Saturday, September 10, 2011

9/8-9/11 - Five Days, Five Conversations: pt 2

6:00 AM

GUARD: Here you go, sir.

SPYGOD: How's our favorite super villain impostor doing today?

GUARD: "Underman's" been !@#$ quiet, sir. I think he's afraid we'll flood the cell with nasty smells and the latest Justin Beiber album, again.

SPYGOD: Good. Wait outside. Don't open the door until I give the knock. Any other knock, flood the cell with Death Potion #9.

GUARD: Yes sir.

*door clangs shut*

SPYGOD: Well good morning, Myron. I bet you're wondering why I've called us all here...

UNDERMAN: Please don't hurt me again. I said I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-

SPYGOD: Shut. The !@#$. Up.

UNDERMAN: Yes sir. I'm shutting up now.

SPYGOD: Myron Guthrie Volaar. 35. Born in Madison, Wisconsin. Graduated top of his class at Dailey Technical School. Did not attend college. Worked at Great Lakes Scrapyards for most of your adult life, but spent the last five years under-employed due to a quote-endquote unfortunate incident involving some missing product and equipment. Then you drop off the grid for a year. Then we find you in Underman's old drill tank, wearing his old uniform, and stuffing your fat !@#$ with donuts and coffee before pulling off a bank robbery. Have I got all that about right?


SPYGOD: You may speak now, son.

UNDERMAN: Yes sir. You have all that right.

SPYGOD: Good. Nice to meet you, Myron. I'm the devil. This is hell.

UNDERMAN: I told you I'd cooperate.

SPYGOD: I know you did. Now, here, this is for you.

UNDERMAN: What is it...?

SPYGOD: Breakfast. Double sausage and egg explosion from Belly Busters. I hope you're not one of those pissy little vegetarians, but just in case I got you the cheesy hash browns. And coffee.

UNDERMAN: Coffee...

SPYGOD: I did not !@#$ in it this time.

UNDERMAN: Is it... safe to eat?

SPYGOD: Oh, you mean 'did you put hardcore elephant diarrhea-inducing sauce on it the way you did to that sandwich the first day I got here and was demanding a lawyer and my civil rights and everything I should have gotten, if I wasn't a prisoner of the sort of group that listens to things like that and laughs and then amputates your legs below the kneecaps and !@#$ you with them in both ends'?

UNDERMAN... um... yes...


UNDERMAN: No what?

SPYGOD: No. I did not poison your food. In fact, let me prove it. *chomp*

UNDERMAN: You ate my sandwich...

SPYGOD: And now I'm going to eat your hash browns...

UNDERMAN: No! No.. I'll eat them...

SPYGOD: Good idea. They good?

UNDERMAN: Yes. My god, yes.

SPYGOD: I did !@#$ on them.

UNDERMAN: Oh my god... ewwwwwwwwwwww *barf*

SPYGOD: Oh, wait, I didn't. I was just kidding. Sorry.

UNDERMAN: Oh you... you !@#$ !@#$ !@#$ !@#$ of a !@#$. I !@#$ hate you! !@#$ !@#$ kill me !@#$ die !@#$ kill me and !@#$ !@#$

SPYGOD: You know, I can survive the gas the guard'll pump into the cell if bang the door wrong. So you might want to watch the gutter language, there, son.

UNDERMAN: I don't care! I don't !@#$ care! Just do it, please! Do it!

SPYGOD: You want me to gas you?


SPYGOD: AW, !@#$ that. How about I take this gun, here, and shoot you with it?

UNDERMAN: Anything!

SPYGOD: How about my bare hands? How about I just choke you to death with my own !@#$, huh? You want that? You dead with my glowing alien love-god mansnake down your throat? You want that? Huh?

UNDERMAN: ... *whimper*

SPYGOD: So how does it feel to be !@#$ powerless, you little worm? How does it feel to be staring death in the face and begging for it because you can not !@#$ see any other way out of the situation?

UNDERMAN: *crying*

SPYGOD: Is this what you thought was going to happen when you bought that superdrill, Myron? Is this what you thought was going to happen when you put on that suit and pretended to be the real Underman?

