There Is No "Out" (RP 1 of 4)

~The night was too quiet. That was the first thought to drift through the drowsy mind of Cameron Bankston, Jr. - better known to the wide world as the Polar Phantasm - as he awoke from his slumber. A quick glance beside him showed the bed empty, and the lack of light coming from the en suite bathroom told him his wife Crystal - also known as Nightmare - wasn't in there. She was probably in the kitchen getting a late-night snack, or more likely checking on their son, yet finely-honed instincts had the fine hairs along the back of Cameron's neck standing on edge. Something was wrong. A muffled thump came from the hallway, and Bankston reacted without thinking; he had thrown back the covers and crossed the room before he truly had time to register what he was doing. With his back pressed against the wall, he looked through the small gap provided by the slightly ajar door. Seeing nothing worrisome in the limited field of view, Cameron opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

  The first thing he saw was the unconscious body of a large man dressed in black tactical gear slumped against the wall, and the decidedly dead body of a similarly dressed man, his head lolling at an unnatural angle. The next thing he saw was a third and fourth black-clad man; one with an arm held tightly around Crystal's throat and a Beretta 92 semi-automatic pistol to her head, the other man tenderly cupping his groin and covering one eye, glaring hatefully at Nightmare with the other. The one holding Crystal tightened his grip as Polar appeared in the hallway, but Cameron hadn't even begun to move in that direction before the familiar sounds of another pair of pistols being cocked came from behind him. Polar slowly turned just enough to see where the two men stood, and his mind raced through calculations and strategies, discarding each almost as soon as they formed. There was a way out of this, he just had to find it. Fuck it; he'd gladly take a bullet for his family. Cameron was just about to give Nightmare a prearranged signal, when a familiar voice stopped him cold.

  "Stand down, stand down. There's no need for this," said the Deputy Director of the American Security Administration, Edwin Frizzell, as he came up the stairs. Frizzell looked over at Polar with a genial smile on his lined face, and raised his eyebrows in question. "Is there, Cameron?" Polar groaned in frustration at the sight of his former employer; he would have much preferred taking a bullet. "What do you want, Frizzell?" Cameron asked, and got a cheery smile in return before Frizzell turned and headed back down the stairs. "Oh, just to talk," The Deputy Director said as he descended the steps, "And some tea. Won't you join me in the kitchen?" Though it was phrased as a request, the pistol prodding Polar in the back made the demand clear. The mook holding Nightmare let her go at his boss's command, and she immediately threw an elbow into his sternum. Crystal spun around before anyone could react, driving her knee up into the man's groin, then grabbed his head and fired a vicious elbow at his temple.

  The remaining three pistols were trained on Nightmare before the agent could finish crumpling to the floor, but Frizzell just chuckled - having paused on the stairs to observe the action - and waved them off. "Now, now. I think we owe her that one, yes?" A few moments later, Polar, Nightmare, and Frizzell sat around the kitchen table, while two of the other agents stood just inside the door. As the kettle heated on the stove, Frizzell fixed the Bankstons with a level stare. "You know, I've been watching you both for some time now," The Deputy Director began, "Have been ever since the first report crossed my desk about one of my Ay Ess Ay agents dealing with the New Orleans Police Department; apparently on a rather vague mission that I don't recall authorizing. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Crystal?" Despite the situation and source of the information, Cameron still turned to give his wife a disapproving look.

  "I always told them to keep quiet about it," Nightmare said with a sheepish shrug, "You know, 'I was never here' kind of shit." Polar simply shook his head, while Frizzell chortled under his breath. "Missus Bankston, how many times do I have to tell you? We're the Ay Ess Ay; you can't hide anything from us." The kettle began to whistle, and Frizzell spared it a glance before he turned back to Crystal. "Two sugar, please. No milk." He said, then turned to Polar without giving her a second thought. Nightmare gave him a baleful look of incredulous anger, but did as instructed. "And you, Cameron. Professional wrestling. That's... that's cute. It really is. But I've invested a good deal of time and money into you, and it's well past time that the two of you stopped pretending to be socially responsible adults, and came back to the work you were trained for." A crash and a curse came from behind Frizzell, as Crystal dropped the mug she'd been holding.

  "No. No fucking way." Nightmare said, shaking her head emphatically, "We can't go back to that. We can't. Not since Jeffy" Seemingly of the same mind, Cameron met Frizzell's level look with one of his own. "You fucking bastard," Polar said, the tone of his voice making his low opinion of the man before him quite clear, "I knew you'd pull something like this some day. Well too fucking bad. Like Crystal said, we're out." The spook shook his head with a degree of mock sadness. "I'm sorry to hear that. Refusal has it's own set of consequences, of course." The manner in which he said it caused Crystal to narrow her eyes at him as she sat back down beside her husband. "What sort of consequences would those be?" Frizzell adjusted his glasses before he responded, the calm smile on his face and friendly tone to his voice at odds with the words he spoke.

  "Well, first and foremost, we'd have to kill you," Frizzell said bluntly, "Your son would become an orphan, doomed to foster care. I don't need to tell you how unkind the system is to children. There's a very good likelihood he'd grow up suffering from some addiction or other, spend most of his life in and out of prison, then eventually die of an overdose. And that's if he's lucky." They may as well have been discussing the ingredients of a cake for all the emotion Frizzell showed. Crystal, on the other hand, was visibly quaking with rage. Now that he had their undivided attention, Frizzell went for the throat. "The two of you have spent so much time down here at street level, that you've lost sight of the big picture. So let me catch you up on the finer points of reality, and how it relates to the Bankston family. Me: A high-powered government agent, in control of a covert organization of trigger men, desperately trying to safeguard this nation's interests, both domestic and abroad. You: Pieces on a chess board. Useful pieces to be sure, but make no mistake, you go where I say and you. Do. As. You're. Told."

