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It’s been a long time since we last saw our heroes. Time passes, and life marches on, even for superheroes. It’s harder to fight crime when your arthritis is acting up, let alone the gout!

The aging Red Raider has traded in the Red Racer for something that gets better gas mileage – even the wealthy Jack B. Nimbel finds it hard to justify the conspicuous consumption of excess fossil fuels when gas is nearly four dollars a gallon! Besides, after Nosso Slick, the Chief Financial Officer of Nimbel Industries, was convicted of insider trading, the finances of the company really took a nosedive, so every penny counts.

As for the Blue Burst, well…let’s just say that Ned Nemo may have been an ace reporter, but that no longer cuts the mustard. He never really mastered that “blogging” thing and has been struggling to simply keep his job in an age where print media is a walking carcass that isn’t aware it died.

Yup, times are tight for our hapless duo. Sure, the mayor sends out the beacon periodically for the odd bank robbery or chemical spill, but it seems that cybercrime is the wave of the future. The need for caped crusaders has been replaced by a need for a good firewall. Are our heroes becoming obsolete?

Let’s tune in and find out!


******************************

Ned shuffles to the fridge, only to find that the compressor had gone out again, so his beer was warm. Sighing, he pops it open anyway and meanders back to the couch. He’s been meaning to buy a new one before the editor cut his piece rate again. Something about needing to be more culturally sensitive… Ned snorts and thinks to himself, “You write one article about ragheads and they call you a racist…”

He glances at the dusty police radio on the dresser before beginning to nurse the beer. He grimaces at the skunky flavor – Milwaukee’s Best really is more like Milwaukee’s Beast, but when it was Guinness or his electric bill, Guinness had to go. So the Beast it is, for now anyway…

Ned burps and takes another swig. No matter how long he stares at the radio, it only squawks about routine traffic stops and public intoxication.

Which reminds him, he needs to get his own PI ticket taken care of. PI, what an inane charge! You urinate on one park bench and they want to call you an alcoholic…

Maybe I really should stop drinking, Ned thinks to himself, finishing the beer and opening a second. His rounded beer belly gurgles at the introduction of more cheap alcohol. Nah, he thinks.

******************************

Meanwhile, on the other side of town Jack is attempting to plunge a toilet. He lets loose a stream of profanity as he manages to slosh sewage onto his Versace alligator wing-tips. He mentally curses Mycroft for having the indecency to die of old age before reminding himself that these things happen. He mentally makes a note to put another ad in the paper for a butler, preferably one with an English accent. Or at least one that speaks English – Guadalupe simply wasn’t working out.

Clog removed, Jack retires to his study and mixes a vodka gimlet. Nothing like Grey Goose to help him forget that his pant leg smells of shit! He opens his briefcase and takes out the latest quarterly report on Nimbel Industries to review before the shareholder’s meeting next week. A quick glance at the sharp downward slope of the arrows on the earnings graph is enough to start his head pounding again.

Jack sets down the gimlet and reaches for his Atenolol. Dr. Noah E. Tawl increased the dosage of both his blood pressure medication and his migraine medication at Jack’s last appointment. Apparently financial ruin is bad for the blood pressure – who knew? All Jack knows is that he can’t afford to have another stroke. The last one almost killed him and left him with a permanent droop to the left side of his once handsome face.

Abandoning the financial reports for the newspaper, he skips over Ned’s latest column on “the Muslim threat” and reads Laura G. Tata’s latest expose on Hollywood gossip. Maybe Ms. Tata has the inside scoop on the latest Brangelina drama…

Jack reads a few paragraphs about the latest season of The Real Housewives of Toledo before spitting the remnants of his gimlet out of his nose. He rereads Ms. Tata’s most recent commentary:

In amazing news, it seems that the next big Hollywood blockbuster isn’t just coming to a theater near you, it’s being filmed near you! That’s right Metronians – “Who Wants To Be Sold To A Russian Brothel?” is going to be filmed right here in Metro City! And they’re looking for extras! If you are a hot young woman aged 16 to 24, now is your chance to break into stardom! Just be at the Metro Central Plaza today at ten in the morning and see if you’ve got what the casting directors are looking for! Director Malice has said that preference will be given to young women with no family or friends and valid passports! See you there!