UNDERMAN: *crying*

SPYGOD: This is how they feel, you fat little !@#$. This is how ordinary people feel when someone like you comes crashing into their lives with some stupid !@#$ super villain gimmick. They're minding their own !@#$ business and living their !@#$ lives and then you come in and ruin them. And all they can do is run and hide, and when they can't fight anymore, and they can't hide, they just want it to be over.

UNDERMAN: *throws up again, weakly*

SPYGOD: I mean, jesus !@#$ christ, Myron. You're going to have to help me !@#$ understand this. You're smart enough to make that drill tank actually work after all these years. You've got the brains to navigate the inner planet. Are you going to tell me you didn't know this was how it was going to end, eventually?


SPYGOD: Well, maybe I am giving you more credit that you deserve. I mean, you clearly can't organize a heist to save your !@#$ life. We catch you with your pants down buying !@#$ donuts, for crying out loud.

UNDERMAN: I just wanted...  ...

SPYGOD: Money? Sex? Power? Fame?

UNDERMAN: ... I wanted to be free.

SPYGOD: Free? You're living in the United States of America, son. You don't get much freer than this.

UNDERMAN: That's bull!@#$. I didn't want to be free to go to work and life and crank out 2.5 kids like every other good little doobie out there. I wanted to live free like it meant something. I wanted adventure. I wanted to go where I wanted, take what I wanted, and do what I wanted. I wanted to explore the world and live in it.

SPYGOD: And steal from people in order to do it? And kill them?

UNDERMAN: I never !@#$ killed anyone. I never hurt anyone either if I could help it.

SPYGOD: That's true, you didn't. You just got wind that the Legion was holding an estate sale for a retiring super villain and bought up the lot.


SPYGOD: And goodness only knows how you got all that !@#$ money. 546 million dollars?

UNDERMAN: I'm still paying off the loan.

SPYGOD: Hence the poorly-planned bank heists.


SPYGOD: But you could have made it go faster. They must have offered you better jobs to work it off.

UNDERMAN: Yeah, but... they all involved killing someone. Drilling a hole into someone's house. Dropping a city. Opening a fault line.

SPYGOD: And you didn't want to hurt anyone.

UNDERMAN: No. I just wanted-

SPYGOD: Adventure. Yes. We've covered this. Shut up.

UNDERMAN: Yes sir.


(full minute of silence passes)

SPYGOD: You were a Boy Scout, weren't you?

UNDERMAN: I made Eagle, sir.

SPYGOD: *sighs*

UNDERMAN: Is that bad? Did I say a bad thing?

SPYGOD: Shut up.

UNDERMAN: Yes sir.

SPYGOD: Okay, Myron. Here's the deal. You are now on special retainer to The COMPANY. This means your life is mine. This means your ass is mine. You work for me now. You will do exactly what I tell you. You will make what I tell you. You will carry out whatever mission I choose to give you, totally and completely, with no deviations whatsoever. Do. You. !@#$. Understand?

UNDERMAN: Yes sir. I understand.

SPYGOD: Good. You wanted adventure, Myron, and by God you're going to get it even if it kills you.

*special knock*

SPYGOD: Give him ten minutes, and then take him up and get him cleaned up. Decent meal, good bed, !@#$ if he wants it. Be courteous but firm. He's one of us, now.

GUARD: Understood, sir. No more Justin Beiber?

SPYGOD: Well, maybe ten seconds somewhere around the five minute mark. Keep him guessing. 

GUARD: Yes sir.

10:59 PM

*wall gets kicked down*

DIR. STRAFFER: What in the-

SPYGOD: I see your secretary wasn't kidding. There wasn't a door to this room. Hope you don't mind if I made my own...

DIR. STRAFFER: Are you insane? I'll have security all over you so fast-

SPYGOD: Don't bother. Your guards are all asleep and the robots don't work for you anymore.


SPYGOD: Didn't you hear me the first time? You don't have your security, anymore. It's just me and you and this room.

DIR. STRAFFER: Okay. Well, I'm not even going to ask how you got up here without us knowing about it.

