The Matchman
"Matchman: The Movie"
A screenplay
Based on the idea of Walter J. Kin TheMatchman™
Written by Dr. Jay Enfield
First published online December 18, 2002
Published on www.mComics.com
© Walter J. Kin (RIGLI)
FADE IN
EXT. AERIAL VIEW OF SUBURBAN HOUSING DEVELOPMENT -- DAY
SUBTITLES appear: "Scarsdale, New York, 1978." Voices begin to become audible as voice-overs to this idyllic scene.
REPORTER'S VOICE
(voice-over)
So, just when did you first manifest these incredible powers of yours? When did you first realize that you were different?
MATCHMAN'S VOICE
(voice-over)
I must have been about six or seven years old. My parents fought a great deal, and it was shortly after my father left us for good one morning that I first experienced my miraculous transformation.
INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN -- 1978 -- MIDMORNING
The child SCOTT SUFFIX sits on the kitchen floor, beneath the kitchen table, playing with toy superhero action figures. He has a worried look in his eyes. Behind him, the legs of his FATHER and his MOTHER walk back and forth, as they argue at the top of their lungs. Finally, the legs of the Father walk off-camera, followed by the lags of the Mother. Young Scott's eyes watch them go.
FATHER
(angrily)
That does it! I've had it up to here with your nagging! All day every day it's nothing but gripe, gripe, gripe and moan, moan, moan. Nothing I do is ever good enough for you! You couldn't pay me to stick around and take any more of this abuse! I'm outta here!
MOTHER
(angrily)
Go ahead then! Walk out on this marriage! Go ahead and quit! You've always been a quitter!
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
My father and mother were deep in the throes of their argument, when it occurred to me to make coffee.
Camera ZOOMS IN on Scott Suffix's face as the idea lights up his expression.
INT. SUBURBAN FOYER -- 1978 -- MIDMORNING
The front door slams loudly as Father exits, his last words ringing in the air. Mother cringes and begins to weep uncontrollably at his sudden departure. Now that we can see her in her entirety, she is of medium height, with shoulder-length blonde hair, dressed casually -- the perfect portrait of the late 1970's suburban housewife.
FATHER
(angrily)
Even if I can't be good enough for you, I can still find someone who'll appreciate me! Good-bye! (slams door)
MOTHER
(angrily)
Fine then! Go! Who needs you! We'll be better off without you! What kind of a father could you be to little Scott? You bum! You're nothing but a bum! And that's all you'll ever be! (starts crying)
REPORTER
(voice-over)
Did you say...make coffee?
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
Yes. You see, my father was very fond of his coffee, and every morning he would make a pot of coffee and have several cups. It was his daily ritual, so to speak. Well, I had often seen he and my mother making up over mutual cups of coffee, so...
INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN -- 1978 -- MIDMORNING
Sounds of sobbing come from Mother off-screen as little Scott Suffix stands on a chair to reach the automatic coffee maker on the kitchen counter. He undertakes the task of preparing the machine with a ritual solemnity. He neglects to dump out the old coffee grounds, however. He merely refills the machine with water.
REPORTER
(voice-over)
Yes, I see. By making the coffee, you hoped that you could keep your parents together, and get them to love each other like they used to.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
I thought that it would heal the marriage. On the day that my father left forever after a solid week of fighting with my mother, I saw my chance. If I could just make the coffee, everything would be okay and my parents would love each other once more. I could bring them back together. I could bring everyone back together, everywhere. No one would ever be left alone.
Camera ZOOMS IN and FREEZES on the week-old coffee grounds in the filter held in Scott's left hand as he works to prepare the coffee machine. It is completely covered with many and varied kinds of molds and fungi, in several bright primary colors.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
The only problem was that I was a bit hazy on the details. I forgot to replace the filter. The inside had grown a fairly decent coat of several exotic species of molds and fungi over the past week or so. I brewed a pot of something else -- a substance as yet undiscovered. A substance so vile that it does not yet have a name.
Little Scott waits for the coffee to finish brewing, then fills a coffee cup with the resultant fluid, which is thick and black and gleaming like ink, shot through with streaks of red energy. He tips his head back and drinks deeply of the hot liquid.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
And I drank it.
Instantly the strange transformation begins that turns little Scott Suffix into MATCHMAN the superhero! Flashes of light, loud noises -- all are brought into play to encompass the transformation. The process encompasses the opening credits and titles of the movie, with a jazzy theme playing over stop-motion shots of Matchman in striking poses, each one coinciding with a title or credit. When this sequence is over with, Matchman will be standing in the middle of the sunlit kitchen, looking dazed. Matchman is wearing an outfit of red tights, with blue boots and a blue cape, with the Matchman heart-in-orbit logo on his chest. He has short brown hair and a face that is open and honest. In short, he is the perfect stereotype of the good guy. He is also full-grown, in his current appearance, instead of a child.
His mother walks into the kitchen and stops, tear-reddened eyes staring in shock at the costumed strange man standing there. She gasps in surprise.
EXT. OUTDOORS CAFE IN MIDTOWN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman sits at a small table, in full costume, facing a REPORTER who sits across from him, taking notes of his incredible origin story. They have drinks and food before them. The cafe and sidewalk area near it are crowded with customers and pedestrians. A few pause to give Matchman a strange glance or two, but most just hurry past intent upon their own business, as this is, after all, New York City.
MATCHMAN
(sipping his soda)
And that's when it first happened. That's when I became Matchman, defender of society and restorer of broken hearts.
REPORTER
(enthusiastic and jotting furiously)
This is so incredible! So what happened next?
INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN -- 1978 -- MIDMORNING
As the newly created Matchman stands staring at his own Mother in surprise, she emits one strangled squeak and falls lifeless to the kitchen floor.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
Well, it was shortly after that first transformation that my mother died of a heart attack and I was forced to become a ward of the state.
EXT. GREENWICH VILLAGE -- 1978 -- WINTER -- DAY
The little Scott Suffix, muffled in a big winter coat, is seen being gently chivvied up a flight of steps into a nondescript brownstone by a large and powerful bald black man and a short and dumpy white woman with thick glasses and her hair in a bun -- LANCE COPOREAL and DR. RHODA DENDRITE, respectively. Lance has on a military uniform, while Dr. Dendrite wears a white lab coat over her clothing.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
Later that same year, Dr. Rhoda Dendrite, world-famous biogeneticist and Nobel laureate, and Lance Corporeal, renowned weapons master and combat specialist, retrieved me from the orphanage where I had been sent and recruited me for their new organization, the VALentine Complex Team. They had heard of my powers, and sought to develop them for the good of all humanity.
INT. LABORATORY DEEP IN THE BOWELS OF VALCOM HQ -- CIRCA 1982 -- FLUORESCENT LIGHT
Dr. Dendrite and a slightly older, say, twelve-year-old Scott, pour liquids into test tubes and consult computers in a laboratory as Matchman's voice-over continues.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
Dr. Dendrite lavished all of the benefits of her genius I.Q. upon me...
INT. GYMNASIUM -- CIRCA 1985 -- DAY
Mats pad the floor as the teenage Scott spars with Lance Corporeal. Lance lays the youth out cold with a flying circle kick to the head.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
... While Lance Corporeal attended to the more, ah, physical aspects of my training.
EXT. OUTDOORS CAFE IN MIDTOWN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman and the Reporter are still sitting at the table and conducting the interview. Matchman rubs his neck as if at the memory of an old and painful incident.
MATCHMAN
And I've been with my surrogate family at VALentine Complex ever since. We're a secret organization devoted to spreading peace, love and understanding among all peoples and nations of the earth, so that someday fear and hatred become forgotten words.
REPORTER
No kidding. Say, I couldn't help but notice your cape. Does that mean you can fly?
The camera PULLS BACK as Matchman rises vertically from his chair into thin air, swoops around a bit, and then lands directly back in his chair.
MATCHMAN
(nonchalant)
Does that answer your question?
REPORTER
(awe-struck)
I guess it does! Wow! This is absolutely amazing! You mentioned a "VALentine Complex Team." Does this mean that you work with other super heroes as well? Are there more of you?
MATCHMAN
Well, now that you mention it...
As if on cue, an attractive feminine booted foot and leg comes flying down from above to land on the glass-topped cafe table, with enough force to set the dishes and glasses rattling. The Reporter looks up in surprise, into the smiling masked face of Z-GIRL staring down at him from her graceful perch atop the table. As he gawps in disbelief, she steps delicately down from the table to sit in an unoccupied chair between the two men. Z-Girl is approximately nineteen years old, wholesome looking with short blonde hair and a light dusting of freckles. She wears a costume composed of white tights beneath a black unitard spangled with white stars. She also wears black gloves and boots. She doesn't wear a cape.
REPORTER
Holy cow! You must be -- Matchwoman?
Z-GIRL
No, just a butt-kicking teenage female. Hey, Matchman -- what's going on? Another interview? There's been a bit too much loose talk around the facility already for us to be flapping our gums like this to just any old reporter. I though that Dr. Dendrite had tagged this sort of thing as a security risk?
MATCHMAN
No, it's okay, Z -- as long as we don't mention any critical information, we can do interviews in order to boost our public image. It's better that people know the horrific dangers that we exist to safely counteract. (To reporter:) And this is my ever-graceful official sidekick, Z-Girl, a card-carrying member of the VALCom Team and a valuable asset in our ongoing war against evil.
REPORTER
The sidekick, eh? I thought sidekicks were always underage boys in tights. Time marches on. (He clears his throat loudly.) I've been listening to Matchman's account of his miraculous origin for some time now, and I'm having a hard time believing my ears, it's so fantastic. I suppose your own origin must be equally spectacular?
Z-GIRL
Actually, I'm the niece of Suzanne Grace, the Astrological Intelligence coordinator for the VALCom Team. I've known the inside of the VALentine Complex since I was a kid, and when I got old enough, I decided to join. That's all. The end. Simple.
REPORTER
But you must have some degree of supernatural power! After all, you just flew down here under your own power -- it's not as though your parachute failed to open!
Z-GIRL
Well, yeah, I can fly, but there's nothing to that. It's easier than you might think. My real powers are far less evident, and far more effective. I can tell when people are compatible with each other, just by looking at them. With this power I end loneliness. For example, take this cafe crowd here.
Z-girl turns around in her seat and waves her arm at the rest of the cafe tables, packed full of customers. From her viewpoint, we observe the usual bustle of a Midtown eatery at midday. Suddenly, astrological signs appear in bright neon outlines over each person's head. Z-Girl continues to explain in a voice-over.
Z-GIRL
(voice-over)
It's as clear to me as a lighthouse at night. I can instantly tell who's what, and associate potential lovers with each other instantaneously. This, coupled with Matchman's MatchSpider radar, is what makes so effective in counteracting fear, hatred and loneliness, thus making the world a better place.
The camera returns to the three of them sitting at their own table as the Reporter interjects.
REPORTER
Wait a minute. What's this about MatchSpider radar? What's that?
MATCHMAN
It's an inexplicable sense of highly accurate sensation and location that I possess. Right now, for instance, I can tell you that a young man and a young woman are undergoing romantic difficulties downtown on a park bench in Union Square Park even as we speak. My MatchSpider radar is of vast, though not, strictly speaking, unlimited range. It is also of great value in counteracting the forces of evil.
REPORTER
Both of you have now mention these "forces of evil" several times. Who, or what, exactly do you deem to be behind this global conspiracy of alienation and loneliness that you constantly defend the public against?
MATCHMAN
Like all corporate entities, it's partly a "what" and partly a "who." Ever wonder why all of these big multinationals seem hell-bent on forcing garbage down our throats, destroying the environment with pollution and our minds with television advertisements, and selling weapons to combatants the world over?
As Matchman talks, we dissolve to a MONTAGE of shots fading in and out, of rainforests on fire, dolphin being massacred, television commercials preaching impossible standards of beauty, mudslides, forest fires, seals being clubbed and so on. Superimposed upon this montage of evil is the sinister form of DOCTOR DEJECTION standing, fists clenched, head thrown back, laughing evilly and theatrically. Doctor Dejection wears a hooded blue cloak, such that one cannot see his legs or face. He seems to float above the ground. His eyes and mouth are visible as white, jack-o-lantern gleams within the otherwise impenetrable darkness of his hood. His hands are huge banded iron gauntlets where they emerge from the sleeves of his cloak. He is Matchman's archenemy. Matchman goes on talking in a voice-over to this montage sequence.
MATCHMAN
(voice-over)
Well, the biggest and worst offenders against the health and happiness of the human race are actually only fronts for one great big holding company, a company so secret that very few know its real name -- B.L.A.H. The acronym stands for "Badguys Leagued Against Humanity." It's primarily a concealed organization of super-villains who wish to drown the world in misery and despair for their own selfish ends, and they will stop at nothing to accomplish this end. This entire foul operation is the brainchild of my archenemy, Dr. Dejection, who through his ceaseless urge for self-aggrandizement plans to plunge the entire world into an eternity of self-hating misery! And he would, too, in no time, if it weren't for us here on the VALCom Team.
EXT. OUTDOOR CAFE -- MIDTOWN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
We return to the Reporter, Matchman and Z-Girl sitting around their cafe table. Z-Girl is trying unsuccessfully to signal a waiter. Many patrons are now giving the trio amused looks, due to their appearance, demeanor and audible conversation.
REPORTER
You know, I've always wondered why everything always seems to get worse and not better as the years go by. It all makes sense now, somehow. That explanation answers a lot of unvoiced questions.
Z-GIRL
Yeah, and Dr. Dejection's not the half of it. He's got this horrible "gal Friday."
MONTAGE of shots again, as Z-Girl continues her description in a voice-over. This montage includes footage of women spurning men, toying with men, causing them to kill themselves and each other for the sake of a broken heart or two. Over all is superimposed the form of DISCORDIA, laughing evilly and seductively. Discordia is scantily dressed in a sort of black bikini, with black thigh-high gladiator boots. She is a uniform shiny golden color from head to toe, including her lips and hair. Her eyes shine even more brightly than the rest of her, and are possessed of an awful radiance indicative of super powers. In her right hand she holds forth a golden apple, which indeed she is never without, as it is the source of all of her mystical evil powers.
Z-GIRL
(voice-over)
Her name's Discordia. No one knows where she came from, but as soon as she joined Dr. Dejection's armies of B.L.A.H. a year or two back, incidence of despair and heartbreak in the tri-state area have increased dramatically. The suicide rate among love-struck males is up by twenty-five percent. It's like she embodies all that men find horrific yet fascinating in the female mind. What's worse is that she's a clinical psychopath -- no guilt feelings, no empathy, full-scale flattening of effect as the shrinks call it. She gets her kicks from human misery. Her golden apple is the source of he evil powers. She's almost as dangerous as Dr. Dejection himself.
EXT. OUTDOOR CAFE -- MIDTOWN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
After its prolonged cascade of illustrative imagery, the montage ends, and we return to a shot of Z-Girl sitting at the table.
Z-GIRL
Plus, she really ticks me off on a personal level.
REPORTER
This all sounds very serious! Is there currently any cause for alarm for the average citizen of our fair city?
INT. DR. DEJECTION'S UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
As the Reporter talks, the camera pulls back and it is realized that he is actually on some sort of television. As the camera pulls back further, it is revealed that the television is actually a giant view screen that dominates one wall in a gloomy underground bunker that is the hidden command post of Dr. Dejection and the nerve center of the B.L.A.H. corporation. The entire bunker is done in sheet metal and computer terminals, giving it a vaguely Death-Star sort of decor. It is also deliberately gloomily lit. All in all, it is a fitting repository of evil. The camera stays on the view screen as our unsuspecting heroes continue to chat with the reporter at the cafe.
