By John Leatherman
Sixteen floors up the sheer glass face of Pitfall Industries’ main tower, I cling to Sticky Kitten’s back as she climbs. Suction fluid seeps through the sapphire spandex of her skintight super suit, adhering me to her and her forearms and shins to the building. My purple cape snaps in the wind against my orange bodysuit. I struggle not to look down.
As we approach the top, Sticky Kitten turns her head to me, her wide round eyeglasses reflecting the full moon. “The Crystalis Diamond should be in the laboratory on the twentieth floor, behind a laser cage.” Lips tight, she smiles, her wavy brunette locks pulled back by kitten-ear barrettes. “But you can get through it because you’re indestructible, right, Gus?”
Actually, my name is Arnold—it is, after all, a secret identity—but more importantly, I cringe at the thought of lasers lancing through my lumbar again. “Um, Sticky, just to clarify. This jewel doesn’t belong to us, and we’re taking it.”
“Yes, so Pitfall can’t complete the Styrolizer and transform all the other buildings of Adver City into Styrofoam. Which would be bad.”
Hesitantly, I nod. “Right… but we are stealing the thing, right, Sticky?”
“You’re so understanding, Gus. You should add that to your list of superpowers.” She purrs with appreciation. “And I told you to call me Kytt.”
After the last weekly meeting of the Adver City North Side Adverengers, when Sticky Kitten recruited me to this job, she’d also told me her alias, Kytt Windthorn, in order to “strengthen our relationship.” I hadn’t been aware we had one.
Up on the roof, she suctions her palms to a vent grate and pulls it off. “There! We’re in. This duct leads to a vent over the lobby outside the lab.” She sighs and wipes her brow. “But I’ve used up almost all my suction fluid. My body is completely dry. While I regenerate, you can get the diamond. Just drop through the vent, get past the night security guard, and…”
“Wait—you didn’t mention a security guard.”
Sticky Kitten shrugs. “Didn’t I? Well, Blocksmith is really more of a goon.”
“That doesn’t sound better!”
“Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s much bigger than Deathpunch. And you got past him, right?”
“Y-Yeah…” The name of the henchman assigned to me during last month’s epic siege on Professor Panic’s lair still scares me. While I did technically get past Deathpunch in the end, my main purpose was just to keep him busy while Mauve Mayhem and Vermilion Vengeance broke into the Parlor of Pandemonium Perpetration.
Nevertheless, I steel myself for another Deathpunch and crawl into the passage. If I duct out of this mission, my city will become nonbiodegradable refuse. But more importantly, I’m twenty floors up with no other way down.
After rounding several tight turns in the dark, I approach the vent leaking light from the lobby. While I strain to see through the slats, the grate gives way, and I plummet perilously to a painful plop.
Maybe I’m just venting, but I don’t think this will be an AC job.
When the dust clears, I’m prone on the floor of a lobby sparsely furnished with a vending machine and a few sofas and ferns. Plus a reception desk, manned—or perhaps gorillaed—by bald, burly, brown-jumpsuited Blocksmith. He stomps toward me, icy gray eyes flaring. As for his size, he looks like Deathpunch’s twin brother. Who ate him.
Blocksmith seizes me by the collar, and I struggle to remember. What worked with Deathpunch? Oh, yes. Insults.
I take a deep breath. “See hair now, Sir! Let’s not brush to judgment!”
He promptly punches me across the lobby. I smash against the wall next to the vending machine.
“No fair!” I shout. “I was blinded by your scalp!”
Blocksmith plods toward me and peppers my person with pummeling.
Sticky Kitten drops through the duct. Clocking my constant clobbering, she cringes. “Y-Y-You’re okay, right?”
I force a grin. “All part of the plan!” If he’s anything like Deathpunch, Blocksmith will eventually realize he can’t kill me and get bored.
After a furious fist to the face, I flop to the floor. “Let’s be civil, sir… Or there’ll be a price toupee!”
Then Blocksmith hits me several more times—with the vending machine. Sodas scatter, teas tumble, and kombuchas careen.
I writhe my head out from under the mangled machine’s massive metal frame. “Is that bald you got?”
He kicks the machine aside and repeatedly stomps on my back.
I’m keeping “You need to comb down” and “Pride goeth before a follicle” in reserve for when he lets up again—that is, if I can remember them. I’m about to pass out from the pain when an empty Blueberry Blast bottle beans Blocksmith on the broadside.
Stopping his salvo, he swivels with a scorching scowl at Sticky Kitten, who’s now guzzling a Guava Gusher.
Blocksmith charges toward her, and she wipes her lips with a satisfied sigh. “Ahh! Glad you’re finally serving drinks, Blocksmith. Maybe now we’ll just…” She raises her palms and expels a glob of gluey green goo on him. “…stick around!”
As Blocksmith struggles to surpass the sticky slime, Sticky Kitten prances past and pulls me from the Super Gus-shaped impression in the floor. “Your plan worked great, Gus! Now, on to that laser cage!”
As my sensation returns, I raise a halting hand. “Not yet. Those teas were, what, two-fifty each?” I reach under my collar, pull out a fiver, and set it on the wreckage of the vending machine. “We’re only stealing the diamond, Kytt. Nothing else.”
Sticky Kitten smiles and touches my hand. “About time you bought me a drink, Gus.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Sticky Kitten” is a good name, but is it too esoteric to call her “Kytt-amari Damacy” instead?
Actually, the quote is “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a follicle.” Or something like that. (Hee, hee.)
Oh, I love this – the clever word play, the fantatically fun and engaging plot – and most important – Sticky Kytt and Gus/Arnold. Delightful!
Loved this story! Super Gus is one of my all-time favorite characters in the Havok universe.