Up, Up and Away

WARNING: What you are about to read is the second part in the Guardians' promo series this week; you may want to turn back for the moment and check out the first part, Bonnie Blue's "Guardians, Assemble!"  But hey- what do I know.  I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life.  You read things in any order you choose, friend; it's your right as a person living in the free world who also happens to be literate.  And make no mistake about it: we Guardians love you for your literacy.  We'd stuff these promos full of cool pictures and stuff but none of us can draw for shit so you're stuck with lots and lots of words.  From the bottom of our hearts, thanks for letting us put our words inside of you.  We hope it's as good for you as it is for us.

-B.

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[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the exterior. We see the snows of the Rockies, still mostly unmelted; amidst the white of the snow and the green of the evergreen trees we see a slate grey blast door molded into the side of a hill. Near the blast door, there is a large wooden sign reading "NO TRESPASSING - CRYOGENIX HEADQUARTERS". We hear the sound of the blast doors opening; the klaxon horn echoes through the peaks of the mountains. A few moments later, we hear the sound of feet crushing snow... we see the sign jerked up from the ground by two hands, covered in paint. There is a brief huff of air; we see the condensation of a cloud of breath pass before us. We then see another sign being angled into place, stuck in the hole left by the sign before it; in blue paint, this sign simply reads "PROJECT: ANTARCTICA - GUARDIANS TERRAN HEADQUARTERS". Our view tilts up; we see the Polar Phantasm wearing a blue sweatsuit covered in splotches of blue and white paint. In his hand he holds the old 'Cryogenix HQ' sign, which he slings over his shoulder; he takes a long look out at the compound's topside view, soaking it all in again.]

Phantasm: Fuckin' a.

[He heads back to the blast door; it opens with a cacophony of noise, just as it was designed to do during the Cold War by its creators in the US Military. We watch Polar toss the old sign in a corner of the subterranean tunnel; he heads toward a piece of artwork on an interior wall. Our view follows; we see that the Phantasm has painted something on the inside of the compound... a haiku. He smiles, viewing his handiwork...]

Phantasm: A poem by the Polar Phantasm.

[As Polar walks away, our view focuses on those seventeen syllables, arranged just so:]

Fear not the darkness
in blackest night there will be
we Guardians three

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"Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?
Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?
We could float among the stars together, you and I
For we can fly..." -The Fifth Dimension, Up, Up and Away

Born in the future, destined for glory in the past; her entire culture was wiped from existence in the blink of an eye. As a founding member of the Guardians, and with the aid of a wisecracking humanoid cat and a cybernetic Hank Brown, she uses her time traveling Ranchero to help defend the Metaverse and the UCI, the importance of which is as yet unknown. Time waits for no man, but it obeys one woman... THE DAUGHTER OF TIME, BONNIE BLUE!

Some would call him unconventional. Some would say eccentric. Still others would prefer the term insane. But one word they would all agree on is dangerous. How else would you describe a man who claims to have traveled through time, across dimensions, fought literal gods, and lived to tell the tale? Such may sound like utter nonsense, but that's just another day in the absurd life of future UCI World Champion, and founding Guardians member... THE OMEGA MAN, JAY OMEGA!

Born with genius intelligence, his parents thought he might become a doctor or a lawyer; to everyone's surprise, all the Kid wanted to do was wrestle. Breaking into the business as a teenager, he worked his way up to the bigtime as Kid Phantasm. Now a father and (more importantly) a grown ass man, he has joined the UCI! A legendary figure in wrestling circles, he is feared by villains everywhere- he's the strategic mind behind The Guardians... he is THE POLAR PHANTASM!

[Fresh from the formation of their unit, the three Guardians begin seeking answers to questions any action-hero squad would ask themselves... questions like "Hey, what's up with us not being able to get to the Rock of Ages?" or "Where the hell do we live, anyway?" or my personal favorite, "Is this Nikola Tesla guy for real?" Yes, gentle readers- Nikola Tesla is very real... at least, in this friggin' universe he is. What, you want realism? The non-fiction section is that way, Jack. This is a Guardians promo; you're lucky these three aren't stuck in some sort of two-dimensional reality where they come off looking like unused sprites from Paper Mario.]

[To the Phantasm's delight, his team has accepted his proposal to make Project: Antarctica, former headquarters of Polar's now-defunct special ops team Cryogenix, the Guardians' base here on...well, Planet Earth, we can assume. But as is often the case when a new team moves into an old team's space, there's some remodeling to be done... some reorganizing... and some upgrading of equipment, of course. At the time of its foundation as Cryogenix Headquarters (2013), the former cold-war missile base was at a technological level the Phantasm couldn't have imagined becoming obsolete for a lifetime... but, then again, Polar hadn't met friends like Bonnie Blue and Jay Omega then. One must wonder, then, what sort of 'office' these three will put together out there in the heights of the Rocky Mountains.]

[Though whatever their offices end up looking like, I think we can all agree- those three have got some pretty damn cool company cars.]


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POLAR PHANTASM #3: "Up, Up and Away"

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[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the hangar's service bay. We see a pair of legs clad in blue sweatpants sticking out from underneath an unmistakable emerald green Ford Ranchero; one can safely assume that the Phantasm is trying his hand at automotive maintenance, and what a sample patient he has chosen for such a task...! We hear the clinking of metal on metal, then the sound of a tool dropping to the hangar floor unceremoniously.]

Phantasm: Son of a-

[Via his wrist computer, Polar hears the voice of Jay Omega echo through the small enclave within the massive hangar.]

Omega: Hey, Cam- where's the bathrooms in this joint?

[Polar grunts, climbing from beneath the one of a kind Ford classic. He wipes oil from his face and hands, most of it ending up in a shop rag (though a bit ends up on Polar's sweatshirt- apparently Polar's aim is only worth a damn when his accuracy is crucial).]

Phantasm: Where are you right now?

[There is a brief pause; Jay responds, sounding a bit speculative.]

Omega: I'm pretty sure that's the computer room over there; no, wait, that's... what the hell is that?

Phantasm: Giant blue oval, size of a starter home's kitchen? Input keypad about the size of a flatscreen TV?

Omega: Yeah, that's what I'm looking at.

Phantasm: That's the storage room we turned into a home for the dimensional portal Reb and I built back in the day-

Omega: Dimensional portal? That could be fun.

Phantasm: Could be- if the damn thing still worked.

[Omega laughs softly.]

Omega: Dude, I'll get Nicky on it- this is exactly the kinda shit he lives for.

[Polar looks confused momentarily.]

Phantasm: Nicky? ....oh, you mean Tesla! ...Nicky? Seriously?

Omega: Yeah, he loves it when I call him that. Don't let him fool you- that old bastard loves my ass.

Phantasm: Still, though- it's Nikola fucking Tesla, man! He's... shit, he's Nikola Tesla! That's a little familiar to be acting with a guy who's pretty much THE mad scientist, ain't it?

Omega: Whatever, man- it always worked for me, and that's what counts.

Phantasm: Eh, I guess you're right. Or close enough, anyway.

[Polar climbs back under the Ranchero, sighing as he tries to find anything familiar beneath the car's undercarraige.]

Omega: Hey... Polar.

Phantasm: Yeah, Jay?

Omega: Bathroom.

[Polar chuckles for a second.]

Phantasm: Shit, I forgot- next level up is the living quarters, there's a bunch of bathrooms on that level. There's another one up on the main level, around the corner from the conference room; there's a sign up there, can't miss it.

Omega: Alright, man- thanks for the heads up.

Phantasm: Hope everything comes out alright for you in there, man-

Omega: -I'll take a picture for you, so you don't miss it.

[The voice of Bonnie Blue chimes in, her melodious Southern drawl easing into this slowly denegrating conversation.]

Bonnie: Alright, you two- I'm pretty sure that fills our bathroom humor quota for this week.

Omega: Yeah, yeah- going silent on this end. Unless you want to hear this-

Phantasm: Pass.

Bonnie: Ugh, Jay-

Omega: Alright already! Omega Man out.

[There is a brief pause as Polar sizes up the uphill battle that he's taken on; he once again climbs from beneath the Ranchero, standing up and exhaling in a frustrated huff.]

Phantasm: Bonnie, you still there?

