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Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, we step briefly away from the Kar’Wickian web that is the Flash Pulp universe, and, instead, take a moment to return to a world of superpowered turmoil.
The Skinner Co. Network
FPSE11 - A Spectacular Failure
(upbeat music) - Welcome to FlashPulp special episode 11. Tonight we present a spectacular failure. This week's episodes are brought to you by Phoenix Frasier. - Who doesn't love a tiny white dog that picks up everyone's trash? Dr. monstrous, that's who. If you're not a cruel bastard, visit http colon slash slash o-n-dot-f-b-dot-m-e slash. Phoenix the dog. (dramatic music) - FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, we step briefly away from the car wiki and web that is the FlashPulp universe. And instead, take a moment to return to a world that's super powered turmoil. A spectacular failure. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponix, audio produced by Jessica Meng with special guest star, Sergeant Spectacular, on loan from nuttyofnimlass.org. ♪ Bloom is Sunday with shadows I spend it all ♪ ♪ My heart and I have decided to end it all ♪ (dramatic music) - From atop his ratcheting mountain of gears, Lord Bracmore tightened his grip upon the handle which would rouse his ghastly machinery into life. On the ground below, a battered Sergeant Spectacular was quickly finding himself with few options. His entrance had been met by an unexpected barrage of steam-powered missiles, an upgrade to Bracmore's gothically-styled alpine retreat, installed since Spectacular's last intrusion. And though his Spectacular jet had taken the brunt of the attack, his parachute descent had given the Lord's clockwork apes an ample opportunity to calculate his landing point. It was insult immediately preceding injury that they greeted him first with the throne muck of their congealing oil pans. "You can kill me, Bracmore," said Spectacular, pushing his words through clenched teeth. "But someone will avenge me. It may be Miss Deathenstein or Fillmore flapjack or the Swallow, but I know in my heart of hearts that the integrity society cannot fail." "Ooh, is that so?" replied Bracmore. Though the Sergeant understood the necessity of discourse between hero and nemesis, he could not stand how the Victorian Dandy so often ended his sentences with upturned inflection as if he were asking a question. "Move back my minions and let our valiant prisoner have some air," said the waste-coated villain. It was then that Spectacular recalled the cell phone, which his girlfriend, Alexis, had forced him to purchase and secrete within his battle helmet. "There's no stopping me?" continued the fop. "With the gravitative refocused upon the lunar surface, the tidal actions will begin the excruciating process of... what are you doing?" The Sergeant had set his thumb to his headwear, only to be caught mid-motion. "Nothing," he replied. "No, seriously, what are you doing? Have you learned to throw your helmet?" "Oh, no, wait, you must have a device hidden within." "I'm just, uh, sweaty. Minions remove his millinery." "Sir," fellowed a wheeled ape. "I believe the archaic term millinery only applies to female headwear, and my scanners do not detect a womanly form within their two-mile maximum." Brackmore frowned at his guard captain. As Spectacular's chin strap was roughly undone by metallic, simian fingers, his iPhone dropped to the cobblestones, only to be retrieved and crushed by one of his robotic captors. "No," said the lead scoundrel, with a white gloved hand once again resting on the ornate lever, "All will bow down before my..." There was a gunshot, and Brackmore turned as if startled. Beneath his vest, his crisp white shirt blossomed with crimson. Behind him stood a man of medium height and slightly paunchy build. The embroidered name tag on his overalls read "Sow," and in his right fist, he held a Beretta. "Ha, ha, ha, ho!" asked the dying lord. "You think we're gonna let you walk off with 300 million security tech and not leave a friggin' key hidden under the mat to plot the newcomer? All you jerks is the same, buying on credit and saying you'll cover it with the next jab. We got six of you deadbeats on the list at the moment. You figure the boys at head office are gonna ask me to pop Mr. Millionaire or the gold play the maestro? Hell, we'll add at least a cool billion if we draw up either of 'em. Nah, you've got just enough in the game to make a good example. Sal holstered his pistol on his crowded workman's tool belt. Anyhow, you didn't wanna get shot? You should've paid us. Brackmore, at that point. It was too dead to hear. "Come on," said the build collector to the chromed primates. Override cold big bananas. Let's go, you mooks. As the verbally reprogrammed gorillas rolled past their fallen former master, sergeant's spectacular rose to his feet. Within moments, he was alone with the rapidly cooling body of his nemesis. His sigh echoed throughout the great halls as he picked up his helmet and dusted it off. It was a long walk home. (somber music) Flashpulp is presented by flashpulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@skinner.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future flash cast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. (upbeat music) ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ (upbeat music) (dramatic music)