Five-Man Band (RP 4 of 4)

Hello, Guardians fans, and welcome to series #3... as before, I must warn you that this is a multi-piece project written by myself and three like-minded lunatics you all know and love as Jay, Alex and Bonnie... and trust me, you're gonna want to read those pieces before you touch this thing.  This series was outlined by myself, so I should know- it's deep, it's intense and it definitely needs to be viewed in order so it's not just a confusing mishmash of action sequences and hilarious Alex Richards lines (spoiler alert: hilarious Alex Richards lines to come).  We went big on this one; such is the fate of any team that is crazy enough to write with my ass.

To assist your viewing of this nonsense, here's a table of contents- read this stuff however you'd like, though it is greatly recommended you check these out in this order.

Guardians: The Call To Service

Episode One: There Is No Out
Written by Jay Omega

Episode Two: There Is Always An Out
Written by Bonnie Blue

Episode Three: Exit Strategy
Written by Alex Richards

Episode Four: Five-Man Band
Written by the Polar Phantasm

On behalf of the Guardians, we thank you for your viewership- we do this for a reason, Guardians fans, and that reason is you.  Enjoy the story.  See you in a week... same Guardians time, same Guardians channel.  Hopefully a little earlier next time, but... yeah.  We do what we can. 

Sincerely,
Brian Bonhagen
Co-creator, 'The Guardians'
Head Writer, Guardians: The Call To Service
...and, of course, the Polar Phantasm.


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[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the living quarters of the Unstable Elements. We hear "Pepper" by the Butthole Surfers playing in the background; sound system molded into each room of the complex, the audio is coming from speakers mounted in the ceiling. The Polar Phantasm lies in bed, fully clothed and atop the covers; he stares at the ceiling, likely lost in thought. His meditative moment is interrupted by the voice of his ever-popular digital friend and sidekick, Iceberg-Seven.]

Iceberg-Seven: Usergroup 'the Guardians' are awaiting your arrival in the conference room.

Phantasm: I'm well aware of this, Eye-Seven, but thank you; just got a few things to figure out first. Specifically, Kyle Kemp and Dustin Beaver.

["Revolution 1993" by Jamiroquai begins playing in the background as Polar sighs softly.]

Iceberg-Seven: Would you like to review profile on opponents 'Kyle Kemp' and 'Dustin Beaver'?

Phantasm: Kemp I'm pretty much solid on- had to work with him last week, and he didn't show me anything surprising. I figure after this week I could probably write a profile on the turkey. What you got on Beaver, Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Opening profile- ready. Opponent 'Dustin Beaver'; height six feet two inches, weight two hundred ten pounds. Hometown: Toronto, Ontario.

Phantasm: A Canadian boy- makes sense. Strong wrestling tradition up there. I feel like I've seen this guy before-

Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Dustin Beaver' was an employee of-

Phantasm: Oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember the guy now. Cute gimmick. That's pretty much it, though. I'm willing to bet he's still living off Pennsylvania glory, too. Eh- whatever. I didn't pick the opponents for this shit; I just have to wrestle them. What've you got on his fighting style, Eye-Seven? Anything stand out?

Iceberg-Seven: Fighting style is an ecclectic mix of flying and power moves-

Phantasm: Ha! So half his offense is gonna be useless against me. I've got almost fifty pounds on this guy- he's gonna have to fly to have a chance, and that makes him a one-trick pony. Easy-peasy.

Iceberg-Seven: Shall I continue match profile?

Phantasm: What else you got?

Iceberg-Seven: ...end of file.

[Polar chuckles.]

Phantasm: Yeah, that's what I thought. Kemp and Beaver's only hope is that they've got better coordination as a team than Bonnie and I; I mean, she and I are just really starting to work together, but we've meshed pretty well in the field so far. It'll be interesting to see how that goes, I'll admit... but yeah, I don't really see our opponents being anything to write home about. Maybe in a couple years, sure- but yeah.

["Our House" by Madness begins playing in the background as Polar continues.]

Phantasm: They've got a lot of dues to pay, Eye-Seven... this ain't an easy business to break into. Or get out of... if you're me, anyway. Every time I think I'm out...

[He hangs his head.]

Phantasm: Fuck, I can't quit anything for good, can I? At least I like the wrestling business- this shit with Frizzell is on my last nerve, Eye-Seven. The game I'll be playing with the two Beach Krew holdovers is checkers compared to the chess game I'm stuck playing with Frizzell.

[Polar raises his head, rubbing his eyes. He straightens his face, putting his best 'team leader' expression on before exhaling a deep breath.]

Phantasm: Time to check in with the Guardians... they've gotta be wondering what I'm up to by now. Should I tell them I came up with the plan in the car on the way here, or just let them think I was in here thinking up important shit instead of breaking down the UCI junior varsity squad?

Iceberg-Seven: Unable to analyze possible outcomes; cannot recommend strategy.

Phantasm: Fuck it, I'll tell 'em the truth if it comes up. I'd rather my team know the truth than think I'm all spooky and mysterious and shit. You think we got a shot at pulling this off, Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Estimated odds of mission completion without casualties: 14%.

Phantasm: ...ouch. Shit, Eye-Seven, you could've lied to me- no, no. Forget I said that. The last thing I want is my computer lying about facts and figures. With Alex and Crystal on board, we just might be able to pull it off, Eye-Seven. We just might. Numbers may not lie, but numbers also don't know a fuckin' thing about my team. I'd give us even money odds against anybody except countries with nuclear arsenals, and even then I bet you Tesla can make us some kickass rad-suits.

[Iceberg-Seven asks a cautionary question; one might think the computer is showing concern for his friends. And one would be correct.]

Iceberg-Seven: Has user 'Polar Phantasm' considered a secondary course of action?

Phantasm: I don't think there is one, friend. I said there was always an out, Eye-Seven... and I meant it. Unfortunately, there isn't always a second.


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"Is this what you wanted?
Is this what you had in mind?
Hope this is what you wanted
...cause this is what you're getting." -Tool, Ticks and Leeches

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!

Offbeat. Outlandish. Bizarre. These are just some of the words used to describe him, though they barely scratch the surface. The surreal is commonplace in his world, and random chance seems to be either his best friend or his guardian angel. Mimsy were the borogroves, and flubbity-wub-wub, flubbity-flubba-wub. What you see as gibberish makes perfect sense to... THE ARCHDUKE OF MASS CONFUSION, ALEX RICHARDS!

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!

Introduced to one another in a deathmatch, they became a team both in combat and in life. He, the Polar Phantasm, calculating yet comedic, intense yet irreverent... she, Nightmare, virtuous yet violent, belligerent yet beautiful. Together they work to defend this universe as strategist and infiltrationist (respectively) of the Guardians... they are THE UNSTABLE ELEMENTS!

