Part 12 (1/2)
I suddenly remembered that the Red Menace was the villain that the Inkblot had just been rambling on about. Now I wished I'd paid a little more attention.
”What does it do?” I asked. The machine was big and nasty looking. Not only was there a long conveyor belt that led through a series of presses and stompers and mashers and crushers, but there were huge copper kettles linked by coiled hoses situated right in the middle of the monstrosity.
”According to the instruction booklet left with it, it was supposed to be used to make something the Red Menace called 'the fuel of the revolution,'” the Multiplier announced importantly. He clearly had no better idea than I did what the thing was for. ”It says to dump potatoes onto the conveyor belt and then turn the machine on. It does all the rest.”
”Why would anyone use potatoes for anything other than making potato chips?” I asked.
”I don't know,” the Multiplier snapped back. ”My plan is to strap you kids to the belt and turn the thing on.”
”And why would you do that?” I asked as calmly as possible.
”Because that's what a villain is supposed to do,” he shrieked. ”It says so in my handbook!”
To my complete and utter surprise, the Multiplier held up a handbook almost identical to my Li'l Hero's Handbook Li'l Hero's Handbook. As he brought the book closer to me, I saw that someone had had the audacity to publish something called the Li'l Villain's Handbook Li'l Villain's Handbook.
”Who would publish something like that!” I said, outraged.
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The Multiplier attempted an evil leer as he stepped up to me and showed me the name on the back of the book: The Gibraltar Press, a division of Indestructo Industries The Gibraltar Press, a division of Indestructo Industries. I should have known.
”This book is great!” the Multiplier enthused. ”I just picked it up last week and it's given me all sorts of good advice.”
”Excuse me?” I said in disgust. ”Didn't that advice get you sent to jail? I would hardly call that a success.”
”But look at all this great press I'm getting for the first time in my life,” he insisted, holding up a batch of newspapers with his name on the front pages.
”An obituary is great press, too,” I added. ”And who was that guy that you're making the fakes for?” I demanded despite being in no position to demand anything.
”How much did you overhear?” the Multiplier asked nervously. ”You're better off not knowing anything about it.”
”It's too late for that,” I answered. ”I know where that card you're duplicating came from, because my friends and I have the only other genuine one in existence. Your copies have made this our business.”
”Actually, the problem is that I can't make copies of the card fast enough,” he informed me.
”What about your little show at the Mighty Mart?” I accused. ”I was there when you created all those toilet paper rolls at lightning speed. In fact it was my dad who stopped you.”
”You're the Amazing Indestructo's kid?!” the Multiplier shrieked with a look of complete terror on his face.
”No!” I said in disgust. Even the Multiplier had forgotten who really captured him. ”Never mind. The point is that you suddenly had an awful lot of power then that you don't have now.”
”Well there's no reason not to tell you,” he admitted, ”since you'll all be turned into the 'fuel of the revolution' soon.
”You may find this hard to believe,” he said, ”but people have often underestimated me.”
”Do tell?” I said, pretending shock.
”It's true.” He nodded in confirmation. ”Yet I've always considered myself a major villain.”
”People's perceptions of themselves are often at odds with reality,” I pointed out helpfully.
”Exactly,” the Multiplier agreed, completely missing my insult. ”So I decided it was time for me to make the world tremble before my power. The problem, however, was that my master plan wasn't yet ready.”
The Multiplier vaguely indicated the enormous stacks piled throughout the warehouse.
”The traffic cones?” I asked.
”Exactly,” he replied as if that should explain everything. ”I still need even more. Luckily, I was offered a device that could speed up my powers dramatically. All I had to do in exchange for it was to create millions of copies of that card. The problem was that the person who gave me the device didn't yet have the card he wanted copied. So I had a chance to try the device out first on my own.”
”And that's when you went to the Mighty Mart,” I concluded.
”I had gone there to buy up packs of cards-and some toilet paper. I was all out. I had just gotten to the paper goods,” he started to fume, ”when some little kid suddenly pointed at me and began laughing.”
”So you had to show off your new power.”
He nodded. ”No one will be laughing once I execute my master plan, though.” He raised his hands in the air triumphantly, indicating the traffic cones all around him.
”What exactly is is your plan?” I asked, genuinely fascinated. your plan?” I asked, genuinely fascinated.
”It's pure genius!” The Multiplier cackled. ”I've been planning this for over ten years. Each duplicate cone takes me five minutes to create. I can make twelve of them each hour, and I spend twelve hours a day making them. I've done it every day for ten years. The only days I've taken off are Christmas and Groundhog Day, and I now have over half a million cones. I figure I only need a couple hundred thousand more.”
He looked at me as if the rest of his plan should be obvious.
”And ... ?” I said.
”I should have known it was too brilliant to be apparent to a mere child.” He sighed. ”The cones are to redirect traffic.”
I still had no idea what he was talking about.
”And ... ?”
”And with enough of them, I can redirect all traffic away from Superopolis. The city will be empty and I can rob every place in town and steal everything I want.” His voice became higher and more excited as he spoke. He followed up with that same evil laugh that he still needed to work on.
My mouth dropped open at the stupidity of his plan. In fact it was so moronic it almost took idiocy to the level of an art form. As I glanced around at all the traffic cones, I couldn't help but think they were [image]
suddenly looking like an enormous collection of dunce caps.
”What if superheroes just ignore the cones and go right past them into the city?” I asked.
The Multiplier paused for a moment, looking like he was pondering that possibility for the very first time-which I'm sure he was. His face became purple with rage. ”You're just like the rest,” he shrieked louder than ever. ”You refuse to see the brilliance of my plan! Well, soon it won't matter.”
With that he picked up the still-unconscious Halogen Boy and hauled him over to the conveyor belt where he strapped him on top of it. As he did the same with Plasma Girl and Tadpole, Stench once again whispered to me.
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