Adventures of Superguy

August 3, 2010 - Gotham City

City Outskirts

21:26:06

Night had fallen by the time Superboy caught sight of his target. Robin had been feeding him directions since they separated. Cutting across country had been the right move; farmland had turned to pine forest quickly and now his target lay ahead.

A freight train, trundling along an elevated right of way through the hills surrounding Gotham City. From this distance, the notorious city was just an illuminated skyline of skyscrapers, growing ever closer. He was already in the city’s rural outskirts; farms had given way to spread out suburban developments and the occasional stately manor. The city proper lay not far ahead, with high density areas drawing near as the train sped along. 

Time was growing short. 

One last leap, carefully timed, dropped him onto the roof of the box car he was aiming for, his booted feet impacting with a crunch of metal. He crouched down and jammed his fingers into the rusting steel of the car roof and tore open a hole big enough to fit through. Wasting no time, he dropped through and landed in a crouch.

“Alright, Ivo, hands… you’re not Ivo.”

The short and slightly pudgy man turned away from what he was working on at a high tech workbench to face him. Most of the freight car’s gloomy interior had been replaced with what looked like a high tech workshop, complete with tools and computer screens. To the man’s right was an improbable object; a box the size of a coffin, glass fronted with brightly painted borders and sides. It looked like the toy box for a life sized doll.

Of course its him…

“The Barrel of Monkeys was too on the nose for you?” Came the smarmy voice, echoing from within the all encompassing plastic doll mask he wore. The man was dressed like he stepped out of a fifties sitcom; brown shoes, tan slacks, white shirt, a light blue knitted wool waistcoat with a pocket watch fob, and a red bow tie. The mask was more of a helmet; a solid smiling doll’s head, with sculpted hair and painted on rictus smile. He would be ridiculous, if Superboy didn’t know exactly how dangerous he was.

“Winslow Schott, Jr. The Toyman. You built the… gynoid. Pretty impressive work, since it took the whole Justice Guild to take it down.”

“Please! Gynoid is so reductive. She’s more than just a gynoid. She’s… perfect.” Toyman said wistfully, lowering a hand to stroke what was on his workbench. “I worked so hard on her, to make her so. She’s beautiful, elegant, well-dressed and all, all mine.”

There was a creeping possessiveness with which the Toyman said it that gave Superboy the shivers. 

What the hell is he monologing about? He’s talking about it like its...

“But then I had an idea! A fun idea. That nasty Superwoman and her little club are always getting in my way. It would be a great game to play dress up with them, and make them fight each other! Like taking all your favorite action figures and bashing them together!” Toyman tittered as he continued, more like he was talking to himself than to Superboy.

Eager to prevent the gynoid’s reassembly, Superboy took a single step forward. As he did so, familiar yellow glowing eyes popped up from behind every corner and bit of cover in the room, and a familiar cackle echoed in the rolling box car. The sight made him freeze, remembering the blinding laser blast.

“Chee... hee... hee!"

“Nasty old Professor Ivo never wanted to share his toys.” Toyman remarked with exaggerated melancholy. “But he had some of the most amazing designs! Technology nobody else could match. But nasty old Professor Ivo isn’t around anymore…” he trailed off, giggling to himself like he knew a funny secret.

Ivo’s supposed to be dead. But the way he talks about it makes me think Schott might have had something to do with it.

“So I borrowed a few things from one of his workshops, and now my gynoid is perfect! Aren’t you, my love?” Toyman exclaimed, reaching down and picking something up off the work table with both hands.

Superboy startled when he saw what it was.

A human head, cradled adoringly in both of Toyman’s little hands. A woman’s head, with well coiffed long blond hair, in a high ponytail. He stroked the hair like a worry stone. 

“Of course, Winslow. That’s how you made me.” The head answered, Its voice was sultry and pleasant, like silk sliding over one’s ears. The eyes were a perfect crystal blue as she opened them and regarded her creator. Her lips were ruby red with perfectly applied makeup, which seemed a deeply incongruous detail in the current situation. He thought he might detect a hint of bitter sarcasm in her tone.