MATCHMAN
(on view screen)
Not at all! Let me hasten to reassure your readers that the VALCom Team is on duty twenty-four seven in order to prevent any infringement of the public peace by that twisted goon Dr. Dejection! Besides, all of his previous plots have ended uniformly in total failure when confronted with our noble might!
As Matchman speaks on the view screen, the camera cuts to a point behind two large command chairs like thrones facing the view screen. The backs of the chairs effectively conceal anyone who might be sitting in them. At the end of Matchman's previous speech, a large metal gauntleted hand belonging to Dr. Dejection appears from behind the concealment offered by the back of the left-hand chair and makes an obscene gesture at the screen, accompanied by a low growl of disgust. As it is extended in fury, a glowing golden bare female arm extends itself out from the concealment of the right-hand chair and strokes the metal gauntlet reassuringly, as if to mollify its anger. The golden arm has the texture and appearance of the precious metal itself somehow come alive, and burnished to a high gloss. On the view screen, the view switches to Z-Girl talking.
Z-GIRL
(on view screen)
Yeah, and you shouldn't lose any sleep over that fourteen-carat bimbo with the apple, either. She knows better than to tangle with the likes of me!
The glowing golden bare female arm ceases stroking the metal gauntlet and instead makes its own obscene gesture at the view screen at this remark, punctuated by an audible inarticulate female cry of outrage.
REPORTER
(on view screen)
Well, that's a relief! I'm glad you guys at VALentine Complex have everything under control! Heaven knows what would happen if these horrible criminals were allowed to run rampant without --
There is a click as Dr. Dejection's hand presses a switch on the arm of his command chair, turning the great view screen off. Dr. Dejection leaves his chair and begins to place, or rather hover, slowly across the floor of his cavernous command bunker. The camera pulls back to watch his progress across the vast room, hands behind his back, obviously lost in thoughts of revenge. Behind him, Discordia stirs in her chair to watch him pace. She lolls around in the chair, not leaving it, hanging over its arms and back in a variety of deliberate sexy poses. She never lets go of her apple. Her shiny form seems to light up a corner of the gloomy room with reflected light. Eventually Dr. Dejection begins to speak his thoughts out loud. His voice is surprisingly deep and pompously well educated.
DR. DEJECTION
(musingly)
It is incumbent upon us to act in the grand tradition of fictional villains. That is how they know we will strike again -- we cannot help it. It is our curious compulsion to commit acts injurious to the general welfare of society, and we can no more stifle our inclinations than we can appear unimposing to the average citizen. It is our sartorial splendor that, in part, consoles us for our long series of defeats at the hands of such fatuous do-gooders.
Cut to Discordia lolling in her chair, this time from the front. Her gleaming golden form is almost hypnotic in its fervid sexiness, with just a hint of corruption. She plays with her apple as if it were a rosary.
DISCORDIA
(interrupting)
I was gonna ask ya, Doc, why ya got such a, like, problem with Matchman and those VALCom people. Yer rich, yer powerful, you can buy and sell continents and like that. Why do you care about this puny bunch of peace-and-love types? Sure, they're rilly annoying sometimes, but there's nothing that they can do to put you out of business for any length of time. Just, like, ignore 'em, ya know?
Cut back to Dr. Dejection in the middle of the room, partially in shadow, for effect.
DR. DEJECTION
Would that we could, my dear Discordia, would that we could. But it is our fate to follow the path of the fictional villain down to a future of endless conflict, neither winning nor losing. As long as there exists conflict somewhere, over something, I can only suppose that we have won an immoral victory of sorts over the forces of peace and order. Any sort of absolute triumph is denied to evil in fiction.
Cut to Discordia in her chair.
DISCORDIA
Yeah, but Doc, we're, like, not fictional, duh!
Cut back to the center of the room, where Dr. Dejection abruptly stops pacing. The camera zooms in for a close-up of his face, where his white eyes and mouth, his only visible features, peering out from his hood assume a menacing expression. He stares straight into the lens of the camera as he makes his reply.
DR. DEJECTION
True. We're not, are we?
The camera withdraws to a medium distance, and he resumes his thoughtful pacing once again, with a resigned sigh of frustration and anger.
DR. DEJECTION
But we might as well be. It is the paradigm under which we are compelled to operate. Even now, I feel the urge to once again attempt to overthrow Matchman and his annoying gang of modern-day vigilantes and resume my control over this city, plunging it into an abyss of depression from whence it may never extricate itself!
Cut to Discordia in her chair. She yawns ostentatiously at all the speechifying. Then back to Dr. Dejection, who at this point is almost beside himself with fury at his lack of ideas at this juncture.
DR. DEJECTION
But what? How? What ruse have I not attempted, what steady application of brute force in heavier and heavier doses have I not resorted to? What is there left to attempt? What can I do? What is the plan that will rescue me? WHAT IS THE PLAN? (He falls to his knees in melodramatic desperation.)
Cut to Discordia lolling unconcernedly in her chair.
DISCORDIA
What about, like, Matchman's evil twin brother?
Cut to Dr. Dejection as he swiftly turns his head to look at Discordia.
DR. DEJECTION
Come again?
Cut to Discordia as seen from Dr. Dejection's vantage point. She proceeds to explain nonchalantly.
DISCORDIA
Yeah, you know, Matchman's evil twin brother. You remember -- the guy that like tried to battle him and was captured and sent to a mental hospital upstate for a few years before he busted out and like disappeared into the city's criminal underworld? He had super powers, all right -- gave Matchboy a real run for his money, ya know. I'd find him and use him as our patsy, start some, like, incident as bait to bring Matchman out of that secret headquarters of his and then mop the floor with him and his gang of goody-two-shoeses.
Cut to Dr. Dejection as he slowly rises to his full height, a sneer of dawning malevolence unfolding within the depths of his hood. One gets the impression that whatever plan he has just hatched, it doesn't bode well for the citizens of the city.
DR. DEJECTION
Yes...yes, it could work...it could work!
Cut to Discordia as she leaps lithely out of her chair and begins to walk toward him sexily, her own eyes shining with unholy glee as she bounces her apple on the palm of her right hand. She has had a good idea for once and it has excited her greatly to be able to make a practical suggestion to her ominous employer as opposed to the usual practice of advice going in the other direction, from him to her, whether solicited or not.
DISCORDIA
Yeah, he's a known loony, so he should be easy to, like, control, ya know...especially for someone with my, like, talents...
She walks up to Dr. Dejection. The camera watches from a medium distance as they stand face to face, Discordia looking up at Dr. Dejection, as he is the taller of the two. For a moment there, it looks as though Dr. Dejection is going to hug Discordia with glee, but he controls himself hurriedly and refrains from doing so.
DR. DEJECTION
(in a deeply sarcastic tone)
Discordia, you're quite the criminal mastermind, aren't you?
DISCORDIA
(totally oblivious to his tone)
Well, duh, Doc, tell me something I don't know! (she smiles) So, does this mean the plan's a go?
Dr. Dejection turns away, a slow glint of menace dawning in his eyes. He waves at her dismissively as he turns and walks away. It is clear that machines are turning round about within his evil mind as he formulates plans within plans within plans.
DR. DEJECTION
Yes, yes it does. Discordia, I want you to locate this evil twin brother of Matchman's as swiftly as possible. Use the view screen. Then I want you to go to him, wherever he may be in the city, and subvert him to our uses by any means necessary. You're quite skilled that way with your golden apple. Think of something he can perform, some devastating tactic that will not fail to draw the notice of the VALCom Team. Then, when they are completely committed to this first venture, I shall hit them from a completely different direction with my second attack! Beneath this barrage of disparate blows, they shall crumple and perish, and the city shall be mine -- I mean ours! Go now!
Discordia watches as he stalks off into the shadows and exits the room. She flings a parting phrase after him that he either doesn't hear or ignores completely, lost in his calculations.
DISCORDIA
(raising her voice slightly)
Yeah, well, disparate times call for, like, disparate measures, eh Doc?
There is no answer from the departing figure. Discordia hesitates, shrugs her pretty glittering shoulders once in a mutely eloquent act of dismissal, and moseys on over to the view screen and its computer control panel, the camera tracking her all the way. She begins typing upon the control keyboard, her apple held beneath her chin as she uses both her hands, and the view screen lights up, then begins to display various still shots of New York City's landscape, population and architecture. After a while, it stops at the picture of the facade of a bar in the East Village downtown, a dingy looking sort of place and just the spot where one would look to find a crazed ex-super villain in hiding from the public eye. Discordia makes a small exclamation of cute feminine triumph as she types away, producing an image of the interior of the bar. It is deserted save for a DRUNK OLD MAN at a table in the corner, a disreputable looking BARTENDER (who is wearing a black T-shirt with the words "Leave the gun, take the cannoli" printed on it in white), and a large muscle-bound shape in a shabby overcoat and shapeless hat slumped at the bar nursing a double whiskey. Discordia manipulates the view screen so that the image swings around to provide a close-up of this muscle-bound man's face. It is strikingly similar to Matchman's face, but the hair that surrounds it is instead long and blonde. He also has a three-day growth of stubble, and a decidedly malevolent expression. This is SUPER FICIAL!, Matchman's evil twin brother. Discordia makes another cute sound of evil glee and claps her hands together a few times, then runs out of the room, or begins to run out -- the run turns into a smooth and sensuous low-altitude level flight as she exits. The camera turns back to the view screen, and closes in on it until, at the moment of extreme close-up, the interior of the bar switches abruptly from television image to reality.
INT. SEEDY BAR IN EAST VILLAGE -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
The image of the interior of the bar on the view screen monitor springs into real life. Cut to a close-up shot of Super Ficial! slumped at the bar in his dirty overcoat. His head is down as he leans on his elbows and fondles his drink glass. He is muttering to himself. He looks hungry for vengeance, as is also readily apparent from the tone of his not-so-inner monologue.
SUPER FICIAL!
(mumbling)
Damn them all...I could've beaten him if only he'd played fair...didn't play fair...he cheated...he cheated me...one day I'll get him...get them all back...one day I'll have my revenge on that dirty stinking rat who calls himself my brother! (He drains his glass abruptly.) Bartender -- gimme another drink! Make it a (his voice lowers in self-mocking irony) double...
BARTENDER
You got it, Mac. (pours) Here ya go. That'll be ten dollars.
SUPER FICIAL!
Ten dollars...hmmm...let me see... (searches through the pockets of his overcoat hurriedly) I know I got it somewheres here...
BARTENDER
C'mon, buddy. What'll it be? Cash or charge?
DISCORDIA
(speaking loudly from off-screen)
He'll be paying in gold!
Camera swings around to focus on Discordia standing in the outside doorway of the bar, her own golden radiance eclipsing the pale light of day outside. She sparkles brightly, and no part of her is so bright as the golden apple in her right hand that she holds before her. She begins to advance into the room. Cut to a slow moving shot, at a low angle, of her legs stalking slowly down the length of the shabby barroom floor, past the stools ranked along the bar. The camera then cuts to a shot of the bartender and Super Ficial! staring at her, speechless. The bartender's eyes go blank as the power of the apple charms him, but Super Ficial!'s do not. Cut to a quick shot of the drunken old man at the table in the corner staring at her in wonderment, then looking quizzically at the liquid in his glass, as though it may have caused an hallucination. Discordia walks up to the bar stool beside Super Ficial! and sits down.
DISCORDIA
It's, like, on my tab, 'kay?
BARTENDER
(under the apple's spell)
Yes, ma'am. Anything you say, ma'am.
The bartender moves away from Discordia and Super Ficial! at the bar, who now have the camera's eye all to themselves, side by side.
SUPER FICIAL!
(suspiciously)
Are you with...them?
DISCORDIA
No way, chuckles, I'm with us! And we were, like, wondering if you wouldn't wanna be with us, too, seeing as how we got like a common enemy. Besides, you owe me a drink, right?
SUPER FICIAL!
(Sips thoughtfully at his refill.) A common enemy? Do you mean that you represent an organization that is against all that my treacherous brother represents?
DISCORDIA
That's right, bunky! I'm like the ambassador of certain, like, concerned elements that would rilly like to see Matchman get it. We have this plan you'll love to be part of, I'm sure.
SUPER FICIAL!
(shoulders slumping)
I don't know. (He drains his drink pensively.) He always beats me, and I always end up back in that horrible rest home with the puke-green walls and the bars on the windows. I don't see how one electroplated siren could make any difference.
DISCORDIA
You saw that bartender go belly-up, dintcha? If that ain't good enough for ya, watch this! (shouting down the bar at the bartender) Hey! You! Eat the cash register!
Cut to the bartender standing next to the cash register. He immediately dives upon it and begins gnawing away at it. His lips are lacerated and his teeth shatter as he chews like a man possessed. The sounds of his frenzied yet ineffectual efforts punctuate the rest of this scene at intervals. Quick cut over to the drunken old man at the corner table.
DRUNKEN OLD MAN
You sure don't (hic) see that every day!
Cut back to Super Ficial! and Discordia. He looks positively surprised at this evidence of her power to sway men's minds, while she looks merely as smug as the cat that has eaten the proverbial canary.
SUPER FICIAL!
Most impressive. Combined with my natural powers of repulsion, it could prove to be my brother's final undoing. What sort of plan did you have in mind?
DISCORDIA
(examining her fingernails in assumed nonchalance)
I got two words for ya.
Discordia motions to Super Ficial! with her finger to lean closer. He does so. Cut to close-up of her golden lips whispering in his rugged ear.
DISCORDIA
(stage whispering)
U...N...!
Cut to a medium distance shot. Super Ficial!'s eyes light up with bloodlust as he slams his open palm down on the bar with a noise like thunder. He flies up off of his bar stool to hang in mid-air. His body crackles with energy, consuming his shabby overcoat and hat. His grungy blonde hair flies about his head in an impromptu halo as his costumed body is revealed. He is costumed much like Matchman, with the color scheme reversed -- his costume is dark indigo blue. He wears a cape, too. On his chest sprawls his insignia, a shattered heart. He hangs in mid-air, oozing power. Discordia looks on appreciatively, while the old drunk at the corner table merely gawps. Cut to the old drunk at the corner table. He wipes his lips, stares again at his glass, then slowly and deliberately pours out its contents upon the floor, as a determined look crosses his face.
DRUNKEN OLD MAN
Nope. Nossir. That's it. I ain't never touchin' another drop of the stuff, so help me God. Angels and devils! A man of my age seeing such things! Damn the juice! Nope! Not another drop! (He leans back and crosses his arms while shaking his head from side to side.)
Cut to shot of Super Ficial! in mid-air before Discordia on her barstool.
SUPER FICIAL!
Then I shall return to fight my brother once again! With you as my ally, golden lady, we shall battle VALentine Complex for control of the city -- and win! Onward to the United Nations! Let them tremble before the wrath of -- SUPER FICIAL! (laughs evilly and crazily)
Cut to Discordia as she hops off her bar stool to hover in mid-air next to Super Ficial! She is grinning hugely at the devilish lark they are about to perpetrate upon the august United Nations Organization.
DISCORDIA
I'm with ya, duke! Let's, like, let chaos reign throughout the land! Oh, yeah -- and like total death to, um, Matchman!
SUPER FICIAL!
Let us be away! Mayhem awaits! And woe betide any who dare attempt to stop us!
Super Ficial! flies upwards and outwards, smashing through the roof of the bar into the daylight outside and up into the sky, heading uptown. Discordia follows him immediately. All that is left behind in the newly deserted bar is an old drunk sitting at a corner table stoically shaking his head back and forth in a gesture of denial of his senses, and a bartender, mouth bloodied, teeth splintered, still attempting to complete the job of eating his own cash register and making funny noises in the process, like a dog worrying a bone. Rubble and wreckage from the collapsed ceiling litter the center of the floor.
