To Slay A Superhero (lji s9e5)
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I, Doctor Deimos, thank you for this assignment in a warm climate and the honorary doctorate from the Agricultural University of Havana. Even if it's in Physical Education, at least I'm an actual doctor now.
You will be pleased to hear our timetable is right on schedule. We received the shipment of modified assault rifles for the 20 men. Our kennels are filled with stray dogs we've found in the area with the least malignant used as an emergency food supply. By week's end, we attack the First National Bank of South Miami to finance our plans to conquer Florida. Not even Aeon Man or that neanderthal Paragon can stop us now.
Your Loyal Lackey,
Doctor Deimos
"I have a Ph.D. in terror."
P.S. That's just a little something I'm trying out. It works well in a mirror when I scrunch up my face and laugh loudly.
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I regret to inform you that during our latest bank heist that pesky team Aeon Man and Deja Vu, The Sentinels of Dogwood City, arrived within moments of us sequestering the civilians as hostages. My men fired upon Aeon Man, but each round merely bounced off his chest, perforating another of my team. As Deja Vu quipped something about playing with guns, I released the attack dogs only to see seven ill tempered toy poodles leap from the carriers to batter Aeon Man with their fierce tail wags and tongue licks. Expecting the standard poodle, renowned for its savagery, I was at least relieved that the man who had loaded the wrong carriers was now dead. Left with no other options, I tactically withdrew.
Included is the twenty dollar bill taken from the teller's wallet seconds before the shooting started. It is the total sum of my take in the heist. I offer it along with my sincerest apologies. The mission objectives have shifted to include killing these tourists before our dominion of the state can begin.
With Deepest Regrets,
Doctor Deimos
P.S. The new catch phrase was dropped when one of my men made fun of me for plagiarizing Doctor Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog. I am comforted that he, too, died in the heist.
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I apologize for the six month delay in correspondence. I have been in hiding since the last complication. Recruitment of henchmen from the angst-ridden urban youths of south Florida is underway.
We have rebuilt our operations in the Everglades. I successfully genetically engineered alligators that were poached locally. The original specimens were spliced with Eastern Tarantulas - bird eater spiders. The result was a bowel-loosening Lovecraftian horror that is quite resilient. I named the creatures Tarantors. However, due to their hybrid biology, low gait, and love of swimming, their primitive book lungs on their undersides fill with water when left unsupervised. This quickly became a problem when utilized anywhere outside my front door. Maybe I should have used snake DNA?
The three assassins I sent to kill Aeon Man and Deja Vu never returned. We must assume they were killed or apprehended. And I had such a good feeling about Dynagore the Destructor.
Please send the industrial aquatic tank I requested.
All Hail Gamma Council,
Doctor Deimos
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I had successfully crossed Agkistrodon piscivorus, the water moccasin, with the remaining alligators. I dubbed the creation Poisodiles. Along with the remaining Tarantors employed as ground sentry, my genetic army was blossoming and nearly prepared for invasion when Aeon Man infiltrated our hidden swamp base. My babies had him pinned as I laughed. Victory was within my reach.
That was when one of my recruits turned to me and casually dislocated my shoulder. It seems human resources had hired an undercover Deja Vu. I would have fired Sarah for that clerical error had she not been eaten by a Tarantor.
My mutant alligators rushed my attacker, only to crack the side of the tank containing the remaining Poisodiles. All remaining Tarantors drowned in the flood. My machines, now ruined, exploded into a fiery ball of doom. I narrowly managed to float to safety using an inflatable marital aide found in the employee lounge.
Fleeing to the Florida Keys, I resolved to start again. I beg forgiveness for these delays. I humbly request schematics for an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Death Ray, a Sherman tank, and 500 trained stormtroopers.
Please Don't Kill Me,
Doctor Deimos
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
Thank you for the timely provisions. The schematics were very helpful in creating prototypes. The noted humor of the small box marked “Your Army” containing a miniscule electronic violin playing 'Here Comes Those Tears Again' by Jackson Browne, was not lost on me.
After weeks of planning, I was ready to reap my revenge. A force of fighting robots were built from discarded vacuum cleaners and washing machines. Each one was fitted with a working death ray. A few steam mops were obtained and refurbished into reconnaissance units. The last count was three hundred wired bodies to do my bidding.