“Just one last thing to fix after the nasty Justice Guild went and broke my favorite toy!” Toyman nattered as he turned back to the worktable and reverently laid the head back down, Now Superboy could see the gleaming mechanical connections comprised the neck joint. Otherwise, the head appeared completely real and alive. It was even the appropriate warmth of a living human, according to his infrared vision.

Shit, he’s almost done! Superboy’s eyes widened as he realized that he was almost too late and he rushed forward. But with a chorus of chortles, the troop of robot monkeys blasted toward him in a wall of cherry red painted metal. He lashed out desperately, shattering robot monkeys apart with every blow, but in the confines of the box car, they swarmed tight enough to push him back by the propulsion of their rocket thrusters. He growled and hurled himself against a wall as they crawled all over him, shutting his eyes to prevent them from blinding him again. Hitting the wall crushed the monkeys clambering on him and he rolled along it to scrape the rest off. In an instant he had destroyed a dozen of them but it was still a slog to cross the dozen or so feet to Toyman at the worktable.

The mad toymaker whistled as he worked and with a click and a hiss, he completed his task. He reached down to the pocket on his waistcoat and drew out a curious heart shaped watch. The chain and rim of the watchface were gold but the rest of the thing was a garish red, shaped like a cartoon heart.

“Since the Guild sent a Superbrat, let’s start with: Superwoman!” He commanded, and the box car filled with a flash of blue white light. It emanated from the worktable and the strange doll box, and when it faded he could see someone inside the doll box, but only for a fraction of a second. From the face, it was the gynoid, but she was dressed in a Superman costume, complete with red trunks. Superman, and not Superwoman; the Last Daughter of Krypton wore a different costume than the one he was used to. But Toyman’s gynoid wore the one he knew so well.

She was several inches shorter than him, her face was indescribably beautiful and symmetrical. Knowing what she was, it seemed obvious that she was artificial; she was too perfect. But if he hadn’t seen her decapitated head talking, he wouldn’t have guessed the truth. His super senses gave nothing away that she wasn’t real. Her body was as perfect as her face; a true blonde bombshell with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and wide hips with long legs. She was stunning, and even knowing the threat she posed, he paused for a second.

The flash briefly illuminated the doll box’s lettering, and suddenly everything snapped into place for him. Deja vu rolled over him, but he realized it wasn’t that, but the now familiar feeling of unreality, of finding himself stuck inside a fantasy made real.

“My Amazing Dress-Up Darci…” he read in stultified recognition, and as he did, Darci’s crystal blue eyes snapped up to lock on to him.

“Ah, you know her! That’s WONDERFUL to hear! Did you know, none of the Guilders recognized her, not one! I guess they don’t play with dolls much on Themyscira or Krypton. I see you, sir, are a true connoisseur of the classics. So few kids these days even care about REAL toys! They all just want to play their dang video games!” Toyman’s voice rose into a shriek as he began to rant about ‘kids these days’, and Superboy, recognizing a nerd going off on their favorite topic, made his move.

“Sorry, Boy Toy, I’m really more of an action figure kind of guy!” He shouted.

Superboy dashed toward Toyman, intent on taking the mad scientist out before he could do anything else with Darci, the robot monkeys or whatever other ‘toys’ he had up his well starched sleeves. The last of the robot monkeys swarmed toward their creator, but just as he got within arm’s reach of the madman, an iron grip latched painfully onto his arm and stopped him cold. He glanced to the side to see Darci in her Superwoman outfit, holding him back with a sad smile on her perfectly pert lips. He strained against her grip as hard as he could, but she didn’t shift an inch.

“Well! If you’re going to be so rude, I don’t want to play with you anymore! Darci, get rid of him!” Toyman barked like a chihuahua, and Darci swung him across the box car. He was only stopped by the rear wall, and his back left a sizable dent in it. He stumbled as he landed on his feet, and in a blur Darci was on him, one hand gripping his throat as she lifted him up. Her grip was a vise, but her face still had that sad smile, even as she cocked back her other fist. Superboy tried to block but the next hit cannoned him through the back wall and out into the night air.

He smashed into the blade of a dozer on the flatcar behind Toyman’s box car, and Darci made a strutting and inexorable march toward him from the hole she’d made. She marched like she was on the catwalk of a fashion show, rather than a rattling flat car in the middle of the night.