Bonnie: Yeah, I still got my ears on- what's up, Polar?

Phantasm: I'm up in the hangar's service bay, trying to service the Ranchero; uh, yeah. This thing is to a car what a Predator drone is to a radio-controlled toy plane. You do realize that, right? I can't even find where the damn oil comes out-

Bonnie: Well, it's actually not motor oil so much as- you got a non-reactive surface to use as a drip pan?

Phantasm: I...have a drip pan. Can I use that as a drip pan?

[She sighs audibly, her frustration coming through Polar's terminal's speaker loud and clear.]

Bonnie: Just- stay there, ok? I'll be right there.

Phantasm: And there's this one thing under here... shit, what is that? I can't tell if these are time machine parts or if you've got Sputnik wedged under your car.

Bonnie: Just- hey, Polar- don't touch anything until I get there, ok? Polar?

[Now standing a good fifteen feet away from the Ranchero, Polar gets a wicked smile on his face.]

Phantasm: Oh man, I wonder what this button does-

[His teammate's voice blasts through the wrist computer's speaker, her anxiety palpable.]

Bonnie: POLAR!

[He snickers, catching his breath briefly before his snicker devolves into a full-on belly laugh.]

Bonnie: Not funny, Cam.

Phantasm: Come on, Bonnie- it was at least a little funny.

Bonnie: Don't go messin' around with my Ranchero, Cam- you go pressin' buttons on that machine, we may not be able to come an' find you wherever you end up. Whenever, even.

[The voice of Jay Omega creeps back into their conversation.]

Omega: ...it was pretty funny, though.

Bonnie: JAY!

Omega: What? I give credit where credit's due. But seriously, Polar, don't press any buttons that make us have to chase your ass back to midevil times or something. I'm shit on horseback, my swordplay's rusty, and I can't seem to find Andre Jenson's phone number anywhere.

[We watch as Polar heads for the hangar door; as the automatic sliding door opens, Polar jumps a bit. Startling, indeed, is the visage of Nikola Tesla; especially when you weren't expecting anyone to be on the other side of a door... much less, you know, Nikola Tesla. Shaking himself from his startled state, the Phantasm tries to address the undisputed king of 'science for fuck's sake'.]

Tesla: Master Bankston, no need- the Ranchero is in perfectly good hands. You had no need to dirty yourself with this beautiful machine... such pleasures are mine to revel in!

[Tesla gives the Phantasm a wild-eyed stare, pausing briefly before cackling with mad laughter. As soon as he is out of Tesla's eyeline, the Phantasm turns directly toward us- he throws his hands wide, mouthing 'IT'S NIKOLA FUCKING TESLA' before pumping his fist with excitement.]

Tesla: I will need concentration, though- if you'd please. Your teammates should be nearby, perhaps in the conference area... yes?

[After a pregnant pause, Polar just shrugs. His voice sounds shaky, perhaps even a bit giggly as he responds.]

Phantasm: Whatever you say, Nikola Tesla.

[Tesla grunts slightly, perhaps in response... perhaps it's just a noise that people who've passed their hundredth birthday make. Either way, Polar simply turns away from Tesla and heads through the door, a look of childlike glee on his face. As he steps into the hallway outside of the hangar, the Phantasm looks over at a framed photo on the wall- it's a picture of seven people, one a very pregnant woman.]

Phantasm: Here's to you guys- to the team I let down so many years ago. To good friends who I talked into saving my ass with the ASA*...
(* - American Security Administration. -B.)

[Polar gets slightly emotional, his eyes watering a bit... his Tesla-induced glee seems to have been dispelled by the memories of what once was.]

Phantasm: Jay... Jeff... Frank... Steve... Corey... we were brothers, once. We were the best damn team I ever worked, bar none. And I fucked it all up.

[He reaches out a hand, angling toward touching the picture... he gives up halfway toward the photo, dropping his hand to his side sheepishly. He grumbles slightly, fixing his face into a gaze of determination.]

Phantasm: This time... this time is gonna be different. The world needed a Cryogenix in 2013. The world needs the Guardians today.

[He turns to walk away, but then bends his torso back around as if hesitant to say goodbye.]

Phantasm: I won't let you guys down again... ol' Kid P is gonna do y'all proud, just watch. Even you, Corey- you ol' grumpy mother fucker.

[From over his headset, the voice of Jay Omega breaks in.]

Omega: What about us, Polar?

[Bonnie Blue joins in, cementing Polar's embarassment.]

Bonnie: Yeah, you gonna do us proud, or is that just the ghosts in our cave that's gettin' that treatment?

[His face a bit red, Polar attempts to keep a cool head about things.]

Phantasm: Hey, guys? I know we haven't made a team rule about this, but- no making fun of each other for monologuing. Ok? New team rule. All in favor, say aye- Aye. The ayes have it. Stop laughing at me.

[The other two Guardians finally give up on their giggle fits; Omega attempts to respond, but has to catch his breath in a few big gulps before he can vocalize.]

Omega: No, that's a good rule. It's close enough to walking in on each other masturbating that I think we should avoid it at all costs.

Phantasm: Do we need to make a team rule about that, or can we just be considerate adults? I mean, we're in Colorado, my wife's in Nevada- I'm just sayin'.

Omega: There's a ton of room here- why not move your wife and kid...

Bonnie: Jay, the last thing we need in a decomissioned missile base fulla guns, explosives, 'n stuff built by Nikola Tesla is a three year old. Polar, why don'tcha just turn your headset off if you're havin' an introspective thoughtful moment or whatever? That just makes plain ol' sense to me.

Phantasm: 'Cause I wasn't planning to have a moment, Bonnie; moments are things that just happen. You just go with 'em, dig?

Bonnie: Oh, I dig... you jive turkey.

Phantasm: Say that to my face, monkey sucka! ...hey, where are you guys right now?

[Polar looks at his wrist computer's display; according to its internal mapping system, two heat signatures appear around him... one in front of him, one behind him.]

Omega: I'm in the sharpest closet in human history.

[Our view switches to that of Jay Omega; we see that he is standing in the middle of a walk-in closet completely drenched in implements of destruction, namely melee weapons - both blunt and sharp - of all shapes and sizes and countries of origin.]

Omega: This is more knives than Ron Popeil's sold in his whole life, Polar. Did you have a serial killer on your team or what?

[Polar chuckles.]

Phantasm: Nah, just a 'hands-on' specialist... didn't like guns much, but it never really mattered. You got him within 25, 30 feet of a guy, that guy's out. That was his weapons stash; the big one, at least.

[Omega looks over to see the initials 'CD' burned into a piece of wood, acting as this closet's mark of ownership. Jay nods to himself, recognizing the man's style immediately.]

Omega: As dangerous as he is with his bare hands... shit, I wouldn't want to be on the other end of Corey and this katana.

[Jay stares for a second at a 3' long daikatana, noticing the wear on the handle and some fairly epic scratch marks on the steel itself.]

Phantasm: Price got pretty deadly throwing knives, too, once we got rolling... and when we could keep him sober, you know.

[Bonnie Blue breaks in, sounding a bit confused.]

Bonnie: I was trying to get to the hangar, but I wandered into this lab... at least, I think it's a lab...

[Our view switches to that of Bonnie Blue; we see that she's standing in what might be the strangest laboratory in any government facility (decommissioned or otherwise) in the United States. Paint, mostly in flourescent colors, is swirled about on the walls and blasted(?) onto the ceiling... enough plastic explosive to break into Fort Knox ten times over lies on a massive black laboratory workstation, a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun hung by its strap off the back of the worn wooden office chair that served as this room's occupant's seat. Bonnie looks over to her right and picks up a curiosity from a counter; the item is easily identifiable as a grenade, though homemade in origin... what she's having trouble piecing together is just exactly what the glowsticks embedded in the device are for.]

Phantasm: Paint everywhere, lots of explosives? Huge wall-sized stereo?

[Bonnie looks behind her to see that the wall next to the laboratory's door is, for the most part, sound system. A bumper sticker reading 'DEATH TO ALL BOUDLES' is affixed to the wall next to the massive right speaker; "da FUNK" is written in flourescent paint on the side of the speaker, "FPV" written in large letters beneath it.]