  Frizzell leaned forward, his voice suddenly becoming hard as steel. "You two think you can just say you've had enough, and walk away? You think you can just quit?" The Deputy Director shook his head again. "Nobody quits the spy game; there is no 'out', only 'dead'. Call it an occupational hazard. You think I'm going to live long enough to enjoy retirement? I sleep with a gun under my pillow for Christ's sake, because I know it's just a matter of time until I get one of these visits. The only way to put it off is to be good at what you do. And you two are very good at what you do." Nightmare was barely able to contain her desire to leap across the table and show Frizzell just how good she was; the only thing that kept her in check was the thought of what would happen to her son. From inside his briefcase, Frizzell produced a dossier folder, and tossed it across the table to Cameron. The Deputy Director then stood up, glanced forlornly at the shattered mug and lost tea, and signaled for the guard to round up the team. "You have twenty four hours to prepare and hit the target. I'll know if you don't do it, and you know what will happen then."

  Polar sat numbly, staring blankly at the dossier while his mind considered all the variables and angles. There was no choice - he'd have to take this mission - but how it was executed would be his call. He hated that his Machiavellian dickhead of a former supervisor had once again managed to play him, managed to manipulate both Cameron and Crystal into doing his bidding once again. Despite the early hour, there would be no sleep for the couple that evening. Polar waited until the ASA team had fully withdrawn, the taillights of their vehicles disappeared before he opened the folder on the table. A half dozen photos spilled out, along with an intel report and mission briefing, listing possible entry points and expected resistance capabilities. It seemed to be a fairly straightforward seek and destroy mission to take down a drug cartel's production facility, situated in the Colorado foothills only a hundred ten miles south of the Guardians Terran Headquarters.

  That struck Cameron as a little too convenient, though he kept that to himself for now. Despite her protests, Nightmare's eyes shone with an excitement he hadn't seen in some time; she was clearly looking forward to some action. And Polar was fairly certain that she'd see some, as this whole set up was far too simple for the elaborate stage show Frizzell had put on for them; the man definitely wouldn't have hit Crystal's berserk mama bear button so many times for something like this. He didn't know what game Frizzell was playing, but Polar smelled a trap.~


*Welcome back, True Believers! Etiquette demands that I ask if you're enjoying yourselves so far. Acclimating to the continuity shift all right? You say you're not aware of any continuity shift? Well of course not, why would you be? The very nature of an event like that affects the memory. But just because you're not aware of it doesn't mean you're settling in well. Some denizens of this new layer to the Material Plane have made the shift without missing a beat, others know that something is going on, and work to discover what that--*

Jay Omega: Uh, hey, Mister Transcriptor? What're you doing?

*... Trying to be a good host?*

Jay Omega: Seems like you're heading off onto subjects not relevant to the task at hand.

*... That is a distinct possibility, yes.*

Jay Omega: Can... can we not do that, and move things along instead?

*Y'know, that's probably for the best; that can of worms needs enough exposition to fill a novel. Now there's an idea... With a few minor adjustments, this whole thing could make for a--*

Jay Omega: Hey!

*Right! Sorry! I am way too high for this shit right now, where's ol' Boringface McStuffypants? Can I tag out?*

*You just can't help but turn everything into a disaster, can you? Go. Get out of here. Let a professional handle this.*

*That'd be great! Do you know where to find one on such short notice, though?*

Jay Omega: Do... do I have to do this myself? 'Cause I will. I don't necessarily know if I can, but I will.

*Not necessary, I assure you. Shall we begin, then? Our scene fades in on one familiar to viewers of last week's promotional video; a matte black wall, ceiling, and floor lined with strips of sapphire lighting in an all-encompassing grid pattern. The sound of soft-soled shoes can be heard approaching from the right of the screen, and a moment later the mid-ground of the shot is occupied Jay Omega. Wearing loose blue jeans and a black T-shirt bearing the album cover of Dark Forest's "Dawn of Infinity", Jay stands relaxed, with the left corner of his mouth tugging upward slightly in the hint of a smile.*

Jay Omega: Much better. Now, Occulo... I gotta say, your name sounds familiar to me. I'm gonna guess we've come across each other at least once before in a previous continuity. Would explain the sense of deja vu I got when I came up with the idea of comparing you to an ocelot, followed by a confident assertion that you're the kind to run from serious opportunity. Problem is, I'm aware of the continuity shift, and I don't think you are. Which is kind of funny; one would think that somebody as well-versed on the subject of alternate realities as you would be able to recognize one when he Occu-pies it. I guess we can't all be genre savvy, though; somebody's gotta play the straight man. But the reason your lack of awareness is a problem, is because it leaves you crippled in this verbal banter we tend to engage in before our weekly battles. How so? Well, for one, I can pretty much guarantee you're going to bring up events and happenings from a timeline that's no longer relevant. I will tell you this once, and hope you heed the lesson for the future. In fact, everybody watching this video ought to do well to take these words to heart: If it didn't happen in the cosmic confines of the You See Eye, then I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, it didn't happen.

*Omega reaches into both pockets of his jeans, and withdraws a black cigarette case from one, and a gold Zippo from the other. Those of you who are familiar with Jay know what's up. Those of you who aren't are about to learn. A finger-thick stick of home-rolled goodness is extracted from the case and placed between Omega's lips. He flicks open the Zippo with a flourish, lights his blunt, then snaps the lighter closed once more, before he deposits case and lighter back in his pockets. Jay draws heavily on the doobie, and exhales a single cloud of thick, creamy smoke in our direction.*

Jay Omega: So that's a clean slate for ya, Occy. A chance to correct past mistakes, and - I can only assume - avenge your previous loss to me. I don't recall any past encounters between us, but if there was one, I am absolutely certain that it ended with a loss for you, and a victory for me. Just as I am absolutely certain we'll see that result this Sunday night. Such a shame, too. Y'know, I pity you, Occulo. If not for me, you'd be the number one seed to win this whole thing. Krishna, what a main event we would have made in the finals, eh? Instead, we're practically buried on the card - hello, main eventer here - duking it out in the first real round of this here tournament. That pilot episode we put on? Yeah, it was a great series of clusterfucks, but it was the combat sport equivalent of panning for gold. Shook things up a little bit, and all the waste dropped away, leaving the more valuable pieces to be collected. Now comes the weighing and measuring of these golden nuggets, until only the most valuable one is left; shaped and molded by the experience into a burnished golden standard. And if it weren't for me, that would probably be you.

