Disclaimer: Bobby and all his friends, family and ex-girlfriends are property of Marvel Entertainment Group. They are being used without permission, for no profit. Please do not archive without permission.
All backstory is archived at the New, Improved BUCKSHOT: http://www.buckshot.fanspace.com

The Super-Uncanny Adventures of Bobby and His Amazing X-Girlfriends
by ValKerrie

Chapter 7: Wish You Weren't Here

May 8, 1945, New York City

"Look, now, this is just stupid."

"You shall never foil my plans, cursed enemy! You may strike me down, but I shall return, for I--"

"C'mon, Count. I already beat up your guys. See? There they are ... on the floor? Bleeding?" She shook her head. "Give it up."

The be-caped man threw back his head. "You think you can enforce justice in this country, Riveter? You think you can defeat… COUNT SLAUGHTER?"

The overall-clad young woman known as the Riveter possessed enhanced strength, endurance, agility and invulnerability. She didn't need any of it as she whipped Count Slaughter into a half-Nelson.

"Ready to go to jail now, Count?"

"Count Slaughter never--"

She squeezed tighter.

"Er ... yes, please. UNCLE!"

Meryl Reilly waved her passcard briefly at the guard, as she strode into the laboratory.

"Frank, I did it!" she announced cheerily, hopping onto the examination table. "I got the Count! Not that he was terribly tough ... just incredibly slippery -- but I got him! That makes seven criminals in as many days!" She pulled off the red bandanna holding back her short blonde hair.

Dr. Franklin Schlazanski raised one eyebrow as he strapped on the blood pressure gauge. "I thought you didn't like this hero business, Meryl."

"I didn't," she said with a slight smile. "I mean, it was just because my country needed me, and because I missed Joe so terribly, and hitting things was the only thing that made the pain better -- but it's different now, Franky! I saved people. I protect people. Joe would be so proud of me, I know he would..."

Schlazanski shoved a thermometer into her mouth. "I'm proud of you, Meryl. You're a very determined young lady. Joe was my friend, and I wish he could see you -- but he's gone, and you need to be proud of yourself."

"Ogggnnh aaahmmm!" she replied, before spitting the thermometer out. "I am. But I owe so much of it to Joe. He always told me I could do anything I wanted -- get a job, drive a car, anything! I never would have..." She trailed off as the lab door opened, and a man in olive dress uniform walked it.

Meryl leapt to her feet, and she and Franklin snapped twin salutes.

"General Phillips," Franklin acknowledged.

"At ease," the tall man rumbled. "All vital signs normal, Schlazanski?"

"She's an amazing specimen, sir," Schlazanski returned. "Took to the serum much more naturally than Rog--"

"Good. Status report, Reilly?"

"Sir, Count Slaughter has been turned over to the proper authorities," Meryl barked.

"Excellent," the general replied, handing Meryl a stack of paper.

"What's this, sir?" she asked, squinting over the legal jargon.

"Your discharge papers. As of 9:00 tomorrow morning, you are no longer a member of the United States Armed Forces. The war is over."

"Over?" Schlazanski gasped. "But Japan--"

"But -- but--" Meryl stuttered. "Sir, there are still criminals at large and I know--"

"The war in Europe has been declared over," Phillips replied. "And Captain America will be home before the week is out. The United States no longer needs any female superheroes."

Meryl and Frank could only gape in shock.

"And if I see any freelancing, Reilly, don't believe I won't have an entire squad on your tail in seconds. I made you, and I can break you."


"As of 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning ... the Riveter is dead."

Present, Port Jefferson, NY

Bobby swallowed, and adjusted his tie a little. He glanced down at the little notes on the podium Zelda had made out of Mr. Galloway's walker and an orange crate. The girls' apartment wasn't exactly a church, but it did for the occasion.

"Um ... Opal was ... a ... very special..."

"Why do we have to do this, again?" Lev grumbled, leaning back in her seat.

"Because this is what we do on Earth when people die," Zelda hissed back.

Mrs. Mellipoulos wailed into her hankie.

"Stupid humans," Lev groaned. "If she were from my planet, someone would have taken her death points a long time ago."

"Be quiet! We don't have death points here!" Zelda hissed.

"Besides, it's important to Bobby," Cloud put in. "He needs ... closure."

"--and, um, once she fed some squirrels..." Bobby stumbled on.