DRUNKEN OLD MAN
Nope. Unh-uh. Not one drop more. Nope...
FADE OUT.
FADE IN -- EXT. SKYSCRAPER HOUSING SECRET VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
A brief exterior shot of the VALentine Complex skyscraper in the light of early afternoon. It is impressive but nondescript.
INT. SERGEANT STRIKER'S OFFICE -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
The camera first lingers on a wall of framed citations, documentation, certificates and awards, all attesting to the heroic activity of one "MASTER SERGEANT STEPHEN STRIKER" during his two tours of duty as a Marine in Vietnam. The song "Pictures of Matchstick Men," that is, the cover version by Cracker and not the original rendition by Status Quo, should be heard playing softly in the background. Without panning so low as to be able to see the speaker, we hear a voice from off-camera utter an interjection.
SGT. STRIKER
(off-camera)
Hmmm...this whole situation smells fishier than a lesbian gynecologist! I better check with Suzanne toot sweet and see what she's come up with!
Cut to full front view of St. Striker's vast desk, where he sits, head occluded by a big desktop computer monitor. Then he stands up decisively, and the camera sees that he has the head of a giant kitchen match topped with an audacious black beret with a combat flash insignia -- that, in fact, his entire body appears to be composed of nothing but giant kitchen matches. His military dress uniform hangs on his slight frame as it would on a scarecrow in a field. His match hands punch at his computer keyboard briefly and grab a manila folder off his desk, and then he stands, walks around his desk and exits his conservatively yet tastefully decorated office.
INT. CORRIDOR WITHIN VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING
The camera watches Sgt. Striker hurriedly walk down the hallway at a brisk pace, folder in hand.
INT. SUZANNE GRACE'S OFFICE -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
The camera sees a middle-aged woman with short dark hair seated at a computer terminal, typing frantically and staring raptly at the screen, which is covered with natal chart diagrams evolving rapidly as new information is fed into her mainframe. This is SUZANNE GRACE, Head Astrologer of VALentine Complex, and she looks very harassed and worried about what she sees in her computer screen. She is wearing slacks and a black long-sleeved blouse covered with white depictions of the twelve symbols of the signs of the Western zodiac. Her desk is covered with stacks of paper and reports of all kinds; in fact, her entire office is nothing but mountains of important papers. It is evident that she knows where everything is, but that no one else could ever figure out her idiosyncratic filing system in a million years. Suddenly her office door bangs open and Sgt. Striker whisks his way into the room. Suzanne Grace starts at the sudden interruption. Sgt. Striker briskly moves a stack of papers from a chair to the floor, looking around briefly to figure out where to put them, then sits down and crosses his legs in a businesslike manner. He begins to speak.
SGT. STRIKER
(agitatedly)
I don't like it, Suze. I don't like it at all. B.L.A.H. has been far too quiet for months now, and all of a sudden my sensor network has picked up the unmistakable signature of Discordia and her damned apple on the move in the midtown area. Looks like Dr. Dejection and his minions are up to something!
SUZANNE GRACE
I'm inclined to agree with you, Sarge. All of my astrological calculations point to a grand catastrophe at the United Nations building in the very near future. And I mean really big, not just the usual delegate squabbling or unresolved tensions over international incidents. Do you think Discordia could be the primary agent for this disaster?
SGT. STRIKER
I don't know what to think at this point. All I know is, every paranoid nerve in my body is screaming, "get Matchman on it ASAP, whatever it is!"
EXT. SKY OVER MIDTOWN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Discordia and Super Ficial! cruise swiftly and silently through the sky towards their target, with looks of grim determination and salacious evil upon their faces. Cut to a shot of the U.N. building looming in front of them. They hurtle towards it.
INT. SUZANNE GRACE'S OFFICE -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
Suzanne Grace pensively scans the information on her computer terminal screen as she answers Sgt. Striker.
SUZANNE GRACE
It's very odd indeed, Sarge. The imminent catastrophe isn't all there is to this situation. This unlikely trine relationship with Uranus in the fifth house indicates that the worst is yet to come. That, in fact, there will be a second, and far greater emergency, immediately following, leaving the city in even greater jeopardy. I think we should act now, before it's too late.
SGT. STRIKER
I concur wholeheartedly! You go and alert Dr. Dendrite; I'll get on the horn and notify Matchman and Z-Girl to check out the U.N., and then run down to the gym and inform Lance of what's happening.
Suzanne Grace rises from her chair and exits her office. Sgt. Striker politely holds the door for her, and then follows her into the corridor.
INT. CORRIDOR WITHIN VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
Suzanne Grace and Sgt. Striker walk hurriedly side by side down the long corridor. As they walk, they talk.
SUZANNE GRACE
Be sure to tell my air headed niece not to get herself killed saving the city, will you?
SGT. STRIKER
Don't worry; I've got a feeling the kid can handle herself O.K. After all, she's been trained by the best! (he thumps his own matchstick chest proudly) Right! Meet you in the conference room in twenty minutes!
The corridor becomes a T-intersection. The two separate, Sgt. Striker walking down the right-hand passage, while Suzanne Grace heads down the left hand passage. They each walk at a brisk pace, full of purpose.
INT. SGT. STRIKER'S OFFICE -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
Sgt. Striker sits at his desk, a peculiar looking microphone array in front of him on the blotter, and even more peculiar headpiece around his nonexistent temples.
SGT. STRIKER
Come in, Matchman! Come in, Z-Girl! Do you copy? This is Sgt. Striker calling you via encephalocom! Do you read me? Urgent! Repeat, urgent! Over.
EXT. SKY OVER MIDTOWN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman and Z-Girl glide effortlessly in aerial patrol over the peaceful city. Suddenly Matchman claps his hand to his head.
MATCHMAN
I read you, Sergeant! Go ahead! Over.
SGT. STRIKER
(intercom style voice-over)
A situation has developed. We have reason to believe that agents of B.L.A.H. are attempting another one of their foul plots to dominate and/or destroy the city. It looks like the U.N. building is their primary target. Proceed with the utmost dispatch to the U.N. and secure the location. Lance and I will be there to reinforce you as soon as possible. Over.
MATCHMAN
Gotcha, boss! Z-Girl and I are on our way! Over.
SGT. STRIKER
(intercom style voice-over)
Roger that. Stay loose, guys. Over and out.
Z-GIRL
Was that Sgt. Striker? What's going on, Big Red?
MATCHMAN
(grimly)
Looks like B.L.A.H. is up to no good again, Z-Girl! This time it's an attack on the United Nations Organization! And guess who's in the front lines this time!
Z-GIRL
Not her again!
MATCHMAN
Yes, our pyrite playmate is back for more. And we're just the duo to give it to her!
Z-GIRL
Let's go!
The two flying superheroes peel away gracefully from the camera and angle their flight pattern towards the U.N. building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The sun shines down on the usual midtown hustle and bustle, the city unaware during its daily routine of the impending carnage just around the corner that Dr. Dejection is about to unleash via his new fiendish master plan. The camera then pulls back from our heroes and becomes once again the video image on the giant view screen in Dr. Dejection's underground lair.
INT. DR. DEJECTION'S UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
Dr. Dejection stands, gauntleted hands clasped behind his back, surveying the view screen with great glee. The camera is behind him so that he is silhouetted against its giant image of our heroes flying across the city. Beside Dr. Dejection's silhouette is a shorter and more peculiar silhouette, which is EL BURRO BANDITO, one of the Doctor's evil B.L.A.H. henchmen. El Burro Bandito has a donkey's head instead of a human head, and wears a Mexican sombrero and full bandito regalia of the turn of the last century -- boots, bandoliers, cigarillo and so on. He has two holstered pistols at his waist and a sawed-off shotgun slung across his back. He isn't the sharpest tack in the box, mentally speaking. He is very much Dr. Dejection's primary toady, for this very reason. He speaks with a ludicrously thick Mexican accent at all times. He also has the unpleasant habit of releasing donkey-style braying noises from time to time in the midst of conversation, especially when moved by emotion.
DR. DEJECTION
(with an air of vast satisfaction)
Ah, El Burro Bandito, everything is finally falling into place. Soon my grand scheme will have attained fruition!
El BURRO BANDITO (scratching himself)
Es muy bueno, boss man. But why you need fruit for your plan, eh? I think you goin' a leetle bananas yourself maybe? Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
DR. DEJECTION
No, no, no, my illiterate little factotum. I mean that my plan is almost complete, and soon I will have accomplished my ultimate goal of freeing the city from the VALCom Team's dictatorial reign of righteousness.
EL BURRO BANDITO
How you gonna do that, boss? They gon' wipe the floor with that gold senorita and that loco pendejo choo send up dere. They did it before an' they do eet again. You see. Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
DR. DEJECTION
Ah, but what the VALCom Team, my glowing golden cannon fodder and her schizophrenic dupe, and your flea-bitten ganglionesque excuse for a mind all fail to comprehend, my dear Burrito, is that this U.N. gambit is merely a diversion -- the opening act, as it were. Once Matchman has become entangled in combat with my first wave, I shall initiate plan B, release my second wave, and crush all resistance once and for all!
EL BURRO BANDITO
(yawns and scratches)
I dunno, Doc, thas some pretty beeg talk for a guy with no feet go around all day in a big blue bathrobe.
DR. DEJECTION
Do you doubt me, you impudent livestock? Then come and observe my secret weapon!
INT. LONG SPIRAL STAIRCASE WITHIN SECRET B.L.A.H. HEADQUARTERS -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
Dr. Dejection floats up a very long spiral staircase, while El Burro Bandito climbs and pants exhaustedly behind him.
DR. DEJECTION
Naturally our true corporate headquarters had to be especially well concealed. I needed a building with strong foundations, a good location and a certain distinctive flair that lent itself well to an atmosphere of evil machinations. When the opportunity arose, I acted at once...
EXT. LONG DISTANCE SHOT OF THE LIPSTICK BUILDING -- CORNER OF 53RD STREET AND THIRD AVENUE IN MANHATTAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
DR. DEJECTION
(voice-over)
...And the Lipstick Building was mine! Ha ha ha!
INT. LONG SPIRAL STAIRCASE WITHIN SECRET B.L.A.H. HEADQUARTERS -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
DR. DEJECTION
(still laughing)
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
EL BURRO BANDITO
(winded by the long climb)
Choo gots a strange sense of humor, mank. (huff puff) What is it (pant) that you a doctor of, anyway, huh?
DR. DEJECTION
(abruptly ceases laughing)
Silence, you imbecile! Now onward! The secret weapon awaits!
The two resume their long climb up the spiral stairway.
INT. LARGE CIRCULAR OBSERVATION GALLERY INSIDE THE UPPER FLOOR OF THE LIPSTICK BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dejection and a panting El Burro Bandito emerge from the stairway doorway onto a railed balcony extending all the way around the cavernous interior of the evidently completely hollowed-out Lipstick Building. As they circumambulate this balcony, lit by a vast skylight overhead in the roof, they talk -- or rather Dr. Dejection orates while El Burro Bandito interrupts occasionally. In the middle of the vast space created by the gutting of the building, there stands a gigantic figure hidden by a black tarp. It fills the entire space and is obviously the secret weapon hitherto referenced. The camera follows Dr. Dejection and El Burro Bandito at first in a long-distance shot as they walk around the balcony and El Burro Bandito gets his wind back.
DR. DEJECTION
And here we are, o my lackey of little faith. I have caused this entire structure to be hollowed out from within, and in the space made available I have caused to be constructed the mightiest secret weapon ever made!
EL BURRO BANDITO
Oh yeah? (puff) And what (pant) is it then, eh?
Cut to medium camera shot of Dr. Dejection gesturing towards the black-draped pinnacle of the thing in the center of the building.
DR. DEJECTION
(triumphantly)
...FORBIN THE TONGUE COLOSSUS!
El Burro Bandito is slumped over the railing of the balcony in exhaustion, but at this utterance he lifts his head and shoots his boss a cynically perplexed look.
EL BURRO BANDITO
Say what? A tongue colossus? Man, whatchoo talkin' about, a tongue colossus? What's that mean? I hope it don't mean what I theenk it means.
Cut to Dr. Dejection as he glares down at his minion.
DR. DEJECTION
Of course it means what you think it means, you chuckleheaded mule! The tongue is the strongest and most powerful muscle in the human body in relation to its size. So, I reasoned astutely, a colossus built of millions of harvested human tongues would be super-powerful and essentially unbeatable as a weapon of mass destruction. I have constructed Forbin to be strong enough to defeat even the combined powers of the entire VALCom Team. It will be the final showdown for control of this city, and this is my omnipotent champion!
Cut to medium shot of the two villains talking together. El Burro Bandito, having got his wind back, heaves himself off the railing in a sudden access of Latin indignation and addresses himself strongly to his boss.
EL BURRO BANDITO
(indignantly)
Choo one crazy chingado, mank! I don' even wanna know where choo got all them tongues from, but what make you think a million tongues more powerful than one? And what about the taste buds, huh? All Matchman got to do is hose tha' bad boy down with habanera sauce and he be paralyzed, mank! Paralyzed! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
DR. DEJECTION
(with an air of literate smugness)
That eventuality is so obvious even you were able to think of it. I simply had the taste bud clusters cauterized out of the final mass. Forbin here is unable to taste anything. Or, rather, all things taste the same to him. He has neither mouth to speak, nor ears to hear. His rudimentary brain is of the most vestigial design, and as such, utterly subservient to my will. Much like your own, wouldn't you say?
EL BURRO BANDITO
(with grudging respect)
Choo certainly seem to have thought of everything, boss. So, when do we unleash this big bad tongue boy on the city, eh?
DR. DEJECTION
Soon, my unwashed sycophant, soon. We must wait until my unwitting diversionary squad at the U.N. begins to take effect. They shall lure the VALCom Team to the killing ground. Then the time will be ripe.
EL BURRO BANDITO
Si, I always like my fruition to be nice and ripe, don' you, boss? Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
DR. DEJECTION
(affectionately)
Shut up, ass head.
INT. UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY -- THE PRESENT --DAY
The United Nations General Assembly is in full session. The CHINESE AMBASSADOR is rattling off a long and boring speech from the main podium, while the three-quarters-full auditorium around him buzzes with somnolent activity. All is calm and according to routine. Then, suddenly, there is a tremendous crash! All of the stunned people look upwards. The camera catches a full view of Super Ficial! and Discordia descending slowly yet gracefully, like avenging angels, from the hole that they've smashed in the roof of the building. Cut to medium distance shot as they land in the cleared space in the very center of the auditorium. Cut to a close-up shot of the very surprised Chinese ambassador.
CHINESE AMBASSADOR
(blurts out in shock, in Chinese, with subtitles)
[It's the Emmy statuette without the beach ball and the wings!]
Cut back to Discordia and Super Ficial! standing in the middle of the open area. While Super Ficial! stands with arms crossed imposingly across his massive chest, scowling at the Assembly, Discordia cheerfully strolls up to the podium. The camera tracks her and settles in on a medium distance shot as she nudges the surprised Chinese Ambassador aside and takes control of the podium and its attendant microphone. She smiles prettily yet evilly at the Assembly as she begins her impromptu speech.
DISCORDIA
(cheerfully)
Uh, like, hi everybody! My name's Discordia, and this is my golden apple (she displays it on her palm), and that great big hunk of beefcake in the indigo tights standing there like a Hollywood Indian chief is my, like, associate Super Ficial!
Camera pans around the auditorium as she hesitates, sweeping past the surprised faces of the delegates in a circular motion as they listen to her speech. It returns to Discordia at the podium.
DISCORDIA
O.K., so, I guess you guys are, like, wondering why I've asked you all here today? Well, me and S.F. here have come to like request your aid in causing a bit of civil unrest, total mass pandemonium, and like maybe, just possibly, if things go rilly rilly well, like, World War Three. Interested?