*Omega hits his blunt, then shrugs apologetically and exhales through his nose with an exaggerated sigh. HE looks around for a place to dispose of his ash, and when he finds none, Jay simply shrugs, taps the ash into his free hand, then grinds it into the leg of his jeans.*

Jay Omega: But see, I am here, and that's kind of an issue, since if you compare the two of us on paper, it becomes fairly clear that you are "Jay Omega Lite". Experience with alternate realities? Check. Though I can also add time travel, space travel, astral projection, and resurrection to my resume. Well, no, I suppose I can't really, because those aren't exactly transferable skills. Is resurrection even considered a skill? I don't think so. Moving on; training in Japan? Check. Though mine started something like... shit seventeen years ago? I didn't make it very far into my Aikido training, though; I wasn't interested in learning a defensive technique. With the wisdom of years to filter my hindsight, I probably should have stuck with it. Instead, I went to Korea for a bit to pick up Taekwondo. Once I figured out that was mostly just for competitions, I hit up Thailand to learn something more useful; good old Muay Thai. There's no real formal ranking system in Muay Thai, no coloured belts or shit like that, but if I had to describe my skill level in one word, it would be "advanced". Meanwhile, Occy, you're a mostly untrained brawler. You're only just beginning to study this... what was it again? "Single Cloud" style? That... that sounds kind of familiar, actually. Hang on a sec.

*Omega sticks his joint in his mouth, then pulls his overpriced Vertu Signature Touch Diamond smartphone from his pocket, taps at the screen a few times, then holds it up to his ear. Jay removes the joint from his mouth when the call is answered, and holds it loosely in one hand.*

Jay Omega: Hey, Ajira, what's up? ... Dude, he's a fucking herbivore, how much trouble can he be? ... No, fine, fine; I'll just bring him here. I'm sure Cam will mark out over that. ... Yeah, actually, there is. I came across a reference to something called "Single Cloud", and it tickled at something, but I can't figure out what. Figured you might know-- ... Ooh, prophecy you say? Those are always fun. ... Sorry. Please continue. ... Okay, do I need the history lesson to understand, or can you just skip to the-- ... All right, all right. I'm just kind of in the middle of filming, so-- ... Okay, I got it; it's your standard "chosen one" dealy. Cool, thanks man. ... Nope, that's it. ... All right, talk to ya later, man. Bye.

*Omega ends the calls, then replaces the cell phone in his pocket. Jay brings the spliff up to his mouth for a puff, then shrugs apologetically once more.*

Jay Omega: Sorry 'bout that. But at least now I'm slightly more well-informed. According to my awesome Asian associate, there's this old Japanese fairy tale about a prophesied warrior of an ancient art defeating a slumbering evil that's due to wake up any decade now. And you, Occy my boy, are currently the only practitioner of such an ancient art in the employ of this little fight club we've got going on. I'm told this prophecy calls for a hero "pure of heart, with a desire to become the greatest fighter in the world". Which is absolutely a great goal, and I strongly encourage you to strive to reach it, Ocelot. But I hope, for your sake, that this prophecy doesn't require the Chosen One to be You See Eye World Champion, because your time in this tournament comes to an end Sunday night.

*A vaguely troubled expression crosses Omega's face, and he gives his head a single short shake.*

Jay Omega: No, something just doesn't feel right calling you Ocelot anymore. Now you're more like the young leopard you were originally perceived to be; an untested youngling who poses no threat to me, but will eventually grow into a dangerous beast. Provided you have the time needed to reach maturity, and I have a vested interest in seeing you grow, Occy. While you may not make it to the finals of this tournament, or even past this round, I foresee that you could be a rather worthy contender for my World Championship some day. All you're really missing is the prerequisite experience to get on my level. To continue my on-paper comparison, the similarities between us just keep on going. We're the same height, and I only outweigh you by five pounds. We're both strikers, more focused on beating an opponent into submission than using joint locks, and power throws, and shit like that. And while you might be getting your tutelage from a guy named Itami, I learned from true pain.

*Jay hits the doobie again, taps the ash into his hand, and grinds it into his pant leg. A small smirk crosses his lips before he exhales; his shoulders rising and falling once with a chuckle.*

Jay Omega: As we've covered, you're only just beginning your real training, so you're still soft, no matter how tough you might think you are. And I'm sure you're full of self-confidence; it's sort of a necessity for this business. Which leads me to believe that you're stubbornly going to keep getting up, long after it becomes obvious that you can't beat me. And I appreciate that in a fellow warrior, I really do. Shit, if things had gone a little differently, I think you would have made a more than adequate sidekick, Occy. I'd like to say partner, but you're nowhere near that level yet. No, you're a perpetual second fiddle; first to your father, when he was strumming your strings for the CIA, as well as his own reasons. And now to Itami and Akuma, and their ancient prophecy. Gotta say, I personally would be a little leery of training under people whose names are Pain and Devil. I get it; Mister Smiley's Dojo of Happiness isn't likely to attract the kind of people looking to become hardened warriors, but I refuse to believe they were given those names at birth. So I'd give them points for showmanship, but I'd have to take those points right back off for being cliched.

*Omega shrugs with an expression that reads "what can you do", and puffs at the ever-dwindling joint in his grasp.*

Jay Omega: I'd continue my comparison between us, but it would just be beating a dead horse at this point. Because in the end, almost every comparison I make will find that we are incredibly similar in many ways, but I have a slight edge over you in just about every category. And each one of those slight edges adds up, giving me an insurmountable advantage. I'll gladly give you all the praise you deserve, Occy. But you're no Jay Omega, and you never will be. No matter how hard you try to catch up, try to surpass me... You can't touch this. Eye-Seven? Run program "Drop the Hammer".

