Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fireplace crackles, emitting a warm soft glow throughout the room. The bookshelves to either side run from floor to ceiling, and are filled with all of the literary classics. Some of the books are even right side up. In a posh leather armchair sits Freakazoid wearing a lavish velour smoking jacket.

"Hello! My name is Freakazoid, which you already know because you hopefully read the paragraph above. You may remember me from such cartoons like the 1995 classic, Freakazoid, and later that one episode of Teen Titans Go that makes the rounds on YouTube sometimes. I hear that superhero cartoons from the 90’s are suddenly a big thing now!”

Freakazoid leans forward conspiratorially. "And if this was a cartoon instead of a fanfic, you would have just heard a very particular guitar riff to emphasize the reference. You know, the one from X-Men!"

"Anyway, this is great for me, because trying to get into the movie business has been hard. Can you believe that Spielberg said I wasn't convincing enough as a dinosaur?"

Freakazoid frowns. "And none of the method acting classes said anything about not biting Jeff Goldblum. I was in the moment! That's what good actors do! The Lost World. Pffft. More like the lost cause!"

Freakazoid clears his throat before continuing. "Ahem. What you are reading now is the first chapter of a new fanfic, Freakazoid versus Pinky and the Brain. It is undoubtedly the best fanfic about me I've ever read, and I can say that with confidence because I've never read any other fanfics."

"Okay buh-bye now!"

Night had fallen on the city. Beside the river, an old building sat beneath the expressway bridge. It was nestled amongst the industrial buildings, its curved corners and thick stone columns showcasing early art deco influences. A few faint lights could be seen through the tall rectangular windows, but most of the lighting came from on top of the roof, where a faded yellow neon sign flashed two words: "Acme Labs."

Through the heavy set front doors, the lobby inside was empty. The employees had gone home hours ago, leaving the semi-circle front desk empty and the green couches bare of any visitors. From the door across the lobby opposite the main entrance, a long hallway filled with supplies led further into the facility. The right side was lined with drawers and shelves filled with glass equipment, while the left side was stocked with smaller containers and a large alembic on the top shelf. 

One lone ceiling light at the far end of the hallway was lit. Beneath its fluorescent glow sat a simple office chair and matching wooden desk. The desk was not covered with paperwork, office supplies, or even laboratory equipment. Only a small, simple green metal cage had been placed on the desk. Within the cage were two white lab mice. One was tall, with two buck teeth and wide open eyes that would occasionally cross, in between which was a bulbous red nose. His companion was shorter, a little more than half his height. His eyes were smaller, more intense with brows constantly furrowed. Although he was not as tall, his head was larger, home to one of the smartest minds on the planet, whether man or mouse.

The taller mouse was in the cage's exercise wheel, humming a tune to himself as he happily ran in place. He wasn't getting anywhere running in circles, but that never mattered to him. "What are we doing tonight, Brain?"

Brain spun around to face the exercise wheel before responding. "The same thing we do every night, Pinky." His fist clenched before him. No matter how many times he said the next few words, Brain was filled with anticipation. "Try to take over the world!"

Pinky hopped off the wheel as Brain grabbed a bent paperclip from under the shaved newspaper lining the bottom of the cage. With deft movements that came from the experience of many previous nights, Brain opened the lock to the cage door.  "Come, Pinky. The night awaits!"

A freshly unboxed desktop computer sat under the desk of the lobby, styrofoam packaging hastily strewn beside it. The computer was a typical shade of beige and gray with a shiny emblem proclaiming "Apex Inside!" Cords connected the tower of the computer on the floor to the keyboard, mouse, and heavy CRT monitor on the desk above. Brain and Pinky climbed up these cords to the top of the desk itself to stand by the keyboard. "Behold, Pinky, within this computer is the newest in microchip technology: the Apex Pinnacle!"

Pinky nodded knowingly. "Chips? You didn't tell me there'd be snacks, Brain." Pinky made a soft sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh that came out as a quiet narf.  "I woulda brought some salsa!"

The lines on Brain's forehead knitted tighter as he grimaced. "No, you imbecile. Not those sort of chips; I refer to the microprocessor of the computer. The brain of the machine, if you will." Brain looked up at the glass of the computer monitor and grinned. "But this is no ordinary microprocessor. After many nights of diligent research, I have discovered a unique flaw in the hardware that will allow me to tap into the power of the Internet!! With the exact sequence of keystrokes, the Pinnacle Chip will overload, and I will gain not only the limitless knowledge of the World Wide Web, but amazing speed, endurance, and strength. I will become nigh unstoppable!"

"Ooo, that would be neat-o!" Pinky happily exclaimed.

"Very much so, Pinky," Brain agreed. With the press of a few buttons, Brain had begun connecting to the internet. The modem of the computer beeped and screeched until the welcome screen appeared on the monitor.

WELCOME TO THE INTERNET
ENTER DESTINATION CODE

"Is the internet that thing with the tubes?" Pinky asked.

Brain opened his mouth to correct him, but quickly thought better of it. "Yes, tubes. Why not?" Brain unfurled a piece of paper he had clutched in his hands. "We must enter this code exactly, Pinky."

Pinky gleefully clapped his hands. "Ooooo, can I do it, Brain? I've been taking a keyboarding class."

Brain turned around to face Pinky, his wide face bearing an incredulous look. "You're learning how to type?"

"Of course!" Pinky replied with a nod. "I'm trying to improve my desirability in the workforce!"

Brain sighed, and passed the written code to Pinky. "I need to be standing close enough to the computer display to be bathed in its electromagnetic fields, so I suppose you must do the typing anyway." Before Pinky could walk away, Brain snatched the paper from Pinky and flipped it over. "Please hold it right side up," he intoned. With that final piece of advice from his friend, Pinky began typing out the code, starting with one foot on the left shift key and the other reaching over for the number 2. He nimbly skipped across the keyboard to the open bracket, and then a quick hop took him to the equal sign. Other keystrokes quickly followed with Pinky's footwork as Brain looked on, his eyes intently staring at the monitor as each character appeared on the screen. Brain's wicked smile continued to grow. Pinky's dance-like maneuvering finally ended with a press of the F key with his left foot soon followed by the G key with his right foot. With a jump to his right, Pinky landed both feet on the delete key.

Brain closed his eyes in victorious bliss. "YEEEESSS!" he bellowed, his arms outstretched. "The power of the Internet flows through me!!!"

A moment passed. Then two. "Um, Brain?" Pinky tentatively asked, steepling his fingers together. "Do you think maybe there was s'posed to be some sort of whizbang special effects? Like a whirling electric vortex?"

Brain carefully opened one eye to peer at himself, then he wiggled his fingers experimentally. He frowned slightly when he realized there had been no physical change. "Hmm. By my calculations, there should have been a concentrated beam of energy before I was physically transported to the Internet, which an unscientific mind such as yours would classify as… whizbang.  Perhaps there is something missing." He peered at the code Pinky typed on the monitor. "I don't understand. Everything was done according to plan." He grabbed the computer mouse and started opening various windows and peering into the settings of the computer.

Brain scowled. "Either the Internet itself is somehow preventing me from becoming absorbed into cyberspace, which is laughably absurd. Or someone must have already entered the code and taken the power for themselves. Some unparalleled genius with mental intellect akin to my own has unearthed the secrets of the Pinnacle chip."

Meanwhile, in the living room of a modest home on 564 Funiculi Funicula Avenue….

"Mr. Chubbikins!" Dexter Douglas shouted. His voice cracked and shifted octaves between syllables. "Get off my lap!"

The heavy orange cat merely stared at the bespectacled teenage boy and began kneading his paws into Dexter's leg. The cat pressed down with all of his ponderous weight to make sure the teenager knew he meant business. His kitty dinner was late, and no excuse would satisfy him. He fluffed his tail and swung it across Dexter's nose.

"Mr. Chubbikins, you're going to make me… make me…. aaah… aaah… AH-CHOO!"

Debbie Douglas shouted from the kitchen, "Oh my goodness, what a sneeze. Bless you, dear."

"Thanks, mom," Dexter absent-mindedly replied, shoving the oversized cat off his lap.

"Ooooo, whoever they are, they sure sound super smart!" Pinky said.

"Undoubtedly," Brain said with a slight sneer, "But they will be no match for my mental prowess and your…" Brain gesticulated in Pinky's general direction. He paused briefly, his lips tightened in thought. "Redeeming qualities," he half-heartedly conceded.

Brain jumped off the desk with Pinky close behind him. Brain stroked his chin in thought. "We will find this mastermind, subdue them, and then I will gain the power for myself!" He chortled loudly. "Come, Pinky, there is much to do!"

Pinky followed the Brain as they made their way towards the exit. "Okay, Brain, but I can't stay up too late. I've got my typing class in the morning."

"Keyboarding will have to wait, Pinky. The answers we seek are waiting for us at the library."

On the rooftop of the downtown police headquarters, the door flew open with a mighty shove. Breathing heavily, a broad shouldered blonde police officer barreled through the now open doorway. His quick gait led him across the roof and to a set of dark wooden stairs curving upward. He eyed the additional steps hesitantly as his leg muscles twitched, but his call to duty took over. After climbing five flights of stairs, what's one more? He hastily ran up the steps two at a time. He finally reached the platform at the top and stopped to take a few deep breaths. With one final large lungful, he pressed his lips to the brass mouthpiece of a horn as long as he was tall, and blew with every last bit of strength he had.

The Horn of Urgency reverberated across the rooftops of the city, its indomitable tones echoing to the edges of the urban landscape and beyond, reaching to the remote woods outside the city.

The Huntsman was being called to action. From atop a small grassy hill, his keen ears picked up the distant sound of the Horn of the Urgency. He turned to his opponent, a menacing brown bear that towered over him as it stood on its hind legs. With a confident grin showing off his strong white teeth, the Huntsman sprang forward, pushing himself towards the bear. He curled his hand into a fist, his burly bicep bulging with power.  His knuckles connected to the underside of the bear's chin with a mighty punch. The Huntsman didn't even wait to watch the bear collapse to the ground before he turned around and began sprinting towards the road.

Within minutes, the Huntsman's magically enhanced speed took him through the forest, then on to the freeway as he ran faster than the cars on the road, and finally into the center of town. He bounded up the front steps of the police headquarters and made his way inside. He opened the door of the shared office space for the detectives of Division 13.

"Lieutenant King!" the Huntsman exclaimed. He scanned the room with his eagle vision, spotting the detective alone in the room. Lieutenant King was sitting at his desk, feet propped up over the edge as he read a newspaper. Other than his feet, only the surface of his balding brown head was visible over the top of the newspaper.

Lieutenant King lowered the newspaper a few inches to peer over the top. He greeted the superhero with a nod before returning to the news. "Huntsman."

The Huntsman leaned forward, gripping the lip of the desk in barely contained excitement. His pecs rippled as his muscles flexed, and as he spoke his teeth shone with anticipation. "Put me to work, Lieutenant. What's the emergency?"

Lieutenant King sighed. "Uh, sorry, Huntsman, it's nothing."

"Nothing?!" the Huntsman exclaimed. He stood up and placed his hands on his stout masculine hips. "But the Horn of Urgency!"

"Oh, yeah, uhm, somebody called about missing lab rats. Or maybe it was mice."

"That sounds like a job for the Huntsman!"

"Nah, we forwarded the call to Animal Control."

"But I can do it! I'm a hunter! Hunt is literally in my name!" the Huntsman said, repeatedly pointing to his chiseled pecs for emphasis.

Lieutenant King turned the page of his newspaper. "Don't worry about it. I'll, uh, I'll let you know if anything comes up."

"There's no crime? No supervillains plotting nefarious plots in the whole city?" the Huntsman complained.

In response, Lieutenant King's newspaper shifted up and down as he shrugged. "What can I say, it's been slow. I'm sure things will pick up eventually."

The Huntsman made his way to the office door. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, and turned back to Lieutenant King. "I think I'll make my way to the library," he said.

The lieutenant didn't look up from the newspaper article he was reading. "Sure, that sounds nice."

"There's one over on Connecticut Avenue. It's near the zoo."

"Uh-huh," came the monotone reply.

"You can call the library if you need to find me."

"Sure. You'll be the first to know."

The Huntsman waited a moment longer, hoping to hear something further. When King turned another page in the paper, the Huntsman left the office and closed the door behind him before beginning his tirade. "Darn it!" the Huntsman shouted as he stomped his feet. He then stalked down the hallway, his large perfect teeth grinding in frustration. "Darn the luck!" He lashed out with his foot, and an errant filing cabinet sitting in the hall toppled as he kicked it over. 

He had really been looking forward to socking evil in the eye today.

Pinky and the Brain were at the local municipal library, each focused on their individual tasks. Brain was piloting his Human Suit, a human-shaped mechanical suit dressed in a dark business suit with a red bow tie. His head appeared above the shoulders as he used various levers within the Human Suit to pilot its arms, which were being used to turn the dials of the library's microfiche machine. He was reading newspaper articles from the library's archives. His eyes darted from article to article as the mechanical fingers flicked between the pages.

Pinky was sitting on the other side of the Human Suit, obscured by its large form. But where Brain was speed reading the tiny print of the newspaper, Pinky was leisurely reading comic books while snacking on some cheese.

Pinky had tried earlier to help Brain with the newspapers, but had ultimately become distracted by the comic strips buried in the middle of the newspaper. After all the boring articles about international events, human interest stories, and local flavor, the daily funnies were the only part of the newspaper that kept his interest. And Brain could only take so many outbursts from Pinky about the adventures of Spaceman Spiff. Eventually, Pinky had moved on to the graphic novels of the library.

A librarian walked by. "Are you needing anything else?" she asked.

Brain didn't look up from his reading. "No, your earlier help was sufficient," he told her.

After she left, Pinky asked, "Brain, aren't you worried someone will see through your disguise?"

"Of course not, Pinky. People tend to be oblivious at best, and perhaps willfully ignorant at worst. They would never expect mice in a human-shaped contraption such as this."

Pinky looked up from the pages he was reading and brushed some cheesy crumbs out of his whiskers. "What if it's the world's greatest detective?"

"Yes, Pinky, probably even then."

Pinky flipped to another page and then asked, "What if it's someone with X-ray vision and super hearing?"

"Well, I suppose it would withstand such scrutiny with appropriate countermeasures. Where are you going with this?"

Pinky continued on, barely waiting for Brain to finish. "Oh, oh, what if someone has amazing hunting senses that are gained from eating magical corn given to them by a chunky elf they rescued from being eaten by a crow?"

Brain paused. As usual, his keen mind had been thinking ahead, plotting their next steps and ruminating on the possibilities, accounting for any variables or unforeseen circumstances. And as usual, Pinky had managed to derail that thought process.

Brain turned towards Pinky. "That is a very specific set of circumstances, Pinky."

"Well, you know me. Just workin' on those hypno-chemical thingies."

"Hypno… I believe you mean hypotheticals," Brain said with a sigh.

Pinky shrugged. "Well, that's all right, Brain. I think I understand what you're trying to say. Poh-tay-to, toh-mah-to, and other vegetables."

Brain looked down from the top of the Human Suit at his friend, who was currently sprawled across the open pages of a book featuring brightly colored superheroes. "Pinky, this entire time I have been involved doing extensive research, cross referencing sources, and cataloging data. And you are reading comic books?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, no, Brain, this is a library," Pinky replied, proudly holding up the pages of his comic book. "They're called graphic novels when you're in a library."

Brain sighed. "Well, Pinky, I have learned that there was a major world-wide disruption of the Internet on Christmas morning 1995. It seems that we may have been several months too late." Brain taps his chin in thought. "Someone has beaten us to the power of the Internet. But there may yet be a way to unlock it for me."

"Brain, what about this superhero with blue skin that runs around in his underwear? He has Internet superpowers."

Brain stared at the comic book in Pinky's hands. The title proclaimed "The Real Life and Super Exciting Adventures of Freakazoid: He Got His Superpowers From The Internet!" The cover featured the titular blue-skinned superhero wearing a red skin-tight suit with white boots and gloves. The emblem of the letter F with an exclamation point adorned his chest.

Brain took it all in, calculating the odds. "Pinky, you may have inadvertently uncovered the solution to our dilemma."

"Gosh, that's nice Brain, but I was more thinking about our disguise."

"It is irrelevant! We now know who our target is. Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

Pinky shook his head sadly. "I think so, Brain, but if we can't grow mustaches, then what would be the point?"

"No, Pinky. There is one ultimately undeniable way to gain the attention of a superhero. We must pretend to be… supervillains!"

Pinky sighed and took another bite of his cheese. "Really, Brain? Spandex again?"

The Huntsman crouched, perched on the top of a bookcase at the end of an aisle. His fingers and toes clung to the edges, holding him steady, and his breath stilled as a librarian walked by beneath him. He remained unnoticed, his uncanny skill at camouflage working as well inside the library as it did in the untamed wilderness. The jumble of books that covered him probably helped, too. His quarry wasn't far away now. Lady luck was with him tonight! He slowly moved, the books piled on top of him sliding off and on to the floor below. His muscular calves tensed and tightened just before the Huntsman leaped to the carpet. He landed with barely a sound, his legs splayed out behind him as he rested one hand on the floor in a picture perfect three-point stance.

"I have you now!" he exclaimed, and he reached forward with both hands, one of them tightly grasping the mouse between his fingers.

The other hand rested on the keyboard as the Huntsman sat down in front of the lone library computer. The modem made shrill beeps as he waited for it to connect. His spotless teeth shone as he grimaced impatiently. "Why was the line so long? I feel like I'm always waiting for something interesting to happen." Finally, the modem finished its jarring song of shrieks as it connected.

With slow and uncertain movements, he moved the mouse so the cursor hovered over the icon to open a browser to the World Wide Web. The Huntsman knew he could find the missing mice. He just needed the right tools, and so he began his search.

"Wensleydale, Cheddam, Edelpilzkäse… why in the green hills are there so many different types of cheeses? How do I know what type mice like?"

That's when his magically enhanced nostrils caught the smell of the very thing he had been searching the Internet for. A faint whiff of cheese was in the air, coming from somewhere in the library. The Huntsman stood up from his chair and looked around, but his eagle vision didn't see any obvious signs of cheese. He instead took a deep breath through his nose, his robust chest heaving with air. The scent of cheese was now unmistakable.

The Huntsman clenched his hand tightly, the plastic casing of the mouse crunching into pieces between his fingers. A smile formed on his lips, his teeth shining brightly under the fluorescent lights. "The hunt is on!" he exclaimed, and began making his way to the microfiche machine.

Freakazoid waves at you. "Hello. I'm Freakazoid, and I have a special announcement." Freakazoid holds a stack of papers in his hands, crushing them tightly in his grip. 

"By the end of this sentence, this fanfic you are reading will be 3,794 words long, and I haven't appeared in the actual story! Oh sure, Dexter the nerd boy gets a little cameo, but not me, and my name is right there in the title. Look!! Look at it!!"

Pinky and the Brain Versus Freakazoid

Freakazoid leans forward, starting at the title page. "Whaaaaaa? I thought I was getting top billing! What's the author trying to pull here?! I'll have you know that I know Steven Speilberg!!"

Freakazoid slaps his hand to his forehead, and runs it down his face in frustration. The top of his mask straightens into a single angry line. He turns to look at you. "This is the worst piece of fanfic I have ever read, and I haven't read any of them!"

Freakazoid flips through a few of the pages in his hands, and his jaw drops an unnatural three feet in shock before he grabs it with his other hand to put it back into place. "Why is the Huntsman in this?! Nothing interesting ever happens to him! Wait wait wait is this chapter over already?! I'm not going to wait for the next one! You can't end the story here! I'm not finished! Just wait 'til I call Steven Sp

to be continued…

"Worst fanfic ever!" Freakazoid yells one more time.

Chapter Text

Freakazoid sat alone on a dingy park bench. A lone pigeon walked back and forth in front of him, looking up expectantly for a piece of bread. Freakazoid just sighed deeply, his chin resting in his hands.

A police car pulled up behind the park bench, bits of grass and dirt flying off the tires. Sergeant Cosgrove leaned his head out the window. "Hey, Freakazoid, you wanna go see the Floss Museum?"

Freakazoid sighed again. "I don't know if I'm feeling especially flossy today, Cosgrove."

Cosgrove tried giving a comforting smile, but the expression on his face remained mostly the same. "Why so glum, kid?"

"Eeeh, there's a new fanfic out there, and I thought I was going to be the star, but I feel like I've been upstaged by a bunch of mice," Freakazoid explained as he started pacing back and forth. He breathlessly continued, "It's not even a good fanfic, but I'm getting all worked up about it! I've been waiting for my big break since I was on that episode of Teen Titans Go, but no one in Hollywood has called me back, but the Warner Brothers (and the Warner Sister) get a reboot in 2020 and I still haven't got my own reboot and I'm so fruuustraaaateeeed."

Cosgrove sat in his patrol car silently thinking for a moment. "Sometimes all of the superhero shenanigans get too complicated for me. But dental hygiene is important, and flossing my teeth always cheers me up. Especially when I eat chicken wings or ribs and I get one of those little yummy meat pieces stuck in between my teeth. It tastes good in between my teeth, but it's so satisfying when I floss it out. So I figure a museum all about floss would be even better."

Freakazoid perks up. "It's all floss?"

"Oh, sure. It used to be an exhibit at the Museum of Dentistry, but it was so popular that they put all the floss in its own building."

"Wow, that sounds like a lot of floss! LET'S GO!"

Sixty minutes later…

"Gosh, who knew J.P. De L'eau was such an orthodontic hero?" Freakazoid said as they sauntered out of the museum. Balanced on the top of his tall pile of hair was a gray baseball cap proclaiming "FLOSS BOSS" in red letters.

"The collection of Steve Buscemi's used floss really moved me," Cosgrove agreed. "Some day, I hope everybody likes floss as much as I do. Maybe they'll make a dance out of it."

"A floss dance?"

"Sure!" Cosgrove nods. "Everybody will do it. Kids, adults, even old people with canes. They'll make videos to put on the World Wide Web and everybody will have fun doing the floss."

Freakazoid sniffs as he wipes a single tear from his eye. "Wow, Cosgrove. That's so beautiful."

"Are you feeling better now?"

Freakazoid nods happily. "I sure am! Why, I feel like I'm ready to… try to take over the world!"

"..."

"Eh? Eh?"

"... cut it out."

"Hmph. Fine." Freakazoid crossed his arms and pouted. "Just cut to the next scene."

The Huntsman surveyed his surroundings. Anyone could recognize the interior of a local library, see the bookshelves, hear the sounds of patrons whispering, but the Huntsman was a singular superhero with powers bequeathed from magical corn. Thanks to this corn, he had (among other useful abilities) magically heightened senses, which he was pushing to their superheroic limits. With his keen sense of smell, he was tracking the unmistakable scent of cheese he had noticed earlier in the library. He filtered out the other smells around him… the aroma of paper, the smell of cheap perfume from a library patron, and the whiff of ink from the copy machine. His path led him towards the room with the microfiche machine.

His eagle-like vision peered ahead down the line of bookshelves and through the open doorway. Inside was a row of microfilm readers, microfiche machines, and other bits and pieces used to read the archives of the library. Sitting in front of one microfiche machine was a broad shouldered man wearing a dark business suit. But what Huntsman noticed most was the rather small head of the man and his unnaturally large ears.

The Huntsman rubbed the brawny edge of his masculine jawline in thought. There was something off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Rather than dwell on the problem, he strode forward and shortly his barrel chested silhouette loomed in the doorway.

"It smells like someone's been cutting cheese in here," he said in his baritone voice.

Brain's head turned around, the top torso of the Human Suit turning with him. As he turned he unceremoniously dumped several graphic novels on top of Pinky on the table, covering his friend and the cheese Pinky had been snacking on. There was a slightly muffled "Poit!" that emerged from beneath the stack. Brain fidgeted with the bowtie at the neck of his mechanical suit.

"Cheese?" Brain asked in his best attempt to sound unsuspicious. He eyed the green-glad hero warily. He had not encountered any superheroes until this moment. He took note of the Huntsman's sinewy biceps, the chiseled pecs, and the wide bright teeth in his smile. Brain was certain that this muscle-bound man was strong, stronger than the pneumatics and gears of his Human Suit. But Brain had serious doubts that there was a mind behind that green grin that would be any match for his cognitive might.

Brain gave his best winning smile, the dimples in his cheeks rising. "Why, there's no cheese in here." Yes, charming and succinct. That should do the trick. He and his Human Suit stood up from his chair, attempting to get in between Pinky and the Huntsman.

The Huntsman tried leaning to the side to look around the Human Suit, but Brain sidestepped him. The Huntsman turned back to look at Brain. "I've been looking for a pair of missing mice. And my heightened sense of smell tells me somebody has been cutting cheese in this room." A faint, very distinct Pinky sounding giggle could be heard from under the pile of graphic novels.

The Brain rolled his eyes. "Look, don't superheroes usually have something better to do? Aren't there some orphans that need rescuing somewhere?"

The Huntsman clenched his fists. "You fiend!" he growled.

Brain was startled by the vehement response. "What?"

"First you kidnap mice with your nefarious cheese! And then you put orphans in danger just to keep me off your trail!"

"I don't think…"

"You've only delayed the inevitable! After I rescue the orphans, I'll be back for you!" The Huntsman pointed a thick finger towards Brain, then turned on his heels. With one last reproaching look at Brain, he dashed out of the library.

Pinky climbed out from under the graphic novels. "Brain! That was a superhero!"

The Brain blinked in confusion at first, and then he grinned. "Pinky, we have overcome our first superhero! If this viridian buffoon is any indication, defeating the so-called Freakazoid will be easier than I thought!"

Pinky climbs up the arm of the Human Suit, keeping a tight grip on his cheese. "Now what, Brain?"

"Now it is time to make some upgrades. To ensure success, my Human Suit must be augmented to become… the Supervillain Suit!"

The Huntsman raced through the streets of the city. His pulse throbbed with excitement. Finally, a worthwhile adventure! He just had to find it. He knew there had to be an orphanage in the city somewhere. It would probably be on fire. Or maybe there was a bomb hiding in the basement. Or ugly henchmen standing outside that he could punch. He would be even more excited if there was something he could punch. Regardless, the orphans were in danger. He would search the whole city if he had to.

And then he would return to stop the vile villain known as…

The Huntsman came to an abrupt halt, a cloud of dust and debris appearing at his feet. He clasped his husky hand to the top of his head, flattening his archer's hat. "I forgot to ask for the villain's name!"

He stomped over to a nearby trash can and knocked it over in frustration. "Darn the luck!"

He took a deep breath. He turned his head to heroically look up towards the horizon as a gentle breeze tousled his hair. "You'll regret the day you crossed the Huntsman… tiny headed man in a business suit."

In front of a black background, Freakazoid steps into view and snaps his fingers. "A bit of light jazz if you please," he says in one of his more serious tones. The music starts in the background, a catchy and upbeat tune of trumpet, piano, and drums.

Freakazoid takes his hands and makes the shape of a rectangular frame using his thumbs and forefingers. Slowly, he pulls them towards his face as he begins his narration.

"The Brain. Mechanical pencil in one hand, ruler in the other. Close up as he draws blueprints. The Human Suit is visible on the blue paper as he draws new marks.

"Freeze the frame and pan to the left, a black line separating the old scene with the new. Brain is holding an arc welder as he lowers a welding helmet over his face, gears and mechanical pieces behind him. He fires up the arc welder, casting bright light and dark shadows.

"The scene is frozen, and a third scene enters from the left. A steel bar is gripped in the hands of the Human Suit. Slowly, the bar bends in the suit's hands. Freeze the frame!

"The three scenes move down to the lower half of the screen as a fourth scene enters from the top. Pinky doodling with a box of crayons, drawing colorful costumes on paper.

"We zoom in on a costume of purple and green, close enough to see the details of the crayon's wax pressed into the paper. The scene expands to encompass the images below it, and then we zoom out to see Pinky with a paintbrush covered in black, running it along the suit's metal. The Human Suit is lying on a table, repainted.

"Pan up to above the torso. A dark helmet with a purple V-shaped visor is being lowered to the top of the Human Suit. Brain gesturing, then we split the scene and on the left Pinky manages the controls for some sort of makeshift crane. Brain smiles as there is a satisfying metallic clicking sound as the helmet is connected to the Supervillain Suit."

Freakazoid sits down in a director's chair sideways, draping his legs over the chair's arm. With a big grin, he says, "Just give me a call if you need any more ideas, Steven Soderbergh."

"... some high-powered hydraulics for super-strength, rockets for flight…" Brain tweaked a few controls from beneath the new helmet of the Supervillain Suit. "And finally, with additional voice modulations, the modifications to the Human Suit are complete." He leaned forward towards the microphone within the helmet. "How does this sound, Pinky?"

"Narf! That's amazing, Brain! You sounded just like that evil uncle in Lion King!"

"Yes, Pinky. If for some reason a story of our victory was ever put in a media form that requires voice actors, Jeremy Irons would be an excellent choice for our supervillain."

"Wow, Brain, do you really think that somebody would make cartoons about us someday?"

"Of course. If MC Hammer can get an animated series, anybody can."

Pinky was looking at a web page titled "Super Name Registration Page." He was scrolling through the list, noting the names of superheroes and supervillains alike.

"What is your super name going to be, Brain?"

"An excellent question, Pinky. I have been giving this a lot of thought. My name will henceforth be… Megamind!"

Pinky scrolls through the list a little further. Pinky shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, Brain, we can't use that one."

"I can't?"

"Oooh, but here's a good one, Brain!"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Lord Smoked Meats and Fishes!"

Brain couldn't believe his ears. "Lord… ?"

"Lord Smoked Meats and Fishes!" Pinky repeated. An update appeared on the computer screen. "Oops, nevermind. Someone else is using it now. Sorry, Brain, you've got to act fast when a real gem like that shows up!"

"Couldn't I just call myself the Brain?"

"No no no! The Brain is your secret identity, obviously," Pinky explains. He taps the computer screen. "Besides, there's already a villain named the Brain."

"Hmm. Unfortunate. Perhaps Brainiac?"

Pinky clicked the cursor on the screen and then shook his head. "Nope."

"Well, my goal is to rule the world. I shall then be known as Leader!"

"Already taken."

"Supreme Intelligence?"

Pinky shakes his head. "Sorry, Brain. But don't worry, we'll come up with something! Creating a good name just takes a lot of brain power."

Brain's eyes lit up with glee. "Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"I think so, Brain, but MODOK? Mouse Of Devising Overdone Konspiracies doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, does it?"

"No, Pinky! My supervillain nom de guerre will be: Brainpower!" Brain declared. He thought for a moment and then quietly added, "And 'conspiracies' starts with a C anyway."

Freakazoid wiped his hands together, shaking the dirt off. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "Did you see that fight, Cosgrove?"

"Sorry, Freakazoid. I just got here."

"It was the most amazing battle I've ever had, with the most fiendish foe I've ever faced!"

"That must have been something."

"It sure was! It was so stupendous, thousands of words will be used to write an epic covering every minute detail of this awe-inspiring conflict that decided the fate of the city. No, the world!! Any half-decent author would write paragraph after paragraph filled with big long adjectives so that they could give justice to the fight that just took place."

"Who'd you fight?"

"You know… I don't remember." Freakazoid turned around to double-check, but the police van's doors had just closed. He shrugged to himself. "Hey, Cosgrove, did you ever get the weird feeling that something big and ominous was coming?"

"Is your tummy feeling urpy? Maybe it was something you ate."

"No, it doesn't feel like that."

"What does it feel like?"

"Kind of tingly. Like a bunch of icky spiders going up and down my back."

"Like some kind of spider sense alerting you to danger?"

"No. Definitely not that." Freakazoid paused. "Hold on a moment." He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide. His mouth made a circular shape and began quivering as a loud and emphatic burp left his lips. Cosgrove put his hand over his hat to keep it in place as the belch blasted in his direction.

Freakazoid smacks his lips together. "I guess you were right, Cosgrove. I was kind of urpy."

The Lobe sat in his favorite chair. It's an old office chair, but it can spin 360 degrees around smoothly with any squeaking. Even better is the high back of the chair, so the Lobe can comfortably rest his large cerebellum. It was certainly his most defining characteristic: his head was only an overly sized brain with a set of eyes at the front and a strangely sharp-toothed mouth near the brain stem. His other notable feature was of course, his voice, which was in equal parts villainous, melodious, and sensuous. Of course, this being a written work you'll either have to take that at face value or watch some old Freakazoid episodes and judge for yourself.

The Lobe leaned forward in his chair and carefully spoke into a microphone, "My voice is my password, please verify me." At the sound of his unforgettable timbre, the villain's computer booted up. The Lobe had finally got a computer for his lair, and it was the pinnacle of technology in multiple senses of the word. A spacious hard drive at two whole gigabytes, a speedy 166 megahertz processor, and of course a swift 56k modem. It was the best money could buy, or in this case, the best that the Lobe could steal.

The Lobe thoughtfully looked at the spreadsheet he had been assembling. Someone had been collecting quite the assortment of technology, and it was all there on his list. Titanium alloy sheets, micro hydraulic systems, supercapacitors, gyroscopic stabilizers, synthetic lubricants, jet propulsion modules, and… one pound of manchego cheese.

The last one was a bit of a mystery. But the rest of the list made sense for one thing: an exosuit. A super-powered one, at that. Somebody, hero or villain, was getting ready to make an appearance.

And that could only mean one thing. The Lobe grinned.

He was going to have to throw a party.

to be continued…

"Dun dun dun!" Freakazoid says. "Wait, is this what the weird ominous feeling was about? And not just because I drank two liters of Surge soda?"

"Wow," Freakazoid adds, "How's that for a throwaway 90's reference?"

Chapter Text

Lieutenant King angrily plodded across the rooftop of the police building. "Are you sure the Horn of Urgency is working?" he demanded. The young rookie cop standing by the mouthpiece of the Horn of Urgency nodded, his cheeks still flush from putting every ounce of air into the Horn a moment ago.

"The one time we need the Huntsman, and he doesn't appear!" King stomped over to the brick half-wall surrounding the roof and kicked at it. Fortunately for his foot, he missed. "Darn the luck!"

"The captain is breathing down my neck! If we can't solve this case…" the Lieutenant sighed. "If only there was a superhero that could help us!"

Lieutenant King looked around. He checked his watch and tapped his foot impatiently. He cleared his throat. "I said, if only there was a superhero that could help us!"

King jammed his hands into his pockets in frustration. "I really thought that would have worked…"

The rooftop access door opened. Freakazoid stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame of the door. He was taking deep, ragged gasps of air. "So… many… stairs," he muttered between breaths.

King was a little shocked. "Freakazoid?"

Freakazoid held up one finger as he hunched forward, breathing heavily. "You should… really… have… elevator."

"Can't you fly?"

"Only when it's convenient for the story," Freakazoid admitted. "Normally I just run around with my hands up in the air making whooshing noises." He placed his hands on his hips and stood with his back straight, puffing his chest out. "So, citizen! What seems to be the trouble?"

Lieutenant King handed Freakazoid a manilla folder stuffed with pages of paper. "There's been a bizarre string of cheese and technology thefts in the last few days."

"Somebody has been stealing string cheese?! Is it Cobra Queen? Cave Guy? It's Cave Guy, isn't it?"

"What? No. There's been a series of robberies. Two things are stolen: cheese… just cheese, not string cheese… and high-tech equipment."

Freakazoid pondered, looking intently as he flipped through several pages, staring at each line of text on the paper, searching for clues. Despite his careful squinting, he saw no sign of the word "clue" conveniently on any page. There were mentions of gouda cheese, supercapacitors, gyroscopic stabilizers, a pound of manchego cheese, jet propulsion modules, and more confusing technical jargon. He nodded knowingly. "Hmm, yes. Mhmm. I see, I see."

Lieutenant King's eyes lit up hopefully. "You found something?"

"Nope! But I know someone who can help. You can count on me, Commissioner!" Freakazoid exclaimed. He took a runner's stance, pivoted on one foot, and then walked off the edge of the building. As gravity started to assert itself, he turned into a bluish bolt of lightning, with his grinning head at the front. He zipped down the wall of the police building and down the street. "Hey! I should have done this to go up the building!" Freakazoid exclaimed, his voice fading into the distance as he disappeared around the block.

"I'm not a…. oh, nevermind." King sighed. "I think I actually miss the Huntsman."

Freakazoid's speedy departure took him to the suburbs of Washington, D.C., and eventually down a sleepy little street named Funiculi Funicula Avenue. He zipped straight up the porch steps of house number 564 and came to a sudden stop at the front door. He pushed it open and shouted into the living room, "Heeeelloooo! Anybody hoooooooome!?"

Hearing only figurative crickets in response, Freakazoid stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. He took the papers from Lieutenant King and spread them across the coffee table in the living room, after carefully moving aside the Blockbuster bag of rental tapes. He donned a green visor low on his forehead like something plucked out of a dimly lit accountant's office. With his tongue sticking out in concentration, he carefully collated the pages, organizing them into multiple neat piles. He stood on the couch to examine his handiwork.

"That won't do at all!" he exclaimed. With a swipe of one arm, he grabbed all of the papers and tossed them into the air. They floated down from the ceiling like large rectangular snowflakes, scattering across the furniture and floor.

"Okay, Dexter. Time for you to do your stuff! FREAK IN!" Freakazoid shouted.

Freakazoid spun about like a top, becoming a swirling smear of blue and red colors. In a few moments, he was replaced by his alter-ego, the teenager Dexter Douglas. Dexter pushed his glasses a little further up his nose, discovering the green visor perched on his head. Then he looked around at the mess in his family's living room. Some of the papers were still in the air, with one of them lazily spinning around on the top of the ceiling fan. One page finally floated down and landed on the visor, which Dexter touched with confusion after realizing it was on his head.

"Freakazoid, mom's going to fre… flip out at this mess."

Freakazoid's voice echoed inside of Dexter's head in response. Dexter still wasn't quite sure how it worked, but Freakazoid described it as living inside of his head with big eye-shaped windows that let him see everything Dexter was doing. He called it the "Freak-A-Zone."

Dexter tried not to think about it too much.

Mainly, he really hoped Freakazoid wasn't watching all of the time. But it was also frustrating that this ability didn't work for both of them. Freakazoid could watch him any time he wanted to while eating his bag of Cheese Nips (and where did he get those from, anyway?), but whatever happened while Freakazoid was in control was a mystery to him.

"Sorry, Dexter, this is all the stuff the Commissioner gave me. It's just a bunch of names and numbers to me. But you're really good at spreading sheets! You excel at it!"