Cut to AMBASSADOR YUTKO of Slovakia, who stands up and addresses Discordia loudly, in Slovak. At his place there is a small nameplate visible with his actual name on it, as well as the name of his country.
AMBASSADOR YUTKO
(speaking forcefully in Slovak with subtitles)
[What is all of this nonsense? Some sort of promotional stunt? I demand that you leave this place at once!]
Cut to the exits of the auditorium, where scores of U.N. security troops are now massing and pouring into the vast chamber. They head down the aisles to where Super Ficial! stands in the central area, unmoved and unmoving and impressively silent. Then the camera cuts back to a close-up shot of Discordia at the podium.
DISCORDIA
O.K., I like totally did not understand what that guy just said, but I think I got the gist of it. Does this mean you all won't like come along quietly? (she dangles her golden apple menacingly by its stem)
Cut to the KABOUMISTANIAN AMBASSADOR, who stands up at his place and addresses Discordia in thickly accented English. The sign announcing his nationality is clearly visible before him.
KABOUMISTANIAN AMBASSADOR
(with thick Indian accent)
That is exactly correct! We shall play no part in your wicked and insane schemes! This is a place of peace and nonviolence, not hatred and aggression! Now be gone from our speaking platform, you brazen strumpet from Hell!
Cut to Super Ficial! in the center of the auditorium as the security troops run up to him and grab his arms to arrest him. He throws them all off of him without any apparent effort, and then flies straight up to hover in the middle of the Assembly hall. He shouts to the assembled multitude.
SUPER FICIAL!
(shouting)
Enough of this ludicrous banter! Already my brother approaches! I can feel his foul presence without these very walls! There is no time! I spit upon your traditions of peaceful coexistence! Now, all of you -- prepare to taste the awesome power of my repulsion radiation!
Super Ficial! begins to emit waves of strangely colored radiation as he hangs in midair in the middle of the auditorium. A series of shots of the entire assembly and the security troops, who look confused and unsettled in their minds as the odd energy waves wash over them all. Cut to a shot of Discordia at the podium looking on in great appreciation and applauding with her apple tucked under one arm. Suddenly, the Ambassador from Kaboumistan stops attempting to shout through the growing uproar and instead knocks out the delegate next to him with a right to the jaw. This triggers an instant melee as all personnel begin to physically assault each other. Super Ficial! hangs in space emitting radiation, apparently in continued deep concentration, as within the auditorium a free-for-all erupts. We see translators throttled with microphone wires, female delegates in native dress trading fisticuffs with each other, Oriental delegates indulging in stylized martial arts combat. The camera lingers on two delegates wrestling in their very seats. Their signs identify them as the Ambassadors from Equatorial Guinea and Vanuatu, respectively. The Ambassador from Switzerland stands in his chair and loudly announces violent plans of conquest until he is forcefully toppled from his perch by a flying tackle delivered by the well-built blonde female delegate from Sweden. Ambassador Yutko of Slovakia is observed pummeling various other delegates in a ferocious and unbeatable manner. The camera returns to rest upon Discordia for a medium-distance shot.
DISCORDIA
And now for, like, the coop day grass! (as she mispronounces the phrase "coup de grace") Lemme just shine up the ol' battle apple here (she proceeds to breathe on her golden apple, and then buff it shiny against the front of her minimal costume) O.K., all you bozos -- who's, like, the fairest one of all?
Discordia holds her apple high above her head in her right hand. It begins to throb and emit an unearthly noise and radiation of its own. Its powers mingle with those of Super Ficial!, and the light in the room becomes increasingly kaleidoscopic. The violence in the room palpably escalates. Discordia and Super Ficial! linger in the eye of a hurricane composed of the warring bodies of what was once the United Nations General Assembly. All around them once-peaceful delegates choke each other, punch each other, batter each other with chairs, and scream obscenities at each other in foreign languages. Over all the chaotic din may be heard the sweet high bell-like sound of Discordia's diabolic laughter as she surveys the entire proceeding with an air of deep satisfaction at having caused such a horrible riot.
INT. LABORATORY WITHIN VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
Cut to a room that is obviously a modern-day research facility, although for which particular branch of science is uncertain. Computers line the counters; closed cases and shelves of books, discs and equipment line the white antiseptic walls. A large table looms in the middle of the room. At this table DOCTOR RHODA DENDRITE and CORBIN CORPOREAL are busily doing something or other with retorts, test tubes and Bunsen burners. Dr. Dendrite is a short, overweight, middle-aged woman. She is dressed in a white lab coat and her dark brown hair is pulled back in a severe bun so tight that it screams. She also wears glasses of the general size and thickness of the bottoms of old glass Coke bottles. Corbin is a young black boy, aged about ten. He wears plaid slacks, a white short-sleeved dress shirt with pocket protector and pens in the breast pocket, and a purple bow tie. He too wears glasses, although more in the style of the late Malcolm X -- black thick frames from the early 1960's. Dr. Dendrite is the Nobel-Prize-winning one-woman brain trust behind VALentine Complex, as well as one of its co-founders. She is Corbin's idol, as he is an unusually intelligent young lad in his own right. These two comprise the intelligent aspect of the VALCom Team, without which their less cerebral counterparts would have been annihilated long ago by B.L.A.H.
DR. DENDRITE
Now, Corbin, if you note the flux density of the solution once it has had time to atomize, you'll see why the next step of the procedure must be -- (she is interrupted by a knock on the laboratory door) Now what on earth? (raising her voice) Come in!
Cut to the door of the room as it opens and Suzanne Grace sticks her head into the lab. She wears a look of confident trepidation, if that makes any sense -- afraid, but resolved to confront her fear and confident that it can be summarily defeated.
SUZANNE GRACE
Uh, Doctor Dendrite? Sorry to bother you, but there's something of an emergency going down and both Sgt. Striker and I felt it would be best if an impromptu briefing session was arranged in the Conference Room as soon as possible. He's off to the gym to alert Lance as we speak. Oh, hi Corbin.
CORBIN
(looks frightened)
What's the matter, Aunt Suzanne? Is it bad guys again?
SUZANNE GRACE
What else, hon?
DR. DENDRITE
I see. Well, Corbin, it looks as though we shall have to postpone our little experimental lesson here to another, more salubrious time. (to Suzanne Grace, who has turned to leave the lab) Right behind you, Suzanne.
CORBIN
(jumping cutely off his chair and holding Dr. Dendrite's hand as they leave the lab and the door closes behind them)
It's O.K., Aunt Rhoda -- I kinda figured out where you were going with that next demonstration anyway. Now about my new theories on telepathic communications --
DR. DENDRITE
(as door closes behind them)
Corbin, now is not the time.
INT. GYMNASIUM WITHIN VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to a vast interior space that is obviously a well-appointed professional gymnasium. Mats line the walls and sections of the floor. There are various apparatus scattered about: vaulting horses, parallel bars, etc. Large barred windows all about the circumference of the room allow a large amount of daylight into the area. Sparring in the center of the room in a shaft of sunlight are LANCE CORPOREAL and CLEMENTINE DENDRITE. Lance Corporeal is a bald black man in his late thirties, in impeccable physical condition and rippling with muscles. Clementine is a ten-year-old white girl, blonde with freckles. Aside from the freckles, she bears a distinct resemblance to John Tenniel's Alice, although her hair isn't quite so long and she has a marked aversion to dresses, bows, and all the other paraphernalia of traditional Western girlhood. Both wear traditional martial arts sparring costume, or gi as it is called. They are just finishing up a round of mock combat, in which Clementine, thought defeated, manages to exhibit unarmed combat skills far beyond the usual abilities of a child her age. Both are obviously very fit and coordinated, each a superb example of maximum body consciousness. Lance leans down to give Clementine a hand up from her prone position on the mat.
LANCE CORPOREAL
(he has a deep voice with an impeccably cultured British accent)
Up you go then, Clementine! I must say, you've acquitted yourself quite well this afternoon! Some of those routines and regimens beginning to sink in, then?
CLEMENTINE
(in a fit of pique)
Darn it! I almost had you that time, Lance! If I could just have had a split-second more breathing room, I could have dodged your "Dying Swan" move and clobbered you with the "Two Apricots" move you taught me yesterday!
LANCE CORPOREAL
Yes, well, I knew that you would be eager to utilize your newly acquired knowledge during our session today, Clementine, so I was particularly on my guard against that precise tactic. The fight is in the mind before it is in the body. You must remember that if you are to fulfill your great potential as an angel of destruction, if I may be permitted a poetic divagation.
CLEMENTINE
(reluctantly dismissive)
Yeah, yeah, I know, you're always reminding me of that. Sometimes you sound a lot like Corbin with all that "mind over matter" stuff.
LANCE CORPOREAL
Yes, well -- there we are, missy. Up and let's try it again. There's joy as well as necessity in repetition, if we can only find it.
SGT. STRIKER
(shouting from off-screen)
Yo, Lance! Clementine! Hey, you guys! Get changed and get your butts up to the Conference Room! Something super-bad is going down at the U.N. building and we need to hold a briefing session pronto! Looks like the VALCom Team is riding again!
Cut to Sgt. Striker striding across the floor of the gym towards the two sparring partners, from the set of double doors by which he entered. He stops halfway, stands with his arms akimbo for a moment, makes a come-along motion with his right matchstick arm, and turns and briskly walks back the way he had come. Lance and Clementine look at each other in puzzlement.
CLEMENTINE
(a look of happiness spreading across her angelic face)
Does this mean what I think it means, Uncle Lance?
LANCE CORPOREAL
(also smiling slowly)
I believe it does, 'Tine, I believe it does!
BOTH IN UNISON
(as they high-five each other despite their difference in height -- Clementine leaps up to do so and Lance bends down a bit)
Time to kick some butt and take some names!
Clementine makes various nonverbal noises and gestures of triumph as they break for their respective locker rooms to get changed for the impending conference. Lance maintains a more thoughtful demeanor, obviously already planning the mission.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM AT VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT --DAY
The VALentine Complex Conference Room is a large, airy open affair at the very top of the building, in a sort of penthouse. Large windows and a skylight allow it to be bathed in natural light. Neutral colors predominate in the decor. The room's primary feature is a large, circular conference table, hollow in the middle, with chairs spaced around it. The chairs have prominent nameplates on them. Dr. Dendrite, Lance Corporeal, Suzanne Grace, Sgt. Striker, Clementine and Corbin all sit in their respective named chairs. The chairs labeled "Matchman" and "Z-Girl" are conspicuously unoccupied. There are no other empty chairs. A water carafe or two and a water glass or two are on the table as well. Sgt. Striker is standing and finishing his briefing address to the assembled Team.
SGT. STRIKER
...And there you have it, folks. I've already taken the liberty of dispatching Matchman and Z-Girl to the crisis point at the U.N. Building. Now it's up to us to get there with backup ASAP. I immediately volunteer to lead the assault squad. Anyone else with me?
Lance answers him. He has already changed into a black muscle shirt and camouflage pants with combat boots. He wears skintight black leather gloves. His bald head glistens in the light from the windows. He is very black indeed, Senegalese black.
LANCE CORPOREAL
Well, myself, of course, Sergeant. But someone has to stay behind and mind the fort.
SUZANNE GRACE
Dr. Dendrite, you're our greatest intellectual asset. It would be foolhardy to risk you in combat. I propose that you remain behind with the children while the rest of us sally forth to combat the B.L.A.H. menace. I'm very concerned about my niece, and I want to make sure she comes out of this alive.
Cut to Clementine jumping up on her chair in a snit and butting in vehemently. She too has changed out of her sparring outfit into a more pedestrian jeans, T-shirt and sneakers outfit. She is hopping mad at the prospect of debarred from any relief expedition, as she was really looking forward to it.
CLEMENTINE
(butting in)
Hey! What's this about leaving the children behind! We're always left out when it gets intense! Me and Corbin want to see some action and kick some butt! Uncle Lance! You promised!
CORBIN
(hastily interjecting)
I have no problem with staying behind. I feel that my research may provide an alternate means of resolving this crisis. What with my telepathic breakthrough and all, I think --
DR. DENDRITE
(interrupting)
Clementine, you know very well that no one promised anything. It's far too risky! No one wants to see a ten-year-old place herself in a life-threatening situation, no matter how much she may wish to endanger herself!
CLEMENTINE
(pouting cutely)
Oh, poop! I never get to have any fun!
DR. DENDRITE
So that's settled, then. I'll monitor things from HQ and keep in constant radio contact with your strike team. Should any new developments arise during the progress of this crisis, I will sound the alert at once.
SUZANNE GRACE
Good idea. I have this lingering sense of premonition about this U.N. business. It's rather unsubtle for that twisted freak, Dr. Dejection. It's almost as if he wants us to intervene. Almost as if it's a distraction of some sort...
SGT. STRIKER
Now don't go inventing trouble where none exists, Suzie-Q! We'll see just what it is when we get there! So let's get going!
Lance and Suzanne Grace stand up to join Sgt. Striker, who has remained standing throughout.
LANCE COPOREAL
To the armory!
As the three file out, Suzanne Grace, as she walks past Dr. Dendrite's chair, bends down to whisper in her ear.
SUZANNE GRACE
(whispering)
Doc, while we're out there, you be sure to keep a sharp eye on all the monitors. Something catastrophic is about to occur. This U.N. fracas is just the beginning. I can feel it.
She puts her hand on Dr. Dendrite's shoulder as she bends down momentarily in order to whisper this. Dr. Dendrite reaches up and pats her hand with one of her own as she answers.
DR. DENDRITE
(also whispering)
Don't worry, Suzanne -- I intend to!
INT. VALENTINE COMPLEX ARMORY -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY.
There follows here a montage of short clips showing Sgt. Striker, Lance Corporeal and Suzanne Grace arming themselves with a wide and wonderful array of conventional combat weaponry from the capacious shelves and storage lockers of the armory, which display weapons of all shapes and sizes from around the world. Chief among these weapons are an M-60 heavy machine gun for Lance, a flamethrower for Suzanne, and a rocket launcher for the Sergeant. They also carry various side arms, knives, grenades, ammunition etc. It is a big preparatory sequence showing them arming up and displaying all of the hardware prominently, common to all action movies. They all wear combat gloves, as well as miniature microphone headsets. Once all preparations are complete, they strike a pose, weapons at the ready, all three of them standing in a row in the center of the armory. They cock their weapons noisily in unison. Lance is in the middle of the three, being the tallest.
SGT. STRIKER
(in melodramatic badass voice)
Let's lambada!
INT. DR. DEJECTION'S UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
Cut to Dr. Dejection's underground command bunker. He and El Burro Bandito are once again see from behind, silhouetted against the light from the big view screen before them, which at present is displaying, in split-screen format, both Matchman and Z-Girl's aerial arrival at the U.N. building and the VALCom relief team speeding through the Upper East Side in the official VALCom van with the logo on the side. Both Dr. Dejection and El Burro Bandito stand with their hands clasped behind their backs as they survey the progression of events.
DR. DEJECTION
Ah, yes. The reinforcements. They're playing right into my hands, El Burro Bandito -- right into my powerful iron hands! And when the time is just right I will squash them like so many rancid avocados!
EL BURRO BANDITO
All this food talk makeen' me hungry, mank. When we gonna break for lunch? I'm starvin' like a hostage here.
DR. DEJECTION
Silence, you impudent beast! Must you always be thinking about food? What is it with you? Do you intentionally cultivate stupidity?
EL BURRO BANDITO
(suddenly intelligently, without an accent)
Actually, yes. I consider myself the balancing agent representing the interests of the mundane and the physical body in the eternal duality as present in the narrative structure down through the ages of its development. Just as you, with your superior cerebral nature, must represent Don Quixote, so must you need a Sancho Panza by your side. I have made it my life's role to provide you with such a foil.
