A Story I Wrote.

No new comic this week. I'm too busy. Instead, I'm posting this weird story I wrote for class. This is a fairly rough draft, but I think it's coming along nicely.

Blast Ryder and the Curse of the Fanfiction.
Charles Work.
November 31, 2005:
Blast Ryder silently ran his gloved fingers accross the glowing black and green surface of the command console, and sipped the last few dregs of coffee from a steel, spill-proof mug. As the green numbers ran accross the screen, he returned the mug to its magnetic cupholder next to his seat. According to the readout, he would reach the intercept point in less than five minutes. The stars raced by the window of the cockpit, tiny streaks of light in the vast emptiness of space. The minuscule lights of a thousand suns reflected like Christmas decorations off the black metalic dashboard of Ryder’s personal stealth ship. Now and then, a piece of floating space debris, traveling through the desolation of space at thousands of times the speed of a bullet, would detonate harmlessly off the ship’s shield, disintigrating like a snowflake on a hot windshield.
Somewhere, thousands of miles away, another ship proceeded silently onward, unknowing of the smaller, more agile craft that was soon to intercept it. On that ship was that which Blast Ryder had been sent to retrieve... or, if necessary, destroy. That powerful device was currently in the hands of a being of unspeakable evil, a creature so foul that even some among the Galactic Police who hunted him were afraid to utter his name.
"The first scene is a little slow," said a voice in some different plane of reality.
In some other dimension, a balding, overweight man in an expensive suit sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, a typed manuscript clutched in his chubby hands. He stared down through his gold rimmed reading glass, wrinkling his nose as he observed the thin sheets of paper and the words they held the way one might observe an insect thrashing about one’s glass of water.
"I’m just trying to set the mood, sir," said another man.
Another man stood waiting apprehensively as the first man read the words that he had written. This man wore a noticeably less expensive suit, and a thicker pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. His hands were folded somewhat nervously in front of him, and held a black, imitation leather briefcase.
"These stories aren’t about ‘mood setting,’" the balding man said. "I told you, this is supposed to be an action story. Your job right now is to write something that will make a good lead up to this summer’s movie."
"Well, if you’ve read some of the earlier stories in the Blast Ryder series-"
"I haven’t," the balding man replied, not bothering to make eye contact with the man holding the briefcase- the man whose story he held in his sweaty grip. "I don’t need to."
"Sir, how are you supposed to manage the franchise if you haven’t even read my–"
"I’ll manage my franchise the way I see fit," the fat man replied. "You were hired to write a story for us, and you did. Now, it’s your job to keep out of the way while we do what we want with the property that we own. Don’t forget who really owns this story, Mr. Heath: Forefather Entertainment."
"I’m just saying, I’m the one who created Blast Ryder, and–"
"–and we’re the ones who took your stinking piece of sci-fi garbage and polished it enough to make some money off it... How old are your children, Mr. Heath?"
"Sixteen and seventeen," replied Heath. "Why?"
"It would be a shame if their father were unable to provide them with a proper education," the balding man sneered. "Do I make myself clear?"
"...Yes, sir, Mr. Copperbloom," said Mr. Heath, sinking his incisors into his lower lip to avoid telling the publisher what he really thought.
Meanwhile, an explosion rocked Ryder’s ship. It seemed he had been spotted, just as his ship began to dock with the enemy vessel. A red warning light indicated a hull breach. It was too late to back down. Ryder unstrapped his safety harness and raced for the exit hatch. He climbed the ladder up the vertical, tube-like exit hatch, his boots clanking against the metal rungs as he ascended. He climbed up into the enemy vessel, his hands reaching the threshold just between his ship and the enemy’s. Just then, another blast hit the ship below him. With a titanic crash, his own ship was torn off at the escape hatch, careening off into space from the force of the explosion. Blast found himeself dangling from one hand to the enemy ship’s dock, the air from inside rushing against him, nearly pushing him into the starry void below his legs.
He knew he had only seconds to get in. With all his strength, he pulled himself up to the next rung. The wind whipping against him, its warmth the only protection against the deadly cold of space, he reached up and grabbed the next. Finally, he felt the solid metallic rung under one of his boots. He pulled up his other leg a mere moment before the safety hatch closed. The metal scraped against his boot, shaving off a milimeter of sole.
Blast felt the heat of a laser burn past his ear, and immediately pulled the two semi-automatic laser pistols from his belt. He rolled to the side as an automated ceiling mounted gun fired another shot. He rose quickly from his evasive role, and fired three shots into the robotic weapon, which exploded in a shower of sparks. Two spindly legged attack drones dashed out at him from behind one of the steel shipping containers, their black cyclops eyes fixed upon Blast as their arm-mounted weapons blazed. Blast sidestepped to avoid the deadly barrage, and, with utmost precision, fired a shot from each of his weapons, searing a hole directly into their fuel lines. The resulting double explosion knocked Blast off his feet. Knocked into the air, Blast flipped over backwards, (in slow motion, in the movie version), and, while still airborne, noticed the two flying, orb-like Hunter units coming for him with weapons deployed. Unable to pull off a shot at his current velocity, Blast twisted in midair, the two glowing beams of energy missing him by a hair’s breadth, and, flying upside down through the air, kicked both drones out of the air with a spinning roundhouse kick. Blast landed on his feet, sliding along the smooth metalic floor, and steadied himself with one gloved palm on the ground. Just as he steadied himself, a blunt object came crashing downwards. Blast Ryder swerved to avoid the metal, fork like arm of a loading drone, nearly sixteen feet tall, it’s dented and pitted iron body painted a threatening yellow and black. The machine’s second arm came swinging towards his head. Blast bent over backwards just in time to avoid it, only to find the first arm coming to sweep the legs out from under him. Still bending backwards, he sprang off the back of his hands, propelling himself just out of reach as the machine came at him with full force.
