by The Eurostar, Tom B. First and I'm Not Mister Mxypltk
Suddenly, from the captured worms sprayed a red mist upon the heroes, and they fell one after the other, senseless.
They regained consciousness more or less at the same time inside dark cells in some sort of dungeon, humid and cold.
Each one was in a separate cage, and the metahumans wore ceramic handcuffs that somehow blocked their powers from manifesting. Mick Harrison had normal handcuffs and a mouthpiece that cut off his voice, which was impossible to remove using normal human strength.
After having called each other from cellar to cellar, the heroes and Mick Harrison's girl began to wonder where they had been brought. As usual, Marv Velo had an answer. They were in the dungeon under Mandelov Palace, a series of caverns that was said to date back to prehistoric times, and which across the centuries had been used as a prison for the worst enemies of the Mandelovian nation.
While they were asking Velo for more information, a tall, olive-skinned man, dressed in a red military uniform, his chest covered by dozens of medals, appeared in the corridor between the two rows of cells.
"Good evening, Yankees. I am General Colton D'goon, your... ahem... host here in Mandelovia. I am sorry to inform you that you have been found guilty of mass murder, stealing national treasures, and evading the ban of foreigners on Mandelovian soil. You will all be executed tomorrow morning at sunrise."
Sometime after General D'goon's departure, a hush fell upon all those in the dungeon. It was obvious they were the only prisoners. Those in sight of one another evaded each other's glances. Mick's labored breathing was the only sound the despondent group could hear, when suddenly what sounded like the howling of a small dog could be heard from just out of everyone's view. Truth be told, the sound resembled a small dog whimpering, even though it was evident the animal was trying to bay at the moon, or whatever it was wild animals did on stormy nights.
"Cripes!" blurted Naecken. "Listening to this wailing is worse than torture!" He shook his hand at a four-legged shadow that could now be seen at the end of the cell block. Everyone else continued to stare at the floor, contemplating their early morning date with death.
"And listening to you bunch of dipsticks is a real pleasure, too!" a somewhat gravelly but distinctive voice boomed. Everyone looked at Lance Lorenzo.
"Th-that's not me!" Lance protested. "It sounds like me, but..."
"It was me, 'master,'" the voice shot back sarcastically.
The animal had moved into view of the prisoners. He was a white, furred Scottish terrier mutt of questionable mix, brandishing a gun belt and guns.
"A talking dog?" Velo said in amazement.
"A talking dog packing enough heat to take out most police departments!" Tobias Christopher noted.
Lance jumped up and screamed, "Fluffy!" Then, obviously confused, he repeated, "Fl-Fluffy?"
"Yes, Lance!" the dog snarled as much as actually spoke. "It's me, Fluffy, the puppy from hell!"
In the background, Naecken muttered, "A freaking, gun-toting puppy from hell. We're going to be killed by a freaking, gun-toting puppy from hell before we can be executed... and he belongs to Lance!"
Fluffy smiled, or at least everyone thought he was smiling.
"Mmmm mmm mmm mmm!" Mick said under his muffle.
"Damn straight!" Fluffy answered.
"Wake up, Lance!" Velo said, shaking his comrade.
"Wh-what?!" Lance said groggily.
"You were having some kind of nightmare, Lance," Naecken observed.
"That's right!" Lance agreed. "My old girlfriend's little dog had come back from the dead to kill us all!"
Velo laughed. "Was he going to pee on us?"
"It's hard to remember," Lance said, smiling.
"Hmm. Perhaps a side-effect from drinking M'xy's strange water," Velo said.
"It was just a stupid dream," said Lance, shrugging. "Let's figure out how we're going to get out of here!"