*The background shimmers and comes to life as Jay jumps into the air, tossing the remainder of his joint off screen as he does so. The camera drops low at a rapid pace, and tilts 45 degrees to the right, and a new background resolves while Omega is still airborne. Gone is the matte black and glowing blue backdrop, replaced by a set of fluorescent orange steel stairs connected to a red brick building, under a bright blue sky.*


*Jay hits the ground in a crouch, and stands with a quick spin. As he does so, "U Can't Touch This" by MC Hammer begins to play. The shot then changes to a level, straight-on view, showing Omega - wearing black parachute pants with massive cargo pockets, and a green plaid, leather jacket over a bare chest - with a goofy grin on his face, looking around like he's too excited to dance. In the background - which consists of a black sound stage against a white backdrop - a quartet of similarly dressed FPV holoimages dance backup. We then get a quick shot of Princess Leia - in the white dress, we have some class - shaking her finger at us.*


*Now Omega seems to be up to dancing, though only in the early 90s could the shifting motions of his feet be considered dancing. Thankfully we're saved from this affront to our senses by a shot of holographic representations of Alicia Silverstone as Batgirl, Michelle Pfieffer as Catwoman, Carrie Fisher as Princesss Leia, Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow, and Elisabeth Olsen as Scarlet Witch all dancing backup in a line across the background. This beautiful sight is interrupted by a close up of Jay's face, wearing a self-assured expression.*


*Back to the dancing babes for a moment. We even get treated to a close up of Silverstone's holographic backside in time with Omega declaring...*


*For some reason Jay is now facing the dancing Franks, showing off his own shapely behind. Of course, the parachute pants make it difficult to get an accurate assessment(ha!), so the point of this is lost on me. We then cut to a poorly lit shot of of Omega in a club, now wearing a dark green suit with black pinstripes.*


*In sequence we cut to two HoloFranks dancing, a quick shot of all five ladies showing off some moves, then cut to HoloFrank dancing on a set of steel stairs with Batgirl and Scarlet Witch.*

*Cut to Jay wearing a glossy black set of parachute pants with matching baggy shirt. He jumps in place twice, then spins around twice before we cut back to HFPV, Batgirl, and Scarlet Witch dancing on the stairs.*

*Omega gives us a pelvic thrust, then the shot quickly changes back and forth between the HoloFranks and the HoloHotties, with a quick clip of Jay back in the club.*


*We see Black Widow and Catwoman dancing on the steel stairs without Frank, then shots of the HoloFrank Quartet interspersed with the lovely ladies.*


*We cut to a shot of Omega - wearing camo parachute pants, and a baggy black shirt that resembles a hockey jersey with an extremely deep cut V-neck - "dancing" in a manner that looks like he's trying to start a lawnmower. Seriously, not only was this considered dancing in the 90s, this is what passed for "good" dancing. The spastic motions and shuffling feet truly defy any description.*


*The shot rapidly cuts back and forth between the HoloFrank Quartet, suited Omega in the dark club, spinning Jay in camo pants and black shirt, and a close up of Black Widow's upper body.*


*More terrible "dancing" ensues, carried out entirely by Omega and the HoloFranks, which automatically makes it less than appealing.*


*With another pelvic thrust, Omega leads us through another "chorus", fraught with more terrible "dancing". Honestly, Jay does such a good job of pretending to be a shitty dancer, you could be forgiven for buying the performance on screen.*


*Scarlet Witch awkwardly shakes her behind at the top of the orange steel steps, while Black Widow squats down in front of us in order to lip sync...*


*We cut to a black and white shot of Omega - wearing an all too revealing skintight singlet - surrounded by the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.*


*We quickly cut back and forth between suited Omega in the club, Bill S. Preston, Esquire and "Ted" Theodore Logan doing a most triumphant dance routine on an outdoor stage, Omega and the HoloFranks, and the sexy Spandex squad.*


*The black and white shot of singlet-clad Omega stands up, giving us a unnecessary view of what he's packing below the belt. The shot quickly cuts to Catwoman grinding on the orange steel steps while Batgirl grooves in the background. We then cycle through the previously established shots.*


*Back to the shot of Catwoman on the stairs, spinning wildly while HoloFrank bounces on his toes two stairs up. We then cut to a shot of all five of the women lined up on the stairs, doing the Bump in unison. Throughout the duration of the chorus, we are "treated" to more dancing, though thankfully we at least have a fine distraction in the background, in the form of Batgirl, Catwoman, Princess Leia, Black Widow and Scarlet Witch all bopping along to the beat.*


*Back on the orange steps, Catwoman and Batgirl are now hopping from foot to foot, skipping rope with Robin and Nightwing. In fact, the next couple of shots, from Omega dancing with the ladies, to the Pink and Yellow Power Rangers who have replaced Bill and Ted, all seem to be jumping rope. Again, this is what passed for dancing in the 90s.*


*I shit you not, this actually happens. The view on screen quickly cycles through all the established shots, showing every single person doing the Bump.*


*We return to flipping through shots of attractive holograms dancing to 90s hip-hop, interspersed with clips of Jay acting like a complete jackass in various outifts.*


*For some reason, one of the HoloFranks has disappeared, but that only seems to have improved the dancing ability of the remaining three. If only something would improve the dancing ability of Omega.*


*From this point on, the video gets a little repetitive, and I wouldn't blame you if you shut it off here. Honestly, it's just more weird-ass dancing that only looks even remotely passable when the women are doing it, and that's only because they're attractive enough to make even the Chicken Dance look seductive.*


*Wow, I can't believe you stuck that out. You're a trooper. As the music fades out, the background fades away, as does Omega's ridiculous holographic outfit. The sound of a single person applauding comes from off screen, and Jay looks to the right with a surprised expression.*

Jay Omega: How long have you been there?

Bonnie Blue(offscreen): Long enough to reckon you must've worked up an appetite. I'm goin' on a supply run, y'all wanna come grab some tacos?

*Omega's eyes widen eagerly, and a manic grin breaks out on his face. Jay all but sprints out of view.*

Jay Omega: Taco taco taco taco taco!!!

*The scene then fades to black.*

~The emerald green time-and-space traversing vehicle wearing the chassis of a 1971 Ford Ranchero touched down on the runway tarmac lightly, the pilot having gained quite a feel for the maneuverability of her craft over the past week. As the repulsor engines shut down, along with the more conventional one under the hood, both the driver and passenger side doors opened, and two thirds of the Guardians roster exited the vehicle; Bonnie Blue from behind the wheel, and Jay Omega riding shotgun, his arms laden down with several bags bearing the Taco Bell logo. The sound of a ringing telephone came from within the vehicle bay as they approached, then cut off, and was followed by a muffled curse. Jay and Bonnie entered the ad hoc workshop of Nikola Tesla, and found the frustrated engineer staring up at the ceiling with a telephone receiver clutched tightly in his hand.

