Continued from Chapter 4: Rise of the Infamous Bedlam Gang
by the Time Trust
As the days passed, the Infamous Bedlam Gang, ominously known as the IBG, escalated their campaign against the Meta Board League. Taunting threats and menacing messages were scattered across various message boards, creating a sense of unease and impending danger. The MBL, still in the process of forming through a series of grueling trials, found itself under siege, both in the virtual and real worlds. Skirmishes between the metaheroes of the MBL and the IBG erupted sporadically, leaving a wake of chaos and uncertainty. Each clash deepened the mystery surrounding their new adversaries. The heroes struggled to comprehend the motives behind the IBG’s actions, which seemed driven more by madness and spite than any clear agenda.
Now, in the heart of Thunder City’s seedy underbelly, far removed from the prying eyes of both hero and villain, had come SuperStretch, known for his elastic wit and the colorful past that had propelled him into the ranks of metaheroes. Contemplating the allure of the IBG and the promise of untold riches that it held, he found himself ensnared in the intricate web of intrigue woven by the Infamous Bedlam Gang. As the gang’s relentless campaign against the Meta Board League had escalated, cities had become momentary battlegrounds, leaving the metahuman community on edge.
SuperStretch had always carried a shadow from his past, a criminal history he’d left behind after a life-changing accident bestowed upon him his stretching powers. But with the IBG’s influence looming larger by the day, old instincts resurfaced, and he began to grapple with a burning question: Was it time to look out for number one again? Amidst the chaos that enveloped the metaheroes’ ranks as they scrambled to unveil the elusive IBG’s whereabouts, SuperStretch decided to take matters into his own malleable hands and arranged a meeting. The problem was that he couldn’t decide whether he truly wanted to become a crook again or if his intentions leaned more toward infiltrating the gang on behalf of the Meta Board.
In an eerie, abandoned subway station hidden beneath the bustling streets of Thunder City, SuperStretch had arrived incognito. The vibrant yellow and blue hues of his signature costume were concealed beneath a trenchcoat and a pair of stylish sunglasses, adding a touch of mystery to his presence in the dimly lit underground expanse.
As he navigated the cracked tile floor, his rubbery body providing a distinct yet almost graceful advantage, he was caught off guard. A stumble in the darkness sent him sprawling, limbs contorted as he exclaimed, “Whoa!” His form spilled out awkwardly, like an accordion unfolding, before he regained his composure. Scrunching up his nose, he remarked, “Phew! What is that smell?”
From the shadows emerged an unexpected figure. SuperStretch, rising to his feet, was now confronted by a grubby, unshaven homeless man, clad in tattered and disheveled clothing.
“Hey, ya got any change, mister?” the homeless man inquired with an outstretched, dirt-caked hand. SuperStretch realized it had been the old beggar that he’d tripped over just now.
“Oh!” SuperStretch exclaimed awkwardly, his body flexing as he scrambled to retrieve some crumpled dollar bills from the depths of his trenchcoat pockets. “Uh… here y’go, buddy.” He placed the money into the homeless man’s grime-stained hands and added, “Take care, huh? Don’t go spending all of that in one place!”
The homeless man’s eyes lit up with gratitude as he pocketed the dollar bills. “Thanks, mister!” he said with enthusiasm. “May God bless your soul.”
SuperStretch offered a nod and a warm smile before resuming his journey toward the predetermined rendezvous point. Passing through a partially lit corridor, he eventually arrived at the abandoned subway station adjacent to the tracks. But doubts had already crept into his mind, and he muttered to himself, “I must be crazy, coming here like this!”
Searching for a specific floor tile marked by graffiti, he finally located it. The stylized green chameleon symbol, clearly sprayed on with a stencil, adorned the tile’s surface. Glancing at it, SuperStretch remarked, “Hmmm… according to the message, I’m supposed to just stand here on this tile and wait.” He shook his head, a mix of determination and apprehension in his eyes. “Man, I must be off my rocker to do this,” he sighed, “but I guess Mama Stretch’s number one son will just stand here and wait. After all, I’ve already come this far, might as well go all in.”
Unbeknownst to him, the homeless man, who had been watching from around the corner, narrowed his eyes as he overheard his words, intrigued by the peculiar metahero and his clandestine meeting.
