Not Everything Brainless is Dead (2 page)

Chapter 3: The Big Bad Bunny and the Great Good God

Most great heroes always have a plan. Great, however, was not a word many would use to describe Captain Rescue. Most days, he was far from it. “Wingin’ it” was the philosophy he practiced when approaching the many situations given to him during the course of his crime-fighting career. This philosophy, though crude, had served Captain Rescue well, even if he won most of his victories through acts of sheer luck. On occasion, though, the hero did something that required a modest amount of forethought, such as finding a great use for one of the tools he had yet to discover within his utility belt. Of course, detractors would argue that even chimpanzees have learned rudimentary tool use.

For example, one time just after adorning his crime fighting costume, a little girl tasked the hero with saving her little kitty from the highest branch of the tallest tree. To retrieve the cat, Captain Rescue repeatedly rammed the tree trunk with his parents’ classic ’59 Lincoln, their pride and joy. After a few good whacks, he was able to topple the tree, crushing the car underneath its weight—as well as the cat. Luckily, after spending six weeks in a full body cast, the cat survived. The car, however, had to be put out of its misery. Anyhow, with as much experience as he had getting it wrong, he was bound to get it right from time to time. This was one of those times.

***

Somewhere near the vicinity of the bank heist, nestled in a nondescript alleyway, a vehicle lay in wait, The Rescue Machine. The hero’s very own crime fighting juggernaut. A vehicle that had aided the hero in more than a hundred crime fighting endeavors. A vehicle that sat a testament to justice and the battle against evil. A vehicle that could fit practically anywhere because of its three feet by six feet dimensions. Nobody realized how costly it was to design and produce a vehicle. The hero could not afford anything larger if he wanted it to be as spectacular as possible.

Without warning, the headlights flipped on, and the engine revved like a furious beaver. Then, the vehicle burst forth from the alleyway, squealing like a banshee—a furious beaver banshee. All around, commuters slammed on their breaks to avoid hitting this beaver banshee as it emerged from its hiding place and almost slammed head first into a brick wall. Furious beaver banshees did have a blatant disregard for the safety of themselves and everyone around them, so nothing less should have been expected.             

A few blocks away, the getaway van weaved in and out of traffic as it sped through the downtown streets of the city. It spread anger to all, but not because the aging vehicle cut off or bumped against other vehicles, but because it held up traffic everywhere it went. The weight of the stolen goods made the not-so-performance-vehicle—not-so-performance-er. Sparks flew from its chassis as it scraped the asphalt with every bump, creating quite the light show.

Inside, Captain Rescue was bending and twisting into ridiculous positions in an attempt to break free of his binds. After some time, he decided he could not do it alone. His breathing slowed, his lungs practically stopped—it was not like his brain needed the oxygen—and he tried his best to focus, which meant squinting as hard as he could. A calm aura overtook him, as if tapping into an amazingness buried deep within, amazingness not readily apparent. Captain Rescue had enough trouble proving to people that he was not mentally deficient, let alone amazing.

 Then suddenly, as if touched by God Himself, or even Herself (you never know), the binds that held Captain Rescue’s hands loosened and simply fell to the ground, or perhaps Dr. Malevolent’s lackeys needed a lesson in knot-tying. The hero looked up to where the sky would have been if a metal roof was not obstructing it, and nodded with approval. In his head he imagined God looking back down to him with a giant thumbs up. He almost waved up to God before realizing it would have revealed his free hands to the robbers. With this makeshift plan set into motion, the time had come for Captain Rescue to rid himself of his half-witted captors, who strangely enough had about twice the wit he did.

Captain Rescue had just the thing to rid himself of these would-be criminals: a small black aerosol can with a white stripe down the center. It perfectly depicted the horror contained within. The label read, “Concentrated Skunk Extract” and next to it was a skunk ready to fire with its tail raised high into the air. In parenthesis underneath the name were the words “(Now with
real
skunk extract, not that artificial junk)”. With knowledge of the gruesome fate that awaited the poor pitiful criminals, Captain Rescue slid the canister from his boot and grinned.