Dexter snickered quietly at the pun. He wasn't sure if the joke was intentional, but he knew that if he called attention to it, Freakazoid would only follow up with more. He gathered some of the pages near him, starting with the one on top of the visor. "There's stuff stolen from places all around the city. Supercapacitors, synthetic lubricants, other high-tech equipment, and a suspiciously large amount of cheese."

"It's gotta be the work of a supervillain!"

"Yeah, probably," Dexter agreed. Something about the list wasn't adding up, and it wasn't just the cheese. There was a lot of tech, and usually, when a supervillain steals a bunch of tech, they have a nefarious plan in mind. Capacitors for energy, titanium alloy sheets for protection, jets for propulsion. But Dexter felt that something was out of place. The cheese, obviously, but something else he couldn't quite place…

Freakazoid gasped, interrupting Dexter's line of thought with his own. "It's gotta be Kid Carrion!" Actually, it wasn't so much a line of thought as it was the sudden and unexpected pop of a random idea that had to be blurted out loud.

"What? He's a zombie cowboy. Can he even eat cheese?"

"Let's go ask him!!"

Dexter sighed. "Do you have any idea what it's like being the smart and serious half of this duo?"

Meanwhile, in the secret lair beneath an abandoned warehouse by the docks…

Brain let out a sudden sneeze.

"Gesundheit, Brain!" Pinky said in between mouthfuls of cheese. "Did you know that some people say when you sneeze, it means someone is talking about you?"

Brain gave Pinky a sidelong glance before returning to his tools and the Supervillain Suit. "That is a preposterous superstition and nothing more, Pinky."

Freakazoid proudly responded, "No, no I do not!"

Dexter shook his head and pointed to one of the papers. "Look, I can help with some of this stuff, but foiling supervillains is definitely not my thing."

"Leave the supervillain wrasslin' to me, Dexter! Just tell me where to find Kid Carrion! … or whoever."

"Um, well, there's a couple of places you could look. Even if there's no supervillain there, maybe there'll be clues." Dexter started reading out some locations. "Titanium TechWorks, Voltmax Power Solution, Acme Labs…"

"Ooo, that one!"

"Okay, Acme Labs isn't far from…"

Freakazoid quickly interjected. "No no, not that one! Second column, nine lines down."

Again, Dexter felt that pang of frustration that Freakazoid was watching.

Dexter searched down the page. "Chez Très Posh? It's a restaurant. Not exactly a place a supervillain would normally go. "

Freakazoid answered with a horrible French accent. "Au contraire, mon ami! Almost any supervillain steals dangerous technology for their plots. It's the cheese that makes the mystery!"

Dexter could almost picture Freakazoid in an oversized beret with a thin Van Dyke beard and mustache. "You may be right, Freakazoid. We can go there and…"

"Take Steff on a date! Great idea!"

"Wait a minute! You know almost every time you plan something like this, Steff gets kidnapped, right?"

"It's weird, but true! We can look for clues about stolen cheese, and if Steff is there the supervillain is sure to show up! I knew I could count on you, Dexter! Hey, you think I should wear that visor on the date? It looks really good on you, so it's gotta look good on me."

"Oh, I'm sure Steff is really into guys that look like accountants. Look, I'm gonna have to clean this mess up before we leave." Dexter started gathering the papers together that were sitting on the coffee table. And the couch. And the television. And the floor. 

"Fine, fine. I'll just be over here, in your brain, watching everything you do."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"Hey, don't blame me! It's not my fault you can't see what I'm doing when it's time to freak out."

Dexter sighed, rubbing his temples. "No, but it is annoying. You're always messing things up, and I'm the one who has to clean it up—without even knowing what happened."

"Hey, that's not true! You've got access to most of my genius... sometimes."

"That's like saying I get to deal with the fallout without the fun. I don't even remember half the stuff you do."

"Getting punched by villains is not fun!"

"Yeah, but what about that time you and Steff set up that kissing booth at the fair? Even my lips were sore the next day! I wish I could at least see what's happening when you're out there," Dexter said, tapping his forehead, "and I'm in here."

"Oh, that takes practice. And a stronger personality. Like mine."

Dexter looked up and noticed the paper stuck on the ceiling fan for the first time. He groaned. "If you say so. But I'm still the one cleaning up."

Meanwhile, back at the secret lair at the docks…

Pinky squatted next to the Supervillain Suit, dabbing a paintbrush covered in green paint across its bulky chest piece. His face was scrunched in concentration as he hummed a cheerful tune that sounded suspiciously like a theme about a trio of zany to the max siblings. Nearby, Brain was meticulously adjusting the suit's circuitry. His eyes narrowed with the intensity of a diabolical genius hard at work.

"Brain," Pinky said without looking up, "do you think this shade of green is villainy enough?"

Brain didn't glance up from his work. "The hue of the suit is of little consequence, Pinky. Freakazoid will tremble at our might, not our choice of aesthetic."

Pinky tilted his head and tapped the brush thoughtfully against his chin, leaving a smear of green paint there. "But Brain, if we're going to take over the world, shouldn't we look, you know, super stylish? I mean, just imagine if we showed up in the same color as another supervillain." Pinky's laugh came out as a soft narf. "We'd have to come back to our secret lair and get a new layer of paint."

Brain let out an exasperated sigh and set down his tools. "Pinky, we are on the brink of completing our plan. Do you really believe our greatest challenge will be matching outfits with supervillains of mediocrity?"

"Well, it might be, Brain! Ooo, or what if we run into Freakazoid? He's got blue and red, and we're here with our green and purple! That's like a traffic light gone bonkers!" Pinky stood up and spread his arms wide as if imagining a world in which color coordination was the key to victory.

Brain rubbed his temples and sighed. "Pinky, the only color that matters is the pale shade of fear that will wash over humanity when they realize they are under the rule of the world's greatest mind."

Pinky blinked. "Ooo, I didn't know you liked pale colors, Brain. Should I go for more of a chartreuse, you think?"

Ignoring Pinky's question, Brain stood up with renewed focus. "Forget the colors, Pinky. Soon, the Supervillain Suit will be complete, and when it is, Freakazoid will be no match for me. I will gain his powers, and when I do the world will fall at my feet, and nothing—" he paused dramatically, eyes gleaming, "—will stop me."

Pinky gave a lazy salute, the paintbrush spreading green across his forehead. "You got it, Brain! But if you need any help with the suit, you know, painting or anything, just give me a holler. I'm the Picasso of villainy after all!" He chortled with a satisfied grin, twirling the paintbrush between his fingers. Tiny flecks of green paint splattered across the floor and Brain's face in equal measure.

Brain simply glared, mentally preparing himself for the challenges ahead—those involving the inevitable upcoming world domination, but mostly the daily struggle of being the smart and serious half of the duo.

"The room is cold. Colder than a banker's heart on loan day." Freakazoid stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. He dipped his head, and the fedora hat balanced precariously on his hair lowered slightly over his eyes. He continued his narration. "It was just another Tuesday for me. Another case the boys in blue couldn't solve or didn't want. That's when they came to me. I'm the best private d—"

"Freakazoid!!"

"Oh, hey, Steff! What are you doing inside the walk-in cooler of the Chez Trés Posh?"

Steff placed her hands on her hips. Wisps of air passed through her lips with each breath she took in the freezing room. She glared at Freakazoid, and the temperature inside dropped even further. "That's what I was going to ask you! You said you were taking me to a fancy restaurant!"

"Sorry, Steff, I was narrating!" Freakazoid slipped out of his trench coat and placed it around Steff on her shoulders. Her eyes and the top of her head peeked out over the edge of the collar like a bewildered turtle. "I just need to find some clues. And wait for you to be kidnapped!"

Steff's muffled voice echoed from beneath the trench coat. "What?"

Freakazoid froze in place, and turned around. He struck a pose like a hunting dog, one arm outstretched and an opposite leg lifted awkwardly behind him like a blue and red colored weathervane. "Quiet! Do you smell something?"

Not waiting for a response, Freakazoid quietly tiptoed forward. Somehow, his toes made the sounds of piano keys every time they touched the ground. He came to a stop along a shelf and took a large breath through his nose, air rushing in and filling his head, inflating it slightly. He looked down at his feet.

"Mouse droppings!" he exclaimed.

Steff let out a dampened scream, the trench coat vibrating from the noise. "Ew!"

Freakazoid reached down to the ground and picked up a wedge of cheese. It was yellowish white in color, speckled with misshapen blotches of green. On the top of the cheese was an unmistakable mouse-shaped indentation. Freakazoid whipped out a magnifying glass from nowhere and held it to his eye, just under the brim of the fedora. "The cheese lay there, silent but deadly, like a witness who knows too much. And I was the detective who had seen it all before… except for the mouse droppings. Those were new. This stinky piece of roquefort had a mouse drop on it from above!"

Freakazoid looked up. Above his head, there was a gaping hole in the ceiling, a simple tarp partially covering it from the sky. "Huh. I'm surprised I didn't notice that earlier."

Freakazoid stepped under the breach above. He tried jumping up but only managed to lift himself a short distance off the ground. "Hey, Steff, give me a boost."

Steph waddled over to him, nearly tripping over the trench coat wrapped around her. "Can't you fly?"

"Uh, no, I already mentioned that to the Commissioner 2,577 words ago," Freakazoid says. Steff knelt down and placed her hands together, allowing Freakazoid to step into them with the glossy boot of his right foot. With the strained grunt of a kitten trying to move furniture, Steff managed to lift him up a few inches.

"Have you put on weight, Freakazoid?" Steff asked faintly from within the trench coat.

Freakazoid frowned. "There's got to be some way to get up there!"

Freakazoid stands on the roof of the Chez Très Posh. "And that's the power of transitions, folks! Those little horizontal rule tags really come in handy sometimes."

He walked over towards the hole, where a hastily placed tarp partially covered it. Freakazoid pulled out his magnifying glass again and began walking around the roof staring through it. He stooped and bent from his hips at an awkward angle, bending over to keep the magnifying glass only inches from the flat black surface of the roof. His meandering led him to the edge of the roof.

"Ah ha! A grappling hook!" Freakazoid exclaimed as he spotted something on the other side of his magnifying glass. He moved the magnifying glass away and his newfound clue became much smaller. "A very small grappling hook at that." Freakazoid picked it up between his thumb and forefinger. "Clearly, the work of miniature ninjas!"

Freakazoid continued pacing across the roof with his magnifying glass. He stopped near a round exhaust vent sticking out from the roof. There, he spied a small tuft of white fur. "Hmmmm," Freakazoid mused out loud, "It's all coming together. Hairy miniature ninjas!"

Freakazoid stroked his chin in thought. "Waaaait a minute. Tiny tools. White fur. Mouse-shaped holes in cheese." He gasped. "This isn't the work of hairy miniature ninjas! This could only be the work of…"

"Hey, Freakazoid," a familiar baritone and slightly gravelly voice said from behind him. "Do you wanna go get a croque monsieur?"

"Oh, hey, Cosgrove!" Freakazoid said with a smile. "What are you doing on the roof?"

"I'm going to get a bite to eat. Chez Très Posh makes a delicious croque monsieur."

"Is that food with snails in it?"

"No, that's gross. A croque monsieur is like fancy grilled cheese with ham."

"Grilled cheese with meat inside?"

"I know. It sounds scrumptious, doesn't it," Cosgrove said. The small smile that played out over his face was the only sign of enthusiasm he allowed himself for the concept of food with extra meat.

"That sounds great, Cosgrove! Let me tell Steff," Freakazoid replied. He pulled the tarp off the hole and stuck his head through the opening of the roof. He let out a startled yell.

"What's wrong, Freakazoid!"

"Steff is gone! She's been kidnapped! This is great!" Freakazoid rubbed his hands together with glee.

"It is?"

"It sure is! Now I can find the supervillain responsible for stealing string cheese! I just need to get the tracker from my utility belt!" Freakazoid stuck his hands impossibly deep into small compartments around his belt. "Uh, hold on, that's the shark repellent. It's somewhere around here." Tossing the small spray can to the side, he reached in once more, and this time pulled out a strange wooden mask with a metal band going halfway down between the eyes. Freakazoid read the tag attached to it. "If found, please return to Stanley. I don't even know how that got in there. Give me just a minute." Freakazoid put both of his hands into the tiny opening on his belt, somehow inserting them both inside up to his wrists. "Ah-ha! Here's the Freak-A-Tracker!"

Cosgrove leaned forward in interest. "The Freak-A-Tracker?"

Freakazoid nodded, happily smiling to share his plan with Cosgrove. "With this tracking device on Steff, I'll be able to follow her wherever she's taken!"

Cosgrove's brows arched slightly.

Freakazoid continued to smile, staring at his Freak-A-Tracker.

Cosgrove looked unblinking at the Freak-A-Tracker. He pointed at it. "That tracking device?" he asked.

"Uh-huh!"

"On Steff?"

Freakazoid's smile dropped faster than an anvil as the corners of his mouth plunged down into a frown. "Oh, nut bunnies!"

Cosgrove asked, "So do you want that croque monsieur now?"

One lone light hung on the ceiling high above. Dust motes danced in its radiance as it shined down on a plush, velvet chair. Steff blinked her eyes open to find herself sitting in that very chair… bound by ropes, of course. But at least the trench coat was gone.

"Ugh, not again," she muttered. She struggled for a moment. Her hands were tied firmly, but at least the chair was comfy. "It's always the fancy villains," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the shadows.

"Welcome, Miss Stephanie!" The Lobe stepped into the light, his oversized brain glistening with the smug satisfaction of a villain who had just successfully executed a cunning plan. He spread his arms dramatically. "You have the pleasure of being my guest for the evening!"

Steff groaned. "Lobe, seriously? Again? I had dinner plans."

"Ah, but you're part of a much grander feast now!" He snapped his fingers, and lights turned on elsewhere within the room. Steff found herself at one end of a large banquet hall. The Lobe gestured toward a large banner hanging on the far wall. In glittery, gothic letters, it read: "Welcome to the Supervillain Soirée!" Beneath it, tables were being set up by henchmen in tuxedos and bow ties, arranging elaborate floral centerpieces.

"Let me guess. You're throwing a party for a bunch of supervillains?" Steff said flatly.

"Precisely!" The Lobe grinned, his sharp-toothed smile gleaming. "And you, my dear, are the perfect bait to ensure Freakazoid's attendance. You see, he never misses a good rescue. It's his… thing."

Steff glared at him. "You know, you could've just invited him to your party."

"Oh, believe me, I sent a formal invitation," The Lobe said with a casual wave of his hand. "But we all know how scatterbrained that blue buffoon is. He's more likely to use it as a napkin than actually show up."

Steff sighed again. "Well, you do have a point there."

The Lobe turned to admire his preparations, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "Freakazoid will come for you, and when he does, I'll make sure the whole world knows which villain threw the most memorable soirée of the century."

Steff raised an eyebrow. "This is all about throwing the best party, isn't it?"

The Lobe chuckled darkly. "Oh, it's always about more than just the party. But yes. Yes, it is."

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Freakazoid stands in front of a plain, white background. "Whoa, what! Hold up! Before we get to this next part, I just need to say something. I know what you're thinking! 'Hey, didn't the last chapter end on a cliffhanger? What's happening to Steff? More importantly, didn't this story start with Freakazoid? Why aren't we following Freakazoid right now? And why is Freakazoid referring to himself in the third person?'" 

He throws his hands up in exasperation. "Believe me, I've been asking the same questions!"

Freakazoid folds his arms and glares off into the distance, clearly irritated. "We could actually resolve the cliffhanger, but nooo, instead we're diving into one of the oldest clichés in the book—the flashback!"

He starts pacing dramatically, waving his arms. "Oh, flashbacks, how original! It's not like you've seen them a hundred thousand times before, right? I mean, can't we just stick with the main character for once? You know, me?"

He pauses, glancing directly at you with an exaggerated sigh. "But hey, I get it. Everyone loves a good flashback, right? Especially when it's about two talking mice trying to take over the world in a big, scary robot suit. Just go ahead and keep scrolling and get this over with already. I'll just… wait here. Maybe take a nap or something."

The night before Steff was kidnapped by the Lobe and the previous chapter ended on a cliffhanger…

The sun was setting over the maze of buildings that made up one of the industrial districts of the city. The area was a monument to concrete and steel, where the constant hum of machinery never ceased and the air itself seemed to carry a faint twinge of electricity. Towering smokestacks loomed like blackened fingers clawing at the sky, and rows of factories huddled together in the gloom, their windows dark and lifeless. It was a place where shadows outnumbered the lights, where even the streetlamps struggled to push through the fog of industry.

Amidst this oppressive setting was a malevolent silhouette that stood out against the gloom. It was the embodiment of a villain: a black metal behemoth nearly seven feet tall, adorned with oversized shoulder pads, jagged points at nearly every joint, and a black cape that swayed menacingly in the breeze. Spiky shoulder pads jutted out dangerously, almost as though daring anyone to come closer, and at the top was a black helmet, with only an angry-looking V-shape of tinted purple glass that concealed any hint of a face.

The helmet currently looked down as the suit loomed over a taxi cab like a hunter over its prey, casting a long shadow across the asphalt. The metal figure reached out towards the taxi, its hand clenched. Slowly, the giant fingers unfurled.

The cab driver, leaning slightly out of the window, raised an eyebrow at the small pile of change held in the palm of the metallic hand. "It's 14.50," the driver said, already tired of the exchange.

The Brain, seated inside the cockpit of the Supervillain Suit, grumbled under his breath. "I know that. I'm a genius, not an idiot." He pushed a handful of quarters through a slot over the cockpit's instrument panel, and they rolled down a chute and into the Suit's hand.

Pinky, bouncing up and down beside Brain, peered through the visor. "Oh, Brain! Are you sure you don't want to give him a tip? I always heard it's nice to give a little extra! Narf!"

"A tip?" Brain sneered, as though the very word offended him. "Pinky, I am a supervillain. I do not give tips. I give orders."

"But what if he's had a really long day?" Pinky asked, his eyes wide with genuine concern. "You know, Brain, sometimes a tip is like a little 'thank you' for all the hard work!"

Brain was very thankful at this point that he had the microphone and voice modulator of the Supervillain Suit muted.

The cab driver sighed as the metal hand of the suit finally dropped the exact fare into his hand. "Thanks, I guess," the driver muttered, as the Supervillain Suit's arm jerked back awkwardly.

As the cab drove off, Brain took his hands off the Suit's controls for a moment and looked over the various gauges and readings of the instrument panel in front of him. He nervously looked over at the power meter, which sat at a disappointing thirty percent.

"Tonight is the night, Pinky. After I've gotten my hands on the experimental supercapacitors at Voltmax Power Solution, we'll have all of the energy we need to power the Supervillain Suit. No more taxis. We shall fly into any confrontation with our jet-powered boots!" Brain declared, his eyes gleaming with determination.

Pinky, however, was only half-listening, squinting at a printed piece of paper in his hand. "Brain, which Friends character are you? I got Joey! Narf!"

Brain blinked, slowly turning to Pinky with a look of exasperated disbelief. "What in the name of Alan Turing are you talking about?"

"Oh, oh!" Pinky beamed, eager to share. He waved the paper enthusiastically. "I found this personality quiz on the Internet and printed it out. Don't you think it's important for people to know what sort of person you are after you take over the world?"

Brain sighed, his patience clearly thinning. "No, Pinky, I do not. I have no need for nonsensical trivia. The World Wide Web is a repository of knowledge, not a source for puerile nonsense."

Pinky frowned thoughtfully. "But, Brain, it's on the World Wide Web! You said you wanted to take over the whole Web, so isn't this part of it? What if you're a Ross, Brain? Then you'd be all—"

Brain let out a dramatic exhale, leaning back in the cramped cockpit of the Supervillain Suit, moving the Suit's cameras to focus on the sprawling facility of Voltmax Power Solution, ignoring Pinky's prattle. The towering electrical grid of the complex hummed with potential energy, and Brain's eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a plan coming together.

"Enough, Pinky!" he snapped, regaining his composure. "Focus! Once my Supervillain Suit is fully functional, I can capture Freakazoid with ease and steal his power. I will be unstoppable!" He emphasized the word, his voice filled with a chilling confidence.

Pinky blinked, then glanced back down at his quiz, mumbling to himself. "I still think you'd be a Ross…"

Brain shot him another glare,  but this time with a hint of weary resignation. He muttered to himself, almost as if trying to convince himself, "The key to domination is power, Pinky, not sitcom compatibility. Now onward!"

The Supervillain Suit marched toward Voltmax Power Solution, its oversized metal feet clanking loudly against the asphalt. In the fading light, the building loomed ahead, surrounded by a high, electrified fence that looked about as welcoming as a porcupine in a balloon factory. A sturdy gate and a small guard shack completed the image of industrial security.

Brain's voice echoed inside the cockpit of the suit. "There it is, Pinky. Voltmax Power Solution."

Pinky, seated beside him in the cramped cockpit, looked at the scene through the Suit's cameras. "Ooo, look at that fence! Spikey! You think we should knock, Brain? Maybe ask nicely? Zort!"

"Knock? Ask nicely? Pinky, we're supervillains!" Brain grinned viciously. "We don't ask."

Without hesitation, the Supervillain Suit walked straight toward the gate. The gate didn't stand a chance. With a single step, the suit barreled through, sending the metal gate flying off its hinges in splintered pieces.

The guard stationed at the shack—armed with nothing but a clipboard and a cup of lukewarm coffee—stared in disbelief. "Uh… I don't get paid enough for this."

Before the guard could react further, Brain manipulated the controls, and the Supervillain Suit's massive metal hand shot forward, grabbing the man by his vest. The suit lifted him easily into the air, holding him in front of the visor like a ragdoll.

Pinky gasped. His eyes were glued to the camera. "Oh no, Brain! You're not going to—"

Brain, completely unfazed, flicked a switch. The servos in the arm whirred loudly, and the guard went flying. He sailed through the air with a startled yelp. The guard flailed, expecting a hard landing, but instead, he landed with a soft whump on the back of a passing pickup truck. The truck, as luck would have it, was carrying a mattress, which cushioned his fall. The truck driver didn't even notice as the dazed guard tumbled onto the mattress, the truck rolling off into the distance.

Pinky let out a relieved sigh, clutching his heart dramatically. "Oh, thank goodness! That was a close one! He could've been hurt!"

Brain, meanwhile, scowled and glanced at the power meter. It had dropped from 30% to 25%. He muttered under his breath, adjusting the controls. "Drat! I knew I should've fine-tuned the servos before this. That throw was far too strong, wasting energy. And we can't afford to lose more power on trivialities like this."

Brain barely spared Pinky a glance. "Pinky, we're supervillains. We don't worry about henchmen, mooks, or whatever insignificant security guards stand in our way. That's part of the job."

Pinky frowned, his worry clearly growing. He grabbed his tail nervously. "But, Brain… can't we just… ask nicely sometimes? Or at least, I dunno, not throw them so high into the air?"

Brain rolled his eyes, completely dismissing Pinky's concern. "Pinky, if we start worrying about every low-level security guard, we'll never accomplish anything. Besides, he's fine. Supervillains aren't in the business of caring about collateral damage."

As Brain focused on the controls and scanned the area for a suitable entrance, Pinky's gaze remained fixed on the Suit's cameras, watching the retreating pickup truck. His tail twitched restlessly. "Yeah… I guess," Pinky replied softly. Internet superpowers seemed like a really good idea only a few days ago. Pinky glanced over his shoulder at the wall behind them, where Brain had pinned the cover of the comic book Pinky had found at the library, "The Real Life and Super Exciting Adventures of Freakazoid." Across the drawing of Freakazoid, Brain had scrawled the words “primary target” in bold red ink, and for good measure, jammed a thumbtack right into the superhero's forehead. Pinky stared at it, his mind swirling with thoughts he couldn't quite pin down, when suddenly—

CRASH!

The Supervillain Suit collided with the outer wall of Voltmax Power Solution, sending stone and mortar flying as Brain created a perfectly villain-sized hole in the side of the building. Pinky's thoughts were jostled away, replaced with Brain's familiar chortle as his plan was set in motion.

The Supervillain Suit, now back up to full speed, stomped its way through the labyrinthine halls of Voltmax Power Solution. The Suit's mechanical footsteps echoed off the walls as the Brain confidently led the way toward the facility's energy storage chamber. "We're close, Pinky. I've calculated the exact location of the supercapacitors. Once we have them, the Supervillain Suit will be complete. No more power constraints—only limitless potential."

Pinky perked up as they reached a large, heavily fortified door. "Ooo, Brain! Look! We're almost there!"

The Brain smirked. "Of course we are. I planned for this. Everything is going exactly as I—"

The Supervillain Suit's arm smashed through the heavy door with a single punch, scattering debris as a faint warning beep emitted from the power meter. But instead of the vault of supercapacitors they expected, Brain and Pinky found something else waiting for them.

"—planned?" the Brain questioned. A shadowy figure stood in the center of the room, his arms folded neatly behind his back. As the figure stepped forward closer to the light, his massively oversized brain pulsed visibly. Brain glanced down at the power meter worriedly. Twelve percent.

The Brain looked back up and narrowed his eyes. 'Who?" he asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer.

But Pinky had one anyway. His jaw dropped in recognition. "Brain! That's the Lobe! He's one of Freakazoid's villains!" Pinky paused and tilted his head in confusion. "Although he's never looked like much of an earlobe to me. More like a Potato Head Guy sort of look."

"Pinky, now is not the time for your ridiculous comic book nonsense," the Brain said while rolling his eyes.

The Lobe, wearing a bemused expression, calmly stepped forward. His tone was smooth, polite. "Ah, I see the new supervillain in town has made his move. You've been making quite the splash with your… extravagant displays. Welcome."

Brain, unimpressed, adjusted the controls of the Supervillain Suit. He switched on the voice modulator.  "Whoever you are, you're in my way. I'm here for the supercapacitors. Unless you intend to stop me, I suggest you leave." His voice had shifted completely—deep, smooth, refined, with just the right hint of menace. It had taken some time to settle on the perfect voice for a supervillain. The Brain had almost gone with some voice actor named Maurice, but ultimately decided that the rich, authoritative tones of Jeremy Irons would be far more fitting for his grand ambitions.

The Lobe raised an eyebrow, still calm and collected. "I have no interest in a conflict. Quite the opposite. I simply deduced that you'd be coming for the final component of your rather impressive suit. I only wanted to introduce myself to the new player in town." He gave a shallow bow and smiled, his sharp teeth shining. "They call me the Lobe."

Brain scoffed, ignoring Pinky's tug on his arm. "They call me Brainpower." He paused dramatically, as though waiting for the weight of the name to sink in. The Lobe's expression remained unreadable. Brain cleared his throat. "As you might surmise from my name, I am intimidating both physically and mentally."

The Lobe chuckled softly, shaking his head. "But of course! And you'll have a chance to share your talents with others at the Supervillain Soirée." He produced a sleek black envelope from his lab coat and held it out toward the Supervillain Suit's massive hand. Brain hesitated for a moment before the suit's mechanical fingers delicately pinched the envelope and took it.

Pinky blinked, whispering excitedly. "Ooo, a party, Brain! I love parties! Do you think there'll be pizza bagel bites?"

The Lobe looked up at the purple visor of the Supervillain Suit and gave a cordial smile. "I wouldn't miss it. I do hope you'll attend. I've taken the liberty of reserving a place for you. Consider this a formal invitation."

Brain, still unimpressed, looked the invitation over before casting a glance at the Lobe. "Fine. If it gets me what I need, I might show up. But make no mistake—I don't need allies, and I don't need you." He turned the Supervillain Suit toward the supercapacitors. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

The Lobe's expression didn't falter. "Of course. I wouldn't want to stand in the way of your… progress. Good luck, Brainpower." With that, the Lobe casually turned and made his way out of the room.

The Lobe stopped at the threshold where the vault door once stood. "Oh, one piece of advice, if I may? Black is a strong choice for your suit, but it's a bit monochrome. Perhaps add a splash of green for contrast?"

Pinky gasped excitedly. "Ooo, green! That would be so snazzy!" Brain only shook his head in resignation. The Lobe then turned back and exited the vault, leaving Brain and Pinky to their work.

Pinky watched the Lobe leave and then turned back to Brain. "He seems nice! But Brain, are you sure you know what you're doing? The Lobe's a big deal, and he's pretty smart too. Even if he does look like a potato."

Brain shot Pinky a dismissive look. "Pinky, I don't care if he's shaped like a potato or a lobe or an entire vegetable garden. No one—no one—is smarter than me." He clenched the controls, crushing the invitation with heavy metallic hands, turning it into a tight ball of black paper before dropping it to the floor.

"Brain, we might need that!"

"Nonsense, Pinky. I've already memorized the contents." The Brain sighed in resignation. Regardless of Pinky's opinion, it would be good to see what sort of competition the other supervillains might offer. And if Freakazoid was there, all the better. "Have no fear, I will take you to the party. It seems that Freakazoid will be there as a special guest, so we will be there as well." He eyed the supercapacitors with glee as he chortled. "But first, Pinky, the supercapacitors!"

Freakazoid yawns. "Is it over?" He glances down at his wrist to check the time, even though he isn't wearing a watch. "Wow, that was crazy long!"

Freakazoid points his finger up in the air as an idea occurs to him. "Y'know, I think it would only be fair if I get a flashback, too!" He steps out of view for a moment, then quickly returns pushing a cart with a film projector on top. "Gimme a minute, okay?" He disappears again, and there are the sounds of multiple items falling down and clattering to the floor. Three rubber chickens bounce to the floor, and a suspiciously large jar of pickles rolls in behind them as a life-sized cardboard cutout of Tom Selleck falls flat to the floor. When Freakazoid steps back into view, he's dragging a rolled-up projector screen behind him. After what feels like an unnecessarily long amount of time—because it takes several minutes at least—Freakazoid finally stands back, proudly admiring the haphazard setup.

With a wide grin, Freakazoid hops over to the film projector and starts it up. A grainy film begins, focusing on a baby Freakazoid lying down in a white bassinet. Except baby Freakazoid looks exactly like Freakazoid does now, only wearing a bright blue frilly bonnet and holding a rattle with the Freakazoid "F" emblem on it. Baby Freakazoid coos and shakes his rattle.

"Oh my gosh, I was such a koot widdle ba-bee!" Freakazoid says, his voice dripping with saccharine.

On-screen, a voice is heard sounding suspiciously like a high-pitched Freakazoid. "Freaky-weaky! Mumsy says it's time for bathy-wathy! Darling, keep the camera rolling!"

Freakazoid, lounging comfortably while watching, freezes. His relaxed posture melts away as he enters a high state of alert, eyes wide with panic. "Turn it off! Turn it off!"  He scrambles forward, arms flailing as he lunges toward the projector, but his feet land square on the rubber chickens, sending him skidding. As he fumbles with the projector, he accidentally grabs the film reel, yanking it out of place.

The screen wobbles and glitches, the high-pitched voice still playing. "Baaathy-waaathy time!"

Freakazoid spins in circles, trying to untangle himself from the film that’s rapidly wrapping around him like a boa constrictor. Freakazoid's voice exudes panic. "I said, turn it OFF!"

He stumbles, pulling more film loose, tripping over the jar of pickles, and ends up flat on the floor, entirely cocooned in film, as the projector continues to roll. The audio becomes more distorted, and the final "B^a_a^a_t^h_e^e_e-W^a_a^a_t^h_e^e_e…" fades away as the last bit of film falls on Freakazoid.

Freakazoid sighs deeply, still wrapped in film, and rolls over to the cutout of Tom Selleck. Freakazoid looks into his cardboard eyes. "Next time, Tom, remind me to stop setting up projectors. And no more bath time footage. What was I thinking?" Tom, of course, says nothing, but his mustache practically nods in agreement.

Two of the Lobe’s henchmen, Oblongata and Medulla, stood hunched over a small pair of joysticks, squinting at the tiny screen as they tried to guide a wobbly, mechanical pigeon toward its destination. Its jerky movements betrayed the henchmen’s complete lack of coordination.

Oblongata began frantically pushing buttons. "I think the left wing’s stuck!"

Medulla yelled, "Pull up! Pull up!"

The pigeon flapped wildly, veering off course before plunging into a park fountain with a spectacular splash. The black envelope floated sadly to the surface as the pigeon sputtered and sank.

Oblongata sighed and shook his head. With a sad look at his fellow henchman, he said, "Boss'll be mad again. That’s the third one today."

Cosgrove sat calmly on a park bench, chewing thoughtfully on a croque monsieur. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the park, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. A small mechanical pigeon carrying a black envelope sputtered and crashed into the waters of the fountain behind Cosgrove, unnoticed. It was a perfect day for sandwiches.

Without fanfare, Freakazoid arrived, still slightly disheveled with his shoulders slumped. A piece of film dangled from his ankle, trailing behind him as he walked toward the bench. He stopped, glanced down at the stubborn strip of film, and began shaking his foot wildly, trying to dislodge it.

"Come on… off!" He gave one final kick, sending the film flying into a nearby bush. With an exasperated sigh, he plopped down next to Cosgrove.

Cosgrove, still chewing, glanced sideways at Freakazoid. Without a word, Cosgrove reached into the paper bag beside him and pulled out a second croque monsieur. He held it out to Freakazoid.

Freakazoid took it but stared at the sandwich in his hands, not really interested in eating. "Thanks, Cosgrove. I’m just… not hungry." He sighed, his head dropping to his chest forlornly. "I messed up. Big time. Steff’s kidnapped, and I didn’t even put the Freak-A-Tracker on her first. What kind of hero forgets to track the damsel in distress?"

Cosgrove, always the picture of calm, set down his sandwich and leaned back on the bench. He looked at Freakazoid, considering for a moment. "Well, everybody forgets stuff sometimes. Once, I forgot where I parked my car for three days."

Freakazoid lifted his head up. "Really?"

Cosgrove shrugged. "Yup. Found it eventually. Didn’t worry about it too much, though."

Freakazoid let out a groan, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. "Yeah, but this is different! I’m supposed to be the guy who swoops in, saves the day, and looks good doing it. Instead, I’m running around like an idiot—" he glanced down at his boot, where another small piece of film was stuck "—and I can’t even keep my own girlfriend safe." 

Freakazoid reached down to pull at the piece of film, but it was lodged firmly on the bottom of his boot. Cosgrove, chewing thoughtfully on his sandwich again, nodded slowly.  "Well, you’re not an idiot. And Steff’s tough—she can handle herself for a little bit."

He swallowed, then added, "You know, freaking out about it doesn’t help. You’re good at figuring things out, right? You’ll get her back. Just take a breath."

Freakazoid gave a half-hearted nod. "I dunno, Cosgrove. What if I can’t? What if I mess it up even worse?"

Cosgrove wiped the grease from his hands on a napkin and placed a firm hand on Freakazoid’s shoulder.  "Then you’ll try again. That’s what heroes do. They mess up, but they don’t quit. Besides, you’re Freakazoid. You got lightning bolts and cool hair. What’s not to like?"

Freakazoid, despite himself, let out a small chuckle. "You think the lightning bolts are cool?"

Cosgrove, with a completely straight face, nodded. "Coolest thing I’ve ever seen."

Freakazoid looked down at the croque monsieur still in his hands. He stared at it for a moment, then slowly took a bite. "Hey, this isn't bad," he said while still chewing, "Thanks, Cosgrove."

Cosgrove smiled slightly and went back to looking out at the park, as calm as ever. "Anytime, kid."

Steff sat bound to a velvet chair, her arms tied snugly to the armrests, watching as a group of the Lobe’s henchmen bustled around the lavish banquet hall. Despite the awkward position, her sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail: the long banner stretched across the ceiling that read "Welcome to the Supervillain Soirée!" in gaudy gothic lettering, a DJ booth in the corner blaring ominous instrumental music, and an elaborate buffet table waiting to be lined with covered dishes.

Henchmen scurried back and forth, placing chairs and setting up banquet tables, their movements clumsy and disorganized. The silverware was being laid out in random patterns, and one of the henchmen accidentally placed a soup spoon where the dessert fork should have been. Steff’s eyes narrowed.

She couldn’t help but think of what sort of disaster the party was going to turn out to be. Then… an idea struck her.

Steff suddenly straightened up in her chair and shouted. "What do you think you’re doing? You can’t put that there!"

The henchmen froze, glancing around at each other in confusion. One of them, holding a stack of plates, hesitated, unsure whether to put them down or keep holding them.

The Lobe, dressed in his finest evening wear (complete with his favorite bow tie), approached Steff, his expression mildly annoyed. "And just what, may I ask, is the problem now?"

With her wrists tied up, Steff gestured her fingers dramatically toward the nearest table. "Soup spoons where the dessert forks go? And that tablecloth—wrinkled? It’s like you’ve never thrown a party before."

The Lobe blinked, his large, pulsating brain pausing in thought. "Well… I…"

Steff cut him off, her voice dripping with condescension. "Cave Guy is going to find it hilarious that you don’t know how to throw a proper banquet. He’s going to laugh at you. A lot."

The Lobe visibly tensed. He tried to hide his discomfort, but his fingers twitched nervously at the hem of his lab coat. "Laugh at me? Ridiculous! I—"

Steff raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly.

"Oh, sure. And when Cobra Queen sees the mess you’ve made of this place? The way the plates are stacked like it’s a cafeteria? Cave Guy will be the first to point out that a true supervillain knows how to throw an elegant soirée. But this?" She waved her bound hands around the room. "This looks like a middle school dance."

The Lobe’s eye twitched. The thought of any villain mocking him was clearly bothering him more than he wanted to admit. He glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the slight disarray in the decorations, the mismatched silverware, and the general lack of sophistication. His fingers twitched nervously.

Steff pressed on, sensing she had him hooked. "And those napkins? Don’t even get me started. They should be folded into swans, not whatever this is." She motioned to a particularly burly henchman, who was now holding a crumpled napkin as if it had personally insulted him.

After a tense moment, the Lobe turned back to Steff. "Fine. You seem to have opinions. What would you suggest?"

Steff gave him a confident, knowing smile. "Well, for starters, untie me so I can help you. Unless you want this party to be the laughingstock of the entire supervillain community."

The Lobe hesitated, but Steff pressed on. "I mean, really, do you want Cave Guy walking in here and saying, ‘What kind of soirée is this?’ They're all going to laugh in your face. But if you let me help you, I can make sure that doesn’t happen."

The Lobe stared at her, considering his options. Then, after a moment of deliberation, he waved his hand and motioned to a henchman who kept putting down and picking up the same stack of plates in confusion. "Fine. Untie her."

The henchman hurried over, undoing the ropes binding Steff to the chair. As soon as she was free, she stood up, stretching her arms and smiling sweetly at the Lobe. "You won’t regret this. I’ll make sure everything is perfect."