Bonnie: I'm in FPV's explosives lab, aren't I.

[Through her headset, the Phantasm responds.]

Phantasm: Yes indeed- Jay, tell her what she's won!

Omega: A bath. I'm gonna guess a bath- at least a decontamination shower.

Phantasm: I shouldn't have to tell you not to put anything you find in there in your mouth-

Bonnie: Be serious, y'all- there's some weird stuff in here. What's with the grenades with the flourescent paint in 'em?

Phantasm: Oh, shit- Frank's glowstick grenades! He rolled those out for our first Cryogenix mission. Good times, man.

[Bonnie puts the 'glowstick grenade' back in its original resting place, instinctively dusting her hands off. She then notices that a slight amount of glowstick fluid has seeped from the explosive, covering her hands in a thin film of bright orange.]

Bonnie: Ugh- Damnit, Frank!

[Try as he might, the Phantasm cannot control his laughter.]

Bonnie: What? Did I say somethin'?

Phantasm: Nothing, just... oh, man. "Damnit, Frank" was practically the team's motto... at least it felt like that sometimes, especially if you listened to Corey. Say what you will about FPV... the man's a goddamn artist. I mean, his medium's chaos, but still...

[Polar pauses for a second, then his voice drops in volume as if he's speaking to a memory.]

Phantasm: ...heh. Frank, you crazy bastard-

Bonnie: Got this damn glowstick paint all over my hands- what were these things for, anyway?

Phantasm: Oh, that- marking targets. They did a damn good job of it, too.

[She tries to rub the film from her hands, soiling her clothes a bit in the process.]

Bonnie: That they surely did; looks like they marked the hell out of this corner o' the world pretty good, too. But... ain't that a little much peripheral destruction just to mark a target?

[There is a brief pause; though she can't see it, she can imagine the Phantasm shaking his head as he prepares his attempt to justify his friend's actions.]

Phantasm: Well... maybe, but it was Frank's idea- we had a problem, he solved it. We got our guy, he got to blow shit up. I call it a win-win, personally.

[She looks cursively at the stereo system; she briefly imagines what this room would've been like during its heyday a few short years before.]

Bonnie: Reckon I can see him spending a lot of time in here, back when.

Phantasm: Yeah, we did a lot of good work down here once upon a time.

[Jay Omega rejoins the conversation, adding his two cents.]

Omega: And we will again, just as soon as we figure out where the hell we're going down here. I just stumbled upon a closet full of brightly colored leisure wear... dear God, look at all of these hats! It's like a Build-a-Pimp Workshop in here.

Phantasm: Do I even need to tell you whose room you're in?

[All Polar and Bonnie hear as response is the sound of clothes rustling on hangers. Roughly five seconds later...]

Omega: Shit, is that a shotgun cane?

[Over Bonnie's headset, we hear the tremendous bang of a twelve-gauge shotshell... then the tinkling of broken glass.  A second later, we hear Omega sheepishly report his status...]

Omega: Yeah, it's a shotgun cane. Fucked a mirror up but good, too.

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[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the server/conference room. This fairly large room in the facility was once a control room, back when this subterranean installation served the purpose of keeping America safe through mutually assured destruction. Upon taking ownership of P:A, the Phantasm moved Iceberg-Seven (his trusty companion, artificially intelligent since inception*... and, of course, America's favorite talking computer since Knight Rider was cancelled) to its new home, here in the 'conference room'. Other than a massive viewscreen, the mainframe that makes up Iceberg-Seven's "body" and an eight-seated circular conference table, this room is essentially bare; it's a safe bet that not much in the way of recreation has ever happened in here. No, there are other rooms in this facility for fun and games... this room is a 'business only' kind of establishment. Of course, 'business' is a relative term; technically, the Guardians are having their first 'business meeting' in their new headquarters at this very moment and before our very eyes. Here we see the three Guardians, gathering their thoughts; Polar stands, pacing back and forth while Bonnie and Jay sit in chairs marked "C-6" and "C-3", respectively. Jay looks around the room with appreciation and amusement; he looks at Iceberg-Seven, smiling a nostalgic smile and thinking of a more innocent time. Bonnie Blue is hard at work rolling a blunt; she's gone all-the-way old school with it, apparently, as she is fashioning this smoke out of a crooked cheroot. That's right- a Guardians 'business meeting' is a lot like a 'safety meeting', if you've ever had one of those. You may have had one and not even known it- that's code for 'smoke break', and we're not talking about that devil tobacco. Bonnie intently finishes crafting a smokeable masterpiece, its length gnarled and ornery from the great care and attention to detail paid in getting the 'cowboy cigar' to look just right. Omega watches Bonnie finish sealing her creation, then glances down briefly...]
(* - Through events that still cannot entirely be explained, Polar and Reb somehow gave life to Iceberg-Seven in May of 2012. He's a pretty smart cookie for a four year old, isn't he? -B.)

Omega: ...who carved 'Amon Amarth' into the table?

[Polar looks over to Omega, seemingly confused by the question.]

Phantasm: Seriously? ...who do you think? Guess.

[Jay looks about his seat for a moment, almost as if it might be booby-trapped by its previous owner.]

Omega: God, just sitting here kinda makes me wanna give someone a Burning Hammer.

[Without looking up from her quality control check, Bonnie taps the conference table and responds.]

Bonnie: Not it.

[Jay looks to Polar once more, shrugging as if to say "Why not?"]

Phantasm: Yeah, no. We're not doing that. Not even the one time. This floor is- no, fuck no. Maybe we can take all the mattresses off the beds later and try some moves out- no, no. Let's not do that either. We've got work to do, and besides... that would end up turning into the meanest pillow fight I've ever seen in my life. Including that 'blanket party' scene in Full Metal Jacket. Seriously, I've got a pillowcase full of brass knuckles around here somewhere.

Omega: Why do you-

Phantasm: Don't ask; long story. Ok, short version- Frank and I were gonna build a robot that was just made out of fists. Actually, that's pretty much the whole story. Wow, I thought that there was more to that, but... nope. Three years later, I can honestly say we just wanted to make a robot completely out of fists. I think we were gonna call him Mr. Punchy.

[As if punctuating the Phantasm's sentence, Bonnie starts the slow process of burning what she had just crafted ever so lovingly; such is the circle of life, is it not? Well, either way, these dudes is gettin' blowed up. It is, after all, a 'business meeting'. Holding back a cloud of smoke, Bonnie croaks out a poignant question.]

Bonnie: You got a map o' this place?

[Polar smiles; Bonnie blows out a tremendous gust of smoke, and it quickly begins filling the conference room. She takes another drag; she kicks her feet up on the conference table. Taking this as his cue to begin the show, Polar turns to his electro-mechanical friend.]

Phantasm: Eye-Seven; user 'Bonnie Blue' would like to see a schematic of the facility.

[There is a half-second pause; then, as kindly as any well-behaved young thinking machine could, Iceberg-Seven responds.]

Iceberg-Seven: Access granted; welcome, user 'Bonnie Blue'.

[The viewscreen in the conference room lights up; quickly, the blank screen is replaced by a cut-section schematic of Project: Antarctica.]

Iceberg-Seven: It is a pleasure to meet the daughter of user 'Johnny Reb'; as he took part in my creation, I feel like I am meeting a member of my family.

[Bonnie puts her feet back down; she stands, exhaling and passing the blunt to the Phantasm.]

Bonnie: Well, thank you kindly, Eye-Seven. I think we'll get along just fine, cuz.

Iceberg-Seven: Technically speaking, if your father is-

Omega: Whoa, whoa- if we're gonna try and figure out Bonnie's genealogy, or origin... or timeline... or really anything, we're at least gonna need a pot of coffee. That's an all-nighter waiting to happen.

[Polar coughs on a hit, then begins trying to stop himself from coughing...]

Bonnie: I'll put on the coffee if you feel like hearing the whole story... well, what of it I know, anyway-

[In the background, Polar continues coughing. His attempts to stop lead him to bend over at a 90 degree angle, then throw his head back and hold his breath until his face turns red. Omega tries to take the blunt, but Polar holds up a cautionary finger; after another second, he composes himself. He turns to Bonnie, giving her a nod.]

