ChrisW and Becky Rock rushed up the walkway toward the Gatchamania.net site, their faces a blend of concern and fear. They both let out a startled shriek and nearly tripped over each other as a young woman with long brown hair wearing simple jeans, walking boots, and a black t-shirt with “NOT a Ninja” in white lettering suddenly appeared before them.

“Littlewolf!” Chris cried.

“I really hate it when you do that!” Becky added.

“I’ve gotta keep my skills sharp.” littlewolf replied. Meanwhile, Chris took a quick glance upward to see nothing but open sky. She looked at the walkway under littlewolf’s feet – nothing but solid concrete. There were no buildings nor landscaping for her to hide behind...so how did she –?

“So what’s got you two so –?” littlewolf asked.

“I think we’ve got goon problems.” Becky replied.

“Again?! Are you sure?”

“Well, we didn’t actually see any...” Chris said, “just come with us. We’ll explain along the way.”

After a few moments, the threesome reached a parking lot.

“And I was saying, ‘But why ?’” Becky said, “‘ Was she hungry? Was she trying to get away from a predator? Or an overzealous rooster?’ You know what I mean, LW?”

“Got it.” littlewolf replied, “Never tell you the ‘chicken crossing the road’ joke.”

Chris added, “And I said that whoever came up with that joke probably didn’t know jack about chicken sexuality.”

“No surprise there.”

“Anyway,” Becky said, “we heard some noise, and when we got to where we thought it was coming from...”

There were two cars parked next to each other.

“...we found this.”

There were several head-sized dents in the fenders, and a guitar case halfway under the right car. Littlewolf retrieved the guitar case and set it on the hood of the nearest car. She carefully opened the case to see what was inside.

It was an electric guitar.

That was as far as her expertise went.

“Well,” she said as she shut the case, “let’s take this inside. Maybe Cep will know what to do.”

* * * * *

Darkness.

Thick heavy sticky.

His eyes refused to open.

It felt as if clothesline was cutting into his wrists and upper arms. He was leaning forward slightly – the pressure on his sinuses said so. The taste of six months of dry mouth pasted his tongue to his teeth.

He slowly straightened up. He moved his tongue around his mouth to get the saliva going. He took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose a little at the damp oiliness that bit at his nostrils.

His eyes finally opened.

The place was dimly lit. That was all the detail he took in – he was surrounded.

Dozens upon dozens of eyes stared at him.

Eyes painted with a hellish mockery of serenity focused on him. Lifeless eyes that lock on his while their soulless plastic mannequin bodies move toward him. Eyes that don’t blink while thin, sharpened plastic fingers are pushed into his chest to wrap around his heart and slowly crush –

Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it!

He strained to slow his breathing, calm his racing heart.

Did one of them just move over there?

You know they aren’t going to come to life and come after you. Just stop it.

There was a loud clunk! and an intense light blinded him.

Once his eyes adjusted, he saw a costumed man before him. It was hard to say exactly what kind of look this guy was going for – if you crossed a Rottweiler with a Chihuahua, and then took a pup from that litter and bred it with a hairless Chinese crested dog, you would have the look of this costume: one ugly mess. The closest thing to a blessing was the fact that the mouth was left exposed, so all could see the snarl on his lips.

“So you’re the Newbie.” the ugly dog-man spat. “You don’t look like much to me. However....” he stepped aside to reveal four more men standing a short distance back. They wore a more recognizable costume – the green uniform of a Spectran soldier. “....judging by the condition of the men I sent to capture you, you have the power of five Condors inside you.”

The Newbie didn’t answer; he was surprised by that statement. He found himself almost in awe when he focused on the four henchmen – one’s mask had to be cut in order to compensate for a plaster cast on his nose, and the other three’s jaws were swollen and had become gloriously hideous shades of black, blue, and purple. Impressive, considering he wasn’t a brawling type.

“If it hadn’t been for the bruises on your knuckles,” Ugly said to the Newbie, “I would’ve called them liars.”

The Newbie could have sworn he saw a couple of mannequins at the edge of his vision shift to get a better view.

Ugly returned to his initial spot between the Newbie and the soldiers. He leaned forward, blasting the Newbie with breath that smelled like a dead skunk rotting in a sewage treatment plant. “Earthling, I am Commander Gemors of Spectra, and it is my job to interrogate you.”

* * * * *

The guitar case sat open on a table in a lecture hall. Several of the most active members of Gatchamania.net stood around the table, their attention going from the guitar to Gary, the head of the Gatchageeks. Gary’s laptop computer sat open on the table’s edge while his fingers danced on the keyboard.