Dr. Dejection turns sideways and looks quizzically at his shorter minion for a moment, then turns back again, eyes front. El Burro Bandito never changes his position. Neither one says anything further as they continue to watch events unfold on the view screen.
EXT. SKY OVER THE U.N. BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to the sky near the great slab of the U.N. Building, as Matchman and Z-Girl fly into its airspace. They pull up short, hovering in midair. They note the lack of security guards outside. Faintly, they hear the noise of a vast riot coming from within the structure.
Z-GIRL
Great Hera! You hear that, Matchman?
MATCHMAN
Mother of mayonnaise! I can only hope that we're not too late! Let's go, Z-Girl!
They swoop downwards towards the gaping hole in the roof left by the arrival of their enemies, describing a graceful arc in their flight. They fly through the hole swiftly, soon disappearing into the shadowy interior of the building.
INT. UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
A display of absolute chaos greets the eyes of our heroes as they enter the auditorium. Super Ficial! pulses in midair with waves of radiant energy, as around the floor the melee of ambassadors, staff and security personnel continues unabated. Discordia sits perched on the podium with the Chinese Ambassador over her knee, vigorously spanking him. He seems to be enjoying it. Matchman and Z-Girl pause in outraged disgust at the entire spectacle. The camera cuts from them paused on the central floor area of the auditorium to a medium shot of Discordia and her willing victim.
CHINESE AMBASSADOR
(in Chinese with subtitles)
[Oh, yes, please Ms. Emmy Statue, may I have another? Oh! Oh!]
Cut back to Z-Girl and Matchman surveying the room.
Z-GIRL
Well, it isn't what we wanted but it's definitely what we came for!
MATCHMAN
Well put, my curvaceous colleague! And now to attend to my deranged twin brother! (shouts up at Super Ficial!) Stanley! I have arrived! No more of your nonsense, now! There's a nice warm bed waiting for you back upstate at the asylum!
Cut to Super Ficial! hanging in midair. He has been concentrating on his emissions so much that he failed to notice his brother's arrival. He does a savage double take, in the process, moving from his fixed position to land on the floor in a fighting pose. His radiation abruptly ceases, but the fighting around the auditorium does not slacken -- it is clear that Discordia's apple's power still drives the violence. Discordia, meanwhile, is startled at the sudden interruption and hops to her feet, clutching her apple, the Chinese Ambassador meanwhile sliding off her lap and onto the ground, where he hastily scurries away on hands and knees.
SUPER FICIAL!
(with extreme hatred)
Ah, my hated brother Scott! You shall not quash me again, my old enemy! This time I will be the one who sends you upstate, and by express airmail, too! Take that!
Super Ficial! hauls off and delivers a tremendous haymaker uppercut, catapulting Matchman off of his feet and through the wall of the building. Z-Girl shouts and ducks to the side, gazing in wonderment at the hole in the wall.
EXT. EAST RIVER NEAR THE UNITED NATIONS BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
From a distant vantage point across the east River, we see the rectangular slab of the United Nations Building as it looms at the river's edge. Suddenly, Matchman comes crashing through the middle of the featureless side of the building and sails right into the middle of the East River in a graceful arc. After the splashdown, the cuts to a close-up of him treading water, or what passes for water in the East River.
MATCHMAN
So, punch me into the East River, will he? That does it! The gloves are off this time, my evil twin!
Matchman then launches himself out of the river and flies back through the hole his passage had created in the side of the U.N. Building.
INT. UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
As Super Ficial! turns menacingly towards Z-Girl with a big evil grin on his face, Matchman comes barreling back through the new hole in the wall at full speed, tackling his brother and catapulting both of them into the podium, exploding it in a spray of slivered wood. Discordia, still in a state of surprise, has the presence of mind to dive clear and come to her feet in a graceful somersault.
DISCORDIA
Whoa! Incoming! Like, watch it, you lug nuts!
Matchman and Super Ficial! tussle on the stage. Meanwhile, Z-Girl leaps at Discordia and makes a grab for her golden apple, but Discordia sees her coming and whisks it out of harm's way, instead kicking Z-Girl in the back as she goes rushing by. The two women square off for personal combat.
DISCORDIA
(leering evilly)
Like, nice try, cupcake! But no cigar!
Z-GIRL
Show me what you got, you walking refugee from a charm bracelet!
The two commence fighting martial-arts style. Behind them, Matchman catches Super Ficial! a massive blow on the chin that sends him sailing out through the wall that Matchman went through before, punching a different hole. The women pause to note his transit with their eyes, then resume fighting
MATCHMAN
And now for a taste of your own medicine!
EXT. EAST RIVER NEAR THE UNITED NATIONS BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
From the same distant perspective used for Matchman, the camera observes Super Ficial!'s punching a second hole in the riverward facade of the U.N. Building and describing a neat trajectory into the East River. It moves in for the same close-up of the villain in the water.
SUPER FICIAL!
What the -- the East River! This is the crowning indignity! Raaaaaaarrghh!
With an inarticulate cry of rage, he flies back to the U.N. Building and through the hole that he had just made by his inadvertent passage.
INT. UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Super Ficial! comes flying back through the hole in the wall of the auditorium with a vicious war cry, smashing into Matchman at full speed and catapulting both of them out through the opposite wall of the auditorium, into the outdoor Sculpture Garden. Bits and pieces of rubble fall from the ceiling, but it holds together. The area where the massed crowd fights is now littered with rubble. Z-Girl and Discordia pause again to note Super Ficial!'s return flight and its result.
Z-GIRL
I'll say one thing about them -- you can sure see the family resemblance!
DISCORDIA
I know! It's, like, so sad when cousins marry, don't you think?
While Z-Girl's back is momentarily turned watching the spectacle, Discordia steps back a pace or two, as if to get her breath, and raises her golden apple as her eyes flare brightly with power for a second or two. Around her, the struggling diplomats suddenly stop fighting each other. They stand up straight and rigid, and their eyes go blank and golden -- just like Discordia's eyes. They become zombies under her control, in an ever-widening circle from her initial point. They begin to stagger towards Z-Girl in a crowd. Z-Girl turns back to see them begin to bear down on her, gasps, and then prepares herself grimly for the coming struggle.
DISCORDIA
Almost as sad as being buried alive beneath, like, a pile of diplomats! Ha ha ha!
Z-GIRL
Ha ha ha yourself, you fourteen-carat bimbo!
Z-Girl delivers a flying circle kick to the nearest zombie as it advances, knocking it to the side, unconscious.
EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF UNITED NATIONS BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
The camera cuts suddenly to the exterior of the U.N. Building. A white van with the VALCom Team logo prominently featured on its side (the "Matchvan," of course) comes zooming up to the frond entrance, stopping abruptly with a screech of burning tire rubber. Its doors swing open and Sgt. Striker, Lance Corporeal and Suzanne Grace leap out, in full combat regalia and armed for bear. They pause to assess the situation.
SGT. STRIKER
I don't like it, Lance. I don't like it at all. It's too quiet. Where are all the security personnel?
LANCE CORPOREAL
I don't like it either, Sergeant! Where the hell are Z-Girl and Matchman?
As if on cue there is a tremendous crash. The three intrepid warriors turn and watch Matchman and Super Ficial!, locked in combat, smash through the wall of the building and come to earth in the Sculpture Garden next to it. They resume grunting, muscle-bound fisticuffs upon landing. From inside the newly perforated auditorium come the sounds of mob violence, dying slowly as the diplomats are converted into zombies within. Cut back to the Matchvan and its three passengers.
LANCE CORPOREAL
Sounds like they've involved the entire U.N. staff, security, diplomats and all. Discordia and her golden apple at work again. This calls for a bit of finesse!
He goes around to the back of the Matchvan and opens its doors. He throws his weapon inside and urges the other two to do the same. He then hands out two large-bored, bulky-looking weapons and keeps a third for himself. They look most impressive.
SGT. STRIKER
What the hell are those?
LANCE CORPOREAL
If there are innocent bystanders involved we can't go in there blasting indiscriminately with small arms. The death toll would be both astronomical and inexcusable. These are subsonic gel bag guns. They were developed in South Africa for riot control purposes, to subdue and render unconscious rather than massacre. They'll suit our purposes nicely, and with little or no loss of life. It was either these or rubber bullets.
SUZANNE GRACE
Good thinking, Lance! Now let's get in there and punch that Discordia's ticket! My niece is still inside, and may need our help! Let's go!
SGT. STRIKER
I second that emotion! Banzai!
Lance then passes out the bulky ammo for the stubby guns. All three lock and load their odd yet effective weapons and rush into the U.N Building.
EXT. SCULPTURE GARDEN NEAR UNITED NATIONS BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman and Super Ficial! conduct a running battle of personal fisticuffs through the assortment of ridiculous modern statuary sprinkled throughout the Sculpture Garden located at the side of the U.N. Building. They leap, pummel, punch, choke, kick and gouge, becoming visibly battered in the process but with neither yet gaining the decisive upper hand over his opposed sibling.
SUPER FICIAL!
Damn you, Scott! You'll never take me back alive to that horrendous cage in which I was trapped for all those endless years! Never! I would sooner die a thousand deaths than return to such humiliating captivity!
MATCHMAN
Oh, c'mon, Stan! Aren't you being a bit overly critical? I mean, I'm sorry they served meatloaf three times a week, but at least you could smoke in the dayroom! What about those oatmeal raisin cookies I used to send you every month? Doesn't that count for anything?
SUPER FICIAL!
(his voice guttural with fury)
I...hate...raisins!
He catches Matchman with a wicked right hook at this point to punctuate this last sentiment.
INT. UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Within the ruined auditorium a wave of diplomats-turned-zombies has hurled itself upon Z-Girl as Discordia laughs from behind the ramparts of her impromptu and unwilling army. Z-Girl punches, kicks and dodges the glowing-eyed minions of evil time and time again, but their numbers seem inexhaustible. Fight as she will, she is slowly but inexorably borne down under their greater numbers. Discordia laughs at her enemy's evident predicament.
DISCORDIA
What's the matter, Z-Girl? No, like, clever banter for yer own eulogy? I thought you had, like, a sarcastic quip for every occasion?
Z-GIRL
(mimicking her opponent's speech patterns in a mocking tone of voice)
Like, wow, Discordia, like, maybe, like, you could introduce me to your, like, speech therapist to like, help me out, like, huh?
But her plucky spirit of resistance is of no avail as the sheer numbers of the attacking zombies prove too much for her. The valiant Z-Girl is borne down under a tide of assailants, fighting bravely to the last. She disappears under a tidal wave of charmed ambulant bodies, eyes aglow.
EXT. SCULPTURE GARDEN NEAR UNITED NATIONS BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
After pummeling Matchman unmercifully, Super Ficial! has finally, with a mighty punch, sent him reeling backwards to come to rest against the pediment of a particularly retarded-looking piece of modern sculpture -- a giant metal revolver with its barrel tied in a knot (this offensively inelegant piece of "art" is quite prominent in the U.N. Sculpture Garden). Matchman shakes his head as if to clear it. Super Ficial! strides forward to finish him off.
SUPER FICIAL!
And now our little playtime must come to an end. Any last words, my hated twin brother?
MATCHMAN
Yes! You're a sword...and I'm going to beat you into a plowshare!
Matchman reached behind himself and grabs the barrel of the gun sculpture. He whips the entire sculpture forward over his head and bashes Super Ficial! on the head with it in a gigantic act of pistol-whipping. Super Ficial! is knocked unconscious as his body is driven into the concrete pavement of the Sculpture Garden up to the waist like a nail into a board. Matchman then instantly places the gun statue back on its pedestal firmly. He then pries his brother's limp body out of the pavement it has been driven into, and, holding it under one arm, unties the knot in the big gun's barrel, holds Super Ficial!'s limp form in place where it once was, and then reties the gun barrel around his middle, pinning his arms and rendering him captured and helpless. Matchman steps back, dusts his hands, and surveys his handiwork, pleased. He himself is battered yet optimistic as always.
MATCHMAN
That'll teach you to appreciate modern art, my clinically deluded evil twin! Soon you'll be back in the padded cell where you belong! But first I must see how Z-Girl has been faring against that glittering golden vixen! Don't worry, Z-Girl -- Matchman is on his way!
He heads for the hole in the side of the U.N. Building at a brisk run, concerned that his faithful sidekick might be in more trouble than she can handle.
INT. UNITED NATIONS GENERAL ASSEMBLY -- THE PRESENT --DAY
The camera rests on the closed double doors to the auditorium, from the inside. Suddenly they burst open, kicked by the steely boot of Lance Corporeal. He, Sgt. Striker, and Suzanne Grace rush into the auditorium and stop dead in their tracks with shock. The camera lingers on the three of them in close-up for a moment, then cuts to Discordia standing in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by her army of golden-eyed zombies, all of whom kneel around her in a circle as if paying homage to their goddess. Discordia holds the unconscious body of Z-Girl in front of her at arm's length, by the back of the collar of her costume, with one hand while the other holds her golden apple. Z-Girl is battered and bruised. Discordia laughs in happy evil.
DISCORDIA
Like, does this luggage belong to you guys? Are you here to, like, claim it? 'Cause I think it's got my initials on it! Ha ha ha!
As the villainess laughs, the zombies begin to rise, turn towards, and attack the three standing at the doorway. They begin to blast them down into unconsciousness with the gel bag riot guns. Zombies fly everywhere, knocked unconscious. Suzanne Grace screams a challenge in alarm for her niece's physical well being.
SUZANNE GRACE
(shouting over the din of combat)
Discordia! If you've harmed her, I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth! I'll never rest until you're behind bars!
Cut to a close-up of Discordia's mocking face.
DISCORDIA
Yeah, right. Like yer gonna zodiac me into submission, you old bat!
The Zombies close in on the intrepid trio and surround them. They fire madly into the onrushing mass, but their end seems certain.
SGT. STRIKER
They just keep coming! There's too many of them! We're cut off!
LANCE CORPOREAL
Steady there, old boy! Steady! While there's life there's hope! Keep a stiff upper lip! That's what they used to say to us at Sandhurst, you know!
SGT. STRIKER
(in reply)
But I don't have lips!
SUZANNE GRACE
(addressing the zombies she's shooting at point-blank range)
Yes, have some! Yes, have some! And here's another just for you! Oh, you want some too? Oh, there ya go! Just what the doctor ordered! Whoop -- that's gonna leave a mark! Your horoscope reads "gel bag to the face" today! In fact, I predict you're going to have a major headache for the rest of the week, once you regain consciousness!
The situation looks bleak, when suddenly Matchman comes bounding back into the auditorium from the hole in the wall that leads outside to the Sculpture Garden. As the Matchman theme plays, he makes short work of the zombies besieging his fellow VALCom Team members. Various heroic camera angles are utilized here, as well as bit of slow-motion footage for extra effect. All four of them swiftly wipe the floor with the remaining zombies, as Discordia looks on in stunned disbelief, having been cheated of her assured easy victory by this sudden reversal of fortune.
DISCORDIA
Uh-oh! Looks like it's time for me to, like, beat a hasty retreat! (addressing the unconscious Z-Girl) Come on, Sweet Dreams -- yer my safe-conduct outta here!
Just as Matchman, Lance, Sgt. Striker and Suzanne have finished with the zombies and come rushing up to her, Discordia flies up through the hole in the ceiling of the auditorium, taking the unconscious form of Z-Girl with her. The four on the ground stare upwards despairingly. Suzanne Grace is enraged.
SUZANNE GRACE
(shouting in great alarm)
Matchman! Pick me up! Follow them! She's probably headed back to Dr. Dejection's secret command headquarters to alert the rest of the B.L.A.H. forces! We must rescue Z-Girl from her clutches! If they take her back and interrogate her, her life won't be worth a plugged nickel! Come on, man! Hurry! Hurry!
