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Where mayhem is the man-fish!

The Apocalyptic Council: Mister Frink’s Holiday

Posted by meekrat on September 27, 2010

Note: This is the finale of Choose Your Own Blogventure.
Note #2: This takes place before March Meekrat Madness 2010.

Charleston Charge awoke to find himself in a closet, and remembered what he was doing there. There was a conspiracy to bring about the Apocalypse, or at least to keep it on track, and Charleston had somehow become responsible for making sure that the world didn’t end. He opened the door to see a tribe of Mayans standing in the hallway, some walking and chatting with each other, some drinking coffee. They all turned to him and Charleston slammed the closet door behind him and hoped and prayed that his ally, Edwin Cloudstar, was able to find him.

***

Deep within the bowels of the Apocalyptic Council’s headquarters, Edwin Cloudstar sat in a dank dungeon. It wasn’t the worst dungeon he had ever been in, to be certain, but it was still quite annoying because they somehow knew how to circumvent the mystical connection he had with his sword. Again, not the first time, but no less annoying than all the other times. He sat and hoped that his ally, Charleston Charge, would be able to find him.

***

The Impossible Mister Frink sat in his breakfast nook, sipping some tea and reading his paper, basically enjoying his morning. His adopted son, Brian, was off on some adventure with some costumed heroes, so it was a fairly quiet day. Most days had been quiet since the unofficial disbanding of the Basset Hound Brigade, in fact. Not too quiet, of course. A man like Mister Frink knew how to create his own excitement, after all, but it was still nice to have a quiet day every now and again.

There was a knock at the door, the sort of knock that insinuated that if you didn’t open the door, then it would be opened by force. Were Brian there, Mister Frink likely would have continued sitting there enjoying the comic strips. Since he wasn’t, he cracked his knuckles and walked over to the door.

Vinny Fitzpatrick was standing on the other side, holding his aviator cap and goggles in front of him.

Mister Frink sighed and opened the door, “Good morning, Vincenzo. What brings you here?”

“I know we only get the ol’ team back together for big things, Mister Frink, but I got word that there’s the mother of all trouble brewin’ down south,” said Vinny.

“Very well,” said Mister Frink, “I suppose we’re expected to just go down there and solve things?”

“I was hoping,” Vinny smiled, “Only I wasn’t able to get anyone else.”

Mister Frink’s eyebrow raised, “What’s Douglas and Jenkins doing that are so important?”

“They’re on a case,” said Vinny, “And Mister Lucky’s nowhere to be found.”

“He’s busy with that blasted literature club,” replied Mister Frink, grabbing his overcoat, “Details, Vincenzo! Details!”

They walked to Mister Frink’s private airstrip, and along the way Vinny explained how he had found himself in contact with the new iteration of the spy organization, CAST, most notably a young woman who called herself E. A young man she knew had traveled south months ago and no one had heard from him since, and she was unable to travel there herself. Since she knew Vinny’s history with the Basset Hound Brigade, she hoped that he would at least check into it, which eventually led him to this point.

Mister Frink nodded, “Do we know where this complex is?”

“She says she don’t know,” said Vinny, “Could we take your plane? Only I had a bit o’ trouble wit’ mine.”

Vinny’s plane had been crashed, like the vast majority of his planes, into a small grove of trees several hundred yards from the airfield. He had never been able to land, except in the direst of circumstances. Mister Frink just tossed him the keys to the plane and hoped for the best.

***

Several hours later, the pair flew over some farmland.

“Have you been here before?” asked Mister Frink, pointing to a crashed bi-plane.

“Never,” said Vinny, “I think we’re on the right track. Look!”

A giant monster loomed in front of them, lumbering down the road, its massive black wings flapping slowly. As far as such things went, it wasn’t that terrifying, having the normal amount of arms and legs. Of course, all these arms and legs were tentacles, and its head looked like an octopus. It looked up and its giant coal-black eyes narrowed.

“It’s seen us, Mister Frink!” shouted Vinny, who threw the plane into a dive.

“Pull up, lad! Pull up!” screamed Mister Frink.

It was too late. The tentacle monster reached out and plucked the plane from the air. Instead of crushing it, he placed it gently on the ground, and then shrank, pulling his wings inwards. They formed a cloak around his body. He slithered over to the plane and knocked on the window.

“Are you two all right?” slobbered the demon.

Mister Frink and Vinny stared out the window, a look of shock upon Mister Frink’s face. Vinny, however, was either too afraid or too dumb to realize that he should be afraid, and gave the monster a thumbs-up. He hopped out of the plane.

“I’m so sorry about that,” said the tentacle monster, grasping Vinny’s hand, “I was in deep thought. I didn’t mean to make you crash.”

“No harm done,” said Vinny, gently pulling his hand away, “Say, you couldn’t tell us where some base for a bunch o’ Apocalypse nut-jobs is, could you?”

Mister Frink groaned.

“You’re the second two guys I’ve met today who are on their way there,” said the tentacle monster, “I’m S’treafael, but please, call me Steve. It’s right up the road. I’d love to help you storm the place, but I’m probably already in deep with my uncle.”

“No worries,” Vinny smiled. He saluted Steve and hopped back into the plane, “He said — ”

“I know what he said,” said Mister Frink, “Take us there, and for the love of God, keep us alive until we get there.”

***

Charleston Charge sat in the closet. He had built a small-scale model of his homeland, the Lost City of Uhld, out of various janitorial supplies. He pulled a voice recorder out of his pocket. He clicked the record button, “While trying to figure out what to do, I’ve built my home town. I would build a scale model of this place, but I’m not entirely sure what this place looks like.” He clicked it off and put the recorder back in his coat.

