#squishyverse

So the first time Ace and Belladonna go on a real date the Gang is following up behind in disguise. Belladonna knows it’s them, but Ace is just like “wow weird these paparazzi dudes are just sort of following us weird”. So Belladonna leads them on a merry chase trying to lose them, and Ace thinks it’s cute while the boys are huffing and puffing and taking lots of crazy pictures.

When Dog disappeared for a few hours, the kids more or less gave him up for dead. Poor little dude. Mitch had a lighter-light memorial service. That little vehicle-challenged pooch had so much to live for. He shed a tear in completely manly broraderie.

  Dog showed up at dinnertime behind the wheel of the ugliest, gaudiest, coolest van Mitch had ever seen, splotched with green and orange and purple with rust everywhere and a surprisingly fresh shag carpet.

  “What,” Robin asked, once they were all outside, “is this?”

  “Our new wheels!” Dog barked, wagging his tail. “Let’s load this puppy up and ride!”

  “I’m n-not getting in that,” Elmer stammered, wringing his doughy fingers like a pansy. “I-it looks uns-safe.”

  “And where are we even going?” Mike frowned.

  “Elementary school,” Dog replied. “Squad of gooey hostiles headed that way!”

  Mitch looked at Robin. She looked at Mike. Mike looked back the rest of them. Mitch grinned and bolted back into the building to grab his gear, the rest on his heels.

  The group (meaning everybody but Mitch) elected to have Robin drive again, and Mike started scribbling some math equation on the window with his finger.

  “Elmer,” he finally said, “do you think we can fit twenty kindergartners in here?”

  “I-I think so,” Elmer nodded. “And t-t-take them where?”

  Dog pawed at the ancient radio.

  “—safe havens, under the protection of temporary shielding technology adapted from the monster barrier.” Blossom’s voice crackled through the speakers. “If you are currently in need of a place to stay, please make your way to the following locations: Town Hall. Townsville Stadium. Townsville High. Townsville National Bank. More locations to follow as soon as we are able to make them completely safe. We are doing all we can to contain the spread. Blossom here, signing off. Keep each other safe. Good luck.”

  “They’ve been looping that for the past three days,” Dog said. “You can see the bubbles in direct sunlight.”

  “Right,” Robin nodded. “Which safe haven is closest?”

  “Uh…Town Hall, I think,” Mike replied. “Mitch? Got any ideas on how to get everyone out?”

  “Uh…beat the glop?” Mitch shrugged. “I guess you and me could hold ‘em off while Robin and Elmer load the kids.”

  “No,” Robin frowned, “I’ll help fight. Elmer can get everyone loaded in.”

  “No, you help load the kids. They’ll run from a freak like Elmer, they need a woman’s touch—” Mitch started, and Robin smacked him.

  “Shut up, Mitch, I can fight just as good as either of you!” she snapped. “Just because your medieval brain can’t comprehend the idea that a girl could be just as good—”

  “Whaddya mean medieval, I’m just saying, your fighting skills ain’t got nothing to do with you being a girl—”

  “I h-hate to interrupt,” Elmer gulped, “b-but—”

  He pointed ahead, where Pokey Oaks was coming into view. As Lady Luck would have it…the road was rearing up to meet them.

  Robin swore, swerved, and the road crunched down on itself, crackling; the goop within detached from the rubble, glopping its way towards Pokey Oaks Kindergarten.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Robin seethed, stamping the gas and tearing up scenic grass in her off-road path to beat the slime. In the back, Mike and Mitch slid around, banging off the walls and each other. The sound of screaming kids was getting louder. And…was that a shotgun?

  They fell out of the van as soon as Robin slammed on the brakes, and they heard the sweet tones of their old teacher screaming non-sweet things at the advancing goo.

  “Miss Keane!” Robin called, opening the door and staring down the double barrels of smoking artillery. “Don’t shoot!”

  “Ah! Miss Schneider! Good to see you!” Miss Keane shouted. “Duck!”

  Wisely, they did, and Miss Keane fired on a goop-controlled pogo ride, right behind Mike.

  “We’re here to get you out,” Mike yelled over the sound of screaming five-year-olds.