SuperStretch was on the precipice of an encounter that would test his mettle in unexpected ways. But with every passing minute, the metahero’s patience waned, and his usual humor began to seep through his nervous façade. “What’s the hold-up? Did my invitation get lost in the mail or something?” he quipped to the empty air.
And then, in an instant, he was whisked away, his rubbery form stretching through an inexplicable rift in reality. Suddenly, he found himself standing within the hallowed halls of the Infamous Bedlam Gang’s hideout, where the enigmatic Albino Chameleon, Rae, Mystery Lord, and Hardy LeQuinn awaited him in the darkness beyond the halo of light he now found himself in. He frowned slightly, as something about the IBG’s hideout seemed familiar, as if he’d been there before.
SuperStretch couldn’t help himself; humor was his defense mechanism against the mounting tension, and he felt like a bad stand-up comic at a joint that served no alcohol. “So… uh, is there a formal invitation to join your team, or do I have to prove my worth through some universe-altering event?” he quipped, his words laced with genuine curiosity in the guise of playful jest.
His nervous chatter continued unabated as he quirked an eyebrow beneath his sunglasses. “Y’know, I always figure they called me ‘Stretch’ because of my powers, but it turns out it was all about my sense of humor. You know, how I tend to stretch a joke a bit too far?” His own laughter rang through the underground lair.
Albino Chameleon, unfazed by SuperStretch’s antics, responded with an air of calculated amusement. “SuperStretch, prove to me that you have what it takes to be a member of the Infamous Bedlam Gang, and you’re in. You’d be the comic relief — a tradition that pays handsomely.”
With that cryptic statement, SuperStretch found himself instantly teleported back to the very spot he’d been taken from, leaving him to ponder the enigmatic offer that had just been extended to him in the heart of chaos.
***
Within the imposing confines of the Moontower, the towering headquarters of the Meta Board League, the air hummed with tension and anticipation. The eight remaining nominees for MBL membership, a diverse group of metahumans with powers as varied as their backgrounds, had endured days of grueling training and relentless trials within the Danger Room. The world outside was rife with peril as the Infamous Bedlam Gang targeted metaheroes far and wide, and these candidates knew that time was of the essence.
Grow Worm, the Write Guy, Obsidienne, the Cavalier Genius, Sigma, Cardinal Synn, and Dragnet Zero had been pushed to their limits, each challenge designed to test their mettle and determine their worthiness. As the days wore on, exhaustion set in, and their patience grew thin. They had proven their mettle, and now they sought closure, demanding that their trials come to an end. Their plea echoed through the Moontower’s hallowed halls, a chorus of determination that reverberated with urgency.
Standing before the trio of mentors who had been their guides and taskmasters throughout this grueling process, the tension in the room palpable, the nominees made their case.
Grow Worm, his voice tinged with exhaustion, spoke first. “Look, we’ve given our all,” began the Worm. “The trials have been relentless, and we’ve proven ourselves time and again. It’s not just about us; it’s about the metaheroes out there who need us to stop this harassment.”
Sigma, his white-domino-masked eyes reflecting the weariness of his comrades, chimed in, “We can’t afford to wait any longer. The Infamous Bedlam Gang is gaining ground, and every moment we spend here is a moment they exploit.”
The Scout Marksman, known for his unerring aim and wisdom, hesitated before he replied. “I understand your point, and I’m inclined to agree,” he said, a troubled expression on his face. “The world outside is in turmoil, and the MBL should be out there defending it.”
“Besides,” added Dragnet Zero, “with both Damocles and Agent F7 out on other assignments, there’s really only seven of us left! Why not just declare us the Meta Board League and be done with it? We should be out there kicking IBG ass every chance we get!”
Sky Bull, the towering paragon of strength, nodded in reluctant agreement. “Their argument makes sense. We’ve seen what they can do. They’ve earned their place.”
However, Mycroft, the enigmatic strategist, remained unmoved. “Patience is a virtue, my friends. Rushing this decision could have dire consequences. We must be absolutely certain of our choices. The trials will continue.”
The nominees exchanged frustrated glances, their convictions clashing with Mycroft’s unwavering resolve.