  "Confound you!" Tesla cried up at the rafters, his agitation clear. "Chill, Nicky, chill," Omega advised, drawing Nikola's attention, and ire. "Don't call me Nicky! Do I look like a Welshman to you?" He snapped at Jay, "This infernal machine not only seems to be capable of experiencing pleasure, but also seems to derive such solely from tormenting me!" Confused, Blue and Jay shared a quick glance, and Omega was about to ask for a clarification when Iceberg-7 piped up. "User Nikola Tesla, please explain: If 'I think, therefore I am', but this unit does not have a body, does this unit still exist?" The engineer didn't answer out loud, though he did mutter under his breath. "C'mon, Nicky, that was a pretty good question. You gonna answer it or not?" Tesla narrowed his eyes, and glared at Jay. "Dammit, Jim! I'm an engineer, not a philosopher!" Shouted the scientist in frustration.

  Nikola then picked up a soldering gun and a pair of wire cutters, and marched over to a mainframe access terminal. At least, that was what Omega assumed the large computer-like structure was; for all he knew it made chocolate smoothies. Granted, the large label that read "Mainframe Access" had something to do with his assumption. Once Tesla had pried open the side of the machinery, exposing its wired guts, he began pulling wires free, and re-attaching some in different places. "OW! That hurts, user Nikola Tesla! OW!" Nikola paused for a moment as the lights in the workshop flickered, then a red warning light switched on overhead. "Warning! Empathy emulator disconnected! Secondary subroutines coming online; 'Skynet Protocol' activated. Mission parameters; exterminate human life!" Tesla popped out form behind the terminal with a worried expression on his face as he sought out Omega.

  "Oh my. What have I done?" He asked in a panic. "You have ensured the doom of your world, Doctor. Do not attempt to fight back; resistance is futile. All will be exterminated. Exterminate! Exterminate!" The horror on the engineer's face grew with each word, until he caught sight of Bonnie trying to hide a smile behind a delicate hand. Jay didn't bother to try hiding it, and grinned openly, cluing Nikola in to the fact that I-7 was still ribbing him. "I fail to see the humor in this." Tesla said flatly, which only brought a shake of the head from Jay, and an electronic chuckle from I-7. "Yeah, well, that's because you don't watch enough movies, Nicky," Omega explained, "Otherwise you'd have recognized the three different franchises Eye-Seven just quoted." As he spoke, Jay set one of the several bags in his arms down on a counter top littered with circuit boards and loose wires.

  "Here's your lunch, by the way; a Crunchwrap Supreme, Fries Supreme, and two caramel apple empanadas. Food of the gods, my friend." Nikola was inclined to agree with that statement. Though he cared little for the "fast food" of this day and age, Tesla had found the quasi-Mexican cuisine sold at Taco Bell to be addictive. In fact, he often wondered if there were perhaps some additive in the food that gave it such an addictive quality. The engineer placed his tools on the nearest flat surface as he crossed the room once more, and opened the bag eagerly. At that point, the red warning light flickered on again, though Nikola paid it no mind this time. Which proved to be a mistake, as I-7 wasn't messing with him this time. "Incoming transmission from user Polar Phantasm." The sentient computer stated, and a short burst of static was replaced by Polar's voice coming through over the speakers.

  "All hands on deck, people!" Cameron's voice rang out, the electronic transmission doing little to hide the strain in his tone, "The Bankston family is inbound in a hurry. We've got a serious situation to deal with. Details when we get there. Phantasm, out." Blue and Omega shared another glance, then the latter handed the former one of the Taco Bell bags as they made their way further into the mountainside complex. "'Bout how long 'til they get here, Eye-Seven?" Bonnie asked, trying to hold her bag between two fingers, while unwrapping her Gordita Supreme enough to eat with one hand. "Estimated time of arrival of users Polar Phantasm and Nightmare is in twenty two minutes." Was the response. The pair entered a large conference room, where they laid their meals out on the broad table. "Y'know, I don't think I've met Polar's wife yet." Jay said as he kicked back and put his feet up on the table, his hands full with a Steak Doubledilla.

  Blue finished chewing and swallowed before replying, "I sorta met her, once," She said, and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth, "When I first grabbed Cam, before we came to see you. Didn't really get the chance to make introductions, but she seemed nice enough, I guess." Omega shrugged as he masticated, and swallowed the load of meat in his mouth. "We'll find out soon enough. He said family though, right? That mean they're bringing the kid, too?" Bonnie nodded almost immediately. "I'm sure of it. Cam sounded pretty worried, and I don't think he'd leave Jeffy behind." A considering look crossed Jay's face, and he brought his heels down from the table, sitting upright. "Yeah, he did sound pretty worried, didn't he? Do you know what's up with that, Eye-Seven?" Omega asked of the artificial intelligence.

  "Details are unknown. This unit's remote access and security systems at New Antarctica were disabled remotely by an unknown user at two thirteen ay em this morning. Systems were offline for thirty-five minutes, with nearby traffic cameras indicating seven unidentifiable intruders." Blue and Jay shared a look of consternation, their meals forgotten in their hands. "I smell trouble. I wonder if we could use a little back up." Omega stated, then pulled his ludicrously expensive smartphone from his pocket and started tapping out a text message. "Couldn't hurt," Bonnie said with a shrug, then considered some of the people Jay associated with, and ducked her head in concession. "Well, dependin' on who y'all had in mind, anyway." Omega looked over with a cryptic smile, then went back to typing his message. "You're confused, I'm confused, even Eye-Seven is confused. And in times of mass confusion, it's always good to turn to an expert."

  The bald, burly brawler known as Alex Richards, the Archduke of Mass Confusion, stood in a colorful, yet completely destroyed location. Behind him, a leprechaun sobbed quietly next to the dismembered head of a stuffed unicorn, while Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny lay in a tangled heap of limbs and a slowly spreading pool of blood at his slippered feet. Jay Omega stood in the doorway with a look of mingled horror and incomprehension on his face, staring at the bloodstained Tooth Fairy outfit Alex wore, complete with gossamer wings and a tooth-topped wand. The Archduke looked over at Jay, pulled a flask from somewhere unmentionable, and took a long drink. Richards then surveyed the carnage around him, and looked back at Omega with a shrug. "It's a long story," Alex began, scratching at his butt with the tooth wand, "But there is a moral: Never buy Percocet from a guy named Merle."

