Of all things, the miracles just keep on piling up around here. I use that in a comedic sense. I don’t believe in any of these heathen religions around this dimension. They’re all obviously untrue when compared to the heathen religions of my dimension.
No, I use miracle in the inaccurate sense of a thing someone considered unlikely happening.
First, we have the FDA jumping Long Life’s medical nanites to the front of their queue and approving their use on humans. I know I said you could bribe the FDA with McDonald’s, but I figured I’d still have to make some effort. I planned to visit them, I just hadn’t done it already. It’ll piss off pretty much everyone else in my company, but we’re running low on time and my life is worth more to me than all the money in the world. It’s worth more than anyone else’s life in the world, too, and once you realize that, you have a pretty good idea why I do some of the things I do.
Also miraculous is the way Senator Powers is coming out of this whole mess stronger than ever, like a man with a tai chi tongue. That sounded better in my head. The idea, not the tongue. Ew.
And a third miraculous event occurred just the other day, on the Potomac river. Wearing a robe, holding a gnarled wooden staff, face bedecked in a long white wig and beard, I approached the Potomac near the Kennedy Center. Ignoring confused and curious stares, I stood there until the proximity alarm went off, signalling the imminent arrival of the Constellation Consortium’s submarine. I heard a scrape as Moai sidled up behind me
If I’d known any better when Captain Lightning first said something, I’d have assumed he was lying. Turns out the Potomac is shallow as shit. It didn’t really occur to me from what I saw of it, but then I started scouting it out to find out that the Potomac is oftentimes less of a river and more like a big drainage ditch. There have been some years where the Mississippi has lost more depth than the Potomac has in some of its deeper spots. The good news is that really narrowed down the areas where I could find a submarine near Washington D.C. At first, I worried about having to walk along the river floor, knock on some hatches, and say I had mail to deliver to Constellation.
Instead, all I had to do was stand there on the bank of the Potomac, raise my staff, and signal for detonation. With one massive boom, the river’s waters split to form a momentary land bridge to Theodore Roosevelt Island and reveal a small submarine getting knocked every which way. The parting of the waters didn’t last, but the disorientation of the sub undoubtedly would.
I threw off the robe, beard, and wig, then jumped out toward the approximate location of the vessel. I landed feet first in water, then slid into more of a split as the sub attempted to surface. Curved, smooth hulls plus lots of waters. It’s a good thing I left my nuts on the inside. It still hurt, don’t get me wrong, but it hurt a hell of a lot less than if I’d attacked a submarine sack-first. In front of me, I saw its sail break the surface of the water.
Yeah, the sail. Apparently that’s what they call that big tower part that sticks out above the rest of the submarine. On older subs, that used to be a conning tower for observation and sensors and stuff. Nowadays, it’s for stability and entering the sub itself. I pulled myself up and stood next to the door. When I heard something on it shift, I reached down and grabbed a rubber chicken off my belt. The man who poked his head out got whipped across the back of the neck with my cock. He retreated inside, holding his neck instead of the door. I grabbed it with my left hand to keep anyone from sealing me out, then whipped the chicken in my right hand at him. This time, he caught the body of it. I twisted its neck and tore the head off, causing him to go falling down some hatch with a ladder. I quickly shut the door most of the way and counted off the seconds until another explosion boomed from inside.
I followed as soon as the chicken grenade went of and dropped down that hatch. Not having looked before I leapt, I found myself having to spread my legs again to keep from falling through to another level. It was the control room I wanted, not the bunks. While many subs nowadays don’t put the control room directly under the sail anymore, almost no subs are small enough to crawl up the ass of the Potomac.
Surrounded by a stunned control room crew, I cracked my knuckles and asked them, “Gentlemen, shall we begin?”
I punted one’s head into his fancy schmancy steering wheel before two others began to begin. But I caught them at the beginning of beginning to begin. The first one, I gave him a purple nurple. The other tried to pull me off, but I kicked him in the shin. Heard something snap. He fell down, screaming. It’s just a broken tibia. Walk it off!
Still engaged in hand-to-nipple combat, I started spinning around. My victim grabbed at my hands, trying to hang on as the whirling motion lifted him off his feet. Seveal of the other bridge crew were knocked down before he finally slipped free. Well, that’s not completely accurate. Most of him flew clear of me and hit a work station. A couple patches of his shirt and two nipples stayed behind in my hands.
I looked around at the downed crew and noted that some of them were just pretending to be knocked out. I tossed a nipple at one’s face and he whimpered, but kept squeezing his eyes shut.
Huh. Well I suppose most submarine crews just aren’t prepared for a good, hard boarding. Then again, it said something that Constellation could afford their own submarine and somehow got it up the Potomac this far. Navies require more expensive vessels, more expensive maintence, more expensive logistics, and personnel with specialized training. Well, maybe logistics isn’t that big of a problem. Shallow as the Potomac is, they could have popped the hatch and gone for some Burrito Bell. Not that they’d want to. Locked in a cramped metal can with twenty or so people and a bad case of gas? Sounds like something I should have done to them.