Her boots are high heels. Why are they-

Superboy’s dazed speculation was interrupted when she hit him again and stars burst behind his eyes. Every blow from Darci was like being hit with an iron bar, wielded by a gorilla. Her fists and arms had no give at all. He bounced off the dozer blade again and she effortlessly caught him with her off hand, this time by the neck, then grabbed him with the other hand by the shirt as she lifted him up.

The night air whistled by, cool, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the growing lights of Gotham City approaching. He met Darci’s gaze and decided to gamble on what he knew of her character.

“You hate him, don’t you?” Superboy wheezed, but he knew Darci heard him by the way her immaculate eyebrows arched in surprise. Her mouth hung open in surprise. 

Elation filled him; he had guessed right.

“Schott made you, but he made you to be his slave, didn’t he? He wanted you to be real, but he wanted you to love him, and it doesn’t work that way.” He spoke rapidly, trying to get it all out before Toyman noticed Darci’s hesitation. At least, she wasn’t hitting him anymore. Her iron grip didn’t relax a bit. Superboy prayed she felt his sincerity, and that she was capable of feeling it.

“I… don’t love him. I can’t. But he won’t bring himself to MAKE me love him. He thought Ivo’s technology could solve that, too. He makes me do these things…” Darci whispered, and her crystalline blue eyes grew watery.

Superboy's heart aches. He knows this story, knows what Schott has done to Darci. The show made it seem creepy but sanitized, but having met the real Toyman, he realizes he cannot begin to imagine how unwholesome and vile he could be to her. Especially when she rejected his advances. Disgust and anger fill him; more than stopping Darci, he wants to stop Toyman from hurting her anymore.

She might be a threat, but she’s a victim, too.

“Darci? What are you still playing around with him for!? I told you to get rid of him!” Toyman screams as he appears at the hole in the box car, a robot monkey perched on each slight shoulder. The heart shaped watch is in his hand, and he thumbs a button on it.

Darci freezes and she shivers as electrical discharges go off across her body. She winces in pain and screws her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as she does so. He tries to struggle out of her grasp while she’s occupied but without looking, one hand seizes his wrist before he can make any progress. Then her eyes snap open, glowing a baleful red. She looks like a murderous robot in that moment, but again her pert mouth is in a sad smile.

“I’m sorry. He has my heart.” She whispers, and then throws an uppercut that he barely sees coming.

Everything goes black for a second. Or perhaps longer. The next time consciousness flickers back on like the lights in a brownout, he’s sailing through the night air, jaw aching and head ringing. The trundling of the train is a distant click clack, and he is falling back to earth. His brain is fuzzy, it feels like his head is full of cotton balls. 

Then he lands with a crash of breaking glass, shattering timbers and crushed brick. He tumbles down a hallway before he smashes into a glass case and the wall behind finally arrests him. Groaning, he turns over from where he landed face down, stopping when something lands on his head and bounces onto his lap. Its a framed picture with a border under it, showing a fit teenage girl with short black hair, in a plaid skirt and blue blazer, holding a trophy in her arms, looking quietly embarrassed but still proud. 

In his punch drunk state and the sudden quiet, he picks it up and brings it closer so he can read the inscription.

“Gotham City Academy. Mathlete Honoree, Richelle ‘Rikki’ Grayson?” Superboy recites blearily, wheels slowly turning in his head. Picking the photo out of the broken glass, he absently stuffs it in his pocket, not quite sure why. Staggering to his feet and brushing glass and debris off, he only sighs in resignation as Darci flies through the hole in the wall at the end of the hallway and hovers, still in her Superwoman costume.

Absently he taps at his ear, only to discover his earpiece is gone.

Guess I’m not calling for help. Must have come out when she knocked me back to high school… and out of my shoes. 

The pointy crunching of glass under his feet reveals that blow, literally, knocked his socks off. He’s barefoot in the rubble of the landing.

Darci hovers silently, still smiling sadly. He sighs and puts his guard up.

“Are we still doing this?” He asks.

“I’m afraid so.” She answers. But she doesn’t look afraid, just resigned to it.

