Stem the Evil Tide

The blackness of a Chicago night coils like a serpent around a single, shining gem amid the decay and detritus still evident in the battered streets: City Hollow, awash in the thousand-watt glare of powerful floodlights. Two blocks down and across the road, parked unobtrusively between a 2009 Dodge Ram and a 2016 Cooper Mini, a dark-colored Ford Ranchero just escapes the notice of a heavily armed security guard walking the compound's perimeter. Among the various upgrades Nikola Tesla had given the Ranchero was a device that refracted light and rendered the vehicle nearly invisible; though it had remained, until now, untested. In the driver's seat, Bonnie Blue breathes a sigh of relief and turns to her partner.


Bonnie: We got everything?


Phantasm: Let's see- run the list.


Bonnie: Coffee?


Phantasm: Check.


Bonnie: Sandwiches...?


Phantasm: Check!


Bonnie: ...sack.


Phantasm: ....


Bonnie: ...sack?


Phantasm: ...whew! Found it!


Bonnie: Whew is right- that damn near ruined the whole night. Wait. Hold up.


The young woman lifts a pair of binoculars to her eyes and focuses on some activity near the front gates. Designed by Nikola Tesla, with the aid of Cameron Bankston, Jr.'s artificially intelligent supercomputer, Iceberg-7, they function as more than a simple vision enhancement. Once she has the shot lined up, Bonnie presses a discrete button on the underside of the binoculars; they begin to record everything in exacting, three-dimensional detail. Moments later, when the transaction is completed, Bonnie switches off the recording and lowers the binoculars again.


Phantasm: -you have a lighter, though, right?


Bonnie: *facepalm* How do you not have a lighter?


Phantasm: I musta left it in my other pants.


Rolling her eyes in mock-exasperation, Bonnie fishes through the pocket of her hoodie -- a necessity in close quarters with her partner these days -- and produces a sapphire-hued Bic. With practiced ease, Polar rolls up a generously-proportioned joint and hands it to Bonnie.


Phantasm: Ladies first...


It isn't long before the interior of the Ranchero is thick with roiling clouds of smoke, forcing them to roll the windows down, just a little. An outside observer would witness a light haze drifting from no apparent source; but anyone out at this hour wasn't likely to be sober enough to question such an apparition. Passing the joint back and forth, each lapses into a thoughtful silence. Bonnie's mind is a turmoil of jumbled thoughts; questions that seemed to have no answers; tantalizing hints at some overarching conspiracy. At last, she speaks aloud the question foremost on her mind.


Bonnie: So what do we know about the Wave?


Cam's brow furrows as he considers, and the air inside the Ranchero grows perceptibly more chill.


Phantasm: Not a lot, and what we do know is mostly speculation or hearsay. We know there was the initial event, roughly a year ago.


Bonnie: By this universe's reckonin', anyway.


Phantasm: Right. This whole alternate universe thing still kinda trips me out. I mean, was it just us? Hardly anyone else seems to have noticed the difference. They act like this is natural.


Bonnie: Maybe, for them, it is. This might be their native reality. We're the outsiders.


Phantasm: I guess. But this universe spawned from the other one, when the thing happened. So how did anything happen a year ago?


Bonnie: Time ain't a strictly linear progression of events. Timelines are sorta woven together, to meet at one point, and diverge at another. Just 'cause this partic'lar reality is new, that don't mean it ain't got hist'ry, ya dig?


Phantasm: What you're saying, then, is that while the Wave hit this reality a year ago -- before it was technically formed -- it hit us, in our reality, this year. Mid-May.


The young blonde shrugs.


Bonnie: It's a theory. Which leaves the question of why we got yanked outta our 'riginal timeline an' dropped into this one. Personally, I still think it's somethin' to do with the Dark Timekeeper.


A doubtful expression steals across Polar's face.


Phantasm: I don't know... He wouldn't be real happy about us all developing superpowers. Might be an unintended consequence, but one he would probably seek to rectify pretty quick. Which he hasn't. Yet.


Bonnie: Good point. So, essentially, we know nothing.


Phantasm: We know one thing -- there are secrets right here in the city; clues that lead to the answers we're looking for. You were there, remember? The Comedian said --


Bonnie: Do you really trust that guy?


He thinks that over, briefly.


Phantasm: Listen, sugar, if God is lying to me, I have no chance knowing what to believe... basically ever.


Bonnie: Somehow, that's less than reassurin', Cam...


Polar shoots his partner a smile filled with irony.


Phantasm: I guess, sometimes, you gotta have... faith?


