Oculor never liked to swallow his pride--partly because he had no esophagus, but mostly because it meant descending from his self-made pedestal of City's Best Villain and asking for the help of a "lesser" fiend. His current slice of humble pie involved knocking on the door of a crochety retired mad scientist.
It was a rare sunny day in Huge City's Evil Section, and Oculor was rocking on his heels on the porch of one Dr. Abraham Annelido, alias Doctor Squirm. Oculor rang the doorbell for the eighth time, unable to look into the painted-over living room window. Just as his finger approached the button for the ninth ring, a muffled, grumpy old voice could be heard getting closer to the front door: "Ah, hold yer horses, dagnabbit, I'm coming."
The door opened with an unpleasant squishing sound. One half of a pink, bespectacled, noseless face peeked out. "If yer from them Luthor's Witnesses, you can take your literature and--"
"No, it's nothing like that," Oculor said, holding his hand up. "I'm--well, you may have heard of me. I'm..." he paused for dramatic effect, "Oculor."
The old man blinked, his already wrinkly brow furrowing even more. "Nope, never heard of ya." The door slammed.
"Right."
Oculor blasted the door into smoldering splinters and walked in. He had to step lively to avoid his heavy mechanical body sinking into the floor, which wasn't so much a floor as a bed of moist soil. The house was dank, dark and humid; a misty fog hung in the air at eye level. Nevertheless, it was decorated in stereotypical senior fashion; fading black-and-white photographs of Squirm's past capers adorned the walls, antique furniture was planted firmly in the soil, and bits and pieces of failed doomsday devices were scattered about.
One particular detail of the house's interior that was hard to overlook was its occupant, who was now screaming in Oculor's face.
"What in the tarnation of flibbityjibbit do ya think you're doin', ya young punk whippersnapper...punk?"
Squirm, who was bascially a giant earthworm with a human face, had reared up like a cobra to stare down Oculor.
"Look," Oculor said, not in the least bit intimidated by an overgrown bait shop reject, "I need your help to beat Ultimate Man. I would've sent you a handwritten note on my special stationery, but I didn't have the time. So either help me or help me."
"Wait a second," Squirm said, giving Oculor a one-eyed glare. "You gave me the same option twice!"
"Actually I didn't. Option one is you helping me of your own volition. Option two is you helping me by me kidnapping you and bringing you back to my lair to force you to help me at gunpoint. See, there are subtle differences."
"I see. Well..." That was all Squirm said before he retreated into the earth.
"Fantastic." Oculor switched his eye to X-ray mode and scanned the ground. A large object filled his field of vision before bursting out of the earth, throwing Oculor out of the house.
As Oculor scrambled to his feet, several robots made to look like giant metallic ants emerged from the house, clicking their razor-sharp mandibles at him.
Meanwhile, Doctor Squirm was rising out of his front lawn, cackling dryly. "I'm an old hand at this, boy," he said. "You think I'm smart enough to help you with your little hero problem, but not smart enough to keep my house defended from pushy little punk villains like you? You'll have to get through my ant-bots first!"
"Ant-bots." Still incapable of facial expression, Oculor pulled off a rather convincing blank look at the lion-sized robotic ants. "Really. This is--this is all you have, huh? Maybe I came to the wrong--"
A bolt of electricty lashed out from the antennae of an ant-bot, hitting Oculor squarely in the chest and sending him hurtling into the street. Before he could get his bearings, he found himself tumbling over the hood, then the roof, then the trunk of a speeding car, followed by a reacquaintance with the pavement.
Hot Rod Lincoln, a rather odd villain who dressed up like Abraham Lincoln and drove suped-up cars, leaned out of his window (while still driving) and shook his fist at Oculor.
Oculor pushed up from the ground, stood up, dusted himself off. "That's it," he growled. "No more playing around."
To be continued...
Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts
Monday, July 23, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
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.”
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...
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...
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Intro to Ultimate Man Studies 101
Dear Sir or Madam:
Congratulations! Whether by accident or on purpose, you have reached my fiction blog. By now, you might be feeling a bit mislead, as this first entry is not fiction at all. But rest assured, mis compadres, the next one most assuredly will be. I'm using this entry to explain myself, and why I have the audacity to name my blog "The Ultimate Man Chronicles."
Ultimate Man is a novel that I wrote and self-published, involving a self-absorbed superhero, i.e. Ultimate Man, and the wacky hijinks that take place in the huge city that he defends, appropriately named Huge City. Ultimate Man's alter ego is billionaire Mike Michaelson, who has little regard for the concept of the "secret identity." He doesn't wear glasses as Mike, he doesn't wear a mask as Ultimate Man. Basically, everyone knows who he is at all times. The way he sees it, the media doesn't hound Mike any less than Ultimate Man, so what's the point?
Sometimes Ultimate Man saves the day in grand heroic fashion, sometimes he screws up with an equally spectacular flair. Either way, he'll make it sound eleven times better than it really was. Adding to the dramatis personae are his overworked butler, Phillips, his arch-nemesis Oculor, and a host of other heroes and villains.
This blog is basically a way to introduce the citizenry of the web to the universe of Ultimate Man. It is a serialized prequel to the book--not in any way necessary to understanding the novel, it is merely a supplement. Hopefully, as these stories progress, you'll become interested enough to keep tuning in AND, of course, to buy the novel, available at BarnesandNoble.com, Amazon.com, and the publishing website, http://www.authorhouse.com/. If you log on to Author House, you can read an excerpt from the novel and a little blurb about yours truly. If you're going the Amazon route, it's best to search for my name (Nathaniel L. Williams) as opposed to the title of the book.
Comments are welcome, criticism of my flagrant self-promotion is also welcome but will fall on deaf ears. If possible, limit your comments to unmitigated praise and adulation.
Until next time,
Nate
Congratulations! Whether by accident or on purpose, you have reached my fiction blog. By now, you might be feeling a bit mislead, as this first entry is not fiction at all. But rest assured, mis compadres, the next one most assuredly will be. I'm using this entry to explain myself, and why I have the audacity to name my blog "The Ultimate Man Chronicles."
Ultimate Man is a novel that I wrote and self-published, involving a self-absorbed superhero, i.e. Ultimate Man, and the wacky hijinks that take place in the huge city that he defends, appropriately named Huge City. Ultimate Man's alter ego is billionaire Mike Michaelson, who has little regard for the concept of the "secret identity." He doesn't wear glasses as Mike, he doesn't wear a mask as Ultimate Man. Basically, everyone knows who he is at all times. The way he sees it, the media doesn't hound Mike any less than Ultimate Man, so what's the point?
Sometimes Ultimate Man saves the day in grand heroic fashion, sometimes he screws up with an equally spectacular flair. Either way, he'll make it sound eleven times better than it really was. Adding to the dramatis personae are his overworked butler, Phillips, his arch-nemesis Oculor, and a host of other heroes and villains.
This blog is basically a way to introduce the citizenry of the web to the universe of Ultimate Man. It is a serialized prequel to the book--not in any way necessary to understanding the novel, it is merely a supplement. Hopefully, as these stories progress, you'll become interested enough to keep tuning in AND, of course, to buy the novel, available at BarnesandNoble.com, Amazon.com, and the publishing website, http://www.authorhouse.com/. If you log on to Author House, you can read an excerpt from the novel and a little blurb about yours truly. If you're going the Amazon route, it's best to search for my name (Nathaniel L. Williams) as opposed to the title of the book.
Comments are welcome, criticism of my flagrant self-promotion is also welcome but will fall on deaf ears. If possible, limit your comments to unmitigated praise and adulation.
Until next time,
Nate
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