The Interim Adventure (Or, Episode IV.V) Part Six

Richard summoned his last vestiges of strength and managed to open his right eye-lid.
His vision was blurry. His long, golden locks hung in a tussled mass, a lank, bushy curtain in front of his face.
Focusing, he pried his other eye-lid open.
He realized he was bent over.
Richard tried to move his hands. They were locked in place.
He tried to stand up, but his neck was also locked in place.
Richard was held in the stocks, or a pillary.
He was naked save for a ragged loin cloth tied about his nethers.
Gradually, he became aware of voices in the background.
"Step out of my way, you diminutive oaf!" snapped Sung Li.
"You watch yo’ mouth, now, cher," Abattoir growled. "I save you life las’ night. Don’ fo’get that, yee-uh."
The beautiful scientist, clad in her white, flowing lab coat and carrying a tray of needles, side-stepped around the squat bounty hunter.
Abattoir seemed out of place in the sterile, technological laboratory. He looked more ready to hunt bears than gaze at slides through microscopes.
Sung Li walked up to Richard. She roughly pulled his long, golden hair back from the side of his face. With a devious smile she rammed a syringe into his neck and pumped him full of a burning liquid.
"There," she said triumphantly. "You won’t be causing us any more dog trouble now."
Richard writhed in pain as the serum traveled through his circulatory system. His veins felt as though they were full of fire. Slowly, his world became black again. The colors around him, once so clear and vibrant, dulled to a depressing gray. The small sounds, beakers clinking, heartbeats, footsteps in the outside hall, all became muted. The air smelled and tasted stale. He felt tired and weak. His entire body ached.
"Ah, why you go n’ do tha’, now, cheh?" asked Abattoir, crestfallen. "If he can no mo’ heal fast, I can no’ to’choo him propuh."
"Don’t worry, Phillipe," said Sung Li with unusual kindness, "we’ll both get our chance to bring pain to this bastard. Umbrella has perfected the art of torture. We can keep him alive for weeks."
Abattoir smiled, displaying a set of yellowed teeth.
"What . . . what did you do to me?" Richard coughed. His perception now that of a man with a sack over his head.
"Oh, I just cured you. You’re no longer a werewolf."
The poor, defeated hero did not know how to feel about that news. On the one hand, he would no longer be subservient to his primitive tendencies. He would not be so easily corrupted. On the other, breaking out of this place would be much more difficult without his heightened senses, animal speed, beastly strength, and rapid healing. On a slightly different hand, he would miss having a foot long tongue. He was sure that would have gotten him several girlfriends.
Sung Li picked up another syringe from the tray and with it drew a blood sample from the chained warrior.
She took two more syringes full of blood, then injected him with one final serum.
Richard’s world began to spin. His tongue felt swollen. His brain felt like it had been replaced with oatmeal.
"That should keep you docile until I return," said Sung Li. "Phillipe, watch him while I’m gone, I need to step into Dr. Trans’ office for some data." She turned and headed out of the room.
"Oh yeah, how is your boss, anyway?" asked Richard dully from his position in the center of the room. "Still broken in half?"
Sung Li gasped and tore out of the room.
Richard chuckled to himself.
His laughter was brought to an abrupt halt as Abattoir brandished a long, wicked-looking blade in front of him.
"Now tha’ she gone, you n’ me, we gun’ have some fun, yee-uh?"

Trans’ office was cold and shadowy.
She could not believe that only one day ago she had seen her employer, her mentor, her . . . lover torn to pieces by a beast. Sung Li could not picture a world without him.
She shivered slightly as she entered. The large, well-decorated room was too dark for her to make out clearly. She ran a hand along the wall, searching for a light switch.
Suddenly, the lights in the room came on, and she was startled and blinded for a moment.
"Can I help you, Ms. Li?" came a voice from the area of Trans’ desk.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the brightness, and saw who had called to her.
She nearly fainted.
Doctor Thaddeus Trans was seated behind his desk, calmly reading an old, leather-bound copy of Dante’s Inferno. He frowned.
"The fool had it all wrong," he muttered to himself.
"Doctor . . .?" Sung Li breathed.
"Dante," Trans explained, "he has the circles of hell in the wrong order. In fact, they’re not actually circles, they’re more interlocking realms. I hate uninformed opinions."
"But . . . Doctor . . . I saw you . . . you were . . . that beastly boy . . . killed you."
"Killed? Me?" Trans chuckled. "No, I’m afraid that’s not quite possible. In conventional terms, anyway. I’m feeling fit as a fiddle, thank you."
"But . . . how?"
"How is irrelevant. Besides, brilliant as you are, you wouldn’t understand. It took me a few hundred years to get a grip on the situation, myself."
He stood and walked towards her.
"All that matters is that I am here now."
He cradled her head with a pale hand, looking down into her eyes.
"And I will be here . . . forever."