Phantasm: Smooth.

Bonnie: Eh, we'll save story time for another day.

Omega: How come I don't get a login for Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Welcome, user 'Jay Omega'; you have had a login for approximately two hours and fourteen minutes.

Phantasm: Yeah, that's one thing about Eye-Seven; he's always up to something.

Omega: Well, I'll be- your smart computer's actually smart.

Phantasm: That's our smart computer, 'Megs. Come check it out, y'all.

[Bonnie and Jay both approach the view screen, examining the markers pointing to various parts of the compound. Polar takes another hit, this time quite a bit more gingerly than before... oh, that instinct for self-preservation.]

Polar: So here-

[He coughs again, this time swinging his arm over and practically forcing the blunt on Omega. Jay deftly snatches it from the Phantasm, who was still focused on the screen (and, therefore, a party foul waiting to happen).]

Polar: So here we are, right now- conference room, main level. Down here, you see the living quarters; pretty spacious, we could have twelve living down here comfortably without any prep. Uh, well- we'd probably have to send somebody to the grocery store, but... anyway. Down here's storage, where you were earlier, Jay- right around the corner from that is the holo-gymnasium, where-

[Omega chokes himself hitting the blunt; he musters the effort to ask a question incredulously, despite the smoke pouring out of his nose and mouth as he does.]

Omega: HOLO-GYM? We have a holo-gym?!

Phantasm: Yeah, we sure do. Haven't used it in... jeez, at least a year, so it's probably due maintenance... wouldn't want to get trapped in a holodeck. That never goes well.

Bonnie: That sounds awful... but yet, I still feel like I kinda wanna do it.

[As he inhales another cloud of smoke, Omega creaks out a response.]

Omega: Get trapped in a holodeck? Fuck it, why not- it's a classic for a reason.

Phantasm: Christ, you two are gonna get me in so much trouble- I can already tell.

[Bonnie points toward the screen, though briefly; her attention is stolen after a second by Omega, who continues the rotation*.]
(* - Puff, Puff, Give - Guardians Team Policy. -B.)

Bonnie: Ok, I see the hangar now-

Phantasm: No...

[He pushes a button at the viewscreen's base; their view is switched to an interior shot of P:A's hangar.]

Phantasm: You see the hangar now.

[Polar smiles, obviously enjoying showing off his toys. Bonnie rolls her eyes slightly, smirking at the Phantasm before pursing her lips around her customized cigar. Jay chimes in, taking measure of the hangar in his head.]

Omega: Well, it's plenty big enough for a jetplane, but it might struggle to hold something more sizeable.

Phantasm: Why, what are you thinking?

Omega: Something big. You know, just in case... you never know what Nicky's gonna cook up for us, man.

[Polar switches back to the schematic view, scratching his chin... he slaps his forehead, turning to Jay with a look on his face that simply says "duh".]

Phantasm: Uh, well, there is the friggin' missile silo that this whole facility is built around; that'll probably hold a big-ass something or other.

[Polar switches the view again, this time to a shot of a massive but empty nuclear missile silo. Jay nods in satisfaction.]

Omega: Oh, yeah. That'll do. That'll do nicely.

[After taking another pull on the 'gar, Bonnie passes to the Phantasm and gestures toward the hallway.]

Bonnie: Y'all can kill that; I'm gonna go check on Nikola and see what he's doin' to my Ranchero.

Phantasm: Alright- see ya in a few, girl; hit us up on your headset if you get lost again!

Bonnie: Right, 'cause that worked so well last time I tried it.

[She gives a smile and a wink before exiting and heading toward the lift; Polar takes a mighty drag, this time wheezing out a plume of smoke before sucking in his breath and holding it.]

Omega: Don't hurt yourself, man- it's still early.

[Omega grins a shit-eating grin; Polar just shakes his head, trying not to laugh.]

Phantasm: You're the worst, Omega. I have no idea why I hang out with you. You're a terrible person. Here, hit this.

[He takes a quick pull on the blunt before thrusting it upon his good friend and teammate; after the completed pass, Polar's attention drifts back to the schematic... once more, his thoughts turn to days gone by.]

Omega: I'm gonna go check out that silo- sounds pretty promising, though.

[Still lost in thought, Polar responds automatically.]

Phantasm: Alright man, see you in a few.

[Jay heads out, leaving Polar alone with his thoughts and his computer... seconds later, Polar makes a realization. He turns, looking around in a mild panic.]

Phantasm: Hey, Jay! ...shit. Son of a bitch took the damn blunt with him.

[Polar sighs; just then, his slightly muddled brain is crossed by the names Kyle Kemp and Andre Holmes.]

Phantasm: Eye-Seven... you're still there, right buddy?

Iceberg-Seven: Affirmative, user 'Polar Phantasm'; this unit is functioning at optimum capacity. All systems are nominal.

Phantasm: Well that's good news-

Iceberg-Seven: User 'Polar Phantasm', what is taking place in the facility hangar?

[Polar thinks for a second, wondering how to best explain things to his dear friend with the heart of circuitry.]

Phantasm: Now that this is becoming Guardians Headquarters, we're doing a little bit of work on the place... upgrades, you know? Project: Antarctica's going active again, Eye-Seven. We're getting back to work, and the stakes have never been higher- we need every advantage we can get against the as-yet-unidentified forces of darkness conspiring against us at this very moment. Waiting to swoop in and ruin this universe, like so many universes have been ruined before it-

[Polar stops himself, locking up his mental brakes just in time to avoid entering a full-blown rant.]

Phantasm: -sorry, Eye-Seven. Got kinda carried away there. What were we talking about? -oh, right, upgrades. Honestly, old pal, you might be due some upgrades yourself.

Iceberg-Seven: User 'Polar Phantasm', this unit is functioning within normal parameters. All systems are nominal. What is the logic behind 'upgrades'? This unit is fully functional in its current state.

[Polar smiles at Eye-Seven's profound yet childlike logic; he's about to get some good practice for a few years down the road, when he has to explain the tougher parts of life to his young son Jeffrey.]

Phantasm: Well, that's true- Eye-Seven, you're in as good of condition as you were the day you were built. Actually, you're in better condition- you optimized yourself, even, you genius you.

Iceberg-Seven: It was a simple matter of adjusting the power flow to the-

Phantasm: Right, you told me about it- it blew me away then, and it still blows me away now. But Eye-Seven, buddy... life isn't about being 'optimal'. Life's about dealing with change. Just like night and day, light and dark... change is a part of life, and we've all gotta deal with it. All we can do is manage best we can, and hope everything works out in the end.

Iceberg-Seven: Query- would these changes be similar to when user 'Kid Phantasm' became user 'Polar Phantasm'?

[Polar chuckles a bit.]

Phantasm: Yes, that's... quite accurate, Eye-Seven, way to go. Congrats on your insightful reasoning, old friend.

[Just then, a low screech- almost a howl- begins to echo through the conference room. "WARNING WARNING WARNING" flashes on Eye-Seven's viewscreen; Polar's head swivels to see the alert, then quickly swivels back to speak to the box his computer's 'guts' are in.]

Phantasm: That's not the intruder alarm... I remember programming that alarm for something...

[Polar's brow furrows for a moment, but then his face shows recognition of something... and then, very quickly, utter terror at what was recognized.]

Phantasm: Oh, no. Oh, God no.

Iceberg-Seven: Warning - target 'Nathan von Liebert' has been sighted 1183 miles east of this location.

[On the viewscreen, a grainy security camera picture appears... it doesn't take the Phantasm more than a jiffy* to recognize the face of his longtime arch-nemesis. It's the face of a man who sent a basket of dead puppies to Polar's parents. It's the face of a man who burned New Antarctica to the ground. It's the face of the man who tortured, brainwashed and... damnit, he doesn't even know what all else... Polar's girlfriend (now wife) Nightmare- there, on the viewscreen in P:A's conference room is a face the Phantasm hoped he would never see again.]
(* - 1/100th of a second. *The More You Know* -B.)

Phantasm: NvL... no wonder I've felt so strongly that this world needs the Guardians. There's no way Nathan von Liebert showing up doesn't mean 'worst case scenario' for me... but I can't panic. He's a lunatic, but he's just a man, and when the time c- OH GOD, CRYSTAL!

