by Comickook and T Campbell
Elsewhere in Mew Orleans, the Siren Belle darted into her dimly lit lair, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Alley-Kat-Abra and Yankee Poodle, who were still tangled up in a tussle with CFRP-One the last time she saw them.
Samantha Drake, as she was known before her life of crime, reached for a snazzy contraption — a helmet that looked as if it belonged in a science fiction novel, complete with a switch that begged to be flipped. With a flick of her wing, the switch snapped upward, and a golden aura enveloped her, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
“Ah reckon ah’ve got ’bout six hours o’ juice left from the last charge-up,” she drawled, her Southern twang echoing off the concrete. “But somethin’ tells me those two super-biddies are gonna outsmart that CFRP-One sooner than a hiccup. Ah’d best be preparin’ for round two.”
She sauntered over to a shelf cluttered with various potions and gadgets, her tail feathers swishing with anticipation as she picked out a bottle labeled Dr. Von Bruin’s Vocal Vitalizer. Without hesitation, she spritzed the concoction down her throat, feeling the familiar tingle as her vocal cords vibrated with newfound power.
“Hot diggity dog!” she exclaimed as she tested her amplified abilities, her voice hitting notes that sent the lab’s sound meters spinning wildly. “This little number’s gonna make me the Belle o’ the ball!”
Samantha couldn’t help but reminisce about her days as a humble lab assistant at the Mew Orleans branch of Von Bruin Labs International. It was there, just one month ago, that she stumbled upon the throat spray and helmet that would transform her into the formidable Siren Belle.
“Who’d have thought that mixin’ these two would give me mah incredible powers?” she mused, grinning widely. “And to think, ah still had some charge left from the last round. Ah tell you one thing, honey — this is gonna be one for the books!”
***
High above the city, inside the sleek and shiny Zoo Cruiser, Fastback turned to his comrade with a puzzled look. “Whut in the world are y’all doin’, Mistah Rentals? Ain’t we supposed ta be headin’ back ta the Z-Building ta pick up Cap ‘n’ Pig-Iron?”
Rubberduck kept his eyes on the radar screen, where a persistent blip betrayed the location of their elusive quarry, Siren Belle. “And let those two glory-hounds hog the spotlight? I don’t think so, Timmy-Joe,” he replied, steering the Cruiser into a power dive. “I’ve got a score to settle with that songstress.” He added silently, with a wry smile, “In more ways than one.”
***
Meanwhile, in the shadowy confines of her hideout, the Siren Belle, also known as Samantha Drake, awaited her pursuers with a mix of anticipation and glee. As the figures of Alley-Kat-Abra and Yankee Poodle materialized in a brilliant flash of light, she couldn’t help but admire their tenacity.
“Excellent work, Wanda,” Alley-Kat-Abra telepathically encouraged her wand.
But the two couldn’t take more than a single step toward the Belle, for it was at that moment that the Zoo Cruiser made its grand, albeit ungraceful, entrance as it crashed through the front door, causing untold damage.
When the two heroes exited the flying craft, determined to capture the Siren Belle once and for all, Samantha seized the moment, her voice soaring in a melody so mighty it ensnared the minds of Rubberduck and Fastback, despite their high-tech ear defenses.
“Ah’d be fibbin’ if ah said ah didn’t reckon y’all would outsmart that tin can, CFRP-One,” Siren Belle drawled, her Southern charm as disarming as her mind-controlling melodies. “But bless his robotic heart, he kept y’all busy long enough for me to amp up mah powers. And now, with a couple of your pals dancin’ to mah tune, the odds are lookin’ mighty fine.”
The standoff was palpable as the Siren Belle stepped forward, with Rubberduck and Fastback, now under her spell, advancing on their former allies Abra and Rova. And then they went into attack mode.
Magnetic blasts and mystic force-bolts acted as covering fire as Rova and Abra retreated slowly — too slowly to escape. But it bought them a little time.
Even more so than before, Rova had no time to put her thoughts into words. But if she had, they might have run something like this:
Okay. Pros and cons.
Con: Byrd and the turtle look TOtally luuded out, so I don’t think the old “Fight it off, guys” speech is going to work.