[In 2013, the Unstable Elements were assumed dead following the destruction of their home (New Antarctica, Nevada) at the hands of Nathan von Liebert; in reality, they were taken underground by the US government and placed under the employ (and supervision) of one Edwin Frizzell, Deputy Director (Western Division) of the American Security Administration. Frizzell had the Phantasm and Nightmare trained for black operations... wetwork. Assassinations. Their skill was obvious from the beginning... their capacity to improvise in the field made them legends, myths... folk tales. They would have become the top operatives in the spy game if they just hadn't tried so desperately to get out of it. Cameron and Crystal Bankston never wanted to become secret agents; they were given very little choice at the outset of their career change, and every time they thought they had found a way out of the life they'd been thrust into they would find yet another mission awaited them at the previous mission's end. When Jeffrey Bankston was born, the Elements were finally able to shake free of the ASA's grip; it took all of Polar's genius to manipulate Frizzell into giving them their release, but- to the best of their knowledge- they succeeded. That is, until the rude awakening the Bankstons received not even two days before... when they found out the hard way that the other shoe has finally dropped. Frizzell had come to call his soldiers back to his army.]

[But this is not 2013... and the Unstable Elements are not merely a young married couple involved in the world of professional wrestling anymore. Was Frizzell counting on the Guardians to be part of his underhanded scheme to take the Central Disinformation Agency down a peg? Of this, we are unsure- that said, the Guardians have become involved in Polar's extended-length real-world high-casualty chess game with his former employer for better or worse. And here, at this moment, they (as well as their ally Alex Richards) stand ready to head into action alongside the Phantasm. His team is still not entirely sure of what comes next; though it may not encourage them, Polar isn't entirely sure either. But he knows that he and his wife - and by extension, their team - have only one recourse to ensure that Frizzell never bothers them again. Tonight, the Guardians will play a very special gig, one night only... tonight, they're going to sound a little different. For in this adventure, the team is playing by their opponents' rules... and will be playing as a five-man band.]


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POLAR PHANTASM #4: Five-Man Band

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[Scene: American Security Administration Western Division Headquarters, Colorado; before us, we see a towering structure of steel, concrete and glass. The building stands some thirty stories high, an imposing obelisk existing in stark contrast to the peaceful Rocky Mountain scenery surrounding it. The building is marked only by a nondescript sign at the turn from the roadway reading "American Security Administration"; shady government agencies generally don't put much into their advertising budget, one would imagine. We zoom inside the building; in the lobby, we see two security guards in body armor watching a series of monitors mounted inside of a reception desk. Heading further into the building, we see a series of elevators... the elevator door opens, and we head inside. A few moments later, we hear the ding of the elevator's bell; the door opens onto a cluttered basement, file boxes stacked along the walls of the poorly-maintained hallway. We zoom through the basement; our view stops before a security door marked "NOT AN EXIT". Through the magic of... well, narrative literature, we pass through the door; on its opposite side we see a long and darkened tunnel. We zoom through the tunnel, speeding off into the depths of what we can only assume is the underside of the Rockies... eventually we come to the terminus of the tunnel, better lit and maintained than the rest. A painted sign on the wall reads "P:A LEVEL 10"; three figures stand before us wearing black bodysuits and goggled facemasks. We have managed to make our way to the lowest level of Project: Antarctica, headquarters of the Guardians; one could assume our heroes are set to mobilize their grand revenge scheme, though we appear to be two short of a full house. One of the figures, obviously that of The Daughter of Time, Bonnie Blue, approaches a trio of ATVs; she turns behind her, waving the others on. Two men follow, obviously Alex Richards and Jay Omega; the three of them climb onto their four-wheeled craft and crank the engines with a symphony of engine roars.]

Bonnie: First Team is underway. Repeat- First Team underway.

[Over their headsets, the team hear the voice of the Polar Phantasm.]

Phantasm: Roger, First Team; Second Team en route to target. ETA fifteen minutes, give or take; awaiting update upon successful entry. Second Team out.

[With that, the two Guardians and their ally start off through the Cold War era tunnels with a burst of acceleration. We watch as they stream through the tunnel in a single file line, Bonnie riding point and Omega bringing up the rear. The headlights of the ATVs light the little-used path beneath the Rockies, showing First Team where they're going (as well as showing us with some detail the yellowed, aging tunnel walls and floor).]

Bonnie: Estimating seventeen hundred yards to target.

Omega: What do you think the chances are we actually pull this off, Bonnie?

Bonnie: Reckon we've got a decent shot; Polar seems to think so, for what it's worth.

Richards: How often is the Phantasm wrong, anyway?

Omega: Eh, he's right pretty often... but po-body's nerfect, you know?

Bonnie: That's about the size of it, yeah.

Richards: Well, alright then- just figured I'd ask if we were headed into a death trap like the last time.

Omega: No clue.

Bonnie: We'll be just fine so long as Eye-Seven does his bit like he's 'sposed to.

Richards: If not...?

Omega: It was nice knowing you, buddy.

Bonnie: Let's try some optimism, boys- how 'bout it?

Richards: It could be worse; we could be constantly on fire!

Bonnie: There's that-

Omega: We could have hangovers; that'd be the worst.

Richards: Worse than being on fire? Fuck, I don't even remember hangovers anymore. Just keep drinking, man- it's a solid plan. Shit, imagine how much worse this would be if we were in a reality where alcohol didn't exist-

Bonnie: I've seen it- it's equally amazing and depressing. It's like the Third Reich runs the world from The Jetsons. Or will be. Or... was?

Richards: I'm just glad someone on this team has bigger holes in their memory than I do.

Omega: Ooh, I got one- this could be way worse. We could all just be really itchy... for no explainable reason... for the whole mission.

Bonnie: Wonder how long it's been since these suits got cleaned-

Omega: -I don't know about yours, but I checked mine... this used to be Jeff Purse's suit. It's-

Bonnie: -oh yeah, you definitely got the clean one.

[Beeping sounds enter the conversation, slow but quickening as their movement continues toward the target.]

Bonnie: Up ahead-

[As the team cautiously back their ATVs up toward the 'target', we see that their point of interest - and likely point of entry - is the 'NOT AN EXIT' security door in the basement of the ASA building. Bonnie touches a few 'buttons' on a touchscreen device; a window pops up, program loading with a few scrolling screens of code. The screen changes to read "Iceberg-Seven online; accessing target systems. Accessing - 32%". She nods to the others, who get into position as if the enemy are at the gates; Bonnie checks the screen again, and we see Eye-Seven is 90% complete accessing the ASA's incredibly complicated system. What can you say? The kid's got the touch.]

