The Continuing Adventures of the Widgets

A chorus of dissonant sirens fills the black night sky over Salem. Trouble is afoot and the call goes out. But is anyone there to answer?

Elsewhere that very night, four champions who represent Salem's only hope had gathered in their subterranean lair to strategize. They are part of a dying breed, one of the few remaining super hero teams in operation. Although battle tested, they never know what the denizens of evil will hurl their way next. They must always be on their toes, one step ahead of the legions of darkness and corruption. This night will be no different.

"Is this the pizza from tonight? I'm gonna nuke another piece."

"Dave, we haven't had pizza for over a week." Taking Nick's warning David closed the box and sat back down.

"Maybe someone should throw it out." Suddenly the lights cut out and the room became illuminated only by the glittering disco ball hanging from the ceiling tiles.

"We've got incoming," Becky reached from her seat on the couch to answer the red speaker-phone, "Y'ello?"

"Widgets? Are you all there?" a familiar voice.

"You've got all of us, Mr. Mayor," Doug answered.

"You've got to come downtown, quickly!" A great crash could be heard over the line. "Aw, dammit! That was my favorite Chinese Restaurant. Just--just get down here, as fast as you can!"

David, Nick, Becky and Doug wasted no time as they each walked to their personal reverse fire-poles, hidden behind a holographic facade on the north wall. As they were already in the basement, a standard fireman's pole would have been inadequate in transporting anyone to the secret hanger above. Furthermore, it was decided that an elevator was too slow and mundane, and all four of the Widgets were much too lazy for stairs, which were also boring besides. Passing through the false image, each positioned themselves with their feet astride the steel bar, their hands loosely gripping metal. Each used a vocal command to fire the hydraulic mechanism, the round platform upon which they now stood acting as a plunger to catapult them to the floor above.

"Wonder Twin powers, activate!" David.

"Havarti!" Nick.

"Schadenfreude!" Becky.

"Canker sore!" Doug.

The Secret Hanger was cavernous and the lighting inadequate. Shadow dominates the space with a deepness that is unsettling. Two spotlights hang from the unseen ceiling, one illuminating the landing platform where the retro-polls emerge, the other casting a bright pool around the black silhouette of their transportation. One by one each of the Widgets popped into view, stepping from the arched doorway of the darkened alcove where each pole emerges from the floor, their structure extending beyond sight into the black above.

When Dave arrives he is no longer in his street clothes. His cheeky Value Village ensemble has been replaced by a skin tight blue and purple bodysuit tied together by a heavily encumbered utility belt sagging awkwardly from his hips.

Nick arrived smartly dressed in a Russian army uniform, framed by a ten gallon hat and cowboy boots, complete with clanking spurs.

Becky, for her part is absolutely ravishing in a black cocktail dress, a high slit on both sides of the skirt allowing her complete freedom of movement.

Doug, for the third time in two weeks, steps out completely naked. "Well, crap."

"What do I always tell you, Doug? First thing you do when we get back from a mission is reload your tube!" David crosses his arm and shakes his head disappointedly. "Well, at least you didn't sabotage Becky's tube again."

Sheepishly, Doug wandered over to the storage locker in the shadows to retrieve a freshly packs costume capsule. After walking around the back of the mechanism to clear the spent cartridge from the chamber and load the new one, he cocks the machine and slides back down his pole. Within seconds, and following the report of the reverse fire pole firing again, Doug emerges dressed for battle. He is still shirtless, of course, but his shame is covered by bright orange cargo shorts and he is now wearing clunky, black combat boots.

"Alright, team, let's move out!" David gestured sharply towards the team's primary mode of transportation. They walked smartly in a line through the black, each exaggerating their gait as if this were the slow motion hero shot in a Michael Bay blockbuster, until the sleek form of the WidJet loomed before them.

The WidJet was a stealth design with reverse swept wings and a polished black finish. Each wing was emblazoned with a large blue "W" and there was also a slight discoloration on the fuselage where it appeared something had been painted over. The aircraft's original owner had been Wally of Wally's Window World, but he had gone out of business a couple years earlier when the bank foreclosed on his business loan. Wally did good work and had put in a bay window for David's parents a while back. Unfortunately, as it turns out, buying a custom built, stealth capable combat jet was not the best way to spend 14 billion in marketing dollars. There's still a Well's Fargo bank manager out there kicking himself for actually handing out a literally blank check.

