9/5/06

Chapter One

“General Lou’s Man Lair”

In search of some sort of revenge or retribution for shaming her mother and leaving her as a bastard, Inagoddadavida Jackson set off for her father’s hometown: Saint-Elmo-the-Third’s-Burg (the name itself just reeked of elegance and sophistication). She armed herself with a cocktail napkin from 1988, when General Lou Jackson wrote down directions to his “man lair”—as he called it—for a young Annabelle McGee, who was passing through the city while on tour with her all-feminist musical quartette: the Scent of a Virgin Woman. The general’s penmanship was shoddy and the napkin was covered in a crusty substance, which appeared to be eighteen-year-old salad dressing.

‘My mother is a disgusting woman.’ Vida thought to herself. ‘Why the hell would someone keep something like this?’

Still, that filthy, crumpled napkin was the only thing she had to go by; so she followed the directions that had been scribbled down in blue ink many, many years before. She found herself in a fish market called “Kyoko-san’s Carp Paradise” in an Asian district of town.

“I guess papa sucked at giving directions as much as he sucked at life—oh snap!” Vida said to herself, but soon realized no one was paying any attention; and even if they were, they wouldn’t know what the hell she was talking about. You see, back at home she and her mother always tied anything they could into an insulting joke about the general.

Composing herself, she marched into the little shop. At the counter stood a portly Asian woman—whom Vida assumed to be Kyoko-san herself—viciously hacking apart a dead fish.

“Umm, hi, I’m looking for a secret military command base and weapon’s development center owned by a man named General Lou Jackson.”

The woman glared back at her without saying a word.

“… He worked for a secret military organization called ‘Twitchtastika’… He might have called it his ‘man lair’… so to speak.” Vida further explained.

The woman continued glaring at her for a long moment before finally speaking up.

“You come here!” She exclaimed.

Terrified of the large woman, Vida did what she was told and approached the counter.

“I tell you… EVERY TING!” Kyoko-san pulled out a fresh fish from her freezer and began scribbling new directions down on it with her knife. As she wrote she continued to talk to Vida. Though her English was terrible, Vida gathered that Kyoko-san had purchased the building from General Lou when he decided to opt for a more secretive secret ‘man lair’ and moved his base of operations to a gaping hole below the surface of the city… Or something, who knows? For all Vida could understand she could have been talking about feminine hygiene: the woman’s English was just that bad.

In a garage-like setting, in a secret base, in a gaping cavity below the city’s surface, a scruffy, grease covered man stood grinning mischievously at a visibly-angry, red-haired woman in a lab coat.

“… You did what.” The thoroughly agitated woman interrogated.

“Yah, I sold it.” He replied, showcasing a very Slavic-sounding accent.

“… WHY?! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID?!”

“I wanted to piss you off.”

“Oh, right, ‘cause I’m not pissed enough already, or something?!”

“The answer is very simple… I just hate you.”

A red glow lit up within the woman’s emerald-colored eyes. “MARK MY WORD, SMIRNOFF! ONCE I REPORT YOU TO THE HIGH COMMANDER, YOU WILL NEVER WORK FOR SPASM AGAIN!”

“Pff! Whatever, you filthy Americans don’t pay me enough anyway.” His name was Friedrich Smirnoff, though he was known to many as the “Metal Guru” by many for being an extraordinarily brilliant engineer. However, be that as it may, most people just called him “Freddy”; it was a lot less formal than “Friedrich ‘the Metal Guru’ Smirnoff”.

The red-haired dame in the lab coat was Dr. Myra Ellen Amos. She was working with Freddy Smirnoff on a top-secret project for the secret military organization known as “Spasm”. Dr. Amos was a permanent employee of Spasm; Smirnoff was just a freelancer, hired to assist the good doctor in designing and—more importantly—building three biomechanical, humanoid war machines to defend Saint-Elmo-the-Third’s-Burg in case of an attack from outside forces. Amos designed these weapons; it was Smirnoff’s job to build them.

“What’s with all the commotion?” A young woman with short, black hair and a military-issued vest asked, as she entered the warehouse.

“Oh it’s nothing, Captain Quinn, just the good doctor, it’s her time of the month, ya know?” Smirnoff replied.