“Is this really necessary?” littlewolf asked.

Daniella T replied, “There’s always a chance – ”

“Of what?” KT1972 chimed in, “That the Guitar Stork just happened to accidentally drop his delivery to an expecting pub band?”

“Maybe if it was wearing a diaper...” Chris muttered under her breath.

“It’s a Rickenbacker 325c64!” Gary announced. He turned his laptop’s monitor for the rest to see the picture of the guitar with a description of it beneath.

“Well,” Transmute Jun said with a sigh, “it looks like we have to face the fact that –”

“WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM!” another Gatchageek – a young lady wearing wings and a helmet that were a hybrid of the Swan and the Eagle – cried as she burst into the lecture hall through a door at the uppermost level of the audience section.

“We know, Gina!” Gary snapped, “That’s why we’re here!”

“Well,” Gina replied, “either we’ve got another problem, or the one you’re talking about’s worse!”

With that, Redbird stepped in, carrying a severely bent wheel from a wheelchair. “Is it normal to find these in the parking lot?” she asked.

* * * * *

The Newbie developed a new appreciation for close calls. Commander Gemors decided to allow the four goons to “assist” in the “interrogation”; one declared he was going to use his fists. A second found a metal pipe, another one had discovered a Louisville Slugger, and the fourth was scrounging around in a junk pile just out of sight when the call from Zoltar came.

So now he was strapped to a chair in some sort of office....at least, he guessed it was an office. There was a large antique desk at one end with a high-backed leather chair behind it. But the rest of the room was decorated as if somebody decided to make this room look like a five-star hotel room without even seeing a torn corner of a picture of such a place. The only place on the ceiling that didn’t have a painted cloud or cherub was where an enormous crystal chandelier was anchored. The white wallpaper had a complex, repeating pattern in deep purple – a kangaroo mecha stomping five people wearing BirdStyle. The couch against the wall on the Newbie’s right had claws, and the upholstery was orange with purple paisleys. A red and orange shag carpet finished the look. The look that was achieved was gaudy. Migraine-triggering gaudy.

But at least he wasn’t in that warehouse anymore. That warehouse with all those mannequins with those creepy, painted-on eyes. Dozens upon dozens of eyes staring at him....

A door behind him opened. Commander Gemors stomped in with a woman slung over his shoulder. He dropped her onto the couch and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

While the woman struggled to sit up straight, the Newbie tried to recall where he’d seen her before. He knew he’d seen her face, as well as the long, dishwater blond hair that was falling into her face as she shifted around. He could tell that she was tall, though he couldn’t remember ever seeing her on her feet....although he wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be standing at this time – her left foot had a very large, solid, black boot on it that made the foot look at least twice the size of her right foot.

Once she’d finally settled, she pushed a few strands of hair out of her face. He saw then that her wrists were tied together, and that was her only restraint. She took a calming breath and placed her hands in her lap.

“Are you okay, Brian? They didn’t hurt you too badly, did they?”

“No, I’m okay. Why –?”

“It looks like they tried to break your fingers.”

He noticed his fingers for the first time – the swollen knuckles, the way his fingers had taken on the same color scheme as the jaws of the three Spectran soldiers.

“No,” Brian answered, “I just wasn’t very cooperative when they grabbed me.”

“Wow.” she breathed. Then she added, “Did any of them survive?”

“ElectricWhite,” a familiar voice said as the high-backed leather chair turned, “your attempt to initiate a mating ritual with this new member of your fan club must be the most pathetic thing the galaxy has ever seen....”

“Well,” she replied, “if it isn’t Spectra’s purple pile of poo.”

“...and your wit is as underwhelming as usual.”

“Look, Zoltar, what do you say we skip the preliminary insult rounds and just cut to he chase? That routine’s gotten tiresome.”

“Agreed.” Zoltar replied as he rose from the chair.

Brain didn’t realize his jaw had dropped until it was too late....how could ElectricWhite have a rapport with the Spectran Empire’s front man?

“So,” EW said as Zoltar came out from behind the desk, “am I here for your usual whining, or did you cosmic goofs bring me here for something almost worthwhile?”

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“There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them." --Ray Bradbury

“How the hell does he do that?!” he roared.

“Jason?” Mark raced into the room.

“Got away.” Jason wadded up the cape and threw it to the floor. “Again.”

Mark paused a moment. “We need to see to the hostages.” He went over to EW.

Jason hopped over the desk and then started unfastening the straps on Brian’s chair. “They try to break your fingers?”

“I punched a couple of goons.”

“Did any of them survive?”

