Creeper Takes Canada! 9



Ah, to be in Canada and ignoring American politics for awhile. Good stuff, good stuff. Something about the Brown Shirts attacking a college campus and the United States trying to blow up the country where my baby-momma is the puppet ruler. I wonder if the kid has my psychosis. I’m not sure how I feel about having a genetic lineage yet. Can’t worry about it now, too busy fucking around in Canada.

It didn’t take long at all for us to get the robot fixed up, and that’s because Dr. Creeper had already looked into the mobility issue before. See, it’s the big hang-up of mecha. Why bother with legs when there are more reliable ways to move over the ground? There’s all kinds of ways a thing with legs can fall down, even if they have four or six of them. More legs adds stability, but then you have to coordinate them and it creates a larger number of blindspots. All it would take to disable a mech like that is a snowspeeder with a harpoon and tow cable.

Wheels are pretty good, aside from the issue with them being deflated. The superior option is tank treads. For most purposes, those are more difficult to get ahold of. As it turns out, Creeper’s Donnermaschine was the perfect size for the torso to attach to a Russian T-72. Back during World War II, that would have been a more difficult task for the Nazis to pull off. For starters, they were developed in 1971, and nobody wants time-traveling Nazis to be a thing. Nowadays, they sell them on the civilian market. And not even for a whole lot of money.

Even with his bug-out cash, Creeper was a little short on the necessary funds for a rush delivery. And he could get it delivered.

So I moved up my timetable. I originally wanted to handle the cops while my compatriot handled the city, but things just work out so inconvenient for me. Getting license to charge out and fight my way through police is just one of those things I just had to deal with. Woe is me.

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t that hard on me. Prep work was easy enough and a lot of fun. See, I picked out this one because of where it was positioned in relation to a busy intersection. I had to get up early enough to meet the morning rush of traffic, but I figured I’d just transfer those feelings on to the people I was there to meet. I also got to play around in traffic. This time, that meant laying out some cones so a left lane would have to merge into a right one due to road work. The workers weren’t present, but that’s true most of the time with legit road work, too.

When the light for the road heading toward the Mountie police station started flashing green, traffic sped up and started to meet its stride. I stood on the same side of the road as the station and waited until I had what looked like a pretty good line coming my way. Just another guy out early with a large keg on a dolly and a hose. If anything, I probably made the people in the cars jealous, up until I cut the hose on and spewed oil all over the street. We’re talking more oil than a bodybuilding competition, and they got oil out the wazoo. Supposedly oil on the wazoo makes them look better to the judges, I dunno.

This oil wasn’t just for show, though. Cars skidded and slid. I concentrated on the left lane as much as I could, but plenty got onto the right lane. Just before the RCMP station, the left lane had to merge into the right, and that’s when the magic happened. This was the kind of event that gave callous news stations a chance to play Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture; cars slid, hopped the curb, and rammed into the front of station house and then into each other’s cars. It was a tremendous mess.

A good Samaritan tried to pull the hose away from me and stop the madness. Or maybe Pakistani. I’m still fairly poor at telling Middle Eastern ethnicities apart. I let him take the hose, but pulled the keg down over onto his foot. I didn’t care too much about civilian casualties at this point because I certainly wasn’t operating as Hussar. Shame. Some aliases are fun while they last, and I really liked the wings.

That also meant I didn’t have to bother so much about avoiding casualties among the Mounties, something that ought to be obvious from the detour through the station door. While they worried about that, I headed around to the rear of the place and let myself in with a spare key I made from copper oxide and aluminum. The sparkler I used as a fuse made it more festive. Like a little celebration about being myself again after being in disguise for a bit. I ran back around the corner in anticipation of the chemical reaction the thermite would have. Most people use rust instead of copper, and copper has its own unique reactions. Like the tiny explosion and spray of liquid metal. I could have avoided that part, but it seemed fun.

With the handle and lock cut through, I pulled the door open and let myself in. The fire alarm went off, but it just joined another one that blared. I figured they noticed the cars already. It’s all part of the plan. Let the Mounties worry about the car wreck on their front lawn while I follow the signs to the evidence lock-up.