In the aftermath of this confrontation, Mycroft retreated to a hidden chamber, one nestled deep within the labyrinthine recesses of the Moontower. The room was a sanctuary of solitude and secrecy, where the detective could communicate privately without fear of prying eyes — or ears.
With measured precision, Mycroft activated a special communicator and initiated a clandestine conversation. “It’s done,” he murmured, his voice laced with an inscrutable mix of satisfaction and intrigue. “The trials will continue… indefinitely.”
From the other end of the line, an eerie and malevolent laugh reverberated, chilling the air. Mycroft’s response was a cryptic smile that betrayed nothing of his thoughts or intentions. With a final nod, he terminated the connection, leaving the pieces of an enigmatic puzzle scattered throughout the Moontower, its inhabitants unaware of the intricate web of intrigue that had been woven.
***
Days ago, in the wake of the audacious sneak attack by Cap Fury, Superfast Man had found himself cast into the chaotic embrace of the alternate dimension known as Limbo, a realm he had visited more than once in his long and stored career as a metahero. It was an eerie and disorienting place, a realm that defied time and reason, where days felt like eternities. Yet, driven by a relentless determination, he persevered, navigating the shifting tides of this alien dimension until he finally emerged back into his reality. Frustration and urgency marked his return, for he had missed the crucial trials that would shape the membership of the Meta Board League, an opportunity to chart the destiny of the metahuman world.
His reappearance had also coincided with the insidious rise of the Infamous Bedlam Gang, their nefarious presence darkening the world and infesting the digital realm. Mocking posts online and taunting messages left behind at the scenes of their crimes had cast a dark shadow over the fledgling MBL, a stark reminder of the challenges they faced. Superfast Man, a natural leader with a steely resolve, wasted no time in responding to their provocation.
Reaching out to the extensive network of media contacts he had cultivated throughout his metahero career, Superfast Man orchestrated an interview with Thunder City’s esteemed cable news talk show host, Barry Zing. The purpose was clear — to address the looming threat of the IBG and offer a stern warning to those who sought to undermine the birth of the MBL.
Seated across from the older newsman at the Thunder News Network Studios, Superfast Man exuded gravitas, his expression solemn as he explained the circumstances of his disappearance and return. “Barry, as I emerged back into reality from that sneak attack, which I am convinced was orchestrated by our enemies, I found a group of villains here, hurling insults at the Meta Board League. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to address them directly.”
“Please, go ahead,” said Barry, leaning back in his chair and adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses.
Turning toward the camera, Superfast Man said, “This is a message for the so-called Infamous Bedlam Gang and anyone else taking their side in this petty rivalry. You’re fighting a futile battle. History has shown time and again that heroes prevail, and I strongly advise you to reconsider your actions. I couldn’t be more serious about this.”
Barry probed further, sensing the weight of Superfast Man’s conviction. “Those are strong words, Superfast. Do you have anything more to say to them?”
Superfast Man nodded, his eyes reflecting the depths of his determination. “Yes, Barry, I do. I have a warning for the IBG. Your days are numbered. Already, one of Shaggy Faust’s covert operatives has infiltrated your ranks. Yes, you heard me right. Amongst you, there is a traitor.”
The revelation on TNN hung in the air like a shroud of mystery and intrigue, casting ripples of uncertainty within the metahuman community. Trust began to erode as suspicions spread like wildfire, for now, the villains themselves were left to grapple with the shadows of doubt, unsure of who among them had betrayed their cause. The battle lines had been drawn, and the stakes were higher than ever.
***
The Moontower, a hub of metahuman activity, remained a buzzing hive of discussions and speculations. While the selected heroes endured rigorous trials, metahumans from all walks of life convened to analyze the recent events that had shaken their metahero community, from the emergence of the enigmatic Infamous Bedlam Gang to the startling return and stern warnings of Superfast Man.
Amidst the cacophony of voices, a figure known only as the Lord of Chaos stood as a pillar of unwavering confidence. His very presence exuded an aura of power, and as he surveyed the gathering, a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Pawns… all of you are mere pawns in a grander scheme that none can fathom. But rest assured, you will come to understand… in time.”
Rhyme Guardian, the Australian hero with divine rhyme at his command, had arrived at the Moontower. Weary from his long years on this world but hopeful for the future, he had sensed that his destiny might lie with this burgeoning team, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.