He dodged right and left as the machine’s claws came swinging at him with incredible speed. In a spare moment between dodges, he pulled in a few shots from his laser pistols. The shots bounced harmlessly of the machine’s thick armor, leaving only a charred smudge. Unexpectedly, one of the machine’s claws came rushing forward, catching Blast between its metal fingers. Lifting him off his feet, the machine ran forward on its giant treads. Blast looked behind him to see the wall of a container coming up to greet him. There was only one way to escape...
"The last three movies didn’t have anything to do with the original stories," someone furiously typed into a keyboard in some other part of the omniverse. "It’s all just soulless, corporate nonsense! Why would Blast need a gun with six barrels? They’re just trying to sell squirt guns! Also, I’m pretty sure David Heath didn’t have the High Guardian of Thion IV drinking a Mountain Dew! That’s just blatant product placement! Whose bright idea was it to turn Blast Ryder into a story for five-year-olds, anyway? Blast Ryder is NOT a kid’s story! Have any of those filthy slimeballs even READ the books?"
An angry yellow face, shaking its head in disaproval, punctuated the message. The internet bulletin board was fairly empty. Eleven PM on a Friday night in the time zone where it was located, only the most dedicated Blast Ryder fans were still online. The blue borders of the message board shone brightly against the black, starry background. At the top of the screen, an image of Blast Ryder, taken from the 1991 cover of the original Blast Ryder paperback, stared stoicly down upon the words of his devoted fans.
"Calm down! We already know what Forefather is doing to the series, TransFan85," another message replied. "Let’s focus on doing something about it. Just keep writing those E-Mails, and someone will finally have to give in."
"It’s not Forefather’s fault," disagreed EvilSpock49. "It’s David Heath’s fault. He’s the one who sold out his own character. If he’d just taken a stand for his creative work when he had a chance, maybe Blast Ryder would still be worthwhile."
"Let’s stop worrying about whose fault it is and focus on who can get the problem fixed. David Heath can’t do anything about it," replied RyderGirl, a moderator of the fan site. "He designed the character while working for Forefather. They own his characters, so they can do what they want regardless of his consent. Even if he left the company, they would just keep churning out more cheap Blast Ryder drivel. Trying to get Forefather to listen to reason is the only thing we can do. They know the series is losing money."
"They’d rather let the whole franchise die than let us win," TransFan85 added. "So long as they sell a few Happy Meals before the ship sinks, they don’t care. There’s no way we can get them to fix this movie before it comes out."
"Then we’ll petition for them to fix the next one!" wrote BooWonder. "...and the next one! ...and the next one, until we’ve restored the series to its former glory!"
"Well, in the meantime," wrote GreatGlavenGirl. "I’m going to go work on my fanfiction. I’ve been trying to come up with something to get their attention." A nodding yellow face, smiling mischievously, appeared in the middle of his sentence. "I’ll post it here when I’m finished. You’ll see."
The machine lay motionless on its side. Blast stood nearby, catching his breath after the grueling battle, and congratulating himself for a brilliant victory. Using the machine’s own claw as a tuning fork to overload its audio sensors long enough for Blast to slide between its treads and cut its transmission line was true genius; the result of his years of training and natural quick thinking skills.
The last couple pages of the story had gone a little too quickly for Blast’s liking. In the intense action sequence, Blast wasn’t entirely sure just what he was fighting. What exactly is a loading drone, Blast wondered to himself. It was a shame that the author didn’t have the time to properly describe the machine Blast had just faced. Blast would have really appreciated a better mental image. Looking at the dismantled machine, all he could see was an amorphous black and yellow striped blur.
Blast Ryder checked his wrist mounted Neutrino Scanning Unit®, bringing up a floating holographic display of the ship’s layout. According to the map, the way to the ship’s bridge was through the door to the left. Ryder strode quietly to the door, punched a few digits into the accompanying keypad, and waited as the steel door slid open. Cautiously, he walked slowly into the next room.
What Blast saw next confused and counfounded him. There, in the middle of the ship, between the cargo bay and the cockpit, was what appeared to be an expensive restaraunt. It was a very large room, lined with small, round tables with immaculate white tables. Several waiters, trays of fancy dinners balanced on their upturned palms, walked back and forth between the tables and some unseen kitchen. In the background, an unseen piano player played through the song "I Only Have Eyes for You." For a moment, Blast Ryder stood at the entrance, looking around the restaraunt, expecting some sort of trick.
"It took you long enough to get here, Blast," said a voice from Ryder’s past. "I thought I would have to pay for these breadsticks myself."
Blast Ryder turned to the left and cringed. Beverly Dana Skullcrusher, Blast’s ex-partner from five years ago, was sitting at a table, her face obscured by a laminated restaraunt menu. She closed the menu, snapping the plastic coated pages shut, and placed the folded paper on the table, showing her reddish auburn hair and deep brown eyes.
"I’ve been looking forward to seeing you here," Blast confusedly found himself saying with a smile, and then added, angrilly, "No! Why are you here? This doesn’t make any sense!"
Like Blast, Beverly Dana Skullcrusher was an orphan. She group up as a slave in an illegal pitfighting ring, which is where she had earned the name "Skullcrusher," for the brutal roundhouse kicks that had helped her survive against many a deadly opponent. Her parentage was completely unknown, so none even knew what planet she had come from. While having an apparently human appearance, she had shown that she posessed many abnormal abilities, including limited shape shifting powers.