Omega: How we doing, Bonnie?

Bonnie: We're about to find out.

[The screen flashes traffic-light green three times; "Security system engaged in infinite loop; system compromise imminent." Bonnie holds up a finger to the team, signalling to be ready... the screen flashes once more, text (now in green) reading "Security system disabled."]

Bonnie: Gotta give it to Eye-Seven; I didn't even think he'd be able to get into the ASA remotely.

[The artificial voice of Iceberg-Seven enters the conversation, surprising First Team with its response.]

Iceberg-Seven: This unit established hard-line access to ASA smart-systems in 2013 with the assistance of user 'Polar Phantasm'; previous experience with usergroup 'The Guardians' led to this unit's design, creation and use of security cracking application in 'Operation Five Man Band'. Usergroup 'The Guardians' is welcome.

Richards: Did the computer just tell us he did something just to be cool?

Omega: And tell us we're welcome for it...?

[Bonnie just shakes her head, laughing slightly.]

Bonnie: If that don't beat all. All the worrying we might not be able to get in-

Omega: We knew it was eventually going to happen, though... right? Eye-Seven's starting to act like Polar.

[Still chuckling with nervous exasperation, Bonnie tries the door; it opens without a fight, the only alarm tone coming forth being the squeak of the old door's rusty metal hinges.]

Bonnie: Eye-Seven; how much access do you have to the building's power systems?

Iceberg-Seven: Access is extensive; intricate smart control systems allow shutdown of individual rooms, sections of floors or whole floors-

Omega: Good thing we brought our fashionable eyewear.

Bonnie: Kill the power to everything but the server rooms, Eye-Seven; we're lookin' for dark an' quiet.

[In a blink, the building goes pitch black.]

Richards: Fuck, am I blind?

Omega: Turn your eyes on, dude.

[In turn, each member of the team activate their goggles; though not much bigger or more obtrusive than simple swimming goggles, the units function as night-vision or heat-vision scopes with a heads-up display indicating unit power, current mode of operation and (in case of heat-vision targeting) distance to target. Alex looks around for a moment, seemingly needing to reaffirm reality.]

Richards: Now everything's green and shadowy, kinda distorted- I like it. Feels like I'm walking around in a scene from Natural Born Killers.

[The team progress toward the elevator bay, making a right; they approach a door marked 'STAIRWELL', which we watch Bonnie cautiously open and take a peek past.]

Bonnie: First Team to Second Team; we're in, no incidents. Though you'd probably guessed already-

[The voice of the Phantasm comes back at them, relief in his voice.]

Phantasm: -it's still good to hear, team. ETA two minutes to LZ; we're gonna stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood, so we might as well just go for style points.

Bonnie: Good luck, y'all- First Team out.

[She looks over to her team, signalling their imminent ascent.]

Bonnie: Eyes open, heads up- next stop, the lobby.

[First Team enter the stairwell, attempting to climb as quietly as possible... despite their best intentions, though, there's not much you can do about a confused security guard trying to sneak a smoke. As the stairs bend around, Bonnie looks up to see the guard reaching for his sidearm; she draws and fires with the speed of a wild west gunslinger, knocking the security guard back and to the ground with a bright bolt of energy.]

Richards: Wow- phasers set to 'fuck yeah'.

Omega: Didn't know you could shoot like that, Bonnie... damn, that was full on Annie Oakley!

Bonnie: 'Speed is fine, but accuracy is final- you gotta learn to be slow in a hurry.' I was always more of a Wyatt Earp fan, m'self.

[Stepping past the unconscious security guard, the three creep through the lobby stairwell door with weapons at the ready.]


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[Scene: the skies above Colorado. We see the A.R.C.T.I.C. (Advanced Reconnaissance Combat Tactical Insertion Capsule, if you're not into the whole brevity thing) soaring through the skies at low altitude... one would imagine the dangerous elevation is less an attempt at thrill-seeking and more a radar detection countermeasure, but one can never be too sure. Cut to the inside of the craft; we see the Polar Phantasm and Nightmare dressed in a similar fashion to First Team (sans masks, though). Nightmare rides in what passes as the ARCTIC's passenger seat, anxiously tapping her feet as the Phantasm pilots the super-slick super-snowmobile on toward the secondary target. "Jumbo" by Underworld plays softly in the background, perhaps soothing these two savage beasts en route to their gladiatorial contest. We hear a message break through the silence, a broadcast from First Team...]

Bonnie: First Team to Second Team; we're in, no incidents. Though you'd probably guessed already-

[Both Unstable Elements breathe a sigh of relief; Phantasm can't help but smile upon hearing that their plans are coming together.]

Phantasm: -it's still good to hear, team. ETA two minutes to LZ; we're gonna stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood, so we might as well just go for style points.

Bonnie: Good luck, y'all- First Team out.

[Nightmare anxiously peers over Polar's shoulder, trying to judge what he's considering their 'landing zone'.]

Nightmare: Where are you gonna- fuck it, don't care. Too excited! Baby, we're back in the field together again... I didn't want to say anything, but I've been dying to get back to work.

[He shakes his head, laughing slightly.]

Phantasm: Gee, Crystal; I hadn't realized.

Nightmare: This has just all been so much fun-

Phantasm: -which bit? Shady government manipulation? Almost getting killed? Taking a second pass at getting killed in case we just got lucky the first time?

Nightmare: All. All of the above. I missed you, baby. I missed us.

Phantasm: On the one hand, dear, we didn't go anywhere- but on the other hand, I know exactly what you mean. And I agree. I just didn't want you in danger anymore once Jeffrey was born; it was bad enough that I'd have to deal with shit like this-

Nightmare: Yeah, and what's up with that, anyway? I'm the one who actually likes breaking into shit, shooting people and blowing stuff up-

Phantasm: -eh, the work has its moments for sure. Just... call it my Daddy instincts kicking in. I put on the outfit, go out and wrestle for our daily bread... you stay home and guard our cub like the badass Mama Bear you are. Made sense to me.

[She snickers.]

Nightmare: You sap.

[She pauses for a moment, then mumbles her alarm so as not to shake her husband's control over their craft.]

Nightmare: You're headed for a backyard. In a hurry. Cameron. Cameron, that's a-

Phantasm: -it's about as decent of an LZ as we're gonna find in this neck of the woods, baby.

[We see that the ARCTIC has landed (somewhat comfortably, this narrator might add) in the backyard of a large house dead smack in the middle of an upscale suburban neighborhood.]

Phantasm: Ready, Butch?

[She sighs.]