“I’m curious about the membership process,” he asked a passing metahero, an Englishman he knew only by reputation. “Is an invitation from a current member necessary? Or do you have to defeat the Injustice Board Gang and save the world first in order to be considered? Please, enlighten me.
“The Meta Board League will face the threats,
“Who’ll make it in? Please place your bets!”
Vigilant as ever but focused on assembling his own team, Nightwatch replied to the question politely, if a bit bluntly. He and the other Meta Board members had been fielding questions like these since they’d first arrived at the Moontower, and he was getting tired of it. “Joining the Meta Board League or the Meta League of Europe requires an invitation or nomination, but at this point I wouldn’t even bother with the MBL,” the Englishman replied before walking away.
“Thank you,” Rhyme Guardian called after him, but his smile was fading. As he surveyed the large room, sad memories began to flood through his mind about the last time he’d been in this huge spacecraft. At that time, it had been in Antarctica, and it was his team of metaheroes that had secured it for Meta 7, but at a great cost of lives. Still, he couldn’t let the failures of his past burden him. There was a world that would need saving, and he would do so again just as he’d done in the past. After all, history might not exactly repeat, but it certainly did rhyme.
Not far away stumbled the figure known only as Freebooter, a metahuman who was rumored to have returned from the clutches of death, and who was ever ready to stir the pot with his provocative antics. He had a radical proposal in mind for the League’s roster, and his words would spark several heated debates that echoed through the Moontower’s digital halls.
“Hey,” he slurred, appearing to be intoxicated, “I think we oughtta have a complete overhaul of the whole League! While those bozos are in there tryin’ ta whittle the team down to some ‘big seven,’ just ’cause some hero teams happened to have that number in their iconic rosters, doesn’t mean we have ta abide by that when they’re so many others of us who could be great on the team!”
A few metaheroes in the room began to nod their heads, and murmuring voices began to erupt in agreement with the message, despite the messenger’s disheveled appearance.
“Hell, yeah, I’m right!” continued Freebooter. “So why isn’t anyone debating over all the deserving heroes who were excluded in the first place?” He grinned mischievously, having gained the ears of everyone in the room. “Y’know, there’s one way to solve this problem — why don’t we just expand the League to fourteen, instead of fueling endless arguments over who should join? And, of course, we can’t forget the floating chair fer a guest spot every once in a while! Ha!”
In the crowd of onlookers, a young metahero was nodding in agreement. This was Ritchie “Gooz” Stevens, a hero who had until recently been one of the famous Seven Senses under the name of Generator. Seeking to restart his metahero career on his own without the trappings of his “teen hero” past, he had recently decided to reinvent himself as an independent hero called Ener-G. Still, he missed being part of a team and had begun to wonder if there was a place for him in the MBL. Freebooter’s idea had immediately appealed to him.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea!” Ener-G said, nodding his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to limit the team to just seven members when we have so many worthy candidates to choose from.”
Some of the MBL candidates were taking a break from the grueling trials, one of them being Grow Worm. He didn’t like what he was hearing at all.
“Hey, we’ve been working our butts off trying to earn our place in the seven-member team,” said Grow Worm, “and you guys want to expand the roster before the original members have even been chosen? Gooz, no offense, but who nominated you? As Nightwatch stated, one must be nominated before joining the League.”
Ener-G nodded and replied confidently, “No offense taken, Worm, but Ace Martian nominated me during the Meta Board meeting.”
“Ace Martian?” Grow Worm retorted, skepticism lacing his words. “I don’t think they counted that as a nomination, since Ace just nominated the entire Seven Senses team! As far as I’m concerned, if you’re not undergoing the membership trials right now, you haven’t been nominated!”
“I don’t think so,” Ener-G retorted, folding his arms defiantly, igniting a passionate argument among the gathered metahumans.
Nearby, Freebooter began to chuckle at the discord he was sowing. He took another heavy swig of his drink and moved on to other groups. The Lord of Chaos nodded approvingly. His undead pawn was serving him well.
***
Freebooter’s unorthodox suggestions had begun to ignite a spark of intrigue among another handful of metaheroes gathered in the bustling Moontower.
