[NEW] MiSTing: "The Beast with Nine Bands" [Hulk] [PG] [3/4]
MBlackw415
[Crow, Tom and Mike enter.]
Tom: Hey! Wait a minute! Crow, you were talking about
Cambot, weren't you?
Crow: Tee-hee-hee.
>Banner examined the contents of the cages by the opposite
>wall. Fourteen cages held two armadillos each.
Mike: Great. Story problems. I hate these.
> To his
>right, a table was covered with all sorts of scientific
>equipment: beakers,
Crow: [Beaker] Mimimimimi?
> Bunsen burners, test tubes, petri
>dished, extrememly powerful microscopes, and a
>sophisticated centrifuge.
Tom: She possesses *serious* nacho-making technology.
> Next to the table was a large,
>dilapidated refrigerator.
>
Tom: In it--lots and lots of stale Texican beverages.
>"Is that a brain?" Jones asked.
Crow: Jones was unfamiliar with that particular organ.
> He pointed to a small,
>grayish lump in a pan that sat in the center of the
>equipment.
>
Mike: This technology is powered by Play-Doh.
[The Intel sound bit plays.]
>"An armadillo's, I'd imagine," Banner said. "not much in
>size, is it?"
Tom: Okay, I didn't really want to go to this particular
perversity, thank you.
> He looked up as Dale returned, "she's not
>here, I trust."
>
> The deputy nodded and reholstered his pistol. "Why does
>she have a fridge here, when there's one in the kitchen?"
>
Tom: It's probably just in case that beer stealing penguin
drops by.
>"Obviously, it's for perishable samples."
Crow: [Banner] You non-scientist scum, you.
> Banner opened the
>refrigerator. "Interesting," he said, looking at a sealed
>plastic box.
>
Mike: Now, why would someone put a Furby in the fridge?
>Dale picked it up and read the label on the side of the
>box. "Hansen's Bacillus?"
>
Crow: It's a disease that causes young boys to sing.
>"Leprosy," Banner explained.
>
Tom: o/~ Leprosy
I'm not half the man I used to be.
I keep on losing little bits of me!
Oh, how I hate my Leprosy! o/~
>Dale replaced the box with exaggerated care.
>
Mike: Funny, you'd think Dale would WANT Charlton Heston
to show up.
>"Leprosy won't kill you," Banner said.
>
Tom: [Bruce] It only makes you stronger.
Mike: Or it makes you start moping around in a fantasy
world looking for gold rings.
>"Naw, it just makes your nose fall off."
>
Crow: So it turns you into Mr. Potato Head?
>Banner smiled. "Actually, leprosy attacks the skin and
>deadens your peripheral nerves. You can't fee, and you can
>cut yourself without knowing. The cuts get infected without
>care. You know the rest. In fact, to be vulnerable, you
>have to have a low resistance to begin with.
Mike: I assume there's a REASON why we have to know this.
> Besides, "he
>said, holding up a stoppered glass bottle of an antibiotic,
>"she has the cure."
>
>"I read somewhere that armadillos get leprosy," said Dale.
Crow: Fascinating. I wish it had something to do with the
subject at hand...
>"But eating them is fine, so long as the meat is cooked
>well."
>
Tom: Of course, I'd eat my own left buttock if it was cooked
well....
Crow: Well, that was a half-assed riff.
>Jones poked his head into the main room. "Guys, I think I
>found something out back." He led them through the hall to
>the back door.
>
Mike: [Jones] It's the back door. Neat, huh?
>"Here it is," said Jones. He pointed to a ruined cage,
>twice as large as the ones in the laboratory.
>
Crow: [Jones] This is where the really big fish live. Well,
before they die from a lack of water, that is.
>Dale looked grim. "I think the sheriff'll want to know
>about this. Let's go."
>
>They retraced their steps to the main room. Suddenly, Dale
>stopped short.
Mike: Mrs. Costanza got very mad.
> As Banner peered around the deputy, he heard
>the ominous *schuck-chack* of a pump action shotgun.
>
Tom: Someone's going to shoot the sheriff but not shoot the
deputy.
Crow: The onomatopoeia really helps enforce the realism of
the scene, don't you think?
>Pearl Sin was an attractive Asian woman, with a cascade of
>shiny, jet-black hair falling almost to her waist.
Tom: That is, if you consider the collar to be almost to her
waist.
> She wore
>no makeup, not that her resolute face really needed it.
Mike: The folks at Lancombe paid her money to not go out
in public. It's how she funded her research.
> At
>the moment, however, her beauty was marred by a large
>bandage covering the right side of her face from scalp to
>chin.
