FOOD FIGHT
It wasn’t the cannon fusillade that nearly killed Super Peanut. It was actually his near collision with the enormous spigot as he executed a looping upwards swing from his recent swift descent through the now shattered glass panes from the roof of the processing plant. The edge of the faucet was corroded and cracked, and as Super Peanut passed within inches of the metal, he could see with his enhanced vision the molecules of rust and spores of mold, ready to enter through any potential wounds should he actually cut or gouge himself on the spigot.
He bent his head and shoulders back further to avoid contact, and succeeded. He spun in midair, and detached an explosive shell from his utility belt, which he lobbed at the cannon. The cannon broke apart with several loud popping noises. The ammunition within reacted to the heat, bursting percussively. Super Peanut completed his swoop and leapt upon a ledge, shoving aside the cartons stored there. He glared down at his adversary, the Kernel, hurling aside the vine he’d used for his dramatic entrance.
The Kernel glared back, his yellow, bumpy face suffused with frustrated rage. His green fibrous coast rustled loudly as he pointed at Super Peanut.
“You haven’t beaten me yet, Super Peanut!” The Kernel snarled, clenching his hand into a fist. “You may have destroyed my Cob-shooter, but I can build more! Besides-” The Kernel smiled evilly and pointed at the double doors on the ground level. “I didn’t arrive alone.”
The double doors crashed open, spilling light onto the chaos inside. Super Peanut whipped his head around to stare at the silhouette outlined within the doorway. A curvaceous silhouette. It could only be-
“Lady Cola!” Super Peanut exclaimed. “I warned you to leave town!” The villainess responded with a bubbly laugh, but Super Peanut knew all too well the acidic persona underneath the sugarcoating.
“I did,” Lady Cola purred, “but then I came back. I just couldn’t stay away from this city. So metropolitan, so chic, so . . . under-policed.” With that, she help up her patented popcap gun, the light glinting off its shiny, sleek barrel.
As distracting as Lady Cola’s figure was, Super Peanut kept his eyes on her weapon. He’d experienced firsthand the painful consequences of underestimating the effectiveness of the razor-sharp bottlecaps it fired.
“Give up, S.P.!” the Kernel exclaimed. “You can’t take us all on!”
Super Peanut stood straight, hands on hips. “Wanna bet? The Lady’s got a glass jaw, and I’ve defeated you many times, Kernel!”
The Kernel’s face flushed again, this time with embarrassment, but he managed to twist his pebbly features into an approximation of a sneer. “You misunderstood me. I didn’t say ‘take both of us on’; I said ‘take us all on’.”
The wall directly beneath Super Peanut exploded inwards, and the ledge Super Peanut was standing upon gave away. By the time he’d landed on his feet, shook the dust out of his eyes and ears, he was immobilized. He strained to look down at the enormous arms that enclosed his body, and could just make out green flesh encrusted with a gritty golden-brown mixture. Super Peanut flexed his own arms, but whoever had him in its grip was definitely much stronger. Super Peanut was truly trapped.
“My I have the pleasure,” the Kernel said, as he strode over to stand by Lady Cola, “of introducing . . . the Okra Ogre!”
So that was why he could smell fried batter, Super Peanut realized.
“I wouldn’t fight too much,” Lady Cola called out, “struggling makes him soggy, and you wouldn’t like him when he’s soggy.”
Super Peanut simply glared at her. He concentrated on seeing if he could move his hand and wrist within the crushing hold in which the breaded green giant held him. Slowly he moved his thumb and forefinger towards an item on his utility belt. He counted on the Kernel’s propensity to talk ceaselessly to serve as a distraction from his subtle actions. The Kernel failed him not one bit.
“So!” the Kernel declared grandly, picking up his cane and twirling it, “As you can see, we have banded together to combine our various strengths and talents-”
“Let’s not forget intellects.” the Lady interjected pointedly. The Kernel shot her a nasty look before continuing.
“Right. As I was saying, we have joined forces, to form the . . . Junk Squad!”
Super Peanut actually could not stop himself. The single guffaw echoed within the interior.
The Kernel bit his lower lip, and darted a glance at the Lady, who was busy rolling her eyes. “Perhaps the name is still in development. But nevertheless, we have come together to form an unbeatable team! Together, we shall rule Atlanta!”
Super Peanut wrapped his hand around the object he’d finally freed from his belt. A push of a button with his thumb, a flick of his wrist, and his goober bomb was armed. He tossed it as far as he could from his body, and then buried his face into the Ogre’s arms, flattening his nose. He counted to three then blew air into his nasal passage as hard as he could, equalizing his ears against the-
KA-BLAM! The goober bomb detonated, sending out a massive sonic wave that knocked the Lady and Kernel off their feet. The Okra Ogre roared, and its grip on Super Peanut loosened. That was all Super Peanut needed.