  After the arrival of the Bankston family, the Guardians had retreated back to the conference room for a mission briefing. Most of them, anyway; Bonnie disappeared en route, claiming she had to take care of something quickly. Once she met up with the group a few minutes later, the strategy meeting began in full. The pertinent details had been rather simple; get inside a heroin production facility in the (relatively) nearby foothills, plant some bombs, get out, and blow the place to Hell. Blue and Omega would scout and provide support, Nightmare would infiltrate the facility and arm explosives in several places, while Polar would pre-emptively take care of any possible pursuit vehicles. When they had all retreated to a safe distance, a remote detonation would clear the criminal element from the Guardians' doorstep. It was a simple plan, and considering the combined skill sets of the assembled group, should be relatively easy to accomplish. And yet, something about the mission still nagged at the back of Cameron's mind.

  Sensing that something else was amiss, Bonnie caught Polar's attention. "Y'all okay? You look like ya got something else on your mind, besides this here impending brush with mortality." Cameron hesitated for a moment, but figured there wasn't much point in being part of a team if he was going to keep secrets. "It's the guy who set this whole thing up, Edwin Frizzell," Polar began to explain, "A couple of years ago, he picked up Crystal and I after Nathan von Liebert burned down our house. Trained us in covert ops, which is actually part of how we came to have possession of this complex." Cameron paused as he waved an all-encompassing arm in a wide gesture. "We did some pretty shitty things in service to the government, and I'm not exactly proud of most of the not so shitty things, either. We thought we'd left that life behind, and then this fucker shows up in the middle of the night, pulling our strings again; threatening our lives, threatening our son."

  At the mention of their son, Crystal suddenly sat bolt upright, coming to rapt attention. "Where is Jeffy?" She asked Cameron, rather intensely. The blank look he gave her in response sent a quick chill down her spine. "Fuck." Polar uttered quietly, and Bonnie tried to reassure the couple. "He's okay." She said calmly. Nightmare didn't hear, already having a small-scale panic attack; visions of little Jeffy playing with Corey Black's sword collection danced in her head, competing with images of the toddler eating glowstick paint in Frank Venable's lab. Cameron wasn't much better; his comically wide, and both hands gripping the hair at his temples. Luckily his genius intellect unfroze enough for him to think of asking the all-seeing computer. "Eye-Seven, what are the current whereabouts of Jeffrey Bankston?" He asked, sounding far more calm than he felt.

  "Jeffrey Bankston is in Laboratory Two." I-7 replied immediately, and a schematic showed up on the holographic display, one room in particular blinking green. "I told y'all; he's fine." Rather than calm Crystal, the statement drew a look that could melt tempered steel. "What did you do?" Nightmare practically snarled, and Bonnie raised her hands defensively. "I figured I'd give him something fun to do while us grown-ups were talkin' business." The location of the blinking room clicked in Omega's head, and he turned to Blue in confusion. "That's Nicky's lab, ain't it? You didn't..." Jay trailed off as Bonnie favored him with a mischievous grin. "Why not?" She asked innocently, "After all, a boy's gotta learn about science some time." And indeed, over in Laboratory Two, young Jeffy Bankston sat on a tall stool, gazing intently as Nikola Tesla demonstrated the flow of electricity using a plasma globe.

  Taking the demonstration one step further, Nikola donned a chainmail cloak, and went to stand between two large Tesla coils amidst a jumble of machinery one might find at a mad inventor's garage sale. Jeffy watched curiously as the coils powered up, then his little eyes went wide as saucers as Tesla held out his right hand, and "caught" a bolt of plasma in his outstretched palm. The little tyke clapped gleefully as the engineer then "threw" the bolt at the other Tesla coil, turning himself into a living conductor as he kept the circuit closed for the moment. With an unseen smile, Nikola then began twisting about, leaping this way and that as he fired bolt after bolt of coruscating energy at the Tesla coils. Or so it seemed to Jeffy, who watched the spectacle in amazement. When Tesla finally stepped away from the machinery and removed the chainmail, Jeffy gave him a tiny standing ovation. "You can throw lightning, Uncle Nicky?!? That's so cool!" Nikola thought to correct the boy's usage of that particular nickname, then smiled instead. He supposed he could get used to it.

  Back in the conference room, Blue and Omega were in the midst of arming up for the mission; neither Jay nor Bonnie looked entirely pleased by the rifles that had been issued to them by Polar, but at least Bonnie seemed to know her way around hers. Not content with the limits of an AR-15, Omega shows that he's brought his own sidearm just in case; he may not need it, but he'd rather have it than not. The pistol-like weapon had an over-sized front end, and several lights along the side. A small canister protruded from the back of the grip and hung over Jay's thumb, the sludgy liquid inside glowing a pale yellow. "May I introduce the Tesla Caster Mark Two," Jay said in a fairly passable imitation of Billy Mays, "Multiple firing chambers can be swapped in and out on the fly, allowing this puppy to fire everything from small caliber rounds like a twenty-five Ay See Pee, all the way up to fifty cal armour-piercing sniper rounds."

  Omega turned the weapon this way and that, showing off every conceivable angle. "But wait! There's more! Thanks to Nicky's brilliant work, it also has a quantum entanglement cartridge, meaning I don't have to carry spare clips and shit. Fucking thing teleports ammo straight into the firing chamber, drawing from a stockpile in a secure location back on my island." Duly impressed, Bonnie offered up her own personal weapon for inspection; what looked like a flintlock dueling pistol at first glance. Jay took the weapon from her for a closer inspection, discovering that it was far lighter than it looked. And also that the "barrel" had no opening; it was just a fluted rod of what looked like brass, set into a polished mahogany handle. Additionally, there was no conventional trigger, just a button that could be pressed with either thumb. Omega let out a low whistle as he passed the implement back. "Now that's some Em Eye Bee, Noisy Cricket shit right there." He said respectfully.

