs to replace all billboards from our newest campaign?
Oh, and before you reply, please make sure I like the answer.."
Dr Tasman pats Professor Rossum on the back, a broad smile on his face. "Well done Rossum! This could be huge."
"Thank you, these X-Ray vision glasses do look promising, despite some of the side-effects" replies Rossum, nodding to himself. "I am rather brilliant."
"No, I meant signing up RoboMD."
"Who? Oh right, that robot with the cream."
"By Jove my man, have you never heard of RoboMD? He is a legitimate hero, used to be active in Paragon City a few years back. He was a member of Dawn Patrol, for goodness sake, that is like superhero royalty."
Rossum just shrugs uninterested. "If you say so."
"Don't you see Russum? This is could be our big break, this gives us a whole new level of validation. I mean, look who we've got so far working for RUR. The Scarlet Sabre is impressive enough, but she used to be one of the bad guys and she really is not very good with the public. Dynamo Jack is relic from days long gone, and even even in his day he was never that big. And that teleporting boy? He's a good kid and all, but frankly no one has ever heard of him. And those are the good ones.
"RoboMD is different, he is the real thing. I want RoboMD out there in the field stopping crimes and making headlines. Then we will plaster his face all over our adverts. If that doesn't bring in customers, nothing will."
"I can see a problem with that, Tasman. I got the distinct impression the robot was more interested in doing scientific research."
"Then indulge him my dear professor. Give him everything he needs, but it's imperative also gets out there and also does some high profile crime fighting. The future of our company could well depend on this."
"And not the X-Ray vision glasses?"
(Memo to Professor Rostum, in his pigeon hole)
Dear Prof. Rossum,
I would like to note, on the record, my dissatisfaction at being assigned to fight crime and patrol the streets of Paragon City, especially as it seems you have assigned me mainly to patrol the streets of the West End, which far from being dens of crime and iniquity seem to be home to the rich and famous, not to mention their attendant throngs of paparazzi. Why, I must have been photographed at least 50 times in the last hour of my patrol last night.
Let me thank you, at least, for the RUR branded promotional cape you gave me as I have been able to protect my delicate optics by holding it up just before a picture is snapped. Your thoughtfulness is sincerely appreciated.
To conclude, it seems to me that I am completely redundant, as Ms. Sabre is more than capable of handling any major criminal activity that occurs, and in general does a salutory job at it. It would seem far more sensible if she could go on doing her thing, and I could go about doing mine.
Also, we need more ceramic pots and potting soil. Some sort of enclosure for the venutian flytraps would be useful too, as their teeth are getting sharp.
Robo, MD
"Mad Prof Turned My Baby Into a Pot Plant!"
The mother of Aimee Foster, a young college student, made a spectacular accusation Wednesday against "Professor Russum's Wonder Cream", the latest product from Rubicon Ultra-human Research (RUR). Russum, who is a well-known figure on the citys park benches, where he sleeps rough following the withdrawal of funding for his controversial experiments, is accused of selling a mail-order "superhero" cream from the back pages of comic books.
"My baby tried on Professor Russums cream thinking it was her regular brand of moisturizer, and it mutated her into some sort of plant-girl freak!" weeped the hysterical woman, as she showed the amazing Before and After pictures below.
Apparently, it was her boyfriend, Mr Barkings, that had ordered the cream. He has since dumped Ms Foster with these harsh, but fair words: "I can get it on with a pot plant any day I choose." Mr Barkings works at a garden centre.
Professor Russum was unavailable for comment. An RUR spokesperson made the following comment: "Its all lies. Apart from the sleeping rough on park benches part."
Irma knocks on Dr Tasmans door softly. "I have the results of the latest clinical trials, sir.
Lets see. Remind me Irma, which trials were these?
Professor Rossums active neutrino chemical bath RUR#32301-d. The subjects, 100 in total, were immersed in compound for up to 24 hours while selected theme songs from popular 80s TV shows were played to them in a loop."
"Oh that trial. So what was the outcome."
"Usual side minor effects; dizziness, nausea, stomach cramps, short-term memory loss, hair loss, teeth loss, finger nail loss, paranoia, depression, temporary blindness."
Okay, okay. Any positives?"