The Lobe, already turning back to direct the henchmen, gave her a curt nod. "You’d better."

As Steff moved toward the tables, pretending to busy herself with the setup, she began to formulate her own plan. She was untied and could move around the banquet hall. Now she just had to find a way to escape or signal Freakazoid. She wasn’t about to let a little thing like kidnapping ruin her day. Not if she could help it.

to be continued…

Freakazoid hops by on one foot, his hands reaching down to an outstretched leg, grasping for a small bit of film. "Why won't this come off?!"

He continues to hop in place, pulling at the film, oblivious to everything else. Freakazoid mutters to himself, "Seriously. I mean, I saved the world from worse than this! But nooo, this piece of film? Indestructible!"

With a final exaggerated hop, he vanishes out of view, still struggling.

Chapter Text

For the first time, Dexter Douglas found himself in a strange, empty void. It wasn't dark or scary like something out of a bad dream. It was just… gray. An endless, blank nothingness stretching in all directions. He blinked, looking around, but there was nothing to see. No walls, no sky, no floor, just a dull, colorless expanse.

"Is this it? Is this what Freakazoid sees when I'm not around? Or is this just… me?"

He hesitated, raising a hand to his glasses. They were still there. At least something familiar was with him. Then, out of nowhere, his stomach grumbled, echoing oddly in the silence.

Dexter sighed, sitting down—or at least, he tried to sit down. It wasn't like there was a ground, but somehow he was sitting. This void was weird. His stomach growled again. He closed his eyes, focusing on food, on the thing his brain was desperately craving. Something cheesy. Something… crunchy.

When he opened his eyes, there it was. A bright orange bag of Cheese Nips materialized in front of him.

"Huh. Well, that's new."

He reached out, ripping open the bag and popping a few of the square crackers into his mouth. Somehow, even in the gray void, they tasted exactly as he remembered—artificial cheese, salty crunch. Perfect. But something still gnawed at him, something deeper than his hunger.

A faint sense of… despondence.

It was subtle at first, barely there, but the longer he sat in the void, munching on Cheese Nips, the stronger it became. He could feel it now—Freakazoid's presence, not in any physical sense, but a faint emotional echo, like the distant hum of an engine. Freakazoid wasn't just ignoring him. He was upset.

Dexter clenched his fists. He felt Freakazoid's frustration, maybe even guilt about something. This was Dexter's first step toward understanding, and it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed to help.

Dexter took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. If he could summon Cheese Nips, maybe he could summon something more useful. He thought about the papers Freakazoid had shown him earlier. The clues. The facts. They had to be somewhere, even in this weird space.

Slowly, as if coaxed into existence by sheer willpower, a crumpled pile of papers began to take shape in front of him. They fluttered into existence, pages floating and assembling themselves, though not neatly. The papers were bent at odd angles, some upside down, some folded into origami, others with scribbles in the margins. It was a mess—a confusing, jumbled mess.

Dexter sighed. "Of course, it's a mess. It's in Freakazoid's brain."

He started rifling through the pages, trying to make sense of them. Dates, names, stolen tech, and… cheese? It didn't make much sense, but Dexter's eyes sharpened with focus. Somewhere in this chaotic jumble was the clue they needed. He was sure of it.

"Come on… come on…"

For the first time, he felt a flicker of resolve. If Freakazoid couldn't focus, then he would. And together, somehow, they'd figure this out.

The Lobe paced nervously back and forth in the middle of the banquet hall, his large brain pulsing slightly as he eyed the preparations. Steff seemed to be behaving herself for now, actively directing the henchmen as they set up the tables and arranged the decorations. But the Lobe wasn't a fool. He knew better than to trust her.

The Lobe muttered to himself. "Too quiet. She's up to something. They're always up to something."

He tugged at the collar of his suit, glancing at the clock on the wall. The Supervillain Soirée was only hours away, and while things were coming together, his anxiety was building. What if something went wrong? What if the other villains laughed at him? The thought sent a twitch through his fingers. He needed everything to be perfect.

Just then, two of his henchmen, Medulla and Oblongata, cautiously approached. They looked uncomfortable, which only made the Lobe's suspicions grow. Oblongata briefly made eye contact with the Lobe. "Uh, Boss? About the mechanical pigeon…"

The Lobe turned to them, narrowing his eyes. "What about the mechanical pigeon?"

"It… uh, it kind of crashed. Again. Into a fountain."

The Lobe let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the front of his oversized brain as if fighting off a headache. "Of course it did. I suppose that's the third one today, isn't it?"

Medulla nodded slowly in agreement. "Yeah… Third one."

The Lobe threw his hands up in frustration, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Brilliant. Just brilliant. How is Freakazoid supposed to come to the Supervillain Soirée if you can't get an invitation to him? Why don't you try skywriting next? Maybe then Freakazoid will finally notice!"

He waved his hands dismissively, already turning away from them. The henchmen's eyes lit up as if the Lobe's sarcasm had completely gone over their heads. They looked at each other excitedly. "Skywriting! That's a great idea, Boss!"

The two henchmen hurried off, leaving the Lobe standing there, momentarily stunned by their enthusiasm. He groaned. "It's simply impossible to find good help these days."

Dexter sat cross-legged in the endless gray void, surrounded by a confusing mess of papers. He groaned, picking up yet another crumpled sheet, only to find it was covered in doodles of cartoonish lightning bolts and… was that a giraffe wearing sunglasses? He sighed, tossing it aside. He groaned, rubbing his temples. "How does Freakazoid deal with this mess?" he muttered.

Papers fluttered around him like leaves in a chaotic wind. He tried to grab a few more, only for them to slip out of his hands, disappearing into the gray nothingness. The ones that stayed were folded into shapes that definitely weren't helpful—one had been folded into an origami dinosaur, another into what looked like a paper airplane. "Come on, Dex. Focus. You can do this."

He tried to remember the facts—what he had seen on the pages earlier in his living room. Stolen tech, a weird amount of cheese, and… something else. He rifled through the papers again, growing more frustrated as they seemed to multiply in his hands. Every time he thought he had a clue, something ridiculous distracted him—a note scribbled in neon green, a page entirely covered in crayon doodles of superhero capes, and of course, more cheese references. "Why is there so much cheese?"

Suddenly, a holographic window popped up in front of him with a small ping, startling Dexer. He blinked at the glowing display which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Brie, often called the "Queen of Cheeses," dates back to the 8th century and hails from the Île-de-France region in France. It was a favorite among the French nobility, including Charlemagne.

Dexter raised an eyebrow, reading the text in disbelief. "Really? Is this what Freakazoid's brain thinks I need right now?" He half-expected Freakazoid to respond with something about cheesy jokes, but the hero was conspicuously absent.

He stared at the text for a moment longer, feeling like he was on the edge of something, but it wasn't clear yet. He touched it, and it faded away. Maybe if he could just get some of these pages to stay still, he could figure it out. But Freakazoid's brain didn't work like that.

Cosgrove sat calmly on the park bench, taking another thoughtful bite of his croque monsieur. Beside him, Freakazoid paced back and forth, his arms flailing as he muttered to himself.

"I should be doing something! I should be out there! What if Steff is in danger? What if she's tied to a railroad track? What if—"

Cosgrove calmly interrupted. "What if you sat down and took a breath?"

Freakazoid stopped pacing, blinking at Cosgrove as if the idea had never occurred to him. "Sit down? I can't sit down! I'm the hero! Heroes don't sit down—they swoop! And leap! And… and…"

Cosgrove gestured to the grass in front of them, his voice as even and unflappable as ever.  "Maybe you just need a minute to think. Why don't you lie down and watch the clouds for a while? Always works for me."

Freakazoid looked skeptical, but something about Cosgrove's calmness had a strange effect. With a dramatic sigh, he flopped down on the grass, staring up at the sky. "Fine. I'll watch clouds. But I better not miss any action while I'm laying here."

Freakazoid squinted up at the sky, trying to see what the big deal was. At first, it was just clouds—white, fluffy blobs slowly drifting across the blue expanse. He frowned, tapping his chin.

"Okay, okay, I see it. There's a… fluffy bunny. Awww. And that's definitely a puppy. Wait—no, that's the face of James Van Der Beek! Aw, he's smiling at me! Huh. Clouds are weirder than I thought."

As he stared, a group of clouds began to shift, forming distinct shapes. Something wasn't quite right about them, though. One by one, letters started to appear, almost as if they were being written in the sky. First an F, then an R and an E. Freakazoid squinted as several more letters formed: an A, a K, then a second A.

Freakazoid blinked. "Wow, clouds are getting really specific these days. I wonder what they're trying to spell out?"

The letter Z started next, but before Freakazoid could process what he was seeing, a loud buzzing noise cut through the air. Freakazoid sat up just in time to see a mechanical pigeon zip through the sky, bobbing and weaving wildly. It collided with a small plane that was just beside the Z-shaped cloud.

With a sputter, both the pigeon and the plane spiraled out of control. Freakazoid's eyes widened as the pigeon and the plane disappeared over the horizon, leaving trails of smoke behind them.

Before he could continue his cloud-gazing, Freakazoid suddenly felt a strange pull in his mind, like someone was gently tapping him on the shoulder from the inside. The clouds and the sounds of the park faded as a familiar presence became clearer.

It was Dexter.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours? Dexter wasn't sure—time seemed weird here. Finally, after what felt like forever, something clicked. He squinted at one of the more legible pages, recognizing the schematic for an energy grid.

"Wait… Voltmax Power Solution. That's it. It's all connected to the power."

His fingers tightened on the paper as a rush of realization hit him. The thieves were building something for sure, but there was one component he now realized they were missing. It wasn't just about random tech thefts—it was about energy. The thieves needed power, and they needed the components to get it. Voltmax was the next logical step.

Dexter spoke up with greater confidence. "Freakazoid, can you hear me? We need to go to Voltmax!"

Back in the park, Freakazoid blinked, his gaze drifting from the clouds. He could feel Dexter's presence—faint, but there.

Freakazoid grinned. "Dexter? Is that you? I thought you were busy with, like, book stuff or whatever."

Dexter's voice echoed faintly in Freakazoid's mind, his tone serious but also a little tired from the effort. "It's me. Look, I've been thinking. Remember the papers you showed me? The stolen tech?"

Freakazoid scratched his head, vaguely remembering the jumble of clues from earlier. "Uh… kinda? There was a lot of cheese involved."

Dexter sighed in his mind, pushing through the mess of clues. "Yeah, there was cheese, but more importantly, there's a pattern. All this tech stuff needs power. A lot of power. Voltmax Power Solution—it's the next logical target. I think that's where we need to go."

Freakazoid sat up suddenly, his eyes wide as if a lightbulb had just gone off in his head. "Voltmax! Of course! Why didn't I think of that?"

In the gray void, Dexter couldn't help but smile, though his presence was fading fast. He had done what he could. "Because you've been busy thinking about cheese, that's why."

Freakazoid chuckled too, standing up quickly. "Well, when you put it that way, thanks for the help, Dex. I'll take it from here."

Dexter's presence began to fade as Freakazoid stood, his mental voice growing softer. "Good luck, Freakazoid. I'll try to… figure out how to be more helpful next time."

Freakazoid stretched, brushing off his suit as he prepared to leave the park. "You're doing great, Dex. You're doing great."

As Dexter's presence vanished completely, Freakazoid turned to Cosgrove, who had been watching the whole interaction with mild interest. Cosgrove nodded towards Freakazoid. "Something come to you?"

Freakazoid nodded eagerly. "Yup! Time to go to Voltmax Power Solution. There's no time to lose!"

Cosgrove, still unfazed, simply shrugged. "Okay. Wanna go for a ride in my car? I remembered where I parked today."

Dexter leaned back in the endless gray void, a smile spreading across his face. He had done it. It wasn't the same as when Freakazoid was in his head, but it was something. For the first time, he had reached out and actually talked to Freakazoid. It felt… good. Like he was finally figuring out how to navigate this bizarre, surreal landscape. He still didn't fully understand what was going on, but he had helped.

As he sat there, basking in the small victory, a piece of yellow paper fluttered by, catching his attention. It was folded into the shape of a wheel of cheese, one wedge missing. Dexter blinked, frowning as he grabbed it out of the air. "What is with the cheese obsession? Is Freakazoid's brain trying to tell me something?"

Steff stood at the edge of the banquet hall, pretending to fold napkins into intricate swan shapes while keeping an eye on the Lobe and his henchmen. The preparations for the Supervillain Soirée were nearly complete, and while she hadn't found a way to escape yet, she had overheard something promising earlier.

Her eyes flicked to the far corner of the room, where a small control panel sat mostly ignored. A pile of black invitations was stacked beside it. She had caught part of the conversation between the Lobe and his henchmen—something about mechanical pigeons failing to deliver an invitation to Freakazoid. If she could get to those controls…

"Maybe I can send a message to Freakazoid myself," Steff thought.

She glanced over at the Lobe, who was pacing nervously, barking out orders about flower arrangements and the placement of the dessert table. His back was turned. Perfect. Now or never.

Steff took a deep breath, then started moving toward the control panel, careful to keep her movements casual. She walked past the buffet table, adjusting a napkin here, straightening a fork there, all the while inching closer to her goal. Her heart raced, but she kept her face calm like she was just another part of the party setup.

As she reached the panel, she knelt down, pretending to adjust the tablecloth nearby. Her fingers brushed the controls lightly. The buttons felt cold under her fingertips, but the screen lit up as soon as she touched it.

Steff glanced up quickly to make sure no one was watching. The Lobe was too busy fussing over the centerpiece, and his henchmen were arguing over the correct way to stack plates. Nobody was paying attention to her.

Steff muttered to herself. "Okay… now, how does this thing work?"

The control screen showed a small diagram of the room and a set of controls labeled "Messenger Pigeons—Launch Sequence." Steff smirked. This might actually be easier than she thought. Steff pressed the launch button, holding her breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, she heard the whirr of tiny gears starting up in the corner of the room. "Come on, come on," she said under her breath.

A small door in the ceiling slid open, and one of the mechanical pigeons emerged, its wings flapping as it hovered unsteadily in the air. Steff quickly wrote down a message on the outside of an invitation: "Steff here. Kidnapped by Lobe. Need help." She handed it to the mechanical pigeon, which then beeped as it clutched the envelope in its beak. Then, with a sharp metallic squawk, it shot out of the room, heading toward the nearest exit.

Steff let out a small sigh of relief, stepping back from the control panel. She had done it. Now all she had to do was hope that the pigeon reached Freakazoid before the Lobe or his henchmen noticed what she had done.

The Voltmax Power Solution facility looked as battered as ever, with the gate still hanging awkwardly open and the remnants of a broken fence scattered along the ground. Freakazoid and Cosgrove pulled up in Cosgrove's police cruiser, the vehicle screeching to a stop just outside the gate. Freakazoid leapt out immediately, striking a dramatic pose.

"Aha! The scene of the crime! Full of clues and mysteries waiting to be solved by yours truly!"

Cosgrove followed him, far less dramatic, as they approached the guard station. A different guard stood there this time, his eyes wide and nervous, as if reliving some kind of nightmare. The guard's gaze flickered to the broken gate, then back to Cosgrove and Freakazoid. Freakazoid walked over to him. "Good day, citizen!"

Before Freakazoid could ask, the guard frantically described last night's events, the words spilling out rapidly. "You—you wouldn't believe what happened last night! This huge metal monster—it just tore through the gate like it was paper! And the guard on duty? Tossed up into the air like a ragdoll!"

Freakazoid eagerly soaked it all in. "Oooh, dramatic! Did he get stuck on a weather vane or something?"

The guard shook his head. "No! Worse! He flew up into the air and we all thought he was a goner! But then… he landed on a mattress strapped to the back of a pickup truck. Just pure luck!"

Freakazoid gasped. "No way! And the truck was just passing by at the exact right moment?" His eyes were wide with mock shock.

The guard nodded vigorously. "Yeah! He's fine, though. Took a day off to recover. But man, that suit—metal shoulder spikes, a glowing purple visor… it was terrifying!"

Cosgrove, calm as always, handed the guard a wrapped croque monsieur from his jacket pocket. "Here. Have a sandwich."

The guard blinked in confusion. "Uh… thanks?" he slowly responded.

Freakazoid was already skipping ahead toward the gaping, Supervillain Suit-shaped hole in the wall. He stopped at the hole, peering through the jagged edges of the building.  "Wow, someone didn't bother with a door! Typical supervillain sense of subtlety."

Without waiting for Cosgrove, Freakazoid zipped inside, following the destruction through the building. Walls had been smashed through, light fixtures dangled from the ceiling, and the path led straight to the vault where the supercapacitors had been stored. Freakazoid whistled as he traced the path with his eyes. He reached the vault and stepped through the shattered remains of what had once been a heavy-duty steel door. Inside, the shelves were bare, save for a few bits of debris from the broken door.

As Freakazoid scanned the room, something caught his eye—half-hidden under a pile of debris was a crumpled black envelope. Freakazoid bent down, plucking it from the mess, and examined it closely. "What's this? A love letter? Ooooh, I love love letters."

He opened the envelope and read the invitation inside.

He read through the invitation again, his enthusiasm building with each word. Fine dining, sinister networking, villainous speeches—it sounded like the event of the year! But as his gaze drifted down to the bottom of the page, his excitement turned to a pout. "Ugh, they invited everyone but me! Typical! No respect for the guy who stops them from doing all the villain stuff."

He sighed dramatically, shaking his head, then blinked as his eyes landed on one final line. He read it out loud. "'Special Guest: Freakazoid…' Wait a minute."

He froze, staring at the paper in disbelief. Then, realization slowly spread across his face, followed by a wide grin. "I am invited!"

He jumped up, waving the crumpled invitation triumphantly in the air. "I'm the special guest! I knew they couldn't throw a party without me!" he cheerfully shouted.

He began dancing in place, twirling the invitation.  "Oh man, I need to get a suit! And I hope they have snacks—good snacks, not those tiny little cucumber sandwiches. This is going to be great! Wait 'til I tell Cosgrove!"

Steff stood in the corner of the banquet hall, watching the chaos unfold as the Lobe's preparations for the Supervillain Soirée continued. Her eyes kept flicking to the control panel where she had earlier launched the mechanical pigeon, and a sudden flashing warning light caught her attention.

She glanced toward the Lobe, who was pacing nervously, shouting to his henchmen about chafing dishes. He was so wrapped up in his perfectionism that he hadn’t even noticed the warning light. Steff knew this was her chance.

She walked over to him. "You know, Lobe… I’m just realizing something."

The Lobe froze, mid-pacing, and turned to face her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What now?"

Steff sighed dramatically, gesturing to her own outfit—jeans and a white turtleneck with a broad pink stripe. "Look at me! I’m attending the Supervillain Soirée, and I’m dressed like this!"

The Lobe grimaced. "Attending is a rather strong word…"

Steff interrupted. "But I'll be here, in full view of all of the supervillains. You want to make sure Freakazoid comes to try and rescue me… don't you?"

The Lobe blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced at her outfit. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated as if the thought of his guest being underdressed was too horrifying to fully process. 

Steff pressed on.  "I mean, Cave Guy is going to show up, right? You know he’ll notice. He’ll make a comment—probably something condescending about how you couldn’t even get your guest a decent dress. And Cobra Queen? She’ll hiss about it for hours."

The Lobe’s eye twitched at the mention of Cobra Queen’s hissy fits. His mind raced with images of the other villains laughing at him, mocking him for such an oversight. He straightened his bowtie nervously. "You’re… you’re absolutely right! What was I thinking?"

Steff nodded sympathetically, pushing her point further. "It would really ruin your image, Lobe. But hey, it’s not too late to fix it."

The Lobe spun on his heels to exit the banquet hall. "Yes, yes… I'll call my personal tailor straight away. He’ll be here in minutes!"

As soon as The Lobe left the room to make the call, Steff darted toward the control panel. The flashing light on the console told her that the mechanical pigeon was circling close to its target—Freakazoid—but needed manual control to complete the flight.

Steff gritted her teeth and placed her hands on the joysticks. "Come on, you stupid bird, don’t fail me now."

Freakazoid practically skipped out of the Voltmax building, the crumpled invitation still clutched in his hand. His grin stretched from ear to ear, excitement bubbling up inside him. He ran across the parking lot toward where Cosgrove stood, still calmly chatting with the guard and extolling the virtues of the croque monsieur sandwich. "Hey, Cosgrove!" Freakazoid shouted, waving his arms excitedly, "Guess what? I'm invited to—"

Before Freakazoid could finish his sentence, there was a sharp buzzing sound in the air. He barely had time to look up before a mechanical pigeon collided directly with his face, wings flapping wildly as it made impact. "Agh! What the—?"

The pigeon's beak bonked against his forehead with a metallic clink before it fell to the ground, sputtering and whirring. Freakazoid stumbled back, rubbing his nose. "That's gonna leave a mark."

Cosgrove, unfazed, watched the pigeon flail on the ground before bending down to pick it up. He inspected the bird for a moment, then looked back at Freakazoid. "Looks like you got mail," Cosgrove calmly stated as he pulled the bent black envelope out of the bird's beak.

Freakazoid blinked at the pigeon for a second, still rubbing his face. He grabbed the envelope from Cosgrove and squinted at the hastily written message. "'Steff here. Kidnapped by Lobe. Need help.' Wait… Steff?!"

His eyes widened as the realization hit him. The excitement about the Soirée faded for a moment, replaced by panic. "Steff's in trouble! I've gotta save her!"

Freakazoid's eyes darted between the pigeon, the note, and the invitation still in his hand. He froze for a second, his brain trying to process everything at once. "Okay, okay… there's a party, and I'm invited, sort of, and Steff's there, and the Lobe's gonna try something—because he wouldn't want me to come unless it was a fiendish trap of some kind. We need to… we need to…"

Cosgrove watched as Freakazoid spun around in a brief circle, muttering to himself. Then, after a beat, he asked, "Want me to drive?"

Freakazoid snapped back to reality, nodding frantically. "Yes! To the party! We've got a soirée to crash—and a Steff to save!" He zipped over to Cosgrove's police cruiser and jumped in. "Wait!" He quickly hopped back out through the open passenger window and zipped back to Cosgrove. "I need formal attire! What am I supposed to wear to a Supervillain Soirée?"

Cosgrove, as calm as ever, popped open the trunk of his police car. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a dusty black garment bag. He shook it a few times to get the cobwebs off. "I've got something for you."

Freakazoid blinked in surprise, watching as Cosgrove unzipped the bag to reveal a truly vintage 1970s tuxedo, complete with an oversized ruffled shirt, wide lapels, and bell-bottom pants. It was a deep maroon color, slightly faded with age. Freakazoid gasped. "Whoa! Where did you get this thing?"

Cosgrove merely shrugged. "Studio 54, 1976. It's been in the trunk ever since."

Freakazoid stared in disbelief at the vintage tuxedo Cosgrove had just pulled out of the trunk. His hands brushed over the ruffled shirt, the maroon fabric shimmering under the parking lot lights. "Cosgrove, do you have something a little more… current? You know, something from this decade?"

Cosgrove raised an eyebrow, waiting for more details.

Freakazoid's eyes lit up as he excitedly began describing his preferred style. "Oh, I'm talking real modern fashion, Cosgrove! I want one of those black velvet blazers with the shoulder pads, a neon turtleneck underneath, maybe a chunky gold chain. And definitely baggy pleated pants, y'know, the ones that swish when you walk! Oh, and those patent leather shoes with the thick rubber soles!"

Cosgrove stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Yeah. I don't have that."

Freakazoid sighed, deflated. He eyed the tuxedo warily. "Fine. Guess I'll just have to save the day looking like I'm heading to a Bee Gees reunion tour."

Freakazoid slipped the shirt on. It was at least two sizes too big, with sleeves that looked like they belonged to an orangutan. He began grumbling as he tried putting his arms into the sleeves. "This thing's enormous!"

He flailed his arms, the sleeves flapping like sails in the wind. The pant legs were so wide they covered his boots entirely, and the ruffles on the shirt bounced with every movement. Freakazoid looked at himself in the police car's side mirror.  "I look like a disco nightmare."

Cosgrove nodded, completely straight-faced. "It looks good on you, kid."

Freakazoid sighed dramatically, adjusting the collar of the tux. It did not improve his appearance in the slightest. Cosgrove handed him an oversized bowtie that matched the tux. Freakazoid stared at it for a moment, then tied it on, the knot almost as big as his head. He gave one last exaggerated shrug, then leaped back into Cosgrove's car. He patiently waited for Cosgrove to walk around the car, get in, and buckle up. Then Freakazoid wildly pointed ahead out the window. "Okay, let's go crash a Soirée!"

Dexter sat cross-legged in the swirling gray void that represented Freakazoid's mind, surrounded by scattered papers and random objects. His forehead rested in his hands as he tried, for what felt like the hundredth time, to make sense of the clues. "It has to be the cheese. Everything keeps coming back to the cheese."

He glanced around at the floating papers and scribbles, most of which contained bizarre, seemingly disconnected notes about dairy products. One paper just had the word "cheddar" written in crayon, while another was a sketch of a superhero made entirely of cheese wheels. One page was even sheet music for some song about cheeses of the world. Dexter rubbed his temples, his frustration growing. "Why is Freakazoid so obsessed with cheese?"

He squinted at a particularly crumpled blue-colored page, where he could see the word "Acme" scribbled in crayon before it rotated out of sight. There was something important here—he knew it. But every time he tried to concentrate, his brain was assaulted by an unexpected, annoyingly catchy tune.

Suddenly, the void filled with a faint but unmistakable sound: "Do the Hustle!"

Dexter's eye twitched. He glanced upward as if he could see Freakazoid through the layers of their shared mind. Dexter groaned. "Why does that song keep going?!"

He looked back to where the floating crumpled page was, but it had disappeared. He stood up and started pacing, trying to focus on the clues again, but it was no use. The melody of "Do the Hustle" kept looping through his brain, breaking his concentration every time he thought he was close to a breakthrough. "Okay, just… ignore the song. Focus. Cheese… stolen tech. Engineering, robotics, machines… not cheese…"

But the faint disco beat persisted, growing louder as Freakazoid's mental humming reached a crescendo. Dexter froze, hands clenched into fists, as the tune invaded every corner of his thoughts. Finally, he could take it no longer. He shouted, "Would you stop humming that song, Freakazoid?!"

The gray void stayed silent for a moment. Then, after a beat, the humming picked up again, even louder than before. Dexter groaned, sinking back into the mess of papers. "This is impossible…"

As the beat of "Do the Hustle" echoed through Freakazoid's chaotic mind, Dexter resigned himself to the fact that solving the mystery of the cheese was going to take a little longer—if he didn't lose his mind first.

to be continued…

"Pinky," Brain mused, "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

Pinky tapped his chin thoughtfully, his eyes wide with wonder as he considered the question. After a beat, he grinned. "I think so, Brain, but why do they call them cookies when they bake instead of cook?"

Brain sighed, shaking his head, but there was a faint twitch of amusement on his lips. "No, Pinky, not that. I feel as though something is missing. Like there’s something that's been forgotten… or perhaps something important that was overlooked."

Pinky’s ears perked up, and he looked around their secret lair as if expecting something to suddenly appear. His tail swished back and forth as he leaned closer to Brain. "Did I forget to put new batteries in the smoke detectors? Or maybe it’s the light bulbs? We’re always forgetting those!"

Brain pressed his palm against his forehead, trying to remain patient. "No, Pinky. It’s more significant than that. A strange sense of… incompleteness. Like there’s an impending event or revelation, and yet we’re—"

Pinky suddenly gasped, interrupting Brain’s train of thought. "Oh! I know! I know, Brain!"

Brain raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "What is it, Pinky?"

Pinky leaned in conspiratorially, nodding sagely. "I don't know, Brain, but I'm sure we'll figure it out in the next chapter!"

Brain blinked, momentarily thrown off by the peculiar phrasing. "The next chapter? What on earth are you talking about, Pinky?"

Pinky nodded again, his expression serious, though it was clear he didn’t fully understand his own words. "You know, Brain—the next chapter of our lives!"

Brain stared at Pinky for a long moment, then sighed, his confusion turning into mild resignation. "Yes, Pinky. The next chapter…"

Chapter Text

Spotlights swept across the dark, industrial skyline. The faint clatter of machinery hummed from the nearby warehouses but in front of one large, looming building—an old brick factory complete with boarded-up windows and rusted metal walls—a bright red carpet stretched down the sidewalk and up to the large front doors.

Standing on the carpet surrounded by velvet ropes was none other than Joan Rivers, dressed in a glittering gold gown and microphone in hand. "Welcome, darlings, to the biggest event in the criminal underworld—the Supervillain Soirée! We're here tonight at a very, uh, rustic location."

She gestured behind her toward the rundown factory, complete with a flickering neon sign that read "SECRET LAIR."

Joan Rivers dryly added, "As you can see, the budget went more into evil plans than aesthetics, but hey, that's showbiz."

A limo pulled up, and as the door opened, Cobra Queen slithered out, commanding attention in a long, shimmering emerald-green gown. The fabric caught the light like scales, perfectly complementing her svelte form. She carried a snakeskin purse, which matched her gown a little too well.

Joan Rivers excitedly said, "And here she is, Cobra Queen, looking fabulous in a custom Bruce Timm original! Just look at that gown, darlings. It's like she crawled straight out of the jungle and into couture. And the purse—snakeskin on snakeskin! Bold choice!"

She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Although... a bit on the nose, wouldn't you say?"

Cobra Queen, overhearing Joan, hissed softly as she glided past, but Joan didn't miss a beat, leaning forward over her microphone. "Yikes! Note to self—don't insult someone who can spit venom. Well, darlings, we've seen some incredible—if not slightly terrifying—fashion choices tonight. But I have a feeling our next guest will really bring some... western flair to this Soirée."

A large figure emerged from a sleek black SUV that pulled up to the red carpet. As the door opened, Longhorn stepped out, his imposing frame looming. Despite his tall stature, his outfit was pure cowboy-chic—polished boots, a sharp black bolo tie with a silver clasp, and a leather vest over his muscular frame. His iconic horns curved upward from his head, adding an even more dramatic flair to his look.

Joan Rivers's eyes widened in surprise.  "Well, slap me with a ten-gallon hat! It's Longhorn! And look at that getup, darlings—it's like the Wild West meets supervillainy!"

Longhorn grinned, clearly enjoying the attention, and made his way over to Joan. He stopped for a moment, adjusting his bolo tie. "Evenin', ma'am. You like the boots? Custom made in Texas."

"Oh, honey, the boots are fantastic. The bolo tie, though? Inspired! What brings you to this little shindig tonight?"

"Well, y'see, I've been workin' on a little somethin' in my spare time. A country album, actually. I've got this new song I'm writin'—called ‘She Stole My Heart So I Robbed Her.' It's got everything: heartbreak, betrayal, and a little bit of... larceny. Thought maybe you'd help me get the word out."

The Lobe stomped out of the warehouse and made his way down the red carpet to Longhorn and Joan Rivers.  "What is this, a PR stunt? Longhorn, get inside before you try selling CDs on the red carpet!"

Longhorn tipped his head to Joan, smiling. "Ma'am, it's been a pleasure." He sauntered inside.

The Lobe turned to Joan and grumbled, "Shoo! Shoo! This is a private event!" He waved hands as if to chase her away, but she was too busy watching for the next arrival.

The Lobe placed his hands on his hips, perturbed. He pointed down the red carpet and with a mock gasp he exclaimed, "Why, it's the embodiment of burlap cowl fashion!"

Joan Rivers followed where the Lobe was pointing. "Oh, oh, Candle Jack! Can I ask you some questions?"

Candle Jack floated over to Joan, rope in hand. She seemed unfazed as he began wrapping it around her waist. "Well, darlings, it looks like I'm being escorted out. But don't worry—we'll catch all the action when Freakazoid shows up. Until then, keep it glamorous, keep it villainous!"

The night sky was dark and cloudless, with only the faint glimmer of city lights below. Cutting through the stillness was the faint roar of jet boots, propelling a menacing metal figure through the air. The Supervillain Suit, now fully powered with stolen supercapacitors and with a fresh splash of green paint, soared smoothly above the city skyline, its purple visor glowing ominously.

Inside the suit's cockpit, The Brain sat at the controls, his small hands deftly moving across the panel as he guided the suit with precision. His face was set in a determined scowl, his mind racing through every detail of the plan he was about to execute.

"Tonight is the night, Pinky. The Supervillain Soirée is the perfect opportunity. Freakazoid will be there, surrounded by his enemies, unaware of the true threat."

Pinky, seated next to Brain in the cockpit, was gazing dreamily out the visor, watching the lights of the city below whiz by. He absently tapped his fingers together in rhythm with the jet boots' hum.

The Brain continued, his voice gaining intensity. "Once we lure Freakazoid away from the party, we'll trap him in our lair. There, I'll be able to extract his powers, absorb them into myself, and gain control over the entire World Wide Web. And once I have that power, I will be unstoppable. Finally, Pinky, I'll be able to—" Brain pauses dramatically for a moment, savoring the next four words. "—take over the world!"

He let the weight of his words hang in the air, his expression triumphant. He turned to look at Pinky, expecting some form of recognition or excitement. Instead, Pinky was staring off dreamily, clearly preoccupied. Brain's scowl intensified. "Pinky, are you listening to me?"

Pinky blinked and snapped back to attention, flashing Brain an innocent grin. "Oh, yes, Brain! Absolutely! We'll, um... trap Freakazoid, then we'll... put him in the blender, and then you'll have all the internet powers, and we'll take over the pizza bagel bites!"

The Brain stared at him in disbelief. "The what?! I said nothing about a blender or pizza bagel bites, Pinky!"

Pinky nodded vigorously. "Right, Brain! No blender! But, um... are you sure there'll be pizza bagel bites at the party? They're my faaavorite!"

The Brain sighed deeply, placing a hand to his forehead. "Pinky, this is a Supervillain Soirée. We are not going for the pizza bagel bites; we are going to steal Freakazoid's powers!" Brain sighed and shook his head. "You would make for a terrible supervillain, Pinky." He pressed a few buttons on the control panel in front of him. "We'll arrive at the Soirée in precisely three minutes. Once there, don't do anything to draw attention to us. We must keep a low profile."

Pinky grinned, giving a little thumbs-up. "You got it, Brain! Low profile. Undercover. Like pizza toppings hidden under cheese on a bagel!"

"Yes, like that. Except far more intelligent," Brain grumbled. As the Supervillain Suit glided through the air, Brain narrowed his eyes, the Soirée in sight below. He could already picture Freakazoid walking straight into his trap—his moment of triumph just within reach.

Inside the warehouse, the Supervillain Soirée was in full swing. Dimly lit chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a foreboding glow over the villains mingling around the banquet tables. In the corner, Cave Guy stood at the hors d'oeuvres table, looking down at the tiny snacks with a critical eye. 

Cave Guy was dressed in his own peculiar version of "formal wear," a strange mix of primal power and cultural elegance. A top hat perched precariously atop his head. His wide blue-skinned torso was bare, save for a large animal print cummerbund wrapped tightly around his waist, with his usual loincloth peeking out below. The whole ensemble was tied together with a demure black bow tie, which replaced his usual tooth necklace.

He picked up a small appetizer, examined it thoughtfully, then popped it into his mouth. His face contorted into a look of deep concentration as he chewed slowly, considering every nuance. "Hmm, intriguing. The acidity of the tomato sauce is... well-balanced, though a bit cloying. The bread—chewy, perhaps a touch too dense. There's an underlying sweetness, possibly from the processed cheese... yes, it's almost reminiscent of something mass-produced."

He finished chewing, his nose wrinkling slightly in disdain, before turning to a nearby henchman who had been quietly standing by the table, trying to keep out of the way. "You there. What exactly was it that I just consumed?"

The henchman blinked, looking startled, his eyes darting nervously between the plate of snacks and Cave Guy's towering form. He swallowed hard, then stammered out, "Uh... it's a... pizza bagel bite, sir."

For a long, silent moment, Cave Guy just stared at him, his face unreadable. Then he straightened up, adjusted his bow tie, and fixed the henchman with a look of withering disdain. With a dramatic flourish, he sighed, "How pedestrian."

The henchman nodded awkwardly, unsure of how to respond, before quickly shuffling away. Cave Guy shook his head in disappointment, dusting his hands off as though the mere act of touching the snack had somehow sullied him. His expression suddenly brightened as his gaze landed on someone approaching.

Cave Guy gave a smile and a slight bow. "Ah, Miss Stephanie, a pleasure as always."

Steff hesitatingly approached, looking strikingly different from her usual casual attire. She was dressed in a form-fitting, floor-length gown, deep burgundy in color, with a sleek, slightly villainous flair thanks to a tall flared collar made of black lace. There was additional black lace detailing along the neckline and sleeves, giving it an air of sophistication that perfectly suited the occasion. She wore her hair swept up in a loose, classy updo, with a few strands artfully framing her face. She carried herself with a slightly awkward air, more focused on the growing number of supervillains nearby.

Cave Guy's usual smug expression softened into genuine approval. "I must say, my dear, you look quite ravishing tonight. A vast improvement from that off-the-rack dress you were wearing the last time we met."

Steff blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the compliment—and the memory of being held hostage during the high school dance at the gymnasium during her last encounter with Cave Guy. She smiled politely, unsure of how to respond. "Uh, thanks, Cave Guy. I guess a villain's Soirée calls for a little extra effort, huh?"

Before she could say anything else, another voice chimed in from across the room. Arms Akimbo, standing nearby, turned his head toward Steff and walked over, his lean frame towering over the crowd. He was dressed in an all-black tuxedo, looking comically formal with his long arms permanently locked in the signature "akimbo" position at his sides. "Well, well, well! Look at you, Steff! You've outdone yourself. That gown is killer!"

Steff blinked again, flustered by the unexpected compliments from both villains. She glanced down at her gown, a small smile creeping across her face despite the surreal circumstances. "Thanks, I guess. Never thought I'd be dressing up for something like this..."

Cave Guy nodded. "It suits you well, my dear. A true show of elegance." He waved his hand dismissively. "It's about time someone brought a touch of class to these proceedings."

Steff couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the conversation. Here she was, surrounded by supervillains, and yet... they were being surprisingly nice to her. Complimenting her, even. "Well, thanks. I'll take that as a compliment... I think."

As she walked away, preparing to find a quiet spot to think, Steff couldn't help but feel a little flattered. Maybe being at a villain's party wasn't all bad.

On the other side of the banquet hall, the henchmen known as Oblongata and Medulla watched the front doors. They weren't there to stop unwanted visitors; the Supervillain Soirée wasn't exactly exclusive. Nor were they checking for contraband. No, their job was far simpler: wait for Freakazoid to arrive, and maybe announce a few villainous names for that extra touch of class.

