Awesomesquad! Assemble! 5.2!

If you have never read any of the previous Awesomesquad Assemble! posts before, you can find them here, there, in this general vicinity, at this location, and way over here. I would definitely read the last one, as this post is a continuation of that one. I’ll wait.

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The Knifemaster stood in the middle of the darkened room with his back to me; the only beam of light in the room was landing on him, and him alone. His shirt, pants, and hair were caked with guido blood.  Attached to each of his fingers was a medical scalpel, making him look like a Carrie/ Edward Scissorhands love-child that wants to be a doctor. He whipped himself around and stared directly at me. His eyes were wide with crazy. I reached beside me and grabbed my Justice Stick, waiting for him to make the first move. He stood there, eerily still, for about a minute. Just as I was about to let my guard down and ask him what he was doing, he jumped straight up into the air, raised his hands, and screamed, “AWESOMESQUAD, AAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMM MMMMMBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”

I stood there silently for about a second, just processing what I had just seen. Then, I stated, “It’s much easier and efficient if you just use the intercom.”

“Oh,” he replied, “Sorry, I’m still kind of new at this.”

I flipped the switch, and the thick, inky black of the room melted into a warm yellow from the walls. A long executive looking table surrounded by high back leather chairs sat in the middle of the room, and on top was a speakerbox. The Knifemaster strode to the table, held down a button on the speaker box, and calmy said, “Awesomesquad assemble in the conference room, Awesomesquad assemble in the conference room.”

“I was half expecting you to scream it into the intercom,” I noted.

“I can if you want me to,” He replied. He pressed the button once again and began to take a deep breath when I said for him not to.

One at a time, eight of the other nine members of Awesomesquad! assembled in the conference room, each one giving an uncomfortable glance at The Knifemaster before taking a seat at the table. I noticed the empty seat (other than The Knifemaster’s empty seat. He didn’t want to get blood on the leather. What a gentleman!)

“Where in Waldo’s name is Mr. Expendable?” I asked, seriously reconsidering choosing people I know for my Superhero team.

“The last time I saw him,” Everett answered, “He was helping me test out my latest flame throwers.  They worked incredibly well; burned the ever loving fuck out of him.”

“That’s great and all, but we need him in here now,” I replied. I nodded to The Knifemaster, and he bounded back to the speakerbox.

He pressed the button once again and yelled, “Bannon, get your regenerating ass in the conference room! And we don’t want to hear any shit about you being in severe pain or needing skin grafts.”

After about thirty seconds of everyone in the conference room sitting quietly, what appeared to be an oversized, man shaped piece of blackened chicken came crawling through the door. It moved in a similar fashion to a sloth, barely lifting it’s limbs off the ground. It cried out (even though it was more of a raspy gurgle,) “Help me.”

“Mr. Expendable,” The Knifemaster boomed, “When I say ‘Awesomesquad Assemble,’ I don’t mean whenever you goddamn feel like it. YOU WILL PAY FOR YOU INSOLENCE! BRAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” The Knifemaster once again jumped high in the air and came down upon the unsuspecting Bannon, his scalpel equipped fingers finding Bannon’s torso and digging in extra deep. Bannon let out a pain filled shriek and squirmed around on the floor, which was followed by verbal protest and shocked cries from the rest of the group.The Knifemaster, begrudgingly complying with the team, pulled this scalpel equipped fingers out of the crusty flesh of Bannon, .

Damien Walters raised his hand politely and asked in his British accent if all this violence was necessary. I was amused that our hand-to-hand combat instructor had a problem with that violence, and decided that I had made at least one good choice when it came to putting the team together.

The Knifemaster answered for me with a, “It sure is, so don’t ask questions, you bloody Brit, or I’ll have to go all kinds of Knifemaster on your ass.”

“Wow,” I commented to The Knifemaster, “You’re really taking this second in command thing pretty seriously, Jibbles”

“I know,” he replied sheepishly, “I just want to make you proud.”