Irma hands Tasman three files. "These are the most promising ones from this batch. Candidate 1: Melissa Goldsmith, aged 43 housewife, code name 'Monochrome Girl'."
"And her ability?"
"Photo-chromatic negation."
Tasman stares blankly at his secretary.
"She drains colour. Anything she touches turns temporarily black and white."
Dr Tasman scowls. "What good is that to me? Who is going to spend money for that ability? Send her home. Who else?"
"Candidate 2: Aslo Witt, 30 years old, accountant, code name 'Triclops'."
"Aslo?"
Irma just shrugs.
Tasman inspects the photograph. "He has a third eye on his forehead? Is that perhaps an indication of psychic abilities?"
"Not quite, sir. It allows him to watch 3d movies without wearing special glasses. Apparently it makes Avatar even better."
Tasman sighs. "Send him home. Next."
"There is only one more positive. Candidate 3: Maxwell Curtis, aged 22, unemployed, code name 'The Blue Max'."
"What can he do?"
"Rudimentary flight and energy projection."
"Flight? Energy projection? And you leave him last?"
Rudimentary flight and energy projection, sir, very rudimentary. However Professor Rossum thinks that with time and further treatments it might improve.
So whats the problem?
"Sir, on paper the Blue Max might seem the best of this lot, but sir, his attitude is all wrong. He is irresponsible, totally undisciplined and has the attention span of a gnat who stayed up all night drinking."
"I don't care, sign him up. Well pair with up Nadia."
"The Scarlet Sabre? Are you sure sir?"
"Yes. Hopefully some of that Prussian discipline will rub off on him."
"She won't like this, sir."
"I know Irma. She never does."
Max bursts into his friend’s living room. "Yo Ripper! I got it! I got the job. I'll be a superhero," he announces excitedly. “And my partner is this really hot chick, Scarlet something. I think she digs me.”
"Awesome man, that awesome."
And look at this, I'm flying!"
Ripper regards his friend as he clumsily floats a few inches above the ground. "Far out," he says, nodding appreciatively.
"That's not all. Check this out." Max extends his arm and concentrates for a moment. A blast of pure energy erupts from his hands and hit's Bob television set. The TV explodes in millions of fragments.
"Dude, that was my TV!" cries Ripper in distress. He falls to his knees next to the remains of his television.
"Gee, sorry Ripper, I was aiming at the fish tank."
"My TV,” whimpers Rupper.
"Look, I'm sorry okay. Once the money starts coming in from this superhero gig, I'll get you a new one; a better one."
Ripper shakes his head. "You don't get it, do you? Just because you can hover 10 inches above the ground and shoot lasers from you butt, it doesn’t make you superdude. You think when the Statesman visits his friends he trashes their audio/video equipment?"
And at that moment, for the first time, Max felt that he might just be out of his depth.
Unfortunately the thought did not last very long.
"So Ripper, wanna grab some pizza? "
Nighttime in Steel Canyon. The Scarlet Sabre, having being charged by Dr Tasman to train up The Blue Max, leads her student quietly through one of the district's rougher neighbourhoods.
"So where we going?" asks Max. "Somewhere fun?"
"Be quiet and just follow me," she replies curtly.
"To the ends of the Earth babe, as long as it's me and you."
The Scarlet Sabre scowls. Effortlessly leaps over a tall wire fence and crouches behind a rubbish skip. When Max finally catches up with her she whispers to him. "There," indicating a group of burly, green-skinned men. "Do you see those men? They are Trolls."
"I know. I've heard about Trolls," protests Max. "I'm not stupid, you know."
"No, of course you are not. Now listen to me carefully. I want to stand up and challenge that group of Trolls. Show me what you are made of."
Max looks at the group of Trolls. "All of them?" he asks bewildered. "You sure? They look kinda tough."
The Scarlet Sabre nods. "Nonsense. You can take them Max."
"Well if you say so babe." says Max with a grin. "So I guess it's Max time!"
Moments later the Scarlet Sabre walks up to the bruised and broken figure of the Blue Max lying still on the ground.
"Urgh.. I am in so much pain,” complains Max. Then he adds with an accusing tone, "You...you said I could take them,"
"Yes"
"But it wasn't even close. I mean, I never even stood a chance, did I?"
"No."