Oblongata adjusted the collar of his suit, glancing nervously at the growing crowd of villains inside the hall. His partner, Medulla, was squinting down at a handwritten list of names, trying to make sense of the next arrival.

The doors creaked open. Both henchmen immediately straightened up. Standing in the doorway was a towering, spiked figure—Brainpower, in all his metallic, supervillain glory. The gleaming spikes on his shoulders caught the light dramatically, casting shadows across the room, and every metallic footfall clanged ominously.

Oblongata cleared his throat and called out loudly. "Introducing… Brainpower!"

The room fell silent as the other villains stopped their conversations and turned to look at the new arrival. Their gazes traveled up and down the spiky, metallic frame, evaluating the imposing new figure in their midst. For a moment, all eyes were on Brainpower.

Inside the cockpit, Brain felt a trickle of unease. He might have thought himself a criminal mastermind, but social gatherings were not exactly his forte. His hands tightened around the controls, trying to project confidence. Brain quietly reassured himself. "Stay calm, Brain. You have a plan. You always have a plan."

Pinky, seated beside him, was craning his neck to get a better view of the other villains. His eyes darted from monitor to monitor, excitement buzzing in his voice. "Ooooh, Brain, I know all of these guys from the comic book! There's Longhorn! And Cave Guy! Oh, oh, and over there—Cobra Queen! She has that sss thing when she talks, remember? But don't tell her that!"

Brain grumbled, trying to ignore Pinky's endless commentary. He gritted his teeth. "Focus, Pinky. We are not here to make friends. We are here for only one thing: Freakazoid."

Pinky nodded enthusiastically, though it was clear he wasn't really paying attention. "Are those pizza bagel bites on the table over there?"

Before Brain could snap back at him, a large figure emerged from the crowd and approached. Longhorn, in his black bolo tie and polished boots, strolled confidently toward the towering suit, eyes immediately drawn to the spiked shoulders. He grinned widely as he reached Brainpower. "Well now, look at you. Those shoulder spikes—mighty fine! You hit the gym for those, or do they come standard with the suit?"

Inside the cockpit, Brain blinked in confusion, momentarily thrown off by the comment. After a brief hesitation, he flipped the voice modulator on. "They... came with the suit."

Pinky leaned forward towards Brain. "Oh, Brain, but you do work out! Tell him about that cute little resistance band!"

Brain whispered back, "Pinky, now is not the time."

Longhorn chuckled, unaware of the conversation inside the Supervillain Suit. "Heard you pulled off some high-tech heists recently. Care to share the details?"

Inside the cockpit, Brain's chest puffed with pride. "Ah, yes, the theft of supercapacitors, micro hydraulic systems, and assorted advanced technological components. Truly, it was a masterstroke of villainy."

Longhorn raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Sounds fancy. What's it all for?"

Brainpower gave a sinister synthetic chuckle. "Oh, you know, global domination through the most sophisticated technological means, of course. And I pity any hero who gets in my way."

Longhorn whistled. "Now that's the kind of ambition I like to hear!"

Pinky, sitting in the Supervillain Suit beside Brain, had been fidgeting uncomfortably throughout the conversation. "Uh, Brain, don't you think you're, I dunno, getting a little too carried away with this whole villain thing?"

Brain ignored him, soaking up the admiration. "Indeed, my dear Longhorn. One of my earlier attempts was the Titano-Cycle 4000. A brilliant device if I do say so, and it would have worked if not for an unforeseen… interference."

Before Pinky could interject again, Cobra Queen slithered up, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "I think we're all too familiar with that feeling. Alwayssss ssssome hero ready to get in the way of a perfectly good plan." The way she said the word "hero" sounded particularly venomous. She continued her tirade, "It'ssss like they think they have a moral obligation to meddle in thingssss that clearly don't conccccern them."

Brain, sensing the opportunity to bond over their shared frustration, agreed. "Exactly! A waste of intellect, brought down by mere chaos. It's infuriating."

Cobra Queen grinned, showing her fangs. "I sssssee you've been burned a few timesssss yoursssself, Brainpower. Maybe one day we'll get to show thessse ssssso-called heroessss who really runssss the show."

Pinky's eyes darted nervously between Longhorn and Cobra Queen. "Um, Brain? Shouldn't we be focusing on, you know, the plan?"

Before Brain could retort, Medulla, still stationed by the doors, cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, introducing... Candle Jack?"

The moment he said the name, Candle Jack floated silently into the room, his burlap hood trailing behind him. The air around him seemed to grow colder as he approached the henchman, a long piece of rope already in hand.

Medulla's eyes widened in horror as Candle Jack began wrapping the rope around his midsection with eerie calm. "Wait, no! I didn't mean—!"

Before he could finish, the Lobe stepped in, his voice full of exasperation. "Jack, not the staff! I need them to announce the arrivals and serve canapes."

Candle Jack, looking a bit disappointed, slowly loosened the rope and floated away with a resigned shrug. "I never get to have any fun…"

The Lobe, visibly irritated, waved off the whole ordeal and turned his attention to the spiked figure of Brainpower, making his way across the banquet hall to greet him. His oversized brain pulsed slightly, a toothy smile stretching across his face as he reached the newcomer. "Ah, Brainpower! Welcome to the Soirée!" The Lobe's voice oozed with smug satisfaction. "I trust you're enjoying the evening's festivities so far?"

From inside the Supervillain Suit, Brain fought to maintain composure. He had no desire to engage in small talk with the Lobe, but he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself—yet. "Enjoying?" Brain's voice came through the suit's modulator, deep and menacing. "It is... adequate."

The Lobe chuckled lightly, clearly missing the disdain in Brain's tone. "Good, good. I pride myself on throwing the most exquisite villainous gatherings. You know, with the right company, these little events can be so... stimulating."

Brain fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Indeed," he said flatly, "Though, I'm more interested in the main event. When do you expect the special guest to arrive?"

The Lobe's eyes lit up, his brain pulsing with excitement. "Oh, yes! Freakazoid! He should be here any minute now. He has impeccable heroic timing, you see." The Lobe leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice just a bit. "In fact, I'm quite sure that just by asking about him, we've all but guaranteed his arrival!"

Brain raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "You expect him to arrive simply because someone asked about him?"

"Exactly!" The Lobe's voice was filled with absolute certainty. "It's how these things work with Freakazoid, you know. He's actually very particular about timing."

Brain was about to respond when—

CRASH!

The skylight above shattered into a thousand pieces as Freakazoid came hurtling down, crashing into the center of the banquet hall in a shower of glass and dust. He tumbled head over heels before landing on the floor, his feet spread apart, supporting his weight on one hand while his other was held up behind him in a perfectly executed three-point landing. After a brief moment of stunned silence, he stood up, striking a dramatic pose with his fists on his hips, chest puffed out heroically.

As the dust settled, however, it became clear that something was... off. Instead of his usual red spandex suit, Freakazoid stood there proudly dressed in an oversized, maroon 1970s tuxedo—complete with billowing ruffled sleeves, wide lapels, and flared pants. His bow tie was so large it nearly obscured his chin.

The room fell into stunned silence for a heartbeat. Then, one by one, the villains began to snicker. Cave Guy was the first to break the ice, his booming voice echoing through the hall.

"My word," Cave Guy intoned, barely stifling a laugh, "What on earth are you wearing?"

Longhorn followed with a loud chuckle, his hands resting on his hips. "Boy, I ain't seen a suit like that since my uncle's disco days!"

Cobra Queen slithered closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Darrrrling," she hissed, "you look like you sssslithered out of a thrift shop from the ssseventiesss!"

Even the Lobe couldn't help but let out a haughty laugh. "Well, I must say, Freakazoid, you've certainly... dressed for the occasion." He gestured to Freakazoid's outlandish attire. "I had no idea that the Bee Gees were in town tonight!"

The laughter spread through the room, and soon, the entire hall was filled with the sound of villains snickering and making mocking comments. Freakazoid, for his part, remained standing in his dramatic pose, though his confident expression began to falter slightly as the laughter grew louder.

Inside the Supervillain Suit, Brain stared in utter disbelief. This—this was the infamous Freakazoid? The hero he had spent days planning to outwit? The being whose powers he intended to steal? "This," Brain muttered, barely audible over the laughter, "is Freakazoid?"

Pinky, seated beside him, looked absolutely delighted. "Oh, Brain, look! He's wearing the ruffles! I love the ruffles! Do you think we should add ruffles to our Suit, too?"

"Most certainly not," Brain retorted.

Freakazoid regained his composure and glowered at the supervillains. He pointed his finger in their general direction. "Okay, you big meanies! If you hand Steff over, we don't need to escalate things any further."

Steff stepped forward through the crowd, pushing her way between supervillains until she stood a few feet from Freakazoid. She looked at him with the expression of someone who just had their prom date show up wearing a wetsuit. "Wow," she said, "that's some… some outfit, Freakazoid."

Freakazoid's expression also changed when he looked at Steff. With a loud clang, his jaw fell from his face and landed on the floor. He scooped it up and re-attached it. "Helloooooo, nurse!" he blurted, eyes wide. "I was gonna say the same thing, but then I dropped my jaw!" he hurriedly added.

The shock of Freakazoid's arrival, or more accurately his appearance, began to wear off. The Lobe stepped forward, grinning. "Freakazoid, so good of you to drop in." He rubbed his hands together and cackled. "We'll see if your disco fashion matches your desire for… stayin' alive."

Freakazoid opened his mouth, about to deliver a comeback, but before he could, The Lobe pulled out a sleek black remote from inside his tuxedo jacket. The remote had a single large red button right in the middle—classic.

The Lobe, with an over-the-top cackle, pressed the button. As soon as the Lobe pressed the button, the lights in the room dimmed dramatically, and from the ceiling, a massive disco ball descended with a soft whir. It twirled slowly, reflecting flashing lights across the room, sending shimmering patterns of light dancing across the faces of the assembled villains.

Freakazoid crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the spinning ball. He glanced around, then turns to look directly at you.

"Oh, great. Another 70s reference," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because clearly, we just can't get enough of disco balls, bell bottoms, and sequins." He gestured dramatically to his maroon tuxedo. "What's next? A giant lava lamp? Why are we so focused on the nostalgic entertainment value of a time that was decades ago?"

He pauses, his expression shifting to a more contemplative tone. "Not like a fanfic about cartoons from the 90s, though. That's totally different!" He winks.

Freakazoid turned his attention back to the disco ball, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He tilted his head to one side, watching as the ball twirled slowly, reflecting colorful beams of light across the room.

"Huh," he muttered to himself. "Is it just me, or is this thing... hypnotic?"

Before he could think much more about it, the DJ station started blasting disco music with a groovy bass line. The walls vibrated, and the lights intensified, bouncing off the ball in a dazzling array of colors. A familiar beat filled the room.

Freakazoid's expression shifted, his foot tapping instinctively to the rhythm. He tried to resist, but the disco fever was spreading fast.

The Lobe, grinning like the mastermind he believed himself to be, crossed his arms. "Yes, Freakazoid! Dance, dance to your doom!" he cackled.

Without missing a beat, Freakazoid found himself throwing in some ridiculously exaggerated dance moves, spinning and twirling in perfect time with the music, completely distracted by the shimmering ball above him.

"Oh, no... I can't stop!" he exclaimed, mid-spin. "I'm caught in the rhythm!" His arms flailed comically, his tuxedo ruffles bouncing with every movement.

Meanwhile, the supervillains chuckled, watching as Freakazoid was pulled further into The Lobe's trap.

"Step one: disco domination... complete!" The Lobe declared with a triumphant sneer, pulling out another gadget from his pocket.

With Freakazoid fully distracted by the disco ball, the next phase of the plan clicked into action. Above, the ceiling panels slid open, revealing the laser net, glowing with a menacing red hue. The net began to descend, inching toward Freakazoid, who was too busy trying to pull off an awkward moonwalk to notice.

The Lobe leaned in, his eyes gleaming. "And now, for the pièce de résistance—The Laser Net of Doom!"

The net continued to lower, wrapping itself around Freakazoid, who was caught mid-spin. The instant it touched him, he froze in place, his limbs suspended in an awkward dance pose. The lasers tightened around him, and Freakazoid's energy began to drain with every twitch.

"H-hey! That's cheating!" Freakazoid groaned, struggling against the net. But the more he fought, the more the net constricted, glowing brighter as it absorbed his power.

The Lobe, now standing over him, let out a slow, satisfied laugh. "Oh, but cheating is what makes this game so fun."

With Freakazoid firmly trapped in the laser net, the henchmen—Oblongata and Medulla—hurried forward, dragging a large containment pod behind them. They carefully maneuvered the dazed Freakazoid into the pod and locked it with a metallic clank.

The Lobe took a moment to savor his victory, giving the disco ball a final nod of approval. "You see, Freakazoid, it's not about the decade." His teeth gleamed in a wide toothy smile. "It's about the execution." 

From within the Supervillain Suit, Brain watched the events unfold with increasing incredulity. "Why not drop the net on Freakazoid at the beginning? This is the most convoluted scheme I've seen."

"You don't give yourself enough credit!" Pinky thoughtfully commented. "Remember that time you wanted to build a Superconductive Magnetic Infindibulator, but first had to…"

"Not now, Pinky! The Lobe is about to explain the next steps of this kindergarten project he calls a plan."

"Ooooo," Pinky whispered, "He's going to monologue!"

The Lobe took center stage amongst the supervillains, arms spread wide as if performing for an audience, which in a way he was. His oversized brain pulsed with excitement as he began to pace back and forth, addressing the room of villains like an eager professor explaining his genius to a group of fresh-faced students.

"Ah, yes, my dear captive Freakazoid," he sneered, glancing at the containment pod where Freakazoid lay ensnared in the laser net, groaning slightly as he twitched under the restraints. "For too long, you've been the chaotic force that disrupts our carefully laid plans, running amok with your absurd powers and over-the-top antics. But no longer!"

The room of villains leaned in, some listening intently, others stifling yawns. Cave Guy inspected his fingernails, clearly unimpressed, while Cobra Queen watched with gleaming eyes. Candle Jack kept running his fingers over his rope while watching Medulla.

The Lobe raised a finger dramatically. "For you see, I have built a machine beneath this very building to extract your powers and transfer them... into me! With your abilities and my intellect, I will be unstoppable—the supreme master of the World Wide Web! " 

He grinned, his brain glowing slightly. "Once I've drained your cyberspace powers, I'll be able to traverse the internet with the same reckless abandon that you do—except with one key difference... I'll have control!" His eyes gleamed with glee. "Every website, every server, every GIF of dancing babies... mine!"

From inside the Supervillain Suit, Brain groaned, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's going to control the internet with dancing babies. Brilliant."

Pinky, still starry-eyed, leaned in eagerly. "Oooh, but I like dancing babies, Brain! Maybe he'll post more videos!"

"Focus, Pinky! It is my… our… scheme to steal Freakazoid's powers!" Brain's eyes narrowed as he glared at The Lobe. "I need to stop him before he ruins everything."

The Lobe turned to the villains around him. "And once I control the internet, I'll control the world! Forget your petty robberies and your childish schemes—true villainy lies in total domination of the digital age!"

The villains offered a smattering of polite applause, though some, like Cave Guy, rolled their eyes. Deadpan clapped slowly, her face betraying no emotion. "Riveting."

Freakazoid, still trapped in the pod, managed a weak grin. "Pfft... over-dramatic much?"

The Lobe ignored him. The floor beneath their feet began to lower on a lift. "Now... to begin the extraction!"

Brain knew what he had to do, but he hesitated a moment. He couldn't confront the Lobe directly, not with so many supervillains present. No, the path to success relied on more than his Supervillain Suit; it required his cunning and intellect. And, unfortunately, a little help from his friend.

"Pinky…" Brain said, "I need you to stay here and control the Supervillain Suit."

Pinky squealed in delight. "Sure thing, Brain! I'll bring it back by ten tonight, I promise!"

Brain took a deep breath. "Promise me, Pinky, to stay quiet. Don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm gone."

"Gone? What are you doing tonight, Brain?"

"A different thing than what I do most nights, Pinky. Stop someone from taking over the world!" With that, Brain opened a small hatch in the cockpit. "I must stop the Lobe myself." 

He quickly and quietly scampered out of the Supervillain Suit. The villains around did not notice the small mouse moving at their feet as Brain darted from shadow to shadow to reach the descending lift. Lodging his grappling hook on the edge, he climbed down into the darkness.

While Brain made his way cautiously toward the descending lift, Steff was already in motion. She had been quietly observing the entire spectacle from the shadows of the room, and now it was time to act.

While the villains were discussing the ins and outs of the Lobe's grand monologue, Steff took a deep breath and surveyed the room. There was no way she could use the main lift—it would draw too much attention, and the villains would be all over her in seconds. She needed another way down.

As her eyes scanned the edges of the room, she spotted something—a narrow, partially hidden door tucked away in the corner, barely visible behind a cluster of stacked crates. Steff quickly slipped past the distracted henchmen and opened the door. It creaked ominously, and behind it, a set of rickety metal stairs spiraled downward into the lower levels.

Steff hesitated for a moment, eyeing the stairs warily. They looked like they hadn't been used in years—rusted, crooked, and definitely not up to code. But she didn't have time to second-guess her choice. She glanced back at the room, where the villains were still engrossed in their conversations, and took the first step down.

Freakazoid was going to need her.

to be continued…

Freakazoid groans from inside the containment pod, still twitching slightly under the laser net. He struggles, trying to find a comfortable position as the ominous sounds of machinery powering on echo outside the pod.

Suddenly, his eyes widen and he gasps dramatically. "Wait! This is it! This is how it ends! This is—"

Then he stops, glancing around before giving you a sheepish grin. "Oh, wait, no, it's not. I forgot this is a cliffhanger."

He wiggles awkwardly in the net. "You'll have to come back next chapter to see if I actually escape. Or maybe I'll just take a nap in here. Either way, I'll see you soon."

Chapter Text

Brain took a deep breath as he descended into the darkness, the rush of adrenaline and intellect fueling his focus. Without the Supervillain Suit, he was forced to rely on his small size, stealth, and cunning—his greatest assets. "It's far better this way," he thought. "The Lobe will never see me coming."

His mind raced, calculating every step. He had to stop the Lobe before it was too late! If the Lobe drained Freakazoid's powers… well, Brain knew full well that his own plan to steal Freakazoid's powers was far superior. If anyone was going to harness the chaotic power of cyberspace and bend it to their will, it would be him. The Lobe's scheme was a waste of genius.

Brain wasn't going to let the Lobe succeed. Not because he wanted to save Freakazoid, of course, but because he had to save the plan. His plan. He clenched the rope tighter in his hands, his resolve strengthening as he climbed lower down the shaft.

At the bottom of the lift, Brain released the rope and put the grapple gun over his shoulder. He scanned his surroundings with precise efficiency. There were a few obvious exits, but his goal was clear. Above one heavy looking metal door, there were thick electrical cords entering a conduit in the wall—a clear indicator of the power source.

From his hiding spot near the lift, Brain froze at the sound of a clang, his fur bristling at the unexpected noise. His eyes darted toward the shadows. Someone else was here. He couldn't risk a confrontation. Not now. He quickly aimed his grapple gun at the hole just above the metal doors. The doors were too big and heavy to open on his own, and likely locked, but the hole above? Just the right size for a genius mouse.

Steff had never been satisfied to just sit quietly on the sidelines. It was one of the many things that drove her crazy about her role in this whole Freakazoid-adjacent circus—too often, she ended up as the damsel in distress. Not tonight, though. Tonight, she was determined to do something different.

She took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Rescue Freakazoid first," she reminded herself. "Then figure out how to stop whatever crazy plan the Lobe's cooked up this time."

Her fingers absently smoothed the fabric of her dress as she carefully descended the stairs. The dress was far too formal for a stealth mission, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. A villainous soirée, complete with fancy gowns and tuxedos—and here she was, dressed in a floor-length, form-fitting evening gown. She'd looked great for about five minutes until she had to turn into a last minute heroine.

Steff bitterly thought she should have just stuck with jeans. Or at least have asked the Lobe's tailor for something with more flexibility than a gown straight out of a fashion magazine. Pockets would have been nice, too.

The stairs groaned under her weight, but she pressed on, gripping the rusted railing as she descended deeper into the bowels of the warehouse. The creaking grew louder with every step, and Steff winced, hoping none of the villains above would hear the noise. The last thing she needed was to get caught halfway down these deathtrap stairs.

"Great," she muttered under her breath. "Just what I needed—a stealth mission with a built-in death trap."

Her gown snagged slightly on the rusted metal, and she tugged it free with a quiet huff. Steff imagined what Freakazoid would say if he saw her like this. Probably some joke about her being overdressed for a rescue mission. Or worse, he'd make some kind of disco joke. Ugh. She was done with the running gags about disco at least three jokes ago.

Her foot hit the edge of something sitting on the edge of a stair. Steff held her breath as it tumbled off the stairs. A particularly loud clang echoed through the stairwell when it reached the bottom and Steff froze, her heart pounding. She held her breath, ears straining to pick up any sound from above. Were the villains coming after her? Did someone hear the noise?

She waited, the tension mounting, but nothing came. No shouts, no footsteps. The factory remained eerily quiet.

She exhaled in relief, loosening her grip on the railing. She reminded herself to stay calm. "Just rescue Freakazoid, and I can laugh about this later."

The dim light from the upper levels faded as she ventured deeper. The further she descended, the more oppressive the air felt—like she was heading into the belly of the beast. The sound of distant machinery rumbled through the walls, and she knew she had to be getting close.

Her mind wandered back to Freakazoid—he was always the one to swoop in, crack a joke, and save the day. But tonight, she had to help save him. And maybe, just maybe, they could prevent The Lobe's latest plan from becoming a full-blown disaster.

No pressure, she thought, eyeing the ominous corridor ahead as she finally reached the bottom. No pressure at all.

Pinky sat as still and quiet as possible. Which, to be honest, was not very still at all. As he sat in the cockpit of the Supervillain Suit, he kept bouncing and spinning in his chair and running his fingers lightly over the buttons. There were so many buttons! Some blinked, some flashed, and many of them just begged to be pressed. 

But no! He remembered that Brain had told him not to touch anything. And he remembered what Brain had said earlier to Cobra Queen and Longhorn, about "plans falling apart because of unforeseen interference…" Brain was just acting the part of a supervillain, right? When he talked about plans falling apart… well, surely he didn't mean Pinky, did he? Pinky pushed the thought away with a frown.

He looked out through the visor, watching the villains at the Lobe's Supervillain Soirée as they discussed amongst themselves what sort of fate would befall Freakazoid. Pinky tried not to let it bother him. Freakazoid was admittedly in trouble, but if the comic books were any indication, this certainly wasn't the first time. Freakazoid always managed to get out of tough spots. Besides, Brain had left to go rescue him. And that was proof enough to Pinky that he had nothing to worry about.

But a small voice in the back of Pinky's mind kept nagging at him, whispering that maybe, just maybe, Brain's frustration had a little something to do with him.

Pinky was debating about piloting the Supervillain Suit to find some pizza bagel bites when a short villain approached him. His face was gray and pallid, partially covered by a black wide-brimmed hat. He was holding his hand out, but it was covered by a brown cloth.

The short man giggled, his face tilted up towards the visor of the Supervillain Suit. He waved his free hand over the cloth. "Do you want to see something strange and mystical?"

Pinky gasped in excitement, and quickly flipped on the Supervillain Suit's voice modulator. "Boy, do I!"

Brain scurried through the conduit and quickly out the other side. Once he made it to the floor, he was weaving betweens piles of crates and debris, then crawling under a pile of heavy machine parts that littered the corridor. He rounded a corner, his sharp eyes on the ceiling following the power lines towards whatever contraption the Lobe had created.

Coming out of the corner, he found his path was blocked by a large vent spewing hot steam into the corridor. He hissed in frustration as he examined the obstacle. The valve to turn off the steam was too far away, but he spotted an old control panel hooked up to a CRT monitor. If he could access the vent's control system, he might be able to reroute the steam.

With precision, he launched his grappling hook and climbed up to the panel. He looked at the rudimentary controls, and with a few keystrokes started hacking into the system. The vents sputtered for a moment, and the steam ceased. "Simple for a genius of my caliber," Brain muttered.

But as he prepared to jump off the controls, he heard another distant metallic clang. Someone else was moving through the corridors. He froze, his ears twitching. Was someone following him?

Not that far away, Steff crept through the dimly lit corridor, carefully picking her way past the tangled pipes. She grimaced, feeling out of place in her formal gown. She had made it down the creepy stairs, past the lift, and managed to push her way through a set of doors that had no business being as heavy as they were. Now a new obstacle was in her path: the corridor ahead of her was blocked by a pile of heavy machinery parts, stacked haphazardly and leaving no clear way through. "Great," Steff muttered.

As she prepared to turn back, the clang of metal resounded from above her head, drawing her attention. She looked up to see a vent cover fall loose from the ceiling. A ladder leading to the vent shaft was nearby. Steff hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. She climbed the ladder, hoisting herself into the vent, and carefully began crawling through the cramped space.

Just as she neared the other side, she heard the hiss of steam and felt a rush of hot air. A jet of steam from a nearby vent blocked her path. Steff started wondering how hard it would be to back up through the narrow passage when the steam suddenly sputtered and died out.

Steff blinked in surprise. "Huh, guess somebody up there likes me."

She crawled through the now clear vent and dropped down into the corridor. The thrumming sound of machinery was definitely getting closer.

Brain hurried down the corridor. By his calculations, the Lobe's machine had to be just ahead. He darted through an open doorway, and realized his path was once again blocked. A large retractable walkway—currently retracted as luck would have it—covered a yawning gap over a storage area ten feet below.

He scowled. "Of course."

He looked across. The switch to extend the walkway was mounted high up on the opposite wall, well out of reach. Brain narrowed his eyes, already devising a solution. He hefted his trusty grapple gun off his shoulder and aimed at the switch.

With a sharp clunk, the grapple latched onto the lever. Brain tugged at it with all of his might, but it barely budged. The lever refused to move, and the walkway remained stubbornly retracted.

Suddenly, his sharp ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway. Someone was coming. He hastily darted into the shadows, his tiny heart racing.

Moments later, Steff approached the same gap in the floor, only to stop short at the sight of the retracted walkway. She sighed, looking for a way to extend it. She eyed the lever across the gap. "Of course," she muttered. She then noticed something odd—a thin rope, or maybe a string, dangling near the switch.

Her eyes followed the line back to a strange little device on the ground. It looked like some sort of miniature grapple gun. She picked it up with a frown. "What on Earth…"

Shrugging, she gave the string a tug, half-expecting nothing to happen. But to her surprise, the lever shifted slightly. A grin spread across her face as she pulled again with a little more force, and this time, the lever moved slowly into place with a satisfying click. The walkway extended itself across the gap with a low rumble. Pocketing the tiny grapple gun for later, Steff stepped onto the walkway and continued deeper into the Lobe's lair.

From his hiding spot, Brain watched in silence as Steff walked away. He scowled, glancing at the now-empty spot where his grapple gun had been.

"How do I keep losing those?" he muttered under his breath, recalling the one left behind at Chez Très Posh. "There goes another one…"

Once the coast was clear, Brain hurried across the walkway.

The low hum of villainous chatter quieted as the Supervillain Suit let out a loud, throat-clearing ahem. In the Suit's metallic claws was a stack of printed personality quizzes. From within the cockpit, Pinky's eyes gleamed with excitement as he addressed the room.

"Alrighty, everyone! Brainpower here! It's time for a fun little game. Gather 'round!" Pinky called out, the Supervillain Suit waving the sheets of paper high above his head. The voice modulator of the Suit changed Pinky's normal voice into something more akin to Jeremy Iron's deeper voice, although there was still a trace of a Cockney accent.  "We're going to find out which Friends character you are!"

The villains exchanged confused glances. Most of them were far more comfortable with heists and mayhem than with sitcom references.

"Rightol!" Pinky exclaimed. "Who wants to go first?"

The crowd of villains took a quick step back, except for Kid Carrion and Deadpan, who hesitated just a moment too long. Kid Carrion, the zombie cowboy with his weathered hat and dusty boots, sighed and sidled up to the table, scratching his bony chin. Deadpan, the ever-stoic shapeshifter, followed without a word, her wooden expression as inscrutable as always.

Pinky grinned at the mismatched pair. "Alrighty! Kid Carrion, let's start with you! Are you more of a Ross, a Chandler, or a Joey?"

Kid Carrion blinked slowly, his eyes sunken beneath his hat. "Ain't no Ross or Chandler where I'm from, partner." His voice rattled with the dryness of the desert wind. "If I had to pick, I'd say I'm more of a Butch Cassidy or Jesse James."

Pinky tilted his head, and the Supervillain Suit did the same. It tapped the stack of quizzes with its finger. "Oooh, sorry! Neither of those are on the list, Kid Carrion. We're talking about Friends—y'know, the TV show! With Rachel, Ross, Monica, and Phoebe!" He paused for a moment, then added, "It's about six pals living in New York City. Drinking coffee. Being pals."

Kid Carrion stared back blankly, his jaw hanging open for an awkwardly long moment before he finally spoke. "New York?! Pffft. I ain't never been to New York. Got any of them quizzes about The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly?"

Pinky laughed and waved his hands dismissively. "Poit! Let's just move on, then, shall we? Next up, Deadpan!" The Supervillain Suit leaned over, and Pinky watched the monitors to read over the answers on her quiz. The Supervillain Suit's voice was uncharacteristically gleeful.  "According to this, you're Phoebe!"

Deadpan's brow furrowed slightly—just a fraction of an inch, which was about as close as she ever got to a strong reaction. "Phoebe?"

Pinky nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Phoebe's the quirky and fun one! She plays the guitar, sings weird songs about smelly cats, and always says exactly what's on her mind!"

"I find that hard to believe." Deadpan looked down at her results, then back at Brainpower's purple visor, her expression utterly unmoved. "I don't have a guitar."

Pinky gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Deadpan! You don't think something on the Internet could be wrong, do you?"

Deadpan stared blankly, her face betraying no emotion as always. "Yes."

Pinky blinked, as if the very idea were incomprehensible. "But... but it's the Internet! The Internet never lies!"

Kid Carrion leaned in, still puzzled. "What's a Phoebe again?"

In the dimly lit chamber, Freakazoid lay trapped within a cylindrical pod, the weight and power of the glowing laser net sapping his strength. He was connected to the Lobe's power siphoning machine, a comically large plunger-like device attached to his head. Wires snaked from the machine to a nearby console, its lights blinking with an eerie rhythm, the hum of power growing louder by the second.

Steff arrived, taking in the worrisome sight of Freakazoid and the machine. Her heart pounded, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. The Lobe stood next to the machine, adjusting dials and muttering to himself, utterly absorbed in his work.

Freakazoid beamed happily at the sight of her. "Steff! Thank goodness you're here! I thought I was going to be forgotten!"

"Aw, Freakazoid, I wouldn't forget about you," Steff said sweetly.

"No, not you! The readers! How long has it been since I've been in this fanfic?"

Before Steff could answer his nonsensical question, the Lobe whirled around, his large brain pulsing slightly. "Ah, Miss Stephanie! You're just in time to witness the grand finale!" He grinned, gesturing dynamically to the machine. "This machine is a masterpiece, designed to siphon Freakazoid's powers and transfer them directly to me!"

Steff crossed her arms and shook her head. "You have got to be kidding. You couldn't even throw a decent party without my help."

As she continued her scolding, a small, mouse-sized figure darted into the shadows, unnoticed by anyone in the room. Brain crept toward the machine, analyzing the setup with a critical eye. "Hmpph," he muttered under his breath, eyeing the circuitry. "Crude, but functional. Impressive work for someone whose brain is more for show than substance."

He moved closer, running his hand along the wiring, tracing it to the console. "The design is clearly inferior to anything I would create, of course. Still, the power siphoning device… a fascinating concept. A shame it's in the wrong hands."

Brain positioned himself near the core of the machine. His mind raced as he calculated the best way to sabotage it without being caught. Or worse yet, get himself fried in the process. He loosened a few screws to open a panel along the side of the Lobe's machine, and then crawled inside of it.

Meanwhile, the Lobe smirked, still focused on his grand plan. "Miss Stephanie, you're about to witness history in the making! And I'm certainly not about to let you interfere again." He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. The henchmen Medulla and Oblongata stepped towards her with a menacing gleam in their eyes.

Steff started backing up. She glanced around the room for something—anything—she could use. She couldn't run in her dress, but maybe she could outwit them.

Suddenly, she spotted a large crate against the wall, labeled "Mechanical Pigeons: Handle with Caution." Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. She hurried over to the box, lifting the lid and flipping every tiny switch inside she could reach. With a whirring noise, the mechanical pigeons sprang to life, their beady little eyes lighting up as they started hovering.

"Go get'em, boys!" Steff exclaimed, knocking over the box and its contents in the direction of the henchmen. A flock of mechanical pigeons flew towards the Lobe's henchmen, who were closing in on her. The two men barely had time to react as the pigeons swarmed them, clanking and flapping noisily. Oblongata yelped as a pigeon pecked at his head, while Medulla stumbled backwards, trying to fend off the mechanical birds. Chaos erupted, the henchmen scrambling to get away from the relentless flapping creatures. "I'm starting to hate these birds!" Medulla cried out.

While Steff was focused on his henchmen, the Lobe had strapped himself into a chair connected to his machine. He pulled a lever, and the hum of the machine grew louder as it powered up. Lights blinked rapidly, and the plunger on Freakazoid's head began throbbing in rhythm.

"Yes! It's happening!" the Lobe cackled, his voice barely containing his glee. "Soon, Freakazoid's powers will be mine! And with them, I'll control the entire digital world!"

The Lobe began to glow faintly as the machine surged with power, preparing for the transfer. He closed his eyes, basking in the triumph that was only just moments away.

It was at that moment Brain flipped a series of switches from inside the machine, subtly rewiring key circuits. "Such sloppy craftsmanship," he critically muttered, crossing a few wires and attaching a small device of his own to the machine's core.

The machine sputtered, its humming turning into a sharp whine. The Lobe's eyes snapped open as the machine shook violently. His grin faltered. "Wait… what's happening?"

Lights began to flicker, and sparks shot out from the console. Brain, already a step ahead, had run and ducked behind a nearby crate, shielding himself as the machine started to malfunction.

In the midst of the chaos, Steff jumped behind a crate just in time as an explosion rocked the room. The mechanical pigeons scattered, their circuits fried, while the henchmen dove for cover.

The machine bucked wildly, tossing the Lobe out of his chair and across the room. He hit the wall with a thud, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No… no! It was perfect! My machine—!" But before he could finish, the device exploded in a shower of sparks.

Back upstairs at the Supervillain Soirée, the party had taken an unexpected turn. A conga line had formed, with Brainpower leading the way. "Come on, everybody!" Pinky called from within the Supervillain Suit, the baritone voice sounding a little out of place with Pinky's chipper tone. The Supervillain Suit's limbs swung in rhythm to the music. "One, two, three, kick! One, two, three, kick! Narf!"

The line of villains snaked around the room, each stepping in time to the beat. Cobra Queen was towards the front, hissing in amusement. Cave Guy, despite his earlier refined and somewhat grumpy demeanor, had joined in, his large frame awkwardly mimicking the steps. Deadpan didn't look like she was having any fun, but even she managed to keep in time with the music. Only Arms Akimbo seemed disappointed—he sat in a chair, his hands on his own hips, with a sour look on his face.

"This party has turned out to be… surprisingly fun," Cave Guy admitted, though he tried to keep his tone indifferent as he shuffled along.

"I tell ya, this Brainpower fella ain't as much a stick in the mud as I thought!" Longhorn agreed, happily dancing along.

Suddenly, there was a deafening boom from beneath their feet. The ground shook violently, and multiple villains toppled on top of one another. The lights flickered before plunging the entire room into darkness. The music screeched to a halt, leaving only stunned silence in its wake.

"What was that?" Cave Guy demanded, his eyes darting around.

"That'ssss a ssssupervillain plan gone wrong," Cobra Queen replied. 

There was a loud metallic clunk as the Supervillain Suit stumbled in the dark. "Um, can someone turn the lights back on?" Pinky asked, his voice a bit more uncertain now. After a pause, he added, "That wasn't part of the plan, right?"

As the smoke cleared, the Lobe, barely conscious, groaned and lifted his oversized head. His vision was blurry, but through the haze, he spotted a small figure—Brain, running away, scampering through the debris.

"The… mouse…" the Lobe croaked, his voice weak. 

Before he could say more, Medulla and Oblongata rushed to his side, hoisting him to his feet. "Don't worry boss, we got ya," one of them said. They half dragged, half carried the supervillain away from the inferno that was once the Lobe's great machine.

But the Lobe turned his head one last time to peer back through the haze. "It was… the mouse…"

And with that, his eyes fluttered close, and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

Amidst the haze of the smoke and wreckage of the Lobe's machine, Steff made her way to the containment pod where Freakazoid was still trapped, the remnants of the laser net flickering weakly.  "Let's get you out of here." She examined the machine for a moment, and noticed a few loose wires leading to the recently cracked control panel. After a few quick tugs on the wires and one well-placed smack to the side of the control panel, the laser net fizzled out completely.

She grabbed the edge of the plunger and yanked it free from Freakzoid's head with a loud pop. 

"Whoa!" Freakazoid shot up, rubbing his head. "That thing really had a grip! I think I was getting plunger-brain."

"Yeah, well, now you're free. Let's get out of here before the whole place comes down," Steff urged, helping him to his feet.

Freakazoid stood, wobbling slightly before straightening up, striking a dramatic pose despite the wreckage around him. "No need to worry! Freakazoid is back on the job!"

Steff gave him a flat look. "You're still wearing the vintage tux."

Freakazoid looked down at his oversized, maroon ruffled tuxedo. He shrugged. "Well, I can make almost anything look good!" He then scooped up Steff in one smooth motion, cradling her effortlessly in his arms. "Hold on tight!" he grinned, and then struck a heroic pose for just a second too long.

Steff, unfazed, glanced up at the growing cracks in the ceiling as more chunks of debris threatened to fall. "Less posing, more running, please."

Without missing a beat, Freakazoid zipped across the room, zipping up, around, over, and through the wreckage. In seconds, they reached the lift, but as Freakazoid skidded to a stop, the lift had already begun to rise up.

"Hey!" Freakazoid shouted, peering up, "Who's on that?" But all he could see were the metal walls of the shaft.

