[JimmyDimples]

RANDOM: Thanks 🙂 I didn’t want Betty to look too upset, as I wasn’t sure which character the requester liked more! I didn’t want him thinking, “Oh noes! I <3 Betty an dshe is teh saddond!” Not saying the requester talks like a n00b or anything, I just like typing like that 🙂

Maybe I should subcontract writing Mi5+4 H4X0R‘s dialogue to you… 😛

Oh, and back on topic… nice pic. 😉

[JimmyDimples]

Sorry, I can’t agree there. If totally trashing one’s computer is "gentle," I’d hate to see what she’d have done if she were mad at him. From what I can tell, she’s not as much in love with him as she is in having him under her spell, or thumb, or whatever.

And on Michael ditching Rhianna like that… I’ve been on the receiving end of being called a blobbutt myself, and while I don’t know how much of a shrew Rhianna was, I definitely would’ve tried to get her help if that happened to her.

I stand by my previous statement.

Oh, one other thing… wouldn’t Maryanne have at least ONE platonic guy friend to talk to? It seems like it’s always a Girls Rule/Us Vs. Them mentality. (Yeah, this is from the guy that passed out handguns to the Pendant Changes spinoff schoolboys. Sue me.)

[JimmyDimples]

Story was well written… but something was bugging me…

Why can’t the girls in these stories ever meet a nice, kind, sensitive, guy, instead of all these jerks and twits?

I wish that a nice guy would pop up in this one…

That makes me want to write a story… and I would if I didn’t have so many on the burners now!

[JimmyDimples]

I gotta agree. I like seeing ladies nice ‘n healthy, but when they check their original sex at the door to get it… I’ll be checking out.

[JimmyDimples]

Thats excellent Fasola!

thanx alot!

I think i like the second one best, even tough i would have prefered to have the two girls dressed the same.

You know girls, they get jealous and/or critical about the other girl’s outfit, and we get a cat fight…..hmmmm. 😆

🙄 Me-ouch. 😛

[JimmyDimples]

Part 2:  Lingo

"Hmph!  Hnnrgh!  Wrrmgh!"

Bob struggled as he pushed the weight machine's bar up and down.  He'd finally gotten it up to 50 pounds, according to the device's LED readout, but it wasn't enough.  He still hated having boobs bigger than some of the girls here.  At least his huge gut most of the attention off it.  He mentally yelled at himself to keep going!  Harder!  Push!  Move it, you big fat tub of goo!

He was his own worst critic.  And drill instructor.

"And this just in," said the news/talk radio broadcast on his radio/mp3 player's headphones, "a Kansas City gym is witness to a very bizzare death.  Bodybuilder Walt Madden, 33, was found dead on the floor of Steelback's Fitness Center's weight room.  Witnesses reported that Madden, formerly 232 pounds of muscle, was reduced to a virtually mummified skeleton, with little more than skin, bones, and hair remaining.  Also remaining on his body was a one U.S. dollar bill with a green skeleton replacing George Washington's profile.  Police have not ruled out a homicide, though there have been no signs of a break in."  

That got Bob's attention.  KC wasn't that far from New Vista.  He idly wondered whether whoever did this took away the fat, too…

"Hey, Blob.  Move."

He ignored it.  His name was Bob.  "Hey.  Body by Cake."  He felt a backhand rap his flabby upper left arm.  "I said move."

Closing his eyes, he kept pumping the iron.  Then it stopped.  He couldn't push it further.  And not because his arms were too tired.  The bar was stuck.  He opened his eyes.

Roy stood over him, holding the bar down.

"What's the matter, wimp?" he said.  "You can't handle 50 pounds, you don't belong here.  Move."

"Stop it," Bob grunted.

"Stop it," Roy mocked.

"I waited 30 minutes for my turn, and I'm a student like everyone else!" Bob huffed.  "Go bug someone or do something else!"

"Football team has priority," said Roy.  "Beat it."

"HEY!"  Bob shouted.  "Spotter, please!"  Then Roy suddenly let go.  "AAGH!"  Bob threw something out of joint when his arms rocketed up.  Staring, he'd seen that the weight plates had been disconnected from the pulley system.  His shoulders ached like crazy.

"You butthead!" he shouted.  "You did that on purpose!"

"Did what?"

"I probably dislocated something, thanks to you!"

"So what?  You're the one who kept pushing," Roy said simply and pointed to the door.  "Anyway, you can't exercise now.  Now walk it off, go home and play your little computer shooter or something."

"No fracking way!  I'll–"

"You'll leave," Roy interrupted.  "Door.  That way."

Bob seethed and didn't budge.  "You move me."

