None in the Family

Hi there; this is Andrew Stennels, a.k.a. the Cat with the Golden Gun. I know it’s been a long time since I last talked to you but I’ve been so busy with my own life. I wish to confirm, however, that I am an ally to the G-52s. You just don’t see as much since the media attention is always on Cripto and Leo the Patriotic Lion. Go figure. At least they leave me alone. They know I have my own life and my own business to attend to, so they don’t bother speaking to me about what I do or my prized antique, the golden gun, which I keep from all buyers. It never has and never will go up for auction on eBay, so don’t even bother talking to me about it. Oh, and I am from Chicago, and thus am a Chicago Cubs fans, so I’m sorry if I insulted all you St. Louis Cardinals fans. I know the rivalry is one of the most hated in sports, the most hated being the Army-Navy showdown, but I’m showing loyalty to my home. (People have booed, hissed, and wished for troubles—although not death, notably—on me just for that. “Sports fans! You shut up and get a life!” Leo once commented. “No sports actions are worth death!” I suppose you can be the judge of that.)

Many of the G-52s stand 6’0” or taller, and I am only 5’7”, but that doesn’t stop me from doing the community a public service. How do I do it? I am more of the secret agent type. When the G-52s have a case that they feel they won’t be able to solve without being detected by anything, that’s where I come in. I may be short, but being short has its advantages; it lets me slip through enemy traps quicker, and I can hide easier in cases where hiding is necessary. It’s a good think I was a champion as a child when it came to hide-and-seek.

Today wouldn’t require me to hide from anybody, however. Today needed me to clear my sister’s name from the enemy charts. You see, W.C. (WARCAT), the gruff-voiced biker tiger in black that serves as a freelance cop, is single and plans on having no family anytime; his job wouldn’t allow him any time for that. Yet he adopted somebody according to the records. “I have no kids of my own and I don’t plan to marry anytime soon,” he told the press. “These records are false. Yet, at the moment, there’s no way to prove that, nor is there any way to prove Bendraqi was behind it if it was him. So stop calling me!”

Her name was Sarah-Jane, and the truth of the matter was that she was my sister, and not W.C.’s adopted daughter. The records, however, said she was his adopted daughter, and therefore, my parents should’ve been in prison, because at the time, we still had the harsh and fascist-type laws that threw you in jail for disowning for child. It looked legit, because there was no evidence that it wasn’t. The public and the record keepers knew better than to believe it, though, because they still had (and forever will have) the fear of Leo bellowing them into oblivion even if he promised he’d never do it again, and because many of them knew me personally, family or otherwise. In fact, my dad worked for these record keepers, since he worked on family genealogies at the library.

“I’ve done the research,” Dad said to both of us, and to W.C., when we stopped by the library one day. The only reason the press was also there was because they had yet to speak to Dad, and he agreed. “You can see by the work I’ve done here that everything’s been straightened out, and that now the records have it right,” he said. “She’s my daughter by birth and not his by adoption. Yet it won’t seem to go through confirmation because of the old records saying otherwise.”

“Now we know the truth,” said a reporter to W.C. “Do you have any leads on the case yet?”

“Not yet, but I am getting to work on it right away,” W.C. replied. “In fact, I’m recruiting these two here to join the other G-52s—and I am a G-52 in case you forgot, so I am also hurt by the alleged scandals behind Leo the Patriotic Lion, but that’s a different story—so that we can all solve this case together. It won’t be surprising to anybody if that was Bendraqi’s dirty work, but he obviously had to have done it back in the 1980s, because this is dated 1984, and this year is 2014. That was 30 years ago. He’s so stupid, he wouldn’t pull this off today, because his brain is so warped from all those parrots pecking at his head and almost poking his eyes out.”

“Leo doesn’t have any scandals on himself,” I protested. “Does he?”

“Well, sort of,” said the reporter. “All those terrorists are spreading all those lies, and it’s been infecting the news ever since. Even with his help, we are having troubles sorting the truth from the balderdash.”

“I see.”