But Wally and Wells Fargo's disaster was the Widgets' windfall. They were able to pick up the jet at auction for a song, $112.00. Not a lot of people are hip to the auction scene, but Doug is an old hand at it. Last summer he won the Ark of the Covenant for less than fifty dollars. The look on the guy's face at the Antique's Road Show was priceless-right before it melted off.

"Who has the keys?" Nick asked, searching his pockets.

"I thought David had them." Doug said.

David shrugged and started searching through the many compartments on his utility belt.

"You boys are helpless." Becky said as she extracted her keys from her cleavage. "We all have copies." Pressing a button on her keychain remote lowered the ramp from the passenger compartment of the jet.

The boarding process took forty minutes. Hopefully one day the airlines will discover a more efficient way of doing things. Doug ran back to the bathroom three times and, as usual, disabled passengers, and those with small children were given twenty minutes to find their seats before anyone else could climb aboard.

Finally inside Doug and Nick strapped themselves into the only two seats in the passenger section while David and Becky went forward to the cabin. "Can I fly?" David asked.

"You know the answer. You don't get to fly on any missions until you learn how to land."

"You're such a party pooper."

"And you're a man-child. Need help with your buckle?"

"No." David pouted as he strapped himself in to the copilot's seat. He activated the roof conveyor to give them a place to go while Becky fired up the engines and did a final instrument check.

The entire complex shuddered as the engines reached full power and the WidJet tore into the night sky.

When traveling at mach 3, it does not take long to cross a town the size of Salem. Spotting the firelight from the sky, Becky put the WidJet down in a nearby section of Waterfront Park. They had to jog the last two block to find the Mayor.

"Thank God you're here, Widgets!" The Mayor looked disheveled in his tails and top hat. His cummerbund was inside out and the top was busted out of his hat. He mopped his brow as he greeted the team.

"We came as fast as we could and parked as close as seemed prudent." David shook the Mayor's hand. "It looks like a war zone out here!"

"Indeed! It's horrible. You have to stop the monster before he starts destroying parking structures. The downtown economy can't survive it!"

"Leave it to us Mr. Mayor." Nick clapped him on the back. "You'd best retreat to a safe distance. We'll take care of business here." The Mayor tipped his ragged hat and scuttled off in the general direction of City Hall.

"Alright, boys, let's do this." The Widgets, Becky in the lead, strode confidently down the center of State Street. The streetlamps, many of them bent and broken, flickered irregularly, their light strobing against the billowing smoke that poured from craters on both sides of the road. The facades of half a dozen old building had caved in to reveal the crumbling skeletons of 19th century architecture.

"There's definitely something ahead." Doug said. The view was obscured by the grey haze of ash and powdered masonry that hung in the night air, orange lit by the surrounding fires. The sound of something massive as it moved behind the veil could not be hidden: shrieking metal, groaning rock and a huge weight scraping against asphalt.

Rushing forward through the smoke, the Widgets found their enemy. The snappily dressed form of the Crab RanGoon loomed in the street before our intrepid heroes. Using one massive claw to adjust the cuff of his pin-striped suit, he narrowed two black eyes perched on the stalks protruding from his jacket collar.

"I was beginnings ta tink you's wasn't gonna show!" the dimwitted crustacean gurgled as he sauntered over to a nearby lamp post. With a quick snip of the fist he sheared the metal pole off at its base. Brandishing the former fixture like a club he stepped menacingly towards our fearless foursome. "D'joo jus' come ta gawk, or we gonna tussle?"

"Hold it crab cakes!" David glanced sideways at his friends. "What's the game? This destruction's even more mindless than usual for you!"

"What? Did I fergits to have mommy sign my permishun slip?"

The Goon didn't wait for a reply, smashing the lamp down where David had just been standing. Easily dodging the attack with a diving roll, Dave landed in a crouch. "Widgets, attack pattern delta seven!"

"What the hell is he talking about?" Nick whispered. Becky took a moment to shrug her reply before springing into action. Shaking his head, Nick struck a pose before launching into the fray in her wake.

Becky hit him first, while Dave fumbled with his assorted gadgetry. RanGoon used one claw to block her punch before snipping at her legs with the other. She jumped as his claw snapped shut, landing on his closed fist and springing into a back flip.

