Nuklear Age (77 page)

“I’ve heard things about the Mall Manager here,” Atomik Lad said. The light directly above them flickered.

“Yeah, what’s his name? Mort something, right?”

“According to this blurb on the back of the map, Mort Dakainen.” He read a little further. “Says here he’s Metroville’s oldest citizen.”

“Oh yeah! Old Mort Dakainen,” Rachel said. “They always make such a big deal about his birthday because he founded the Metroville Mall. There’s a parade and sales and whatever. It’s huge. For a mall event, anyway.”

“Check out the Mall Lore on Rach,” Atomik Lad teased while reading more of the informative Scroll of Mall History.

“Shush.”

“Wait, he’s still having birthdays
and
he’s the Mall Founder?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Listen to this,” Atomik Lad read from the blurb. “It’s the Mall’s motto. ‘The Metroville Mall, Giving You Ninety-Eight Years of Stuff.’ If he’s the Mall Founder, he must be over a hundred years old.
Way
over.”

“He’s not still in charge of this place is he?”

“I think so. I made the mistake of coming here during what must’ve been one of those birthday things last year to buy the latest Starblaster game. I saw him giving a speech. At least, I
assume
it was him. It was this really old guy. I mean
old
. He looked like an unraveled mummy propped up at a podium or something. He kept rambling on about his Sacred Treasures and weird stuff during the speech. Needless to say, I got in and out as soon as possible.”

“Well, it makes sense,” Rachel said. “If he’s senile anyway.”

“Great. The tower’s mad wizard.”

“Who is also undead.”

“Yeah.” Atomik Lad folded up the map. “It’s no good to us now, but maybe we can use it later.”

“For now,” Rachel said, stepping back into the main hall. “We’ve only our wits to guide us.”
“We won’t be going far, will we.”

“No. No we will not.”

__________

WHAM!
Seventeen holes.

Screeching halt. Pause.

“I’m starting to get the impression this isn’t working the way I’d like it to.” He charged up a, “PLAZMAAA BEAM!” The fusion-ish ray blast through the abused buildings and struck the enlarged and enraged Kadael in the neck.

“Ow,” the mountain of alien said. “That stung. Come out and fight! I’m not through with you yet!”

Unfortunately, by this time, Nuklear Man lay half-buried in the rubble of the top half of a building. His latest attack had finished off what his repeated trips through the load bearing walls had begun. Nuklear Man sat among broken masonry, pipes, and an exposed girder. A sheen of dust grayed his otherwise golden demeanor. He coughed a puff of powdery mortar, fixed his hair, and jumped up with a little I’m Ready pose. A mild burst of Plazma blast the dust from his carved physique. “Oh, it’s time to party.”

He was a blaze of golden light arcing into the sky through the space that had previously been occupied by the recently toppled office buildings, down to the construction site’s battle arena, raced across its sandy grounds, and shot straight up Kadael to finish it all up with an explosive uppercut that sent the giant sailing. He landed on his back, utterly flattening a handful of parked dump trucks and bulldozers.

Nuklear Man set down near Kadael’s feet. “The bigger they are, the harder they are to shop for.” He did a few calculations in the air. “Er. No. The bigger they are, the more mass per unit of volume they have. No, that’s not it. The more they, uh,
eat!
Well, now that one makes sense, but it hardly applies.”

Kadael kicked Nuklear Man up and snatched him out of the air with one hand. He was completely engulfed in the giant’s fist. “It’s time to hurt, little man,” he taunted.

“Mbl mm? Mm, mm Mblm mm,” Nuklear Man retorted.

“Wah?” Kadael opened his clenched fist enough to uncover Nuklear Man’s head.

“I said I’m not Little Man. I’m
Nuklear
Man. Little Man gained his powers by bombarding his body with Littleons. He was a spy hero for the Allies back in The War. He leaked information about the Nazi Deathbots to Captain Liberty. His premiere issue was #47. It was pretty cool, but his power’s kinda lame.”

“What’re you babbling about!” Kadael roared. At his size, it was difficult to say anything without roaring.

“Nothing really, it’s a basic stall tactic while I wrest my mighty arms free so’s I can Plazma Beam you in the face.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Kadael squeezed Nuklear Man even harder. It pinned the Hero’s allegedly mighty arms to his sides.

“Erk!” Nuklear Man sputtered. “Well in that case, PLAZMAAA EYE-BEAMS!” A golden blast of energy erupted from Nuklear Man’s ocular region and knocked Kadael in the face with enough force to send his head back to the ground with an earth-shaking crunch. The Golden Guardian slipped from Kadael’s weakened grip and hovered above his giant foe. “Wow. I thought I was just bluffing. Sucker!”

