#that's my ideal sonic game I think. the rest of it could be about whatever

[pinksilvace]

I'm not really a fan of inserting characters where they're not necessary BUT it would also be the funniest thing ever if a future Sonic game came out and Jet was just. There. no explanation whatsoever. I think I'd accept it readily

[anons-has-hlvrai-aus]

The Metamorphosis of Gordon Freeman [Chapter 5.5]

Mean People

Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: The Science Team takes a walk. Tommy thinks about stuff.

Word Count: 3,954

Ao3 Version

Notes: I felt like I needed an extra chapter to properly convey what Gordon’s behavior looks like from people other than Gordon. “Hundreds of Skeletons” does a fine enough job of conveying the team’s anger with Gordon, but I felt I needed a chapter that takes place earlier in the story that better SHOWS Gordon being the asshole the Science Team. Hopefully this chapter does a good job. (Also! “Hundred of Skeletons” has been partially edited) Writing Gordon’s insecurities is hard because I know what’s wrong with him and why he feels that way…but nobody in the story does so I have to write his “adjusting behaviors” without making him seem like a he’s being asshole for the sake of being an asshole. Writing FOR Tommy was fun though. Having a character that knows shit but refuses to share it out of social obligation is fun.

It had been exactly one weekend since Mister Freeman figured out he was no longer human (or possibly never human to begin with, there was no easy way to tell the difference).

Tommy knew this was going to be a very difficult transition for Gordon, just like when they first came here, although that had been an incredibly uncertain time for everybody. The day after Tommy’s well-earned birthday party in the businessplace of famed rodent Charles Entertainment Cheese felt not that long ago. The Science Team had all shuffled out of the parking lot, Tommy himself had been making a fruitless and slurred argument (what substance he was under, he could not recall) to Bubby about something involving Sonic the Hedgehog at the time. Gordon’s unusual words of assurance had been as steady as his legs: very, very shaky.

Tommy hadn’t known right away what was wrong (rightfully so given his mysterious inebriation), just that something HAD been wrong. Doctor Coomer had noticed too and was the first to set Mister Freeman aside for a task. That had been the day Tommy found out from not one, but two people that they were in a video game…or rather that everyone there USED to be in a video game. The first was from Gordon, who had explained some scary stuff about higher beings while Tommy was still in a less-than-ideal state of mind, and the second was his dad (a higher being in his own right), who went into full detail about what happened to them all after Tommy had fully sobered up (because his dad just knew these things, even if he wasn’t there for them).

From that day forward, they had all agreed to give Gordon their support for whatever horrors he went through as a guy that had basically been ‘Born Yesterday.’

Somehow, that had been four years ago…

“This is fucking bullshit, man.”

Tommy winced from Gordon’s yelling being next to his poor ears.

“Gordon, you were the one that suggested we go on a ‘mental health walk’ in the woods because you didn’t want people to see your Black Mesa Sweet Voice!”

“I know, Dr. Coomer.”

“Well in that case, did you HAVE to drag the rest of us out here?” Doctor Bubby inquired with exactly the amount of disdain that was to be expected.

“Yes! I’m not going on a fucking walk in the woods with only Benrey.” He said this as if the limitations of who everybody in the group enjoyed spending time with were as simple as ‘Gordon doesn’t like Benrey so everybody else has to come’…Tommy wished it was. “I don’t care that he’s supposed to be my teacher now. I have to do SOMETHING to keep up my routine. I didn’t go to the gym at all during the weekend…”

“Look, Gordon!” Doctor Coomer pointed at a nearby tree. “A Douglas Fir! Pseudotsuga menziesii var. glauca, or Rocky Mountain Douglas-fir, is an evergreen conifer native to-” A hand was slapped over the older man’s mouth.

Gordon gave the doctor a stern look before relinquishing his chatterbox. “Stop.”

“Oh, Gordon. You NEVER let me rattle off my Wikipedia articles anymore.” He frowned. His puffy hair seemed to droop with him in defeat.

“It’s not normal.”

“But it’s fun, Gordon!”

“It’s not NORMAL.”

Normal.

What a dreadful word it had become.

Gordon had become oddly fixated on it about a year after they arrived…fixated on this idea that they needed to act normal.

It had been fine at first. After all, sometimes one does not know the right and wrong time to set somebody on fire (never), or when the right time to jump through somebody’s window is (also never, unless there is a fire). Sometimes the right time to prattle off the Wikipedia article for Insert Item Here wasn’t right now, and that was fine.

But with time, Tommy had seen perfectly normal corrections turn into…nitpicking. And nitpicking turned into Gordon trying to file away every fun thing they liked to do away from the public eye, because god forbid that they be weird in public when they lived in a world where actions had zero consequences for anybody that wasn’t an NPC (Tommy had checked. He’d seen Doctor Cross and Doctor Green rob a bank multiple times, once with a stranger they found on the street. The ladies of science received zero repercussions every time, and the one time they brought a stranger…the stranger got arrested! This world literally didn’t care! Maybe there was some merit in Gordon’s idea of robbing a bank in this situation. It would at least loosen him up a bit).

“Tommy, you need to drink more water, bud.” Speak of the man…

“I’m an adult, Mister Freeman.” He said behind thinly veiled annoyance at his train of thought being interrupted. “I can…I know the limits of my caffeine intake.”

“We’re going on a walk, though, man! You really should just drink more water!”

“I know, Mister Freeman.”

“Tommy, seriously dude.”

Tommy kept quiet and expertly tossed his half-empty can into a bin several feet away from them. Arguing was pointless.

“Focus on yourself before you focus on other people, Gordon!” Coomer jumped in between them, his bright eyes filled with a foolish sort of hope.

“I’ve already done that, thank you very much. I’m perfectly fine. I am prioritizing-”

He tuned the younger man out to brew in his anger, giving a dopey smile while he pretended to listen.

Contrary to what Benrey had told him once, long ago, Tommy did not like mean people.

He understood completely where the idea had come from, and for the longest time Tommy had believed it too. But over the past four years, Tommy had come to realize that he did NOT, in fact, LIKE mean people.

Tommy was nice to everybody in a social situation, no matter how they acted. ‘Everybody’ just happened to include mean people. This was especially true while at Black Mesa, because workplace bullshit would always be workplace bullshit, no matter where you go. He was nice to his co-workers, no matter how cruel they were, because SOMEBODY there needed to be a decent human being.

So no, Tommy didn’t like mean people.

Tommy liked and preferred people that were honest with themselves and with others (and honest people just happen to overlap with mean people sometimes), it had always been like that. He’d always had this ability to tell when people were hiding things that they REALLY shouldn’t have been hiding, and this had only become easier to do once his otherworldly powers had awoken.

Tommy hated it.

He HATED being able to read people’s minds. It was a massive invasion of privacy, and his only saving grace was that it was only a passive problem if somebody felt VERY strongly about what they were thinking. Unfortunately, Tommy hung out with people who often had very, very strong thoughts. Proximity and attention were the two big factors for his reading, so he was thankful to be able to fallback some after Gordon’s rant so he could walk besides Darnold, whose thoughts were very quiet and pleasant whenever they got in close proximity to each other.

“I was going to fly a kite at the end of the trail, if that’s alright.” Darnold calmly announced to the group.

“I wasn’t really planning on stopping.” Gordon replied. “I was more thinking of just…” he motioned weirdly with his hands. “going up and down the trail a few times and then going home. If you wanted to fly kites you should’ve said something before we left.”

Darnold’s thoughts buzzed with an aura of discomfort. “I had suggested the park, but you made it quite clear that you wanted to minimize people seeing your…colorful language, despite Dr. Coomer having used it rather infrequently in public.”

“Haha, ‘colorful,’ very funny. I stand by my decision. I don’t need people seeing me like that. Coomer hasn’t been doing that in public lately anyways.” What he really wanted to say was that he didn’t ‘need’ people seeing he wasn’t ‘normal.’

Tommy, not really wanting to stay with Gordon right now, decided this was a better time than any to split from the group. “I can stay at the end of the trail with him, Mister Freeman.”

“Huh-? Tommy!” He sounded thoroughly betrayed. “You don’t-you’re not gonna stick around? You can’t-I mean I’ve still got Bubby and Coomer, but…”

He liked Tommy the most out of the whole group, was what he wanted to say here (although Tommy knew from previous undesired mind-skimming that REALLY he was tied with Doctor Coomer as the favorite). Obviously, Gordon didn’t speak a word of this, not that he really HAD to. Tommy could hear his thoughts, and that alone made Tommy feel bad about leaving him behind.

Darnold weakly told the group “I’ll be fine, you can just let me know when you’re all heading back.”

“But then you’ll be all alone!” Gordon said, clearly determined to not split up the group. “What if there’s, like, a pack of coyotes out here?” The coyotes only showed up at night. “Plus, like, I don’t think the wind is good enough for kites right now.” Even if it wasn’t, that was really just an excuse, because Darnold was perceived as the most normal out of the group, and Gordon felt entitled to Darnold’s company because, well, they were BOTH just SO NORMAL! He didn’t need a mental health walk, he needed somebody to keep him company that made him still feel normal now that he was in the process of losing his personal grasp of what exactly that looked like. After all, Gordon had originally only invited Darnold, with a little unspoken asterisk at the end letting him know that he was allowed to invite other members of the Science Team if he REALLY wanted to.

Unfortunately, Darnold didn’t really enjoy Gordon’s company, at least not on its own. Their video games of interest never really lined up enough to bond properly, and Darnold struggled to relate with somebody that refused to live in the moment (and quite frankly, Tommy did as well sometimes with how focused Gordon was about how their every current action would affect the future).

He COULD get along with Bubby and Coomer (assuming Tommy (his noticeably more preferred person) wasn’t available), provided the two showed up as a pair, but only in select situations. And if Gordon was in any sort of group that included Bubby and Coomer at the same time, HE felt obligated to invite Tommy as well so that they were complete.

Meanwhile, if Darnold invited Tommy along to things, and Gordon was there, Tommy would eventually get overwhelmed and feel a need to just be with Darnold, and that sort of thing doesn’t work out well when you’re actively abandoning one third of your group. So to avoid that problem, they would have to invite Bubby and Coomer (because Bubby liked to hang out with Doctor Coomer more than Gordon (which wasn’t to say that Bubby WOULDN’T hang out with Gordon without Doctor Coomer, but he clearly enjoyed the company, and vice versa with Doctor Coomer)) to whatever outing they were on, because they (and by they, Tommy really meant Doctor Coomer) would stick to Gordon and talk with him, even when Tommy didn’t have the energy to do so himself.

To say that little asterisk was doing a lot of work was an understatement for this friend group.

Situations like this made Tommy wish that he had a better grasp at the whole ‘reading people’s thoughts’ thing. It would be so much easier for him to tune out other people regardless of their mental volume, and that alone would be worth the price of admission…but there was another reason…

Despite how loud Gordon’s thoughts really were, it did nothing to tell Tommy what was constantly ailing his mind: From the moment they arrived to Poastgame, the man’s head was plagued by a paranoia towards…Something that Tommy hoped would get better with therapy. His PTSD had improved (at least as much as it could given its severity) but the paranoia toward that unknown Something had not. Gordon’s past with The Player was a contributing factor, he knew that much; something worrying about his encounter with Them that had been left to fester for far too long and had warped to the point where Gordon was manifesting his current maladaptive behaviors as a response. It was an issue that was on the younger man’s mind whenever he started to course-correct the team in any way. It pissed Tommy off so much that he couldn’t figure out what this Something was, and he was so sure that if he could read minds better, it might actually tell him what was wrong!

He couldn’t even stay mad at Gordon half the time because Gordon genuinely believed that he was doing a good thing by telling the Science Team how to act. He was so certain that these actions wouldn’t just benefit everybody in the long-run, but also PROTECT them somehow. His protective nature would be admirable, were it not so painfully done under flawed credences.

He should have said something sooner, should have told Gordon that this wasn’t good, but he just…hated to hurt his feelings. He and the rest of the Science Team loved Gordon so much that it felt WRONG to tell him, BECAUSE they loved him, and he loved them all too.

If not for that, they all had their own personal reasons for why they couldn’t as well…

Bubby couldn’t tell him because he was far too emotional.

Tommy couldn’t tell him because he already hated to make other people sad, and the fact that Gordon trusted Tommy with his life…well, you can’t just emotionally hurt somebody that relies on your support THAT much.

Darnold couldn’t do it because he’d just end up as a mouthpiece for the people Gordon’s actions most directly affected, and nobody wanted to put that burden on Darnold. Especially not Darnold himself.

Doctor Coomer could probably do it alone but…it would require a really big push.

That’s why they HAD to do it together. If only they hadn’t decided to try so soon after Benrey showed up…

Of course, that just meant Benrey was now left as a contender to drop the truth on him, and he already had a feeling Benrey wouldn’t want to do it.

Benrey had understood his boundaries well-enough in Black Mesa because it was usually pretty obvious who was ‘Nice People’ and who was ‘Mean People’. Tommy and Doctor Cross were Nice People because they were nice to others, while their co-workers in Biological Research were Mean People because they were mean to others. So where was Gordon? It was complicated…he yelled at Benrey (mean) but he also laughed at his (and other people’s) jokes sometimes (nice) which could make things confusing.

Benrey wasn’t dumb, mind you, it’s just that he’d had a lot done to him that made his ability to “read people” more difficult than it already was for his kind…just like how it had made it even harder for him to communicate fully with human words (another thing that his species seemed to struggle with) or fully remember stuff prior to his capture by Black Mesa (which was separate from the memory stuff related to him being an entity unstuck in time). Deciding when to metaphorically bite back, should Gordon go too far, could be hard for Benrey since he was actively trying to be friends right now, and that scared Tommy. Last time Benrey dealt with that sort of confusion, he’d ultimately gotten pushed too far by Gordon and (unsurprisingly) lashed out…and the rest went without saying.

Gordon would likely try to convince him he was doing the right thing. He wouldn’t go into personal details, but he’d find an excuse. He’d seen it before, specifically with Tommy’s dreaded enemy: Forzen. He didn’t like that man but even he didn’t deserve such treatment. Forzen didn’t act like he cared, but he obviously did…HIS reasoning for not saying something was rooted in something deeper than concerns of hurting somebody’s feelings, which he did just as good a job of hiding as Gordon did with that Something.

Tommy would have to talk with Benrey later, to make sure he didn’t let himself get walked on just because he wanted to be friends with Gordon. If that didn’t work, he might have to talk with Forzen instead, as much as he hated to do so.

Gordon swore under his breath, complaining about his hand aching.

“Have you given yourself any breaks with it?” Doctor Coomer asked.

“…No…” Gordon’s voice dripped with guilt. “I felt too much like shit about the whole metamorphing thing and just…didn’t.”

“That’s not healthy.” “It’s not healthy, Gordon.” The old men both nagged at him with concern.

“It comes off?” Benrey looked at the hand. His mind was riddled with curiosity and concern that wasn’t painted particularly well on his neutral face. “Do you need another potion to grow it back?”

“No.” Gordon responded angrily. “It’s a replacement hand, like the gun. Didn’t we go over this? Point is, I gotta…take it off sometime-”

“Does it feel real?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

“Okay.”

Tommy feared an inevitable explosion of emotion from Gordon. He was in a bad mood about his current situation, and in pain, and exhausted from walking along the unpaved walking trail for half an hour. While he had never personally inflicted his anger on the ‘science’ part of the Science Team, his prior tendencies to blow up at Benrey were not forgotten. Gordon was naturally annoyed by his presence, so it was only a matter of time before he resorted to his old habit of using Benrey as a scapegoat for his problems.

They wouldn’t have to wait long. It was over something stupid, of course.

Benrey had said something about there being a lot of roots on the trail, likely trying to imply that they all be careful. A reasonable thing to do.

Gordon tripped on a root anyways, and he let his anger out at Benrey with a cloud of red (hurting) and orange (angry) and cyan (overwhelmed) Sweet Voice directed at him. He used his words too. Mean words, terrible words.

Benrey visibly shrunk away behind Tommy while Gordon paced around the woods to get his anger out. Everybody else found a bench or a fallen tree to sit on while they tried to measure the duration of Gordon’s unrestrained rage.

Benrey’s aforementioned shrinking was literal on his part; typically it was reserved for when he was scared of something but still wanted to be found in the confines of wherever he was…Tommy had seen it far too many times while working in Black Mesa. He cupped the currently borrower-sized man that was clung onto his shoulder and carefully dropped into his shirt pocket.

“You were only helping…” Tommy whispered, poking his pinky into the pocket to pet the much smaller man. Benrey only replied with a hum of yellow.

The petting did as much help in calming Benrey down as it did Tommy, who had to refrain from blowing up at Gordon with the same level of intensity that had just been displayed.

The volume of Gordon’s voice was inversely proportional with his visible confusion as he looked around for Benrey. “The fuck did he run off to???”

“Hiding, probably.” Bubby said with a shrug. “You DID yell at him for no reason.”

“It wasn’t for no reason, he could have put that root there just so I could trip on it!”

“Well, now you’re just being unreasonable.”

“I am not!”

Benrey mumbled out a “I didn’t do it” that only Tommy heard. It made him grimace.

“I think you should apologize, Mister Freeman.”

“Huh??”

He walked over to Gordon, not hiding his disapproval. “Benrey doesn’t even have tree powers.”

They looked at each wordlessly before Gordon’s confused anger melted into defeat, Tommy hearing his brain process in real time how he was definitely the asshole here. “…shit.”

“You need to-”

“Yeah, I need to…” He groaned in annoyance, surprisingly more so at himself than at Benrey for a change. “Benreyyyyy…where ya at, man? I’m sorry for yelling.”

The tiny man stuck his head out of Tommy’s pocket. “Yooooo.”

“What-?” Gordon didn’t need to move his head much to see him. “Holy shit that’s small…”

“Got enough room here for one more.” Benrey teased, hands beneath his chin while he hung out of the pocket with a well-practiced smirk. Easily forgiving of Gordon, just as Tommy feared. “Got so much room for…nice. Could fit your stupid rattail in here.”

“My rattail was not stupid.”

“Yeah it was, that’s why I ate it.”

“It didn’t-” Gordon’s annoyance, exhaustion, and confusion turned into mild amusement. “Nobody ate my rattail, I just grew it out.”

“Ate your mustache, too.”

“No you didn’t!”

“Did too.”

“Prove it.”

“Gotta sit next to me first. Unless you’re uh,” Benrey laughed, “a silly little chicken.”

“I can’t-!” Gordon laughed too. “You fucking five-year-old, I couldn’t get in there even if I wanted to.”

“Mmmm…you should fix that.”

Gordon laughed harder, exclaiming “how??” between different breaths.

God…he was so argumentative…it was entertaining now, but it was a trait of his that would be difficult to work around when they all worked up the courage to confront him again.

The way he laughed with Benrey though…he could sense a softness in Gordon, a part that had realized Benrey wasn’t actively harmful, and it stood in conflict with those credences he had made up. Tommy once again struggled to stay mad at Gordon…it was clear, at least to somebody that could read minds, he secretly wanted to be friends with Benrey too…and that damn paranoia was getting in the way.

It wasn’t Tommy’s place to air out Gordon’s fears about the future, but he wished it was. If Gordon could talk about what was bothering him…maybe everything else could fall into place, and everything could get better from there. That was wistful thinking though, and such things only happened in stories made for other people’s entertainment…although…given that they lived in a video game…perhaps it didn’t hurt to be a little bit wistful? Video games are just interactive stories, after all (even if this one was running on autopilot now).

…

Benrey had climbed out of Tommy’s pocket at some point and was sitting on Gordon’s shoulder, both of them watching Darnold as he managed to keep a kite afloat in the clearing they were in…

Yeah, he COULD stay wistful. Why not?

The Pixar Storytelling Structure dictated that something out of the ordinary happening was the first step to a good story, and everybody loves Pixar movies! They always have a happy ending!

Of course…there’s always the possibility that Gordon DOESN’T change from all of this…but he had to be hopeful, right?

Gordon was rude and argumentative, sure, but he was also very kind towards the people he cared about. And everything he was doing, he did because he felt so SURE that it was helpful…it was just a matter of telling Gordon that it WASN’T helpful, and letting him know that they were here to ease whatever was bothering him so much…

…

……

Shit, maybe Tommy DID like mean people.

Why else would he be so forgiving to Gordon? Were his times of kindness really worth it THAT much?

He’d need to think about this when he got home. He’d need to think about a LOT of stuff when he got home…

[straykidsupdate]

STRAY KIDS INSPIRE THEIR GENERATION TO PICK UP THE MIC

K-POP’S YOUNG DISRUPTORS NAVIGATE ADULTHOOD ALONGSIDE THEIR FANS

Stray Kids are fighting with their fans to determine who adores the other most. The fans started it, erupting into an impromptu chant inside Microsoft Theater in downtown Los Angeles: "We love you! We love you!," they shout, repeatedly. The sound is deafening, catching the boy band off guard. The eight members retaliate with their own impassioned chorus. "We love Stay," they respond, referencing their legions of international devotees. Both sides scream until, ultimately, Stray Kids admit defeat; they stand awkwardly onstage, apparently unsure how to receive the unrivaled adulation. Bang Chan, the Korean group's steadfast leader, looks around the venue in awe, while sensible vocalist Seungmin makes a heart with his hands and points to the crowd, resolved to have the last word.

This is not the first time Stray Kids has lost the battle of who-loves-who. It’s happened in cities across the United States, from New York to Dallas, amidst their District 9: Unlock world tour. It's canon, chiseled into the group's short but colorful history, alongside such viral moments as "Seungmin in the building" and "I'm not gonna leave you behind." Displays of affection between idols and fans are nothing new but, with Stray Kids, they’re never forced.

"It doesn't matter how old you are," Bang Chan tells the crowd mid-show, intensity building with every word. "It doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl, or whoever you choose to be. It doesn't matter where you're from — everyone is welcome in our special district."

Two weeks prior to this performance, Stray Kids — Bang Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, and I.N — are gazing from a conference room in a Times Square skyscraper. The sky is gray, but that doesn't deter Hyunjin from posing for a series of selfies against the floor-to-ceiling window. As the lithe dancer works his angles, his bandmates are scattered throughout the room. Han props his phone against the room’s A/V controls to watch an anime; Bang Chan hunches over his own phone, thumbing the screen intently; Lee Know rests his eyes; and Australia-born Felix gossips about last night's Grammy Awards. Like any teen, he's obsessed with Billie Eilish, and her historic Grammys sweep is hard for him to fathom. "Can you believe it?" he says, eyes wide and sparkling. "She's only 18. It's amazing."