"Those are some ugly flowers," Warren commented, earning him a glare from all the girls.

"Look," Marge hissed. "I told Zelda to get me a picture of some funeral flowers from the florist, and I would just poof some up. Blame her."

"Hey, I'm sorry the film came out fuzzy. The glads were supposed to be white. You're the one who made them orange."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You didn't have to include the "Pop-Pop" ribbon, either."

Mrs. Mellipoulos honked her nose.

"What I have been pondering for the past twenty minutes," Hank mused, "is what is in that jar?"

The girls all promptly found something in the room to stare at.

"Bobby informed me that you never found the, er, corpse, and--"

Cloud breathed out angrily.

"I mean, it is a very nice--"

"Martini shaker."

"Martini shaker, yes, but what's in it?"

"Ashes," Lev said innocently.

"But whose?" Hank pressed.

"A tribute to the deceased," Lev added loftily.

Hank looked at Warren, who shrugged.

"...and she used to make pretty good StoveTop stuffing. I'm not saying -- sniff -- that she couldn't make anything besides StoveTop, but she really did have a gift for it..."

"Lev burned up a pair of her giant pants," Cloud snapped in a loud whisper.

There was silence.

Then Warren started snickering.

Then Hank couldn't help it, he started snickering, too.

Lev and Zelda were next.

Mr. Mellipoulos wasn't too far behind.

Then Marge.

Cloud tried to hold out, and finally started laughing, too.

"What's so funny?" Bobby demanded angrily.

Hank stood up, and put his arm around his friend. "I realize this is a great tragedy, and a very tough time on you, Robert."


"But you're standing up here, eulogizing the ashes of a pair of pants belonging to a girl no one liked."

Bobby blinked. "You guys burnt up her pants? That's what's in the urn?"

"Martini shaker," Lev corrected.

The other three nodded, rather sheepishly.

"No wonder it felt so heavy," Bobby mumbled.

"Lovely service," Mrs. Mellipoulos sniffed.

He looked down at what they had brought him.

"This isn't the Riveter."

"We know."

Like a cat bringing home its kill, he thought, disgusted.

"What makes you think I would want this? Who is she, anyway?"

"Ummm ... some girl who got stuck in Hoover's whirlwind."

"I see. And you thought ... dead body, perhaps the boss would like it, right?"

"I had nothing to do with it," the Boxer said, shaking her head.

"The, uh, thought crossed our mind," Rainbow mumbled.

Hoover just shrugged.

"You want us to dispose of it?" the Boxer asked.

He looked appalled. "Of course not. As long as you're going to bring it here, I'm going to use it. Waste not, want not, as I always say."

"I knew ya'd love it!" Rainbow chirped.

Opal Tanaka blinked.

Well, there certainly weren't any fluffy white clouds or haloes or any of that.

What a disappointment.

She shuffled her feet, until she reached the front of the line.


"Is this hell?" she asked the secretary, a frustrated looking woman with about sixty pencils stuck in strategic points of her beehive.

"No. This is the paperwork," the secretary replied, handing her a six-inch-thick packet of papers. "We decide placement based on that. Use a number two pencil, thank you, buh-bye. NEXT!"

Opal blinked. "You mean, I have to fill out paper work, just to die?"

The secretary gave her a pointed look. "Um, I said buh-bye. Your turn is over. Go fill out your forms and bring them back when you're done. Buh-bye."

"But I don't have a pencil! I can't go to heaven without a pencil?"


"You have a whole cup of them on your desk! You could just--"


"But ... but I died ... in, um ... a semi-heroic manner!"


"You're a BIG, FAT MEANIE!"

"Thank you, buh-bye! NEXT!"

"I ... am a horrible person."

"You're not a horrible person," Hank replied, patting his best friend on the shoulder reassuringly.

"I am a horrible, terrible, wretched soul. My mother should be ashamed of me. I need to call my Nan and tell her to stop telling her little blue-haired friends about me."

"Nonsense, Bobby, you know the punks down at the arcade love your grandmother's stories."

"Hank, Opal's dead, and it's all my fault."

Hank raised one eyebrow. "I fail to see how it was your fault, in light of the fact that you were about two hundred yards away and unconscious."

"The girls think I'm their leader, Hank. When was the last time Scott let one of us get killed?"