He dropped down onto his rear, then spun and leaped clear of the Ogre’s swipes. The Ogre kept shaking its head, trying to clear the ringing in its ears; its tiny eyes squeezed shut in pain. Super Peanut almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
He un-holstered his Vineclimber, and aimed it straight up at the jagged opening in the roof. He squeezed the trigger, and the quick-drying poly-resin shot out to form an elastic rope that adhered to the surface of the roof outside the broken panes. He pressed the trigger again, and the powerful gears inside the barrel spun, pulling Super Peanut up the length of the rope and also chewing into the rope as the gears turned, degrading the vine below so that no one else could climb in pursuit. A very clever device, patented by his mentor, the original Super Peanut.
Super Peanut wriggled his way to a stable portion of the roof, and stood up, brushing broken glass and stray breadcrumbs off himself. He gave the single curl on his forehead a quick twist and grinned. He glanced down at the slowly stirring figures of Lady Cola and the Kernel, roused by the angry bellows of the Okra Ogre as it leaped upwards again and again, reaching futilely for Super Peanut far above. He chuckled, and then turned-
He started, for a cloaked figure stood a few feet away, its face hidden by the shadow of its broad hat.
“Wha-?” was all Super Peanut was able to utter before the figure held up a canister and released a cloud of indigo gas into his face. Coughing, Super Peanut inhaled the gas and found himself falling back, falling through the hole, through the night, through the world . . .
* * * * *
When he came to, Super Peanut found himself in a familiar situation. He was tightly bound to a chair in a dark room, with a single light bulb swaying above him. However, something was different. His opponents often underestimated his capabilities as an escapist, leaving his utility belt on. This time, it had been removed, as well as the lock-picking tools and tiny saw blades he normally kept secreted in his body armor. Which meant his captors knew most of his secrets. There weren’t many people alive who did. The Peasmaker had known everything, but he was gone now, having been greased by the Porkrinder. Still, he was alive. He would wait for an opportunity- all he had to do was to stay alert.
“Ah, you‘re awake,” a voice spoke from within the darkness. Super Peanut strained to focus, his vision still hazy from the effects of the sedative gas. He shook his head slowly. He sensed rather than saw the presence of the others in the room with him. As Super Peanut’s concentration sharpened, he surmised that he was still in the same processing plant, just in a more private area. An unused office or storage room.
“You realize that your career is over, yes?” the voice continued. “We have you, Super Peanut, dead to rights, I’d say.”
Super Peanut squinted into the darkness. “So you say,” he retorted. He inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of caramel coloring #33. So the Lady was closest to him. He started mapping a mental layout of the room. Any opportunity at all. A dry chuckle came from the shadows.
“Ah, yes. So sure of yourself. That arrogance you are so famed for.” (Super Peanut heard a faint snigger off to his left rear. Now he knew where the Kernel was. )
“What you call arrogance, I consider confidence,” Super Peanut declared, opening his eyes as wide as he could. The quicker his vision adjusted to the gloom, the quicker he’d be able to discern more details.
“It would appear that you missed your true vocation, then. Perhaps instead of being a vigilante, you should have gone into acting? Why I don’t believe you’ve even broken a sweat.” Super Peanut could just make out the outline of the speaker. The figure still wore the hat and cloak. “No, I say arrogance. That is the one trait all of you so-called superheroes share, this delusion that you have the right to decide the moral standards, and to act outside the law, and that no one will hold you accountable. That is why you all always fail. Look at the Peasmaker, the Garden Goddess, and of course, True Grits.”
Super Peanut started. “True Grits? What happened to him?” The figure nodded slowly.
“True Grits might be now more appropriately called ‘True Bits’, since his unfortunate encounter with a bomb.” At the word “bomb”, a snort emerged from a corner of the room. The snort of a large, green creature sensitive to loud noises and not wanting to b exposed to another explosion soon. Super Peanut now knew where everyone in the room was. He smiled.
“You find the demise of your comrade to be humorous? The figure queried in slight confusion. Super Peanut shook his head, still smiling.
“No- I am simply amused by the fact that you overlook your own arrogance. Here, you have me all tied up, you got my belt, you got my tools. But you missed one major, major thing.” With that, Super Peanut twisted his forearms, releasing the catch on his body-armor sleeves. His arms freed of constraints, the superhero whipped his hands up and out of the ropes, reached up and grabbed the rim of the lamp hanging from above. He pulled his entire body upwards and twisting as hard as he could, feeling his ribs twinge as he did so, spun the chair around so that he was facing the Lady Cola still standing where she’d been, too surprised to move.