However, his preparations did not go unnoticed. One of the lackeys motioned to his buddies to take notice of their seemingly bound hero.

“Stop squirming!” the lackey said sternly to Captain Rescue.

The hero raised his chin high into the air. “Sorry, it’s difficult to plan breaking free without moving.”

A pair of lackeys leaned forward to subdue him. As their fists beat against his gut, he pressed the top of the canister and dropped the skunk extract to the floor. It rolled around inside the van unnoticed by the criminals as a green mist started to mix with the air around them. Captain Rescue grabbed a small respirator from his belt and slipped it into his nose. Its existence had only been revealed to him earlier this evening, and he was not willing to admit the places he tried to put it before he discovered its true use.

While Dr. Malevolent’s lackeys were busy investigating this suspicious green mist, Captain Rescue leapt to his feet with as much grace as his shapely body could muster. He then lifted his foot high into the air and prepared to kick the back of the van open. As before, his eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, trying to tap every ounce of superhero juju he could muster. Then, just like that ninja he saw on television the other day, Captain Rescue placed his foot against the door repeatedly. What transpired next did not quite go as it did in the movie. He kicked, and his foot connected with the door—but that was about as far as fate would allow. The force of the impact knocked the hero to his back. He must have drained his pool of superhero awesomeness. Either that or his pools were dry from the start, a more likely scenario.

During the commotion, a compartment overhead shook open, and a blue blur tumbled out. Captain Rescue was startled to see the head of a bunny rabbit smiling at him through the green haze. The jostling continued, and a hand fell beside the head. The swaying van made the hand appear to wave at the valiant hero, who giggled like a schoolgirl at his newfound friend. Even though he was sure that it would have been great to talk to, Captain Rescue resisted the urge to strike up a conversation. Other matters were more pressing. All around him, the green faced criminals had fallen to their knees with skunk-induced nausea. The hero rose to his feet and rubbed his sore butt; he then rubbed his eyes and wished they made respirators for them as well. On top of the irritated eyes, Captain Rescue started to feel faintly dizzy, and he was sure that he had breathed through his mouth at least a couple of times.

The hero waded through the sea of sickened criminals while attempting not to bump any of them in case they were primed to blow. He faced the door once more and for a moment thought about kicking it open again. Considering how that went the last time, he was smart to simply lift the latch. Captain Rescue waved back to the bunny, which he felt sure was sad to see him go—even if its wide smile and cheerful plastic eyes hid the fact. Just before stepping into the wild grey yonder of the busy street, Captain Rescue smiled in victory over the green criminals.

***

As a green mist started seeping in through the air vents, Dr. Malevolent remembered that Boris’s lactose intolerance had given her just the weapon to fight this biological war. She popped open the glove compartment and removed a pair of gas masks. The two criminals (one of which should probably have been watching the road) glanced back at the lackeys, who were on their sides from the skunk-induced coma, and then in unison, they slid the gas masks over their faces.

Boris turned around to see what the road was up to just in time to discover that he was no longer on it. Either that, or some wise guy decided the middle of the street was the perfect place to put a mailbox. The van crashed headfirst into it, sending letters flying everywhere. Dr. Malevolent slid her rod from its custom-made holster and threatened Boris with wide eyes, but she realized it was probably a bad idea to assault the driver of your van, so she simply tapped him on the noggin while maintaining her wild wide eyes, lest he forget.

***

During the mailbox shenanigans, Captain Rescue was sitting atop the van with his magnetized pants, resting after a bit of arduous crime fighting, when out of nowhere, poor little Sammy’s Christmas card to Santa smacked him in the face. The hero collapsed onto his back to avoid any more letters that might have found their way to him. As he lay there, his thoughts were only of poor Sammy. More than anything, Captain Rescue hoped that Dr. Malevolent’s antics would not rob the poor kid of his Christmas joy. He imagined a sad Sammy on Christmas morning underneath a bare tree, crying his eyes out. After the hero finished putting these crooks behind bars, he planned to write a card to Santa Claus to inform him of the mailbox mishap. 