"Fine."  And Roy grabbed him with one hand by the collar, hoisted him up, and pulled him to the door.  But when he turned the handle with his free hand, it wouldn't open.  

Cheryl, the gym attendant, rushed up.  "What's the trouble?"

"This door won't op–"

"This jockstrap head injured me!"

And the shouting match raged between the two until Cheryl blew her sports whistle.

"Simmer down!" she said.  Then she heard more doors lock shut.  Other exercisers then tried working the doors.  She tried putting in her key, but no results.  

Then the three heard a "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"  Roy's buddy Mitch was running at an impossibly fast rate on the treadmill.  He was slamming the emergency stop button with his palm, but it kept going.  "Somebody stop this thing!" he yelled.

"Hey," called Cheryl, "why don't you just step on the sides where there's no–"

"Yaaagh!"  Mitch got catapulted into the free weights.

Cheryl sighed.  "… tread."

Roy then wiped his brow and said, "Is it just me, or did it just get hotter in here all of a sudden?"

Bob looked around.  "Yeah, it does feel warmer."  He checked a thermostat.  The temperature read 86 degrees Fahrenheit, and was slowly inching up.

Then he saw something on the check-in desk's computer monitor:  It was a simple message in big letters,  numbers, and symbols:  

C|_|M 0|| f331 +#@ 8|_|R||

"I'll call for help," Cheryl said.  But when she picked up the desk phone, she got no dial tone.  She tapped the hook over and over.  "Nothing.  It's dead!"

"What's going on here?!" Roy demanded, alarm tainting his voice.

Bob glanced around.  Tempted as he was to slip away and find his own way out, he decided to pull out his cell phone and hit 911.

***
As patrolman Adam Welsh and bank manager Hiram "Hi" Fieze gathered up the bills while Scott checked the footage he caught on videotape, Deena and reporter Tom Thorndyke squinted at the message on the ATM's screen.

Scott scratched his head.  "Think it's some kind of code?"

Deena's forehead wrinkled in worry.  "What if it's a virus?!"

Scott groaned.  "I'd better call my bank and credit bureau. I hope I'm not gonna end up a victim of identity theft."

Tom shook his head.  "Well, we've got the ROTC/Sparta piece to cover.  The cops have the ATMs covered now.  We'll figure out the message later, if it's that.  It's probably just a snafu in the system."

"It's leetspeak," said someone behind them.  

They spun around.  It was a 13 year old boy in jeans and a black t-shirt with "It's Only Ones And Zeroes" in bright green letters.

"Leet-what?" asked Scott.

"Leetspeak.  As in, 'fear my 'leet hacking skills'?"

"Hey, who asked you, kid?" Tom huffed.

"Wait, wait, wait," said Deena.  "Can you tell me what that means?"

"Sure.  It says, 'Congratulations, Mr. Pratt!  You just the jackpot!'" He pointed to the screen.  See?  That four is supposed to be an A, the fives are Ss, and the plus marks are Ts.  They all look like letters if you squint at them right."

"Badly spelled," muttered Tom.

"It's supposed to be urban rapper style or something like that," the teen said simply.  "Same with the overdone exclamation points, and the 1s."

Deena said, "A 'typo,' with 'one' spelled out to show it's a deliberate 'mistake'?"  

Ones and Zeroes nodded.  "It's probably some hacker with more spare time than brains on how to spend it."

"That's well, and good, and all," Tom said condescendingly, "but we've other stories to cover."

Just then, Officer Welsh's radio squawked.  "Break one-nine.  Emergency call from NVU Athletic Center.  Fourteen individuals locked in weight room with no available exit.  HVAC system reportedly out of control, overheating premises.  Ambu-Van and fire unit en route; nearest unit please respond for backup."

Welsh grabbed his portable radio.  But before he could respond, another officer answered, "Dispatch, this is unit U-7, am on my way from Westview Avenue."  

But then a third voice came after that.  "Dispatch, dispatch!  This is NVUFD Unit 2!  Med-Vac unit NVU2 is completely stalled at the corner of Oak and Bradley!  Driver on handheld radio just said it just shut off and will not cut on again."

Welsh looked to the bank manager.  "Sorry, emergency.  I think you'd better keep a good count, and call our offices later when this is over." then sounded on it.  "Welsh, Unit U4 here.  Am on way to assist stopped medvac unit."

"Roger that," sounded Dspatch.  "All units, please send nearest vehicle to assist with athleti–"  

And then the radio stopped.

Hackles fully up, Welsh started into the radio, "Welsh to dispatch, do you copy?"  Nothing.  "Dispatch, do you read?"  Still nothing.  He then jumped into his vehicle, and put in the key.  It started up.