  “Good! Cover me!” Miss Keane forward-rolled until she was face-to-face with Mitch, smiling manically. “Plug your ears, Mr. Mitchelson!”

  She fired again, and he took his fingers out of his ringing ears.

  “Elmer!” Mike shouted. “Now!”

  The four of them, Miss Keane included, formed a loose barricade against the oncoming goop playground while Elmer coaxed the frightened kids into the van (aw, man, Mitch sniggered, that sounded so messed up). Mitch wasn’t watching what the others were doing, busy bludgeoning a satanic slide with his baseball bat, but there were explosions from Robin’s cherry bombs and more ear-shattering blasts from Miss Keane.

  “K-kids are loaded!” Elmer yelled. “We’ve gotta g-g-g-go!”

  “Everybody in!” Mike yelled, and they ran for it, Robin throwing explosives over her shoulder as Elmer started driving. Robin and Mike slid into the front seat, Miss Keane leapt into the back with her kids, which left Mitch, taking time to smack a swingset back as the kids and everybody else yelled. His bat got stuck in the goop and he couldn’t pull it out.

  “Mitch, just drop it and get in!” Miss Keane shouted, and Mitch bade sweet farewell to the faithful bat as he made a run for the van, swung into it, and slammed the doors shut. The kids behind him shrieked as something heavy pinged off the door.

  “Lose ‘em!” Mitch yelled, and Elmer and Robin did some shuffling and let Robin back in the driver’s seat. Miss Keane and Mitch squished the kids back farther into the van while she reloaded her gun and he borrowed the bag of Robin’s firecrackers.

  The door banged a few more times, and a tendril of goo seeped in between the doors. Mitch held his lighter up to it and the goop shrieked, pulling back out.

  “It’s gonna rip the doors off,” Miss Keane said grimly.

  “Not if we can make it to the safe haven first,” Robin replied. “We’re almost back in town, hang on.”

  As it turned out, she was half-right, in that only half of one of the doors came off in a screech of tearing metal, and there was an already-lit cherry bomb waiting on it when the slime reared its ugly head. Between the two of them, Miss Keane and Mitch managed to hold the door.

  “How much longer, Robin?” Mitch yelled. “We’re running out of ammo here!”

  “Just a few more feet, the relief crew is coming to help us now!” Robin yelled, and the glob seared and bubbled away in a blast of bright pink light. A familiar redhead peeked through the door.

  “Is this everyone?” she asked.

  “Sure is,” Mitch said, and she nodded.

  “Hold on. I’m going to lift you through.”

  The kids cheered, and the van swooped as Blossom picked it up and flew it through the barrier. Mitch’s stomach turned a little. The doors opened, and Miss Keane and Mitch tumbled out as the kids rushed to mill around Blossom like cute little parasites.

  “We are never doing that again,” he groaned to the Dog as he came out from under the seat.

  “Hey, you guys!” a peppy voice said, and the kids detached from their open goggling of Blossom to mill around Bubbles, who laughed and scooped a couple of them up into her arms. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

  “Not like we had a choice,” Robin said tiredly. “Good to see you, Bubbles. Blossom.”

  “Robin,” Blossom said, almost absently. “Can you tell me what went on here?”

  “The Dog brought us the van and said there was goop headed towards the kindergarten, so we thought we’d go pick ‘em up,” Mitch said, shrugging. “Not much to tell.”

  “Can you tell me how much slime there was and what forms it took?” Blossom asked.

  “Not really, we were kinda running for our lives,” Robin said.

  Blossom sighed.

  “Alright,” she said, adjusting her pink visor, “get inside. There should be a few spare beds and a hot meal waiting for you.”

  “We’ll take the meal,” Mike said, “but we’re going back to base as soon as we’re done.”

  Blossom’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “Base,” Mike repeated. “Where we’ve been hiding out.”

  “It would be much safer if you would remain inside the haven,” Blossom said, iron edge to her voice. Mitch shivered a little despite himself.

  “It would be much safer if the aliens weren’t even here, but they are,” Robin countered. “We’ll be fine. We can do a lot more good out there than stuck in here anyway.”

  Blossom pursed her lips.

