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Nickhouse Episode Four: Science Goes Wrong

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S1E4: Science Goes Wrong

“Hello and welcome to Stupid People Answer Difficult Questions! I’m your host, Kent Brockman!”

We open to a fairly typical quiz show studio, where Kent Brockman is introducing the studio audience to the panellists.

“Today’s contestants are local power plant safety technician, Homer Jay Simpson...”

Homer looks up from a box full of glowing, radioactive donuts. He waves, then goes back to eating.

“...unemployed slob Patrick Star...”

Patrick gazes vacantly at the camera, drooling.

“...and respected world leader, Dr. Doom!”

Dr. Doom gives a curt nod, wondering why he is here.

“Okay, first question for a hundred dollars – what is the first letter of the alphabet?” asks Kent, “Is it A; B, B; A, C; D or D; H?”

Dr. Doom presses the buzzer.

“A,” he grunts.

“No! It’s B; A!” replies Kent.

Dr. Doom gives him an obscene hand gesture.

“Second question, still for a hundred – who is the President of Russia?”

“Ooh, ooh!” exclaims Homer, slamming his hand on the buzzer, “Ivan Drago! I know, I saw Rocky IV!”

“Rocky IV is a movie, Mr. Simpson, not a documentary,” reminds Kent, “And no, the correct answer is Vladimir Putin.”

“Oh,” says Homer, sadly.

“Third question, still for a hundred,” says Kent, “What is the square root of nine?”

Patrick presses the button.

“Yes, Patrick?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...”

Patrick drools and stares into space again.

“Oh, come on!” shouts Dr. Doom, “It’s easy!”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...”

“It’s three!” exclaims Doom, “Three! Three, damn you!

“Please don’t help him, Dr. Doom,” warns Kent.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh...”

“That’s it!” exclaims Doom, jumping to his feet, “I am fed up with this nonsense! Nobody makes a mockery of Doom!”

He leaps over to Patrick’s booth and starts strangling him. Security begin to run towards him...

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES – PLEASE STAND BY

“Is it just me?” asked Major Simmonds, “Or is reality television getting worse?”

“Eh, it’s about the same,” shrugged his second-in-command, Captain MacDonald.

 

NICKHOUSE EPISODE 4: SCIENCE GOES WRONG
Written by E350 and Autobot-Outcast

 

“Babysitting, you’ll understand, is a cut-throat business.”

“Tell me about it.”

Deputy Harrison sat in the break room at the Police Station, nursing a coffee and a headache. He was talking to his partner (or at least, his partner when Henrrys wasn’t dragging him off on shenanigans), Officer Penelope Springwater. It had been a long morning – he had been up most of the night, looking after his sister’s young child, and it showed.

“Never have kids, Penny, it’s just not worth...”

“...Harrison, Springwater! Front and centre!”

Henrrys stormed into the break room, arms crossed.

“We just got a call from the Molten Lava Production Factory,” he announced, “Someone or something is causing havoc there.”

“What kind of something?” asked Springwater, confused.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s the kind of thing Nickhouse would do,” snapped Henrrys, “Now let’s go, all hands on deck, come on!”

“...can I finish my coffee, sir?”

“No.”

 

How did this happen?!

About an hour later, Henrrys was pacing the interrogation room of the Police Station. Vicky was at the desk, chained to the chair on account of arson charges.

“You burnt down the Molten Lava Factory!” exclaimed Henrrys, “What did Dr. Devastation ever do to you?!”

“Look, I needed some lava,” snapped Vicky, “Not my fault I spilt it all over the factory floor. It was always going to happen...”

Henrrys scratched his chin.

“...true,” he nodded, “But you gotta be punished. You got two choices – you can go to the juvenile hall, or I can put you in for community service. Your choice.”

“Can I go?"

No.

He sighed.

“Alright, tell you what,” he decided, “You can work as a lab hand at one of the local labs. The Commissioner has a little correctional program going on there, educational sort of thing.”

“And if I refuse?” snapped Vicky.

“Then you get to sample prison food. I hear it’s quite awful.”