SPYGOD: Trade secrets, mother!@#$. Kind of like this.

*tosses him a photo*

DIR. STRAFFER: What is this supposed to be?

SPYGOD: A very good satellite photo of the Flier, the day that the two-headed zebra got away from us.

DIR. STRAFFER: I can see the alien. This is from one of our platforms. How did you-

SPYGOD: Trade. !@#$. Secrets.

DIR. STRAFFER: Well, I don't see what the problem is. We got rid of your problem for you.

SPYGOD: Yes, you did. Now, look at the timestamp.


SPYGOD: It's from before we contacted you. A full five minutes before.


SPYGOD: And I also have all these photos, here, of his falling to Earth and slipping into us, also from one of your platforms. So you were tracking it the entire time. So you knew about it the entire time.

DIR. STRAFFER: Alright then, so we did.

SPYGOD: And you sent that thing in... why?

DIR. STRAFFER: We didn't send it in. We knew it was there and wanted to see what it was going to to do.

SPYGOD: And you didn't feel like !@#$ telling me that we had a potentially hostile alien on board the Flier, sitting in on our meetings and stunning us all with its !@#$ conversational French skills?

DIR. STRAFFER: No. I knew that if it became belligerent you could deal with it. As it was, it was clearly operating with a very powerful person-to-person perception filter, which suggests it was there for reconnaissance only.

SPYGOD: Sabotage.

DIR. STRAFFER: I beg your pardon?

SPYGOD: We did a complete sweep of the Flier the next day. It spent the time it was there taking pictures of key areas and trying to implant spy equipment. Guess whose?

DIR. STRAFFER: One of your science terrorist groups?


*tosses an evidence bag*

DIR. STRAFFER: These are ours.

SPYGOD: Yes. They are.

DIR. STRAFFER: I didn't authorize the bugging of your Flier, SPYGOD. That would have been rude.

SPYGOD: No, you wouldn't. But not because it would have been rude. Because if you'd been caught, we'd be having this conversation in an airlock. With your skinny !@#$ hanging out in a vacuum-

DIR. STRAFFER: Ten inches.


DIR. STRAFFER: My penis is ten inches long. Uncut.

SPYGOD: Well, that's something I didn't know.

DIR. STRAFFER: I thought SPYGOD knew all? Anyway, now that we've got our respective !@#$ sizes out of the way, because I know how long yours is, Mr. Frequent Indecent Exposure, let's think about this.

SPYGOD: Yes. Let's. Who is trying to get us to fight each other, Straffer? Who put that alien up to doing this, knowing that you'd stand by and watch, which would make you look really !@#$ bad when I found the DAMOCLES bugs?

DIR. STRAFFER: Well, you've dealt with ABWEHR. GORGON is missing in action, but they were running their network through Deep Ten. HONEYCOMB?

SPYGOD: This isn't their style. No giant metal insects or clone soldiers. Besides, they'd probably just try and blow the Flier up.

DIR. STRAFFER: So. GORGON. Or a new player in town.

SPYGOD: Or something else. Something that doesn't want you looking out, or in.

DIR. STRAFFER: Because of course you'd beat me.

SPYGOD: Where's your security, Director?

DIR. STRAFFER: Good point. So something new's entered the game. What are we going to do about it?


DIR. STRAFFER: Yes. We. We're on the same side, SPYGOD. Our methods aren't too different. We're both happy to let others twist in the wind so long as we get what we need. And it's all about the bigger picture in the end. It's just that my picture is a !@#$ of a lot bigger than yours.


DIR. STRAFFER: I take it that's how they say "Yes, Director Straffer" on Planet SPYGOD?

SPYGOD: Yes, actually. It is. So how do they say "here's the truth about what was lying on the ocean floor and cost The COMPANY a !@#$ submarine" on Planet Straffer?

DIR. STRAFFER: You mean you don't know?

SPYGOD: No, I don't.

DIR. STRAFFER: Well, that makes two of us. SPYGOD. And that makes me pretty worried.

 (SPYGOD is listening to Absurd (Fluke) and having freeze dried coffee)

No comments:

Post a Comment