“Director….Malice???”

Jack glances at his watch and notes that it’s almost eleven. He bolts out of the chair and heads for the secret entrance to the Raider Retreat. He barely catches himself as he falls over on the mop bucket Guadalupe forgot to put away.

******************************

Meanwhile, Director Malice, formerly Major Malice, looks across the Plaza at a sea of young nymphettes eager for stardom. He chuckles to himself at the naivete of the girls. The driver opens the door to the limousine and he steps out, bracing himself for the expected high-pitched shrieking of the buxom beauties.

They do not disappoint.

“Ladies, ladies, you’ll all get your chance!” Malice nods to his henchman-producer Hugh G. Val, who begins to hand out applications. “Make sure to sign on the bottom of page ten; don’t worry about the small print, it’s just the standard information about your union rights.”

As expected, the star-struck bimbettes don’t bother reading before signing. Malice makes a mental cackle as Hugh collects the forms. “Alright, form lines behind each of these nice white-paneled vans so we can drive you to the studio for auditions.”

“Stop right there, Malice!” The Red Raider’s voice booms from across the plaza. “Unhand those women!” He strides across the plaza and stops before Malice, hands on hips.

“Unhand them? They’re here of their own accord! I even have their signatures, right here!” Malice shoves a signed contract under the Raider’s nose. “Looks like my ducks are in a row, Scarlet Sucker!”

The Red Raider scans the document. “Lifelong indentured sexual servitude in Siberia? That’s some terribly un-fine fine print!”

“Perhaps so, but they’ve signed and there’s nothing you can do to stop me! So buzz off, Maroon Moron!” Malice motions to Hugh, who puts his hand on the gun barely concealed underneath his jacket. Hugh and his assistant-producer-henchmen begin to inch forward. The girls continue to mindlessly pile in vans.

******************************

Ned smacks at the nightstand. What was the buzzing sound? Annoyed, he grabs the phone and slurs into it. “This better be good, I was dreaming about a threesome with Megan Fox and Katy Perry.”

He listens for a minute as the Red Raider kvetches. Something about women and legally binding contracts and vans and…Malice?

He bolts out of bed, knocking over five empty Beasts on the nightstand in the process. Digging through his laundry, he finds a pair of blue tights that aren’t too stained and pulls them on.

“Give me five minutes” the still inebriated Blue Burst informs the Red Raider. He stumbles into the bathroom for a quick piss and a shave. Three minutes and a considerably more empty bladder later, the Blue Burst is on his way to Metro Central Plaza on his moped. He kicks himself again for the DUI that cost him his license – the moped is so much slower than the Blue Blazer was, and its a hell of a lot harder to smoke on a moped. He once again regrets that Chevy pulled his endorsement after he ran over that pedestrian... The Blue Burst putts along the highway and vows again to stop drinking. Next week.

******************************

That’s all for this week, folks!

Will the Red Raider and the Blue Burst save the nubile cuties from a certain life of turning tricks for slovenly Russian businessmen? Or will Malice’s binding legal contract render the Dynamic Duo wrapped in endless red tape? And more importantly, will Guadalupe be fired once and for all? Will Ned get on the wagon?

All this and more, next time in Dynamic Stories!


******************************

This has been an entry for LJ Idol. This week we were in groups of three. My story is "part three" of a superhero saga started here by [livejournal.com profile] alephz and continued here by [livejournal.com profile] joeymichaels. If you enjoyed our stories, the poll will be posted sometime toorrow.
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Kimberly Boyd-Bowman

May 2011

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