Kadael’s great hands clapped Nuklear Man. The giant stood up and examined the Nuklear Mess that was smeared across his hand.

“Hammer. Dropping it. Paaaaiiiin,” Nuklear Man managed to say through his impact-addled mind.

Kadael peeled Nuklear Man’s body from his hand and dangled him from his giant thumb and forefinger. “Aw, lookie there. I hit him so hard his widdle cape came off.”

Nuklear Man’s confused gaze came to an instant focus. His cape was still plastered against the giant’s palm. Nuklear Man’s eyes burned with cosmic flames. White-hot pinpricks of light gathered themselves into his clenched fists. “NOVAAA BEAM!”

Variel and Safriel craned their necks and watched Kadael’s now normal-sized body rocket over them into an empty lot that had been filled a month earlier. He landed and bounced twice.

“Kadael had to convert all his extra mass in order to survive Arel’s attack,” Variel non-noted to himself.

A golden, and more importantly,
caped
flash zoomed over them to the dirt cloud kicked up by Kadael’s impact.

“Looks like it's almost my turn,” Safriel said eagerly.

The cloud flashed like a storm cloud rumbling with Plazma lightning. Kadael was spit out from its depths all the way to the feet of his remaining comrades. He rose to one knee and stumbled up to them warily. He looked up at Safriel who was now over twice his size.

“Don’t touch the cape,” Kadael advised with a high-pitched voice. “It just makes him angry.”

Variel and Safriel nodded.

Kadael absorbed the ground underneath him to gain back at least his normal mass and strength before finding something else to give him a boost. “Uh,” he said.

Safriel was still twice his size.

The half-settled dust cloud split into two swirling corkscrews as a shaft of fusion-hot energy shot out from them. It carved a canal through the earth along its path straight to and through the diminutive Kadael.

Variel placed his infinitely black hand on Safriel’s shoulder and stepped back with her. Kadael’s form dissolved into nothing inside the Plazma Beam.

“He’d lost so much strength from Arel’s attacks that he didn’t have enough left to use his own powers,” Variel observed as the Plazma Beam dissipated. “Arel is quite clever. Are you sure you wish to battle him?”

“Nice try, Var,” Safriel said. She brushed his hand off her shoulder and stepped forward to face the Hero. “But now it’s
my
turn.”

__________

Deep within the dark catacombs of Managerial Tower, a set of skeletal fingers rapped against a huge obsidian desk. The expansive room was lit only be a wall of monitors in front of his really, really big desk. Each screen showed a different Security: Camera view. The gray and white screens cast a pale light on the already pale figure of Mort Dakainen, the president of the Metroville Mall for each of its ninety-eight years. He hadn’t taken a single vacation or sick day in all that time.

It showed.

Mort was now little more than a shriveled up skeleton that refused to die. Patchy wisps of hair covered his bony scalp like a threadbare carpet. His liver-spotted skin was a Gordian Knot of wrinkles stretched across his age-weary bones. He had a nose reminiscent of a vulture’s beak and beady eyes that would have been sharp with hate if they weren’t foggy with cataracts. They focused, to the best of their ability, on two particular video screens. Each one was occupied by visions of particular people. There were five of them in total. He knew what kind of people they were. They all dressed alike. Flashy clothes, all, “Hey, look at me! I’m important, I’m special.” He despised them.

“So this plucky band of heroes dares to invade
my
keep,” Mort’s voice was a wind whispering through graves crossed with the screech of a hunting hawk. “They were wise to divide their attack. But unwise to divide their resources for attack.” His frail hand stretched out to an enormous tome atop his pristine desk. He pulled it closer. Fingers like bone caressed its cool, smooth surface labeled “Mall Mail Order Catalogue.” They flipped through hundreds of pages as if by memory. At last, one small hand found the page it sought and flipped the book open with an echoing thud against the desk. His unfocused eyes scanned the exposed pages. “Ah yes.
This
ought to work wonders. One simple incantation is all it requires.”

A bony finger slowly reached out to a button labeled Intercom.

__________

Shiro, Angus, and Norman walked through one of the Mall’s side entrances. A corridor twenty feet long and ten feet wide spilled out into the main hall wherein many shops lined the walls. The one directly in front of them was a Toy Junction. Between them and the Toy Junction was a treasure chest display promising “Free Mall Maps!!!!”