Crow: She's the victim of a freak toast accident.
> The red T-shirt she wore- emblazoned with the logo of
>Clark University- so dwarfed her petite frame that he beige
>shorts were almost totally hidden from view. A pair of worn
>sandals completed her outfit.
>
Mike: Michelle Yeoh?
Tom : Probably.
>Banner's attention, however, was riveted on the double-
>barreled shotgun she pointed in his direction.
>
Crow: So *that's* what they're calling them these days.
>"Gentlemen," Dr. Sin said, "I hope you have a good
>explanation for trespassing."
>
Tom: James Carville quickly appeared on the scene and blamed
it on the Republicans.
>Quartermain and Sowell squatted by the side of the creek,
>looking at the footprint in the mud.
>
Mike: [Sowell] Yep. It's that Dawson fellow again. He's all
around the place these days.
>The print was four feet long and two feet wide. It had four
>long toes, with the middle two of equal length and the
>outer ones slightly splayed. It disquietingly reminded
>Quartermain of a dinosaur's footprint.
>
Tom: Strom Thurmond had been there.
>"Look familiar, Sheriff?" he asked.
>
Mike: [Sowell] No! Damn it, Quartermain! I know that
you know that I was in Theodore Rex! Would you stop
rubbing my nose in it?
>"Vaguely. Maybe something I've seen on a smaller scale."
>Sowell looked at a willow tree gouged by the car. "Looks
>like Joe Brewer was telling the truth."
Tom: I thought it was Brent Brewer.
> Even the untrained
>eye could see the route the car followed into the grove,
>and the results of the violent reverse into the unfortunate
>tree trunk.
>
>Sowell looked thoughtful. "I think I know what that
>footprint is. It's crazy, but . . . " He rose to his feet.
>"We have to see Dr. Sin."
>
Mike: I just love how the names create so much imagery.
Sowell, Quartermain, Sin....
>Quartermain stood up. "We sent Bruce, Rick, and your
>deputy--"
>
Crow: ...to local supermarkets, in an effort to find the
best prices on detergent.
>"They might need help."
Mike: [Sowell] I'll call some of my other deputies. Deputy
Williams, Deputy D'Souza, Deputy Will, Deputy Stein....
> Sowell jumped in the patrol car.
>Quartermain grumbled under his breath as he joined the
>sheriff. Kicking up a cloud of dust the patrol car tore out
>of the lovers' lane.
>
Tom: Hitting the girl.
>"What did that footprint look like?" Quartermain demanded.
Mike: Tire tracks, oddly enough.
>"And what does that have to do with this Dr. Sin?"
>
Crow: [Quartermain] Nothing. Just making conversation.
>"I see footprints like that all the time in my back yard,"
>Sowell replied. "Not so big, of course. Doc Sin conducts
>experiments on-"
>
Mike: TV executives. No one misses them when they're gone.
>"ARMADILLO!" Quartermain yelled, pointing ahead.
>
[Silence]
Mike: Okay, did anyone expect this?
Crow: I had my sights set on "wombats."
Tom: I expected it to be a horribly mutated Turner D.
Century.
>Indeed, shambling across the road with an elephantine gait
>was an armadillo as large as a delivery truck.
Tom: AND IT'S DRINKING UP All THE LONE STAR!
[Crow and Mike stare at Tom.]
Tom: Hey, someone had to say it.
> It turned
>its shell-covered head toward the approaching car. Sowell
>swerved to avoid the creature . . . too late.
>
Crow: Why don't they look?
>The patrol car flew off the dirt road and into a ditch.
>
>
Mike: That defensive driving course really paid off for
the Sheriff.
>"Deputy Dale, is that you?" asked Dr. Sin, completely
>aghast. "I'm so embarrassed. I thought. . . " She placed
>her weapon against the wall.
>
Tom: I thought you WEREN'T Dale! [laughs hysterically]
>"Where did you get that gun?" asked Dale.
>
Mike: [Sin] They were selling them outside the grade
school...
>"I just came back from buying it. I do have a permit, you
>know," Sin nodded her head towards Banner and Jones. "Who
>are your friends?"
>
>Banner stepped up to offer his hand. "I'm-"
>
Tom: Eric Stratton, Rush chairman. Damn glad to meet 'cha.
Mike: That was Eric Stratton, Rush Chairman. He was damn
glad to meet 'cha.
>"You're Bruce Banner," said Sin, with astonishment.
>
Crow: [Sin] I was expecting that Preacher guy. Isn't
this a Vertigo story?
>With the speed of a striking diamondback,
Mike: [diamondback] Union! Union!