Richard, blinded by pain, did not hear the pneumatic doors open.
Through the haze of agony, he was dimly aware of Sung Li screaming at Abattoir, who was intently twisting a knife blade he had buried hilt-deep in Richard’s side.
"Stop it, you fool! You’ll push him past the point of repair! We need him alive for testing!"
Abattoir ripped the blade out and hobbled away, muttering darkly.
"Was jus’ tryin’ to ‘ave some fun, yee-uhh . . ."
Richard screamed in pain as Sung Li cauterized the wound.
"There," she said briskly. "Now, onto the tests." She plucked a cold, shining, metal instrument off of a tray. It was barbed and covered in small, whirring blades. Richard had no idea what it was for and he did not want to find out.
"Phillipe," the mad doctor called sweetly to Abattoir. "You may want to see this."
She looked down at Richard, brandishing the implement with an eager gleam in her eye.
"Now, this may sting a bit. . ."

Alone in his private armory, Tony strapped on his lightweight, blackened steel battle armor. His pale, handsome face was deathly calm, his soulful brown eyes distant as he sheathed one bladed projectile after another onto his slender frame.
He had undergone more than any boy his age should ever have to, and all within the span of only a few days.
The loss of his vampirism came as a startling blow. The world seemed so dead and grey now. What was more, he could feel some new changes stirring inside him. He had now idea as to what they heralded, but he would welcome them with is characteristic stalwart courage.
Tony tried to keep his mind focused. More than anything, he tried to stay cheerful.
But, for all he knew, he was about to lead his friends, the ones he had fought so hard and lost so much to protect, into certain death. He was risking everything on a desperate gamble for a captured comrade who may not even be alive.
"No!" Tony said aloud to the silent, weapon-stocked room.
He would not accept even the possibility that Richard was dead.
Richard was alive.

Richard wished he was dead.
His long, thick locks were plastered to the sides of his face by sweat and blood. Strands of hair clung to his mouth, which dripped blood and saliva freely.
For hours he had been drained of bodily fluids and pumped full of drugs. He teetered on the brink of a great and terrifying blackness. His mortality hung heavily on his soul.

Steve never felt nervous. He prided himself on it. The anxious twitchings of one’s stomach were unknown to him. He was perpetually, unflappably cool.
But he was nervous now.
In his quarters at NP Inc he had geared himself for battle in a scarlet war-suit. He had removed one heavy metal gauntlet and was staring, wide-eyed, at his hand, which was currently on fire.
"As he looked on, he was surprised to see that the bush, though on fire, was not consumed," Steve mumbled to himself, recalling a poignant Bible verse from his Catholic school days.
Steve’s hand was functioning perfectly, completely unscathed, but sheathed in bright orange flame.
He was not religious, but right now, Steve’s mind was devoted to higher things.

Richard was praying for release. Sung Li seemed to have finished taking any samples she needed and was for a time content to torment him with various pieces of lab equipment.
After what seemed to Richard an eternity of this, she left him panting and bleeding, still bent double in the stocks, and strode across the room to a large computer to run tests on those biological materials she had stolen from him.

Sam grabbed a ruck-sack and set about filling it with glass bottles, chair legs, hammers, and crow-by-fours; all manner of household items which, in his hands, became implements of untold destruction. He sang happily while he worked.
Sam’s mind, finally, was at ease. He was going to smash shit and get his brother back. In Sam’s mind, nothing was wrong.