From inside the lift, Brain was clinging to a corner, muttering to himself. "I knew I should have made an earlier exit. Note to self: for any future plans, do not repeat the Lobe's mistakes and involve that nuisance in the gown. Clearly, she is far too meddlesome."

Back on the lower level, Steff tapped Freakazoid on the shoulder. "Forget the lift. The stairs! This way!"

Nodding, Freakazoid dashed for the stairwell, carrying her at dizzying speeds. Within moments, they were racing up the steps, escaping the Lobe's lair before the whole place came crashing down.

By the time Brain arrived back at the Supervillain Soirée, the emergency lights had come on, casting everything in a flickering red glow. The room was eerily quiet after the explosion below. He darted toward the Supervillain Suit, climbing inside unnoticed by the other villains who were still recovering from the surprise.

Setting into the cockpit, Brain grimaced. "Well, that could have gone better."

Pinky slid over back to his seat, giving Brain a hopeful grin. "It's okay, Brain, I saved you some pizza bagel bites!"

Brain shot him a withering look. "The Lobe's convoluted trap was doomed to fail. I've already made mental notes to learn from his mistakes. We must leave immediately, before this situation gets even worse."

Pinky shook his head slowly, and tsked. "Well, now you've gone and done it, Brain."

Before Brain could respond, the front doors of the Supervillain Soirée exploded inward with a loud bang, and the entire room went silent. Standing in the doorway was the unmistakable silhouette of the Huntsman, the red lighting cast an eerie glow against his tight green costume. The shadow of a few days worth of stubble on his face gave him a slightly haggard look.

With his eagle-like vision, his intense eyes scanned the room. The villains stood quiet and still, not quite overcome with the shock of the Huntsman's unexpected arrival. "I have thwarted the evil plans of Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit!" he growled, his voice booming across the hall.

"I ain't never heard of a villain like that," Arms Akimbo muttered.

The Huntsman's head snapped towards Arms Akimbo, causing the mafia man to take a few steps back without realizing it. "The one with the ridiculously small head!" the Huntsman bellowed, narrowing his eyes. "Responsible for a series of heinous crimes throughout the tri-county area!"

The room grew tense as the other villains exchanged glances. Surely they would have heard of such a villain. Cobra Queen tilted her head in curiosity, but it was Cave Guy that skeptically asked the question. "What exactly did this tiny-headed villain do?"

The Huntsman's impressively broad chest puffed out in righteous fury. "I have spent days undoing the horrific damage in my search. At the first orphanage, he didn't replace the batteries in their smoke detectors!" He paused dramatically. "The beeping haunted the children for hours!"

Brain, sitting inside the Supervillain Suit, blinked in confusion. "What?"

"And at the second orphanage," the Huntsman continued, his voice rising in outrage, "I discovered that he clogged a toilet! Left it completely unusable!" His voice cracked with the weight of his indignation.

"Goodness gracious," Pinky whispered from inside the Suit, "that does sound terrible. Those poor orphans."

But the Huntsman wasn't finished. His list of grievances rolled on with even greater intensity. "And at the third orphanage? He switched the brand of juice boxes before snack time! They were promised fruit punch, but they got… sugar free apple!"

Cobra Queen hissed in sympathy. "Ssssavage!"

"You have got to be kidding me," Brain muttered to himself.

The Huntsman pointed his finger even more dramatically into the room, zeroing in on the villains. "Now, where is he? The villain responsible for all this… this carnage!"

The Huntsman placed his fist into his other hand, and cracked his knuckles. "I will find the Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit… one way… or another."

"Uh, yeah, I choose another," Arms Akimbo declared, and ran to the nearest exit. 

His sudden flight triggered a wave of panic among the other villains. Cobra Queen scrambled over a table of hors d'oeuvres, sending pizza bagel bites and cocktail weenies flying across the floor. Longhorn charged towards a door but tripped over a fallen chair, crashing into Cave Guy, who was too busy adjusting his cummerband to notice the approaching one-man stampede.

"Get out of my way!" Cave Guy snarled, elbowing Longhorn in the ribs as he tried to untangle his foot from the tablecloth now wrapped around his leg.

As more villains fled in panic, the room became a blur of chaos. Food flew through the air, furniture toppled, and villains tripped over one another in their desperate attempt to flee the Huntsman's righteous fury. 

As the chaos mounted, Brain assessed the situation with growing disdain. "What a circus," he muttered, watching as Deadpan collided with Arms Akimbo's elbows, sending both of them sprawling into the buffet table.

Brain knew he wanted no further part of this. Without further hesitation, he activated the Supervillain Suit's jet boots, launching into the air with a low hum. The Suit rocketed upward, and soared through the hole Freakazoid had created earlier in the evening. With a final burst of speed, the Supervillain Suit disappeared into the night sky, leaving the chaos far behind.

Just moments after the last of the villains panickedly scrambled away, Freakazoid burst through the doors, expecting a fierce confrontation with the assembled supervillains. But instead, he and Steff were greeted with an eerily empty banquet hall. The once-glamorous setup was now in complete disarray. Tables were overturned, food scattered across the floor, and chairs were tipped over like the final minutes of a toddler's birthday party.

Standing amidst the chaos, adjusting his green costume and looking rather pleased with himself, was the Huntsman.

Steff blinked, taking in the scene. "Uh… where did everyone go?"

The Huntsman puffed out his chest proudly. "Never fear, miss. Just doing my superheroic duty! I have successfully thwarted the vile Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit's nefarious plots against our local orphanages."

"Really? That's great!" Freakazoid said enthusiastically. He glanced around the room at the mess. "Did the other bad guys get away?"

"Nonsense!" the Huntsman boomed. "They scattered like cowards!"

Freakazoid nodded seriously. "Well, you know what they say—evil never sticks around when there's pizza bagel bites involved."

Steff rolled her eyes. "Freakazoid, nobody says that."

"All in a day's work," the Huntsman said proudly.

Steff shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, I'm just glad we didn't have to do the cleanup." She held out a tiny little grapple gun in her hand. "Oh, by the way, Freakazoid, I found this in the Lobe's lair."

"Oh, neat!" Freakazoid exclaimed, his eyes widening as he leaned in to get a closer look. "I have one, too!"

Steff was surprised by this revelation. "You do?"

Freakazoid nodded, and pulled out the miniature grappling hook he discovered on the rooftop of Chez Très Posh. "Look!" he said, holding them side by side. "They're exactly the same!"

Steff raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what this means, Freakazoid?"

His eyes lit up with excitement. "I sure do! We're officially miniature grappling buddies!"

But then his voice dropped to a softer tone. "And… do you know what else it means?" He placed an arm around Steff's waist and gently pulled her closer. His lips puckered slightly in anticipation.

Just then, the Huntsman cleared his throat awkwardly. "Pardon the interruption, but I still need to find Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit."

Freakazoid froze, jaw clenched in annoyance. He turned his head just slightly toward the Huntsman, still holding onto Steff. "Okay. You go now."

The Huntsman fidgeted for a moment before continuing. "If you hear anything about the Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit, I'll be down at the Y."

Freakaoid let go of Steff and slowly turned around, his irritation melting away, replaced by a mischievous smile at the corners of his mouth. "At the… YMCA?"

The Huntsman nodded. "I need to hit the showers. Besides, it's…"

Freakazoid's mouth turned into a gigantic grin. He interrupted with a booming, "It's fun to stay at the YMCA!" at top volume.

Steff groaned, putting her hand to her face. "That's it. No more!" In one swift motion, she placed a firm hand on the Huntsman's shoulder and the other on Freakazoid, shoving them both out the door.

As they stumbled out, Freakazoid's voice rang faintly back into the banquet hall, "I'll call you later, Steff!"

Freakazoid sauntered down the red carpet and to Cosgrove's waiting police car. Cosgrove nodded in welcome. "Hey, Freakazoid. Did you have fun at the party?"

"Sure did! I got to dance, and then I was captured by the Lobe and put into his stupid machine to steal my powers, but Steff rescued me, and we have matching miniature grappling guns, and now everything's great and there is absolutely nothing else to worry about!"

"That's good," Cosgrove said calmly. "So, you've solved the case, and all of the high tech thefts were perpetrated by the Lobe with his tiny grappling gun. And he stole cheese, too."

Freakazoid blinked several times, his grin faltering. "Huh. When you put it that way, it sounds like there's something else really sinister going on."

Cosgrove nodded. "Yeah. Probably a sinister plot unfolding as we speak."

Suddenly alarmed, Freakazoid ran the rest of the way to Cosgrove's car. "There's no time to lose!"

Cosgrove shrugged, unfazed as usual. "I've got tickets for the butter sculpture competition. Do you wanna come see the sculptures?"

Freakazoid paused mid-stride, his expression shifting to gleeful excitement. "Do I!!" Freakazoid exclaimed. "Let's go!"

to be continued…

As Freakazoid and Cosgrove drove off, Steff sighed, watching them go. "I swear, my life is like a badly written… something." She paused, glancing off into the distance as if searching for the right word. "I mean, seriously. Captured by supervillains, ridiculous tuxedos, and now I'm practically a supporting character in someone else's mess."

She crossed her arms, staring directly ahead. "And for what? Pizza bagel bites?" She sighed dramatically. "I need to hang out with superheroes less."

Chapter Text

The lobby of the Municipal Butter Sculpture Competition was far fancier than Freakazoid had imagined. The gleaming glass walls and white flooring looked more like a modern art museum, and the soft notes of Kenny G playing in the background only added to the sophistication. If it weren't for the faint smell of dairy in the cold, climate controlled air, you might never guess that the main attraction was butter.

Freakazoid glanced around, his eyes wide. "Wow. I mean, I expected cows, maybe even a deep fryer or two. But this?" He gestured around the marble floored interior Cosgrove stood in. "This feels… fancy."

Cosgrove, calm as ever, nodded. "It's butter. You gotta treat it with class. And air conditioning." He gestured to the first exhibit in the gallery, a towering bust of President Bill Clinton, immortalized in golden butter. "That's a good likeness, huh?"

"Yeah, but do you see over there? Is that supposed to be Ross and Rachel?" Freakazoid asked, leaning in. "I can practically hear the canned laughter. But just look at Ross's expression. Who knew that butter could capture so much emotional range?"

Cosgrove took it in with a simple nod. "Second place last year."

They moved further into the gallery, past more butter exhibits. They came across one of Will Smith, his buttery form sporting a sideways cap and a wide grin.

Freakazoid's eyes widened. "Talk about West Philadelphia, born and raised! This one may be my favorite."

Cosgrove leaned over, giving the statue a closer look. "Yeah. They got his sneakers right, too. Pretty impressive." Cosgrove looked over to Freakazoid. "Hey, when we're done here, do you want to try to find the criminal mastermind behind the sinister thefts of high tech gadgets?"

Freakazoid stretched his arms and yawned. "Nah, it's been a long day, what with me being captured by the Lobe and all. I think I'm gonna hit the hay soon. Nothing important is going to happen tonight."

"Hurry, Pinky!" Brain scolded. "Important things are happening tonight!" He paced impatiently, monitoring the complex array of screens and gadgets around him.

The laboratory was a stark contrast to the butter-filled gallery. Here, the hum of high-tech equipment and the flicker of CRT monitors created a tense atmosphere. Brain was deep in the throes of yet another scheme.

Pinky, meanwhile, was balancing on a spinning office chair, wobbling from side to side as he tried to stay upright. "Righto, Brain! But what's the hurry? I thought we were always planning important things!"

Brain shot Pinky a glare, his hands gripping the edge of the control panel. "Some of us are, at least. Others are persistent in their tomfoolery while I am preparing for the next phase to gain Freakazoid's superpowers and then take over the world!"

Pinky's eyes lit up. "Ooo, is this the plan where we turn ourselves into 400 foot tall monsters?"

Brain was about to discount the idea immediately, but instead replied, "We'll table that thought for later. But for now, we must eliminate a critical threat to my plans before she interferes again."

Pinky's chair stopped spinning. He looked over to Brain. "Eliminate?"

Brain nodded gravely. "Freakazoid's female companion was able to thwart the Lobe's plan. Even if it was foolishly executed."

Pinky blinked in concern. "But she's not a superhero or anything."

Brain groaned, exasperated. "No, but she is a distraction." He looked directly at Pinky. "And distractions lead to mistakes. Mistakes lead to failure. And failure…" He narrowed his eyes. "...is not an option."

Pinky mulled over what his friend Brain had said, his tongue sticking out in concentration. "So, what are we going to do Brain? Kidnap her?"

Brain shook his head. "No, Pinky. I saw how disastrous that was for the Lobe. We need to remove her entirely so she cannot meddle with my plans." He tapped his chin in thought. "Perhaps I can build a rocket and send her into the sun. Or put her in a submarine and sink her into the Mariana Trench…"

Pinky's face paled. He didn't know this person, but any friend of Freakazoid couldn't be that bad. It's not her fault if Brain wants to be a supervillain. Pinky was certain that sending someone to the sun was a rather extreme solution. The sort that couldn't be undone later. He didn't know anything about this trench of spaghetti sauce, but it didn't sound good either.

Pinky's expression brightened. "Oh, I know! What if we send her away on a lovely free cruise!"

Brain paused, and then tilted his head. "A free cruise?"

Pinky nodded enthusiastically. "Nobody can say no to a free cruise! You know, all expenses paid, tropical destination, drinks with little umbrellas!"

Brain looked thoughtful for a moment, stroking his chin. "It's not particularly diabolical… but it would keep her far away from here." He paced a bit, his mind racing through the possibilities. "Yes, Pinky! A cruise! She'll be out of the picture for long enough that I can finally put my plan into motion without interference."

Pinky beamed. "Brilliant, Brain! And maybe we can add a little something extra. Like an all-you-can-eat buffet!"

Brain rolled his eyes. "Fine, Pinky. But we're sending her away, not on vacation. We must get the necessary materials. We're setting this plan into motion tonight!"

The next morning, Steff was woken up by the sound of her doorbell ringing. Her hair was a frizzy mess, and the circles under her eyes were clear proof that she was still worn out from last night's adventure at the Lobe's Supervillain Soirée. Hastily throwing on a pink housecoat, she groggily shuffled to the front door and opened it. She blinked several times in disbelief.

There on her doorstep stood two peculiar figures. One of them stood stiffly with his hands behind his back, wearing a pristine white ship officer's uniform, complete with a captain's hat. The other wore a blue stewardess outfit, complete with a little cap tilted jauntily to one side. They were also really, really short.

"Good morning, madam," the one in the officer's uniform, Brain, began with a formal bow. "I am Captain… er, Captain Stubing, and I'm here to inform you that you've won an exclusive, all expenses paid luxury cruise!"

Before Steff could respond, the stewardess, Pinky, bounced excitedly on his heels, waving a glossy brochure in the air. "Ooooo, it's got everything! There's a pool, and a water slide! And buffets! All the croissants you can eat!"

Steff blinked at the odd sight in front of her. It was too early in the morning for such randomness. "A cruise?" she asked, her eyes shifting between them. "For me?"

Brain nodded firmly. "Indeed. An exclusive offer. We were instructed to hand deliver the news to you personally." He straightened his hat with a crisp, military-like motion.

Still skeptical, Steff crossed her arms, eyeing them both. "A cruise… delivered by a ship's officer and a…. stewardess? And you're both…" She hesitated, eyeing their obvious diminutive stature. "...really, really short."

Brain cleared his throat, his expression never faltering. "Ah, yes. You see, traditionally, sailors were often of shorter stature to accommodate the cramped conditions aboard ships since the mid-16th century."

Steff chuckled lightly, still not completely sold but warming up to the idea. "So… when does this cruise leave?"

Brain immediately responded, "Why, it departs shortly, of course. A taxi is waiting at the curb to take you to the docks."

Steff's eyes widened. "Wow, that's fast! I'll have to pack quickly!"

Pinky grinned, bouncing on his heels. "You don't want to miss all the fun! Oooo, don't forget your sunscreen! And sandals! Oh, and make sure to pack extra—"

Brain loudly cleared his throat and gave Pinky a brief glare before turning back to Steff with a polite smile. "You'll want to hurry," he said sweetly, "The taxi is waiting."

As Steff rushed back into the house to gather her things, Pinky leaned over to Brain and whispered, "Did you remember to tip the taxi driver this time, Brain?"

Brain frowned and crossed his arms. "As I have explained, Pinky, supervillains do not tip. Generosity is not in our nature."

Pinky sighed. "But, Brain, they might feel unappreciated! And what if they forget to pick her up on the return trip?"

Brain sighed, rolling his eyes, "Then that would only further delay her and be to our benefit." He shot Pinky a stern look, but Pinky simply blinked back at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Finally, Brain relented. "Fine! I will tip him. But only because we need the taxi to complete the plan."

Just then, the front door flew open again and Steff rushed outside in a sundress, sunglasses, and a wide brimmed hat, pulling a suitcase behind her. "Thank you!" she shouted as she ran past the two mice and into the waiting taxi.

As the taxi left, Brain's growing grin turned into a maniacal chortle. "Come, Pinky! It's time for the next phase of the plan."

Dexter slowly woke up, his eyes blinking against the morning light that peeked through the blinds. He groaned, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. Scattered around his bed were empty butter wrappers, crumpled and discarded, evidence of some sort of shenanigans on Freakazoid's part, but Dexter couldn't guess what. For a brief moment, he wondered why his room smelled faintly like a dairy farm.

"Freakazoid? You there?" Dexter thought groggily, rubbing his eyes.

From somewhere deep within his own mind, Freakazoid's voice grumbled back sleepily. "Five more minutes… I don't wanna go to school today!" His voice was muffled, as if he were trying to pull the mental equivalent of a blanket over his head.

Dexter sighed. He couldn't remember what had happened last night, as usual. He had vague memories of Ross and Rachel from the TV show Friends, and the Lobe. How the two were connected he couldn't fathom. The butter wrappers around the room were another matter.

Dexter sat up, letting the wrappers fall off him like autumn leaves. "Well, at least you had fun," he muttered, "I think…"

Still feeling groggy, Dexter got dressed and headed downstairs, the smell of breakfast pulling him toward the kitchen. His mom was at the stove, making scrambled eggs with an apron tied around her waist. The smell of sizzling eggs was oddly comforting.

"Morning, sweetheart!" his mom called over her shoulder, stirring the eggs with a practiced hand. "Hope you're hungry! I've got bunches of scrambled eggs over here!"

At the kitchen table his dad sat reading the newspaper, occasionally muttering under his breath about the sports section. Duncan, Dexter's older brother, was already eating a large plate piled high with eggs and toast. His fork jabbed aggressively at the food as he grunted, "Well, look who finally decided to join us. Stay up late making nerd spreadsheets or something?" He snorted, stuffing another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Dexter rolled his eyes at his brother's jabs, heading straight for the counter to grab a plate of his own. "Morning, Mom."

As he sat down with his scrambled eggs, Dexter's mind wandered. "Hey, Mom," he asked absentmindedly, "do we have any cheese?"

His mom smiled, pulling open the fridge. "There's some shredded cheese in the bag. Help yourself, honey."

Dexter grabbed the bag of shredded cheese and shook it over his plate. At first, it was a normal sprinkle over his eggs. But then, without realizing it, he kept pouring until his eggs were completely buried under a towering plateau of cheese. He leaned in closer, staring at the cheesy mound for a moment, blinking as the world around him seemed to fall away.

"This means something…" he muttered, his face illuminated by the yellow pile of cheese in front of him, as though he were having a moment of divine inspiration.

Duncan snorted again from across the table. "Yeah, it means I'm having a close encounter of the nerd kind."

Their dad finally looked up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow at the mound of cheese on Dexter’s plate. "Worms and weasels, Dexter, what in the world are you doing?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Dexter's mom raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. "Dexter, honey, you okay?"

Dexter leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper. "I know what this means. This means something. This is important."

His mom just nodded. "Okay, dear. But you spilled it, you eat it."

In the Brain's dimly lit warehouse laboratory, the air buzzed with energy. A massive metallic machine took up most of the room, all sharp edges and gleaming chrome. Flashing lights blinked in irregular patterns, while a Jacob's ladder crackled dramatically in the background, sending arcs of electricity upward. The machine hummed with power, its inner workings pulsing with an ominous glow.

Brain stood before it, his hands clasped behind his back, a proud smirk curling on his lips. "Behold, Pinky! My latest and most ingenious invention—The Freakazoid Power Extractor 2000!"

Pinky, crouched on the floor nearby, diligently painted a giant red bullseye. His brush strokes were wild, leaving streaks of red paint beyond the edges. "Narf! What happened to the other 1,999 extracto thingies?"

"The number conveys a sense of technological accomplishment," Brain retorted.

"Hmm, if you say so, Brain. What do you think of the bullseye? Does it look straight enough? I mean, it's a circle, but you know what I mean. I was thinking of adding sparkles. You know, for extra pizazz!"

Brain didn't even glance at the bullseye. "Pinky, the bullseye is not supposed to have pizazz! It's supposed to be functional, not festive."

"Ooohh, righto! No sparkles, got it!" Pinky continued painting, now humming a cheerful tune to himself.

With a deep sigh, Brain refocused on his machine, adjusting a few levers and buttons. "Now, Pinky, this is a true marvel of science. Unlike the Lobe's crude attempt to drain Freakazoid's powers, which was slow and, frankly, unnecessarily elaborate, my machine will siphon his powers instantly."

Pinky stopped mid-brush stroke, his eyes wide with excitement. "Ooooh, instantly? Does it make a cool sound when it does that? Like whirrr or maybe zappy zap?"

Brain's eye twitched slightly, but he continued. "Yes, Pinky. It will make a… whirr sound, if that pleases you." He pointed to the spot where Pinky was painting. "Freakazoid merely needs to stand here, and with the flip of a single button…" Brain pulled a lever dramatically, causing the machine to emit a loud hum and more lights to flash, "...the process will be instantaneous! His powers will be transferred directly to me, and I will finally gain control of the World Wide Web!"

Pinky leaped up, spinning around in excitement. "Egad, Brain! That's genius! But, um… how do we get Freakazoid to stand exactly on this here bullseye? Does he like to play darts?"

Brain rolled his eyes. "No, Pinky. We simply need to engage in supervillainous activities. Once we stir up enough trouble, Freakazoid will be heroically compelled to try to stop us. Then, I'll lure him to this precise location."

"Uhm, what sort of supervillainous activities, Brain?" Pinky asked hesitantly.

Brain didn't notice Pinky's hesitation and continued pacing in front of the machine. "Standard supervillain fare, Pinky. A little property damage here, a robbery or two there, perhaps a citywide blackout later… something big enough to grab Freakazoid's attention."

Pinky chewed on his lower lip, still clutching his paintbrush. "But, um… does it have to be, y'know, villainous villainy? Can't we, like, lure him something nice? Maybe we could bake him a pie! Everyone loves pie, right? I know I do! Narf!"

Brain froze mid-step and slowly turned to face pinky, his expression a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. "A… pie?"

"Yeah!" Pinky bounced on his toes, clearly excited by the idea. "We bake a big, yummy pie, and he comes over to get a slice! Do you think Freakazoid likes apple or cherry?"

Brain rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Pinky, we are not going to lure Freakazoid with baked goods! We are supervillains! We need to exude menace, not pastry!"

Pinky looked down, scuffing his foot against the floor. "Right, Brain. Sorry. It's just… sometimes supervillainy seems a bit… mean."

Brain's stern expression softened just a bit, his tight scowl slowly turning a more worried look. He sighed, shaking his head as he walked over to Pinky. "Pinky, I understand your reservations. But this isn't just villainy for the sake of it. This is about progress. Innovation. It's about harnessing the powers of the digital realm to ensure total control of the world."

Pinky's eyes widened. "So, um, maybe we don't have to be too mean while doing it? Maybe just a little mischievous instead?"

Brain raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment. "Well… I supposed we could tone down the destruction. Perhaps we'll limit it to minor chaos. Enough to grab Freakazoid's attention without leveling a city block. Would that appease your conscience?"

Pinky brightened immediately. "Oh, absolutely! That does sound better. Ooo, can we throw in some glitter? Glitter's like the mischief of arts and crafts!"

Brain rolled his eyes but allowed a small smirk. "Fine, Pinky. You can have glitter. We can add in a pneumatic launch system. Now, are you ready for the next phase of the plan?"

Pinky saluted with enthusiasm. "Ready and glittered, Brain!"

Brain turned back toward the machine, his smirk growing into a maniacal grin. "By the end of the day, Freakazoid's powers will be mine!" He cackled, the sound echoing through the warehouse.

Pinky grinned, joining in the laughter, though his was far more bubbly than maniacal. "Narf!"

Dexter lay sprawled across the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. His stomach churned, a constant reminder of the towering cheese mountain he had consumed earlier. He groaned, turning over slightly as his cat Mr. Chubbikins pawed at his side.

"Ugh, that was a mistake," Dexter muttered, regretting every bite of cheese he had to shovel into his mouth. He glanced at Mr. Chubbikins, who was sitting contentedly after having eaten some of the cheese when Dexter sneaked some off his plate. "At least you're not judging me for it."

From deep within his mind, Freakazoid sat in a lounge chair. His feet were propped up on an ottoman, his hands resting on a distended belly. "Hey, don't feel too bad, Dex. Could be worse! I ate at least seven sticks of butter last night. I stopped counting after that."

Dexter rolled his eyes, too bloated to sit up. "Butter? That explains the smell." He frowned slightly. "Wait, what were you even doing with butter?"

"Oh, y'know, just a casual night out with Cosgrove. We were at a butter sculpture competition, and after everything with the Lobe's Supervillain Soirée and the kidnapping, I think I was just stress eating."

Dexter's eyes shot wide open, the cheese-induced haze lifting as Freakazoid's words registered. "Wait, what? Kidnapping? The Lobe? Supervillain Soirée? What on Earth happened?"

"Eh, nothing too crazy. I crashed a party, met a few friends—well, enemies. The Lobe was there, and he tried to steal my powers, which was super annoying. But Steff rescued me, and everything's cool now." Freakazoid's voice was utterly nonchalant, as though describing a trip to the grocery store.

Dexter groaned again, this time more out of frustration than bloatedness. "You're just now mentioning this?"

"Well, yeah!" Freakazoid replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I was gonna tell you earlier, but the butter coma hit me pretty hard. Plus, you looked so comfy in bed with all those cheese dreams."

Dexter sat up now, his interest piqued. "What else happened?"

"Oh, oh! I almost kissed Steff, because she found this tiny little…"

Freakazoid was about to explain further when the sound of a TV anchor's voice caught both of their attention. Dexter turned to see a special news bulletin on the TV screen.

"This is Chet Chipsworth with breaking news from Channel Five! Chaos erupts downtown as the mysterious villain known as Brainpower wreaks havoc. Reports indicate widespread property damage and… glitter everywhere? Stay tuned as we bring you live coverage from the scene!"

Dexter's jaw dropped, and Freakazoid's voice perked up. "Oooo, glitter! And a supervillain!"

Dexter jumped off the sofa, his earlier bloated feeling completely forgotten. He shouted, "Freak out!" and turned into a spiraling shape of red, blue, and yellow that formed into Freakazoid.

Freakazoid rubbed his hands together. "Let's give Brainpower a run for his glitter!"

Freakazoid zipped out of Dexter's house in a flash of blue and red, transforming into a streak of lightning as he shot through the streets toward downtown. The world blurred around him as he sped along until he finally skidded to a stop in the heart of the chaos.

The scene that greeted him was pure mayhem.

Water shot up in a geyser from a broken fire hydrant, sending water cascading down the street. Shattered glass was scattered across the pavement in front of stores with smashed windows. An overturned car lay on its side, smoke billowing from underneath, while small fires licked at the corners of trash cans and alleyways. But what caught Freakazoid's attention most was the glitter. Glitter. Glitter scattered everywhere, giving everything a shimmering, sparkling glow.

TV reporter Chet Chipsworth stood in the middle of the chaos, trying in vain to dust the glitter off his pompadour as his cameraman fumbled with a lint roller. "This is an absolute catastrophe," Chet grumbled, "My hair… my perfect, immaculate hair…"

Freakazoid sped past him, a gust of wind blowing Chet's hair askew, causing another cascade of glitter to tumble in his direction. Chet groaned as the cameraman helplessly tried to clean him up.

Freakazoid's attention shifted, and the chaotic scene seemed to quiet as a shadow loomed over him.

There, in the middle of the street, stood Brainpower. The towering, spiky figure of the Supervillain Suit gleamed menacingly in the sunlight, its jagged shoulder pads angled like the blades of a fearsome beast. Its body was adorned with dark metal plates, streaked with green highlights, and the V-shaped visor glowed with an eerie purple light. The suit's massive mechanical arms, ending in clawed gauntlets, clenched and unclenched in rhythmic tension. The air around it crackled with electricity, and the faint hum of its power source sent tremors through the ground.

Truly, Brainpower was a villain straight out of a nightmare. A villain of supreme intellect and unrivaled mechanical power. A true force to be reckoned with.

Freakazoid crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well, somebody's compensating for something. Did you buy that at the 'Big and Intimidating Villain' store?"

Brainpower cackled maniacally, his laughter sounded almost like the voice of Jeremy Irons thanks to the Supervillain Suit's Voice Modulator. "So, Freakazoid, we meet at last!"

Freakazoid shook his head. "Technically, we were in the same room back in chapter six, but I guess the Lobe was too busy gloating to formally introduce us then. Wait, what's that behind you?!"

Brainpower chortles. "As if a genius of my intellect would fall for such a…" He trailed off as his sensors registered movement behind him.

But before Brainpower could turn, Freakazoid was already there, grinning widely and holding an oversized rubber mallet in both hands. "SUR-prise!"

WHAM!

The mallet connected with Brainpower's helmet in a resounding bong, sending shockwaves through the Supervillain Suit. Inside the cockpit, Brain winced as the ringing echoed in his head.

"Pinky!" Brain barked, fumbling at the controls, his vision shaking slightly from the blow. "Arm the weapons!"

"Right-o, Brain!" Pinky saluted with glee and slammed a button. A large shoulder-mounted rocket unfolded from the left side of the Supervillain Suit. Brain's lips curled into a sinister grin.

"Now, witness true supervillainy!" Brian growled into the voice modulator as he launched the rocket. Flames shot from the exhaust as it hurtled toward Freakazoid.

With a quick hop, Freakazoid dodged to the side. "Whoa-ho-ho! That's pretty nifty!" He turned just in time to see the rocket curve back, homing in on him. "Less nifty!" he yelped.

Just before the rocket could make contact, it exploded in mid-air. But instead of a fiery blast, the air was suddenly filled with a shimmering burst of glitter, covering the entire block in sparkles.

Freakazoid stood in the middle of the street, blinking, now coated head to toe in glitter. He shook his arms out, sending a small cloud of glitter wafting through the air. "Glitter? Really?"

Inside the Supervillain Suit, Brain stared in disbelief at the monitor. "Pinky! Did you replace the entire weapons system with glitter?!"

Pinky clapped, grinning like a kid who just found out it was recess. "Oh, I do love glitter! Shiiiiny!"

Brain facepalmed. He quickly turned on the voice modulator. "Yes, behold the evil of glitter! It blinds, it disorients, and it's impossible to wash out!"

Freakazoid ran his fingers through his hair, glitter cascading from his head. "You fiend! I'll be finding this stuff in my hair for weeks!"

Brain smirked. One simple lie would be the last piece needed to tempt Freakazoid. "There's only one way to remove it all, with my… Deglitterizer Ray!" With the press of a few buttons, Brain activated the jet boots of the Supervillain Suit, sending them into the air. He hovered for a few moments. "But you'll never catch me, Freakazoid!" Brainpower turned and flew down the street.

Freakazoid zipped after him, weaving between cars and hopping over rooftops in pursuit of Brainpower. His focus was entirely on the towering mechanical villain flying away, the glitter still sparkling.

Inside Freakazoid's mind, Dexter looked around. The inner void of Freakazoid's mind was, as usual, a swirling mess of unrelated thoughts. But the ever-present images of cheese still stood out. There were slices, wedges, wheels, and even a full-sized cheese sculpture of the Eiffel Tower made entirely of brie. Dexter felt his stomach twist a bit. "I don't know if I can think about cheese any more."

Dexter's voice echoed with a mix of exasperation and concern. "Freakazoid, can we take a second to talk about this cheese? I think your subconscious is trying to tell me something." Unsurprisingly, it seemed that Freakazoid did not hear him. The hero was concentrating on his chase, keeping Brainpower in his sight as he barely missed a woman pushing a baby stroller around the corner. Freakazoid's entire focus was on the pursuit, the world around him a blur of flashing lights, obstacles, and dramatically angled speed lines.

The leftover bloated feeling from breakfast was definitely making Dexter feel a little urpy. He rubbed his temples. "Okay, focus, Dexter. Think about the bigger picture."

Dexter narrowed his eyes at the floating cheese, thinking back to all of the stolen items that were reported earlier. There had to be some sort of pattern that he was missing. Maybe the cheese was a clue? Sure, a lot of high-tech stuff had been stolen—power capacitors, mechanical parts, specialized alloys. All the things you'd use to build a power suit. Like the one Brainpower was wearing.

But then, there was something else. All that cheese. It didn't fit. Dexter squinted at a floating image of a cheese wheel, mentally brushing it aside until another piece of paper drifted past, an itemized list.

He reached out and grabbed the paper, his eyes scanning the text. "Acme Labs… experimental equipment stolen… two mice?"

Suddenly, Dexter's eyes widened in realization. "Two mice? Wait a minute… Freakazoid!"

There was no response. Dex closed his eyes, trying to focus harder, to push through whatever mental barrier there was. He could feel Freakazoid's heightened emotions, his exhilaration at the chase. The focus on Brainpower. The urge to catch the villain. It was all creating a kind of noise that made it difficult to communicate.

Dexter planted his feet on the gray nothing, took a deep breath and tried again, his voice firmer. "Freakazoid! You need to hear this!"

The response from Freakazoid was muffled, distracted. "Kinda busy, Dex! Going after the bad guy, remember?" 

Dexter clenched his jaw, growing more frustrated. He visualized Freakazoid's attention, a chaotic, jittering red lightning bolt darting in every direction. Slowly, Dexter imagined himself grabbing it, holding Freakazoid's focus for just a moment.

"Freakazoid! It's about the mice!" Dexter's voice echoed louder, pushing against the boundaries of Freakazoid's awareness. Within the expanse of Freakazoid's mind, Dexter heard his words echo. Finally, Freakazoid seemed to hear him.

"What?" Freakazoid called back mentally, his speed not slowing as he zoomed out of downtown and into an industrial area—a shadowy warehouse loomed ahead, and Brainpower was heading straight for it.

Dexter took his chance. "Listen! What was the tiny little thing you said Steff found?"

"Oh, the tiny little grapple guns that were clearly designed to be used by some sort of intelligent rodent-sized creatures?"

"That's… Freakazoid, why didn't you tell me this sooner?!"

Freakazoid shrugged as he leaped over a row of parked cars. "I dunno, I thought it was self-explanatory."

Dexter groaned in frustration. "The list of stolen items has two mice from Acme Labs. I don't think they were stolen. I think they escaped!" Dexter yelled, his voice urgent.

"Escaped? Like, not 'kidnapped by a supervillain' but more like 'making a break for it'?"

Dexter nodded in his mind's eye, his voice steadier now. "Exactly. I think those two mice might be behind all this. They're not just stolen lab animals—they're the masterminds!"

Freakazoid's eyes widened as realization dawned. "So, Brainpower isn't just some guy in a suit. It's… two mice in a suit?"

"Exactly!" Dexter said. It was finally starting to make sense. Well, as much sense as supervillain mice piloting a power suit allowed.

"That's great, Dex! I'm glad you figured it out. Let's talk about it later, though. 'Cause I think I'm here." Freakazoid said.

"Here? Where's here?"

"Oh, you know. I'm in a dark abandoned warehouse filled with ominous machinery and I'm standing right in the middle of a bullseye on the floor. Oooh, and somebody added glitter to the bullseye, too! It's got a lot of extra pizazz."

Dexter's voice rose almost to a shout. "Wait, did you just say you're standing on a bullseye? Freakazoid, that is literally villain trap 101!"

Freakazoid looked down at his feet shrugging. "I mean, it's a really nice bullseye."

Suddenly, Freakazoid heard a creaking noise, and before he could react, metal restraints shot up from the floor, locking around his ankles and wrists. He tried to pull free, but the cuffs were surprisingly strong, with heavy chains connected to the floor. "Whoa!"

From the shadows of the warehouse, Brain emerged, a pleased smirk on his tiny face. Brain was now out of the Supervillain Suit, and instead stood next to his machine, which hummed ominously as its various components started to power up. Wires connected to a metal cone that swiveled and pointed towards Freakazoid as another cone turned to point at Brain. Pinky stood near the main component of the machine on a high platform, bouncing on his heels, his fingers ready to turn on the nearby switch. "Now, Brain?"

Brain rubbed his hands together in glee. "One moment, Pinky. First, I must gloat while the hero cowers in fear." He turned to the trapped superhero. "Welcome, Freakazoid… to your doom! With the powers of the World Wide Web, the world will soon belong to me!"

Freakazoid cooed. "Aw, who's the koot widdle mousy wousy? Is it you?"

Brain threw his hands into the air in frustration. "Throw the switch, Pinky."

Pinky grinned from ear to ear. He raised his hand dramatically, then slammed it down over the switch. A loud clunk resounded throughout the warehouse as the machine roared to life. Lights flashed all around, smoke poured from vents and across the floor, and arcs of electricity jumped from node to node.

Freakazoid grimaced as he felt a strange tingling spread throughout his body. "Uh, not feeling so good…"

The electricity seemed to wrap around him, pulling at his essence. He started flickering, his entire form trembling like a TV screen with bad reception. Then, with a flash of smoke and lightning, Freakazoid vanished.

Brain felt the surge of power flowing into him, his body buzzing as electricity danced across him. He felt the energy of Freakazoid's power wrap around him, filling him with strength. He closed his eyes as the glow enveloped him, his body filling with raw energy as his brain filled with the information of the Internet. Over his wide face, a red lightning bolt appeared, going from his left temple and over his eye, then down to the right by his neck like an electric scar. His crooked tail crackled with electricity until it looked like lightning itself.

Pinky gasped in amazement, his eyes widening. "Egad, Brain, you did it!"

Brain hovered slightly over the ground, electricity still crackling around him. His eyes opened, and their normal pinkish hue had now become a red glow. He looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists, feeling the immense strength at his fingertips. "Yes! Yes! It's mine!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the warehouse.