At this point, the pair break out into paroxysms of hysterical giggling, like something out of a bad anti-cannabis propaganda film from the 1930's. Bonnie recovers first, with no small exertion of will.


Bonnie: Ok, but seriously, it can't hurt to check out what the Comedian told ya. Doesn't explain why we're here, or what any of this has to do with that creep Sanchez. Guy is the walkin' definition of "sleaze."


Phantasm: No shit. And that's precisely why we're here. If something rotten is going down in Chicago, guaranteed he's up to his neck in it. He may not have had anything to do with the Wave initially, but I think he knows more than he's letting on. A lot more...


The Daughter of Time lifts a pair of binoculars to her eyes, watching for any interesting activity at the compound.


Bonnie: Makes sense. No way he made a move like this all on his own. He's gotta have somebody backing him. Maybe whoever's responsible for the Wave in the first place.


Cam nods in agreement, his gaze focused on the front gates. Frost forms intricate patterns on the windshield as he thinks, melting away quickly in the summer heat.


Phantasm: Could be. He keeps the whole City distracted so whoever's behind it all can let their evil plans unfold in peace? Oldest trick in the book.


The sudden glare of headlights catches their attention, and the Polar Phantasm falls silent as a Volkswagen motors past, the driver entirely unaware of their presence. Without warning, Cam punches Bonnie playfully in the upper arm.


Phantasm: Slug-bug!


Bonnie: OW! ...the fuck?


Phantasm: Uh.. slug bug...?


Bonnie: What does that even mean?!


Phantasm: It's a thing... you know, I forgot why it's even funny.


[He shrugs; she rubs her arm.]


Bonnie: Shouldn't we figure out something more creative than beating each other up? That seems like a goddamn shame. People smart as us-


Phantasm: Yeah, you're right. Definitely spent too much time in close quarters with Crystal.


Bonnie: I'll believe it-


Phantasm: She's all claws, that girl- it's how she shows affection, mostly. You grow to expect that sort of thing from her.


[Bonnie raises an eyebrow, asking a loaded question.]


Bonnie: -should I expect that sort of thing out of Crystal?


[Polar considers this for a moment.]


Phantasm: No. Probably.


[Bonnie's eyebrow-raise turns into a look of serious concern.]


Bonnie: Don't fuck with me, Cam.


Phantasm: Yeah, no. No way. Unless she's *really* drunk-


[Bonnie had started into a relaxed pose, but there goes that...]


Phantasm: -and I am totally just fucking with you.


Bonnie: It's times like these I understand her desire to hit you.


Phantasm: That's what the weed is for. Where'd you put the-


Bonnie: I don't know. Roll another one, fuck it- gonna be a long night.


[She sighs; he begins fishing around for his papers.]


Bonnie: What kinda cops would we have made, Cam?


[He laughs, dropping his keys which he was holding in his teeth for some reason. She can't help but laugh at his face as he looks down, wondering if he'll remember to look for them later.]


Phantasm: Don't let me forget those, ok?


Bonnie: So... really stoned cops, then. Yeah, I can see that.


[He starts digging through the sack of weed looking for a proper chunk to crumble into the paper.]


Phantasm: Like a glassy-eyed Tango and Cash.


Bonnie: I'd prefer Starsky and Hutch-


Phantasm: -ooh, we could dress Alex up as Huggy Bear. This is good. I like this plan.


Bonnie: -or Turner and Hooch. You'd make a great Hooch.


Phantasm: Bonnie... Hooch was the dog.


Bonnie: ...I know.


[Polar shakes his head.]


Phantasm: Ooh, maybe we could get motorcycles and be CHiPs!


Bonnie: That... is a terrible idea.


[Polar sighs, disappointed in himself.]


Bonnie: Theoretically, though... would I be Erik Estrada or Larry Wilcox?


Phantasm: Well, Wilcox was the blonde-


Bonnie: -yeah, no dice.


[Polar laughs a bit as he begins sealing up his creation... Bonnie waits semi-impatiently for him to finish.]


Bonnie: You roll slow, did anyone ever tell you that?


[Without looking up from his work, he responds.]


Phantasm: Measure twice, cut once.


[He looks over to his partner with a wink as he hands her the joint.]


Phantasm: Not a bad job, right?


[She inspects the job as any good foreman should.]


Bonnie: Practically textbook, my friend.


Phantasm: ...practically?


[She smirks, putting the joint in her mouth.]


Bonnie: Well, nowhere in any textbook I've read does it say to chill the shit like it's a Chardonnay.


