Ack's Random Crack Fic One-Shots

Any time I have a silly idea, or someone else comes up with one, that I think is worth putting a few lines toward, I'll try to put it here. That way, all the crazy can be contained in the one location.

Yeah, good luck with that.

Index
Talk Like an Aussie Day (below)
The Great Tattletale Caper, Part One
A Very Brockton Christmas
The Ultimate Weapon
Something in the Air Tonight

 

"Mate."

Armsmaster turned to look at Velocity in horror. "What did you say?"

The speedster struggled visibly with himself for a moment. "I - crikey, mate. Me throat feels like the Nullarbor in the dry season. Chuck us a tinny, will ya?" His face twisted in panic. "Strike me pink. I've bloody well been Mastered."

Armsmaster laid a hand on the stricken hero's shoulder. "Just hang tight. We'll get you treatment."

Velocity nodded. Against his will, he spoke again. "Well, get a bloody move along, will ya?"

He submitted willingly enough to detention, despite the occasional indecipherable utterance; as Armsmaster walked away, he heard from behind him, "And don't forget that bloody tinny, will ya?"

<><>​

Across town, the villains were having equal difficulties.

Hookwolf frowned at Kaiser. "I've got no idea what you just said."

The head of the Empire Eighty-Eight rolled his eyes. "Flamin' heck, if I have ta repeat it one more time, I'm gonna dong you one. I said, we're about due for a stoush with the Nips down the road. So get the blokes together - and the sheilas too - and let's go kick their dunny down."

Hookwolf hesitated, utterly baffled. "Uh ... "

<><>​

Piggot looked up as Armsmaster entered her office. "So, have you made any headway in tracking down the mastermind behind this bizarre version of English?" She sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "I have to say, crime has dropped off, if only because the criminals can barely understand each other." She looked up at him. "Tell me you have good news."

Armsmaster nodded. "She'll be right, love."

"Oh, god." Piggot buried her face in her hands. "Not you too."

He cleared his throat. "Actually, we've got him in custody and we're undoing the effects of his power now."

He only just made it out the door before the hurled paperweight crashed into it.​

 

The Great Tattletale Caper



Part One



Allow me to introduce myself. The name's Wednesday, Fred Wednesday. I'm a private investigator. I hang my shingle in Brockton Bay. In fact, I'm the only private eye in Brockton Bay. I used to wonder why that was; after all, with the crime stats in this city, you'd think that the place would be a haven for guys like me.

And then I found out why.

No-one else is stupid enough to try and be a private eye in this godforsaken hellhole of a city.

<><>​

It all started one Wednesday … the day, I mean, not my name. I was relaxing in my office, feet up on the desk, seeing just how far back I could tilt my chair before it creaked too alarmingly. Or worse. You know, important private eye stuff. Right at the moment of maximum creak, someone banged heavily on the office door.

After I picked myself up off the floor, I set the chair back on its wheels, and made a mental note to see my chiropractor. Then I made another mental note, this time to concoct a story about six muggers and a sock full of pennies to explain my lower back pain. Straightening with an effort, I hobbled over to the door and opened it.

Outside the door stood a man and a girl. I picked the guy as trouble straight away; he was taller than me by a good six inches. Any man taller than me is bound to be a problem, especially if I have a hard time looking up at them due to a non-chair-related 'gangland beating'.

He was also skinny as a rake, had a weak chin and – I thought I got a glimpse of scalp – was going bald. My finely-tuned private detective instincts told me that he was obviously an accountant, possibly working for the Empire Eighty-Eight. That mystery solved, I turned my attention to the girl.

Other private eyes get tall, sexy, leggy, legal blondes with a smart mouth and a disdain for underwear. This girl ticked the box for 'tall'. That was it. She was bundled into a hoodie that would have fitted a girl twice her weight and had obviously mugged the same girl for her jeans. Round-lensed glasses framed her eyes, and she refused to look at me. I picked her as trouble as well. There was something shifty about those eyes that I just didn't trust. Or maybe it was those glasses. They made her look like an owl, and I hate birds.

“Are you all right?” asked the man. “We heard a noise.”

“Perfectly okay,” I grunted. “Just, uh, moving furniture.”

“You were leaning back in the chair and you fell over when Dad knocked on the door,” the girl said in a toneless voice, without even looking up from the floor.

I stared at her, then at the door, to make sure nobody had installed another peephole in it. Do you know, I had the last one for three months before I realised that it had been installed backward, so that people could see in but I couldn't see out? Who does that, anyway? I will definitely be having words with that contractor when he comes back. Free peephole fitting, my ass.

“Uh, come in,” I blurted, deciding that the girl was definitely trouble. Maybe her glasses were Tinkertech, designed to see through doors. I hate it when people pry into other people's private affairs, don't you? “What seems to be the matter?”

“Uh, my name's Daniel Hebert,” the man began. “This is my daughter, Taylor.”

So far, this didn't seem to be overly problematic, so I sat down gingerly in my chair, hoping it hadn't suffered too much in the fall. Picking up my pen, I turned the pad to a fresh page and wrote their names down. “Go on,” I urged them.

The story was a weird one, even for Brockton Bay. The girl had been shoved into her own locker, along with a lot of really smelly stuff, and locked in there. Nobody saw anything, nobody had been suspended or expelled, and the cops had apparently just asked a few questions, taken samples, then gone away. I was starting to seriously doubt this guy's story when something occurred to me.

“'Scuse me, Mr Herbert,” I interrupted.

“Uh, my name's Hebert,” he corrected me.

That was funny; I looked down at where I had written their names. It said 'Herbert', right there on the page. “Are you sure?”