After a few minutes of much needed rest, a frantic honking erupted from the side of the van, drawing Captain Rescue’s attention. He peered down to see his trusty steed, The Rescue Machine, driving itself with its high-tech autopilot. As the hero stood there upon the edge of the roof, admiring his vehicle, he could not help but to let his eyes drift to the pavement. The rushing grey asphalt made Captain Rescue increasingly dizzy; he jerked his head up and shook it off.

The valiant hero then stood as straight as his pounding heart would allow, closed his eyes, and stepped off the edge of the van. A normal man may have called this a leap of faith, but since Captain Rescue was not a man of faith, it must just have been an act of sheer foolishness. As he plummeted from the top of the van, a sound rose from the Rescue Machine, a sound that could only be interpreted as the poor vehicle electronically sighing as it attempted to catch Captain Rescue, thus rescuing him from becoming road kill. In a move calculable only by a sophisticated computer, the hero landed safely in the driver’s seat and the chase began.

Chapter 4: The Tortoise and the Tortoise

Head to head, The Rescue Machine and its arch nemesis, The Getaway Van, screeched through the downtown streets of the city at breakneck speeds—or as breakneck as you would expect two veritable tortoises to be. In actuality, The Rescue Machine was not built to fight crime. When designing it (with crayons), Captain Rescue felt that speed and maneuverability were not high on its list of priorities. He had mostly hoped to pick up sexy ladies with it, a rather unsuccessful goal that was certainly not from a lack of trying. The restraining orders proved that—all of which made out to the “crazy man with that purple suit and weird car.”

And thus, the “crazy man with the purple suit and weird car” and his nemesis dangerously slammed their weapons of choice into each other as sparks flew in every direction. All the while angry old ladies in their luxury sedans swerved around the two. The senior citizens threw their fists into the air and made obscene gestures and faces that, if properly harnessed, could wake the dead. This everlasting road war between the two tortoises lasted but a few city blocks before the one hindrance that could halt their adventures reared its ugly head: a red light.

Boris cranked the wheel to the left, aiming for the sidewalk, but Dr. Malevolent screeched, “Stop!”

“What boss? We always do this instead of waiting for red lights,” the henchman replied as he came to a stop.

Dr. Malevolent pointed at the roadside vendors. “Those men are hardworking individuals, and I’m sure many of them have families to support, bills to pay, and mouths to feed. We’re not going to just parade through them and wreck their entire livelihood to get around a red light a few seconds sooner.”

She huffed, rant complete.

Boris stared at her. “Wow boss, I had no idea you felt that way. I thought you were a complete misanthrope.”

“Well,” Dr. Malevolent began, “I have a soft spot for a few select people. But you’re not one of them, so shut up.”

She
did
have a soft spot for these roadside vendors. In fact, her father was one of them. In Dr. Malevolent’s fondest childhood memories, she would leave her house and skip around the block to get a free hot dog from her father while he was at work. But like all fairy tales, this one had to end. Dr. Malevolent’s father died suddenly during her youth. Poisoned, she suspected, by a greedy corporation who were upset at her father for stealing business from their cafeteria. Sure, it was entirely possible, and quite likely, that her father died of natural causes, but this fabricated story molded her into a successful criminal she was today.

As Captain Rescue pulled up next to his nemesis, Dr. Malevolent slowly turned her head towards the hero and made some of the most ridiculous faces imaginable. Their eyes locked and an eternal staring contest began. With the battlefield set and the stakes high, the victor would only be determined after the brain of their opponent exploded and rained grey matter across the heavens. Boris leaned forward from behind Dr. Malevolent and fixated on the hero with the sole purpose of melting the man using only his mind. As luck would have it, Captain Rescue was an all-state staring contest champion, so Boris’s vain attempt at meltification went unnoticed. To further her efforts, Dr. Malevolent unsheathed her inanimate carbon rod and started to beat herself over the head with it. While this almost broke her own concentration, Captain Rescue kept his eyes wide open. With her strategies exhausted, she shrugged and flashed the hero; a plan almost certain to break his concentration, and indeed, Dr. Malevolent was victorious.