Crimson Rising: Part Six & EpilogueMarch 14, 2009
There was fire and smoke, and the explosion was deafening, but when the dust settled our heroic trio of Crimson Paraplegic, Dragon Dyslexic, and Anxiety Girl, along with the villainous Captain Softball, found themselves unmarred by the exploding Palestinian Phoenix thanks to Anxiety Girl’s force field surrounding them.
“What the hell was that about?” says Crimson Paraplegic. “What kind of supervillain blows herself up like that?”
“A supervillain that can rise from the ashes of her own explosions,” says Captain Softball. “The Phoenix part of her name’s not for show. She’ll resurrect in like a half-hour, fully armed mind you.”
“A suicide bomber immune to the effects of suicide…” muses Dragon Dyslexic. “That would make her quite a deadly assassin.
“So why didn’t she attack us sooner?” says Crimson Paraplegic. “Unless, her real target wasn’t us, it was Captain Softball and Liquid Pamela. Their boss wanted to make damn sure they didn’t spill the beans.”
“Okay, you can drop the shield now,” Dragon Dyslexic says to Anxiety Girl, but Janis doesn’t respond. Dragon waves a hand past Anxiety Girl’s eyes to see if anyone’s home, but Anxiety Girl is catatonic with fear. “Give her a minute, she’ll come out of it on her own.”
“Well, while we’re here…” says Crimson Paraplegic, grabbing Captain Softball’s left hand, her throwing hand, and slowly applying crushing pressure to it. “You can either start telling us what we want to know, or I can leave you defenseless for whenever that Hamas-looking whore rises from her own ashes to finish the job.”
“You get me into super villain witness protection first, then I’ll tell you what I know,” says Captain Softball. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”
So after waiting five minutes for Anxiety Girl to calm down enough to drop her force field, Dragon Dyslexic calls her contact in the US Super Justice Department and delivers Captain Softball and the ShamWow containing Liquid Pamela to them. Our heroes then decide to celebrate a job well done by finishing the rest of their pizza and cracking open the bottle of rum up on the rooftop of Anxiety Girl’s high school.
“So, do you think they’ll get anything useful out of the southpaw and the liquid bitch?” says Crimson Paraplegic.
“Softball will talk once she feels safe,” says Dragon Dyslexic. “Pamela won’t talk. Or rather, she can’t talk. No vocal chords. My concern is that this super villain group is going to go into hiding now that they’ve been thwarted and all of Captain Softball’s information won’t be useful.”
“You guys will write me a note excusing me from class tomorrow, right?” says a tipsy Anxiety Girl.
“I have the superhero exemption forms in the DyslexJet,” says Dragon Dyslexic. “Hand me another piece of Chicago-style deep dish.”
As Anxiety Girl gives her a fresh slice, Dragon Dyslexic stares at Anxiety Girl’s hand as if there’s something on it.
“What?” says Anxiety Girl says. “Do I have a wart? Or is a tumor? Oh God, it’s hand cancer!”
“You handed me the pizza with your left hand,” says Dragon Dyslexic.
“Actually, it was my right hand,” says Anxiety Girl.
“What’s the one thing an evil softball pitcher, a shapeshifting liquid woman, and a resurrecting Palestinian suicide bomber have in common?” says Dragon Dyslexic.
“Mental sickness?” says Crimson Paraplegic.
“They’re all left-handed,” Dragon Dyslexic continues. “Captain Softball throws left-handed. When Liquid Pamela hit you, she did it with her left hand. And Palestinian Phoenix held her detonator in her left hand.”
“So someone’s putting together a Legion of Left-Handed Doom?’ says Crimson Paraplegic. “How many lefty supervillains could there be? And who would bother gathering them into one group?”
“Every nine out of one people are left-handeded,” says Dragon Dyslexic. “I mean, one out of nine. No, the real question isn’t who would want to recruit a team of left-handed villains. It’s why. And we won’t know until they pop their head up again.”
“Then we’ll just have to wait around for them to show up again,” says Crimson Paraplegic. “And then we snap them in half.”
“So are we going to put a name to this little group of ours or what?” says Anxiety Girl.
Thus the Disability Trinity was born this night, and Crimson Paraplegic finally got the supergroup she always wanted. She celebrated this fact by getting drunk on my roof and leaving profanity-riddled messages on Radiant Gale’s voicemail, featuring excessive use of the word “twat.”