"Then why the hell did you.. oh I get it," Max says brightly. "This is some sort of kung-fu Zen lesson, like I had to taste bitter defeat to learn how to master my fears or something. You know, 'wax on, wax off' stuff."
"Yes. That is exactly it; wax on, wax off. Now lay still Max a while I will call an ambulance for you."
"Cool," says Max as he passes out.
Dr Tasman stands by the window in his office looking out. "I am very disappointed with you Nadia," he says to the Scarlet Sabre without turning to face her. "I ask you to take the Blue Max on a simple training mission and now he's in the hospital, out of commission for the next two weeks. How could you let this happen? I thought you were a professional."
"Max is an idiot and I was bored." explains the Scarlet Sabre coolly.
"Be that as it may, he is our idiot. If RUR is to succeed as a business, if we are ever make any money out of this venture we need to the show the public that we can create viable superheroes."
"Like Max?"
"Yes, like Max. He is a blaster and a flyer; people love that.
"Max is not a viable hero. Frankly, he is not a viable anything."
"Then it's your job change that. But I guess that will have to wait now until he recovers. Tasman turns around and smiles broadly. No matter. Fortunately Im always two steps ahead of the game." With that Tasman heads to the small closet in his office, takes out a shrink-wrapped package hands it to the Scarlet Sabre. "Take this," he says.
Nadia cautiously opens the package and unfolds a black, full body suit. "What is this?" she asks.
"It's your new costume."
"No, it is not."
Dr Tasman continues undeterred. "This is a motion capture suit. The entire suit is covered by tiny sensors that record and transmit ever move you make. Tonight you'll go out and find some more Trolls, a lot of them, something truly impressive. Youll put up a heroic fight and then take a dive. Meanwhile we will film the entire thing and then in post-production replace your image with that of the Blue Max. Im thinking about throwing in a puppy or some orphans for pathos. Finally we will upload it to Youtube making it look like footage some bystander caught with his cell phone and presto, we this unfortunate incident becomes an act of noble self-sacrifice for Max and a great PR opportunity for us."
"So we are faking video footage now, Doctor? Have you considered robbing a bank instead? It would be simpler and much more honest."
Back at King's Row Memorial hospital Max has a visitor.
"Hello Maxie."
"Hey Gwen."
"I still cannot believe this, my little brother a superhero." She regards Max covered in a full body cast. "Albeit not a very successful one it appears."
"Yeah. I guess you must think it was dumb thing to do. Typical Max, right?"
"No, actually I'm rather impressed. You are actually doing something substantial, something meaningful rather than just talking about it. Mom on the other hand is less impressed."
"I know, she was here earlier."
"So how did you even get started, Max?"
"I saw this advert on paper. There is this company, RUR. They are, like, researching ways to turn regular people into superheroes for a fee."
"Huh, interesting."
"Yeah, they got a whole bunch of different programmes; top scientists, weirdo mystics, martial arts experts. The even have this room full of brains in jars which is totally creepy."
"I assume this service doesn't come cheap."
"Hell no, but I got lucky. I managed to get in on a clinical trial. They even paid me 500 bucks."
"Huh, interesting."
"Everyone else in my test totally washed out, treatment didn't take or something. Me, I became the Blue Max. And now they've hired me full time. They are like forming a superhero group out of us RUR success stories to, like, fight crime and stuff."
"Sounds like a publicity stunt."
"Yeah, I guess. Still pretty far out, right? Anyway, how about you? How's things?"
"Not great. I started my final year project for Art School. It's an urban performance art piece, but something is missing. I can't seem to find a theme; something that brings it all together and makes it feel relevant. But you know, you might have just given me an idea. Thanks Maxie."
"Seriously? asks Max. Cool! Glad to help. I guess this superhero stuff is really working for me."
Gwen Curtis sits in Dr Tasman's office. She wears a smart business suit and carries with her an artist portfolio folder.
"Ms Curtis," says Dr Tasman, "Before we start I should advise you that RUR is not liable any injuries sustained by your brother the Blue Max as part of his job. He signed a waiver on joining us."
"Good to know, but that is not why I am here."
"Oh?" says Tasman, brightening up. "Then how is it I can help you?"
"I am an art student. As part of my final year project, I've created the persona of the Neon Spiral."
"Neon Spiral?"