“You are. Your batshit insanity, even though it makes me worry about everyone around you’s safety, makes me see how much fear you can put into the rest of the team. I can only imagine what you will do to our enemies.”

“Fo’ realzies?” he asked, tears forming in his eyes.

“Fo’ realizes,” I answered while putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. I quickly removed it though when I remembered that he was covered in the blood of the guido assassin that he “autopsied” minutes earlier. We then shared an exploding fist bump, not caring what that stupid cracked.com video said, and I turned to address the group.

Realizing that no one was paying attention to him anymore, Bannon jumped to his feet and announced, “It’s OK everybody. I’m alright!”  His burnt flesh began to regrow, starting at his face and moving downward. The sound his healing made was both dry and wet; it was is if crackers were being rubbed together, but the sound was moving mashed jello. When he was done, he was completely nude. “I’ve learned how to control my healing so that I do not heal right away! Isn’t that amazing!”

The group let an a collective disinterested “meh.”

Dissappointed that no one gave a damn about him or his regenerative abilities, Mr. Expendable went to a cabinet, pulled out an extra pair of pants and put them on, and sat in an open chair.

“OK then,” I said, blocking the image of a nude Mr. Expendable from my head, ‘Everyone, we have ourselves a serious problem.”

“You’re damn right we have a problem,” GMZ spouted, “We’re almost all out of Lady Caggiano’s baked goods. HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO WORK WITHOUT SOME GODDAMN COOKIES!!!!!”

There was a murmuring of agreement amongst all of those at the table, including The Knifemaster, even though he has never had the wondrous experience of eating Lady Caggiano’s  brownies (I do not mean that in a sexual way because the sexual connotation is really gross.)

“Look gang,” I conceded, “I know that we are all tweeking from a Lady Caggiano cookie fix, but we come together as a team and get through this. I know we can do it because we, WE are Awesomesquad! and WE are strong… Also, I can bake chocolate chip cookies. Will that help?” There was a moment of silence, and then a chair came flying at my face.

I dodged the chair, and yelled, “Damnit GMZ!  Stop being such an unimaginable prick!” Addressing the entire group, and no longer playing nice, I said, “Listen right the fuck up. I was attacked by a masked assailant in my house earlier today, and the attacker turned out to be a guido, and we all know what that means.”

They did. You could see the fear and disgust etched onto each of their faces. It would be the same face someone would make if they watched a kitten explode. The room got deathly quiet as they waited for me to continue. God, I love being the leader.

I took another moment or two to really soak in their anxiousness for my word chocolate, and then I said, “Pauly D, as we all know, came onto our patented douche-dar several weeks ago when footage was leaked of him shooting a laser out of his mouth.”

Honestly, I don’t think I will ever grow tired of this.

“He obviously sent the assassin as a message for us to stay out of his business, but just like America after 911 and Pearl Harbor, We are going to wage war against this asshole, and probably kill a lot of walking stereotypes along the way.”

Famed motorcycle rider and Sandra Bullock heart breaker, Jessie James interjected, “Honestly, Minigan, I am all for killing a bunch of guidos. They make Italian Americans look bad. But If Pauly D is as dangerous that gif says he is, how are we supposed to defeat him? I hope you have some sort of plan.”

“Of course I do” I replied in a confidant tone. “Criss,” I added, “Put up the projection of the map.”

Criss looked around with a confused look on his face, and asked, “With what?”

I stared at him for a second. I was assuming he was being a smartass. He knew damn well what I was talking about. “With magic.”

“Look, everybody,” he said, standing up, “I am not sure what powers you think I have since I’m a magician, but I cannot create money, I cannot project images, and I cannot raise the dead, so please stop asking. Has any of you even watched my television show? It’s still on the air!”

“It is?” I asked half shocked.

Well, I’ll be damned. It is still on the air.