"He lets Wolverine get killed all the time."

"That doesn't count."

"And look on the bright side -- we liked Thunderbird."

"It doesn't matter if we liked her or not! She didn't deserve to die like ... like..."

"Like a toad that got caught in a lawnmower?"


"Bobby, she wasn't a superhero. She had no business being there. From what I hear, the other girls didn't even want her living with them. She brought it upon herself."

"I had no idea you disliked Opal so much."

"It's not that at all, Bobby. Look, I'm not trying to say you shouldn't grieve. Grief is cathartic, healthy ... whatever. I merely think you're being too hard on yourself. It was not your fault and no one blames you, with the notable exception of yourself. You take too much responsibility for what the girls do. I think you take their idolization a bit too seriously."

Bobby lifted his face up from his hands. "Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

"Well, none of them are experienced heroes, and they seem to treat this more as a game of dress-up than any actual--"

"Are you saying you think we're just playing around?"

"I wouldn't exactly--"

"Because if Bobby's leading a team, it can't possibly be worth anything, is that it, Hank?"

"I never--"

"I'm just the really hairy Spice Girl, is that it, Hank?"


Bobby's face sank into his hands again. "It's true. They lead me around by the nose. I don't know why they listen to a word I say. I think they just let me be in charge so they have someone to yell at when they need a plan."

Hank patted him on the back reassuringly. "I remember a very young Scott Summers telling me something of the sort, once, long ago."

"Really, Hank?"

"Well ... it wasn't long ago. It was last week. But he did say something very similar."

Bobby shook his head, chuckling.

"And look on the bright side. It's not the Champions."

"Hank! Are you implying that our dear friend Warren, who is just across the hall, was not a completely brilliant, inspired and capable lea-- Hank, how do you expect me to keep a straight face when you keep laughing like that?"

"Observe, my minions: The Lava of Life."

"The Lava of Life?"

"The Lava of Life. Obtained at great peril from a cave hidden deep in the Himalayan mountains."

"Lava of Life, got it."

"It is what has granted me immortality -- it is this which is responsible for my eternal youth and good looks."

"I always thought you was sexy, Boss."

"Thank you, Rainbow. But it has other mystic properties, as well."

"Such as?"

"So eager, my young acolyte."

"You gonna tell us or not?"

"It has the power to bring the dead back to life."

A few crickets chirped.

"I'm going to bring that corpse back to life."


"Um, Boss, why would you wanna do that? She's kinda worthless."

"Ah, but so were each of you when I found you."

"ArtiChoke still is."

"Not my finest moment, admittedly, not my finest moment. When I was young--"

"Boss, we all know this story."


"Sheesh. Fine, Boss, exposit away."

"When I was a young, feisty, lad, eager to take over the world, I cursed my mutation. Why couldn't I ... grow to an enormous size, or ... blow things up real good? I wondered. Instead, I could only awaken dormant mutations in others, at the same time enthralling them to myself ... One day I realized that this would provide me an endless army of minions -- completely loyal and--"

"So you're gonna bring her back to life, give her some sort of lame-o super power, and send her, unsuspected, back to the old people home to ... beat up those girls who foiled your plans and kidnap the Riveter?"

"Boxer, I said I was going to exposit. When you are the criminal mastermind, you may exposit, but until then, this is my party, okay? Do you want to go in the Pit?"

"Boss, I've been in the Pit three times this week already. Besides, ArtiChoke's down there, and--"


"Sigh. No, Boss, I don't want to go in the Pit."

"I thought not. Now, where was I?"

"Sending the dead girl in to triumph where we failed?"

"Ah, yes. Well. I suppose that was my whole plan. I'm finished now. I'm going to go microwave this Lava of Life. It works best when it's hot."

Name: Opal Petulia Tanaka

Sign: Capricorn

Hair Color: Black

Favorite Beatle: Yoko. (Yoko was a Beatle, right?)

First Car: 1982 Volkswagon Rabbit

Coke or Pepsi: Coke

Favorite McDonald's Sandwich: Arch Deluxe

Career Ambition: Reporter. Or ninja.

Annual Income: Around $36.00

Opal sighed. Where was the stuff about the 10 Commandments? The weight of her Ka? The blackness of her soul?

The questionnaire seemed about the same level of sophistication as the average sixth-grader's email survey.

