Talyesin's Tales

Having shut down two major drug cartels, Squirrelman and his friends head to the exclusive Cosmos Lounge to celebrate. Joined by a potential recruit to their new team, the strongwoman called Physique, their conversation is unexpectedly sidetracked at the arrival of Kosmos Konstantinopoulos, CEO of Praxis Technologies...





Konstantinopoulos is greeted by the Maitre D', who's gushing like royalty just walked in. He escorts the CEO of the world's second most successful technology corporation to a cordoned-off level near the back of the restaurant and three waiters immediately rush to take their orders. The music changes from neo-swing techno to actual old school swing music.

I'm not the only one watching this. Just about every head in the place has turned to see.

"Now THAT is an Alpha Male," Physique says.

"Mm hmm," Ragdoll agrees. Both of them have this admiring look on their face.

"Yeah well," I say, clearing my throat a little, "Praxis doesn't have exactly a phenomenal track record, human rights-wise."

"It's true," Darklight adds, sipping her drink quietly. "Nor are they particularly concerned about the environment."

"Everything Sterling Enterprises does by, you know, hard work and Doc's giant brain, Praxis does through shady deals and ruthless ambition," I explain. "That's why all that Praxis tech in Downtown bugs me so much."

"Downtown?" Physique asks. I fill her in on what we did yesterday.

"Weird," she says.

"So you're interested in our team?" Ragdoll asks her.

"Yeah," Physique says, sitting back and crossing her arms. Her biceps are pretty impressive.

"Why?"

"Uh... well, back in my day, I was pretty much a loner, you know? When I got sick I learned the value of having friends to rely on. And since I woke up... well... A lot of things change in eighteen years." She looks over at Ragdoll and gives a little smile. "Like you, Rags. You were just a kid when I got sick."

"Rags?" Ace can barely hide his grin.

"Oh god. I had forgotten about that." She rolls her eyes. "No one's called me Rags since the New Super Teens broke up."

"Yeah," Physique says sadly. "I heard about that. Sorry, kid."

Ragdoll shrugs. "Old news."

The Maitre D' comes up to our table.

"Monsieur Squirrelman?"

"That's me."

"Mr. Konstantinopoulos is honoured to invite you to his table."

"Me?"

"None other, Monsieur."

I look at the others and shrug.

"Okay."

The Maitre D' leads the way over to Konstantinopoulos' table. A dozen people in the very height of fashion, all surrounding the good-looking guy in the exquisite suit. His masks are standing guard without looking like they're standing guard. The guy on the stairs gives me the hard stare as I walk past. I just give him a big grin. What's he gonna do? I was invited.

"Ah, Squirrelman, please, sit," Konstantinopoulos says, offering me his hand. I take it. Good firm grip, his eyes never leave mine. No trace of an accent in his voice, though I know he was raised on an island in the Aegean and attended the finest schools of Europe. He's in incredible shape for a guy his age - he's over sixty, but he looks like a well-kept forty or forty-five. In the right light he could probably pass for a guy in his thirties. Rumour has it he visits an exclusive spa once a year to stay in the prime of health.

I sit across from him. "To what do I owe the honour, Mr.Konstantinopoulos?"

"Kosmos, please. I just wanted to meet the famous Squirrelman." He looks out over the club. "What do you think?"

"Sorry?"

"My club."

He owns the Cosmos Lounge. Of course. Makes sense, now that I think of it. No wonder the Maitre D' was making such a fuss.

"Nice place," I admit.

"Thanks... enjoying your meal?"

"We haven't ordered yet."

"Finest chefs from around the world were flown in," he says, proudly. He sure is full of himself. Like the CEO of a multinational conglomeration had anything to do with the selection of chefs for a restaurant that just happens to be one of the corporation's holdings. Ass.

"Francois? See that Squirrelman and his guests have all the finest," Konstantinopoulos says. One of the three waiters constantly hovering around nods and rushes off. He knows the names of his employees. So he's not all bad, I guess.

"That's not necessary," I say.

"But I insist. Champagne?"

"Why not?"

One of the other waiters pours me a glass and Konstantinopoulos raises his in a toast. I raise mine.