But at 19, the deep-voiced rapper, whose delicate features betray his cherry-red hair, has similarly found success at a young age. Within a year of their 2018 debut, Stray Kids received 11 rookie awards and released five EPs. In fact, while Eilish and her brother Finneas were crafting homemade beats in a Highland Park bedroom, JYP Entertainment's tenacious boy wonders were honing their own unique sound in a small studio in Seoul, South Korea. Members Bang Chan, Changbin, and Han comprise the group's primary production trio, 3RACHA, and they've been making music together since their trainee days in 2017. Introspective early tracks like "Start Line" and "Runner's High" laid the foundation for Stray Kids' sonic identity: With the disruptive power of punk, they deliver astute, poignant lyrics about the bristly experience of growing up and its side effects.

"The things we worry about and the things Stay worry about — we share a lot of the same struggles," Han tells MTV News. "Even though our ambitions are different, we work hard just the same. It becomes our inspiration musically." As the creative force behind two of the group's more vulnerable cuts, "19" and "Sunshine," the 19-year-old rapper reveals his innermost thoughts and anxieties to the fans. But that honesty can be frightening.

"It's nerve-racking for us," Bang Chan says. "Sometimes we think, 'If we talk about this, will people understand? Will they relate?' We're always thinking about how we can reach people through our lyrics because we want our music to help."

That empathy has been woven throughout their music from the beginning. Stray Kids’ first singles, the pre-debut track "Hellevator" and the darkly riotous "District 9," are full of angst and aggression, soundtracks for those who balk at societal pressures and follow their own rules. "My Pace" is an empowering anthem teeming with energy and affirmations. ("Don't compare yourself with others," Bang Chan sings on the hook. "It's OK to run slower.") Songs like "Voices" and "Side Effects" offer an intimate glimpse into the tumultuous mind of a young person still figuring out their place in the world, while "Miroh" and "Victory Song" are bursting with big sounds and youthful bravado.

"Young people today may feel a bit trapped, like you're constantly being told what to do and you feel like you can't speak for yourself," Bang Chan says. "So we want people our age to feel comfortable speaking out and talking about what they think."

By encouraging their fans to examine their own growing pains, to feel everything, they ensure that their message is never didactic. "All strayed steps come together to make a new road," they say at their concert. And with their latest release, "Levanter," off their sixth EP Clé: Levanter, Stray Kids come to the understanding that the journey is more meaningful than the destination, and the path ahead is ultimately theirs to define. So they double knot their shoelaces and dash full-speed ahead. "We might not know what the actual goal is, but as long as we're running hard and we're running as a group, whatever comes is going to be good anyway," Bang Chan says. "We just wish that a lot of people out there could listen to our music and get a lot of energy and hope from it."

Like 25-year-old Selina, who connects to their lyrics because she's "still on that journey of figuring out what I want to do and who I want to be," she says, clutching her Stray Kids light stick (a compass, now featuring Bang Chan's name written on the handle) outside of Microsoft Theater. Her friend Joseline, 18, likes that the members "have other priorities and interests outside of being a K-pop idol" that they reveal through daily Instagram posts, livestreams on the V Live app, TikToks, and weekly YouTube videos and vlogs. "He's not just Han from Stray Kids, he's Han Jisung — rapper, producer, and person," she adds.

For Kambree, 17, the group has a "positive vibe" that makes her feel happy and accepted. "They make us feel like family, no matter who you are or what you look like," she adds. Her best friend Lexxie, 17, says Stray Kids "make me feel like I'm not alone with my issues." And So Yun, 30, finds their mix of "hard-hitting EDM" and "super angsty" lyrics reminiscent of the emo bands she listened to in high school. "It's the same rebellious spirit that I felt as a teen when you want to be your own person and figure out your own voice."

Their music has given Louis, 30, a newfound perspective. "I like the ['Levanter'] lyric, 'I want to be myself, I don't care' — that line resonates with me because we live in a society where people try to mold you, but at the same time, I just want to myself and at this point, I really don't care!"

Best friends Ella and Jazlynn, both 19, met online through their mutual love of Stray Kids, and they've customized their light sticks with glitters and holographic stickers of their favorite members' names. "Half of the group is technically my age, so I can look at them and see how successful they are, and it gives me inspiration to work harder," Jazlynn says, an I.N banner at her side. And while they do feel comforted by the authenticity in the group's songs, as Ella explains, it's who they are off-stage that many fans connect with most. "When you see Felix do the Renegade, it's like, 'I do that too!'"

Their ability to ignite the stage with powerful performances while staying true to themselves behind the scenes — as both K-pop's reigning meme kings and young men navigating adulthood — is what makes Stray Kids so relatable to a generation that experiences much of their lives online. "This generation is comfortable being alone," Changbin says. "We have our phones. We don't always need to be talking to each other to be together. Sometimes a text is fine."

And they're pretty normal, too. Bang Chan and Changbin watch videos from Tomorrowland and Ultra Music Festival to help clear their minds in the studio; the tracks "Road Not Taken" and "Stop" are the direct results of such self-care. Han's idea of a perfect day would be to "not come out of my room for 24 hours." If he could spend all day watching YouTube videos, he would. In fact, he says "Sunshine" was inspired by a scene in the Korean drama Boys Over Flowers, where the main characters travel to an idyllic private island. Though Han’s larger-than-life presence dominates the stage, he identifies as an introvert and admits he hopes to "overcome" his shyness. "On my ideal perfect day, I'd try new experiences and meet new people comfortably," he says. "You can do it!" Bang Chan adds, encouragingly.

Youngest member I.N makes time to go shopping, though he prefers to "chill" on his days off. And when Felix isn't playing video games or destroying kitchens with Seungmin, he frequents Seoul's finest dog cafes. "We have so many dog lovers in our group," he says, smiling. "I've been looking at a lot of dogs, and I feel like they help you feel better. I really want a dog with the team." Jisung points at Seungmin, whose nickname is "puppy," and Bang Chan adds, "We already have one." Seungmin scrunches his nose and says, "No way!" (But Han insists he's a "really bad boy.")

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, who’s known by fans for his theatrics and commanding stage presence is extremely open with his emotions. He frequents V Live, where he offers personal advice to viewers of his video series Hyunjin’s Counseling Center. But the 19-year-old admits that opening up to Stay has helped him, too. "I don't always have a lot of confidence," he says. “When I want to be comforted or when I’m feeling kind of sad, Stay are really good at consoling me. I want to be able to repay that comfort in full."

"The connection between Stay and Stray Kids would be family," Felix adds. Han jokes that they're the "annoying and mischievous" little brothers. But it's that sense of connection, among the group as well as with their fans, that has cemented Stray Kids as the vital voices of their generation.

"The struggles we're going through — anxiety, stress, school, love — they tell us to take our time and see where our path leads," Selina says. "It's OK to stray from it. Just stay true to yourself. I always associate that with them. The idea of 'You Make Stray Kids Stay' is to find out what it is that grounds you and just keep going."

And Stray Kids don't plan to slow down any time soon. Having wrapped their Clé series at the end of last year with Levanter, 2020 offers an exciting fresh page for new musical experimentations, starting with the three original unit songs the group produced for the tour. "Wow" is a sexy R&B track from dancers Lee Know, Hyunjin, and Felix. It's also their first explicit love song. "We wanted to try a sexy song because it's a special stage," Hyunjin says, explaining that the dancers worked on their own lyrics in addition to helping with the slinky choreography. "We wanted to include moves that we haven't tried before," Lee Know adds, noting that they wanted something sexy and powerful. "So it was a new experience."

"My Universe," featuring vocalists Seungmin and I.N with an assist from Changbin, is a bright pop ballad. "I always wanted to try something like that," I.N says, eyes smiling. Seungmin tells Changbin from across the table, "Thanks for helping." And 3RACHA's "We Go" oozes confidence over a scorching trap beat. "We made 'We Go' last time we were here [in the United States]," Bang Chan says. "We made around three to four songs in one day… The performance is really fun as well. And those two [he points to Han and Changbin] got to have the chance to use Autotune live."

They also released their first English singles in January, a process that rapper Changbin, known for his furious flow, calls "difficult." ("It was fun," Hyunjin argues beside him.) "I was listening to Changbin's rap [in 'Double Knot'] like, 'Why is this so fast? What am I going to write?'" Bang Chan says. "I tried to write it as easy as possible so that he could speak it well. I'm really glad that they could record it really well for me."

In March, they'll debut in Japan. And there's another mixtape project in the works, kicked off by the digital release of "Gone Days," a relaxed, Autotune-laced anthem for the "OK Boomer" generation. A play on the Korean word kkondae, it describes someone who pushes outdated ideas and expectations onto another based only on their age and status — and signals the arrival of a bold new direction. "I think [young people] now just need to be more comfortable with themselves," Bang Chan says of his inspiration for the track. "By being yourself, you never know what's going to happen."

"I always believe that one person can change the world," he adds. "So if you have a thought or an idea, just let it out. Because who knows? You can make the world a much better place."

[howtohero]

#299 The Resistance

Ultiman hovered three inches off of the floor. It was a nervous habit of his, which had the added benefit of making anybody near him feel just as nervous as he did. People tended to fear floating men. Especially floating men who could shoot beams from their eyes and snap tanks in half over their knees. So Ultiman tried to stay on the ground as much as possible. People liked a grounded hero. For the moment though he was alone, and so he allowed himself to hover, just a bit. He was nervous, how could he not be. The world had been taken over by supervillains, and it may as well have been his fault.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he muttered to himself, another nervous habit of his. 

“There was nothing you could have done, so you left. You knew whomever was left would need a leader and so you retreated. It was the smart move. It was the only move,” he said forcefully trying to convince himself. It didn’t work, and not for the first time, he was thankful that the only person he seemed to have to convince was himself. The other heroes, those who had managed to escape the supervillain attacks across the world and the eruption of hellfire outside of How To Hero headquarters had been thankful to see him. They’d been happy he’d run away when he did. The heroes who had been captured, Cowboy Rockstar, Cannonballer: Baller of Cannons, and so many others, might have a different opinion though. But he’d done what he’d done, made the choices he’d made, and hopefully history would vindicate them. Hopefully he’d actually be able to lead the ragtag Resistance that had formed to save the world. Hopefully he was up for it. 

Ultiman looked around the room he was in, if only to take his mind off of the challenges that lay ahead of him. He was in the Haberdashery, one of the many satellite hideouts Hatman maintained in cities with large superhuman presences. Specifically, he was in a room called the Hall of Hats. The room’s walls were covered with hooks and on those hooks were dozens of hats that were, ostensibly, worthy of being enshrined in a hall. Ultiman floated over to one of them, a cowboy hat made out of black velvet with the name “Winston” glued onto it in silver sequins. Ultiman looked below it and read the description: “‘Hat worn by Winston Churchill at his stag party’ There’s no way that’s true.”  

“You calling me a liar?”

Ultiman quickly landed and spun around.

“Hatman, I didn’t hear you come in.”

The other man frowned and folded his arms across the yellow tophat insignia that was emblazoned onto his chest, “As pleased as I am that I managed to sneak up on you, you seem distracted.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I suppose not, they’re all in the other room. Waiting for you.”

“Waiting to hear my big plan.”

“Waiting for you. You’re the symbol U. The platonic ideal of superheroism. The-”

“Don’t say it.”

“The ultimate man. I get that you’re nervous, a supervillain takeover of this magnitude has never had so much success. Smuggles has somehow managed to do what nobody else has ever been able to. He’s taken the entire world by surprise. We’re scattered, most of our people are captured or missing. He’s put the heroes on defensive. He’s managed to unite every supervillain in the world. He’s managed to ally himself with the forces of Hell.” 

“You sound like you’re impressed.”

“By all measures it’s very impressive stuff.”

Ultiman smirked, “Maybe we’ll be able to get you one of his hats.”

Hatman looked him dead in the eye, “I would love that.”

Ultiman laughed for the first time since he’d flown away from How to Hero Headquarters. It felt good. It felt unearned. 

Hatman didn’t even crack a smile, “Shall we go in there?”

“I’ll meet you out there in a second.”

Hatman shrugged and then left him.

“All right Ultiman, game time. Show time. Give them the Ultiman they’re expecting. Give them the symbol.”

With a deep breath, he walked out of the Hall of Hats and into a large dining room. Why one would need a large dining room in their hideout Ultiman wasn’t sure, but he took his place at the head of the ornate table in the center of the room anyhow. He quickly scanned the room. He recognized several of the heroes sitting around the table and nodded at them. To his right was Professor Paleontologist who smiled at him reassuringly. There were other heroes, heroes he was ashamed to say he didn’t recognize scattered around the room, along with a few support-team types. Gael, director of G.U.Y. I.N. T.H.E. C.H.A.I.R. was there, scrolling on his smartphone, absorbing information like a sponge. Two of the How To Hero guys were there too, Ultiman didn’t know their real names but he recalled they went by Parenthetical Guy and Curly. Parenthetical Guy was trying to squeeze a collapsible lawn chair in between ‘Earo and Super-Sonic-Plasma-Ultra-Cannon Man at the conference table. 

(“Why do you even need to sit at the big table, you have super hearing, you could be on the moon and you’d still be able to hear!”)

Curly was standing in the corner chatting Hatman’s ear off as the hero tried to sink into the shadows, as was his custom at large meetings, even those held in his own hideout.

Ultiman smiled wryly and clapped his hands together, taking care not to accidentally create a sonic boom with the force of it. Instantly everybody stopped talking and every head in the room turned towards him, with the exception of Gael whose eyes were still glued to his phone.

“I think it’s time we began,” Ultiman said, double checking that his feet were on the ground. 

“I won’t lie to you, we’re in trouble,” Ultiman started simply. “Big trouble, unprecedented trouble. But that’s just a day in the life right?”

There were a few scattered chuckles.

“What’s important to remember though, is that this is not insurmountable trouble. We’re down but we’re not out. In this room I see a few dozen people who want to make a change and believe they can do so. A few dozen people who still have hope. And hope is a powerful thing. It might be the greatest power we have right now. As we speak Smuggles and his Crime Consortium are sitting pretty in How To Hero headquarters. Hundreds of our comrades are languishing who knows where. World leaders are missing. Military bases have been taken over by armies of the damned. The rest of the galaxy waits on bated breath to see if Earth’s heroes are up to snuff. To see if we have what it takes to put the world back together again. It won’t be easy, but none of us would be here, none of us would do this job, if we cared about easy. I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had easy and I’m still here. I’m still standing. And so are the rest of you. So let’s show Smuggles and the Fish Whisperer, and Marconi and the Skeleton King and-”

“And Zeus,” Gael chirped from his seat.

“And what?”

“Zeus, lord of the skies, king of the Greek gods. He’s just endorsed Smuggles. Apparently he thinks it’s hilarious that Greg the Skeleton King has deposed the rest of the rulers of Hell, his brother, Hades, among them of course.” 

“Ah,” Ultiman said. “Thank you Gael.”

He took a moment to recompose himself, “And Zeus too then. Add him to the list of people we’ll have to fight to save the Earth. That’s fine. Who cares. We’re heroes, and saving the world is what we do.”

“Hear hear!”

“Let’s show them what we’re made of!”

(“I’m telling you, I’m important I should really be at the table for this. What if someone takes a picture of this historic moment. People are going to think its weird if I’m not in the picture.”)

Ultiman held up his hand and the chatter stopped. “Now, before we can take the fight to the villains there are a few things we need to take care of. Hatma- Where’s Hatman?”

{“He left.”}

“He left? What do you mean he left?”

{“Like out the door.”}

“While I was speaking? While I was speaking just now? But that’s so rude. Wow.”

{“I know. So rude!”}

Ultiman shook his head, “Whatever, do you mind going after him?”

{“You got it chief! I’ll just go put on my costume.”}

Ultiman tilted his head, “I don’t think that’s necessary. I just need you to step outside and grab him for a minute.”

Curly was already gone. 

“All right then. Hatman knows what to do I’m sure.”

(“What if I just sat on your lap? Come on, you’re a cyborg, you won’t even feel it.”)

Ultiman turned to Professor Paleontologist, “Professor, as you can see we’re a little light-handed. While it’s possible we’re all that’s left of Earth’s defenders I’m inclined to believe, to hope, that there are others out there. Why don’t you see if you can gather some allies for us.”

Professor Paleontologist, “It would be my pleasure sir. I believe I know just where to look.”

“Excellent, and why don’t you take him with you,” Ultiman said pointing to Parenthetical Guy, who was now talking to the superhero Yellowjacket. 

(“Come on, there’s literally no way you deserve a seat at this table more than me, at least just scoot down a little bit.”)

Professor Paleontologist tugged at his collar, “Well, sir, I don’t know if that’s the best idea. I’m happy to take somebody else if you want me to go with a partner.”

“Parenthetical Guy!” Ultiman shouted drawing the gangly man’s attention.

(“Yo what’s up big guy?”)

“I’ve got a mission for you, go with Professor Paleontologist. He’ll explain it.”

(“Aw man, Professor Paleontologist? Do I gotta?”)

“Yes.”

(“All right, fine. Let’s go PP, I’m not getting any younger.”)

Professor Paleontologist rolled his eyes but joined Parenthetical Guy by the door. Ultiman heard a collective sigh of relief when they left the room.

Ultiman took stock of who was left. His two biggest names had just left, and all that remained now were the second-stringers and the also rans, but that didn’t matter. Ultiman meant what he said before, he believed that the motley crew in front of him could mean the difference for humanity. And a leader is nothing if they don’t believe in their troops.

“Now,” Ultiman said. “Let’s talk strategy.”

                                                            ***

“So, Ultiman says we need allies. Luckily I have a colleague in-”

(“Blah blah blah. Trust me, when Ultiman asked us to gather super cool allies to help us take back the world I’m sure he didn’t mean any colleagues of yours.”)

Professor Paleontologist arched an eyebrow, “I suppose you have someone in mind?”

(“As a matter of fact I do!”) Parenthesis Guy shouted, pulling out his cellphone.

“I wasn’t aware you had superpowered associates,” Professor Paleontologist said. “Or associates at all outside your merry band of bloggers.”

(“What was that a joke? I didn’t think they had jokes in the Paleozoic Era.”)

“Actually, there were no dinosaurs in the Paleo-”

(“Oh my god I’m not doing this right now.”)

Professor Paleontologist rolled his eyes, he’d been superheroing for a long time. Longer than Ultiman or Hatman or Cowboy Rockstar or many of the other big named heroes, and yet still this is what he was reduced to. A glorified babysitter for a hyperactive manchild. Of course, he knew what he was doing was important; as it stood, the Resistance didn’t quite have the manpower that would be necessary to take back the world. Yet he still couldn’t help but feel a little bit insulted. Even Smuggles’ Consortium of Crime hadn’t even bothered to attack to him when the villains took over. The villain Professor Paleontologist had been working with, Chives, a 50-foot tall vampire stegosaurus, had simply grabbed the other hero on their team, the robot warrior BiteLock and ran off, leaving Professor Paleontologist alone. When even the villains who are in the process of taking over the world don’t want anything to do with you, well, that says something doesn’t it?

“We do this to help people, not to be recognized,” Professor Paleontologist muttered to himself.

(“What was that?”) Parenthetical Guy said.

“Nothing. You said you had some leads?”

(“As a matter of fact I do!”) Parenthetical Guy declared and then held up his phone to Professor Paleontologist.

“Ethynda Goodwitch?” Professor Paleontologist read.

(“Our very own local village mystic!”) Parenthetical Guy exclaimed. (“She can use all her cool magic and witchcraft to send Smuggles straight to hell or whatever.”)

“Smuggles is allied with Hell, remember? And correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Ethynda hate you and everyone else from How To Hero? I can’t imagine she’d offer up her services if literally the most obnoxious one of you showed up at her door.”

(“Gosh I don’t even have the time to tell you everything that was wrong with that.”)

“Great! So why don’t we-”

(“First of all-”)

“Oh.”

(“Smuggles is allied with one of the lords of Hell, and I’m sure in doing so he’s managed to alienate a fair few other ones. Secondly, Ethynda used to hate How To Hero, on account of the fact that we recommended that every would be superhero in a 100 mile radius try blackmailing her into giving her powers in our very first post.”)

“Yes you lot made a rather strong impression on the magic community at large that day.”

(“But I have to imagine she doesn’t hate us all that much seeing as she has never, not even once, rained magical destruction and chaos down upon us. Like I’ll admit she was one of my top suspects for the whole anonymous bombing thing last year, but now that we know that was Smuggles I’m more sure than ever that she and I are actually really great friends and she’s a big fan of our blog.”)

“Blackmail notwithstanding I imagine.”

(“Blackmail definitelywithstanding Professor!”)

“Very well, how do we find this-”

(“Thirdly I am far from the most obnoxious How To Hero member. That’s definitely Curly 

or maybe Dr. Brainwave’s Greatest Shame a giant monster who eats people, which is pretty obnoxious.”)

“Are you done yet?”

(“Fourthly, Ethynda doesn’t even have a door, she lives in a cave on a mountain.”)

Professor Paleontologist folded his arms and waited patiently.

(“Oh, I’m done now.”)

“Excellent. Now, how do we get to this magical mountain cave?”

(“We’ll take the teleporter, good thing Half-Face McGee was captured right? There’s no

way he’d let us use that thing.”)

Professor Paleontologist rolled his eyes. “Ok, so where did you leave your teleport pad?”

(“Oh, we’ve been standing on it this whole time,”) and with that, he pulled out a remote control from his pocket and clicked a button. 