I looked up, trying to reorient myself. When I thought I had my directions down pat, I moved forward over the spilled seamen that there was no use crying over. The next room up was the radio room where a woman sat calling out an SOS. Hmm, asking for help from anyone, or just from their company? I took care of her and the radio gear by delicately shoving one inside the other. The woman didn’t get to be the insides this time, either.
Crossing back into the control room, I knew I needed to work quickly. That close to the White House, in the middle of the nation’s capital, with explosions and a submarine? I knew the long cock of the law could jump down my throat any minute. I grabbed one mess of snot and fear off the ground and hauled him to his feet. “Up and at’em, chief. You know who I am? I’m Captain Don’t Fuck With Me. I’m here for information. If I don’t get it, I’ll just pull you brain out and take it along with me so I can examine it later, see if you were holding back on me.” I pulled lifted him off his feet and held his face close to my helmet. “Now calm down, finish whatever you’re doing in your pants, and say ‘Yes, sir.’”
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths to find his inner calm, then shouted, “Sir, yes sir!”
“Good. Where would Constellation keep information it didn’t want getting out? Like secret files that it needed to squirrel away in a safe place.”
“Cancer Base,” he answered, keeping his eyes shut. “It’s a military island base in the Pacific leftover from World War II.”
“Good,” I said. More like good grief. Now back to the Pacific ocean for some island? I wish I could just nuke the site from orbit, but then I couldn’t be sure. Fuck. But since I was in the sub anyway, I figured I’d ask it something I’d been wondering myself. “Now, what the hell are y’all doing floating around here?”
“Don’t!” another one of these pilots said as he jumped to his feet.
I calmly set down the fellow I was interrogating and turned to the new participant in our friendly conversation. I grabbed his head firmly with both hands and kicked him in the chest. With squelchy, cracking, ripping sound, his body flew back into a chair. I turned back to the one I’d been talking to and handed him the head. “Sorry for that rude interruption. Do go on.”
He threw the head to the side. “Fuck!”
I ahemed to remind him time was of the essence.
“Alright. We’re here…shit, they’re gonna kill me…”
Inside my armor, I rolled my eyes, “It’s ok. I can protect you. I mean, look at me.”
He nodded. “We provide a special protection service for important political figures in the District of Columbia. There’s a vault in the submarine where we store important documents and data.”
“Data?” I asked. “Why not show me this room?”
He pointed toward the radio room. “It’s accessible from there.”
“Bullshit. Been there, seen it. It’s a dead end.”
He moved past me to one of the dead bodies on the floor. “Let me get the key.”
Well, he showed me that room, and I didn’t see shit again until he took out this weird cylinder out that had square and rectangular notches missing along the sides in twisting pattern. He went up to a bolt on the bulkhead toward the front and pressed the key into it. The optical illusion was shattered as it slid in and showed that the bolt was really a concave section of the wall designed in such a way as to look convex. Then the cylinder slid in. He when it reached the end, he rotated it, slid it in further, and so on. By the end, the entire cylinder was inserted and the wall popped open.
I stepped in, looking over two shelves (and the floor, courtesy of my remote mines) worth of hot blackmail material. Paternity tests, cocaine, pictures of people buying cocaine, an entire box labeled “Dead Hooker Panties,” a maternity test, a few small computer servers, assorted evidence bags, and small filing cabinets. Just a wealth of valuable stuff. I started stuffing as much of it as I could in my pockets, especially those servers, starting with small and working my way up to the biggest, which I had to pack under my arm.
Turning, I noticed the guy who showed me the door standing there, hand on it. I left an illusion of myself in place and disappeared from view, only reappearing and letting the hologram drop until I got out there by him. “Boo!”
Heh, made him jump.
But, I did try to make good on what I told him. I hopped up to the sail and waited for him to scramble up after me. I kicked the door open and we rushed out at once.
The submarine was ringed by a lot of boats with recoilless rifles and armed people. In the air, we had helicopters. Some were attack choppers, others had snipers. I think I heard a Warthog flying somewhere overhead. That’s that big plane with the anti-tank Gatling gun and precision anti-tank missiles. Those armaments might hint at why I’ve bothered to learn what it sounds like flying in the distance. Oh, and over on the shore were SWAT vans, APCs, a couple tanks, and a pair of those trucks that shoot surface-to-air missiles.
Off in the distance, I noticed Moai looking nonchalant in the rental escape car.
“It’s ok,” I whispered to the guy I’d interrogated. “I have a special protective shield.”
“Really?” he asked, turning to me.
I grabbed him up by the waist and held him in front of me. “Come and get me, coppers!”
The initial volley indeed took out my human shield, who I dropped as the holographic projectors worked to hide me from the world. I skipped out of there along the police boats, careful not to get too high lest I get an anti-air rocket in my poop chute.
And guess what, folks! My magic hands and I penetrated the secrets of these little servers and found lots more juicy stuff to use against an awful lot of folks around this town. No wonder Constellation had the money and influence to get their own sub up the river. And, the best secret of all, was the list. The volunteer superhuman registration list. The one that contains the names of various superheroes, some civilian, some military. And a few involuntary ones, if the number of incarcerated supervillains is any indication. Even better, I got enough dead hooker panties to have some REAL fun in this town!