Turn offs: Liver spots, Cheeto fingers, and any resemblance to Bobby Drake.

"There are 729 pages of this?" she sighed deflatedly.

"Yeah, but there's a five page coloring section, and they give you fifteen pages for the essay," the girl next to provided brightly.


"Which Star Wars character are you most like, and why?"

Opal scratched her head. "Boba Fett?"

The girl shrugged. "I said Mon Mothma."

"Been here for a while, huh?"

"Yep. But I'm on page 604."

"You'd think this place would be more crowded. With all the people that die, and the length of these stupid things..."

"Well, this isn't the normal waiting room."

"It's not?"

"No, it's the Superhero Waiting Room."

Opal cocked one eyebrow. "I am not a superhero."

"No? Did you know any?"

Opal squirmed. "Well, I, uh ... used to date one. And I live with five of them."

"Well, there you go. Damned by association. Heh, little Judgement Day humor."

"Does anyone ever finish these stupid packets?"

"A few do. Bucky finished his. The biggest problem is that you get halfway through it, and poof you're back on Earth again. You have to start all over when you get back. Ol' Jeannie can't get past page 32, and she's started about six or seven times. Deserves it, the stupid bim--"

"Great," Opal grumbled. "Wait, you mean there's a chance I might not be permanently dead?"

"Well, you are only an ex-girlfriend. Hmmm ... It wasn't Wolverine was it?"

"Huh? No."

"Well, that's positive! If it were, you'd be doomed."


"I got to go back once, and I'm an ex myself. I was almost done my stupid packet, too ... made me mad when I ended up right back here. There's always a chance."

"These stupid questions are so hard. I don't 'spose you could help me out a little...?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks! My name's Opal."

"Nice to meetcha. I'm Candy."

"Wow. Now here's a room full of grief."

"I'm making Hot Pockets. Would you like a Hot Pocket, Warren?" Lev offered brightly.

"I'm just glad we have the hall closet back," Marge put in, tossing another tent-like pair of slacks out of the aforementioned closet.

Warren scratched his head. "Bobby says you guys were bawling the other day."

"It hadn't sunk in, yet," Zelda replied, hard at work taking down the Jan Michael Vincent poster.

"Hot Pocket?" Lev offered again.

"Uh, yeah, sure. But you aren't the least bit ... sorry?"

"I wasn't the one who let her get killed," Lev snorted.

"We didn't mean to," Cloud sighed.

"It was her own fault," Marge added.

"Besides," Zelda explained. "What's the shelf-life of death around here? I mean, she'll be back in two, three weeks. We might as well make the best of her absence while we can."

"That is the most cynical thing I've ever--"

"Hey, Warren, when you died, how long did it take you to come back?" Marge asked, leaning her head out of the closet.

"Um, I don't want to talk about it."

"So, are you feeling better?" Hank asked, slapping his friend on the back.

"I guess so."

"Then let's adjourn to the across the hall. I hear the lovely Lev is toasting up some Hot Pockets."

That thought was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

"Come in!" Bobby called.

There was some scuffling on the far side of the door, and a skinny young man with bleached-blond hair stomped into Bobby's apartment.

"Do I know you?" Bobby asked hesitantly.

"Oh, I'm Chad Pinkerton," he replied off-handedly. "Meryl Putterman-Reilly-Schlazanski-Mueller-O'Hanrahan, you get in here, right now. You have some apologizing to do."

Hank and Bobby each cocked one eyebrow at each other.

"If he wants an apology, he can come out here."

"I left you alone for ten minutes, and you kill a girl! It's a good thing I didn't leave your teeth with you, I don't *know* what kind of mischief you could have caused. Now get in here and apologize, or you're in big trouble."

"I didn't kill her!"


"Oh, sheesh." Slowly, an old woman in a walker made her way into the room. She glared at the two mutants sitting on the couch. "What's wrong with you boys, ain't you never seen an old woman before? Gonna help a girl sit down?"

Bobby and Hank scrambled off the couch, helping her sit down on the center cushion.

Chad tapped his foot angrily.

"I, uh, guess this is about the picnic yesterday," Meryl started grumpily.

"You're the lady who ate my potato salad, right?" Bobby asked. "It didn't have any ... ill side effects, did it?"

"See? They don't even care!" Meryl snapped.

"Meryl..." Chad warned.