Something was wrong.
Sung Li stared quizzically at the glowing screen in front of her. Behind her, in the center of the large, white-tiled laboratory, Richard teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
The Umbrella Corp computers were virtually infallible, and yet the results of the gene testing she had run on Richard’s samples were suspiciously peculiar.
According to these results, the Umbrella Corp technicians who had run the original tests on Richard had missed something quite substantial. Something that would help Umbrella’s cause immeasurably.
She gave Richard a searching look, then motioned for two guards to watch him (and protect him from Abattoir), and left in a rush to see Trans.

Amy rubbed absentmindedly at the blade of her Elfin dagger. She was wearing light armor, concerned more for maneuverability and speed than protection, and rightly so.
She looked back on the last few months, at how crazy her life had become. Through Andrew she had been introduced to Rich, and the trouble started there. With Rich came Tony and Steve and all the rest of these mad-men and -women and their fantastical existence.
She was struggling to understand this insane world she found herself in. A world of high-stakes adventure and daring-do. Of brave heroes and dastardly villains. Of other-worldly phenomenon and earth-shattering crises. A world of zombies, monsters, robots, ninjas, pirates, swords, sorcery, and unimaginable technology. It was too much.
She longed for a cigarette, a cup of coffee, and a comfy seat at the Thirsty Mind.
"Oh, McMenamin," she sighed to herself, sheathing the dagger and marching toward the door, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

Trans studied the documents before him carefully. His face expressionless, he turned his stained-glass lens-covered eyes up to Sung Li, who was standing in front of his desk, breathless with anticipation and the thrill of the discovery.
"These results are genuine?"
"Of course, doctor."
"You have scanned them for errors? Re-run the tests?"
"Of course, doctor."
"How can you explain, then, that this did not reveal itself to the previous technicians? How did we not see this . . . metagene before?"
Sung Li stepped forward and indicated a diagram on one of the documents in front of her boss.
"Firstly, doctor, it is recessive. It may very well not show itself in the subject at all. Also, you see, the gene is located on the very allele which was stimulated by the lycanthropic virus. This must have merely seemed a side-effect of the virus. And finally, the gene is most prevalent in the follicle regions. Only lately, since the subject has grown out his hair, has the gene become prominent. And, as you know, all our genetics work was done before this.
Trans scratched his bearded chin.
"This appears to be the same gene present in our other captive."
"It is, doctor."
"These . . . teenagers have shown themselves to be genetically similar before. One could theorize that, perhaps, if both of our captives possess this gene, then . . ."
"The others have it as well."
Trans was silent for a moment.
"Have there been any reports of this gene manifesting itself?"
"Not as of yet, doctor. Though, if one captive displays the characteristics this gene is capable of generating, the others may follow. This could spell disaster for Umbrella."
Trans nodded. "However, if harnessed by capable scientists, this gene could hold for us incredible power. Power to not only counter those meddlesome agents of Ninja Pirate Inc, but also to finally hold the world firmly in our grasp."
"Very good, doctor. I will begin gene extraction now. The wild prisoner’s hair seems to be the key location. With such an ample supply I should easily be able to manufacture a serum."
The mad doctor glanced at the papers once again.
He smiled.
"This is indeed a fortuitous development."


The Captain Blackjack Huzuki-bot 3500 sat charging his fuel cells in robotic silence. He was giving much thought to the performance of those to whom he had ceded leadership of this company. These startling teenagers.
He had been in operation since 1952, but parts of him were far older. Never, in all his years on this earth, in any form, had he seen such raw, unshakeable courage and fierce, unbreakable love. They had accomplished more in their short time on earth than many would ever do in a lifetime. In fact, they had saved the earth from certain subjugation while in their first year of college.
Though he did not know how well they would run the actual business end of things, the Captain had no fear that these few noble warriors would fight until the bitter end, and would conduct themselves with honor and compassion in the face of whatever obstacles presented themselves.