                                                             ***

Hatman pressed up against  the alley wall as a trio of supervillains strolled past. Another patrol, Smuggles must have noticed that a few heroes had escaped him and had sent out his villainous lackeys to find and capture any superheroic stragglers. The only people he’d seen so far had been villains. No civilians, the people of Clifftown must have all been hiding out in their homes. No heroes either, which didn’t fill Hatman with confidence. He had hoped to find others out here, but it seemed like the skeleton crew hiding out in the Haberdashery was everybody that was left. No matter, he’d faced down worse odds. Hatman checked the secure communicator in his gizmo-packed gauntlet. Still no messages. That was probably a bad sign. When Smuggles had launched his take over, and the villains had all simultaneously betrayed and subdued the heroes they were working with, Hatman had been in the middle of a frozen bay with the villain Friar Frostbite. Even Hatman wasn’t above admitting that the situation had been dire. Friar Frostbite had the element of surprise, a cryo-gun, and a distinct home field advantage. According to some, it was only the timely arrival of Hurricane Hank, and Hatman’s bitterest non-supervillain rival, Glassesman, fresh from dispelling a sharknado, that allowed Hatman to prevail over his bitterest supervillain rival. According to Hatman, he would’ve been fine either way. After all, he’d fitted his gauntlets with superheaters specifically to deprive Friar Frostbite of any icy cold advantages he might possess. Still, the extra hands certainly allowed for things to be taken care of more quickly and within seconds Friar Frostbite was down for the count. Which presented Hatman with an incredible opportunity. Aboard Glassesman’s aviator-goggles shaped cargo plane, the trio of heroes had stripped Friar Frostbite of his costume, which helpfully included an insulated ski-mask, and his weaponry. Glassesman then assumed Friar Frostbite’s identity and flew his plane back to How To Hero headquarters, which had, by that point, become the seat of Smuggles’s power, while Hurricane Hank flew Hatman and Friar Frostbite to the Haberdashery. Since then, Glassesman had been providing Hatman with information over a secure network. Troop movements, supplies inventory, a roster of Smuggles’s known associates. Valuable information that the Resistance could use to topple Smuggles’s regime. And information that was specifically useful for Hatman, who had taken it upon himself to sabotage as many of Smuggles’s operations while Ultiman and the others developed a plan of attack. But the messages had stopped. Which probably meant that Glassesman had been found out. 

Typical Glassesman, Hatman thought as he removed the gauntlet and tossed it in a dumpster, it was a tremendous waste of resources, but he couldn’t risk Smuggles’s people figuring out how to trace the messages Glassesman had been sending back to him. He’d be sure to send Glassesman a bill for all of the exorbitantly expensive proprietary super-tech the gauntlet possessed. That guy can’t do anything right.

{“Whatcha doin?”}

In one swift movement, Hatman unclipped a pocket on his utility belt, pulled the miniature top hat out of it and spun around on his heel, the tophat growing to full size as he did so.

{“Whoa whoa! It’s just me, Curly! Don’t point your… shrinking top hat? At me”} Curly shouted, waving his empty hands in front of him.

The short, round, goateed man was sitting upon a dumpster, dangling his legs over the edge. 

Hatman narrowed his eyes and returned the tophat to his belt. Curly watched as it shrunk to fit back in its tiny compartment.

“It’s a magical top hat, it was a gift from a wizard.”

{“Do bunnies come out of it?”}

“Among other things. What are you doing here?”

{“Ultiman sent me after you, you left the meeting kind of abruptly.”}

“I didn’t see any need to remain there. I could be of better use to the Resistance out here on the streets.”

{“Well what are you doing out here that’s so important?”}

“Sabotage.”

{“Sabotage?”}

“Yes, it’s the most important thing in a time like this. Let Ultiman plan his full frontal assaults and face to face confrontations. I’ll happily take control of the more shadowy parts of this resistance.”

{“Ooh shadowy stuff. Count me in.”}

“No.”

{“Aw come on!”}

“I work alone.”

{“388 different Hatboys beg to differ.”}

“You make a point.”

{“Also, like, we’ve already worked together. I was a Hatboy at one point remember?”}

“What?”

{“That’s how I snuck up on you just now. You trained me. I was Hatboy #283.”}

Hatman just shrugged, “I’m sure you understand that I can’t possibly remember every Hatboy that has worked under me. My thoughts are better occupied by coming up with new ways to fight crime and new designs for hat-themed vehicles.”

Curly frowned, {“You seriously don’t remember when we worked together?”}

“You’re seriously still talking about that? If you want to help that’s fine, but come on we’ve got work to do.” 

{“What kind of work?”}

Beneath the reflective lenses in his top hat shaped cowl, Hatman rolled his eyes. This Curly wasn’t the type he usually worked with. He asked a few too many questions. Hatman knew what he needed to do. He needed to inspire. Awe, respect, maybe even some fear, he’d have to see how the night went. In pursuit of this Hatman struck his most imposing and superheroic pose. He looked off into the distance, a look of steely resolve taking over his chiseled features. He put his hands on his hips and lowered his voice an octave.

“We,” he paused here, an age old trick to make civilians and sidekicks hang on your every word. “Need to steal a truck.” 

A moment of silence passed between the duo and Hatman was sure Curly would follow his lead unquestionably from now on. These wannabe heroes were always so easy to manipulate.

{“Oh you’re done. So is that just any truck or…”}

Hatman was jolted from his self-indulgent reverie. Apparently it would take more than dynamic posing and vague statements to bring this one in line. 

“No! A specific truck. If we just steal any truck that makes us no better than these repulsive villains.”

{“It’s just that all you said was the word ‘truck’ and then you just stopped talking like I was supposed to understand what you meant. You should really try incorporating specific articles into your speech like ‘we need to steal that truck’ or ‘we need to steal the truck that drives by this alleyway every Thursday at 2:30 pm’ or ‘we need to steal the truck that drives down my block every night making a whole lot of noise even though there are signs specifically prohibiting such trucks from driving down my purely residential block.’”}

Hatman sighed.

“Supply trucks drive through Clifftown every day carrying everything from valuables to essentials to How to Hero headquarters. We need to intercept and hijack one of them.”

Curly hopped off of the dumpster and smacked Hatman on the back.

{“See! Was that all that hard? So where do we find one of these trucks?”}

“According to my observations, one should be rolling by this alley in ten minutes.”

{“Great! So what do we need to do?”}

“We need to steal it.”

{“You can’t think that’s what I meant.”}

“I’ve learned never to overestimate the intelligence of a prospective Hatboy.”

{“Prospective? I literally was Hatboy! I’m one of the few surviving ones! I’m wearing the utility belt you gave me right now!”}

“You’re wearing a belt? Perfect. Tell me, do you know how to drive a truck?”

{“I’m legally not allowed to drive one but I guess?”}

Hatman checked the time readout on his remaining gauntlet.

“That’ll have to do,” he said as extracted a grappling hook from his own belt and looped the hook around Curly’s belt.

{“What’s happening right now.”}

“Like I said,” Hatman said as he ran to the entrance of the alleyway. “We’re going to steal a truck.”

                                                            ***

In a flash of light Professor Paleontologist and Parenthetical Guy appeared in front of a gaping cave. Parenthetical Guy quickly turned around and emptied the contents of his stomach.

(“Gosh, every time,”) he said, wheezing.

“I’m sure throwing up on her doorstep will ingratiate you with Ethynda even more,” Professor Paleontologist said as he stepped off of the teleport pad and examined the entrance of the cave. “So do we just walk right in or?”

Suddenly, two large rocks at the entrance of the cave shuddered and started to roll towards our two heroes. 

(“Have you ever visited a magical lair before?”) Parenthetical Guy said as he brushed off his pants and held up his fists. (“First you have to fight off the magical guardians and then you just walk right in.”)

Professor Paleontologist instinctively reached for the bright red amulet that hung over his chest. The boulders had now sprouted limbs and Professor Paleontologist didn’t think their four fists would be quite enough to overpower them. 

“Well I wish you would’ve mentioned that before we teleported here,” Professor Paleontologist said. 

(“Yeah well I wish that Rockblock were here so he could reason with these rock monsters. Or maybe seduce them or something. Side salad, do you think Rockblock is considered attractive? Like by golem standards I mean.”)

Professor Paleontologist didn’t answer. He was clutching his amulet now and, mentally, reaching backwards in time. The magical amulet had been gifted to him by a council of ghostly dinosaurs nearly two decades ago, and it allowed him to draw dinosaurs from the far flung past into the present so that he could use their unique gifts and abilities to fight the forces of evil. It was a tremendous honor and responsibility to wield such a powerful weapon and it was one that the Professor took very seriously. He had studied up on time travel and chaos theory and he was well aware of the incalculable ill effects that could result from wonton time travel, and so he very rarely used his incredible powers to their fullest extent. Instead he used his amulet primarily to confer with the great spirits that had gifted it to him in the first place. In essence, whenever he was struck with an especially difficult problem he gave himself a moment to consider, and ask, what would a dinosaur do. In this moment several of the departed dinos were snarling at him to either sacrifice his puking partner, or bring in some real firepower. One though, a ghosty compsognathus, presented him with a different, somewhat more elegant solution. The compsognathus, made famous by the blockbuster hit, The Lost World: Jurassic Park, were tiny dinosaurs, no larger than the modern day chicken, and not the freakishly huge ones that have set up camp in the Grand Canyon in recent years, regular chickens. They didn’t have the bite or size of other dinosaurs, but they learned how to use their small stature to their advantage. The compy told Professor Paleontologist what it would do in this situation, and the Professor thanked it, and all the other spirits, before releasing his hold on his amulet.

All of this occurred in a fraction of a second. 

(“Like, let’s say Rockblock had the normal amount of arms and everything and had like, skin, he’d be undeniably attractive then right? I feel like that’s not really up for debate. So I guess what I’m really asking is if golems find the same qualities attractive that humans do. Does that make se-”)

“Get the left one’s attention and then follow me,” Professor Paleontologist said, finally cutting Parenthetical Guy off, much to the rock monsters’, and Parenthetical Guy’s, great relief.

(“Get the attention of the hulking rock monster that is already fully focused on destroying us? You got it, but only because I think it’s a terrible idea and want my death to haunt your conscience for the rest of your stupid life.”) 

Parenthetical Guy scooped some pebbles off of the ground and held them aloft towards the rock monster was bearing down on him. (“Watch your step big boy, or these pebbles get it!”)

The rock monster snorted and lifted up its giant fist. 

(“Ok that didn’t work,”) Parenthetical guy blinked and then tossed the handful of pebbles at the rock monster and began running in the opposite direction. 

“Follow me!” Professor Paleontologist shouted as he began running directly towards the other rock monster.

(“This is actually the worst plan!”) Parenthetical Guy complained as he dutifully followed. 

Professor Paleontologist led his hapless partner and the towering mountainous man that followed him towards the other rock monster who slowly raised its own fists and howled in rage, seemingly more at the Professor’s audacity that anything else. As the two interlopers neared the howling golem Professor Paleontologist shouted, “Slide!” and then collapsed into a flawless baseball player’s third base slide, deftly maneuvering right between the angry monster’s legs. Once he was through the monster’s legs, he quickly popped back up onto his feet and took off running towards the cave’s entrance, stopping just long enough to make sure Parenthetical Guy had made it through as well before the monster had punched a crater into the Earth. He had, but not nearly as gracefully and Professor Paleontologist saw him spitting rocks out of his mouth that he had accidentally ingested when he dove and face planted into the ground. 

“Keep moving!” Professor Paleontologist shouted, “We need to make sure we’re clear!”

(“Clear of what?”) Parenthetical Man shouted indignantly before he was flung off his feet 

again by a tremendous boom. The two rock monsters had collided sending a shower of smaller stones hurtling in every direction. 

Professor Paleontologist grabbed Parenthetical Guy and wrenched him clear from any of the larger rock chunks. 

(“That was your plan?”) 

“It worked didn’t it?” 

As it would turn out, Professor Paleontologist’s plan had not worked. Rather than destroying both rock monsters, their speedy collision had actually caused the monsters to merge somewhat. Now instead of fighting two rock monsters, they were facing a royally ticked off two-headed rock monster. It was a little bit better, but not much. 

“Oh this is bad,” Professor Paleontologist said dejectedly as he reached for his amulet once more.

(“Oh this is perfect!”) Parenthetical Guy said as he reached for his remote control, and Professor Paleontologist was surprised not to hear even an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

Parenthetical Guy winked at the professor and then pointed his remote control at the giant two-headed monstrous monolith. In a flash it, and the teleport pad it had inadvertently landed on following its amalgamation, disappeared. Professor Paleontologist blinked wordlessly.

(“Handled!”) Parenthetical Guy shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

“I- I guess you did, wow.”

(“No need to thank me Prof, I’m just doing what heroes and vitally important resistance fighters do.”)

“Where did you send it?” 

(“The moon, they’ll be fine. Rock monsters don’t need to breathe. Don’t worry about climbing down this ridiculously high mountain, Ethynda will just teleport us back to headquarters once she agrees to join us.”)

“Well, I guess we should go in then.”

Parenthetical Guy smiled widely and then walked into the cave. Or, rather, he walked in the magical force field that protected the cave’s entrance.

(“Oh come on Ethynda! We fought your guardians, I think we at least deserve a conversation!”)

“Deserve?” a shrill voice cackled from within the cave. “The only thing you deserve is a swift kick in the behind as far as I’m concerned.”

Professor Paleontologist braced himself for another fight as he watched a young woman in a bright green tracksuit walk out of the cave, a black cat followed her, eyeing the two intruders through slitted yellow eyes. Or, Professor Paleontologist could have sworn, eyeing his amulet in particular. 

(“Ethynda! Darling! How have you been?”) Parenthetical Guy held his arms open, as though he expected the witch to give him a hug.

Ethynda waved him off. 

“You! How dare you show your parenthetical personage at my sanctum. I have half a mind to strike you down where you stand right now,” Ethynda’s eyes started to glow an unnatural green and her clenched fists burst into green flames.

Professor Paleontologist didn’t like the sound of that, but, to everybody’s consternation Parenthetical Guy didn’t seem all that concerned. 

(“Ethy! You slay me-”)

“I’m about to.”

(“No need! Love your energy though. Love the spunk. Sublime spunk, wouldn’t you say so Prof?”)

Professor Paleontologist gave him a sidelong glance and then held up his hands as if to say “please do not involve me in whatever it is that you’re doing you fast talking imbecile.”

(“Now, Ethy, hows about you channel that sublime rage against a smuggler and a man who whispers to fish? I really do feel like that would be a far better use of your time. Don’t you?”)

Ethynda’s eyes reverted to their normal color and the flames around her hands dissipated. Professor Paleontologist let out a breath he’d been holding but kept his hands near his amulet.

“You’ve come to me for… help?” 

(“Why of course! You’re only one of my dearest friends! And the world’s in trouble. We can use a powerful and magnificent witch such as yourself. Plus, the other side’s got a bunch of damned souls that I’m sure you could steal?”)

Ethynda sighed and put her hands on her hips.

“I suppose you two may as well come inside. I don’t need you superhero types drawing any more attention to me than you already have.”

She turned and walked back into her cave and Professor Paleontologist and Parenthetical Guy warily followed her. The inside of the cave was not at all what Professor Paleontologist had expected. He’d been inside a few magical lairs in his day, and most of them were filled with ancient and powerful artifacts, the walls were usually adorned with mantras or wards or the occasional shelf filled with pickled eyeballs, paws, tails, dreams, and other common potion ingredients. This cave, however, was empty, and Professor Paleontologist found that especially worrying.

“Where is everything?” he asked.

Ethynda raised an eyebrow, “Everything?”

“I’ve heard about you Ethynda, you’re a powerful sorceress, and you keep to yourself. I don’t imagine you spend all of your time sitting alone in an empty cave. So I ask again, where is everything? Where are all the charms and idols and amulets and icons and-”

(“Thingamabobs and whosits and whatsits.”)

Ethynda rolled her eyes.

“I’m moving.”

“Moving?”

“Moving, leaving, whatever. The world’s gone to hell and trust me, I’d know, I’ve been. You and your super pals lost. Big time. And we don’t intend to hang around for the blowback.”

(“We?”)

“What do you mean you’re leaving? You have the power to help us set things right? Where are you even going?”

(“What do you mean we?”)

“Me and every other magic user I know. We’re not interested in litigating the squabbles of you cape and mask and fisticuff types. This is not our war and we have no interest in fighting a losing battle. So we’re exiting this plane of existence.”

(“You’re going to the Magirealm.”)

“Naturally.”

“The Magirealm? You think you’ll be safe there?” Professor Paleontologist shouted, waving his arms wildly and freely. After all, there was nothing of value he might accidentally knock over anyway.

“I guarantee you we’ll be a lot safer there than we will be here. Besides, what on Gaea would make you think that I’d be interested in joining your little team?”

(“Why Ethynda, we’re friends aren’t we?”)

“Absolutely not, what would make you think that?”

(“Well, I’m not dead.”)

“And?”

“That’s actually as far as that line of reasoning goes,” Professor Paleontologist said, feeling deflated.

“Do you know how many halfwits and sociopaths tried to blackmail me into giving them powers after your stupid blog advised them to? You’ve caused me no shortage of problems, we’re certainly not friends. Now as far as me not killing you goes, what kind of person do you take me for? I don’t just murder anybody who insults me on the internet.”

(“Aw are you still sour about that? We just wrote that post about magical vehicles for you, I thought that made things even.”)

“Sure, fine, we’re even. You can find your own way out right? There’s just the one entrance,” Ethynda said as she turned away from Professor Paleontologist and Parenthetical Guy.

(“Are you telling me that you’re ok with supervillains taking over the world?”) Parenthetical Guy shouted drawing a sharp glance from Ethynda’s cat.

“The petty disputes of superheroes and supervillains are of little concern to the magical community. We are more than content to wait this crisis out in the Magirealm.”

(“What a bunch of cowards you are! All that abra kadabra power and you just vacate this plane of existence until we save the world from Smuggles and Chuck and… Oh, is that what this is? Are you afraid of who they’re working with? Is this about Greg the Skeleton King?”)

Ethynda whipped around and grabbed Parenthetical Guy by the collar of his shirt.

“The forces of Hell are not to be trifled with. You’d do well to flee as well.” 

(“Oh please. His name is Greg, we can take him.”)

Ethynda threw him against the wall and Professor Paleontologist ran over to him.

“I’ll ask you one more time to leave my home before I force you out.”

“Are you ok?” Professor Paleontologist asked, helping Parenthetical Guy to his feet.

(“Wait! Wait, ok, you won’t help us fight. That’s fine. That’s your right. Just grant me one wish.”)

“No.”

(“Come on Ethynda, just get me and my sidekick here into the Cube. Then you can go off and cavort with your magical friends in another dimension.”)

“Ha! That is your wish? Very well then, I’ll transport you into the Cube. But if you think he’s going to help you you’re even dumber than you look.”

Parenthesis Guy dusted off his pants and smirked, (“I get that a lot thanks.”)

“Wait a minute, the Cube, as in-”

“Leave,” Ethynda said as her eyes began glowing green and she snapped her fingers.

                                                            ***

Hatman reached the entrance of the alley just as a large cargo truck drove by. The words “All hail King Smuggles Eternal Ruler of the-” had been hastily spray painted on to the side of it. So hastily in fact, that the last word was just a green blob instead of anything discernable. Curly watched the grapple line extend as Hatman, still gripping his end of the grappling hook, hopped onto the back of the truck and, using magnets in his gauntlet and boots, began climbing around the side of it to the front. At this point the truck’s driver, the supervillain Jhonny McBarnburner, noticed that there was a masked hero crawling across the side of his truck and started responding accordingly. Jhonny cut the wheel sharply to the right, causing the truck to swerve violently but Hatman clung on. With his free hand he activated a small signal hijacker in his utility belt, giving him full control of the truck’s radio.

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to shake me criminal scum!” Hatman declared over the radio.

“Hey don’t call me scum! You know my name! You stopped me from burning down a barn like a month ago!” Jhonny shouted at his dashboard.

“I can see that you’re talking to me but I can’t hear you with your window rolled up. I’ll assume you’re issuing a full and unequivocal surrender.”

“Full and unequivocal what? The nerve of this guy,” Jhonny Mcbarnburner said as he rolled down the window so the costumed man clinging to the side of his truck could hear his witty jibes and retorts. 

“Is this better? Can you hear me now?” Jhonny asked before receiving a magnetized boot to the face as Hatman hurled himself through the now open cab window. Jhonny Mcbarnburner flew across the cab into the passenger’s side window. Hatman, who was now sitting in the driver’s seat quickly wrapped his grappling gun around the steering wheel and slammed on the gas.

“Ah come on!” Jhonny said as his hand ignited into a small fireball. “The boss isn’t going to like me singing the inside of this truck but I reckon he’d prefer slightly crispy to nothing. I reckon bringing your charred remains in oughta make me mighty popular too.”

“That’s funny,” Hatman said as he threw a miniature plastic fireman’s helmet at Jhonny’s hand. The plastic hat exploded into fire-retardant foam which quickly extinguished Jhonny’s fist. “Bringing you in won’t raise my standing with the Resistance one iota, what does that tell you about how this fight is likely to play out.”

Jhonny screamed as he lunged at Hatman causing him to lose control of the truck. Hatman sighed and pushed Jhonny off of him back into the passenger’s seat. He then pressed the recall button on his grappling gun and, while keeping one hand on the wheel, vacated the driver’s seat himself, joining Jhonny on the passenger’s side.

                                                            ***

Curly had grown bored of waiting in the alley and was now sitting against a grimy wall plucking out a somber tune on the grapple wire that was attached to his belt.

{“What the heck is Hatman doing over there?”} he asked.

All of a sudden he felt the rope go taut.

{“Huh?”}

Then he felt himself moving. 

{“Wait a minuuuuuuhhhh-”}

Curly found himself soaring through the air behind the out of control truck as the grapple line grew shorter and shorter.

{“This is insaaaaaane!”} he shouted as he flew through the still open window on the truck’s driver’s side and slammed into the steering wheel.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Hatman said as he released his own hand from the wheel. “You drive.”

{“What the hell was that!”} Curly shouted as he quickly grabbed the wheel and put his foot on the brake to try to slow the truck down a bit.

“Meet me at the corner of 14th and Tropp, I’ve got a garage there,” Hatman shouted as he wrestled with Jhonny McBarnburner.

{“Meet you?”} Curly asked frantically as he struggled to keep the bounding truck under control as a veritable all out brawl raged on inches away from him.

“Yeah,” Hatman grunted as he grabbed Jhonny McBarnburner with one hand and threw the passenger door open with the other one, causing both hero and villain to tumble out of the speeding truck.

{“Well, all right then. See you there,”} Curly said as he gripped onto the truck’s steering wheel for dear life. Through the rearview mirror he could see Hatman tussling with a fully engulfed in flames Jhonny McBarburner in the middle of the street.

{“You really haven’t changed much my hatted honcho,”} Curly said.

A few minutes later, Curly brought the truck to a stop in front of the garage that Hatman had described to him and was surprised when the door started to rise open to allow the truck in.

