Capt. Croton vs. The Kisco Six - Part 1
The sleek ship slipped silently through the night sky, like a well-worded pun through the mind of an imbecile, the only tell-tale sign of its passing being the gentle blue glow of the engines. Capt. Croton sat at the helm of The Crusader's Cummerbund, deftly working the controls while he kept one eagle-eye on the monitor tracking his targets below.
The Kisco Six, the top henchmen of the Evil Dr. Kisco, had just robbed the 3rd Interstellar Bank of Men named Pete, and had made their escape to one of their hideouts. Unfortunately for them, Capt. Croton had been nearby, and had followed them. He had been in the area, picking up his brand-new leather jacket. There were very few tailors in that end of the Galaxy who could properly emblazon a leather jacket with a hero's crest. Capt. Croton knew them all by name.
"Not this time, Kisco! You're men won't keep the honest, hard-working Petes of the galaxy from retiring after working the majority of their adult lives!" Croton set his finely chiseled jaw, and his eyes became harder than a three-month old used towel.
The Crusader's Cummerbund continued scanning until it finally located the Kisco Six's base of operations. "Sir," the ship cooed to her Captain, "I've located the hidden base of the Kisco Six. It's an underground facility set into the Stormburnt Cliffs, cleverly disguised as a fast-food diner."
"Does their depravity know no bounds! Not only are they taking the livelihood of hard-working Petes everwhere, but also disguising their heinous acts behind a greasy spoon; no doubt to clog those hard workers' veins with fatty deposits!" He shook his fist towards the heavens, his voice filled with righteous fury "Does your depravity know no bounds, Kisco!? I swear, I'll end your evil once and for all!"
He angled the ship down through the atmosphere, igniting the engines and blasting his way towards the hideout at break-neck speeds!
Will Capt. Croton be able to infiltrate the Devious Diner to apprehend the Kisco Six? Will he be able to return the stolen money to those hard-working Petes the universe over? Tune in next time for Part 2 of Capt. Croton vs. The Kisco Six: This Time it's Greasy!
Capt. Croton vs. The Kisco Six - Part 2
The DeeV-Eos Diner was a small place, set in the shadows of the Stormburnt Cliffs. Most people found it odd that they hadn’t set the place into the Cliffs themselves, seeing as it was the front building for the hideout of one of the Galaxy’s most notorious Villains. In fact, the shadows weren’t even that good at hiding the men “sneaking out the back” towards the small-ish door that was actually set into the Cliffs. The most commonly held belief was that the chicken wings at the DeeV-Eos were so good, that no one was really interested in pointing out this particularly glaring flaw.
Still, it was an impressive location, if a little out of the way for most tourists looking for the best greasy spoon the other side of the spiral arm. Many of the regulars were from the small town just down the hill, who, other than to provide a continual cash flow for Kisco, really served no other purpose to the story.
Into this quaint little scene, the Crusader’s Cummerbund blasted down in a fiery column of smoke and flame, and generally upsetting a few of the regulars who happened to be walking out of the diner at the time.
Inside the cockpit, Croton was just putting the finishing touches on his outfit, making sure everything that could gleam did, any leather that could squeak would, and generally making sure there was enough Brylcream in his hair so even the most jarring blows wouldn’t mess up his amazing hairdo. With a wink and a grin in the mirror, Croton turned to the exit, holstering his two Smith & Wessons (in case his biting wit and fast fists were unable to drop his enemies). He turned briefly at the hatch, “Don’t wait up for me, it’s going to be a late night.” He cycled the controls and the hatch started to open with a slowness guaranteed to make things dramatic.
He did sometimes get annoyed with these little attempts to make his awesomeness even more awesome. Quickly pushing a few more buttons, the door slammed open, nearly flattening one of the regulars who had walked over to shout obscenities at the new arrival before heading back into the plotless void of the nearby town.
Striding purposefully towards the diner, Croton set his jaw to face whatever foulness he found in the place. Instead he found a nice, quiet diner. The few patrons inside were scattered in the various booths. Appropriately kitschy decorations, describing the exploits of the Galaxy famous heroes and villians, were hung on the walls. Right near the entrance was one of Croton’s favorites; him, beating some ruffian senseless. “I guess this place isn’t so bad after all.”