Though it would seem to many that he and Beverly Dana were a perfect match, neither had ever demonstrated any romantic inclinations towards the other. Much to the chagrin of certain fan segments, Blast and Beverly (or "Blaverly," as these fans often refferred to them) had parted ways with little ceremony. Beverly merely left somewhere between stories with no explanation. Many fans blamed Forefather Publication for her removal. A high ranking figure in the company had briefly remarked that the character didn’t test well with the five to twelve year old demographic that they were trying to attract, thus explaining her removal. "Young boys think girls have cooties," the man had stated. The Blaverly fans were suspended in a constanat state of outrage at the unceremonious end of what they saw as an incredibly obvious galactic love story. However, David Heath himself had also expressed in no uncertain terms that he had never intended any romantic sub plot between Blast and Beverly.
"Is there anything I can get you two?" said a pencil moustached waiter, a dry, sardonic, slighly nasal tone in his voice.
"Yes, I’d like to order a bottle of Chateau Briant ‘86 for my lovely– Wait, wait, wait, no!" Blast said, struggling against the words that were being put in his mouth. "Where have you been for the past five years? You quit without saying a word right after the fall of Emperor Rogan."
"-along with half the fan base," Beverly replied.
"Oh, don’t act like that was because you left," Blast said. "Everyone knows the whole thing starting falling aprt after the Rogan saga ended. You’re departure was hardly the catalyst for our downfall."
"Look, Blast," said Beverly, "you can deny my importance to the series all you want, but you can’t deny that there was something between us. Don’t you remember what happened on the Moon of Draxion Alpha?"
Blast rolled his eyes. That chapter had always been one of the Blaverly pushers main arguments for a romantic connection between him and Beverly.
"As David Heath has repeatedly explained, that didn’t mean anything," Blast argued. "That was just the pherhormones from those parasitic flowers that Mr. Thirteen genetically engineered to distract us while he built his army of robotic space golems."
"Should I come back later?" the waiter said condescendingly.
"Just give us a minute," Beverly said. "We’re still deciding on our orders."
"We’re not ordering anything!" Blast responded. "Beverly, what’s gotten into you? You were always so professional when we worked together. Now you’re acting like some kind of stalker."
"Being written out of the story can really mess with a gal, Blast," she said, frowning and looking away as she spoke. "I don’t exist as part of your universe anymore. You have the luxury of David Heath making the calls for you... as far as Forefather will let him, anyway. As for me, I only exist in these fans’ stories. I’m an outcast. These cheesy fan fictions are all I have. Consider yourself lucky you only have Forefather and David Heath to contend with. I’m at the mercy of every lifeless geek who thinks he knows how to write."
"Whaassssuuuup?" said a highly irritating voice from the side.
"Oh, no, anyone but him," Beverly Dana Skullcrusher groaned.
Of all the characters that Forefather had introduced, there was none more obnoxious than the one known as Jason Quednar. Quednar was a tall, thin green humanoid creature with a long Pinnochio-type nose and two unoriginal alien-antenae growing out of his forehead. He had white, tennis ball sized eyes, like a cartoon character, dotted with beady little pupils. To make matters worse, he had an excrutatingly annoying voice pattern, putting emphasis on the wrong words, making every line he spoke sound somewhere between flirtatious and sarcastic. All that he had in place of personality was taken from fifty years outdated celebrity impressions and vague ethnic stereotypes, though no one could figure quite what particular group he was supposed to be insulting. His likeability certainly wasn’t helped by the fact that he had yet to star in two movies with the same voice actor. The character existed solely for the purpose of selling sodas and cheap action figures. He even failed at this purpose, and anything that had his face on it continued to line the bargain shelves of every store.
Still, the Forefather company continued to feature Quednar more and more prominentally in the Blast Ryder films. The more the company tried to push the character upon the fans, though, the worse they resisted. The worse the fans resisted, it seemed, the more the company forced the character upon them. Scores of websites were devoted to hatred for the miserable creature. Meanwhile, characters like Blast were forced to put up with him, whose cruel corporate masters rendered them completely unable to express their distaste for the character.
"Bongiourno! What’s kickin’, home dawgs?" Quednar said.
"What did he just call us?" Blast muttered confusedly.
"What are you doing here, Quednar?" asked Beverly. "I thought you only appeared in the movie version."
"I just wanted to see what yous dirty rats were up to, losers," Quednar replied, a mindless smirk on his face.
"Then you don’t have anything to do with this story," Ryder pointed out, "...as usual."
"Well, then he’s no use to us," Beverly said, and pulled out her blaster.
Then, with one shot, Beverly shot Quednar directly in the chest. He flew back several feet with the force of the blast, and crashed through a table as he landed. A bottle of wine fell and shattered on the carpeted floor. Frightened screams filled the restaraunt.
"LOL!" wrote TransFan85, displaying a laughing emoticon that chuckled silently in a perpetual animation loop. "Take THAT, Quednar!"
"Look, we’re all for killing off Quednar," said EvilSpock49, "but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. She really didn’t have much motivation to slag Quednar like that."
"What about because he’s the most irritating character EVER?!!!" Transfan replied, punctuating his sentence with an overload of exclamation marks. "What about because those money grubbing SNAKES are intent on destroying Blast Ryder with that disgusting racist caricature?!!!!!"
"I’m just saying," added EvilSpock49, "if you’re going to kill Quednar in your story, you have to find some more plausible method of execution... Maybe you could have him accidentally pulled out of an airlock, for example."