Aha! Curly thought. There must be some camera system that has identified me as a former Hatboy so it’s letting me in. At least the system remembers me.

All thoughts of being validated by Hatman’s computer system evaporated when he saw Hatman standing inside the garage next to a tied up Jhonny McBarnburner. 

“Took you long enough,” Hatman said after Curly had pulled the truck in and the door had closed behind him.

{“How in the world did you beat me here!”}

“Oh please,” Hatman said as though the question were absurd. He walked over to the back of the truck, “Now let’s see what we’ve got here.”

As it would turn out, the truck contained all manner of goods that might be of use to an evil world-dominating organization: Weapons, money, magical artifacts, even several jugs of clean water.

“This is the problem,” Hatman said, tapping one of the jugs. “If Smuggles and his crime consortium control everything from weapons to water, they control the populace. We can’t compete with that. If we can’t even drink freely how are we supposed to take on the combined forces of every villain on Earth and every soul that’s ever pledged fealty to the lords of Hell.”

{“Yeah but they only control it, they don’t have it. Not all of it, not yet.”}

“What do you mean?”

{“Smuggles is operating out of our headquarters and let me tell you, the most valuable thing we kept there was a dirty napkin signed by what turned out to be a very convincing Owen Wilson impersonator. If Smuggles wants the world’s resources on hand he’s going to pretty much have to transfer everything. Which means they have to get supply trucks past us.”}

Hatman smiled, “Which gives us the chance to take control of everything before it gets to Smuggles.”

{“Exactly.”}

                                                            ***

“The Cube” as it is called by those who know of its existence, is exactly what it sounds like. It is a cube. Made of a superstrong impenetrable alloy forged from the will of the most powerful flesh-and-blood human being in the universe, The Cube floats alone in a pocket dimension that, due to a few well placed bribes at the International Board of Travel, is totally inaccessible through official channels. But all of the best pocket dimensions are. In reality, The Cube’s pocket dimension is not as wholly separate from the rest of the multiverse as its sole occupant would like to believe. In truth, there are more than a couple of ways in. A few backdoors, so to speak, that arose during the construction of this most isolated of all dimensions. You see, The Cube was not built in an existing remote pocket dimension, it was kludged together from interdimensional debris and detritus that was siphoned off from other pocket realms. One of those other pocket realms was the Magirealm, The Cube’s closest interdimensional neighbor. Not that dimensions really have neighbors, but we’re doing our absolute best to spare you from the brain-shatteringly nonsensical physics that govern these strange realms. Anyhow, since The Cube’s dimension contains fragments of the mystical energies that constitute the Magirealm, it can, theoretically be accessed by a skilled enough magician, though none have ever attempted such a feat. While most mages would agree that travel to The Cube is possible for mystics, all would agree that such a trip would be fruitless at best, and dangerous at worst. There is only one being that calls The Cube its home, and he prefers to issue invitations to his realm at his own leisure. That man is Power Jones, the man with one million powers, and at the moment he is… hosting some kind of time-shattering game show?

“Welcome one and all to another thrilling episode of everybody’s favorite show, ‘Historical Figure Versus an Android Duplicate of Them From The Future’ I’m your host Power Jones!” a pale, floppy-haired man clad in a purple three-piece suit gestured broadly and flashed a dazzling smile at a bulky video camera that rested on a tall tripod. Canned applause and whistling filled the room, emanating from seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once. Behind him two individuals, one human and one robotic stood at separate lightbulb-bespeckled podiums. A large glowing sign with the gameshow’s name flashed above them. 

“Let’s go meet our contestants, why don’t we?” Power Jones said, flashing one more smile at the camera.

“Yeah!” a disembodied voice shouted.

“Thank you disembodied voice!” Power Jones shouted as he whirled around to face the 

other two people in the room. He strolled over to the human first, resting his elbows on the top of the gaudy podium and cradling his chin on the tops of his hands.

“Please recite your name for the audience, good sir,” Power said.

The man stammered something in Italian causing Power Jones to frown. 

“Right right, other languages, I keep forgetting to account for those don’t I,” he said to himself. “Oh well, an easy fix,” he waved his left hand with a flourish in the man’s direction.

“This place is incredible? And what’s this? English? Fascinating. Pray tell, who are you?”

Power Jones beamed and slapped the other man on the back, “I’m Power Jones, now, for the good people watching at home. Who are you?”

“Oh yes, of course, my name is Leonardo,” he said.

“Leonardo who,” Power Jones prompted.

“Leonardo… from win?” he said.

Power Jones scratched his head and turned to the robotic contestant at the other podium.

“What?”

“Whatever you used to translate my predecessor’s speech seems to have worked a little too well,” the android said. 

“Oh for Pete’s- It’s Leonardo Da Vinci everybody!” Power shouted, eliciting more disembodied cheers and whistles.

“Yeah!” the disembodied voice shouted.

“And I am Leonardo Da Vinci II, an android clone of the famed polymath from the 32nd century,” the robotic contestant said flatly.

“Incredible!” the original Da Vinci said breathlessly as his gaze settled on the android.

“Righto! Now, as always, our first challenge is a cooking one. Using only the contents of my refrigerator you must make me a sandwich. Whomever makes the best one wins!”

The Da Vincis stared at him blankly.

“You um, you do know that I’m not a chef,” the human Da Vinci said.

Power Jones eyes glowed red and his voice dropped a dozen octaves, “Foolish mortal! Power Jones knows all!”

Da Vinci stumbled backward, clutching his chest, “Demon!” 

Power reverted to normal, “Nah, I’m just messing with you Leo. Of course I know that you’re not a chef, if you were a chef this would be way too easy. None of today’s challenges will have anything to do with your many talents or accomplishments, if they did I’m pretty sure the android would kick your butt at the sciences, and you would wipe the floor with him when it comes to the arts. So to keep things fair and balanced you both are going to make me a-” Power Jones trailed off and his purple suit melted into purple chainmail armor. 

“Someone’s coming,” he said gravely.

Suddenly, in a puff of green smoke Parenthetical Guy and Professor Paleontologist appeared in the center of the room.

(“Wow I did not think we were going to make it,”) Parenthetical Guy said as he surveyed the room.

“Then why did you wish for this?” Professor Paleontologist shouted, gobsmacked. “We need to get back to Earth, Ultiman is count-.”

The two interlopers were flung off of their feet into a nearby wall.

(“Ouch,”) Parenthetical Guy said.

Power Jones’s eyes were glowing red again. “Who are you! And why have you dared trespass onto my domain!” he boomed before winking at Da Vinci.

Professor Paleontologist struggled to his feet, “Mr. Jones, please if you just give us a minute-.”

“I didn’t invite any other guests here and I’m clearly in the middle of something so unless the two of you are more Da Vincis I’m going to have to vaporize you or turn you into sandwich ingredients. You have until I decide to answer.”

“We need your help!” Professor Paleontologist shouted.

(“We are indeed more Da Vincis!”) Parenthetical guy shouted at the same time. Things were rapidly getting out of hand and it was clear to him that this was the best way to have a prolonged conversation with Power Jones.

Power Jones smiled widely and his purple chainmail melted into his usual mode of dress, an unbuttoned purple vest over a one-piece black bodysuit. 

“A couple of Da Vincis in need of my help? Why please, go on.”

Professor Paleontologist stammered nervously “I am, uh. Well you see actually…”

Typical Professor Paleontologist, blowing our one chance of being the heroes of the Resistance, I’ll handle this, Parenthetical guy thought to himself.

(“I am Leonidas Da Vinci, a dimension hopping Da Vinci that defends the multiverse and leads the legendary Da Vinci Corps. This is my sidekick. No wait! My personal assistant, Leon Von Iguanada Vinci, he’s really into dinosaurs, but he assures me that it’s not in a weird way or anything.”)

Power Jones turned to the camera, “Isn’t this something! A visit from the famed and legendary Da Vinci Corps!”

“Are you uh, are you broadcasting this?” Professor Paleontologist asked as he finally took a moment to glance around at his surroundings.

“Of course I am! ‘Historical Figure Versus an Android Duplicate of Them From The Future’ is one of the most popular television programs ever!” Power Jones proclaimed.

“Where does it air?” Professor Paleontologist asked.

Power Jones looked at him for a moment and then scratched his chin “You know what? I honestly have no idea,” Power Jones said.

“What is going on!” Leonardo Da Vinci shouted as he and the android joined the talking circle in the middle of the room. 

“Why have I never heard of a Da Vinci corps?” the android Da Vinci asked.

“Yeah!” the disembodied voice shouted.

Professor Paleontologist whipped around “Who said that?”

“Oh, that’s just a disembodied voice that shouts ‘yeah!’ every so often. I’m not entirely sure where it came from. I don’t think one of my powers is to create a disembodied voice that shouts ‘yeah!’ every so often. But truly it can be difficult to keep track.”

(“Well, that’s certainly neat, but to answer my counterpart’s question, we’re an interdimensional force that defends arts and science from those who wish to destroy it.”) Parenthetical Guy said, thinking on his feet.

“Erm, yes, we defend ideas and creativity. There are a lot of people who would threaten those concepts that are integral to our society, and only Renaissance Men such as ourselves have what it takes to ensure their protection,” Professor Paleontologist said, speaking directly into the camera.

Suddenly the entire room rotated and Parenthetical Guy and Professor Paleontologist were flung to the floor once more.

“None of that explains why you’re here,” Power Jones said, he and the two Da Vincis were now standing on the wall which had previously been the floor.

Parenthetical Guy sprung to his feet, (“Why! We’ve come to recruit these two fine Da Vincis of course!”)

Professor Paleontologist groaned, it was clear to him that his partner was quickly losing track of what they were supposed to be doing.

(“We have just come from a reality where arts and sciences have been threatened by a foul knave who would see all knowledge and creativity erased so that he may rule over a dim and dull populace. We’re endeavoring to stop them, can I count on your help?”)

“Why of course! Provided I can figure out how to get down from this wall!” Leonardo Da Vinci shouted.

“Yeah sure, that sounds like it could be interesting,” Leonardo Da Vinci II said.

“Well that’s all well and good,” Professor Paleontologist said, trying to get the mission back on track, “Now Mr. Jones, if we could actually-”

“Well, it seems like you’ve gotten what you wanted, this has certainly been quite an interesting episode of ‘Historical Figure Versus an Android Duplicate of Them From The Future’ but I’ve grown tired from hosting so many guests. All of you leave my home immediately.”

“Wait but-”

(“Oh, shoot I forgot what we came here for.”)

Power Jones waved goodbye and just like that the two Da Vincis and the two superheroes were gone.

                                                            ***

Curly was laying on his stomach on the top of an abandoned grocery store. A crudely constructed domino mask did a questionable job of concealing his identity and the leg of a large “K” — part of the sign displaying the store’s name “MOSTLY SNACKS”— concealed his body from any supervillain patrols. He scanned the street using a pair of high-tech binoculars that Hatman had given him. Supposedly they were twice as good as any binoculars that Glassesman had ever developed. Curly wasn’t totally convinced of that, seeing as how glasses were kind of the guy’s main thing, and what are binoculars if not fancy glasses, but Hatman had been very insistent about this fact. 

Curly stopped when a truck, nearly identical to the one he and Hatman had stolen the night before, only with somehow even sloppier graffiti on it, ambled into his view.

{“All right boss, I’ve got one,”} Curly said into a communicator Hatman had loaned him.

“What did I say about speaking to me?” Hatman responded. He was still trying, and mostly failing, to intimidate Curly into falling in line.

{“Not to do so unless you spoke to me first. But you also told me to be on the lookout for more supply trucks and that kind of seems like the more important order.”}

Curly heard Hatman sigh dramatically “How many in the cab?” Hatman was a few blocks away, searching for trucks from a perch of his own.

{“Two. It looks like they’ve noticed the other truck is missing.”}

“It’s safe to assume there are more in the trailer then, Smuggles doesn’t want any more trucks to go missing.”

{“Sucks to be him.”}

“Indeed. Can you tell who they are?”

Curly upped the zoom on his binoculars while aiming it at the truck’s windshield.

{“It looks like… Dr. Deathtrap and… oh yeah, that’s Snipey McSkullface.”}

“You’re sure?”

{“He’s got a face tattoo, of a skull, he’s practically wearing a more visible nametag.”}

“Very well, keep tracking it but don’t engage until I get there.”

{“Sure thing Hats,”} Curly said before deciding to completely ignore the older hero. Curly removed his grappling hook from his old Hatboy utility belt, and after trying to figure out how to work it, cursed under his breath and threw it over his shoulder. 

{“All right, I don’t need that. I’ll do this my way,”} Curly muttered to himself before running over to the edge of the roof and hurling himself over the side of it.

“What was that?” Hatman shouted.

{“Nothing!”} Curly shouted as he landed on the store’s awning and made the jump down to street level.

“What part of ‘don’t engage’ do you not understand?” Hatman shouted.

{“By the time you get here they could be long gone, or someone could get hurt. If you see a supervillain you’ve gotta stop a supervillain. We’ve got a poster that says that back in the office,”} Curly said as he removed some more implements from his utility belt: a crumpled piece of paper and a small length of string.

“You’re the someone who is going to get hurt if you try to stop the villains in the truck. You’re practically a civilian. No, you’re worse than a civilian. You’re a superhero-adjacent civilian, which means you’re definitely going to bite off more than you can chew.”

Curly patted his stomach with one hand and scooped up a good sized rock off the ground with the other, {“Never underestimate the amount that I can chew!”}

“I’m serious Curly, this isn’t the time for jokes.”

{“It’s always the time for jokes. We’ve got a poster that says that too.”}

Ahead of him Curly watched as the truck slowed to a stop at a red light.

{“Perfect, they’ve stopped for a red light.”}

“Why would a supervillain stop for a red light! It’s a trap Curly! Get out of there!”

                                                            ***

“Why did we stop?” Dr. Deathtrap asked irately, this glorified babysitting job was far beneath him.

“Red light,” Snipey McSkullface said casually, this glorified babysitting job was right at his level of supervillainy.

“So what? We’re supervillains, in a world controlled by supervillains and the collected forces of evils, we don’t stop for reds. Keep moving.”

Snipey McSkullface shook his head, “The only people on the road are these supply trucks, and, like you said, all of those trucks are driven by supervillains who probably aren’t following any traffic laws or regulations. I run this red light, there’s a very good chance we get t-boned by another one of these trucks. With my luck, it’ll be one carrying nuclear warheads or killer hornets or something. So nuh-uh, we stop at reds.”

“You’re absurd,” Dr. Deathtrap growled at him.

Suddenly, a rock with a note tied to it smashed through the passenger side window and landed in Dr. Deathtrap’s lap.

“What the hell?” he said as he picked up the rock.

The light changed to green and Snipey McSkullface got the truck moving again.

“Could be it’s from Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy in the back. What’s it say?” Snipey asked.

“It says… ‘Dr. Deathtrap smells’. What!”

Snipey McSkullface burst out laughing. “Ha! They totally got you. And you do kind of smell. What’s the deal with that?”

“How dare you!” Dr. Deathtrap shouted as he scooped up the rock and smacked Snipey McSkullface in the side of the head with it causing Snipey to jerk the wheel sharply to the left.

“Hey!” Snipey McSkullface said as he tried to get the wheel under control.

“It’s enough of an insult that I have to ferry these goods for Smuggles of all people. But I will not broach insults about my personal hygiene!” Dr. Deathtrap shouted as he wrapped his hands around the steering wheel.

“Now, I obviously cannot construct one of my patented deathtraps under these conditions, but I can certainly turn this truck into one!” Dr. Deathtrap shouted before bursting into maniacal laughter as the truck careened out of control.

                                                            ***

{“Holy cow that worked, like, immediately,”} Curly said as he took cover in a nearby alleyway as the supply truck jumped the curb and flipped over, spilling diamonds, guns, and out-of-season fruits all over the place.

“What did you do!” a gruff voice said from behind him as a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

Curly spun around, ready for a fight, only to find Hatman glowering at him from beneath his top hat cowl. When he saw the grim hero Curly burst into a wide smile and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

{“Pretty neat eh?”}

“We need to get all of these guns off the streets now, the last thing we need is a scared public getting into gun fights with supervillains,” Hatman said.

{“Fine fine, we’ll call it into the rest of the Resistance and somebody can pick all this stuff up. But for now we’d better check to make sure those baddies are down for the count.”}

Hatman nodded and quickly rattled off a series of instructions into his remaining gauntlet communicator. The two heroes then walked across the street to the overturned truck.

“Hatman!” a bombastic voice called from the wreckage.

“Leave this to me,” Hatman said as he removed a shrunken object from his utility belt. With a flick of his wrist he enlarged the object to full size and Curly could see that it was some sort of helmet with a short pike on top of it. 

“A pickelhaube,” Hatman said as though that explained anything as he screwed the “helmet” over the top of his gauntlet, making it look like his hand had been replaced with the pike. 

{“I don’t know what Parenthetical Guy told you but I assure you my pickle-”}

“It’s a 19th century Prussian military helmet,” Hatman said curtly as he readied himself for battle.

{“Ok but why do you have it and why is it on your hand?”}

“I see that today is more glorious than I ever could have imagined! Today is the day I will finally vanquish the accursed capped crusader!” a man cried as he emerged from the open trailer. Like Hatman, he too was decked out in strange and ancient looking armor, though his covered more than just his left hand, and the blade he was wielding was a fair bit larger than Hatman’s hand pike. Curly narrowed his eyes, while he had never met this particular villain, it was clear from his choice of weaponry that this was the notorious Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy. The How to Hero gang had spent a fair bit of time making fun of this guy, though now Curly wished they had instead spent that time talking about how best to best him in combat or at the very least how to avoid being skewed on his ruby encrusted sword. 

Hatman didn’t waste any time with pre-battle banter or taunts, instead charging at the villain and aiming for his sword-hand with his battle pike. Curly winced as Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy blocked the blow with his sword and then kicked out at Hatman forcing him back a bit so that he could slash at the hero with his blade. Hatman parried the sword with his pickelhaube and jumped back out of the range of Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy’s ruby encrusted sword. Hatman unclipped his grapple gun from its holster and fired a line at the sword, attempting to snare it but Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy effortlessly slashed through the wire and charged at Hatman.

{“You can do it Hatman!”} Curly cried out {“I heard a rumor that those rubies are just plastic anyway!”}

Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy whipped his head toward Curly. “Who told you that?” he demanded. He was only distracted for a moment but it was enough for Hatman to press the advantage. He quickly slammed the butt of his bare palm into Ruby Encrusted Sword’s Guy nose, he then ducked low and swept the villain’s legs out from under him. Hatman then jabbed his pickelhaube into Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy’s chest, using the momentum from the fall to pierce the villain’s thick battle armor. 

“Damn you!” Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy shouted as he swung his sword at Hatman. Hatman grabbed Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy’s sword hand with his hand, stopping the downward motion of it. He then aimed his Pickelhaube hand at the sword and, to both Curly’s and Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy’s surprise, launched the small helmet from the gauntlet. The helmet’s pike made contact with Ruby Encrusted Sword Guy’s hand, causing him to drop his sword, which Hatman then caught in his now free hand. 

“Stand down. Now,” Hatman said as he pointed the villain’s own sword at the weak spot in his armor that Hatman had created.

{“Consider your villainous endeavors cut off at the knees,”} Curly grinned.

                                                            ***

“How did you flip the truck?” Hatman asked when they were safely back in Hatman’s garage. Ultiman had sent Super-Sonic-Plasma-Ultra-Cannon Man and a couple of other heroes to clean up the mess and round up the villains Hatman had left behind. Super-Sonic-Plasma-Ultra-Cannon Man had also indicated that Ultiman would prefer if Hatman and Curly returned to the Haberdashery so they could better coordinate their actions with the rest of the Resistance. But Hatman had thrown a smoke bomb at the ground and whisked Curly away in the confusion.

{“Well Dr. Deathtrap helped. I just tossed a little note into the truck and he took it from there.”}

“What’d you say?” Hatman asked.

{“Dr. Deathtrap smells.”}

Hatman looked confused for a moment, but then realization and then a smile dawned on his features. “Of course, good thinking.” 

Curly was shocked, {“What really? You like that?”}

Hatman began pacing back and forth, talking as much to himself as to Curly.

“Of course, of course. Somehow Smuggles has gotten all of these villains to work together, to work for him. But that kind of alliance can’t be especially strong, not with who these villains are. Not with the way all villains are. They’re arrogant, they’re loud, they’re antisocial.”

{“Every villain wants to rule the world,”} Curly muttered.

“Exactly!” Hatman shouted. “If we can just nudge them slightly towards infighting, they’ll take care of themselves. By the time Ultiman and the others are ready to mount an attack on Smuggles and his inner circle, we’ll have already destabilized the rest of his organization,” he abruptly turned towards Curly. “How many more insults do you think you can whip up? I can scatter them around in locations that I know these villains are patrolling regularly.” 

Curly rubbed his hands together, {“Oh Hats, you don’t know it but you’ve just hit the jackpot. Most of what we did back at the office was make fun of these villains. You tell me who you want to insult, and I’ll help you hit them where it hurts.” }

Hatman smiled, “Excellent.”

                                                            ***

“Well that was a huge waste of time,” Professor Paleontologist said as he patted himself down, making sure that all of him had made the transfer from The Cube back to Earth. 

(“What are you talking about? Ultiman sent us to gather allies and we just scored not one, but two in one fell swoop!”)

“I don’t think a couple of time-displaced renaissance men is what Ultiman had in mind,” Professor Paleontologist snapped.

Leonardo Da Vinci raised his hand, “Pardon me, but what is it that you needed us for again?”

Professor Paleontologist turned to the artist, a sheepish expression on his face, “I’m afraid we may have misled you sir. We’re not versions of you from alternate realities, I’m a superhero, Professor Paleontologist, and he’s a… I don’t know, an intern? A court jester? I’ve been reading your blog for quite a bit and I’ve never quite figured out what your role actually is.”

Parenthetical Guy let out a loud, forced, laugh. (“Oh Iguanada Vinci how you slay me. This should clear everything up,”) he said as he handed out business cards to everybody.

“This just says that you’re an ‘expert on everything,’” Leonardo Da Vinci II said. “That doesn’t clear up anything.”

The android then took stock of their surroundings. They were standing in the anteroom of the Haberdashery and the walls were adorned with different hat-shaped gadgets and gizmos. 

“Ah,” he said. “We’re in the possible past year of 2021, this is the Smuggles Event is it not?” 