"I believe it is time for us to terminate the subject. He has outlived his usefullness, and he has certianly caused us a good deal of trouble."
Doctor Thaddeus Trans was watching the action in the vast laboratory through a two-way mirror. He stood with perfect posture, hands clasped loosely behind his back, a small smile on his smooth face. He never turned his eyes from the action in the lab as he spoke to Sung Li, who stood behind hi in the shadows of the side room with rapt attention.
"First, we should obviously harvest the most potent source of the metagene . . . those acursed golden locks. After which, feel free to do with him as you wish."
He finally turned his smile to her.
"I imagine you'll have fun, my dear."
"Thank you, doctor. I most certainly will. Shall I instruct the guards to take him outside and shoot him?"
Trans turned back to the glass wall to watch Richard, the boy who had come closer to defeating Umbrella than anyone in the company's history.
"No. Give him to Abattoir. That filthy dwarf has earned this prize."
Sung Li nodded and turned to leave.
"Oh, and Ms. Li?"
"Yes, doctor?"
"Let our other captive perform the shaving. It will substantially increase the horror of the situation for the boy, don't you think?"
Trans chuckled to himself as Sung Li left the room. He knew he would win out in the end.

Back across the Atlantic at the offices of Ninja Pirate Incorporated, Tony and company were gathered in a loose circle in the avionics department, which was located on the top official floor of the main building, just above Dr. Sprocket’s lab.
The doctor, having successfully brought three people back to life, pulling off what Jake affectionately termed "a triple Jesus," had retired to his lounge and was now passed out drunk with a freshly emptied bottle of Scotch in his hand.
The heroes had dressed for battle, and now they stood, Tony, Sam, Steve, Amy, and The Captain, amidst various craft in the vast, open floor of NP Inc’s hangar.
(Jake would have been with them, but he was called away to investigate recent weather phenomena. )
The NP Inc avionics department was spread over an entire floor, which had been constructed as a single room. Where normally there would have been separate hallways and offices there was now only open space, cut by sturdy steel support beams and ships of all description.
Tony checked his watch and looked around. He took a breath, adjusted a greave, and addressed the troops.
"Look around you."
The assembled did so.
"This is it. This is all that is left of Ninja Pirate’s once substantial East Coast army."
Tony strode over to the wide-open hangar doors, a virtual missing wall in the side of the building and, toes on the edge of the floor, facing the dizzying drop to the ground below, looked down upon the sad stretch of field that had been set aside as the Ninja Pirate memorial cemetery.
Row upon row of black, polished granite monuments stood, each over the grave of one brave soul who had died defending the headquarters from the zombie invasion.
Tony brushed away a tear.
"We’re going to have to re-staff," he muttered to himself, turning to face the small team once again.
"We are the only ones left who can save Richard," Tony said to his friends. "We are his last hope."
He looked at each solemn face; into each pair of glittering, eager eyes.
"I won’t lie and say this will be easy. I won’t say that it will be a rip-roaring good time, full of action and daring do. It will be brutal, and cold, and dangerous. We will be outnumbered hundreds to one. We will be on their turf. They will have the advantage. If we want this to work, we need to be fast and decisive. Never hesitate.
"Steve, Amy, Cap’n. You will be team nun-chaku. It will be your task to keep most of the enemy force occupied while Sam and I, team shuriken, break into the compound and get Richard out.
This is in many ways a suicide mission. Our margin for success is infinitesimal. But we must remember what we’re fighting for!"
Tony slammed his armored fist down on the sleek, chrome surface of a stealth scooter, and nearly fell over.
Sam rushed forward to steady him.
Tony, weary from the past battle, the long nights of searching desperately for his friend, and disoriented after being brought back to life, was also suffering from lack of sunlight.
He rubbed his head, thanked Sam, and continued.
"Remember who we’re fighting for," he said, a little quieter. "Our friend! This is for Rich!"
"Yeah!" Steve seconded. "The bonds of friendship are stronger than any prison bars!"
Amy swooned at this dashing display.
Inwardly, Steve was divided. He didn’t know whether to gloat over being closer to getting some from such an amazingly sexy girl, or ashamed at his terrible hypocrisy.
He decided to gloat, as it felt better and seemed the cooler thing to do.
Crisis averted, he turned his attention back to Tony, who was explaining what vehicles they would be taking.
Steve lit a cigarette and zoned out again.
"Team Nunchaku, you will be piloting an NP Inc hover ship, newly fitted with two addition laser turrets, port and starboard." He indicated a large, gleaming metal craft covered in an array of dangerous-looking weapons.
"Sam and I will be in the new, experimental speeder that my father has just built. It should be optimal for a quick, stealthy mission such as this.
We will approach from the north face, the rear of the building, and attempt to break in relatively unnoticed, while you three attack from the front, causing as much havoc as possible.
"Can do," said Steve, grinning.
"We’ll have to move as quickly as possible. Get in, get Rich, get out. Speed is of the essence.
"Now let’s do this!"
The friends joined hands in the center of the circle and eyed each other with grim determination, each forcing all thoughts of what they might actually find at Umbrella’s base firmly out of their heads.
Then the nodded bravely, and made their way to their respective ships.
The two gleaming craft shot out of the open doors of the hangar, nearly 50 stories above the ground, and tore off heading east, to the Atlantic, a dreaded island, and points unknown.

