A/N: Hey, internet! It's almost summer! That means I'm lining up my Summer Projects, which include Fan Fictions! So, I'll be posting prologues and first chapters of Fics that I plan on finishing over the summer, before fall semester starts. Look for 'em!
Also, I'd just like to say, this Fic is going to be ridiculous in true Doctor Horrible fashion. For reals. Lord help us.
Also also, I'd just like to say that our dear Doctor doesn't make much of an appearance in this first, slow bit. BUT FRET NOT! It's his story. I just have to set it up.
I own NOTHING. Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-LongBlog belongs to Joss Whedon. I also don't own Neil Patrick Harris. Which sucks. I want me some of that. I own the plot to this Fic, and a few OCs, including Professor James W. Lucas.
Act I, Prologue
His lungs felt as if they were on fire, despite the coolness of the evening. He didn't know his legs could push him this far, this fast. He knew they wouldn't hold out much longer.
Clutching the files to his chest, Professor Lucas tore his way down another dark alley, hating how loudly his pounding footsteps echoed. There was no hiding now. Somewhere, beyond the dead silence that had possessed the once lively city, he could hear the laughter. That same laughter that had been hunting him for some time now. Lucas had run all over LA trying to escape that madman, always to no avail. He'd always just get away, injured or the cause of someone else's accident.
"Damn…experiment!" He spat out, nearly tripping on some garbage. Lucas had spent his entire life on this one, special, secret project. And he'd finally completed it. After fifty years, he'd perfected it. And now, as his heart threatened to attack him, his life's work was about to be the death of him.
Lucas let out a scream when he nearly ran into a dead end. The brick wall stood before him, taunting, making sure he had no place to go. With nowhere to hide, Lucas pressed his back against the wall, papers clutched to his chest, and stared at the opening of the alley. He knew he was there. He was just being dramatic.
A gentle laugh crept down the puddle coated ally like fog, and Lucas froze.
"Oh, Professor?" A voice called out, familiar in dark way to Lucas, and continued to laugh. "Giving up so soon?"
"Show yourself!" Lucas shouted, fear bubbling in his chest.
That insane laugh came closer and grew louder. "So bold, Professor Lucas! I admire you."
Lucas held the files up, "You'll have to kill me to get this information! God knows what you'll try to do with it!" The laughter just continued. "Half the country is already in ruins! What do you have planned? What else could you possibly do to us?"
It was then that Lucas's hunter appeared before him, a sparking weapon in his hands. The redness of his attire was a fair warning to whoever crossed his path, and a pair of goggles blocked out any humanity that may have rested in his eyes. The man towered over Lucas, causing the professor to cry out and cower, the laughter louder now than ever before.
"Oh, Professor…" The madman whispered, pressing his gun to Lucas's temple. "You have no idea."
Lucas squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled a goodbye to no one in particular. With one blast of electric green, the professor fell to the ground, dead, his blood thickening the puddles beneath him.
"Good morning, Los Angelis." The television announcers had given up being cheery a long time ago, Moist noticed, as he stared at news with little interest. "It's another warm day here in LA, but the sun is still refusing to break through the smog cover."
"That's right, Bob." Said a now over-weight Michelle Blank, "It's day four hundred and six of Sunless Los Angelis. We don't foresee any immediate change, but there's always hope."
Moist snorted at the news; it's been the same report for over a year now, every day. The Evil League's factory had grown to an industrial nightmare, and the pollution it produced was enough to destroy California's sunny reputation.
Well…The plethora of factories that the slaves to the League had been forced to build had destroyed the entire country's reputation. One had been taken down, not too long ago, by the LA Resistance, Moist remembered. But all involved were killed right after the fact.
There were still a handful of people out there trying to solve the horrible crisis that had taken over the western United States.
The horrible crisis.
"Coming up next, Who's Gay?"
It started in July of 2008. That was day Moist's ex-boss earned his place in the Evil League of Evil by committing murder, the most evil of all crimes. Moist had been excited for his boss, thinking that both of their lives were about to get so much better. And they did. There were parties, free drinks, and all the chicks Moist could chase. He even got out of his crappy 'bathroom' apartment.
But it didn't last.
Something in his boss…Snapped. He had no idea what, but it happened after a random meeting with the E.L.E.
Moist can still feel the flames coming from the mansion. He still remembers the sound of a dozen villains running away in fear, all screaming out warnings to those they passed. Moist was too afraid to get close to the building—would he evaporate or something?—so he stayed outside of the gate, watching in horror as the headquarters of the Evil League of Evil collapsed.
