Vaudevillain I Mustache You A Question (4)

I Mustache You A Question (4)

Baseball city, the only na players bothered to say, sat in the center of the pangean continent in World of Supers. Intended as a central entertainnt area for players to relax, the dod city quickly beca a hotbed of faction wars and subterfuge because of its location between the artistic city of Lutia, the Quli refugee city of Section 4, and the psychic town of ntas. Despite the constant scuffles in Baseball City, players still traveled to the area to enjoy the super-powered sports gas.

At the mont, one such ga was in its final innings. Players were on the field, bases were loaded, and the pitcher stared down the batter like an enemy of the state. The announcer in the booth inside the stadium kept up the comntary in his tweedy voice reminiscent of a twenties radio show.

"This is it, folks. The bases are loaded, the count's three to two, and Rollie Thumbs is on his last pitch to bring the B's to the playoffs. Facing down the pitcher and his stylish mustache is Kenny, "Slamr," Johnson. The absolute anest batter this side of the river."

Another voice chid in, this one lodious like a ga show host.

"That's right, Bob. Kenny has a solid three-fifty at-bat against Rollie, the highest out of everyone in the Yanks lineup. Not to ntion Kenny holds the ho-run record."

"It's two gods of Baseball, facing off in the greatest showdown seen in history!" Bob announced.

"Well, I can't have that," A voice interrupted.

Bob spun around, Kenny hot on his heels, to find a well-dressed man in a top hat resting on a cane next to the antique piano used for the seventh-inning stretch.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Kenny demanded.

The man bowed, taking his top hat off to reveal his slick black hair, "Do forgive my horrible manners, but I overheard your conversation and had to interrupt before more was said."

The man set his top hat onto the piano and adjusted the tie on his collar, "I am Dr. Zlo! Criminal mastermind! And I have need of your announcer booth."

"You aren't getting this booth that easily," Bob announced, turning to press a button on the speaker system.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Dr. Zlo said.

The villain whipped his cane forward, unleashing a line of his nanite gel toward the two announcers. The gelatinous substance wrapped around the two announcers, solidifying to lock the n in their chairs and spinning them back around to the microphones with a flick of Dr. Zlo's cane.

"Get this off !" Bob yelled.

"All in good ti," Dr. Zlo said.

The villain looked over to his top hat, which had activated and was in the process of splitting in two. chanical arms severed the hat's brim, shrinking the fabric and repurposing it until two smaller Pork Pie Hats appeared. The two robotic drones then went to work, scuttling over to the announcers like crabs running along the shore.

The two hats promptly placed themselves over the announcer's heads, activating their unique powers.

"Wha-a-a-a-a," Bob stuttered as a pulsing white light emanated from under the drone.

Dr. Zlo watched as the NPC's jaw slackened and his eyes glazed. A mont later, the hat drone dinged, and the two announcers seized up. Their limbs started to flail wildly, but the appendages quickly ca under control.

"How's the mouth?" Dr. Zlo asked his drones.

"A-ok," the one controlling Bob answered, the announcer's voice now the sound of dull static.

"Good. Announce our pinch hitter," Dr. Zlo said.

The drone nodded Bob's head, "Ladies and Gentlen, it seems the Yanks, in an unprecedented move, are substituting The Slamr for a relatively unknown batter! I'm not too sure about this decision, folks. But that's baseball for ya!"

Dr. Zlo leaned over the announcer's booth to look below. Kenny seed to be complaining to the dugout, pointing his finger at the man resting on the doorfra leading inside. The villain couldn't make out what he was saying, but it didn't look pleasant.

Incensed by the batter's tirade, the dugout manager stomped out onto the field, his arms gesticulating wildly. Kenny paused, not knowing what the movents ant. The Jacques inside the dugout, however, caught the ssage in all its entirety.

The faceless minions sward out of the dugout, dressed in the Yank's baseball uniforms and holding various sports equipnt. Sohow none of it was used for baseball. Kenny backed away from the mob, pointing his bat at the incoming team. The Jacques kept their march forward, golf clubs and hockey sticks swinging in the air.

The umpire, also revealing themselves to be a Jacques, grabbed Kenny's hand and criticized the man for leaving the batter's box in such a way. Kenny tried to shake the man off, but the other Jacques grabbed him before he could escape. The mob picked the man up, carrying him like a championship trophy before throwing him face-first into the dugout. The Jacques all stread inside after the batter, coming out a second later with Quartet in tow.