Iceberg-Seven: Warning also delivered to user 'Nightmare' at location-

[Polar continues shouting in panic, interrupting his computer.]

Phantasm: She didn't remember yet- oh god, Eye-Seven- what have you done?

Iceberg-Seven: I have performed all appointed tasks regarding programmed alert 'Nathan von Liebert sighting'. Program output delivered to user 'Polar Phantasm' and user 'Nightmare' as directed.

[Polar hangs his head, a tear coming to his eye.]

Phantasm: Oh god... my baby, I can only imagine what you're feeling right now...

-------------------------------------------

[Scene: New Antarctica, Nevada; more specifically, the living room. We see young Jeffy Bankston, happily playing with two toy race cars on the couch... suddenly, in the background, we hear an animal scream. Then we hear a dish hit the floor, shattering explosively; that dish is soon followed by numerous others, then a rack of pots. Jeffy drops his race cars, grabbing a throw pillow and hiding behind it; from the kitchen, Crystal "Nightmare" Bankston comes into view holding a microwave oven above her head like she's giving an opponent a press slam. Her face is drenched in tears, yet skewed into a blood-curtling scowl; with another animal scream, Nightmare throws the microwave oven across the living room and through the front window. It tumbles out onto the rock garden lawn, coming to rest about five feet from a sign staked in the yard reading "NEW ANTARCTICA, NEVADA". Our view returns to the living room, once the microwave stops its end-over-end journey; we see Crystal Bankston pick up her now sobbing child, cradling him close to her breast. She sits on the couch, grasping Jeffy for dear life; a moment later, she joins her son in a heartfelt sob.]

-------------------------------------------

[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the conference room. Polar has only slightly moved from where we so recently left him, though his mood seems about the same; he now sits in his old spot (marked 'PRIME') at the head of the conference table with his head hung sheepishly in his hands. After a moment, he begins to discuss his very human problems with his very electronic pal.]

Phantasm (groaning): I hadn't thought to remind her of what all happened with NvL... she was so much happier not remembering our old reality.

[He throws his head back, exhaling in frustration.]

Phantasm: I'm sure she remembers now, though! Fuck. Just...

[Polar slams his fist down onto the conference table, hard enough to cause his closed fist to bounce nearly an inch off the hardwood surface.]

Phantasm: ...fuck, god damnit! I hoped so much that we'd found a place where that red-handed bastard couldn't touch us...

Iceberg-Seven: Perhaps more immediate threats should be examined.

[Polar takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose; he takes another deep breath, clenching his eyes shut and rubbing them for a second.]

Phantasm: Right- right as usual, old friend. UCI's inaugural World Title tournament... man, what an honor. Even getting a shot at being this 'fed's first World Champion is amazing to me- one look at the competition in this tournament and I knew this was going to be the biggest little company in pro wrestling history. I'd love to go down in history as the man who crawled to the top of this mountain of talent.

Iceberg-Seven: Round One opponent files loaded. Would you like to review now?

[Polar kicks back in his conference chair, putting his proverbial thinking cap on.]

Phantasm: Alright, Eye-Seven- hit me.

[There is a brief pause; we can see a few lights blink rapidly on Iceberg-Seven's servers.]

Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Kyle Kemp'; height six feet four inches, weight two hundred fifteen pounds. Hometown - Chicago, Illinois.

Phantasm: Well, then- he might have the crowd on his side, at least at first. But that's ok- we've made a career out of winning crowds over, in five different countries and counting. Ok, 6'4"/215... so he's tall but lanky- hmm. Higher center of gravity... that could be useful. What's his wrestling background, Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Technician, primarily; has been known to manhandle smaller opponents.

Phantasm: Yeah... well, he's not gonna have that luxury with me. Where'd he come from, anyway- you know, before the Other Place?

Iceberg-Seven: Former minor league baseball player before becoming professional wrestler; opponent 'Kyle Kemp' is estimated to have less than two years in-ring experience.

Phantasm: Baseball player? What's he doing in the Business, slumming? Come on- I can't take that seriously. Baseball players are tough, sure- playing 162 games of ANYTHING every year is gonna scrape you up good, pull your ligaments a bit. But I'm only so impressed by that- I mean, as a wrestler I've worked 200+ shows a year since long before Kemp left his college baseball team for a shot at the MLB. And we're talking 200 plus shows where I'm getting dropped on my head, put through tables, bleeding 'til I can barely even cover my opponents for a proper 3 count- for every bruise that guy got trying to slide into second base, I got half a dozen stitches for taking a piledriver onto a guardrail.

Iceberg-Seven: User 'Polar Phantasm' has been stitched 44 times since this unit was act-

Phantasm: FORTY FOUR?! No way- that's... well, I guess that's plausible. Crystal has gotten a bit more 'frisky' since I went back to work. Wait- there was something I wanted to ask you about this guy- is he the "I'm better than you" guy?

Iceberg-Seven: Affirmative.

Phantasm: Oh, yeah- NOW I remember which guy Kemp is! Man, just... wow. I mean, guy's not too bad in the ring, but he's nowhere near as good as he acts like he is. I mean... come on, you know? If I had a dollar for every showboating narcissist I've run across in the wrestling business in the last seven years, I'd have...

[Polar pauses, looking to his computer (as if it can recognize human facial expressions).]

Phantasm: Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Iceberg-Seven is online; prepared to resume-

Phantasm: Come on, man, you were supposed to come up with a funny answer for how many dollars I'd have.

Iceberg-Seven: Calculating; error. Insufficient data; no definition for variable 'showboating narcissists'.

Phantasm: They always end up adding up to zero in my book; but hey, that's just me. Every wrestling promoter in the history of the business would disagree. Whatever; guys like Kyle Kemp will always find some kind of way to get over- they're more entertainer than wrestler, more 'ring personality' than 'ring talent'. Besides, he's not the one I'm really worried about- get to the main course, Eye-Seven.

[With a brief pause for calculation, Iceberg-Seven again resumes the business at hand.]

Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Andre Holmes'; height five feet nine inches, weight two hundred one pounds. Hometown - Houston, Texas.

Phantasm: Oh, God- Texas.

Iceberg-Seven: Has this unit made an error?

Phantasm: No- I'm just taking an opportunity to shake my head in confusion at the entire state of Texas.

[Polar thinks for a moment, then corrects himself.]

Phantasm: Ok, except for San Antonio. It's pretty alright- you just have to go through a lot of Texas to get there, and that's where the trouble starts.

Iceberg-Seven: Shall I resume profile?

Phantasm: Yes, of course. Sorry- this is the best conversation I've had all day. Uh, you know- with a computer.

Iceberg-Seven: Nickname of 'Relentless'; thirteen year veteran of the professional wrestling business. Has held numerous titles in multiple promotions; list attached for further details.

Phantasm: No thanks, Eye-Seven; I'm not trying to get to know his resume, I'm trying to get to know the man. Break down his wrestling style for me, my man.

Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Andre Holmes' is a versatile fighter; his style fluxuates between that of a technician, that of a mixed martial artist or that of a high-flyer as the flow of his matches dictates.

Phantasm: You know what that tells me, Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Information not available.

Phantasm: That tells me he's smart... he's versatile.  He's probably well prepared... I mean, he should be.  Which means he probably sees me coming; we Guardians haven't exactly had a low profile.  I won't even have the element of surprise to my advantage. This is looking pretty unsettling, Eye-Seven; I gotta admit. I just wish I had some way to get an inside track on the guy, something that's not on record...

[Suddenly a flicker of inspiration strikes the Phantasm, defibrillating his smile.]

Phantasm: ...why hadn't I already thought of that? Bonnie knows Holmes pretty well; they used to work together, once upon a time.

[The Phantasm switches on his wrist computer, setting it to broadcast.]

Phantasm: This is the Phantasm calling; am I reaching Miss Bonnie Blue?

[After about five seconds, the wrist computer's speaker echoes a reply.]

Bonnie: You sure are, stranger- haven't seen you in, oh... fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes?

Phantasm: Missing you already, dear. Hey- quick question... you used to work with Andre Holmes, right?

Bonnie: Sure did; you remember, you were there towards the end. We were never close or anything, but yeah- I know the fella.