  “I could always make you stay,” she said.

  “But you won’t,” Robin said, and the air turned kinda…phew. Catfight. Mitch shivered again.

  Blossom sighed. “Let me get you some good equipment, at least.”

  “Th-thanks, Blossom,” Elmer interjected. “We could r-really do with a r-radio. A-and some more w-w-weapons.”

  “And maybe some of that shield tech, if you have any to spare,” Mike said, and Blossom nodded.

  “I’ll get someone to look at the van, too, while I’m at it,” she said. “I want to be able to contact you at all times and know where you are and what you’re doing.”

  “What, you wanna know when I’m peeing and everything?” Mitch joked, and Robin smacked him again.

  “No,” Blossom wrinkled her nose, and flitted off.

  “That was really gross, dude,” Dog said, and Mitch mighta kicked him a little.

  The grub wasn’t bad, and by the time they were done Blossom was back with a clipboard and smudges on her uniform.

  “The van is finished,” she said, “and it should be fully stocked with all the supplies you’ll need.”

  She led them out to the garage area, and though the outside of the van looked exactly the same, the inside was stacked, reinforced metal plates and a pull-out armory and a shiny new radio with a comm attached that buzzed with static and half-garbled reports. Sweet, Mitch grinned.

  “The shield tech will be on your way as soon as I have another moment to spare,” Blossom said. “Till then, try to stay aware. Nothing is safe where the aliens are.”

  “We know,” Robin said, a little snappish, and got into the driver’s seat.

  “Thanks, Blossom,” Mike said, and Elmer and Mitch sort of mumbled along as they got into the van. The Dog jumped in behind them.

  “Good luck,” she said. “If you find anyone else like the elementary school, get them to a safe haven.”

  “That’s the plan,” Mike said, and was about to shut the door when someone yelled from across the garage.

  “Wait!”

  And who should be hustling over but the good ole teach, Miss Keane. She skidded to a stop, panting.

  “I’m going with them!”

  “Miss Keane, that’s all kinds of bad ideas,” Mitch said.

  “Mr. Mitchelson, when you speak English properly you can determine what’s a bad idea for me to do and what isn’t,” she said briskly, moving towards the front seat. “Scoot over, Mr. Believe.”

  “Miss Keane, I was really hoping you could come back with me and help out my team,” Blossom said, and Miss Keane touched her arm.

  “You’ll do just fine without me,” she said fondly, “and these kids need me more than you do right now.”

  “No we don’t,” Mitch said, and someone hit him. When is the hitting gonna stop, he wondered grumpily.

  “Well…” Blossom chewed her lip, and then took a step back. “Okay. But call me if you’re in trouble.”

  “Of course,” Miss Keane said, and shut the door. “Miss Schneider, to base, if you please.”

  Without a word Robin drove away, back out into the slimy unknown. Mitch took a good look outside and stifled a wave of homesickness. This was way more exciting than babysitting his granny.

  …he wondered if she was okay.

But now wasn’t the time to argue with fate; now was the time to run, because a mummy oozing black and snapping at people was on their heels.

  “Of all the days to go on a field trip,” he huffed, throwing an antique suit of armor behind them to try and slow the mummy down, “why did it have to be in the Natural History Museum?”

  “Less yapping, more running,” Robin gasped, digging in her backpack for something—oh. Her skates.

  “No time to put those on, either,” Mike said, exasperated. She shot him a look, replaced the skates, and instead took out a—was that a firecracker?

  “Why do you have an explosive in your school bag?” he griped. She hit Mitch, running alongside her.

  “Light me!” she ordered, and without question Mitch produced a lighter. It was a miracle he could get it working, at the speed they were going, but with a spark the firecracker started going. Without looking she tossed it over her shoulder, and Mike watched despite himself as the gloopy mummy swallowed it whole and then exploded. By that point they’d reached the front stairs without running anybody over, but Townsville was another story entirely.

  It wasn’t an altogether unfamiliar sight, Townsville in chaos. It happened every other day, most weeks. The familiar flashes of pink and blue against the skyline were also comforting. But still, something nagging in the pit of Mike’s stomach said this time was different. For one thing, the missing green amongst the rainbow seemed to stand out brighter in the flame-stained sky. It had been years since they’d seen her, but every time there was a crisis…well…it just wasn’t the same without her.