MATCHMAN
Right away, Suzanne! Lance, you and the Sgt. follow us on the ground in the Matchvan! We'll remain in radio contact! Let's go, VALCom Team!
Matchman scoops up Suzanne Grace in his arms and takes to the sky, flying up through the hole in the auditorium ceiling in hot pursuit of Discordia and her precious burden. Behind on the ground, Lance and Sgt. Striker run out the double doors of the room, heading outside to the Matchvan. They leave behind a vast room eerily silent, studded with the unconscious bodies of what was once the United Nations General Assembly, as well as its attendant staff, translators and security forces. Some of the unconscious bodies are already beginning to stir, having been released from the spell of the golden apple, as well as recovered from the blasts of the riot guns. In the middle of the floor, the Chinese Ambassador sits upright, rubbing his head, dazed but alive.
CHINESE AMBASSADOR
(in Chinese with subtitles)
[Kofi Annan will hear of this! And when he does, some heads are going to roll!]
INT. DR. DEJECTION'S UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
Dr. Dejection and El Burro Bandito stand watching the view screen in silhouette from behind as before. The view screen shows the Matchvan racing through the streets of the Upper East Side, as well as Matchman flying through the sky with Suzanne Grace in his arms, and Discordia flying through the sky with the unconscious Z-Girl in her arms, in a three-way split-screen effect. Dr. Dejection rejoices that the timing is now perfect for the unleashing of his secret weapon, Forbin the Tongue Colossus. He waves his arms wildly as he notes with excitement the events transpiring on his apparently omnivisual view screen. El Burro Bandito seems altogether less pleased by the current turn of events.
DR. DEJECTION
(with unholy glee)
Now, my diminutive servant! Now is the time for us to strike! Hurry -- we must prepare Forbin the Tongue Colossus for his introduction to Manhattan society! Ha ha ha!
EL BURRO BANDITO
Oh, no -- not those stairs again, boss! Por favor! Not those stairs again! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
DR. DEJECTION
Quit wasting time and come along, you driveling thickwit!
Dr. Dejection grabs El Burro Bandito by the arm and unceremoniously hustles him off-camera, heading for the stairway door.
INT. MONITOR ROOM AT VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dendrite sits in a comfortable swivel chair surrounded by banks of monitors in the VALentine Complex Monitor Room, with Clementine sitting on her lap. She is noting something down in her hand-held electronic organizer with the stylus when all of a sudden red lights begin to flash and a warning buzzer is heard. All of the various monitors, both big and small, begin to show the same image. Dr. Dendrite raises a hand to her microphone headset as she puts away her organizer and concentrates on the image being revealed to her on the monitors. Clementine slides off of her lap and runs to a nearby monitor, where she watches events unfold at very close range.
CLEMENTINE
Auntie Rhoda! Auntie Rhoda! Look! Something's happening!
DR. DENDRITE
Oh my gosh! This is it! Dr. Dejection is making his move! What on earth can be going on out there?
The camera shifts to allow a view of the image in the monitors. It is an image of the Lipstick Building as seen from a distance. As the camera watches, the Lipstick Building slowly divides and opens itself up along its longitudinal axis, revealing itself to be completely hollow inside. Within only an impenetrable darkness may as yet be seen. Suddenly a vast pink foot of some unimaginable composition steps forth from the shadows. The camera zooms in on the monitor until the image fills the screen, and then suddenly becomes reality.
EXT. THE LIPSTICK BUILDING AT 53RD STREET AND 3RD AVENUE -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
The Lipstick Building splits wide open and out of its depths strides forth FORBIN THE TONGUE COLOSSUS in all of his bright pink glory. Forbin is basically a giant Frankenstein monster composed entirely of tongue muscle tissue, and is pink and lumpy all over as though he were a single giant tongue. He has two red eyes, but no mouth, nose or ears. He makes an incoherent roaring noise that has nothing of speech about it. He wears a sort of metal beanie or skullcap on the top of his head. His feet crack the pavement, as he waves his arms and capsizes a building or two across the street. He begins to walk along Third Avenue, heading in the direction of downtown Manhattan. He causes destruction wherever he goes, leaving a wake of disaster and rubble. Pedestrians scream and scatter; drivers desert their cars and run in fear. The city begins to undergo a civic convulsion. The rampage has begun!
INT. FORBIN'S COMMAND SKULLCAP -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dejection and El Burro Bandito are riding inside the metal skullcap atop Forbin's head. Dr. Dejection stands triumphantly, while El Burro Bandito is tossed to and fro by the motion of travel. Both hang on to hand rails as they look out the observation ports, but only Dr. Dejection's seems to be doing any good for balancing purposes.
DR. DEJECTION
Yes, my ultimate pink creation! Go forth and bring this wretched city to its knees! Soon, Burro -- soon the city shall be in my grasp, and the VALentine Complex a smoking heap of rubble, and Matchman extinct!
EL BURRO BANDITO
(who is looking a bit seasick by this point)
Whatever choo say, boss. Where the barf bags at?
INT. MONITOR ROOM AT VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dendrite watches in horror as the looming form of Forbin begins its rampage, the image visible across all of her monitors. She begins to speak hurriedly into her headset microphone.
DR. DENDRITE
Come in, all members of the VALCom Team. This is Dr. Dendrite calling from Headquarters. Proceed immediately to the vicinity of 53rd Street and Third Avenue. Dr. Dejection has unleashed a giant colossus of some sort upon the city. It is currently rampaging in a southerly direction down Third Avenue. Dr. Dejection himself is currently riding his hideous creation in a sort of command cap atop its head. Repeat, this is Dr. Dendrite calling all members of the VALCom Team. Please be advised...
She begins to repeat her dire warnings over and over again. Clementine, who has been watching the monitors in rapt fascination, suddenly disengages herself and runs to the door of the Monitor Room.
CLEMENTINE
(very excited)
Auntie Rhoda, I'm going to warn Corbin about this! I think he might have a secret weapon to use against this icky giant! (she pauses at the door) Eeew, it looks like a giant tongue! Yuck!
DR. DENDRITE
(ignoring the gist of what Clementine was saying as she concentrates on the emergency at hand)
That's nice, 'Tine, you do that...
Dr. Dendrite continues her radio litany of woe to her teammates as Clementine runs out of the room behind her in search of Corbin.
EXT. STREET NEAR THE LIPSTICK BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to a shot of the Matchvan cruising along at high speed through midtown, sirens blaring. Lance is at the wheel, while Sgt. Striker rides shotgun. They both look tense.
INT. CAB OF MATCHVAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Lance and Sgt. Striker listen to Dr. Dendrite's voice repeating its dire information over the fantastically complex radio in the cab of the Matchvan. Sgt. Striker reaches forward and turns the volume up a bit. When she gets to the part about the address, Lance and the Sergeant look at each other meaningfully.
SGT. STRIKER
53rd and Third? Good Lord! The Lipstick Building! I always knew there was something about that place that gave me the creeps! Now it turns out it was Dr. Dejection's secret hideout all along! It figures!
LANCE CORPOREAL
That's exactly the direction that Discordia was headed in with Z-Girl! She must be planning to rendezvous with her dark master! We've got to hurry, Sergeant! It may already be too late, for both our fallen comrade and the city as well!
The Matchvan speeds onward through the streets of Manhattan, hastening towards the giant tongue creature's reported position.
EXT. SKY OVER UPPER EAST SIDE -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman flies high above the city with Suzanne Grace in his arms, following Discordia in the distance as she heads south bearing Z-Girl's unconscious body. Suddenly Suzanne Grace grabs her headset.
SUZANNE GRACE
I read you loud and clear, Doctor. This is Suzanne Grace, over. What? Say again, please. What? Please tell me you're joking. You're not joking. Roger, over and out. (she addresses Matchman) Big trouble, Matchy. That was Dr. Dendrite. She's spotted a gigantic death beast creation of Dr. Dejection's emerging from the Lipstick Building due south of here, and he's with it. It's beginning to rampage down Third Avenue towards the downtown area. The populace is fleeing and traffic has come to a standstill. Looks like Discordia may be trying to reach them in order to rendezvous with the main B.L.A.H. strike force. We've got to stop her and save my niece!
MATCHMAN
Have no fear, Suzanne! Matchman is here! (to himself) Hmmm... The Lipstick Building... My suspicions are confirmed... A fitting location for the headquarters of evil!
Matchman streaks through the sky after his quarry. Discordia is just visible glistening in the late afternoon sunlight far ahead of him, as she wings with her burden towards Dr. Dejection's secret underground bunker headquarters.
EXT. STREET NEAR THE LIPSTICK BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
The split-open husk of the Lipstick Building looms bizarrely over the intersection as the Matchvan speeds past the location heading south on Third Avenue, following the trail of carnage, wrecked buildings and abandoned autos left in the wake of Forbin the Tongue Colossus. Sgt. Striker and Lance Corporeal converse in voice-overs.
SGT. STRIKER
(voice-over)
Well, will you look at that, Lance! The entire thing was hollow inside! Looks like a great big chrysalis, all split open like that!
LANCE CORPOREAL
(voice-over)
Yes, and the loathsome entity it has spawned is causing all kinds of architectural havoc! Looks like we're closing in on him, though -- this wreckage is still fresh!
SGT. STRIKER
(voice-over)
I don't know about you but I think we're going to need the really big guns for this one.
The Matchvan speeds south towards its rendezvous with destiny, or at least with Dr. Dejection's pink towering organic killing machine.
EXT. ROOF OF THE LIPSTICK BUILDING -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Discordia alights gracefully on one half of the divided roof of the Lipstick Building. She is evidently much surprised at its condition, having not been told anything of Dr. Dejection's other plan, contrary to what the VALCom Team may have thought. She scratches her head for a moment as she stands and considers her next move, not sure what to make of the fact that the building has been split down the middle and opened up like an old plaster cast being cut off a healed limb. Bemused, she carries the unconscious Z-Girl over her shoulder like a sack of meal as she head for the secret rooftop trapdoor giving access to the secret spiral staircase leading down into the bowels of the building to the secret underground command bunker deep below the surface.
DISCORDIA
(obviously perplexed)
What the heck happened here? The whole building was -- hollow inside? Like what is Doctor D. up to now? I better get Little Miss Coma here down to the ol' H.Q. and, like, await further developments!
She opens the trapdoor and descends. She closes it after her, but not so soon that Matchman doesn't see it and mentally note its location as he and Suzanne Grace come in for a landing seconds later.
MATCHMAN
There! You see that, Suzanne? There she goes!
SUZANNE GRACE
Right! And I'll lay you any odds that that secret entrance leads straight to Dr. Dejection's secret command center for all B.L.A.H. operations in New York City! We've hit the jackpot, Matchman!
As soon as they land, they go running over to where the trapdoor is and quickly locate the opening mechanism. They prepare to descend, cautiously.
MATCHMAN
You'd better let me go first. If there are any traps I'll be better able to withstand the brunt of their punishing effects.
SUZANNE GRACE
(hefting her riot gun eagerly)
Lead on, Big Red! But let's hurry -- I don't want anything to happen to my niece! I don't relish the thought of that amoral golden tramp interrogating her with syringes and surgical cutlery!
The two begin their descent to the underground headquarters recently vacated by Dr. Dejection. They proceed slowly and with great caution, alert for any ambush they might encounter.
EXT. THIRD AVENUE HEADED DOWNTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to a shot of the Matchvan driving full speed down a Third Avenue littered with rubble from damaged buildings and the shells of abandoned and demolished automobiles. After some fancy driving, Lance and Sgt. Striker manage to come within range of their opponent. Cut to a shot from their point of view through the windshield. As they accelerate, slowly a big pink lump begins to loom over the horizon through the screen of buildings. As they get closer it gets larger, until they are nearly upon it. Cut to a view of their faces from outside the windshield, as they are stricken with a sense of awe, fear, and then steely determination to eliminate the madman and his menacing creation. Forbin is busily smashing apart a nearby skyscraper as Lance brings the Matchvan to a skidding, racing car stop. He and Sgt. Striker pile out with their weapons -- they both carry rocket launchers and conventional M-60 belt-fed machine guns by this point in time -- and take aim at their vast target.
LANCE CORPOREAL
(yelling over the din of Forbin's roaring and the collapse of the building he's demolishing)
All right! This is it! Let's do what we came here to do! You hit him high, Sarge, and I'll hit him low!
SGT. STRIKER
Roger that, Lance! Aim for the family jewels! It may be our only chance to bring this big burly bastard down before more innocent citizens are injured and more buildings are wantonly destroyed!
LANCE CORPOREAL
If this thing has 'em to hit, I'll be sure to hit 'em. Just like your American baseball -- two balls and a strike!
The two intrepid warriors take aim and fire their rocket launchers at Forbin. Lance hits him in the crotch, while Sgt. Striker hits him in the neck area. Neither hit does any appreciable damage. Forbin stops what he's doing to the building, turns slowly and menacingly, and glares at his two tiny tormentors. Cut to a close-up of Lance and the Sergeant looking at each other worriedly at their weapons' lack of effect.
SGT. STRIKER
O.K., he's rocket-proof. So now what do we do?
LANCE CORPOREAL
Mmm -- this is beginning to get a bit thick, old boy. I'm open to suggestions at this point. Any ideas?
Forbin advances on their position, roaring. Lance and Sgt. Striker yell loudly and dive to either side as a massive pink textured foot comes down on their previous positions, obliterating it. Cut to the Matchvan sitting in the middle of the street where they had left it. Suddenly it is pulverized by a giant pink fist. Shot from below, Forbin rears up against the afternoon sky, waving his arms and gibbering fiercely in a sort of triumph. From somewhere high above comes the audible sound of Dr. Dejection's laughter.
INT. FORBIN'S COMMAND SKULLCAP -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dejection is laughing fit to beat the band as he turns away from one of the observation portals, from which vantage he has witnessed the destruction of the mighty Matchvan. His humor runs so high that he nearly doubles over and has trouble catching his breath.
DR. DEJECTION
Ha ha ha ha! Oh ha ha! Oh ha! Oh ho ho! Ha! Ho! Oh my! Oh my my my! El Burro Bandito, you missed it! He crushed their van like a tin can! Oh, the looks on their faces as they fled! When they realized that their puny weapons were no match for my creation! Oh, it was rich, I tell you! I haven't laughed so hard since the Jonestown Kool-Aid massacre!
EL BURRO BANDITO
Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh! Yeah, all right boss man! This ees gon' be a walk inna park! Hey, when you conquer the city, can I have Staten Island as my own private leetle kingdom? I got big plans for my own leetle kingdom, mank! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
DR. DEJECTION
Sure, why not? Oh look -- they're fleeing like scared rabbits! Look! It is to laugh! Ha ha ha!
El Burro Bandito runs over to an observation portal and looks out, as Dr. Dejection points out events on the ground to him. Cut to a shot from their point of view atop Forbin's head. We see Lance Corporeal and Sgt. Striker running for lives, dodging and weaving amidst cars and other tangled wreckage back north along Third Avenue as Forbin pursues them. Cut to a medium-distance shot of Lance and the Sergeant running towards the camera as behind them Forbin looms, smashing aside cars and kicking aside wreckage in his lumbering pursuit. Both Lance and Sgt. Striker are still yelling in alarm at this point. Over it all comes the roaring of Forbin and the laughter of the triumphant Dr. Dejection.