[She lights the joint; Polar laughs and shakes his head.]


Phantasm: Everybody's a critic.


[As she takes the evil paper hit, Polar reflects on their previous discussion.]


Phantasm: What kinda cops you think Young and Cane would make?


[She laughs as she coughs up a cloud of acrid white smoke.]


Bonnie: Umm... Jonah Hill and Channing Tatum. Sounds right, I think.


Phantasm: Ouch! Not even Grieco and Depp; going straight for the remake 21 Jump Street. That is cold. And trust me- I'm an authority on the subject.


[She clutches her sweater.]


Bonnie: Oh, no- trust me. We know.


[She hands the joint to Polar after taking a second pull; he laughs a bit as he takes the offering.]


Phantasm: I guess that's fitting though; I almost completely forgot that movie was even a thing, and that goes double for those two. Not to get all Seinfeld on you, but... who are these people? Eli Young... he's a Mormon, right?


Bonnie: Ugh, is he?


Phantasm: Yeah, that's probably right. Guessing seven generations of inbreeding since Brigham Young himself has sullied the bloodline a bit... if this guy is the best the Church of Latter-Day Saints can muster, what does that tell you? I bet this guy was captain of the BYU wrestling team at one point.


Bonnie: Don't you normally ask Iceberg-Seven about stuff like this?


Phantasm: Yeah, of course. But should I really strain my computer's brain over these guys? Come on- there's no way a Mormon beats the Daughter of Time and the Icy Manipulator; I'm pretty sure it's in the Book of Moroni somewhere.


Bonnie: ...wait, you've actually read the Book of Mormon?


Phantasm: Of course... they give it to you for free, and it's a treasure trove of material if you're ever in need of insult comedy related to Mormons. Hey Eli, your half-brother/cousin/uncle Steve Young called and he's really, really disappointed in you. Which says a lot; that guy works for FOX, which means his standards are impossibly low.


Bonnie: THAT'S cold.


[They high-five; Bonnie blows a bit of warm air on her palm before rubbing it onto her hoodie.]


Phantasm: That bad, eh?


[She points to a readout on the dash; it states "outside temperature 86 degrees F" and "interior temperature 65 degrees F". He whistles a low tone.]


Bonnie: Shoulda brought some mittens.


Phantasm: We could get you some cool driving gloves... and a scarf. Something tells me you would like a scarf.


Bonnie: I think I could probably pull off a scarf...


Phantasm: ...oh yeah, easy peasy. Easy as this match will be, anyway.


Bonnie: Alright, so we've addressed the Mormon- we assume he's a Mormon anyway.


Phantasm: Could be playing it off like so many Romney staffers in the '12 presidential race... personally, I'd bet the guy at least believes Jesus came back from the dead in Missouri.


Bonnie: So what about Cane?


Phantasm: Which 'cane'? If we're talking hurricanes we'd better be talking alcoholic fruit punch concoctions, because if you give me Katrina flashbacks I can't promise I won't black out on my way to looting supplies and climbing atop a building to flag helicopters down.


Bonnie: I meant Chris Cane. The guy we're wrestling.


Phantasm: I'd prefer Michael Caine, personally.


Bonnie: Tell me about it! Saw Dirty Rotten Scoundrels last night on cable...


Phantasm: ...oh man... Caine *and* Steve Martin? That's just too good. Speaking of movies... all this talk about 'caine' and we haven't thought of 'iocaine' yet?


Bonnie: Oh man, you're right- what are we doing with our lives?


Phantasm: Whatever it is, it's...


Bonnie: Inconceivable!


Phantasm: Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line!


Bonnie: I do not think that means what you think that means.


Phantasm: ...no, he's only *mostly* dead.


Bonnie: You are the brute squad.


Phantasm: Have fun storming the castle!


[They can't keep the giggling back any longer.]


Bonnie: Seriously, can we get back to Cane?


Phantasm: As you wish.


[The giggling returns in force.]


Phantasm: You think he's got six fingers on his right hand?


Bonnie: ...why, did somebody kill your dad and you're seeking revenge?


[Polar suddenly looks disappointed.]


Phantasm: No... which sucks. That'd make this match interesting.


Bonnie: So, uh... how do we end this?


Phantasm: Throw Gandalf in a pit? Apologize for the inconvenience? Ooh! Kill Dumbledore!


Bonnie: I can't take you anywhere...


** fin **


The Guardians return next week in: WINDY CITY STORIES


[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. The views of Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm are not those of UCI or its sponsors or affiliates. No Dumbledores were harmed in the making of this promo. All rights reserved.]