  Black goopy forms were running rampant in the streets, and behind them the exploded mummy was reforming, this time slithering into—oh, criminy.

  “G-guys,” Elmer gulped, gasping for breath, “I think w-we should r-run.”

  The ancient T-Rex skeleton in the lobby of the museum, now almost overcome in black goop that flashed different strange colors, shook itself off, as if waking up.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Mitch said, and while Mike hated to agree with him…well…

  The T-Rex let out a guttural roar, and with a shaky step pounded off the platform and towards the entrance. Almost instantly a tiny blue car slid up to the curb and banged against it, at the wheel of which was a small white dog.

  “Come with me if you want to live,” the dog said in a deep voice, then chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  “In, in, in!” Mike ordered, shoving Elmer towards the car first (ew, that guy could really sweat…and why was he sticky?). Without question the rest piled in, Elmer and Mike jammed into the back seat, Robin and Mitch squeezed up front, and the dog (somehow) stepped on the gas, veering out of the way of the large skeletal-goopy foot that crushed down on the pavement. There were few times when Mike truly feared for his life, but the universe seemed set on giving him as many heart attacks as possible in one day; the Talking Dog drove like a maniac.

  “Move over, mutt,” Mitch said impatiently, shifting Robin off of his lap (she complied hurriedly). “You can’t drive!”

  There was a lurch as the dog hopped into the passenger-side seat with Robin and Mitch assumed control, and the car almost went off the overpass they were currently on. Mitch barely swung the wheel in time, and the car’s tires screeched as it changed directions. Mitch, was, if possible, even worse than the dog. Mike looked behind them and saw that the T-rex was gaining, and dropping chunks of goop and bone as it went. He winced and saw a few people struggling to get out of the stomach goop only to be sucked back in.

  “Mitch, move over! You can’t drive!” Robin screamed as Mitch almost ran them up a telephone pole, and shoved her way into the driver’s seat. Mitch giggled.

  “Can’t keep your hands off me, can you, sweetheart?” he chuckled, then wheezed as she elbowed him in the clavicle. “Kidding. Just kidding.”

  The driving was more steady with Robin at the wheel, but the monster was still following…and Mike got an idea. He knew better than to follow his ideas, of course, but still…

  “Robin, you got any more fireworks in your bag?” he asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Robin asked.

  “Mitch, the lighter,” Mike ordered, holding out his hand. Mitch, who was struggling back into the passenger-side seat, glared at him.

  “No way! This is my dad’s—”

  “We don’t have time to argue! Lighter, now!” Mike barked. Mitch grumbled but surrendered the lighter and tossed him Robin’s bag. Mike dug around until he had a handful of explosives, then rolled down the window.

  “What are you doing?” Robin screeched when he sat on the edge of the window, holding onto the car precariously for support.

  “Saving our skins!” Mike replied, and he felt a moist presence grab his legs.

  “I-I gotcha! You throw!” Elmer yelled. Mike would have to remember to be nicer to the guy later. And maybe wash his jeans.

  Quickly he lit the first firecracker, and threw with all the accuracy the few weeks of football practice back in freshman year had given him. The T-rex opened its jaws and swallowed it. It went off with a dull boom, and quite a chunk of ribcage fell out. He lit another and tossed it. There went the jaw…another, and he finally hit the spine. The whole thing collapsed, snapping and clawing, and crashed against the street. The few people trapped inside staggered out, running for the sidewalk and scraping goop off of them. Mike slid back inside the car and returned Mitch’s lighter.

  “Where to?” Robin asked, her voice shaking. Mike looked at the chaos around them and swallowed hard.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I might,” Talking Dog said, and directed Robin to a building of brand-new condos, set for lease the following week. Mitch whistled.

  “Nice crib, little dude,” he said appreciatively, then swore as an oozing fire hydrant appeared around the corner. “Get inside!”

  Once the door was shut and they were sure the hydrant wasn’t following them the five of them relaxed. Well, Talking Dog relaxed; he made himself comfortable on the couch.