Vicky blinked.

 

Aperture Science East was situated right in the heart of the smoky and polluted Industrial District, mainly because land there was cheap. Deep inside the building, inside a small office, Vicky was standing around in a lab coat, looking quite bored.

“Stupid cops making me take notes for stupid geniuses,” she muttered, “This can’t get any worse.”

...dumb ways to die, so many dumb ways to die...

Jazz Fenton walked into the room, singing to herself.

“...dang it,” grunted Vicky.

“Oh hey, I know you!” said Jazz, “You’re the evil babysitter, right? Sounds kinda Freudian, you got time for a quick...”

“If I wanted therapy, I’d ask for it,” snapped Vicky.

“But it’d be fascinating!” implored Jazz, “Think, you could have an undiagnosed...”

SCIENCE!

Professor Membrane kicked in the door, pointing dramatically at his lab assistants.

“...hello,” nodded Jazz.

“Welcome to Aperture East,” nodded Professor Membrane, “The Police Department have politely informed me that you two are to be my test subjects.”

“Assistants,” reminded Vicky.

“Same thing.”

He laughed manically, and lightning flashed even though it was a sunny day.

Vicky blinked.

“Wait, hold on a minute,” she realised, turning to Jazz, “What’re you in for?”

“Parked my car on Chief Wiggum’s sandwich.”

“Right.”

“Anyway!” exclaimed Membrane, rubbing his hands together, “There is no time to be lost! To the lab!”

“...we’re already in a lab, aren’t we?” quizzed Jazz.

“No, actually, this is an office,” replied Membrane, “...not even my office, actually.”

He paused.

“Anyway, to the lab!”

 

Alright, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Test One.”

A triumphant ‘da-nah’ sound played. Vicky was strapped to a chair in a featureless white room, looking somewhat nervous.

As we are all aware, the human consciousness is simply a variety of electrical currents flowing from different parts of the brain.”

“...Uh, professor, I’m not sure that’s scientifically-”

“Silence!” exclaimed Membrane, “As I was saying, it is theoretically possible to scramble these ‘brainwaves’ to allow us complete control of the human mind.”

“That sounds dangerously close to supervillainry, Professor Membrane.”

“What did I tell you?” snarled Membrane.

Vicky gulped.

“Uh...you sure this is legal?” she asked.

Ha ha ha...of course not!chucked Membrane, “Ms. Fenton! Activate the Membronic Brain Scrambler 80,000.5!”

The roof opened, and a mask began to lower towards Vicky. The chair leant back to allow easier access to her face – Vicky began to struggle.

Yes, I know, science gets me all jumpy and excited too,” nodded Membrane, “But please, hold still. Otherwise this could go CATASTROPHICALLY wrong.”

“Get me out of here, egghead!” demanded Vicky, “Now! Or I’ll-I’ll vaporise you! Or something.”

Now now, I’m the only one here who can vaporise anything,” said Membrane, “Scrambler deploying in three...two...one...

There was a ding as the mask applied itself, and Vicky went limp.

 

“Ah, there we are!” nodded Membrane, looking over a computer screen in his control room, “Look at those little brainwaves scurrying around in there. Aren’t they adorable?”

“So your theory was actually right?” quizzed Jazz.

“Of course it was!” said Membrane, “Now, let us consider the implications of this technology!”

There was another ding.

“...after my lunch break ends,” finished Membrane, “Watch the brainwaves, Ms. Fenton, and please...TOUCH NOTHING.

He stared darkly at her for a full three seconds before walking out the door.

Jazz looked over the brainwaves, confused.

“I really can’t believe he was actually right,” she mused.

The brainwaves looked mostly like little currents of light blue electricity crossing a pink surface that Jazz theorised was Vicky’s brain. Suddenly, she noticed small jots of red electricity skirting around the edges of the screen.

“Why are those ones different?” she asked herself.

“Those are negative vibes.”

Jazz jumped.

A tall Korean woman was standing behind her, arms crossed. She was in her forties, her hair greying a bit, and she was wearing the standard lab coat, shirt and tie combination of Aperture employees.