> Dale drew his
>pistol and pointed it at Banner. "I thought you looked
>familiar!" he said. "You're that Hulk guy. Don't you make
>any sudden moves! I'm placing you under arrest."
>
Tom: [Dale] Even though you could probably break me in
half without trying. I'm just that stupid!
>"Dale," said Sin in a mild, yet firm, tone. "We have a
>larger problem than the Hulk. I think you know what it is."
>
Crow: [Dale] Global warming?
>"How did you recognize me?" Banner asked Sin.
>
Mike: [Sin] Oh, I'm a big Peter David fan.
>"You spoke at my high school during my senior year. I never
>forgot the speech -
Crow: [Sin] Something about how you were going to detonate
a gamma bomb, and you were sure that it couldn't
possibly turn someone into a monster. Then you started
singing "Radar Love". It was really cool!
> it was an important influence on my
>life. but now we have more important things to do."
>
Mike: [Sin] Such as diversifying my mutual funds.
>Banner nodded. "I see you've been attempting to reverse
>damage induced by Hansen's Bacillus through the application
>of fetal tissue."
>
Tom: [Sin] No. I've been trying to make a soup that you
could eat with a knife. Good guess though.
>"Not quite," Sin replied. "I used a localized hormonal
>treatment to induce regression of the neurons to an
>embryonic, and therefore regenerable, state."
>
Mike: Look out, it's turning into a Star Trek episode!
>Banner was genuinely impressed. "Now, that's clever."
>
>"In English, por favor," said Dale.
>
Crow: [Dale] Comprehende, comrade?
>"Fully grown nerve cells can't regrow, which is why spinal
>injuries can result in permanent paralysis," Sin explained.
>"But when we are embryos, our nerve cells grow like mad.
Mike: Because of all the Viagra in our systems, of course.
>What I do is fool the nerve cells into thinking they're
>young again."
>
>"How? With a toupee and sports car?" Jones asked.
>
Tom: [Rimshot] Ba-dump-chshhh!
>Banner glared at his friend. Jones smiled and shrugged.
>
>"Who supports your work?" Banner asked.
>
Mike: [Sin] MTV. I'm not sure as to why.
>"The Department of Defense, Dr. Banner," Sin said. "I
>worked at the Army Medical Labs in San Antonio, before I
>was forced out here."
>
>"And they tried to make your work into a weapon."
>
>Sin shook her head. "No, I almost wish they had-it would
>have meant more funding.
Crow: [Sin] And I so wanted to see France destroyed by my
Armadillo hordes too.
> Everyone wanted to associate
>themselves with my project without doing any work. Then
>came those . . . *jerks* from the Veterans Administration.
>I had to escape out here to get any work done."
>
>"Why armadillos?" Jones asked.
>
Crow: And why the Veterans Administration?
>"They are susceptible to leprosy, breed faster than
>primates, and have litters consisting of genetically
>identical specimens."
>
>"Now for the fifty-thousand dollar question," said Dale.
>"What happened?"
>
>"Number Forty-two,
Tom: I am not a number, I am a free man!
Crow: Obligatory Hitchhiker's reference: Check.
> a male, received standard treatment, and
>regained at least seventy-seven percent sensation.
>Sometimes the treatment results in an increase in size,
>usually of fifty to one hundred grams. However, Forty-two
>kept growing and growing.
Tom: He's Clifford, the big red armadillo.
> He was . . . very large when I
>decided to sacrifice him."
>
Crow: To Baal.
>"Sacrifice?" Jones asked.
>
Tom: Yes! Sacrifice, as in immolate, ritually murder,
kill....Am I striking a familiar chord yet?
>Sin drew a well-manicured finger across her throat. "I have
>to do that to half my subjects. Anyhow, three days ago I
>decided I had to see what went wrong with Forty-two.
>Unfortunately, when I opened the cage to inject him with .
Mike: Viagra?
Crow: Enough with the Viagra references.
Mike: But they're appropriate!
>. . a solution, he knocked me aside and fled out the door.
>When I started the treatments, he was about two and a half
>feet long. When he escaped, he was about the size of a
>German Shepherd."
>
Mike: He went on to become Rin Tin Tin's successor.
>Clay Quartermain burst
Crow: I told you they weren't supposed to be made from clay.
> through the door and staggered into
>the main room. "What I saw was bigger than any shepherd
>recognized by the American Kennel Club!"
Tom: Well, the Texas branch might recognize it. After all,
everything's bigger in Texas!
> His face looked
>like an alley cat had vented its frustrations on him.