“Let’s get one of those maps,” Norman suggested as they walked inside. “We’ll be able to find the quickest route to the Food Court Junction.”

“It wouldna be a problem if’n we weren’t late.” He scowled at Shiro. “Ah bloody
hates
bein’ late!” Angus growled at Shiro. “Now, Ah ain’t gonna mention no names,” he told Shiro. “No, ye see Ah’m above stoopin’ to that level.”

“Are Angus-san who are the sureness when Action Time now of that?”

“Bah!
Ye an’ ye damned talkin’! It was
ye
that made us late, ye daft goat-arse-brained twit!”

“Hey, c’mon Angus,” Norman said while pulling a Free Mall Map!!!! from the treasure chest. “ We’re right in front of a toy store. You don’t want one of these kids picking up that kind of language, do you?” he warned for all you moms out there.

“Bah! Wee brats. ‘Oooh, lookit me! Ah’m eight friggin’ years old but Ah gots ta bend over to pull wee Mr. Angus’ beard.’ Ye just keeps right on bendin’ over, laddie! Angus has goot somethin’ for ye!” he roared while brandishing his Surprisingly Concealable and Wieldly Enemy-B-Smote Named Bertha at passersby.

“Yeah, that’s better, Angus,” Norman said while trying to look inconspicuous. “Did you ever go to those anger management classes?”

“Aye. That wee laddie had it comin’ to him, he did. Said Ah had so much anger ‘cause Ah was repressin’—”

“HACK COUGH WHEEEEZE!” the intercoms all across the labyrinthine Mall blared. “Attention shoppers,” a raspy voice announced. “There will be an 80%-off sale on all Super Mega Action Guy toys and related products for the next ten minutes. That is all.”

“Supaa Megaru Action Guy!” Shiro squealed in delight. He ran into the nearby Toy Junction.

“Oh, no ye don’t,” Angus grumbled and caught Shiro by his Tetsu: Collar to lock him in place. The samurai’s legs pumped uselessly and sparked against the tile floors.

“Shh,” Norman said. “You guys hear something?”

Other than Shiro’s little Tetsu: Boots scuffing against the floor, all was silent.

Then there was a distant
something
. It was a chanting, shrill and completely random like a hundred voices singing a hundred songs and they were all off key.

“Aye,” Angus said in a warrior’s knowing whisper. “Aye. Ah do.”

“Supaa Megaru Action Guy!”

“Shut up!” Angus said, and threw Shiro to the ground.

The ground began to tremble ever so slightly.

Norman’s body flashed into silvery tungsten. Angus planted his little feet squarely and hefted Bertha. Shiro dusted himself off.

“Nani?”

A tidal wave of children splashed around a corner with violent fervor. Their mouths babbled insane gibberish, their eyes flashed with wildness. They rushed down a long corridor straight for the heroes.

“Ooh, Ah been
waitin’
fer a chance like this,” Angus said with elated anticipation.

“Wait!” Norman said. “They’re kids. We can’t hurt them.”

“The hell we can’t, they be weaker than us!” The Surly Scot grumbled while testing Bertha’s balance. “This thing won’t kill ‘em, but they’ll sure
wish
it had!”

“Here, use this,” the Tungsten Titan shoved a slab of cardboard wrapped in plastic into Angus’ face.

“What’s this then?” he snatched it from Norman’s hands and read aloud. “’Li’l Warrior’s Toy Axe Weapon Kit. By Murf. Ages 8 and up.’” He looked up at MMMM.

“Are ye sayin’ Ah’m too short to be usin’ weapons intended for adults!”

“No,” Norman said. “Look, I’m using the same thing.” He tore a Murf Li’l Warrior Toy Sword and Shield from its plastic cocoon.

“What about the babble talkin’ village idiot over there?” Angus thumbed at Shiro.

The mad berserk rush of pre-adolescents, alight on wings of material consumption, loomed ever-closer the same way an out of control freight train would. And the heroes were right in its tracks.

Norman readied himself for battle. “There’s no time. Shiro, just pick something. But make sure it won’t hurt them.”

“Hai!” The Tiny Typhoon dove into a nearby bargain bin and his little legs stuck out the top of it. He pulled out a Mr. Mysterium Magic User’s Kit.

Angus spun his Murf Toy Battle Axe through an impressive series of moves and held it before him. “TASTE COLD IRON, YE GOBLINS!”

“Angus. It’s just a foam axe.”

“…Aye. Ah know.”

__________

Yet another Plazma Beam uselessly splashed off Safriel’s body. “Hm,” Nuklear Man reasoned.