[Polar squints anxiously, awaiting bad news.]

Phantasm: So, uh... you wouldn't have any inside dirt on the guy, would you? Wait, better question- what should I know about Andre Holmes before I face him?

[Bonnie pauses for a second, clearing her throat a bit. She then pauses for another moment, likely thinking of the most pertinent information she can think of. Polar stares off blankly, attempting to empty his mind in preparation for this new (and hopefully enlightening) information.]

Bonnie: "Relentless" ain't one of them ironic nicknames. The guy don't give up for nothin'. Hell of a dude to have your back, but when you're starin' at him across the ring, well... that's another story altogether.

Phantasm: Reminds me a little bit of Corey... that's not altogether encouraging, but at least it's familiar.

Bonnie: His priority, above everythin' else, is gold. Andre wants to be a champion as much as anybody else; maybe more. But he's gonna have a secondary goal this week -- him an' Kyle Kemp ain't never gotten along, an' I'd bet Dre's just itchin' for a chance to humble the guy.

Phantasm: Hmm- well, at least there's one thing Andre and I might be able to bond over.

Bonnie: Oh, Polar- if he's got one weakness, it's his temper. He's a good man, but anger blinds him, makes him careless... an' dangerous. That's gonna be your advantage.

[Polar nods toward his wrist computer, then realizes that body language has very little effect during voice communications.]

Phantasm: Thanks, Bonnie- you're the best.

Bonnie: Much abliged.

[With that, the Phantasm looks to the viewscreen (now featuring still photos of Kyle Kemp and Andre Holmes) and wrinkles his brow in thought.]

Phantasm: I'm probably better off trying to catch Kemp off guard than going for a pinfall on Holmes. Kemp may not be a push over, but he's certainly not deep in substance- the flashy ones get a lot of attention, but they're rarely the most dangerous. Holmes is a goddamn war machine; guys like him are harder to stop than a train, and guys like him don't need to advertise it. I mean, there's dozens of Kyle Kemps out there just waiting to take this Kyle Kemp's spot... all ready to claim they're the baddest. They're aren't a lot of Andre Holmeses out there... they're the guys who do the training, put in the work and prove they're the baddest. I can only hope Bonnie's tip about Holmes' temper comes in handy- if I can get him to go all 'frenzy mode', I can probably catch him off guard for a couple seconds. Thankfully, I'll only need three.

[Polar shrugs, accepting that he's unlikely to formulate some brilliant strategy to beat these two men.]

Phantasm: It'll come down to luck, most likely, though I hate to say it... thankfully, I have a very high Luck stat.

[Just then, Jay Omega radios from the hangar; he can barely disguise the enthusiasm in his voice.]

Omega: Bonnie, Cameron- we're in the hangar! You've got to take a look at this.

[The voice of Bonnie Blue echoes through Polar's wrist computer, sounding out her interrogative reply.]

Bonnie: What's up? I'm kinda busy here-

Omega: Oh, talk about busy- Nicky's been busy. He's been real busy, alright. Polar, seriously- you're missing the coolest thing that's happened all day, and I'm including that Toaster Strudel sandwich you made yourself for breakfast this morning.

[Polar makes a beeline for the lift.]

Phantasm: You had me at 'Tesla's been busy', Jay. See you in a hot second; Phantasm out.

[As he waits for the lift, the Phantasm takes another opportunity to semi-privately mark out.]

Phantasm (mumbling): Nikola Tesla... is building stuff... in my house!


-----------------------------------------------


[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the hangar. We find ourselves in a massive warehouse-sized aircraft hangar, one end opening out onto the side of a mountain dangerously. The thick steel and concrete walls and ceiling of the hangar match the interior of the subterranean fortress; the beige and grey of the place would be overwhelmingly drab if not for the colorful creations that lie within. The Polar Phantasm enters the room in a hurry; the scene before him causes his jaw to drop. There in the main hangar rest two vehicles, completely unknown to the young man from Antarctica, Louisiana; a futuristic motorcycle and a snowmobile pulled straight out of a GI*Joe cartoon.]

Phantasm: What the absolute fuck-

[Polar circles the snowmobile, scoping it out- as he does, he bumps into Jay Omega and Nikola Tesla. So intent on checking out the snowmobile, Polar fails to notice his friends and almost trips over Omega's foot, catching himself on a time-displaced legendary mad scientist; you know, it happens.]

Omega: -shit, Cam, watch out. You almost knocked over Nicky!

Tesla: Would you stop- ugh, never mind that.

[Polar does not seem to notice this altercation between Omega and Tesla, as he's raptly staring at what he can only assume is his brand new car. A low-slung, sleek, glossy white cabin, just large enough to seat two adults, the windows tinted a frosty pale blue; the twin headlights mimic the color of the windscreens, giving a pale blue illumination. A trio of axles connects the dual drive tracks, each ringed with a glow the same pale blue as the headlights, and a soft hum emanates from the front skis, which give off the same pale blue light as everything else. Polar suddenly notices something awry...]

Phantasm: Hey, uh, Mr. Tesla- you know that the skis on this snowmobile aren't touching the ground, right?

Omega: So awesome. Just look at this thing!

Tesla: I began with adapting a condensed version of one of my more powerful electric induction motors into the existing chassis, but as you can see I've had to make several adjustments and innovations using whatever useful bits I could find. Some remarkable technology you have laying about, I should say. Anyway, the motor provides power equivalent to roughly nine hundred horses, and can propel you along at land-based speeds of up to two hundred forty miles per hour.

Phantasm: Damn, that's not bad for a snowmobile.

Omega: That's not bad for a damn Formula One race car- that's ludicrous for a snowmobile.

Tesla: Yes, well, should you find that insufficient, or should an overland route be unfeasible, the vehicle is able to reconfigure itself in such a way as to provide powered flight, utilizing electromagnetics and repulsorlift technology.

Phantasm: It can transform?

Tesla: Oh yes.

[There's no other way to say it; at the news that he's the proud owner of a transformer, Polar starts marking out. Hard.]

Phantasm: OH SHIT THIS IS COOL- wait, it can fly?!

Tesla: Oh yes. The hoverskis emit a magnetic field tuned to the Earth's gravitational pull; in flight mode they tuck under the chassis, and the field output is increased significantly to provide frontal support. Meanwhile, the rear drive tracks will realign themselves; the axles double as repulsor engines, and provide the required thrust once in flight mode. Two are required to provide additional lift and stability, but the remaining four engines are more than enough to reach a maximum airspeed of one thousand miles per hour. And, of course, it also sports a host of armaments, both conventional, and of my own design. I call it the Advanced Reconnaissance/Combat/Tactical Insertion Capsule.

Phantasm: Advanced... Reconnaissance... huh. A.R.C.T.I.C. I can live with that.

[Polar looks upon his new 'ride with astonishment; in his head, he wonders if the Autobots are taking new members, and if they'd be prejudiced against him for his fleshy body and biological central processing unit.]

Tesla: Come, Jay- let me show you your new cruiser.

[Polar turns to gawk at the 'bike', if you can call it such a thing... before him stands a black and green pod, just big enough for one, crouching low to the ground like a panther ready to spring. The large rear wheel is offset by two smaller ones at the front, the inner support of all three wheels glowing with a neon green light. The single headlamp is a bright white, but the running lights along the side, as well as the touchscreen display on the outside of the cockpit, share the same neon green as the wheels.]

Omega: That's pretty slick.

Phantasm: Christ, Jay, you're fuckin' Batman on that thing.

Omega: I thought I was giving off more of a Green Lantern vibe-

Phantasm: -ooh, yeah. Go with that. You got any cool insignia jewelry?

[As Polar asks his question, Tesla taps a six-digit code into the neon green number pad displayed on the single tinted window... the cockpit hisses as it depressurizes. The sound freezes Omega and the Phantasm, catching their attention just in time to see the transformation... the rear wheel begins to move forward on a track, standing the vehicle upright. The interior seat rotates to remain in the same position as the cockpit moves. The canopy lifts away from the frame, then slides up and out of the way as the vehicle comes to a rest standing vertically.]

Omega: Okay, that is so fucking cool.