“Ohh… I see.” The captain said. “You know, Myra, I’ve got some Midol somewhere around here if you—”

“I AM NOT ON MY PERIOD!” Amos exclaimed.

“Well, suit yourself. But I really don’t understand you women who just wanna ‘suffer through it’.” Quinn commented.

“Will you shut up about menstruation!” The doctor exclaimed. “Haven’t you realized something is missing, Captain?”

Quinn looked around the warehouse. There were two daunting, metallic figures on either side of her. The one on the left was dark blue; the one on the right was pink and purple, not unlike the kind of war machine that Barbie would pilot. But in-between the two there was a vast expanse of empty space.

“… You are talking about the Red Algerian Beetle, right?” Quinn said.

“Of course I’m talking about the Red Algerian Beetle!” Dr. Amos shrieked.

“What happened to it?” Quinn asked.

“I sold it for parts.” Smirnoff replied.

“He sold it for parts!” Amos reiterated to stress the severity of his actions.

“Huh.”

“… That’s all you have to say?” Dr. Amos questioned her.

“No… What the hell kind of name is ‘the Red Algerian Beetle’ anyway?” Quinn asked. “I mean, I know it was red and all, but it didn’t look like a beetle, and what did it have to do with Algeria? I just don’t get it.”

“… That is so not important right now.” Dr. Amos replied.

“Well what do you want me to do about it? This isn’t in my jurisdiction. I just have to order these big, metal bitches around once they’re up and running. It’s your job to build them… and I guess keep track of them until we’re ready to use them.” Quinn explained. “You’ll have to take it up with the High Commander.”

Suddenly the door flung open.

“Hey! I wanna talk to Lou!” The figure in the doorway exclaimed.

“Lou’s dead. What do you want?” Dr. Amos said.

“Well I’m Lou’s daughter, and I’m real pissed!”

“Ha! You’re pissed? You don’t know the meaning of the word.” Dr. Amos scoffed.

“Wait a minute, a thought Widow Jackson and all of her children moved to Wallawalla, Washington because the dreary atmosphere complimented her withered, jagged, generally unfriendly personality.” Quinn commented.

“I’m his illegitimate daughter, Inagoddadavida Jackson!” The figure stepped forward into the light, revealing herself to the three of them… although that really meant nothing because they had no idea who she was to begin with.

“Holy crap…” Quinn gaped at the sheer stature of the girl’s name.

“Well, whatever! This base is supposed to be top-secret! How did you find this place?” Dr. Amos interrogated.

“A little, old, Asian fish peddler guided me here after the directions on an eighteen-year-old cocktail napkin led me astray!” Vida explained. “She even carved the direction here into a fish—take a look!” She tossed the fish towards the three of them; it landed at their feet.

“Eww…” Quinn muttered.

“Now, tell me… where the hell am I?” Vida demanded.

“Spasm HQ.” Smirnoff replied.

“You imbecile! That’s top-secret information!” Dr. Amos chastised him.

“Obviously not, if she got here by the directions on some fish!” He argued.

“What in bloody hell is all this ruckus?” A charmingly British voice asked from somewhere behind Vida.

“General Lou’s illegitimate daughter is here. She wants to have a word with him, sir.” Quinn told an attractive British man in his early-to-mid-thirties, as he pushed his way passed Vida, accompanied by a tall, slender, chestnut-haired woman in a business suit.

“… What?” He asked, then took a sip of his martini.

“ME!” Vida exclaimed. “I’m General Lou Jackson’s illegitimate daughter and I demand to speak with my deadbeat father!”

“Well you can’t; you see, he’s rather dead.” The British fellow told her, very bluntly. “Who’s up for a rousing game of charades?”

“There’s no time for charades!” Vida snapped. “Who are you people?! What’s going on here?! How do you know my papá?! What are those terrifying contraptions over yonder?! And for Christ’s sake, where can I find and sanity bathroom?!”

“… Down the hall on the right; it says ‘Lil Lassies’ on the door.” Captain Quinn told her.

“Thank you VERY much! The bathrooms in Little Asia Town were not surprisingly disgusting!” And with that, Vida dashed off to relieve herself.