Professor Paleontologist didn’t exactly like the term “possible-past” but he was relieved that the android had saved him the trouble of trying to explain their situation. “Yes, that’s exactly right. We’ve been tasked with locating possible allies for an eventual assault on Smuggles’s stronghold.”

Leonardo Da Vinci II nodded, “You may count on my assistance in the coming battle. Smuggles must be defeated for my timeline to come about.”

Leonardo Da Vinci stared open mouthed at the three individuals in front of him and then at all of the machines adorning the walls around them. “This is… All of this is absolutely incredible. I’m not much of a warrior but if you let me examine some of these inventions I’ll happily help in any way I can.”

Parenthetical Guy folded his arms across his chest and smiled smugly at Professor Paleontologist, (“See! Mission accomplished, let’s never speak to each other again.”)

Professor Paleontologist rolled his eyes, “Before we call it a day I actually have an idea for where we can find even more help.”

(“You’re telling me right now to my face, in front of our staunchest allies no less, that you think we need more help than these two time-displaced Leonardo Da Vincis.”)

“Yes,” Professor Paleontologist said matter of factly as he began pacing back and forth. “Now, what I’m about to suggest is highly unusual, and entirely unprecedented, but there is a sizable group of powerful do gooders that we have yet to tap, and whom I believe would have been overlooked during Smuggles’s hostile takeover of the world.”

Parenthetical Guy rolled his eyes, (“And I’m supposed to believe you just forgot about them until now? Deus ex machina much?”)

“He’s not wrong, that does seem awfully convenient,” Da Vinci said, stroking his chin. He was now wearing a futuristic helmet labeled “The Hat-Helmet Mark 1”.

Professor Paleontologist held his hands up, “I would’ve mentioned them immediately but for the fact that it goes against every superhero protocol in the book. So when Parenthetical Guy said that he had some ideas I figured we’d leave mine as a last resort. But we’ve been at this for a while now and it’s pretty clear that I need to step in.” 

(“So who are these perfect recruits?”) 

“Are you familiar with the Superhero School in Albany?” Professor Paleontologist asked.

(“I’m familiar with the fact that they’re a subpar, overpriced superhero teaching institution. How to Hero covers everything those stuffed shirts do and so much more… And so much better!) 

“Granted I don’t think the school offers a course in ‘what to do if a ‘which superhero are you’ quiz gives you an answer you weren’t expecting,’” Professor Paleontologist said flatly, “But they do have a sizable student body. Since your blog started enrollment has surged to record breaking levels.”

(“Hey that’s a more common problem than you’d think! Do you know how many superheroes have turned evil because they got, for example, you on one of those quizzes?”)

“So we’re going to… Albany was it?” Leonardo Da Vinci asked.

“Oh the school isn’t actually in Albany,” Professor Paleontologist said.

Parenthetical Guy looked up sharply, (“What? What are you talking about?”)

“It’s just called that to throw people off the scent. It’s actual location is one of the most closely guarded secrets in superherodom. That’s why I’m quite certain that Smuggles’s forces wouldn’t have been able to find it.”

(“Sounds like you’ve definitely endangered the people of Albany by calling it that but whatever,”) Parenthetical Guy muttered to himself parenthetically. 

“So where is this academy then?” Da Vinci asked.

“It’s in-”

“It’s been moved since you last taught there Professor,” Da Vinci II suddenly piped up.

“Ah, I was worried about that,” Professor Paleontologist admitted.

(“Makes sense, they wouldn’t want you showing up there again.”)

“If I may,” Da Vinci II said, “In my time, the many locations of the school is a matter of historical record. I know where it is at this very moment, and I can use my personal warp gate to take us there without compromising the secrecy of its location.”

Professor Paleontologist beamed, “That’s perfect!”

(“See, my gets are already helping us save the world.”)

“If everyone could just gather close to me, we can be on our way in a…”

In a flash of light the unlikely quartet disappeared to parts unknown.

                                                            ***

“According to the pattern I’ve detected, another shipment should be rolling through the city shortly. We should get back out there,” Hatman said, consulting a handheld electronic map of the city.

Curly looked up from his notes. He’d written devastating insults for just about every villain that was confirmed to be working with Smuggles. And he’d done like two and a half sit ups. He was readier than he’d ever been to fight more crime alongside Hatman. 

{“Let’s do thi-”}

A sharp chirp drew both of their attention to the truck they’d hijacked from Jhonny McBarnburner. 

“What was that? It sounded like-”

{“It’s your gauntlet,”} Curly said quickly.

Hatman narrowed his eyes, “My what?”

{“The gauntlet you threw away back in that alley where we first joined forces. I thought I could maybe reverse engineer it and develop some for myself. I’m a bit of a tech guy you know. I basically keep the blog running and all. I added a shuffle button to the interface. I’m sure you noticed that and so I figured, hey free gauntlet filled with all sorts of gizmos and doodads and whirli-”}

“Curly!” Hatman snapped. “I threw that gauntlet away because I believed it could be used by Smuggles’s forces to track my movements.”

{“Oof, wow. So it would’ve been really great if I hadn’t taken it out of that dumpster is what you’re saying.”}

Hatman snarled and then rushed over to the truck. He grabbed the gauntlet from the truck’s cab and looked at the message on the screen. As he read his scowl softened and he furrowed his brow.

“They know where you are. They’ll be there soon. Z VS PG them. Will be in touch again soon.”

“Curly, get in the truck. This location is compromised, they’ll be here any minute.”

As Curly trudged over to the truck, Hatman tossed him the gauntlet.

“And what do you make of this?”

Curly read the cryptic message and smiled. “Well, it looks like you’ve got yourself another mole.”

                                                            ***

“We have arrived,” Da Vinci II announced.

They were standing in an open field, a large imposing building loomed in the distance.

Parenthetical Guy quickly took out his phone and opened the Snaphat app. 

“What are you doing?” Professor Paleontologist hissed.

(“Looking for a geotag. Secret location my ass. I deserve to know where we are.”)

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” a gruff voice said from above them.

All of a sudden the quartet found themselves surrounded as dozens of brightly clad superhumans and para-folk descended from the sky. A cavalcade of glowing eyes, fists and weapons sent a clear message: Do anything we don’t like, and we’ll blast you straight to kingdom come.

“The Superhero School can’t be located by any form of technology, a combination of hexes and our own advanced tech sees to that,” an older man in a lab coat said as he descended on a floating metal platform. “Now why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”

(“Ok how about we chill with the attitude geezer. I’m here to save the world, which of you good for nothing recluses is in?”)

A look of disgust flashed across the older man’s features. “How dare-”

Professor Paleontologist cleared his throat and stepped in front of Parenthetical Guy. “I’ll take it from here.”

Immediately the atmosphere changed, the older man’s features softened and some of the others even powered down a smidge.

“Professor Von Iguanadon,” the older man said as he quickly walked over to Professor Paleontologist, causing Parenthetical Guy and the two Da Vincis to raise their fists, expecting a fight.

“It’s good to see you old friend!” the older man cried before giving Professor Paleontologist a hug.

“It’s good to see you too Professor Fueller,” Professor Paleontologist said, clapping the other professor on the back.

“What brings you back to the school?” Professor Mitch Fueller asked, and then, dropping his voice an octave, “And how did you find us?”

(“We used an android duplicate of Leonardo Da Vinci from the future to find you and teleport here. Isn’t that how everybody does it?”) Parenthetical Guy said smugly while the Da Vincis waved at the superheroes in training. 

“And why did you bring him here,” Fueller said, not even trying to hide his disdain for Parenthetical Guy.

The How to Hero crew had long been a thorn in the side of the Superhero School’s faculty. Professor Fueller once estimated that the teachers spent roughly 80% of their class time reteaching topics and concepts that students had been misinformed about by How to Hero. He wasn’t sure what had brought Professor Paleontologist back to the Superhero School, but there were very few reasons Fueller could think of that would convince Leon to bring Parenthetical Guy of all people to the school’s hallowed grounds. 

“I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t an emergency Mitch,” Professor Paleontologist said, explaining quickly. “Supervillains have taken over the world, and we’re going to need all hands on deck to take it back.” 

A hush fell over the crowd, followed by an anxious murmur.

“Supervillains have taken over the world?”

“They need us? Where’s Hero Force?”

“Shit man, is that Leonardo Da Vinci?”

Fueller shuddered. The superhero school was, by design, cut off from all communications from the outside world. The idea was to keep students in the school until they were properly ready to go out into the world of superheroing. If the school and its students had access to news and was constantly being informed about supervillain attacks, alien invasions, and all manner of other crises, the odds were good that students would decide they were ready to help before they were, which could be catastrophic. So it was news to everybody that the world had gone down such a dark path without any of them being the wiser.

(“Listen up you wannabes!”) Parenthetical Guy shouted as he climbed atop a nearby boulder. 

“Oh dear,” Professor Paleontologist said resignedly.

(“A guy named Smuggles has teamed up with every supervillain on the planet and also the forces of Hell and also Zeus I guess? The heroes barely have two stones to rub together to light a fire under our own asses. So we’re forced to come to you almosts and wouldbes. None of you are my first choice obviously. There’s no way any of you are even remotely ready for this, especially since you get your hero training from a hoity toity place like this instead of, I don’t know, my totally kickass blog. How to Hero look it up, tell your friends. But what I can say, we’re desperate, so here we are. Who’s in?”)

Da Vinci II buried his face in his robotic palm.

“Get down from there,” Fueller demanded before turning to his erstwhile colleague. “Is it true, are things so dire?”

Professor Paleontologist nodded, “Ultiman sent us looking for allies and we haven’t had much luck yet. You know I wouldn’t come to you if I could avoid it. Nobody more than me understands the importance of allowing the students to complete the full curriculum before they join the good fight. But we’re vastly outnumbered and quite frankly, out of options.”

Fueller sighed, he was going to have to break every rule in the handbook.

“All right then,” he pressed a button on his lapel that connected him to the schoolwide PA system. “Listen up everybody. This is Professor Fueller. We have just received word that the rest of the world is in dire trouble. The forces of evil have managed to prevail, at least for the moment. But as you all know, good can never be fully snuffed out. A resistance has formed, and that small force of good has reached out to us in search of help. I know this isn’t how things usually work here, but, well, the world usually isn’t taken over by supervillains overnight. So I’m calling upon each and every one of you, teacher and student alike, to join me, to join the forces of justice, in this fight. If you’ll join me, please come to the quad now.”

Fueller cut his connection to the PA and turned to Professor Paleontologist, “Many of them are not combat ready but we’ll help in any way we can.”

“I appreciate that old friend,” Professor Paleontologist said. 

“Look!” Da Vinci shouted as he pointed towards the school.

Colorfully clad figures of all shapes and sizes were pouring out of the building and marching towards the small group already standing in the quad. 

Professor Paleontoligst smiled and nudged Parenthetical Guy with his elbow, “How’s that for an army?”

Parenthetical Guy could barely suppress his grin, (“Whatever, I’m taking credit for it.”)

                                                            ***

Hatman got the truck started and ready to move at the very same moment that the large metal door of the garage exploded.

“Hold on to something,” Hatman growled as he slammed on the gas causing the truck to barrel forward toward the smoking doorway.

A hail of gunfire caused Hatman and Curly to duck down in their seats. The windshield soon shattered, which caused Hatman to swear softly and place an arm protectively over Curly, but all the while the capped crusader kept his boot on the pedal and the truck kept, well, trucking.

Hatman heard several yelps and shouts as orange and red clad men with tommy guns dove out of the way of the speeding vehicle.  

“That’s about enough Hatman!” a warbly, Italian accented voice shouted before the truck squelched to a halt. 

“They’ve managed to hit the engine block,” Hatman observed as he slipped the compromised gauntlet onto his bare hand. He reasoned that there was no point in notit wearing it seeing as Smuggles people already had a pretty good idea of where they were. And he didn’t want to leave himself shorthanded for the fight that was no doubt about to occur.

{“Want me to insult them?”} Curly said as he stayed hunched over in his seat.

Hatman gritted his teeth as the gunmen approached the cab, “Knock yourself out.”

Curly flashed a toothy grin and a thumbs out before cupping his hands around his mouth like a bullhorn. 

{“Excellent shooting boys, you really managed to incapacitate a 40 ton truck with just under 100 bullets. You lot must have graduated at the top of your class at henchmen school!”} he called.

Another message flashed across Hatman’s gauntlet.

“Curly, we need to move now,” Hatman said.

{“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”} Curly said sarcastically as the cab doors were thrown open and the two heroes were dragged out of it. Hatman and Curly were both made to kneel on the ground while two of the henchmen bound their hands behind them. Curly steeled himself, trying to prepare for anything the next couple of minutes might throw at him. What he wasn’t prepared for though was a giant, mustachioed, lobster wearing a trench coat and a fedora with holes cut into it to accommodate the creature’s eyestalks. 

“Ah Hatman it brings me great pleasure to be the one to finally end your reign of heroism and hat-themed nonsense!” 

“Mobster,” Hatman spat.

Curly could barely believe his eyes, or his ears.

{“Wait a minute! You’re the Mobster, like, the lobster who runs a mob? You’re actually real? I thought that was just something we made up for the blog. I can’t believe this. You’re really a lobster! This is the happiest I’ve ever been. Wow.”}

The Mobster narrowed his eyes, “I see you’ve recruited yet another Hatboy, it will bring me great joy to kill this one and finally earn my ‘Murder a Hatboy’ badge at this year’s supervillain jamboree.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Hatman said and then spat at the Lobster’s feet.

“Why you insolent-”

Suddenly dozens of men in full combat gear rappelled down from the roofs of nearby

Buildings. A man wearing a cowl shaped like the head of a snake and wearing a black labcoat gesticulated wildly from one of the roofs as the combat gear clad men surrounded the Mobster, his mob, and Hatman and Curly.

“We’ve finally tracked you down Hatman! Prepare to meet your end at the hands of the Dr. Python and the Python Paramilitary!” 

Hatman rolled his eyes, apparently Smuggles had shared their location with several of the crime bosses now under his employ.

“What are you doing here Python! This is my score!” the Mobster shouted, craning his segmented neck to get a better look at Dr. Python who was cackling like a madman.

At that same moment an armored truck pulled up, a horde of giant, gun-toting, lizards jumped out of the back of it.

“Hatman! We’re bringing you in to Smuggles for the glory of the lizard-people mob!” one of the lizards hissed/shouted.

“What! I am the only reptile themed villain who will defeat Hatman!” Dr. Python shouted.

“What?” the lizard shouted. With everybody milling around on the ground, it was getting difficult to hear Dr. Python up on the roof.

“Halt Hatman! Prepare to suffer the wrath of El Chad!” shouted a disheveled man riding atop a goat with the words “Property of How To Hero Don’t Frikkin Steal This One Chad I Mean It!” shaved into its fur.

Everybody, villain, hero, and henchman alike let out a loud groan. El Chad was the worst. Nobody was ever happy to see him. 

“I’m flattered that Smuggles seems to think it will take four supervillains and their criminal organizations to bring me in but this is getting ridiculous,” Hatman said.

“Shut up!” the Mobster said snapping a meaty claw inches from Hatman’s face. “Do you, Hatman, surrender unconditionally to the Crime Consortium!” 

“Never!” Hatman shouted.

{“We’d be happy to!”} Curly cheerfully announced at the same time.

“What?” Hatman said sharply, turning to look at his partner.

“What?” the assembled villains said, looking at each other in confusion. None of them had much experience with superheroes surrendering unconditionally to them.

{“I mean of course we’ll surrender to you guys. You beat us fair and square. It’s just that, and really this is such a small thing, Hatman and I are only going to unconditionally surrender to whomever is actually in charge here. I mean, you wouldn’t expect a top tier hero like Hatman to surrender to a henchman or some second stringer would you?”}

“No of course not, that’s fine. As leader of the Lob, the Lobster Mob, you will surrender to me then,” the Mobster announced proudly.

“Excuse me?” the three of the lizards said in unison. “Clearly the lizard mob will accept the surrender of these heroes.”

“What’s going on down there!” Dr. Python shouted. “Did he say that he would surrender to the Python Paramilitary?”

“Nah man, he said he’d only surrender to the head honcho which is of courses totes magotes, me, El Chad,” El Chad said proudly.

“You!” Dr Python shouted. “But you’re the worst!” 

“How dare you!” El Chad shouted.

“How dare you!” the Mobster shouted. “Who even invited you to this!”

“One of your lobster boys tweeted about it!” El Chad shouted.

“That’s it!” Dr. Python shouted. “Python Paramilitary, show these goons who the real supervillain is!”

The combat gear clad men all pointed their guns at the other villains. Which caused the lizard-mob to launch into action, swiping and biting any Python soldier that got close to them. It wasn’t long before the Lob and El Chad and the two or three goats he had managed to swipe from How to Hero headquarters joined the fray. 

{“That’s our cue to leave,”} Curly said as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Right behind you,” Hatman said as he superheated his gauntlets and melted the cuffs on his wrists. 

Hatman undid Curly’s cuffs and the two of them ran away from the fight that was escalating in the street behind them.

“Hey you guys! You guys! They’re getting away!” Dr. Python shouted.

Unfortunately for them, the other villains were too busy fighting each other to hear him.

{“Where to? Back to the Hab?”} Curly asked when they were a safe distance away from the brawl.

“Not yet, another message came through right before we were attacked. It seems like Smuggles has given up on individual supply trucks manned by exploitable supervillains. There’s a huge unmanned train full of stuff coming through town soon.”

Curly nodded, {“Ok, so what do we do.”}

Hatman began walking in the direction of the city’s train tracks. “We stop them.”

                                                            ***

“There it is,” Hatman said. Both he and Curly were perched on a rooftop overlooking a stretch of track that passed through Clifftown’s abandoned warehouse district. 

{“I’m surprised we haven’t run into anymore villains on our way here,”} Curly mused. The duo had slowly made their way across the city. Dropping insulting notes with forged signatures of other supervillains in strategic locations so that the wandering squads of villains patrolling the city would eventually find them and succumb to infighting. But there didn’t seem to be any roving teams in this part of town.

“There are just about zero civilians living in this part of town. It’s mostly supervillain lairs honestly,” Hatman said. “There’s no reason for the villains to remain here now that they control everything else.”

{“Which makes it the perfect spot for us to make our move,”} Curly observed as he watched the train get closer.

“Exactly,” Hatman said as he checked his gear over once more. They were only going to get one shot at crippling Smuggles’ infrastructure. And Hatman wasn’t about to blow it. “You good to go?”

Curly patted his belt, they’d stocked up on explosives and other gear at one of the caches Hatman had hidden around the city. {“Oh yeah.”}

“Good, keep your beacon on at all costs. See you on the other side,” Hatman said before he dove off of the roof.

{“See you soon,”} Curly said as he unclipped his grappling gun and fired it at the train. {“If we survive.”}

Hatman hurtled toward the moving train at increasing speeds, grinning as he hurled a blocky and powerful magnet at the train’s roof. The magnet instantly connected to the roof and Hatman clicked his heels and wrists together, activating the internal magnets in each of them. The magnet on the train’s roof drew the magnets in Hatman’s appendages to it, ensuring that the falling Hatman kept pace with the moving train. Then, right before he connected with the speeding train’s roof and ended up becoming little more than a superheroic splat, Hatman reversed the polarity of the magnets in his costume. Which, when reacting with the large magnet on the train’s hull, dramatically slowed Hatman’s descent. Allowing him to land softly next to the magnet. After remagnetizing his boots to avoid falling off of the train, Hatman superheated his gauntlet and melted a hole in the train’s hull, which allowed him to breach the train’s exterior. Hatman jumped through the hole he’d burned and landed deftly inside the train. Checking his beacon, he was able to see that Curly had managed to breach the train’s caboose, as planned. 

Hatman took stock of his own surroundings. The car he was in was filled with all manner of powerful weapons. Hatman shuddered at the thought of Smuggles and his Consortium getting their villainous hands on all of this firepower. He quickly removed an explosive from his belt and moved to attach it to the train’s wall.

“Ah ah Hatman. You’re not going to destroy this shipment,” a cold robotic voice taunted. 

Hatman steeled himself for another fight. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter.”

The wall closest to Hatman lit up. It’s a screen, Hatman observed. A cruel looking face flashed across it. 

“Regardless Hatman, this is where your campaign comes to an end.”

“Nemesystem,” Hatman said, recognizing the voice. “You’re controlling the train.”

“Not just the train,” Nemesystem said, and the face projected on the wall winked at Hatman. Suddenly several of the weapons surrounding Hatman whirred to life and, floating up from their perches, aimed themselves at Hatman.

Hatman took stock of his situation. He was in a confined space with several weapons pointing at him, with both the space and the weapons being controlled and operated by an enemy that Hatman couldn’t physically overpower or subdue. Not a great situation, but he’d gotten out of worse. Nemesystem being in control of the train certainly complicated things though. Hatman had to hope that he could keep the evil AI occupied until Curly could set his explosives. Hatman moved quickly. He dropped half a dozen smoke bombs at his feet while affixing an oxygen mask from his belt onto his exposed mouth and nose. As the room filled with smoke, Hatman jumped up, grabbing onto a floating sniper rifle. He used the rifle to swing himself further upward as several of the weapons discharged, sending a hail of bullets every which way while Nemesystem tried to pinpoint Hatman’s location. Hatman knew that wouldn’t take the system long. The smoke was merely a temporary diversion for a being who didn’t actually have any eyes with which to see. As soon as Nemesystem was able to switch to infared or night vision Hatman would be in trouble again. He continued using different floating weapons as rungs to get him higher and higher until he could reach the car’s ceiling. Once he did he superheated his gauntlets and burned a circle in the ceiling, which caused a segment of it to fall to the floor. In an instant all of the weapons, including the floating alien plasma blaster Hatman was hanging onto fell to the floor. Converging on the fallen chunk of ceiling, which just so happened to have Hatman’s super magnet still stuck to it. Hatman once again activated the magnets in his boots and gauntlets, and, reversing the polarity once more, used the magnet to launch himself out of the weapons car into the next one down. 

“Very clever, Hatman,” Nemesystem taunted, as the walls in this next car flashed to life, displaying Nemesystem’s digital visage on them as well.’

“Thanks,” Hatman grunted as he removed an explosive from his belt and allowed it to be sucked into the weapon’s car by the magnet. This car was filled with various treasures, and valuables. No tech, which meant there was nothing for Nemesystem to take control of. Hatman smirked and removed another explosive from his belt. 