Nightmare: If I call you Sundance, will you promise to never call me 'butch' again?


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[Scene: American Security Administration Western Division Headquarters, Colorado; more specifically, the lobby. We see the large open reception area, lit only by emergency light; we see three security guards on the floor, one of whom appears to have been singed by Bonnie's 'stun gun'... the other two, though, look to have been knocked unconscious by blunt force trauma to the cranium. After all, those particular wounds only come from so many places; this narrator is willing to bet that these two got their skulls knocked together with a maneuver straight out of The Three Stooges. We notice that one of the elevators stands out amidst the lobby, its call button and direction indicators lit up in stark contrast to the unpowered building they're built into. Our view shifts upwards, by a dozen floors in fact; First Team continues their push through hostile territory, creeping down a hallway towards a room marked "ARCHIVES".]

Bonnie: Y'all know the score- I'm on the hard copies, y'all are on tech detail.

Omega: Roger dodger. Alex, you got the drive?

[We watch as Alex Richards checks his suit; he shakes his head.]

Richards: Don't got it, boss.

Bonnie: Jay- check your vest, inside pocket.

[He unzips his suit slightly, cramming a hand unceremoniously inside of his clothing.]

Omega: Ah- well then.

[He extracts a small USB drive about the size of an iPod, its cord trailing behind it as if it had a tail.]

Omega: Bangarang. Up a floor, right?

Bonnie: Yeah, just look for the thing that's too bright to look at with your night-vision on.

Richards: Stop when you go blind, then- just like masturbation. Got it.

[Bonnie nods, trying not to laugh; Jay and Alex head into a nearby stairwell, continuing their conversation into their headsets. Bonnie takes one more cursive glance about her, checking the perimeter before ducking into the Archives.]

Omega: Man, you're killing it with the masturbation jokes.

Richards: Eh, you go with what you know.

[We see Bonnie Blue's first impression of the ASA's Archives; they're dreary, unkempt and cluttered. How anyone could find anything in this mess, we might never know... she sighs to herself, digging into the first pile she sees in an attempt to diagnose the nature of its existence. We cut to the 15th floor*, watching as the Omega Man and the Archduke of Mass Confusion make their way toward epic brightness. They switch their night-vision off just in time to see what the brightness had concealed; four armed guards standing in the doorway of the server room.]
(* - Actually the fourteenth floor of the building, but... you know what, I'm gonna let you look this one up yourselves. -B.)

Richards: Shit, Jay- what do you think the chances are that they're here waiting for us?

Omega: Fairer than average, compadre. They'll see us coming-

Richards: What if we use that?

[Beneath his mask, Jay Omega smiles.]

Omega: Alex, do you have a plan? Because I am just dying to hear it.

[Moments later... we watch as four members of the ASA security detail loiter expectantly in the hall before the 'Company's' server room, noticing one's not-so-subtle attempt to pick his nose. A whistle comes from down the hallway; four flashlights follow the sound, one moving slightly less quickly than the others (a side effect of an occupied nose-picking hand, no doubt). Peeking out of an office door, we see Jay Omega- he has his mask off, face cocked into a smirk.]

Omega: Hey, you- the chumps with the earpieces that aren't working! What's up, couldn't get into a real private army so you're rent-a-cops for the feds?

[The guards look to each other for a second, but seem hesitant to leave their post; Jay pushes the issue, perhaps enjoying this bit of things a little too much.]

Omega: We're running loose in your building, cutting power to stuff, knocked out a bunch of your guys; why don't you do your damn jobs and come and get me, already?

[The guards charge into the darkness, flashlights jogging slightly up and down as their owners bounce slightly with their frantic footsteps. In position behind the door we see Omega; Jay is trying not to laugh at how successful their purile ruse has become, though we can see he's dangerously close to biting his own tongue out of desperation. The flashlights turn, aimed into the large office they saw Omega pop out of... Jay counts three to himself, slamming the door with all his might. In the hallway, we see one guard get cracked in the forehead- he's busted open, blood leaking onto his shirt. He also lost his balance from the impact, sending him tumbling onto his coworkers; the blue shirted security guards fall to the hallway floor like so many dominoes. In the confusion, the guards do not notice the large man steps away from their position and closing- he's a man for whom confusion is rule, not exception. And he's definitely not someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley...]

Richards (in his best Fred Rogers): Hello, friend. Would you like to be my neighbor?

[...no matter what character voice he's using at any given time. The first security guard to go down gets it quick and painful; Alex wrenches him by his right arm, likely tearing the man's rotator cuff in the process of slamming him face-first into the reinforced wall of the skyscraper's hallway. Another guard swings with his flashlight, cracking Alex across the upper back; instinctively, he sells the move. The guard whips his flashlight back for another swing; Alex spins about, breaking the guard's nose with a straight right to the face. The guard is launched off his feet, sliding a few feet down the hallway as if angling toward home plate. Omega reopens the door just in time to see Alex kick a disoriented guard (still on his knees, in fact) in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him.]

Omega: Oh, no fair! I wanted to kick somebody.

[The first guard; the one Omega busted open by the office door, to be more specific, comes to and tries to get up. Omega and Richards look over to see the guard reaching for a pistol on the floor.]

Richards: Your wish is granted; long live Jhambi.

[Omega punts the gun from the guard's hand; it bounces off the ceiling, causing both men to duck as it rebounds on the hallway floor and clanks to a stop a few feet further away. Jay gives the guard one more kick, this time to the jaw; the man's head turns with a jolt, his body crumpling to the ground as he goes dark once more.]

Omega: Alright, so- that could've gone worse, right?

[Over their headsets, Jay and Alex hear the voice of Bonnie Blue.]

Bonnie: Fellas, how we doin' up there?

[As if reminded of their mission by her question, the two men head back toward the server room in a hurry.]

Omega: There was a little bit of a welcoming committee waiting for us, but we managed...

Richards: They're having naptime; when they wake up, I hope somebody gives them juice and a cookie so they don't get cranky.

Bonnie: Finally starting to make some headway down here; y'all should see this mess. Thousands of important documents filed under... hell, might as well be 'W' for "Wherever". I'm finally into the right time period's, uh, pile- ah! This could be... yeah, y'all. Hit paydirt.

[In the server room, Jay and Alex hunt up an open port; Omega interjects the drive into the system's structure, letting Iceberg-Seven do his thing.]

Omega: We're in- files are downloading.

Bonnie: Alright, we're almost done- when everything's copied, don't forget. Drop the spike.

[As the drive completes its file-manipulating operations, Omega runs one more operation on the system... a program window opens, multiple pages of code scrolling in the blink of an eye. The text "Digital Napalm deployed" appears briefly, then the screen goes blank... the servers go dark. Jay retrieves the drive, returning it to its previous position within his vest.]