The Knifemaster stood over Criss and said in a threatening voice, “Angel, If you do not magic the shit out of that picture  and put it up on the screen, I am going to Knifemaster you so hard that your knives will be bleeding  knives right out of your knivy knives. You understand?”

“No,” Criss replied, “I have no goddamn clue what you are talking about.”

“PUT UP THE GODDAMN PROJECTION, OR I’LL FUCKING STAB YOU!!!!”

Criss sighed and rolled his eyes. Luckily for him, The Knifemaster didn’t see it. He then sat back down, set his elbow on the table and opened his palm. Out from it shot a white beam of light that spread out into  a map of our destination behind me.

“Goddamn it,” Criss muttered, more shocked at his own abilities than anything else.

“So,” the shirtless Mr. Expendable said, turning to look Criss in the eyes, “you can raise the dead. WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME?!”

“Mr. Expendable, shut up. Criss, I always believed in you.” I said while giving Criss a friendly wink.

Criss then replied, “Please, for the love of God, stop winking at me. It is really starting to weird me out.”

The Knifemaster jumped onto the table and yelled, “DON’T YOU DARE DISRESPECT MINIGAN LIKE THAT!!!!!”

GMZ then yelled, “I WANT SOME GODDAMN COOKIES OR I’M GONNA KILL SOMEBODY!!!!!”

“Knifemaster, sit down, and calm yourself. Criss, sorry about that, but next time try not being such a douche about it. And GMZ, shut the fuck up or we’ll put you into the detox chamber.” I said. I then turned back to the map projection, and began to explain the plan. As I was pointing out the flight path across the barren, nuclear wasteland to Jessie James, I saw a hand behind me rise into the air.

It was Everett, our weapons technician. He said, “Not to interrupt, Minigan, but do you really think it is safe for us to enter Hell this way. We are going to be way outnumbered by all of the different forms of evil monsters that live there. This kind of sounds like a suicide mission to me.”

“I understand you fears, Everett,” I pointed out reassuringly, “But I promise you, that this mission is going to be safer than what you think. First of all, we are not headed to Hell. You weren’t far off, mind you, but we are actually going to New Jersey. This means that we will only encounter one type of horrible beast, and that is the guido.  Now, guidos are notoriously difficult to kill; their thick pelt is impervious to any form of radiation. This includes heat, Everett, so your flame throwers will be of no use to you this time. I also doubt that your lightning shooter will have an effect on them. You may want to try using your gas launcher, or a standard gun or sword. I know that knives will work, because that is how I killed the guido in my house earlier today.” “Knifemaster,” I continued, “Since their pelt is thick and strong, you will need to make sure that all of our knives, including The Justice Stick, have all been properly sharpened. They will probably need to be resharpened afterwards.” “Damien,” I said, looking to the muscular Brit, “the one thing we know best about guidos and douchebags in general is that they love UFC, but they don’t actually participate in it at all. This means that their fighting style will be a combination of moves they’ve seen in UFC matches and kung fu movies. This is good news for you, because it means that despite them being strong and hard to kill, you should still be able to knock them out at least.”

“What about transport?” Jessie asked, “How exactly do you want us to travel through the thick smog of New Jersey?”

“What’s where I come in,” the super sexy Danica McKellar stated, “Using a complex algorithm that none of you would understand so I’m not going to explain it, I have deduced that the smog is entirely made out of steam from nuclear reactors, Axe body spray, spray tanner, and crippling depression. This should be not a problem to fly through as long as the air filters in the jet are new.  However, this smog fluctuates depending on how much douchebag is in the air. Therefore while calculating contents of the Jersey smog, I was also able to pinpoint Pauly D’s exact location down to within a few feet. Criss, can you put the next map up, please?”

Criss sighed, closed his hand, and opened it again. When he did, the map on the projection screen changed from a state map of New Jersey to a smog map of New Jersey.