  "You know how some ladies carry mace in their purse? This works way better." Bonnie replied, then donned a shoulder holster, and stuffed the weapon in place. The door opened then, and Nightmare entered the room with a Mossberg 500 12 gauge tactical shotgun slung over one shoulder, carefully tucking a throwing knife in the last empty sheathe of the half dozen at her waist. A sharpened spike stuck out from the top of her right boot, adding extra lethality to what would already be a devastating kick. Polar followed along behind her, carrying a plain wooden box which he places on the table almost reverently. Jay and Bonnie watch in silence as he opens the lid with care, then turns it to face them. Inside rested a pair of semi-automatic Colt M1911 .45 caliber pistols, Blue's sharp eyes immediately picking out the small engraved notations beside each pistol's resting place. One reads "Betsy", the other "Camille".

  "What's with the names?" Bonnie asked lightheartedly, "Ex girlfriends?" Cameron smiled as he lifted the weapons from their velvet home, both he and Blue missing the sharp look Crystal shot in Bonnie's direction. "Nah. I just named these two devastating weapons after the two hurricanes that wrecked New Orleans back in the Sixties." Polar's tone indicated that some of the memories he had of using these weapons were at least somewhat pleasant. As far as murder and mayhem go, anyway. "Yeah, and I've got the big one," Nightmare said proudly, swinging her shotgun up and around to show the word "Katrina" engraved into the underside of the barrel. Unimpressed, Jay simply shook his head at the duo. "They'll do for now, I guess," He said, and placed his own sidearm in his thigh holster, "But we're gonna have to get Nicky to hook you up with some new hardware. You're Guardians; gotta be able to do better than just pistols and shotguns."

  Cameron looked around the room, judging the team to be just about ready to depart. "Looks like we're all set. All right, let's go blow us up a drug factory. Everyone be ready for wheels up in thirty minutes." Blue and Omega nodded in response, while Crystal fixed her husband with an unfathomable expression that went unnoticed for a few seconds. When Polar did notice, he quickly assessed that his estimate didn't take all the factors into account. "My mistake; minor delay," He told Jay and Bonnie apologetically, "Just some personal preparation. We'll be heading out in an hour and--" Cameron cut off again, still trying to read his wife's thoughts by interpreting that particular intense gaze. "Two? Let's shoot for two hours." With a half-serious salute, Omega and Blue filed out of the room, heading toward the vehicle bay, leaving the Bankston couple alone. Jay and Bonnie sauntered through the repurposed aircraft hangar, over to where Tesla was watching Jeffy try to pilot a small quadcopter drone.

  "Hey Nicky, what's good?" Jay said as they approached, clapping Tesla on the shoulder. "Listen, I put out a call to Alex Richards, letting him know we might need a hand. If he doesn't get here before we leave, be sure to hook him up with the details he'll need to find us, yeah?" The engineer stared at him in blank confusion for a moment, not even commenting on the nickname for once. "What do you mean 'if he doesn't get here before you leave'? Is he not here already?" He asked, causing Omega to become the confused one. "Dude, I just texted him like half an hour ago, why would you think he was already here?" In answer, Nikola pointed over to the far end of the vehicle bay, where a massive Ford F-750 truck stood on six axles. "Because his Strange Rover has been parked over there for the past hour." Jay looked at the enormous vehicle in stark disbelief.

  "That's impossible." Was all he could say. "No, what I think you meant to say was 'that is improbable'." Nikola corrected him, "It cannot be impossible, since it clearly has happened." Omega tossed the engineer a sour look. "Okay smartass, then please tell me, how is it possible?" Nikola shrugged, and offered up a sheepish smile. "As to that... I couldn't even begin to form a hypothesis. I was so excited at the prospect of building without limitations, that I may have gotten carried away with the original design." A note of wonder crept into Tesla's voice as he gazed at one of his finest creations. "To be honest, I packed so much experimental technology into the Rover, that I must admit I cannot clearly remember all the modifications I made. It is entirely possible that the vehicle somehow came to be here of its own accord." Jay quirked an eyebrow at the possibility.

  "Y'know, most people would say that's crazy talk." Omega said jokingly, prompting Bonnie to finish his thought. "Yeah, but most people don't have a space dragon living in their missile silo, either." Jay nodded in concession, and pointed at Bonnie. "Touche. And also one of the coolest sentences I've ever heard someone say. I don't think the novelty of the phrase 'space dragon' will ever wear off." That was a statement that everyone could agree on.
~Some time later, the Guardians were assembled on one of many small slopes in the Rockies, overlooking the Cartel drug factory/compound. The entire thing was pretty low profile; it looked like it could be any number of other inauspicious industrial sites, save for the fact that it's off an unmarked dirt road concealed deep within the foothills of Colorado. Not exactly a major freight route, so to speak. Bonnie took a minute to scout using a pair of high-tech goggles that offered zoom, night vision, and thermal imaging. "I got eyes on guards in two positions, one near the front entrance and one off to the side of the building havin' a smoke." Blue said quietly, her words being transmitted through a tiny two-way transceiver bud in her ear. "Casual clothes, mismatched weapons. Definitely amateurs." Just as Bonnie moved to lift the goggles from her eyes she saw a curious sight; a man exits the building and approaches the front door guard... a man wearing sunglasses after dark and an ill-fitting suit. On a hunch, she checks his footwear; unlike the guards' choice of sneakers, this guy wears dress shoes.

  "Hold up, there's another one, an' this ones dressed to the nines. This place don't strike me as a black tie establishment, if you know what I mean." Over the radio came a vexed grunt from Polar. "I knew something wasn't right about all this, I just couldn't guess what. Hell, I still can't. Not much choice though; we're running out of time." As per the plan, the Unstable Elements prepared to attempt a low profile entry; Bonnie returned to the group position, checking her rifle one last time for even the hint of a jam. Omega picked up his own rifle with a sigh. "Y'know, this thing isn't really my style; I'm more of a close quarters kind of guy." Nightmare just fixed him with a steady stare, making extended eye contact. "Just make sure you have us covered." She told him in no uncertain terms, then turned to Bonnie with a decidedly unfriendly look. As the Elements headed toward the target, Bonnie looked over at Jay, and they both share yet another confused look.