"Look, I'm sorry I got your friend killed."

Bobby frowned. "Ma'am, it was hardly your fault. You may not know this, but I'm a superhero and--"

"Honey, I don't care if you're the Pope. Those girls were after me."


Hank cleared his throat. "Ma'am, though I'm sure you're quite--"

"Shut your over-educated pie-hole, MuppetBoy. Dammit, don't they teach you kids any history anymore?"

"Has she had her pills this morning?" Bobby asked, turning to Chad.


"OW!" Bobby howled, grabbing at his head where Meryl had swatted it with a rolled-up newspaper.

"You damn mutant kids think you can just put on a costume and everyone and their brother will line up to hate and fear you, don't you?"

"The thought had occurred to me," Bobby managed, still gripping his aching head.

"In my day, you had to work hard to get yourself an archenemy. And when you got one, they never left you alone."

"Ma'am, are you implying that, you, too, are of the super-powered persuasion?"

"Boy, I could clean the floor with you."

"I highly doubt--"


"Meryl, that's not what I brought you up here for!"

"The linoleum is looking shinier," Bobby shrugged. "I wonder what would happen if we stuck some Mop'n'Glo in his fur."

"Owwwww..." Hank managed, as Meryl returned to her seat on the couch.

"I was recruited by the government back during the Big One. All the regular superheroes had gone off to the front, and for some reason, none o' the bad guys got drafted." She seemed to be searching her memory for a moment. "Don't know why I let them do it. Just lost my first husband, I spose, wasn't thinking straight. Anyway, they shot me up with that stuff they gave Captain America, slapped me in a jumpsuit and a bandanna, and called me the Riveter. Can't say I ever touched a rivet gun in my life..." She blinked a few times. "Yeah, that didn't make any sense. Anyway, I ended up irritating this young fellow, kept calling himself Count Slaughter. He wasn't actually a count, he was from Nebraska, I believe. I beat him pretty bad right before D-Day. They retired me after the war, and I never saw him again. But those girls yesterday were his. So ... uh, sorry. I guess. Can we go home now, Skippy?"

"That was a horrible apology, Meryl," Chad informed.

Hank pried his face out of the linoleum. "Ma'am, do you mean to tell us that you, of all people, are the Riveter? That's hardly--"

"You've heard of me?"

"I am a former Avenger, madam and--"

"And you're young enough to be my grandson, get to the point."

Hank cheeks reddened, even under the fur. "Some of the others used to tease Cap about you."

Meryl shook her head. "He never liked me. He knows I did a better job than he ever could."

"The 'Riveter'? Oh, come on!" Bobby scowled.

Hank sat up. "You remember the History of Superhuman Heroes textbook, Bobby?"

"Um ... vaguely."

"The one with the chapter on chemical reactions? And there was the big picture of Captain America with the comparison of how the supersoldier serum adapted to a female body chemistry?"

"Oh, yeah, there was a picture of a really hot chick with a bandanna and ... um ... excuse me, I need to go disinfect myself."

"There's a picture of me in a superhero textbook?" Meryl gaped. "Great, now I feel dirty."

"Not to interrupt anyone's obsessive-compulsive behavior, and pardon me for asking, ma'am, but if you've been injected with the super soldier serum, then why do you need a walker?"

Meryl narrowed her eyes. "You ever done the physics of super strength, kiddo? If your muscles are strong enough to snap steel, you better have some pretty strong bones or they're getting snapped, too. My bones ain't what they used to be, and I need to be careful before I break something again."

"Astonishing," Hank gasped. "Have you kept documentation of your health records throughout the years? The aging process of--"

"Is he always like this?"

"Just about," Bobby replied.

"Look, kid, I really am sorry about your friend. She wasn't, uh ... I mean, kids today, no waiting..."

"Ew, no. Well, not anymore."

Meryl nodded. "Ever track down the body?"

Bobby shook his head while Hank continued to babble about OsCal and the effects of super speed on Metamucil. "Marge says she thinks one of Slaughter's girls took her."

Meryl's wrinkled brow creased, making her look like a Shar-Pei. "You sure she was dead?"

"Did you forget? I was lying unconscious while you belted the Boxer with a picnic table."


"But Marge said she looked pretty toasted." Pause. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh ... no reason."