Richard, dizzy, nauseous, and ruined, teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. He looked up dimly, peering through his curtain of curly hair, as Sung Li re-entered.
"What nex’? Wha’ ya got for me?" he slurred. "I can take it. I’m still here! Not goin’ . . . not goin’ anywhere . . ."
Sung Li tossed him a saint-like smile.
"Oh, we’ve got quite the surprise in store for you."
She pushed a button on a nearby control panel and to Richard’s right, a pair of doors slid open and a tall, lanky figure stepped into the room.
Richard craned to see who it was.
His jaw dropped.
It was none other than Andrew LeTellier.
Richard gasped at the sight of his friend.
"Andrew!' he called desperately, 'help me!'
But the gangly hero did not respond.
It was then that Richard noticed something awry. His friend's hands hung loose at his sides, he shoulder's slumped, his jaw was slack. His normally bright green eyes were glossy. He brandished a pair of shears.
"What’s going on?!" Richard demanded of his hot Asian tormenter. "What’s wrong with him? Why is he here?" His anger and confusion had driven away the fog with which the drugs had surrounded him.
"He is here because we captured him shortly after you. He was an accomplice in the battle in Holyoke, and as such required dealing with. But we stumbled across a peculiar anomaly in his genetic structure, and decided to keep him around. We brainwashed him, of course. It took some doing; he’s quite resilient. But he is completely under our control now."
Sung Li called out to Andrew to confirm this.
"Advance, patient 0772."
Andrew walked to the center of the room with an odd, robotic, hindered stride.
"He is here now specifically because he is going to harvest your beautiful hair for us."
She addressed Andrew again.
"Patient 0772, remove his hair."
And to Richard’s horror, Andrew started forward again, raising the shears in an ominous manner.
"No, no Andrew!" he pleaded. "Don’t do this!"
But his friend was beyond his reach.
Mechanically, Andrew grabbed a handful of Richard’s long, curly locks and began to hack away at them, scraping the shears as close to the poor hero’s scalp as possible.
"Nooo!" Richard cried. "Not my hair!"
And then, inexplicably, impossibly, his hair began to resist.
Long, frizzy golden tendrils of his glorious hair snaked themselves around Andrew’s arm like constricting vipers. They held the brainwashed lad’s hands still, pulling with an inhuman strength.
Richard and Sung Li gaped at the astonishing development.
"It’s manifesting itself . . ." Sung Li said to no one in particular. "Under conditions of extreme duress the gene manifests itself." She shook herself out of the trance and made frantic, scribbling notes in a nearby pad.
"What in the flaming porcine hell is this?!" Richard yelled, startled and confused.
Andrew pulled dumbly at the tenacious follicles, still under Umbrella’s influence.
Then, with Andrew held safe, Richard’s hair started to unfasten the locks around his wrists.
Sung Li saw this and, though stunned, galvanized herself into action. She darted forward and, grabbing a scalpel from a tray, sliced at Richard’s locks.
His hair, divided between freeing him, stopping Andrew, and stopping Sung Li, was spread too thin. It began to weaken.
"Yes!" Sung Li hissed triumphantly. "Now we have it!"
The hair put up a gallant fight, Richard willing it on, but soon Andrew got the upper hand. Sung Li stepped back and watched him work. He hacked and cut roughly, brutally, more ripping and tearing than slicing.
Richard cried out in anguish, his scalp bleeding, gouged, and raw. But Andrew, under the mental commands of Umbrella, would not stop.
Eventually, all of Richard’s once beautiful afro was lying motionless and dead in a collection container.
Richard wept bitterly.
Sung Li ran her fingers though the severed hair, relishing it’s smooth strength.
Then she turned to Richard.
"Would you like to see what else this gene can do?" she asked.
Richard sobbed brokenly.
"Patient 0772, stand where you are."
Andrew stiffened.
"Now, get me that clip board."
The clip board in question lay across the room, nearly ten feet away, on a console.