“You are far too smug,” Nemesystem said as several large guns and cannons emerged from the ceiling walls and floor of the train car. 

Hatman ignored him, arming the explosive and letting it fall to the ground.

“These weapons are anti-ferrous, so your little magnet trick won’t work again. You see, for every time you thwart me I grow smarter. I learn your strategies and plans and reconfigure this train to combat them.”

“You don’t say,” Hatman said, tensing his leg muscles and taking stock of the crates of valuables that surrounded him.

A hail of laser fire emitted from the various cannons. Hatman expertly dodged them and then sprung at a nearby crate, quickly ripping the lid off of it and knocking it over, causing hundreds of diamonds to spill out onto the floor. 

“Your fanciful acrobatics will not keep you alive for long,” Nemesystem said as the cannons recharged for another volley.

“Yeah, that’s clear to me,” Hatman said as he scooped up a handful of the precious stones. “Crystal clear.”

The cannons let off another round of laser fire and Hatman expertly hurled the diamonds at one of the turrets. The diamonds caused the laser fire to be refracted in multiple directions, overloading the other cannons. Hatman didn’t stick around for the show, he wrenched the door to the next car open and dove through it.

The next car, the last of the three Hatman was supposed to deal with was filled with combat drones of every make and model. Each of their faces had been replaced with the Nemesystem’s who grinned evilly at the hero. Hatman looked at his gauntlet, which displayed a countdown that was synched to those of the bombs he and Curly were planting. He only had about a minute left before this train went, and he and Curly needed to link up and throw themselves clear before then. That didn’t leave a ton of time for Hatman to deal with these robots. Hatman shrugged, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

“What hat-shaped gadget will you deploy to deal with this problem Hatman?” Nemesystem taunted. “Remind me, do you humans have a hat that can wipe out one hundred and nineteen state of the art combat drones?”

Hatman didn’t waste any time responding; he simply removed a collapsible umbrella hat from his belt and opened it up to its full size. The “hat” was actually a brightly colored shield that Hatman could safely hide behind while he developed some sort of plan. All at once, the drones opened fire on the umbrella which absorbed and disperred the laser fire. Hatman backed up against a wall, cursing himself for not saving any of the diamonds from the last car. He felt the wall behind him and pressed his back flat against it, allowing the metal tips at the edges of the umbrella canopy to dig into the wall, essentially sealing Hatman in a laser proof dome. 

“Curly come in!” Hatman shouted into his gauntlet. 

Nothing but static came through the speaker. Hatman feared the worst, Nemesystem must have already gotten to Curly. Another Hatboy lost he thought glumly. Then he shrugged it off. If Curly was taken out then that meant Hatman needed to take out his cars in addition to this last one. It also meant he couldn’t afford to dawdle in this dome while the front half of the train exploded around him. 

“Nowhere to run Hatman, I wonder, will you scream as I tear you apart limb from limb. Human screams fascinate me. Machines can’t seem to synthesize any sound that is quite as delicious.”

Hatman shuddered, he wasn’t going to give this cruel computer an ounce of satisfaction. Hatman shoved the umbrella forward, disconnecting it from the wall and barreled into the first wave of drones that had been attempting to breach his shield. 

A crude, electronic attempt at a maniacal laugh crackled from speakers embedded all over the train car as the Nemesystem’s drones aimed their various onboard weapons at the hatted hero. Hatman raised his superheated fists, planning to simply punch his way through the robotic horde when suddenly the laughter cut out abruptly and the drones immediately clattered to the ground.

{“If you’re done messing around in here, it’s just about time to go,”} Curly said as he stood triumphantly over the fallen robots.

“Curly? How?” Hatman said at a loss for words. 

Curly held up a slim silver device with the letters “HTH” carved into them. {“Standard issue How to Hero technology neutralizer. We all got them, after Dr. Brainwave accidentally brought all of the appliances to life and Parenthetical Guy almost got killed by the blender.”}

Hatman was at a loss for words. “What?”

{“It’s short range only, and it’s not very powerful. So while it can’t stop the train I’ve been able to keep Nemesystem from entering any of the cars I’ve been in. But we really need to jump, like now.”}

Hatman nodded and positioned himself at the far wall of the train car. “Turn that thing off… now!”

Curly quickly switched off the tech neutralizer and the drones started coming back to life. Hatman threw his last bomb into the crowd of drones and then melted a hole in the side of the train.

“Let’s move!” he shouted as Curly ran toward him and they both jumped out of the train.

They’d timed the operation so they’d leave the train as it was passing over the Clifftown bay. Of course, the bay was still frozen thanks to Friar Frostbite. Apparently Smuggles hadn’t seen it fit to undo this during his tenure. That was all well and good though, because, as expected an aviator-cap shaped jet was hovering right outside the train, waiting to catch the two heroes.

Only it didn’t swoop in and catch them. Hatman saw Curly’s eyes widen in fear. iOf course, Hatman thought. The neutralizer disabled our beacons. The plane’s onboard guidance system can’t find us.

Hatman and Curly locked eyes and then unclipped their grappling guns and fired them both at the plane as the train exploded in the distance. 

                                                            ***

{“So we each hooked onto one of the plane’s wings and it flew us away as the train exploded like: BOOM! KABLOW! ZAMMO!”} 

(“Dude I cannot believe you got to fight villains and hang out with Hatman while I was stuck with friggin Jurassic Dork.”)

They were both sitting in the entrance hall of the Haberdashery, Ultiman had whisked Professor Paleontologist and Hatman into a closed door meeting so they could debrief him without the constant interruptions and interjections of the two bloggers. The new recruits from the Superhero School, along with the two Da Vincis, were off mingling with the other Resistance heroes. 

{“What can I say, I’ve always been more of a fighter than you,”} Curly said.

(“Oh yeah? Well we’ll see how good of a fighter you are when I put you on mutant alligator feeding duty when we take back our office.”)

Curly started to retort but then he remembered something. {“We have someone on the inside!”} he blurted.

Parenthetical Guy was surprised (“What? Who?”)

Curly explained about the cryptic messages he and Hatman had received, {“He told me to ‘play Z VS PG’. That’s ‘Zach versus Parenthetical Guy’ it’s a game we play back at the office where we get the two of you to fight over who’s the real boss of How To Hero.”}

(“What, that’s a stupid game. It’s obviously me!”)

Curly gave him a look.

(“Oh… Oh! You think it might be Zach? You think he’s infiltrated the bad guys? Does that mean he’s ok?”)

Neither of them had heard from Zach since Smuggles had freed Chuck the Fish Whisperer and launched his villainous campaign against the world. Curly was starting to really worry about him and though they had never discussed it, Curly knew Parenthetical Guy was too. 

{“I mean it could be! He’s still unaccounted for. He could have gotten away from Chuck and hidden out until he could embed himself in the Consortium and now he’s sending Hatman messages.”}

Parenthetical Guy scratched his goatee, (“I mean, it could b-”)

A heavy knock at the door drew them from their conversation. They both looked at each other in shock. Nobody was supposed to know this place existed. They looked around, they were the only people in the entrance hall. 

The person on the other side of the door knocked again.

(“Do we get it?”)

{“What if it’s a trap?”}

Ultiman, Hatman, and Professor Paleontologist burst out of the room where they were conducting their meeting and hurried to the door. As though they’d rehearsed it, Hatman and Professor Paleontologist pressed themselves up against either side of the door. Hatman had his hand on his belt, ready to unsheath some sort of gadget. Professor Paleontologist put a hand to his amulet. Ultiman glanced over his shoulder at Curly and Parenthetical Guy.

“Be ready for anything,” he said curtly, before opening the door. “Oh?”

Waiting for him outside was a veritable mob. But it didn’t seem to be the angry kind. Dozens of regular humans, along with all manner of sewer-mutants, werewolves, and vampires were gathered on Hatman’s stoop. Standing at their head was a large mud monster with glasses and a disheveled man in a rumpled suit wielding a swordfish.

Parenthetical Guy peeked his head around Ultiman and eyed the crowd, (“Lawyer Guy?”)

The disheveled man nodded [“The civilian brigade is reporting for duty. Can we come in?”]

                                                            ***

A Secure Location

“Attention prisoners, mandatory recreation time ends in ten minutes,” an electronic voice chirped.

The collected superheroes groaned. Recreation time wasn’t very fun, but it was the only time they were allowed out of their cells. Today’s activity was called “supervillain charades.” It was like regular charades, but you were only allowed to mime various crimes. The activity was overseen by Giorgio the Evil Mime and he was very strict. A tall, well-built man, strode onto the stage. A cowboy hat rested upon his head and was angled such that the top half of his face was shrouded in shadow. He had black nail polish on his fingers and a tattoo of himself riding a skateboard while playing an electric guitar on his left bicep. His name was Cowboy Rockstar and he’d had just about enough of Giorgio, Smuggles, and the whole lot of villains who had imprisoned him and so many of his superhero compatriots. He lifted his hat, revealing piercing blue eyes and made direct eye contact with another prisoner, a far less muscular man with a raggedy beard and glasses. Unlike the other heroes in the room, who had all been given garish supervillainish costumes to wear while in prison, this prisoner was clad in regular street clothes. A hoodie and jeans. He wasn’t forced to dress like a supervillain because he was not a superhero, and so the Consortium saw little value in trying to turn him into a villain. Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a valuable prisoner. Smuggles saw plenty of value in keeping him locked up. And Cowboy Rockstar saw plenty of value in teaming up with him.

Giorgio waved his arms frantically, signaling to Cowboy Rockstar that he’d better get started if he wanted to get his charade in before it was time for the heroes to be herded back into their individual cells. 

Cowboy Rockstar kept his eyes locked on the prisoner in the hoodie and began his charade. He held up two fingers. Two words. He then held up one finger. First word. He squatted against the wall. Chairs, and other props, were wholly out of the question but Giorgio allowed use of the wall, the stage, and any other element of the space the heroes could think to use. With his back flat against the wall he lifted up his right foot and made like he was pressing on something with it.

Various heroes shouted out guesses.

“Tapping!”

“Foot!”

“Kicking!”

“Brake,” the man in the hoodie muttered.

Cowboy Rockstar nodded and then held up two fingers. Second word. He then mimed opening a door and stepping through it.

“Door! Breaking down a door… of a bank!”

“Open! Break open! Breaking open someone’s… skull?”

Cowboy Rockstar shrugged and touched his nose, signalling that Rockblock had gotten it and causing the giant rock monster to whoop in delight. Cowboy Rockstar winked at the prisoner in the hoodie, who had understood what the hero was really getting at. The prisoner in the hoodie smiled faintly. Cowboy Rockstar was planning a break out, and he wanted Zach, self-proclaimed expert of all things superheroes, to help him do it.

[attract-mode-collective]

Nothing Sez “Student Game” More Than The Dinosaur Evening News (that’s a good thing, btw)

The above is Mediazoic, which takes place in an alternate reality in which dinosaurs have come back to rule the earth and they've hired you, puny human, to make sure their televised broadcasts are dino family safe.

You moderate comments left on message boards, censor full frontal dino nudity, and so on. It's a student game alright, and one of my top picks from the NYU Game Center Student Showcase2018!

I was also fond of Dreams For Your Computer because CRTs, magnets, and cats...

... Here's what it looks like in action, btw.

Though the one game that I liked the most, and which would actually fare well on the marketplace, would have to be Static...

And honorable mention goes to an updated take on Flight Simulator, which recreates a 6 hour long commercial flight as a passenger...

... The best part was the look on Stephen Totilo's face, who kinda didn't get it.

When was the NYU thing btw? Over two weeks ago, and it’s been even longer since the last update. Sorry about that. You know the deal: a million, billion things going on. As usual.

Hence why it’ll take not just one, but two bursting at the seams posts, to cover the second half of May! So onto part one…  

Please, please, PLEASE let these Game Center CX Blu-rays have an English language option (via miki800.com)...

Not a day goes by in which I don’t wonder how that guy who appears in the instruction manual for Bomberman B-Daman is doing these days (via videogameartarchive & videogameartarchive)...

I really love the “are you for real?” vibe that Samus gives off in the instructions for the original Famicom Disk System release of Metroid (via nintendometro)...

If you’ve ever wondered what a pair of bosses from Mega Man 9 & 10 would look like with 8’s 32-bit sheen, well here ya go (via mendelpalace)...

A print ad for the Famicom adaptation of Akira that wasn't all that hot (via videogameads)...

Though whenever anyone hears the words “Akira video game”, this is basically what immediately comes to mind. Anything else is a disappointment, no matter what (via aaronkraten)...

Welcome to the rabbit hole that is the Memorex VIS (via @ColinWilliamson)...

Is the soundtrack to some ultra-obscure home banking software for the Mega Drive worth a listen? You goddamn right it is (via mendelpalace)...

… The accompanying article is also totally worth a read.

It’s the Battletoads X Blue Swede mashup that you can’t believe hasn’t been done yet (via SiIvaGunner)...

Replace Link with myself & Navi with my iPhone, which I use as an alarm clock, and you have earlier this morning in a nutshell (via nintendometro)...

“So where you going?”

“Down a road. A low poly road…”

“Where you headed towards?”

“Whatever’s at the end of this street. This low poly street...”

“If you look up, what do you see?”

“Low poly buildings, under a low poly sky. Who knows, maybe there’s some low poly birds up there, behind those low poly clouds…” (via pmpkn)

From looking at low poly skies to soaring high above them, but what a difference an arcade board makes huh (via kazucrash)...

This is what Metal Max 2: ReLoaded on the DS looks like, at its normal resolution...

And this is what it looks with the resolution bumped up (via gaucheartist)...

Is this sprite of a BMX biker animated unusually well or am I just out of touch when it comes to 2600 software? Granted, it does come from a game made in 1989 (via segagenesisevangelion)…

According to the law: “NO JUMPING” (via vgadvisor)

“Hi guys.” (via beowulf-ultra)

Such a heartwarming scene (via @PicturesFoIder)...

This is what VR looked like many years ago, which is basically how it still looks today as well (via peazy86)...

It’s Yuji Horii, from way back in the day, presumably before he had created Dragon Quest (via videogamesdensetsu)...

Why yes, I have heard of the Ocelot Arcade System, by virtue of it being Quality Simon Carless content...

... BTW, “Quality content” is in reference to this. Moving on: yes, I've also heard of VecFever. It plays games that you might be familiar with, since it emulates old vector MAME titles...

Meanwhile, am only just learning that Tiger released their handhelds in Japan under the Game Vision label (via segacity)...

The Sega Dreamcast: it's thinking... about you, cuz it cares about you (via posthumanwanderings)...

"Wait… was he always there?" asks the official Sonic the Hedgehog Tumblr (via sonicthehedgehog)...

And the final nail in the coffin for this gag came courtesy of the official Sonic Tumblr as well (via sonicthehedgehog)...

"Good news everyone skyrim has been ported to the Bethesda offices carpet" 

"Who the fuck designed support pillars to obstruct a quarter of the hallway?" 

"Bethesda" (via mysteriouslypeculiar)

Yet another "it's funny cuz it's true" (via highlandvalley)...

So annoyed that I only find out about this Games Glorious shirt on the very last day of kylefewell‘s Japanese extrusion (via miki800.com)...

Not a fan of the game (don’t hate, I just don’t find it very enthralling), yet for whatever reason, I REALLY want this vintage Mappy sweatshirt (via namcomuseum)...

When video game attire looks plausible IRL (via @cvxfreak)...

Much like with regular attire, with cosplay, sometimes it’s all about the accessories (via frankiebalboa)...

Don’t think I’ve ever seen this piece of Marvel Super Heroes vs Street Fighter art before (via segacity)...

For those who dig POC, as well those who dig VF, and also those who dig FV... that last one's Fighting Vipers, BTW (via fightersmegamix)...

It’s a crying shame that Fighting Vipers is such an unknown commodity these days (via kazucrash)...

Virtua Fighter vs Virtua Fighter… Kid (via segacity)...

It’s a crying shame that Fighters Megamix is such an unknown commodity these days (via segacity)...

So hyped for RPG Time, based solely upon the headline image used for this 10 ten list of BitSummit games (via @indiegameweb)...

Please enjoy yet another thing that I originally posted on a Saturday late at night, whatever time it might on your end right this second (via contac)...

Been a while since I’ve seen the handiwork of Joe Bleeps, largely since it’s been a while since I’ve been collecting Game Culture Snapshots; the man has certainly stepped up his game (boy mods) since way back when (via kotaku.com)...

Am also very much impressed by the Game Boy Macro, though once again, am super irritated that GBA games do not rest flush with the DS Lite’s body...

An example of function over form I guess (@gamesyouloved)...

Familiar with Line Wobbler? Ever wished you could play it on the go? Are you into demakes? For the Game Boy Advance? (via @diskmem)

Today’s corrupted GBA boot up sequence is (via corruptionasart)...

Can anyone tell what Famicom game we’re seeing that’s all glitched out? (via mendelpalace)...

My fave part of this NES 2 print ad is how, in order to truly drive the message of “EVOLVE OR BECOME EXTINCT” home, whomever felt it necessary to include a little picture of a dinosaur (via nintendometro)...

Was this an ad for the SNES? I ask because it’s considerably more sophisticated when compared to what you usually encountered in gaming rags at the time (via nintendometro)...

This ad for the GoldStar version of the 3DO, hailing from Korea, makes me so proud to be (half) Korean, you have no idea (via notablegamebox)...

This Space Invaders tribute piece is like the cover art to some 80s heavy metal record (via shmups)...

Meanwhile, the album art for the Metal Black soundtrack feels more Pink Floyd-ish than anything else (via reportal)...

As amazing as it would have been to attend a ZUNTATA concert 20 years ago, I desperately wanted to see them perform various Darius cuts live just the other week (via miki800.com)...

This cover art for a tribute album celebrating 25 years of Mega Man is still quite good, 31 years after the fact (via rnn-draws)...

My recommended reading this time is a comparison of all the various Mega Man sprites that have been, including a few that you may not be familiar with (via retrovania-vgjunk.blogspot.com)...

Apparently there was a Mega Man boss that was part arcade machine, but he only appeared in some mobile game, for f's sake Capcom (via mendelpalace)...

Guess now’s a good time to share another random game canter pic (via gogopri)...

Pathos at the game center, even among Sailor Scouts (via funnysailorm00n)...

A pride & joy of my personal collection is both the original retail Japanese release of Jet Set Radio & the available via Sega Direct only edition: De La Jet Set Radio (via videogameartarchive & videogameartarchive)...

Here's an alternate take on it’s alternate cover star (via @Drooling_Demon)…

Putting together the necessary gear to properly grind the streets of Tokyo-to (via kiroziki-cosplay)...

JSR tales place in a fictionalized, idealized interpretation of Japan, whereas this gif is a very realistic take, yup (via dehtyar)...

Meanwhile and elsewhere, somewhere in the United States of America it would seem (via behexagusthegreat)...

There's still dinner time in the future (via kirokazepixel)...

My contribution to #WorldGothDay (via it8bit)…

From dark & dreary, to warm & fuzzy, yet still black & white (via this old post from a few years back)...

Old photos of a Japanese school kid obsessing over the Famicom are somewhat dime a dozen, but the PC Engine? A very rare treat (via gamingremembrance)...

From black & white photographs of Japanese 80s kids playing consoles, to a full color animated gif of US 80s kids at the arcade (via tvneon)...

Time to wrap things up by touching upon something that kept me awfully busy over the past few: Death By Audio Arcade X Dreamhouse II. Here's a rather mysterious image that appeared on the FB event page, and which was utilized in my promotional push...

... Did it work? You’ll have to find out in my part 2 of my Attract Mode X Tumblr: May 2018 recap! Due tomorrow. Maybe.

[caveatauditor]

My favorite albums, days 1-10

Friends have requested that I share my favorite albums on social media, preferably with vaguely autobiographical blurbs accompanying them, so to avoid polluting the wholesomeness of my Facebook timeline with music geekery, these are they until I change my mind. I excluded albums from this decade because the decade isn’t over, so the ten gems that follow represent an attempt to make history conform to me.

1. Lil Wayne, Da Drought 3

Two discs of Wayne freestyling, bloviating, and holding a conversation over a bunch of sampled and/or stolen and/or obscure music, arranged randomly because in theory the mixtape goes on forever in both directions, a gorgeous tapestry whose details happen to consist of delectable beats and wild free-associative blather. Wayne raps like a child in a candy store, eschewing parsable semantic content in favor of puns and stray impulses and improvised phonetic twaddle and whatever he feels like saying in the moment; likewise, the beats don’t cohere, sonically or in sequence, instead sticking as many hooks as possible wherever possible as often as possible; the overall result comes off like a transmission from the filthiest corner of the id. The ultimate triumph of mid-‘00s mixtape culture, Da Drought 3 is fabulous aural wallpaper and hardly an album at all, so of course it’s my favorite album.

2. Joni Mitchell, Hejira

Given how beloved this album is among a surprisingly large number of my friends, I almost went with the equally astonishing Hissing of Summer Lawns, but let’s be real now--Hejira is flawlessly, magnificently beautiful like nothing else I’ve ever heard. The guitar lines lap and peal over breathtakingly wide, sweeping expanses of empty space--space like the open road, like the southwestern desert in the winter, like the urge to travel and stay on the move, like the empty human heart. The lyrics use the familiar musicianly trope of going on tour as a springboard for a set of travelogue meditations on solitude and perpetual motion, a condition imposed partially by circumstance and partially by internal existential need; she’s moving before the ringing opening chords of “Coyote” and she’s moving after “Refuge of the Roads” pensively winds down. The latter song in particular contains several moments that always, always make me cry, especially during the first verse (“We laughed at how our perfection would always be denied”) and the third (“A thunderhead of judgment was gathering in my gaze”). I’ll never use “relate” as a verb, but I’ve often taken refuge in the road. I always take this album with me, though.

3. Jandek, Blue Corpse

I’m cheating here: Jandek is a relatively new discovery for me, and I’m still working through his ridiculously massive catalog, but I’ve listened to him with sufficient fascination enough over the past year and a half that he deserves a spot. Fans say that Blue Corpse is a good starting point because it’s his most accessible album, but accessibility is a relative concept when we’re talking about experimental atonal lo-fi acoustic quasi-blues fuckery, so let’s just call it his most carefully sequenced--side two builds the way a second side should, starting with an extended harmonica solo before leading into his cover of “House of the Rising Sun” and the album’s ten-minute centerpiece, the lonely, furious “Only Lover”. I love this album so much I could easily imagine a better one lurking in some dank, unexplored discographical corner.