Danica walked to the head of the room , and began to point at specific locations of the map while commenting, “All the purple you see is the normal smog of New Jersey, I.E. the nuclear reactors, Axe, spray tanner, depression mixture. However, these blotches of hot pink are vents of douchebag.” She pointed to the shoreline that was very bright pink; it was actually glowing. “As you can see, the entire shoreline of New Jersey radiates douchebaggery. But, as you can also see there seems to be two major epicenters of douchebags along the coast.” She pointed to the larger of the two and said, “This larger one, we are certain is where The Situation is, but this one,” motioning to the one in the center of the shoreline, “is where Pauly D and his thugs all reside.”

Jessie then asked, “What can we expect turbulence-wise when we get close to Pauly D?”

“Well,” Danica said, “The turbulence will be pretty bad all the way through Jersey, but you can only expect it to get worse when you go through the patches of douche smog.”

Looking at Jessie, I added, “Due to the size of the Awesomesplane! and to the lack of open areas near the shoreline that isn’t a beach, you are going to stay airborne while the rest of the team takes Pauly out.”

“Why can’t he just land on the beach?” Mr. Expendable asked.

“Because the weight of the jet will cause it to sink in the sand, and even if we were able to land onto the beach, the sand will get ruin the engines,” Jessie replied.

“Not to mention it gets just everywhere and is impossible to get rid of,” The Knifemaster added with a lisp for some reason. Everyone stopped looking at the map and turned to him. Realizing that all eyes were on him, The Knifemaster added, “What, IT DOES!”

The complete silence in the room lingered before I continued without acknowledging The Knifemaster’s outburst, “What you will do, Jessie is first fly high overhead the nightclub and let Series of Japanese Symbols parachute down and stow our bags in the nightclub’s men’s room.

“Series of Japanese Symbols,” I said turning to the lone Asian man of the group.

“For the millionth time, my name is Steve,” Series of Japanese Symbols groaned, “Why must always call me that?”

“I’m sorry, I cannot understand you.”

“But I’m speaking perfect English! Will someone please convince this asshole that my name is Steve.”

The group let out another disinterested “meh,” and Series of Japanese Symbols began to bang his head on the table. Everyone looked shocked, but I assured them that is Japanese custom to bang their heads off of the table in the middle of a conversation, and that Series of Japanese Symbols (Fuck it; I’m naming him Steve… It’s shorter) does it every time he has a conversation with me.

“Anyway, Steve,” I continued once Criss changed the image on the whiteboard from the smog map the a blueprint of the nightclub, “Once you break into the nightclub, you will need to crawl through the rafters to the men’s  restroom where you will hide our four bags in the second stall. Place all four in the third ceiling tile from the wall behind the toilet, and second tile from the right hand side. After that, leave the way you came and go to the rendezvous point here.” I nodded at Criss, and once again he closed his hand and opened it, changing the image from the blueprint of the nightclub to a city map. I pointed to a grey rectangle three blocks away. This area was once a courtyard that had since been reduced into an auto yard.

“The auto yard,” I added, turning to Jessie, “will be where you pick up Steve, and let the rest of the group off. It is fairly dark in that auto yard, so the Awesomeplane! will be impossible to see. The remaining six of us, posing as guidos, will then get into the club, get our stuff, and take Pauly D down. Any questions?”

“Yes, I have a question,” Steve asked, “Did you just call me Steve? That means you can really understand me, and you’re just an inconceivably large dick, or your racism surpasses your common sense so much that you block out everything I’m saying.

Damien leaned over to Steve and mumbled (not very well because I heard it), “Listen mate, I dunno why he cannot understand you, but he can’t. You just need to get over it. We understand what you’re saying, and it isn’t really funny anymore, so I’ll repeat what you say for you. How ‘bout that?”

Steve then  jumped to his feet and shouted in a fit of rage, “That is total bull shit! Who has ever heard of such a horribly retarded excuse. You, Minigan, should be tortured for your douchebaggery!