* * * * *

Tiny sat in his usual spot, babysitting the Phoenix while the rest of the team was busy kicking Spectra’s forces back to the Crab Nebula. He settled in, ready for a quick nap to pass the dull time until the rest of G-Force came rushing back.

Oh yeah, he also had to keep an eye on littlewolf.

He learned a few things about her – she fostered rescued dogs, for example – but soon the conversation ran dry. Littlewolf sat quietly in Mark’s chair. Within minutes her eyes grew heavy. She leaned forward, folded her arms, and rested her head on the console in front of the seat.

Tiny listened, and when he heard littlewolf’s breathing became steady and deep, he settled in and was soon asleep.

Less than five minutes later, she was running away from the Phoenix. The grass barely whispered beneath her feet.

* * * * *

Mark lead the way with Brian just behind him. Jason, carrying EW, followed. They were nearing the warehouse area where Brian had awoken earlier; he recognized the corridor the Spectran soldiers had marched him down when Zoltar summoned. There was no sign of any troops.

“You know,” EW said in a hushed tone, “you’d think they’d invent a fold-up wheelchair I could keep in a pocket in case of incidents like this.”

“We were going to give you a ready-made ransom note to carry with you – ” Jason replied.

“But they’ve never wanted a ransom for me.”

“And there’s no way in hell we’d pay for you if they did.”

EW let out a small chuckle just as they entered the warehouse.

In spite of the grubby windows set high in the walls and the equally dingy skylights, a full moon was able to provide just enough light for the foursome to see the floor was almost empty except for a few small stacks of crates and – Brian didn’t realize how much his muscles tensed – mannequins lining the walls.

The silvery light gave the painted-on eyes a more demonic sheen. The silence here was more intense than the office; it seemed as though they not only heard their heartbeats, but the heartbeats of everyone else as well.

If only there was some spooky background music...

Brian tried to keep his eyes fixed on the back of Mark’s helmet – anything to keep from focusing on the mannequins and their freakishly-painted eyes....dozens upon dozens of eyes staring at them...eyes painted with a hellish mockery of serenity....

“Uh, guys,” Brian said, “did any of you see what happened to the mannequins?”

They dashed toward the nearest stacks of crates. Mark and Brian slid into a small cave formed by one stack of crates an instant before a flurry of plastic body parts swirled around the pile like a tornado.

They heard EW let out a shriek and Jason let out a “Dammit!” EW let out more shrieks, each one accentuated with a sharp crack! Finally, she was shoved into the small space. Both Brian and Mark pulled her in the rest of the way while she sobbed and cried out in pain.

Clutching both of them, she gasped, “God, it hurts! He keeps using me like nunchucks!”

Jason squeezed into the space, slightly winded. “Didn’t we fight them before?” he said. Even though he was panting a bit, the annoyed tone was unmistakable.

Mark pried himself from EW’s grip. “Remember how we beat them last time?”

“All five of us kept smashing them until there weren’t any left.”

“Oh.” Mark saw a couple of problems with using this tactic again. First, there were the two hostages – Brian and ElectricWhite – that had to be rescued. Second, there were only two members of G-Force there. But –

“Princess, Keyop, report!” Mark said into his communicator.

“We’re almost done setting the explosives, Mark!” came the Swan’s reply.

“Get to the warehouse at the eastern end right away!”

“10-4, Commander!”

“It’s going to take them a little time to get here.” Jason said, “What do you suggest we do in the meantime?”

The mannequins started changing. The joined together in groups of five to transform into a cross between throwing stars and buzz saw blades. They targeted the protecting crates.

Jagged wooden shards rained down on Jason as he drew his cable gun and fired. A star-saw shattered in a flurry of plastic bits. He prepared to fire again.

But then the mannequins returned to their original form and backed away from the crates. They started smashing into each other, making moves that some might say was a poor attempt at break dancing, and the most violent twerking ever seen in the galaxy.

“What the –?” Jason stuck his nose out of the crate-cave just far enough to see. “You were supposed to stay on the Phoenix!”

Littlewolf leaned against the boxes to his left. At her feet was a plastic shopping bag, and she had something very much like a video game controller in her hands. “Join in.” she said, sliding the bag over to him with her foot, “I found these on my way in.”

Jason looked in the bag and found four more controllers.

In no time everyone was sitting with their backs against the undamaged parts of the crates. Four of them furiously tapped buttons and moved joysticks; at first, EW was too focused on her pain, but then she was trying to keep herself from doubling over with laughter when she noticed one mannequin was smashing others with the Three Stooges’ eye poke.