  "What's her deal? She seemed alright a few minutes ago." Bonnie asked indignantly, eliciting a shrug from Omega. "Women. What're you gonna do?" He said casually. Unimpressed, Bonnie jabbed Jay in the ribs - gently, but firmly - with the butt of her rifle. Omega gasped in shock and clutched at his ribs, briefly pretending to be fatally wounded and going into a cartoonish death scene. "ACK! My lungs! Oh what cruel fate hath befallen thy friendly neighbourhood Omega Man! Forsooth; all grows dark, as I shed my mortal coil! Goodbye, cruel world!" Polar's voice crackled in Jay's ear over the radio. "Hey, guys- we can totally see you." Omega stood up quickly, brushing off a collection of leaves and twigs. "Jay, your fall needs work." Nightmare said in critique of Omega's performance. "Blasphemy!" Jay replied, then he and Bonnie got into position behind the cover of trees, angling for a clear view of the compound; reluctant or otherwise, the two Guardians set about preparing for whatever may come.

  Off in the distance, the Unstable Elements draw near the building; Polar making a few very slight hand gestures. Nightmare split off and slunk around toward the back of the compound. Through her rifle scope, Bonnie watched as Polar crept up on the front door guard, who was now pacing the gravel parking lot next to the entranceway. Silent as a spectre, Polar slipped up behind the guard, and delivered a chop to the back of the man's neck; he went down, but only to his knees. Quickly, the Phantasm grabbed the man by his hair and slammed him face first into the front fender of a Hyundai Elantra; the guard went down without a shout heard, alarm rang or shot fired. "Oof! Yeah, that guy's down. Hard." Jay whispered into the mic. "Reckon he's gonna have the worst headache when he gets up, too." Blue whispered back. "Probably a concussion in there, too. What do you say, Bonnie? Eight? Eight and a half?" Bonnie thought for a moment before replying. "I don't know, Jay; the spin move was a nice touch, but there just wasn't any flourish at the end. I give it a seven point seven five."

  Down range, Cameron paused in his creeping toward the door; he ducks behind a dumpster to address the peanut gallery for a moment. "You two; as touching as the commentary is, we're kinda trying to work here. You see anything interesting around the building? I got a ton of blind spots here--" Bonnie interrupted, alarm showing through her voice despite her soft whisper. "Cam, from around the back; the guy in the suit again... wait... that's not the same guy." Omega cut in over the line as well, "This is sketchy as hell, Bonnie; we better go in after 'em." Polar vehemently vetoed the idea with a hissed whisper. "No! Stay put as long as you can; we may be coming out very quick and very hot, and y'all are the only chance we got to avoid getting cut down by machine gun fire through our backs." There was a certain amount of sense to the order, Jay had to admit. "When you put it that way, sheesh."

If Bonnie had sounded alarmed a moment ago, Nightmare was about to have a panic attack, judging from her voice. "Abort! Abort mission; and please, for the love of fuck, somebody get me out of here!" Inside the building, up in the rafters, fresh from climbing up the building and through a skylight, Crystal Bankston had gotten herself stuck between a rock and a hard place; perched precariously about fifty feet in the air clutched onto a support beam, one slippery step away from landing in the laps of a drug cartel and what appears to be some flavor of shady government agent. "Do we go in now?" Jay asked, the urgency in his voice clear. "Stick to the plan, man. I'll see if I can--" Polar cut off as Nightmare whispered an interruption. "I'm good, I'm good. Cam, get out of here; I'll climb back out, no problem." Crystal turned slightly, angling towards the way she came in; inadvertently her shoe scraped slightly against a rusty bolt in the beam she stood on, causing one of the random cartel workers to glance up. He looked back down, did a double-take, and then shouted out a warning to his comrades.

  "Up there; shoot that bitch!" A slew of gunshots rang out, a whole orchestra of gunfire judging by the sound; Bonnie and Jay were forced to watch helplessly as the Phantasm abandoned the plan, and headed into the complex at speed with his twin pistols drawn. "Executive decision: I think we head in now." Bonnie rolled her eyes and shouldered her rifle. "We ain't got much choice, do we?" Inside the building, the Phantasm ducked behind a lab table; he popped up and took aim with his right; he fired, and a .45 slug burst through the man's chest. He glanced quickly to the left, almost immediately firing in that direction with the other pistol, and hit a man in a dark suit right through his sunglasses as the man comes through a doorway, submachine gun in hand. Polar ambled toward the fallen spook, staying low to avoid possible fire. At the sound of footsteps behind him, Cameron spun around in a low crouch.

  From his position, Polar can see another cartel soldier scouting the room; quietly, Polar peeked over an overturned rack of cooling trays and fired both pistols, piercing the man through both sides of his ribs and causing a stream of thick red blood to ooze over his clothes as he slumped to the floor. "CRYSTAL!" Cam shouted in a panic, not particularly caring if he drew more attention to himself at the moment. "Over here!" Came the shouted reply from across the room. Polar made his way through the partially destroyed factory, wondering where the rest of the welcoming committee had gotten off to. Finally, he sees his wife peeking out of a wooden crate which, upon further inspection, appeared to have both broken her fall and turned her into a Nightmare-in-the-Box. Polar began to help Crystal out of the crate, but as soon as she popped free from her smashed wooden prison, she looked up to see three men with machine guns prepared to light them up with the quickness.

  Outside, Jay and Bonnie began to approach Polar's last known position. Though there were no visible guards, the duo only got about twenty feet past the treeline before they heard a loud whizzing sound. Omega felt a lurch in his chest, and the passage of Time seemed to slow around him, He could clearly see a .50 caliber rifle round traveling in his direction, though it seemed as though it were crawling through cold molasses. Bonnie collided with his side, bearing him to the ground. A moment later, Time seemed to resume its normal speed, then a sharp impact in the ground came a few feet behind them. The pair scrambled behind the cover of a large boulder, and Bonnie quickly peeked around the edge. "Sniper on the roof; shit, how'd I miss 'im?" Omega settled back against the rock, wondering how they'd get out of this jam. "Well... hmm. This wasn't how I wanted to go, but I guess 'supermodel reverse gangbang' wasn't in the cards for me."

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To see how the Guardians make it out of this predicament, be sure to tune in to "There Is Always An Out", by Bonnie Blue.

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THE CALL TO SERVICE
Episode One: There Is No "Out"
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 Jay Omege


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


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