I looked at him blankly for a second, unsure of what he said, and then begged the group, “Please tell me that one of you can translate what he’s saying from that crazy jibberish. I’m getting nowhere with this guy. It doesn’t even sound like Japanese.”

There was another second or two of awkward silence, and then another chair came hurtling at my face.  The Knifemaster started screaming at Steve, which lead to a group wide screaming match. I just watched as they babbled loudly at one another wondering if starting a new team would be easier than trying to fix the current one. Deciding that it would be too much work for me to kill this group off and put together a new one, I called to them, “We leave at 8:00 tonight . I expect to see Team Pugnastics and Team Prevention/ Protection at the Awesomeplane! launching station by 7:00. I walked out of the room, pinching the bridge of my nose and heard a crash; they were all throwing chairs now. I continued to walk, but their screaming just got louder. Fuck, they’re never going to stop unless I stop them. I turned around and headed back to the conference room; I had already made it halfway down the hallway. As a neared the room once again, I pulled my Bowie spike from its sheath and kept it concealed. I stepped back into the room, but no one noticed my return. I cleared my throat. Still, no attention.

“Everyone, shut the hell up!” I screamed.  I let the handle of my knife flip down so that the blade was no longer against my arm, but pointing to the ground. I raised my throwing arm, and whipped it down, throwing the knife directly at Mr. Expendable. It hit him right between his eyes. As he fell to the floor screaming, I couldn’t help but be impressed by my aim lately. The room went dead quiet in the horror that I would be willing to seriously injure a teammate to get their attention.

The most useful tool a team leader needs.

I said to them, “Listen the hell up. We cannot act like this; how are we supposed to defeat any bad guy if we constantly fight like this. We’ll only end up killing each other. If we all just calm down, then maybe we can solve these problems. First, does anyone know how to make cookies for DMZ?”

“I do,” Emily replied, “I just didn’t want to let anyone know that I could so that I don’t get stuck baking all the time.”

“Well, can you bake some for us this time?” I asked, “I’ll will make some next time.” I then turned to the rest of the group  and asked, “Who else has a problem?”

Mr. Expendable raised his hand and said, “Can someone please remove the knife from my skull; it is making me taste sounds.”

I strode over, put my hand on his forhead and pulled the lodged knife from his head. I then handed it to The Knifemaster and commanded, “Take this back the the weaponry for cleaning and resharpening.  But before you get to that, clean yourself up and that damn autopsy room you bloodied up.” “Who’s next?”

“We still need to  update the flight system in the plane and add on the four silent hover engines, and there is no way we I am going to have that done by 8:00. I’m going to need some help.”

I nodded and then asked, “Damien, Everett, and Mr. Expendable, do you have any problem that needs resolved?”

They all said no.

“Good,” I replied, “then help Jessie get the Awesomeplane! ready. You guys should go ahead and get started now.”

Once they left the room as did DMZ, Emily, and The Knifemaster, I asked the remaining members if they and any problems. They all shook their heads “No,” but Steve was perfectly still. It was as if he was fighting the urge to beat the fear of God out of me with a 2×4.

“Steve,” I asked, “Do you have a problem that needs addressed?” the rest of the team looked towards him. They all shared a look of apprehension of what was going to happen next. Steve was staring down at the table. He absolutely refused to make eyecontact with me, but eventually he did shake his head “No” as well. “Great,” I said in relief, “And at least you can understand me.”

U mad?

Steve exploded with fury and attempted to leap over the table and strangle me. Luckily, Criss and Danica were able to get a hold of him and pin him to the table before he could carry out his plan. As they struggled with him, I called Derren over to where I stood and instructed him to hypnotize Steve into staying calm. As Derren worked his mind magic, I left my room and went to my quarters to lay down. It had been a long day and was still far from over.

To Be Continued…

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Sorry about that folks, but this is 4,000 words long right now, and everything leading up to and including the fight scene is probably going to be another 4,000 or so words. I promise to have it up within a week or so. But for now, peace.

BRAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

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