Princess and Keyop charged into the warehouse just as the last mannequin threw itself into the floor, shattering into countless tiny pieces.

“It looks like we missed the party!” Princess proclaimed when she reached her teammates.

“Better late than never, Princess!” Mark replied. “How much time before the explosives blow?”

“Five minutes.”

“I’d say it’s time to get outta here!” Jason proclaimed.

* * * * *

Princess escorted Brian into the Ready Room at Center Neptune. “Keyop will be here as soon as he’s sure the way’s clear.” she explained.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Brian asked as he set his guitar case onto the floor, “You won’t get into trouble?”

“Everything will be fine.” Princess replied. She made sure not to say, “Assuming I don’t accidentally do something to draw attention to the fact that I’m sneaking a guy onto base in the middle of the night!”

“So,” Princess nodded toward the case, “what did you bring?”

He picked up the case and opened it for her to see. “It’s a Gibson J160e.”

“Oh.” she breathed as she carefully reached out to touch the guitar’s neck, “It would be groovy if we could jam sometime.”

Just then Keyop came in. “All clear!”

Princess snatched up her amp and lead the way. They went down one corridor, then another, and then a third. They stopped before they reached the end of this one.

“Okay,” Princess said as she set down the amp, “Sick Bay is just around the corner. EW is –”

“I remember that part.” Brian said. Princess gave him a questioning look. He raised a hand and wiggled his perfectly-healed fingers. “I was here a couple of days ago.”

“Oh yeah.” Princess set the amp down. “Anyway, remember to give me just enough time, but don’t take too long –”

“We got it!” Keyop snapped, “Get going!”

Princess calmly walked up to the nurse’s station. “So, how’s she doing, Amy?”

The night nurse looked up from her computer screen. “You know, if we were in America, I’d tell you I’m not allowed to discuss a patient’s medical situation with you.”

“But we’re not in America.”

“Which is why I don’t mind giving you an update, since you wouldn’t use any information inappropriately.”

Princess smiled at this. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Keyop come around the corner with the amp in his arms. He moved like a cartoon character – each step was an exaggerated tiptoe motion – as he crossed the corridor to one of the patient’s rooms.

“I feel so sorry for her.” Amy said to Princess, “We just can’t seem to get ahead of the pain.”

Brian took normal steps behind Keyop, but he stayed back a bit – Keyop somehow managed to stumble over his own feet twice.

“It seems like she can’t get any sleep until the pain killers kick in,” Amy continued, “but the pain killers won’t kick in until she falls asleep.”

“She hasn’t gotten any sleep?”

“Well, during my shift, she’s gotten five – maybe ten – minutes. Day shift says it’s the same for them.”

“Isn’t there anything they could do about that?”


“I don’t know. Maybe induce a coma? All I can say for sure is that, when she does doze off, you can tell it’s not a restful sleep – her face is nothing but tension.”

Keyop rushed out of the room just as music started playing. He came to a dead stop in the center of the hallway and sheer terror covered his face – both Princess and Amy were gawking at him. He put on a grin that was far too big to be innocent and sauntered over to the nurse’s station.

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“There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them." --Ray Bradbury

I apparently did this post as you were posting more parts, so I missed them.

What a great way to introduce Brian to our fun.

You need to keep with you some kind of alarm to let everyone know when Spectra is messing with you.

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I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers so far...

I am honored and moved to have been included in the first ever story written with me as a character! That was very, very good EW. As I was reading it, I had an idea. I was inspired... I won't tell you what I have in mind right now, but I think that I've got a surprise in store for you as a token of appreciation. Stay tuned and I'll post here before too long. Once again, that was so cool. Thanks.

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Voice of Joe Asakura, Condor Joe, in Gatchaman. There's nothing a few bird missiles can't solve!

Great story, EW! I love the idea of Brian and Princess jamming together *grin*

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There is no problem that cannot be solved with time, patience, and a judicious amount of high explosives.

wow, Brian, that was fantastic Can't wait to hear the rest of the story

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Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement; nothing can be done without hope. - HELEN KELLER

Oh, this was awesome! What a great surprise for you EW, (and the rest of us as well).

You did a fantastic job with this Brian!

Looking forward to hearing the rest!

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Playing darts with the Condor's feather shuriken...

Here's Part 2:

Part 2

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Voice of Joe Asakura, Condor Joe, in Gatchaman. There's nothing a few bird missiles can't solve!

So awesome! You really brought the story to life!

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There is no problem that cannot be solved with time, patience, and a judicious amount of high explosives.

I'm just posting so this thread won't get buried before we hear the rest of the story!

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“There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them." --Ray Bradbury