by TheTimeTrust, T5 and Chewy Walrus
The time: Almost one month since our heroes had left Mandelovia and arrived in La Perdita.
The place: 56 Oakwood Avenue, Puerta Mibela, La Perdita:
The last month had been a busy one for the Revolutionaries. They were now settling in nicely in their apartment building on La Perdita Island and, since their decision to set up a consulting business almost a month ago, they had wasted no time in refurbishing the used parts of the apartment building, including a small training facility in the basement level. The group had begun to jokingly refer to the apartment building as the "Hero Headquarters, version 2.0," as their original traveling circus headquarters was now only part of history.
The former landlord office on the first floor had been enlarged by knocking down a few walls to adjoining unused aparments and transformed into the main office for MBL Consulting. Kit Piper had his own cozy little office, and Shirley Francis took a job as secretary. She was glad to be getting out from under her boyfriend Mick Harrison's shadow and doing something for herself again.
A website for the company was still being worked on by Dr. Henry Quantos, but the good doctor was in constant communication via his computer linkup and made his own recommendations on building requirements and equipment needed for this new venture. Dr. Quantos was now employed collectively by the Hero Revolution Foundation set up with the money Pete Glover gave to the group to finance the team. He stayed away from the business end of things, since that was not his field but Kit's.
Kit Piper had carefully designed an advertising campaign that would conceal the identities of the Revolutionaries, as per the group's request, while aiming it directly at those who both might have potential problems to solve and who could pay for the services of this unique consulting firm. The group's metahuman status was not mentioned nor alluded to, since that was still a touchy subject in many countries around the world.
Meanwhile, each individual member of the Hero Revolution had begun to grow accustomed to La Perdita. Each had found his or her own little niche in Puerta Mibela and each was beginning to become known among the city's community of various ethnicities. Most had found their favorite places to go when they needed some time alone to think. Some had made friendships with some of the Perditans. And some had even found love.
But most had merely gotten a suntan. It was like vacation for them as they waited for their first client to hire them. They were not expecting much, to be sure, but they had expected something quite different than the man who passed out before their door one rainy day almost a month after they had escaped Mandelovia.
The sky fell down. At least the moisture that usually floats around in the form of clouds did. The rain thundered down on the now muddy streets, and people slipped and slithered down the streets on La Perdita Island.
A young American with a khaki shirt and trousers fell face first into the mud. Some time ago, his left shoe must have come undone, and that foot was covered with blisters and cuts. He sat up and gave the sky a silent curse. His clothes were torn in several places, and his face bore the look of frightful desperation.
Continuing his stumble down the street, he found the place he looked for, a small herbalist shop. Grateful for a roof over his head, he sighed and sat down on a chair in front of the counter, water pooling around him from the dripping of his clothes.
Flower heard the door bell tingle as he came in and greeted him with a towel. "Did you find your sister, Mr. Bigs?"
"Biggins. No. I came close... too close, it seems. They threw me into a swamp full of teeth."
Flower smiles. "So now you come to Ma Kalunga for help, eh?"
"Well... if there is any chance th--"
"Not again!" the dark, husky voice of Ma Kalunga interrupts. "And stay away from my daughter. Or I will give you curses upon curses until you will beg me for forgiveness for the last time you needed our help."
"You're still alive and have a beautiful daughter to help you," he said, smiling at Flower.
"That's quite enough of that," Ma Kalunga said and took his arm with a firm grip, leading him out of the shop.
"Hey, you can't let me go out in that -- it's the bloody end of the world out there," he protested.
"Not my problem this time, man. Go see those Americans or whatever they are that moved into town yesterday. Apparently they are troubleshooters of some kind. Trick them into helping you instead."
She slammed and locked the door. A frown and a snort later, she disappeared into the back of the shop. "Never let that man into my shop again!"
"Yes, mother," Flower sighed.
Biggins looked up into the gray sky and cursed again. The sky rewarded him with a thick lightning bolt. Taking that as a sign, he hurried down the street to see where these newcomers were staying.
Two boys carrying groceries came toward him, and he asked where the new gringos lived.