Primate, the teenage hero known for his penchant for shaking up the status quo, couldn’t resist the temptation to add his own twist to the ongoing discussions. “Given our history as fellow teen heroes,” he said flippantly, “I’d been tempted to earnestly plead for a spot on Albino Chameleon’s team. However, instead, I’ve decided to form a new team — the Big Offsiders! Our mission is to combat coherent and meaningful discussions. Plus, we’re always on the hunt for those pesky flowers, right?”
A burst of laughter erupted as Primate reveled in the inside joke that left the others grinning in amusement.
Xenolith, another teenage hero known for his mischievous streak, couldn’t resist the opportunity to contribute to the growing chaos. “Why not call our group the Meta Board Teens — or maybe just the Meta Teens?” he added with a playful wink. “After all, it was my question about the flowers that started it all, so I ought to have naming rights!”
Amidst the playful banter and brainstorming, Silent Nightboy, a quieter and more reserved metahuman, found his voice. “I’d like to announce that I’ve already started a Meta Teens thread on the message boards,” he revealed, a hint of pride in his tone. “I’d love it if people could sign up there to get the ball rolling.”
Although the idea had begun in jest, the three teen metaheroes now started to talk about the idea in earnest. The seeds of chaos that had been formed were indeed bearing fruit, but not all of it was bad.
***
As SuperStretch trudged along the rain-soaked streets of Thunder City, the weight of Albino Chameleon’s cryptic challenge pressed upon him. “Prove that I have what it takes to be a member of the IBG,” he muttered, his voice carried away by the drizzle. “What the heck is that supposed to mean, anyway? Am I supposed to go back to my old criminal ways and rob a museum or something? That’s the kind of thing that got me into trouble in the first place, when that old antique I stole cursed me with stretching powers!”
His arms extended involuntarily, a testament to the extraordinary abilities that had forever altered his fate.
“But let’s face it, Stretchy, old boy — you’re a freak!” he continued, his tone tinged with despondency. “It’s no wonder nobody nominated you for the MBL. I’m not exactly an A-list metahero, am I? Maybe I should take up Albino’s offer, after all.” He shook his head, a mix of conflict and contemplation in his gaze. “I dunno. As much as I’m tempted by the thought, there’s still something holding me back. Maybe it’s that little angel on my shoulder telling me to stay the course and keep being a good guy, or maybe it’s just my shattered nerves. Whatever the case, I sure got me a lotta heavy thinking to do.”
Turning the corner, SuperStretch found himself abruptly halted beneath the sheltering awning of a modest grocery store. Before him stood a figure wearing the attire of a secret agent.
“Gah!” he exclaimed, taken off guard.
“Hello, SuperStretch,” greeted Agent F7, an air of calm confidence surrounding him. “Going for a stroll, are you?”
“Y-yeah,” SuperStretch stammered, his demeanor slightly sheepish. “Just mulling things over… you know.”
“SuperStretch, I know about your meeting,” declared Agent F7, his gaze steady beneath his sunglasses.
“Y-you do?” SuperStretch’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“You’re not a crook,” Agent F7 asserted firmly. “At least not anymore. And you’re certainly not a metavillain. You don’t belong in the Infamous Bedlam Gang.”
“H-how–?” SuperStretch’s words caught in his throat. “How did you know?”
“I wasn’t completely sure until now,” Agent F7 responded, his tone resolute. “But you just confirmed my suspicions. Trust me, Stretch. Stay a hero, and forget about returning to a life of crime. It doesn’t suit you anymore.”
With that, Agent F7 produced a crumpled wad of bills and handed them to the dumbstruck SuperStretch. As he examined the familiar-looking currency, a realization dawned upon him — they were the very same dollar bills he’d given to the old homeless man in the abandoned subway station.
“Wait a sec,” SuperStretch muttered to himself. “Was that really an old beggar back there, or was that Agent F7 the whole time?”
Yet, as he turned to seek confirmation from the Agent, the mysterious metahero had already vanished without a trace. A shiver ran down SuperStretch’s spine, and he quickened his pace, making a beeline for the nearest teleporter. He needed to return to the Moontower and put this momentary lapse in judgment behind him. He was a metahero, and that’s what he would remain. Besides, he realized that he might know something about the IBG’s headquarters that would interest the MBL if he could only confirm his suspicions about where it was located.