Omega: Full fuckin' meltdown, baby.

Richards: Did we just give the government a virus?

Omega: Dude, I think we just gave them all of the virus.

Bonnie: Plural is virii, actually.

Omega: Come on, Bonnie, I was doing a bit. Jeez-

[In the archive room, we see Bonnie wielding a roll of schematics as if a short-staff; she whips at the air with the schematics, lodging the rolled documents beneath her arm with a flourish.]

Bonnie: Alright, ev'rybody out of the pool- that elevator still working, Eye-Seven?

Iceberg-Seven: Affirmative; external alarm system triggered, response time estimated at seven minutes.

Richards: Last one out gets a free trip to Guantanamo!

[Bonnie heads to the elevators, watching as the lone functioning lift descends to receive her. The doors open; inside we see Alex Richards and Jay Omega smiling as Bonnie Blue joins them. As the doors close, Omega has a thought.]

Omega: Didn't this feel pretty easy to you guys?

[Moments later, the elevator opens onto the lobby; as they step out, they are greeted by the sight of some twenty-odd gentlemen with guns of various calibers.]

Omega: ...shit. I jinxed us, didn't I?

Bonnie: Bigtime.

[The three duck behind the reception desk, noticing that there's essentially miles of wide open space between them and the stairwell down to the basement.]

Security: Throw away your weapons and come out with your hands up! You have five seconds to comply.

Richards: What we need right now is a big ridiculous distraction.

Omega: Yeah, and you're already here! ...I'm fresh out of ideas.

Bonnie: Actually, a distraction- that might be doable; Eye-Seven, how 'bout it? You got an ace up your sleeve?

[There is no response; five seconds elapse, five long seconds speckled with the sounds of gunmen cautiously approaching. Suddenly, a loud alarm bell begins ringing; sprinklers in the ceiling begin spraying chemical suppressants, clouding the room and causing the gunmen to duck for cover. First Team check their masks, ensuring they've got some sort of defense against the chemical rain.]

Iceberg-Seven: Is this to your liking, user 'Bonnie Blue'?

[Dashing through the stairwell door amongst her teammates, Bonnie can't truly express her thanks as she might like to; that said, she does pretty well in a pinch.]

Bonnie: You're MVP of this mission, Eye-Seven; First Team is coming out, and we're coming out hot. Phantasm, you reading?

[The voice of the Phantasm comes through, his solemn timbre giving them reason for pause.]

Phantasm (quiet, intense): I'll be with you in a few minutes, team. Kind of having a moment, here.

[Down the staircase and through the basement, First Team makes a beeline for their getaway vehicles; Omega stops to close the door behind them, then laughs and resumes his escape.]

Richards: A man of manners til the bitter end, eh?

Omega: I forgot we were just gonna 'close the door' a little ways down the aisle- hell, I stopped thinking. We're home free, now.

Bonnie: Almost- still got one more job to do.

[They tear off down the tunnel on their all terrain vehicles; after about a hundred yards or so, they stop.]

Bonnie: Alex, you wanna do the honors?

[Bonnie unstraps a flip-phone sized device from the outside of her catsuit's thigh; she tosses the device to Alex Richards, who catches it awkwardly and examines it with wonder.]

Richards: Oh, cool. You guys have Guardians branded cellphones as merch? That's very next-gen. Very Guardianesque, if you ask me-

Omega: It's an explosive charge, Alex. Plant it high as you can, should be enough to cave this tunnel in...

Bonnie: ...but not so much to cave the whole kit'n caboodle in on our heads, right?

Omega: I got the thing from Polar, I'm pretty sure it's legit- it's Polar, right?

[Alex looks at the device, noticing an 'F' carved into the device's casing with a car key.]

Richards: Who's "F"?

[There is a brief pause.]

Bonnie: Ok, so... maybe we detonate it at full speed, just in case we gotta outrun disaster.

[Alex shrugs, planting the device against the tunnel wall; he mounts his ATV once more, the team angling themselves towards Project: Antarctica and the safety of home. As the ATVs dash out of sight, we see a close-up of Bonnie's lithe fingers cradling a detonator... with the push of a button, we watch as the tunnel collapses in a burst of fire and a massive pile of rubble.]


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[Scene: an affluent neighborhood in a well-to-do suburban municipality, somewhere in Colorado; more specifically, just inside of a high concrete wall. In the background we hear a slight rustle; we hear a low male grunt. We see Nightmare flip over the wall, landing feet-first onto the lush lawn; immediately the red-haired woman lies prone, unstrapping an unusual looking pistol from her right hip. She cautiously surveys the scene, spotting a guard about 150 feet away; without a sound, she sizes up her target and fires a gas-powered tranquilizer dart into the back of the guard's neck. She takes another minute or so to further case the joint; deciding she's out of sight, she pops back up and dashes toward a security gate. She pushes a button mounted on the inner wall; with a slight hum, the gates part. From the shadows, the Polar Phantasm emerges; he also draws a tranquilizer dart sidearm, the other half of a matched pair (aww; his and hers tranq guns. For the annoyingly cutesy couple who occasionally need to knock out full-grown men from a distance of a few hundred feet). Polar flashes a few hand signals to his wife; she points toward the far side of the property. He nods slightly; the pair split up, Nightmare headed off at high speed (for someone in a partial crouch, anyhow) as Polar cautiously heads toward a garden.]

Phantasm (whispered): Eye-Seven, how's First Team doing?

Iceberg-Seven: User 'Bonnie Blue' reporting condition nominal; all team members' vital signs within normal parameters. User 'Alex Richards' has a blood alcohol content of-

Phantasm (whispered): That's plenty, Eye-Seven; I'm sure Alex has high score at BAC, but we can talk about that later. Gimme the scoop on security here-

Iceberg-Seven: Wireless signals in your area are coming from your northeast, southeast and far west; likely source would be security webcams.

[Polar peeks around him, spying the spy cameras.]

Phantasm (whispered): Can you remotely loop the feeds? We could use the added cover, Eye-Seven-

Iceberg-Seven: Security system accessed; processing.

[Polar waits in the shadows beneath a shade tree; he sees a guard walking perimeter and draws a bead on the slowly moving target.]

Iceberg-Seven: All internal and external security feeds looped; attempting to jam outgoing signals within immediate vicinity.

[Polar fires, tagging the guard in his side; the guard spins around, desperately trying to find his assailant as the sedatives take over and drag him to the turf.]

Iceberg-Seven: All outgoing signals jammed with exception of this transmission frequency.

Phantasm (whispered): That's my second favorite son- way to go, Eye-Seven.