"People, I know you’re just trying to vent your anger with these fanfictions, but it’s not doing any good," RyderGirl advised. "All killing off Quednar in an unauthorized fan fiction will do is make us look like a bunch of bloodthirsty nuts. If we really want to get rid of Quednar, we have to convince Forefather that no-one wants him. Don’t give up on our letter writing campaign."
"They’re never going to listen, RyderGirl," EvilSpock49 wrote. "We’ve already written thousands of E-Mails, and not received a single response. It’s pretty obvious that they don’t care."
"Someone will listen," BooWonder replied. "Someone has to."
"If they do," said EvilSpock49, "they’d better listen soon. We’re running out of time."
Meanwhile, the restaraunt staff was moving the broken table with its accompanying silverware and tablecloth. Quednar’s body was nowhere to be seen.
"I can’t believe Quednar survived getting shot through the chest like that," Blast Ryder mused. "He must have an extra heart."
"Maybe he had none in the first place," Beverly suggested. "You can’t kill something that’s already dead on the inside."
"Well, let’s stop talking about killing things for now," Blast replied. "I’m worried Forefather might be reading, and they might try to censor us again... I had my weapons replaced with iPod’s for months last time... Let’s just hope that got him out our hair for a while."
"I thought he was supposed to be your little comic relief buddy?" Beverly replied with a raised eyebrow.
"That’s only when the Man is watching," Ryder replied, and checked his Neutrino Scanning Unit® again. "This way."
The two of them walked through the nonsensically located restaraunt, past several patrons obliviously enjoying their meals. Ryder nearly bumped into a waiter when the Neutrino Scanning Unit® guided them into the kitchen. The staff glared out the corners of their eyes at the two out-of-place space travellers as they passed by the chef, tall, thin, and still intimidating even in his ridiculous floppy hat, as he lectured one of the newer cooks in the proper way to prepare chicken Monterrey. Ryder and Skullcrusher passed a row of pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack and came to a plain metal door, marked with a glowing red exit sign.
"This is where the Neutrino Scanning Unit® leads us," Ryder said.
"Do you have to spell out the entire name of the thing?" Beverly asked with annoyance. "Can’t you just call it the NSU?"
"No," Blast sighed. "Contractually, I can’t... Say, you’re acting a lot less... clingy, now. No offense."
"None taken," Beverly replied with her more traditional cool demeanor. "Someone must have talked some sense into my writers. Even on the fan sites, people don’t put up with the Blaverly pushers for very long."
"It must be tough, having so many crazy people messing with your personality," Blast said as he pushed the door open.
"You tell me, Forefather’s boy," she replied coldly, and followed Blast into the next room.
There was another jarring transition as they exited the mysterious restaraunt. Somehow, the restaraunt exited not back into the spaceship, but into what appeared to be a dense evergreen forest. Beverly shivered as they were greeted by an atmosphere of crisp early-morning air. A bright sun shone down upon them from between the trees. Somewhere in the sky above them, an eagle shrieked as it hunted its morning prey.
"Well, this is a nice room," Beverly said. "Who would have thought there would be such a pristine forest in the middle of a star ship?"
"I think your writers are messing with us again," Blast Ryder said, still looking at his Neutrino Scanning Unit®. "The ship’s bridge should be right in the middle of this... forest... apparently. Let’s go."
Blast Ryder turned to walk in the direction of the command bridge when he heard something swish past his ear, and saw a metal object appear embedded in the tree trunk in front of him. It was a deadly five-pointed Shuriken.
"Oh, sorry, gents," a raspy voice said. "I thought you were one of them."
"Keiji?" said Blast in surprise and disbelief. "Is that you?"
Keiji Veteran, ninja extraordinaire, dropped down from a tree branch, landing silently on the layers of brown pine needles below. His face, as always, was shrouded in a dark cloth. Only his intense green eyes were visible. The rest of his body was covered in midnight blue fabric.
Keiji was definitely the most popular supporting character. In terms of fandom, he rivaled even Blast Ryder himself. Part of his appeal was the mysterious aspect of his character. Besides the fact that he never revealed his face, very little had been revealed about his past. No one knew why a ninja would have a Brittish accent, either. A Blast Ryder fan comic had suggested that he received his ninja training at Oxford. David Heath, at the height of his power, had requested that Pierce Brosnan play him in the first movie, but he was busy with another film at the time.
"Keiji!" Beverly said joyously. "How long has it been, six years?"
"Seven, by my count," Keiji replied.
"What have you been up to, man?" Blast asked.
"Oh, I’ve been training, mostly," Keiji explained. "The way of the ninja is a never ending struggle."
"That’s what I thought about the battle of Straxion prime," Beverly said, and smiled.
"Ah, good times, good times," Blast smiled, but a grim look suddenly pervaded his face. "Say, Keiji..."
"What is it, Blast?" Keiji asked.
"Didn’t you... um... die?"
The three of them stood silent for what seemed like an eternity. Keiji stood motionlessly staring at them, a blank expression on his green eyes. Crickets chirped in the background. Somewhere, off in the forest, a woodpecker hammered away at a tree trunk.
"No, I didn’t," Keiji defended.
"I’m pretty sure you did," Blast reiterated. "Rogan hit you with a poison dart."
"I had an antidote," Keiji said.
"You specifically told us there wasn’t an antidote," Beverly said.
"I had built up an immunity," Keiji replied.
"Then, while you were battling Rogan, there was a hull breach," Blast said. "You told us you were coming with us, and then shut the airlocks behind us while you stayed to hold off Rogan."
"I can hold my breath a long time, chaps," Keiji defended. "Ninja training, you see."
"Then, your section of the ship detached, and we saw it float off into space and explode when the engines overloaded," Beverly said.
