2138/U.F.O.-S.H.O.E.

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U.F.O.-S.H.O.E.
Date of Scene: 17 June 2020
Location: Jules Verne Museum - St. Martin's Island
Synopsis: Mort J Harkavy, 57, begins his adventures through time, space, and footwear. Knockout and Livewire go to get tacos. The Jules Verne Museum crew arrives in the morning and wonders what happened.
Cast of Characters: Kay Fury, Leslie Willis




Kay Fury has posed:
Amidst the detritus of millennia of extraterrestrial interference with Earth - mostly, of course, being the higher-profile events of the past decade, less 'Astronaut God Corpse,' more 'yes, this is one of the many guns with which they shot at us' - there sits, in a glass case, in a rarely-visited corner, THE S.H.O.E. - Super-Hyper-Optimal-Exploration Device.

(Yes, that should, properly, be S.H.O.E.D., but the naming conventions of alien gods are not subject to our scrutiny - and, besides, horses are 'shoed,' and no one (save, perhaps, that family of super-powered Mormon children) wants to talk about alien horses.)

It is well after closing time, because convention dictates that all robberies must occur after dark unless there is someone brightly colored to prevent them from taking place, in which case they must occur during daylight and in front of at least one reporter.

Of course, convention would also lead one to expect a modicum of stealth. This is not present, as the means of entrance is a light so blinding that it can be seen for several blocks and a sound so loud that every window in the museum - and those in most of the windows surrounding the museum, and even a few in the surrounding blocks, and also every single case in the museum made from glass rather than shatter-resistant transparent aluminum or some other, equally trendy sci-fi material - and sets off every car alarm within a mile, and renders several passing, late-night pedestrians temporarily blind *and* deafened.

(It's called a 'Boom Tube.' There are also 'Hush Tubes,' but I forgot about those.)

"Hmm." says a towering, domino masked redhead now standing in the rubble-strewn interior of Metropolis's Jules Verne Museum of Extraterrestrial Technology. "I forgot there's another setting."

Leslie Willis has posed:
    Leslie is totally going ti impress her guidance counsellor, and most of her history teachers! This'll show them for saying she'd never go to a museum! But she is! And she's going to prove it's all totally just more crass commercialism! It's a scam!

In fact, she's mid-rant, all wide-eyed manic energy and incoherent rambling when the museum behind her seemingly explodes in light and fury! "Oh holycrap! That wasn't me! It's like... the... fake special effects going wrong! You'll see! It's probably a whole film crew!!" And then Leslie's video is actually just wildly sickening camera motions, because she can't exactly zip around as lightning. Because Samsung's phones aren't designed to be deconstructed into electrons. Even though she's emailed them -so- many times, and she called the support line and stuff. It's totally unfair.

And so as she runs up to the door and through what used to be a window, she skids to a stop, "Hey! You're not a film crew! Oh my god, get out of here! I need to break in here and expose the total conspiracy!!"

Kay Fury has posed:
"Which conspiracy?" is Knockout's reply, and it is purely conversational, standing in the middle of a thoroughly wrecked museum though she is, the air flooded with the sound of car alarms.

'Ping! Ping ping! Ping! Ping ping ping!' chimes her belt buckle, which contains a sentient God-Computer from a higher realm, a real of platonic idea-forms, because of course it does.

"Oh, yes. That one. Well, if they're going to eat that, then, surely, they deserve what happens to their pineal glands."

'Ping!'

"Yes, exactly."

Knockout treads across glass and broken artifacts from other worlds, both crunching beneath the soles of her boots. Her stride is easy, and confident, and she seems unbothered by the destruction she has caused, by the cacophonous blaring, or by the presence of a conspiracy theorist in black rubber.

"Well? Come on, if you're coming."

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie shrugs and tags along. Heck, when the towering lady with the pinging belt says come along, you don't question. She's pretty sure she learned that in school or something. Plus she knwos about glands and stuff. Total science nerd. Always a good idea to follow them!

And so Leslie finds herself stepping around the bulkier debris, because -some- people can't just smash everything underfoot like walking monster trucks. In fact, that's kinda unfair now that she thinks about it. Jeeze, lightning powers only go so far it seems.