A big-bosomed waitress walked over, and, with no real thought as to what she was saying, pointed to the empty diner. “Please, seat yourself,” she said with a smile.
There was a buzz from Croton’s pocket. “Excuse me ma’am.” He pulled out his iPod 2600. “Yes?” He looked puzzled for a moment. “This is Croton. Kisco, you old fruit, how’s it going? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. 45 mintues? Seriously? Ok, fine. On the house, you say? All right. All right. Sounds good. See you soon.”
Clicking the phone off, Croton returned it to his pocket. “Kisco says some of his men will be up soon, but ‘they’re involved with unloading the most recent shipment’ and ‘can’t possibly show up any sooner than 45 minutes.’ But he offered me a meal on the house.” The waitress perked up again and showed him to a seat.
A little over half an hour later, Croton was sitting in the booth, slowly working on his fourth cup of coffee. “Man, I wish I had known the chicken wings were that good; I’d be stopping here all the time!”
Hearing a door open in the back of the restaurant, he began to hear someone loudly complaining, in a very educated voice. “And another thing, please stop referring to Yale as ‘the Harvard Wannabes.’ We have just as strong a curriculum and our colors aren’t shared by three other schools in a five-mile radius!” Croton looked up as three men came in and sat down at the counter. They all looked exhausted.
The man who was talking in such an educated fashion, looked over at Croton, got up slowly, and walked over. He towered over the seat where Croton sat, and looked like he could lift the entire diner if he tried hard enough. “You wouldn’t happen to be Capt. Croton, Dashing Hero, Righter of Wrongs, and all-around Good Guy?” Croton was flattered that this man knew all of his titles.
“That would be me, yes,” he responded in kind.
“Ah, excellent.” The man sat down opposite from Croton, squeezing himself into the small booth. “We’re the first three of the Kisco Six. The others are putting the supplies we just finished unloading away. Kisco didn’t think you should have to wait too much longer, though.”
Croton was taken aback. “He didn’t have to do that. I was content to sit and wait.” He eyed the man up and looked over at the other two. “Besides, you guys look beat. Why don’t you order something to refresh yourselves?” Thinking for a moment, he continued, “But not the chicken wings, they’ll just weigh you down more. Try a nice salad, or some other light fair.”
The man slowly extricated himself from the booth, nodded to Croton, “Thank you, sir. That is a most excellent suggestion.” With that, he walked over to the others and sat down. Croton thought he heard one of them try to order the wings, but was promptly smacked upside the head, followed by a warning about his high cholesterol and a mention of a recent doctor’s visit.
After checking his watch, and finishing his cup of coffee, Croton stood up, stretched, then looked at the three men who were animatedly munching away at their salads. He was just about to speak when the remaining three of the Kisco Six walked in. Their nonsensical musings relating to gelatin products notwithstanding, these three appeared to be the overly-muscled dumb ones; despite an obvious lack of overly-muscledness and a distinct whiff of unshoweredlyness, Croton sighed before looking up. “Well, boys, I’m thinking it’s about time we got down to it.”
What then proceeded to happen is something that is, unfortunately for the length of this story, best left to the imagination. Suffice it to say, there was a lot of bruising, both of egos and of bodies (and one id-bruising, of all things. Croton is still not sure how he did that), and it ended with the Kisco Six soundly beaten. None of them is quite sure where Croton was hiding that massive sub-woofer, but it worked spectacularly. One of the thugs had a debit card on him, containing the full amount of the funds stolen from the Bank of Men named Pete, minus three cups of coffee, one tall stack of pancakes, and an inflatable hammer.
“Petes the universe over can now rest assured that their money will be safe!”
Looking down at the moaning henchmen, he quipped, as best as he was able, despite the three severe blows to the head, “And that, boys, is how Croton gets things done.” He checked his watch again. “Oh, crap! My stories are on!” With that, he rushed back out to the Crusader’s Cummerbund.
Will Capt. Croton finish his stories in time to invade the lair of the Evil Dr. Kisco before the henchmen wake up? Will Dr. Kisco ever make buffalo Chicken Wings for his loyal customers? Will the story end on a note that makes even a lick of sense? Find out next time on The Adventures of Capt. Croton!
No comments:
Post a Comment