Nick ran under her as Becky spun through the air, slashing at the Crab's tailored lapels with his psychic claws. Daggers of energy extending from each of his fingers buried themselves in RanGoon's chitinous chest. A shrill cry whistled through the tough's mandibles as he knocked Nick aside.

David and Doug attacked simultaneously as Becky ran to check on Nick. Doug swung high with two plasmic batons, one in each hand. Beating rapidly on the Crab's carapace, each impact was accompanied by an explosive flash of green energy. The goon wilted under the barrage. Squatting, he extended two extra sets of legs normally hidden by his jacket and began scuttling from side to side.

Having donned protective gloves, David swung a diamond monofilament lasso above his head. The ethereal thread glittered in the firelight. When Doug chased the Crab into range David lassoed one of his giant claws. Nick rushed over to help hold the line. Together they wrapped the monofilament around the cornerstone of a nearby building which had been damaged, but was still standing.

The Crab RanGoon wailed and snapped at the glimmering tether with his free claw to no avail. Becky joined Doug to beat the stuffed shirt into submission. Doug pulled back to give her a clear shot. "He's all yours!" he called out as he back peddled. Becky punched the ground sending a directed blast of subsonic energy towards the prone crustacean. The air thrummed as the powerful wave ruptured asphalt before slamming into the well dressed decapod and shattering his carapace.

He went limp, one claw still suspended by the filament. "Alright. . . Uncle, joo's! Enuffs enuff."

"We'll be the judge of that, RanGoon." David stood over his prone form flanked by the rest of the Widgets.

"First question, jackass, who sent you?" Becky asked, her arms folded crossly.

"Who's joo tink sent me?

"Fisher King!" David exclaimed triumphantly.

"Fisher King." The Crab RanGoon nodded.

"But why? What is he planning?" Nick asked.

"Hells, if I knew. He tells me ta smash, I smash. He says he wants joo's distracted, like."

"Distracted?" Doug furrowed his brow. "Distracted from. . ." Before he could finish his question a great explosion lit the clouds in the night sky.

"That sounds like it came from. . ." Becky began.

"The waterfront!" Nick interjected.

"The WidJet!" David shrieked in a less than manly tone before dashing off towards the waterfront park. The rest of the Widgets ran after him. In less than a minute the team is staring at the vigorously burning remains of their primary mode of transportation. The explosion had broken the WidJet's fuselage in half like kindling. Chunks of stealth certified metals and ceramics littered the grass in a wide radius around the aircraft's current location.

"Aw, hell." David gasped.

"Son of a bitch!" Becky stamped her foot.

"Mother hell crapper!" Doug sat cross legged in the grass, pouting.

"King Fisher!" Nick yelled.

"You think?" David asked sarcastically.

"No! Look!" Nick pointed at the roof of one of the historic buildings which overlooked the waterfront. A swarm of water fowl spiraled in the night sky, their multicolored feathers catching the firelight. A handful of ospreys began to shriek. Their calls were soon joined by the varied vocalizations of the seagulls, pelicans, herons and albatrosses with which they flew. Perched at the roof's edge was an enormous king fisher outfitted with an awkward saddle and reins. Perched on his back was King Fisher, a repugnant little man dressed in a yellow slicker and green hip waders.

"Ahoy, Widgets!" He called out from atop the old brick building. "Looks like you're flight's been delayed. . . Permanently!"

"That doesn't even make sense, you bird-brained lunatic!" David shouted back.

"So's your face. . . doesn't make sense. . . Away! Seaward, my beauties!" King Fisher spurred hi mount, prompting the animal to take flight. It rose listlessly under the little man's live weight, shifting left and right as the bird searched for an updraft powerful enough to accommodate the heavy load. King Fisher cackled with delight as his flock flew slowly into the distance.

"I hate that guy!" Doug said, picking at the grass.

"Me too." Nick agreed.

"I hate him most!" David plopped down next to Doug.

"We all hate that little freak, but we're gonna kick his ass harder than it's ever been kicked before, and he doesn't even know it!."

"Totally." David nodded.

"Hey, Dave?"

"Yeah, Nick?"

"Can your mom come pick us up?"

"I'll call her." David stood back up and went to look for a working pay phone.