[Polar heads toward the house, feeling confident that he's running short on resistance. On the opposite side of the house, we see a lone guard attempting to radio his team; when pressing the transmission button, his radio gives off a low alarm tone. The oh-so-clever gentleman decides to remove the battery cover of the device, batteries tumbling out onto the pavement of a circular driveway. He bends down to pick the AA batteries up as they slowly roll away; he stumbles a bit forward, then his eyes cross and he lands face-first with a slight and muffled splat. In his rear end we see the tip of a dart protruding; a distant floodlight reflects a slight feminine shadow moving away from the light and towards the house's front door.]


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[Scene: Upscale suburban home, interior; more specifically, the master bedroom. Our first sight upon viewing these scene would be the king-sized bed; its occupant rolls slightly, covers pulling back enough to reveal the bald head and slightly squinty (even in his sleep) facial expression of one Edwin R. Frizzell, Deputy Director of the American Security Administration (Western Division). We watch for a moment as he sleeps, fairly soundly for a monster (this narrator might add)... in the background, we hear a voice quietly call to him.]

Phantasm: Edwin...

[Our view pulls back to a long view of the room, bed at the right side and dresser at the left; atop the dresser sits Nightmare, hands conservatively folded in her lap. Leaning against the dresser we see the Polar Phantasm; the look on his face is a strange blend of sadistic glee and soon-to-be unrepressed anger.]

Phantasm: Edwin, wake up...

[Frizzell stirs slightly, but his eyes do not even flutter. Nightmare looks to Polar as if seeking permission; he nods slightly to his wife, who reaches behind herself and draws a revolver. She fires two shots, both semi-harmlessly blasting chunks off of an antique headboard. The gunshots have the desired effect, of course; Frizzell snaps up with a start, sighing with frustration at the blurry but expected scene before him.]

Frizzell: Bankstons; you're early. I wasn't expecting you 'til morning.

[He reaches for a nighttable, seeking his eyeglasses; he slips a hand beneath his pillow, first grasping for something subtly, then with increasing fervor.]

Nightmare: Colt Detective Special, .38 snub-nose... man, this thing's a classic. You know, Cam, they don't make these anymore-

[Feigning surprise at infomercial host level, the Phantasm purses his lips in faux shock. Frizzell puts his glasses on, vision focusing on the sight of Nightmare gently caressing his under-the-pillow gun.]

Phantasm: Really? That's amazing, dear! What else have we found?

[She pops open the revolver's chamber, spilling the bullets (and of course, two spent casings) onto the floor. She snatches one of the rounds up, giving it a quick look-over; she begins making a 'tch' noise, attempting to shame the unassuming-looking monster before them.]

Nightmare: Hollow points. Naughty, naughty Eddie.

[Frizzell glances over to see the Phantasm pointing a tranquilizer gun at him; he pushes a button molded into his nightstand, reacting with confusion at his security system's ineffectiveness.]

Phantasm: Oh, nobody's coming for you. We've made sure of that-

[In a brief interruption, the stressed voice of Bonnie Blue breaks into Polar's head via use of a molded earbud.]

Bonnie: First Team is coming out, and we're coming out hot. Phantasm, you reading?

[Polar responds, unable to prevent himself from sounding somewhere between annoyed and upset at Bonnie's transmission.]

Phantasm: I'll be with you in a few minutes, team. Kind of having a moment, here.

[Placing the empty revolver on the dresser next to her, Nightmare picks up where Polar had left off.]

Nightmare: Right now, all of your security personnel lie unconscious - but alive - somewhere on your property. Your security system has been hijacked; signals from this location are all jammed... except for ours, of course.

[Polar nods slightly, chiming in...]

Phantasm: Of course!

Nightmare: It's just me and you and Polar, Frizzell- this is a threesome that we've wanted badly for days but you've needed badly for years.

[For the first time, they see what is undoubtedly fear in the eyes of Edwin Frizzell; fear mixed with immeasurable frustration, but fear nonetheless.]

Phantasm: That call I got was from our team, the Guardians... they've successfully severed all ties between me and mine and the ASA, and they were far messier about it than we've been here; you're welcome, by the way.

Frizzell: Fuck you, Bankston. Fuck both of you-

[Stretching up onto his knees, fists balled in anger, Frizzell fires off a wild threat.]

Frizzell: -I could have you both killed anytime I want!

[Taking a strong step forward, Polar points a finger at the face of his former employer; his voice makes a significant climb in both bass and volume, almost as if he's speaking in another voice entirely.]

Phantasm: And I could have you stranded in the Mesozoic Era before breakfast! What's your move, Frizzell? You gonna threaten my wife again, threaten my team? Threaten my son? You're a broken fuckin' record, Edwin, and after tonight I never want to listen to you again. You tried to make us into what you wanted us to be, tried so fucking hard that you stopped paying attention to the big picture... so let me catch you up on the finer points of reality as how it relates to you and the Bankston family. You: high-powered lowlife in control of an organization of peeping toms, desperately clinging to the hope that you'll be remembered for fucking anything ever after you're put out to pasture like the grumpy old bull you are. We: trained fucking killers whose lives you altered, manipulated and threatened at every turn; two good people, stained by the blood you ordered us to spill, simply trying to raise our fucking child somewhere other than in a hail of fucking bullets. We've done as much good with our lives as we could to get our hands clean, but that blood won't come off- that blood won't come off because you... keep... putting it there.

[Polar takes a step back, leaning back against the dresser; he continues addressing the now quite visibly shaken Frizzell.]

Phantasm: You have absolutely no idea the forces you are fucking with, Edwin. Absolutely, positively, without a doubt completely fucking clueless. Do you have any idea how fucking far we've come since Cryogenix? You're the ASA, Edwin; how the fuck do you not know what we're capable of? How do you not know what I'm capable of? You have brought a knife to a plasma rifle fight, you smug piece of shit. You didn't even have the decency to put up a good fight; in less than half an hour my team has done more damage to your agency than a wave of cybercrime could ever do, and the best part is you'll have to deny it even happened to protect the status quo! Christ, you're like a beaten wife claiming to've fallen down some stairs.

Nightmare: Not yet, he isn't.

Phantasm: Oh, yes. I'm sure you're wondering just what I'm planning to do to you, Edwin... but you see, it's not me you need to be worried about right at this moment. I'm not sure how well you know my wife, Crystal-

[She bows slightly before staring down Frizzell intently. She cracks her knuckles with a handful of loud pops.]

Nightmare: Charmed, as always.

Phantasm: -she's not exactly the most understanding person in the world when it comes to threats against our son, you see. So there's that. You understand; it's protocol.