It proved so good a distraction that I didn’t even get to kill anyone. Curse my overwhelming competence! And huge penis! Actually, I should ask whoever was shaping this form at Master Academy what their issues are regarding either men or kielbasa. But enough about having dicks, I penetrated this deep to leave some dicks limp. A whole bodybag of dicks, if necessary.

I found the evidence room before I found a makeshift morgue, and the cage didn’t hold up any better than the exterior door. I didn’t see my armor laying out, but I did find a bloody axe that helped me go all “Friday the 13th” on the lockers in there. In addition to the lack of bodies, I didn’t even find my damn armor. Cocaine, crystal meth, jewelry, guns, cash, TV sets, game consoles, games, shoes, a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich, and even some Christmas presents. Looks like they caught the Grinch. I bet his bail grew three sizes that day.

I got plenty of loot from just the one place. The cash was easy to turn into some online money. I was about to settle for pawn shops on the jewelry and guns, but Creeper remembered the phone numbers of some of his former minions who were career criminals. Creeper didn’t care how much they took, so long as there was cash involved.

As for me, I decided to head on down to where I knew I could find some people willing to make a deal on drugs: the ice rink. With all the Canuck gang members in town, I figured they had to meet somewhere. I found a lot of them milling around the ice rink, trying to look tough and intimidating even as they shared beer and stories about how they got scars and black eyes. “I was like, ‘You wanna get in my face about it?’ and he was like, ‘yeah,’ so I was like ‘get this in your face,” and I punched him,” said one of them when I walked up.

I wore a Pagliacci clown mask over a purple suit. “Ha, ha, ha, ha,” I spoke in a mocking monotone. “And I thought my jokes were bad.”

“Who’s this Joker wannabe?” asked one of them.

I shrugged. “Nobody important. Just someone with some product you might like.” I held open a backpack full of cocaine. “And it’s not Joker. Come on, you see all this? I’m Dr. Rockso, the Rock N’ Roll clown, and I have cocaine to sell.”

“Some guy walks up with all that in his backpack? What are you, a cop?”

I cocked my head to the side, then pulled out a phone showing a picture of the man the Royal Mounted Police were looking for in connection to somebody wrecking their shit and robbing them. Then I pulled off the mask. “You know, it’s entirely possibly some of your buddies lost a lot of evidence against them in that little raid, but I think that should establish that I’m not wearing a wire.”

“You got some balls coming to us with that. How do you know we won’t turn you over?” one of them asked, trying to look tough.

“Because that’d be stupid,” I said, matter-of-factly. That’s the thing about acting tough; it means you aren’t. A tough person doesn’t need to advertise that fact.

This one, a tall, thin, bald guy, looked back at the others he was with, turned a smirk in my direction. “You’re right. Come with us and we’ll get it tested. Or you can just leave it with us if you’re scared.”

I put the Pagliacci mask back on. “Let’s ride.”

One drug deal later, and Creeper and I had the money. I’m sure we could have gotten a lot more, but we were in a hurry. We still got more than enough to get our very own T-72 heavy

It was a beauty. As much as I dislike Russia in a lot of ways as being one of the most human of places in their hate and corruption, they know their firepower. Killing people is the only thing they do well. Indeed, thanks to that engineered murder and corruption, I was there to see Creeper take control of the giant robot and walk itself on top of the prepared chassis and settle into its place on top. He left it holding itself upright and joined me in finishing the connections.

Finally, with one cable that nearly left me looking like the Bride of Frankenstein, Dr. Creeper stood up and held his hands up. “At last. It’s alive! My Thunder Machine will finally unleash a storm on Vancouver and prove that Dr. Creeper is no passing villain. Beware, the thunder is at hand! MwahahahahaHA!”

Hey, he’s been practicing his evil laugh, too.




2 thoughts on “Creeper Takes Canada! 9

  1. Pingback: Creeper Takes Canada! 8 | World Domination in Retrospect

  2. Pingback: Creeper Takes Canada! 10 | World Domination in Retrospect

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