>
Crow: Or just a jealous girlfriend....
>Sowell entered close behind, also staggering and bloodied.
>Dale stood up and opened his mouth, but Sowell said, "I
>know about the armadillo.
Tom: He must have read ahead.
> We ran into it . . . so to speak.
>Our car went into the ditch and the radio got smashed. We
>walked all the way."
>
Mike: [Sowell] 250 grueling feet. It was hell, I tell you!
>Flopping into a chair, Sowell groaned softly, "I've got
>just one question for you, Pearl: How do we stop this
>thing?"
>
Tom: Take away it's credit card!
Mike: It's not charging, Tom.
>The group slowly turned their heads to a suddenly
>uncomfortable Banner.
>
>
Crow: [Banner] You're going to use me as bait, and hope that
it chokes on me, aren't you?
Tom: Let's go, guys.
[6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . ]
[The Bridge]
Mike: So. An Armadillo.
Crow: Yep.
[Silence]
Mike: Well, let's move on then.
Crow: Sure. So Tom, you were talking about joining the NBA?
Tom: Oh, right.
[Tom drags a pair of stilts from underneath the console.]
Tom: You see Mike, with Jordan leaving the league, combined
with the aftereffects of the strike, I figure that now
is the perfect time to join the league.
Mike: Tom, you're 2'6" tall.
Tom: That's why I have the stilts.
Crow: Your arms don't work.
Tom: Heck, you don't need arms to be a basketball player.
[Pause]
Mike: Okay, how?
Tom: Well, I haven't quite worked that out yet. But I'm
sure that it can be done.
Crow: Tom, you can't leap over a stick of gum! How do you
expect to dunk?
Tom: Crow, you obviously don't understand basketball. It's
a game of finesse and skill, not petty dramatics like
dunking or the hook shot or passing.
[Mike reaches down and grabs a basketball from beneath the
console.]
Mike: Tom, let's try a little experiment. I'm going to give
you this ball, and I want you to dribble this ball
over to the basket, and score, Okay?
Tom: What basket?
Mike: You know, the one right over there, conveniently
placed just outside of the area that Cambot can show.
Tom: Oooh. *That* basket. Fine Mike. I'll just do your
little test and prove to you that I'm a potential
NBA All-Star.
[Tom grabs the basketball, (don't ask how) and moves off
screen. Seconds later, a series of loud crashes can be
heard, along with skidding noises, the near constant
screams of Tom Servo, the sounds of squealing brakes,
glass shattering, a car alarm, and the frightened moo
of a cow. Mike and Crow watch the carnage impassively.
Tom reappears, sans stilts, with his dome cracked and
a pair of little plastic birds hanging from wires out
of his dome.]
Tom: [dazed] Mr. Speaker? I yield the remainder of my time
to the Gentleman from Wisconsin...
[Tom does a nosedive to the floor. Crow and Mike stare at
Tom's unconscious form, and then turn back to each other.]
Crow: So, an Armadillo then?
Mike: That's what I've heard.
[The lights begin to flash.]
Crow: We've got short story sign, Mike. Do you want to
grab Tommy there?
Mike: Sure, if you can handle getting the sign.
Crow: Will do.
[Crow taps the light with his beak, and the door sequence
begins.]
[1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 6 . . .]
[The robots and Mike enter.]
Mike: Okay, our wackiness quota for this experiment's
filled.
Crow: So's our "inflict injury on Tom" quota.
Tom: [Dazed] Willow? Xander? Can you help me with those
Zenubian Slime Devils?
Mike: And there's our "One of the characters says something
when dazed" quota. Good job, Tom!
Tom: Thanks.
>Between Willot Creek and the scene of the truck accident
>was undistinguished flatland, but the grounds where the van
>was parked looked as if it had been excavated by a madman
>with a backhoe.
>
Mike: Boy, we're getting a lot of odd symbolism today.
>Jones looked at the gouges etched in the soil. The fresher
>ones were wider than their predecessors. "What happened?"
>
>"There was a huge prairie dog town here," Dale answered.
Tom: [Jones] It looks like they were all planning to
build a pool...
>The deputy looked at Dr. Sin, who had changed into jeans
>and sneakers.
>
Crow: Instead of the latex catsuit we were hoping for...
>Armadillos are omnivores, but they prefer insects." She
>shrugged." Obviously, Forty-two was foraging for food."
>
Mike: He'll be heading off to the Stop 'n' Go then.
>"Not just here," said Sheriff Sowell. "I talked to Ned
>Harris over the radio. Says something went through his
>chicken coop like a tornado."
Crow: Wally West must have needed a snack.