"I... uhhh.. oh damnit, I think it was about the moon? Yeah, probably one of the moon ones. Uhhh... I think like... it's got a base on it? Yeah. Base. Moon base. From the lizardpeople." She nods solemnly.

And then shrugs and springs over next to the towering New God, peering up at her, "So like... uhhh... did they hike the admission fee up or something? Or do you just not like museums? 'cause I mean... this is a lot o' mess. And I say that as somethin' of an expert on destruction of property!"

Kay Fury has posed:
"What? Yes, of course, there are bases on it. There are many, in-use and abandoned, from races living and extinct. Why would there not be? This planet is a festering hive that vomits forth beings with pretention of being gods -- and buried within the feeble genetic code of its inhabitants is the secret to Anti-Life."

To your right: a Thanagarian war-harness, donated by Katar Hol (presently upside down, attached to a mannequin torso). To your left: A 'Krolotean Bio-Probe' that looks suspiciously like something made in a garage from a sex toy, stickers, and LED lights.

"My method of conveyance was too much for the pathetic building materials used by mortals."

And, up ahead:

Mort J Harkavy, 57, night watchman for the Metropolis Jules Verne Museum of Extraterrestrial Technology, currently half-blind and three-quarters deaf, fumbling in his attempts to rise.

Mort is not an exhibit.

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie frowns thoughtfully, the gears a turning. The hamster is running. She hums and mumbles, her brow furrows in a vain attempt to follow Knockout's logic. She mostly ignores the alien gizmos and doodads. None of them are moon-shaped, so that's like, -negative- clout. Gotta get that clout. The views. And then a lightbulb flicks on above her head! Well, okay, it's actually a hanging fluorescent light fixture as she sparks up and lifts a hand triumphantly.

"Hey! Isn't Anti-Life just like... death? I mean, I don't think we've got a monopoly on that. I mean, Highlander was just a movie, you know? That dude's accent wasn't Spanish at all. It was Scottish... kind of? And the Scottish guy was like... Belgian."

And then Mort's moving, and fumbling, and looking all like he's The Man. Not in that 'Cool guy who's going to stand up to the villains' way. Just like, he has a security guard uniform? "Whoa! Hey! Where's the moon stuff, old timer? Don't hold out or like... uhhh... we'll... boom your tube? I dunno, but red here'll do -stuff-!"

Kay Fury has posed:
"WHAT?"

Mort J Harkavy, 57, makes several failed attempts to rise to his feet in front of a shattered exhibit labelled 'ALIEN FOOTWEAR, DONATED BY UNKNOWN PARTY.'

"IS SOMEONE THERE?"

Mort J Harkavy, 57, manages - through no fault of his own - to stuff both sausage-fingered mitts into a pair of what look for all the world to be vintage, 1970s platform heels.

He then vanishes in a blinding light.

Mort J Harkavy, 57, will go on to have adventures through time and space the likes of which we can barely conceive of. He will right wrongs, he will fight injustice, he will save entire planets.

And he will do it all in a night watchman's uniform and a pair of eight-inch platform heels covered in silver sparkles.

"Well," says Knockout.

"That was ... entirely unfulfilling."

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie just stares, open mouthed, wide eyed. Her brow furrows slowly, until there's an angry V. Her eyes light up and she scowls, "Oh my -god-, he like, disappeared! Before I could even film it! The -views-!" She stares up at the towering new god indignantly, "He took the views! This was a waste, and like, now I'm going to have to go and -hide out- and probably like, melt the security cameras or my probation officer's going to be all 'Leslie, break and entering is a crime even if someone else did it with a big boom thing durrrrrrr' and stuff."

Slim arms cross sternly, head tilts thoughtfully, and there's a pregnant, poignant pause at the thought of the poor night watchman hurled into the cosmos. "...He didn't make a boom and blow out all the windows. Is it because space shoes are quieter than your boots? Seems kinda unfair. Wanna go get tacos?"

Kay Fury has posed:
Knockout inhales deeply. Perhaps she is prepared to make a grand statement on the nature of time and space; on the role and function of a Mother-Box; or, perhaps, just to explain that cameras usually don't film when they're hanging from the ceiling and sparking.

Instead, she simply exhales.

"Yes. Yes, tacos would be good."