4. Janet Jackson, The Velvet Rope

As a sophomore in high school I heard The Velvet Rope and immediately decided this was the sexiest and most sophisticated music I had ever heard. I was right! To this day I hold a special place in my heart for R&B that confounds the traditional banger/ballad distinction--there are no ballads on this album! With its swirly synthesizer and xylophonesque keyboard chords, “Empty” sounds like a conventional slow song until you notice the second layer of hyperactive drums clicking maniacally atop the core rhythm track: nervous energy disrupting and complementing preternatural spiritual calm. “Tonight’s the Night” is a great cover because the act of covering an established hit mirrors the act of initial erotic exploration, of navigating your way through a series of gestures you knew about before trying yourself; the way she sings “Cause I love you girl ain’t nobody gonna stop us now” is defiantly blunt, unshowy, matter-of-fact. Those are the lyrics! She’ll sing them. Breezy, mechanical, exquisite, The Velvet Rope captures the fragility of intimacy.

5. Fall Out Boy, From Under the Cork Tree

I first became aware of Fall Out Boy in middle school, when the girl whose locker neighbored mine put up a bunch of Pete Wentz posters on the inside of her locker door. I envied her brilliance and poise, since she was obviously way smarter and cooler than me, and I’m pleased to say she was right: this daft, idiotic, magnificent album captures a world of teenage crushes, fixations, stupid feelings poorly rationalized, awkward proclamations blurted out and immediately retracted, aftershave clumsily sprayed on to impress a special someone, the scent of cheap perfume, lipstick stains on your pillowcase and friction in your jeans. It’s so flushed and clumsy it automatically enters the realm of hormonal teenpop utopia, with the crunchy guitars mirroring the anguish in eternal adolescent Patrick Stump’s heart. Pete Wentz writes solecistic, self-aggrandizing lyrics because teenagers in love are supposed to utter howlers like “The only thing worse than not knowing is you thinking that I don’t know” and (sigh) “Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness”. It’s an ode to the enduring power of romantic absurdity, in all its most entertaining guises.

6. Duran Duran, Rio

Like From Under the Cork Tree, only glitzier. Occasionally I play a game with select friends of mine where we try to guess whether a random snippet of doggerel is a Fall Out Boy or a Duran Duran lyric. “It’s just like a scene out of Voltaire twisting out of sight”? Obviously Duran, for citing French philosophy is such a New Romantic move. “We’re well-read and poised/we’re the best boys”? Self-defeating self-objectification is Pete Wentz’s favorite rhetorical device. “The sun drips down bedding heavy behind/the front of your dress all shadowy lined/and the droning engine throbs in time with your beating heart”? Too florid; gotta be Duran. “Couldn’t cut me deeper with a knife if you tried/just take a look before you run off and hide”? No clue--blood and betrayal could go either way. “Let’s fade away together one dream at a time”? “Some people call it a one-night stand but we can call it paradise”? Well!

7. PJ Harvey, To Bring You My Love

As a senior in high school I heard To Bring You My Love and immediately decided this was the sexiest and rawest music I had ever heard. I was right! To this day I know no harsher or more beautiful approximation of what it means to yearn for the sublime. The tiny guitar figure in “Working for the Man”, half-concealed beneath the drums and muffled, thumping bass, devastates because it’s creepy and horrible; the maximalist guitar roar in “Long Snake Moan”, almost as loud and thundering as her distorted vocals, devastates because so would getting run over by a tank. On the rest of the album, she hits every mood between those two extremes, including rapture and delight in addition to all the abrasive ones.

8. Fleetwood Mac, Tusk

I almost went with Tango in the Night, given how my generation seems to have discovered and reclaimed it, with “Seven Wonders” popping up in Balearic dance mixes and American Horror Story. Tusk, however, is a giant compendium of whirring gears and rotating spokes and plinky keys and strummed acoustic guitars and tinkly music boxes and billions of other moving parts, and the totality of the sound correlates with a draining, overwhelming emotional extremity. Lindsey Buckingham fills the space with a bunch of tightly crafted miniatures, distilling his imagined ideal of the Fleetwood Mac sound into the searing anger of “What Makes You Think I’m the One” and “I Know I’m Not Wrong” (Lindsey Buckingham in a song title), but Stevie Nicks gets all the big statements: the thundering “Sisters of the Moon”, the incomparable breakup ballad “Storms” (“Never have I been a blue calm sea/I have always been a storrrrrrm” always makes me cry), “Sara”. Meanwhile, Christine McVie’s “Brown Eyes”/“Never Make Me Cry” couplet is the axis on which the album’s sequence turns. Tusk resonates because it conflates the singer-songwriter confessional urge with the band’s collaborative dynamic, creating a communal space for them all to bask in their shared hate for and exhaustion with each other.

9. Crunk Hits

I needed a compilation, and this magnificent one brings to life my favorite radio format: mainstream hip-hop in the mid-‘00s. Crunk and R&B were everywhere back then; to me this album sounds like New York in the hot, lazy summers of ’05 and ’06, when these songs confounded with their unprecedented hedonism and aggression and delight. Definitively singles-oriented, this music saturated a subsequent generation of hip-hop fans, so that album artistes in this decade like Young Thug and Playboi Carti have internalized crunk’s valuable lessons about shamelessly exposing the id. I couldn’t omit an album whose first five songs are Usher’s “Yeah”, Lil Jon & the Eastside Boyz’s “Get Low”, T.I.’s “Rubber Band Man”, Chingy’s “Right Thurr”, and Ciara’s “Goodies”--damn! It’s practically a greatest-hits album for the entire decade.

10. Steely Dan, Gaucho

When I bought this album in seventh grade, I wasn’t aware I was buying the fleetest, shallowest, most efficient howl of anguish ever set to music. Donald Fagen and Walter Becker are only ironists insofar as they’re romantics who mask their feelings in inscrutable form. The question with any of their albums, which are basically all flawless, is to what degree they’ll reveal their bleeding hearts, and on Gaucho there’s such a gash in the fabric the blood spurts out everywhere, staining the shag carpet, dripping through the singer’s sleeve onto his fancy leather shoes. The modest functionalism of their slick California studio-rock, the tasty licks and glossy keyboards and sparingly deployed saxophone and sudden sharp bursts of guitar, hardly enters into a dialectic with the desperation and horror of the songwriting--it’s the perfect musical expression for these feelings, as perfection that’s slightly disfigured is so much more devastating than total abrasion (when critics use “Bret Easton Ellis” as shorthand for the demented luxury porn we’ve enjoyed and suffered through this decade, what they really mean is “Steely Dan”). No matter how many glass tables you smash, how many ashtrays you inhale, you’ll never feel as shitty as this record.

[doomedandstoned]

The Mighty Conan Speaks!

~By Calvin Lampert~

  Photos by Elizabeth Gore  

Earlier this year I had the honor of interviewing one of modern doom's spearheads, Britain’s almighty CONAN. After crushing my head for a solid hour, I sat down Jon and Chris and a ringing pair of ears to talk about their favorite songs to play live, the state of the scene, and bonding with your family through video games.

Man Is Myth (Early Demos) by Conan

So, how are you guys doing today?

Jon: Good. Thank you!

Chris: Good!

: How has the tour been so far for you?

Jon: Uh, progressively warmer. We’ve been all over the place, driving from one end of Europe to the other.

So this is something I commended you for: you've got this, dare I say, relatively “simple” approach to music, yet you manage to keep it interesting. How do you do it?

Jon: Well, we do change the band members in between albums. (laughs)   I don’t really think there is some magic to it. Some of it is skill, I’ll say. We do make a conscientious effort to write music that is different than what we did previously. We want our music to be complimentary, not just a copy. We see each other quite a lot, we sit together, and talk.

Chris: We all live in the same area. I’m pretty much always at Skyhammer [Jon and Chris’ renowned studio] since that’s where I work, and Jon lives there.

Jon: And, well Rich [Lewis, ex-drummer as of August 2017] lives in Cardiff, but we get together often.

Photo by Sally Townsend

Which makes me wonder, Jon, are you involved in any of the studio work?

Jon: No, not really.

Chris: Jon makes me a cup of coffee.

Okay, let’s talk lyrics. The title track off your last record was a bit different from the kind of “swordcery” stuff you usually do. A lot more negative in tone, less reliant on the fantasy themes. Is that something you wanna continue in the future?

Jon: Well, it’s actually still written in the same world as the rest of the songs and it’s not personal, we just wanted to flip the world around. Everything so far was about triumph and victory, and we felt like changing up things. Maybe we’ll continue with it in the future. It was enjoyable to write that song.

One more noticeable change with 'Revengeance' was how different the pacing was. Did you choose Rich deliberately since you were trying to write faster stuff, or did that happen naturally once he was in the band?

Jon: I don’t think we did deliberately.

And what is your favorite song to play live?

Jon: Well at the moment I guess me and Chris will both agree on "Thunderhoof." It was such a fun song to write too, it’s essentially a hymn to our old touring van and the lyrics pretty much describe us driving to a show and playing on stage. You know, mounting the horse's back, battle hammer in hand.

Man, I loved "Thunderhoof." It was probably my favorite song off 'Revengeance.' Can you tell me a bit about DOS, your new side project?

Jon:Well, we recorded one full length demo. The idea behind DOS is to create music that is more stripped down than Conan.

Oh, so it is a drone record?

Jon: Yeah. Conan could’ve gone in one of two directions and it obviously went into the one it is right now, but the energy I had back then could’ve also been channeled into something slower like drone. I was happy with the direction that Conan was going, but I still had the urge to try out the slow stuff. I got together with Kurokuma’s drummer, Joe E. Allen, in the studio to write really simple, heavy songs.

I initially assumed that DOS, based on the name and logo, would be some kind of dungeon synth thing, but Joe was fast to correct me on that. It still leaves curious about the story behind the name and logo, though.

Jon: Well, I’m not 100% sure yet if I will include them, but the lyrics and themes of DOS obviously center around videogames and all that. MS DOS, you know.

One of my friends really wanted to know more about your gear. What kind of strings and tuning do you use?

Jon: We tune to dropped F and the guitar tuning is F, C, F, A#, D, G. Bass is F, C, F, A#. On the guitar I use a D'Addario .8 bottom string and then the next five string are the first five strongs of a set of GHS Boomers, I think some special edition -- the Axl Rose set (laughs) -- and I use them on my Gibson Les Paul. I got the Les Paul in a deal when I swapped an amplifier. Then we took it on tour and I fell in love with it. I said, "This sounds really nice."

You’ve turned into quite a businessman over the years with Black Bow, Skyhammer, Atlantean Merch and Conan. At what point did you realize that you could make a living from music?

Jon: Well, I definitely couldn’t make a living just out of Conan. Conan is more of a hobby now, I would say, but with everything added together we get by fine. I gave up on a well-paid job so I could play music. Of course, some wanker will say I gave up a well-paid job so I could play music. I’m really happy I made that choice, because it means I also get to spend more time with my family and kids. I think you should diversify in your life.

Photo by Sally Townsend

And how do you keep yourself level-headed? There must be so much stuff going on with the label, Conan and Skyhammer.

Jon: Oh, I am definitely not levelheaded! Everybody will tell you that I am the most impulsive, annoying person around. I have more ideas than I have shits in a week, and not many of them come to fruition. There was a time not so long ago when I said to Chris: “You know what, I wanna become a mastering engineer.” And within 24 hours I decided to scrap that plan. I would’ve been the worst master engineer ever, and I got tinnitus.

Suppose that’s inevitable when you play that kind of music. Speaking of which, besides metal and all, what else do you listen to?

Jon: Well, all sorts, pop, acoustic stuff.

Chris: I do enjoy some folk and jazz on the side.

I wanted to get back to the lyrics again. Is there any franchise, game, movie, book whatever that you’d love to write a song about in the future?

Jon: Oh, there’s tons of games. Shinobi. Ghosts n’ Goblins. Strider for the Sega Megadrive. There’s millions of games that I could work with.

Chris: RoadRash.

Oh, that would be glorious!

Jon: (laughs) And of course Sonic the Hedgehog. We haven’t really done anything on Altered Beast yet, so that one’s probably going to happen.

Ah, wasn’t that the name you used to play a secret show in Paris?

Jon: Yeah, exactly!

Photo by Sally Townsend

And so far, how many of your songs have been inspired by games?

Jon: Off the new album, Wrath Gauntlet definitely is, some lines in Throne of Fire. Altogether probably 15% of our music. We’re mostly inspired by the scenes in the games.

And what do you play?

Jon: Well, Skyrim all the time. My son and I, we text each other all the time: “Have you got that sword or done that quest?” It’s great to connect and have a part of my life that is on exact the same level as his. I really value that time. I got the new Gauntlet one the PS4, that one’s a lot of fun.

Calvin: That’s awesome! I’ve spent countless hours amassing unique weapons and armor in Skyrim, I’m a lootwhore myself. Alright, this question is a bit different, but I always get some great answers: If you were a demon, which five objects would one have to place in a pentagram to summon you?

Chris: Well for me, first of something related to motorbikes. Maybe throw a guitar in as well. I love me some bikes.

Jon: In direct contrast to that: a leper's hand, a book written by a dying man, the first and third toes from a liar.

Film by Billy Goate

So, what’s in store for Conan in the future? When can we expect a new record?

Jon: Early next year hopefully.

And where do you see Conan in five years?

Jon: Ideally, we will still tour, play cool show, write good music and hopefully still enjoy it, regardless whether the scene is still popular or not.

Which brings me to my next question: What’s your take on the state of the scene? Do you think the boom will continue?

Jon: I think it won’t last much longer for some bands. These bands get pushed upon people and they’re not that good. They think they’re cool, they think they fit into the genre, when in fact they do not. As soon as the trend moves on, so will these bands. There’s a lot of people that latch on due to the popularity of this sort of music, and it’s not just bands, it’s also managers and the likes, flying around like flies around a pile of shit; letting a lot of people down, messing with their futures. It’s annoying, and hopefully when this sort of music may still be popular but less trendy a lot of these people will go and do something else. We don’t really need them.

Photo by Sally Townsend

What are some smaller bands, maybe from your own regional scene that you think people should check out?

Chris: Mammoth Weed Wizard Bastard from Wales. They're really good. I think that band, they're taking the blueprint sort of thing and putting a different spin on it. They've got good riffs, but the other thing they bring to it is the vocals -- they're really, really interesting. They're a really good band.

Jon: Boss Keloid is pretty cool, too. Slomatics, you probably know about them. You've got Drought, as well, with Conan's ex-bass player, Phil.

Chris: Iron Witch.

Jon: Biggus Riffus -- they're probably one of the heaviest band we've played with.

Chris: I feel bad for not being able to remember more right at this moment.

Jon: One More Victim. I like to call it cakedown instead of breakdown, because it is so heavy. And so many more bands that I cannot think of right now. Tons of great stuff you can find through the web nowadays.

Photo by Sally Townsend

I love me some Boss Keloid and Slomatics. Alright, one last question, a cheesy one. If you were to ride into battle, what would be your weapon of choice, and which beast would you mount?

Jon: I would ride into battle on a pogo-stick made of mammoth spines. And my weapon of choice would be a razor-sharp spiders net which I would use to penetrate people through the face.

Chris: I would probably surf in on the back of an eagle, and the eagle is on fire, and I would use a massive sword that is forged from the heart of a volcano, since I wanna keep it simple.

Sounds like a very effective way to strike terror in the hearts of your enemies.

Chris: I probably would have to wear some sort of fire-proof clothing.

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[yahoo-puck-daddy-blog]

Puck Daddy Bag of Mail: Tweaking the playoff format

The current playoff format could disadvantage the Predators who figure to run into a strong Jets team earlier than they’d like. (Getty Images)

It’s awards season at this point. Most playoff races are decided, most good teams are resting players, and most bad teams are already starting to at least think about packing up the stall for the summer.

So you can forgive people if they really don’t care much about the last 10-13 games their teams are scheduled to play here. Very few teams are playing for anything worth anything, and it’s mostly just players taking runs at point- and goalscoring titles. (In the games on Tuesday night, a few guys really emptied the tanks; Brad Marchand and Nikita Kucherov each had three points, Erik Karlsson had two to pull within three points of the league lead among defensemen with six fewer games played than the leader.)

But perhaps most interesting this week was Pierre LeBrun asking a bunch of GMs if they want to expand the playoffs when Seattle gets its team. They predictably said yes (for obvious, job-preservation-related reasons) and everyone groaned. There’s really that little to talk about at this point.

So here are a bunch of questions that have little to do with the rest of the season. Let’s roll:

Megan asks: “If you could make a single change to the playoff seeding system, what would it be?”

Pretty obvious here, but if we’re sticking with the 16-team format — and we absolutely should not! — then you go No. 1 vs. No. 16, No. 2 vs. No. 15, and so on and so forth.

The NBA, a league run with plenty of competence versus the NHL’s complete lack thereof, is reportedly considering just such a move because it recognizes how fundamentally flawed the current 1-8 East/West format is. That, also, is a league without ties and loser points, which helps to uncloud how big the gaps there are for Nos. 1 and 8. The NHL at least gets to pretend because of its very dumb points system that this isn’t an issue.

There are, as Adam Silver points out, plenty of issues with this; in the NHL, if Tampa is the No. 1 team and, say, Calgary is the No. 16, they might be at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to travel versus a No. 2 like Nashville facing a No. 15 like Columbus. Then you have to build extra days into the schedule, the playoffs take even longer, etc.

But I think that’s probably the fairest way to handle this overall. Certainly everyone in the world thinks the current format sucks. But I think there should also be a 60-game regular season, so the NHL doesn’t want to hear my ideas on this.

Raul asks: “Which team will be the worst to make the Conference Finals this year?”

Speaking of the very bad playoff format, it basically guarantees at least one relatively weak team makes the Conference Finals every year. See: Senators, Ottawa.

This year, I think the pretty obvious answer is whichever team comes out of the Pacific, because I don’t see Dallas as being a particularly big impediment for Vegas in the first round (if that is who they end up facing) and I think the 2-3 matchup in the Pacific isn’t gonna produce a great competitor either.

The fact that you’re just gonna have Nashville and Winnipeg hitting each other in the ribs with aluminum baseball bats for six or seven games seems wildly unfair to both the fans and those teams, but that’s what we have to live with.

I don’t think any of the four or five legit contenders for the Eastern Conference Final (Tampa, Boston, Pittsburgh, Toronto, and maybe Philly all seem plausible here) would be illegitimate.

Ashmead asks: “Why do NHL teams recall players for a few hours (e.g. Dylan Strome)?”

In the case of Dylan Strome, that was an emergency call-up in case Derek Stepan couldn’t go that night (I want to say on Monday?) but it turned out Stepan was healthy enough to dress so they sent Strome back down with an eye toward giving him a runout over the last eight or 10 games.

But the reason I picked this question was because about a week ago, I saw a bit of confusion on Twitter about a few teams sending down young roster players then recalling them shortly thereafter. This was on the AHL roster deadline day, so it behooved players to “send down” guys on two-way contracts so they would be eligible for the Calder Cup playoffs. These were purely paper transactions to ensure that even if teams were eliminated from Stanley Cup contention, their 22-year-olds (or whatever) could still get as many playoff games as possible.

Just a quick explainer but in a lot of cases, those are the two reasons teams would rapidly move players back and forth between the AHL and NHL.

Dana asks: “Why isn’t the recent influx of First Nations players such as Bear, Whitecloud, Montour etc. a bigger deal?”

There’s no real good answer to this question, I’m afraid. I think part of it is certainly that many of them do not appear as though they are of a different race (many have Western names, etc.), but also because there has been an increased presence of First Nations players in the league for some time now.

While there were only a handful active native players on NHL rosters to start the season (including Carey Price and TJ Oshie, among others), the call-up of Ethan Bear and signing of Zach Whitecloud added a lot to that number, proportionally.

The league can and should certainly do more to help native players — especially in remote parts of Canada — get access to affordable hockey. Otherwise you hear the stories about Jonathan Cheechoo (I think) taking a long helicopter ride multiple times a week just to get some ice time with other kids. I know a number of native players who made a good living in the league have certainly made those kinds of efforts, but given that there are so few, those efforts can only go so far.

As with the question of why aren’t there more black players in the league, it seems like the answer is “opportunity,” and that leads to a lot of uncomfortable questions about inclusivity if Hockey Is, indeed, For Everyone.

Pokecheque asks: “What would be your ideal fix for the NHL draft lottery?”

Well as long as we’re asking how I would fix the league, I would say there is no NHL draft and players are free to sign with whichever teams they like as they enter the league. Of course, you can impose limits on how many players a team can have on entry-level deals as a means of curtailing any handful of clubs from stockpiling elite players.

Drafts are anti-competitive and as a capital-L Labor guy, it’s unfair to enforce where players are able to work so tightly. I’d also get rid of restricted free agency, but that’s a different subject entirely.

Anyway, I don’t think you need to fix the concept of the draft lottery. I’m all for tanking to get the best guy. I can see why most people are not, but I am unmoored from the sport’s toxic cultural mores.

If you think tanking is a problem, I’d probably tweak the odds a bit so maybe every team has the same chance  regardless of whether they finish two or 40 points out of the playoffs. That would create chaos and chaos is funny.

Rebecca asks: “When the (hopefully) new Seattle NHL team starts playing, they’ll have a natural rivalry with Vancouver but the NHL seems to like smooshing together random teams for ‘rivalry night.’ What manufactured rivalries can you see the NHL pushing for Seattle?”

They’re for-sure going to be in a rivalry with Vegas as the two most recent expansion teams. That’s not even negotiable.

Otherwise, you probably have to look to other sports for rivalry inspiration. The Seahawks also have a long-standing rivalry with the 49ers, and that’s close enough to lump the Sharks in. The Sonics used to have a big rivalry with the Lakers so maybe you say the Kings.

The real answer to this is “Whatever NHL team moves to Oklahoma City soon” but y’know.

Jones asks: “How would you alter the salary cap?”

I think the cap works pretty well for what it is, as it stands right now. I might incentivize teams to get better at drafting and developing by giving them a slight discount on re-signing players that made their NHL debuts with the clubs. I’ve seen people propose a 50 percent drop but that’s preposterous; imagine giving the Oilers Connor McDavid for $6.25 million AAV next year? FOH.

But if you wanna say 10 percent? Even 20 percent? I have a lot of time for that.