He zoomed into the air, then zipped back down, his face split by a wide grin. "The infinite power of the World Wide Web… at my command! The ability to manipulate cyberspace itself! Finally, I shall control everything!" Brain looked at the empty bullseye where Freakazoid once stood. "And nothing can stop me."

to be continued…

Brain crosses his arms, his eyes tightening into a glare. "Really? At the height of my triumph, you think to continue this story? Clearly, the hero has lost and I have emerged victorious." He rolls his eyes. "What is this fascination with cliffhangers? The story can simply end." He grimaces. "Fine, wait for the next chapter. And then we'll see who would be foolish enough to stand in my way!"

Chapter Text

Pinky watched in wonder, his eyes wide and following the blur of movement that was Brain. Little arcs of electricity trailed behind his friend as Brain zipped around the warehouse floor, faster than Pinky had ever seen. And Brain was laughing! Okay, so the laughter was a little on the maniacal side—more 'evil overlord' than Pinky was used to hearing—but it was still good to see Brain happy, wasn't it?

Brain had finally done it. He had stolen Freakazoid's powers and now possessed super strength, super speed, all the knowledge of the World Wide Web, and whatever else it was that Freakazoid could do. Pinky had never seen Brain this energized… or intense.

Pinky smiled, watching Brain zoom around in erratic bursts, faster and faster, until even he was struggling to keep track of the movement. His own head swiveled back and forth, trying to follow, his eyes nearly crossing as he tried to keep up.

"Pinky!" Brain's voice rang out, full of energy and triumph. "Can you believe it? The World Wide Web is at my fingertips! Infinite knowledge, infinite potential! That fool Freakazoid didn't have the mental capacity to appreciate the gift he was given! I can finally bring the world to its knees, just as it should have been all along!"

Brain clenched his hands into fists, and there was the loud crackling of energy dancing between his fingers that echoed through the warehouse. He grinned widely. "Imagine it, Pinky! No more waiting in line, no more dealing with infuriating hold music… and best of all, no more tipping taxi drivers!"

Pinky's eyes widened slightly. "But, Brain, it's polite to tip! It makes them feel appreciated, especially when we have to rush off to evil doings and such!" Pinky said, his voice uncertain.

Brain waved him off, his grin widening even more. "Pinky, with these powers, we won't need taxis! With Freakazoid's superspeed, I can get to wherever I need to nigh-instantaneously. No more waiting in traffic!"

Pinky hesitated, his smile fading a little. "Um, I guess that sounds nice, Brain. But… we could still be nice to people, right? Even with superpowers?"

Brain scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Nice, Pinky? Do you think the great conquerors of history concerned themselves with pleasantries? Did Alexander the Great have to say thank you? I have the power to change the world, and I intend to use it to its fullest potential!"

Brain zoomed around again, lightning trailing behind him. He zipped up to the high ceiling, then back down again, his laughter ringing out again. Pinky watched, a mixture of awe and concern in his eyes. He knew how much Brain had always wanted to take over the world, but this… this felt different. Brain's ambition seemed to be growing with every arc of electricity that crackled around him.

Pinky clasped his hands together, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping up inside him. He wanted to be happy for Brain. He really did. But something about the way Brain was talking, the way his eyes glowed with such intensity—it made Pinky nervous.

Suddenly, Brain halted, suspended in mid-motion for a heartbeat. The electric crackle seemed to hang in the air around him, and Pinky nearly lost sight of Brain over the abrupt stop. Brain's eyes darted wildly as if searching for something. "What is that cacophonous racket?" he snapped, his tone sharp, as if every nerve was on edge.

Brain zipped out of the warehouse, a small bolt of lightning with his red-eyed face in front of it. He sped through a forest thick with pine trees, seeing only a blur of green and brown. Before Brain knew it, he was speeding across the ocean, a cruise ship in the distance. (On the deck of the cruise ship, Steff did not notice anything.) His route led to a wide dirt path, then up countless stairs carved into the side of a mountain until Brain found himself stopping in the open courtyard of a Tibetan monastery. There he spotted the source of his woes: a bald bespectacled monk who was raking the grounds. The rake slowly dragged against the dirt.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Brain stomped over to the monk and shook his fist. "Would you desist from your infernal raking! It's driving me crazy! Confound it!" His admonishment complete, Brain zipped back to the warehouse.

Only moments passed for Pinky. "Are you okay, Brain?"

"Of course, Pinky. Just a minor problem in Tibet."

Tibet, often called the "Roof of the World," is a region in Asia located on a high plateau in the Himalayas, bordered by China, India, and Nepal. Known for its rich spiritual culture…

Brain's glowing red eyes looked unfocused, darting left and right. He closed his eyes tightly. "There's… too much information. Web rings, emoticons, ICQ chat rooms…"

ICQ, short for "I Seek You," is an innovative instant messaging program that launched in 1996 by the Israeli company Mirabilis, ICQ allows users to send real-time text messages, share files, and participate in group chats over the internet.

Brain opens his eyes, spinning around before looking in your direction. "What? Who are you? What's going on?!" His hands clutched the sides of his head. "It's like I'm seeing into… something beyond reality. No! I can control this. I possess the greatest mind in the world with the power of the Internet!"

Pinky's earlier smile faded as he watched Brain's erratic movements. Something was wrong. The excited arcs of electricity that had danced around Brain now seemed almost chaotic, like static that couldn't settle. Pinky's heart sank, and he started to climb down from the machine, his eyes locked on Brain.

"Brain?" Pinky called out hesitantly, his voice filled with growing worry. "Hold on Brain, I'm coming!"

Brain's eyes continued glowing, but flickered with an unnatural intensity. "Grandma Moses makes munchy meals most Monday mornings! Did you hear me, Pinky? Grandma Moses!" His eyes were darting about as if trying to focus on something that wasn't quite there. 

Pinky called out to him, "Brain, I'm on my way down. I don't think—"

Suddenly, the doors to the warehouse were kicked open, the resounding clang cutting through Pinky's words. Brain's glowing eyes turned the commotion. The Lobe entered, his oversized brain practically trembling with excitement. Behind him were his henchmen Medulla and Oblongata, their silhouettes dark against the sudden bright light from outside.

Brain's panicked gaze landed on the Lobe, and for a split second, a look of realization crossed his face. "Oh no," he whispered.

The Lobe stepped forward, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Oh, Brain. I had my suspicions, following 'Brainpower's' trail of larceny. But I had easily put it all together the night of the Supervillain Soirée." He made a sharp tutting sound as he shook his head.  "Poor, misguided Brain. I've studied Freakazoid and his powers for a long time now. Did you really think you could handle the power of Freakazoid?" He cackled, his laughter echoing through the warehouse.

Brain zipped around the warehouse, leaving a lightning-shaped blur in his wake. Medulla lunged for him, but Brain deftly maneuvered to the side, quickly weaving around the henchman's legs. He grabbed a hold of Medulla's shoelaces, tying them together as his hands became a blur of motion. Medulla stumbled forward, landing on the concrete floor with a thud.

Brain cackled. "Ha! I could get used to this…" But even as he sped away, Brain felt a gnawing sensation, a tug from somewhere deep inside. His momentum began to slow, and the speed he possessed that let him once run all the way to Tibet and back now wavered, turning into something more muddled. It was like trying to hold onto a dream that was slowly slipping away.

"No… I must focus!" he muttered to himself, shaking his head. But the deluge of data made it harder to concentrate. He suddenly became aware that the average housecat sleeps 13 to 16 hours a day, and that there were thirty-six episodes of Gilligan's Island aired in 1964.

In his moment of hesitation, Brain's speed faltered. He staggered slightly, just enough for Oblongata to seize the opportunity. He lunged forward, wrapping his beefy fingers around Brain.

"Gotcha!" Oblongata grunted, lifting Brain off the ground with ease.

"Release me at once!" Brain struggled, but his movements were sluggish now, his energy fading rapidly. He kicked his legs, trying to summon even a fraction of the power he'd had moments before, but it was no use. He could barely muster a spark.

As Brain wiggled, Medulla finally stumbled back to his feet, his expression one of pure frustration as he fumbled with his knotted shoelaces. He glared at Brain with a look that promised payback.

The Lobe's voice echoed from nearby, full of taunting delight. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen! You might have had the power, but you lacked the… finesse. You've tried controlling Freakazoid's powers with nothing but the might of your intellect. It takes more than that, though! You weren't nearly familiar enough with Freakazoid's… eccentricities. Now, it's my turn." Oblongata carried Brain over to the bullseye on the floor. The red paint and glitter were the only thing that remained from where Freakazoid once stood before his powers were removed.

The Lobe casually looked at his fingernails. "It's sad, really. I read the lab reports. Two mice experimented on again and again. You and your friend Pinky are nothing more than serial experiments, Brain."

"Did you just make an oblique reference to the chapter title?" Brain muttered, the meaning of the words only briefly making any sense to him.

Pinky watched in shock from the top of the machine, his hands trembling. "What are you doing?! Let him go!"

The Lobe glanced over in his direction, noticing the mouse for the first time. He smiled, motioning to Medulla. "Oh don't worry, Pinky. I'm just taking back what should have been mine from the beginning." Medulla moved to Brain's machinery, connecting the equipment to a remote with a big red button. He gave a thumbs up gesture to the Lobe, who nodded in response. Medulla slammed down on the button. The power siphon roared to life, arcs of electricity shooting across the room once more. Brain screamed as the power was ripped from him, the sound of Pinky's voice fading.

A bright blue arc of electricity lept from Brain and towards the Lobe, who held his arms wide in anticipation. The Lobe's voice boomed out, "Yes!! Finally, the power of Freakazoid is mine!" His body became surrounded by electric blue energy, and his oversized brain began pulsating with raw power, covered in a field of crackling electricity.

Brain, exhausted and powerless, slumped over in Medulla's hand, his body trembling. He managed to look up, his eyes meeting Pinky's terrified gaze.

"Pinky… run…" Brain whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling energy.

Pinky's eyes filled with tears, but he nodded silently as the Lobe's maniacal laughter echoed through the warehouse.

Suddenly, the entire building shook as the ceiling above burst open with a resounding crash. Debris rained down, several large pieces clattering down on parts of Brain's machinery. A giant steel beam landed on the Supervillain Suit, toppling it as a figure leapt through the opening, silhouetted against the blue sky.

The room fell into a stunned silence as the Huntsman landed amidst the wreckage, his feet solidly hitting the ground with his knees slightly bent. He straightened with his chin held high as a dangling piece of the ceiling fell with a loud thud behind him. His eagle-enhanced eyes scanned the room. Medulla and Oblongata exchanged nervous glances as his gaze passed them. Then the Huntsman's eyes narrowed as his head turned towards Brain.

"You!" the Huntsman bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger directly at the mouse in Oblongata's grip. "Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit! Your trail of terror ends here!"

Brain groaned, his ears drooping in exasperation. "Not this again."

The Lobe glanced over, clearly entertained, and smirked. "You've got some rather eccentric foes."

The Huntsman furrowed his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to notice for the first time that Brain was very much not wearing a business suit at the moment. The Huntsman frowned. "Where is your business suit, villain?!"

The Lobe rolled his eyes. "It's called casual Friday, you fool. Honestly, no wonder your episodes were so boring. Can we get this over with?"

Unfazed, the Huntsman locked eyes with the Lobe, his righteous gaze unwavering. "The Lobe! Your oversized brain cannot hide your wicked ways from my eyes! You must be working for the Tiny-Headed Business Man in a Suit!"

The Lobe grimaced. "Oh, do stop trying to spoil my moment," he said, dismissively waving a hand towards the Huntsman. The Huntsman grinned in response, and pounced towards the villain. The Lobe easily side-stepped, lightning dancing off of his exposed brain. Before the Huntsman could turn around, the Lobe was already standing beside Oblongata. He grabbed Brain from his henchman's grasp. "You two deal with the green buffoon. I'll take care of Brain."

Pinky peered out from behind the broken machinery. "Narf!" he muttered quietly to himself, "I can't just leave Brain!" He glanced around nervously. "What would Brain do if I got caught? Oh, I know! He'd make a convoluted plan to build a ray gun or zappy thing." Pinky picked up two random pieces of debris from the machine, one in each hand. "Oooooh, how does Brain make this look so easy?"

The Huntsman frowned, muscles tensing, clearly annoyed. The Lobe merely chuckled. "You know, I've always wanted to do this." He snapped his fingers, and a shadow suddenly formed over the Huntsman. Just as the Huntsman looked up, a grand piano dropped directly on top of him. Chortling, the Lobe zipped away as a fuchsia-colored bolt of lightning.

The Huntsman stood up, his powerful shoulders shrugging away bits and pieces of piano. He turned his head and spit several piano keys out from his mouth. "I have the skin of a pangolin! Your piano can't stop me!"

Medulla looked over at Oblongata, then back to the Huntsman. "What's a panko lion?"

The Huntsman proudly explained, "A pangolin! A remarkable armored mammal, sometimes called a scaly anteater. It has scales and curls into a ball when threatened!"

Oblongata scratched his head thoughtfully. "So… it's just a scaly anteater?"

Medulla glared at the Huntsman, "Yeah, why didn't you just say that? It woulda made a lot more sense!" He looked at Oblongata and huffed. "Alright, big guy, let's get 'im." The two henchmen moved in, attempting to surround the Huntsman.

The Huntsman showcased his amazing teeth with a cocky grin, and grabbed the Supervillain Suit with both hands. With a grunt, he hefted it over his head and spun it around before throwing it at Medulla.  The henchman tumbled into a pile of broken machinery, groaning, as parts of the Supervillain Suit scattered in a different direction.

Oblongata hesitated for a moment, and then throwing all caution to the wind he charged at the Huntsman with an iron pipe in his hand. But the Huntsman was too quick for the henchman. He sidestepped him, grabbing Oblongata's collar and hoisting him high over his head. Huntsman looked at Oblongata for a moment with a shiny grin before tossing him aside like a sack of potatoes. "Give up now, evil doers!" he cried out, pointing accusingly at the two henchmen on the floor.

Medulla, struggling to get back up, muttered, "This guy's nuts…" He then collapsed back to the floor.

With both henchmen incapacitated, the Huntsman stood tall, hands on hips, and took a victorious stance. His eyes swept across the warehouse, landing on a faint fuchsia glow in the distance—an unmistakable flash of the Lobe's new power.

The Huntsman's eyes narrowed. "You and your friend won't get away so easily, Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit!" With that, the Huntsman took off in pursuit, leaving Pinky, the wreckage, and the unconscious henchmen behind.

And one confused teenage boy named Dexter Douglas.

The last few minutes had been an adrenaline-fueled blur for Dexter. He was last in the chaotic void of Freakazoid's mind when he heard—no, felt with every bit of his body—Freakazoid shouting at him to run. And when Dexter found himself in the middle of that red bullseye, surrounded by smoke, that was exactly what he did. Dexter had scrambled for cover, hoping that no supervillain or henchmen had spotted him.

And now he was alone. Dexter peeked one more time from behind a tarp-covered stack of crates. It looked like the Lobe and the Huntsman had left, leaving only two knocked out henchmen to worry about. So mostly alone. What happened to Freakazoid?

Dexter had already tried to summon Freakazoid with the phrase "Freak Out," although he was trying to be quiet. Maybe the time to be quiet was over. If there was any time to freak out, it would be now. Dexter took a deep breath and stood up. "FREAK OUT!"

Dexter did not change, but there was the definite sound of a metallic clatter from off to Dexter's right. If Dexter didn't think about panicking before, he was seriously considering it now. Whatever was going on, it was most certainly horribly dangerous.

"I'm warning you!" came an almost Cockney accent from the same direction. "I have a hastily taped-together thingamabob!"

That… didn't sound too horribly dangerous. Dexter peered over the crates again and looked to his right, but no one was there. Then he felt the crate jostle slightly, and the sound of something moving up the side of the crate. Whatever it was, it didn't seem very big. He edged around the stack, moving cautiously, when suddenly, a small head with scruffy white fur and large ears popped into view. The figure scrambled awkwardly to the top, holding what appeared to be a poorly taped contraption of wires, screws, and paperclips.

"I said I'm warning you!" the mouse-like creature puffed, holding up his tape-covered invention as if it were some kind of weapon. But as he waved it around, the whole thing rattled ominously and then promptly fell apart in his hands. Pinky stared at the now useless pile of scraps. "Oh, poit! Not again!"

Dexter stared at the tiny creature, his confusion rapidly turning into exasperation. "Who… what… are you one of the mice from Acme Labs?" he finally asked, voice tinged with frustration.

Pinky smiled sheepishly and waved with the one paw not holding the remains of his thingamabob. "Oh, hello! I'm Pinky! Well, I was trying to fix something, but I guess it fell apart again. Narf!" He dropped the broken gadget, his expression turning earnest. "But you look upset! Is everything okay?"

Dexter's eyes narrowed. "Okay? Okay? My friend Freakazoid is gone, and I have no idea if he's even—" Dexter paused, his voice faltering. "What if he's not okay?" There was a momentary pause and then he glared at Pinky. "You did something to him! Who are you?"

Pinky winced, taking a hesitant step back. "Oh dear. Um, it wasn't really me—well, not on purpose. You see, me and Brain—he's my friend—well, we didn't mean to take away your friend. That was more of, um, an unfortunate side effect of Brain's plan. But now the Lobe has him, and Brain's in trouble, and I—" Pinky wrung his hands nervously, clearly distraught.

"Brain? And I thought the Lobe was a silly supervillain name." Dexter's frustration was boiling over. "What would mice from Acme Labs want with Freakazoid's powers?! What were you even trying to do? Take over the world?" His voice dripped with disbelief and sarcasm.

Pinky's ears perked up. "Yes, actually! Brain wants to take over the world every night!" He said it so casually that it took Dexter a moment to process.

Dexter let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous." He gestured toward Pinky. "You and your Brain took away my friend, the superhero that rescues Washington, D.C. time and time again—and now you're telling me it was all part of some insane plan to rule the world?" His voice rose with frustration, disbelief edging toward anger.

Pinky blinked innocently, nodding. "Pretty much, yeah. Brain's very determined. Narf!"

Dexter threw his hands up. "Unbelievable."

Pinky's eyes brightened. "Maybe we can do a team-up! We both want the same thing, right? To stop the Lobe and rescue Freakazoid. And Brain, too!" He added the last bit earnestly. "We can work together!" He looked hopeful, despite everything that had happened.

Dexter stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out how this bizarre mouse could be so optimistic. "You think we can just… work together?" he asked skeptically. But deep down, he knew he didn't have many options.

Pinky nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Think of all the great teams that'll stay together forever, like the Backstreet Boys and the Spice Girls!"

With a reluctant sigh, Dexter finally relented. "Alright. Fine. I just wish I knew what the code was so I could turn into… uh, summon Freakazoid again."

Pinky scratched the top of his head. "You don't know the code?"

Dexter shook his head. "Nope."

Pinky blinked. "The long, secret code that you type in after connecting to the Internet?"

Dexter groaned in frustration. "I said no! The only person who knew the code was Roddy MacStew, and he's… gone."

Pinky grinned, practically bouncing on his feet. "Oh! I know it!"

Dexter spluttered, taken aback. "Wha—how?"

Pinky grinned proudly. "Oh, I've been taking this keyboarding course, you know, to increase my desirability in the workforce. And Brain asked me to type in the code for him! My WPM is quite respectable. Poit!"

Dexter's skepticism vanished as excitement surged through him. "Wait… you know the code?" His expression quickly shifted to one of cautious hope. "You sure?"

Pinky nodded. "Yep! It's the little a in a circle, then the left square thingie, then two straight lines, then a little g, then 3, then a comma, then…" Dexter listened as Pinky continued to rattle off the code, still a bit in disbelief. Pinky finished, "And then you press the delete key!"

Dexter was feeling both amused and bewildered. "You just… you're just giving me the code? Like, no evil plan, no catch?"

Pinky shrugged. "Why not? You need Freakazoid, and I need Brain! Besides, Brain always said I'd make a terrible supervillain."

Dexter couldn't help but chuckle. Despite the absurdity of the situation, there was something oddly charming about Pinky's enthusiasm. "You know what? I think he's right. You'd make a horrible supervillain acting like that." Dexter chuckled, feeling lighter for the first time since all of this began.  "Thanks, Pinky. My name's Dexter. Now come on, we need to find a computer with a Pinnacle chip."

The Lobe's lair was dimly lit, an array of strange machinery and glowing vials lining the walls. In the center of the room, beneath a single spotlight, was a small cage suspended from the ceiling. Inside, Brain sat cross-legged, his tiny hands gripping the metal bars as he scowled.

The Lobe, his oversized brain glowing faintly, paced around the room with a smug grin, clearly relishing in his recent victory. "Ah, what a sight it must have been, Brain," he began with exaggerated flair. "The mighty Huntsman, easily thwarted by my brilliance. Have you ever witnessed such a triumphant use of a jar of pickles, three rubber chickens, and a cardboard cutout of Tom Selleck? And now, you're powerless. Literally!" He chuckled. "Not much of a supervillain without your fancy suit, are you?"

Brain rolled his eyes. "Congratulations. You've bested an imbecile and captured a mouse. Bravo."

The Lobe stopped pacing, his grin widening. "You mock, but I have what you wanted—Freakazoid's powers! Unlimited strength, speed, and the adoration of the public! I'll be more popular than him in no time."

"Popularity?" Brain deadpanned, shaking his head. "How predictably shallow, Lobe. Power should be used for something meaningful, not to pander to the masses."

The Lobe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what meaningful thing would you have done with Freakazoid's powers? Take over the world?"

Brain's expression softened into a smug grin. "Of course. But unlike you, I would have ruled as a firm but benevolent leader. Humanity needs order, structure. Under my governance, there would be no more senseless wars, no more petty human squabbles, and no more tipping."

The Lobe scoffed. "How dull. Where's the fun in that? Where's the fame, the adoring fans?"

"Fame is fleeting," Brain replied coolly. "What matters is legacy. Being remembered as the one who brought order to chaos—not as some flash-in-the-pan celebrity."

The Lobe waved dismissively. "You're missing the point, Brain. What's the use of power if no one adores you for it?"

"Perhaps the world would appreciate me more if they weren't too busy fawning over brightly dressed buffoons in capes,"  Brain quipped dryly.

The Lobe chuckled, adjusting his coat as he turned toward the door. "Well, I suppose we'll see. Enjoy your time in the cage, Brain. I have a public to woo."

As the Lobe left, Brain muttered under his breath, "Pinky… I could really use some of your idiocy about now."

The harsh beeps and whirs of a modem echoed in the small Radio Shack store. Dexter waited impatiently as the slow connection finally established itself. He stared at the computer screen, waiting for the words to appear on the monitor:

WELCOME TO THE INTERNET

ENTER DESTINATION CODE

His fingers flew over the keyboard as he input the code that Pinky had shared with him. Finally, he hit the delete key with a sense of triumph—only for the screen to blink, the system whirring briefly before… nothing happened. Just the regular desktop, mocking him.

Dexter's shoulders slumped. "Seriously?!" He slammed his hand on the counter next to the computer, glaring at the uncooperative machine. "Why isn't this working?"

Pinky looked up with wide, sympathetic eyes. "Oh no, the code didn't work? I was really hoping that would bring back Freakazoid."

Dexter fidgeted with his glasses. "You said you typed this in for Brain, right?"

"Yup!" Pinky confirmed, nodding vigorously. "Brain had me type it when he tried to use the Pinnacle chip thingy to get the powers, too."

Dexter frowned, thinking it through. "But if it didn't work for him and it's not working for me now… why? What's stopping it?"

Pinky scratched his head, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm, Brain said he thought maybe someone already took the powers, you know, like a first-come, first-served kinda thing."

Dexter sighed, staring back at  the screen. "So you're saying the Internet gave out superpowers like it was a limited-time offer and now it's just… gone?"

Pinky shrugged. "Brain said it would be laughably absurd that the Internet could prevent someone from using the code. But you know Brain—he doesn't laugh much."

Dexter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "So there's nothing I can do? Freakazoid's gone?" His voice cracked a little, the weight of the situation hitting him again.

Pinky's expression softened, and for a moment, he wasn't his usual bouncy self. He placed a hand on Dexter's arm. "Oh, don't be too sad! Brain might not have gotten it right, but we'll figure something out. We're a team now, right?"

Dexter opened his eyes, looking down at the cheerful mouse. The modem gave another sad beep as it disconnected from the Internet, leaving the two of them in the quiet hum of the store's fluorescent lights. Dexter leaned back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. "So… what now?"

Pinky's eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. "Ooooh! I know, I know! What if I try typing the code in? Maybe it'll work for me! I typed it for Brain, but I never got a chance to do it myself. Maybe the computer just likes me better!"

Dexter sighed, but a small smile crept onto his face. Pinky's optimism, however misguided, was infectious. "Alright, Pinky, give it a shot. Let's see if your typing skills can do what mine couldn't."

The World Wide Web. From the outside, it was merely a series of ones and zeroes, loud screeching noises from a computer modem, and slow wait times as a web page loaded. But from the inside, cyberspace was very different. It was a chaotic maelstrom of color, sound, and… well, everything you could find on the internet. If there's one thing that would define it, it would be information overload.  The sheer mass of data would drown anyone unprepared, bombarding them with every byte of knowledge ever uploaded. The limitless knowledge of the World Wide Web was a lot. You wouldn't want to stay for long, not without going crazy. Or maybe even freakish. 

Unless you happened to be Roddy MacStew. 

Roddy was no longer sure how long he'd been within the Internet. Weeks? Months? Longer? Hard to say. But someone had to do it. He straightened the woolen cap on his head.

The Tam O'Shanter, often referred to simply as a "Tam," is a traditional Scottish woolen cap with a distinctive pom-pom, called a "toorie," perched atop its center. Originating in the early 19th century and named after Robert Burns' famous poem…

Roddy blinked hard, shaking his head. No time for distractions. Staying focused was hard, and getting harder. Web ring invitations popped into his head without warning, notifications about preferred browsers to use for random web pages, suggestions for usenet groups he'd never seen before. It all came flooding in, whether he wanted it or not. Every second here was a fight to keep the firewall intact. A fight he couldn't afford to lose.

But somebody had to make sure Gutierrez—or anybody else for that matter—could never gain the same powers that Dexter Douglas did. 

Roddy no longer worked for Apex Microchips—getting thrown out the window by the chairman of the board is a good sign you're no longer welcome at the company—but even if he did, it's not like anyone would listen if he told them to destroy all of the flawed Pinnacle chips that were already out there. No, his solution was simpler.

He had entered the code and became one with the Web. From within, he built a massive firewall—the best defense he could muster to keep anyone from accessing the superpowers again. The power of the World Wide Web wasn't getting out. At least, not while he had anything to say about it.

Are You a Ross or a Monica? Take This Quiz Now!

Roddy gritted his teeth. He couldn't hold on forever. His firewall flickered, weakened by the relentless noise and distractions of the World Wide Web. But he had to keep going. He couldn't let the powers of the World Wide Web fall into the wrong hands. No matter what. All he needed to do was maintain concentration.

"Oh, hi there, Roddy!"

Roddy nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes darted around the shifting landscape of the Web, and there, floating in the swirling madness on the other side of his holographic flaming wall of fire, was Freakazoid, grinning like he'd just walked into a theme park.

"Wha—how…? Freakazoid!?" Roddy sputtered, blinking in disbelief.

Freakazoid waved nonchalantly, floating upside-down. "Yup! Fancy meeting you here! What's with all the firewalls and cheesy Tam O'Shanter facts?"

Roddy's eyes flicked between Freakazoid and the shifting firewall. "Freakazoid… how in the blazes did ye get here? And how—" He paused, scanning the chaotic swirl of colors, recognizing the barrier between them. He stared at Freakazoid, his expression shifting between bewilderment and annoyance. "You're stuck on the other side."

Freakazoid nodded, casually doing the backstroke in midair. "Trapped tighter than the water tower on the Warner Brothers movie lot. Can you help me break loose so I can vamoose?"

"No, I cannae just let ye… vamoose. If you hadna noticed, I'm tryin' t'concentrate."

"Oh, sorry!" Freakazoid quickly flipped upright, still grinning. "But I need to get back to help Dexter because a mouse stole my superpowers. Can you turn off this holographic fire wall thing?"

Roddy sputtered. "Turn it off? Have ye lost yer marbles, lad? If I turn this off, we might never get it back up! Do ye have any any idea how long I've been keepin' this thing going?"

Freakazoid floated closer, pressing his face against the translucent holographic wall like a child at an aquarium. "Yeah, but if we don't, I'm stuck in here! And Dexter's stuck out there without me! And, you know… I'm kind of the hero. It's in the job description to save the day."

Roddy grimaced, glancing at the flickering firewall. "Even if I drop it for just a second, there's no guarantee I can rebuild it in time! There's too much chaos… too much data! It's gettin' harder…"

"Roddy," Freakazoid said, more serious now. "You're the only one who can do this. I bet Dexter is out there right now, trying to put the code in. If you drop the firewall, even for just a moment, we can fix this."

Roddy's hands clenched, his mind racing. The firewall crackled and flickered again, the overwhelming noise of the Web gnawing at the edges of his concentration. He didn't like the thought of leaving the young lad Dexter alone… or the thought of leaving Freakazoid trapped here in cyberspace with him. But letting Gutierrez or someone else get their hands on the powers—tore at him.

"Wait… did ye say a mouse stole yer superpowers?"

Freakazoid's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "Yeah, long story! Can you believe this is the ninth chapter so far? I'll explain everything later, but here's the short version: the world's in trouble, and I need out. Trust me."

Roddy sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. "Aye… alright. But only for a blink of an eye."

Roddy closed his eyes, focusing. The firewall began to weaken, its once solid glow flickering until it was barely visible. For just a few seconds, it faded away completely…

And in a cluttered Radio Shack in Washington, D.C., Pinky pressed the delete key with a gleeful "Narf!"

to be continued…

Freakazoid held up two hand puppets—one resembling himself with blue felt skin and a mop of black yarn for hair, and the other a scowling Lobe with a massive papier-mâché brain glued on top. Roddy MacStew stood nearby, arms folded and eyebrow raised, clearly unimpressed.

"So, there I was!" Freakazoid announced dramatically, wiggling the Freakazoid puppet toward Roddy. "The noble and devastatingly handsome Freakazoid, hero of heroes, minding his own business when—bam! Trouble! Evil! Villainy!"

Roddy sighed. "Lad, ye promised ye'd explain what's been goin' on. Not give me a bloomin' puppet show."

Freakazoid gasped in mock offense. "Roddy, I am explaining! The puppets just make it more fun. Watch this!" He made the Lobe puppet shake its oversized brain dramatically. "Mwahaha! I’m the Lobe, and I’m going to steal all the Internet superpowers and take over the world! Nobody can stop me, especially not that handsome and brilliant Freakazoid!"

Roddy pinched the bridge of his nose. "And yer role in this, let me guess, is savin' the day?"

Freakazoid grinned. "Naturally!" He brought the Freakazoid puppet closer. "I sprang into action, Roddy! I zipped! I leaped! I... uh, what's another cool superhero verb? Oh! I walloped!"

As Freakazoid narrated, the puppets began reenacting a hilariously exaggerated fight. The Freakazoid puppet punched the Lobe puppet with a little white gloved fist, sending it flying. Freakazoid added his own sound effects. "Pow! Blammo! Klonk!"

Roddy tapped his foot impatiently. "And what about this part where ye got trapped in cyberspace behind my firewall, eh? How’d that happen? Something about a wee mouse?"

Freakazoid froze mid-punch, the puppets hanging awkwardly in the air. Both puppets seemed to turn their felt faces accusingly towards Freakazoid.  "Uh... well, y’know, minor detail. That’s not the point of the story!"

Roddy raised an eyebrow. "Aye? Then what is t'point, exactly?"

Freakazoid dropped the puppets, puffed out his chest, and struck a heroic pose. "The point, Roddy, is that I’m awesome, and eventually, I’ll totally save the day. And you’ll help, because you’re awesome too!"

Roddy shook his head with a begrudging smirk. "Yer somethin’, lad. I’ll give ye that."

Chapter Text

Pinky blinked as the world around him shifted. One moment, he was standing on a computer keyboard inside a cluttered Radio Shack store, and the next, he was floating in a void of swirling lights, strange shapes, and distorted sounds. A monolith appeared before him, a solid black rectangular slab surrounded by cartoon stars and Internet pop-ups. The monolith emitted a hum that somehow sounded like an orchestra of kazoos playing Thus Spake Zarathustra, and waves of glittery binary code trickled down its surface like waterfalls. It began to glow.

"Ooooh, shiny!" Pinky muttered to himself as he drifted closer, completely unfazed by the surreal scene unfolding around him. He paddled through the air with his arms as if he were swimming toward the monolith, his eyes wide with curiosity.

The moment Pinky's hand touched the glowing surface of the monolith, reality warped. In an instant, he was pulled inside of it, tumbling head over heels through a tunnel of flashing images—cats in sunglasses, dancing babies, kung fu stick figures, and Emmitt Nervend clattered past him in a blur. At one point, a floating 8-bit block of cheddar cheese spun slowly in front of him. Pinky stopped mid-tumble and gave it a thoughtful look. "Mmmm, cheese…" Then he blinked and waved it off. "Narf! No time for snacks! Brain needs me!"

Suddenly, the tunnel of memes and data bursts around him shifted. Pinky found himself standing in a black void once again—this time surrounded by swirling galaxies made of code. A giant version of the AOL running man dashed past him, while surreal winged toasters flew in flocks in the background. Pinky twirled in place, waving at every odd figure that zipped by.

"Hello!" Pinky greeted the swirling code with a grin. "Lovely day for a cosmic transformation, isn't it?"

The galaxies of code began to whirl faster around Pinky, and he felt a strange buzzing sensation ripple through his body. His ears stretched upward, standing at attention as electricity crackled around him. Energy surged through him, and his fur began to shimmer with neon blue light. His feet lifted off the ground, and with a sudden burst of power, Pinky shot forward, leaving a sparkling trail behind him as his body fully transformed.

With a sudden burst of sound—a mix of a whoosh and a cartoon "boing"—Pinky exploded out of the digital void, landing gracefully in a burst of energy back in the real world. His eyes glowed bright blue, his ears crackled with energy as a lightning bolt danced between them, and the air around him hummed with power.

Pinky looked down at his spiffy red and white costume that he was mysteriously wearing, then up at Dexter, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Poit!" Pinky giggled. "Well, that was fun! I think I'm all zap-pow-boom now, like Freakazoid! Did I do it right, Dexter?" He twirled in place, sending sparkles flying as electricity danced around his ears.

Dexter blinked, dumbfounded. "Pinky… I think you've got Freakazoid's powers."

Pinky grinned even wider. "Egad! I do! I'm Freakapinky!" He paused, frowning in thought for a moment. "Pinkazoid?"

Dexter smiled slightly. "Maybe we work on a name later, and stop the Lobe now?"

Pinky nodded. "Right you are!"

"Actually… can we go back to that warehouse first? I think I have an idea."

The Lobe paced restlessly back and forth across the spacious confines of his secret lair, his oversized brain practically glowing with excitement. His plan—though it was still coming together—was already in motion. He had captured Freakazoid (but then lost him), stolen his powers (indirectly after the mouse Brain stole them), and now, now he was destined for greatness! Or... something resembling greatness.

The Lobe stopped in front of a massive chalkboard, filled with hastily scribbled ideas. Most of them had been crossed out, erased, or replaced with question marks. At the top, the words The Lobe's Ultimate Plan were underlined several times for emphasis.

1. Capture Freakazoid.

2. Steal Freakazoid's powers.

3. ???????

4. EVERYONE LOVES ME!

He stared hard at the third step, tapping his chin. Surely, inspiration would strike any minute now.

The Lobe turned and began pacing again, muttering to himself. "It's all about popularity. That's the key. Freakazoid—that ridiculous blue fool—was adored. Cheered for, celebrated, showered with praise wherever he went. He had comic books and action figures! People loved him! And why? I have his powers now! What does he have that I don't?"

He paused mid-stride, glaring at the ceiling as if daring it to provide an answer. "I mean, of course he zipped around saving the day and cracking jokes. But what about me? I'm brilliant! I'm charming! I can sing! And this brain—" he gestured dramatically to his oversized cranium— "is the largest in the city! Why shouldn't I be adored?"

The Lobe turned back to his chalkboard and tapped the chalk against his chin. "What I need is a spectacle... something grand. Something to show everyone how much better I am than Freakazoid. Once they see me with these powers, they'll have to love me. They'll have no choice but to cheer my name in the streets!"

He scrawled a new note on the board: Step 3: Parade??

The Lobe stared at the word "parade" for a moment, considering it. "Yes... a grand parade. Force everyone to attend and see how amazing I am with Freakazoid's powers! But not just a parade... there has to be more."

He glanced at the city skyline through the large, reinforced windows of his lair. "People like rescues, right? Freakazoid always saved people, and they loved him for it. So I could... yes! I'll stage a disaster. Something dramatic, but not too dangerous. I'll swoop in, save the day, and they'll all realize that I am the hero they truly need! Not Freakazoid, not some silly costumed vigilante. But me! The Lobe!"

He grinned excitedly. "Yes, this is a perfectly good plan! It's absolutely incredible! No syndrome of an unoriginal idea here!"

With a flourish, he underlined "Parade??" and added: Stage a disaster below it.

A satisfied smile spread across the Lobe's face as he admired his handiwork on the whiteboard. The pieces of his plan were coming together. Sure, there were still a few details to figure out—like what kind of disaster, and how to make sure the cameras were rolling at just the right angles—but the big picture was clear. This was his moment.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as he took a few steps back to admire the plan in full. "This is foolproof! Popularity, adoration, fame—I'll have it all. No more lurking in the shadows. No more being labeled 'the creepy brain guy.' I'll be a household name. I'll have theme parks! And merchandise! People will line up to shake my hand, to cheer for me! The girls at the county fair will beg for a kiss from the one and only Lobe!"

He struck a dramatic pose, imagining the roaring applause of an adoring crowd. "Yes, it will all start with the grand parade. And once everyone sees me in action, they will come to me."

The Lobe twirled the chalk in his hand and added one final touch to the whiteboard:

Step 4: EVERYONE LOVES ME! and County Fair Kisses

As he set down the chalk, a look of absolute satisfaction crossed his face. "This is it. It's all falling into place." He turned toward the city again, the lights twinkling in the distance. "Freakazoid might have had his moment, but now... now it's my turn!"

Roddy slumped against the glowing holographic wall of his firewall, his breathing labored. His hands shook as he barely managed to keep the barrier intact. He wiped the sweat from his brow, but his exhaustion was palpable. The world inside the Internet was a chaotic swirl of colors and information, but to Roddy, it all blurred together into an endless headache.