[She hops down from the dresser, cracking her neck with a roll of her head; in a strangely sweet voice, she admits a profound (though personal) truth.]

Nightmare: This is going to be sooo fun!

Frizzell: Wait, I can-

[And it was fun, for both Bankstons... we watch as Nightmare beats on the pajama-clad fifty-something Frizzell like a prize fighter, knocking him from his bed and mounting him with a series of crossfaces. She socks Frizzell in his left eye, causing him to roll to one side; he throws Nightmare off of him in desperation, but she connects with a kick to the top of his head from her landing position and the resulting impact causes the ASA's Deputy Director to go into a full-on fetal position. Nightmare gets back up to her feet; she strides a confident stride toward her opponent, laughing madly as she kicks him in his kidneys six or seven times. She takes a pillow from the bed; he tries to resist its uncomfortable (and quite violent, as far as use of a pillow is concerned) combination with his face, but to no avail. Crystal Bankston, proud mother and loving wife, sits atop a man more than twice her age as she teases him with death by suffocation; no more than five feet away from his wife, Cameron Bankston looks on at the scene with a tremendous smile. He knows how much she needed to give this beating, perhaps moreso than Frizzell deserved to receive it... when she gave up her life of violence for fun and profit, Crystal had simply buried her awe-inspiring rage. It needed to come out; much as he suspected, a well-remembered (and often missed) glee returned to his wife as soon as she unleashed the beast that lives within her. He blinks, slapping his forehead playfully; he digs into an inner pocket hidden within his suit's chest producing a joint (in surprisingly decent shape, considering the ride it was taken on). He digs further, producing a small disposable lighter; with a practiced flourish, the Phantasm lights the left-handed cigarette and takes the rough (yet essential) 'paper hit' with a strained choking cough. He watches as Nightmare resorts to slapping Frizzell, forehand and backhand; he laughs slightly wondering what one particular old friend of theirs would think about his wife's strong pimp hand. With one more drag, the Phantasm makes a mumbled grunting noise; apparently understanding Polar's noises with some degree of insight, Nightmare looks over and carefully takes the joint in one cautious but smooth motion.]

Nightmare: Break time, Eddie; get ready for round two!

[Crystal takes a strong pull on the flimsy smoking implement; she gives Frizzell a wink, blowing her hit into his eyes. Polar steps over, gazing down into the eyes of his fallen but (assumably) unrepentant foe.]

Phantasm: I don't know, Crys- that might be enough for this sack of shit. What do you say, Frizzell- one more unholy agreement, for old times' sake? You give me what I want from you, I take this lovely young thing out of your hair so you can get to the coughing up blood in an ambulance thing.

[Voice coming in at something between a growl and a groan, Frizzell spits up his reponse.]

Frizzell: What do you want, Bankston? Money? Guns? Drugs? I work for the US government; two phone calls and you've got whatever you need.

[Polar slowly shakes his head, dead serious expression plastered across his face.]

Phantasm: Say my name.

[Frizzell blinks twice, barking an indignant response.]

Frizzell: -what? You want me to... say your name? Who the fuck do you think you-

Phantasm: Yes, Edwin- who the fuck do I think I am? Better yet- back to the fucking question - who the fuck do you think I am?

Frizzell: I'm not answering this ridiculous question. Kill me if you have to- I'm not dignifying that insult with an answer.

[Nightmare punctuates Frizzell's sentence with a knuckle punch to the forehead, audibly knocking on the man's skull.]

Nightmare: Better get with the program, Eddie- you've got one option here, and there is no out for you.

Phantasm: My name, Frizzell. Say it.

[Growling his answer once more, Frizzell gives the 'christian name' of the man with the 131 pound gun to his head.]

Frizzell: Bankston. Cameron-

[Polar loudly shouts a TV game show buzzer sound, cutting his captive audience off with ever increasing anger.]

Phantasm: Wrong answer, Edwin-

[Frizzell shouts his answer, once more reinforcing his stated position.]

Frizzell: Bankston, Cameron James Junior; designation CGXP1137, 'Cryogenix Prime'!

[Polar sounds the 'buzzer' once more, this time Nightmare adding another skull-knocking noise as emphasis.]

Phantasm: Wrong again, Edwin- I thought you knew everything! I thought you were the mighty omniscient ASA, eyes everywhere and fingers in everything- do you mean to tell me you can't figure out who I am? Look at me- LOOK AT ME!

[Polar's face twists in anger, brow furrowing... eyes gleaming. Frizzell can't help but follow orders; in this situation, it's the only thing that makes sense to him.]

Phantasm: Look into the face of the man who beat you and say my fucking name.

[Resigning from their game, Frizzell flips his proverbial king.]

Frizzell: ...Phantasm.

[With a slight sob, Frizzell finally acknowledges a man he's known for three years for being the utterly terrifying figure he truly is.]

Frizzell: You're the Polar Phantasm.

[Staring through Frizzell, Phantasm responds with forceful declaration...]

Phantasm: Yeah you right.

[Nightmare gets off of Frizzell's chest; he gasps loudly, coughing up the first bit of that blood that Polar had predicted. Leaving their fallen foe to enjoy his rewards, the Unstable Elements head home... on their way out of the bedroom door, though, Polar pops back in for a final word.]

Phantasm: Make no mistake about it- if I call on you for a favor, you will answer. If I give you an order, you will take it. And so help whatever you consider your God; if I ever see your face again without looking for it first I will bind you hand and foot, tie you to the bumper of my fucking space-worthy super snowmobile and drag you into the stratosphere just to see if you freeze solid from the thin atmosphere or burn alive from being dragged at supersonic speed. I will murder you with science like a twisted episode of Beakman's World and I will enjoy every fucking second of it. The paramedics will be here in a few minutes- take this quiet time to remember this. Remember that you made every bit of this happen yourself... you handed me the gun, Frizzell. I just finally pulled the trigger.

[The Phantasm leaves; Frizzell gags and throws up a puddle of phlegm mixed with blood. He looks at his bedroom doorway, his one good eye squinting in anger.]

Frizzell: You won the battle, Phantasm... but this-

[He hacks and coughs, obviously in agony; he angrily spits in the direction the Unstable Elements had exited the room in.]

Frizzell: -this is war-

[He gasps, slumping to a prone position; moments later, we can hear an ambulance's siren creeping into the background.]


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


[Scene: Project: Antarctica, Colorado; more specifically, the conference room. Back at Guardians Terran Headquarters we see the (extended) team sitting around the conference table, glasses of various shapes and sizes before each of them (Bonnie actually has a coffee mug, but that's beside the point). Omega makes a face as if scared to death of something; everyone cracks up.]