Later, when Sarah and I joined the other G-52s in searching for Bendraqi’s base, Sarah rode in the Patriotmobile with Leo so she wouldn’t be seen by anybody that wasn’t supposed to see her. I have my own motorcycle, so I followed W.C. down the street. I also remembered that Bendraqi suffered night terrors from three things: 1) Leo himself, 2) the American flag, and 3) “The Star-Spangled Banner.” We had two out of those three, because the Lion of Liberty always carries the flag into battle. Thus, if Bendraqi’s base was somewhere in Wildcat City, it would be on the outskirts or the highway leading into it or away from it.

As it turned out, we found it on the highway leading away from it, so we let Boomcat blow the front door down with his powers. The rest of the routine was the same old boring thing, so I had to bear in mind that we were balancing this out with the other terrorists. And sure enough, I had a gut feeling that a new baddie was to arise very soon, and this one being a challenge and smart. But smart isn’t always welcomed either. I apologize for forgetting his name, but there’s at least one terrorist wanted dead or alive that went to Harvard. “If that’s what smart people become, we’d rather be stupid!” the citizens of Wildcat City protested while they still fought hard to stay outdated. Nowadays, of course, they’re surrendering that fight and are finally catching up with the world.

With the freak accidents of Cripto’s powers bringing those cartoon and video game characters to life, however, you’d think this world was getting cartoonier. Bendraqi was desperately trying to get his beams to cooperate, but it wasn’t working. We fought off his goons and robots with all our might, because they were actually trying their hardest, and they were way smarter than their boss. In fact, they were hoping to break away from him and form their own group, since all those previous goons Cripto humiliated in that famous roller derby bout had given up their evil ways for all eternity.

The superheroes used their powers and shields to fight back and defend themselves from Bendraqi’s beam, and W.C. and I were firing our pistols in self-defense. But nobody got hurt. We aimed at the machinery anyway, and not at Bendraqi. There’s no worse feeling in life than taking somebody else’s life and paying the price for it with your own. And W.C. still hasn’t been able to live down those three instances where he killed all three Alkadozers in self-defense, but it was self-defense, so the police didn’t charge him with anything.

So how was it getting cartoony, you ask? Well, it all had to do with all those times in the past where a bomb in Bendraqi’s face blowing up just left his face black as charcoal, for instance. Other times we’d bonk him with something and he’d wake up with literal stars in his eyes. But this instance really took the cake. When he tried to get the beam to work on Super C so it would fry him, it instead took a weird curve and turned on Bendraqi himself. In the end, part of his body was missing, and he looked like a donut with body parts. The scream he let out as a result was understandable.

Sarah willing tested it by jumping through the hole, and jumped through clean without a scratch. “No harm done,” she reported. “He could be a circus act for dogs or something, but we can’t afford to light him with a match.”

“No,” W.C. echoed. “We don’t want him to die and the murder charges on us. He must live to see the consequences of his actions.” We then got him to confess that he did indeed mess up the family records in 1984, but nobody bothered to do anything about it for years because he convinced all the records were destroyed, when it fact, he had buried them somewhere. Only now had we came across them when my dad got a photocopy of them in the mail from the government, since the government (thanks to Leo’s influence here) made backup copies for the backup copies. Plus, detectives in other police departments (as well as our police detective wolf, Lt. Oliver Drebin), had made discoveries about Bendraqi’s handwriting, as well as security camera tapes revealing he forged the documents himself. This made it permanent that our names were in the clear and W.C. was free to continue his work in peace.

After Super Leo transferred Bendraqi to Alcatraz, we all stopped by Cripto’s house to rest for a while before going to eat lunch. I was glad that everything was now straightened out, and that we could be a family for real. And in the event that you may need my help, don’t be afraid to call me, for I’ll be there faster than you can say my name in the Bond style: “Stennels. Andrew Stennels.” I don’t have a number attached, however.

Cat with the Golden Gun out.

THE END

---

References made to RPs with  zakavatarz,  Zanta Keplicus,  Chuong, and  ZelusBlaze. All characters and worlds belong to them and are used with their permission.