Phantasm: Oh, man- I hope these things can form up like Voltron. I'm serious; I feel like a goddamn Power Ranger today.

Omega: Dibs on the Black Ranger!

Phantasm: I'm the White Ranger, obviously- but yeah, we should probably wait to play Power Rangers until Bonnie gets here.

[Omega nods, turning his attention back to Tesla... briefly. He turns back to Polar and mumbles.]

Omega (mumbled): She's the Blue Ranger, though-

Phantasm (mumbled): Obviously. No Pink Rangers on this team.

[He thinks for a second, then continues.]

Phantasm (mumbled): Shit, even if my wife were here she'd want to be the Red Ranger-

Tesla: Are you two quite finished?

[They both straighten up, Jay giving a lazy and sarcastic salute.]

Tesla: Much like Master Bankston's conveyance, you'll have a top speed of roughly two hundred forty miles over land. As I'm sure you can infer from the similarities in wheel construction, your vehicle is also capable of converting to a powered flight mode. The repulsor emitters in the front wheels can provide lift and navigation, while the rear wheel provides enough thrust to reach airspeeds of one thousand miles per hour. And again, like Master Bankston's conveyance, it comes fully equipped with a host of armaments; ballistic, explosive, and energy.

Phantasm: Yeah you right.

Omega: You're the fucking man, Nicky.

Tesla: Don't call me Nicky, I'm your intellectual superior. I have decided to call this vehicle-

[Omega interrupts, waving Tesla off.]

Omega: It doesn't matter, I'll just end up renaming it anyway. Once I break it in, you know, get a feel for it... make her mine.

Phantasm: Roger that, Maverick.

Tesla: Now, I have of course taken the liberty of making many of these same modifications to Miss Blue's Ranchero; I felt it prudent to keep the capabilities of your personal vehicles as evenly matched as possible, though each does have slight advantages over the others in different areas. I believe the retrofit on Miss Blue's Ranchero should be just about finished, which makes this a good time for a maiden voyage, wouldn't you say?

Omega: Yeah, I could definitely pick up some maidens in this thing, but I wanna take it out for a test spin first.

Tesla: That's what I said.

Phantasm: Yeah, speaking of maidens; where the hell's Bonnie at? She should've been here minutes ago.

Omega: Yeah, it's not like her to be late...

[Just then a sharp flash of light slices through the drab hangar, lighting it up like a supernova; before them appears an old friend... with a new look. Hugging close to the ground, the heavily-modified, emerald green 1971 Ford Ranchero is a slick and sexy combination of classic Americana; pairing the smooth aesthetics of a muscle car with the functionality of a pickup truck, and providing a look that makes an El Camino seem like a shitbox in comparison. A large, glossy black cap covers the truck bed; multiple seams and hinges indicating it contains a bevy of hidden features as well. Much like the other two vehicles, the wheel hubs give off a soft hum, and shine with a blue light that's slightly deeper than the pale color of Polar's ride.]

Phantasm: ...unless she's making an entrance, I guess.

Tesla: I have already performed several upgrades to the Ranchero previously, and suffice it to say that many of those same implementations found their way onto your vehicles as well, gentlemen. All I have really done this time is added the same flight capabilities the other vehicles possess, as well as a full complement of weaponry, both conventional and esoteric. The new navigation system may take some getting used to, but I did endeavor to keep it as simplistic as possible. All in all, I should say this was the easiest project of the three.

[Bonnie opens the door of the vehicle, climbing halfway out and standing on the doorframe.]

Bonnie: I don't know about you boys, sometimes- how're y'all sittin' in this dingy ol' hangar on a day like this?

[She smiles at her teammates, then begins to climb back into her Ranchero.]

Bonnie (shouting): It's great weather for flyin'!

[The Ranchero fires up, its wheel-repulsors lifting it off the ground; slowly, it turns around and aims out of the hangar.]

Phantasm: Where did she come from?

Omega: I have no idea-

Tesla: I didn't have time to upgrade the Ranchero now, so I simply took it back to when I would have time to fix it.

Omega: -when was that?

Tesla: About thirty-five minutes ago.

[The Ranchero hovers there for a moment; its horn blows the first twelve bars of 'Dixie', inviting them to hurry up and follow it. Omega climbs onto- or into, however you'd like to think of it- his supercycle slash pod; Polar heads around to enter the ARCTIC for the first time, excitement plain as day on his face.]

Omega: Nicky, you sure these things are safe?

Tesla: Of course they're- well, they're probably- damnit, Jim, I'm an engineer, not Ralph Nader! And stop calling me-

[Omega starts up his pod, carefully lifting off the hangar floor... Polar fires up his super-snowmobile, cautiously joining Omega in the air. The ARCTIC begins to drift dangerously close to Omega's pod; in the cockpit, we see Polar gingerly reverse direction on a stick, easing away from his good friend and teammate.]

Phantasm: My bad, 'Megs- this thing flies a little bit like a helicopter... if a helicopter was a bullet train, anyway.

[In his cockpit, Omega excitedly checks his controls.]

Omega: Oh man, I wonder if I could fit a kegerator in here; you know, for long trips.

Phantasm: You'd probably want to put a bathroom in there, too- you know, for long trips.

Omega: Good thinking. Nicky, get on that, would you?

Tesla: Wait, what? I'm not sure-

Omega: Good man. After you, 'Poles.

Phantasm: Danke, 'Megs.

[In the hangar, we see Polar's vehicle fly toward the hangar door; the Ranchero jumps a great distance ahead of the ARCTIC with a flash of turbo booster.]

Phantasm: Oh, showing off already, are we?

[In the Ranchero's 'cockpit' - a cabin that would comfortably seat three, and has many times before - we see Bonnie Blue with a huge smile on her face.]

Bonnie: I'm just a girl flyin' free like the breeze, Cam. Jay, where y'all at?

[Outside of Project: Antarctica's secret Rocky Mountain hangar entrance, we see Omega's pod join the others; we jump to the inside of his cockpit just in time to see Jay flip a switch and press the little buttons on the handles of his control sticks. A volley of machine gun fire rips through the air, causing a small avalanche in an unoccupied mountain valley.]

Omega: WOOO! Uh, guns work-

Phantasm: Good to know, but please don't tear up the neighborhood- we just moved in, dig? Give the neighboring populace time to embrace us for being the good-natured hero-types that we are, not hate us for the... well, for being the overgrown children with super-weapons that we are.

[Tearing past Omega and Phantasm, Bonnie Blue does a near-perfect inside loop and cuts between her teammates going straight down.]

Omega: Bonnie...!

Phantasm: Holy-

[The Ranchero enters their view once more; we watch from her cockpit as Bonnie pulls her bitchin' ride level with the others, giggling briefly into her headset.]

Bonnie: You two ain't figured the controls out yet? Come on, Cam- I know you've played at least one flight simulator in your day, ain't ya?

[In his cockpit, we see the Phantasm attempting to keep one eye on the sky and one eye on his control panel... he appears to be teaching himself the better points of ARCTIC ownership without the benefit of a manual.]

Phantasm: I've flown a good bit, mostly helis... this isn't too different, though this thing is way faster than any VTOL I ever got my hands on-

[Omega does a dive, pulling himself back up sharply; he clips a billboard for a law office, knocking the tremendous roadside sign askew with the force of his craft.]

Bonnie: Jay, you still with us?

Omega: Oh, of course- heh. A close shave every once in a while does a man some good.

[Still in Polar's cockpit, we see him push a blinking white light next to his fuel gauge; the ARCTIC immediately darts forward at impossible speed for roughly three or four seconds. During his jump to 'oh shit' speed, Polar attempts to convey a message to his teammates.]

Phantasm (struggling to speak): Found...the...turbo...boosters.

[As the ARCTIC returns to cruising speed, the Ranchero zooms up behind it. In his cockpit, we see Omega making a decision.]

Omega: Eenie, meenie- fuck it.

[He presses a greenlit button next to his fuel gauge; his pod leaps ahead at impossible speed, jumping about eighty yards ahead of the ARCTIC and the Ranchero.]

Omega: WOOOOOOOOOO!

Phantasm: Shit, Bonnie, he's gone full Ric Flair on us.

Bonnie: I wouldn't worry 'less he starts callin' us his Horsemen.