> He sighed, then turned to
>glare at Banner. "I don't like you, Banner, or that thing
>you turn into. If it was up to me, I'd have you locked away
>someplace where you'd never be able to harm another living
>soul."
>
Tom: I swear, cops are so vindictive sometimes.
>"Fortunately for you, I've got a mutated armadillo running
>loose in my town, and right now, that takes precedence over
>you and your green-skinned alter ego."
>
>"He's, uh, actually *gray* these days, Sheriff," Banner
>said softly.
>
Mike: Oh, yeah, big difference.
>Sowell stared at him for a moment, then frowned. He
>dramatically waved a hand at the land around them. "This
>place might not be a paradise in the middle of the desert,
>but there are a lot of good people living here who've
>worked hard to carve out a little piece of their own to
>call home. I'd hate to see some oversized roadkill destroy
>what little they have."
>
Tom: [Sowell] After all, we've got that new Wal Mart opening
up next week.
>"I understand, Sheriff," Banner said. He paused. "Look, I
>have to warn you. The Hulk may not want to help you-he
>tends to have his own agenda.
Mike: [Banner] If he starts babbling about legalizing it,
just slap him.
> I don't like replying on him,
>and I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't absolutely
>necessary. But I *do* want to do whatever I can to help."
>
Tom: o/~ Well, I would do anything for Sowell, but I won't
do that... o/~
Crow: Get him.
[Mike lunges at Tom, and the pair disappears to the floor.]
>Sowell nodded. "I appreciate that. As for the Hulk's
>cooperation, I'll cross that bridge after he shows up."
>
Crow: And another completely botched cliche makes its way
into the dialogue.
[Tom and Mike resurface.]
Mike: No more Meatloaf. Got it?
Tom: Fine, fine. Geez.
>"Okay people," said Quartermain, jumping from the van.
>"Just to be on the safe side, I brought some toys."
Tom: Is this really the best time to show off your action
figure collection?
> He
>donned something that looked like a knapsack attached to a
>gigantic telescope. "This is a SLIME, or Shoulder Launching
>Integral Missile Engine.
[The trio snickers.]
> It launches standard issue Smart
>Linked Anti-Monster Missiles or SLAMM.
[The snickering increases in volume.]
> These wire-guided
>missiles --" he displayed what looked like a rocket
>propelled grenade topped with a drill head " -- are tipped
>with Single Composite Rotating Entry Warhead, or SCREW.
Mike: These acronyms are powered by Synthetic Totally
Unrealistic Propellants Integrated by Dinosaurs
Inwardly Tracking Yodelers or STUPIDITY.
>Should go through an armadillo like a knife through
>butter."
>
Tom: So, an armadillo is made of butter?
Crow: I'm so confused.
>"So, Clay," Jones said, "do they actually *pay* someone to
>come up with those dopey names for military weapons, or do
>you stay up nights with a Scrabble set making 'em up
>yourself?"
>
Crow: Damn. Dale might be angling for *our* jobs.
Mike: He's welcome to them.
Tom: No more Quake tournaments...
Mike: [grimly] Dale. Must. Be. Stopped.
>Quartermain scowled menacingly at the young man.
>
Mike: [Clay] Don't be talkin' about my acronyms, buster.
>Dale turned to Banner. "Now, how do we get the Hulk out?
>Call you names?"
>
Crow: [Banner] I'll need about 400 Malomars. Stat!
>"We wait for the sun to set." Banner pointed to the blood
>red orb sinking below the horizon. "I suggest you leave me
>alone. The Hulk will know what we want him to do, and he'll
>tell you if he agrees."
>
Mike: [Banner] If he disagrees, he'll tear your head off.
>The others returned to the ban and waited for the
>transformation to begin.
>
Tom: The transformation involved many hours of slow, stop
frame photography.
>Banner sat on the furrowed ground and watched the sun sink
>lower on the horizon. Already, he could feel the Hulk
>fighting for release, demanding to be set free from the
>thin, puny body that entrapped him, impatient to begin his
>nocturnal prowling.
>
Crow: So the Hulk *is* Buddy Love then?
>The sun disappeared below the horizon. Bruce Banner's day
>of freedom was over.
>
>The night belonged to the Hulk.
>
Crow: Or lovers. Or Michelob. No one's really sure anymore.
>An inhuman bellow of pain roared from the lanky scientist's
>throat as the transformation began. But it was more than a
>cry of pain.
>
Mike: It was a wail of pain.
>It was the birthing howl of a monster.
>
Tom: Or the cry of someone who just saw "Patch Adams." One
of the two.
**continued**