Andrew extended his arm.
Richard couldn’t see how he would ever reach it.
But Andrew’s arm kept extending. Like a stretched rubber band it lengthened sickeningly until his hand, fingers splayed and stretched beyond proper proportions, grasped the clipboard. Then he snapped his arm back. It tightened to normal size. He handed the clipboard to Sung Li.
"We are going to use your friend, and whatever we can harvest of this metagene from your hair, to create a serum which will grant us untold biological power. Reflect on this, our final victory, as you die."
She signaled for Abattoir, who had been waiting, knife ready, in the corner of the room.
He hobbled over, licking his thin lips.
"You may have the boy now, Phillipe," she said sweetly. "Do take your time. I’d like a good show."
"Oh, don’ you worry none, cher. I take my time wid dis one. He gon’ suffer, yee-uh. I gair-un-tee."
Abattoir cocked his stocky arm back, ready to plunge the knife deep into Richard’s stomach, when there was a jarring rumble and the entire wall to Richard’s left exploded inward in a cloud of plaster dust and a storm of stone shards.
A sizeable lab table was knocked skidding across the room. It hit a fallen beam, flipped into the air, flew over Richard, and caught Abattoir quite off-guard.
"Merde," he barely had time to utter before the weight of the table collided with his squat frame and sent him crashing across the room.
His stubby leg twitched feebly from beneath the mass, and he groaned a bit.
As the dust settled to the crumble of stone and the clink of fallen tile, Richard, though a haze of pain and drug-induced stupor, perceived a sleek, gleaming silver ship in the middle of the lab room.
The doors of this beautiful craft opened and two long-haired figures sprung out.
Richard could not believe his eyes. It was Tony and Sam, come to rescue him at last.
"Get them!" Sung Li screeched, getting over the initial shock of seeing a silver speedster blast it’s way into her laboratory.
A squad of Umbrella Corp guards rushed forward, Andrew among them, still brandishing his shears dangerously.
"Andrew?!" Sam said incredulously. "What are you doing he—"
But that was as far as he got, for the brainwashed hero swung at him with the rusty shears.
"Gah!" Sam exclaimed, dodging the swipe.
Tony had his hands full dealing with the guards. They were not allowed laser weapons in the lab room, and instead carried electro batons.
Tony drew his favorite katana and set into them, hacking through their armor and blocking their dogged attacks.
Sung Li was livid. She had been within seconds of achieving a substantial victory for Umbrella, only to have it put in jeopardy by these blasted kids.
She drew a studded riding crop from her side holster and marched toward Richard, swinging the wicked implement angrily.
"You’ll suffer for this!" she shrieked, and laid into him brutally, breaking his rugged, tan skin with each blow.
Sam saw what was happening to his brother and, turning back to Andrew, swung a sturdy chair leg at the tall boy’s head. It connected soundly, with a coconut-like clunk, and Andrew’s stupidly determined face went slack, his eyes cleared, and then rolled up, and he collapsed in a lanky heap.
"You should play with scissors, Chopstick!" Sam quipped, then he leaped over Andrew’s fallen form and faced Sung Li.
"Hey, you chinky bitch!" he yelled. "Step away from my brother and face someone who’s not tied up!" He dropped the chair leg, took a distinctly awkward fighting stance, and beckoned her with his index finger.
Sung Li gave a girlish smile, set down the riding crop, and advanced.
A lull settled into the proceedings. The assembled Umbrella Corp guards stopped fighting and turned the glowing red eyes of their face masks in the direction of the two combatants. Tony relaxed his sword arm, and also gazed in awe. Even Richard, still bound in the stocks, craned his head up as far as it would go in order to view the fight.
Tony and the guards had formed a loose circle around Sam and Sung Li.
