Past Stevie Stories: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Past Poetic Justice story: A
Drawing his powers from a secret barrel of nucleoactive radios, he is…
Stevie, Boy Wonder!
It is a brisk autumn day in Philadelphiaburg and its sworn protector — Stevie, Boy Wonder — is enjoying a gourmet bagel at a café on Fortiburgeth Street. Across from him sits his scientist friend, mild mannered Dr. Miles Manner. They are exchanging notes on Dr. Manner’s field of expertise, paleobiology.
Dr. Manner: I’ve been helping a colleague of mine compile his thesis on Cerapod locomotion.
Stevie: I used to have some Jurassic Park toys growing up, and there was this big T-Rex and he was all like, “Raawwwwwr!”
Dr. Manner: The current theory is that in fact it was the females who went “Raawwwwwr!”.
Stevie: Fascinating.
Suddenly and without remorse, the urban peace of West Philadelphiaburg is disturbed by the loud crash of an armored bank truck being knocked sideways. Three supervillain-types in flamboyant outfits begin to loot it for its content.
Dr. Manner: Friends of yours?
Stevie: No, when my friends knock trucks over they usually try to leave before someone notices. These are probably bad guys. In fact, these look like the notorious… Um…
Stevie stops a terrified fleeing Good Citizen.
Stevie: Good Citizen! Remind me who those villains are, again? I think it started with a D?
Good Citizen Lady: Who cares? Just beat them up!
The Lady runs off.
Stevie: Well, you’re boring.
As Steve is trying to remember who they are, the mysterious culprits move all the loot from the downed armored truck to their own villainous armored truck with flames painted on the side.
Dr. Manner: Stevie, they’re getting away.
Stevie: Yeah, just hold on a minute. They’re on the tip of my tongue.
The villain truck hurtles down Fortiburgeth Street but as it irresponsibly turns without signaling onto Locustburg Street, a large projectile knocks the truck onto its side. Upon closer inspection, the projectile is a terrified man wearing a badger suit. He slowly tries to get to his feet. Meanwhile, Philadelphiaburg’s very own dark revenger, Poetic Justice, approaches the scene.
Stevie: Hey, Justice, what’s up?
Justice: Just threw a guy into a truck. You?
Stevie: I’m trying to remember whose truck that is.
Justice: That’s the Bad Bandit Band.
Stevie: Oh, I remember now! Señor Fancypants, Mister Nicehat, and Herr Decentshirt?
Justice: Yep, them.
Stevie: Thanks, I was gonna go crazy. By the way, why are you beating up a guy in a badger suit?
Justice: He knows what he did.
The Badger pulls to his feet and starts running madly down Locustburg Street. Poetic Justice pursues him. Meanwhile, the Bandit Band climb out of their truck and try to pull it back upright. Stevie confronts them.
Stevie: Stop there, Bandit Band! Crime doesn’t pay in this town.
Nicehat: We’re not the Bad Bandit Band anymore.
Fancypants: Shut up, yes we are.
Nicehat: Scareodactyl is such a better band name.
Fancypants: No, because that sounds stupid.
Decentshirt: I’m with Nicehat. Literalism’s in and all, but you don’t want people hearing “Bad Bandit Band” and thinking we’re not good bandits.
Fancypants: So instead people should think we’re a flying dinosaur monster?
Dr. Manner: Actually, pterodactyls are not truly dinosaurs.
Fancypants: Close enough.
Decentshirt: Sorry, man. You’re outvoted two to one.
Stevie gets bored and punches someone in the face.
Dr. Manner: Ow! What’d you do that for?
Stevie: Oops.
The good doctor falls to his knees, sweating and shaking.
Dr. Manner: You shouldn’t have done that…
Stevie: I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?
Dr. Manner: No… you see, once… while I was on a dig in Bolivia… I was exposed to strange radiation… from Aztec dinosaur wizards…
Dr. Manner starts growing, his skin slowly changing color. He tears through his shirt BUTDON’T WORRY, HIS PANTS ARE FINE.
Stevie: Wait, Aztecs in Bolivia? Didn’t they live in Mexico?
Dr. Manner: Aztec dinosaur wizards! None of this makes sense! …now, whenever I’m provoked, I… change!
Dr. Manner is now twice his size and colored a deep blue. He has become the Incredible Help, Philadelphiaburg’s cheerful, compulsively-constructive supermutant.
Stevie: Hey, sweet! Can you help me beat these bandits up?
Help: No can do, Stevie. I’m a strict pacifist.
The Help instead sets about repairing a storefront wrecked by urban decay and falling trucks.
Stevie: Oh, well. Three against one — no problem.
Scareodactyl surround Stevie. He gets a few good hits in, but the three of them begin to overpower him.
Stevie: Wait, crap. One at a time, people! Whatever happened to one at a time?
Decentshirt: That hasn’t been cool since the eighties, man.
Stevie: Help, help me out!
Help: Sorry, Stevie. I can’t do anything destructive.
Stevie: Not even if it’s for a good cause?
Help: Well, I do mow people’s lawns sometimes. But I certainly can’t help you fight.
Stevie: There must be something you can do.
Help: Hmm. I’ve got an idea. Keep ’em busy, Stevie.
Stevie does so to the best of his ability, barely dodging the bandits’ blows. Meanwhile, the Help gathers construction materials and single-handedly builds a municipal prison around the battle, trapping the bandits in. When he’s done, the Help helpfully pays Stevie’s bail. Stevie wearily staggers out of prison.
Stevie: I guess that’s one way to do it. Thanks, Help!
Good Citizens of Philadelphiaburg: Help! Help! Help! Help!
The Good Citizens try to hoist the Help in celebration but they can’t pick him up until someone brings a forklift. Stevie finishes his bagel.
END