Super Peanut held onto the lamp for a second longer, listening to the vibrations in the room carefully, then he let go, leaning back as hard as he could. He crashed painfully onto his back just in time to trip the approaching Okra Ogre, who then barreled right into the Lady Cola, bearing her down to the ground.
Super Peanut kicked the loosened ropes off his legs, and dove for the Lady’s popcap gun, which the Lady had released when the hulking fried beast had piled into her like a linebacker. He leaped to his feet and fired several caps at the approaching Kernel, propelling and pinning the villain’s hat to the wall behind the Kernel.
Super Peanut swiftly backed up against the wall, covering everyone with the gun. “No one move- and you-” he addressed the mysterious figure, “kindly return my belt to me.”
The Figure suddenly lifted his hand, holding up the utility belt. “You mean this, then?” The figure’s abrupt laugh filled the room with harshness. “Now why would I do that? When you have all those goodies in here?”
Super Peanut tried a gambit he’d often practiced successfully in the past. “Be careful how you hold that!” A tinge of panic crept into his voice.” If you accidentally press the nutshell symbol, you’ll set off the self-destruct mechanism and blow us all up!” Another snort from the Ogre at this.
The figure gasped. “Oh! Oh dear, then I shall be quite certain to not press the symbol, because, really, I have no use for your Nutmobile, not do I have any desire to be subjected to its remotely activated defense systems once it reaches here, keying onto the distress beacon/remote control that the symbol actually activates.” The figure chuckled again at Super Peanut’s obvious consternation. “Don’t be so surprised. Of course I know all about the secrets of this belt. After all,” the figure continued, stepping into the light and removing its hat, “I invented it!”
Super Peanut stared at the face of his old mentor, the original Super Peanut, who had taken him under his tutelage and trained him to be the crime fighter he was today. “Nutter! But why? How could you ally yourself with these people?” He punctuated the last word of his question with a stamp, a surprisingly childish movement for such a formidable superhero.
Harlan Nutter sighed. “Oh, Peanut. You know already- this life that you live, the one I gave up, where is the money? The respect? As long as we wear a mask, and risk our lives for the mindless mob, we get some accolade, yet we must be as wary of the police as those we fight. And once we put that mask aside, we realize that we have saved nothing for our twilight years, that nothing you accomplished will be respected by employers or the law. All I want is a nice retirement, and with these people working for me, that is what I will have.”
“Over my dead body,” Super Peanut declared. Nutter shrugged.
“I would prefer you join us, but I respect your wish. If you prefer to join instead the ranks of defeated, defunct, and deceased heroes, then all you can blame is your own arrogance.” Nutter draped the utility belt over his shoulder, and reached into his coat, pulling out a dart gun. “These are not tranquilizer darts. No, they contain a very deadly poison.”
“There’s that word again,” Super Peanut said, his voice tinged with amused regret. Nutter’s face went blank with incomprehension.
“What, ‘poison’?” he inquired.
“No, Nutter,” Super Peanut corrected, “arrogance. You assumed that because you designed the belt and the devices it contains, that I wouldn’t change or improve upon the belt. Come on, it’s been twelve years since I started wearing the mantle, you know.”
Nutter glanced quickly at the belt draped over his shoulder, trying to decide if Super Peanut was bluffing. Super Peanut simply stared at him with the same amused yet regretful expression. Super Peanut had dabbled in amateur theater when he was in college, and did have some talent in that field.
“What are you tal-“ Nutter failed to utter another sound as the belt emitted a powerful electrical discharge that immediately shorted out his synapses. Nutter collapsed to the floor, as did Super Peanut, diving out of the way of the projectile released by Nutter’s involuntary squeeze of his dart gun.
* * * * *
As he drove back to his hideout, Super Peanut grinned as he recalled the incredulous expressions on the police officers faces when they arrived at the plant to round up the Junk (really?) Squad, in response to the anonymous call he’d made. He’d watched them drag the unconscious bodies of the four criminals, all fast asleep courtesy of Nutter’s knockout gas. He made a mental note to replace the trigger in his boot sole, the trigger that would activate the electromagnetic circuit in his belt within thirty seconds. That was an experimental feature, but after its successful deployment upon his former mentor, Super Peanut decided that it was a keeper.
The day had brought sad news; the death of True Grits, and the discovery of Nutter’s betrayal to everything that Super Peanut stood for, but Super Peanut also felt pride. He had saved the city again, and that amounted to a whole lot!
Super Peanut realized he was hungry. Jam and butter on bread sounded good. He sped on down the road in the Nutmobile.
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