The two enemies stood staring at each other. Sung Li was still and beautiful, a porcelain statue, hands in a delicate praying shape in front of her. Sam, meanwhile, had contorted his body into mangled position, his arms bent at odd angles, his fingers splayed and pointing in all directions, one leg dangling in the air.
"I have studied under the great and venerable Master Lee Ho Fok," Sung Li said.
Richard gasped upon hearing this, for Master Lee Ho Fok was the same sensei by whom he and Amy had been instructed.
Sam was unimpressed.
"I learned my shit from some guy in a parking lot," he retorted.
"Then let us begin," Sung Li whispered.
Sam laughed wildly and came at her, swinging his hands in crazed karate chops and hooking his legs like an Irish step dancer. Sung Li remained still. Just as his first chop was about to strike her delicate neck she moved her hand up in a blur and blocked it. And then began a fast and spirited exchange of attacks. The combatants were well matched, and hardly any of their hits struck home. They blocked and caught each others’ rapid chops, punches, kicks and lunges. Their arms and legs intertwined dangerously. Finally, they both slipped up. Sam landed a punch to Sung Li’s mid section; Sung Li hit Sam in the chest with a powerful kick. Both combatants were knocked backwards. They staggered but quickly re-took their fighting stances.
"Allow me to show you one of Master Fok’s prized techniques," Sung Li said sweetly. "It is called the Spring Lotus Blossom."
She hurled herself forward in a noiseless somersault, ending it at Sam’s feet, and sprang up, both arms extending in either direction, knocking Sam’s hands aside. Then she did a back-flip back to her former position, striking Sam under the chin with both feet. She landed silently and straightened up.
Sam was knocked to the ground. He stood up slowly, a thin stream of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth.
"Not bad," he said ruefully, adding, "for a smelly pirate hooker. Now let me show you one of my favorite moves."
Sam balled his hands into fists and held them extended, touching as if he were gripping an invisible baseball bat. He swung his hands wildly, shouting "Ottoman flagpole!"
His furious strike caught Sung Li off guard. She managed to block one, two, three of his swings, but the third one came from above and hit her on the right shoulder, staggering her to the ground. He then brought his knee up under her chin, sending her toppling onto her back.
Sung Li sprang up yelling "Tiger pounces at prey," and leaped into the air at Sam. She landed a flying kick into his ample gut. Sam gave a pained grunt, and wheezed, "Corkscrew." He presented his side to her, raised his arm, and swung it in blinding circles. This effort pushed Sung Li backwards for several frantic steps. She recovered, saying, "Autumn Leaves," and swung an array of chops and punches at Sam’s head and torso, landing many of them.
Sam managed to block the last few while shouting, "Jumpin’ Turnip!"
He hopped up and down, swinging his arms like the stem of a root vegetable.
Sung Li knocked him aside.
"Hidden bee stings," she breathed, and dashed toward Sam sniping at him with one hand. Suddenly the other darted forward and struck him three sharp jabs to the ribs.
"This one’s called The Hook," Sam whispered, the wind knocked out of him. He swung out his leg, hooking it behind his opponent’s knee, and pulled, sending her toppling to the floor.
"Kick to the tooth!" he yelled, but Sung Li knocked his leg aside and attempted to stand.
"How about a Sicilian squeeze?" Sam said, a devilish smile on his cherubic face.
He snaked his hand around and pinched Sung Li’s delicate side. The attack was executed perfectly. He had isolated a cluster of nerves and paralyzed her temporarily.
He squandered his advantage by doing an annoying hopping dance.
Sung Li was regaining movement.
"Time to finish you off," said Sam. He clamped his arms to his sides and spun at her furiously, yelling "French barrel roll!"
Sung Li easily dodged it and knocked Sam’s legs out from under him.
"The French suck," said Sam, lying bleeding on the sterile white floor. Sung Li stamped at his head, but he rolled out of the way just in time as her foot came down and shattered the ceramic tiles where he had been lying not a second before.
