Captain Midnight paced nervously as he and Doug waited for Quinn Stevens, Doctor Marvelo, and the Reptile to return from their sightseeing trip. He seemed to be debating out loud important points going through his mind. To Doug it sounded as if the Captain was speaking as two different people altogether as he muttered to himself questions and answers, and Doug had tuned him out long ago.
“What Paris outfit gave designer Yves St. Laurent his start?—Dior.
“What color are the Ghostbusters’ overalls in the 1984 movie?—Green.
“What World War II word was German for ‘lightning war’?—Blitzkrieg.
“How many inches of rain were recorded in Chile’s Atacama desert from 1570 to 1971?—Zero.
“What two-word title describes the person who dreams up Dungeons & Dragons adventures for others?—Dungeon Master.
“What was 300 cubits long, according to Genesis 6:15?—Noah’s Ark.”
Doug dissolved his ears into flat bulges on the side of his head so he could no longer hear Midnight’s nervous ramblings. He checked to see if the tall tattooed man who had attacked him with the leatherclad woman was still unconscious. He was, and the woman seemed to be out as well. Nevertheless, he applied a dose of Doctor Marvelo’s chloroform to the woman once more. He hoped his fellow MBLers would return soon. What had they been thinking, traipsing off like they had while they had still not learned anything about their attackers? This team was disorganized, thought Doug.
No, they were good men, all of them—even the insane Captain Midnight and the eccentric Doctor Marvelo. They were his newest companions in the life of adventure he had led for over a hundred years. He had never been part of a team before, at least in the traditional sense of the word. He had always had travelling companions and fellow adventurers, but all of his adventures had just happened. Sometimes during them he was able to help people who needed help, but mostly the adventures were undertaken for their own sake—something needed exploring, or something needed to be stopped, or there was treasure to be found. Doug had never thought of himself as a hero.
He became troubled by his thoughts now, and he closed his eyes. If he wasn’t a hero and existed only for the sake of having adventures, what was his purpose? Did he have one? Where had he come from, and what was he? He was certainly not human, only mimicking humans. Doug had gone by many names over the past century, and some writers chose to write him into their stories, making him the hero in some and the sidekick meant for cheap laughs in others. But Doug just existed without knowing why.
Now all his fellow adventurers from the past century were in peril, and they were dying, one by one. It was all his fault. Something was after him, and that something was trying to get at him through his friends and adopted family. Why had he involved this New MBL, still more potential victims of his unknown enemy? He wished he could simply roll up and die, or just vanish without a trace. With his powers he could do that. With his powers, he could revert his brain to a primitive state that did not use higher cognitive thought at all. The only problem with this was the fear that he would never be able to bring himself back from that state again. But if he just sacrificed himself, maybe the deaths would stop. Maybe the pain would stop.
Doug realized what was happening to him again and opened his eyes. Captain Midnight, who long ago had ceased talking to himself, was sprawled out on the ground, comatose. Their two prisoners were nowhere to be found as he looked around frantically with ten newly-grown eyes, but Doug could tell they were nearby. The leatherclad woman was causing him with her emotion manipulation powers to sink into deep despair, and he felt powerless against her.
He cried out in unintelligible moans as he shifted his shape spasmodically, trying somehow to escape the pain of emotion he felt. He wanted it to go away, but nothing could make it go away. In fact, it was becoming stronger with every second.
He was helpless against the threat of a direct attack on his mind, his unseen attacker making it impossible to retaliate. Doug couldn’t do anything.
No. He could do something. Without giving it another moment’s thought, Doug’s form reverted to a shapeless blob, slowly resting its heavy mass upon the ground like freshly kneaded bread dough set upon a countertop. His mind, which had developed in his early formative years to that of an intelligent human being, reverted to an amoeba-like state that could process neither higher thought nor the most primitive emotion. Doug was gone.
“The metamorph has been subdued,” said the leatherclad woman after a few moments, her skin now glistening with sweat from the strain of her power. She had feigned unconsciousness the last time Doug had applied chloroform to her, and with the tattooed man she had easily attacked and subdued Captain Midnight before he could realize what had happened. “Surge, find something to place it on. Let’s leave before the others return.”
The tattooed man growled, “Why must I do all the work, Psyche?” Surge pointed at the fallen form of Midnight. “Make this simpleton your slave and have him do it.”
“First of all, he’ll be unconscious for awhile, so we can’t take the risk of waiting any longer,” said Psyche. “Second, it’s not me who’s in trouble with the Master. You’d best follow my command if you want to survive your probation. He’s slain his most faithful followers for less. Third, it was I—not you—who executed the attack on the museum and lured the MBL down here to obtain the metamorph for the Master. I’ve done my fair share, brother—now it’s your turn.”
Surge muttered a few words under his breath at his sister but ultimately did as he was told. He brought a wheelbarrow from a nearby tool shed and was able to slowly pull the mass of the metamorph formerly known as Doug into it. Leaving the unconscious Captain Midnight behind, they disappeared through a tunnel leading to an unknown destination.