"Do you think I'm more of a Summer or an Autumn?" Opal asked, squinting at her packet. "Hey, Candy!"

A light snoring came from the hard waiting chair next to hers.

"The nerve!" Opal snorted.

Then she glanced at the nearly completed application on Candy's lap.

Opal had an Evil Thought.

Glancing around, and trying to make sure no one was watching her, she reached for the bundle of papers.

She leaned.

She stretched.

A giant golden tunnel of light opened up underneath her chair, and Opal Tanaka fell out of Heaven's Reception Area.

They say that when you die, you go towards a light at the end of a long dark tunnel.

They're wrong.

The light is on the way back.

"It says we're all supposed to be wearing Elder Signs in case some sort of tentacled horror breaches the World of the Living while the boundary between worlds is thin," the Boxer pointed out, as Baron von Slaughter smeared the last drops of Lava of Life across Opal's forehead.

"We are villains. We don't bother with Elder Signs."

"Um, there's a picture. I think we should get some Elder Signs."

Rainbow squinted at the book. "Oh my God! Ew, that's disgusting! And why is she wearing a school girl's uniform?"

"Be quiet, both of you! I bought that on the sale rack at Barnes and Noble. The author was obviously a fearful coward."

"I dunno. He published something called Demonic Summoning and Ancient Rituals of the Undead for Dummies. That take some serious ba--"

"Silence! She awakens from that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler--"

"God, I could use a burrito," Opal said, sitting up straight.

Halfway across Port Jefferson, Bobby shuddered involuntarily.

"What's wrong, kid?" Meryl asked.

"I dunno," Bobby frowned. "Just got a..."

"...Inexplicable premonition of doom and destruction?"


"Do you want Cheese Steak or Meatball?" Lev asked, squinting at two boxes for frozen goodness.

"Cheese Steak!" Bobby and Meryl called out at the same time.

"Greetings, my dear, and welcome, again to the land of--"

"Who are you?" Opal demanded. "You didn't strip me or anything while I was unconscious, did you?"

"Madam! I am Baron von Slaughter, scourge of the New England area for generations! I revel in wanton destruction and carnage! I do as I please and--"

"He was gonna look up your shirt, but then his asthma kicked in," Rainbow put in helpfully.

"No one asked you!" Slaughter snapped.

"Yeah, whatever," Opal scowled. "This place is creepy. I'm outty." She sat up.

"No one leaves the demesnes of ... Baron von Slaughter!"

"Yeah, well, I do. And don't think I'm not writing down the license plate on your car, Baron von Perv. I know cops in this town." Opal swung her legs over the side of the table, stood up, and headed for the door.

Slaughter's face turned steadily redder, and steam began to exit his ears. "I WILL kill you!" he finally screamed.

"Gee, thanks, Sting," the Boxer mumbled.

"Yeah, like, where's the flying fat dude?" Rainbow added.

"Look, you guys are my minions! I don't need this from you, too! You're not even union!"

The Boxer rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just put the whammy on her, Boss? I mean, jeez."

"I was just about to do that."

"Yo, your door's locked," Opal pointed out, jerking a thumb at the only exit to the room.

"Of course it is," Baron von Slaughter replied, grabbing her wrist.

"Hey, what's that--" Opal trailed off as her eyes rolled back into her head. She began to stand up a little straighter. "But Mommy ... I don't like Flock of Seagulls..."

Baron von Slaughter smiled.

"Whew, I felt that one!" Meryl noted, chewing on her Hot Pocket.

"Yup," Bobby replied.

"What are you talking about?" Zelda asked.

"Inexplicable premonitions of doom and destruction. IPODDs for short. When you've been in the business as long as I have, you'll get 'em, too, dearie."

"It feels like when you've been drinking a slurpee too fast," Bobby explained.

"There is no such thing," Hank returned. "Inexplicable premonitions of doom and destruction, my foot..."

"You're just jealous because you never get them," Bobby shrugged.

"I had one once!" Warren added. "When Betsy found my collection of vintage Playboys. I still get chills sometimes."

"Don't you think we should be a little… concerned?" Cloud asked. "Go put on our suits or something?"

Meryl shrugged. "You can if you want to. These things usually show up in their own good time."

Zelda raised an eyebrow. "What, they're like labor pains? When the IPODDs are less than five minutes apart, it's time to worry?"