“Dr. Cristina Martell, PhD,” she introduced, offering her hand, “I work in neuroscience.”

Cautiously, Jazz shook her hand.

“So, Professor Membrane’s trying to scramble people’s brains again,” noticed Martell, “I’m pretty sure the brass tried to get him to stop doing that.”

I STOP SCIENCE FOR NOBODY!” thundered Membrane from halfway across the complex.

There was a short silence.

“Anyway, negative vibes,” continued Martell, “Those brainwaves are introduced separately to the regular ones. They cause, in no particular order, excessive negativity, unpredictable behaviour, random bursts of clumsiness, sociopathy, psychosis, coma, death and halitosis.”

“...wait, so Vicky’s evil because...what, weird brain stuff?” quizzed Jazz.

“No, no, she’s just regularly cruel,” shrugged Martell, “This is just amplifying it.”

“Oh,” said Jazz, “So, where do the brainwaves come from?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was alien AIs?” asked Martell.

“You mean the Data Collective?”

Martell blinked.

“How do you-never mind,” she shrugged, “Yes, these brainwaves were leaked by a downed Data craft underneath an apartment complex in the Inner City Circle.”

“Sounds familiar,” grunted Jazz.

“They latched onto this brain,” explained Martell, “Because they were a perfect storm of cynicism, misanthropy, self-hatred and general unpleasantness. They then overwrote part of her brain, eliminating anything decent and wholesome from her mind and creating the ultimate example of pure offensiveness.”

“Why did the Data Collective even have these vibes?”

“They like science. It counted as science.”

“Gotcha.”

Jazz glanced at the computer screen.

“So if we got rid of those vibes, we’d just a fairly normal evil babysitter,” she nodded, “So, how would we do that?”

“Leave it to me,” nodded Martell.

She walked over to the console, putting a USB in the machine.

“Now, we just need to cut and...” she began.

“You can cut and paste brainwaves?” demanded Jazz.

“Sure, it’s easy,” nodded Martell, “See? It’s already done!”

She pulled out the USB, pointing to the screen. The red vibes were now gone.

“Now there’s just one thing left to do,” she said out loud, “Shut this project down.

She pulled a second USB and jammed it into the port.

 

Professor Membrane was eating a nice lunch of Super-Toast and marmalade, with a slice of sliced ham. At that moment, the alarm went off.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Membrane, leaping to his feet, “The science has gone wrong!

He raced back to his lab, literally tackling the door and landing in a heap on the control room floor. The console was going haywire – brainwaves were scattering across the screen like spaghetti in a blender.

“What’s happening?” demanded Membrane, “Whose responsible this?!

“It was Doctor Martell!” exclaimed Jazz, “She said she needed to shut the program down!”

THERE IS NO DOCTOR MARTELL HERE!” thundered Membrane, “SHE DOES NOT EXIST! SHE IS A LIE!!!

Jazz began to think Membrane was having a bit of a breakdown.

SHUT IT DOWN!” he screamed into the carpet (he still hadn’t gotten up), “SHUT IT DOWN NOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!

Jazz pulled the plug from the machine. There was a clap of thunder from inside the lab, and then all was silent.

There was a long silence as Membrane got up and dusted himself off.

“Well,” he said, “I think we handled that rather well.”

 

“Are you-are you sure I can’t blame this on Simmonds?” asked Henrrys.

The police had been called as soon as the Brain Scrambler had malfunctioned, thanks to a panicky intern. Vicky, having been involved in a major lab accident, was unconscious when she had been released from the machine and was laid on the break room couch. Henrrys was desperately trying to think of a way to blame Nickhouse, while Harrison was sitting in the corner drinking coffee. Jazz was pacing about somewhat anxiously – she felt partially responsible, having been on duty when it had all gone wrong.

“So, what kind of damage are we talking about?” asked Springwater.

“It could be anything!” replied Membrane, “She might wake up thinking backwards. She might have had her IQ reduced a thousandfold! She might have telekinetic powers! Her brain might have been wiped entirely! She might decide to go into politics!”