Still, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of respite. He had done it. He had brought the firewall down just long enough for someone to enter the code and gain the powers of the Internet. He couldn't believe Freakazoid was right about the timing. Next time he saw Freakazoid, he'd make sure to ask him about that.

"Hey Roddy!" Freakazoid exclaimed.

Roddy's eyes shot open. Slowly, he turned his head to look through the flickering firewall. Freakazoid was making snow angels, or whatever sort of shape it would be called when someone is moving their legs and arms over binary data to make angel-like shapes. Freakazoid smiled. "So, Roddy… what happened? Did it work? Did Dexter bring me back?"

Roddy groaned, rubbing his temples. "No, Freakazoid. Ye're still here. The firewall's still up, and barely holdin' together as it is."

Freakazoid paused mid-wave of his limbs. "Huh. That's weird. I thought for sure that Dexter would've figured it out by now. We're already at 1,486 words for this chapter."

Roddy straightened up, still wincing from the strain of keeping the firewall intact. "Somebody did get the powers, I can feel it. The whole Web went crazy for a moment… but it wasn't you."

Freakazoid floated closer to the firewall, pressing his face against it like a kid staring through the window of a candy shop. "Well, if it wasn't me, then who got the powers?"

Roddy stood up and furrowed his brow, staring intently at the glowing data streams swirling around them. "That's what I'm tryin' to figure out, lad. Somebody out there accessed the powers, but the connection… it wasn't what I expected. There's somethin' strange about it."

Freakazoid floated back a bit, spinning in place like a lazy top. "Oooooh, mysterious! So, what are you gonna do about it?"

Roddy shot him an exasperated look. "What do ye think I'm gonna do? I barely managed to bring the firewall back up after lowerin' it! If I take it down again, there's no guarantee I can put it back. And that means leavin' the whole Internet vulnerable! What if every villain from Guitierrez to Arms Akimbo could get their grubby hands on Internet superpowers!?"

Freakazoid's body did one more rotation before he stopped spinning. "You know, when I was getting worried about being a superhero, Cosgrove said something really wise to calm me down."

Roddy threw up his hands, his voice sharp. "Aye? And what were they?"

Freakazoid scrunched up his face, tapping his temple dramatically. "Hmmm… I don't remember. I think it was something about clouds? Or maybe… sitting down? Definitely something profound and life changing, though."

Roddy's mouth dropped silently before he closed it again. "Sit down?!" he sputtered, "I can't sit down! Everythin' is in danger, and it's up t'me to keep the worst from happenin'!"

Freakazoid shook his head. "Roddy, you're not the only one in this fight. There are other people that will help. You've got me, and whats-his-face who wears green and has big shiny teeth, and that British guy, and probably some other folks who aren't that important. You're not the only hero!"

Roddy paused, Freakazoid's words sinking in. "Ye… ye think I'm a hero?" His voice softened, and he blinked in surprise.

Freakazoid nodded seriously, his usual goofy grin fading into a sincere expression. "Of course I do! If it wasn't for you pretending to be a driving instructor, Guitierrez would have gotten his hands on Dexter! You risked everything to help him! And me! And you've been keeping this firewall going ever since then! You're one of the good guys, Roddy."

Roddy's eyes widened, clearly touched by the words. He'd been so wrapped up in just trying to protect the World Wide Web, he never saw himself as a hero. For so long, the burdens have felt like a weight only he could bear. But hearing Freakazoid say it—knowing that he was part of something bigger—lifted some of that weight off his shoulders.

"A hero…" Roddy muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He straightened up, some of his confidence returning. "Aye… I suppose I am."

Freakazoid grinned again, back to his usual self. "Now that we've had our inspirational pep talk, let's get me outta here!"

Roddy's hands were still trembling, but there was a newfound determination in his eyes. He looked left and right at the extent of the firewall, then back at Freakazoid. Roddy felt a hopeful spark in his chest. "Alright, lad. Just one last try. But no funny business! I'll drop it for a blink of an eye… no more. If it doesn't work…"

"It'll work!" Freakazoid said with a confident wink.

Roddy nodded, and got to work.

Pinky landed in the middle of the warehouse with a crackling burst of energy, leaving a sparkling trail of glitter behind him. "Zort! This is amazing!" he exclaimed. He grabbed a handful of the glitter, and tossed it up in the air. He spun around and giggled, holding his arms out to catch the glitter as it drifted back down to the floor.

Dexter trudged in after him, hands shoved in his pockets. He smiled slightly at Pinky's excitement but couldn't help feeling a little useless. Sure, Pinky had Freakazoid's powers now, but what did Dexter have? No super speed, no strength, just his usual teenage awkwardness. But maybe his smarts could help.

Dexter looked around, and didn't see any sign of Medulla or Oblongata. But his eyes landed on the Supervillain Suit, still lying where it had been discarded. "Hey, Pinky, hold on a sec," Dexter said, walking over to the suit. He crouched down and began rummaging through the components.

Pinky zipped over, watching curiously. "Whatcha doing, Dexter? Are you looking for the glove box? Brain didn't keep any snacks in there."

Dexter shook his head, prying open a compartment on the suit's arm. "Not quite. Just… thinking." He pulled out a small device with several wires trailing behind it, then unscrewed the front of the chest plate. "Even if we can't use the suit, there's still some useful stuff in here."

He found what he was looking for—one of the glitter weapons that earlier coated downtown in a sea of shimmering glitter. Dexter's lips curled into a small smile as he took the crafty weapon. He reached next into the cockpit of the Suit and pocketed another small device. "This might come in handy, too."

Pinky clapped his hands excitedly. "Egad! You're a genius, Dexter! We're like a super-team now, aren't we?"

Dexter grinned. "Maybe we are something like that. Come on, let's go do some hero stuff."

Brain sat slumped in his tiny cage, the cold metal bars a sharp reminder of his defeat. He was back where he started, caged—not at Acme Labs, but in the Lobe's lair. Brain sighed. His once-grand plans to rule the world, his vision of becoming a firm but benevolent ruler, had crumbled in spectacular fashion. He'd been close—so close. But now, he was powerless. Worse yet, he was reduced to little more than a spectator to the Lobe's ridiculous antics.

He gazed through the bars, watching as the Lobe paraded about the lair with a self-satisfied grin. Where did I go wrong? Brain thought bitterly. He had made all the calculations, factored in every variable. His plan was perfect, the Supervillain Suit was flawless, his timing was impeccable… so why did everything fall apart?

Brain let out another sigh, resting his forehead against the bars of the cage. Perhaps he had been too distracted by the theatrics of supervillainy. It was very easy to get swept up in the posturing, the evil laughter, the monologues. Was it possible that he had lost sight of the ultimate goal? He heard the Lobe's familiar chortle from the other room, the sounds of particularly hammy "Muahahaha!" causing Brain's eyes to twitch in annoyance. 

"Is that what I was becoming?" Brain asked himself, shaking his head. No! "I am the greatest mind of our time!" Brain told himself firmly. It was circumstances beyond his control. Yes, that was it. Unexpected impediments. 

Yet the sting of failure gnawed at him.

Just then, the door to the room opened. Brain's ears perked up as the Lobe strolled in, humming some insufferably jaunty tune. The villain looked almost giddy, as if he were on the cusp of something brilliant. Not as brilliant as anything that Brain could devise, perhaps, but suitably brilliant enough for the Lobe. The Lobe sauntered over to the large computer console on the far side of the room, his oversized brain practically shimmering with pride.

Brain watched in silence as the Lobe leaned over the console, activating the monitor with a few swift keystrokes. A small microphone extended from the side of the console. The Lobe bent down, clearing his throat dramatically before speaking into the mic.

"My voice is my password, please verify me," he intoned with his usual pompous gravitas.

Brain's eyes widened ever so slightly. Interesting… He noted how casually the Lobe treated the vocal passphrase, as if it were little more than a playful routine. But Brain's brilliant mind was already working, processing the information and storing it for later.

His attention was pulled by the clattering sound of frantic typing. He looked over to see the Lobe hunched over his computer, tapping away at the keyboard with an almost obsessive fervor. The screen flickered as the Lobe muttered to himself, small bits of lightning dancing around his brain as he concocted whatever scheme he had envisioned.

The Lobe clicked something on the screen, and Brain heard the familiar hum of a printer whirring to life. Colorful sheets of paper started to slide out, and as they fluttered to the floor, Brain's sharp eyes caught sight of the text:

"Join Us for the Grand Heroic Parade! Or else!"

The flier was garishly overdone with clipart of cartoonish fireworks, colorful streamers, and a badly cropped portrait of the Lobe. The Lobe grabbed the paper as soon as it left the printer. A grin spread across his face. "Once I foil my own dastardly plan, they'll have no choice but to love me!"

Brain stifled a groan. This was beyond ridiculous, even by the Lobe's meager standards. Although as much as he despised the idea, Brain couldn't deny the Lobe's twisted logic. It was exactly the sort of the thing that would probably work.

"Ah, but first, the mayhem!" the Lobe muttered. He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he walked out of the room. "Let's see what municipal utilities have their servers accessible through the Internet, shall we?"

Brain's eyes narrowed as the Lobe disappeared through the door. His defeat stung less with each passing moment as the gears in his mind began to turn once more. He had been foolish to feel powerless. Even from here, he could still outthink the Lobe. He just needed to wait for the right moment.

Pinky and Dexter made their way through a city in chaos. Cars honked in frustration as traffic lights blinked erratically—green for one direction, red for another, with random bursts of yellow and somehow also pink and blue for no apparent reason. Pedestrians tried to navigate the crosswalks, only to be greeted by flashing signs of dancing stick figures instead.

The strange pair hurried through the mayhem, dodging confused drivers and angry pedestrians. Pinky zipped ahead in bursts of excitable energy, pausing every few feet to giggle at the spectacle of lights. "Ooo, it's like a carnival!" He twirled in the air, mimicking the flashing lights.

Dexter, still running on adrenaline and worry, came to a stop in front of the mouse. "This is serious! The Lobe is using the city's infrastructure to cause chaos. We need to stop him before things get worse!"

Just then, a public announcement system crackled to life above them. The Lobe's distinct voice carried throughout the streets. "Citizens of Washington, D.C., today is Lobe Appreciation Day! Please take a moment to recognize the brilliance and charm of the Lobe. Don't forget that attendance at the parade is mandatory. Thank you, and enjoy the spontaneous water show starting… now."

At that exact moment, every water hydrant along the street erupted like a synchronized orchestra of geysers. Water shot into the air in perfect, choreographed arcs, drenching anyone within range. The fountains of water sprayed at alternating intervals, creating an impromptu aquatic spectacle. Some people ran for cover, while kids screamed in delight, running through the falling water.

Pinky clapped excitedly, his eyes wide with wonder. "Narf! It's like a dancing dolphin show, but without the dolphins!" He grabbed Dexter's pant leg and gave a little tug. "Can we play in it for just a little bit?"

Dexter shook his head. "No time for that, Pinky! This whole thing is the Lobe's doing. He's making a mess of things, and we need to stop him at the source." Dexter looked around at the erupting water and strobing traffic lights. "He has to be using the Internet to control everything remotely. Can you track his signal with your powers? Maybe get a sense of where he's controlling all of this from?"

Pinky scrunched his face in thought, his floppy ears twitching. "I don't know. Did your friend Freakazoid tell you how his powers work?"

Dexter stammered for a moment. "Well, uh, not exactly. I mean, superheroes gotta keep their secrets… I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, realizing just how little he actually understood about Freakazoid's powers. "But here's the thing. Freakazoid's powers... they come from the Internet, right? But it's not just speed or strength—they let him access all this information from the World Wide Web directly. It's like he's able to see everything, connect to it all at once."

Pinky's eyes widened. "Oooh! So maybe if I concentrate... I can connect to the information too?"

"Sort of," Dexter said, his brow furrowing as he pieced together his thoughts. "Maybe it's like being able to tune into signals. Like you're part of the Web now, so you should be able to pick up on it, right? Freakazoid can access data. Maybe you can do the same."

Pinky's ears perked up, and a little spark crackled between them. "Zort! Like a big ol' antenna! Got it!" He closed his eyes, scrunching his face in concentration as little sparks of energy rippled through him. His body began to vibrate, almost like a tuning fork, as he tried to focus on the signals around him.

Dexter watched, hopeful. He wasn't entirely sure how Freakazoid's powers worked, but his theory made sense. If Pinky had the same abilities, maybe he could zero in on the Lobe's location.

After a moment, Pinky's eyes popped open, glowing a bright blue. "I think I've got something! It's... buzzing!" He pointed excitedly in a direction. "That way!" 

Without hesitation, Dexter scooped up Pinky in his hands and sprinted off in the direction the superpowered mouse had indicated. Pinky's glowing eyes led the way like a bizarre, electronic dowsing rod as they dodged more erratic geysers and malfunctioning traffic lights.

Unbeknownst to them, from the rooftops above, a shadowy figure crouched with laser-like focus. It was the Huntsman, watching their every move with his enhanced eagle eyes, his silhouette outlined dramatically against the light. The wind ruffled the feather in his hat as he took in their path.

He took in a breath through his nose. "That smell of cheese… I'd recognize it anywhere. A cheese-loving mouse in league with the Tiny-Headed Man in a Business Suit and his brain-headed accomplice," Huntsman muttered to himself, his voice low and intense. His muscles tensed, and he silently hopped to another rooftop, keeping pace with Dexter and Pinky from above. "But why is the boy helping him? And where do they lead?"

He stopped for a moment on the edge of a rooftop to pause dramatically, one leg perched on the half-wall around the edge of the roof and his hands on his hips. "They won't escape me watching them with my watchful eyes," he proclaimed with absolutely no one around to hear. The words seemed to echo dramatically in the air, and with that, he followed from the rooftops, the unseen protector of Washington, D.C.

Pinky and Dexter arrived at the edge of the street just outside the Lobe's lair, which was disguised as a mid-sized office building. The building itself wasn't particularly menacing—just a standard, gray, boxy structure with a "Closed for Renovation" sign hanging on the door. But the scene surrounding it was anything but ordinary.

Marching bands were lining up along the street, their uniforms bright and colorful, their instruments gleaming in the afternoon sun. Dexter and Pinky paused, staring at the surreal chaos as a nearby brass section rehearsed a rousing fanfare. Further down the street, a series of elaborate parade floats were slowly coming together. One in particular caught Dexter's eye—a massive, wire mesh and tissue paper replica of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, the centerpiece of a Jurassic Park-themed float. The T. rex bobbed and swayed slightly in the wind, its oversized teeth a little too cartoonish to be threatening.

Just ahead, a convertible sat idling, adorned with streamers and banners proclaiming the arrival of Miss Mid-Atlantic Dairy Queen Runner-Up—a title that, despite its length, sounded somehow even more ridiculous as Dexter read it.

Pinky clapped his hands, his eyes lighting up. He zipped up to Dexter's shoulder for a better look. "Ooooh, look at all the floats! I do love a good parade!" Then his expression sombered, and he added, "Too bad it's an evil parade. I bet even the giant T-Rex float is up to no good. Probably escaped from some sort of dinosaur park or something."

Dexter, still trying to process the bizarre sight in front of him, shook his head. "What in the world is going on? This… this can't be the Lobe's big plan. A parade?"

Before Pinky could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind them. "Hey, kid."

Dexter turned, startled to see Cosgrove standing casually on the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his pockets. The sergeant appeared familiar to Dexter, but he couldn't place why. Cosgrove looked as calm and collected as ever, despite the chaos surrounding him. There was something about his presence that helped Dexter relax—only a little, but it was enough to steady him.

"Cosgrove?" Dexter said quietly, the name suddenly coming to him. It sounded comfortable to him, like a name he had used before. Was this someone Freakazoid knew? Blinking in surprise, Dexter took a step forward. "What are you doing here? Er, I mean… uh. Hello, officer."

Cosgrove motioned to the marching bands and parade floats behind him. "The Lobe's made everything in the city go crazy, and this is the center of it. I figured Freakazoid would be here." Dexter felt the sergeant's eyes look directly at him. "Have you seen him?"

"Freakazoid?" Dexter laughed nervously and his eyes widened. "Why would I… I mean…"

Cosgrove gave him a small, knowing smirk. "It's okay, kid. I know about the ecret-say identity-ay."

Dexter's heart skipped a beat. He had never really thought about what it meant for someone to know his secret identity. The idea of someone knowing his secret had always been a hypothetical—an abstract worry. He always assumed he'd be the one to explain that he was Freakazoid—but now it seemed that it was the other way around. Yet standing here with Cosgrove, he felt a strange mix of vulnerability and reassurance. Cosgrove—calm, collected Cosgrove—was acting like it was just another Tuesday. 

"I... I didn't think anyone knew." Dexter stammered, his thoughts racing. "I mean, I didn't even—"

"Relax," Cosgrove said, cutting him off. He glanced at the gathered marching bands and parade floats. "Besides, it looks like there's bigger problems. The Lobe's up to something, and it's about to get weird. Weirder than usual, even."

Pinky, who had been focused on the hustle and bustle around him, finally chimed in. "Ooo, more weirder than a talking mouse with superpowers?"

Cosgrove squinted, thinking it over. "That's a tough call. Maybe."

Dexter motioned to Pinky, still perched on his shoulder. "This isn't weird to you?"

"Freakazoid had his hand for a sidekick," Cosgrove replied without elaboration.

Dexter opened his mouth, questions swirling in his mind, but then closed it again. Pinky filled the silence with his own question. "Left hand or right hand?"

"Right hand," Cosgrove elaborated. "He called it Handman."

Dexter realized Cosgrove was right—there were bigger problems to worry about. He took a deep breath, nodded, and looked toward the office building. The parade music swelled behind them, a rousing march full of blaring horns and triumphant drumbeats with a bagpipe here and there. It was almost enough to drown out the tension. Almost.

 "Okay. Let's stop the Lobe." Dexter's face was set, his mouth tightening in determination.

Cosgrove cracked a half-smile. "Sounds like a plan, kid."

Pinky hopped onto Dexter's shoulder, clapping excitedly. "Ooo, do you think they'll have snacks inside? Maybe something cheese-flavored? Evil snacks taste better, you know."

The trio moved forward, entering the office building just as the bagpipers began playing a funeral dirge. The city's fate hung in the balance.

to be continued…

Pinky, now glowing faintly with blue energy, stands in the middle of an infinite white void. His ears twitch with excitement as he waves eagerly towards you.

"Oh, hello! Poit! Guess what? I’ve got powers now! And you know what that means? I can break the fourth wall! Oh, I’ve always wanted to break the fourth wall!" He grins, then leans conspiratorially closer. "It’s surprisingly soft, like velvet. Narf!"

Pinky straightens up, his hands crackling with blue lightning as he strikes a dramatic pose. "Now I can look up anything on the Internet with my super-duper new powers! Let’s see… oh, I know!" His eyes turn white, and streams of blue ones and zeroes start scrolling across them.

"Oooo, what's this?" His face freezes mid-thought, and his mouth drops open. He gasps in shock. "Oh my!"

His eyes widen, and suddenly, he starts running in frantic circles, clutching his head. "I never should have looked! Some things are never meant to be seen!" He falls to his knees, and raises his hands to the heavens. "It's too much! TOO MUCH!" He rubs his eyes wildly, then collapses to the floor, panting dramatically. "The cuteness! It's overwhelming! The fluffy paws! The… the… piano playing!"

Finally, he slumps against the ground, his glowing ears flickering like a dimming light bulb. He raises one paw weakly. "Whew… that cute little kitten playing the piano was just too much… Cuteness overload! Narf!"

Chapter Text

Roddy MacStew focused, the swirling data streams of the Web spinning around him. His fingers moved code rapidly, dragging it from one place in front of him to another. The firewall began to flicker once more, its glow dimming as Roddy strained to lower it. If he could time everything just right, he could release Freakazoid from cyberspace without risking Freakazoid's Internet-based superpowers falling into the wrong hands. Well, except for that one mouse that Freakazoid claimed had stolen his powers. Roddy still couldn't begin to fathom how that could have happened. He shook his head—he needed to focus. His hands clenched tighter, beads of sweat running down his face.

"Wow!" Freakazoid exclaimed, "I had no idea this would take so long. It feels like weeks have gone by since the last update! We're really leaning into the dramatic tension thing, huh?"

Roddy shot him a look. "Time flows strangely on the World Wide Web, lad. One minute, ye're startin' to read a new fanfic, and then next thing ye know… Boom! It's hours later and ye're on the final chapter!"

Freakazoid grinned. "Yeah, somebody's just milking this for all it's worth."

Roddy sighed and turned back to the firewall. "Now, if ye don't mind, lad, I'm tryin' to concentrate. This is nae a game. We're talkin' about the safety of the entire Internet!"

Freakazoid threw up his hands. "Right, right! No pressure, though!"

"No pressure!? Need I remind ye that I'm trying to restore ye back into Dexter Douglas without letting any potential supervillains like Guitierrez get through this firewall that I've spent months craftin' to keep Internet superpowers out of th'wrong hands!"

Freakazoid clapped. "Wow, Roddy, that was some great exposition!"

Roddy sighed, and returned his focus to the streams of ones and zeros surrounding him. His brow furrowed with determination as the flickering firewall continued to waver, and its glow dimmed. 

"Wait!" Freakazoid shouted.

Roddy jumped, nearly losing control of the barrier. "Are ye daft?!" he barked, panic in his voice. "If I wait any longer, this whole blasted thing's gonna collapse anyway!"

Freakazoid floated over, holding up a finger. "I know, I know, but we can't do it yet!"

Roddy's eyes bulged, his frustration mounting. "Why in th'name of William Wallace not?"

Freakazoid grinned, spinning lazily in midair. "We have to wait for the perfect dramatic moment! You know, right when the music swells, the hero's in peril, and the stakes are at their highest!" He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "Trust me, it'll be way cooler."

Roddy stared at him in disbelief, his face turning red. "Cooler?! I'm nae lookin' for cool! I'm trying to save the bloody Internet!"

Freakazoid waved him off casually. "Oh, pish-posh, Roddy! This is the Internet! It lives for drama!" He floated backward, making sweeping hand gestures as if directing a grand orchestra. "Let the tension build, let the audience bite their nails. Then bam! Right at the perfect moment, we drop the firewall! It'll be epic!"

Roddy looked ready to explode, but the firewall continued to flicker around him. "Epic? We're not in some sort o' movie you can rent from Blockbuster, Freakazoid!"

Freakazoid tilted his head, pretending to consider Roddy's words. "Well, no, but…" He gave an exaggerated wink at the air around them. "It sure feels like it sometimes, doesn't it?"

Roddy groaned, clenching his fists. "I swear, if ye don't let me do this, there won't be a dramatic moment because we'll all be toast!"

Freakazoid beamed, unfazed. "And that's why you are the perfect hero for this moment, Roddy! You'll know just when to hit the figurative button." He gave a thumbs up. "I believe in you!"

Roddy grumbled under his breath, his patience thinning to a thread. But despite everything, a small part of him couldn't help but appreciate Freakazoid's relentless optimism. Even if it was ridiculous.

Pinky, Dexter, and Cosgrove entered the lobby of the Lobe's headquarters cautiously, their footsteps echoing faintly off the polished tile floor of the abandoned office building's lobby. The space was eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside, where bagpipes wailed, drumlines thundered, and trombones honked as musicians tuned their instruments. Despite the muffled sound of the parade preparations drifting in, the lobby itself felt almost serene, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the faint whir of an elevator in the distance.

Dexter's eyes darted around the empty room, scanning for signs of traps or trouble. "It's too quiet," he muttered under his breath.

Cosgrove simply grunted, hands stuffed in his pockets. "All the deathtraps are probably upstairs. Supervillains love a good view."

Pinky leaned toward Cosgrove, whispering conspiratorially, "Ooo, I bet that's where all the good snacks are, too!" Electricity danced between his ears as he talked.

Dexter rolled his eyes, stepping toward the elevator with more determination. "Let's just get to the Lobe before he causes any more chaos."

They stepped into the elevator, its polished metal walls reflecting their anxious faces. As the doors slid shut, the cacophony from outside faded into the background, replaced by the low hum of the elevator rising. Dexter tapped his fingers against the railing, tension thick in the small space.

And as their elevator ascended, another arrived on the ground floor with a cheerful ding.

The Lobe stepped out, a smug smile plastered on his face, his oversized brain literally glowing with excitement as tiny arcs of electricity bounced around his head.  He rubbed his hands together giddily. "Ah, perfection! The parade will start, I'll stage my heroic rescue, and soon the masses of the city will build statues! Statues in my image!"

He pushed open the double glass doors leading to the street, his lab coat fluttering behind him like a cape. Outside, the cacophony of the parade preparations greeted him in full force. Marching bands rehearsed their rousing fanfares, the synchronized steps of uniformed drummers echoing across the pavement. The brass section struck up a triumphant refrain, and the Lobe gave a jaunty little wave to a confused trombone player. Floats lined the street, glittering with an almost obnoxious array of colors. The Jurassic Park float's massive tissue-paper Tyrannosaurus Rex towered over the others, its oversized teeth comically mismatched. Nearby, performers in feathered costumes were juggling flaming batons while Miss Mid-Atlantic Dairy Queen Runner-Up practiced her demure waves from the back of her convertible.

The Lobe inhaled deeply, savoring the absurd pageantry. "Yes! This is it! My moment! My parade! Oh, they'll all cheer for me!" He clapped his hands, bouncing slightly on his heels. "And once I foil my own evil plan, they'll cheer even louder! There'll be adoration! Accolades! Adulation! All for me!"

Behind him, a mismatched crowd stood clustered along the sidewalks, their expressions ranging from confused to outright annoyed. A few whispered to each other, glancing at the Lobe nervously. The rest simply looked bored.

The Lobe's henchmen weaved through the crowd, prodding stragglers forward with half-hearted gestures. One waved a clipboard while muttering something about "mandatory attendance ordinances." Another, wearing a hat emblazoned with "Parade Staff," handed out hastily printed flyers encouraging everyone to "applaud enthusiastically."

A small child tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mommy, who's the bald guy with the big brain?"

"Shhh," the mother whispered. "Just clap when he looks over here."

The Lobe straightened his lab coat and strode confidently to the front of the parade. Who else could serve as the Grand Marshal to lead this glorious procession toward a future filled with all things Lobe? Only the Lobe himself, naturally.

The Lobe was about to raise his hands triumphantly into the air, but just then a shadow loomed over him. Standing dramatically on the rooftop was none other than the Huntsman, grinning triumphantly with his large glossy teeth.

"You won't get away from me so easily, Lobe!" the Huntsman bellowed, striking a dramatic pose. "Your evil schemes might stop lesser heroes, but your Tom Selleck cardboard cutout, rubber chickens, and large jar of pickles can't stop… the Huntsman!"

The Lobe's eye twitched. "Oh no, not you again," he muttered under his breath.

"Your plunderous parade of peril ends here!" the Huntsman continued. With that announcement, he made a heroic leap from above, doing a midair somersault before aiming directly for the Lobe. The Lobe rolled his eyes and juked to the side with super speed, sticking his foot out as he did so. The Huntsman couldn't correct in time, and tripped over the Lobe's outstretched limb. The Lobe watched with thinly veiled annoyance as the Huntsman stumbled, knocking a sousaphone player sideways into a trombone section. A cacophony of brass instruments rang out as the band members tried to regain their balance.

The Lobe raised an eyebrow as the Huntsman struggled to pull himself free from the sousaphone, which had somehow wrapped itself around his torso. "Honestly, if this is the caliber of hero I have to deal with now that Freakazoid is gone, my parade will be a success before it even begins."

Undeterred, the Huntsman finally freed himself, standing tall once again. "You'll never defeat me! I will stop you and the Tiny-Headed Business Man in a Suit!" He struck another bold pose, flexing his biceps.

The Lobe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How does an overgrown action figure like you even become a hero?"

The Huntsman paused, and tilted his head up and to the side as he reminisced about that fateful hunting trip that became his origin story. "Ah, the story begins with this chunky elf…"

"That was a rhetorical question!" the Lobe interrupted, his oversized brain glowing ominously. With a flick of his hand, a bass drum from the marching band levitated into the air and hurled itself toward the Huntsman, propelled by the Lobe's newfound telekinetic powers. "You know, flinging musical instruments at you is surprisingly therapeutic!"

With the grace of a jungle cat, the Huntsman leapt over the airborne percussion instrument. "You can't hide behind your marching bands forever! No villain can outsmart… the Huntsman!"

"Oh, can't I?" The Lobe smirked. He reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out a baton, which seemed much longer given the size of his pocket. He gave it an experimental twirl, and then began marching, the parade following behind him with perfect choreography.

The Huntsman found himself facing an advancing tide of marching bands, their synchronized steps pounding like a drumbeat of destiny. Brass instruments gleamed, snare drums rattled, and the musicians surged forward in perfect unison, their uniforms a blur of vibrant color.

Undaunted, the Huntsman spun and twirled through the oncoming wave, his boots skimming the pavement with impeccable grace. Every step was a dance between disaster and triumph as he dodged sousaphones and sidestepped flag twirlers, refusing to falter. A massive tyrannosaurus float bustled past, its tissue-paper scales rippling in the wind. With a triumphant grin, the Huntsman leapt forward, grabbing hold of the float's side and pulling himself onto its wobbly frame. The Huntsman scrambled up the side of the oversized T-Rex, climbing to the top and striking a triumphant pose on its wobbly head. "Ah-ha! Now, behold! I have tamed this mighty predator!" he announced, fists planted on his hips. 

The tissue-paper T-Rex shuddered under his weight as the float lurched forward, its wheels suddenly screeching as they picked up speed. The Huntsman's confident grin faltered slightly as he realized the float wasn't slowing down. In fact, it seemed to be speeding up, the downward slope of the street adding to the momentum. It barreled towards the front of the parade, and continued to gain speed as it whooshed past the Lobe at the head of the parade, billowing his lab coat in front of him.

The Lobe waved his baton angrily at the Huntsman and the retreating parade float. "Stop trying to ruin my parade, you verdant oaf!"

The doors of the elevator slid open on the top floor to reveal a hallway filled with fiendish-looking traps—spinning blades, mechanical arms with mallets, and even a giant spring-loaded boxing glove poised to strike. Cosgrove glanced at the array of dangers with his usual stoic calm. "Wow, the Lobe really went all out."

The first trap activated with a loud whirr, the mechanical arms swinging toward them. Dexter ducked and instinctively threw his arm over his head, yelping in surprise. He pointed the glitter-based weapon he had snagged from the Supervillain Suit earlier in the trap's general direction and pulled the trigger. With a swift shot, a burst of glitter covered the swinging arms, causing them to seize up with a grinding noise, freezing the mallet inches away from Dexter.

"Good instincts, kid," Cosgrove said with an appreciative nod.

"Who knew glitter was so versatile?" Dexter muttered.

Cosgrove shrugged, then turned slightly as a spinning blade swung past him. "Glitter's underrated."

Pinky zipped ahead with a burst of energy, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced toward the massive spring-loaded boxing glove trap. Just as the glove lunged forward with a loud boing, Pinky dashed straight towards it, stopping mere inches away from the incoming fist, his eyes wide with playful glee.

"Hold it right there!" Pinky declared, pulling out a cartoonishly large stop sign from seemingly nowhere.

The boxing glove trap seemed to pause in midair, almost as if it were considering Pinky's command. With the glove momentarily stalled, Pinky grinned, grabbing hold of its oversized thumb. With a gleeful "Zort!" Pinky gave the glove a mighty yank, pulling the entire spring-loaded mechanism out of the wall.

The trap sputtered weakly, its spring uncoiling uselessly as Pinky held the glove victoriously above his head. "Narf! This is easier than I thought!"

Dexter and Cosgrove exchanged glances, one part impressed and one part bewildered, as Pinky happily tossed the now-disabled trap aside like a toy.

The trio continued their way through the maze of traps, dodging danger at every turn. Finally, they reached the heart of Lobe's lair. The room was cluttered with parade flyers scattered across the floor, an oversized desk, and the Lobe's computer. But most importantly, Brain sat trapped in a tiny cage, looking uncharacteristically despondent.

Without hesitation, Pinky zipped forward and, with a quick yank, broke open the bars of Brain's cage. "Brain!" Pinky cried gleefully, wrapping his arms around the startled mouse and lifting him into the air like a doll.

"Pinky! You're unharmed!" Brain blinked, his tone betraying a rare hint of surprise. "And… you have superpowers?"

Pinky grinned from ear to ear and set Brain down gently. "Yes! I'm all zappy-zoop now, just like Freakazoid!"

Brain raised an eyebrow, trying not to show how pleased he was to see Pinky. "Well… I suppose that's… adequate."

Dexter, more focused on the mission at hand, looked to the computer console. "I need to shut down whatever the Lobe's doing! We can stop this whole thing right now."

Brain shook his head, regaining his usual composure. "Unfortunately, it's protected by a voice-activated password. You'd need the Lobe's voice to access it."

Dexter's face lit up with a triumphant grin as he pulled out the Supervillain Suit's voice modulator from his pocket. "Already got that covered."

Brain's eyes widened. "The voice modulator? Impressive."

Dexter nodded with a grin. "If there's one thing the Lobe loves, it's the sound of his own voice."

Cosgrove gave a knowing nod. "You have to admit, he does have a pretty great voice."

Dexter turned to the computer, adjusting the modulator to the Lobe's distinctive timbre. "Now I just need the password."

Brain smirked. "That's no challenge. While he was prattling on about his parade, I overheard it. The phrase is, 'My voice is my password. Please verify me.'" 

Dexter gave a satisfied nod and took a deep breath. He spoke into the voice modulator, mimicking the Lobe's dramatic tone. "My voice is my password. Please verify me."

The screen lit up, revealing a flurry of active programs, and Pinky clapped with excitement. Dexter typed furiously at the keyboard as data flashed across the screen. "Alright, I think I've got control—there! No more broken traffic lights and fire hydrants!"

Brain leaned over to inspect the monitor with sharp eyes. His expression shifted from smug satisfaction to mild concern. "Ah… impressive," Brain muttered under his breath, then louder, "I have to grudgingly admit, the Lobe has created quite a clever failsafe system."

Dexter froze, a knot tightening in his stomach. He had already noticed that one of the Lobe's programs had automatically disconnected the computer from the Internet. "Failsafe?"

Brain pointed to the screen where a digital schematic of the building was displayed. "Yes. It appears that the entire floor is rigged to explode if we attempt to disable his mayhem remotely." He tapped his finger against the screen, where a blinking red light indicated the impending detonation. "A classic 'If I can't have my evil plan, nobody will' scenario."

Pinky eyes went wide. "Oh no! We need a hero to save us!"

Brain, however, remained calm. His gaze softened as he placed a hand gently on Pinky's shoulder. "We already have a hero, Pinky. It's you."

"Me? A hero? Oh, that's brilliant!" Pinky exclaimed. His face lit up with a smile, and he turned to look at Brain. 

Brain quickly turned away and cleared his throat. "I have already calculated our escape," he continued. "With your super strength and super speed, it will be a trivial matter for you to carry everyone here to safety before the detonation."

Pinky blinked in confusion. "Carry everyone? But... there's only one of me!"

"Nonsense," Brain replied smoothly, waving his hand as if dismissing the very idea of defeat. "With your powers, you can easily ferry us out one at a time before the explosion. This deathtrap is hardly deserving of the term. A minor inconvenience at best."

At that exact moment, heavy steel doors slammed down with a deafening clang over every possible exit. The lights dimmed, and a robotic voice chimed from the overhead speaker system: "Commencing detonation countdown. You have sixty seconds to evacuate."

Pinky's ears drooped, and he looked back at Brain. "Well, narf! You jinxed it, Brain."

The sounds of the parade outside grew louder, the cacophony of tuning brass instruments replaced with the unmistakable crescendo of a dramatic John Williams score. The music swelled with a sense of urgency and gravitas, underscoring the growing peril inside the building.

Cosgrove, as calm and collected as ever, glanced around nonchalantly. "Hmm... Yep. I'd say we're in a little bit of peril now."

Pinky wrung his hands. "Peril? PERIL! Ooooh, I think we're in a lot of peril!"

Brain took Pinky's hands, steadying him. "Pinky. I trust you. You can do this."

Dexter looked down at the mice and nodded. "Pinky, start by breaking down the door, then get Brain and Cosgrove out of here. I'll handle the rest."

Cosgrove's face showed some concern. "What about you, kid?"

Dexter squared his shoulders and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "The stakes have never been higher. It's time for me to reconnect to the Internet."

"Oooo, do you feel that, Roddy?" Freakazoid bounced around within the confines of the firewall like a puppy introduced to espresso. "Music! Peril! Stakes!" He stopped and pressed his face up against the holographic barrier, his nose smooshed and his eyes wide with excitement. "It's showtime!!"

Roddy shook his head, but there was a small smile growing on his face. "Aye, let's get this show started." He gave his hands a shake, closed his eyes, and concentrated on bringing down his firewall.

The Huntsman clung tightly to the head of the T-Rex float as it careened down the street, its tissue-paper teeth flapping wildly in the wind. The float's wheels squealed against the pavement, and sparks flew as it scraped against a fire hydrant. The Jurassic beast's towering neck wobbled precariously, yet the Huntsman held firm, his jaunty hat threatening to fly off at any moment.

The wind howled against him, threatening to pry him from his precarious perch, but the Huntsman only gritted his teeth, his glossy smile shining through the chaos. "This is it," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of panicked onlookers and blaring parade music. "This is what heroism feels like!"

For so long, the Horn of Urgency had called him to hollow missions—a false alarm here, a stray cat there, always falling short of true adventure. But now, Adventure herself had arrived, bold and unstoppable, her call resonating in every fiber of his being. And he had answered!

His eagle-sharp eyes scanned ahead, locking onto the parade's grandstand at the bottom of the hill. The float was barreling straight toward it, gaining momentum with every second. The fanciful stage was emblazoned with the Lobe's smirking face and a banner declaring, "When Lobe Rules the Earth." In front of it, the crowd huddled together, their wide eyes reflecting sheer panic as they scrambled to scatter from the rampaging tissue-paper dinosaur's path.

The Huntsman's heart surged. With a mighty leap, he sprang from the T-Rex's head and landed squarely in front of the oncoming float. Planting his feet firmly, he braced himself. "By the strength of a bear!" he bellowed, his boots grinding against the asphalt as he pushed back against the behemoth.

The float shuddered but continued forward, its momentum almost unstoppable. The Huntsman gritted his teeth harder. "The stopping power of an ox!" His biceps bulged as he grabbed the float's wobbling frame, digging in his heels.