Sam got shakily to his feet and said, "Bulldozer!" He charged at her, head down, humming loudly.
Sung Li dodged to the left, ducked, and struck out at Sam’s most vulnerable area, saying, "Monkey gathers peach," with sadistic satisfaction.
Sam closed his hands over his injured groin. Tears in his eyes, he muttered "Right in the crotch," and toppled over.
Sung Li drew a laser pistol and aimed it at Sam.
"Do your worst, ya sick fuck," he spat.
She closed her finger over the trigger about to fire, when Tony leapt from the outskirts of the brawl and knocked her spinning out of the way. Her shot hit a large, glass tank filled with a bubbling red liquid. The glass shattered violently, and the laser blast ignited the substance in the tank.
Sung Li rubbed her head, looked around at the rapidly growing fire, and then stumbled out of the lab.
Tony and Sam fought off the last of the guards, sending any still conscious fleeing from the room.
Sam set about angrily breaking things while Tony rushed over to Richard’s side and freed him from his restraints.
Richard struggled to stand straight, but his spine screamed in protest, so he hunched over weakly, and, assisted by Tony, hobbled to the silver rocket ship, which glittered even more brightly in the firelight.
"Nice . . . new ride," he coughed.
"Thanks," said Tony, helping his friend into the back seat.
The conflagration was hungrily devouring the lab as Tony called for Sam.
"Sam, let’s go! The full force of this base will be here in seconds!"
Sam was hefting Andrew’s limp form over his shoulder.
"We can’t forget our friend here," he grunted.
Just then, a beam fell from the ceiling and sent Sam sprawling. Andrew tipped from his shoulder and flopped onto the debris-strewn floor.
Tony heaved Sam up and pushed him into the passenger seat of the silver dart.
"What about Andrew?" Sam protested.
Tony’s mind raced. The fallen beam cut their lanky friend off from the back of the room. The flames grew higher around him.
Suddenly, when all hope seemed lost, Amy stumbled into the lab, her face smeared with blood and soot, her light armor broken and disheveled.
Richard gazed at her, a fiery-eyed vision wielding a laser pistol in one hand and a slender sword in the other. Behind her came Steve, his heavy battle suit shattered and charred. A fine cut traced a crimson line across his forehead. Then came Captain Blackjack Huzuki-bot 3500, his twin gattling guns firing into a mob of Umbrella troops.
"Go!" yelled Amy. "We’ll get Andrew."
Tony hesitated.
"Just go! We’ll be fine!"
He nodded, saluted them, and hopped into the pilot’s seat of his ship.
He activated main thrusters, the console in front of him lighting up in glittering buttons like the Vegas strip, shifted the craft into hyperdrive, and tore back out through the wall and into the open, frigid air.
Richard looked through the back window, shook his head to clear it, and then looked back again.
I must be on stronger drugs than I figured, Richard thought, for it seemed to him that Steve was quieting the leaping, dancing, flames with a wave of his hand, and balled them together in the corner while Amy raised Andrew without touching him.
The three brave heroes, with their unconscious cargo, jumped from the gaping whole made by
Tony’s ship into the waiting cockpit of their own transport, which hovered just outside.
"You guys okay?" Tony asked into a communicator on his dashboard.
There was a momentary burst of static, then Amy’s breathless voice came over the radio.
"Yeah, man, we made it out. Thanks. Now just get Rich home."
Tony nodded, switched off the com-link, and sped away.

Richard gingerly touched his bleeding, shaved scalp. He gathered the shreds of his towel around him and shivered.
"What did I miss?"
"Oh, not that much," said Tony. "There was a battle of sorts, we all died, then came back, then searched for you."
"Oh . . ."
"Yeah . . . and it seems we’re developing super-powers."
Richard fainted from shock and exhaustion.
Tony laughed with relief, smiled, and, shifting his vehicle into a higher speed, zoomed across the gleaming Atlantic, towards home, safety, and pop tarts.