INT. LABORATORY AT VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- DAY
Cut to the interior of the comparatively quite peaceful laboratory at VALentine Complex. In it, Corbin sits at a bank of computers and unfamiliar machinery, working on testing his new invention and humming happily, totally absorbed in his work. His new invention is a telepathy helmet. It sits on his head, full of wires and blinking lights, as it is only a prototype. By using it he can communicate with other thinking beings telepathically. He is absorbed in the readings visible on his computer screen. He hears Clementine's boisterous entrance into the lab before he sees her.
CLEMENTINE
(off-screen)
Yo! Corbin! Hey, four-eyes, where ya hiding! Dr. Dejection's finally made his play for control of the city and we gotta go stop him! Action time! C-o-o-o-o-r-r-r-bin!
Corbin winces at the interruption and turns. Cut to a shot from his viewpoint. Clementine runs up to him along the large laboratory table from the lab double doors. She is excited and slightly out of breath.
CORBIN
I'm right here, Clementine. No need to shout. Now what's going on, exactly?
CLEMENTINE
I saw it, I saw it on the monitor! Dr. Dejection is terrorizing the city with a giant creature that looks like a tongue but all over -- yuck! -- and I immediately remembered that you said that you were working on a secret weapon and I thought now we could save the day and they'd have to let us become full members of the VALCom Team and let us go along on all their adventures and stuff! C'mon, let's go! Let's go!
She grabs his arm and turns to leave. Corbin resists, unmoved by her statements.
CORBIN
'Tine, what you've just said is absolutely ludicrous. I'm sure the adults can handle the situation like they always do. Besides, I'm not working on a secret weapon, exactly. It's a helmet that allows a person to communicate telepathically with the entity of his or her choice, thus avoiding the arbitrary barriers of spoken language altogether. A most useful development, but hardly a weapon!
CLEMENTINE
But that's just it! What if we got there first and saved the day! We'd be heroes and they'd have to take us seriously for a change!
CORBIN
We?!? I'm not going anywhere near some giant tongue beast! I'm allergic to tongue beasts, especially giant ones! No way! Uh-uh! Not me!
CLEMENTINE
But don't you want to save the day? Dr. Dendrite might pay more attention to your experiments if you could prove that one of them actually worked.
CORBIN
Hmmm... That's very true. But what do you want me to do, exactly?
Clementine drags him from his seat, picks up the telepathy helmet, sticks it in his hands and shoves him towards the double doors that lead out into the corridor. He resists weakly, while uttering a series of equally weak sounds of protest. Clementine uses her superior physical strength to propel him inexorably towards the doors.
CLEMENTINE
I want you to come with me and stop the tongue beast! Now move! If we get there late we'll miss all the action!
CORBIN
Well... O.K., but I have a bad feeling about this...
CLEMENTINE
Oh, c'mon! You know that Uncle Lance and the Sarge will have everything under control in no time and will kick that thing's butt in less than no time if we don't get there fast! Now let's go!
They exit through the double doors.
EXT. THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Lance Corporeal and Sgt. Striker run screaming up Third Avenue as Forbin lumbers after them in pursuit. It is clear that they have nothing under control whatsoever.
INT. DR. DEJECTION'S UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY
Cut to the gloomy interior of Dr. Dejection's secret command chamber. The evil Doctor is not in, and the view screen displays nothing but random views of the city. Discordia comes wandering out of the shadows into the purview of the camera, toting Z-Girl over one arm. She walks to the twin swivel command chairs, tosses her unconscious enemy unceremoniously into one of them, and sits down heavily in the other. She toys with her golden apple as she ponders her tactical situation. It disturbs her to think that she wasn't let in on Dr. Dejection's real plans for the conquest of the city.
DISCORDIA
(pensively)
Like, now what am I supposed to do? Where is everybody? Nobody like ever lets me in on the real plans! What we, like, have here is like a major failure to communicate!
Z-Girl begins to stir and mumbles something incoherent, yet does not yet regain full consciousness.
DISCORDIA
Oh shut up! If I like want yer opinion I'll ask for it!
INT. THE BOTTOM OF THE LONG SECRET SPIRAL STAIRCASE JUST OUTSIDE THE DOORWAY INTO DR. DEJECTION'S SECRET UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- THE PRESENT -- DARK
Matchman and Suzanne Grace are engaged in a brief huddle prior to tackling Discordia in the room beyond. Through the arch of the open doorway comes a glow and the occasional glimpse of the back of Discordia's head lolling in one of the distant command seats.
SUZANNE GRACE
(whispering urgently)
This has to go off as smooth as silk, Matchman! If one of us makes a wrong move, it's all over! We both know the power of that dreadful siren and her mystical fruit -- we've seen her use it on us a million times. It's obviously the source of all of her abilities. She never lets it out of her grasp, no matter what. If we take it from her, she'll be reduced to nothing and be as harmless as a life-size Christmas tree ornament. We've got to separate Discordia from her golden apple before she can use it on us, otherwise we haven't got a snowball's chance in Hell of getting out of here alive, much less rescuing Z-Girl!
MATCHMAN
(whispering urgently)
You're quite right, Suzanne! And I think I have just the plan to suit our purposes! Notice how dark and gloomy this place is? Well, here's what we can do. I'll stride out boldly and engage her in conversation as a diversion and...
Matchman's voice fades away into unintelligibly soft whispering as he beckons Suzanne Grace forward and begins whispering in her ear while hiding his mouth with his hand.
SUZANNE GRACE
Oh... I see! Sounds good to me! Let's do it, big guy!
INT. DR. DEJECTION'S UNDERGROUND COMMAND BUNKER -- THE PRESENT -- FLUORESCENT LIGHTING -- GLOOMY/NOT GLOOMY
Z-Girl lies still in the swivel command chair as behind her Discordia works the keyboard controls of the big view screen with her apple tucked under her chin as before), searching through exterior views of the city until she finds what she was looking for: a full screen shot of Forbin the Tongue Colossus rampaging his way Third Avenue. She reels back in surprise for a moment, then quickly realizes that this must be her evil master's new gambit, and allows an expression of grudging respect to pass across her shimmering features.
DISCORDIA
I gotta hand it to ya, Dr. D. -- when you play, you play to win! But why did you have to, like, leave me out of the big plan? Now I'll like miss out on everything!
Matchman's voice rings out behind her off-screen. She whirls in alarm. Cut to a shot of Matchman standing boldly, arms akimbo, in the middle of the deserted command bunker. The shadows play across his muscular form. No sign of Suzanne Grace.
MATCHMAN
You'll be missing a lot more than that once you are safely incarcerated, you heliotropic minx!
Discordia whirls away from the view screen, which continues to play live footage of Forbin's rampage behind them during the ensuing encounter. She drops her apple into her right hand and takes a few steps forward, past the chair with Z-Girl in it, to stand in fighting stance directly opposite Matchman but a few yards away. She gets a look of extreme evil on her face, and if her features could ever said to be ugly due to the quality of her emotions, then now is the time to say it. The two square off for personal combat.
DISCORDIA
Matchman! I don't know how you found me here, but you were, like, an idiot to show up alone! You don't stand a chance against my like totally awesome powers! What's the matter? Did you miss your little super concubine over there? (she nods over her shoulder to where Z-Girl lies unconscious in the chair)
MATCHMAN
I wouldn't expect you to understand, Discordia. The VALCom Team never leaves one of its fallen members behind. Dr. Dejection, on the other hand, always leaves his dupes high and dry when push comes to shove. Where is he now? We've captured my poor deranged brother Super Ficial! and now we're going to bring you to justice as well!
Cut to a shot of Suzanne Grace creeping carefully around the shadowy periphery of the command bunker, tiptoeing and extra quietly. She's making for a point behind Discordia while remaining unnoticed. She will attempt to swipe the golden apple from her adversary while she's not looking and thereby separate her from the source of her arcane and evil powers.
SUZANNE GRACE
(to herself under her breath)
That's it, big guy, just keep her talking...
Cut back to Matchman and Discordia talking forcefully to each other in the center of the command bunker.
DISCORDIA
Ah, but you, like, forget that I have vast reservoirs of ancient power that are mine to command! I can defeat you in, like, the time it takes to sneeze!
MATCHMAN
Oh really? You and what produce, Glitter Domes?
DISCORDIA
(enraged and brandishing her apple in her right hand, at shoulder height, to her side)
O.K., like, that's it! Kiss your big red butt goodbye, good guy! I'm gonna pop yer skull like a shotgunned watermelon! I --
From off-screen, Suzanne Grace's hand deftly reaches over from behind one of the command chairs and plucks the golden apple from the palm of Discordia's right hand. It is to be observed at this point that Suzanne Grace is still wearing her combat gloves so that the apple doesn't actually contact any portion of her flesh.
SUZANNE GRACE
(in triumph)
Gotcha!
Discordia does a quick double take at her empty palm, then screams and collapses to the floor. Immediately her high polish and luster seems to fade. Now her overall appearance is more like dull brass. She writhers slowly on the floor, still conscious but obviously too weak to rise.
DISCORDIA
(moaning pathetically)
No... no... Like... Give me my apple back... So... like... weak... Where's... my... golden... apple...?
Matchman walks over to where Suzanne Grace is gingerly depositing the powerful evil artifact into a secure pouch at her belt, being careful not to touch it with her bare skin.
MATCHMAN
Nice work, Astrology Lady! You were right -- she went down like a house of cards!
SUZANNE GRACE
It's a good thing I was wearing gloves. If any part of my bare skin had come into contact with this horrible artifact, I would have become the new Discordia and she would have reverted to her original identity. We'll have to keep this thing locked in the VALCom vault indefinitely, in order to keep it from falling into the wrong hands ever again!
MATCHMAN
Truer words were never spoken! But now, I've got to take care of that vicious pink behemoth that's destroying the city! (he gestures to the view screen, which is still displaying Forbin's career of destruction) You stay here and make sure Z-Girl's all right, and place Discordia under arrest -- although I don't think she'll be giving you much trouble with that!
Cut to Discordia lying still on the floor.
DISCORDIA
(mumbling lower as she faints away)
Damn you... Matchman... It... like... didn't have... to be this way... revenge... revenge... revenge... (she blacks out)
Matchman takes off through the ceiling of the command bunker with a loud crunching and smashing sound. Suzanne Grace walks over to the wall and finds a series of light switches. She flips them on and banks of hitherto unlit fluorescent lights come on, bathing the bunker in brightness.
SUZANNE GRACE
What is it about super-villains and darkness? Don't they like to see where they're going once in a while?
She then walks over to the unconscious Discordia, flips her over and applies a pair of riot cuffs to her wrists. She then walks over to Z-Girl in the command chair, who is just coming awake again.
Z-GIRL
Aunt Suzanne... Is that you? What're you doing here? Where am I?
Z-Girl sits up slowly with one hand pressed to her head. Suzanne takes out a first aid kit and begins to apply ointment and bandages to her flesh wounds.
SUZANNE GRACE
Don't worry, kid, it's all over now. So, you still want to pursue your ridiculous dream of being a professional super-heroine? Now that you know how painful it can be?
Z-GIRL
(pulling a wry grin)
Now more than ever! You think Matchman will let me stay on after this debacle?
SUZANNE GRACE
I'm sure he will, honey. You acquitted yourself quite well at the U.N. Speaking of Matchman, let's see how he's doing against that giant monster.
The two turn and stare at the view screen, which is still locked on Forbin. As they watch, Matchman flies into view at the edge of the screen, heading for Forbin. The two ladies raise a ragged impromptu cheer for our hero as he prepares to do battle. The camera zooms in on the view screen until once again its location is transformed into on-screen reality and we find ourselves with Forbin the Tongue Colossus somewhere in midtown Manhattan.
EXT. THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to Forbin's feet at street level as he attempts to stomp on Lance Corporeal, who dives out of the way of the impact of Forbin's foot. From the other side of Forbin, Sgt. Striker opens fire with him M-60 heavy machine gun, serving only to enrage the colossus. As Forbin turns towards this new annoyance, Lance opens fire with his own M-60 heavy machine gun. Forbin howls and waves his arms in the air, frustrated. More buildings are devastated in the process. Frightened citizens, as usual, are running everywhere like ants throughout.
INT. FORBIN'S COMMAND SKULLCAP -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dejection is still chuckling as he observes Forbin's attempts to definitively stomp his foes. El Burro Bandito is looking out of another observation portal, in the opposite direction, towards the rear.
DR. DEJECTION
Ah, that's my little Forbin! Takes a licking and keeps on ticking!
Cut to El Burro Bandito as he turns his head around for an answer.
EL BURRO BANDITO
Ay caramba! That was muy malo, even for you, boss!
DR. DEJECTION
Silence in the peanut gallery! I will not be lectured on humor by the likes of you, you fuzzy little wretch!
El Burro Bandito turns back to look at the portal. He starts visibly.
EL BURRO BANDITO
Hey, boss, I got one for you. What's big an' tough an' good an' fearless an' mighty an' red all over?
Dr. Dejection doesn't even deign to turn around as he answers in a bored voice.
DR. DEJECTION
I give up, moron. What?
EL BURRO BANDITO
Matchman! Here he comes, boss! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
Dr. Dejection runs over to the portal out of which El Burro Bandito is gazing, thrusts him aside impatiently, and sees for himself.
EXT. SKY ABOVE THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman comes soaring in towards Forbin's head. He pauses in midair long enough to shout a challenge, then dives for the skullcap on Forbin's head. Forbin attempts to swat him and he is forced to maneuver.
MATCHMAN
This is it, Dr. Dejection! I've come to stop you and your evil designs once and for all!
EXT. THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Sgt. Striker and Lance Corporeal look up into the sky, see Matchman, and cheer energetically. They resume their assault on Forbin, running forward and firing their machine guns at him as he is distracted by the arrival of Matchman.
INT. FORBIN'S COMMAND SKULLCAP -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
El Burro Bandito professionally unlimbers his shotgun from his back and pumps a round into the chamber. He looks excited at the prospect of direct mayhem.
EL BURRO BANDITO
One thing you gotta learn, boss, is that bein' evil ain't just about all these fancy plans and twisted schemes. Unh-uh! When the push comes to shove, what it all comes down to is one bad bandito wit' a shotgun in his hand! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh! I show you how it's done, mank!
El Burro Bandito spits on the floor and climbs out the observation portal onto the rim of Forbin's head. Dr. Dejection looks mildly surprised at his minion's courage and bloodlust.
DR. DEJECTION
Hmm! Never though the little unwashed mule had it in him. I'll have to give him a promotion when this is all over. Plus Staten Island, of course.
Dr. Dejection leans out the observation portal and begins firing bolts of energy from his fist at Matchman outside in the sky.
DR. DEJECTION
(shouting)
Die, Matchman! Die! This city belongs to me now!
EXT. THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
El Burro Bandito climbs out of the command skullcap, and slides down the curve of Forbin's head to stand on his shoulder, shotgun at the ready. As Matchman swoops near him, he pumps nine rounds at him in quick succession, emptying the weapon, El Burro Bandito throws it away and pulls his pistols from his holsters. He begins to blaze away at Matchman, screaming incoherent Mexican curses. From behind him in the command skullcap, Dr. Dejection continues to fire bolts of energy at Matchman. Matchman is dodging all of this ordnance wildly, trying to get a good punch in at the colossus. Below, on the ground, Lance and Sgt. Striker are riddling Forbin's feet with bullets in an attempt to bring him to his knees. It's total chaos on Third Avenue as the battle rages on.
EL BURRO BANDITO
(shouting)
I keel you, Matchman! I keel you feelthy! I keel you so dead they need two graves to bury you! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
MATCHMAN
(shouting)
Gun control is being able to hit what you shoot at, gazpacho!
The melee rages on, with neither side being able to gain the upper hand. It is a stalemate. In the process, more buildings are destroyed and cars stepped on by Forbin. The police arrive, as well the fire department and emergency ambulances for the civilian wounded. But nothing seems to be able to stop the dreaded Tongue Colossus!