“At least they’re not trying to kill me,” said Charleston, idly knocking over bits of his model with flicks of his fingers, “They could totally get in here if they wanted to. Kill me right off.”

He leaned on his side and thought about taking a nap when he heard a noise. By the time he realized what it was, a small plane had crashed into the wall. Charleston barged through the door, knocking it from his hinges, and continued running down the hallway, holding onto his fedora-like hat. Behind him, the plane continued to come, by this time its wings had snapped off and it was just the cockpit and fuselage sliding down the hallway, knocking over Mayans left and right. It began to slow, and Charleston braced himself for its impact, hoping his low-level super-strength would be enough to stop it entirely.

The plane slid into his ready hands and his feet began to skid down the hallway, but Charleston could tell that the plane was slowing down. Behind him, a wall continued coming towards him, and he hoped he would stop before he became a pancake.

He grinned and laughed, “After all, I prefer waffles.”

Soon, the plane stopped, several feet away from the wall. Charleston stepped back and sat heavily on the ground, trying to catch his breath. The plane’s doors opened and two men he recognized as the Impossible Mister Frink and Vinny Fitzpatrick hopped out.

Vinny looked at him, “You Charleston Charge?”

“I am,” said Charleston.

“We’re here to rescue you, though it may not look like it,” said the Impossible Mister Frink, “Now then, shall we get going?”

“Not yet,” said Charleston, “My friend is somewhere in this complex. Also, these people are trying to bring about the Apocalypse. Or make sure it happens. I’m not really sure. We have to stop it.”

“You were trying to stop it by yourself?” said Mister Frink, obviously impressed.

“No,” said Charleston, “I had a friend with me. Is Mister Lucky with you guys?”

“He was busy with other matters,” said Mister Frink, “Though I’m sure if he thought he was required to stop these people, then he’d be here by now.”

Vinny nodded, “Do you know where this friend of yours is?”

“No,” said Charleston again, “We got separated when we came in.”

“Damn and blast,” growled Mister Frink, “It’ll be impossible to find him!”

Just then, all the Mayans that had fled when the plane began to crash through the hallway returned. They took their spears and pointed them at the two Bassets and Charleston Charge. It didn’t take a genius to know what they wanted.

***

“I’m so glad you found me,” said Edwin, “I really mean that. Even if this really stinks as a rescue attempt.”

Charleston Charge was shackled to the wall next to him, with shackles strong enough to withstand his super-strength, “It’s not like we planned this.”

“I know. At least we’re all together now,” said Edwin, “Who are those guys?”

Vinny smiled, lying on his side. Both his hands and ankles had been tied. Mister Frink has shackled to the wall on the opposite side of Edwin and Charleston.

“Those are Vinny Fitzpatrick and Mister Frink. Two members of the Basset Hound Brigade,” said Charleston, “They’re adventurers. Bassets, this is Edwin Cloudstar.”

“Are they? Good,” said Edwin, “I’ve seen stranger.”

“Your hands aren’t bound,” said Mister Frink.

“They don’t need to. My sword’s on the other side of this wall, and the only way it leaves my back is if I grab hold of its hilt,” said Edwin, “It’s a mystical thing.”

“Vincenzo is, for some reason, not secured in any way,” said Mister Frink, “I can’t imagine why our captors would do this, but we can work this to our benefit. Vincenzo, please see if you can make your way over to Edwin. Good, good. Now, Edwin, can you untie Vinny’s hands? Good. I would hate to have to stand alone against these ruffians.” Mister Frink took a deep breath and then tore his shackles from the wall, freeing himself.

Charleston’s eyes went wide, “You’re super-strong?”

“Indeed I am, though I do prefer to use my wits instead of my fists. Needs must, however,” said Mister Frink. He grabbed hold of Charleston’s shackles, “On the count of three, boy! One. Two. Three!”

The shackles resisted at first, remaining secure against the wall, but eventually gave when Vinny lent his own strength to the effort.

“Now what?” said Edwin, still unable to free himself, “How am I going to get free?”

“What would Mister Lucky do?” asked Vinny.

Mister Frink chose to ignore that comment, knowing full well that there was no way he could match Mister Lucky’s intelligence. He was still quite formidable in that department, able to craft machines that pushed against the laws of the universe. Mysticism was not one of his strong suits, however, and so the mechanisms of the sword’s bond with Edwin were a puzzle he could not solve. Something else puzzled him, though.

“How did you get into this position in the first place?” asked Mister Frink.

“They killed me and tossed my body in here, and my sword in the other room,” said Edwin, “When I came to, I was stuck against this wall.”

“Hold on, killed you?” said Vinny, stepping back, “You a vampire?”

“No, I just can’t stay dead,” said Edwin, “I’m still not entirely sure how they did this. Usually, the only one able to lift my sword is me.”

Charleston turned to Mister Frink, “Couldn’t you just impossible us out of this situation?”

“It’s passive,” said Mister Frink, “So if you’re killed, the sword can leave your body, but the only one who can lift your sword is you?”

“That’s what I said. I guess they could have moved my body,” said Edwin.

“You’re not from this place, are ya?” asked Vinny, “You got the air of a traveler about ya.”

“No, I’m from a different universe,” said Edwin.

Vinny nodded, “You don’t stay in this business this long without picking up a few things.”

“We could smash through the prison door and the door to wherever they put Edwin’s sword, and then kill Edwin and carry his body to his sword,” said Charleston Charge, “Not the perfect plan, I grant you, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

“Could work,” said Edwin.

***

Elsewhere in the compound, the second-in-command of the Apocalyptic Council sat and watched their captives on a closed-circuit television. He was sure they didn’t know they were being watched, and was quite pleased that none of them had realized what had gone on. He smiled. It was only a matter of time now.

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