Meeting Crasher

“And that,” Mike said, addressing his board of directors, “is why we don’t need quite so many trees in the rain forest as some ‘experts’—” he made air quotes, “would have you believe. You ask me, that whole place was a little overgrown to start with. What we’re doing is basically, I dunno…” he searched for a word that could sprinkle the right amount of glitter on the manure pile he just laid on the conference table, “…landscaping.”

The hoary-headed directors, agape with astonishment and not a little respect for someone who would actually have a go at positively spinning deforestation, considered what they had just heard. “Uh, Mike,” one of them said, pushing up his glasses, “we’re with you a hundred percent on this—”

“You’d better be,” Mike chuckled. “This company’s called MikeCo. Kinda implies that I run it.”

“Of course. But we are concerned with warming up our public image. Our customers need to know that MikeCo is a company that cares.”

“Yeah, you have a point there.” Mike tapped his chin for a moment, staring off into space. “Got it. We put something on the labels, like, ‘a portion of the proceeds go to’—you know, some disease. Wilson, find out what new diseases are out there and pick the most popular one.”

Wilson, a weasel-faced man at the far end of the conference table, nodded and jotted down something on his notepad.

“We’re gonna put that on the website, too,” Mike said, rubbing his hands together. “Yeah, I wanna be all about that disease.”

“Mr. Michaelson.” Mike’s assistant spoke over the intercom. “There’s an Oculor here to see you, something about pulverizing you into dust.”

Mike sighed, ran a hand through his blond hair. “Ugh, are you serious? He actually came here. Can you tell him to wait until after my meeting?”

“I did,” the assistant said. “He says you can make time for your arch-nemesis.”

“Enough of this!”

The doors of the conference room burst open, revealing the imposing form of Oculor. He stood seven feet tall, wearing purple armor, a flowing black cape and a giant dome for a head. Where Oculor’s face should be was a trapezoidal grill and a single robotic eye. “I grow weary of these games, Ultimate Man,” he said, pointing at Mike. “Your swift demise awaits!”

“Can it ‘await’ until I’m done here?”

“No. And neither can your friends, apparently.”

Mike took a moment to consider his surroundings, and the empty, spinning chairs around the conference table. He snapped his fingers. “Never should’ve had all those escape exits installed. Now I guess I’ll have to deal with you.”

“Deal? Why don’t you DEAL with this!”

A column of bluish-white energy burst out of Oculor’s eye and impacted with Mike’s torso, sending him crashing through the window behind him and into the window of another building, demolishing a row of filing cabinets and flattening a cubicle, sending a computer and a very disconcerted accountant skittering across the floor.

Oculor shouted at Mike from the window of the MikeCo building. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you just get blasted into another building? IN YOUR FACE! IN YOUR FA—oh crap he’s coming back…” Oculor jumped to one side as Mike flew back across the way and into the conference room, skidding to a stop on the table.

“That window’s coming outta your allowance,” Mike said, jumping down from the table.

“As you can see,” Oculor said, inspecting his nonexistent fingernails, “I’ve improved my optic beam. Now, I have twice the power of a—”

Mike punched Oculor in the eye, shattering the lens.

“HEY!” Oculor clapped a hand over his face, making a loud clang sound. “Do you know how long that upgrade took?”

“I don’t. And in related news, I don’t care either.”

Oculor waved his free hand around, reaching for Mike’s face. “You don’t just sucker punch a guy mid-gloat! I could be giving you important information! Isn’t that one of your superhero rules?”

Mike straightened out his singed tie. “No. Oculor, when you come to my office, it is embarrassing and rude. Now get out and don’t come back unless you have an appointment or a plan that goes beyond just shooting at me.”

“All right.” Oculor hung his head, and started to walk away, when he remembered something. “Um, I can’t, you know, see. So, could you, maybe…”

“Oh, sure, pal.” Mike put his hand on Oculor’s shoulder and led him to the window. “The exit’s right this way. Yeah, just keep going straight.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back, you know, maybe tomorrow or something, when I have a—‘cause you were right about that plan, it was somewhat lacking in complexity. It’s just that I was so excited about the new beam, and I AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Mike clapped his hands together, listening to the earth-shaking thud of Oculor’s body hitting the pavement, followed by a loud "OW!" and a chorus of agitated car alarms. He pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Miss Davis, call my incredibly brave executives and tell them that we still have a meeting to finish? Thanks.”

To be continued...