"I hid behind a wall of lead armor plating, found a space suit, and propelled myself to an escape pod," Keiji said.
"Your section of the ship and all its accompanying escape pods were immediately pulled in by the blue giant’s gravity and incinerated," Blast said.
"All right!" Keiji shouted. "I admit it! I’m supposed to be dead! I was killed off along with Emperor Rogan at the end of the third book! I’m only here talking to you now because some sad kid out there can’t accept the loss of his favorite fictitious character."
"Hey, at least your death had meaning and purpose," argued Beverly. "They didn’t even bother to kill me... They just took me out of the story and pretended I never existed."
"What about my death had meaning and purpose?" Keiji retorted. "Really, did I have to get myself killed to protect the galaxy from Rogan? With all my ninja training, couldn’t I have just defeated him and escaped?"
"What are you saying?" Blast questioned.
"I’m saying those Forefather swine wanted me out of the way," Keiji snarled. "I’m a ninja. I throw sharp objects at people. Somewhere along the way, Forefather decided this was supposed to be a children’s story, and then how were they supposed to have a movie for five-year-olds with some guy chucking shuriken at everybody? Besides, they never were too keen on "foreign" ideas like ninjas, unless they’re rolled into a stereotypical idiot like that insufferable Quednar. Racism and jingoism: plain and simple. Alternatively, maybe it was David Heath. Maybe I had to die because he was too lazy to come up with a convincing back story for me!"
"Don’t you talk about our author that way!" Blast shouted.
Keiji stood tall. He was several inches taller than Blast, and as he glared down at him, his skin furrowed between his angry green eyes. Staring down at him, he leaned inward, his face mere millimeters away from Blast’s. Blast could hear Keiji’s exasperated breath rushing through his face mask.
"You’re author has abandoned you," Keiji whispered quietly into Blast’s face. "Don’t you ever forget who’s really pulling your strings."
"Don’t fight, children," a voice said, and the three of them heard someone stomping through the fallen pine needles towards them.
A man emerged from the trees. He wore a suit much like Blast Ryder’s, but with a different color scheme. It looked like everywhere Blast wore brown, this man wore a very dark, almost black, blue. The pattern continued up to his head, which was topped with well styled dark blue hair, tied back with a long blue headband. Disturbingly, his face was an exact duplicate of Blast Ryder’s.
"Who the heck are you?" Blast inquired, quite annoyed to see someone so similar in appearance that they looked like they were almost mocking him. "Some kind of cosplayer?"
"Let me introduce myself," the Ryder clone said in a slightly arrogant tone. "My name is Smash Blazer. I am what you would call a fan character."
"...Well, you’re creator apparently wasn’t very creative," Keiji said, crossing his arms defiantly. "You look like someone took Ryder, painted him blue, and put a silly headband on him."
"Ironically, that’s exactly what she did," Smash replied, smirking cleverly. "I was created from Blast’s character sprite used in "Blast Ryder: Gateway to Oblivion" on the SNES."
"Ah, a good one," Beverly said. "It was a little short and easy, but much better than any of the more recent ones."
"Also, I am Blast’s match in strength and skill, and have the ability to freeze time," Smash continued, haughtilly listing his abilities. "I also have a mechanical arm and can fire lasers from my eyes."
Beverly, more knowledgeable than the other two at the state of the fan community, rolled her eyes at this. Some fan was always coming up with some so-called original character who was just a rehash of some pre-existing Blast Ryder character. Almost all of these characters had some ridiculous power that would seem to make them more powerful than the character they were copied from. Cybernetic limbs and laser vision were some of the least original she had heard of in quite some time.
"Well, it doesn’t matter what you can do or where you come from," Blast said. "What are you doing here?"
"I’ve come to give you a very dire warning," said Smash. "A great injustice is soon to hit the Blast Ryder universe. Blast, you are aware that there is a new movie coming out, correct?"
"Yes, I know," Blast said.
"Are you also aware that your author, David Heath, has nothing to do with the script writing process this time?" Smash added.
"...I had feared as much," Blast said gravely. "Something tells me the news gets worse, though."
"Yes," Smash replied. "It gets much worse. What I’m about to tell you was once a closely guarded company secret. Many Forefather employees lost their jobs to bring us this information... In ten weeks, before the next film comes to theatres... David Heath, creator of the Blast Ryder series, is to be removed."
"...Wha..." Beverly sputtered in disbelief. "Removed? You mean ‘Fired?’"
"That’s impossible!" Keiji Veteran gasped. "How do they dare remove the very creator of the series?"
"He’s not been in charge of the series," Blast said, staring morosely downward. "Not for ages."
"No, he hasn’t," Smash explained. "One by one, you’re all being phased out. Now, even your own author is being cut out of the deal... All so the Forefather corporation can bring us this."
Smash unfolded a large, glossy piece of paper and let it fall to the ground. There, in bold white letters against a starry black background, read the words "Coming this Holiday Season: Quednar’s Wish: A magical Christmas journey, starring everyone’s favorite wacky alien buddy... Quednar."
"What the... No..." Blast rasped, nearly inaudibly, his voice slowly raising to an airrending, primal scream of indignation as he fell to his knees pounding his gloved fists on the inanimate poster that lay before them, it’s message mocking the very universe that they had fought so hard to defend.
"He’s not even in the next Blast Ryder movie?" Beverly asked in utter disbelief.
"It’s not a Blast Ryder movie anymore," Smash explained gravely. "Since Forefather was put under new management in 2000, they’ve been doing everything they can to ‘save’ the series from itself. Steadily, they’ve been destroying everything that made Blast Ryder a success. This is the final step in their universal destruction. We’re being driven out of existence. Soon, they’ll even lose patience with Quednar, and our world will be no more."