  “Okay,” Robin said, her fingers knitting together and unraveling faster than Mike could stomach looking at, “okay. We’re in the middle of the apocalypse, we’re stranded in an uptown condo far away from our families, and,” she pulled out her cell phone with shaking hands, “I don’t have service in here.” She tucked it back in her pocket. “Any ideas?”

  “Just one,” Mike said uneasily, glued to the window as havoc wreaked below and the flashes of blue and pink on the horizon got fainter. “Wait it out.”

  “Wait for what?” Mitch snorted. “For some stupid aliens to come and get us? No, thanks. I think I’ll take the fight to them.”

  “With what?” Mike snapped. “Your lighter? They aren’t mutant broccoli. This is way too much for us. I think it’s way too much for the Girls!”

  “No, it’s not,” Robin said automatically. “There’s nothing they can’t handle.” Her voice shook.

  “I…I think Mike has a p-point,” Elmer stammered, squatting on the edge of the couch. “Look.”

  Amazingly, it seemed like the ruckus outside was dying down. Then, there was a series of cracks and whip-snaps, and from where they were sitting or standing they watched the various bridges and highways out of Townsville snap and collapse.

  Silence settled in.

  Swallowing hard, Mike clenched his fists. Robin covered her mouth. Mitch bit his lip. Elmer chewed on his fingernails. Talking Dog whimpered.

......

Neither of their eyes leave the board, but Blossom still feels the question coming on as she considers her bishop.

“What is on your mind?” Mojo asks, quiet and concise, waiting.

She disregards the bishop and studies one of her rooks instead. “The monster barrier,” she replies.

“Is it not functioning properly?” Mojo’s steepled fingers twitch ever so slightly. “I was unaware—”

“It’s functioning fine,” Blossom interrupts gently, moving her rook and taking one of his knights. “Your calibrations were perfect.”

“Then why are you applying much-needed brainpower towards a task that is, as you say, perfectly calibrated?” Mojo advances a pawn.

“Worrying,” Blossom shrugs, her fingers hovering for a moment over the bishop again before maneuvering a knight herself. “It’s part of my job.”

“You should, once in a while, take a break,” Mojo reasons, capturing her knight with a bishop. “It is unhealthy for a person to undertake as many endeavors as you, Blossom, have, without the proper rest and rejuvenation her mind requires, as well as her body. You will burn yourself out.”

“Your concern is touching,” Blossom replies carefully, fiddling with a pawn before pressing it forward, “but unnecessary. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Very well, then.” Mojo leaves the pawn alone purposely and instead presses his rook in dangerous position to her remaining bishop. “You still did not answer my question in full. A monster barrier, well-taken care of and well-regulated, is not sufficient cause to wrinkle your brow.”

She chooses not to answer, moving the bishop out of harm’s way and taking a pawn. They play silently for a few more rounds.

“Are you sure it does not involve, include, or otherwise relate to the Townsville Gazette reporter?” Mojo inquires delicately. Blossom’s mouth twitches and she takes his rook.

“That reporter,” she grimaces, “is none of your concern, or mine.”

“Strange,” Mojo muses, fingering his knight, “I was under the impression all of Townsville was your concern.” Too late Blossom sees her mistake, but she is powerless to stop it; Mojo retrieves the bishop with something like vindictiveness. “Check.”

Her mouth twitches again, more noticeably, and she moves her king. “Its safety is my concern,” she retorts. “The inane babbling of a reporter grabbing at straws to keep his career afloat isn’t worth my time.”

“If you are certain,” Mojo shrugs. “It did not appear as though it was not worth your time when last I watched Channel 6 news. Or the YouTube iterations. Check.”

“So I lost my patience,” she snaps, moving her king again. “It’s none of his business what I do in my spare time! It’s none of his business with whom I spend that spare time!”

“That did not appear to be,” Mojo replies coolly, “what you were so incensed about.” He moves his bishop. She advances her pawn.

“Weren’t you?” she asks. “Incensed, I mean.”

“I am always incensed when it comes to Townsville,” he grumps. “I am also ill-at-ease, irritable, and irascible. With unpleasant emotions do I constantly survey this wretched city and its ridiculous cheerfulness and mindless law-abiding citizenry.”