I tracked Deja Vu's life activities to discover any possible weakness I could exploit. The search was fruitless, however. I settled with kidnapping his cousin's wife's sister-in-law's college roommate. The plan was simple: if my amazing plan to whack them both miraculously failed, I would use my prisoner to ensure an exit.
Every death bot in my arsenal was moved to their forward base in Miami. The sound of Aeon Man's laughter caused their programming to make them turn in his direction. With a jerk of its wheels, the lead automaton yanked the extension cord, unplugging my entire army from a wall socket.
As I frantically tried to plug my regiment back in, Deja Vu noticed the lens reflection of the telescope I had been using to spy on the proceedings. Turning the plug 180 degrees to fit it in the socket, I jabbed the prongs into the wall as the hero somehow found me across the street with a bound middle-aged man in my abandoned Waffle House base. I stumbled over the cord, turning my army off again. Both champions of justice seemed confused at this point. Tossing the hostage toward Deja Vu in a panic, I ran into the street where I was hit by a bus. My resulting broken femur hurt for only the first three crawled miles.
I am considering a career change.
Envying The Dead,
Doctor Deimos
* * * * *
Dear Flaming Douchebag Assholes,
This will be the last letter I ever send you. Not that you care, considering I'm in prison and expecting a hit on my life as thanks for all my service. Those five minutes spent with a ray gun in my hands, shooting everyone that reminded me of you, Deja Vu, and Aeon Man may have been the greatest moments of a very agonizing existence. After getting that out of my system, I wept with glee and gladly went with the nice men in uniform when they arrived to arrest me.
Thanks for lying to me and telling me this lifestyle was easy and fulfilling. I will remember that in the cafeteria when Knuckles, the 400 pound gorilla, flirts with me. Perhaps he'll sell me for a cigarette.
Go Fuck Yourselves,
Robert Slovak
This entry was written by cloworora for thereallivejournalidol, a writing competition, despite having 11 stitches in his right hand this week. He's comfortable with the outcome regardless.
I, Doctor Deimos, thank you for this assignment in a warm climate and the honorary doctorate from the Agricultural University of Havana. Even if it's in Physical Education, at least I'm an actual doctor now.
You will be pleased to hear our timetable is right on schedule. We received the shipment of modified assault rifles for the 20 men. Our kennels are filled with stray dogs we've found in the area with the least malignant used as an emergency food supply. By week's end, we attack the First National Bank of South Miami to finance our plans to conquer Florida. Not even Aeon Man or that neanderthal Paragon can stop us now.
Your Loyal Lackey,
Doctor Deimos
"I have a Ph.D. in terror."
P.S. That's just a little something I'm trying out. It works well in a mirror when I scrunch up my face and laugh loudly.
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I regret to inform you that during our latest bank heist that pesky team Aeon Man and Deja Vu, The Sentinels of Dogwood City, arrived within moments of us sequestering the civilians as hostages. My men fired upon Aeon Man, but each round merely bounced off his chest, perforating another of my team. As Deja Vu quipped something about playing with guns, I released the attack dogs only to see seven ill tempered toy poodles leap from the carriers to batter Aeon Man with their fierce tail wags and tongue licks. Expecting the standard poodle, renowned for its savagery, I was at least relieved that the man who had loaded the wrong carriers was now dead. Left with no other options, I tactically withdrew.
Included is the twenty dollar bill taken from the teller's wallet seconds before the shooting started. It is the total sum of my take in the heist. I offer it along with my sincerest apologies. The mission objectives have shifted to include killing these tourists before our dominion of the state can begin.
With Deepest Regrets,
Doctor Deimos
P.S. The new catch phrase was dropped when one of my men made fun of me for plagiarizing Doctor Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog. I am comforted that he, too, died in the heist.
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I apologize for the six month delay in correspondence. I have been in hiding since the last complication. Recruitment of henchmen from the angst-ridden urban youths of south Florida is underway.