I saw a look of pain pass over his face. It was probably indigestion; my own lunch kicked back on me from time to time. “Yes. I'm sure. I've had it all my life.”

“Oh, okay.” It didn't matter much to me what the guy called himself, so I scratched out the 'r' and added a few extra decorative lines around where I'd written their names. “Go on.”

He hesitated. I wasn't surprised that he had problems; the guy probably dithered for hours before he got anything done. “Uh, you were going to ask me a question, I think?”

“I was?”

“Yeah.” The guy was kinda getting pushy now. “You were.”

I didn't know where he was getting that from, but as I looked at him, a question did occur to me. Hah – the gimlet mind of Fred Wednesday misses nothing. “Just as a matter of detail, which school does your daughter attend?”

He frowned. “I told you. Winslow.”

“No, you didn't.” I looked down at the notebook page. There was no 'Winslow' written down, but then I noticed the little doodle depicting tiny demons pitchforking souls into hell. “Ah, right. Yes, you did.” It wasn't surprising that I'd missed it the first time around, given that the rest of the page was covered in other doodles.

And this also solved the mystery. The girl went to Winslow. She'd been locked into her locker. It was pretty well cut and dried. People attending Winslow did so at their own risk; this was common knowledge.

“So, can you do something about it?”

I looked at him. “Your kid got locked in her locker. I can't exactly make that not have happened.”

Though I was puzzled about one thing. Who'd have the balls to pick on the kid of an accountant working for the Empire Eighty-Eight?

His fists clenched. “I know that. I'm asking you, can you take the case?”

Now I was totally confused. “What case?”

“Find out who did it,” he replied slowly, as if speaking to a child. Oh, right. His daughter was right there. She was probably suffering a bit of trauma from the whole locker thing, so he was speaking slowly so as to reassure her that everything was being done.

Pleased with my insight, I nodded. “Ah. Right. Yes, I can take the case.” I had suspects already. The ABB hate the Empire, so they're picking on his kid.

“Good.” The guy got up, along with his daughter. She didn't look at me once, the whole time.

I didn't let that bother me; I had a job to do.

It was time to go and get some answers out of Lung.



End of Part One

 

A Very Brockton Christmas



Part the First



'Twas the night before Christmas

And throughout Brockton Bay,

The villains were awaiting

Saint Nick and his sleigh.



Bakuda was Tinkering late in her lair,

While visions of explosions danced in her head.

Lung drew his plans, slowly but sure,

To see the jolly fat man captured or dead.



At a meeting that was called of the Empire Eighty-Eight,

Kaiser made a sword, the steel shining bright.

“He's eluded us before, this fat man in red,

But he'll be in our hands by the end of the night.”



The Merchants had plans to capture him as well,

And force him to give them the best drugs to be found.

But Skidmark got wasted and Squealer forgot,

So they were asleep when the time came around.



Uber and L33t wanted to capture him too,

So the Tinker began working on a cold-ray device.

It exploded of course, as they often did,

So Uber was left to chip him out of the ice.



Part the Second



As Santa loaded the sled high with his gifts,

Mrs Claus came out with a frown on her face.

“I wish you wouldn't go out to Brockton Bay,

No good ever came of that horrible place.”



He took her in his arms and kissed her so sweet,

And in a deep loving voice the fat man did say,

“My presents are given all over the world,

So I have to go everywhere – yes, even the Bay.”



“I thought you'd say that,” she said with a sigh,

“But while you are gone, I won't be able to rest.”

So saying, she dug in a bag at her feet,

And gave him a helmet, and a thick Kevlar vest.



His belly jiggled as he let out a laugh.

“I'll be careful, my love, to come back to you.”

And he gathered her in, to kiss her once more.

Then he pulled on the helmet and the vest went on too.



On to the sleigh he sprang with a shout.

“On Rudolph! On Dasher! On Donner, away!”

The sleigh gave a jerk then off it did fly,

While Mrs Claus watched as it went on its way.



Part the Third



They came into Brockton flying nap of the earth,

Rudolph had his nose tuned to infra-red light.

“On Blitzen, on Vixen, on Dancer, hooray!”

He whispered, as the stealth sleigh flew through the night.



Side-mounted launchers fired off the gifts,

Homing nose-cones guiding them to land.

To each and every house they flew without fail;

You didn't really think he delivered them by hand?



But the villains were waiting, to the right and the left,

They arose with a roar, to capture his sleigh.

He pulled on the lever to double the output,

Every present would be delivered, if he had his way.



As the presents flew away, he grabbed at the reins,

Gave them a twitch, to give him some pace.

As Lung swooped in to grab at Saint Nick,

He swivelled a launcher, and gave him coal in the face.



Kaiser was next, with a barricade of blades;

Santa rolled the sleigh, and scraped through with a sigh.

Rune sent a dumpster, two cars and a van;

He evaded them all with a loop through the sky.



The launchers were still throwing presents galore;

Plus coal for the villains (he had more than a ton).

He dived down again to taunt them anew,

His laughter boomed out – this was quite fun!



Lung dived again, his fire blazing hot,

So Santa gave him snow from the northernmost Pole.

It streamed from the launcher, his hands growing chill

Until Lung fell away, fleeing the cold.



Again and again he evaded the foe,

Till the last of the gifts had gone with a 'chuff'.

“Come let's away, we've more presents to share.”

Of the coal-covered villains, “I think they've had enough.”



And the last that the villains saw of Saint Nick,

Was his happy round face, full of good cheer.

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,

And I'll see all you rogues again in a year!”



End