“That wretched city,” Blossom says acidly, “is my home.” She moves her knight. “Check.”

“I am well aware, as it has also been my own abode these many years,” Mojo replies. “That does not make it any less a stupid place to live.”

“What is it about Townsville you can’t stand so much?” Blossom asks. “Check.”

“What is it about the reporter’s questions that did not sit well with you?” Mojo fires back.

“I—I asked you first,” she frowns.

“Incorrect, for you will find that I asked you my question long ago in this conversation and you did not offer an explanation or an answer of any kind,” Mojo scowls. “Perhaps if you were more direct, reporters would not talk so.” He moves his king, and she blinks. “Check.”

“That move is entirely illegal. The kings can’t have each other in check,” she protests. In a swipe of his paw he clears the board until it’s just his king and hers, circling each other. She blinks again, but moves her king accordingly.

“Was it merely the presumption that grated you the wrong way,” Mojo says with difficulty, “or the evidence arranged around the question?”

“Is it Townsville you hate so much,” she replies with equal care, “or the memories?”

For the first time Mojo looks up, and not to be cowed she meets his gaze. It seems like an eternity they stare at each other, the kings on the board motionless but still checking each other, again and again, in their eyes. Blossom breaks first, standing up and snatching up her coat.

“Same time next week?” she asks briskly, though practice has unveiled the wobble behind her vowels to Mojo’s ears. He returns his gaze to the board and offers no answer. She hovers for a second, then slams the door behind her.

.......

Snake hates his life.

Why does he hate his life, one may ask? It seems pretty sweet from the outside. He’s in a band, for one. Well, not just any band. He’s the rhythm guitarist for the Gangreen Gang, pretty much the hottest musical sensation in and around Townsville. He has his own fangirl faction, his own merchandise, and that curvy schoolteacher he thinks he’s seeing hasn’t taken out a restraining order yet. He gets six meals a day and jams with his friends on a daily basis. Doesn’t get much cooler than that, right?

The problem is that the band has a plus one that he’s never been crazy about, not since she was five and he was thirteen and whenever she showed up it meant some serious smack-downage was on the way. He likes her better now that the aliens are gone (and he shivers when he remembers, the scar on his belly aching), but there are some things that should just be sacred.

Like Poker Night.

When Boss says they can imbibe freely of the provided alcoholic beverages.

And play poker.

Not tongue wrestling.

Snake keeps his eyes on his cards and not on the corner, where Boss and BellaButterDonnaCup (maybe he’s had too many himself) are wrapped around each other so tight if Boss wasn’t green and she wasn’t curvy it’d be hard to tell them apart. Billy lays down a flounder.

“Go fish!” he says happily.

“That’sssss not what game we’re playing, Billy,” Snake says, but it’s no big deal. Billy’s been playing the same Go Fish game on Poker Night for six years. At the moment Snake isn’t entirely confident that they aren’t playing Go Fish, because whatever cards are in his hand, they surely aren’t for poker. (Gangreen Gang Limited Edition Playing Cards mixed with Billy’s worn Go Fish deck and one grubby IOU from Boss to Grubber. They’re just slapping cards down at random now.)

Arturo lazily lays down a queen and the genuine article giggles, slurring against Boss’ mouth and Snake stands and looks around hurriedly for a trash can to throw up in. This is not the activity he’d intended on spectating tonight. At most he was hopeful for a game of chicken out on the highway.

Boss’ boot suddenly lashes out and kicks Snake’s legs out from under him, and he knows better than to rise to the bait, knows better than to look, but with his nose in the carpet and his legs in the air he can’t help it. For one, Boss’ shirt is hanging from the ceiling and her thin tank top is under Boss’ back, one of his hands on her metal leg and the other tracing up and down her spine. Their faces are kind of mushed together, and Snake doesn’t understand how they can do that with Boss’ snaggletooth in the way, but he’s seen enough to thoroughly nauseate him for a good month. He throws his cards at them and stomps his foot.

“Get a room, wouldja?” he hisses. “Sssssome of ussss are trying to play a game here!”