"We can’t let it happen!" Blast said, rising defiantly to his feet. "This injustice can’t stand! Forefather must be taken back... for David Heath..."
"...and for the Blast Ryder fandom!" Beverly added.
"Let’s not go crazy, Bev," Blast said to her, still annoyed at the fans’ meddling in their storyline.
"Don’t you know what you’re saying, Blast?" Keiji said in disbelief. "You’re suggesting that we fight against Forefather. They have control of everything you do. No fictional character, in the history of mankind, has successfully overthrown his or her master."
"Well, we have something they didn’t," Blast said, and smirked cleverly. "You’ll see. So, who among you is willing to fight for your universe?"
"You know I’d never let you go into something like this alone," Beverly smiled. "If we’re rebelling against Forefather, you can count me in."
"...Blast Ryder gave me everything I have," Smash said. "If I can do anything to save the universe from which mine came, even if it means losing my own life, I have no choice. I’m in."
"Well..." Keiji sighed reluctantly. "I think the whole thing reeks of a suicide mission. I don’t see any way we can make it out of this alive... Still, what have I to lose? You can’t kill what’s already dead... I’m going."
"Then, it’s agreed," Blast Ryder said. "Today, we fight for what is ours. Now, we fight for our very existence. This is where we make our stand. For all that is still good in this universe, we must not fail."
By that time, it was ten AM in the morning. Once again, David Heath stood in front of Mr. Copperbloom. Mr. Copperbloom held the typed manuscript in his stubby hands. He adjusted his gilded reading spectacles, and unscrewed the cap of his red pen. Holding the revised story up to the light, Mr. Copperbloom cast a sidelong glance at David Heath and smiled evilly, slightly revealing his yellowed canines. Little did Heath know, Copperbloom mused to himself, that this would be the last Blast Ryder story he would ever write.
Finally, the spaceship was starting to look a little more like a spaceship. The four of them descended into a cave, the rock walls slowly transitioning into the metallic walls of a spaceship. Soon, they reached a giant door, at least ten feet wide. Above the door, there was a carved skull, with curved horns twisting all the way around the door and down to the floor.
"Ominous," mused Keiji. "It’s like a door into the land of the dead."
"Well, we might not make it out of this alive," Beverly noted. "Blast I just want you to know, in case we never speak again... I never really loved you."
"I know," Blast replied solemnly, and, after a deep breath, added. "Let’s do this."
Almost as if welcoming them in, the door slid loudly open, with a noise like stone grinding against bones. The four of them continued into the pitch black darkness beyond, not knowing what awaited them. Blast ventured heroically in front. Behind him came Beverly, walking with an air of cold indifference. Wound tightly as a spring, Keiji walked cautiously behind in the third position. Coming up behind him, Smash Blazer walked with his chin held high, apparently too sure of his abilities to be afraid of the danger that awaited him.
Soon, the three of them came to a large, circular room. At the center, a dimly glowing tank, three feet in diameter, filled with mysterious fluid bubbled like some ominous lava lamp, or a demon champaign glass. A tall figure stood in front of the tank, staring as the bubbling brew. A high collar obscured the back of his head.
"I’ve been waiting for you," said a cold, dark voice, which sent shivers down Smash’s spine, causing him to suddenly realize the danger and back up a couple steps from fear.
"We’ve come for the TWD," Blast said, standing tall, no evidence of fear in his voice. "Get out of our way or prepare to fight us."
The dark voice chcukled, and the caped figure began to turn around. Two glowing red eyes stared out at them from the shadows between that high collar. Nonchalantly, he unfastened the cloak and let it drop behind him.
"You!" Keiji said vehemently, and quietly reached for a shuriken behind his back.
"You act surprised," said Jason Quednar, and chuckled coldly, his previous annoying voice replaced by one of pure malice. "What’s wrong? Was it that little act I’ve been putting on for you these past years? Did you not think that the innocently brainless little Quednar could ever become the master of all that is evil in this universe?"
"This is madness!" Beverly shouted. "Everyone knew you were a waste of ink, but to think that you would actively participate in our universe’s decapitation?"
"Oh, but you’re wrong," Quednar said. "The universe will live on. It will be a better world... a world without Blast Ryder..." He spread his arms out dramatically, revealing the seemingly new muscles in his previously weak arms. "Welcome... to the Jason Quednar universe."
"You’re a fool, Quednar!" Smash said. "No one will accept you as the mascot of this continuiity! I don’t know why, but Forefather is trying to destroy this universe, and you along with it!"
"Harsh words from an extra-universer," Quednar sneered. "What place have you to say anything, Smash Blazer, creation of RyderGirl of SaveRyder.com? Miserable spawn of a fan-writer... What legitimacy do you even have?"
"I am not a fan fiction character," Smash Blazer said, "some fan-girl’s dream, designed only for a writer to grasp helplessly at a world they could never reach. I am a signature avatar... The symbol of RyderGirl, organizer of SaveRyder.com, and savior of the Blast Ryder universe. I’ve been created with one singular purpose... the destruction of you, and all characters who would seek to destroy the world of Blast Ryder."
"Smash might never be a part of this continuiity," Beverly said, "and he may never have the legitimacy of characters like me, Blast, and Keiji... but he will still have infinitely more legitimacy than you could ever have... You, the spawn of CEO Copperfield... Crusher of dreams and ruiner of fictitious worlds. You’re not even good enough to be a fan character."
"Enough!" spoke an omnipresent voice that boomed in from all directions. "The time draws near, Quednar... Destroy them... starting with Blast Ryder."