Pro: Our crooning crone CRANE hasn’t really mastered this group-strategy thing yet. Byrd and Fastback are advancing on us at normal speed, instead of their usual blitzkrieg. And we’re hitting them a lot more often than we should be.
Con: That duck is singing again, louder than ever, and Abra looks pretty stressed. I think that “Félicette” thing took something out of her, and I don’t speak stick, but it looks like the wand is getting unfaithful again, and Abra’s calming it. I don’t know what kind of support I can expect from either of them, if any. Typical.
Con: Oh, MAHvelous. Bellie’s on the learning curve. Byrd’s getting stretchier, and Fastback’s getting faster.
Pro: I’ve signaled for help.
Con: There’s no way Rod and Pig-Iron can get here in time without Fastback, Abra, or the Zoo Cruiser.
Con: Byrd’s fist just connected with Abra’s cheek. She looks bad.
Con: That doggone SINGING! She sounds like Bunny Raitt cranked up to 180 decibels! It’s worse than fighting the Squawker–
–the Squawker…
the SQUAWKER’S weakness…
Fastback’s shell crashed into her ribs, knocking her off-balance. She just managed to create a star-spangled cushion and roll him off her and onto a stripe-slide. It would take his clouded mind maybe ten seconds to figure out what had happened and run back uphill into her.
Byrd had stretched himself into a sheet and completely subsumed Felina, whose struggles were getting progressively weaker.
And the Siren Belle was singing directly to Wanda now, promising her sestinas, antique finish, and the glory and respect she truly deserved, which meant that the Belle was distracted for two shakes of a poodle’s tail.
Okay, Rova, sweetheart, thought Rova (and now the thoughts were words), you get this right or kiss your tail-puff goodbye. No pressure.
She clapped her paws together, interlaced her fingers, and pushed — and pulled. Stars and stripes wove themselves into an almost-hypnotic pattern, a pattern that gushed out of her arms and directly toward the Siren Belle, and toward the Siren Belle’s face, and into the Siren Belle’s mouth.
There was a sound like an Ozzy Ostrich concert compressed into one note. Then, for Rova, there was only blackness.
***
“She’s going to be all right?”
“Cap, I’ve checked her every ten minutes since I woke up. She — she should be fine.” Byrd sounded less than totally convinced of his own answer.
“Gnuh?” asked Rova.
“She’s awake.”
There were bright lights over her. “Can you hear us, Rova?” It was Captain Carrot talking.
“Ynnn.”
“Fastback rushed you over here as soon as you snapped him out of it.”
“Whr’s hrrr?”
“St. Bernie’s Hospital.”
“Srrn Bll?”
“She’s here, too,” said Captain Carrot. “On sleeping gas, and not to be awoken until we get her into a soundproof prison cell.”
“Rnfrs cnkrt.”
“Sorry?”
Oh, she was going to have to wake up, wasn’t she? Drat it all. She opened her eyes, painfully, and saw Byrd Rentals and Rodney Rabbit standing there. Her mask was still in place, and she used it to reduce the glare. “Make sure it’s made of reinforced concrete. She… throws things… and animals.”
“Will do,” said Captain Carrot. “You know, we’ve got to get you some earplugs. I know how hard these sonic villains are on you.”
“Sounds fab. I’m gonna play dead now, okay?”
Byrd blanched, even under his feathers. Rodney smiled, understandingly, and walked out of the room. Byrd stayed. “I’m sorry.”
“Huh? ’Sokay.”
“Cap already gave me the third degree, extra crispy, but it’s nothing compared to what I was already going through. Or what you were already going through. Just because I couldn’t keep my glands to my–”
“Byrd. ’Sokay. Okay? Now… I’m asleep. G’night.”
“Good night.”
Byrd Rentals walked out of the hospital a changed duck. He was tired of being a playbird, reaching around for every pretty piece of animal flesh he could find. What did they all matter, in the end? What mattered were things like integrity and honesty — and friends, friends like Rova.
His resolve lasted almost halfway through the parking lot, whereupon he met one of his typical mobs of squealing fans and received three separate compliments on how sexily he could sign an autograph.