The younger boy of the two started to snicker and said, "Juanito, here, threw mother's pie into the gringo's face, and--"
"Shut up, Pedro!" Juanito said, yanking his brother's arm.
"They live in that tall apartment building at the end of the street. You can't miss it. We have to hurry home now." And with that, they quickly scampered home with the full grocery bags.
Biggins stumbled on and stopped in front of the door to the building, when the door of the apartment building flew open unexpectedly, hitting Biggins square in the head, throwing him to the ground. Before he blacked out, Biggins heard voices coming out the door.
"So I say to the guy, 'Hey, that's no proctologist! That's my wife!'"
"Heh. Tha's a good one, tha' is, Lance," said Pete Glover.
"Hey, what's up with the lying-down guy?" asked M'xy.
"Uh... did I do that?" said Lance Lorenzo sheepishly.
"I think you did, Lance."
"Shut up, Mick!"
M'xy shook his head. "Guys, I'm NOT Mick--!"
A pause, then Mick Harrison said, "Thanks, Lance."
"Heh. That never gets old."
"Shut up, you guys, and let's get him into the house," Sam Dawson suggested.
Lance said, "Oh, right."
As Mr. Biggins blacked out, he felt four pairs of hands grab him, one pair on each of his limbs, and hoist him into the air.
In the kitchen, Sam helped Lance revive the stranger. Meanwhile, Mick went through his pockets to see who they were dealing with. A thick wallet and a broken black candle were the only items found. Mick opened the wallet and peered through the papers and photographs. He gasped as he saw a familiar face on one of the pictures.
"Um, Sam? Come and see this."
Sam looked at it and saw himself, looking irritated and tired. "Hey! That's me!"
"Yes. It seems to have been taken at the airport in Mandelovia when we arrived."
"Okay, but how the hell could he have that in his possession? And who photographed us, anyway?"
"Hey, pally! Wake up!"
The stranger named Biggins opened his bleary eyes to look up at a rather ugly little man who looked like a bum. He thought he must have been left out on the street again, and he looked around. Strangely enough, he was inside where it was warm, and this little guy was trying to wake him up.
"Wh-what happened? Where--?"
"Yer at 56 Oakwood, b'y," said Pete.
"Where are my clothes?" Biggins asked as he looked down, expecting to see his wet khaki shirt and trousers, but instead he found himself dressed in a warm bath robe.
"Dey're in the laundry. You all right? You don't look so good."
"My head. It aches," the man groaned, trying to get up.
"Just keep sittin', buddy. Ya hit yer head. But that ain't the least o' yer problems."
"You have a bit of explaining to do," said Lance Lorenzo, as he and a few others walked up to him.
"Where'd you get this picture?" demanded Sam. He held up a photograph of himself, taken from a distance, apparently with a zoom lens. "Why have you been spying on me? Have you been following us for very long? We want answers!"
"Yes, and not just about the photograph," said Mick. "I've seen the movies, and I know that those black candles you're carrying is occult stuff. Is what you're into the reason you're following us? Or is it more?"
"I'm just... just looking for my sister," sighed Biggins as he resigned himself. He would have to tell them everything in order to explain the photograph and the candles. It would not be easy. "I was hoping you people could help. Someone recommended you to me."
"We're listening," said Lance.
Biggins sighed again and began to tell his story.
"A year ago, my sister ran away from home. She thought living in the London suburbs was too boring for such a hip girl as herself. And she set out to find herself... which is good, sometimes, but this time she fell into bad company.
"A cult named Dark Rose Dawn found her, and she became entirely ecstatic with the mystical life that they could provide. I last saw her a couple of months ago in a club. She was beaten badly, and she managed to slip me a note, telling me that they had come here.
"Knowing that I needed help, I sniffed around for operatives who could help me. The photograph you see there was given to me by a reporter who happened to cover a strange failed terrorist hijacking at a Mandelovian airport.
"I sincerely hope you can help me rescue her from this cult. The southern barrier reef has a few small islands, and they are situated on one of them. I have been here for two weeks now and only just found out that you were here."