The crowd gasped as the float began to slow, the Huntsman pouring every ounce of his strength into the effort. Sweat poured down his brow as he bellowed one last declaration: "And the sheer stubbornness of a mule!"

The float groaned and creaked, its forward momentum still pushing him forward as the heels of his boots continued to dig furrows into the asphalt. The head of the T-Rex bobbed lower as if trying to reach him with its mismatched tissue-paper teeth, the whole float looming over the hero as it attempted to push him towards certain doom.

The Huntsman's pulse thundered in his ears. It was harrowing, reckless, and utterly out of control.

And he had never felt more alive.

A small bluish bolt of lightning zipped in and out from an abandoned office building, darting like a lightning bolt on a mission. After blasting through the steel-reinforced doors and discovering the elevators were disabled, Pinky knew there was no time for doubts or second guesses. He was keenly aware that heroes don't dawdle—not in the comic books, and certainly not in real life.

Pinky didn't even have to think, and had grabbed Brain first. With his newfound superstrength, he cradled Brain in his arms as he sped down the stairs, flight after flight blurring by as his feet barely touched the steps. Pinky didn't stop until he burst onto the street, depositing Brain a safe distance from the building.

"Narf! There you go, Brain! All safe and sound!" Pinky chirped, though his glow flickered slightly with exertion.

Before Brain could muster a word—be it praise, complaint, or some smug comment—Pinky spun around, already charging back into the building. The countdown blared ominously from inside the building, but Pinky barely noticed. There was still more rescuing to do.

Pinky zipped back into the building, his neon-blue glow bouncing off the walls of the dim stairwell. His ears trailed behind him as he burst into the room where Cosgrove was waiting, still calm as ever despite the countdown echoing through the building.

Before Cosgrove could comment, Pinky wrapped his arms around the sergeant and, with an impressive display of superstrength, hoisted him completely off the floor and over his head.

"This is a new experience," Cosgrove remarked, his tone as flat as ever, though one eyebrow quirked slightly in curiosity.

"Hang on tight, Mr. Cosgrove!" Pinky exclaimed, his face scrunched with determination. With a burst of speed, he shot down the stairs, dodging debris and skidding around corners until they reached the sidewalk. Pinky set Cosgrove gently on his feet, dusted him off with quick pats, and smiled.

Cosgrove nodded, as unshaken as if he'd just stepped off a slow-moving elevator. "Thanks, kid. Nice work."

But Pinky wasn't listening. His ears twitched, and his eyes flicked toward the building. "Oh no! Dexter!" he yelped, already spinning around to dash back inside. His heart raced, his glow pulsing with renewed urgency. Dexter was still up there, and Pinky couldn't let his new friend down.

He didn't make it far. Just as he reached the building's threshold, a deafening boom shattered the air. The entire top of the office building erupted into a fiery explosion, sending a plume of smoke and debris into the sky. Pinky froze, his wide eyes reflecting the glow of the inferno above.

"Oh no…" he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Dexter doesn't get blown up by the explosion at this time," Freakazoid announces confidently, leaning back in a simple padded chair. He's in what looks like a boy's bedroom, surrounded by a collection of action figures, stacks of Atari cartridges, and posters of race cars. He holds a well-worn book in his lap.

"What?" Pinky asks, tilting his head in confusion. He's sitting cross-legged on a bed, wearing a rumpled Chicago Bears T-shirt several sizes too big.

Freakazoid closes the book with a dramatic thud. "The explosion doesn't get him. I'm explaining to you because you look nervous."

Pinky gasps. "I wasn't nervous. Maybe a little concerned, but that's not the same thing." He pauses for a moment. "What about the Huntsman?"

Freakazoid stares blankly for a moment, flipping through an imaginary mental Rolodex. "The who?"

Pinky blinks. "The Huntsman! You know, the superhero in green who's literally risking his life to stop a speeding parade float from squashing a crowd?"

"Oh, him!" Freakazoid waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. I'm sure he's fine."

Then Freakazoid springs to his feet, tossing the book over his shoulder without a care. "Enough chit-chat and ripping off 80s movies! The suspense is over! Hello, everybody! I'm baaack!!!"

A bolt of crackling blue lightning shot out from the expanding fireball at the office building's top floor, spiraling down the side like an electrified corkscrew. It illuminated the street below in flashes of dazzling light, drawing the eyes of Cosgrove, Pinky, and the Brain skyward.

At about twenty-five feet off the ground, the lightning coalesced into a figure. Freakazoid leapt free from the wall, tucking into a somersault mid-air before slamming into the pavement in a flawless superhero landing. The ground trembled slightly beneath his outstretched fist, sparks flying from his glowing blue form.

"Oh, good. He's returned," Brain remarked dryly.

Cosgrove, hands in his pockets, almost smiled. "Good to have you back, kid."

Pinky scratched his head thoughtfully. "Does anybody else suddenly feel like watching The Princess Bride?"

Freakazoid sprang upright, tossing his arms wide and beaming with his trademark grin. "As you wish! But first, we have a supervillain to stop!"

Pinky's eyes grew large, and he clutched his cheeks dramatically. "Wait, what about Dexter?!"

Freakazoid froze mid-pose, his grin faltering. "Oh, uh... he's fine! I rescued him, but he said all the excitement was giving him indigestion."

Pinky relaxed, sighing with relief. "Oh, good. Poor guy. He probably needs a cheese sandwich. I hear those help with tummy troubles!"

Freakazoid frowned for a moment. "I think he's had enough of cheese for a good long while."

Brain pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we focus on stopping the Lobe, or must this absurdity continue indefinitely?"

Freakazoid shot him a thumbs-up. "Don't worry, little mouse mastermind! I've got this covered. Now, let's save the day!"

Squinting into the distance, he took in the full scope of the pandemonium: bystanders fleeing from a dinosaur parade float, the Lobe maniacally monologuing atop the grandstand, and a flock of balloons escaping into the sky—where one popped and caused an inexplicable small explosion of glitter.

"This," Freakazoid declared, pointing into the fray, "is precisely the kind of mess that calls for a superhero." He straightened, puffing out his chest, and glanced over his shoulder at Brain, Pinky, and Cosgrove. "And it's exactly the kind of mess we're going to clean up…" He paused for dramatic effect, raising a finger. "… in the next chapter!"

He turns to you, throwing his hands up. "Come on, you saw this coming, right? We've got all the ingredients for a climactic finale, and we're saving it. Gotta keep the suspense alive!"

Brain folded his arms as a scowl crossed his face. "Are you talking to somebody?"

Freakazoid waved a hand dismissively. "It's called a narrative device. Look it up." He gives you a wink.

Pinky clasped his hands together and breathed a happy sigh. "He's breaking the fourth wall, Brain! It's so nice to see a professional in his element!" 

Cosgrove nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's got the flair for it."

Brain shook his head. "Fine. Just let me know when you're ready."

Freakazoid spun around dramatically, striking a superhero pose. "Oh, I'm always ready." Then, without missing a beat, he leaned toward the two mice and whispered loudly, "What are we waiting for again?"

Pinky leaned in, mimicking the hushed tone. "I think we're waiting for the next chapter. Narf!"

to be continued…

Chapter Text

The fireplace crackles, casting flickering shadows across the room. Bookshelves are mounted on either side, running from floor to ceiling. They're crammed with books, the titles on the spines showing many of them to be literary classics. Some of the books are even right side up. Freakazoid, wearing a lavish velour smoking jacket over his red superhero suit, sits in a posh leather armchair.

"Hello! Are you ready for the penultimate chapter of this fanfic? I know I am!" He presses his fingers to an ear, as if listening to something. "Sorry, wait… I have just been told that the word penultimate really means second to last. Huh. I really should have said something in the chapter before this."

Freakazoid throws his hands up in resignation. "Whatever! I admit that I had my doubts about this fanfic, especially since I don't have top billing. But who knows? It's not too late for the author to turn things around! Well, it may be, this is the last chapter, after all. But I'm sure you'll enjoy…" Freakazoid looks down at the paper in his hands. "... Mouse Tricks Evolutions Part 2? Part 2!? What, did the author run out of 90s movie titles to parody? That's the best we got for the penultimate… sorry, final… chapter?" 

Freakazoid shakes his head sadly. "Well, I guess this is the best I can do since my show was cancelled nearly thirty years ago." He leans back in the armchair, and waves his hand in your direction. "What are you waiting for? The story is starting!"

Pinky and Freakazoid both zipped away towards the parade, making their way past the colorful marching bands and tissue paper floats. Freakazoid reached the head of the parade, skidding to a dramatic stop in front of the Lobe. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Lobe himself!" Freakazoid smirked, planting his hands on his hips. "I should've known you'd use a parade to feed your ego. Let me guess, you're planning to declare yourself the world's first Grand Marshal Supreme Emperor?"

The Lobe adjusted his lab coat and crossed his arms. "Freakazoid! You're finally here to witness my genius. Of course, I don't expect you to understand such brilliance. Your brain, after all, is mostly pop culture references and tapioca pudding."

Freakazoid gasped theatrically, clutching his chest. "Tapioca? Tapioca?! How dare you insult my intellectual fortitude, you big bully!" He pointed accusingly. "Your floats are tacky, your marching bands are off-key, and your T-Rex float is clearly a knockoff!"

The Lobe's eye twitched. "That float is a fully licensed Jurassic Park product! Do you have any idea what the hourly rate is?" He clenched his fists, lightning crackling around his oversized brain. "You'll pay for that insult, Freakazoid!"

The two yelled dramatically, and then lunged at each other, colliding in a flurry of colorful sparks and exaggerated action lines. Freakazoid zipped around the Lobe, poking at him with rapid-fire quips.

"That T-Rex float looks like it skipped arm day!"

"So your evil plan is to go full Macy's Thanksgiving? Bold move!"

"I've seen more inspiring floats at the swimming pool!"

The Lobe growled, his patience wearing thin. His oversized brain pulsed with energy, and a nearby float's decorative candy cane lifted into the air, twisting ominously before swinging toward Freakazoid like a giant bat. Freakazoid dodged effortlessly, somersaulting mid-air.

"Missed me!" Freakazoid taunted, wiggling his fingers.

Meanwhile, Pinky had zipped over to the toppled T-Rex float, where the Huntsman lay sprawled across the wreckage. His green costume was slightly singed, but his glossy teeth still glinted faintly under the afternoon sun. The banner that read, "When Lobe Rules the Earth" was draped over the shoulders of the tissue paper dinosaur.

Pinky leaned down, gently poking the Huntsman's shoulder. "Helloooo, Mr. Huntsman? Are you okay? You stopped the float and saved everyone, but—oh, dear, you look a little narfed."

The Huntsman groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked blearily at Pinky before muttering, "Take your stinking paws off me, you darn dirty mouse…"

Pinky tilted his head, confused. He gave the Huntsman a comforting pat on his forehead. Pinky looked at the damaged float, its tissue-paper T-Rex head now half-collapsed and sparking with stray wires. "You did a great job stopping it, Mr. Huntsman! I think you broke it, though."

The Huntsman managed a weak smile, raising a trembling fist. "You maniacs! You blew it up!" His voice trailed off as he slipped back into semi-consciousness.

Freakazoid somersaulted into the grandstand with theatrical flair, landing in front of the Lobe. He brushed himself off, then pointed dramatically. "Alright, Lobe! Time to spill the beans with a dramatic monologue—what exactly are you hoping to accomplish with all this? And don't say world domination! The mice called dibs."

The Lobe hesitated, adjusting his lab coat and glancing at the disarrayed parade behind him. "It's not about domination, you simpleton. It's about recognition. Do you know how hard it is to be me? To be a genius surrounded by mediocrity? To have a brain so large and yet—" He paused, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "—so underappreciated!"

Freakazoid tilted his head. "So… you're doing all of this for a little attention?"

The Lobe's face flushed. "It's more than just attention! I want respect! Admiration! I want to be cherished! They'll see the brilliance of my parade, and when I foil my upcoming disaster, they'll adore me."

Freakazoid crossed his arms, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Let me get this straight. You're throwing yourself a parade, causing mayhem, and then saving the day… just to make friends?"

The Lobe stiffened. "It's not about friendship! It's about…" He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. "Well… maybe it's a little about friendship. And statues. Some statues would be nice."

Freakazoid's grin softened into something almost genuine. "Lobe, buddy… you don't need to destroy half the city to get people to like you." He placed a hand on the Lobe's shoulder. "You know why?"

The Lobe blinked. "Why?"

"Because you're my archnemesis." Freakazoid beamed. "And that means we'll always have this! Me, stopping your wacky schemes. You, shaking your fist angrily while lightning flashes dramatically. It's a bond that transcends parades or statues. It's… beautiful."

The Lobe's eyes watered ever so slightly. "You… really think so?"

"Of course!" Freakazoid wiped a pretend tear from his eye. "You complete me."

The Lobe wiped away a single tear, clutching his chest like he'd just been handed an Academy Award. "Jerry Maguire is such an underrated film."

Freakazoid stepped down from the stage and placed his hands on the Lobe's shoulder. With a friendly smile, he said, "I know, buddy. I know."

A moment passed. Freakazoid tilted his head in thought, "Did you say something about an upcoming disaster?"

Before the Lobe could answer, Pinky zipped over, pointing to the sky. "Egad! Look at that! The floats! They're… they're flying!"

Both Freakazoid and the Lobe turned to the parade floats, now glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light. One by one, they began to lift into the air, shifting and twisting unnaturally. Streamers unraveled like sinew, balloons popped in bursts of static, and gears—gears that shouldn't have existed—clicked into place with an ominous rhythm.

The wire-frame T-Rex snapped upright, its tissue-paper jaws gnashing as it slotted into position, becoming the core of a massive construct. More floats smashed together like pieces of an oversized jigsaw puzzle, their parts reconfiguring into something new. Something monstrous.

Freakazoid blinked. "Oh no."

The Lobe gasped, his face shifting from dismay to pride and back. "It's... it's happening! My Tissue Paper Titan 2000!"

Pinky's eyes widened as he craned his neck to take in the floating parade floats, their shifting pieces forming a colossal figure. "Narf! What happened to the other 1,999 titans?"

"The number conveys a sense of technological accomplishment," the Lobe replied with a dismissive wave.

Freakazoid glanced at the Lobe incredulously. "Wait, you planned this?"

"Of course I planned this!" The Lobe jabbed a finger toward the rising monstrosity as it began to take a humanoid shape, a menacing mixture of steel and paper tissue. "It was supposed to be my grand finale—an awe-inspiring spectacle that would solidify my popularity forever!"

As if to punctuate his words, the Titan's enormous tissue-paper arm slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash. Its papier-mâché fingers gouged deep craters into the asphalt as it pulled itself upright, its glowing eyes casting an eerie light over the street.

Freakazoid tilted his head. "You know, for something made of tissue paper, it's surprisingly intimidating."

The Lobe smiled smugly, radiating confidence like only an evil mastermind can. "Never fear, Freakazoid. I anticipated this exact scenario. The Tissue Paper Titan 2000, while awe-inspiring, is nothing more than a showpiece! I installed a clever failsafe to deactivate it at a moment's notice." 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black remote control with a single oversized red button in the center. He pressed the button with flair, grinning at Freakazoid. "Observe!"

Not too far away, the Tissue Paper Titan froze momentarily, its glowing eyes dimming slightly. Then, as if reconsidering its pause, it picked up a parked car and hurled it toward the horizon, the sound of shattering glass echoing in the distance.

The Lobe's grin faltered. He pressed the button again, harder this time. The Titan turned toward a streetlight, yanking it out of the ground like a weed and wielding it like an oversized baton. With an almost deliberate precision, it swung the streetlight into a nearby mailbox, scattering letters and confetti-like scraps of paper everywhere.

Freakazoid crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.  "And what am I observing, exactly?"

The Lobe began frantically mashing the button, his once-cocky demeanor crumbling into frustration. "This isn't right! It's supposed to power down! Why isn't it powering down!?"

Freakazoid leaned closer, his grin widening. "Maybe somebody didn't program it correctly?"

The Lobe whipped around, pointing an accusatory finger at the unconscious Huntsman sprawled on the ground nearby. "No! I know exactly what's wrong! That sinewy nincompoop must have damaged the system on his ridiculous joy ride earlier!"

Pinky puffed out his chest with determination, his ears standing tall. "Well then, we'll just have to stop it ourselves! Narf!"

Both Freakazoid and the Lobe turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

Pinky paused, his bravado wavering slightly. He tapped his chin, his electrical ears twitching as he thought. "Uhm… how do we do that, exactly?" Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, his eyes lit up. "The answer's obvious! Teamwork! It's always teamwork!"

He leapt on top of the grandstand and climbed to stand on top of the podium at the center of the stage. "We shall fight it in the streets! We shall fight it among the floats! We shall fight it with the courage of friendship and the power of super-duper togetherness! We shall not crumble, we shall not frazzle, and we shall NEVER… EVER… fold!"

Pinky jabbed a triumphant finger toward the horizon, his voice echoing with gusto. "For united we stand, divided we're just three superheroes trying to stop a giant robot made of paper! Teamwork makes the dream work!"

Pinky took a deep breath, expecting applause or at least an enthusiastic "narf!" from his companions. Instead, he heard bickering in the distance.

"Will you stop trying to hit the knees?! Knees aren't the key to structural integrity!" the Lobe's voice echoed.

"You don't know that!" Freakazoid shot back. His arms were wrapped around the titan's left knee, his feet left dangling above the ground. "Maybe if you stopped trying to hit it with your weird Internet brain beams and aimed for its head, we'd get somewhere!"

"I designed it, you blue-skinned blockhead! I know what I'm doing!"

Pinky turned to see Freakazoid and the Lobe already in action, hurling insults and wildly flinging attacks at the Titan—completely separately. His ears drooped. "Narf… I thought the speech was really good, too."

The Tissue Paper Titan 2000 roared, its glowing eyes narrowing as it swiped a tissue-paper arm at Freakazoid, narrowly missing. It stomped one oversized foot, sending a ripple through the asphalt as if mocking the heroes' lack of coordination. Pinky huffed, marching toward the fray. "Fine! If I have to be the responsible one, then so be it! But I'm still doing it with teamwork even if I have to do it myself!"

Pinky darted into the fray, his crackling blue energy lighting up the chaotic battlefield. With a swift leap, he landed on the Titan's arm, clinging to the edge of a tissue-paper seam. "Take that, you oversized paper mâché meanie!" he declared, channeling his newfound strength to tear at the Titan's structure. Bits of shredded tissue fluttered to the ground like confetti, but the Titan's arm regenerated almost instantly, glowing with a mocking, spectral light.

Freakazoid zigzagged around the Titan's feet, landing quick punches with gleeful abandon. "You want a piece of me? How about a whole ream!" He unleashed a flurry of fists, but the Titan countered with a thunderous stomp that sent Freakazoid tumbling backward into a cotton candy cart. He popped up a moment later, holding a pink, fluffy stick. "Snack break!" he quipped, before tossing the cotton candy aside and diving back into the fight.

The Lobe hovered at the Titan's other side, his brain pulsating with electrical energy as he focused his mental power beams on the Titan's torso. "You dare defy your creator? I'll show you who's in charge!" His attack left a visible scorch mark, but the Titan retaliated by swatting at him with its massive tissue-paper claw. The Lobe narrowly avoided being crushed, hovering higher and scowling in frustration. "You ungrateful pile of pulp!"

Pinky scurried up the Titan's leg, dodging swipes from its papier-mâché hands. "Freakazoid! Lobe! Teamwork, remember? Let's do a cyber-tacular combo attack!" He suddenly held an oversized mallet in his hands, and raised it toward the Titan's face. "Get the nose! Go for the sneeze!"

But the Titan gave no indication it was susceptible to sneezing—or teamwork. Its glowing eyes flared red, and with a deafening roar, it unleashed a burst of wind from its T-Rex paper-toothed mouth. The roar knocked all three combatants off balance, scattering them across the street like leaves caught in a storm.

Freakazoid landed in a bush, leaves sticking out of his hair as he muttered, "That was… less than optimal." He staggered to his feet, brushing twigs from his hair as he pointed dramatically at the towering Titan. "Okay, Titan. Now it's personal!"

Before he could charge back into the fray, a calm, familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"Hey. We're here."

Freakazoid froze mid-charge, awkwardly posed standing on only one foot. He turned to see Cosgrove arriving nonchalantly at the edge of the battlefield, casually dragging a fire hose behind him, the nozzle clinking against the pavement. Behind him, Brain followed.

"Brain!" Pinky happily exclaimed.

"Cosgrove!" Freakazoid beamed, rushing over to greet him. "I'm so happy to see you! I'm not sure about the mouse, though."

Brain deftly stepped out of Pinky's embrace and clasped his hands together behind his back, his tone brisk and professional. "Yes, yes, greetings exchanged, gratitude noted. Stand aside. It's time to enact my ingenious plan—a multifaceted strategy utilizing fluid dynamics to destabilize the Titan's core structural integrity."

Cosgrove raised the nozzle, interrupting, "Brain asked me to hook the fire hose to a hydrant and bring it here." He glanced at Brain with a deadpan expression. "That's the whole plan."

Brain's eye twitched. "Yes, but my explanation made it sound more compelling."

Cosgrove gave a slight shrug. "It's a hose. It sprays water. You're welcome."

The Tissue Paper Titan roared, its glowing eyes narrowing as it stomped toward the group, each step shaking the ground beneath them. Freakazoid, Pinky, and the Lobe exchanged glances, an unspoken agreement passing between them.

"Alright, teamwork it is!" Freakazoid declared, cracking his knuckles. "Pinky, keep its arms busy! Lobe, use your brain beams on its legs! Cosgrove and Brain, do your thing with the hose!"

Pinky saluted with enthusiasm. "Right-o! Distract the big scary robot made of paper. Sounds like fun! Poit!"

He zipped toward the Titan with electrified speed, darting around its arms and zapping its tissue-paper joints, sending sparks flying. The Titan swatted at him, but Pinky was too quick, his glowing trail weaving a confusing pattern in the air.

Meanwhile, the Lobe directed his telekinetic powers at the Titan's knees, hurling debris and random objects at them with surgical precision. "Take that, you stubborn amalgamation!" he shouted.

Freakazoid leapt onto the Titan's back, pulling on loose wires and snapping joints. "I'm the rogue element! You'll never see me coming!" he quipped before narrowly avoiding a swiping papier-mâché claw.

Down below, Cosgrove and Brain coordinated their attack with the fire hose. Brain stood beside Cosgrove, pointing with a commanding air. "Aim for its central torso—soak through its structural supports! That's where it's most vulnerable!"

Cosgrove adjusted the nozzle, blasting a high-pressure stream of water directly at the Titan. The water hit its torso, and the Titan staggered, its tissue-paper skin darkening and sagging as it absorbed the liquid.

"It's working!" Brain exclaimed, his voice almost triumphant.

The Titan lurched forward, its frame quivering as though trying to shake off the water. It straightened itself, wobbling but still standing. Its glowing eyes flashed with renewed determination.

"Uh-oh," Freakazoid muttered, hanging off one of its arms. "I think we just made it mad!"

The Titan lunged, nearly toppling the grandstand, but Cosgrove held steady, redirecting the hose with Brain's guidance. Pinky zipped in front of the Titan, waving his arms. "Hey, over here! I'm being a nuisance, la la la! Aren't I distracting?"

With one final, concentrated blast of water to its chest, the Titan froze, its limbs drooping. The lights in its eyes dimmed. It swayed precariously, then began to collapse. Tissue paper crumpled and tore as the Titan melted into a soggy heap.

As it fell, its voice warbled, "I'm melting! Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world!"

The group stood in stunned silence for a beat.

The Lobe finally spoke, his voice tinged with confusion. "I didn't know it could do that."

The battlefield was quiet now, save for the occasional drip or splosh of a soaked tissue-paper fragment. The Tissue Paper Titan lay in a soggy heap, its once-menacing form reduced to a dripping pile of papier-mâché. Freakazoid stood in front of Pinky and the Lobe, who still glowed faintly with Internet superpowers.

"Alright, listen up," Freakazoid began, pointing a dramatic finger at the pair. "The powers aren't yours to keep. Before he freed me from his cyberspace firewall, Roddy MacStew made me swear an oath that I'd be the only one with Freakazoid powers." He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe Roddy was just quoting from the Highlander movie, I don't remember for sure now."

The Lobe crossed his arms indignantly. "This is preposterous! I don't need a lecture from you, Freakazoid. These powers are transformative! With them, I could—"

"Have a parade and get statues built, yeah, yeah, we've been over this," Freakazoid interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "Spoiler alert: it's not happening. Smart mouse, back me up here!"

Brain stepped forward, his expression one of careful neutrality. "For once, I find myself in agreement with Freakazoid. Pinky is far better suited to being… well, Pinky."

Pinky's ears drooped slightly. "Aww, Brain, you think I'm better without the zappy-zoop powers?"

"Undeniably," Brain replied, his tone brisk. "Your current state is a logistical nightmare. It's difficult enough managing your usual level of chaos without adding Internet superpowers into the mix."

Brain paused, his fidgeting hands betraying his normally composed demeanor. "Besides… I like you just the way you are."

Pinky's glowing ears perked up, his face lighting up with a big grin. "Aww, Brain! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

Brain stood straighter, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. "Yes, well, don't let it go to your head. There's work to be done."

Freakazoid turned to Brain, hands on his hips. "Can you build something to de-power them? You know, like one of your… science gizmos or whatever?"

Brain's eyebrow twitched at the term 'gizmo,' but he nodded. "Of course. My original device for power extraction was destroyed, but I can reconstruct it. Given the Lobe's resources, it should take no more than a few hours."

The Lobe's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to let you use my lab equipment to undo my genius plan? Ha! I'll never—"

"Cut it out, Lobe," Cosgrove interjected, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles. "You're lucky we're even having this conversation instead of tossing you in jail."

The Lobe grumbled something under his breath but didn't protest further.

Brain stood atop a workbench in the warehouse, surrounded by a chaotic array of tools, wires, and glowing gadgets. At the center of it all was his modified Freakazoid Power Extractor 2000, now resembling something that looked like an overcomplicated blender mixed with a disco ball and an antennae on top. His tiny hands moved with precision, connecting components and adjusting dials.

"Careful with that capacitor!" Brain barked, his voice echoing across the room. "If it discharges prematurely, it will—"

ZAP! Sparks flew as Freakazoid accidentally touched two wires together. His hair shot straight up, giving him the appearance of a very surprised lightning rod.

"Oopsie!" Freakazoid said with a grin, holding up his singed gloves. "Didn't see that coming!"

Brain let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. "This cannot be over any faster…"

Pinky nodded in agreement. "It's so hard to find good help these days!" He was holding several jars precariously balanced in his arms. "Here you go, Brain, I sorted all of the nuts and bolts!"

Brain peered into one of the jars, his brow furrowing. "Are those… almonds?"

"Nuts and bolts! Narf!" Pinky exclaimed proudly, before tipping the jar slightly to show its contents: almonds, cashews, and what might have been a lone lug nut at the bottom.

Meanwhile, in a far corner of the room, the Lobe sat hunched over a soldering iron, his face a mask of resentment. "Forced to cooperate on my own undoing," he muttered to himself. "The indignity of it all! At least I've found solace in adding some flair to the design." He gestured to a circuit board adorned with a small engraved plaque: 'Designed by the Lobe – Genius at Large.'

Cosgrove stood nearby, his arms crossed as he watched the Lobe work. He raised one single eye brow.

The Lobe sniffed, clutching the soldering iron like it was the last shred of his dignity. "Well, it's the little personal touches that really shape the whole design."

As another burst of sparks lit up the room and Freakazoid yelped with glee, Brain let out another sigh, muttering under his breath. "I should have stayed in the cage."

A few long hours later, Brain stepped back from the now-complete Freakazoid Power Extractor 2001, wiping his hands together with a look of smug satisfaction. The contraption gleamed ominously, its blinking lights and spinning disco ball adding a touch of questionable flair to its otherwise imposing presence.

"Behold!" Brain declared, his voice echoing through the warehouse. "The culmination of my unparalleled genius! This device will safely extract and neutralize all Internet superpowers, restoring Pinky and the Lobe to their natural, non-chaotic states. And then…" He raised his hand dramatically, his grin turning into a triumphant smile.

"Brain, focus!" Freakazoid interrupted, gesturing wildly at the glowing contraption. "Less monologuing, more de-superpowering, please!"

Brain scowled but stepped toward the control panel. "Fine. But only because I cannot bear another moment of this bedlam." He adjusted a lever marked Superpower Extraction and pressed a large, glowing green button labeled Commence Genius Operation.

Pinky stood in the center of the machine's activation zone, a red bullseye painted on the floor and covered in sparkling glitter. He waved cheerfully. "Oh, Brain, you're so clever! I'm ready for my close-up! Narf!"

The Lobe, standing a few feet away on a similar bullseye, crossed his arms with a huff. "This is a travesty," he muttered. "I was finally on the brink of true greatness, and now you're robbing me of it. I demand to file a formal complaint!"

Freakazoid leaned in with a cheeky grin. "You want to fill out the feedback form now or after your powers are gone?"

Before the Lobe could retort, the machine roared to life. Whirring gears and crackling energy filled the room as bolts of blue lightning arced toward both Pinky and the Lobe. Streams of binary code spun around them like glowing ribbons, spiraling upward and into the extractor's central antenna.

Pinky giggled as the energy swirled around him. "Oooh, it tickles! Is this what a spa day feels like?"

The Lobe, on the other hand, looked less amused. "This is outrageous! I—" His words cut off as his body briefly glowed with the energy being drained, the power leaving him in shimmering waves.

The machine hummed with one final surge, then quieted, the lights on its panels dimming. Pinky and the Lobe both slumped slightly, their supercharged glow gone.

Pinky blinked, looking over his fur and the lack of a superhero costume. "Oh, I'm all regular again! Poit!" He turned to Brain, his eyes sparkling with genuine gratitude. "Thanks, Brain! It was fun being all zap-pow-boom, but I think I like being me better."

Brain's expression softened ever so slightly, and he gave Pinky a small nod. "As you should, Pinky. As you should."

Meanwhile, the Lobe was busy patting himself down, muttering, "Back to the mundane, I suppose." He looked up, a slight smile forming on his face. "Does anyone mind if I give a sinister monologue before mysteriously disappearing?"

Freakazoid nodded. "No, no, go ahead. I'd be surprised if you didn't."

The Lobe bowed slightly to Freakazoid and then cleared his throat before starting. "You think you've won this time!" He raised his fists into the air with theatrical flair. "But you never expected me to sabotage Brain's machine!" 

He paused. Nothing happened. The room remained silent except for the faint hum of the still-operating device.

"Nope. We totally expected a double cross," Cosgrove said. Freakazoid nodded in agreement while Pinky was busy picking ear wax out of his ears.

Brain's expression was smug. "Indeed. My machine is entirely sabotage-proof. I anticipated every scenario."

The Lobe's smirk faltered. "What about an overload in the flux capacitor?"

"Preemptively stabilized," Brain replied curtly.

"Cross-wiring the jeffries tubes?"

"Reinforced and triple-checked."

"Switching the polarity of the sonic screwdriver?"

"Reversed the reversal."

The Lobe hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "Removing a single bolt from the central oscillator?"

Brain scoffed. "Epoxied in place."

"What about… overloading the power core with an external electromagnetic pulse?"

Brain opened his mouth to answer, then froze. His eyes darted to the corner of the room, where Freakazoid was attempting to stick his finger into an electrical socket while Pinky cheered him on. Brain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I… considered it, but I was too busy preventing them from destroying the machine with their antics to implement the precaution."

The Lobe raised a triumphant finger. "Ah-ha!"

Brain's machine let out a low, ominous rattle, the sound building into a metallic groan. Sparks began to dance along its surface, and the power core was suddenly bathed in a brilliant flash of light. A wave of energy rippled through the room, rattling loose screws and tools, and in one dramatic moment, the entire contraption collapsed inward, crumpling like a discarded soda can.

Everyone froze.

The silence was broken by Freakazoid and Pinky, who were still standing by the electrical socket. Both had wide, innocent eyes.

"I didn't do it!" Freakazoid declared, holding his hands up.

"Me neither! Poit!" Pinky added, mimicking Freakazoid's pose.

Cosgrove surveyed the room. "Hey. The Lobe's gone."

Freakazoid shook his head, a small, wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I have to admit, that was pretty good as far as mysterious disappearances go. He's got the villain exit thing down."

Brain rolled his eyes, stepping forward with his usual air of exasperated superiority. "Speaking of disappearances, it is time for Pinky and I to depart. We have much planning to do before tomorrow night."

Cosgrove raised an eyebrow, fixing Brain with an even stare.  "Why? What are you going to do tomorrow night, Brain?"

Brain froze, his composure faltering slightly. His throat suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. "Why… stay in and watch the new episode of Friends on television with Pinky. Of course."

Cosgrove nodded, satisfied. "Good."

As Brain began gathering his tools, Pinky hesitated, his usually carefree demeanor shifting to something quieter. He turned toward Freakazoid, his ears drooping slightly. "Well… I guess this is goodbye, huh?"

Freakazoid blinked, his grin fading as he knelt down to look Pinky in the eye. "Hey, buddy, it's not like you'll never see me again. I'm sure even now the author is frantically trying to come up with ideas for a sequel."

"I know," Pinky said, his voice soft. "But I'll miss you. And Dexter, too. You'll look after him, right? Make sure he's okay?"

Freakazoid smiled warmly, placing a hand on Pinky's shoulder. "You got it, Pinkster. I'll keep an eye on him. You just make sure to keep being your awesome self, okay?"

Pinky's ears perked up slightly, though his smile was bittersweet. "Okay… but I'll still miss you both. Narf!"

Freakazoid chuckled, standing up and giving Pinky a playful salute. "We'll miss you too, pal. Keep in touch, okay?"

Pinky nodded earnestly, watching as Freakazoid turned back toward Cosgrove.

Pinky scampered over to Brain, grabbing a bag of tools for him. "Well, Brain, I guess that's the end of that plan to take over the world."

Brain's expression remained composed. "Only a temporary setback." He glanced behind him at Freakazoid and Cosgrove. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Pinky?"

Pinky scratched his head, his face scrunched in deep thought. "I think so, Brain, but how many cats with buttered toast would it take to power the whole city?"

Brain blinked slowly. "No, Pinky. I was actually wondering if becoming a superhero might be a worthwhile endeavor. Not seeking fame like the Lobe or indulging in absurdity like Freakazoid, but using intelligence and power as a benevolent force for the betterment of mankind."

Pinky gasped, his eyes wide with admiration. "That'd be great, Brain! And superheroes are all such great tippers, too!"

Brain froze, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Superheroes are… great tippers?"

"Yup!" Pinky nodded earnestly. "It's the colorful spandex! Makes them feel fancy, I think."

Brain sighed deeply, muttering under his breath. "Nevermind." He turned sharply and began walking toward the exit.

Pinky scampered after him, still beaming. "So, what are we going to do tomorrow night, Brain? Are we taking over the world?"

Brain didn't break stride but momentarily glanced back at Sergeant Cosgrove, who raised an eyebrow at him from across the room. After a pause, Brain exhaled and said, "I think I need a break, Pinky. Tell me again about… Ross and Monica."

Freakazoid dusted off his hands, his trademark grin lighting up his face. "Well, that's that! What a wild, crazy adventure that was, huh?"

Cosgrove stood beside him, hands tucked casually in his trench coat pockets, as calm as ever. "Yep. Pretty weird."

Freakazoid pointed excitedly at Cosgrove. "Right?! I mean, a Supervillain Soirée, mice with superpowers, glitter attacks, giant tissue paper robots… That's not your average Tuesday, even for me! But still!" He spun in place with a little flourish before striking a pose. "It was epic."

Cosgrove nodded, unfazed. "Yup. Good stuff, kid."

The two stood there for a moment, watching as Pinky and the Brain exited in the distance, while the last of the parade floats were towed away—deflated, defeated, and pitifully limp. Nearby, a bustling medic team was hoisting the Huntsman to his feet, brushing off scraps of tissue paper stuck to his heroic green suit.

Cosgrove broke the silence, tilting his head. "Hey, Freakazoid. You wanna hit the Waffle Iron Warehouse?"

Freakazoid froze mid-pose, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Waffle Iron Warehouse?! With the free syrup samples?!"

"Yep," Cosgrove replied, as though it were the most obvious invitation in the world.

"Do I wanna—? Cosgrove, that's not even a question!" Freakazoid slung an arm around his shoulder, guiding them off into the distance. "Let's go!"

As they walked away, Freakazoid glanced up, thoughtful. "I should get something nice for Dexter. Do you think they have cheese-shaped waffle irons?"

"Probably. They've got waffle irons for everything."

the end

Roddy MacStew was tired. Bone-tired, if bones existed in cyberspace. He drifted aimlessly through the endless swirl of color and code, his body—or whatever passed for a body here—feeling as thin and stretched as an old bootlace. He wasn't even sure his firewall was still active. It felt flickery, like it might give out at any moment.

But at least Freakazoid made it out safely. Roddy clung to that thought, as if it were the last solid thing in an ever-shifting sea of data. What was it Freakazoid said before leaving?

"You're not the only one in this fight. There are other people that will help."

"Bah," Roddy muttered to himself. "And here I am, still actin' like a stubborn mule."

His brow furrowed as he floated, the streams of ones and zeros hissing faintly past him like digital rain. Other people who can help. It wasn't a bad idea, really. He just needed to ask.

With a deep breath, Roddy stretched out a hand, pulling the glowing threads of cyberspace toward him. A virtual doorway blinked open—a gateway to the Usenet newsgroups.

The interface blinked to life in front of him: classic green-on-black text, clunky, simple, and oddly comforting. Usernames scrolled by, random posts popping up faster than the eye could follow. Discussions about tech glitches, X-Files spoilers, GIFs of stick figures fighting, and reused jokes that existed even before the World Wide Web filled the screen, a chaotic snapshot of the Internet in all its pixelated glory.

Roddy cracked his knuckles, squared his shoulders, and typed:

OneTrueScotsman: hey. need help maintaining priority firewall.

The text floated there, blinking gently. Roddy waited. Silence stretched around him, save for the distant hum of cyberspace—endless, vast, and uncaring.

Maybe no one will see it, Roddy thought, his stomach sinking.

Then, the screen flickered. A new message appeared.

SnowballNotAHamster: Oh, I can definitely help with that. >:)

Roddy frowned, his eyes narrowing at the blinking cursor. Something about that emoticon made the hair on the back of his digital neck stand up.

"...Well, that's not ominous at all," he muttered.

Far off in the swirling void of cyberspace, something shifted.