INT. MONITOR ROOM AT VALENTINE COMPLEX -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to Dr. Dendrite watching the monitors in the Monitor Room back at VALentine Complex. She is speaking over her headset microphone as she watches the carnage unfold over on Third Avenue.
DR. DENDRITE
(into her headset microphone)
Yes, that's not a problem, Suzanne. I'll send a crew over to the U.N. Building to pick up his unconscious body and return him to the upstate asylum. Right. And Z-Girl's okay? Great! And you've got Discordia in custody? Wonderful! I can't wait to get a good look at that golden apple of hers; it certainly merits further intensive study. Yes, you two get back here to VALentine Complex at once! We need to discuss a contingency plan in case the battle goes against us. Mmm-hmm. Right now it's anybody's victory. I'm keeping an eye on everything just in case.
Dr. Dendrite feels thirsty. She reaches for one of several empty Styrofoam cups of coffee on the nearest monitor console top, finds it empty, and turns around in her seat to look for Clementine. She raises her voice slightly as she calls for her niece.
DR. DENDRITE
Clementine! Run and fetch Aunt Rhoda another cup of coffee, will you? Clementine? Clementine? Now where could that child have gone? What? Oh, no, nothing, Suzanne. Clementine's just wandered off somewhere and (her face blanches as realization dawns)... oh no. Oh dear. Oh my.
Before her horrified eyes two small figures emerge from an underground subway station on the fringe of the battle zone on Third Avenue depicted on her monitors. Clementine and Corbin have entered the fray. Cut back to Dr. Dendrite's face as she maintains an icy calm.
DR. DENDRITE
(her voice steely with determination)
Suzanne, I think I've just found the kids. And if they come out of this alive, I'm going to kill them.
EXT. THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to an exit from a subterranean subway station near the scene of combat, around the corner from Third Avenue on a cross street. Clementine comes slowly up the steps, dragging by the arm a reluctant Corbin, who cradles his telepathy helmet protectively in his arms. In the distance the sounds of combat can be heard raging, coupled with the roaring of the colossus and the thunder of collapsing buildings. Corbin makes a move to elude Clementine's grasp and head back down into the subway stations, but she grabs him again and drags him back up the stairs to sidewalk level.
CORBIN
That's it! I'm outta here! No way I'm going anywhere near that thing! Nope! See you back at the Complex!
CLEMENTINE
Corbin, you wuss! Come on! You said yourself that your telepathy helmet is only a prototype and has a very limited range! We gotta get closer to the action (her eyes shine as she says this) before you can use it to communicate with the icky tongue beast!
Corbin attempts to shove the telepathy helmet into her hands.
CORBIN
Why don't you do it? You're the one who wants to be a hero! Let me know if it works or not! See ya!
He turns back to the steps to the subway station. She grabs him by the arm again and begins dragging him bodily towards the sound of the fighting.
CLEMENTINE
Come on! You need this more than I do! I'm sure your Uncle Lance would agree!
CORBIN
My Uncle Lance is a muscle-brained crypto-fascist who enjoys torturing little kids! Let me go! 'Tine! Let me go!
But she doesn't let him go, and Corbin is dragged inexorably towards the scene of the final conflict. Cut to the corner of the cross street and Third Avenue. The kids' faces peer around the corner and gape in shock at the dreadful scene of carnage that meets their eyes. As the camera switches to their viewpoint, we see Sgt. Striker straddling one of Forbin's feet, hacking at it with a machete and screaming unintelligible marine battle cries, while Lance is dodging Forbin's other foot while trying simultaneously to load another belt of ammo into his M-60 machine gun. Meanwhile, Matchman is busy up above, buzzing the command skullcap as Dr. Dejection takes energy potshots at him from the observation portals and El Burro Bandito stands on Forbin's shoulder firing wildly and ululating fierce Mexican battle challenges and war cries. Matchman gets a punch or two in occasionally at Forbin's faces, but they seem to have no effect except perhaps to annoy him somewhat. The twins pull their faces back around the corner, appalled at what they've witnessed and genuinely worried about the outcome of the battle, which is not so forgone as they had assumed.
CLEMENTINE
(dazedly)
Ohmigosh! This looks bad! Maybe it really is up to us and your stupid helmet to save the day!
CORBIN
Yes, I suppose you're right. Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck, 'Tine.
He places his telepathy helmet on his head. It covers his ears, looking for all the world like some sort of space-age coolie hat. He looks vaguely ridiculous, especially since his facial expression is so serious. He turns the device on and twiddles a few knobs. It makes an odd humming noise.
CLEMENTINE
Corbin, do you think Dr. Dejection really eats little kids for dinner like Aunt Rhoda says?
CORBIN
I don't know, but if he does, I'll do my best to give him a bout of indigestion he'll never forget! Shhh! I'm getting something!
Suddenly, out of the telepathic ether, comes the voice of a little boy, about six years old. This is Forbin's telepathic voice. It is high and quavering and uncertain, as befits a newly created entity. Corbin answers in his own telepathy voice, which is his regular voice suitably modulated. When Corbin uses his telepathic voice to speak, his lips do not move. Both telepathic voices have a hollow, echoing effect added to them to distinguish them from normal voices. All of the telepathic voices are voice-overs, of course.
FORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Hello? Is someone there? There is someone out there after all! Hi there, someone! I thought I was the only one who could talk! What's your name, someone?
CORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Hello, Forbin! My name's Corbin.
FORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Wow, our names are almost the same! Cool!
Cut to Forbin in the midst of combat. He suddenly stops waving his arms and stomping his feet and making noise. Sgt. Striker notices the sudden lack of movement and slides off his foot and backs away slowly, machete at the ready. Lance takes advantage of the lull to set his machine gin down and reload it properly, never taking his eyes off the dreaded Tongue Colossus. Matchman hovers watchfully, as Dr. Dejection stares down at his creation angrily.
DR. DEJECTION
What on earth is the matter with you? Kill!
FORBIN
(telepathic voice)
I like you. Will you be my friend?
CORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Sure, Forbin. I like you, too. I'll be your friend. But you've got to stop destroying the city first. Can you do that for me?
Suddenly, Forbin turns around as if seeking the origin of the new communication. El Burro Bandito shrieks as he loses his balance and falls from the shoulder of the giant, his weapons flying from his grasp. Matchman sees this and mercifully swoops down and catches him in midair. Close-up shot of the catch. Matchman then gently lowers El Burro Bandito to the ground, where Sgt. Striker Runs up and immediately cuffs him. El Burro Bandito is so relieved to be alive that he isn't so angry about being captured.
SGT. STRIKER
Ah, El Burro Bandito! Looks like you got to change your evil ways now, eh? Maybe prison will teach you how to be a better person, you walking genetic disaster!
EL BURRO BANDITO
Your mother wears army boots, cabron! (turning to Matchman) Muchas gracias, Matchman! You save my life! Even prison is better than death! I owe you one, mank! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
MATCHMAN
It was the least I could do for a courageous enemy! Perhaps now you can use your jail time to wisely consider the error of your ways, gazpacho!
EL BURRO BANDITO
(in a sudden access of new fury)
Stop calling me "gazpacho!" It is not even a Spanish word! It is a tasty Italian soup! It has nothing to do with me, you big red gringo! Eeeh-aawh! Eeeh-aawh!
SGT. STRIKER
That's enough out of you, gazpacho. You're coming with us! Move it!
El Burro Bandito is led away alternately braying noisily and cursing in unintelligible Spanish slang. He and his captor walk past one of Forbin's feet in transit. Forbin is weaving his head back and forth like Stevie Wonder, trying to locate the source of his new friend's voice. Cut to Matchman looking up at the towering bulk of Forbin and scratching his head in puzzlement at the colossus's sudden inactivity.
MATCHMAN
(in a wondering tone of voice)
Looks like Dr. Dejection's fiendish creation has gone completely haywire!
Cut back to Corbin concentrating anxiously in his telepathy helmet while Clementine looks on.
CORBIN
(telepathic voice)
You see, Forbin, what you're doing is very bad and wrong. You're destroying buildings and hurting people, and for no reason. These people didn't want to fight you, they just wanted to protect themselves. You would too if someone smashed up your home and tried to stomp on you. If you stop and settle down and be good, they'll all be your friends. You'll have more friends than you'll know what to do with! You'll be the most popular tongue beast in the entire city!
Cut back to the forbidding visage of Forbin the Tongue Colossus. He has an almost wistful look in his giant eyes as he concentrates on Corbin's telepathic messages.
FORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Gee, I'd like that. I was so lonely. I'd like to have a lot of friends. I didn't know I was doing anything bad. I was just trying to play. I didn't think anybody was being hurt. You're all so small! I didn't think such small weak things mattered very much, or even had real feelings at all! And you say people live in these flimsy spikes on either side of me? Gee, I didn't know that either. I'm sorry. My Daddy didn't tell me that what I was doing was wrong. He liked it when I smashed up stuff.
CORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Forbin, listen to me carefully! Your Daddy is Dr. Dejection. He's a world-class criminal and the evil mastermind behind the B.L.A.H. Corporation, whose sole goal is to destroy the planet Earth and everyone on it for the sake of a quick buck or two! He is very, very dangerous and completely corrupt! That's why he wanted you to hurt all of these innocent people and behave so violently! He's a bad man! I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you all this, but it's the truth! You mustn't listen to him! You mustn't do what he tells you to do!
FORBIN
(telepathic voice)
But he lives in my head! I mean he's up there in that metal thing on top of my head! You know what I mean! He's kind of hard to ignore! Besides, he's my father! He made me! You say he's a bad man?
CORBIN
(telepathic voice)
Would a good man urge you to do what you have done? Would a good man enjoy carnage and violence and property damage for its own sake? Now if he's really in that metal beanie on top of your head, I think you know what you need to do right now to make for your father's reign of terror.
An eerie stillness falls across the once-noisy battlefield. Everyone has their eyes on Forbin as he pauses uncertainly, thinking things over in his mind with regard to the difficult decision that he now has to make. Dr. Dejection looks down nervously from one of the observation portals in the command skullcap.
DR. DEJECTION
Forbin! What are you doing? You're supposed to be bringing the city to its knees! Forbin! Listen to me! I made you! That means you have to do what I command you to do! Forbin! Continue the attack on the VALCom Team! I command you to attack!
Close-up of Forbin's enormous eyes. Suddenly he frowns in determination, as if having made an unpleasant but necessary decision.
FORBIN
(telepathic voice)
You're right, Corbin. I do know what I have to do.
Forbin raises his arms and lifts the command skullcap, with Dr. Dejection inside of it. Dr. Dejection is jostled off his feet by the sudden movement and falls down inside. Forbin holds it in front of him and looks at it, head bowed, for a moment, then stretches his mighty arm back and flings it like a discus far, far out to sea, past Brooklyn and the harbor and the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. The camera tracks its progress until it vanishes in the blue distance.
INT. THE FLYING EX-COMMAND SKULLCAP OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Dr. Dejection is shown in close-up being jounced around the walls of his flying, spinning ex-command skullcap as it flies out over the Atlantic Ocean.
DR. DEJECTION
Aaaaaargh! You may have had the best of me this time, Matchman, you and all your VALentine Complex crew! But I'll be back! I'll be back! And then you shall drain the cup of my bitter vengeance to its very dregs! I shall retuuuuurrrrn!
EXT. SKY OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Cut to a quick shot of the exterior of the ex-command skullcap flying out over the Atlantic Ocean. We never see it splash down. Dr. Dejection's voice carries over from the previous scene as a voice-over, gradually fading away in the distance. It is clear that his fate is meant to be ambiguous for any potential sequel.
EXT. THIRD AVENUE SOMEWHERE IN MIDTOWN -- THE PRESENT -- DAY
Matchman is still looking up, confused at Forbin's recent behavior and cautiously optimistic about it as well. He turns around in surprise as Clementine and Corbin come running up. Lance Corporeal and Sgt. Striker also come over in surprise.
MATCHMAN
Clementine! Corbin! What are you doing here! Don't you know this place is too dangerous for you kids? Corbin, what on earth is that ridiculous looking contraption on your head! It looks like a salad colander with all kinds of wires and coils wrapped around its outside!
CLEMENTINE
Matchman! Matchman! It worked! Corbin did it! We saved the day! He did it! It worked! He did it! Yippee!
LANCE CORPOREAL
Matchman's right! You kids shouldn't be here! Clementine, what are you shouting about?
CORBIN
I did it, Uncle Lance! My telepathy helmet worked! I used it to contact that giant monster you guys have been fighting! His name's Forbin, by the way, and he's my new best friend! Say hello, Forbin!
All look up. The camera looks up to see Forbin looming over everyone and looking back down at everyone. Forbin waves politely at everyone. He eyes are friendly. Cut back to our heroes. Sgt. Striker throws his machete to the ground and smacks himself in his match head in disbelief. Lance is similarly taken aback.
LANCE CORPOREAL
I don't believe it! This is utterly preposterous! Are you telling me that you talked him over to our side and convinced him to chuck Dr. Dejection into the sea?
CORBIN
That's precisely correct. Forbin's a good fellow underneath it all. But any child is only as good as what you teach them. If we teach Forbin how to be a good person, he'll be a most formidable addition to the VALCom Team, I think. Don't you agree, Uncle Lance?
CLEMENTINE
Yeah, can he join us, Uncle Lance? Huh? Can he? Can he? Can he? Oh, please say he can!
LANCE CORPOREAL
Well, okay, but you kids will have to share a room with him.
CORBIN AND CLEMENTINE
(loudly in unison)
Uh-uh! No way!
Everyone laughs at the twins' petulant dismay.
SGT. STRIKER
(shouting upwards)
Sorry about your foot, Forbin!
Around this huddled knot of heroes the crowds of police, firemen, emergency personnel, National Guard troops, and innocent bystanders are beginning to get the idea that the battle is over and has been won by the good guys of the VALCom Team. As they begin to cheer and otherwise celebrate the battle's victorious conclusion, the camera zooms in on Matchman for a final close-up. He turns and addresses the camera.
MATCHMAN
And there you have it, everyone. Corbin is absolutely right. Unless children are given the appropriate sort of lessons for moral conduct, they can't be expected to know right from wrong. Ignorance is a disease, and knowledge is the cure. If more people spent their time getting to understand each other and perhaps learning to communicate with each other instead of reacting to surface appearances, there'd be much less violence and strife in today's world. By practicing tolerance, compassion, empathy and patience, this world can be made a better place to live, for everybody, all around. We members of the VALCom Team live our lives by this credo, and put them on the line for this city twenty-four seven so that villains like Dr. Dejection can't gain power and ruin things for everyone, through greed and hatred. This is Matchman coming to you from the end of yet another successful mission, saying, "Good night, and stay compatible!"
Matchman smiles and gives the camera a thumbs-up. The image freezes.
FADE OUT
THE WORDS "THE END" APPEAR ON THE BLANK BLACK SCREEN IN LARGE WHITE LETTERS. THEY VANISH AS THE CREDITS SCROLL UPWARDS ACROSS THE SCREEN. THE MATCHMAN THEME SONG PLAYS THROUGHOUT THE CREDIT SEQUENCE. BEHIND THE CREDITS STILL IMAGES OF ALL OUR CHARACTERS BEGIN TO CYCLE AS A BACKGROUND. THESE ARE STILL SHOTS TAKEN FROM VARIOUS MOMENTS OF GREAT TENSION AND ACTION DURING THE MOVIE PROPER. FINALLY, THEY END AND THE MOVIE IS DEFINITIVELY OVER. THEN THE WORDS "DR. DEJECTION LIVES!" APPEAR ON THE SCREEN FOR THE FEW WHO HAVE REMAINED TO WATCH FOR SO LONG.
THE END