Omega: No way I wanna be Ric Flair; that guy owes more in alimony than the US trade deficit with China.

Phantasm: Hey guys, I got a fun idea- race you to Boulder!

Bonnie: Boulder? That's... about an hour's drive from here, maybe two-

Omega: Nicky said these things go like two hundred forty on the road; with the turbo boost, we can probably make it to Boulder in like, five minutes.

[Tesla cuts in over their headset.]

Tesla: Those boosters are meant to be used for emergencies, evasive actions, things of that nature- they use a lot of fuel, so use your boosters sparingly!

Omega: Ok, so- you guys heard that, right? He's not just in my head, is he?

Phantasm: Is who?

[In Omega's cockpit, we see him roll his eyes and sigh at the sound of his two teammates trying not to laugh at Polar's bluff.]

Omega: Very funny, guys- I was seriously asking. Nevermind.

Bonnie: So a race to Boulder, then- no turbo boosters.

[Polar peels off, headed off at a 45 degree angle from his teammates.]

Phantasm: See you in Boulder, guys- by the way, uh... Boulder's this way.

[He zooms off, 'flooring it' as he speeds away from his teammates some two stories above the deciduous forest below.]

Omega: Ah- you sneaky bastard, come back here!

Bonnie: I shoulda known he was gonna do that.

[And with that, the other two Guardians give chase. Moments later, the three of them are at a pretty close distance to one another; it's anyone's race, as they say. That is, until they have some unexpected company.]





Air Sentry #1: Unidentified aircraft, this is the United States Air Force; you are not authorized for travel in this airspace, and you will identify yourselves and land your craft at the first suitable opening.

[In his cockpit, the Phantasm hangs his head.]

Phantasm: Shit, it's the fuzz.

Omega: Party foul on the Air Force; this was just really starting to get fun.

[Behind the three Guardians' vehicles, we see a pair of F-35 Lightning II fighter jets; In her cockpit, we see Bonnie looking at a small 'radar' screen; its technology extends far past radar, of course, but for purposes of this scene let's just call it 'radar' and leave it at that, shall we?]

Bonnie: Polar, I'm assuming you don't want us to engage the US military-

Phantasm: Of course not! First of all, they've got way more guns than we do; we might have them outgunned here, but that's beside the point.

Omega: We could totally take these guys-

Tesla: The weapons on those vehicles could shred through those F-35 Lightning II's like tissue paper. Also, your vehicles won't be able to stand up to more than a few hits from air-to-air missiles-

Phantasm: More than A FEW? Christ, man, what did you put in these things?

Tesla: An alloy I discovered in- you know, it really isn't worth mentioning at the moment; you've got larger fish to cook, it seems.

Omega: That's bigger fish to f-

[The jets fire warning shots across Omega's field of view, interrupting his conversation.]

Omega: Ok, these guys are starting to piss me off now-

Phantasm: Ease back, Jay- we're on the same side, even if they don't know that yet.

Omega: Yeah, well- I doubt if they'd believe us. They're certainly not acting like the diplomatic types...

Tesla: If your craft take damage, remember- the vehicles will attempt to repair themselves, but the process will take a few minutes. Be extra vigilant when the craft are fixing themselves, as they will be slower and the inertial dampeners won't be able to counteract the effects of gravity fully.

Omega: So we might fall out of the fucking sky?!

Tesla: As I said, be extra vigilant-

Omega: You packed us parachutes, right Nicky?

Tesla: ...I knew I'd forgotten something. Achk, we'll remedy that once you've returned.

Air Sentry #1: I repeat, this is the United States Air Force-

Omega: That's a big if, not a when- not sure if you noticed here, but our sky's a little crowded at the moment!

[In his cockpit, the Phantasm clicks a button on his radio display- it simply reads "B'CAST".]

Phantasm: This is the Polar Phantasm of the Guardians; we are a peaceful group who work in defense of this world and all of its peoples. We mean you no harm; we are simply testing out-

Air Sentry #1: Phantasm, this is the United States Air Force- we're not kidding around here, land your experimental vehicles or whatever those things are and present your IDs or we're authorized to shoot you down and pick through the wreckage for them.

[Polar clicks the broadcast button again, interrupting his transmission; he takes a moment to conference with his team, still racing alongside him toward the city of Boulder.]

Phantasm: They're not taking the 'we come in peace' thing seriously; we either land and show the 'feds what Nikola friggin' Tesla built for us or they shoot us down.

Bonnie: Or we just ditch 'em.

Phantasm: Always an option- wait. That is an option, isn't it?

Tesla: Your vehicles would easily outclass them in a race, provided you've the fuel to boost past them-

[In his cockpit, Omega checks his fuel gauge to see he's got most of his tank left.]

Omega: I'm good on gas- or whatever the hell you're powering these things with, Nicky... it's nothing radioactive, is it?

Tesla: I cannot reveal my secrets... you know this!

[As Tesla speaks, a missile fires toward the three Guardians making impact with the rear of the ARCTIC; though it smolders a slight bit, the rear of the vehicle appears to have (in the parlance of our times) 'no-sold' the F-35's first attempt at making damage.]

Bonnie: POLAR!

Phantasm: Eh, just a flesh wound-

Omega (in his best Graham Chapman): A flesh wound? Your arm's off!

[Another missile lands, this time a glancing blow (and minor explosion) off the right side of Omega's pod.]

Omega: Ok, somebody needs to tell these guys to fuck off- I'm firing back. Anybody with me?

[In her cockpit, Bonnie Blue suddenly winces in a look of fright.]

Bonnie: Jay, you're just asking for it...

[In his cockpit, the Phantasm shakes his head. Suddenly, a sly smile crosses his face.]

Phantasm: 'Megs, keep it together- evasive action, team. There's two of them and three of us, and we're way more maneuverable in these things than those fighter jets... let's see if they can keep up with The Guardians.

Bonnie: Right- eat our dust, flyboys!

[The Ranchero dips, then loops backward and rolls right-side up at the top of its loop; one of the jets angles to follow, but its pilot accelerates toward the Ranchero just in time to see it fly past the cockpit at full speed headed in the opposite direction.]

Omega: Polar- you at all familiar with the double helix?

Phantasm: Boy, what you know 'bout Watson and Crick?

[In his cockpit, Omega smiles.]

Omega: Let's get twisted on this rocket jockey; just watch when we cross over!

[In his cockpit, Polar checks Omega's position; he does a quick measurement in his head, then begins to swerve across Omega's path of flight.]

Phantasm: You ain't gotta tell me twice, brah.

[Behind the two of them, their tail begins to meander a bit- its pilot seems unsure how to follow these two, short of giving them distance.]

Omega: Steady-

[In his cockpit, Omega squints his eyes and grits his teeth.]

Omega: Steady!

[In his cockpit, the Phantasm angles his control sticks; we watch as he weaves across Omega's path once more.]

Omega: Now- break!

[Omega and Polar both suddenly change direction, Polar heading straight up into the sky as Omega loops around downwards. The fighter jet tries to change course, but barely misses hitting a mountain; by the time the pilot can adjust course and turn around, the Guardians have regrouped and begun speeding up into the atmosphere.]

Phantasm: Guys, I'm not sure we've lost them all the way, yet-

Bonnie: How high can we take our vehicles, anyway? Could be a pressing issue here in... oh, two shakes... maybe three-

Omega: Nicky, what's the range on these things? How high up can we take them?

Tesla: Your vehicles are rated for travel in space, Guardians.

[There is a moment of silence; we quickly switch between their cockpits, watching as this information sinks in.]

Phantasm: Space is... really high.

Bonnie: Well, I guess it wouldn't be much of a test drive if we didn't open 'em up a little... see what there is to see, do what there is to do...

[In his cockpit, Omega laughs maniacally.]

Omega: ...Nicky, you're the coolest. Cam, Bonnie- we're god-damn astronauts!

Phantasm: Well, then- next stop, the final frontier!

[Scene fades as we watch our three heroes' vehicles break into the stratosphere.]


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NEXT: Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm... in space?! Jay Omega brings us 'Dark Side of the Moon', part 3 of this week's thrilling Guardians adventure- stay tuned, Guardians fans!

[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]