A police officer gasped heavily and fainted. Henrrys looked down at him, disdainfully.

“Get off the floor, Don,” he grunted.

“Hey! She’s waking up!” Jazz called.

Vicky blinked and opened her eyes.

“Okay, take it easy, she’s just waking up, so...” began Springwater.

“Wake up!” thundered Membrane, shaking Vicky violently, “We must know if your brain has survived!”

Vicky blinked again.

“What happened?” she muttered.

“Your brain kinda got Trojaned,” replied Henrrys, dryly, “You might need to run an anti-virus.”

“You feeling okay?” asked Jazz.

“I remember...swirling,” she muttered, “Like...like...”

“Like a toilet?” asked the cop on the floor.

“Shut up, Don,” snapped Henrrys.

“...all these feelings just...vanished, like some kind of...vanishing thing,” she continued, “Everything’s...so clear...”

“Oh no, she’s turned into a New Ager!” exclaimed Membrane, “It’s worse than I feared!”

“No, it’s not like that crud,” replied Vicky, “It’s more like...all my anger, all my hate just...it’s like whoa.”

Henrrys shook his head.

“So she’s mellow,” he nodded, “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Indeed,” nodded Membrane, “If autosave had been off, she’d have been in real trouble!”

“Wait, wait a minute.”

Harrison stood up, walking over to Vicky.

“Before this happened, you were basically a sadist child-hater, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” shrugged Vicky.

“And now you’re literally incapable of feeling negative,” he added.

“Pretty much,” shrugged Vicky.

“And how long is this going to last?” he asked Membrane.

“Eh...two weeks?” shrugged Membrane.

Harrison nodded, smiling.

“Well, my sister’s got this kid,” he said, “And I think you can help with that...”

Henrrys raised an eyebrow at Springwater, who shrugged.

“Babysitting, you’ll understand, is a cut-throat business,” she said.

 

“I get the feeling that today was just a whole bunch of things that happened,” Jazz mused to herself.

She was walking back towards the bus stop through the factory district. It was dark, and there was nobody about, except for a couple of night workers at a building site. Jazz paid them no mind, too busy thinking about the day’s events.

All of a sudden, a black car pulled up beside her. The window rolled down, and a man in a black suit leaned out of the driver’s side.

“Jasmine Fenton?” he asked.

“Yes?” she asked, somewhat apprehensively.

“Office of Air Force Intelligence, ma’am,” said the man, flashing an ID card, “We need to have a little discussion.”

“Um, sure,” gulped Jazz, “Just, uh, meet me in my room, that’s at Nickhouse, and...”

“It wasn’t a request, ma’am.”

There was a sudden shock of electricity from behind. Jazz fell forward, landing unconscious on the pavement. The suited man nodded.

“Aren’t we only supposed to use those on aliens?” he asked.

The individual holding the electrical device – the Arc Thrower – simply smirked.

“When all you have is a hammer, Agent Bradley, you use the hammer,” Colonel Cristina Martell replied.

“Guess so, ma’am, guess so.”

Martell opened the back of the car, lifted Jazz inside and then climbed in herself.

“Mr. Bradley,” she ordered, “Take us back to Nevada. The General is gonna want a debriefing on this.”

“Right away.”

The car drove away into the darkness of the night.

TO BE CONTINUED

In which a whole lot of weird stuff happens because I like writing these kinds of episodes.

Fairly OddParents/Danny Phantom (c) Butch Hartman
Invader Zim (c) Jhonen Vasquez
The Simpsons (c) Matt Groening
Spongebob Squarepants (c) Stephen Hillenberg
Marvel (c) Disney
© 2014 - 2024 E350tb
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El-Thorvaldo's avatar
While I liked the gags, this episode felt short. Maybe it's on account of being a setup for a mini-arc, but it seemed like we were just getting into the main story when it started wrapping up.

Also, that game show seems oddly familiar...

“Can I go?
I can't help thinking there was supposed to be more to this line.

“The science has gone wrong!
I love this line so much.