At first thought, Moist had figured that the Heroes had made a move. But what he saw walking away from the ruins told him otherwise.
He shook his head, banishing the memory.
"And…And…And that's w-w-when the zebra t-tells meh-meh-meh-me that I am not this year's American Idol!" Captain Hammer burst into sobs as he told his therapist about his latest haunting nightmare.
Dr. Caress shook his head sadly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. They'd been talking nonstop for days. "Hammer, we've been over this before. Dreams are a outlet for your subconscious. What you dream is usually about what's nagging you." The therapist leaned forward in his chair, looking at the ex-hero shaking on the couch in front of him. "So, Hammer…what's nagging you today?"
The enormous man sniffled and rolled over, looking at his doctor with big, teary doe-eyes. "Well…Like the zebra said, I'm not—I mean, I feel like I'm—What I mean is I feel like I'm not…what…I used to be."
Looking shocked at this sudden revelation, Dr. Caress's eyes widened. Dr. Greg Caress had been meeting with Captain Hammer since the 'incident,' as Hammer called it, at the Caring Hands Homeless Shelter back in 2008. The Captain wouldn't let Caress quit, even though the world outside was crumbling. Never in a single meeting of theirs—which were insanely frequent. The Captain had taken, recently, to just never leaving the building. Partly because of the dangers of going outside, but Dr. Caress knew that it was because he was ashamed—had Hammer even come close to realizing his problems.
"Hammer, that is very profound. I think we're reaching a breakthrough."
The Captain nearly smiled, "Really, doc? Do you really think so?"
The therapist looked the used-to-be-hero over, taking in his appearance. Hammer had been lying on that couch for nearly a year and a half now, and it showed. His skin was frighteningly white from lack of sun (not that he'd get much if he went outside), and his once-shimmering hair was long and stringing after not being washing for long periods of time. But the most noticeable different in Captain Hammer was his physique: he didn't have one. His muscles had all but deflated and left him looking chubby and sick. If it weren't for the t-shirt, no one would ever know who he was.
As far as his powers went, Dr. Caress knew they were still there. Occasionally Hammer would sneeze and sent himself flying, or pound his head on the back of the couch too hard, breaking it. There were no signs of them weakening or fading, despite the Captain's growing BMI. Dr. Caress had often wondered if he should try to get the hero back on his feet, but he was afraid. After the fall of the Evil League, the streets were anything but safe for anyone claiming to be a hero.
"I really do, Captain." His patient beamed at the title.
If there was one person who was affected most by the fall of the Evil League, it was Johnny Snow.
If you'd asked him a year ago if he'd be afraid that the ELE had gone down, he would've laughed in your face. That would be amazing, wouldn't it? Johnny would've thrown a party. The thought of the most dastardly villains in the world—including him—going down all at once was an answer to prayer for Snow that he never thought answerable.
But it wasn't all that.
It was horrible.
Johnny Snow had made a home in an abandoned grocery store, sleeping in an emptied meat locker in the back and living off of canned food and bottled water. He'd wired a TV that pick up the news and a radio that got whatever brief police reports there were, so he knew what was going on outside. It wasn't much, but everything that happened was never good.
It was horrible!
He let out a yell, his fist freezing as he punched the wall, causing it to crack. Madness had taken parts of his mind, he knew, but he fought it with what little strength he had. He had to keep his mind in check. If he went insane, what separated him from…him?
Johnny leaned his head back against his makeshift pillow—waddled up hoodies from the store's tiny apparel section—and tried to regain his composure. His mad spells, as he called him, were becoming more and more frequent with every day he was trapped in this self-made prison. But he knew he couldn't leave—he'd be taken down faster than the Evil League was. Johnny had personally challenged him for years, but now that he controlled everything…
Johnny would be dead before he hit Main Street.
With a huff, he stood up, pulling his parka on, and marched towards the exit of his home, grabbing his ice ray on the way.
He reached down and slipped the folder from the late Professor Lucas's unmoving hands. He opened it with careful gloved hands, a smile never leaving his face as he broke into a round of perfected maniacal laughter.
The Theory of Time Travel
A series of completed experiments by Professor James W. Lucas, PhD.
"But, Professor, I assure you…" He added as he walked away, leaving the corpse behind him for someone else to deal with. "…it will be horrible."
A/N: And there is my set up. Everything in this bit happened at once, and I know it's a lot to squeeze in. Sorry. Review, but know that any and all flames will be met with a sarcastic comment. Act I as soon as I can, but this is a Summer Project, so it's gotta be good. Could be a while.