A blue and red blur streaks towards him and he barely manages to put his guard up as her blows hammer home. Even when he blocks, he is forced back. Superboy tries going on the offensive, hurling punches and knees to try to take back the momentum. But Darci employs her super speed and blocks most effortlessly. One knee catches her between the legs, but it seems to hurt Superboy more than her. He ducks low and shoots for her legs but as his shoulder hits her midsection, she doesn’t even budge. Panic grips him as she grabs him around the waist and then spins, but only at the waist, twisting in a way a human never could. The centrifugal force sends him pinballing down the hall, bouncing off and tearing open school lockers as he does so.

Springing up, he wipes blood from his lip and struggles to focus. His anger is rising; at Toyman for his cruelties, at Darci for not being able to defy her maker, at himself for being weak. A locker door swings drunkenly on broken hinges before him; a student has pinned up their own fanart of Superwoman with the caption “World’s Finest”. 

“Yeah, she’s my favorite too.” Superboy says wearily as Darci flies around the corner. 

Can’t just be her punching bag. Gotta control myself, the battlefield, and the opponent. Just gotta somehow deal with the gynoid who tanked the entire Guild for four hours, on my own. Really wish I had some Kryptonite right now. Wait, no, that would probably kill me.’

Putting his fists up, he charges at her and throws a massive haymaker that actually connects and snaps her head to the side, but she responds with a straight kick that sends him flying down the hall again. Superboy leaps to his feet and retreats down the corridor, running around corners, trying to make distance.

Okay, controlling myself, not really working. She’s kicking my ass.

His strategizing is interrupted as Darci bursts through the wall in front of him, bringing him up short. She flies forward and tries to stiff arm him but he ducks beneath it, rolling to keep his momentum. He ducks into a classroom that turns out to be a chemistry lab, but she flies through the wall and chalkboard, cutting off his line of retreat. 

Slowly, he backs out into the hallway, his guard up, and racks his brain for strategies.

Controlling the battlefield, also not working. This place is just wet cardboard to her! And if she has Superwoman’s senses, I can’t hide from her either…

Darci rockets down the hall at him with both fists held out before her, ramming into him and carrying him along with her as she plows through wall after wall that don’t even dent her but do a number on Superboy. Finally, they burst into an open space and she sends him flying. He goes tumbling across a parquet floor and realizes they’ve arrived in the gymnasium. Retractable stands are on either side, the basketball hoops hang from the ceiling along with pennants declaring Gotham City Academies’ many athletic championships. Darci slowly flies down to the floor before landing silently, but the quiet is broken by a slow clap from the stands, and his gaze flicks to the source.

Toyman sits in the stands, flanked by several of his robot monkeys, delivering his mocking applause. Beside him is the doll box, for some reason, more monkeys perched atop it. Superboy’s face screws up as he sees it.

Toyman brought the box? Its not like she’s still mint or anything.

“This kind of place brings back a lot of bad memories.” Toyman said dangerously. “But I have an idea of how to liven the game up! Let’s play… shirts and skins! Silver skins!” The villain shouts as he holds up the heart shaped watch again. Once more, the flash of blue white light comes from Darci and the doll box, and she’s had a costume change. Gone is the Superwoman costume.

Now she is wearing a silver jumpsuit, with red boots and gloves, and an atomic symbol stitched into the chest. Her hair is also silver, but now it looks like the hair on Toyman’s mask, solid and plastic. Darci’s face looks like it has just been painted in silver grease paint, however. Superboy’s mind boggles at the sartorial choice; its like a Captain Atom costume from the sixties, and the jumpsuit is all loose. Atom’s containment suit is literally skintight; this one makes Darci look like a child in a Halloween costume.

But as she raises her red gloved hand, glowing yellow energy gathers there. His infrared vision goes nuts with the energy being given off and he tries to rise and get out of the way, but the blast comes before he can do more than get on his hands and knees.

There is a bright discharge of energy as the blast blows a smoking crater in the gym floor, but Superboy finds he isn’t in it. A familiar red and yellow form has whisked him out of the blast radius at the last second.

“Yoink!” Kid Quick declares as she gives him a cocky grin, which he returns with relief.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!