I might also add some mid-level exceptions like they have in the NBA, just to encourage a little more of a middle class in NHL salaries.

Plus it seems fine to let NHL teams retain as much salary as they want, but put a limit on how much of their cap obligations it can account for.

Those are the big ones for me but I’m sure I could come up with more if I really put my mind to it.

Stephen asks: “What college free agents do I want on my team?”

I’m not going to get into this too much (naming players, etc.) because I’ve answered this same question at least three times this season, including literally last week. Go back through the archives.

But the reason I’m answering this one is simple: To plead with you not to get your hopes up. The number of college free agents who really and truly become something in the NHL is pretty small, but there’s a sweepstakes or three every year. This leads to people dramatically overrating players, like say oh I don’t know just to choose a random example from the recent past who got insanely overrated and everyone shouted at me for saying he wasn’t that good but I ended up being right, Jimmy Vesey.

How much did I say to people, “Do NOT get super-excited about Jimmy Vesey?” How much did those people tell me to take a walk? How many goals does Jimmy Vesey have in 147 career games at almost 25 years old? It’s just 31.

Similar “sweepstakes” were held for Christian Folin (173 career games), Matt Gilroy (225 games), Matt O’Connor (1 game), Spencer Foo (0 career games), Danny DeKeyser (368 games, but he’s really bad), Justin Schultz (395 games but he had to change cities before people stopped throwing garbage at him on the streets), etc.

There are success stories: Kevin Hayes, Torey Krug, Chris Kunitz, Tyler Bozak, etc. But with the exception of Hayes, who simply let his draft rights with Chicago expire, what do a lot of those guys have in common? Yeah, they’re undersized,  “late bloomers,” or both, that’s correct.

A lot of NCAA free agents aren’t “late bloomers” so much as they never really bloom into being real NHL players, and that’s totally fine, but let’s just try to be realistic. Any guy your team gets at this time of year is a free asset who has a max ceiling of Chris Kunitz or Tyler Bozak. These aren’t bad players, but they’re not even close to being superstars.

Adjust your expectations accordingly.

Ryan Lambert is a Puck Daddy columnist. His email is here and his Twitter is here.

All stats via Corsica unless noted otherwise.

[weareliminal-blog]

In Cantonese “Sifu” is a title given to a master of a trade, according to Wikipedia. Whether you trust Wikipedia or not, it’s only fitting that Livingston Matthews decided to adopt the name Pink Siifu (yes, double i) as his musical persona. Siifu treads the threshold between conscious-activist rap, and pure love poetry; a guru of cloud rap, weaving through ethereal vocals and experimental jazz. At 25 he recognizes the masters of his craft, designing “something like if N*E*R*D’s Seeing Sounds and The Love Below by André 3000 had an album baby, with a little of Erykah Badu’s Mama’s Gun” for his next piece of work. It’s a bold statement for the young rapper, but I don’t doubt his dexterity and ability to finesse his way to the top.

I first met Pink Siifu at Back Beat LA, a monthly event that caters to the underground jazz and experimental hip-hop scene in Los Angeles. He slid across the back, skateboard at his side, and asked if he could grab something off the vegetable platter. Unbeknownst to me, he was part of the lineup. He approached the mic and let his raspy vocals and entrancing sing-rap reverberate throughout the Grand Star Jazz Club; a lo-fi dream, sobering and transcending at the same time.

We agreed to meet outside of Space 15 Twenty in Los Angeles for the interview – post Tape Meet LA, where independent labels like Stones Throw, Paxico Records, and Akashik Records gathered for a cassette exhibition. It’s not everyday I get to be among some of my favorite producers and DJs, but I digress. Pink Siifu greeted me with a big grin and arms wide-open before we talked about his move from Birmingham, to Cincinnati, and now LA; the effects of the internet on hip-hop; and his musical odyssey.

Did you already have connections out in LA?

Nah, I knew like a couple of niggas. I started going to shows and parties, and I went to Ringgo’s (Mndsgn) – one of Ringgo’s after parties. This was when him, Zeroh, Low Leaf, and Alima (Jennings) were staying in the same crib. I met Ahwlee there, and I even met Swarvy at Ringgo’s. I met mad niggas at Ringgo’s crib.

Yeah, I moved out here to do that. I moved out here with my ex, just because we fucked with the artists and production out here.

When you were younger did you see yourself moving out here?

Hell nah, I just thought I would go back to Alabama, or Atlanta, or Florida. I still want to go back, but it’s boring as fuck.

The art scene (in Atlanta) is tight. It feels like Brooklyn. Everybody knows everybody. There’s so many different types of art. I went there, and the niggas that threw a gallery show, threw a rap show after. That shit was just tight as fuck. They made early SpaceGhostPurrp type of shit. It was super southern. It was dope.

Do you get the same feeling as you do at home?

It ain’t nothing like LA. LA has no season change. It’s neither hot nor cold. There’s no fall or spring. It’s either summer or a lazy winter. I need fall and spring for my sanity. That shit is weird. That’s the only thing I don’t fuck with.

I feel like Los Angeles is a bubble in that way. Do you agree?

Word. Maybe that’s true. Yeah, actually Cali has a lot of shit going. Cali just stays with Cali. I feel like y’all focus on London and New York. I know a lot of cats that know cats from London and NY. It’s tight. A lot of cats I fuck with are either from Philly or New York, so maybe that’s why.

Is it because of the type of hip-hop prevalent out here? I feel like East coast hip-hop and rap are more conscious, though. What is it about those artists that resonates with you more, as opposed to artists from Los Angeles?

Nah, nah. I fuck with artists from here. I fuck with both. Honestly, New York niggas sound like Atlanta niggas, ‘cause of the internet probably. I miss when I used to go down south and visit my family. Like the south would be playing certain types of music. Before everybody started fucking with Young Jeezy, only Atlanta and Alabama were playing Young Jeezy and Lil Boosie. We’d hear all the new music in the south first.

I fuck with artists from here though. Conscious niggas are definitely in Cali. Zeroh is one of my favorite rappers. Zeroh is from Long Beach; Kendrick from Compton.

I fuck with Brooklyn too, though. There ain’t nothing like a Brooklyn woman. A black Brooklyn woman is just so direct with your ass. I fuck with Brooklyn woman heavy – not even to date – like just admire them. Like a dude will do some shit on the train, and they’ll be like “what the fuck is wrong with you?” That shit is tight. I be on the train and I’m like “Yeah, you shouldn’t fuck with her dog.” Laughs. “She ain’t the one dog. Fuck around and get jawed.”

Do you think because you’re from the South your take on music is very unique or do you think you have a blended sound as well?

Blended, definitely, because I was raised in Ohio.

Then what genres do you think your music is a mix of? Hip-hop, obviously, but you definitely have some jazz influence.

It’s crazy, my jazz influence. I’m realizing this more as I grow up. I already knew that my pops used to play the Saxophone, and everyone told me he was a monster. My grandfather, his pops, he wasn’t the best dad but he was an artist, a jazz nigga. They say he was a big reason for the jazz movement in Nigeria. They say he used to play with Charlie Parker.

Hold up, you’re going on tour?

Me and Ahwlee are going on short, short tour. It’s not like these big nigga tours. We’re going to Oakland, Chicago, Brooklyn, and then Pennsylvania. I’m grateful! But I definitely want more dates. I wanted to hit Atlanta.

Did you see yourself going on tour 5 years ago?

Well, kind of. Hold up. He loses his train of thought. Shout out to Shoes for fucking this up. Laughs. Wait, I started doing music in 2011 seriously, but the jazz influence is from my pops and grandfather. Dungeon Family, Badu, Temptations, Jill Scott, Eddie Kendricks – bless his soul. I used to love Frank Sinatra.

Were they your inspiration for twothousandnine?

D’Angelo and Dwele were, sonically. We would listen to a lot of Slum Village, D’Angele, Dwele, and Dilla. We was watching D’Angelo live shows before we recorded some tracks. The title of it was because 2009 was lit. It was lit musically for me. I started listening to N*E*R*D heavy, Kid Cudi, and a lot of other indie rap shit – not just Lil’ Wayne and Outkast. I started listening to Blackstar too.

I told Swarvy we should name it that, and he said it was crazy because that’s when he started making music seriously and getting weird with it. We had the same view on 2009. Shit just started sonically changing for us.

It’s funny you mention Outkast. After the photo shoot, Julian (Essink) and I kept thinking that you remind us of André 3000. Do you get that a lot?

That’s my favorite artist of all time, like how Tyler loves Pharrell. That’s how I feel about André. I feel like he’s guiding a nigga every time I listen to him. The Love Below is the best album. There is no other album, especially rap album, that’s like that.

Is 3 Stacks your ideal end goal as a rapper?

No, because the game fucked him up. I feel like I know him; it’s super weird. The industry fucked him up, like he’s cool with the legacy he left.

Is that disappointing for you?

It’s not disappointing for me, but it’s disappointing for the rest of his fans that don’t get that he already gave us everything. We don’t even realize how good it was. He really doesn’t want to put up with the shit that goes with putting out an album. I support him in everything. As soon as he stopped making music, and started putting out movies. I was like, “Alright, fuck it! That’s my favorite actor now.”

He sounds like your favorite uncle.

Deadass. I love him. He can do whatever. If he puts out shoes I’m gonna buy them. I swear. 3 Stacks is my favorite rapper. Dungeon Family is what I’m trying to make for myself, like Soulquarious. I also love rock shit. I love N*E*R*D.

In terms of rock, do you pull inspiration from your favorite bands? I’m asking mainly, because your music isn’t very mainstream. It’s not what you would typically hear on the radio, especially for a rapper. I feel like I appreciate your music more because of that.

I feel that. Well, with the rock shit I do have a lot of music that’s not out yet that’s inspired a lot by rock. I have a lot of music that niggas won’t expect, mostly because I haven’t put out my own album yet. I’ve got several different styles. I’ve only put out what people have produced for me.

So are you producing your own music?

Yeah, but I kind of don’t like making my own beats. I like working with other musicians. When I write, I’m kind of just like letting it flow.

Is it like stream of consciousness?

It’s mostly conversations I’ve had in my relationships and thoughts that I’ve had; things that have actually happened. Sometimes I make up shit, or I’ll combine different events in my life into one story.

How do you know when you have a finished product?

It’s just a feeling.

When you finish a track do you get overly excited to put it out or do you wait until you have a couple of songs ready, and then pick and choose?

I used to be super excited. When I’m working on an album, I’m never that excited, though. I just want to keep building, making it fire. But like now, I don’t give a fuck. I’m trying to get D’Angelo with it, like put an album out every five years.

I kind of just want to hold it. With BRWN, I was talking to three different women. I first started talking to a girl from Brooklyn, and then we ended. Then I was single and talking to different women, and then I ended up dating a girl for 8 months. After that, I started having a sexual relationship with one of my homegirls until I finished BRWN. I was living through this shit while making the album. It was weird and dope. It’s a woman appreciation album, especially a black woman. There are only female features in it.

There were dope life experiences in that album. That’s how the best albums get made.

When do you think you’re going to release your next album or EP?

Me and Ahwlee are working heavy. I can’t say when we’ll drop some new shit. The next thing I drop will probably be a B. Cool-Aid thing.

Should your listeners expect a similar outcome from you based on your previous work?

You should just watch my Instagram stories. My album is gonna be full of music like that. It’s gonna have the Blues, rap, jazz, rock. I want something like if N*E*R*D Seeing Sounds and The Love Below by André 3000 had an album baby, with a little of Erykah Badu’s Mama’s Gun. Sprinkle everything in there.

Niggas definitely might not fuck with it, but there are so many things I want to try. If they don’t fuck with that, then they’ll fuck with the next one. I want to be able to have different types of people that enjoy different genres of music at my show.

If there was one artist that you’d want to collaborate with, who would it be?

I’d want to work with Static Major or Dilla. If I had either of their beats on an album, that would be crazy. I would love to get some guitar from Hendrix, too, but only if he was still alive. Also Matt Martians, Homeshake, and that’s about it.

[ricardosousalemos]

Jim O’Rourke: Bad Timing

In the early 1990s, years before he joined Sonic Youth or partnered with Wilco or tried his hand at singing, Jim O’Rourke was a kind of prodigy in the experimental music underground. He recorded albums in his early twenties for labels like Sound of Pig, Amsterdam’s Staalplaat, and John Zorn’s Tzadik. He made music with whatever was at hand and was proficient on many instruments, and he often performed in the context of free improvisation. But O’Rourke’s first instrument was guitar, and one of his deepest musical loves was the art of arrangement—the precise placement of this note in this pocket of space, the choice of this instrument for that note. The two obsessions met in glorious fashion on his 1997 album Bad Timing.

In the 21st century, we take music built around steel-string guitar for granted. New practitioners have emerged (William Tyler, James Blackshaw, Ben Chasny), a latter-day legend has come and gone (Jack Rose, R.I.P.), and an endless series of reissues of albums by major figures stream by (hello, Bert Jansch). But 20 years ago, the notion of solo acoustic guitar as a medium for expression of album-length ideas was only just emerging from hibernation. Some of its resurgence during that period could be traced to the work of critic Byron Coley, who had written an article in SPIN in 1994, in which he’d tracked down the then-obscure John Fahey in Oregon. Fahey had barely recorded in the few years previous, and was living off the grid and on the edge of poverty, occasionally sleeping in homeless shelters. That SPIN piece, along with the Rhino compilation Return of the Repressed, which put his out-of-print music back in stores, cemented the guitarist’s status as an icon of American music. Neither he, nor his instrument, have left the conversation since.

In North America, the acoustic guitar is often associated with “folk” music of a certain mood; from 1970s singer-songwriters to the ’80s emergence of new age and then onto the rise of “unplugged” music in the ’90s, the acoustic became associated with relaxation, intimacy, quiet contemplation—a sound ostensibly more closely connected to the natural world than its electric counterpart. But Fahey’s vision for acoustic guitar was something else entirely. He was among the first to fully grasp that the the instrument had uniquely expressive qualities, that its possibilities as a device for melody, harmony, and rhythm were untapped, and alternate tunings gave it further flexibility other instruments couldn’t match. In Fahey’s hands, the guitar became an orchestra in miniature, and long, multi-part pieces with the thunderous sweep of a symphony could sit alongside rustic evocations of the past. Fahey’s guitar became a tool for collapsing time and space, able to incorporate the grand sweep of music history in a flurry of strummed chords, fingerpicked melodies, and raga-like repeating rhythms.

Fahey’s mid-’90s resurgence served as a backdrop for Bad Timing, and the connection colored how it was received at the time. The Fahey connect was further underscored by O’Rourke’s earlier work in Gastr del Sol, his post-rock duo with David Grubbs (they covered Fahey on their 1996 album Upgrade & Afterlife.) But while Bad Timing has deep spiritual connections to Fahey’s work, the actual music comes from a very different place. You could almost think of Bad Timing as as a record that’s trying to be a Fahey album but keeps getting derailed and ends up going somewhere even more interesting. It was originally written to be a solo guitar record, and O’Rourke has performed versions of the pieces in that setting, but as he worked on the music, he decided he wanted to take it into another direction, one that would incorporate his obsession with carefully arranged sound.

Expanding Bad Timing allowed O’Rourke to paint on a much larger canvas. “For me both Happy Days and Bad Timing were about my myths,” O'Rourke explained to writer Mike McGonigal in a 1997 interview in the zine Music. “A big part of my head is Americana. But the Americana I know comes from listening to Van Dyke Parks, John Fahey, and Charles Ives. That doesn’t exist, and I have to face the fact that it doesn't exist. I have to address that it’s nothing but a construct.” O’Rourke has always wrestled with the “Why?” part of record-making. He’s an avid and thoughtful listener and has absorbed a mountain of music, so with each project, he considers exactly why he should be adding to the pile. Bad Timing may be an homage to some of his heroes, but he takes their collective influence and bends it into a peculiar shape, a tangle of deep reverence and exuberant skepticism. It’s a fantasy that is aware of itself as fantasy, a self-conscious evocation of an individual artist’s obsessions that also functions as a neat historical snapshot.

Parks’ lush arrangements and his gentle irony; Fahey’s vast scope; Ives’ clash of folk simplicity and avant-garde dissonance—these elements are all over Bad Timing, and minimalism is the final piece of the puzzle. Though it draws heavily from the music of other cultures, particularly India, minimalism as a compositional technique is closely identified with American icons, in particular the work of Philip Glass, Steve Reich, Terry Riley, and LaMonte Young. Glass, Reich, and Riley are best known for repetition—they build meaning through gradually shifting clusters of sound. Young’s music has alternated between repetition and carefully tuned and deeply physical drone. Two other composers, Phill Niblock and Tony Conrad, both of whom O’Rourke work with, further extended Young’s drone conceptions. For this group, held tones become a form of change; from moment to moment in a drone piece, you expect shifts and development to happen, and when they don’t, you’re constantly re-discovering where you are in the now.

Bad Timing has this mercurial quality. It flows beautifully and is easy for a newcomer to enjoy, but it’s also a series of head-fakes, regular juxtapositions that jar the music off course as it moves from one mode to the next. The opening “There’s Hell in Hello But More in Goodbye” starts off almost as a carbon-copy of Fahey in his most whimsical mode, with a sunny finger-picked melody that one could imagine a turn-of-the-century farmer whistling as he strolled across a field. But after a few bars, it drops into a single repeating pattern played on just a small handful of notes, like a needle slipping into a skipping groove, and it stays there, as a lone chord is examined, poked at, and wrung dry. Other subtle instruments fold in—organ, piano—and as “Hello” unfurls it becomes a pure drone piece, quieter and prettier but not so far from the Niblock-inspired hurdy-gurdy blast that defined O’Rourke’s previous album, Happy Days. What started as “folk” ends as a kind of raga meditation.

This kind of shell game happens throughout Bad Timing, as the individual pieces convince you they’re one thing while they’re in the process of becoming something else. “94 the Long Way” opens with a tentative, lurching fingerpicked section, hinting at possible songs behind it, but not quite committing, until finally a pattern emerges that mixes a lurching bass-string loop, repetition in the middle register, and a simple descending three-note melody that becomes the center around which the rest of the track orbits. It at first sounds too simple, like it’s barely even a melody, but O’Rourke adds cheery keyboards, gorgeous pedal steel guitar, and trombone, and it starts to feel like a John Philip Sousa march—you think of fireworks and parades and kazoos and guys in funny hats and rolling expanses of land stretching to the horizon. 

The construction of the piece is impressive as new instruments are added every few bars and they all lock into place. But there’s also something joyously silly about it all, a cartoon of civic engagement. The bumptious cheeriness evokes children performing an exaggerated “whistle while you work” march, pounding forward in service of some high-minded collective ideal. The hint of camp extends further. I’ve always taken the “94” in the title to be a reference to I-94, the interstate highway that runs through Chicago. If you’re in the Midwest and you want to take a road trip, you’re almost certainly going to find yourself in I-94 at some point. O’Rourke’s song can be heard as an ode to the freeway, his acoustic Americana version of Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn”—indeed, the structure of the two songs is similar, and the snaking pedal steel is evocative of the gliding guitar in the Kraftwerk tune. It’s a soundtrack for looking out the window as you roll through the farmland of Wisconsin and Minnesota. 

“Americana” is an inexhaustible descriptor entirely dependent on perspective. American music, after all, is by its nature fractured, a bottomless well of influences that zig-zag around the country and then around the world. Hyper-local folk forms are “discovered” and stolen from and then sold back in a gnarled form by professionals from far away. Aaron Copland, composer of “Fanfare for the Common Man,” was a gay, cosmopolitan Jew with communist sympathies, and he created work steeped in American myths, dreaming up places where he might not be entirely comfortable (or welcome) if he were to actually visit them. O’Rourke’s musical fantasy is steeped in the past but also feels ripe with the possibility of the present moment; it’s of history but it sits outside of it. 

The second side of Bad Timing is essentially a single 20-minute piece split into two sections that grows steadily stranger while playing with ideas of nostalgia and memory. O’Rourke presents ancient notions of “American music” and then toys with them. The title track opens with another playful folk guitar figure before losing itself in haze of keyboard melody. For minutes on end, the song seesaws between two slowly plucked chords as hints of accordion nudge the tune along. You keep listening for changes, and you think you might hear something shifting, but you’re also happy to get lost in the repetition, the simple twinkling beauty and building tension of the arrangement. 

And then it explodes: a huge distorted power chord launches us into “Happy Trails,” the final piece. Suddenly we’re in the middle of a psychedelic rock record, and it’s like a light switch thrown on, or explosive laughter that sucks the discomfort out of a room. After the lengthy fallout from that blast, there’s another extended fingerpicked acoustic passage, and then the song is overwhelmed with a crashing marching band fanfare (a possible nod to Charles Ives’ Symphony No. 4, where a brooding string passage is interrupted by blasts of horns that sound borrowed from another piece). Adding further contrast, pedal steel guitarist Ken Champion, whose impossibly beautiful swells of sound add so much poignancy to “94 the Long Way,” returns with a downright loopy solo fit for the Country Bear Jamboree. Then the song sunsets in a golden-purple haze of muted horns, returning to uncanny beauty one final time. 

This seesaw between mischievous subversion and slack-jawed beauty is the key to O’Rourke’s best music. His sense of humor is both generous and slightly dark; there’s irony in his touch, but it’s not a negating one. It’s more about being open to hearing every possibility in a given piece of music. In a 2001 interview O’Rourke was asked if Bad Timing had an element of parody. “Not a parody at all, or infatuation, it’s more like trying to reconcile what is imagined, learned, real, and imaginary.” And then he added, “Is it really that impossible to believe that something can be funny and sincere at the same time?”

Bad Timing, and O’Rourke’s solo career that followed, is a convincing argument for creation in the face of self-consciousness. The “Why?” of music-making is under-explored. Does your individual record need to exist? For O’Rourke, and especially for his solo albums on Drag City, he justifies their release by lavishing care on every detail, and embracing the music of the past in all its complexity. O’Rourke has always been very careful about how his music is packaged and presented. He only allowed it to be released digitally in the last couple of years, and the downloads on Drag City’s newly created Bandcamp pages urge the listener to “please download the best possible quality.” He’s fighting against his music being reduced, whether that means shrinking the artwork, compressing the digital files, or removing individual tracks from the context of the whole. He’s asking for a lot from the listener, but giving even more in return. Bad Timing was where so many of these ideas came together for the first time, a glorious imaginary world that becomes real every time it plays.