Then a dark green arc of energy bolted from the sky, entered his vehicle, then bounced right back.  The patrol car died.  "What the?!" stammered Welsh.  He turned the key repeatedly.  It wouldn't even do a dead battery click.

Then the car's onboad computer lit up:  "j00r +4X |>0114z @ //0R|< — M15+4 H4X0R"

"What the rut's going on here?!" Tom demanded.

"Another hack attack," groaned Welsh.  

Ones and Zeroes peeked in.  "Your Tax Dollars At Work — Mister Haxor."

"Will you get lost, kid?" Tom groused.  "Go play your Pokemon or something."

The kid looked up.  "I got a name, Mr. Thorndyke," he said.  "It's Pierre."

Tom blinked.  "Pierre?"

"Yeah.  Pierre South, da Coder."

"You watch 'No Secrets,' son?"

"My grand-dad does.  Mostly to grouch at the show."

While Tom put his hands his hips in a huff, Deena blinked.  Pierre?  THAT was Pierre?

She shook her head.  She could check that one later.  "I think I'll try to see if I can get help," she said, running off.  

Tom grunted, waving her off dismissively.  Scott nodded, too.

Rounding a corner into an alley, Deena ducked behind a dumpster.  Then feeling her waist with her fingers, she felt it rise to the surface like a label would on a just-moused-over computer icon onscreen:  the Belt of Athena.   And just like a mouse button, she clicked the round buckle in the middle.  

Her world glowed softly and brightly.  That warm feeling started in the pit of her stomach and flooded through her limbs up to the top of her like-underwater flowing hair.  Then her arms, calves, thighs, and bust ballooned out, and her trunk thickened like a maple tree's.  And another set of street clothes ripped and bit the dust (though she wonedered why it didn't simply morph into her heroine outfit since she'd be wearing it again after she'd saved the day and changed back.) She thought the whole thing would have been old hat by now.  But no, she relished the feeling of getting taller.  Bigger. Stronger. Mightier. Better.

The glow masked all in her vision, then once it faded so she could see, there she was.  Dyna the Damsel Dynamo was back!

"Time for me to hit the gym," she said.  And she leapt into the air, and flew off.

***
Merl, the maintenance guy walked down to the basement.  "So you still can't get out?" he said in his cell phone.

"Yeah," said a bleary, overheating Bob by the computer.  He sipped the water Cheryl got him.  "I've been trying to override things for the staff, but no dice.  It won't let me in."

"I'm down by the boiler now," said Merl over the hissing, gurgling pipes and machinery.  "I'll see if I can try to shut off the works here."  He read the gauges.  Then he gulped.

"That didn't sound good," said Bob.  "What's up?"

"Uhhhh…" went Merl nervously.

"What?"

"The readings say here the water pressure's ALREADY in the red zones!   It's getting dangerous!  If it gets much higher, the whole boiler is gonna explode!"

"Explode?!" went Bob.

"EXPLODE?!" went the gym rats.

"Don't panic!" said Merl.  "I'll go to the master breakers and kill the power!  We won't be able to open the doors, but at least things'll cool down!"  

Whirr-click! The door to the breakers locked.

"Oh no," went Bob.  "Was that–"

"I'll go topside and see if we can disconnect the line there!  You call the electric company just in case and see if you can get them to shut us dow–"  

Then the phone connection dropped.

"Merl?" went Bob.  "Hello?  HELLO?!"

He hit redial, only to see his cell phone readout say, "Service Temporarily Unavailable."  

Merl, in the basement, rushed to the door leading upstairs, only to have it automatically shut and lock in his face.

He stared around the basement.  "Eep."

((To Be Continued))

[JimmyDimples]

Interesting that you think of these as villain names, yet the first inspiration I got from the first name, Thunderbird, was a superheroine.

Specifically, an (American) Indian princess (okay, I was watching Disney’s Pocahontas recently) who possesses weather-control powers similar to X-Men’s Storm.

I dunno… according to Bumwine.com’s page on T-Bird, that stuff ain’t NOBODY’s hero. It’s a force of evil, through and through.

And wasn’t Thunderbird a Marvel X-Man that had already died one issue after his debut?

[JimmyDimples]

Say, y’all… I’d been to http://www.bumwine.com and I’d been thinkin’…

What kind of villains can you come up with these names?

Thunderbird

Night Train

Wild Irish Rose

Mad Dog 20/20

Cisco

I think they’d make quite a bad guy team… I’ll talk more next time.

[JimmyDimples]

I think my character Suzette in my story Power Play shows my likings. 😉

[JimmyDimples]

Good point on security, Strawberry. That’s good advice on ANY site.

I might not have the look or the bod, but I’d sure be uncomfortable if I had my image plastered where ANYONE could see it without my okay.

[Author]

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