The minion wore a football helt on his head and soccer shinguards on his forearms. Quartet tried to struggle against the mob of Jacques pulling him, but his strength lay in other matters. Unceremoniously, the Jacques placed Quartet in the batter's box.

"Now batting for the Yanks, Quartet, 'The jet,'" the controlled Bob said.

Despite the chaos, no one on the B's side had reacted. Things were well known to get a bit ssy during baseball, and none of the team mbers saw anything wrong since the pinch-hitting was official. It was a sha Kenny had to be dragged off the field, however. Sothing like that would stick in the news for a day or two at least.

Quartet, still trying to recover from the Jacques rough treatnt, barely noticed the first pitch as it whizzed by his head. Instinctively, the cowardly minion ducked, his "bat" falling to the ground as the minion clutched his head. The umpire Jacques quickly called the ball foul, covering for Quartet's mistake.

"Watch it!" the minion shouted. "You could hurt soone with that!"

"Learn to deal with it," Rollie said.

The pitcher wound up for another throw, sending a fastball straight down the middle of the plate. Again Quartet ducked, and again the umpire called a foul.

"It seems the Jet's barely hanging in there against Rollie's rolling fastball!" the announcer above comnted.

The Jacques in the dugout started to clamor. Quartet looked over to see the crowd of Jacques leaning over the dugout wall with their various sports equipnt, threateningly pounding the dirt in unison. Quartet gulped.

Shakily, the minion turned to Rollie, deciding it would be better to face the pitcher than the rowdy minions. For so reason, Quartet never could control the Jacques, and their antics caused him no end of suffering. There was also the fact Dr. Zlo was looking on from his place in the announcer's booth. Quartet couldn't afford to fail here.

Rollie wound up for the final pitch, his leg rising high into the air as he rocked his whole body forward. This ti, Quartet used his cane, swinging right when the pitcher released his ball. Thwack! Went the baseball, Quartet returning the projectile right back to its sender.

Rollie quickly brought his glove up for a catch, but it burst open before the ball arrived, revealing a net inside. Ropes fell over Rollie, knocking the man to the ground as he struggled to free himself. The Jacques all poured out of the Yank's dugout at that mont, rushing forward to grab the pitcher. Quartet followed suit, staying behind to give orders.

The B's, seeing the Yank's rush out onto the field, responded in kind. The pitcher's mound quickly beca a brawling ground as the two teams went at it, their fists flying in a classic sports display. Even the umpires got so action, though the entire lot of them were Jacques.

Up in the booth, Dr. Zlo recovered his hat, the drone having stitched itself back together to form the man's titular top hat once more. When he saw Rollie carried off through the Yank's dugout, the villain walked out of the booth, leaving behind two unconscious announcers.

"I think we'll try for a politician next," the villain said to himself as he walked over to his ship.

Quartet and the Jacques joined a mont later. A tied Rollie in their hands.

The barbershop minion stepped forward, "Thanks to my brilliant planning, we've succeeded in capturing the target."

The Jacques behind Quartet seethed, their faceless masks seeming to turn darker. But when the minion turned around, the Jacques stopped, their faces turning upward as if whistling nonchalantly.

Quartet grabbed Rollie and pushed him to the ground in front of Dr. Zlo.

"You a fan or sothing?" the baseball player asked. "A bit much to go through just for an autograph."

"You could say I'm a fan," Dr. Zlo admitted. "Though, more so for the wonderful hair on your face."

"Oh you dig the stache?" Rollie inquired. "You're rockin' a pretty nifty one too, you know."

"Yes, I know," Dr. Zlo said. "But not enough people do. Which is why I'm 'recruiting' you for my show."

"You'll have to talk to my agent for that," Rollie said.

Dr. Zlo laughed, "You act as if you have any say in the matter."

The villain tapped his cane against Rollie's face, pressing the knob at the top. A fine mist puffed out of the end, and the baseball player's eyes imdiately rolled upwards.

"Oh Not cool" Rollie said as Dr. Zlo's knockout gas took him out.

"Get him on board," Dr. Zlo said. "We have to reach our next destination before soone catches wind of our dealings."