"Yes, Master Copperfield," Quednar said, and reached for a blaster.
Keiji’s shuriken spun into the weapon, and Quednar, growling in rage, threw the damaged weapon back at Keiji as it sparkled with electricity. The weapon pegged Keiji in the chest before he could even dodge, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him tumbling backwards. Blast and Beverly immediately rushed Quednar, who put up his green fists to defend himelf. Blast aimed a barrage of lightning fast jabs at Quednar’s face while Beverly jumped into the air for a devestating roundhouse kick. Quednar blocked both attacks deftly, his left arm moving to block Ryder’s hits with machine-like efficiency, and his right arm grabbing Beverly by her ankle and throwing her accross the room, where she landed painfully on her back. He then butted Blast with his hardened green forehead, and Blast fell dizzily to the ground.
"Bitmap paint laser!" Smash shouted at hte top of his lungs, and a red, pixelated beam came shooting from his eyes.
"You think cheap PhotoShop tricks can stop me?" Quednar cackled, and deflected the red line back at Smash with his bare hand.
Smash fell to the floor with a grunt, clutching his injured chest with one hand. Quednar ignored him, laughing cruelly as he approached Blast Ryder, who sat clutching his aching head. Struggling to shake off his injury, Blast stared dizzily up at Jason Quednar.
"Don’t you see?" Quednar said with a grin. "This is my world now. The days of your effortlessly defeating space villains are over. Master Copperfield... Should I do the honors?"
"No, Quednar," Copperfield’s voice said. "I’m preparing to dispose of Mr. Heath. Let Mr. Ryder experience the horror of seeing his creator fall."
"You’ll never get away with this Quednar," Blast muttered, still struggling to retain his consciousness.
"Talk about cliches," said Quednar. "Master Copperfield, how long until Heath is gone?"
"He will be gone soon, and your dominion over this world will be complete," Copperfield replied. "First... I must ask one more favor of him..."
Meanwhile, David Heath stood waiting apprehensively as Mr. Copperfield read his latest manuscript. Finally, Mr. Copperfield put down the manuscript, folded his glasses into his pocket, and looked Heath in the eye.
"This is much better," Copperfield said, with an oily tone in his voice that made David Heath grit his teeth. "It seems you can be trained. Now, this story is missing one thing. As I said before, we need a tie in to the next movie. Do you think it would be possible for you to add Quednar into this story?"
"Is that Heath out there?" Keiji rasped, still lying powerlessly on the floor. "How are we able to hear him from this world?"
Heath tasted something bitter in the back of his mouth at the name. Quednar... a character who had utterly no place in the the Blast Ryder series. Despite the character’s increasing prevalence in the movies, Heath had never once considered putting the despicable character in any of his stories. With his mix of hateful racist stereotypes and shameless product promotion, the character represented not only everything that was going wrong with Blast Ryder, but everything that was wrong in the world: a nauseating cocktail of hatred and greed. No matter what happened, Heath had decided long ago, he would never allow Jason Quednar to corrupt his orignal work.
"No, sir," Heath replied. "I can’t do that."
The four heroes and their adversary listened from the other side. As Heath spoke, Blast found his strength slowly returning. Quednar looked apprehensively around him, as if looking for a sign from Copperfield himself.
"Why not, Heath?" Copperfield said, a tinge of violence in his voice.
"Well, for starters, my father was Irish, so I don’t think I can promote such a racist Irish stereotype," Heath explained.
"I thought Quednar was supposed to be Polish," Beverly said as she climbed painfully to her feet.
"He insults every ethnic group equally," Keiji explained. "He’s an equal opportunity offender."
"Heath," Copperfield said, "if you don’t do this... you will be fired."
Heath hesitated. Elsewhere, Blast found himself growing dizzy again. He found the world spinning around him, and the lights seemed to fade. Meanqhile, Heath gulped nervously, cautiously weighing the consequences, and gathered his courage.
"I don’t care," Heath said. "You can fire me and ruin my financial future... but as long as I live, you will, never, never use my story as a tool for opression!"
As these words were spoken, Blast’s strength instantly returned. He jumped to his feet, hitting Quednar in the face with a viscious hook. Quednar teetered backwards, barely remaining standing, and wiped a stream of blood from his broken lip.
"No!" he said. "You can’t defeat me! I am the Hero!"
"Haven’t you been listening?" Beverly said, cracking her knuckles. "Heath has finally taken a stand. We’re the heroes now... It’s over, Quednar."
"Stop them!" Copperfield hissed. "I’ve almost defeated Heath! Hold them off!"
"Better yet..." Quednar said, reaching for a button on his belt, "I’ll destroy them all... here and now!"
A hole opened in the ceiling above, exposing the bridge to the empty vacuum of space. All the oxygen began rushing from the room. Ironically, Quednar immediately was the first to be pulled towards the gap in the ship’s hull. Screaming, he flew towards the hole, and gripped desperately at the ship, the air rushing against him. Slowly, his grip gave way. Quednar flew out into the vastness of space, cursing the heroes with every fiber of his being as he was propelled endlessly through the cold emptiness.
Immediately, the four heroes were blown off their feet towards the gap in the hull. Right as Keiji was about to be suffocated in the vacuum of space again, a voice cried out "Time freeze!" The air froze in place, and everyone immediately fell to the floor.
"That did come in handy, actually," Keiji admitted.
"It won’t hold for long, though," Smash said. "You three take the TWD and finish what we’ve started."
"What about you?" Beverly asked.
"I have to stay here to hold the time freeze," Smash said. "I’ll go out the way I came."