"We're out of Hot Pockets," Lev announced.

Meryl nodded. "See? That was probably it. No need to worry at all."


A time of evil.

And wrongdoing.

And just general badness.

Five dark shapes crouched in the bushes outside of the Sunny Oaks Luxury Villas for the Aged.

"It's not fair."

"Shut up, Arty."

"All I'm sayin'--"

"Shut up, Arty."

"--is that I've been on the team way--"

"Don't make me pound you."

"--longer than she has, and I still have to wear this stupid t-shirt--"

"You're askin' for it, Arty..."

"-- and she gets a full Slaughterette costume! With the thigh boots and everything!"


"Owwwwww! Hey, that's not fair! Guys! GUYS! Wait for me!"

"She is not of the worthy."

"You said it, O."

It definitely wasn't an IPODD.

Just indigestion.

After all, the IPODDs were Lack-of-Hotpocket induced, anyway, and he and Lev had made an emergency run to the FoodFair earlier that evening.

Bobby glanced at Hank and Warren sacked out on his couch as he stumbled towards the kitchen in search of a glass of water.

Nope. Not an IPODD.

The building shuddered.

Okay, so maybe it was an IPODD.

Depositing his water on the counter, Bobby dashed into the hallway. Seconds later, the girls were piling out of their door.

"What was it?" Cloud gasped.

"Came from somewhere below us," Bobby replied.

"Meryl lives on the second floor," Lev pointed out.

"Right." Bobby frowned, surveying his team.

Lev and Zelda wore bathrobes overtop their nightshirts, and Cloud was wearing a set of pajamas with armadillos on them. Marge was wearing something with entirely too much lace and pink satin. Bobby wore his boxers and a t-shirt from Larry's World of Beef.

"No time," Bobby decided. "We're going to have to fight this one in our pajamas."

"Right," Marge agreed.

"Correction. YOU go change, WE fight this one in our pajamas."

There was the distinct smell of wrongdoing coming from Meryl Putterman-Reilly-Schlazanski-Mueller-O'Hanrahan's closed door.

Okay, it really smelled like broken plaster, but that usually indicated wrongdoing.

"I'm breaking down the door!" Bobby announced, throwing himself bodily against it.

The door didn't move.

Zelda rolled her eyes. "Outta the way, Frosty." Slamming her foot into the door, just above the knob, the wood shattered, and the door swung inward.

"Show off," Bobby grumbled, dashing into the room.

"I mean it, Riveter!" the Boxer was threatening, her red glow of her boxing gloves, the only light in the room, highlighting the stricken face of Chad Pinkerton. "You come quietly, or he gets it!"

"Bah," Meryl replied, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'd be better off without the old stick-in-the-mud."

"Put him down," Bobby demanded, icing up.

"I don't think she has any vegetables in here!" someone yelled from the kitchen.

"Great, the peanut gallery," the Boxer sneered.

Lev lit Rainbow's hair on fire.

"We beat you once, we'll do it again!" Cloud announced.

"That's what you think," a cool voice replied from darkness.

Suddenly, Meryl's walker jerked, and bent spastically, leaping into the air and wrapping itself around the old woman.

"Magneto!" Bobby exclaimed. "You've ... had a sex change."

"Slick, Drake," Zelda hissed. "It coulda been that other magnetic chick."

"Lorna? No, I know her voice. I used to date her."

"Enough! Magneto and Polaris are nothing compared to me, as are you! You shall bow before my might!"

"Friend of yours?" Bobby asked Marge.

"I have no idea what you're insinuating."

"It is I!" A figure in a leotard and thigh-high boots stepped from the shadows. "OPAL, MISTRESS OF MOLYBDENUM!"

"MY EYES! I've been STRUCK BLIND!" Lev exclaimed, slapping her hands over her eyes in agony.

"Molybdenum?" Zelda pondered with a raised eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Marge added.

"This is not my day," Opal groaned.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "You and me both."

continued >>

Next time on The Super Uncanny Adventures of Bobby Drake and his Amazing X-Girlfriends:
Fun facts about molybdenum, and ASSES GET KICKED! So stay tuned for the conclusion of DEATH! (th... th... th...) OF! (f... f... f...) OPAL! (pants... pants... pants...)

-(main) - (biography) - (discussion) - (stories) - (pictures) - (links) - (updates)-