It was somewhere in the middle of the pacific, this white plateau jutting out from the sea. 5 different ships surrounded the deserted guano island; a Soviet nuclear submarine, an American aircraft carrier, a British flying galleon, a gigantic yacht, and a fishing trawler.
"I feel out of place," the captain of the trawler said.
"You and me both," Dmitri, the man who chartered this journey, responded. Not wanting to waste more time, he assembled the industrial strength grappling hook. It soared through the air, affixing to the top of the plateau with a pleasant thunk.
20 minutes later, he reached had reached the top.
"Should we leave," the first mate asked.
"He bolted the other end of that thing to our prow. We might as well relax while the carpenter removes it."
At the top of the plateau, 5 groups of people stood. The first consisted solely of Dmitri, and was hardly worth mentioning.
The second was led by a young woman, looking not a day over 20. She wore an elegant yellow dress, sported priceless jewelry, and had a crown atop her brunette hair. Behind her stood four servants in uniform, each a different nationality: an Irishman, an Indian, an Egyptian, and a Nigerian.
The third group was a bit strange, as almost all of them were busy talking on phones the size of bricks. Their leader wore a full set of football gear; his jersey number was '01,' and his name read 'Running back.'
The fourth group was much more strange, by comparison. A faceless boy in a child's church suit was cradled in the arms of a young Latina woman, also in church clothes. The woman was angrily accosting several men in black suits behind them, but they maintained a stern silence throughout.
These groups each had different goals in being here, but their attention was unified its focus: the fifth group.
It was led by a man in an orange jump suit filled with buttons and zippers, his head obscured under a white fishbowl helmet. On his left side was a man currently hiding under an umbrella, and on his right was the captain of the submarine. He was Comrade Cosmonaut, the man who would be captain of this new hero group.
He made a coughing gesture but, forgetting to press the intercom button on his wrist, it just looked like a weird pantomime.
"Haha, looks like I might need to have a talk with my tailor! Anyway, the boys in Moscow prepared a huge speech for me to say here... But who's got time for that, eh? Let's call the All-Star league assembled, and be off for dinner."
Cosmonaut turned to fly away, but was stopped by a series of no's and wait's.
"Was there something I missed? Don't tell me you wanted the speech, after all? Is it alright if I have somebody else do it?"
"How can the meeting be over if the most important matter isn't even settled?"
Seeing her Majesty make the first move, the men following the faceless boy chimed in.
"That's right! Every group needs a captain, and you aren't automatically it!"
"Mommy, are all adults like this?"
The Latina woman had to think for a moment before responding to the faceless boy.
"No, of course not! They want to be your friend, so they aren't giving anyone face to make you feel welcome."
"Really?"
"Sure! Now let the adults finishing talking, Bubbles."
Making doubly sure the talk button was held down, Comrade Cosmonaut let out a hearty laugh.
"I like teammates with spirit! As it happens, I've been feeling a tad bloated since that Chernobyl kerfuffle, so let's spar! Whoever can beat me gets to be captain!"
The two men escorting Comrade Cosmonaut fumed at his loose lips.
"The council has not approved this," The man under the umbrella said through gritted teeth.
"We do not have clearance for that type of demonstration! You must stand down, sir," the submarine captain roared.
"What, I am saving you all another 3 weeks of meetings! Besides, they'll whine endlessly until I show them the mountain beyond the mountain. So, who's first?"
It was now time for the backup to handle things, and the plateau soon descended into a spree of backroom deals, despite Cosmonaut's stated intention to avoid such a fate.
Dmitri, having no such backup, busied himself with inspecting the contents of his massive duffle bag. An unsettling, child-like voice suddenly asked a question from over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?"
"Just getting ready for the spar. I figure I should give it my best, since I'm here and all."
"But scanners indicate you have no power. Do you know magic, mister?"
He finally stood up from his crouched position, turning to see a faceless boy looking back at him.
"You must be the war machine?"
"Are you asking a question, mister?"
"I don't know. I guess I just expected the military's most deadly android to be a bit, you know, scarier."
"But my name is Bubbles, not war machine. You can even ask Mommy," the faceless boy said while pointing to the Latina woman now approaching their location.
"There you are! What have I told you about wandering off, huh? I apologize if he caused you any trouble, sir."
"Oh no, he's a charming boy. Is he your only... kid?"
"Mommy, what is war machine?"
Her once friendly eyes began to stare daggers at Dmitri. hurriedly, he rushed in to defuse the situation.
"Oh, I was just wondering who gave him such a cool hero name."
"Hero name?"
"That's right, honey. You are a hero now, so we can't have bad guys bothering you at home. All the heroes have hero names, just like the mister here."
"Really? What's your hero name, mister?"
"The John."
"What's a John?"
The daggers returned, now twice as sharp. Luckily, the negotiations had just finished. The men in black returned to the faceless boy's side, whispering in his 'mother's' ear.
"Bubbles, can you show everyone your bubbles? Just those not fighting, honey."
"Sure thing, mommy!"
The faceless boy raised his hand, and a bubble-like force field enveloped everyone present, save for Comrade Cosmonaut and her Majesty.
"Oh, dearie me. I only know old Masonic rules, is that acceptable?"
"Ain't that the one with one strike per participant?"
He looked to the man under the umbrella, who nodded.
"Fine by me, but are you sure you can take a hit from me? Tell you what, you go first; I insist!"
Her Majesty smiled, before belching a mouth full of fog. It flowed from her lips like a river, flooding the plateau and reducing everyone's vision. The sounds of the ocean faded away, replaced by a steady tick tocking. In the distance, a clock tower appeared. It was ethereal at first, but became more solid the foggier things got.
Finally, she ceased regurgitating fog, and uttered a single word.
"Londinium."
GONG!
The clock tower rang, its toll a portent of doom. The fog shuttered, and charged at Comrade Cosmonaut all at once. Exotic animals, executed criminals, and long dead soldiers appeared in the mist, delivering their fiercest attacks from all angles.
Her Majesty, meanwhile, opened a large trunk. From it, she drew four weapons.
The first, a silver ankus, caused two additional arms to grow from her back.
The second, a barbed spear carved entirely from emerald, gave off a menacing gleam.
The third, a golden fly whisk, radiated with healing power.
The fourth, a black khopesh, could barely be seen.
She charged the Cosmonaut, who still appeared buried under an avalanche of furious fog.
"Here I come," She yelled.
"I'm going to block," he suddenly yelled back.
The area became bathed in a sickening green neon. The fog instantly dispersed, revealing the scene of her four weapons clashing helpless against his glowing figure.
"So you still won't recognize my ownership," she thought with a sigh.
"I acknowledge you as Captain..."
She then turned and boarded the flying galleon, leaving without even a goodbye.