Omega: Was I even close to right, Alex? I didn't even see the guy, I just heard it through the door-

Richards: It's hard to tell, honestly. I have a habit of scaring people anytime I pop up on them.

Omega: Still, though- Mister Rogers. That's pretty much all the style points, man.

[Alex opens an unmarked jug, pouring a healthy glug of liquid into each of their cups.]

Richards: I propose a toast. Actually, I could go for some toast right now.

[Polar voices a suggestion.]

Phantasm: Raisin toast. And some cheesy eggs.

[There is a low groan, perhaps laden with desire for Waffle House. They look into their cups; Nightmare shrugs.]

Nightmare: Bottoms up, gang?

[Our view circles the table; we watch as the five heroes tip back their glasses and take a big swig. For a few of them, it's their first taste of Zim-quila...]

Nightmare: Oh god, is that what the 90's tasted like?

Phantasm: ...woof. Goes down smooth, Alex- wait, no. No, I think my insides are on fire.

Bonnie: ...what ever happened to good ol' moonshine, anyway?

[As if coordinated beforehand, all four of Bonnie's allies respond together.]

Everybody: Hipsters.

[Realizing the humor in their unplanned agreement, the team has a laugh at themselves. Bonnie just sighs.]

Bonnie: We just can't have nothin' nice anymore, can we.

[There is a quiet moment; Polar addresses the crew, straight from his heart.]

Phantasm: Guys, I just want to say- on behalf of Crystal and myself, thank you for your help today. You didn't have to step in like that; the Frizzell problem was ours to deal with, and we probably couldn't have done it without you... but you still didn't have to step in like that. We would have eventually handled it-

Omega: Polar... of course we had to jump in, man. You're our boy, we're not letting you go out like that.

Bonnie: Yeah, handlin' the impossible is... our lives, pretty much.

Omega: Exactly. It's a Guardians thing. You know?

[Polar nods, smiling.]

Phantasm: Yeah, I dig. And Alex, man- holy shit, you really didn't have to jump in on this... but we are so glad you did, man. You saved our asses out in the foothills-

Nightmare: -yeah, great fuckin' timing. If you'd have shown up any earlier you'd probably have blown the spot, but if you showed up any later we'd be swiss cheese by now.

Phantasm: Totally nailed it.

[Alex rubs his head.]

Richards: Hey, thanks. I figured I wasn't doing shit else, and Jay always invites me to the best parties.

Omega: Or some would say the worst parties-

Richards: -but those usually end up being the best parties. Remember that time we were in that bar and I was all fucked up on those tainted Percocets? We kicked the shit out of the holidays, man. Couldn't have done it without you.

[Omega laughs, shaking his head.]

Omega: Except for the part where you'd actually invited me, it wasn't a party we were at and you did kick the shit out of the holidays without me. Remember? When I got there you were standing over Santa Claus all covered in blood like "Whatever you do, don't buy Percocet from a guy named Merle."

[Alex shrugs.]

Richards: That's solid advice- I remember that much.

Phantasm: Either way, Alex- really glad you stayed and helped out after you figured out how weird Guardians parties get. We did something amazing today, y'all- I mean, sure we committed a ton of felonies against the most powerful nation on the planet, but we did it for good reason.

Nightmare: Revenge.

Phantasm: Not entirely- ok, yeah. We pretty much did all this because that asshole had it coming. But erasing all that data, all that shady shit they'd collected on the American people... that was pretty fucking sweet. And now we've got leverage on Frizzell... now the ASA owes us a big one, whether they like it or not.

Bonnie: Eye-Seven says there hasn't been anythin' in the news about any o' this, anywhere. Like it never happened.

[Polar smiles.]

Phantasm: I knew I could count on Frizzell to cover his ass first and foremost. No, Bonnie- you had it right. We know it happened, they know it happened... but it never happened.

Omega: Nobody's the wiser- shit. That's actually kinda disappointing... that was a pretty epic mission to keep in the dark, Cam.

Phantasm: Fighting battles on behalf of the people is the important part, Jay- in the light of public exposure or the darkest of shadow. That, too, is a Guardians thing.

[She just can't help herself- Nightmare surprises Polar by interjecting (and obviously struggling to hold a straight face) in his own 'angry' voice.]

Nightmare (as Polar): Yeah you right.

[She tries to keep the angry look on her face, but can't hold it- she cracks up so hard she buries her face in the conference table, and the laugh is infectious.]

Omega (laughing): That's eerie. You even looked like him-

Phantasm (laughing): Shut up, Jay. Just- oh god, did she? Is that what I look like?

[Scene fades on three plus two; though mathematics insists upon it, only time will tell if this number equals five.]


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THE CALL TO SERVICE
Episode Four: Five-Man Band
Series conceived by the Polar Phantasm
Series directed by Jay Omega
'The Guardians' created by Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm
Episode written by the Polar Phantasm


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[Somewhere, far away from where we are... we see a throne room, opulent and gleaming. Servants with pale purple-hued skin stand in rows opposite a long blue carpet, stretching the length of the palatial chamber... two servants stand on either side of a gleaming yellow throne, fanning an Amazon of a dark purple-skinned woman wearing a tall bejeweled headdress and a revealing robe. A horn sounds; a massive set of doors opens, and a young man wearing sandals and what appears to be a space-age toga dashes through the doorway and up the carpet towards the throne. He drops to his knees, prostrating himself before the regal-looking woman seated at the position of power; she signals casually for the man to rise.]

Emissary: O glorious Empress Sasha, whom even the gods fear to cross- I have returned from the observation array on Min Darquis... your imperial astronomers have located another world ripe for conquer.

[The empress reacts, ever so slightly- she raises an eyebrow, now looking directly at her emissary.]

Empress Sasha: Oh? Tell me of this world.

Emissary: Your glory, I am but a lowly messenger-

Empress Sasha: Tell me all that you know, errand boy, or I shall be forced to put you to work in the Deludium mines.

[He gulps in obvious terror.]

Emissary: It is a world, third from its star, in a backwater portion of a galaxy called the "Milky Way"; the people of its planet are technologically inferior to that of our marvelous Darrikaan Empire, oh mighty Sasha- it is a world ripe for the picking.

Empress Sasha: Mmm. Yes... that does sound quite promising. Once this nuisance of a rebellion is crushed and my sister finally brought to justice, we shall see about turning our armies toward this fledgling world. What is this world called, emissary?

Emissary: It is called 'Earth', your majesty.

[She smiles evilly.]

Empress Sasha: A foolish name; no matter. I will think of a better name before I take ownership, I'm sure. I will get to know of this world's people, this 'Earth'... and soon thereafter, they will get to know me.


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