Gwen reaches for her portfolio and takes out a few newspaper clippings; nothing more than the odd paragraph and small references here and there to a female masked vigilante.
Tasman chuckles. "I guess crimefighting runs in the family."
"The project is meant to be a conceptual piece of urban performance art, part dance part social critique. Comicbook art made flesh in a genuine life and death struggle. Unfortunately as is the Neon Spiral persona isn't working," continues Gwen. "She is not complete. I will need your company's assistance to make the perfect the concept."
"Well, you have come to the right place. Currently we are getting excellent results from the Rossum Wonder Cream -"
"No, that is not it. This is what I want." Gwen takes out a series of drawings from her portfolio. They depict a neon bright round shield of pure energy.
"One second please." Tasman calls in his secretary. "Irma, can you get Professor Rossum?"
The meeting carries on for another twenty minutes as Gwen describes in great detail how she expects the energy shield to work and look while Rossum takes notes and asks questions.
"So can you build it? she asks at last.
"Yes, I think we can, right Professor."
"Absolutely." confirms Rossum.
"But it is not going to be cheap." adds Tasman.
"I can't pay for it. But I am willing to serve in your supergroup for a year, like for Max is."
"It is not that simple Ms Curtis. You see Max we need, he is one of a kind. But if we were to develop this energy shield, why would we give it to you, an unproven art student rather than one of our own people - someone with real powers and a real track record."
"I can fight." says Gwen. "You saw the newspapers.
Tasman smiles indulgently. "Sorry."
Gwen, red in her face, starts to put away her sketches. Then suddenly she adds, "There is one think I can give you that no one else can."
"Oh yes?"
"I can keep Max in line. You may have noticed, he is not exactly dependable."
Tasman pauses to consider this. "Okay, let's do this. Well get the Scarlet Sabre to evaluate your general fitness and fighting skills. If she green-lights you, we'll consider your offer."
"Thank you Dr Tasman."
"Oh don't thank me. I think you will find the Scarlet Sabre is a harsh judge."
Professor Rossum is on his break, doing the crossword puzzle as is his habit, when his phone rings. Rossum looks at the phone curiously. "A phone call? For me? Most irregular." Daintily he picks up the receiver and says, "Hello?"
"Professor Rossum?"
"Yes, who am I speaking with?"
"I better leave real names out of this conversation, capisce. You can call me Mr E"
"Mystery?"
"No, Mr E. Sort of like 'Mister Ed' but without the 'd' at the end."
"Oh. Mister Ed, I do miss that show. Talking horses, whatever next? Very well Mr E it is. You in turn may call me Oppenheimer."
"Swell. Look professor, I know what you is doing and I think I can help ya."
"How very kind of you, but I usually can manage the crosswords on my own."
"Crosswords? What Crosswords? No, I mean help ya with the whole turning people into superheroes with the plant cream stuff."
"The Rossum Wonder Cream?"
"Yeah. Bingo. You ever heard of the Unity Plague, Rossum?"
"Oppenheimer."
"Sure, whatever. Well have you?"
"Yes, naturally. The Unity Plague was a biological contaminant created by the Devouring Earth to mutate human beings into, well, more Devouring Earth."
"That be the one. Ya see, my partner and I just happen to have a sample of the Unity Plague, you interested?"
"Absolutely! Who wouldn't be?"
"Great. The thing is, it's gonna cost you 10 million."
Rossum searches his pockets. "I only have 20."
"20 million? That's good too." replies Mr E enthusiastically.
"No, twenty dollars."
"What are you, some sort of wise guy Rossum?"
"Oppenheimer."
"Yeah, sure."
"How about this Mr E, why don't you call me back tomorrow? Meanwhile I'll ask around the office and see if I can borrow the rest"
*Click*
Back in the abandoned warehouse Mr E's partner says. "Told ya we should have just called Nemesis."
It was a Saturday morning like many others. Little Billy sat in the living room watching cartoons as was his habit. He didnt particularly like the cartoon series currently showing but he stoically sat through it anyway as though it were his duty, lazily flipping through an old comic book at the same time.
And then suddenly something come on the screen that caught his attention fully. It was an advert, not for toys but for something infinitely more interesting to little Billy.
Mom? Billy shouted, You know the money Aunt Louise gave me for Christmas?