"What are we toasting?" I ask.

"I always toast the same thing," he says. "Accomplishment."

"Your own or that of other people?"

"Accomplishment is the only thing I respect, Squirrelman. My own, that of others, there's little difference."

"Okay... Accomplishment, then."

Everyone else raises their glass and toasts. After the sip I replace my mask.

"So I understand you're... colleagues with my old friend, Reed Sterling."

"He's a good friend." So that's what this is about.

"You'll do me the favour of passing on my regards?"

"Sure. That's all, just your regards?"

He smiles and it's all shark. Just the tightening of his lips and not a glimmer of anything pleasant in his eyes. This is how a nobody from a Greek island became the CEO of one of the most powerful corporations on the planet. Nobody would fuck with what's behind that smile.

"That's all. Just my regards."

"Not a problem."

I turn away from the shark and look out over the club again. This is not a man to piss off.

My muscles tense up, ready to twitch any direction.

The busboy suddenly appears, holding a tray filled with dirty glasses.

Everything goes... still. Not quiet, because the music is still playing and people are still talking, but no one is moving.

"Can you move?" Konstantinopoulos asks me.

"Nope."

In the centre of the room, a man in a white suit suddenly appears. He's got close-shaven dark hair and under his suit jacket he's wearing a white vest covered with Happy Face buttons. He's carrying a duffle bag with something heavy inside.

"Fuck," I say.

Johnny Giggles.

The guy who killed off not one but two complete Supreme Courts. The guy who hunted down every last World War I veteran. The guy who has a murder tally in the thousands. The guy who decided not to blow up a busload of nuns because it was passé.

He's immortal or something. Some kind of instant regeneration. He's a genius, nearly as smart as Reed. He's also completely bugshit insane, and has some kind of telepathic blocking ability that makes any telepaths scanning him go bugfuck too.

He killed Hopscotch two months ago and took his teleport suit. Since then everyone everywhere has been on the watch for any sign of him.

The only good thing about this situation is his partner, April Fool, isn't here. She's the one that gets him really homicidal.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, then giggles. "You will notice that you cannot move."

A few civilians manage to scream, panic starting.

"Shut the FUCK UP!!" Johnny roars above the crowd, clutching his ears. People shut up. No one wants to draw his attention. He giggles.

"Now... as I was saying, my stasis field has halted any and all voluntary movement." He looks around the room with this magnanimous look on his face. "I could have stopped ALL movement... like, your hearts, for example. But I didn't." He looks at directly at Konstantinopoulos. "I didn't."

"I have come to register a complaint with your host here. J'accuse, Kosmos, old boy! You are hereby found guilty of shoddy workmanship!"

"Giggles, if you harm one person here..." Konstantinopoulos says.

"One? Why settle for one?" the mass murderer giggles, then reaches into the duffle bag and pulls out a large, complicated looking device, walking up to Konstantinopoulos' table. He sweeps the table of all the drinks and puts the device in the centre. Giggles reaches over and takes my drink, sitting in Konstantinopoulos' lap.

"Now. I'm sure you recognize this. I bought it from one of your subsidiaries after all."

"Yes."

"And what is it?" Johnny asks as though he's talking to a particularly slow child.

"It's a bomb. Used in mining."

"That's RIGHT!!" He jumps up and points at the bomb. "And, lemme tellya, Kosmos old boy, it didn't work FOR SHIT! That piece of shit bomb of yours didn't go off! It was supposed to go off last night during the Actionauts-Cavaliers game, bringing an end to thousands of baseball-loving, beer-swilling, pathetically dull lives!" He shudders like he can't imagine anything worse, then giggles. "They really would have been so grateful to me, don't you think?"

"Get to the point," Konstantinopoulos says.

"Right, right, ever the businessman, eh Kosmos? Well. Here's the thing. When it didn't go off, I decided I needed to show you how to make a proper bomb. Honestly. You've lost a customer, Kosmos, you've lost a customer."

He reaches over and presses a button. The timer starts up... at five seconds.

"This is how you make a bomb," he giggles again, and disappears.