We have rebuilt our operations in the Everglades. I successfully genetically engineered alligators that were poached locally. The original specimens were spliced with Eastern Tarantulas - bird eater spiders. The result was a bowel-loosening Lovecraftian horror that is quite resilient. I named the creatures Tarantors. However, due to their hybrid biology, low gait, and love of swimming, their primitive book lungs on their undersides fill with water when left unsupervised. This quickly became a problem when utilized anywhere outside my front door. Maybe I should have used snake DNA?
The three assassins I sent to kill Aeon Man and Deja Vu never returned. We must assume they were killed or apprehended. And I had such a good feeling about Dynagore the Destructor.
Please send the industrial aquatic tank I requested.
All Hail Gamma Council,
Doctor Deimos
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
I had successfully crossed Agkistrodon piscivorus, the water moccasin, with the remaining alligators. I dubbed the creation Poisodiles. Along with the remaining Tarantors employed as ground sentry, my genetic army was blossoming and nearly prepared for invasion when Aeon Man infiltrated our hidden swamp base. My babies had him pinned as I laughed. Victory was within my reach.
That was when one of my recruits turned to me and casually dislocated my shoulder. It seems human resources had hired an undercover Deja Vu. I would have fired Sarah for that clerical error had she not been eaten by a Tarantor.
My mutant alligators rushed my attacker, only to crack the side of the tank containing the remaining Poisodiles. All remaining Tarantors drowned in the flood. My machines, now ruined, exploded into a fiery ball of doom. I narrowly managed to float to safety using an inflatable marital aide found in the employee lounge.
Fleeing to the Florida Keys, I resolved to start again. I beg forgiveness for these delays. I humbly request schematics for an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Death Ray, a Sherman tank, and 500 trained stormtroopers.
Please Don't Kill Me,
Doctor Deimos
* * * * *
To The Technocratic Council of Gamma Insurrection,
Thank you for the timely provisions. The schematics were very helpful in creating prototypes. The noted humor of the small box marked “Your Army” containing a miniscule electronic violin playing 'Here Comes Those Tears Again' by Jackson Browne, was not lost on me.
After weeks of planning, I was ready to reap my revenge. A force of fighting robots were built from discarded vacuum cleaners and washing machines. Each one was fitted with a working death ray. A few steam mops were obtained and refurbished into reconnaissance units. The last count was three hundred wired bodies to do my bidding.
I tracked Deja Vu's life activities to discover any possible weakness I could exploit. The search was fruitless, however. I settled with kidnapping his cousin's wife's sister-in-law's college roommate. The plan was simple: if my amazing plan to whack them both miraculously failed, I would use my prisoner to ensure an exit.
Every death bot in my arsenal was moved to their forward base in Miami. The sound of Aeon Man's laughter caused their programming to make them turn in his direction. With a jerk of its wheels, the lead automaton yanked the extension cord, unplugging my entire army from a wall socket.
As I frantically tried to plug my regiment back in, Deja Vu noticed the lens reflection of the telescope I had been using to spy on the proceedings. Turning the plug 180 degrees to fit it in the socket, I jabbed the prongs into the wall as the hero somehow found me across the street with a bound middle-aged man in my abandoned Waffle House base. I stumbled over the cord, turning my army off again. Both champions of justice seemed confused at this point. Tossing the hostage toward Deja Vu in a panic, I ran into the street where I was hit by a bus. My resulting broken femur hurt for only the first three crawled miles.
I am considering a career change.
Envying The Dead,
Doctor Deimos
* * * * *
Dear Flaming Douchebag Assholes,
This will be the last letter I ever send you. Not that you care, considering I'm in prison and expecting a hit on my life as thanks for all my service. Those five minutes spent with a ray gun in my hands, shooting everyone that reminded me of you, Deja Vu, and Aeon Man may have been the greatest moments of a very agonizing existence. After getting that out of my system, I wept with glee and gladly went with the nice men in uniform when they arrived to arrest me.
Thanks for lying to me and telling me this lifestyle was easy and fulfilling. I will remember that in the cafeteria when Knuckles, the 400 pound gorilla, flirts with me. Perhaps he'll sell me for a cigarette.
Go Fuck Yourselves,
Robert Slovak
This entry was written by cloworora for thereallivejournalidol, a writing competition, despite having 11 stitches in his right hand this week. He's comfortable with the outcome regardless.