"What if you don’t make it out?" Blast asked.
Smash smiled. "I can’t die here. This isn’t even my universe. I’ll catch you cats later."
"Well, since you refuse to do as your employer tells you," Mr. Copperfield said. "I don’t see any reason that you should stay with Forefather Publications, I don’t see any reason that you should stay with us. Mr. Heath, you are officially fi-"
With a crack as if the sky had broken apart, three heroes fell from above. Keiji and Beverly guarded David Heath. Blast Ryder steadied his blaster directly at Mr. Copperfield.
"Don’t say another word, Copperfield," said Blast, "or should I say... Emperor Rogan."
Copperfield’s eyes widened at the name. His eyes darted back and fourth between the three heroes. Then, with inhuman speed, he rushed at Blast Ryder. Blast managed three shots at the hulking man, but it didn’t stop him, and he was thrown against the wall. Before Copperfield could finish Blast off, Keiji threw three throwing stars into Copperfield’s forearm. Copperfield reared back, and gripped his arm. The three stars popped from his arm, unbloodied in his unhuman arm. In rage, Copperfield opened his mouth wider than should have been possible. He let out a terrrible hiss, his canine’s extending into fangs. Before he could make another move, Beverly jumped and kicked him in the middle of the chest. Copperfield flew backwards, and crashed threw the window behind him.
After falling a few stories towards the street below, Copperfield came rushing back upwards. Two scaly, dragon-like wings, sprouted from his back. His eyes glowed a deep, unnatural red, and the sky behind him seemed to darken.
"This isn’t over yet," Copperfield hissed. "You may have saved your world, but there are countless others. We shall meet again... heroes."
With that, the evil emperor Rogan disappeared in a flash, taking his accompanying aura of darkness with him. Blast twirled his laser pistol and placed it back on his belt, and then turned towards his author, David Heath. David Heath stood looking at the three of them. He blinked repeatedly, his brow frozen in an expression of consternation.
"Well..." he said, "I would be lying if I said I’d never thought Copperfield was some kind of evil space emperor... How did you three get here?"
"Rogan must have escaped to your universe when his ship exploded," Blast said.
"We followed Rogan here through the Transuniversal Warp Device," Beverly explained.
"I see..." Heath said, keeping his cool despite the series of incredibly unlikely events that had just occurred. "So, are you going to help me explain what happened to the police?"
"Don’t worry," Blast replied. "Hundreds of people down there just saw Mr. Copperfield fly away on dragon wings. I don’t think anyone is going to think that you pushed him out a window."
"...Blast, I’m so sorry about what I’ve done to you," David Heath said. "I’ve been a fool, and a coward. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"
"Don’t worry about it, Dave," Blast flippantly replied. "You did what you had to do to protect your family. We can undo the damage that’s been done... The three of us and you."
"Well, I’m afraid I’m not part of the company anymore," Heath said.
"That’s not a problem," Keiji replied. "Since my time in the Blast Ryder universe is passed, I think I’ll stay here a while and help get this company back in the right direction. I’ll figure out some way to get you the rights to your characters back. I did go to Oxford law school, after all."
A crack opened in the space of the room, glowing blue against the white office walls. Blast Ryder and Beverly Dana Skullcrusher walked slowly towards the transdimensional rift. Slowly, the two of them returned to their own universe. As he walked towards the glowing rift, Blast held his fingers too his forehead in a salute.
"You take care... David Heath," Blast Ryder said... and disappeared.
RyderGirl, as she liked to be called on the internet, sat at her computer, scouring the news sites, trying to discern exactly what had happened to Forefather CEO Copperbloom. Rumors abounded, but the most the company was willing to admit was that Copperbloom had suddenly decided to spend more time with his family, and retired. A broken window and multiple sightings of what appeared to be a dragon flying away from the company headquarters persisted, but the company’s lips were sealed.
Copperbloom had immediately been replaced by a mysterious Englishman by the name of Cage. Cage had already promised that this was the start of a grand new era for the company. His first act as CEO was to promote Blast Ryder creator David Heath to the position of chief creative producer, putting him in control of Blast Ryder and all its related incarnations. In a press release, Heath had announced that the next Blast Ryder film, now entitled "Blast Ryder and the Dark Moon," would be delayed several years to facilitate a complete script rewrite. Mr. Cage had not made an appearance at the event, claiming a severe skin condition prevented him from exposing his face to sunlight.
RyderGirl, though pleased, felt some unease in the back of her mind. First, while she felt that she had something to do with the company’s sudden change of heart, she couldn’t imagine that it was all because of her the campaign she had organized. Certainly, she had gotten through to someone... but whom? Despite her search for more information, the answer continued to hover just out of her grasp.
Second, RyderGirl felt a deep sense of dread and foreboding. Something told her that while Blast Ryder was safe for now, the battle was far from over. Accross the world, other companies continued to abuse the creatures that had sprung from their employee’s minds. Was what had happened to Blast Ryder just the tip of the iceberg, a mere fraction of the terror that still gripped the world.
If it was, decided RyderGirl, she would be there to fight it. No matter what happened, she would never give up. She would not rest until all creative works were free from corporate greed and hatred. No matter what injustice would soon occur, she would not allow them to ruin the characters that she had come to love. With that, RyderGirl shut down her laptop, turned off the lights, and, for the first time in five long years, slept soundly and without the dread to which the Ryder fans had become accustomed.
Blast Ryder will return, in "Blast Ryder vs. the Office of Standards and Practices."

APPPROACHING SOUND BARRIER!!!!!!

APPROACHING SOUND BAAAAARRRRIIIIEEEEERRRRR!